The Sacrifice of Isaac: The Aqedah (Genesis 22) and Its Interpretations 9789004497320, 9004497323

Table of contents :
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9789004497320-7580
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of Illustrations
Preface
Abbreviations
Contributors
Genesis 22: Human Sacrifice and Theology in the
Hebrew Bible
Sacrificing a Child in Ancient Greece:
The Case of Iphigeneia
The Sacrifice of Isaac in 4Q225
Abraham, Job and the Book of Jubilees: The Intertextual
Relationship of Genesis 22:1–19, Job 1–2:13 and Jubilees
17:15–18:19
The Aqedah and Its Interpretations in Midrash and Piyyut
The Bodmer Poem on the Sacrifice of Abraham
The Lamb on the Tree: Syriac Exegesis and Anti-Islamic
Apologetics
Ibrāhīm’s Sacrifice of His Son in the Early Post-Koranic Tradition
Abraham’s Sacrifice in Early Jewish and Early
Christian Art
Three Italian Sacrifices: Lorenzo Ghiberti, Andrea Del Sarto,
Michelangelo Merisi Da Caravaggio
Kierkegaard’s Reading of the Sacrifice of Isaac
The Sacrifice of Abraham as a (Temporary) Resolution of
a Descent Conflict? A Gender-Motivated Reading of
Genesis 22
Isaac Threatened by the Knife of Psychoanalysis?
Bibliography of Recent Studies
References to Ancient Texts
Illustrations

Citation preview

THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC

THEMES IN

BIBLICAL NARRATIVE JEWISH AND CHRISTIAN TRADITIONS Editorial Board PHILIP S. ALEXANDER – GERARD P. LUTTIKHUIZEN Assistant Editor FREEK VAN DER STEEN

Advisory Board WOLFGANG A. BIENERT – JAMES L. KUGEL FLORENTINO GARCÍA MARTÍNEZ – JAMES R. MUELLER – ED NOORT

VOLUME IV

THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC The Aqedah (Genesis 22) and its Interpretations EDITED BY

ED NOORT AND

EIBERT TIGCHELAAR

BRILL LEIDEN BOSTON • KÖLN 2002 •

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Die Deutsche Bibliothek - CIP-Einheitsaufnahme The sacrifice of Isaac : the Aqedah (Genesis 22) and its interpretations / ed. by Ed Noort and Eibert Tigchelaar. - Leiden ; Boston ; Köln : Brill, 2002 (Themes in Biblical narrative ; Vol. 4) ISBN 90–04–12434–9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is also available

ISSN 1388-3909 ISBN 90 04 12434 9

© Copyright 2002 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS List of Illustrations ....................................................................

vii

Preface ........................................................................................

ix

Abbreviations ............................................................................

xi

Contributors ..............................................................................

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Genesis 22: Human Sacrifice and Theology in the Hebrew Bible ........................................................................ E. Noort

1

Sacrificing a Child in Ancient Greece: The Case of Iphigeneia ........................................................ J.N. Bremmer

21

The Sacrifice of Isaac in 4Q225 ............................................ F. García Martínez Abraham, Job and the Book of Jubilees: The Intertextual Relationship of Genesis 22:1–19, Job 1–2:13 and Jubilees 17:15–18:19 ............................................................................ J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten

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The Aqedah and Its Interpretations in Midrash and Piyyut .... W.J. van Bekkum

86

The Bodmer Poem on the Sacrifice of Abraham .................. A. Hilhorst

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The Lamb on the Tree: Syriac Exegesis and Anti-Islamic Apologetics ............................................................................ G.J. Reinink

109

Ibràhìm’s Sacrifice of His Son in the Early Post-Koranic Tradition .................................................................................. 125 F. Leemhuis

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Abraham’s Sacrifice in Early Jewish and Early Christian Art ............................................................................ 140 E. van den Brink Three Italian Sacrifices: Lorenzo Ghiberti, Andrea Del Sarto, Michelangelo Merisi Da Caravaggio .................................... 152 J.L. de Jong Kierkegaard’s Reading of the Sacrifice of Isaac A.F. Sanders

.................... 166

The Sacrifice of Abraham as a (Temporary) Resolution of a Descent Conflict? A Gender-Motivated Reading of Genesis 22 ................................................................................ 182 Heleen Zorgdrager Isaac Threatened by the Knife of Psychoanalysis? .................. 198 P.M.G.P. Vandermeersch Bibliography of Recent Studies .................................................. 211 M. PopoviÆ References to Ancient Texts ...................................................... 225 Illustrations .................................................................................. 231

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Abraham’s Sacrifice in Early Jewish and Early Christian Art E. van den Brink 1. San Callisto catacomb, Rome, c. 200 (André Grabar, Christian Iconography, Princeton NJ 1980, no. 238) 2. Via Latina catacomb, Rome, c. 350 (Id., no. 239) 3. Doura Europos, synagogue, upper panel of Tora-shrine, 244 (Id. no. 20) 4. Beth Alpha, synagogue, floor mosaic, c. 525 (Rachel Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, Leiden 1988, no. 64) 5. Podgoritza patera, Petersburg, Ermitage Oo 73, after 300 (Alice Bank, Byzantine Art in the Collections of Soviet Museums, New York/ Leningrad 1977, no. 26) 6. Passion sarcophagus, Rome, Museo Pio Cristiano, rep. 42, c. 325 (F.W. Deichmann, ed., Repertorium der christlich-antiken Sarkophage, Erster Band, Rom und Ostia, Tafelband, Wiesbaden 1967, no. 42) 7. Brethren sarcophagus, detail, Rome, Museo Pio Cristiano, rep 45, c. 325 (Id., no. 45) 8. Ravenna, San Vitale, north wall of sanctuary, 547 (F.W. Deichmann, Frühchristliche Bauten und Mosaiken von Ravenna, Baden-Baden 1958, no. 327) 9. Ravenna, San Apollinare in Classe, south wall of apse, c. 675 (Id., no. 407) 10. San Pedro de la Nave near Zamora, capital of sanctuary, after 650 ( J. Hubert, J. Porcher, F.W. Volbach, L’Europe des invasions, Paris 1967, 87) Three Italian Sacrifices: Lorenzo Ghiberti, Andrea Del Sarto, Michelangelo Merisi Da Caravaggio J.L. de Jong 1. Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus, c. 359, Rome , Vatican Museums 2. Abraham and Isaac, Christ Carrying the Cross; The Widow of Sarefta;

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3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12.

list of illustrations woodcut from a Biblia pauperum-blockbook, c. 1460, Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, The Crucifixion of Christ; Moses with the Brass Serpent; woodcut from a Biblia pauperum-blockbook, c. 1460, Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek Lorenzo Ghiberti, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1401, Florence, Museo del Bargello Filippo Brunelleschi, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1401, Florence, Museo del Bargello Andrea del Sarto, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1529, Dresden, Gemäldegalerie Marco Dente, engraving after the Laocoon-group by Hagesandros, Polydoros and Athenodoros of Rhodes, c. 1520 (B. XIV, 268, 353) Titian, St Sebastian, detail of the Averoldi-altarpiece, 1519–1522, Brescia, Ss. Nazzaro e Celso Michelangelo, Rebellious Slave, 1513–1516, Paris, Louvre Michelangelo, Victoria, c. 1520, Florence, Palazzo Vecchio Giorgio Vasari, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1545–1546, Naples, Gallerie Nazionali di Capodimonte Caravaggio, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1603, Florence, Gallerie degli Uffizi

PREFACE The yearly conference of the research group “Early Jewish and Christian Traditions” of the Department of Biblical Studies, University of Groningen was held on the 19th and 20th of June, 2000 at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies. Because of a close cooperation with the Department of Languages and Cultures of the Middle East of the same university we were happy to have W.J. van Bekkum, F. Leemhuis and G. Reinink among the contributors. The theme was the history of reception of the Aqedah (Genesis 22). The proceedings open with a study of the biblical text and its relation to human sacrifice connected with the problem of dating the enigmatic narrative (E. Noort). J.N. Bremmer compares the biblical story with the sacrifice of Iphigeneia and child sacrifice in Ancient Greece. F. García Martínez studies the Sacrifice of Isaac in 4Q225 and concludes that 4Q225 did not belong “neither to the Jubilees, nor to the qumranic tradition . . . it is a witness to the development and growth of the traditions around the Aqedah and . . . assures that some of the basic elements of the Christian interpretation . . . were already present in pre-Christian Judaism”. The disputed relationship between Genesis 22:1–9 and the framework narrative of the Book of Job is researched by a detailed analysis of the profile of the protagonists, the narrative technique and the text itself and their reception in Jubilees ( J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten). W.J. van Bekkum studies the Aqedah in Midrash and Piyyut, the Jewish traditions of biblical exegesis and the liturgical poetry of Late Antiquity and Middle Ages. The recently published poem “To Abraham” in the Bodmer papyri is analysed by A. Hilhorst. He offers the text, a translation and a commentary especially on the role of Isaac. For Hilhorst there is not proof enough to call it a Christian poem. G.J. Reinink discusses the “earliest specimens of East Syrian apologetic discourse in response to Islam”. He concludes that the typological exegesis used in the disputation is in line with older Syriac tradition, demonstrated by the replacement of the ram by a “lamb suspended on a tree” already in the fifth century. From here it could enter the later disputations between representatives of Islam and Christianity. How the story of Genesis 22 is reworked in the Koran, lacking many narrative details,

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missing the name of the son, and in doing so, leaving place for the later unanimous opinion it was Ismà'ìl is worked out by the essay of F. Leemhuis on early Koranic commentaries. In art the Aqedah is one of the great biblical themes. There are two essays about the history of art and the Aqedah in the volume. E. van den Brink studies the older iconography in San Callisto, Dura Europos, Beth Alpha, Ravenna and Classe, on a glass drinking disk and on sarcophagi. J.L. de Jong describes the Aqedah in Italian art from c. 1400–1600 with the Italian artists Lorenzo Ghiberti, Andrea del Sarto and Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. The last group of papers treat the reception of the Aqedah in modern times. Kierkegaard could not be missed and A.F. Sanders analyses the classical text of Fear and Trembling and the deconstructionist reading of Derrida. Heleen Zorgdrager studies the Aqedah in a gender-motivated reading. After a survey of literature she reads the narrative as a descent conflict with rivaling lines, in which Gen 22 gives a solution. The last essay is written by P.M.G.P. Vandermeersch and offers a psychoanalytical reading of the Aqedah and the description of the “Isaac Syndrome”. The volume concludes with a bibliography of recent studies by M. PopoviÆ. We want to thank the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies for the help provided to organize the Symposium. Ed Noort Eibert Tigchelaar

ABBREVIATIONS AB Anchor Bible AC Antiquité Classique ACEBT Amsterdamse Cahiers voor Exegese van de Bijbel en zijn Tradities AGAJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des Antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums AnBib Analecta Biblica ATD Altes Testament Deutsch BETL Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensiu Bib Biblica BIS Biblical Interpretation Series BKAT Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament BN Biblische Notizen BZ Biblische Zeitschrift BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaf COT Commentaar op het Oude Testament CRAI Comptes rendues de l’Académie des inscriptions et belles lettres CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium DDD Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert DSSSE The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition FGrH Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, ed. F. Jacoby GCS Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte GPM Göttinger Predigtmeditationen GTT Gereformeerd Theologisch Tijdschrift HAR Hebrew Annual Review HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs ICC International Critical Commentary IG Inscriptiones Graecae JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies JJS Journal of Jewish Studies JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages

xii JSJ JSJS JSOT JSOTS JSSM LAB LCI LIMC LXX MT OTL PAM PG PRE RAC RB RBK RE REG RES RGG RSF SBLEJL SBLSS SEG SHCANE SPB STDJ TGF THAT ThR ThSt TUAT

abbreviations Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Period Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament. Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies, Monograph Series Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum Lexicon der christlischen Ikonographie Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae Septuagint Masoretic Text Old Testament Library Palestine Archeological Museum Patrologia Graeca Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer Reallexikon Antike und Christentum Revue Biblique Reallexikon Byzantinische Kunst Reallexicon der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. Neue Bearbeitung 1894ff. Revue des études grecques Répertoire d’épigraphie sémitique Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart Rivista di studi fenici Society of Biblical Literature, Early Judaism and Its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Semeia Studies Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Studia Post-Biblica Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament, ed. E. Jenni & C.W. Westermann Theologische Rundschau Theologische Studien Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, ed. O. Kaiser

abbreviations TWAT

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Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament, ed. G.J. Botterweck & H. Ringgren UF Ugarit-Forschungen VT Vetus Testamentum WBC World Biblical Commentary WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZBKAT Zürcher Bibelkommentare. Altes Testament ZDMG Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik ZThK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

CONTRIBUTORS Prof. dr. W.J. van Bekkum, [email protected] Groningen Prof. dr. J.N. Bremmer, [email protected] Groningen Dr. E. van den Brink, Utrecht [email protected] Prof. dr. F. García Martínez, [email protected] Groningen Dr. A. Hilhorst, Groningen [email protected] Dr. J.L. de Jong, Groningen [email protected] Dr. F. Leemhuis, Groningen [email protected] Prof. dr. E. Noort, Groningen [email protected] Drs. M. PopoviÆ, Groningen [email protected] Dr. G.J. Reinink, Groningen [email protected] Dr. J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten, [email protected] Groningen Dr. A.F. Sanders, Groningen [email protected] Dr. E.J.C. Tigchelaar, Groningen [email protected] Prof. dr. P.M.G.P. Vandermeersch, Groningen p.m.g.p.vandermeersch@ theol.rug.nl Drs. H. Zorgdrager, Leersum

GENESIS 22: HUMAN SACRIFICE AND THEOLOGY IN THE HEBREW BIBLE Ed Noort In Honour of Karel A. Deurloo, on the Occasion of His Retirement on the 10th of February 20011 1. Introduction The exegete desiring to study the narrative of the Aqedah in Genesis 22 is confronted with the warning sentences of Gerhard von Rad, who wrote one of the most sensitive studies2 about the Sacrifice of Isaac. Surveying many modern publications about the Aqedah, he concludes: Aber, wie unberührt, wie wenig bedrängt sind sie im Grunde von der Gewalt der Aussage, die frühere Ausleger zugleich fasziniert und abgestoßen hat. Von dem Entsetzen, das hinter Luthers Auslegung oder hinter Rembrandts Zeichnungen steht, ist wenig zu spüren. Wer sich auf diese Erzählung einläßt, muß darauf gefasst sein, dass er immer wieder wie vor einem Abgrund zurückschaudert.3

The theologian Von Rad argues that the great, most influential studies of Gen 22 are written by people, who “selbst tiefer als andere an Gott gelitten haben”.4 Since early times, people have been fascinated by this narrative, which recognises and expresses their own sufferings. Others were put off and could not reconcile this story of a God who asked for the sacrifice of a son with the image of God they had. Immanuel Kant had such doubts, when he stated: daß ich meinen guten Sohn nicht töten solle, ist ganz gewiß; daß aber du, der du mir erscheinst, Gott sei, davon bin ich nicht gewiß und kann es auch nicht werden, wenn sie (die Stimme) auch vom Himmel herabschallete.5 1

In grateful remembrance of the many hours we spent together with the late Dr. Roel Oost, and our common interest in the theology of the Hebrew Bible. 2 G. von Rad, Das Opfer des Abraham (Kaiser Traktate 6), Munich 1971. 3 G. von Rad, Opfer, 11. 4 G. von Rad, Opfer, 10. 5 I. Kant, Der Streit der Fakultäten (1798), Werke VI, Hrsg. Von W. Weischedel, Darmstadt 1966, 333.

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In one the most influential Jewish commentaries on Genesis, published in 1934 in Berlin, Benno Jacob compares μyhlah of Gen 22:1 with the μyhlah (Aynb), especially one of them, the ˆfc, ( Job 2:1) and from the story of Bileam (hwhyA˚alm), who can call himself ˆfc, too (Numb 22:32). This means that, according to Benno Jacob, the voice of the tempter in Gen 22 is not the voice of God, but of one of his servants, one of the members of the heavenly throne council.6 Another way out was taken by the “Amsterdam School”, by adhering to the etymological key in a semantic analysis. Following the Buber-Translation “und höhe ihn dort zur Hochgabe/Darhöhung auf einem der Bergen” from 22:2, T. Noorman denies that the divine command is an assignment from God to sacrifice Isaac. Abraham misunderstood God. In this way, however, the real skandalon and the real problems are explained away.7 In exegesis, which has its background in synagogue and church, Gen 22 functions as a watershed. Generations of exegetes have tried to make the story readable, understandable, fitting into the picture of a loving God or saying farewell to him. The Aqedah is one of the great stories of the Hebrew Bible. It is multi-interpretable, as its historical reception and the papers of this conference demonstrate. Therefore, it is every generation’s task to start the dialogue with this text again, making clear where changes have occurred in the position of the inquiring exegete, and the time in which and the circumstances under which the dialogue is taken up.8 A full exegesis of the text is not possible within this limited space, but I want to draw attention to three points, important both for exegesis and the history of reception:

6 B. Jacob, Das erste Buch der Tora. Genesis, Berlin 1934, 492: ‘Also ist dies nicht Gott selbst in letzter Instanz, sondern einer seiner himmlischen Diener, ein übereifriger, vollkommene menschliche Gottergebenheit bezweifelnder Untergebener, den sein Herr, der der Sache gewiß ist, gewähren lässt. . . . Dieselbe Figur haben wir in dem Elohim, der den Abraham prüft, zu suchen.’ For the important position of Benno Jacob’s commentary, see the introduction of B. Janowski, E. Zenger, ‘Ein Klassiker der Schriftauslegung. Zu Benno Jacobs Genesis-Kommentar’, and the references to the studies of A. Jürgensen and B.S. Childs in the reprint of the Calwer Verlag, Stuttgart. I quote the original version of 1934. 7 T. Noorman, ‘Over de tiende beproeving van vader Abraham’, in: D. Monshouwer, among others (red.), Verwekkingen. Festschrift Frans Breukelman, Amsterdam 1976, 108–113. His explanation is contradicted by K.A. Deurloo, ‘Omdat ge gehoord hebt naar mijn stem (Gen 22)’, ACEBT 5 (1984) 58, n. 14. 8 Notice e.g. the differences between the exegetical studies within the last twelve years, especially made for preaching this text: E. Noort, ‘1 Mose 22,1–13’, GPM

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– The position of Gen 22 within the context; – The possible relation with human sacrifice; – The problems of dating the narrative. 2. The Position of Genesis 22 within the Context A few remarks may be sufficient to describe the location and signals of Gen 22’s position in the book of Genesis. Gen 22:1–14.19 is situated in the centre of a widening circle. The first ring is the commentary of Gen 22:15–18 on the narrative of 22:1–14.19; the second ring is the close relation of Gen 22 with the preceding chapter about the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael and the covenant with Abimelech (Gen 21:1–21.22–34); and the third, widest ring is the relation of Gen 22 with the beginning of Gen 12. The assumed and agreed additional character9 of vv. 15–18 is not the theme here, but the question of what vv. 15–18 add to the narrative. The answer is simple: they expand the promise in linking Abraham’s cycle to the patriarchal traditions as a whole. Here the divine promise is given with special emphasis as is the connection between obedience and reward as expressed in v. 18b. The exceptional nature of the promise is revealed by expressions both unique and unusual, e.g. the form of the oath, yt[bvn yb (16a), the prophetic formula hwhyAμan (16a), the emphatic verbal forms ˚rb (17a) and hbra hbrh (17a), the combination of the μymçh ybkwk and lwj (17b) as metaphors for the numerousness of Abraham’s descendants, and the signal with which the scene opens: tynv . . . arqyw μymvhAˆm.10 This emphasis focuses on descendants, not on land as in

41 (1987) 176–182; H.-P. Müller, ‘1 Mose 22,1–13’, GPM 47 (1993) 164–170; J. Jeremias, ‘1 Mose 22, 1–13 (14)’, GPM 53 (1999) 172–178. 9 R.W.L. Moberly, ‘The Earliest Commentary on the Akedah’, VT 38 (1988) 302–323 and almost all the commentaries. The plea of G. Steins, Die »Bindung Isaaks« im Kanon (Gen 22). Grundlagen und Programm einer kanonisch-intertextuellen Lektüre. Mit einer Spezialbibliographie zu Gen 22 (Herders Biblische Studien 20), Freiburg i.Br. 1999, 219–222 for an integral origin of 22:1–19 is untenable from a literary-historical point of view. How the addition should be read, however, is the more important question. 10 Moberly, ‘Earliest Commentary’, 318: ‘The phrases that are familiar elsewhere are used here in a uniquely emphatic way, and formulae of emphasis which are otherwise unparalleled in Genesis are also used.’

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the other Genesis texts. The additional commentary makes it still clearer: the real heir is Isaac. Therefore the promise of Gen 12:3 is taken up and changed into ˚[rz (22:18). Not Abraham himself, but his descendants will be the origin of blessing. The other side stresses the exemplary figure of Abraham. The symbiotic relation between obedience and fulfilment of promise is expressed in a particular way. Fulfilment of all prior promises are bound to the obedience of Abraham (22:18). Here, Abraham becomes a real qydx: “the purpose of the theological commentary in Gen xxii 15–18 is to draw out the significance of Abraham’s obedience in such a way that Abraham can be seen to have a role within the salvationhistory of Israel akin to that of Moses”.11 For the relation with Gen 21 a simple observation suffices: rja yhyw hlah μyrbdh has a double function: it refers to what happened before, while simultaneously signalling a new beginning. The same is the case with the use of the phrase in 22:20 at the end of our text. Before the narrative of Gen 22 the formula is used in 15:1, then thereafter not before 39:7.12 This implies that on the level of the compositor, the story must primarily be read together with Gen 21. Gen 21 has a double ending. V.33 tells of planting a tamarisk and invoking the name of μlw[ la hwhy in Beer-Sheba by Abraham. V.34, however, stresses Abraham’s sojourn in the Land of the Philistines. V.33 is the natural ending of Ch 21 and the direct link to Gen 22. Here in Beer-Sheba, Abraham invokes the name of YHWH probably in a para-Yahwistic form;13 here the name of YHWH is connected with a sanctuary.14 In this stage of the composition, Abraham lives in Beer-Sheba, receives the command to sacrifice Isaac there, and returns to Beer-Sheba at the end of the narrative (22:19). For the relation between v. 33, its surroundings, and v. 34 there are two possible explanations. Either Gen 21 was influenced by Gen 2615 or a region of the Negeb was viewed as belonging to the Philistines, as 1 Sam 30:14 suggests with its bgg 11

Moberly, ‘Earliest Commentary’, 321. Further use in Genesis: 40:1; 48:1, in the Former Prophets: Jos 24:29; 1 Ki 13:33 Var.; 17:17; 21:1. 13 For the discussion, see A. de Pury, DDD, Leiden/New York/Cologne 1995, 549–555. 14 For the literary-historical complications, see H. Seebass, Genesis II/I, NeukirchenVluyn 1997, 189f. 15 Seebass, Genesis, 190 referring to Dillmann (189). 12

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ytrkh.16 A variant of the last possibility is offered by B. Jacob, who states that μytvlp ≈rab μhrba rgyw (v. 34) does not include a verb of motion and therefore does not mean that Abraham leaves BeerSheba.17 After Jacob, Abraham in v. 34 accepts the offer of Abimelech in 20:15: “Behold, my land is before you; dwell where it pleases you”, so the dwelling mentioned in v. 34 means the general acceptance and summing up of Abraham’s stay in Philistia, not a new move. In the present context, however, there is a contradiction between vv. 32 and 34 if one holds to the assumption that Abraham did not emigrate to the land of the Philistines. Maybe there is still another explanation. In the final text of chapters 21 and 22, Abraham invokes the name of YHWH in Beer-Sheba (21:33), and moves afterwards to Philistia (21:34). After the expedition to the Land of Morijah he returns again to Beer-Sheba (22:19). This means that the call of Elohim to sacrifice his only son reaches him in the land of the Philistines, outside the territory of YHWH. One need not go as far as Jacob did in explaining away the Elohim of 22:1 as a member of the divine council,18 but the opposition between the human sacrifice asked by Elohim (22:1) and the rescuing hwhy ˚alm (22:11)—connected with the non-Yahwistic land of the Philistines of the added v. 34—already suggests that this call promises something ill. Thus, 21:34 could suggest a negative interpretation of the divine demand. Both narratives, the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael (21:8–21) and the sacrifice of Isaac (22:1–14.19), are related by formal strings and content.19 The threatening death in the desert (21:15f.) is a counterpart of the threatening death on the altar (22:10). In both cases the promise-bearing son is involved. Both death situations are initiated by Elohim (21:12 and 22:1.2). At the very last moment, the voice of a hwhy ˚alm from heaven rescues the victim (21:17f.//22:11). In both cases the rescue ends with a renewed promise of progeny (21:18// final text 22:18). The main players may differ, the conflicts may be on different levels, but it is clear that the divine promise only 16 C.S. Ehrlich, The Philistines in Transition. A History from ca. 1000 –730 BCE (SHCANE 10), Leiden/New York/Cologne 1996, 38 and E. Noort, ‘Krethi und Plethi’, RGG4 (forthcoming). The real problem of the Negeb of the Cherethites is the localization of Ziklag, which is still being discussed. 17 Jacob, Genesis, 490. 18 Jacob, Genesis, 492. 19 S. Nikaido, ‘Hagar and Ishmael as Literary Figures: An Intertextual Study’, VT 51 (2001) 218–242.

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opens future after a deathly threat. Gen 22 expresses this on a composite level in two ways: firstly, by the relations between Gen 21 and 22; secondly, by linking the list of tribes in Abraham’s Mesopotamian family in 22:20–2420 with the return from Moriah in 22:19. This last verse definitively answers the problem of the identity of the real heir of Gen 15:4; it is given “a dramatic ending”.21 But the line of the composition goes on. The future of Israel and the neighbouring countries is at stake within these family lines of heirs—which will become tribes and peoples—and this pattern of promise, gift, death, threat and rescue. Or maybe, more precisely, the future of Israel hangs by a thread. The widest relations within the Abraham Cycle are the connections between Gen 22 and Gen 12. Both chapters are connected by the command ˚lA˚l, by the objective of travel ≈ra(h)Ala (12:1//22:2), and even by the name of Moriah hrwm ˆwla hyrmh (12:6//22:2), as Mittmann has pointed out.22 That the first verses of Gen 22 speak of the land Moriah, which is later replaced by the mountain Moriah, is related to the intention of the author to connect 12:2 with 22:1 Reading the Abraham Cycle in the canonical sequence from Gen 12 to 22, Abraham’s travel to the land of promise starts in Mesopotamia, makes its first stop in Shechem, and ends in Beer-Sheba with the secret reference to Jerusalem (ha-Moriah). The real heir is revealed in the combination of Ch 21 and 22. The endangered future of Israel in the final commentary (22:15–18) closely adheres to the line Abraham-Isaac, with the exemplary function of Abraham as the obedient qydx. 3. The Problem of Human Sacrifice and Gen 22 One of the central items in the discussion concerning Gen 22 is the possible background of human sacrifice. In the case of a positive 20 The role of the matriarchs, not the patriarchs, is stressed in 20–24. For the entire problem, see the article by Heleen Zorgdrager in this volume, 102–197. 21 Seebass, Genesis, 217. 22 S. Mittmann, ‘ha-Morijja—Präfiguration der Gottessstadt Jerusalem (Genesis 22, 1–14.19). Mit einem Anhang: Isaaks Opferung in der Synagoge von Dura Europos’, in: M. Hengel, S. Mittmann, A.M. Schwemer (Hrsg.), La Cité de Dieu. Die Stadt Gottes. 3. Symposium Strasbourg, Tübingen, Uppsala: 19–23 September 1998 in Tübingen (WUNT 129), Tübingen 2000, 67–97 (78f.).

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answer, the final aim of the offering of Isaac should be that YHWH does not request human sacrifices any longer. Therefore, the first question to be posed is whether human sacrifice, child sacrifice, or offering of the firstborn at any time belonged to the religious praxis of Israel? A dissertation at the University of Freiburg/Breisgau, in the early 20th century, was defended with the theme: “Die Menschenopfer der alten Hebräer und der benachbarten Völker”.23 The conclusion was that pure Yahwism and human sacrifice had nothing to do with each other: “Wer möchte da die Stirne haben, zu behaupten, die Geistesheroen des Alten Testaments, die Propheten, seien aus einer Menschenmörderbande hervorgegangen? Sowenig eine schöne Blume aus dem Kot wächst, obgleich sie Erde und Dünger zu ihrer äusseren Existenz bedarf, so gewiss sie aus sich selbst und aus ihrem Keime sich entwickelt, so gewiss ist auch, dass der reine Jahvedienst der Popheten nicht ein reformierter Molochdienst gewesen ist, sondern schon bei seinem ersten Erwachen in einer ganz anderen Ideenwelt stand.” Few scholars would formulate this in the same way today, but the message of the thesis is still discernible today. What do the texts tell us? For the 6th century priest-prophet Ezekiel, living with hrwt, μyqj and μyfpvm the real way of life is bound to the will of God as formulated in Ezek 20:11. But suddenly, only a few verses later, he makes a unique statement, saying: “I (YHWH) gave them bad24 μyqj and μyfpvm, through which they could not live”. V.26 continues, “I (YHWH) made them unclean through their offerings, when they offered all the firstborn (by fire25)”. This should certainly be read in connection with Ezek 16:20f.: “And you took your sons and your daughters, which you had born to me, and you sacrificed26 them to

23 E. Mader, Die Menschenopfer der alten Hebräer und der benachbarten Völker. Ein Beitrag zur alttestamentlichen Religionsgeschichte (Biblische Studien 14), Diss. Freiburg/Breisgau 1909. 24 Literally: ‘not good’ (μybwf al). W. Zimmerli, Ezechiel I (BKAT), NeukirchenVluyn 21979, 449, suggests that the expression used here, instead of μy[r, might soften such a harsh statement. 25 rb[ (Hif.). The expression, used here without (cf. 20:31), suggests a fusion of terms between the law on firstborn males as a property of YHWH (Exod 22:28b; 34:19), who should be ‘transferred’ (ryb[h) to YHWH and the burning of children (ryb[h), as M. Greenberg, Ezekiel I (AB), Garden City/NY 1983, 370, states. 26 Mader, Menschenopfer, 184.

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be consumed. Were your harlotries so small a matter that you (also) slaughtered my sons and delivered them up as an offering (by fire) to them (foreign gods)?” What is happening here? Ezekiel and the traditions around him27 condemn child sacrifice as a hb[wt to YHWH. But Ezek 20:25 leaves the terrifying possibility of the law given by God gaining not life but death, and this means that in the connection of V.25 and V.26, child sacrifice could be ordered by God himself.28 This possibility again brings us in the realm of Gen 22. This statement of Ezekiel is denied in the polemics against child sacrifice in Deut 12:29ff. and in the Deuteronomistic29 parts of Jeremiah (7:31; 19:5; 32:35). Yet the ascribing of child sacrifice only to the service of foreign gods (V. 35: Ba‘al) and the arguments used here suggest the opposite: “(They) offer up their sons and daughters to Molech, a thing which I did not lay on them (μytywx) nor did it ever come up to my heart (yblAl[ htl[ alw) that they should commit this abomination”( Jer 32:35). Thus, in reality, a situation did exist in which child sacrifice was part of the service of YHWH, and it was understood as being ordered by him. Indeed, two kings of Judah, Ahaz (2 Ki 16:3) and Manasseh (2 Ki 21:6), are accused of “passing their sons through the fire”. Consequently, we draw two conclusions: 1. The prophet Ezekiel offers the possibility that bad, deathly laws connected with child sacrifice are promulgated by YHWH himself, a conclusion denied by the Deuteronomistic Jeremiah; and 2. The discussion about the religious value of child-sacrifice is a viable topic in the 7th and 6th centuries BC. In the discussion about the connection between Gen 22 and child sacrifice, it has been proposed that the sacrifice of Isaac be understood as a narrative solution-specifically, the solution described in the law of Exod 22:28b regarding the firstborn belonging to YHWH and its redemption as ordained in Exod 34:20. In this view, the law about the firstborn should be understood as a rule to sacrifice all 27

Holiness Code: Lev 18:21; 20:2–5. To demonstrate the shocking idea put forward by Ezekiel, Targum is often quoted, which softens the dictum: ‘I removed them [from me] and delivered them (Israel) into the power of their stupid impulse; they went and made decrees that were not right.’ The subject here is not God but Israel. 29 W. Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41), NeukirchenVluyn 1973, 129. 28

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firstborns to the deity, whereas a later modification replaced the human victim with an animal sacrifice. This substitution would be the background of the narrative of Gen 22. However, the idea that the firstborn son belongs to YHWH appears in the Hebrew Bible almost always together with the possibility of substitution (Exod 13:13.15, exception: Ex 22:29). To presuppose that at one time the reality was that every new firstborn had to be sacrificed, contradicts everything we have learned about the history of religion in the Levante. There is testimony, however, for the idea that in case of extremity sometimes a child, in this case the firstborn, was sacrificed to the deity to overcome a siege or some other situation of national or common interest. But some questions remain. What does the terminology used here mean? Where does it reflect a real Sitz-im-Leben? Which social, cultural and theological backgrounds does it represent? What links can be made with the practice of human sacrifice in the world outside of Israel? Beside the Ezekiel texts we used initially to discuss this issue, the Hebrew Bible connects the theme of child sacrifice with two more specific dates. First it concerns a topographical detail: the tpt (Tophet)30 in the valley of (Ben-)Hinnom (μnhAˆb ayg), the large valley surrounding Jerusalem on the western and southern sides before connecting with the Kedron Valley in the east. The tpt of Jer 7:31.32; 19:6.12.13.14 looks like a toponym, but the texts refer to its function, the burning site for child-sacrifice. It is tempting, and probably the best explanation, to understand tophet as a bo“ét-Vocalisation of an original têphêt, “firealtar”,31 cf. Aramaic aypt “fire-place”.

30 J.A. Dearman, ‘The Tophet in Jerusalem: Archaeology and Cultural Profile’, JNSL 22 (1996) 59–71. 31 W. McKane, Jeremiah, Vol. I (ICC), Edinburgh 1986, 179. W. Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1973, 128ff., 220ff. thinks the passages coming from exilic deuteronomistic redactors, which fits in the way which the guilt of the people of Jerusalem and their kings is described. It does not say anything about the pre-exilic praxis of the Judaean kings in the case of child-offering. Probably the deuteronomists give a theological judgment about an existing custom. For a treatment of the polemics in later rabbinical literature describing the offerings in the Valley of ben-Hinnom in relation to the wellknown Phoenician and Carthaginian sources, see G. Bohak, ‘Classica et Rabbinica I: The Bull of Phalaris and the Tophet’, JSJ 31 (2000) 211–216.

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Secondly the Hebrew Bible relates child sacrifice to ˚lm appearing in Lev 18:21; 20:2.3.4.5; 2 Ki 23:10; Jer 32:35.32 The discussion brought up by O. Eissfeldt and supported with much new material from H.P. Müller, emphasised the question whether Moloch was a separate deity, “specialised” in child sacrifice, as later developments seemed to suggest. This view seemed to be supported by the thousands of stelae with Punic, Neo-Punic inscriptions and Latin transcriptions in the burial grounds of Carthage and by the story of Diodorus Siculus, in which children are sacrificed in the burning oven of Kronos. Koch describes the result of this interpretation as follows: “Das ergab das Bild eines scheußlichen kanaanäischen Götzen, von dem nichts anderes bekannt war, als dass er Kinder zum Fraß begehrte. Auch rabbinische Legenden haben diese Verbindungslinie gezogen. Christlichen (wie jüdischen) Auslegern hat das zwei Jahrtausende lang Anlass gegeben, sich über den unmenschlichen heidnischen Götzendienst zu ereifern”.33 We do not recommend continuing the learned tradition about this child-eating deity. For the reconstructed Moloch and his supposed ancient Near Eastern predecessor, Malik, a wide range of names from Ebla ((d)Ma-lik +PN); Ur III ((d)Ma-al-ku-um ”È, “for the god Malkum”), Mari (Malik +PN; plural Màlìku, underworld deities?), Ugarit (mlk; mlk.‘Δtrt), Phoenicia (mlk. ‘“trt )34 has been taken into account. In some of the texts the underworld character of the deity can be accepted, but nowhere does he have anything to do with child sacrifice. Moreover, Koch has shown that the Ugaritic mlk does not appear in the offering lists and that it did not receive any offerings at all. He disappeared completely from the religious history of the ancient Near East at the beginning of the first millennium. In his words, this would mean: “. . . dass ein schon in Ugarit in den Hintergrund tretender und dann völlig abgetauchter Gott nach rund einem halben Jahrtausend in Jerusalem—und nur hier—wieder emporgekommen und unheimlich bedeutsam geworden ist”.35 For this reason, a connection between Malik and Moloch, including a supposed relation to the Ammonite chief god Milkom is unlikely.36 32

Koch, ‘Molek’, 29 suggests including Isa 30:33. Koch, ‘Molek’, 30. 34 F. Israel, Materiali per ‘Moloch’’, RSF 18 (1990) 151–155; Müller, ‘Malik’, 1007–1009; Müller, ‘Genesis 22’, 237–246. 35 Koch, ‘Molek’, 32. 36 S. Pardee, ‘G.C. Heider, The cult of Molek. A Reassessment’, JNES 49 (1990) 320–372. 33

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It means that we must look again at the character of the mlksacrifice, which plays a prominent role in Old Testament polemics from the time of the later monarchy through exilic and post-exilic times, without the burden of a presupposed ancient Near Eastern deity, Malik. For Müller, the Masoretic l emòlek (Var. lammòlek, hammòlek), derives from l emôlèk > la-mawlik, and is a causative nominal formation from the root jlk > wlk “to go” or in the causative “to present, to offer”. Therefore the noun with the prepositional l e-essentiae37 means “as a presentation, as an offering”.38 The terminus means a special way of offering. The “end of the god Moloch”, announced by Eissfeldt in 1935, has indeed come. This meaning, as suggested by Eissfeldt and Müller, can be related to Phoenician and Punic inscriptions.39 The link between the Hebrew and the Phoenician can be found in the inscription of Nebi Jùnis, where a Molk-offering (nßb mlk) is commemorated.40 The Hebrew Ëlm(l) came about through a Massoretic distortion by a bo“èt-Vocalisation Mòlek, rendered by the LXX as Molox in 2 Ki 23:10 and Jer 39:35 (= MT 32:35) and the Vg as Moloch. From there it led a separate existence as a Canaanite god, Moloch.41 It offered the possibility of ascribing all the mlk-offerings as sacrifices

37

The same use in Gen 22:2; Lev 15:18. l e here does not mean ‘for mlk’, but

‘as’. 38

Müller, ˚lm, 965–967; Müller, ‘Malik’, 1006. For a short survey of the terminology, see H.P. Roschinski, ‘Punische Inschriftehn zum MLK-Opfer und seinem Ersatz’, TUAT II/4, 606–620. 40 RES 376 I,1; B. Delavault, A. Lemaire, ‘Une stèle »molk« de Palestine, dédiée à Eshmoun? RES 367 reconsidéré’, RB 83–84 (1976) 569–583; TUAT II/4, 597f. 41 O. Eissfeldt, ‘Molk als Opferbegriff im Punischen und Hebräischen und das Ende des Gottes Moloch’ (Beiträge zur Religionsgeschichte des Altertums 3), Halle a.d.S. 1935; H.-P. Müller, ˚lm, TWAT IV, 1984, 957–968; H.-P. Müller, ‘Malik’, DDD, Leiden/New York /Cologne 1995, 1005–1012; H.-P. Müller, ‘Genesis 22 und das mlk-Opfer’, BZ 41 (1997 ) 237–246; K. Koch, ‘Molek astral’, in: A. Lange, H. Lichtenberger, D. Römheld (Hrsg.), Mythos im Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt. Festschrift für Hans-Peter Müller zum 65. Geburtstag, Berlin/New York 1999, 29–50. The contrary position, Moloch as a deity and related to Malik, is defended by G.C. Heider, The Cult of Molek: A Reassessment ( JSOTS 43), Sheffield 1985; J. Day, Molech. A God of Human Sacrifice in the Old Testament, University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 41, Cambridge 1989; G.C. Heider, ‘Molech’, DDD, Leiden/New York/Cologne 1995, 1090–1097. With a non-sacrificial interpretation: M. Weinfeld, ‘The Worship of Moloch and the Queen of Heaven and Its Background’, UF 4 (1972) 133–154; M. Weinfeld, ‘Burning Babies in Ancient Israel. A Rejoinder to Morton Smith’s Article in JAOS 95 (1975) 477–479’, UF 10 (1978) 411–413; D. Platorati, ‘Zum Gebrauch des Wortes mlk im Alten Testament, VT 28 (1978), 286–300. 39

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to a foreign god and bringing in a clean YHWH-religion. But even though the god Moloch has disappeared, the question of child sacrifice has not been answered. Weinfeld has argued, “that is it is just as hard to prove the existence of child sacrifices in the ancient world as it is to disprove it”. His thesis, that the mlk-sacrifice had to do with initiation and dedication to foreign cult rather than with slaying and burning babies”, was deduced from idiom. The terminology of the mlk-offering is connected to ˆtn and rb[ Hif., not to the normal terminology of offering as tbz, fjv, brq Hif. or πrc.42 This is an important point, but his interpretation of dedication—not sacrifice—is based on the Book of Jubilees, the Septuagint and later Rabbinic sources. He does not have direct proof from the Old Testament. The most incriminating expression from the Old Testament, “to pass his sons and daughters through the fire” (˚lml vab ryb[h), can be innocently explained in the eyes of Weinfeld and others, as a possible initiation executed by means of passing between torches, as the custom is known in the pagan world. But this does not really fit into the Old Testament context. For that reason, admits Weinfeld, Ezekiel, Deutero-Isaiah and Dtr-Jeremiah may have had “sporadic child sacrifices” in mind. A final apologetic solution is to understand the Punic child-offering not as a real sacrifice but as the burning of corpses of the children who had died earlier, these corpses having been buried together with foetuses and sacrificed sheep-goats. Following this opinion, the mlk-sacrifice is “die Bitte des Opfernden an die zuständige Gottheit, das verstorbene Kind in die göttliche Sphäre aufzunehmen”.43 There are two reasons for refuting this opinion: Firstly, no proof exists that children who had died young played an exceptional role in the “normal” cult and in the rites concerning death and life; Secondly, the number of cemeteries in the Punic settlements containing buried children aged 1–4 far surpasses the number normally expected in the case of natural deaths. The most plausible explanation is that the Punic cemeteries do indeed demonstrate child-sacrifice. If we have proof of child-sacrifice in the “Umwelt”, what is the picture within Israel?

42

Weinfeld, ‘Burning Babies’, 411f. Recently: D. Volgger, ‘Es geht um das Ganze—Gott prüft Abraham’ (Gen 22,1–19), BZ 45 (2001) 1–19 (13). 43

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The harsh polemics in Jeremiah argue that YHWH had to destroy Jerusalem because of the mlk-sacrifices. This polemic cannot be explained only by dedication to or acceptance of foreign cults. The prophets’ judgment and Josiah’s reform measures all talk of extraordinary things, not “only” the normal Deuteronomistic opposition to foreign cults and foreign gods. The mlk-sacrifice was a rite in which children were indeed sacrificed and burned,44 a practice probably known and partly tolerated by the prophets of the 8th century (Isa 30:33; Mi 6:7). If there was child-sacrifice similar to the Punic customs, it must have been practised on a regular basis primarily during the 8th and 7th centuries. If child sacrifice was practised only in an exceptional case of emergency, as suggested by the fact that kings are accused of having their sons and daughters vab ryb[h ˚lml, it would have happened on an irregular chronological basis. The character of the polemics in the Hebrew Bible suggests a mixture of both possibilities. For Moab, we have proof in 2 Ki 3:27 where the king of Moab sacrifices the crown prince on the wall of the besieged city. V.27a states the result: “there was great anger (πxq) upon Israel, so they decamped from (the siege) against him and returned to the homeland”. Some have attempted to understand the πxq as disgust on the part of the Israelites upon viewing the childsacrifice. Such a reaction does not fit into the narrative. The πxq is the anger of Kamos, the god of the Moabites, towards the Israelites as result of the child offering of the crown prince. That is why the Israelites have to give up the siege of the city. In the eyes of the biblical author, child-sacrifice “worked”. Other examples, often used in the debate, must be dismissed. For example, such is the case with the daughter of Jephta, sacrificed as a whole-offering after her father’s vow ( Judg 11:31). She is not the victim of a specific, “normal” ritual, but of an extra-ordinary situation following Jephta’s vow. Another example is the case involving the sons of Hiel in 1 Ki 16:34, who were probably killed after an accident during the rebuilding of Jericho, and not during the ritual of a building sacrifice. It is also the case with the prisoners taken during a YHWH-war. They are killed, not sacrificed, as a result of the ˙èrem. Last but not least, the supposed connection with the sacrifice of the firstborn must be refuted. In the texts which offer a real 44

Koch, ‘Molek’, 36ff. surveys the context of the mlk-sacrifice and describes the child sacrifice as a rite to astral gods in which the rua˙ is sent back to the deity (44).

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background for child sacrifice, the terminology used, “having passed sons and daughters through the fire” has nothing to do with the first-born offering. On the contrary, with the exception of Ex 22:29, all texts of the first-born offering are connected with substitution. If we conclude that in the 8th and 7th centuries child sacrifice took place, especially in Jerusalem, the next problem of a potential relation with Gen 22 must be raised. Before this question can be answered we must start with the question of dating Gen 22. 4. The Date of the Narrative During the time that source-criticism was the dominant method in exegesis, the narrative date was fixed as following the source date. Gen 22 was ascribed to the Elohist and therefore dated to the 9th or 8th century. In the renewed debate, reflecting the tendency to late, post-exilic dating, however, the following arguments are used: – In Gen 22:1–14 not only is the name of Elohim used (22:1.3.8.9.12) but also the name of JHWH (11.14a). There is no explanation for such a mixture, if one hand was at work here. At the other side, to use the different divine names for a literary-critical division makes no sense, either. If the change of names can not be explained by different authors, the solution must be that only in post-exilic times and writings, the names of God are used promiscuously.45 This, however, is not a compelling conclusion. It could be a matter of stressing the YHWH-name at the theologically decisive point. Apart from the force of the well-known expression hwhyA˚alm, the name YHWH appears in Gen 22:11.14, where the act of sacrificing is stopped. Here the real face of God becomes visible, as demonstrated by the narrator using the Tetragrammaton.46 The difference between the divine names does not force us to a dating in the post-exilic era. – The story has an extremely high level of reflection and is an enigmatic work of art. No exegete forgets to mention this aspect.47 Is 45 For this and the following points advocating a post-exilic date, see Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham’, 149. 46 See E. Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte (WMANT 57), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1984, 323, 328ff. referring to Knobel 1852; Volgger, ‘Das Ganze’, 10–13. 47 The classical analysis comes from E. Auerbach, Mimesis, Tübingen/Basel 19949,

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such a narrative masterpiece possible within the literary horizon of the 8th or 7th century? Denying the question puts forward a post-exilic date. On the other hand, there is no proof that the post-exilic era had a higher level of narrative art than did the last centuries before the exile. The language and content of the prophets of the 8th century, Isaiah, Hosea and Micah, all reflect a high standard of reflection and a linguistic skill which contradicts such an evolutionary scheme. The older narrative masterpieces in the books of Samuel and Kings point in the same direction. – In the exposition of 22:2–3, a relation with the Yahwistic Gen 12:1–4a must be presupposed. Conversely, Gen 22 seems to presuppose Gen 15:4–5, the problem of the heir. ÚlAËl of Gen 22:2 indeed demonstrates an intimate relation with Gen 12:1. But this supposed dependency is not really a problem at all. Gen 22:2 links the narrative to the beginning of the Abraham Cycle. This compositional marker does not exclude the texts being from the same period or even from the same hand. The relation with Gen 15: 4–5 is too general—using the same motif of the search for and the survival of the real heir—for Gen 22 to be dependent on Gen 15. – An important role is played by the central verb from V.1 hsn Pi‘el “to test”. It has been argued that there are only two parallels from a late period with YHWH/Elohim as subject and an individual as object. The first one is 2 Chron 32:31 where Hezekiah is said to be tested by God “to discover all that was in his heart”, which in turn is a quotation from Deut 8:2. The Chronicler here interprets a passage from 2 Ki 20:12–19, where the Babylonian envoys come to visit Hezekiah testing Hezekiah for faith and trust.48 And of course, in the eyes of the Chronicler, Hezekiah passes the test. The second one is Ps 26:2, where the prayer asks YHWH to test him, because he knows that he lives in YHWH’s truth. In the case of the Chronicler it is clear that we are dealing with a late, post-exilic development; in the case of Ps 26, it may be likely 5–27. Cf. R. Lack, ‘Le sacrifice d’Isaac—Analyse structurale de la couche élohiste dans Gn 22’, Bib 56 (1975) 1–12; Y. Mazor, ‘Genesis 22: The Ideological Rhetoric and the Psychological Composition, Bib 67 (1986) 81–88; Volgger, ‘Das Ganze’, 6ff. 48 S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles (OTL), London 1993, 996 with a careful, somewhat hesitant positive answer about Hezekiah’s passing the test in the eyes of the Chronicler.

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that we are confronted with a late text. The same has been said49 of Deut 33:8ff.,50 where the tribe of Levi is put to the test. But the Levites of Deut 33:8 have functions that differ from the later image of temple-serving Levites. Here in Deut 33:8 their first function is to use the divine oracle Urim and Tummim. The second function is to give tora (V.9f.), and the third and final function is “offering on thy altar” (V.10). Compared to the later concepts, in which the offering is part of the priest’s central task and where the Levites are downgraded to helpers in the temple service, Deut 33:8ff. represents an earlier stage. Moreover, if we leave the level of the individual and the specific tribe, many texts describe the divine “testing” of Israel during the time of the wilderness and the settlement (Ex 15:25; 16:4; Deut 8:2.16; 13:4; Judg 2:22; 3:1.4). The “testing” of Israel may be an older item than the “testing” of an individual, but the theme of hsn Pi‘el as a whole cannot be restricted to the post-exilic period. – The testing of Abraham results in the statement by YHWH’s messenger: “Now I know you are a God-fearing man” (μyhla ary V.12). For Veijola, this shows that a central notion of Deuteronomistic theology is present here. He finds the same terminology of the God-fearing man in Wisdom, especially in the Job-Prologue ( Job 1:8; 2:3) ‘Ein Mann, dessen Gottesfurcht auf die Probe gestellt wird’.51 Therefore the theme of God-fearing must be post-exilic. Seebass argues more sensitively.52 He denies a general use of ‘Godfear’ in Wisdom and in the Deuteronomistic History fitting to Abraham in Gen 22. Gen 22:14 uses the Fear of God in a particular way. Perhaps Ex 1:17 is comparable. ‘But they (the Hebrew midwives) were God-fearing women. They did not do what the King of Egypt had told them to do, but let the boys live’. Here the ‘fear of God’ means taking a deadly risk,53 as Abraham did on behalf of God. – The role of the hwhy ˚alm in V.12 is not to visit men on earth as a messenger, which is his normal task, but the call from heaven 49

Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham’, 151. E. Noort, ‘Eine weitere Kurzbemerkung zu 1 Samuel XIV 41’, VT 21 (1971) 112–116. 51 Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham’, 152. 52 Seebass, Genesis, 210. 53 Seebass, Genesis, 210. 50

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represents a later stage in the development of the heavenly beings. To make his point, Veijola has to explain away Gen 21:17a, where an angel from heaven rescues Ishmael at the last minute, a perfect parallel to Gen 22:12. For Veijola, Gen 21:17 is secondary and may be from the same hand as the author of Gen 22:12.54 In that case, however, it is not logical why the narrator uses μyhla ˚alm (21:17) at one moment and hwhy ˚alm (21:12) at another, for the explanation that the saving, rescuing god is named YHWH, would fit in Gen 21:17, too. – For Veijola, the place of the sacrifice—the land/mountain of Moriah, referring to Jerusalem in relation to 2 Chron 3:1—gives further proof of the post-exilic dating of Gen 22. He notices that in the other stories of the patriarchs, an offering can be made at any place the patriarch is situated, with one exception: Gen 22. The formula with which Abraham is sent away ‘on one of the mountains, which I will show you’ seems to Veijola to be derived from the Deuteronomistic formula of centralization: ‘the place, which YHWH, your God, will choose out . . . to receive his name that it may dwell there’ (Deut 12:5).55 This means that the narrator already has Jerusalem in mind and the way in which μwqmh is stressed, the name-giving of the offering as a hl[—a hapax in the patriarchal stories- and the three-days’ scheme of the travel all refer to Jerusalem. This is understood by the Chronicler, who in 2 Chron 3:1 identifies the Mount of Moriah as the mountain of the temple in Jerusalem. In Veijola’s view the Chronicler does not solve an earlier riddle by identifying Moriah with Jerusalem, but rather he believes that it was already the intention of the narrator himself to refer to Jerusalem. The relation between Moriah/ Jerusalem and the formula of centralization leads Veijola to the conclusion that a post-exilic date is necessary. The formula of centralization however, is Deuteronomic, not deuteronomistic. This means that a pre-exilic date is possible, too. The same can be said of the hidden reference to Jerusalem. If Mittmann is right with his detailed exegesis of Moriah56 and its connection with

54 55 56

Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham’, 152, n. 131. Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham’, 153. Mittmann, ‘ha-Morijja’, 78ff.

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Jerusalem and the royal ideology,57 motifs come in which definitely belong to the pre-exilic period. – A final argument used in the debate about dating is the history of reception of the patriarchs, especially the figure of Abraham.58 Outside the book of Genesis, Abraham is only mentioned in late passages of the Pentateuch. In the Deuteronomistic History, he plays a minimal role in Jos 24:2.3; 1 Ki 18:36; 2 Ki 13:23. The Chronicler, however, assigns Abraham an important role as the symbol of promise. In prophecy, Veijola finds Abraham only in exilic and post-exilic texts as a guarantee of future,59 once in the psalms in a YHWHA˚lm song (Ps 47:10) and three times in the late post-exilic Ps 105. With this survey it is not surprising that Veijola finds his author in the neighbourhood of the Chronicler in the 5th century.60 But we may ask whether an argument e silentio, in this case the supposed absence of Abraham in pre-exilic texts, can be used to prove the post-exilic date for a text. The patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob can be found all over the prophets from pre-exilic to post-exilic times. It is true indeed that Abraham has a prominent role in the (post)-exilic prophets, e.g. Isa 41:8f.; 51:2; Ezek 33:24; Isa 63:16.61 Nevertheless, the statistical frequency of his appearance is not the important point here. Important is the role which the patriarchs play in the prophetic statements, 57 Mittmann, ‘ha-Morijja’, 84 ‘der Schlußsatz der Engelrede besagt dann in letzter Konsequenz . . .: Abrahams Sohn ist zum Sohne Gottes geworden. Das zielt proleptisch auf das Herzstück der Jerusalemer Königstheologie’. Cf ‘Entscheidend ist noch nicht, dass hier ein Opfer unüberbietbarer Hingabe dargebracht wird, sondern dass Abrahams Sohn bzw. der Davidide hingegeben und zu Jahwes Eigentum, zu Gottes Sohn wird. Das Opfer Abrahams begründet also die Gottessohnschaft der künftigen Könige auf dem Throne Davids . . .’ (89); ‘Abraham gehorcht ‘der Stimme Gottes’ und ermöglicht Gott, indem er ihm den Sohn nicht vorenthält, die Realisierung der Sohneserwählung. Das stellt Davids frommes Verdienst als solches in Frage und nimmt ihm alle Bedeutung. Was sich bei David und den Davididen, Salomo voran, vollzieht ist in Abrahm und Isaak längst präfiguriert. . . . Versagt die Davidsdynastie, kann sie ersetzt werden, ohne daß das Zionskönigtum in seinem Bestand davon berührt wird, ersetzt durch einen David redivivus aus dem Samen Abrahams . . .’ (88). 58 Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham, 155. 59 Against this general statement, W.A.M. Beuken, ‘Abraham weet van ons niet’: Jesaja 63:16. De grond van Israëls vertrouwen tijdens de ballingschap, Nijkerk 1986. 60 Veijola, ‘Opfer des Abraham’, 155. 61 Chr. Jeremias, ‘Die Erzväter in der Verkündigung der Propheten’, in: H. Donner, R. Hanhart, R. Smend (Hrsg.), Beiträge zur Alttestamentlichen Theologie. Festschrift für Walther Zimmerli zum 70. Geburtstag, Göttingen 1977, 206–222.

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that is, how the figure is used. Hosea, the northern prophet, uses Jacob, because he needs a negative example to show the corruption of Israel (Hos 12). For the prophets of judgment, Jacob could be used, while Abraham—the figure of hope and future—could not. Israel in (post) exilic times, with the hope for a new beginning, recognises itself in the figure of Abraham. This is why we find the Abraham traditions in the (post) exilic prophets. But this does not say anything about the original date of the stories. There is no real proof that the story of the sacrifice of Abraham must be dated in the post-exilic period. What are our alternatives? – The story about Abraham and his child of promise, who at the last moment is not sacrificed, is a tale about a deadly threat and the rescue from it. It is the deeply reflective story of a God who threatens to draw back everything he has promised, who threatens to destroy the future. Isaac is not only the son, he is also the embodied promise. All the stories of the Abraham cycle deal with the problems of future and progeny. At this zero hour, every future seems to be stopped suddenly. It is a story showing the dark face of God. At the same time, it is the tale of Abraham, who starts his travel to a land of no return. But this land proves to be a mountain where he not only gets his son back, but the land also proves to be a μwqm which he gives a name, demonstrating the beneficial act of YHWH. In which situation does such a story fit? From the time of Hosea, the prophetic struggle for the future of Israel becomes visible. Is YHWH a God who destroys or is he not? How can the sweeping raids of the Assyrians be interpreted? After the end of the northern kingdom in 722/21, the prophetic concern grows stronger. Is there a future for Judah, will Judah escape a death decided by YHWH? Will the μwqm chosen by YHWH and already named by Abraham survive? The question behind the Abraham-Isaac story is not the problems of rebuilding society in the Persian period. It is the problem of survival encircling the already lost part of Israel and the still existing ‘real heir’ of Judah and its μwqm. It is the problem of a century in which everything is at stake: the land, the people, the temple, in short: the future. A date in the late 8th or 7th century would fit. – In that same period, we find the prophets’ opposition to child sacrifice in Jerusalem. Does the narrative have a voice here? Yes and no. The narrative is not a manifestation of opposition against

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child sacrifice itself. It is not a story telling that YHWH is a God who does not want children to be sacrificed. The story reflects a stage in which the possibility that child sacrifice belongs to the YHWH cult is present. It uses a well known theme and practice to tell about experiences in which YHWH, this God of life, of promise, of future, changes sides, and shows the dark face of death and destruction, apparently recanting his promises. In this story, Israel reflects its situation in which ‘YHWH of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge” (Ps 46:7) is not valid any longer. In this situation, the verb hsn in v. 1 offers the key of the narrative and mirrors the ambivalent situation. The reader knows what Abraham does not: sacrificing his son is a test of God. Abraham’s acceptance and the ‘Do not lay your hand on the boy” of v. 12 confirm that even in this hour, Abraham and Judah do not fall into hands other than the hands of the God who gives life and future. What Gen 22 says here is the same as what Hosea said earlier and in a different context: “How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, o Israel? . . . My heart recoils with me, my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my fierce anger, I will not turn round and destroy Ephraim, for I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst. . . .” (Hos 11:8f.).

SACRIFICING A CHILD IN ANCIENT GREECE: THE CASE OF IPHIGENEIA Jan N. Bremmer The story of Abraham and Isaac is not often mentioned in pagan literature. In fact, it is hardly by chance that one of our two references is from the Emperor Julian, a former Christian as his nickname ‘the Apostate’ all too clearly shows. However, in his Contra Galileos (fr. 83 Masaracchia) Julian uses the story only in a discussion of sacrificial fire, but does not focus on its element of human sacrifice. Evidently, he could not have done so, since human sacrifice is such a striking part of Greek mythology that it would have made him an easy target for Christian apologists. From the many Greek examples, which have often been investigated,1 I have chosen one, in which a father also has to sacrifice a child: the myth of Iphigeneia.2 The myth was famous well into Roman times, especially through Euripides’ tragedies Iphigeneia in Aulis (IA) and Iphigeneia in Tauris (IT ), but we will limit ourselves to the earlier versions. Our oldest extant version of the myth comes from the Cypria, one of the poems of the so-called Epic Cycle, which was composed by,

1 On human sacrifice in ancient Greece see especially the more recent studies by A. Henrichs, ‘Human Sacrifice in Greek Religion: Three Case Studies’, in Le sacrifice dans l’antiquité = Entretiens Hardt 27 (Vandoeuvres-Geneva, 1981) 195–242 (discussion included); D. Hughes, Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece (London, 1991); P. Bonnechere, Le sacrifice humain en Grèce ancienne (Athens and Liège, 1994); S. Georgoudi, ‘À propos du sacrifice humain en Grèce ancienne: remarques critiques’, Arch. f. Religionsgeschichte 1 (1999) 61–82. 2 In addition to the studies mentioned in note 1, see for Iphigeneia most recently K. Dowden, Death and the Maiden (London and New York, 1989) 9–47; E. Kearns, The Heroes of Attica (London, 1989) 27–33, 78–8, 174; LIMC V.1 (Zurich and Munich, 1990) s.v. Iphigeneia (L. Kahil); D. Buitron-Oliver, ‘Stories from the Trojan cycle in the work of Douris’, in J.B. Carter and S.P. Morris (eds.), The Ages of Homer: a tribute to Emily Townsend Vermeule (Austin, 1995) 437–47; V. Gaggadi-Robin, ‘Iphigénie à Marseille’, Monuments Piot 75 (1996) 1–19; W. Schindler, ‘Griechisches und Römisches der Iphigeniensage auf dem Bronzekrater in Varna’, in E.G. Schmidt et al. (eds.), Griechenland und Rom (Tbilissi, Erlangen and Jena, 1996) 297–305; D. Lyons, Gender and Immortality (Princeton, 1997) 51–8; S.I. Johnston, ‘Iphigeneia’, in Der neue Pauly V (Stuttgart and Weimar, 1998) 1096–8; M. Giuman, La dea, la vergine, il sangue: archeologia di un culto femminile (Milano, 1999).

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according to tradition, Stasinos in Cyprus around 650 BC.3 It is a relatively late poem, which already presupposes the Iliad and clearly leads up to it.4 In a summary of this poem about the Trojan War by the philosopher Proclus at the end of Antiquity, when he still had the (an?) original text in front of him,5 we read the following episode: After the (Greek) fleet had assembled at Aulis for the second time, Agamemnon went hunting. When he shot a deer, he said that he had surpassed even Artemis. The goddess was angered and she penned-up the fleet with storms. When (the seer) Calchas declared the wrath of the goddess and ordered to sacrifice Iphigeneia to Artemis, the Greeks summoned her on the pretext of a marriage with Achilles and attempted to sacrifice her. But Artemis snatched her away, transported her to the Taurians and made her immortal; in stead of the maiden she substituted a deer at the altar.6

A slightly more detailed version we find in the mythological handbook of Apollodorus at the beginning of the Christian era. Unlike Proclus, Apollodorus did not consult the original texts but made use of excerpts, summaries or commentaries that were continuously contaminated.7 Unfortunately, his original book with the myth of Iphigeneia got lost, but in 1891 two epitomes were published, from which I give the most detailed version (from the fragmenta Sabbaitica: S): (But when they had put to sea from Argos and arrived for the second time at Aulis,) the fleet was wind-bound. Calchas said that they could not sail unless the fairest of Agamemnon’s daughters were presented as a sacrifice to Artemis. As he said, the goddess was angry with Agamemnon, because, according to some, during a hunt at Icaria he had said when shooting a deer, that not even Artemis could have saved her, even if she had wanted to, but according to others, because Atreus had not sacrificed to her the golden lamb. On receipt of this

3 W. Burkert, The Orientalizing Revolution (Cambridge MA and London, 1992) 103–4. 4 See most recently K. Dowden, ‘Homer’s Sense of Text’, JHS 116 (1996) 47–61 at 48. 5 There was clearly more than one version of the Cypria in circulation, cf. J.S. Burgess, ‘The Non-Homeric Cypria’, Tr. Am. Philol. Ass. 126 (1996) 77–99; M. Finkelberg, ‘The Cypria, the Iliad, and the Problem of Multiformity in Oral and Written Tradition’, Class. Philol. 95 (2000) 1–11. 6 For the text see M. Davies, Epicorum Graecorum Fragmenta (Göttingen, 1988) 32; A. Bernabé, Poetae epici Graeci I (Stuttgart and Leipzig, 19962) 41. 7 This is now fully illustrated by M. Huys, ‘125 Years of Scholarship on Apollodorus the Mythographer: A Bibliographical Survey’, AC 66 (1997) 319–51.

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oracle, Agamemnon sent Ulysses and Talthybius to Clytaemnestra and asked for Iphigeneia, alleging a promise of his to give her to Achilles to wife in reward for his military service. So Clytaemnestra sent her, and Agamemnon set her beside the altar, and was about to slaughter her, when Artemis carried her off to the Taurians and appointed her to be her priestess, substituting a deer for her at the altar; but some say that she made her immortal.8

As the text itself already makes clear by mentioning ‘some’ and ‘others’, Apollodorus presents us here with a composite picture from various sources. He has clearly used the Cypria, if at some remove, but also Euripides’ Iphigeneia in Aulis, probably also at some remove or, possibly, via a collection of prose summaries, the so-called hypotheseis, of Euripides.9 In my analysis I will concentrate on the versions of these two summaries, but in order to bring out similarities and differences I will also draw a few comparisons with the sacrifice of Isaac (Genesis 22). In its final redaction this story would be only slightly younger, if it indeed dates from the Persian period, but its precise moment of origin is still debated.10 Finally, before we proceed with the actual analysis, it is good to realise that the term ‘human sacrifice’ is often used in a rather loose way. Ritual executions, sacrifices before battle, and scapegoats are frequently lumped together as ‘human sacrifice’.11 From a strictly methodological point of view such confusion is hardly helpful, and I will stick to those cases in which the sacrificial element is clear in the tradition, be it literal or metaphorical.

8 Apollod. Epitome 3.16, according to the most recent edition: Apollodoro, I miti Greci, ed. P. Scarpi and tr. M.G. Ciani (Milano, 1996). I have adapted J.G. Frazer’s translation, whose own Loeb text is a conflated version of the two epitomes. 9 M. van Rossum-Steenbeek, Greek Readers’ Digests? (Leiden, 1997) 26f. 10 C. Westermann, Genesis II (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1981) 429–51 at 435 (‘spätere Königszeit’); Th. Römer, ‘Le sacrifice humain en Juda et Israël’, Arch. f. Religionsgeschichte 1 (1999) 17–26 at 24–25 (‘époque perse’); Noort, this volume, 14–20. 11 For scapegoats see most recently R. Parker, Miasma (Oxford, 1983) 258–80; Hughes, Human Sacrifice, 139–65, 241–48; Bonnechere, Le sacrifice humain, 118–21, 293– 308; D. Ogden, The Crooked Kings of Ancient Greece (London, 1997) passim; Georgoudi, ‘À propos du sacrifice humain’; J.N. Bremmer, ‘Scapegoat rituals in ancient Greece’, in R. Buxton (ed.), Oxford Readings in Greek Religion (Oxford, 2000) 271–93.

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j.n. bremmer 1. Before the Kill

Let us start with the name of the protagonist of the myth. In the Iliad (IX.145) Agamemnon himself tells us that at home he has three daughters: Chrysothemis, Laodice and Iphianassa. Iphigeneia’s name is sufficiently close to Iphianassa to wonder whether Homer knew of her sacrifice, but his text does not suggest so.12 The Cypria (F 17 Davies = F 23 Bernabé) may have mentioned four daughters, but names only Iphigeneia and Iphianassa, and the text of the passage is clearly problematic. Pseudo-Hesiod’s Catalogue (F 23a, 16–7), which dates from about 580 BC,13 mentions only two daughters, Electra and Iphimede, although the latter is clearly identical with Cypria’s Iphigeneia, as she suffers exactly the same fate.14 Sophocles (Electra 157) mentions Chrysothemis, Electra and Iphianassa,15 and the older Euripides only Iphigeneia and Electra (Electra 15; IT 374, 562). The conclusion seems clear. Early tradition did not possess a tradition of a fixed number of Agamemnon’s daughters neither did it have a fixed name for the unhappy victim at Aulis. This variability fits a general tendency of Greek mythology to vary names of females, as, for example, can be well observed in the case of Oedipus’ mother who is attested in no less than four variants.16 Although Lucretius (1.85) still uses Iphianassa in a famous passage,17 and a late antique lexicon attributes her name to the post-Homeric poets, the neôteroi

12 Contra W. Kullmann, Die Quellen der Ilias (Wiesbaden, 1960) 198–9, who compares I.70–2, 106–8, 320ff. and IX.144–8; J. Latacz (ed.), Homers Ilias Gesamtkommentar I.2 (Munich and Leipzig, 2000) 66 (leaves the question open). 13 For the date see most recently J.N. Bremmer, ‘Myth as Propaganda: Athens and Sparta’, Zs. für Papyrologie und Epigraphik (= ZPE ) 117 (1997) 9–17 at 11; R.L. Fowler, ‘Genealogical Thinking, Hesiod's Catalogue, and the Creation of the Hellenes’, Proc. Cambridge Philol. Soc. 44 (1998) 1–19 at 1 note 4. The discussion of Iphigeneia by Lyons, Gender and Immortality, is marred by the idea that the Catalogue was by Hesiod himself. 14 For the connection between the name Iphimede and Linear-B I-pi-me-de-ja see G. Neumann, Ausgewählte kleine Schriften (Innsbruck, 1994) 595–601 (with an improbable explanation); M. Rocchi, ‘Osservazioni a proposito di I-pe-me-de-ja’, in E. de Miro et al. (eds.), Atti e memorie del secondo Congresso internazionale di micenologia, 3 vols (Rome, 1996) II.861–7. 15 Jouan, Euripide, 265 note 2 wrongly suggests that he follows the Cypria. 16 Lyons, Gender and Immortality, 51–8; add Bremmer (ed.), Interpretations of Greek Mythology (London, 19912) 45 (Oedipus’ mother). 17 For his treatment of the Iphigeneia myth see most recently E. Otón Sobrino, ‘El culto impetratorio en Lucrecio’, Helmantica 44 (1993) 193–8; A. Perutelli, ‘Ifigenia in Lucrezio’, St. Class. Or. 46 (1996) 193–207.

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(Hesychius, s.v. Iphianassan), the name Iphigeneia becomes generally accepted after Euripides. In the second century AD, Pausanias (1.43.1) even wrongly ascribes her name to the Catalogue (F 23b). Having looked at the name of Iphigeneia, let us now move on to the plot of the myth. The Cypria starts its version with the report that the Greeks assembled for the second time in Aulis, an important harbour on the route to the North.18 This is an innovation compared with Homer, who only knows one meeting (Iliad II.305ff.). The Greeks arrived in Aulis after an expedition to Mysia, where Achilles encountered Telephos, a well-known episode in Greek mythology.19 Apparently, the author of the Cypria ‘recycled’ known episodes, which he also used to build up the suspense before the definitive expedition of the Greeks against Troy by retarding the final action. In Aulis, the author of the Cypria created a dramatic situation by penning up the Greek fleet through storms.20 The reason for the hold up was a display of hybris by Agamemnon during a hunt. Apollodorus’ version even states the precise hunting-ground, viz. the Attic deme of Ikarion in the middle of Attica—a detail probably furnished by an Attic author, since the area is not immediately adjacent to Aulis. Here the king hit a deer, the animal dear to the goddess Artemis, as many vases illustrate;21 in Elis she was even worshipped with the epithet Elaphiaia (Pausanias 6.22.10–11). The goddess’ close association with deer is stressed by Sophocles in his Electra (566–9), where Electra declares that her father hit a deer in a sacred grove of the goddess, thus making his offence even more dramatic.22 Proud of his skill, Agamemnon boasted that not even the goddess

18 A. Sampson, ‘Aulis mycénienne et la route maritime de l’Egée du Nord’, in Ph. Betancourt et al. (eds), Meletemata, 3 vols (Liège and Austin, 1999) III, 741–7. Aulis’ situation opposite the island of Euboea may explain the composition of a lost poem on Iphigeneia by the Euboean epic poet Simonides (Suda, s.v. Simônidês). Its position in Boeotia will explain the occurrence of the myth in the Boiotika of Menyllos (FGrH 295 F 1). 19 See most recently LIMC VII.1 (Zurich and Munich, 1994) s.v. Telephos (by H. Heres and M. Strauss). 20 Cf. Aeschylus, Ag. 188, 198–9, 1418; Vergil, Aen. 11.116; Ovid, Met. 12.24; Hyginus, Fab. 98; Pausanias 8.28.4. 21 LIMC II.1 (1984) s.v. Artemis, passim (L. Kahil); E. Yannouli and K. Trantalidou, ‘The fallow deer (Dama dama Linnaeus, 1758): Archaeological presence and representation in Greece’, in N. Benecke (ed.), The Holocene History of the European Vertebrate Fauna (Rahden, 1999) 247–81 (also on Artemis and deer). 22 The motif of the sacred grove returns in later authors, but should not be retrojected into the Cypria: contra Jouan, Euripide, 266.

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herself could have surpassed him,23 or, as in Apollodorus (S), that not even Artemis could have saved the doe, probably a variant connected with the location of the hunt in the sacred grove of the goddess.24 The comparison with the goddess’ skill in hunting may surprise at first sight, but Elaphebolos, ‘deer-shooting’, was an epithet of Artemis, which gave its name to both the festival Elaphebolia in Hyampolis and the Ionian month Elaphebolion in Athens and Iasos.25 Apollodorus’ other, probably later, variant, connected the wrath of the goddess with a ‘sin’ of Agamemnon’s father Atreus, who had once vowed to sacrifice the finest of his flocks to Artemis, but when a golden lamb was born, he choked it and kept it in a box. The motif of the golden lamb itself is old and already occurs in the sixthcentury epic Alcmaeonis (F 5 Davies = F. 6 Bernabé).26 However, in the oldest versions it is closely connected with the struggle for succession between Atreus and Thyestes and has nothing to do with Agamemnon. Apparently, it was the prominence of Artemis, which led some mythographers to connect this motif with Iphigeneia. The storms lasted for such a long time that the Greeks suffered hunger during their period of forced leisure; shortage of food was indeed a well-known threat to military expeditions grounded by lack of wind.27 It is not surprising, then, that they decided to consult Calchas, ‘by far the best of the bird seers’, as the Iliad (I.69) calls him.28 This development of the plot is also clearly modelled on the Iliad (II.299–332), where the same seer is consulted after Apollo had sent a plague to the Greek army. Calchas revealed the wrath of the goddess and told the Greeks that it could only be appeased by the sacrifice of the ‘fairest of Agamemnon’s daughters’. This connection between the wrath of a divinity and human sacrifice is traditional in Greek culture. It is only a double human sacrifice which can 23 Similarly, Sophocles, El. 569; Callimachus, Hymn to Artemis, 263; Hyginus, Fab. 98; scholion on Euripides, Or. 658; scholion on Lycophron 183. 24 Contra Frazer on Apollod. Ep. 3.22. The distinction between the two motifs is clearly not ‘bedeutungslos’, as claimed by U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Kleine Schriften VI (Berlin, 1972) 195. 25 Artemis Elaphebolos: Sappho 44A.9 Voigt; HHom. 27.2; Sophocles, Tr. 213; Plutarch, Mor. 966A; Bull. Corresp. Hell. 1883, 263 (Pamphylia); Arch. Deltion 2 (1916) 263–8 (Hyampolis); SEG 39.855 (Patmos), 43.399 (Thasos). Festival: Plutarch, Mor. 244E, 660D; IG IX.1, 90. 26 Pherecydes FGrH 3 F 133; Dionysius FGrH 15 F 7; Apollod. Ep. 2.10–11; T. Ganz, Early Greek Myth (Baltimore and London, 1993) 545–50. 27 Aeschylus, Ag. 188; Thucydides 6.22 (threat). 28 For Calchas see LIMC V.1 (1990) 931–5 (V. Saladino).

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appease the wrath of Artemis Triklaria in Patras (Pausanias 7.19.3); the two daughters of Orion commit suicide because of the wrath of two ‘infernal gods’ (Antoninus Liberalis 25); in Kalydon the wrath of Dionysos requires the sacrifice of the maiden Kallirhoe (Pausanias 7.21.1–5), and ‘old wraths’ of Ares eventually cause the death of Menoecus in Euripides’ Phoenissae (934). Evidently, the wrath of a divinity cannot be appeased by a normal animal sacrifice, and the stories thus also illustrate the perceived power of the Greek gods and goddesses.29 Our summary of the Cypria does not mention the detail of the ‘fairest daughter’. Apollodorus may have derived this qualification from Euripides’ Iphigeneia in Aulis (20–21), but it could also already have occurred in the old epic, since the request for the ‘fairest’ or the ‘most noble’ is a common motif in human sacrifice and scapegoats.30 The youths for Artemis Triklaria had to be ‘the most beautiful’ (Pausanias 7.19.4); towards the end of the first Messenian War the Delphic oracle ordered the Messenians to sacrifice a ‘pure girl’ and of royal blood (Pausanias 4.9.1); during a plague in Sparta an oracle asked for the annual sacrifice of a ‘noble maiden’ (Plutarch, Mor. 314 C), and the Persian youths alledgedly sacrificed by Themistocles were not only ‘very handsome’ but also members of the highest Persian circles (Plutarch, Themistocles 13.2, Aristides 9.1). Among the scapegoats, a youth who sacrificed himself in Athens is described by the aetiological myth as a ‘handsome lad’ (Neanthes FGrH 84 F 16), and Polykrite, the name of a girl who saved Naxos, means ‘she who has been chosen by many’.31 The idea probably derives from real sacrifice where the victim had to be unblemished,32 but it fits a literary text that the authors could vary the value of the victim and dramatize its position by making it the oldest or youngest daughter (son). We find this dramatization clearly in Genesis (22:2), where Abraham has to sacrifice his ‘only son Isaac, whom thou lovest’. The single elements of this combination recur in descriptions of the Phoenician author Philo of Byblos, who relates that during a plague Kronos offered his ‘only 29

See also Georgoudi, ‘À propos du sacrifice humain’, 70f. See also Georgoudi, ‘À propos du sacrifice humain’, 71–3. 31 For Polykrite see now J.L. Lightfoot, Parthenius of Nicaea (Oxford, 1999) 418–28, who overlooked Bremmer, ‘Scapegoats’. 32 Aristotle, fr. 101 Rose/Gigon; Plutarch, Mor. 437B; Lucian, Sacr. 12; Pausanias 10.35.4; Pollux 1.29; scholion on Demosthenes 21.171; Eusthatius 49.35. 30

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son’ to his father Ouranos. This sacrifice functioned as a kind of aetiological myth, since the Phoenician elite in times of crisis had to sacrifice ‘their most beloved child’ to the avenging demons or, in what is apparently a variant, to Kronos himself (FGrH 790 F3b). In this case, though, Greek influence cannot be excluded: therefore, using the Phoenician parallel in the analysis of Isaac’s sacrifice seems highly debatable.33 It is striking that in these cases the gods often ask for a youth, in particular a maiden.34 This is virtually the norm in those cases where a city was in great danger but saved by the, often voluntary, suicide or self-sacrifce of maidens. During a war of Thebes with Orchomenos two girls sacrificed themselves, as an oracle required, in order that Thebes should win the war (Paus. 9.17.1), whereas in Orchomenos the daughters of Orion sacrificed themselves in order to stop the plague.35 When Eumolpos threatened to conquer Athens, the daughters of Erechtheus were sacrificed, and Athens’ luck in a(n unspecified) war finally turned after Agraulos had voluntarily (§ 2) thrown herself from the wall; just as noble was the behaviour of the daughters of Leos when Athens was struck by a plague or a famine.36 We can easily mention other examples, and although the origin of each of these myths is not always traceable, it is clear that Euripides, especially, promulgated the pattern in his tragedies, moved, presumably, by the great danger of the Peloponnesian War to Athens.37 All the above examples are girls, but in a bold move, shortly before his death and the defeat of Athens, Euripides also introduced a male saviour of the polis. In his Phoenissae, Menoecus saved his city by

33

Contra H.-P. Müller, ‘Genesis 22 und das mlk-Opfer’, BZ 41 (1997) 237–46. Admittedly, Georgoudi, ‘À propos du sacrifice humain’, 73–4 points out that Clement of Alexandria (Protr. 3.42.6) and Porphyry (On Abstinence 2.54–55) often mention ‘a man’, but their catalogues do not seem to be interested in the precise circumstances of the sacrifices and may well generalise on this point. 35 Antoninus Liberalis 25; Ovid, Met. 13.685. 36 Daughters of Erechtheus: U. Kron, Die zehn attischen Phylenheroen (Berlin, 1976) 196–7; LIMC IV.1 (1988) s.v. Erechtheus, no. 64–68 (U. Kron); Kearns, Heroes of Attica, 201–2; C. Collard et al., Euripides. Selected Fragmentary Plays I (Warminster, 1995) 156–94. Agraulos: Philochoros FGrH 328 F 105; Kearns, Heroes of Attica, 139–40; H. Solin, Arctos 35 (1999) 190 (popularity of the name). Daughters of Leos: Kron, Phylenheroen, 195–8; Kearns, Heroes of Attica, 59–63. 37 See J. Schmitt, Freiwilliger Opfertod bei Euripides (Giessen, 1921); P. Roussel, ‘Le thème du sacrifice volontaire dans la tragédie d’Euripide’, Revue Belge Philol. Hist. 1922, 225–40; E.A.M.E. O’Connor-Visser, Aspects of Human Sacrifice in the Tragedies of Euripides (Amsterdam, 1987). 34

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committing suicide through cutting his throat and jumping down the city’s walls.38 Versnel has persuasively argued that in these cases the highest possession of the state was the spes patriae, but that does not explain the prominence of girls.39 Confronted with the inevitable choice, male-dominated Greek society seems to have opted for girls as the ‘softer’ version rather than sacrificing its male youths. Given the desperate situation, Agamemnon must have had little choice and he send out Ulysses and Talthybius to his wife Clytaemnestra in order to fetch Iphigeneia on the pretext of a marriage to Achilles.40 The first was a smooth talking ‘trouble-shooter’, who also had fetched Achilles when hiding at the island of Scyros,41 whereas the second was send out by Agamemnon to fetch Briseis for Achilles (Iliad I.320), which surely gave the author of the Cypria the idea to employ him here as well. Actually, in the Iliad (IX.141) Agamemnon also offers one of his daughters in marriage to Achilles, an offer which clearly served as the model for the sham marriage in the Cypria. The mention of marriage shows that at the moment of her sacrifice Iphigeneia was a girl at the brink of adulthood, a detail which will engage us later (§ 3). The place of Iphigeneia’s stay is not mentioned in our passages, but this will have been Agamemnon’s city of Mycenae, as is the case in Simonides (F 608 Page). 2. The Kill Our information about the sacrifice itself is only limited. According to Apollodorus, ‘Agamemnon set her beside the altar’. Considering the other examples, it is most likely that Iphigeneia went along of

38 This example proved to be very influential in Maccabean times, cf. J.W. van Henten, The Maccabean Martyrs as Saviours of the Jewish People (Leiden, 1997) 125–86. 39 H.S. Versnel, ‘Self-sacrifice, Compensation and the Anonymous Gods’, in Le sacrifice dans l’antiquité, 136–94 at 144–45, who appropriately compares the (legendary) Roman examples of Curtius (Liv. 7.6.2) and St. Caesarius (Acta Sanctorum, Nov. 1, 106–07). The explanation of Kearns, Heroes of Attica, 57 is not really very clear; those of Lyons, Gender and Immortality, and of J. Larson, Greek Heroine Cults (Madison and London, 1995) 104, unsatisfactory. 40 For these ambassadors see also Sophocles F 305 Radt (Odysseus) and TGF Adesp. F 663 (probably Talthybius). 41 Polygnotos apud Pausanias 1.22.6; Euripides, fr. 585–6; Bio 2; Suetonius, Tib. 70; Hyginus, Fab. 96; Pliny, NH 10.78; Statius, Ach. 1.207ff.; Apollod. 3.13.8; P. Berol. inv. 13930, re-edited by Van Rossum-Steenbeek, Greek Readers’ Digests?, 299; LIMC I.1 (1984) s.v. Achilleus, no. 94–185 (A. Kossatz-Deissmann); G. Alvino, ‘Il

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her own accord, as Euripides stresses (IA 1555). In fact, a victim’s voluntary participation was an important part of Greek sacrificial ideology, which stressed that the victim was pleased to go up to the altar, sometimes could even hardly wait to be sacrificed! This aspect of volition goes back to archaic hunting practices, where hunters pretended that the animal had voluntarily appeared in order to be killed. The importance of this theme in hunting cultures is illustrated by the fact that even in the twentieth century legends about victims appearing voluntarily have been recorded in those countries which still practised sacrifice in recent times: Finland and modern Greece.42 Admittedly, ideology and practice did not always coincide and Greek vase paintings, in addition to showing victims rushing to the altar, also show us ephebes struggling with the victim or the ropes tied to its head or legs for restraint.43 In the case of Isaac the text says nothing about his behaviour. Any detail would indeed have been against the style of the narrative, which leaves everything unsaid that is not absolutely essential.44 It is difficult to imagine, though, that the ancient reader would have represented Isaac as struggling with his father in order to escape his death. Who sacrificed Iphigeneia? It is nearly intolerable for us to read, but her father himself was going to kill her, as the older evidence unanimously reports;45 representations of the ‘Aqedah also depict mito di Achille a Sciro’, in Studi Miscellanei I.1 (Rome, 1996) 7–21; M. Silveira Cyrino, ‘Heroes in D(u)ress: Transvestism and Power in the Myths of Herakles and Achilles’, Arethusa 31 (1998) 207–41; K. Waldner, Geburt und Hochzeit des Kriegers (Berlin and New York, 2000) 94–101. 42 K. Meuli, Gesammelte Schriften, 2 vols (Basel, 1975) II.950, 982, 995f. Legends: F. Cumont, ‘L'archevêche de Prédachté et le sacrifice du faon’, Byzantion 6 (1931) 521–33 (note that P. Maraval, La passion inédite de S. Athénogène de Pédachthoé en Cappadoce (BHG 197b), Brussels, 1990, has now published an earlier version of Cumont’s main text); F. Oinas, Studies in Finnic-Slavic Folklore Relations (Helsinki, 1969) 193–201 (‘Legends of the voluntary appearance of sacrificial victims’); A.M. di Nola, Anthropologia religiosa (Florence, 1974) 201–62; G.J. Tsouknidas, ‘Symmeikta’, Athena 80 (1985–89) 179–95 at 186–93. 43 Menander, Dysk. 393–9; S. Peirce, ‘Death, Revelry, and Thysia’, Class. Ant. 12 (1993) 219–66 at 255–6; F.T. van Straten, Hierà kalá (Leiden, 1995) 100–2, 111; N. Himmelman, Tieropfer in der griechischen Kunst (Opladen, 1997) 38–45. 44 Cf. E. Auerbach, Mimesis, tr. W. Trask (Princeton, 1953) 3–23. For the background of this chapter that privileges the Old Testament over Homer, see Bremmer, ‘Erich Auerbach and His Mimesis’, Poetics Today 20 (1999) 3–10 at 5. 45 In addition to Apollodorus see Aeschylus, Ag. 209–11, 224–5, 228–46; Euripides, IT 360, 565; TGF Adesp. F 73 (?); Varro, fr. 94–5 Bücheler = Cèbe, cf. J.P. Cèbe, Varron. Satires Ménippées 3 (Rome, 1975) 453–4; Lucretius 1.99; Cicero, De officiis 3.95; Horace, Sat. 2.3.199–200, 206; Hyginus, Fab. 98.

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Abraham with the sacrificial knife.46 Although we may be inclined to think only of the dramatic effect of Agamemnon’s role, we should also take into account that in Archaic times the king was the sacrificer par excellence of the community, as is illustrated by the Odyssey where Nestor, the king of Pylos, clearly leads the sacrifice (3.430–63). Similarly, the Athenian king Erechtheus sacrificed his own daughter to avert the victory of the Thracians (Demaratos FGrH 42 F 4) and Idomeneus sacrificed his own son in order to fulfil a promise (Servius on Vergil, Aen. 3.121). However, at the very last minute Artemis transported Iphigeneia away and, according to the Cypria, ‘made her immortal’. Unfortunately, neither of our sources enlarges upon the problem of how Iphigeneia was made immortal, but the Catalogue (fr. 23a.26 M.-W.) transforms her into Artemis Einodia. Einodia was a separate goddess in Thessaly, where her cult had civic significance.47 One may even wonder whether the passage does not attest Thessalian influence, given the strength of Thessaly in the seventh century BC.48 Later, Einodia’s name became an epithet of Hekate (Sophocles, Ant. 1199, F 535 Radt), the goddess with whom Artemis was also closely related,49 and the epithet may have induced the version that Artemis had changed her into Hekate herself (Stesichorus F 215 Davies). Pausanias actually remembers the passage of the Catalogue as speaking of Iphigeneia and Hekate (1.43.1).50 As the epic relates that she was transported to the Taurians, we may surmise that the poet thought of the goddess Parthenos, whom in the time of Herodotus (4.103.2) was indeed identified with Iphigeneia.51 The connection between Artemis and the goddess Parthenos 46

For these representations see most recently V. Sussman, ‘The Binding of Isaac as Depicted on a Samaritan Lamp’, Israel Expl. J. 48 (1998) 183–9; E. Kessler, ‘Art leading the story: the ‘Aqedah in early synagogue art’, in L.I. Levine and Z. Weiss (eds.), From Dura to Sepphoris: studies in Jewish art and society in Late Antiquity (Portsmouth RI, 2000) 73–81. 47 Unlike the edition of Merkelbach-West I would therefore capitalise Einodia. For the Thessalian goddess see L. Robert, Hellenica 11/12 (1960) 588–95; P. Chrysostomou, Hê Thessalikê thea En(n)odia hê Pheraia thea (Athens, 1998). 48 See Fowler, ‘Genealogical Thinking’. 49 For references see F. Graf, Nordionische Kulte (Rome, 1985) 229; add SEG 42.785, 49. 50 For Iphigeneia’s transformation into Hekate see S. Johnston, Restless Dead (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, 1999) 238–47, although I cannot follow her in considering Stesichoros our ‘earliest attested version of Iphigeneia’s myth’ (241). 51 For this cult see A. Corcella et al., Erodoto: Le Storie IV (Milan, 1993) 315f.

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may also explain why a certain Pherecydes of Leros wrote a treatise On Iphigeneia, since an area of Leros was called Parthenion (which is still called Partheni today), where later worship of Artemis Parthenos is attested.52 On the other hand, the poet may also have thought of Artemis Tauropolos, since this goddess was also associated with the myth of Iphigeneia.53 Instead of Iphigeneia, Artemis substituted a deer at the altar.54 The detail has received little attention, but is certainly remarkable, since Greek sacrifice was limited to domesticated animals.55 However, deer seems to have been the exception confirming the rule, since its bones have come to light in the Theban Kabirion, the Samian Heraion and Artemis’ sanctuaries in Kalapodi and Ephesos; moreover, sacrificial cakes in the shape of a deer at the festival of the Elaphebolia are also attested.56 Sacrificial calendars never mention or prescribe wild animals, and a possible explanation for the finds would be to postulate an origin in a succesful hunt. However, in ancient Israel, where, as in Greece, cattle, sheep and goat constituted the normal sacrificial victims, excavations have also demonstrated incidental sacrifices of fallow deer, as they have done of red deer in Italy.57 Evidently, there were blurred edges at the boundaries of acceptable sacrificial victims to include the most popular game. Were deer a normal sacrifice at Artemis’ sanctuary at Aulis? We do not know, but before starting his campaign against Persia at the beginning of the fourth century, the Spartan king Agesilaus came to Aulis to emulate Agamemnon and sacrifice a deer to Artemis. However, the Thebans interrupted the sacrifice and declared it against the 52 Suda, s.v. Pherekydês = Pherecydes FGrH 3 T 3, cf. U. von WilamowitzMoellendorff, Kleine Schriften V.2 (Berlin, 1937) 130f. For the island see L. Bürchner, RE 12 (Stuttgart, 1925) 2096f. 53 For a full analysis see Graf, Nordionische Kulte, 413–6. 54 See also the representations in LIMC V.1, s.v. Iphigeneia, no. 11f. 55 Bremmer, ‘Modi di communicazione con il divino: la preghiera, la divinazione e il sacrificio nella civiltá greca’, in S. Settis (ed.), I Greci I (Turin, 1996) 239–83. 56 J. Boessneck, Die Tierknochenfunde aus dem Kabirenheiligtum bei Theben (Böotien) (Munich, 1973) Tab. 16; J. Boessneck and A. von den Driesch, Knochenabfall von Opfermahlen und Weihgaben aus dem Heraion von Samos (Munich, 1988) 41; M. Stanzel, Die Tierreste aus dem Artemis-/Apollon-Heiligtum bei Kalapodi in Böotien/Griechenland (Diss. Munich, 1991) 90, 159–60; G. Forstenpointer et al., ‘Archäozoologische Untersuchungen zu den Formen des Tieropfers im Artemision von Ephesos’, in H. Friesiner and F. Krinzinger (eds.), 100 Jahre Österreichische Forschungen in Ephesos (Vienna, 1999) 225–32 at 230–1. Cakes: Athenaeus 646E; Anecd. Graeca Bekk. 1.249,7. 57 Israel: W. Houston, Purity and Monotheism. Clean and Unclean Animals in Biblical Law (Sheffield, 1993) 148f. Italy: J.W. Bouma, Religio Votiva: the archaeology of Latial votive religion, 2 vols (Diss. Groningen, 1996) I, 436, 443.

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‘ancestral laws and usages’.58 This strongly suggests that at least in Aulis sacrifice of deer (no longer?) was accepted at that time. In any case, it is certain that the nature of the substitute was so unusual that later versions preferred other animals, such as a young bull (tauros: probably inspired by Iphigeneia’s stay among the Taurians or the connection with Artemis Tauropolos),59 a bear (inspired by the rites of Brauron: § 4) or even an old woman (Lycophron 196). The latter substitution was perhaps caused by the low rating of old women in ancient Greece, who thus could be sacrificed without a sense of great loss.60 In any case, there is no reason to connect the deer with a background in initiation, viz. that in Aulis young girls acted as deer, just as they acted as bears in Brauron (§ 4). Previous interpretations to that effect on the basis of inscriptions have now been disproved by more recent epigraphical discoveries, which show that nebeuô, the verb customarily connected by scholars with deer, actually means ‘being of the age-class of the young’.61 On the other hand, the priesthood of Artemis, as mentioned by Apollodorus, does indeed point to initiation, since adolescent priest(esses) are well attested in an initiatory context.62 The dedication of a thymele by a certain Kynanna, the daughter of Epigenes, to Ennodia in Beroea after her priesthood may lend support to this interpretation.63 It is interesting to note that the Schwindelautor Pythokles (FGrH 833 F 1) relates that when during a war against the Carthaginians and Siceliots the Roman general Metellus neglected to sacrifice to Vesta, the spurned goddess sent a contrary wind against his fleet. On the advice of the augur, Metellus brought forward his daughter Metella 58

Xenophon, Hell. 3.43, 3.5.5; Plutarch, Life of Agesilaus 6; Pausanias 3.9.3–4; J.-F. Bommelaer, ‘Le songe d’Agésilas: un mythe ou le rêve d’un mythe?’, Ktema 8 (1983) 19–26. 59 Bear: Phanodemus FGrH 325 F 14. Bull: Nicander apud Antoninus Liberalis 27; scholion on Aristophanes, Lys. 645b; Etymologicum Magnum 747.52. Old woman: scholion on Lycophron 183. 60 Bremmer, ‘The Old Women of Ancient Greece’, in J. Blok and P. Mason (eds.), Sexual Asymmetry (Amsterdam, 1987) 191–215. 61 Contra Dowden, Death and the Maiden, 41–2, cf. M.B. Hatzopoulos, Cultes et rites de passage en Macedoine (Athens, 1994) 25–40. 62 Bremmer, ‘Transvestite Dionysos’, The Bucknell Review 43.1 (1999) 183–200 at 188–90. 63 Chrysostomou, Hê Thessalikê thea En(n)odia, 71, where the lack of reference to a husband seems to indicate an adolescent; similarly, A. Alexandru et al., ‘Deux tables sacrées de Callatis’, Horos 13 (1999) 225–32 at 225–7. In any case, Polyaenus 8.43 mentions a priestess of Ennodia.

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in order to appease Vesta with her sacrifice. But the goddess took pity with the girl, substituted a heifer and transported her to Lanuvium, where she became priestess of a serpent that was worshipped there. Here we see that a Greek author simply has transformed the Iphigeneia myth into a Roman drama. For our analysis of the role of Iphigeneia in cult (§ 4) it is important to note, though, that Metella ends up in a cult focusing on maidens.64 What have we found so far? In the myth of Iphigeneia we can see an example of human sacrifice, which was not carried out to the bloody end. It is not evident why this was the case. In a stimulating discussion, Albert Henrichs has argued that this could not be a case of moral consideration, since in Iliad XXIII (175–6) Homer was not averse to human sacrifice, and the heroic age also knew other cases of human sacrifice, such as that of Polyxena, and of cannibalism, such as the myths of Pelops and Thyestes. This argument is not persuasive, since the slaughter of Trojans in Homer is not depicted as a civilised act; similarly, the cases of Pelops and Polyxena are usually constructed as horrible deeds with often tragic consequences. He is more convincing when he points out that it was not a dim memory to times in which such cruel practices still existed, since no evidence for human sacrifice in Greece in historical times has ever been produced.65 On the contrary, ‘animal substitution in connection with human sacrifice is by its very nature ritualistic, and reflects actual cult practices’.66 This can indeed be the case, but it should also be taken into consideration that myth as a narrative could produce ‘stronger’ and ‘softer’ versions of the same motif. For example, straightforward parricide could take place, although unknowingly, as in the case of Oedipus, but it could also take place indirectly, as in the case of Theseus who ‘forgot’ to change the sails and thus ‘killed’ his father. Similarly, in the case of Iphigeneia, myth did also envisage a real death, as happened by Pindar (Pythian Ode XI.22) and Aeschylus in his Agamemnon, both of whom perhaps depending on Stesichorus’ Oresteia.67 In fact, there is a clear parallel for a sub64

For this cult see also Propertius 4.8.3–14; Aelian, De natura animalium 11.16. See most recently P. Bonnechere, ‘Les indices archéologiques du sacrifice humain en question: compléments à une publication récente’, Kernos 6 (1993) 23–55; M. Jost, ‘Les sacrifices humains ont-ils existé?’, L’Histoire 191 (1995) 12–14. 66 Henrichs, ‘Human Sacrifice’, 203–4. 67 E. Fraenkel, Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 3 vols (Oxford, 1951) II.141 note 3; B. Gentili et al., Pindaro, Le Pitiche (Milano, 1995) 284. 65

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stitute of a proposed human sacrifice with an animal, as when a filly substituted itself for a Boeotian girl before the battle of Leuctra in 371 BC.68 There seems to be no reason to interpret differently the substitution in the case of Iphigeneia. The last example is of great importance for the interpretation of the motif of human sacrifice in the whole of the myth of the Trojan War, since the situation is comparable. We are at a highly emotionally charged moment of the battle, just before the actual fighting. And at this very moment the Greeks were used to perform a wholesale slaughter of an animal victim. The recipient of this sacrifice usually was the goddess Artemis. The myth of Iphigeneia in its oldest available version could be interpreted as the mythical reflection of this ritual act.69 It is the poignant prelude to the Trojan War. This was also an interpretation of Greeks themselves, since Plutarch (ibidem) relates that, before starting his war against Persia, Agesilaus, like Agamemnon, dreamt in Aulis that Artemis asked him to sacrifice his daughter. His love for his child had made him reject the request, but it had made his expedition unsuccesful. The myth, then, is the narrative reflection of a ritual act, but not, originally, of initiation. It is evident that in its function the myth of Iphigeneia is completely different from that of the sacrifice of Isaac, whose story is not integrated into a specific mythical or legendary context, but could also have been placed differently in the Abraham cycle. Moreover, in its available version it is presented as an aetiological story which explains the name of Jehovah-jireh (Genesis 22:14). Old Testament scholars regularly consider the story as a kind of charter myth for the abolition of human sacrifice, but the text cannot be said to clearly thematize it as such. Its theme of obedience to God rather seems to have used the most dramatic moment in a man’s life and thus belongs to a period in which the unconditional following of Jahweh was a point of issue, that is, in the immediate post-exilic period.

68 Plutarch, Life of Pelopidas, 21–22, cf. J. Fontenrose, The Delphic Oracle (Berkeley, 1978) 146–8. 69 Henrichs, ‘Human sacrifice’, 215–7; J.-P. Vernant, Figures, idoles, masques (Paris, 1990) 169–79; idem, Mortals and Immortals (Princeton, 1991) 244–57; M. Jameson, ‘Sacrifice before Battle’, in V.D. Hanson (ed.), Hoplites: the Classical Greek Battle Experience (London and New York, 1991) 197–227, who interprets Iphigeneia in a similar key; R. Parker, ‘Sacrifice and Battle’, in H. van Wees (ed.), War and Violence in Ancient Greece (London, 2000) 299–314.

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j.n. bremmer 4. Iphigeneia in Cult

Iphigeneia not only appeared in myth, but was also worshipped in cult. From Wilamowitz onwards, whose study of 1883 was the first modern discussion of her myth and cult,70 the cultic references have been included in discussions of Iphigeneia. Yet no analysis has examined them more closely and everyone has taken these references, more or less, at face value and used them as a basis for interpretation. However, for a proper evaluation we should determine their chronology before adducing them as valuable evidence of the meaning and significance of the cult. So, let us look again at the various testimonies and start with Achaian Aigira, where the second-century traveller Pausanias saw a temple of Artemis. Here a young girl officiated as priestess (§ 3), and in the temple was a very old statue of Iphigeneia, as the locals asserted. Pausanias clearly has his doubts and comments: ‘if what they say is true, the temple was clearly made for Iphigeneia from the very beginning’ (7.26.5). Artemis’ temple must have been situated near the theatre, and Iphigeneia’s statue may well have come from the temple on the acropolis, which was abandoned in early Hellenistic times. Yet, nothing can be said about the statue with any certainty; neither do we know anything about a cult.71 Pausanias (1.41.3) mentions that Iphigeneia also was the subject of an Arcadian myth. As no such myth was known from other sources, Wilamowitz, who had a low opinion of Pausanias, suggested that he had made a mistake and wanted to write ‘Argives’ in stead of ‘Arcadians’.72 Wilamowitz could not yet know, though, that Pausanias seems to be splendidly vindicated by the publication of the Herculaneum papyrus of Philodemus’ On Piety forty years later. This text, which has been overlooked by all recent scholars of the Iphigeneia 70 U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, ‘Die beiden Elektren’, Hermes 18 (1883) 214–63 at 249–63 = Kleine Schriften VI, 195–208. 71 S. Gogos, ‘Kult und Heiligtümer der Artemis von Aigeira’, Jahresheft Österr. Arch. Inst. (Beiblatt) 57 (1986–87) 108–39; W. Alzinger, ‘Was sah Pausanias in Aigeira?’, in S. Walker and A. Cameron (eds.), The Greek Renaissance in the Roman Empire (London, 1989) 142–5; Y. Lafond, ‘Artémis en Achaïe’, REG 104 (1991) 410–33 at 421–2; M. Osanna, ‘Descrizione autoptica e rielaborazione ‘a tavolino’ in Pausania: il caso di Aigeira’, Kernos Suppl. 8 (1998) 209–26 at 215. 72 Wilamowitz, Kleine Schriften VI, 197–8, comparing other mistakes. For his aversion to Pausanias see C. Habicht, Pausanias (Los Angeles, Berkeley, London, 1985) 165–75.

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myth, mentions that ‘Stesichorus (F 215 Davies) in his Oresteia,73 following Hesiod, says that Iphigeneia, Agamemnon’s daughter, is she who is now called Hekate. But near [Arca]dia she is said to be a young woman’.74 Pausanias may well refer to this passage, which seems not to have resulted in a ritual, as far as we know. In the Argolid, in Hermione, Pausanias saw a temple of Artemis Iphigeneia and Poseidon (2.35.1). The connection between the two divinities is old and typical of the Peloponnese,75 but in none of the other cases does Artemis ever receive the epithet Iphigeneia. It therefore seems reasonable to conclude that her local epithet in Hermione was a later addition. Unlike what some scholars state,76 Iphigenia did not have a heroôn in Argos, although she does appear in Argive myth, since Pausanias relates that, after being kidnapped by Theseus, Helen arrived with child in Argos where she gave birth to Iphigeneia.77 However, she did not keep the baby but handed her over to Clytaemnestra, who was already married to Agamemnon (2.22.6 = FGrH 314 F 6). This version thus presupposes Agamemnon as king of Argos, not Mycenae, as in epic tradition. The terminus post quem of this version must be ca. 464 BC when Argos destroyed Mycenae and started to appropriate its mythological traditions.78 This appropriation moreover suggests that the Argives had claimed the sacrifice 73 Note that in his edition of Stesichorus, Davies still quotes Gomperz and clearly had overlooked Schober. 74 A. Schober, Philodemi de pietate pars prior (Diss. Königsberg, 1923) = Cronache Ercolanesi 18 (1988) 67–125, P.Herc. 248, fr. 3.5–13, as corrected by Dirk Obbink in his forthcoming edition. In line 12–13 I prefer to read ne[çniw rather than ne[brÒw, since I find it hard to imagine Iphigeneia as a permanent deer. As Dirk Obbink (email 7–2–2001) points out to me, ‘it is true that the apograph, the only witness for this column (the papyrus was destroyed by the Italians) reads ]aian. But that does not count for much against the change of a to d to allow Schober’s ÉArka]d¤an (suggested by the MSS of Pausanias 1.43.1 despite Wilamowitz’ emendation), since the copyist frequently mistakes d for a (and vice versa) in this papyrus, the two being in fact in extant papyrus fragments sometimes indistinguishable in shape. My ‘forthcoming’ text reads ÉArka]d¤an (with Schober).’ I am most grateful to Dirk Obbink for showing me his forthcoming text. 75 See the enumeration by K. Wernicke, RE 2 (Stuttgart, 1896) 1368f. 76 Contra Wilamowitz, Kleine Schriften VI, 202; P. Brulé, La fille d’Athènes (Paris, 1987) 186; Dowden, Death of the Maiden, 20. 77 For the East Attic myth of Helen as mother of Iphigeneia see Wilamowitz, Kleine Schriften VI, 206–8; Kearns, Heroes of Attica, 34. Helen’s presence in East Attica may surprise, but W. Burkert, Kleine Schriften I: Homerica (Göttingen, 2001) 167 rightly observes that if Helen is of Indo-European origin, as is generally agreed, she can also be found outside Sparta, her traditional place of origin. 78 F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker IIIb [Text] (Leiden, 1955) 14–5, notes that this tendency of Argive historians lasted well into the Roman period.

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of Iphigeneia for their home town, instead of Aulis. This is confirmed by Apollodorus, since he mentions that Telephos came to Argos where the Greeks had assembled for their expedition against Troy— contrary to mainstream tradition which located that encounter in Aulis (Ep. 3.20–1: § 1). As Philodemus notes in his passage on Iphigeneia, ‘some have seen a human’s tomb (i.e. of Iphigeneia) in the city of Megara’, and his information is confirmed by Pausanias who mentions a heroôn.79 The case is instructive, since the Megarians did not only tell that Iphigeneia had died in Megara but they also claimed that Agamemnon had founded a sanctuary for Artemis in their city when he tried to enlist Calchas for the Greek expedition against Troy. Evidently, like Argos, early Megara had tried to eliminate Aulis as the port of departure for the Greeks against Troy and had appropriated the Iphigeneia myth for that purpose.80 The most famous example of Iphigeneia’s cultic function occurred in Artemis’ sanctuary in Brauron,81 a port at the east coast of Attica, where Athenian girls, called arktoi, ‘bears’, performed an initiation ritual at the Brauronia, a quadrennial festival of Artemis. Her temple was built by Pisistratus and situated near a brook in an area with a flourishing vegetation, which the Greeks liked to select for initiatory cults.82 In recent decades the publication of black-figured krateriskoi, small goblets dating from the late sixth and fifth centuries with details of the ceremonies, has considerably increased our knowledge of the ritual side of the festival.83 For example, we now know that the girls ran races under the supervision of a man and a woman wearing bear-masks. Although we therefore are able to 79

Philodemus, De pietate = P.Herc. 248, fr. 3.13–6 Schober = Obbink; Pausanias 1.43.1. 80 F. Jacoby, Kleine philologische Schriften I (Berlin, 1961) 368–9; add the claim of the Megarian royal dynasty to have descended from Agamemnon (Paus. 1.43.3). Megara hardly invented this tradition as a reaction to the Athenian appropriation, as is suggested by L. Piccirilli, Megarika. Testimonianze e frammenti (Pisa, 1975) 118f. For the possible location of the heroôn see A. Muller, ‘Megarika’, Bull. Corr. Hell. 105 (1981) 203–25 at 220–1, 224. 81 For the sanctuary see most recently J. Mylonopoulos and F. Bubenheimer, ‘Beiträge zur Topographie des Artemision von Brauron’, Arch. Anz. 1996, 7–23. 82 For the coastal situation and flourishing landscape see Brulé, La fille d’Athènes, 186–200. Pisistratus: Photius s.v. Braurônia. 83 This is the great merit of Lily Kahil, cf. her studies in: Antike Kunst, Beiheft 1 (963) 5–29; Antike Kunst 8 (1965) 20–33 and 20 (1977) 86–98; W.G. Moon (ed.), Ancient Greek Art and Iconography (Madison 1983) 231–44; CRAI 1988, 799–813.

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analyse the myth and ritual complex of Brauron in greater detail than was possible for previous generations of scholars,84 we will focus as much as possible on the myth which is of more importance to our subject. There were two aetiological myths associated with the ritual: one without Iphigeneia and one which related her sacrifice in Brauron. The first myth is closely comparable to that of Attic Munichia at Piraeus, where a similar ritual must have been acted out, as the following schematic survey of the myth demonstrates:85 Munichia

Brauron 1. Athenians killed a she-bear 2. Artemis got angry

3a. Delphian oracle told 3b. Artemis (or Delphi) demanded Athenians to sacrifice a virgin that Athenian girls 4a. Goat substituted dressed ‘play the bear’ as girl 4b. Institution of ‘bear-ritual’ The exact meaning of the myth is still unclear and the bear has been interpreted in various ways. What cannot be in dispute, though, is the antiquity of this tradition. This is confirmed by the fact that the priestess of Artemis was called arkos in Cyrene in the fourth century BC.86 The form is clearly a variation of arktos, as nouns like arkulos, ‘bear cub’, and names like Arkoleon, ‘Bear-Lion’, demonstrate.87 Moreover, the Arcadians related that the nymph Kallisto broke her vow of virginity by letting herself be seduced by Zeus. 84

The best study of the ritual is now C. Sourvinou-Inwood, Studies in Girls’ Transitions. Aspects of the arkteia and age representation in Attic iconography (Athens, 1988); note also S.G. Cole, ‘The Social function of the Rituals of Maturation’, ZPE 55 (1984) 233–44; R. Hamilton, ‘Alkman and the Athenian Arkteia’, Hesperia 58 (1989) 449–72; H. Lloyd-Jones, Greek Comedy, Hellenistic Literature, Greek Religion, and Miscellanea (Oxford, 1990) 306–30 (= JHS 103, 1983, 87–102); K. Waldner, ‘Kulträume von Frauen in Athen: Das Beispiel der Artemis Brauronia’, in Th. Späth and B. WagnerHasel (eds.), Frauenwelten in der Antike (Stuttgart and Weimar, 2000) 53–81. 85 The scheme is adapted from Henrichs, ‘Human Sacrifice’, 200f. 86 SEG 9.13.12, 9.72.98; note that this famous sacred law now has been re-edited by C. Dobias-Lalou, Le Dialecte des inscriptions grecques de Cyrène = Karthago 25 (2000) 297–309. 87 O. Masson, Onomastica graeca selecta, 2 vols (Paris, 1990) II.617–20; DobiasLalou, Dialecte des inscriptions, 61; add to her linguistic and onomastic analysis IG XIV.1302, 1308; W.J. Slater on Aristophanes Byz. F 174b.

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When bathing with her nymphs, Artemis found out that she was pregnant and in anger turned her into a bear. In this shape she gave birth to Arcas, the national ancestor of the Arcadians.88 Behind these three refracted versions we can see an archaic tradition of the priestess of Artemis as bear, just like the maiden novices. Clearly, Iphigeneia has no place in this tradition. It therefore follows that the alternative Brauronian myth which related Agamemnon’s sacrifice of Iphigeneia in Brauron, her replacement ‘by a bear not a deer’, and the institution of a ‘mystery’ (i.e. the bear-ritual), was a local fabrication.89 Evidently, Brauron had appropriated the epic version of the beginning of the Greek expedition and with it the glory of the Trojan War, just as it had appropriated the myth of the statue of Artemis that Orestes and Iphigeneia had brought back from the Taurians. In an interesting glimpse of this game of local mythological ‘one-upmanship’, Pausanias reports the, surely Brauronian, version that Iphigeneia had left her statue at Brauron, subsequently arrived in Athens, ‘and later in Argos’!90 Yet, once appropriated, a myth can generate its own ritual, as appears from Euripides’ Iphigeneia in Tauris, where the goddess Athena concludes the drama with the words: ‘And you Iphigeneia, in the holy meadows of Brauron, must serve this goddess (Artemis) as temple warden (kleidouchein). When you die, you will lie buried here, and they will dedicate for your delight the finely woven garments which women who die in childbirth leave behind in their houses’ (1462–7, tr. D. Kovacs, Loeb). Apparently, women had started to model Iphigeneia on Artemis and to associate the former with childbirth as well. As Iphigeneia means ‘She who has been born with power’ or ‘She who has been born by means of power’, the process was perhaps reinforced by the element *geneia in her name. Nicander (apud Antoninus Liberalis 27.4) even credited Iphigeneia with the epi88 For this myth and its many variants see most recently Dowden, Death and the Maiden, 182–91; P.M.C. Forbes Irving, Metamorphosis in Greek Myths (Oxford, 1990) 72–4, 202–5; LIMC V.1 (1990) s.v. Kallisto (I. McPhee); M. Jost, ‘Versions locales et versions ‘panhelléniques’ des mythes arcadiens chez Pausanias’, Kernos, Suppl. 8 (1998) 227–40 at 231–4; K. Waldner, ‘Kallisto’, in Der neue Pauly VI (Stuttgart and Weimar, 1999) 205. 89 Euphorion, fr. 95 Van Groningen; Schol. Aristophanes, Lys. 645b. 90 Pausanias 1.23.7, 33.1. For the statue see also F. Graf, ‘Das Götterbildnis aus dem Taurerland’, Antike Welt 10 (1979) 33–41; Bremmer, ‘James George Frazer en The Golden Bough’, Hermeneus 68 (1996) 212–21; Lightfoot on Parthenius F 41.

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thet Orsilochia, ‘She who delivers children’, but this epithet is a relatively late invention.91 Euripides’ passage may also give another indication about Brauron’s cultic realities. I have quoted Kovacs’ translation in full, but the Greek kleidouchein, ‘to hold the key’, usually indicates a priestess (see also IT 131 and 1153), who can often be seen on vases wearing the key of the temple.92 Given the adolescent status of Iphigeneia, does this perhaps mean that the Brauronian priestess of Artemis was (originally?) an adolescent? What can we conclude from our discussion? Previous investigations have all accepted the cultic references at face value, perhaps led astray by the very late notice of Hesychius (s.v. Iphigeneia) that Iphigeneia is identical to Artemis. However, we have seen that these cults are relatively late wherever we had the chance to control the facts. Regarding Aigira, the only case where we could not do so, Pausanias himself evidently had his doubts about the claim of the locals and, on the basis of the other parallels, we can be fairly certain that his doubts were fully justified. It should now be clear that the desire to claim the glory of the Trojan War for their own community led a number of Greek cities to appropriate the assembly at Aulis from the pan-Hellenic myth, and Iphigeneia was in a way the icon of this assembly.93 Yet, the appropriation was not just an arbitrary choice, as we can see from those cults about which we have more information. In Aigira and Brauron, her maidenhood perfectly fitted a maiden initatory ritual in honour of Artemis, just as her maidenhood must have made it easy to integrate her into the cult of Parthenos. The appropriations also well fit the familiar cult figurations of a hero(ine) alongside a god(dess).94 Apparently, the officials behind these mythological ‘thefts’ clearly had thought about the appropriateness of the particular cults into which Iphigeneia became integrated. The 91 For Iphigeneia and birth see most recently C. Calame, Choruses of young women in ancient Greece, tr. D. Collins and J. Orion (Lanham, 1997) 166. Invention: Wilamowitz, Kleine Schriften VI, 206. 92 H. Kohl, ‘Kleiduchos’, RE 12 (Stuttgart, 1922) 593–600; A.G. Mantis, Problêmata tês eikonographias tôn iereiôn kai tôn iereôn stên archaia Ellênikê technê (Athens, 1990), 28–65 (keys), 82–96 (iconography of priests), 114–5 (catalogue of preserved keys). 93 For this tendency of local communities to appropriate pan-Hellenic figures see also A. Lardinois, ‘Greek Myths for Athenian Rituals’, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 33 (1992) 313–27. 94 See most recently Waldner, Geburt und Hochzeit des Kriegers, 219f.

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appropriations may therefore have started to take place at a relatively early stage of Iphigeneia’s myth. Finally, according to Levenson, ‘the impulse to sacrifice the firstborn son remained potent long after the literal practice (in Israel) had become odious and fallen into desuetude’.95 I do not see any proof for this statement, but it is true that Israel had long practised human sacrifice and that Greece was unusually fascinated by the ritual, albeit only on the level of myth. In this respect modern civilisation has made, perhaps, some progress.96 Addendum After the completion of my contribution two more studies came to my attention which deserve some notice. First, I should perhaps have mentioned that Pseudo-Hesiod (fr. 23.17–24 M.-W.) does not have Artemis produce a deer at the altar when Iphimede is about to be sacrificed but a kind of phantom, an eidôlon. The motif is discussed by Clarke, who persuasively argues that it certainly is as old as the Iliad (V.449–53), where Apollo whisks Aeneas out of the battlefield to safety.97 Moreover, it was quite a productive motif in the Archaic Age considering its occurrence in Homer, the Hesiodic corpus and Stesichorus (F 192–3 Davies). Second, Manganaro has recently published an, admittedly, rather fragmentary inscription from Morgantina dating to the third or second century BC that looks like a lex sacra. For our subject it is most interesting that it seems to list a number of animals that have to be raised in the sanctuary. Amongst them we clearly find deer (elaphous), quails and doves.98 As the inscription almost certainly mentions sacrifice (th]usia) it seems to confirm the presence of deer amongst those animals that could be presented to the gods. Manganaro also draws attention to an inscription from Kyme, probably a lex sacra,

95 J.D. Levenson, The Death and the Resurrection of the Beloved Son (New Haven and London, 1993) 52. 96 For information and comments I would like to thank Fritz Graf, Bob Fowler, Joshua Katz, Dirk Obbink and Wietske Prummel. Michèle Lowrie thoughtfully corrected my English. 97 M. Clarke, Flesh and Spirit in the Songs of Homer (Oxford, 1999) 196, note 78. 98 G. Manganaro, Sikelika. Studi di antichità e di epigrafia della Sicilia greca (Pisa and Rome, 1998) 57–60, who is perhaps too generous in his restitutions.

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that forbids hunting deer—deer, presumably, from its own sanctuary (I. Kyme 35.7). These inscriptions raise the problem as to what extent deer were considered to be wild or domesticated animals. Or could they be either one of these categories depending on the situation? We need not answer the question here, but it is precisely this kind of epigraphical evidence that helps to show that sacrificial practices in the Greek world were probably less homogeneous than our literary texts sometimes seem to suggest.

THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC IN 4Q225 Florentino García Martínez Qumran Instituut-Groningen We do not often encounter the name of the Patriarch Isaac in the non-Biblical manuscripts from Qumran. The orthography of the name fluctuates between the tsade and the sin (as in the Biblical text), although on the majority of occasions, the name is written with sin, and even once with samek (in 4Q225 2 i 9). Altogether, I have counted 22 occurrences of the name of the Patriarch. There are two mentions of Isaac in 4Q364 (the “Rewritten Pentateuch”)1 in passages which reproduce Gen 25:14 and 35:28 but which do not add anything in this respect to the MT (4Q364 1:2 and 8:2). On three other occasions, only the name has been preserved, but without any context: 4Q273 4 i 9;2 4Q509 24:2;3 6Q18 2:7.4 The name of Isaac is usually part of the classical list of Patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (CD 3:3;5 4Q180 1:5 and 4Q181 2:1;6 4Q379 17:4;7 4Q388 7 ii 2;8 4Q393 4:5;9 4Q505 124:6 and 4Q508 3:3).10 From these 14 references, we do not learn anything substantial about Isaac, and of course, nothing about the Aqedah; neither do we find the expected 1 Edited by E. Tov and S. White in Qumran Cave 4. VIII: Parabiblical Texts. Part I (DJD XIII; Clarendon: Oxford, 1994), 205 and 214, pls. XIII–XIV. 2 Edited by J.M. Baumgarten in Qumran Cave 4. XIII: The Damascus Document (DJD XVIII; Clarendon: Oxford, 1996), 196, pl. XLI. 3 Edited by M. Baillet in Qumrân Grotte 4. III (DJD VII; Clarendon: Oxford, 1982), 193, pl. XIII. 4 Edited by M. Baillet in Les ‘Petites Grottes’ de Qumrân (DJD III; Clarendon: Oxford, 1962), 133, pl. XXVII. 5 Edited by E. Qimron in M. Broshi (ed.) The Damascus Document Reconsidered (Israel Exploration Society: Jerusalem, 1992). 6 Edited by J.M. Allegro in Qumran Cave 4. I (DJD V; Clarendon: Oxford, 1968) 78 and 80, pls. XXVII and XVIII. 7 Edited by C. Newsom in Qumran Cave 4. XVII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 3 (DJD XXII; Clarendon: Oxford, 1996), 274, pl. xxii. 8 Edited by D. Dimant in Qumran Cave 4. xxi: Parabiblical Texts, Part 4: Pseudo-Prophetic Texts DJD XXX; Clarendon: Oxford, 2001), 208, pl. VII. 9 Edited by D. Falk in Qumran Cave 4. XX: Poetical and Liturgical Texts, Part 2 (DJD XXIX; Clarendon: Oxford, 1999), 58, pl. III. 10 Edited by M. Baillet in Qumrân Grotte 4. III (DJD VII; Clarendon: Oxford, 1982), 169 and 179, pls. XXIII and LIV.

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reworking of Gen 22 in the Genesis Apocryphon from Cave 1,11 because the manuscript ends abruptly halfway through the re-writing of Gen 15, and there has been no sign of the remainder of the composition. Happily though, seven of the eight other references to Isaac are concentrated in a single manuscript; 4Q225 (4Q225 2 i 9.10.11; 2 ii 2.4.10.12).12 The last reference is to be found in a fragment of another manuscript; 4Q226 (4Q226 7:5), which may or may not be another copy of the same composition preserved in 4Q225, but which in any case is closely related to it and also deals partially with the Aqedah narrative.13 4Q225 (as well as 4Q226 and 4Q227) have been classified by the editors as “Pseudo-Jubilees”14 in order to convey the idea that “the texts employ language that is familiar from and to some extent characteristic of Jubilees, but the documents themselves are not actual copies of Jubilees”.15 4Q225 is a manuscript copied in a Herodian formal hand, and can be dated around the end of the first century BCE or the beginning of the first century CE. From this manuscript, only three fragments have reached us. The first fragment speaks about the Covenant (the word has not been preserved) of Circumcision made with Abraham, but immediately after that goes on with a speech addressed directly to Moses and dealing with the Creation and a new (?) Creation. Although this first fragment certainly deals with Abraham, and the shape and the patterns of deterioration of the fragment suggest that it comes from a position in the scroll very closely related to that of Frag. 2, its contents are not related to the story of the Aqedah. Of the contents of the third fragment, since it consists of only some isolated words from the end and the beginning of two consecutive columns, nothing can be said. However, in the two columns of Frag. 2, which mentions the Patriarch Isaac seven times,

11 Edited by N. Avigad and Y. Yadin, A Genesis Apocryphon. A Scroll from the Wilderness of Judaea (Magnes: Jerusalem, 1956). 12 Edited by J.C. VanderKam in Qumran Cave 4; VIII: Parabiblical Texts. Part I (DJD XIII; Clarendon: Oxford 1994), 141–55, pl. X. 13 Edited by J.C. VanderKam in Qumran Cave 4; VIII: Parabiblical Texts. Part I (DJD XIII; Clarendon: Oxford 1994), 157–69, pl. XI. 14 The precise relationship of 4Q225 with the book of Jubilees has been examined by VanderKam in a paper dedicated ‘to weigh the utility of the label “Pseudojubilees”’. Cfr. J.C. VanderKam, ‘The Aqedah, Jubilees, and Pseudojubilees,’ in C.A. Evans and S. Talmon (eds.), The Quest for Context and Meaning. Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (Brill: Leiden, 1997) 241–61. 15 DJD XIII, 142.

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we do find a re-telling of the narrative of Gen 22 with some interesting elements in spite of its fragmentary character. The following is a transcription and translation of the two columns of Frag. 2 of this manuscript as presented in the DSSSE:16 Col. I

ayhh [çp]nh trkt t[. . .] hnç μ[y]rç[ ˆrjb b[çy . . .]hym[[ brqm] [rz[]ylaw y[ryr][ ab ynnh ynda μyhwla la μhrb[a rmayw] vacat ynçryw hawh [ytyb ˆb] harw μybkwkh ta apx aç μhr[b]a la yn[da rma] μa yk ≈rah rp[ taw μyh tpç l[ rça lwj{k}h[ ta rwpsw] [ˆym]ayw hk[rz hyhy hkk awl μa [π]aw hla μyn[mn wyhy] ˆk[ yr]ja ˆb dlwyw hqdx wl bçjtw μ[yh]wla [μhrba] hmf[ç]mh rç awbyw qjsy wmç ta arq[y]w μ[hrbal] μyhwl[a ]rmayw qjçyb μhrba ta μyfçyw μyhw[la la] [rça hk]dyjy ta qjçy ta hknb ta jq μh[rba la] μy[hwbgh μ]yrhh dja l[ hlw[l yl whl[hw ht[bha wtwa] [. . .]· l[ twrabh ˆm[ ˚ ]l[yw μw]qyw hkl [rmwa rça] ta [μhr]ba açyw [. . .]

1 2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Col. II [. . .] . . . [. . .] [. . .] μhrba la qjçy [rmayw] [. . .]la μhrba rmayw hlw[[]l [. . .]k wyba la qjçy rma wl [. . .]l[ μykwb μydmw[ çdwq ykalm [. . . hmfç]mh ykalmw ≈rah ˆm wynb ta [μa . . .]w dbay wçk[ μyrmwaw μyjmç [. . .] ˆman axmy al μaw çjk axmy [. . . yk yt[dy ht][ rmayw ynnh rmayw μhrba μhrba [ta dlwyw wyj ymy lwk qj]çy ta hwhy la ˚rbyw bha hyhy al [lwk wyhyw vacat yçylç rw]d ywl ta dylwh bwq[yw bwq[y [. . . y]wlw bwq[yw qjçyw μhrba ymy [. . .]· rwsa vacat hmfçmh rçw [. . .]la l[ylb [mçyw hmf[ç]mh rç

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Col. I 1

[. . .] that p[erson] shall be cut off 2 [from the midst of ] his [na]tion [. . . liv]ed in Haran twenty years. 3 [And A]braham [said] to God:

16

F. García Martínez – E.J.C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition. Volume One (1Q1—4Q273) (Brill-Eerdmans: Leiden-Grand Rapids, 2000) 478–81.

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“My Lord, see that I am going ch[ildle]ss, and Eli[ezer] 4 is [the son of my house], and he will inherit me”. Blank 5 [The Lo]rd [said] to A[b]raham: “Lift up, observe the stars, and see 6 [and count] {it all} the sand on the shore of the sea, and the dust of the earth, whether 7 these [can be coun]ted, or not, thus your offspring shall be”. And [Abraham] tr[usted] 8 Go[d], and righteousness was accounted to him. And af[ter] this a son was born 9 [to Abraha]m. And [he] called him Isaac, and the Prince of A[ni]mosity came 10 [to G]od and accused Abraham with regard to Isaac. And [G]od said 11 [to Abra]ham: “Take your son, Isaac, [your] only one, [whom] 12 you [love], and offer him to me as a burnt-offering on one of the [high] mountains 13 [which I will tell] you”. And he ar[ose, and we]n[t] from the wells up to [. . .] 14 [. . .] and Ab[raham] lifted

Col. II 1

. . .] . . . [. . .] 2 [and] Isaac [said] to Abraham [. . .] 3 for the [bur]ntoffering”? And Abraham said to [. . .] 4 for himself ”. Isaac said to his father: [“. . .” . . .] 5 the angels of holiness were standing weeping above [. . .] 6 his son from the earth. And the angels of An[imosity . . .] 7 were rejoicing and saying: “Now he will come to and end”. And [. . . whether] 8 he would be found untruthful, and whether he would not be found faithful [. . .] 9 “Abraham, Abraham”. And he said: “Here am I”. And he said: “N[ow I know . . .] 10 he will not be loving. And God yhwh blessed Isa[ac all the days of his life. And he begot] 11 Jacob, and Jacob begot Levi, a [third] ge[neration; Blank And all] 12 the days of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Lev[i were . . .] 13 and the Prince of Animosity Blank Bind [. . .] 14 the Prince of An[im]osity, and Belial listened to [. . .]

The retelling of the Aqedah in our manuscript is extremely compact and most of the details of the Biblical text (such as the journey, the presence of the servants, the construction of the altar, the attempt to sacrifice Isaac, the first call of the angel arresting Abraham and even the replacement of Isaac by the ram) are not mentioned, and the narrative is entirely concentrated within the framework of the testing of Abraham’s “fidelity.” Strictly speaking, we should not even speak of the Aqedah story in our text, because the detail of the “binding” of Isaac is one of the elements about which the narrative is silent. As seen by the author of our text, the whole story is directly linked to the promise made to Abraham and to the assertion of his fidelity. The wording of the promise is a combination of different versions of the patriarchal blessings (the stars come from Gen 15:5, the sands form the shore of the sea in Gen 22:17, and the dust of the earth comes from Gen 13:16, for example), but with a peculiar formulation

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which combines the positive conditional affirmation of the Masoretic text in Gen 13:16 (twnm vya lkwy μa “if a man can number”) with the negative affirmation of 1QapGen 21:13 and Neofiti (al yd hynmml çwna rb lwk jkçy “no man can number”). The double conditional of our text (awl μa πaw hla μynmn wyhy μa yk) has it both ways: “whether these can be counted or not”; in both cases, the offspring of Abraham (to whom the fuller form of the name has already been given) shall be like the stars, the sand, or the dust. More interesting is the wording of the theologically heavily loaded Gen 15:6 in our text. The phrase in question is differently worded in the MT and in the LXX.17 The Hebrew text reads hwhyb ˆmahw hqdx wl hbvjyw while the LXX reads ka‹ §p¤steus° Abram t“ ye“ ka‹ §log¤syh aÈt“ efiw dikaiosÊnhn. The LXX translates the unexpected hiphil perfect (ˆmahw) of the MT with a aorist (ka‹ §p¤steus°); this has caused many problems for commentators. Our text has a more logical future with waw: ˆymayw.18 Our text requires the reconstruction of Abraham in the lacuna, as in the LXX, but does not allow us to decide if the right translation of the Hebrew and of the Greek is credere in deum or credere deo. What our text clearly does with the use of the niphal form bçjtw is to prove that the translation of the actif qal hbvjyw of the MT by the passive aorist §log¤syh of the LXX does not need to be interpreted as a theological explanation, but it is most probably the result of the use of a different Hebrew Vorlage. Instead of MT “and he accounted it to him [as] righteousness”, our text (as does the LXX) reads “and [it] was accounted to him as righteousness”, or in a more literal translation (because neither the MT nor 4Q225 has the equivalent of the efiw Greek) “and righteousness was accounted to him”. This allows us to conclude that the use of Gen 15:6 in the New Testament (Rom 4:3.9; Gal 3:6: James 2:23) may not be founded in the LXX reading, but in a Hebrew text form similar to the one of 4Q225, with a niphal reading.

17

For a detailed study of both texts, see the two studies by Rudolf Mosis, ‘‘‘Glauben” und “Gerechtigkeit”—zu Gen 15, 6’ and ‘Gen 15, 6 in Qumran und in der Septuagint’, collected in his Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament (Forschung zur Bibel, 93; Echter: Würzburg, 1999) 55–93 and 95–118. 18 Although the word has not been completely preserved, its reconstruction seems fairly certain. Taking into account the minimal remains of ink on the border, it will be even possible to transcribe ˆ[ym]ayw.

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As already mentioned, in our text, the story of the “testing” of Abraham is directly linked to the promise. The birth of Isaac follows directly the promise of posterity in Gen 15:6, and our story comes after the giving of the name and without any interruption, followed equally directly and without interruption, by a summary of the results of the promise, the lineage of Abraham through Isaac and Jacob until Levi. If we carefully read the Hebrew text and compare it with the Masoretic text of Gen 22, some small differences in wording come to the fore: for example, the land of Moriah has been probably interpreted as “one of the high mountains”; the place where Abraham and Isaac are dwelling is called “the wells” and is apparently an allusion to Beer Sheva. But the most interesting elements of our text are those which are not present in the Hebrew Bible and which clearly anticipate some of the later developments of the Aqedah story, both in Judaism and in Christianity. I will consequently focus my attention on these elements. 1. The “Testing” of Abraham is Caused by Mastema I hesitate to use the word “testing” (μhrba ta hsn μyhlahw “and God tested Abraham”) because the verb hsn “to try, to test” is not used in the preserved fragments (the editor reconstructs it on line 7 of col. ii,19 but this is most uncertain; in other versions of the story it is always God who “tests” Abraham ( Jubilees, for example, lists in 17:17 seven “tests” that God made Abraham pass, although the classical number is ten, as Jubilees itself recalls en passant in 19:8 “This was the tenth test by which Abraham was tried”). In any case, the point of the whole story is indeed to prove “whether he would be found untruthful, and whether he would not be found faithful” as is said in ii 8, which certainly implies the idea of “testing.” The verb used in our fragment is μfç (i 10: μyfçyw) “to bear a grudge, to cherish animosity,” the verb used to characterize the hatred of Esau for Jacob (Gen 27:41), but also God’s assaults on Job ( Job 16:9; 30:21), and from which the name Mastema (hmfçm) has been constructed. 19 ‘And [in all this the Prince Mastemah was testing whether] he would be found weak . . .’ DJD XIII, 151.

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Be it an accusation or an attack, this work of hate against Abraham is done by the hmfçmh rç, the Prince of Animosity, and it is done because of Isaac. The first element is present in several other forms of the story of the Aqedah, starting with Jubilees 17:16, from which our text may depend;20 the second one inaugurates, in my view, the shift which later on will led to consider Isaac (and not Abraham) the center of the story (for example, in the Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 32:2–4). In our text, Mastema appears suddenly, without any introduction, and the reasons for his intervention will only be revealed later, in the next column. In Jubilees, as in the later rabbinical tradition, the intervention of Mastema (or Satan in the Talmud) is related to the innocent sentence with which the Biblical narrative begins: rja yhyw hlah μyrbdh. By taking μyrbdh to mean “words”, the assumption is that there have been rumours in heaven concerning Abraham (“There were voices in heaven regarding Abraham, that he was faithful in everything . . .”, Jub 17:15).21 In other witnesses to the tradition (the Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum for example), these “rumours” in heaven are explicitly attributed to the angels, who are jealous of Abraham, and this jealousy is the motive for the testing of Abraham: “All the angels were jealous of him, and the serving hosts envied him. Since they were jealous of him, God said to him . . .” (32:1–2).22 In the rabbinical tradition, several developments of this midrash can be found.23 In Talmud Bavli,24 μyrbdh refers precisely to the words 20 ‘Then Prince Mastema came and said before God: “Abraham does indeed love his son Isaac and finds him more pleasing than anyone else. Tell him to offer him as sacrifice on an altar. Then you will see whether he performs this order and will know whether he is faithful in everything through which you test him.”’ (translation from J.C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees [CSCO 510–11, Scriptores Aethiopici 87–88; Peeters: Leuven, 1989] vol. 2, p. 105. 21 VanderKam’s translation (op.cit., 105). M. Kister, ‘Observations on Aspects of Exegesis, Tradition, and Theology in Midrash, Pseudepigrapha, and Other Jewish Writings,’ in J.C. Reeves (ed.), Tracing the Threads. Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (SBLEJL 6; Scholars Press: Atlanta, 1994), 26, n. 39 notes that as translation of μyrbdh ‘voices’ is not the most adequate rendering of Ethiopic qâlât, an opinion now accepted by VanderKam in his article ‘The Aqedah, Jubilees, and Pseudojubilees,’ where he recognizes that translating ‘words’ instead of ‘voices’ would have been a ‘more literal rendering in the context;’ (p. 249, note 19). 22 Translation from H. Jacobson, A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum. With Latin Text and English Translation (AGAJU 31; Brill: Leiden, 1996) 149. 23 The main texts were already collected and discussed by G. Vermes in his ‘Redemption and Genesis XXII: The Binding of Isaac and the Sacrifice of Jesus,’ in idem, Scripture and Tradition in Judaism (SPB 4; Brill: Leiden, 1961) 193–227. M. Kister has analysed anew these texts on the article quoted in note 21, pp. 7–15. 24 ‘After what words? Said R. Yohanan in the name of R. Yosi ben Zimran:

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of Satan, thus offering a close parallel to Jubilees; one of the three interpretations present in Gen. Rab. 55:4 (the one attributed to R. Eleazar) echoes the form of the midrash as it appears in the LAB, since the “words” originate with the ministering angels, but another interpretation puts the origin of the rumours not in heaven but on the earth, with “the nations of the world.”25 In the rabbinic interpretations, the pretext for the “words” is sought in the sacrificial sphere, while in older witnesses to the tradition, the jealousy of the angels comes to the fore. But all these texts use a common exegetical device: they anchor the independent exegetical development in the biblical text as a reflection on the μyrbdh. Our text, on the contrary, does not use any exegetical device to introduce Mastema, and goes directly to his accusation as being the motive for the accusation. In our text, Mastema’s accusation of Abraham is also different from the accusations in the other narratives, and the author of 4Q225 makes his main interpretative point at the hand of the accusation. Mastema’s accusation is done “with regard to” or “because of ” Isaac (qjçyb). The real meaning of the preposition is clarified later on, in the exclamations of joy of the angels of Mastema at the prospect of the death of Isaac (ii 7–8): “Now he will perish.” Neither jealousy nor a desire to test Abraham direct his actions; what Mastema hopes to achieve with this stratagem is to cross God’s plans and to make ineffective the promise to Abraham of a progeny numerous as the stars, the sand or the dust. 2. The Presence of Fire to Mark the Place? The next element of our text which may not have a correspondence in the biblical text is, according to the editor, the mention of “fire” in 4Q225 2 ii 1. VanderKam notes the presence of fire in Gen 22:6,7, but recognizes that there is not enough room in the lacuna to insert even a summary of these two verses. For this reason, as After the words spoken by Satan. For the text earlier said: “and the boy grew up and was weaned, and Abraham made a great banquet on the day Isaac was weaned” (Gen 21:8). At that time Satan said to God: “Master of the Universe! You have blessed this old man at the age of one hundred years with offspring. Yet amidst all this banquet that he prepared, was there no pigeon of fowl for him to sacrifice before You?”’ TB Sanh 89b. 25 A third interpretation, the first presented in the text, makes Abraham himself the one who utters these ‘words.’

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background to the presence of this word he suggests the explanation given in the Pirke de Rabbi Eliezer (105): Abraham, who has not seen the place before, was able to recognize it because he and Isaac saw there “a column of fire from the earth until heaven.”26 But the reading of ça is problematic; the letter shin is certain on the photographs, but no trace of alep can be discerned; on the contrary, the shin is directly followed by two letters, best interpreted as waw and yod respectively, and besides, at the beginning of the line, the reconstruction of wyny[ “his eyes” is required in order to complete the sentence at the end of col. i: “and Abraham lifted his eyes”; this leaves a very short space available to reconstruct a complete sentence with the word “fire.” Although this notion is present in PRE (Targum Pseudo Jonathan to Gen 22:4 and the Gen. Rab. 56:1–2 use the “cloud of glory” to point out the place to Abraham) nothing can be said about its presence in 4Q225.27 3. Isaac Consents and Asks to be Tied We are on firmer ground with the next element, although here again our transcription in the DSSSE is more conservative than DJD and we have not reproduced the letter kap on the border of the line 4 of column two.28 Although not complete, there can be no doubt of its presence in the photographs,29 nor of its reading as a kap. The Biblical text records only one speech by Isaac: the one we have here on lines 2–3. Afterwards he remains silent. But in our text, after Abraham’s answer, Isaac speaks again. Of this new speech, only the broken letter kap has been preserved. As VanderKam remarks,30 the Targumic tradition (Neofiti, PsJonathan, Fragment Targum) uniformly records a second speech by Isaac in Gen 22:10, as does Gen.

26 ‘There is insufficient space for the full expression ça dwm[ aryw on the fragment, but the text may have indicated in some way that he saw a fire on the mountain to explain how it was that Abraham recognized the place though he had never seen it before.’ (DJD XIII, 151) 27 For G. Vermes, ‘New Light on the Sacrifice of Isaac from 4Q225,’ JJS 47 (1996) 140–46, the reading of ça is clear and the ‘pillar of fire’ is identical with the ‘cloud of glory,’ and he lists the presence of this element in 4Q225 as a proof of the antiquity of the tradition (note 10 and p. 146). 28 PAM 43.251 which we used is darkened in this place. 29 Particularly clear are PAM 41.518 and 42.361. 30 DJD XIII, 151–52.

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Rab. 56:7, and in all these witnesses of the tradition the speech of Isaac starts with the same word, the imperative of tpk “tie” or “bind”.31 This makes the reconstruction twp]k proposed in DJD quite a reasonable one. If this can be accepted, our text is a witness (and for the first time, because the issue is not mentioned in Jubilees) to one of the most important of the later developments of the story of the Aqedah, the one presenting Isaac as a willing victim, fully consenting to his own sacrifice. Josephus (Ant I. § 232) attests to this development already: “The son of such a father could not but be brave-hearted, and Isaac received these words [of Abraham, who explains that he has to be the victim] with joy . . . and with that he rushed to the altar and his doom”. The same theme is similarly expressed in LAB (40:2) “Or have you forgotten what happened in the days of our fathers when the father placed the son as a burnt offering, and he did not dispute him but gladly gave consent to him, and the one offered was ready and the one who was offering was rejoicing?” This is, of course, a common feature of the rabbinical presentation of the Aqedah. In the Targumic tradition, the reason given for the request to be tied is Isaac’s wish not to render the sacrifice invalid. As Neofiti says: “Father, tie me well lest I kick you and your sacrifice be rendered useless.”32 But other witnesses insist more on the spiritual element of the acceptance: 4 Mac, who sees the prototype of the martyr in Isaac, says for example on 14:20: “Isaac offered himself to be a sacrifice for the sake of righteousness.” And in the rabbinic tradition, the development of this idea went so far that in the words of Rabbi Akiva, as reported by R. Meir, “Isaac bound himself upon the altar.”33 (Sif. Deut. 32)

31 Pseudo Jonathan and Neofiti read tway yty tpk ‘tie me well,’ while the Fragmentary Targums MSS 110 and 440 read twaiy yady [yydy] twpk ‘tie well my hands.’ Gen. Rab. affixes the pronoun to the verb: hpy hpy yntpk ‘tie me very well.’ 32 Neofiti Margin specifies: ‘in the hour of my sorrow I move convulsively and I create confusion and our sacrifice be found blemished.’ English translation from M. McNamara and M. Maher in A. Díez Macho, Neophyti 1. Tomo 1. Genesis (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas: Madrid-Barcelona, 1968) 551. 33 Sifre Deut. 32 (ed. Finkelstein, p. 58): jbzmh ybg l[ wmx[ dq[ç qjxyk.

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The presence of many angels witnessing the sacrifice of Isaac is not attested to in the Biblical text, which speaks of only one angel, “the angel of the Lord” who does the talking to Abraham in Gen 22:11.15. Jubilees implies the presence of other angels besides “the angel of the presence,” although, curiously enough, in his version of the story it is God himself who is doing the speaking, and not the “angel of the Lord” of the MT: “The Lord again called Abraham by his name from heaven, just as we had appeared in order to speak to him in the Lord’s name. He said: ‘I have sworn by myself . . .’” (18:14).34 The presence of many angels at the scene visible only to Isaac is a standard feature in the version of the story of the Palestinian Targumim,35 and later rabbinic writings will make the “ministering angels” (trçh ykalm) witness the whole scene. The detail that the holy angels (çdwq ykalm) were weeping is not present in these early traditions, but, as the editor notes,36 they are prominent in the version of the story as recorded in Gen. Rab. 56:5. There the ministering angels are not only present and weeping, but the absence of the knife in Gen 22:12 (“lay not thy hand upon the lad”) is explained as being because “the tears of the ministering angels had fallen on it and dissolved it.” (Gen. Rab. 56:7). Again, our text is the oldest attestation of an element which later on will be fully developed. 5. The Demons are Equally Present and They Rejoice at the Expected Death In the Biblical narrative, the only witness to the actions of Abraham and Isaac is the “angel of the Lord”; in other versions of the story, angels are also present (as we have seen). Our text adds more witness: “the angels of the Mastema” (hmfçmh ykalm). As far as I know, no other version of the story attests to the presence of the wicked angels at the scene. Jubilees says simply that “Prince Mastema was 34

VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, Vol. 2, 108. In Neofiti we read: ‘The eyes of Abraham were on the eyes of Isaac and the eyes of Isaac were scanning the angels on high. Isaac saw them, Abraham did not see them’ (Neophyti 1, 551). 36 DJD, 152. 35

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put to shame” (18:12). But for the purpose of the author of our text, the presence of the wicked angels is required as a contrast to the angelic hosts. Their cry “Now he will perish” expresses the main intention of our text’s narrative: Mastema’s intention in testing Abraham was to cross the divine plan and abort the promise of posterity through Isaac. The next line of our text does not have a parallel in the Biblical text either. But it is not clear to whom the two parallel expressions (çjk axmy “to be found untruthful” and axmy al ˆman “not to be found faithful”) refer: to Isaac or to Abraham. VanderKam reads a doubtful alep at the end of the line,37 and applies the expressions to Abraham, assuming that what it is tested is his “fidelity”. This is without doubt the reading of the somewhat parallel sentence in 4Q226 7:1, where we can read: μyhlal ˆman μhrba axmn “Abraham was found faithful to God.” But the order of the sentence is not the same, and in 4Q226 the fidelity of Abraham is expressed positively, while in 4Q225 the sentence is conditional and negative. In our text, the subject of the previous line 7 is clearly Isaac (the one expected to be killed) and the expressions of line 8 are apparently a continuation of the sayings of the angels of Mastema. Moreover, Abraham is directly addressed in the next line, which reproduces Gen 22:11 with the double call of his name. For these reasons, it seems more logical to consider Isaac, and not Abraham, to also be the subject of line 8.38 If so, this expression may contain an allusion to the theme of the testing of Isaac found in Judit 8:26: “Remember what he [God] did with Abraham, and how he tested Isaac.” The subject of the first part of line 10 is most probably Abraham; after the direct speech addressed to him on line 9, he is by far the most likely candidate for the subject of the text. The speaker is also most probably God, who enters into a dialogue with Abraham in line 9 and is the subject of the second rmayw (since line 9 closely follows Gen 22:11). But we do not have a context into which to place the first sentence bha hyhy al, nor can we imagine who this negative 37 The photographs show indeed the remains of a letter in the border of the fragment, but its shape is hardly compatible with an alep, even in the somewhat irregular script of the manuscript. 38 This is also the interpretation of G. Vermes, ‘New Light on the Sacrifice of Isaac,’ 142, n. 17, who gives to çjk the meaning of ‘weak’ and translates: ‘whether he will be found weak and whether A[braham] will be found unfaithful [to God.’

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expression, which is a reversal of the traditional title of Abraham, known as the bha, the “lover” of God, refers to.39 6. The Blessing of Isaac In Gen 22:17, at the end of the test is a solemn blessing of Abraham. Our text concludes in typical fashion with a blessing of Isaac in the second part of line 10, and with the listing of a third generation genealogy on lines 11 and 12. This genealogy lists not the first-born sons, but, as VanderKam notes,40 the carriers of the priestly line. In this way, 4Q225 not only again underlines the essential role of Isaac in the story (he, and not Abraham, receives the blessing) but closes its retelling of the story within a strongly unified perspective: the fidelity of God to his promise. The wording of the blessing contains an interesting detail: the name of God is worded hwhy la “God the Lord,” and the tetragrammaton is not written in palaeo-Hebrew but in the same script as the rest of the fragment. This detail makes a Qumran origin for the composition less likely.41 Milik, and VanderKam after him, have labeled 4Q225 “Pseudo-Jubilees,” but the composition is certainly different from Jubilees. Indeed, our text has some elements of language and of content which agree with Jubilees, but it also has other elements which are not present in it.42 It belongs thus neither to the Jubilees nor to the qumranic tradition. This characteristic makes it even more interesting, in so far as it is a witness to the development 39 Vermes, ‘New Light on the Sacrifice of Isaac,’ understands the expression as coming from the Lord and addressed to Mastema: ‘The missing words are more likely to be those of God to Mastema, e.g. “Now I know that you have lied that he is not a lover (of God).” 40 DJD XIII, 153. 41 On the different ways of writing the divine name in the Qumran Scrolls, see H. Stegemann, ‘Religionsgeschichtliche Erwägungen zu den Gottesbezeichungen in den Qumrantexten,’ in M. Delcor (ed.), Qumrân: sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu (BETL 46; Duculot-Leuven University Press: Paris-Gembloux-Leuven, 1978) 195–217. See also E. Schuller, Non-Canonical Psalms from Qumran. A Pseudepigraphic Collection (HSM; Scholars Press: Atlanta, 1986), 38–43 and E. Puech, ‘Le plus ancien exemplair du Rouleau du Temple,’ in M. Bernstein, F. García Martínez, J. Kampen (eds.), Legal Texts and Legal Issues (STDJ 23; Brill: Leiden, 1997), 59–61. 42 VanderKam (‘The Aqedah, Jubilees‚ and Pseudojubilees’, 261) concludes his analysis of the relationship between Jubilees and 4Q225: ‘the fact is that Jubilees and 4Q225 appear to be markedly different kinds of compositions. . . . There appears to be no justification for classifying the cave 4 text as “Pseudojubilees.’’’

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and growth of the traditions around the Aqedah, though not in a particular sectarian context but within the wider context of the Judaism of the time. In view of the date of the manuscript (around the turn of the era), it also assures us that some of the basic elements of the Christian interpretation of the Aqedah were already present in preChristian Judaism. It would be also interesting to examine what elements of the story of the Aqedah as developed fully in rabbinical writings are not present in our text,43 and to explore the reasons for this silence. But we will be in a better position for this after the presentation of the Aqedah in the Pseudepigrapha by Jacques van Ruiten and in the Rabbinical writings by Wout van Bekkum. I shall therefore conclude by summarizing the main points of interest of our text: 4Q225 shows us that these traditions were not restricted to the more or less sectarian circles around Jubilees or to the Qumran community, but that they also circulated among other Jewish groups; it attests that some of these traditions have developed much earlier than we previously thought; and it proves conclusively that, although the most advanced theological speculations of the Rabbis and of the Christians are still lacking, the Aqedah story was already used for purposes other than the ones in the Biblical text, namely to show God’s fidelity to the promise done to Abraham manifested in the blessing of Isaac.

43 For example: the age of Isaac, the blood of Isaac, the linking of the place of the sacrifice with the temple of Jerusalem and with Passover, the linking of Isaac with the sacrificial lamb of the Tamid sacrifice, the ashes of Isaac, etc.

ABRAHAM, JOB AND THE BOOK OF JUBILEES: THE INTERTEXTUAL RELATIONSHIP OF GENESIS 22:1–19, JOB 1:1–2:13 AND JUBILEES 17:15–18:19 Jacques van Ruiten 1. Abraham and Job The Old Testament does not make an explicit comparison between the figures of Abraham and Job. In the book of Ezekiel, the righteousness of Job is compared to that of Noah and Daniel (Ezek 14:12, 20).1 Ben Sira refers to Job in the context of a reference to Ezekiel and the twelve prophets, and he reflects on what Ezekiel has to say about Job (cf. Ben Sira 49:9). Only in the Testament of Abraham is Job for the first time explicitly related to Abraham. The archangel Michael announced Abraham’s death to him. Abraham was not willing to follow him, however. The archangel then said to God: ‘Lord Almighty, thus he speaks, and I refrain from touching him, because from the beginning he has been your friend and he did everything which is pleasing before you. And there is no man like unto him on earth, not even Job, the wondrous man. And for this reason I refrain from touching him. Command, then, immortal king, what is to be done” (Test. of Abr. 15:14–15).2 According to Delcor, the Testament of Abraham should be seen as a polemic against the image of Job that is painted in the Testament of Job.3 The author of the Testament of Abraham borrows the virtuous image of Job from the Testament of Job and transfers it to Abraham.4 1 For a comparison of Ezek 14:12–23 with Job 1:1–2:10; 42:7–17, see U. Berges, ‘Der Ijobrahmen (Ijob 1,1–2,10; 42,7–17). Theologische Versuche angesichts unschuldigen Leidens’, BZ 39 (1995) 225–245 (esp. 229–231). Daniel is mostly identified with the hero from Ugaritic Epos of Aqhat, see: M. Noth, ‘Noah, Daniel und Job in Ezechiel XIV’, VT 1 (1951) 251–260; H.P. Müller, ‘Magisch-mantische Weisheit und die Gestalt Daniels’, UF 1 (1969) 79–94; J. Day, ‘The Daniel of Ugarit and Ezekiel and the Hero of the Book of Daniel’, VT 30 (1980) 174–184. 2 The translation is taken from E.P. Sanders, ‘Testament of Abraham’, in: J.H. Charlesworth (ed.), Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, I (London 1983), 892. 3 M. Delcor, Le Testament d’Abraham. Introduction, traduction du text grec et commentaire de la recension grecque longue, Leiden 1973, 76. 4 J. Weinberg, ‘Job versus Abraham. The Quest for the Perfect God-Fearer in

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Whereas Job’s rank is to some extent reduced in the Testament of Abraham, Rabbi, the composer of the Mishnah, puts him on the same level as Abraham.5 In TSotah 6:1, the term ‘God-fearing’ is used both in relation to Job and to Abraham, and in both cases it is derived from love: ‘. . . Rabbi says: God-fearing is stated with reference to Abraham (Gen 22:12) and God-fearing is said with reference to Job ( Job 1:1). Just as God-fearing stated with reference to Abraham means that Abraham did what he did out of love, so God-fearing stated with reference to Job means that Job did what he did out of love for God. And all the rest of the murmuring stated in that passage is stated only out of the events’.6 According to BT Sotah 31a, this statement is even older and from Rabbi Meir, the teacher of Rabbi.7 In BT Baba Batra 15b–16b, one can find several statements regarding the apposition of Abraham and Job. Sometimes Job is the one who is preferred, at other times Abraham. God’s enquiry as to Satan’s whereabouts receive a response from Satan that plays on the biblical statement ‘From going to and fro on the earth, and from walking up and down on it’ ( Job 1:7): ‘I have traversed the whole world and found none so faithful as thy servant Abraham. For Thou didst say to him: “Arise, walk through the land to the length and the breadth of it, for to thee I will give it” (Gen 13:17), and even so, when he was unable to find any place to bury Sarah [until he bought a site for four hundred shekels of silver] he did not complain against thy ways. “Then the Lord said to Satan: Have you considered my servant Job for there is none like him on earth?” ( Job 1:8)’.8 Rabbi Rabbinic Tradition’, in: W.A.M. Beuken (ed.), The Book of Job (BETL, CXIV), Leuven 1994, 281–296 (esp. 291). 5 On rabbinic views about Job, see: I. Wiernikowski, Das Buch Hiob nach der Auffassung der rabbinischen Litteratur in den ersten fünf nachchristlichen Jahrhunderten, Breslau 1902; L. Ginzberg (ed.), The Legends of the Jews, V, Philadelphia 1955, 381–390; on the relationship between Job and Abraham, see A. Büchler, Studies in Sin and Atonement in the Rabbinic Literature of the First Century (London 1929; repr. 1967), 130–150; J. Weinberg, ‘Job versus Abraham’, 281–296. 6 The translation is from J. Neusner, The Tosefta. Nashim (The Order of Women), New York 1979, 170. 7 The relevant passage of BT Sotah 31a, the gemara on MSotah 5:5, runs as follows: ‘It was taught, Rabbi Meir said: Abraham is described as God-fearing, and Job is too: just as Abraham’s faith stemmed from his love of God so did Job’s. But how do we know this of Abraham himself ? Because it is written: “The seed of Abraham who loved me” (Isa 41:8)’. In PT Sotah 5 (20d) proofs are given for the fact that Job is a true lover of God, but no comparison with Abraham is found here. 8 This translation is according to I.W. Slotki, ‘Baba Bathra’, in I. Epstein (ed.), The Babylonian Talmud. Seder Nezikin, II, 76–77.

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Yohanan, a third-century Palestinian Amora, appreciates Job even more. He proclaims Job’s superiority: ‘Said R. Yohanan: Greater praise is accorded to Job than to Abraham. For of Abraham it is written ‘For now I know that thou fearest God (Gen 22:12), whereas of Job it is written ‘That man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God, and eschewed evil ( Job 1:1)’. Job fears God right from the beginning, Abraham only after the trial of the offering of Isaac.9 Raba and Abaye, two Babylonian Amora from the 4th century, oppose this positive view of Job. They stress his negative side: ‘Raba then compares Job to Abraham unfavourably with regard to his desire for women. Job congratulates himself on not hankering after other people’s wives ( Job 31:9), but Abraham did not even look at his own wife. ‘Rab said: Dust should be placed in the mouth of Job; he refrained from looking at other men’s wives. Abraham did not even look at his own, as it is written: ‘Behold now I know that thou art a fair woman to look upon (Gen 12:11), which shows that up to then he did not know’.10 Then follows a more serious accusation, i.e., Job denied the resurrection of the dead (cf. Job 7:9). In two late midrashim, Job is considered the lesser because of his aggressive attitude: ‘R. Levi said: Two men said the same thing, viz. Abraham and Job. Abraham: That be far from thee, to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the wicked (Gen 18:25). Job: It is all one— therefore I say: He destroyeth the innocent with the wicked ( Job 9:22). Yet Abraham was rewarded for it, while Job was punished for it! The reason is because Abraham said it in confirmation, while Job said it in cavil: It is all one!’ (GenR 49:9).11 In PesR 47:3, it is said that if Job had stood up to his sufferings with no cry of resentment, God would have caused Job’s name to be linked with his, as God’s name is linked with the names of the Patriarchs. It is stated in the name of R. Hanina bar Papa: ‘Had he not raised a cry, even as now we say in the Tefilla “God of Abraham, God of Isaac, and God of Jacob”, we would also be saying “and God of Job”.’12 According to Weinberg, the clue to understanding the diverse appre9

So Weinberg, ‘Job’, 293. Slotki, ‘Baba Bathra’, 80. 11 For the translation, see H. Freedman, The Midrash Rabbah. I. Genesis, London 1977, 428. 12 The translation is taken from W.G. Braude (ed.), Pesikta Rabbati. Discourses for Feasts, Fasts, and Special Sabbaths, II, New Haven 1968, 802. (ed. Friedman, pp. 189b–190a). 10

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ciation of Job and Abraham lies not so much in understanding the various Biblical passages, but rather in examining the communication of religious ideals in specific historical situations—whereby both Job and Abraham can serve as examples.13 2. The Aqedah (Genesis 22:1–19) and the Framework Story of the Book of Job ( Job 1:1–2:13, 42:10–17) In addition, contemporary exegesis regularly refers to the resemblance between Abraham and Job. People often compare Gen 22:1–19, the test of Abraham,—namely, the offering of his most beloved son, Isaac—with the framework story of the book of Job ( Job 1:1–2:13; 42:7–17), in which the sufferings of Job are described, i.e., the loss of all his property, the loss of his children, and his own physical harm14 According to Westermann, the resemblance between Gen 22:1–19 and the framework story of the book of Job supports a later date for Gen 22:1–19. The test of the individual is a relatively late development in the religion of Israel and early Judaism, and this is proved by the fact that ‘die sachliche nächste Parallele zu Gen 22,1, der Hiobprolog, auch ein später Text ist’.15 When one considers that the texts closely parallel one another, the opinion that one of the texts has influenced the other is not far-fetched.16 The differences 13

Weinberg, ‘Job’, 296 (cf. 289). G. von Rad, Das erste Buch Mose Genesis (ATD 2–4), Göttingen 19729, 206; W. Zimmerli, 1 Mose 12–25 Abraham (ZBKAT 1.2), Zürich 1976, 110–111; B. Jacob, The First Book of the Bible Genesis. His Commentary Abridged, Edited and Translated by E.I. Jacob and W. Jacob, New York 1974, 142; W.H. Gispen, Genesis II. Genesis 11:27– 25:11 (COT ), Kampen 1979, 230–231; G. von Rad, Das Opfer des Abraham, München 1971, 24; C. Westermann, Genesis 12–36 (BKAT I/2), Neukirchen-Vluyn 1981, 436; (Sarna 1989, 393); G.J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (WBC 2), Dallas 1994, 110; R.W.L. Moberly, Genesis 12–50 (Old Testament Guides), Sheffield 19952 (1992), 45. 15 Westermann, Genesis 12–36, pp. 435–436; zie ook: T. Veijola, ‘Das Opfer des Abraham—Paradigma des Glaubens aus dem nachexilischen Zeitalter’, ZThK 85 (1988) 129–164 (esp. 150–151): ‘Auch einzelne Termini und Motive deuten auf eine spätere Entstehungszeit hin. . . . Eine Parallele, die sachlich am nächsten kommt, bietet in diesem Fall die nachexilische Rahmenerzählung des Buches Ijob, wo in Hi 1–2 das Hauptthema gerade die Prüfung eines Frommen ist . . .’. 16 J.C. VanderKam, ‘The Aqedah, Jubilees and Pseudojubilees’, in: C.A. Evans – S. Talmon (eds), The Quest for Context and Meaning. Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (BIS 28), Leiden 1997, 241–262 (esp. 249, note 17: ‘S. Talmon has written to me that Job, in the biblical book, is modeled on the figure of Abraham’). 14

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between the texts have also been pointed out, but these differences do not negate the opinion that the texts are very close to one another, with regard to both form and content.17 Hence, even if there is no explicit comparison between Abraham and Job in either the Old Testament or Early Jewish literature prior to the Testament of Abraham, this does not mean that they are not related to each other implicitly. Furthermore, some people have pointed to the fact that in the book of Jubilees, Abraham and Job are also related to each other. According to some, the influence of Job 1:1–2:13 can probably be discerned in Jub 17:15–18:19, one of the oldest rewritings of Gen 22:1–19. This passage is called a ‘reading of Genesis 22 in the light of Job 1’.18 Kister writes: ‘Apparently the situation in Jubilees is shaped by the opening scene of the book of Job’. He even calls Jub 17:15–18:1 a midrash on the Job verses.19 Especially the beginning of the passage ( Jub 17:15–18), in which the Prince of Mastema is introduced, is seen as the most evident influence of Job 1–2: ‘On notera aussi l’intervention de Mastéma à propos du sacrifice d’Isaac; le prince des démons, en non plus Dieu lui-même, est responsable de l’épreuve imposée à Abraham; cet épisode rappelle le début de l’histoire de Job ( Job 1s)’.20 VanderKam also stresses the influence of Job on the rewriting of Genesis 22 in Jubilees: ‘We recognise the influence of Job 1–2 not only from the title of the malicious individual who challenges God to try Abraham—the Prince (of ) Mastema, reflecting Job’s ˆfçh—but also from the nature of the conversation that takes place between him and God. Here we discover that Abraham’s virtues were being reported in heaven: he was faithful, loved by the Lord, and successful in all trials. The sorts of virtues that Abraham is said to possess are not the very same but are similar to those the deity specifies for Job who is blameless, unique, fears God, and turns

17 An explicit negation of this opinion can be found in H.-D. Neef, Die Prüfung Abrahams. Eine exegetisch-theologische Studie zu Gen 22,1–19 (Arbeiten zur Theologie, 90; Stuttgart 1998), 79. 18 Moberly, Genesis, pp. 91–92 19 M. Kister, ‘Observations on Aspects of Exegesis, Tradition, and Theology in Midrash, Pseudepigrapha, and Other Jewish Writings’, in: J. Reeves (ed.), Tracing Threads. Studies in the Vitality of Jewish Pseudepigrapha (SBLEJL 6), Atlanta 1994, 1–34 (esp. 10). 20 R. Martin-Achard, 1969, 122. So also Veijola: ‘In de Nacherzählung von Gen 22,1–19 durch Jub 17,15–18,19 wird die Initiative der Prüfung auf Mastema, den Fürsten der Dämonen, verlegt, was die früh empfundene Verwandtschaft mit dem Ijobprolog zeigt’. See Veijola, ‘Opfer’, 151, note 127.

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aside from evil (e.g. Job 1:8)’.21 If this supposition is correct, then this would be the first instance in which Abraham and Job are related to each other. In the following section, I will explore the intertextual relationship between Gen 22:1–19, Job 1:1–2:13; 42:10–17, and Jub 17:15–18:19. I have a twofold question in mind. First, is there a dependency between Gen 22:1–19 and Job 1:1–2:13 in one way or another? Second, could Job 1:1–2:13 have functioned as intermediary between Gen 22:1–19 and Jub 17:15–18:19? In order to be able to answer these questions I will first compare Gen 22:1–19 and Job 1:1–2:13; 42:10–17, then I will compare Gen 22:1–19 and Jub 17:15–18:19. In order to respond to the question regarding the dependency between Gen 22:1–19 and the framework story of the Book of Job, I will compare both stories with regard to their narrative technique, the profile of the protagonists, the test, the reaction of the protagonists, and the blessing after the trial. a. Narrative Technique According to some exegetes, Gen 22:1–19 and Job 1:1–2:13 display similar narrative techniques. E.g., Zimmerli writes: ‘In einer Weise die an 1.Mose 18,1 erinnert, stellt der Erzähler gleich an den Anfang die Mitteilung dessen, worum es in der ganzen Erzählung [= Gen 22:1–19] gehen wird. Ähnliches wäre auch von den himmlischen Szenen in Hiob 1f zu sagen: “Gott versuchte den Abraham”. Der Leser der Erzählung weiss von diesem ersten Satze an, worum es gehen wird. Das mildert die schwere Härte des Ganzen für den Hören, nicht aber für Abraham, der (gleich Hiob) von der ganzen Absicht Gottes nicht weiss’.22 It is indeed true that in this way the narrator creates two levels of knowledge. The reader shares in the omniscience of the narrator, whereas the persons who do not share

21

J.C. VanderKam, ‘The Aqedah, Jubilees and Pseudojubilees’, in: C.A. Evans – S. Talmon (eds), The Quest for Context and Meaning. Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (BIS 28), Leiden 1997, 241–262 (esp. 249). 22 W. Zimmerli, 1 Mose 12–25 Abraham (ZBKAT 1.2), Zürich 1976, 110–111. See also B. Jacob, The First Book of the Bible Genesis. His Commentary Abridged, Edited and Translated by E.I. Jacob and W. Jacob, New York 1974, p. 142: ‘The reader shall know from the outset, what Abraham does not know: the the stupendous demand made of him shall be only a test. . . . This reminds us of the book of Job . . .’; W.H. Gispen, Genesis II. Genesis 11:27–25:11 (COT), Kampen 1979, 230–231: ‘Evenmin als Job wist Abraham, dat God hem door zijn bevel op de proef stelde’.

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this knowledge are Abraham and Job.23 However, this point is elaborated on quite differently in the two texts. The author of Gen 22:1–19 deals with this aspect in the heading of his story, and he uses only one word for it ( hsn: ‘He tested’). The author of the framework story of the book of Job elaborates this point in two, nearly identical dialogues between God and Satan ( Job 1:6–12; 2:1–7a). As far as the narrative technique is concerned, more differences between the two stories exist. I will only point out the use of place and character. The complete story of Gen 22:1–19 takes place on earth, although in Gen 22:11a one can perhaps speak of a point of contact between the heavens and the earth (‘The angel of the Lord called to him from heaven’). There is direct contact between God and Abraham, but we do not know what is happening in the heavens. Nothing about that is revealed. In the prologue of the book of Job (1:1–2:13), earth and heaven alternate. The text can be divided into five scenes: 1. Job 1:1–5: on earth; description of Job’s character; 2. Job 1:6–12: in heaven; first confrontation between YHWH and Satan; 3. Job 1:13–22: on earth: announcement of the disasters and Job’s response; 4. Job 2:1–7a: in heaven: second confrontation between YHWH and Satan; 5. Job 2:7b–13; on earth; Job’s personal afflictions; Job’s response; arrival of his friends.24 With the exception of the first and last scenes, these scenes are delineated by a stereotyped phrase: ‘Now there was a day’ (w μwyh yhyw). Omission of the phrase in Job 2:7b shows that the heavenly and earthly spheres cross their borders. There is no direct contact between God (and Satan) and Job, but we do know what is happening in the heavens. As far as the characters are concerned in Gen 22:1–19, there are only a few personages: God, Abraham and Isaac, and in the background the two boys, but they have no active role in the text. In Job, how-

23 J. Fokkelman, “‘On the Mount of the Lord There Is a Vision”. A Response to Francis Landy concerning the Akedah’, in: J. Cheryl Exum (ed.), Signs and Wonders. Biblical Texts in Literary Focus (SBLSS), Atlanta 1989, 41–58 (esp. 47). 24 A synchronic analysis of the prologue of the book of Job can be found in: D. Clines, ‘False Naivity in the Prologue of Job’, HAR 9 (1985) 127–136; R.W.E. Forrest, ‘The Two Faces of Job. Imagery and Integrity in the Prologue’, in: L. Eslinger, G. Taylor (eds), Ascribe to the Lord. Biblical and Other Studies in Memory of Peter C. Craigie ( JSOTS 67), Sheffield 1988, 385–398; A. Brenner, ‘Job the Pious? The Characterization of Job in the Narrative Framework story of the Book’, JSOT 43 (1989) 37–52; C.R. Seitz, ‘Job. Full-Structure, Movement, and Interpretation’, Interpretation 43 (1989) 5–17; A. Cooper, ‘Reading and Misreading the Prologue to Job’, JSOT 46 (1990) 67–79.

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ever, there are many more characters. Although each scene has only a few characters, altogether there are quite a few personages: Job, his children, God, the sons of God, Satan, the wife of Job, his three friends.25 The genre of both Gen 22:1–19 and the framework story of the book of Job may be viewed as being a legend, in that the focus is on character rather than event.26 Several features of a tale can be detected, however. In Gen 22:1–19, there is a short exposition (Gen 22:1ab), followed by a lengthy complication (Gen 22:1c–10). This complication can be divided into three stages. Each successive stage raises the tension (a. 1c–4; b. 5–6; c. 7–10). After the climax, there is a resolution (Gen 22:11–12), a denouement (Gen 22;13–14) and a conclusion (Gen 22:19). In the book of Job, there is an exposition ( Job 1:1–5) followed by a twofold complication (the two heavenly scenes and their consequences: Job 1:6–19; 2:1–7). A double resolution can be found in Job 1:20–22 and 2:8–10. A third arc of tension builds in Job 2:11, with the arrival of Job’s friends. Its resolution is not reached until the epilogue ( Job 42:10–17). Thus the book of Job contains three arcs of tension, while in Gen 22:1–19 there is only one. In Genesis, the climax is quite brief. It concerns the preparation of the offering, and the raising of the hand. In Job it is quite long. In Genesis, the climax of the story is in a certain sense interrupted, in that the offering of Isaac is not executed. In Job, the intended disasters do take place. In the denouement of the story of Genesis 22, we see substitution of the son with a ram (Gen 22:13). The epilogue of the book of Job does not substitute the lost property with something of a different kind. The lost property is doubled, whereas the lost children are replaced by the same number. It is not my intention to explore the diachronic structure of the framework story of the book of Job.27 It is important, however, to 25

In ch. 42:10–17 even more characters occur. D.J.A. Clines, Job 1–20 (WBC 17), Dallas, 6–7. 27 For the diachronic structure of the framework story of the book of Job, see: D.B. MacDonald, ‘The Original Form of the Legend of Job’, JBL 14 (1898) 63–71; F. Buhl, ‘Zur Vorgeschichte des Buches Hiob’, in: K. Budde (ed.), Vom Alten Testament (BZAW 41), Giessen 1925, 52–61; A. Alt, ‘Zur Vorgeschichte des Buches Hiob’, ZAW 55 (1937) 265–268; C. Kuhl, ‘Neuere Literarkritik des Buches Hiob’, ThR 22 (1954) 261–316; G. Fohrer, ‘Zur Vorgeschichte und Komposition des Buches Hiob’, VT 6 (1956) 249–267; H.P. Müller, Hiob und seine Freunde. Traditionsgeschichtliches zum Verständnis des Hiobbuches (ThSt 103), Zürich 1970; L. Schmidt, ‘De Deo’. Studien zur Literarkritik und Theologie des Buches Jona, des Gesprächs zwischen Abraham und Jahwe in 26

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note that the two heavenly scenes ( Job 1:6–12; 2:1–7a) are often considered to be later additions. The first heavenly scene does not play a part in the description of the disasters announced to Job ( Job 1:13–21), whereas Job 1:13 links up with Job 1:5 very well. b. Profile of the Protagonists Both in Gen 22:1–19 and in the framework story of the book of Job ( Job 1:1–2:13; 42:10–17) the protagonists are rich and prosperous and at the same time pious and God-fearing. Although the story of Gen 22:1–19 does not mention the wealth of Abraham, it is clear from the preceding chapters of the book of Genesis that Abraham is a well-off person (Gen 12:16; 13:2; 14:14; 24:35).28 Specific numbers with regard to his wealth are not mentioned.29 In Gen 22:1–19, nothing is said about Abraham’s property, since the test is not about the possessions of Abraham. It is about Isaac, his only son, whom he loves. It is about the promises of God regarding the multiplying of Abraham’s descendants, which is now threatened. In the beginning of the book of Job, the protagonist is described as a rich person, and his possessions are specified by numbers ( Job 1:3: ‘He had seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she-asses, and very many servants; so that this man was the greatest of all the people of the east’). The calamities that overtake Job also concern his property. In Gen 22:1–19, the piety of Abraham is not characterised explicitly before the test. Of course, in Gen 11:26–21:34 a special relationship between YHWH and Abraham is emphasised. Abraham does what YHWH has told him (cf. Gen 12:4), he builds altars (Gen 12:8; 13:18), and calls on the name of YHWH (Gen 12:8; 13:4; 21:33). YHWH makes a covenant with Abraham (Gen 15:1–21; Gen 18,22ff und von Hi 1 (BZAW, 143), Berlin 1976; M.P. Reddy, ‘The Book of Job. A Reconstruction’, ZAW 90 (1978) 59–94; P. Weimar, ‘Literatkritisches zur Ijobnovelle’, BN 12 (1980) 62–80; L Schwienhorst-Schönberger & P. Weimar, ‘Zur Entstehung, Gestalt und Bedeutung der Ijob-Erzählung (Ijob 1f; 42)’, BZ NF 33 (1989) 1–24; E. Kutsch, ‘Hiob und seine Freunde. Zu Problemen der Rahmenerzählung des Hiobbuches’, in: S. Kreuzer, K. Lüthi (eds), Zur Aktualität des Alten Testament, 1992, 73–83; U. Berges, ‘Der Ijobrahmen (Ijob 1,1–2,10; 42,7–17). Theologische Versuche angesichts unschuldigen Leidens’, BZ 39 (1995) 225–245. 28 Also the prosperities of the other patriarchs is stressed: Isaac (Gen 26:12–13); Jacob (Gen 36:7). 29 With the exception of Gen 14:14, which describes that Abraham led forth three hundred and eighteen of his trained men.

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17:1–27). However, taken by itself, the story of Gen 22:1–19 does not mention the piety of Abraham beforehand. One of the purposes of the test is to find out that Abraham is someone who is God-fearing. His piety only becomes evident during the test, in that Abraham accepts what is imposed on him, i.e., the offering of his beloved son. At the climax of the test, when Abraham is on the point of killing his son, the angel of YHWH proclaims: ‘Because now I know that you are one who fears God’ (Gen 22:12). Whereas Abraham is only said to fear God after the binding of Isaac, it is said that Job fears God right from the beginning;30 his character is explicitly mentioned in the beginning. He is a man ‘blameless and upright, one who feared God, and turned away from evil’ ( Job 1:1). This is repeated by God in front of Satan (cf. Job 1:8, 2:3). God calls Job ‘my servant’, and ‘there is none like him on the earth (cf. Job 1:8). This characterisation has nothing to do with his actual behaviour during his suffering. The goal of the series of plagues is not to discover that Job is blameless and upright, but that Job is persistent in these qualities. He does not have these moral qualities because he is a wealthy man, but ‘for naught’ (cf. Job 1:9). The piety of both Abraham and Job is expressed by the words ‘God-fearing’. The meaning of this expression is made clear in the literary context. Abraham does not withhold anything from God, not even his own son, on whom his future depends.31 In the book of Job, the expression is related to some other moral expressions (μt; rçy; [rm rws). Moreover, an active participation in some sort of test is not demanded. The expression ‘God-fearing’ is therefore interpreted somewhat differently with regard to Abraham and Job, respectively. In addition, the fear of God occurs elsewhere in the Old Testament quite often. Joseph reassures his brothers that he will treat them fairly because he fears God (Gen 42:18), and it is said that Obadiah, who was the housekeeper, feared YHWH (1 Kings 18:3, 12). The fear of God (or of YHWH) is used in relation to both cult and ethical behaviour.32 It is applied to the people as a whole and to individuals.

30

Cf. Weinberg, ‘Job’, 293. Seebass, 211 32 J. Becker, Gottesfurcht im Alten Testament (AnBib 25; Rome 1965); H.-P. Stähli, art. ary, THAT, I, 765–778; W. Fuhs, art. ary, TWAT, III, 869–893. 31

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The piety of Job is not only described with the expression ‘Godfearing’, but also with other expressions: μt; rçy and [rm rws. In front of Satan, God uses the word ydb[, whereas he also says ˆya yk ≈rab whmk. The collocation of the words μt and rçy occurs especially in the Wisdom Literature and the Psalms: Job 1:1, 8; 2:3; Ps 37:37; 25:21; Prov 2:21; 28:10; 29:10.33 The expression μt is also used in relation to Noah before the Flood (Gen 6:9: μymt), to Abraham (Gen 17:1: μymt), and to Jacob (Gen 25:27: μt çya). The word rçy occurs quite often in the Old Testament (over 200 times). However, it is not used in relation to Abraham or any of the other patriarchs. The expression [rm rws (the avoiding of evil) in parallel with ‘Godfearing’ occurs outside Job 1:1, 8; 2:3 also in Job 28:28; Prov 3:7 (cf. Prov 14:16; 16:6). Besides, the expression occurs in Ps 34:15; 37:27; Prov 4:27; 13:19; Isa 1:16; 59:15. In relation to Abraham the expression is not used. The term ydb[ (‘my servant’) is frequently applied to other persons by God:34 Moses (e.g., Exod 14:31; Num 12:7; Deut 34:54), Caleb (Num 14:24), David (2 Sam 7:5, 8), Isaiah (Isa 20:3), Zerubbabel ( Jer 25:9), the prophets (e.g., 2 Kings 9:7; 17:13, 23), but also Abraham (Gen 26:24; Ps 105:6, 42), Isaac (Gen 24:14; 1 Chr 16:13); Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Exod 32:13; Deut 9:24). The phrase ‘there is none like him in the earth’ is usually applied to God. Only in Job 1:8; 2:3, and in 1 Sam 10:24 (Saul) is the phrase applied to humans.35 In sum, one can say that although the protagonists of both stories are wealthy and God-fearing, and although both are involved in some sort of trial, the way they are portrayed and their relation to the test of their piety is very different. c. The Test From the beginning onwards, what happens to Abraham is called a test (‘God tested Abraham’).36 Moreover, the test concerns his son, his only one, whom he loves. Nothing is said about a loss of property, nor of a physical injury. Besides, the test has an important link with the plot of the Abraham story in the book of Genesis. The

33 34 35 36

Cf. also 1 Kings 9:4; Prov 2:7. D.J.A. Clines, Job, 24. cf. M. Pope, Job (AB 15), Garden City, NY 1965, 12. Cf. Clines, Job, 24. For the meaning of hsn, see, e.g., Neef, Prüfung, 51–53.

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promise of a huge amount of offspring, which God made several times to Abraham (Gen 12:2; 13:16; 15:5; 17:2–5, 16), is threatened not only by the fact that Sarah is barren, but also by the fact that when, late in life, she bears Abraham a son (Gen 21:1–8), Abraham has to offer him. It is only through Isaac that his descendants will be named (Gen 21:12). The test did not go so far as to force Abraham to actually offer his son. The aim of the test was to ascertain whether Abraham was ‘God-fearing’ or not. The actual offering was not necessary to achieve this goal. The fact that Abraham carried out the words of God to completion was sufficient. In the framework story, what happens to Job is not called a test. The text speaks about evil that befalls Job (e.g., Job 2:10: ‘Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?).37 Job is affected in his property ( Job 1:13–17: the oxen, the asses, the sheep, the camels, the servants), his children ( Job 1:18–19), and in his own body ( Job 2:7b). Satan, or God, does not prevent the fulfilment of the evil. He loses his property and his children. God only restores them to him in the epilogue. The aim of the plagues is to hit Job, but not his children. The aim is not to find out if Job is God-fearing or not. From the beginning, he is recognised as being a man who fears God. The aim seems to be to refute Satan, who doubts the selflessness of Job’s behaviour. In Genesis 22, God (μyhla) is the one who tests. He charges Abraham to offer his son. Abraham, the father, is going to carry out this order. In the end, it is the Angel of YHWH (hwhy ˚alm) who prevents the offering of the son. In the prologue of the book of Job, God is not the one who tests. He has delivered Job to Satan, with some restrictions. Satan is the cause of Job’s distress. Job is not addressed to carry out an order, let alone to offer one of his children. Instead, plagues are sent to him: a raid by foreigners (Sabaeans; Chaldaeans), a strong fire, a great wind, and a disease. Although Job himself ascribes the suffering to YHWH ( Job 1:21; 2:10), in the heavenly scenes the author makes clear that Satan is the instigator of the injuries. Finally, in the epilogue it is said that YHWH restored the fortunes of Job. Whereas Abraham is prevented from offering his son, the loss of children and property does happen to Job.

37

Compare the epilogue: ‘all the evil (h[rh lk) that YHWH had brought upon him’ ( Job 42:11).

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Genesis 22:1–19 describes how Abraham carries out the order to offer his son. Almost no emotion of Abraham is made explicit. Indeed, he seems to reassure his servants (‘we will return to you’) and his son (Gen 22:8: ‘God will provide for himself the lamb of the sacrifice, my son’). After the angel prevents the offering of Isaac, what Abraham feels is not shown. He sees a ram, and offers it instead of his son, whereas he also gives a name to the place (‘YHWH will see’). The reaction of Job to the plagues is described quite extensively. After the loss of his property and his children, Job’s lament is shown ( Job 1:20: ‘Then Job arose, and rent his robe, and shaved his head, and fell upon the ground, and worshipped’). Although this probably reflects a ritual action, it also reflects something of Job’s feelings. After the attack on his physical integrity, Job sits on the ashes ( Job 2:8: ‘And he took a potsherd with which to scrape himself, and sat among the ashes’). In the prologue, it is stressed that Job did not blame God (cf. Job 1:21–22; 2:9–10).38 Whereas Abraham accepts a charge, Job accepts what happens to him. His piety is not for naught. It is said of both protagonists that they had accumulated wealth before the test, whereas after the test both are blessed abundantly.39 The angel of YHWH blesses Abraham after the test (Gen 22:17–18). The blessing is not concerned with his personal property, nor with a restoration of his son. The test was not about a loss of his property, whereas his son is saved. The blessing is applied especially to the future generations. In the prologue of the book of Job, a blessing from YHWH is lacking after the sufferings. It is only after the poetic dialogue part of the book ( Job 3:1–42:6) that Job is blessed abundantly ‘YHWH gave Job twice as much as he had before’ ( Job 42:10). YHWH blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning ( Job 42:12). The blessing does concern his personal property. Moreover, the same number of his children that died, is now restored ( Job 42:13). Finally, he dies at a venerable age ( Job 42:16–17). During the test nothing is said about Sara, the wife of Abraham. In contrast, the wife of Job does play a role in his drama. She tries to persuade Job to curse God, albeit without success. Finally, another similarity is the old ages the protagonists reach (Gen 25:8; cf. Job 42:16–17). 38 I refrain here from the dialogue part of the book ( Job 3:1–42:6), which describes Job as a rebel. 39 Gispen, Genesis II, 231.

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d. Conclusion In Genesis 22, God is the one who tests, the angel of YHWH is the one who prevents Abraham from offering his son. With regard to Job, Satan causes the suffering, God defines the limits of it, but he does not prevent the death of Job’s children. In Genesis 22, Abraham is the one who intends to execute the offering, Job experiences the suffering, but does not actively play a part in it. In Gen 22, the trial is not completed; the plagues are actually executed. Both Abraham and Job were innocent with regard to their trial. The reader, however, does have the relevant information in both cases, although the way he is informed is different in each case. The similarities between Gen 22:1–19 and Job 1:1–2:13 are too vague and too general, while there are too many differences that preclude saying that one passage influences the other. 3. A Comparison of Genesis 22:1–19 and Jubilees 17:15–18:19 40 The story of the offering of Isaac (Gen 22:1–19) is rewritten quite literally in Jub 18:1–17. The most striking deviation is the fact that the rewriting is preceded by an introduction ( Jub 17:15–18), and followed by a conclusion ( Jub 18:18–19), both of which are related to the story. Genesis leaves the reader with the question of why God had to test Abraham. In the introduction ( Jub 17:15–18), the author of Jubilees makes clear that it is not God who takes the initiative, but the Prince of Mastema. According to Jubilees, the test does not show to God that Abraham is God-fearing, since God is omniscient. Moreover, Abraham has already been tested six times. God knows that Abraham is faithful to him ( Jub 17:17–18). The introduction runs as follows:41

40 I refrain here from the important text 4Q225, which has many similarities with Jub 17:15–18:19. Cf. VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 241–261. See also the contribution of F. García Martínez in this volume. 41 Quotations from Jubilees are from J.C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees, II (CSCO 511; Scriptores Aethiopici 88), Leuven 1989, with slight modifications.

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Jubilees 17:15–18 15a During the seventh week, in the first year, during the first month—on the twelfth of this month—in this jubilee, 15b there were voices in heaven regarding Abraham, 15c that he was faithful in everything that he told him, 15d that the Lord loved him, 15e and (that) in every difficulty he was faithful. 16a Then Prince Mastema came 16b and said before God: 16c ‘Abraham does indeed love his son Isaac 16d and finds him more pleasing than anyone else. 16e Tell him to offer him as a sacrifice on an altar. 16f Then you will see whether he performs this order 16g and will know whether he is faithful in everything through which you test him’. 17a Now the Lord was aware that Abraham was faithful in every difficulty which he had told him. 17b For he had tested him through his land and the famine; 17c he had tested him through the wealth of kings; 17d he had tested him again through his wife when she was taken forcibly, 17e and through circumcision; 17f and he had tested him through Ishmael and his servant girl Hagar when he sent them away. 18a In everything through which he tested him he was found faithful. 18b He himself did not grow impatient, 18c nor was he slow to act; 18d for he was faithful 18e and one who loved the Lord.

One can consider the introduction as an addition to the biblical text of Gen 22:1–19. It is very well possible, however, that there is a clue in the biblical text, i.e., the very first sentence: rja yhyw hlah μyrbdh (Gen 22:1). This formula occurs in the book of Genesis outside Gen 22:1 only in Gen 39:7; 40:1, and in slightly different form also in Gen 15:1; 21:20; 48:1.42 The function of the formula seems to be to fit the individual events into the entire story.43 In this case it provides the connection with the preceding passage.44 The author of Jubilees has taken over the formula only in Jub 14:1 (= Gen 15:1): ‘After these things’ (wa’emde¢ra zenagara), and in Jub 39:14: ‘In those days’ (wabawe’etu mawà’el ).45 It is very well possible that the 42 Outside the book of Genesis, see 1 Kings 17:17; 21:1. In slightly different form, see: Josh 24:29; Est 2:1; 3:1; 7:1. 43 So, e.g., Westermann, Genesis II, 433; Neef, Prüfung, 51. 44 Cf. Seebass, Genesis II, 203. 45 The passages in which Gen 22:20 and 48:1 occur are not taken over in Jubilees.

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author of Jubilees interpreted the formula of Gen 22:1 as referring to something that happens before Abraham is put to a test, though he could not find this occurrence in the text of Genesis. By way of a midrash, he suggests that something in the heavens caused the test. More precisely, it seems as if he interpreted μyrbd (LXX: =Æmata) as ‘words’. The phrase ‘there were words (qalat ) in heaven regarding Abraham’ ( Jub 17:15b), seems to reflect the opening phrase of Gen 22:1.46 Prince Mastema raises objections with regard to Abraham. Although he is a model of good behaviour, you only know if he is really faithful when you ask him to offer his son Isaac, claims the Prince. God complies with Prince Mastema’s request, though he knows it is not really necessary. The test is being executed for others, in the first place for Mastema ( Jub 18:9, 12), but also for others ( Jub 18:16). Jub 17:15–18 forms the beginning of a history of interpretation of Gen 22:1. A comparable interpretation occurs in 4Q225, PseudoPhilo, LAB 32:1–4; BT Sanh 89b en Gen R 55:4.47 These texts describe the events that precede the binding of Isaac, which is the direct cause for the test of Abraham. From several sides, doubts are cast upon the true loyalty of Abraham. In Jub 17:15–18 and 4Q225 it is Prince Mastema who doubts; according to him, Abraham is not willing to offer his only son. In Pseudo-Philo, LAB 32:1–4, it is recounted that all the angels were jealous of Abraham, and that all the worshipping host envied him. In BT Sanh 89b, Satan puts forward objections. According to him, Abraham has prepared many feasts, but he had not even a turtledove or a young bird to sacrifice to God. In Gen R 55:4, objections against Abraham are put forward, first by Abraham himself, then by the ministering angels, and finally by the nations of the world. Although Abraham caused everyone to rejoice, he did not set aside a single bull or ram for God. In the course of the tradition, several instigators of the test of Abraham are mentioned: the Prince of Mastema ( Jubilees, 4Q225), Satan (BT Sanh 89b), the worshipping angels (Pseudo-Philo; Gen R 55:4), the foreign Gen 39:7 is rewritten in Jub 39:5, but Jubilees does not have an equivalent for ‘It happens after these things’. 46 Since the heavenly ‘words’ ( Jub 17:15b) reflect the ‘words’ of Gen 22:1a, the plural reading seems to be preferred. See Kister, ‘Observations’, 10; VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 249. 47 For the following, see Kister, ‘Observations’, 10–15; cf. also VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 249–250.

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nations (Gen R 55:4) and Abraham himself (Gen R 55:4). The reasons why they object to Abraham are diverse. According to Jubilees and 4Q225, Abraham is not prepared to offer his only son; according to Pseudo-Philo the worshipping angels were jealous of Abraham, although no concrete accusation is uttered.48 According to TB Sanh 89b, he has no turtledove or a young bird to offer to God, and according to Gen R 55:4, no single bull or ram. In Jubilees and 4Q225, God meets the challenge of Mastema, in Pseudo-Philo he responds to the jealousy of the angels, whereas in TB Sanh 89b and Gen R 55:4 God is reacting to objections put forward by several sides. In all cases, God is the one who tests Abraham. The goal of the test is to show to others how faithful Abraham is to God. A final element in the introduction is the date for the binding of Isaac. According to the author of Jubilees, it takes place during the seventh week, in the first year of the forty-first jubilee (cf. Jub 17:15a), which is anno mundi 2003. Isaac was born in anno mundi 1988 (cf. Jub 16:15; 17:1), and should have been fifteen years at the time of the binding. The test started on the twelfth of the first month ( Jub 17:15a), and lasted seven days. The indicators of time can be found, apart from Jub 17:15a, in 18:3a (‘early in the morning’), 18:3e (‘on the third day’, or: ‘in three days’), and 18:18b (‘seven days during which he went and returned safely’). It seems to be obvious that the challenge of Mastema and the commandment of YHWH took place on the 12th of the first month, which is according to the calendar of Jubilees a Sunday. According to some, the departure of Abraham was on Monday, the 13th (‘early in the morning’), whereas the arrival and the binding of Isaac should have been then on Wednesday, the 15th. The return-trip started at the 16th and ended on the 18th, a Saturday.49 In the light of the strict Sabbath observation, it is difficult to imagine that Abraham would have travelled on a Sabbath day.50 However, when one realises that the author of Jubilees could have viewed the evening as the beginning of the day, it works out some48 The envy might be caused by his being loved by God, or because he got a son from his barren wife. 49 This is more or less the opinion of Déaut, although, according to him, Abraham departed on the 12th. R. Le Déaut, La nuit pascale. Essai sur la signification de la Pâque juive à partir du Targum d’Exode XII 42 (AnBib 22; Rome 1963), 179–184; cf. A. Jaubert, ‘Le calendrier des Jubilés et les jours liturgiques de la semaine’, VT 7 (1957) 252–253. 50 VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 246. See, especially, Jub 2:29–30.

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what differently.51 In this case the challenge of Mastema took place during the evening or night of the 12th of the first month, but ‘early in the morning’ ( Jub 18:3a) was still on the same day. The arrival at the mountain was, in this opinion, not on the 15th, but on the 14th,52 whereas the return-trip took place from the 15th until the 17th. The 18th could in this case be celebrated as a Sabbath. The date of the binding of Isaac is the same as the date for the Passover.53 According to Vermes the saving virtue of the Passover lamb proceeded form the merits of the first lamb, i.e., Isaac, who offered himself upon the altar.54 At the same time, the author of Jubilees proves the patriarchal origin of a festival of seven days (cf. Jub 18:18), as can be seen at the end of the text, after the rewriting of Gen 22:1–19: Jubilees 18:18–19 18a He used to celebrate this festival joyfully for seven days during all the years. 18b He named it the festival of the Lord in accord with the seven days during which he went and returned safely. 19a This is the way it is ordained 19b and written on the heavenly tables regarding Israel and his descendants: 19c (they are) to celebrate this festival for seven days with festal happiness.

Most probably this refers to the festival of the Unleavened Bread, which is related to Passover.55 The problem with this interpretation is that in the Bible (cf. Lev 23:6–8; Num 28:16–25) this festival happens 51 J. Baumgarten, ‘The Beginning of the Day in the Calender of Jubilees’, JBL 77 (1958) 355–360; VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 247–248. 52 G. Vermes, ‘Redemption and Genesis xxii—The Binding of Isaac and the Sacrifice of Jesus’, in idem, Scripture and Tradition. Haggadic Studies (SPB, 4; Leiden), 193–227 (esp. 215, note 3); A. Jaubert, La notion d’alliance dans le Judaïsme aux abords de l’ère chrétienne (Paris 1963), 90 (note 5); VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 247. 53 Vermes, ‘Redemption’, 215; Jaubert, Notion, 90 (note 5); VanderKam. ‘Aqedah’, 247. See Jub 49:1 (‘Remember the commandments which the Lord gave you regarding the passover so that you may celebrate it at its time on the fourteenth of the first month, that you may sacrifice it before evening, and so that they may eat it at night on the evening of the fifteenth from the time of sunset’). 54 Vermes, ‘Redemption’, 215–216. 55 According to M. Testuz, Les idées religieuses du Livre des Jubilés (Genève & Paris 1960), 162–163, the travel of Abraham took place on the festival of Booths. See also A. Dupont-Sommer & M. Philonenko (eds), La Bible. Écrits intertestamentaires (Paris 1987), 710. For the rejection of this opinion, see Jaubert, Notion, 90 (note 5).

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to be from the 15th until the 21th of the 1th month, and not from the 12th until the 18th of this month.56 However, Jub 18:18–19 does not say that dates of the festival are the same as the days of the travel of Abraham.57 The association of the sacrifice of Isaac with Passover was important for the author of Jubilees.58 These elements explain most of the additions in the text of Jubilees with regard to the text of Genesis, not only the introduction and the conclusion ( Jub 17:15–18; 18:18–19), but also some of the other additions ( Jub 18:9, 12a, 16cd). The rest of the text of the trial of Abraham ( Jub 18:1–17) is a quite literal reproduction of Gen 22:1b–19, as can be seen in the following synopsis.59 Genesis 22:1–3 1a 1b 1c 1d 1e 2a 2b 2c 2d 3a 3b 3c

after these things God tested Abraham. He said to him: ‘Abraham [ ]!’ And he said: ‘Here am I’. He said [ ]: ‘Take your son, your only one whom you love—Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah. Offer him there as a sacrifice on one of the mountains (of ) which I will tell you’. So Abraham got up early in the morning, saddled his ass, and took two servants with him and his son Isaac.

Jubilees 18:1–3 [cf. 17:15–18] 1a 1b 1c 1d 2a 2b 2c 2d 3a 3b 3c

The Lord said to him: ‘Abraham, Abraham!’ And he said: ‘Here am I’ He said to him: ‘Take your son, your beloved one whom you love—Isaac— and go to a high land. Offer him [ ] on one of the mountains which I will show you’. So he got up early in the morning, saddled his ass, and took with him two servants and his son Isaac.

56 Cf. VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 248. This might indicate that the dates of Abraham’s travel took place from the 15th until the 21th. Cf. J. Baumgarten, ‘The Calendar of the Book of Jubilees and the Bible’, in idem, Studies in Qumran Law, 103–104. 57 VanderKam, ‘Aqedah’, 248 (note 15). 58 This tradition continued to play a part until the 2nd century CE. See, Vermes, ‘Redemption’ 215–216. 59 In the synoptic overview I try to give a classification of the similarities and dissimilarities between Genesis and Jubilees. I put in small caps the elements of Genesis which do not occur in Jubilees, and vice versa, i.e., the omissions and additions. In ‘normal script’ are the corresponding elements between both texts, i.e., the verbatim quotations of one or more words of the source text in Jubilees, other than addition or omission. Sometimes there is a rearrangement of words and sentences. I underline those elements.

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5a 5b 5c 5d 5e 6a 6b 6c 6d 7a b 7c 7d 7e 7f 7g 7h 8a 8b 8c

Jubilees 18:3–7b

He cleaved the wood for the sacrifice, and arose and went to the place of which god had told him. On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes and he saw the place from a distance. [ ]

3d He cleaved the wood for the sacrifice, 3e [ ] and went to the place [ ]

Abraham said to his servants: ‘Stay here with the ass; I and the child will go yonder, we worship, and we will return to you’. Abraham took the wood for the sacrifice, and laid it on Isaac his son.

4b 4c 4d 4e 4f 5a

He took in his hand the fire and the knife. The two of them went together [ ]. Isaac said to his father Abraham, and he said: ‘MY father!’ He said: ‘Here am I, my son’. He said [ ]: ‘Here are the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for the sacrifice [ ]?’ Abraham said: ‘God will provide for himself the lamb of the sacrifice, my son’. They went both of them together.

5c

3f 4a

5b

5d 6a 6b 6c 6d 6e 6f

on the third day. [ ] And he saw the place from a distance. When he reached a well of water, he said to his servants: ‘Stay here with the ass I and the child will go [ ], we worship, and we will return to you’. He took the wood for the sacrifice and placed it on the shoulders of Isaac his son. He took in his hand fire and a knife. The two of them went together to that place. Isaac said to his father [ ]:

‘[ ] Father’. He said: ‘Here am I, my son’. He said to him: ‘Here are the fire, the knife, and the wood, 6g but where is the sheep for the sacrifice, father? 7a He said: 7b ‘The Lord will provide for himself a sheep of the sacrifice, my son’. [ ]

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Genesis 29:9–14 9a

When they came to the place of which God had told him, 9b Abraham built an altar there, 9c and laid in order the wood [ ]. 9d He bound Isaac his son 9e and laid him on the altar, on the wood. 10a Abraham stretched forth his hand, 10b and took the knife to slaughter [ ] his son [ ]

11a The angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, 11b and said [ ]: ‘Abraham, Abraham!’ [ ] 11c And he said: 11d ‘Here am I’. 12a He said [ ]: 12b ‘Do not lay your hand on the child 12c and do not do anything to him, 12d because now I know that you are one who fears God. 12e You have not refused me your son, your only one’. [ ] 13a Abraham lifted up his eyes, 13b and looked, 13c and behold, a ram behind, caught in a thicket by its horns. 13d Abraham went 13e and took the ram. 13f He offered it as a sacrifice instead of his son. 14a Abraham called the name of that place ‘The Lord will see’, 14b as it is said to this day: 14c ‘On the mount of the Lord it will be seen’.

Jubilees 18:7c–13 7c

When he neared the place of the mountain of the Lord, 8a he built an altar [ ] 8b and placed the wood on the altar. 8c He tied up Isaac his son, 8d and placed him on the wood which was on the altar. 8e and stretched forth his hand to take the knife to slaughter Isaac his son. 9a Then I stood in front of him, and in front of the prince of Mastema. 9b The Lord said: 9c ‘Tell him not to let his hand go down on the child, 9d and not do anything to him 9e because I know that he is one who fears the Lord’. 10a I called to him from heaven 10b 10c 10d 10e 10f 11a 11b

and said TO HIM: ‘Abraham, Abraham!’ He was startled, and he said: ‘Here am I’. I said to him: ‘Do not lay your hand on the child 11c and do not do anything to him, 11d because now I know that you are one who fears the Lord. 11e You have not refused me your first-born son’.

12a The prince of Mastema was put to shame. 12b Abraham lifted up his eyes, 12c and looked, 12c and behold a ram caught; 12d it was coming with its horns. 12e Abraham went 12f and took the ram. 12g He offered it as a sacrifice instead of his son. 13a Abraham called [ ] that place The Lord saw’, 13b so that it is said [ ]: 13c ‘[ ] The Lord saw’. 13c It is Mt. Zion.

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Jubilees 18:14–17

15a The angel of the Lord called to 14a [ ] The Lord called to Abraham by his name a second time from Abraham [ ] a second time from heaven, heaven. 14b just as we had appeared in order [ ] to speak to him in the Lord’s name. 15a He said: 16a He said: 16b ‘By myself I have sworn, says the 15b ‘By myself I have sworn, says the Lord: Lord: 16c because you have done this thing, 15c because you have done this thing 16d and have not refused [ ] your son, 15d and have not refused me your firstborn son whom you love, your only one [ ], 15e I will indeed bless you 17a I will indeed bless you, 15f and will indeed multiply your 17b and I will indeed multiply your descendants as the stars of heaven descendants as the stars of heaven and as the sand on the seashore. and as the sand on the seashore. 17c Your descendants will possess the gate 15g Your descendants will possess the cities of their enemies. of their enemies. 16a By your descendants will all the 18a By your descendants will all the nations of the earth be blessed nations of the earth be blessed, 18b because of the fact that you have 16b because of the fact that you have obeyed my voice. obeyed my voice’. 16c I have made known to everyone [ ] 16d that you are faithful to me in everything that I have told you. 16e Go in peace’. 17a Abraham went to his servants. 19a Abraham returned to his servants. 17b They arose 19b They arose 19c and went together to Beer-sheba; 17c and went together to Beersheba. 17d Abraham lived at the well of oath. 19d Abraham lived at Beer-Sheba.

Despite the fact that the author of Jubilees follows Genesis 22:1–19 quite literally, the synopsis shows that there are additions, omissions and other variations. In the first place, the additions in Jub 18:9, 12a, 16cd are motivated by the introduction ( Jub 17:15–18). In Jub 18:9a, 12a, Prince Mastema is mentioned, but also other additions and variations in these verses are related to the introduction. When one compares Gen 22:11–18 with Jub 18:9–16, it is striking that whereas in Genesis the ‘Angel of YHWH’ twice calls to Abraham, he is not referred to explicitly in Jubilees. However, an angel does indeed play a part in Jubilees. In Jub 18:9–11 the use of the 1st person singular ( Jub 18:9a, 10a, 11a) refers to ‘the Angel of the Presence’,

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who is dictating the whole book of Jubilees to Moses (cf. Jub 2:1).60 In Jub 18:14b the 1st person plural is used. The angel speaks directly ( Jub 18:10a, 11a) or indirectly ( Jub 18:14b: ‘just as we had appeared in order to speak to him’). In contrast to Genesis, the Angel of the Presence explicitly receives the command to speak from God ( Jub 18:9bc: ‘The Lord said: ‘Tell him . . .’). Moreover, God dictates literally ( Jub 18:9c–e) what the angel later on says to Abraham ( Jub 18:11b–d). In Jub 18:14b, it is explicitly stated that the angels speak to Abraham ‘in the Lord’s name’. In addition, in Jub 18:15a the 3rd person singular is used (‘He said’), and this refers to God, not to the angels. In conclusion, on the one hand one can say that, more explicitly than in Genesis, God is held responsible for the content of what the angel says. On the other hand, it is clear that by putting the words of Gen 22:12b–e into the mouth of the angel ( Jub 18:11b–e) God is protected against the reproach that he is innocent. He should have known beforehand how Abraham was going to behave. It is possible that the use of ‘now’ ( ye’eze) in Jub 18:11d contributes to this interpretation, for this word does not occur in Jub 18:9e, where God is speaking.61 In the second place, most of the deviations in Jub 18:1–17 with regard to MT Gen 22:1–19 are of a text-critical nature. They run parallel to alternative readings of words and phrases in one or more ancient versions of Genesis. I point out the deviations in the following lines: Gen 22:1c (= Jub 18:1b), 2a (= Jub 18:2a), 2b (= Jub 18:2b), 2c (= Jub 18:2c), 3a (= Jub 18:3a), 5a (= Jub 18:4b), 6a (= Jub 18:5a), 7a (= Jub 18:6a), 7f (= Jub 18:6e), 8a (= Jub 18:7a), 9a (= Jub 18:7c), 9b (= Jub 18:8a), 9c (= Jub 18:8b), 10a (= Jub 18:8e), 10b (= Jub 18:8e), 12a (= Jub 18:11a), 12b (= Jub 18:11b), 13c (= Jub 18:12c), 13f (= Jub 18:12g), 14a (= Jub 18:13a), 14c (= Jub 18:13c), 15a (= Jub 18:14a), 16d (= Jub 18:15d), 17c (= Jub 18:15g). In most of these cases, the differences between Jubilees and MT Gen 22:1–19 are attested in ancient versions of Genesis. Therefore, they could be due to the fact that the author of Jubilees had a text of Genesis in front of him that was slightly different from MT. 60 Some Ethiopic manuscripts read Jub 18:10: ‘He called’; cf. VanderKam, Book of Jubilees, II, 106. 61 Apparently, the contradiction between Jub 18:9a (‘I stood in front of him, and in front of the Prince of Mastema’) and Jub 18:10a (‘I called to him from heaven’) was not relevant for the author of Jubilees. It illustrates the tendency in this chapter to follow the biblical text as closely as possible.

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In the third place, there are also quite a lot of small differences between Jub 18:1–17 and MT Gen 22:1–19, which are not attested in ancient versions, but which do not fundamentally change the meaning of the text. I point out: Gen 22:1b (= Jub 18:1a), 2d (= Jub 18:2d [2x]), 3e (= Jub 18:3e [2x]), 4a (= Jub 18:3e [2x]), 4b (= Jub 18:4a), 5c (= Jub 18:4d), 6b (= Jub 18:5b), 6d (= Jub 18:5d), 7b (= Jub 18:6a), 7c (= Jub 18:6b), 7h (= Jub 18:6g), 8c (= Jub 18:7b), 9a (= Jub 18:7c [2x]), 9b (= Jub 18:8a), 9d (= Jub 18:8c [?], 11a (= Jub 18:10a), 11b (= Jub 18:10b), 11c (= Jub 18:10d), 12e (= Jub 18:11e), 13c (= Jub 18:12d), 14a (= Jub 18:13a), 14b (= Jub 18:13b), 14c (= Jub 18:13cd [2x]), 15a (= Jub 18:14ab [2x]), 16d (= Jub 18:15d [2x]), 19a (= Jub 18:17a), 19d (= Jub 18:17d). Many of these small deviations, either text-critical or not, are discussed by VanderKam, and it is not necessary to go into all these differences here.62 I restrict myself to some of the differences. Firstly, three times MT Gen 22:1–19 contains the word ‘your only one’ (˚dyjy Gen 22:2b, 12e, 16d), the first time completed with the phrase ‘whom you love, Isaac’ (Gen 22:2b: qtxy ta tbha rça). In all these places LXX, OL, EthGen Gen read ‘your beloved one’ instead of ‘your only one’. This reading possibly goes back to the form ˚dydy. The reading ‘your only one’ is not followed in Jubilees. Instead, it reads ‘your beloved one’ in Jub 18:2d (= Gen 22:2b), which is the reading that is attested in LXX, OL, EthGen. In Jub 18:11e (= Gen 22:12e) and in Jub 18:15d (= Gen 22:16d), the reading is ‘your firstborn son’, in the last case followed by the phrase ‘whom you love’, as is the case in Gen 22:2b (= Jub 18:2d). The original Hebrew of Jubilees probably read ˚rwkb, a reading not attested in any of the versions of Gen 22:12e, 16d.63 Secondly, some of the differences have to do with the place of the offering. In his rendering of Gen 22:2c (‘the land of Moriah’) with ‘a high land’ ( Jub 18:2c), the author of Jubilees comes close to the reading of the LXX (tØn ÍchlÆn).64 This reading possibly goes 62 VanderKam, Book of Jubilees, II, 105–109. For a complete inventarisation of the differences, see idem, Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees, Missoula 1977, 150–198; ‘Jubilees and the Hebrew Textsof Genesis—Exodus’ in From Revelation to Canon. Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature ( JSJS 62), Leiden 2000, 448–461. 63 Note that the Latin text of Jubilees reads in 18:11e: primogenito (= ˚rwkb), and in 18:15d: unigenito (= ˚dyjy). 64 Cf. also Old Latin and EthGen.

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back to a Hebrew Vorlage of Gen 22:2c, which did not have hyrmh, but something like hmrh.65 However, it is also possible that the author of Jubilees deliberately changed his Vorlage because in Jub 18:13 it becomes clear that the place where Abraham is going to offer his son is identified with Mount Zion. The identification of Moriah and Zion ( Jerusalem) occurs also in 2 Chron 3:1 (‘. . . the house of YHWH in Jerusalem on Mount Moriah, where YHWH had appeared . . .’), and in rabbinic sources.66 In three places where the text deals with the place of the sacrifice, Jubilees changes or omits the relative clause: Jub 18:2d reads ‘Offer him on one of the mountains which I will show you’, which could perhaps better be translated with ‘which I will make known to you’ (za’ana ’ajad‘aka), against the MT: ‘which I will tell you’ (Gen 22:2d: rça ˚yla rma); Jub 18:3e omits the relative clause of Gen 22:3f (rça μyhlah wl rma), whereas in Jub 18:7c he interprets the ‘place of which God had told him’ (Gen 22:9a) with ‘the mountain of the Lord’, which can hardly mean anything other than Mount Zion. The author of Jubilees thus consistently interprets the place of the offering as Mount Zion, and he might therefore have deliberately changed ‘the land of Moriah (Gen 22:2c) into ‘a high land’ ( Jub 18:2c), whereas the changes the author makes with regard to the description of the place ( Jub 18:3e, 7c) serve the same goal. Thirdly, it is a striking fact that the proper name ‘Abraham’ is used in Jub 18:1–17 considerably less than in Gen 22:1b–19: against 17 times in Gen 22:22:b–19, only 10 times in Jub 18:1–17.67 This difference might be due to text-critical reasons, in that the author of Jubilees did not have the proper name in his copy of Genesis. However, when one looks at the evidence in the versions, omission

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The versions differ quite a lot in their rendering of hyrmh. SamP has harwmh, Peshitta reads ‘mwrj’, which reflects yrmah. Symmachus reads t∞w Ùptas¤aw, which might reflect a vocalisation of the verb hary in Gen 22:14a, d as a passive form: ‘will appear, be seen’. Cf. A. Salvesen, Symmachus in the Pentateuch ( JSSM 15), Manchester 1991, 44. GenR 55:7 gives several etymologies of the word hyrmh, harwh (‘teaching’), hary (‘fear’), dyrwm (‘bring down’, i.e., the nations to Gehenna), ywar of the correspondence of the Temple to the heavenly Temple, rwm of the myrrh of the Temple and in Song of Songs 4:6. Cf. also Salvesen, Symmachus, 44, note 177; M.M. Kasher, Encyclopedia of Biblical Interpretation, Genesis III, New York 1957, 133. 66 E.g., GenR 56:10; BT Pes 88a; BT Ber 62b. 67 In one place MT only once reads ‘Abraham’, whereas Jubilees reads it twice (Gen 22:1c = Jub 18:1b). Therefore, in fact eight times Jubilees does not have the proper name ‘Abraham’ of Genesis.

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of the proper name ‘Abraham’ occurs only in some LXX manuscripts (cf. Gen 22:3a, 6a, 10a)—in the Peshitta (Gen 22:5a), in EthGen (Gen 22:8a), and some are not attested at all. Furthermore, it is striking that omission of the proper name occurs only before the intervention of the angel of the Lord ( Jub 18:10 = Gen 22:11). From Jub 18:10 onwards, the use of the proper name is identical to MT.68 Fourthly, sometimes the author of Jubilees omits indications of direction, probably because they are vague or redundant (cf. Gen 22:5c: yonder; 22:9: there). At other times, he specifies the indication of direction. In Jub 18:5d ‘to that place’ is added with regard to Gen 22:6d. It fixes the direction of the departure of Abraham and Isaac. They are not going somewhere (cf. the omission of ‘yonder’ in Jub 18:4d), but to the place of the sacrifice.69 In Jub 18:8b (cf. Gen 22:9c), the author specifies that the wood is placed ‘on the altar’. In connection with this, he rearranges the words of Gen 22:9e (‘on the altar, on the wood’) in Jub 18:8d (‘on the wood which was on the altar’). Fifthly, on three occasions the author of Jubilees seems to omit duplications of words (compare Gen 22:2d: ‘Offer him . . . as a sacrifice’ [hl[l . . . whl[hw] with Jub 18:2d: ‘Offer him’) and phrases (compare Gen 22:4ab: ‘Abraham lifted up his eyes and he saw the place . . .’ with Jub 18:3f: ‘And he saw the place . . .’; and Gen 22:8c: ‘They went both of them together’ [cf. 22:6d] with Jub 18:7b [cf.: 18:5d]). Finally, I point out some narrative additions, which have nothing to do with the introduction (cf. Jub 18:4a: ‘When he reached a well of water’; Jub 18:10d: ‘He was startled’). 4. Job 1:1–2:13 an Intermediary between Genesis 22:1–19 and Jubilees 17:15–18:19? The final question which we have to deal with here, is the one we posed at the beginning of this article: Could Job 1:1–2:13 have 68 In four cases, Jubilees adds ‘to him’ to the verb ‘to say’ (wajebelo: Jub 18:2a, 6e, 10b, 11a; compare MT Gen 22:2a, 7f, 11b, 12a). In some cases, the addition also occurs in Peshitta and EthGen (Gen 22:2a, 7f, 12a). It might be that the addition is not significant, since in some places where MT does have not the personal pronoun (see Gen 22:1c, 7d, 8a, 11c, 16a), it does not occur in Jubilees either (see Jub 18:1c, 6c, 7a, 10e, 15a). 69 See ‘place’ also in Jub 18:7c, 13a.

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functioned as intermediary between Gen 22:1–19 and Jub 17:15–18:19? Is the author of Jubilees influenced in his rewriting of Gen 22:1–19 by the framework story of the book of Job? In order to find an answer to this question, I first compared Gen 22:1–19 with Job 1:1–2:13, and then Gen 22:1–19 with Jub 17:15–18:19. When one compares the differences between Jub 17:15–18:19 and Gen 22:1–19 with the framework story of the book of Job, one can point in the first place to the narrative technique by which the reader becomes informed about what is going to happen in the life of the protagonists. Both Job and Jubilees make use of a heavenly scene to achieve this goal. In the second place, there is dialogue between God and Satan/Mastema about the virtue of the protagonists. God is absolutely confident about the faithfulness of his hero, whereas Satan/ Mastema try to bring this topic up for discussion. This demonic intervention forms the starting point of the unravelling drama, both in Job and Jubilees. However, there are also several differences between Jubilees and Job with regard to this heavenly scene. In Jubilees, God remains the one who tests Abraham, as he is in Genesis. Although he is challenged by the Prince of Mastema, he remains the sovereign. With regard to the book of Job, it is clear that God puts Job into the hands of Satan. Of course, God imposes restrictions with regard to the activities of Satan (no injury to the body; no death), but Satan is the one who afflicts Job (cf. Job 2:7). Moreover, the verb hsn (to test) which is used in Gen 22:1a, and which is not used in the framework story of the book of Job, is very important for the author of Jubilees. In the introduction ( Jub 17:15–18), the verb makkara (to test) is used five times. In addition, it is important for the author of Jubilees that God is not ignorant. He shows this also in other parts of his rewriting. All emphasis is put on the fact that the test is to show others, i.e., Mastema ( Jub 18:9a, 12a) and everyone ( Jub 18:16cd), that Abraham is faithful to God. God himself knew already that Abraham would be faithful to him.70 In the framework story of the book of Job, Satan simply disappears from the stage after the plagues. It is not said that he is put to shame. Finally, the modification of Jubilees with regard to Genesis, i.e., the dating of the event of the Aqedah, 70 Cf. Jub 17:17: ‘Now the Lord was aware that Abraham was faithful in every difficulty, which he had told him’. See also Jub 18:9e, where the word ‘now’ is omitted when compared to Gen 22:12e.

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does not play a part in Job. Other differences and similarities between Jubilees and Job are due to the fact that Jubilees is quite a literary rewriting of Genesis. I did not find other indications that the author of Jubilees tries to incorporate elements from Job in his rewriting of Gen 22:1–19. Despite the common narrative technique, there are substantial differences between Jubilees and Job. Therefore, I consider it very unlikely that the author of Jubilees was influenced directly by the prologue of the book of Job. This part of the Hebrew Bible (the Writings), which was probably not yet concluded in the days of the author of Jubilees, does not play an important part in the Book of Jubilees, in any case. Moreover, in the literature of this period, the intervening appearance of Satan does occur more often.71 In addition, Mastema also plays an important part elsewhere in the Book of Jubilees. He has an argument with God in Jub 10:1–14, and he tries to kill Moses and assist the Egyptians (cf. Jub 48:1–19). In this context, the angel of the Presence stood between the Egyptians and Israel ( Jub 48:13; cf. 18:9). I think it is more probable that both Jubilees and Job are comparable examples of rewritten older material. In the book of Job, the heavenly scenes are commonly considered to be later additions to a basic story, whereas the book of Jubilees can be considered to be a later version of Genesis. The difference between Job and Jubilees, however, is that Genesis still exists, whereas the original version of Job can only be reconstructed.

71 Apart from the biblical texts (1 Chron 21:1; Zech 3:1–2), I point to 1 Enoch 40:7; 65:6; 4Q213 1:17. For the development of the meaning of ˆmç in the biblical tradition, see P.L. Day, An Adversary in Heaven. Satan in the Hebrew Bible (HSM 43; Atlanta 1988). For the Qumran material, see: J. Frey, ‘Different Patterns of Dualistic Thought in the Qumran Library. Reflections on their Background and History’, in: M. Bernstein et al. (eds.), Legal Texts and Legal Issues. Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies Cambridge 1995. Published in Honour of Joseph M. Baumgarten (STDJ 23; Leiden 1997), 275–335.

THE AQEDAH AND ITS INTERPRETATIONS IN MIDRASH AND PIYYUT Wout Jac. van Bekkum The famous Nobel Prize winner Elie Wiesel once observed of the aqedah or the biblical story of Isaac bound by Abraham for sacrifice: “Terrifying in content, the aqedah has become a source of consolation to those who, in retelling it, make it part of their own experience. Here is a story that contains Jewish destiny in its totality, just as the flame is contained in the single spark by which it comes to life. Every major theme, every passion and obsession that make Judaism the adventure that it is, can be traced back to it.”1 I hope to show that Elie Wiesel’s words invoke a long tradition of Jewish preoccupation with a story often considered to be the most magnificent and deepest in meaning of all Bible stories. The theme of this narrative emerged as central in Midrash and Piyyut, the traditions of biblical exegesis and liturgical poetry in Late Antiquity and Middle Ages. According to the original text in Genesis 22, God calls Abraham in order to test him, asking him to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice. Abraham proceeds to implement God’s wish, and only through divine intervention is he prevented from carrying out the sacrificial act: a ram is provided as a substitute offering. God then promises Abraham that he and his offspring shall inherit the earth. Both the incident and the story are referred to in Jewish tradition as the aqedah, a noun meaning ‘binding’, and such a reference implies the existence of both an actor and a recipient of the act. The event, when seen as fundamentally involving Abraham, is referred to as the trial of Abraham; when viewed primarily as Isaac’s ordeal, it is called either the binding or sacrifice of Isaac. The biblical narrative suggests the participation of five major characters. The divine realm is represented both by God and an angelic messenger. The two human characters are Abraham and Isaac; they are accompanied in their journey by two anonymous and silent servants (in some midrashim they bear the names Ishmael and Eliezer, both pictured as vying for 1

Elie Wiesel, Messengers of God, New York: Random House 1976.

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the position of Abraham’s heir). The animal figure, the ram, is central to the biblical narrative, as it provides a resolution of the dilemma by becoming Isaac’s surrogate in the sacrificial act.2 The story keeps to a deliberate uncertainty about the emotional state of its characters. However, the use of appositions in v. 2, in a progression from the general to the specific, indicates the great psychological effort asked of Abraham: ˚dyjy ta ˚nb ta an jq rmayw qjxy ta tbha rça—‘Please, take your son, your only one, whom you love, Isaac’. Each apposition further emphasizes Abraham’s special attachment to his son, and this dramatic request represents the aqedah not exclusively as a test for Abraham but also for God. Rabbinic literature expands the cast of characters and includes an unmentioned tempter figure in the superhuman category, namely Satan who, as in the story of Job or in Jubilees 17, serves as an instigator who triggers the entire chain of events. This idea appears in the Babylonian Talmud in a unique sequence of dialogues (Sanhedrin 89b). The question is asked what is meant by the words μyrbdh rja yhyw hlah—‘And it came to pass after these words’ in v. 1. R. Johanan said on the authority of R. Jose b. Zimra: ‘After the words of Satan’, as it is written, lmgh μwyb lwdg htçm μhrba ç[yw lmgyw dlyh ldgyw qjxy ta—‘And the child grew, and was weaned and Abraham made a great feast the same day that Isaac was weaned’ (Gen 21:8). Thereupon Satan said to the Almighty: ‘Lord of the universe! To this old man You did graciously vouchsafe the fruit of the womb at the age of a hundred, yet of all that banquet which he prepared, he did not have one turtle-dove or pigeon to sacrifice before You. If he did so, then it was in honour of his son.’ Replied God: ‘Yet were I to say to him, “Sacrifice your son before Me”, he would do so without hesitation.’ Straightway, God did tempt Abraham and said: “Please take your son.” R. Simeon b. Abba said: ‘The word ‘please’ can only denote entreaty. This may be compared to a king of flesh and blood who was confronted by many wars, which he won by the aid of a great warrior. Subsequently he was faced with a severe battle. Thereupon he said to him: ‘Please assist me in battle, that people may not say, there was no reality in the earlier ones.’ So also did the Holy One, 2 Yitzhak Avishur, Studies in Biblical Narrative; Style, Structure and the Ancient Near Eastern Literary Background, Tel Aviv-Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publication 1999, pp. 75–103.

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blessed be He, say unto Abraham: ‘I have tested you with many trials and you did withstand all. Now, be firm for My sake in this trial, that men may not say, there was no reality in the earlier ones.’ So God asked him: ‘Your son’. Abraham replied: ‘But I have two sons!’ ‘Your only one’. ‘Each is the only one of his mother!’ ‘Whom you love.’ ‘I love them both!’ ‘Isaac!’. And why all this circumlocution and not say directly: ‘Isaac’? That Abraham’s mind should not reel under the sudden shock.’ In a parallel tradition Abraham replies to the words ‘whom you love’: ‘I love them both: are there limits to one’s emotions?’ Said God to him: ‘Even Isaac.’ The question is asked again: Why did God not reveal it to Abraham without delay? This was in order to make him even more beloved in God’s eyes and reward him for every word spoken, for the Holy One, blessed be He, first places the righteous in doubt and suspense, and then He reveals to them the meaning of the matter (GenRabb 39:9). The narrative continues with a description of the journey as lasting three days, the three longest days in Abraham’s life as an accentuation of the agony of his trial. The account of Abraham’s leaving his servants behind emphasizes the loneliness of the scene, succinctly summarized by the words of v. 8: wdjy μhynç wklyw—‘And the two of them went on together’, just as the brief dialogue immediately preceding this underscores the major issues. The fact that Isaac is made to carry the firewood for his own slaughter heightens the bitter irony of the situation. The question hl[l hçh hya—‘Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?’ reveals Isaac’s concern, while Abraham’s ambiguous answer, hl[l hçh wl hary μyhla—‘God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering,’ indicates a moral dilemma facing Abraham which is not fully evoked in the biblical text: is it really Abraham’s belief that God will provide a substitute for Isaac, or does this statement indicate that Abraham is transferring responsibility to God’s domain? The rhetorical device of repetition when the angel calls for Abraham to stop the sacrifice in vv. 11–12 communicates direct urgency to the reader: la ˚dy jlçt la . . . μhrba μhrba hmwam wl ç[t law r[nh—‘Abraham, Abraham . . . Do not lay your hand on the boy, do not do anything to him!’ The reader participates in the experience by raising his own basic questions for which no definite answers can ever be given.3 3

Silvano Arieti, Abraham and the Contemporary Mind, New York: Basic Books 1981, pp. 146–159.

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Rabbinic-Jewish tradition takes up the essential characteristics of the short dialogues and fills in some of the textual gaps. Their surviving exegetical and liturgical explanations drawn from the aqedah all give evidence of how the implications of this narrative remained powerful in Jewish religion and culture. The words ta˚nb ta an jq ˚dyjy—‘Please take your son, your only one’, and la ˚dy jlçt la r[nh—‘Do not lay your hand on the boy’ present both a divine commandment and a divine prohibition, thus establishing a seemingly inner contradiction in the story. The question was asked why then was Abraham summoned to take his son to no purpose. The answers allude to God’s intention to make Abraham known in the world, as it is written, twç[l h ˚rd wrmçw wyrja wtyb taw wynb ta hwxy rça ˆ[ml fpçmw hqdx—‘So that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of God by doing what is right and just’ (Gen 18:19; NumRabb 17:2). Abraham’s world-wide reputation or international fame is popular in Hebrew and non-Hebrew texts from various times and places and suggests a typology of the first prophet who is called ‘the beloved of God’ or ‘friend of God’, so very common in Islam. What also can be learned from Gen 18:19 are the first signs of Abraham’s assimilation to the Moses traditions when he proves to be a servant of God by the so-called ‘covenant between the pieces’ and who upholds the Mosaic Torah before its revelation. There are additional places in the Midrash where Abraham’s role in the aqedah has led to influential observations. When Abraham says, he cannot descend from mount Moriah without offering a sacrifice, God answers him: ‘Your sacrifice has been ready for you ever since the days of creation’. In Pirqey Avot, the ‘Sayings of the Fathers’, a mishnaic tractate inserted in the fourth order of Neziqin or ‘Damages’, it is related that God had created a ram in the twilight of the Sabbath eve in the week of creation, and had been preparing it since then as a burnt offering instead of Isaac (MAvot 5:9). The text of v. 13 reads: wynrqb ˚bsb zjan dja lya hnhw aryw wyny[ ta μhrba açyw wnb tjt hl[l whl[yw lyah tajqyw μhrba ˚lyw—‘Abraham looked up and there he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son (Gen 22:13). The Sages ask: “What then is the purpose of the additional words ‘instead of his son’? When Abraham sacrificed the ram, he said: ‘Lord of the universe! Regard the act as though the blood of Isaac were being sprinkled before You.’ He took the ram and flayed it, saying: ‘O consider the act as though I had flayed the skin of

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Isaac before You.’ He took the ram and dried its blood with salt, saying: ‘O consider the act as though Isaac’s blood were being dried before You.’ He burnt the ram and said: ‘O consider the act as though Isaac’s ashes were being heaped up upon the altar.’” Another exposition has it that the phrase ‘instead of his son’ implies an ultimate promise. Abraham would not move from the place until God swears to him that He will never again put him to any test. God swore to him that He would never test him again (NumRabb 17:2). This divinely created ram has its extraordinary purpose within the narrative but its existence since the time of creation is found puzzling and adds to the acuteness of the problem of providence within the story which implies that God never intended that Abraham should actually sacrifice Isaac. Equally extraordinary is its interpretation in Jewish tradition and its meaning for religio-political thought. The word rja in v. 13 can be read as achar (‘behind’ or ‘after’) or, grammatically congruent, echad (‘one’), or acher (‘another’). The following exposition reads acher and clarifies the role of the horns of the ram in Rabbinic Judaism: “This teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, showed our father Abraham the ram tearing itself free from one thicket and getting entangled in another. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Abraham: ‘In a similar manner are your children destined to be caught by iniquities and entangled in troubles, but they will ultimately be redeemed through the horns of the ram.’ Hence it is written: ‘The Lord God will blow the horn’ (Zech 9:14). R. Huna son of R. Isaac said: ‘It teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, showed Abraham the ram tearing itself free from one thicket and getting entangled in another. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Abraham: ‘In a similar manner are your children destined to be caught by the nations and entangled in troubles, being dragged from empire to empire, from Babylon to Media, from Media to Greece, and from Greece to Edom (Rome), but they will ultimately be redeemed through the horns of the ram.’ R. Abba son of R. Pappi and R. Joshua of Siknin in the name of R. Levi said: ‘All the days of the year Israel is occupied with their work, and on New Year they take their horns and blow before the Holy One, blessed be He, who rises from the throne of judgment and moves to the throne of mercy, and is filled with compassion for them.” (LevRabb 29:10). The significance of these midrashic statements can be attached to the thoughts and experiences on the occasion of the great days of awe in Judaism, the New Year and the Day of Atonement. Here

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we also touch upon the expiatory and soteriological values of Abraham’s sacrifice, so important in both Judaism and Christianity.4 On the Jewish New Year Israel considers how judgment is formed and on the Day of Atonement it considers how judgment is sealed. The key words are ‘judgment’ and ‘mercy’, and the horns of the ram, the shofarot, call Israel to account, as it is said in a prayer text: “The sound of the shofar breaks into our lives. It shatters our illusions and we awake to truth. Our time is short and we are forced to choose. Life and death have been set before us, good and evil, blessing and curse. Without penitence sin brings only destruction. The shofar sounds its warning, and calls us to account.” The two horns of the ram of Moriah encompass dimensions of past and future: the one was blown at the end of the revelation on mount Sinai; the other will be used to proclaim the ingathering of the exiles in the time to come. What then is the role of Abraham’s victim so-to-speak, his own beloved son Isaac who was the dq[n, the bound one? The Hebrew verb dq[ in v. 9 does not recur anywhere else in the Hebrew Bible in the active, conjugated form and possesses a specific value in Judaism which cannot be retrieved in the Christian tradition.5 The translations keep close to the original Hebrew meaning: Targum Onkelos reads: qjxy ty dq[w—‘And he bound Isaac’, and Targum Yonathan translates: qjxy ty tpkw—‘And he tied Isaac’. The Septuagint renders: ka¤ sumpod¤saw Isaak—‘And he tied the feet of Isaac together’, a meaning which, in an indirect way, recurs in Rashi’s commentary: hdyq[ ayh djyb μylgrw μydyh wyrwjam wylgrw wydy dq[y—‘And he bound his hands and his feet behind him, hands and feet together, this is aqedah.’ The biblical aqedah story focuses in Jewish perception upon Isaac as the main protagonist in the father-son drama. Not exclusively the sacrifice of Abraham but predominantly the binding of Isaac is the ever recurring motif in the descriptions and versifications of Jewish martyrdom. Like a permanent refrain, the comparison of the experience of sufferance and death with that of Isaac can be found in numerous historical records and poems, as in the poetry of Ephraim ben Jacob of Bonn (1133–1221) who witnessed the

4 Carol Delaney, Abraham on Trial, The Social Legacy of Biblical Myth, Princeton: Princeton University Press 1998, pp. 120–125, 137–145. 5 Margarite Harl, ‘La ‘Ligature’ d’Isaac (Gen. 22,9) dans la Septante et chez les Pères Grecs’, Hellenica et Judaica, ed. par A. Caquot c.s., Leuven-Paris: Éditions Peeters 1986, pp. 457–472.

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persecutions of the Jews during the Second Crusade: “They offered up sacrifices; they prepared victims like Isaac their father.”6 But what enabled Jews in the Middle Ages who lost their lives in countless killings and massacres μçh çwdyq l[, in the sanctification of God’s name, to compare themselves to Isaac who did not have to give his life and came out alive? Perhaps parts of the answer to this question of dazzling complexity are to be found in midrashic tales of Isaac’s frightening experience.7 In an early version Isaac was so terrified that his soul escaped from him, when the slaughtering knife was set upon his throat. As soon as the angelic voice admonished Abraham not to slaughter his son, Isaac returned to life. Abraham loosened his bonds, and Isaac stood upon his feet, and said: “Blessed are You, O God, who quickens the dead.” A later version (PRE 30) recounts how Isaac’s soul fled and departed, when the blade touched his neck, but when he heard the two cherubim saying to Abraham: “Do not lay your hand on the boy”, his soul returned to his body, and Abraham set him free, and Isaac stood upon his feet. He knew that in this manner the dead in the future will be revived. He opened his mouth and said: “Blessed are You, O God, who revives the dead.” Such traditions could be based upon the word-play hdyjy÷dyjy, ‘the only/unique one’ as a reference to both Isaac who is dyjy ˆb, the only son, and the soul which is hdyjy, ‘the unique one’, according to Ps 22:21. It should be noted that these thoughts strengthen Isaac’s position within the context of daily recited standard prayer, specifically the second benediction of the Amidah or Shmoneh Esreh. The first benediction is called ˆgm or ‘shield’ in connection with Abraham according to Gen 15:1: ‘Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield.” The second benediction on the mighty deeds of God was attached to the one that is second in the order of the patriarchs, and thus this benediction became associated with Isaac. The life and revival of nature during summer in the Middle East is dependent upon dew so that the subject of dewdrops was set down in connection with the resurrection of the dead. Some midrashim venture to assume that Isaac really died on mount Moriah. He was reduced to ashes and his sacrificial dust was cast on the mountain. The Holy One, blessed be He, brought upon him dew and revived 6 Hans-Georg von Mutius, Ephraim von Bonn, Hymnen und Gebete, Judaistische Texte und Studien 11, Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag 1989, pp. 84–90. 7 Allan Mintz, Hurban, New York: Columbia University Press 1984.

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him.8 This or similar ideas in rabbinic lore magnify the dimensions of the aqedah to such an extent that the patriarch Isaac was believed to have been put to death as the most pure symbol of martyrdom in the name of God and then to be revived as a symbol of the doctrine of resurrection.9 Whatever the origins or implications of this strain of thought may have been, later generations who experienced great distress strongly identified with Isaac and much less with Abraham. Recent studies show that this shift in focus could have been a Jewish response to the strong interest of Christian theology in Abraham.10 Two anonymous piyyutim from Late Antiquity seem to confirm this tendency. The first poem describes the aqedah from the theological perspective of Abraham:11 Abraham, the steadfast one, made You known, before You were known by the world; he revealed to all creatures the path which they should take. He was designated from among twenty-six generations and withstood every trial. Lord, you have put him to the test ten times; You granted him offspring in his hundredth year. Benign One, when You said to him: ‘I desire your child as a fragrant offering’— he rushed to fulfil the command, he lost no time at all. Quickly he split the wood, took up the fire and the knife, loaded his favoured one, Isaac, with the faggot for the burnt offering. Then he went on to build the altar, stood up and placed his lamb upon it; he took the sword in his hand and took no pity at all. The Almighty cried out to him: ‘Drop your hand at once! Instead of your son, I desire the ram caught by his horns in the thicket.’ O God, heed these ashes, credit us with his covenant, favour us for his binding, reward our self-denial! 8

Shibbolei ha-Leqet 9a–b. Shalom Spiegel, The Last Trial, on the Legends and Lore of the Command to Abraham to offer Isaac as a Sacrifice: the Akedah, New York: Schocken Books 1969; Eli Yassif, The Binding of Isaac—Studies in the Development of a literary Tradition, Jerusalem: The Magnes Press 1978. 10 P. Davies and B. Chilton, ‘The Aqedah: A Revised Tradition-History’, The Catholic Biblical Quarterly 40 (1978), pp. 514–546; Jeffrey S. Siker, Disinheriting the Jews: Abraham in Early Christian Controversy, Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press 1991. 11 T. Carmi, The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, Harmondsworth 1981, pp. 201–202. 9

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By contrast, in a recently published book on Jewish Palestinian Aramaic Poetry from Late Antiquity published by Michael Sokoloff and Joseph Yahalom, we encounter an impressive poem reconstructed from Genizah manuscripts:12 “Isaac said to his father, how pleasant is the altar you built me, my father, stretch out quickly, and take your knife, while I pray before my Lord. Uncover your arm and gird your loins, like a man who prepares a meal for his lord, this is the day about which they will say: a father did not pity, a son did not tarry. How will you go and tell my mother Sarah, how will you leave me and go home? And Isaac kissed his father Abraham, and commanded him, told him this: Sprinkle my blood over the altar, assemble my dust and bring it to my mother, my life and death, it’s all in His hands, I thank Him that he has chosen me. Blessed are you, my father, that they will say: I am the ram for the burnt offering of the living God, let your anger be stronger than your compassion, my father, and be the man who does not spare his son. Like a merciless man, take up your knife, and slaughter me, lest I shall become unclean, do not weep, I shall not stop you, I take myself not because of you. Why do you cry, said Isaac to Abraham his father, blessed is the Lord of the world who has chosen me, the spirit will rest [by] the blood of the altar, how we went out together in sincerity. Give me your knife, my father, that I can touch it, I beg you not to defile me, my eyes see the woodpiles put in order, a burning fire on the day of my sacrifice. Open your mouth and say a blessing, father, I will listen and say amen, my throat is stretched out to you, my father, whatever you please to do please do.

12 Jerusalem: Publications of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities 1999, pp. 124–131; cf. J. Yahalom, Poetry and Society in Jewish Galilee of Late Antiquity, Tel Aviv 1999, pp. 108–110; some of the motifs are strikingly similar to what is found in Syriac verse homilies, cf. Sebastian Brock, “Two Syriac Verse Homilies on the Binding of Isaac”, Le Muséon 99, Louvain-la-Nueve 1986, pp. 61–129, reprinted in Sebastian Brock, From Ephrem to Romanos, Interactions between Syriac and Greek in Late Antiquity, Ashgate: Variorum Collected Studies Series 1999, no. VI.

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The angels stood up to appease their Lord, we beg you to take pity on the boy, because of the love of his father we plead for the man in whose house we have eaten salt. The Almighty told him: be not afraid, boy, I am the Redeemer, and I shall redeem you, firm is God and strong are His deeds, there is no other like Him, none who resembles Him.” This poem reveals a number of dramatic details about Isaac’s readiness to be sacrificed at the hand of his father for the sake of God. The text focuses entirely on Isaac and the religious dimensions of his character. There is no actual ram to serve as the substitute victim, and only the last two strophes refer to the angels who according to Gen. 18 visited Abraham and were received with great hospitality. Throughout the centuries medieval exegetical and poetic responses to the theme of the aqedah viewed Jewish martyrs as sacrificial offerings to God rather than senseless victims in a world devoid of respect for fellow human beings.13 Even in modern times the burnt offering of Isaac or holokauston/holocaustum turned into a name for the death of million Jews during the Nazi period. Elie Wiesel refers to his own experiences when he calls attention to the aqedah but secular Jews will not be consoled by a biblical tale which promises divine intervention against death. Without the miraculous salvation of Isaac the story turns into a bitter myth. This ambiguity of the aqedah narrative will guarantee its relevance in modern and future times.

13 Louis Jacobs, ‘The Problem of the Akedah in Jewish Thought’, Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling: Critical Appraisals, ed. by R.L. Perkins, University of Alabama, pp. 1–9; James Swetnam, Isaac and Jesus, Rome: Biblical Institute Press 1981; Albert van der Heide, ‘Aqeda: de beproeving die verzoening bewerkte, de middeleeuws-joodse exegese van Genesis 22’, Betekenis en Verwerking: het offer van Isaak en de holocaust, ed. by Willem Zuidema c.s., Baarn: Ten Have 1982, pp. 19–59.

THE BODMER POEM ON THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM Ton Hilhorst Among the treasures in the set of papyri acquired by the Swiss collector Martin Bodmer1 is a Greek poem consisting of 30 hexameter lines, headed ‘To Abraham’. It has been published twice so far, by Enrico Livrea in 1994 and by André Hurst and Jean Rudhardt in 1999.2 Livrea thanks Hurst and Rudhardt for sending him a transcript of the text and he thanks the Bodmer Library for allowing him to study the papyrus in situ, but in fact he published the text without having received permission to do so. Actually, Hurst and Rudhardt were preparing the editio princeps of the text.3 Small wonder, then, that Livrea’s publication is not mentioned in their official 1999 edition. They do mention his conjectures in their critical apparatus, marking them as being by ‘Livrea’; however, they apparently base themselves on earlier contacts with Livrea, for at one point they mention three alternatives under his name,4 whereas in his publication he retains only one of these alternatives. In the following, I will base my remarks on the edition of Hurst and Rudhardt, but since Livrea’s pirated edition—which is not without its merits—is available, I will also take his article into consideration where it is of interest. Recently, an essay by Pieter W. van der Horst and Martien F.G. Parmentier appeared which contains an annotated translation and offers a wealth of material for comparison from Jewish and Christian (Greek as well as Syrian) sources.5 These three publica1 On the Bodmer Papyri, see R. Kasser, ‘Bodmer Papyri’, The Coptic Encyclopedia 8 (1991) 48–53. 2 E. Livrea, ‘Un poema inedito di Dorotheos: Ad Abramo’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 100 (1994) 175–187; A. Hurst and J. Rudhardt, Papyri Bodmer XXX– XXXVII; «Codex des Visions». Poèmes divers (Bibliotheca Bodmeriana), Munich 1999, 37–56. 3 Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 103 (1994) 154 contains three declarations on this affair: ‘Mitteilung der Bibliotheca Bodmeriana’ by H.E. Braun, ‘Stellungnahme von E. Livrea’, and ‘Stellungnahme von A. Hurst und J. Rudhardt’. Cf. also P.W. van der Horst and M.F.G. Parmentier, ‘Een nieuw oudchristelijk geschrift over het offer van Izaäk’, Bijdragen, tijdschrift voor filosofie en theologie 61 (2000) 243–260 at 244 n. 3. 4 Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 47, critical apparatus ad l. 21. 5 See note 3.

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tions are all that has appeared in print so far concerning our poem. As is usual with papyrus texts, the poem has not survived undamaged. Most lines show gaps, and two have disappeared completely. Thus, the first and foremost task of the editors is to restore the original text, insofar as this can be done. Fortunately, we have a double advantage here, the metre and the abecedarian structure: apart from the first three and the last three verses, each verse of the poem begins with a successive letter of the Greek alphabet. Furthermore, the subject matter of the poem is well known to us: it is a paraphrase of the story of Isaac’s sacrifice as told in Genesis 22. The poem was totally unknown until now, and we still do not know who wrote it. In the papyrus codex that transmits it, the poem follows the lengthy poem called ‘The Vision of Dorotheus’, and Livrea believes that it has so many points of agreement with that previous poem, that Dorotheus must be the author of the Abraham poem as well. Hurst and Rudhardt, on the contrary, feel that for linguistic reasons Dorotheus cannot have written it.6 A consensus still seems to be far away. Even the date of composition is unknown. Hurst and Rudhardt have good reasons for arguing that it stems from the fourth century; the papyrus itself was written either in the second half of the fourth century or early in the fifth century AD.7 In this paper, I will present this poem by offering its text together with a translation, followed by a discussion of some of its aspects. 1. Text and Translation The text will be printed here as it has been reconstructed by Hurst and Rudhardt. Square brackets denote gaps in the papyrus; characters inside them are conjectures of the editors. A dot below a character indicates that that character cannot be identified with any certainty. In numbering the lines, I include the captions, which makes for a total of 33 lines. The text, then, reads as follows:

6

Livrea (n. 2) 176–177; Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 9–10. Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 5–24. For the date of the papyrus, cf. J.N. Bremmer, The Rise and Fall of the Afterlife, London and New York 2001 (forthcoming), introduction to Appendix 3. 7

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5

10

15

20

25

30

PrÚw ÉAbraãm Íp)°[ry]eta àOw kÒsmon sun°zeuje ka‹ oÈranÚ)n [±d¢ yã]lassan afiy°row §kpro˝alle t«i ÉAbraåm ê)g)g[elon] »k+Á)n =°jai §Ún f¤lon uÂa telh°sshn §katÒmbhn. katå stoixe›on aÈt¤ka dÉ …w jun°hken §xÆrato prÒfroni y+u[m«i b∞ dÉ ‡men efi pep¤yoien égakleitØn parãkoi[tin: ,,gÊnai §mÆ, poy°ei yeÚw êmbrotow ˆfra kom[¤ssv d›on ɎIsak, m°ga d«ron )¶)h[n] )§)p)‹ gÆrao[w o]+È)d[«i §kgen°thw: tel°seien )t[«i ge yeoË tÚ y°l])h)m[a: zeÊjv §mÚn pot‹ bvm[Ú])n )Ù+r[egnÁw uflÚn] )ê)yi[kton”. ±Êjato dÉ …w pepÊye[s]ke gun[Ø ] )pepnum)°[na bãzei])n. ,,yãrsei, §mÚn f¤le t°k)n)on, §p[e‹] mãkar ¶p[leo sÁ z]«n ɎIs)a[k] §m«n mel°vn )t[°kow ].ki.[ [k [l (tok∞aw uel sim.) me¤lixa] kagxalÒvn prosef≈nee fa¤dimow uflÒw: ,,num[f¤]d)ion yalerÚn yãlamon teÊjasye tok∞ew, jan[y]Æn moi plokãmoisi kÒmhn pl°jasye pol›tai, ˆf[rÉ fler])Øn tel°saimi xãrin megalÆtori yum«i”. )p[Ër aÈ])tår per‹ bvmÚn §te¤xisan ‡storew émf¤w, )=[o¤bdh]sen d¢ yãlassa per‹ flÒga, tØn =å Mo#sØw )s[x¤se]i: ÉAbraåm uÂa potijunae¤reto kËma. )t[Ún dÉ ¶]feren yuÒenta patÆr, xa¤ronta d¢ bvm«i ÍcÒye]n ÑHfa¤stoio deid¤sketo, yÊnato dÙjÁ fãsgano]n aÈx°neow potifein°men: éllå yeo›o xe‹r mØn ém]fetãnusto: fãneske går §ggÊyi m∞lon: c∞len dÉ ÉAbr]aåm, uÂa s≈vn, énå d°ndrea karpÚn Àste prosy])°menow tÒ =É §l°jato da›ta pone›syai. tå loip]å prÒsyeta )a)È)t[¤ka sÊ,] +megãyume, lãxoiw g°raw êllo katÉ aÈtÚ x¤lia[ t°kna s]e to›on §paugãsai ényemÒenta dvro[dÒth])n )panãriston §pembeba«tÉ §p‹ pÊrgvi.

This text may be rendered as follows:8 To Abraham—introductory He who assembled the world and heaven and sea sent a swift messenger from the ether to Abraham in order that he should sacrifice his beloved son as a perfect offering. 5 By letter

8 There is a French translation by Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 48–49 and a Dutch one by van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 245–246. Livrea (n. 2) 180 offers an abecedarian translation of his own reconstruction.

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As soon as he heard it, he rejoiced with a willing mind and he set out, that he might persuade his glorious wife: ‘My wife, the immortal God wishes that I should bring noble Isaac. He was a great gift on the threshold of my old age, 10 my offspring. May God’s will be fulfilled for him. I will bind my untouched son, stretching him on my altar.’ As soon as she heard this, the woman proudly spoke the wise words: ‘Take courage, my dear child, for you were happy during your life, Isaac, child of my limbs. 15 (his parents or the like, as the object of ‘addressed’) the famous son addressed with gentle words, exulting: ‘Prepare a blooming bridal chamber, my parents, Twine my fair hair in braids, my fellow-citizens, 20 that I may perform a holy offering with a generous mind.’ Skilled persons built a fire round about on the altar, and around the flame the sea rustled which Moses was to divide; a wave lifted Abraham’s son. Him, the fragrant, bore his father, and while the boy rejoiced at the altar 25 he presented him above Hephaestus9 and he brandished the sharp sword to strike his throat.10 However, God’s hand stretched out, for nearby a sheep appeared and Abraham, saving his son, tore the fruit from among the trees and continuing11 chose it to prepare a feast. 30 The remaining, additional May you, noble one, obtain presently another reward for this: that a thousand children make you shine thus, you flowery one, giver of presents, best of all, who have climbed the tower.

2. Uncertainty of the Text In my translation, I have followed the reconstruction by Hurst and Rudhardt, indicating conjectures by using italics. In many cases the reconstruction is quite certain; no one will dispute that a hexameter ending on égakleitØn parãkoi and missing one syllable at the end will have to be completed by tin. Thus, Hurst and Rudhardt

I.e. the fire, cf. below, p. 103. Rather than ‘neck’, cf. I. Speyart van Woerden, ‘The Iconography of the Sacrifice of Abraham’, Vigiliae Christianae 15 (1961) 214–255 at 228, and the illustrations. 11 For this rendering of prosy])°menow, cf. F. Blass, A. Debrunner and F. Rehkopf, Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Griechisch, Göttingen 199017 § 435 n. 5. 9

10

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agree with Livrea in their integration of lines 1–3, 6–8, 14, 18, 19, 24–27, and 30. On the other hand, they disagree in lines 9–13, 17, 20–23, 28–29, and 31–33. The difference is not always alarming. Thus, in vv. 9–10, Hurst and Rudhardt write ‘noble Isaac. He was a great gift on the threshold of my old age, my offspring’, whereas Livrea has ‘noble Isaac, a great gift on the threshold of my old age, from the hour of his birth’.12 While the construction is different, the tenor is roughly the same, although Hurst and Rudhardt’s solution has the drawback of presenting Isaac’s sonship as something of the past (the same applies to their conjecture ¶p[leo] in l. 13). But in v. 12 both editions assess the situation in a different way: Hurst and Rudhardt make Sara ‘proudly speak wise words’, where Livrea has her ‘beseech her clever son’.13 In Hurst and Rudhardt’s view, Sarah shares the attitude of Abraham completely. Just like him, she considers it a privilege that their son will be sacrificed to honour God. In Livrea’s representation, on the other hand, she is the archetype of a caring mother. Several paraphrases of Genesis 22 exist in which Sarah laments,14 but the purpose of the present poem seems rather to present a united family—father, mother and child—each giving one single, positive statement. Consequently, Hurst and Rudhardt’s proposal is preferable. On the other hand, Livrea’s proposal ‘clever son’, )pepnum)°[non uflÒ])n, which evokes young Telemachus in Homer’s Odyssey, is ingenious, suggesting as it does the idea of being endowed with the Spirit (pneËma).15 In some lines, the physical damage of the papyrus is only the accompaniment to an intrinsic mysteriousness of the text. Thus, in lines 22–23, and around the flame the sea rustled which Moses was to divide; a wave lifted Abraham’s son,

the words ‘rustled’ and ‘was to divide’ can be reconstructed with a fair amount of probability, but the real problem is the meaning of ‘the sea which Moses was to divide’. Scholars have tried hard to 12 Hurst and Rudhardt d›on ɎIsak, m°ga d«ron )¶)h[n] )§)p)‹ gÆrao[w o])È)d[«i / §kgen°thw, Livrea d›on ɎIsãk, m°ga d«ron )§)m[o])Ë [§])p‹ gÆraow) [o]Èd[«i / §k genet∞w. 13 Hurst and Rudhardt ±Êjato dÉ …w pepÊye[s]ke gun[Ø ] )pepnum)°[na bãzei])n, Livrea hÎjato dÉ …w pepÊye[s]ke gun) [Ø ] p ) epnum°) [non uflÒ]n) . 14 See Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 52. 15 Livrea (n. 2) 183.

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solve the puzzle.16 Livrea thinks a lustral purification is meant, but the parallel texts he offers deal with purification of the sacrificer, not of the sacrifice. Furthermore, Livrea as well as Hurst and Rudhardt suggest a symbolic passage through the Red Sea, but the poem, instead of speaking of a stagnant sea being crossed (cf. Exodus 14:22: ‘And the people of Israel went into the midst of the sea on dry ground, the waters being a wall to them on their right hand and on their left’), on the contrary makes the water move on with a thundering roar and lift the apparently passive boy. Van der Horst and Parmentier, who reject the idea of a baptism of Isaac, consider it probable that some prefiguration of baptism is meant, but they do not explain its function in the text. Anyway, we should not forget that even the word )s[x¤se]i, apart from the first letter, is purely conjectural, and instead of relating the passage to the crossing of the Red Sea we might also think of Numbers 20, where Moses strikes water from the rock.17 Finally, lines 31–33 are a brainteaser. Both Livrea and Hurst and Rudhardt presume that the poet addresses Abraham directly; nevertheless, due to the different ways that the gaps are filled in, the differences grow more spectacular with each verse. Whereas Hurst and Rudhardt integrate the lines so as to say May you, noble one, obtain presently another reward for this: that a thousand children make you shine thus, you flowery one, giver of presents, best of all, who have climbed the tower,

Livrea conjectures: May you, my noble lord, obtain another reward for this a thousand times; lord, watch thus the flowery Dorotheus, the best of all, having climbed the tower.

Here, the thousand children—pointing to Abraham’s numerous progeny (cf. Genesis 22:15–19)—are gone, but Dorotheus, the putative author of the poem, has entered the scene; and not Abraham has climbed the tower: the hope is, rather, that Dorotheus will once have

16 Livrea (n. 2) 184–185; Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 40–41, 54; van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 247, 257–258. 17 For this scene as a pendant to the sacrifice of Abraham on Christian sarcophagi cf. Speyart van Woerden (n. 10) 236–237.

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climbed it.18 As for the tower, all scholars refer to the tower in the Christian writing The Shepherd of Hermas, a text which appears in the same collection of papyri as our poem; there the tower represents the Church.19 I feel slightly uncomfortable with this association as far as the reconstruction of Hurst and Rudhardt is concerned, for there the talk is of a strictly personal reward for Abraham, whereas the supposed belonging to the Church cannot be the privilege of one single person. In Livrea’s text, this objection does not apply, but the self-importance with which Dorotheus summons Abraham to watch him, ‘the flowery one, the best of all, having climbed the tower’, is rather unsuitable.20 Further research will have to study afresh the arguments for and against a common authorship of the Vision of Dorotheus and the present poem; such research should also include the next poem of the codex, To the Righteous, which according to the reconstruction of Hurst and Rudhardt contains the name Dorotheus: Dv[rÒy]eon KÊntou nai°men §n dika¤oiw (l. 160). 3. The Poem as a Paraphrase The poem offers a recasting of the story of Genesis 22 in the tradition of Greek poetry, and it is by no means the first experiment in treating biblical topics this way. Indeed, we have a number of poems, Jewish as well as Christian, that transpose the biblical subject matter to the world of Greek literature; suffice it to recall the Sibylline Oracles, the Exagoge of Ezekiel the poet, the verses of Gregory of Nazianzus, and Nonnus’ Paraphrase of St John’s Gospel. This transposition entails first of all the use of the secular poetic metre and language. A fine example is the rendering of Genesis 22:2, tÚn uflÒn sou tÚn égaphtÒn, ˘n ±gãphsaw, by the equally tender •Ún f¤lon uÂa.21

The differences are: v. 31 Hurst and Rudhardt a ) )È)t[¤ka sÊ], Livrea +k+Ê+r[i° mou], v. 32 Hurst and Rudhardt [t°kna s]°, Livrea [kÊri]e, v. 33 Hurst and Rudhardt dvro[dÒth]n) , Livrea Dvr!Ò[yeo]!n. 19 Livrea (n. 2) 187; Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 53, 56, cf. ib. 40; van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 246 n. 21. 20 Jan Bremmer, who prefers Livrea’s integration DvrÒ) [yeo])n, in a personal conversation suggested to me that I interpret pÊrgow as the stake on which Dorotheus was to die a martyr’s death. The suggestion is interesting enough, but suffers from the same objection as Livrea’s interpretation, namely Dorotheus’ self-glorification. 21 The expression may be rendered simply by ‘his own son’, as Hurst and 18

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The participle kagxalÒvn is also pleasantly appropriate: a homerism that expresses the etymology of the name Isaac.22 The phrase )§)p)‹ gÆrao[w o])È)d[«i, ‘on the threshold of my old age’ (l. 9), came to the surface as a matter of course; earlier, Josephus used it in the same context, Ant. 1.222: ÖIsakon . . . §p‹ gÆrvw oÈd“ katå dvreån aÈt“ toË yeoË genÒmenon, ‘Isaac . . . born to him on the threshold of old age through the bounty of God’ (trans. Thackeray). Not surprisingly, we read the customary epitheta ornantia: égakleitØ parãkoitiw, yeÚw êmbrotow, d›ow ÉIsak, fa¤dimow uflÒw. Furthermore, the author uses traditional, i.e. pagan, religious terminology, with a remarkable ease: =°zv and •katÒmbh (l. 4) for énaf°rv and ılokãrpvsiw (Gen. 22:2), bvmÒw (ll. 11, 21, 24) for yusiastÆrion (Gen 22:9).23 To the Genesis account he even adds the sacrificial meal or da¤w (l. 29), a feature known from Homer onward. In the same vein, in line 25 the name of Hephaestus, the god of fire, is used as a metonym for ‘fire’. Apparently, the poet had no qualms about mentioning the pagan god, no more than, for that matter, many centuries later John Calvin had in using the expression crassa Minerva, ‘with a dull Minerva’, i.e. ‘without art, in a homely style’24 Finally, the author introduces poetic images like the representation of the sheep as a fruit hanging on the trees (l. 28). It is possible that in doing so he attributes to the word m∞lon its double meaning, ‘apple’ and ‘sheep’ (or ‘goat’).25 Apart from these formal aspects, the shifts in content demand our attention. First of all, the author reduces the narrative to such an extent that the intended readers must have been familiar with the story and with the Pentateuch in general, as the reference to creation in line 2 and to Moses in line 22 make clear. Here, a comparison with Rudhardt, and van der Horst and Parmentier choose to do, but in view of the corresponding verse in Genesis a more affective interpretation would seem to be natural. 22 Cf. Genesis 17:17,19; 18:12; 21:6; 26:8; Livrea (n. 2) 183; C. Jacob and S. Schrenk, ‘Isaak I (Patriarch)’, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 18 (1998) 910–930 at 911 and 914. 23 Cf. G.J.M. Bartelink, ‘Einige Bemerkungen über die Meidung heidnischer oder christlicher Termini in dem frühchristlichen Sprachgebrauch’, Vigiliae Christianae 19 (1965) 193–209 at 194–195. James 2:21 keeps the biblical vocabulary, but Josephus Ant. 1.224 uses bvmÒw. 24 Ad Gen. 3.21 (Iohannis Calvini Opera Quae Supersunt Omnia 23, Brunswick 1882, 77); I owe this reference to Prof. G.P. Hartvelt. For these types of expressions, cf. J. Wackernagel, Vorlesungen über Syntax, II, Basel [19282], 62–63. 25 Livrea (n. 2) 186; Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 41, 55; van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 246 n. 19, 259.

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St Gregory of Nyssa’s De deitate filii et spiritus sancti et in Abraham is interesting. Gregory inserts the narrative of Abraham’s sacrifice as an illustration in a sermon about the divine Persons, and he introduces it by remarking that probably few among his audience would be familiar with the story.26 Our poet, on the contrary, can neglect to inform his readership that God’s order is meant as a test (Gen 22:1); furthermore, the thousand children of line 32 suffice as a reference to God’s promise in Genesis 22:17. In addition, he drops such details as Moriah, the ass, the third day, etc. On the other hand, he introduces a character absent from Genesis 22, namely Sarah. Abraham realises that he has to persuade her that God’s will must be done. She, on her part, acquiesces, although, as we saw, it depends on the integration chosen for lines 12 and 13 whether she did it gladly or with concern. In view of the positive attitude of Abraham, whose first reaction is joy (l. 6), and of Isaac, the former option, that she acquiesced gladly, seems preferable. Interestingly, other sources, such as Josephus Ant 1.225 and St Gregory of Nyssa’s just-mentioned sermon, give a very different interpretation of Sarah’s absence from Genesis 22. According to them, an encounter with Sarah might have had such an emotional impact on Abraham that he would no longer be able to obey God’s command; therefore, he wisely performs the sacrifice before meeting Sarah.27 One might be inclined to interpret Abraham’s statement about Isaac in lines 9–10, ‘He was a great gift on the threshold of my old age, my offspring’ as betraying a sense of regret, but considering the willingness or even eagerness with which Abraham in line 6 immediately welcomes God’s command, this passage is no doubt meant to underline the greatness of Abraham’s behaviour or the value of the sacrifice, and is not to be regarded as a sign of sorrow. Although Genesis 22 refrains from mentioning Abraham’s sentiments, in later sources his readiness to obey is a topos.28 As for Isaac, he is indeed portrayed rather differently than in the Genesis account. The poet is clearly not interested in his initial ignorance, which a modern reader finds so poignantly expressed in Genesis

26 Gregorii Nysseni Opera X.2, ed. F. Mann, Leiden 1996, 131 (= PG 46,567). Or is it just a rhetorical device on the part of Gregory, who needs a pretext to narrate this moving story? 27 See van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 253; Livrea (n. 2) 176. 28 See Livrea (n. 2) 182; van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 250–252.

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22:7–8. On the contrary, from the outset he is characterised as highly motivated to undergo his lofty fate. This feature is to be found in many sources, Jewish as well as Christian.29 There are also minor changes. The ‘skilled persons’ who build a fire on the altar are no doubt the servants ordered to stay behind with the ass in Genesis 22:7. Not the angel of the Lord (Genesis 22:11–12) stops Abraham, but God’s own hand (l. 26–27, although the hand is reconstructed); conversely, in ll. 1–3 God acts through his angel, whereas in Genesis 22:1–2 he acts directly. The sheep (m∞lon, not the kriÒw, ‘ram’) is not ‘caught in a thicket by his horns’ (Genesis 22:13) but stands among trees (l. 28). The two latter features are also present in two of the few representations to survive from antiquity that have been identified as being unequivocally Jewish, namely the fresco in the synagogue of Dura-Europos and the mosaic in that of Beth Alpha.30 4. The Bridal Chamber One of the most intriguing aspects of the new poem is the passage in lines 17–20: the famous son addressed (his parents) with gentle words, exulting: Prepare a blooming bridal chamber, my parents, Twine my fair hair in braids, my fellow-citizens, that I may perform a holy offering with a generous mind.

These lines depict the direct speech of Isaac after he is addressed by his mother. The introductory line 17 sets the tone: his words are ‘gentle’,31 he ‘exults’ and he is called a ‘famous son’. So we expect a noble reaction, and we are not disappointed. We could even say that the poet overplays his hand, for if the boy is to ‘perform a holy offering’ it is almost an anticlimax if in the end a sheep takes his place. One is struck, furthermore, by the nuptial imagery. The combination numf¤diow yãlamow, ‘bridal chamber’, evokes the idea of a wedding, and the adjective yalerÒw also belongs to this vocabulary, cf.

29

See van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 247–250, 255–256. See Jacob and Schrenk (n. 22) 917; for the Christian representations cf. ib. 926–928; van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 249, 258. 31 Filling the gap by me¤lixa, with Hurst and Rudhardt; Livrea reads mht°ra instead. 30

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the expression yalerÚw gãmow in Homer Od. 6.66; 20.74. The next line, 24, points to the same context. Isaac exhorts his ‘fellow-citizens’ (pol›tai) to braid his fair hair. The addressed, I surmise, are the members of his family. Since ‘doing the hair’ is, however, usually ‘doing the hair’ of the bride, not of the bridegroom,32 I wonder if Isaac here features as a bride.33 This needs further research. Whatever the case may be, we are invited to regard Isaac’s imminent sacrificial death as a wedding.34 Through his death, Isaac will enter heaven immediately, and thus share the heavenly marriage feast. Livrea mentions three patristic passages where Isaac’s sacrifice is presented as a wedding,35 but in these passages the marriage is only mentioned to express Abraham’s perplexity or the protest of Abraham’s slaves: ‘was this (sc. Isaac’s sacrificial death) the young man’s marriage?’, whereas here the mention is quite positive, evoking the idea of a mystical union. Generally speaking, the idea is typical of martyrs. Thus, in the Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne, transmitted by Eusebius H.E. 5.1.3–2.8, Blandina is portrayed as follows: ‘The blessed Blandina . . . after duplicating in her own body all her children’s sufferings, . . . hastened to rejoin them, rejoicing and glorying in her death as though she had been invited to a bridal banquet instead of being a victim of the beasts’ (§ 55, trans. Musurillo). St Gregory of Nazianzus, Oratio 15,10 (PG 35,929B) uses a similar phrase to describe the mother of the Maccabean martyrs: …w §p‹ numf«na tØn purkaiån dramoËsa, ‘hurrying towards the stake as towards a bridal chamber’. Therefore, we are entitled to assume that Isaac is viewed here as a martyr. This view is already present in 4 Macc. 13.12, where the brethren encourage each other by saying ‘Remember of what stock ye are; and by the hand of what father Isaac endured to be slain for the sake of piety’ (trans. Brenton), and the same view is con32 See, e.g. Paulinus of Nola 25.64,79–88. Cf. E. Rohde, Der griechische Roman und seine Vorläufer, Leipzig 19143, 164 n. 3; L. Friedlaender – G. Wissowa, Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Roms in der Zeit von August bis zum Ausgang der Antonine, I, Leipzig 19199, 274. Both Livrea (n. 2) 184 and Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 53 think the hair may be an allusion to the sacrificial flame. 33 Cf. the designation pary°now used for men in Revelation 14:4. See W. Bauer – K. Aland – B. Aland, Griechisch-deutsches Wörterbuch zu den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der frühchristlichen Literatur, Berlin—New York 19886 s.v. 2. 34 Cf. Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 41–42, 53. 35 Livrea (n. 2) 183–184. See further the comments by van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 249 and 256–257.

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veyed by the words of the mother of the brethren in 16.20 and 18.11.36 Should we take Isaac’s statement in line 20, ‘that I may perform a holy offering with a generous mind’, as an expression of a vicarious sacrifice? Livrea, although reservedly, interprets it this way, but we should not overlook that his reconstruction of this damaged line differs from that of Hurst and Rudhardt. Where the latter read ˆf[= fler])Øn tel°saimi xãrin megalÆtori yum«i, Livrea conjectures ˆf[= Ím])›n ktl., but this is certainly not cogent; the idea is absent from Genesis 22, and its introduction here would seem almost grotesque in view of the outcome of the story. My own preference would be to conceive of xãriw as a thank-offering, a meaning mentioned by Liddell and Scott (cf. also the Supplement) s.v. V 2 both for Aeschylus and Attic prose. 5. Jewish or Christian? Since the story of Abraham’s sacrifice or, alternatively, Isaac’s aqedah belongs to the same Scripture for Jews and Christians, the question is whether the poetic reformulation in our papyrus text was produced in a Jewish or a Christian milieu. In the current discussions, the Christian origin of the poem is beyond dispute.37 To Livrea, this origin is demonstrated by the fact that, as he feels, the poet is none other than Dorotheus, the author of the demonstrable Christian poem, the Vision of Dorotheus—yet as we have seen, this authorship is by no means sure. Hurst and Rudhardt deduce the Christian character from the baptismal and other Christian symbolism in the poem, yet precisely this symbolism is far from certain. Finally, van der Horst and Parmentier simply mention the text as one of a collection of seven early Christian poems. They may be right; after all, the poem belonged to a codex which contained specifically Christian texts. But we need a much more rigorous demonstration of the Christian symbolism than has been offered so far for it to be evident that the poem is Christian. It does not suffice to adduce material for comparison from other sources: what we need is a convincing explanation 36 C. Krauss Reggiani, 4 Maccabei (Commentario storico ed esegetico all’Antico e al Nuovo Testamento, Supplementi 1), Genua 1992,57; Jacob and Schrenk (n. 22) 911–912. 37 Livrea (n. 2) 176–177; Hurst and Rudhardt (n. 2) 40–43; van der Horst and Parmentier (n. 3) 243.

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of how the images function within the present poem. In the meantime, I would prefer to leave the question open, in order not to block possible roads to a better insight. If nothing forbids a Christian origin, there seem to be no elements in the poem that are incompatible with Jewish ideas either, even if some of these ideas are more familiar than others.38 In addition, Greek as a medium in Diaspora Judaism has lived on well into the Byzantine era. Therefore, a Jewish origin cannot be excluded, and if the text was found in a Christian collection, this may mean no more than that Christians appropriated Jewish texts, which is nothing new. We have dwelt a good deal upon the problems of the text. Let us end by trying to assess its importance. In my view, this importance is twofold. On the one hand, the poem enriches our knowledge of the reception of Genesis 22; in addition, it is a new specimen of a literature that treats biblical topics according to Greek poetical conventions, a literature that has been underrated and underresearched for too long. On the other hand, the poem also has a right to claim our attention for its own sake. In comparison with the wordy paraphrases of the story known so far it is of a pleasant pithiness. It is original in its views, elegant in its handling of the epic language, and it leaves something to be guessed, as good poetry should.39

38 Wout van Bekkum kindly pointed out to me that the former half of the poem shows much more current Jewish elements than the latter half; but unfamiliar is not the same as incompatible. 39 I am grateful to Jan Bremmer for a number of corrections and suggestions.

THE LAMB ON THE TREE: SYRIAC EXEGESIS AND ANTI-ISLAMIC APOLOGETICS Gerrit J. Reinink 1. Introduction In the early eighth century a high Arab functionary belonging to the notables in the entourage of the emir Maslama stayed for ten days in the monastery of Bet Hale in Iraq to recover from an illness. During his stay there the Arab notable came to be on familiar terms with a monk of the same monastery, and both men fell into a lively conversation on the Christian Scriptures and the Qur"an. One of the topics which came up for discussion was the biblical narrative Gen 22: the story of the sacrifice of Isaac. The form and function of this story in the discussion between the Arab and the monk are the subject of the present paper; but first of all a few introductory remarks need to be made on the author, date, milieu and the genre of the work which preserves the account of this discussion. The (still unpublished) work1 is preserved in two East Syrian manuscripts:2 Diyarbakir 95, of the early eighteenth century,3 and Mardin 82, written in 1890.4 Though these manuscripts are of a rather late date, we may be fairly sure that the work represents one of the earliest specimens of East Syrian apologetic discourse in response to Islam.5 1

H.J.W. Drijvers and the present writer are preparing the publication of this work in the series CSCO in Leuven. 2 Cf. P. Jager, ‘Intended Edition of a Disputation between a Monk of the Monastery of Bet Óale and one of the ˇayoye’, in: H.J.W. Drijvers, R. Lavenant, C. Molenberg & G.J. Reinink (eds), IV Symposium Syriacum 1984 (Orientalia Christiana Analecta 229), Roma 1987, 401–402. 3 A. Scher, ‘Notice sur les manuscrits syriaques et arabes conservés à l’archevêché chaldéen de Diarbékir’, Journal Asiatique 10/10 (1907) 395–398; A. Desreumaux, Répertoire des bibliothèques et des catalogues de manuscrits syriaques, Paris 1991, 130. In the following we quote the work as Disputation according to the folios of this manuscript (Diyarbakir 95, item 35, fol. 1r–8v ). 4 A. Scher, ‘Notice dus les manuscrits syriaques et arabes conservés dans la bibliothèque de l’évêché chaldéen de Mardin’, Revue des Bibliothèques 18 (1908) 87; Desreumaux, Répertoire, 182. This manuscript is not accessible to us. 5 Cf. S.H. Griffith, ‘Disputes with Muslims in Syriac Christian Texts: from

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No mention is made of the name of the author in the textual witnesses of the work. In the introduction the author says that he composed ‘the disputation which an Arab had with the monk in the monastery of Bet Hale’ at the request of a certain Aba Jacob.6 It is likely that Jacob was the abbot of the monastery of Bet Hale and that the author was one of his monks and perhaps even the Arab’s interlocutor, but his identity was apparently supposed to be known at the time. Anton Baumstark, however, has suggested that we can establish the author’s identity, since ‘Abdisho’s’ catalogue of Syriac literature (written shortly after 1315/16) lists a ‘disputation against the Arabs’ written by Abraham from the monastery of Bet Hale.7 It is indeed possible, if not likely, that the work which ‘Abdisho’ found in his library is the same as our ‘disputation’, but we may doubt whether Abraham’s name was originally connected with the work. In later times, people may have felt a need to identify the author of the disputation and thus looked for a possible candidate. Abraham of Bet Hale was such a candidate. The monastic history of Isho‘denah, metropolitan of Basra (c. 850),8 a work known by ‘Abdisho’,9 records the biography of Abraham of Bet Aramaye who was a pupil of John Azraq (c. 700)10 in the monastery of Bet Hale near Hira.11 To be sure, there are more monks from the monastery of Bet Hale recorded by Isho'denah,12 but Abraham takes an outstanding place in the company, the more so as his tutor John Azraq, the later bishop of Hira, was a well-known author and personality in the East Syrian tradition.13 But can we be certain that the monastery of Bet Hale, mentioned in the introduction, is indeed the monastery in the desert of Hira Patriarch John (d. 648) to Bar Hebraeus (d. 1286)’, in: B. Lewis & F. Niewöhner (eds.), Religionsgespräche im Mittelalter (Wolfenbütteler Mittelalter-Studien 4), Wiesbaden 1992, 259–261. 6 Disputation, fol. 1r. 7 A. Baumstark, Geschichte der syrischen Literatur, Bonn 1922, 211; ‘Abdisho’, Catalogue, ed. J.S. Assemani, Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-Vaticana III/1, Rome 1725, 205. 8 Baumstark, Geschichte, 234. 9 Catalogue, ed. Assemani, 195. 10 Baumstark, Geschichte, 210. John Azraq was a contemporary of the Catholicos Henanisho’ I (d. 699/700) but was still alive in 731. 11 Isho'denah, ed./transl. by J.-B. Chabot, Le livre de la chasteté composé par Jésusdenah, évêque de Baçrah (Extrait des Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire publiés par l’École française de Rome 16), 47/40, 61/51. 12 Cf. J.M. Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne III (Recherches publiées sous la direction de l’institut de lettres orientales de Beyrouth 42), Beyrouth 1968, 223. 13 Also recorded in ‘Abdisho’s’ Catalogue, ed. Assemani, 182.

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which was founded by Kudahwi by the middle of the seventh century?14 There was another monastery of the same name (also known as the Dayr al-Tin) on the Tigris river near the town of Hadita (to the south of Mosul).15 Whereas Robert Hoyland left the question undecided,16 Sidney Griffith argued strongly for the more renowned monastery in the desert of Hira, as the place where the disputation between the monk and the Arab notable took place.17 If Griffith’s choice were to be the right one, a rather precise date of the disputation could be established; for it is generally assumed that the emir Maslama, in whose administration, as the introduction reports,18 the Arab held the position of rab baytà, may be identified with Maslama ibn 'Abd al-Malik (d. 738).19 Maslama, son of the famous caliph 'Abd al-Malik, became governor of Mesopotamia, Armenia and Azarbayjan in 710, and of both Iraqs at the beginning of July 720. He lost his position one year later, but received from the caliph Hisham the governorship of Armenia and Azarbayjan from 725–729 and from 730–732.20 The period of 720–721 in particular, when also Southern Iraq fell under the jurisdiction of Maslama, may be considered as the date of the disputation, if the monastery near Hira were indeed to have been the place of the encounter between Maslama’s rab baytà and the monk. In the introduction the work is typified as a ‘controversial treatise’ or ‘disputation’ (drà“à), just as Abraham of Bet Hale’s work is called in ‘Abdisho’s’ catalogue. In East Syrian tradition the drà“à represents a specific genre of the school tradition.21 It is a controversial treatise, often written in a dialogue format, in which religious, 14 See Isho'denah, ed./transl. Chabot, Le livre de la chasteté, 45/38; Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne III, 222. 15 Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne I (Recherches publiées sous la direction de l’institut de lettres orientales de Beyrouth 22), Beyrouth 1965, 102. 16 R.G. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It. A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam (Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam 13), Princeton, N.J. 1997, 465. 17 Griffith, ‘Disputes with Muslims’, 259; idem, ‘Disputing with Islam in Syriac: The Case of the Monk of Bêt Hàlê and a Muslim Emir’, Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 3, 1 (2000) 6. 18 Disputation, fol. 1r. The Syriac expression is rather common, but it suggests that the Arab was in charge of financial and other practical affairs concerning the management of the emirate. 19 Griffith, ‘Disputes with Muslims’, 259; idem, ‘Disputing with Islam’, 6–7; Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 472. 20 Encyclopaedia of Islam, New Edition, VI, Leiden 1991, 740. 21 See S.H. Griffith, ‘Chapter ten of the Scholion: Theodore Bar Kònì’s Apology for Christianity’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica 47 (1981) 170.

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theological or philosophical matters are discussed with the purpose of instructing the students how to respond to the objections of the opposing party. These opponents may, for example, belong to another Christian community (heretics) or to a different religion ( Jews, Muslims). An example of the first category is provided by the heading of the East Syrian collection of christological texts published by Luise Abramowski and Alan Goodman: ‘By the power of the Trinity I am collecting a little from the confession of the heretics from the writings of the fathers, and controversial treatises (drà“è) and responses against them.’22 An example of the latter is Theodore bar Koni’s Scholion, written in the early Abbasid time (c. 791/2). Book 10 of this work contains a dialogue between a teacher and a student, in which the teacher takes the place of the Christians and the student the position of the Muslims. In the introduction Theodore notes that students may have much profit of this treatise, in particular because it is not only a controversial treatise (drà“à) against heresy, but also written in the question and answer format.23 The question and answer format represents the typical teaching style of the East Syrian school tradition, which was widely used for the instruction of biblical exegesis and other fields of study.24 It is exactly the same purpose—of instructing the own co-religionists—which underlies the composition of the disputation between the Arab and the monk of the monastery of Bet Hale. The work is a drà“à which—as the author himself says in the introduction—is deliberately written in the question and answer format with the intention that Aba Jacob’s monks will have much profit from the work. The author also calls it an ‘investigation into the apostolic faith through a son of Ishmael’,25 which means that the treatise should determine the principal differences between the Christian confession and the faith of the ‘sons of Ishmael’ and provide the arguments with which the Christians will be equipped to counter the religious claims of the new political power in the Middle East. 22 Ed./transl. by L. Abramowski & A.E. Goodman, A Nestorian Collection of Christological Texts, vol. I: Syriac Text, vol. II: Introduction, Translation and Indexes, Cambridge 1972, 1/3. 23 Ed./transl. by A. Scher (ed.) and R. Hespel & R. Draguet (transl.), Theodorus bar Kònì. Liber Scholiorum II, in: CSCO, vol. 69, Scriptores Syri, tom. 26 (text), vol. 432, Scriptores Syri, tom.188 (transl.), Leuven 1960, 1982, 232/172. 24 Cf. C. Molenberg, The Interpreter Interpreted. I“o' bar Nun’s Selected Questions on the Old Testament, Diss. Groningen 1990, 48–52. 25 Disputation, fol.1r. In the disputation the islamic Arabs always are called ‘sons of Ishmael’ as in other Syriac sources from the Umayyad times (see below nn. 78–79).

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If we may conclude that our disputation is a highly artificial product, how sure can we be of its being rooted in a real debate which would have taken place between an Arab notable and a monk in the monastery of Bet Hale somewhere in the early eighth century? Could not this drà“à be a literary fiction dating from later times, composed by an author, who by mentioning Maslama’s name, intended to make its authenticity credible and, in so doing, reinforce its apologetic objectives? But it is exactly through the way in which these apologetic objectives find expression in our disputation—both as regards their historical setting and their unique features—that this disputation stands out from the scholarly apologies against Islam belonging to the Abbasid period.26 As I have argued elsewhere, our disputation probably was written not long after the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius (written c. 691/2),27 since the author of the drà“à tries to redefine the politico-religious message of Pseudo-Methodius under the drastically changing historical and social conditions of the early decades of the eighth century; these changes provoked a new (apologetic) response from the Christians to the religious claims of the Muslim authority.28 The author, therefore, may very well have lived in the days of Maslama, the son of the caliph who initiated the new policy of the Arabization and Islamization of the empire— which is, of course, no decisive argument for the historicity of the debate itself. 2. Isaac’s Sacrifice in the Disputation and its Exegetical Background in Syriac Tradition In the opening words of the disputation the Arab defines the differences between Islam and Christianity both in a positive and in a negative way: on the one hand the Muslims are said to keep carefully the commandments of Muhammad and the sacrifices of Abraham, on 26

Cf. Griffith, ‘Disputes with Muslims’, 260; idem, ‘Disputing with Islam’, 11–12. Ed./transl. by G.J. Reinink, Die Syrische Apokalypse des Pseudo-Methodius, in: CSCO, vol. 540, Scriptores Syri, tom. 220 (text), vol. 541, Scriptores Syri, tom. 221 (transl.), Leuven, 1993. 28 Reinink, Die Syrische Apokalypse des Pseudo-Methodius, Einleitung (text), XLIII–XLIV; idem, ‘The Beginnings of Syriac Apologetic Literature in Response to Islam’, Oriens Christianus 77 (1993) 184–187; idem, ‘An Early Syriac Reference to Qur"àn 112?’, in: H.L.J. Vanstiphout et al., All those Nations . . . Cultural Encounters within and with the Near East (COMERS/ICOG Communications 2), Groningen 1999, 123–130. 27

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the other hand they do not accept the idea of God having a son, the worship of the cross, the relics of the martyrs and the icons, and the Christian practice of baptism.29 With these words the author defines the topics of the whole ensuing discussion; in this the Arab takes the role of posing questions, which give the monk the opportunity to explain, in relatively long exposés, the rightness of Christian belief and practices. The theme of Isaac’s sacrifice forms part of the first item of the disputation, in which the meaning of Abraham and the Abrahamic faith are discussed.30 The Arab wants to know why the Christians do not fulfil the commandments of Abraham, viz. the circumcision and the sacrifice. After having stated that the commandments and laws which were given throughout Old Testament history could only bear ‘the shadow of the truth’, the monk explains that the circumcision, which was given to Abraham as the sign of those who accepted the Law, has now been replaced by baptism, being the type of Christ’s death, burial and resurrection: ‘And as in that time everyone, who was not circumcised, was not called a son of Abraham, so today everyone, who is not baptised, is not called a Christian.’ When the Arab thereupon asks how Abraham’s sacrifice can be the type of Christ’s sacrifice, the monk replies: ‘Abraham was ordered to sacrifice his son so that he would typify [this] that our Lord would suffer on our behalf. And this, that he took two boys with him, [is] a type of the two robbers who were crucified together with Christ. And the wood on Isaac’s shoulder [is] the type of our Lord’s cross on His shoulder. And this, that Isaac was bound on the altar, accomplished the type of His godhead. And this, “Lift your hand from the boy and do not do anything to him, and see, a lamb was suspended on a tree”, [is] the type of the body that He took from us, which suffered on the cross, whereas His godhead was not harmed.’ These last words of the monk’s typological exegesis of Gen 22 mark the transition to the discussion of christological and theological items (the doctrine of Trinity).31 The highly literary character of the disputation clearly appears from the monk’s exposition of Gen 22. For the Arab is not only supposed to accept a priori the biblical story of Gen 22, which differs Disputation, fol. 1v–2r. Disputation, fol. 2v–3r. 31 Disputation, fol. 3r–5r. In this context the Christian ‘sacrifice’, the eucharist, is discussed. 29 30

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from the Qur"anic story of the sacrifice of Abraham’s son,32 but it is also implied that he can understand and be immediately convinced by what is a piece of clear-cut Christian exegesis. In fact, the monk is not quoting directly from the biblical text, providing it with his explanation, but, as appears from the style, he is simply epitomising some commentary of Gen 22. Its exegesis is rooted in the East Syrian school tradition, and we shall try to determine the constitutive elements of this tradition in connection with the exegesis of Gen 22 in the disputation. It is, however, first of all appropriate to make a few methodological observations. The hey-day of East Syrian exegesis was in the sixth century, when the directors (who occupied the chair of exegesis) and teachers of the School of Nisibis produced a considerable number of biblical commentaries; among these the commentaries on Genesis took an outstanding place.33 When the School of Nisibis, because of serious internal christological controversies at the end of the sixth century, lost its position of centre of learning par excellence for the East Syrian Church, its role was taken over in particular by the School of Seleucia-Ctesiphon, the capital of the Persian empire and the seat of the East Syrian Catholicos.34 In the seventh century the School of Seleucia-Ctesiphon generated noted exegetes who carried on and developed further the tradition of the School of Nisibis.35 However, apart from the biblical homilies of Narsai, the first director of the

32 Sura 37: 102/100–110. Cf. H. Busse, Islam, Judaism, and Christianity: Theological and Historical Affiliations, Princeton 1998, 82–84. 33 Commentaries on Genesis were composed by Mar Aba I, John of Bet Rabban, Henana of Adiabene, and Michael Badoqa; cf. A. Vööbus, History of the School of Nisibis, CSCO, vol. 266, Subsidia, tom. 26, Leuven 1965, 163, 213–214, 238, 278–279. 34 For the background of the controversies in the School of Nisibis, which arose under the directorate of Henana of Adiabene, see G.J. Reinink, ‘Tradition and the Formation of the “Nestorian” Identity in 6th–7th Century Iraq’, forthcoming in the Proceedings of the Fourth Workshop on Late Antiquity and Early Islam. Patterns of Communal Identity in the Late Antique and Early Islamic Near East, London, 5–7 May 1994; idem, ‘“Edessa Grew Dim and Nisibis Shone Forth”: The School of Nisibis at the Transition of the Sixth-Seventh Century’, in: J.W. Drijvers & A.A. MacDonald (eds), Centres of Learning. Learning and Location in Pre-Modern Europe and the Near East (Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 61), Leiden-New York-Köln 1995, 77–89; idem, ‘Babai the Great’s Life of George and the Propagation of Doctrine in the Late Sasanian Empire’, in: J.W. Drijvers & J.W. Watt, Portraits of Spiritual Authority. Religious Power in Early Christianity, Byzantium and the Christian Orient (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 137), Leiden-Boston-Köln 1999, 171–193. 35 Gabriel Qatraya en Mar Aba II composed commentaries on Genesis, of which fragments have been preserved in some of the later East Syrian compilations mentioned below (the fragments of Mar Aba II are only found in the Gannat Bussame).

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School of Nisibis (d. 502/3), the prolific heritage of the exegetes of the sixth and seventh century is almost completely lost. The East Syrian exegetical compilations which contain explanations of Gen 22, all date from the 8th–10th centuries or—in one case—perhaps even from a still later period: the Anonymous Commentary on GenExod 9:32 (8th c.),36 the Scholion of Theodore bar Koni (c. 791/2),37 the Selected Questions of Isho' bar Nun (before 828),38 the Commentaries on the OT and NT of Isho'dad of Merv (c. 850),39 the Anonymous Commentary on the OT (c. 900?),40 the Gannat Bussame (10th c.),41 and the Anonymous Scholia on the OT and NT (date uncertain, but probably late).42 These compilations, indeed, contain much older material, but here the problem of the identification of their sources emerges, since these traditions are mostly transmitted anonymously. These circumstances make it virtually impossible to identify the direct source used by the author of the disputation discussed here, for his explanation of Gen 22. It is, however, possible to say something more about the background of the exegesis of Gen 22 in the disputation, since we have some knowledge of the main streams of exegetical tradition which circulated in the School of Nisibis in the sixth century. According to Barhadbeshabba, who was a teacher of the School of Nisibis by the end of the sixth century,43 three traditions were predominant in the School of Edessa, when, 36 Ed./transl. by L. van Rompay, Le commentaire sur Genèse-Exode 9, 32 du manuscrit (olim) Diyarbakir 22, in: CSCO, vol. 483, Scriptores Syri, tom. 205 (text), vol. 484, Scriptores Syri, tom. 206 (transl.), Leuven 1986, 87–88/111–113. 37 Ed./transl. by A. Scher (ed.) and R. Hespel & R. Draguet (transl.), Theodorus bar Kônî. Liber Scholiorum I, in: CSCO, vol. 55, Scriptores Syri, tom. 19 (text), vol. 431, Scriptores Syri, tom. 187 (transl.), Leuven 1960, 1981, 133–135/140–141. 38 Ed./transl. by E.G. Clarke, The Selected Questions of Ishô bar Nûn on the Pentateuch, Leiden 1962, 32. 39 Ed./transl. by C. van den Eynde (ed. in cooperation with J.-M. Vosté), Commentaire d’I“o'dad de Merv sur l’Ancien Testament. I. Genèse, in: CSCO, vol. 126, Scriptores Syri, tom. 67 (text), vol. 156, Scriptores Syri, tom. 75 (transl.), Leuven 1950, 1955, 173–176/186–189. 40 Ed. by A. Levene, The Early Syrian Fathers on Genesis, London 1951, 41–39 (fol. 14v–15v). 41 The commentary on Gen 22 (belonging to the readings of the Holy Saturday before Eastern) has not yet been published. I quote the text according to the MS Leuven, CSCO, syr. 14, fol. 534v–535v. For the description of this MS, see G.J. Reinink, Gannat Bussame, I. Die Adventssonntage, in: CSCO, vol. 501, Scriptores Syri, tom. 211, Leuven 1988, IX–X. 42 Ed. by G. Hoffmann, Opuscula Nestoriana, Kiliae-Parisiis 1888, 129. 43 For the discussion of the date and identity of Barhadbeshabba, see Reinink, ‘The School of Nisibis’, 81.

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after the death of the director Qiyore, his successor Narsai was forced to flee the city and founded the School of Nisibis. These are: the works of Ephrem Syrus (d. 373); the ‘tradition of the School’, representing the orally transmitted ancient tradition of the School of Edessa;44 and the commentaries of Theodore of Mopsuestia (d. 428), which were translated from Greek into Syriac in the School of Edessa, when Qiyore was the director of the School.45 Since the ‘tradition of the School’ remains a rather elusive phenomenon,46 and the commentary of Theodore of Mopsuestia on Genesis is almost completely lost (no fragments on Gen 22 are preserved),47 we shall take the works of Ephrem as the starting-point and adduce the traditions from the later East Syrian commentaries when these are relevant for our comments on the exegesis of Gen 22 in the disputation. The monk introduces his explanation of Gen 22 with the general remark that the sacrifice of Isaac was ordered so that a type of the Passion of Christ should be accomplished. This typology is common property to all early Christian writers,48 and both Ephrem and the 44 For a discussion of the ‘tradition of the School’, see L. van Rompay, ‘Quelques remarques sur la tradition syriaque de l’œuvre exégétique de Théodore de Mopsueste’, in: Drijvers et al. (eds), IV Symposium Syriacum 1984, 38–41. 45 Ed./transl. by A. Scher, Mar Barhadb“abba 'Arbaya. Cause de la fondation des écoles, in: Patrologia Orientalis IV/4, Turnhout 1971, 382–383. Cf. Reinink, ‘The School of Nisibis’, 86, n. 38. For Qiyore and the translation work under his auspices, see Vööbus, History, 10–11, 14; Van Rompay, ‘Quelques remarques’, 35–39. 46 According to Bar˙adbeshabba Narsai inserted the ‘tradition of the School’ into his homilies and other works, but it remains difficult to define this tradition; cf. Van Rompay, ‘Quelques remarques’, 38; J. Frishman, The Ways and Means of Divine Economy. An Edition, Translation and Study of Six Biblical Homilies by Narsai, Diss. Leiden 1992, 39–41. In the later East Syrian compilations a particular exegesis is sometimes connected with the ‘tradition of the School(s)’. As for Gen 22, an example can be found in the Selected Questions of Isho' bar Nun (above n. 38). Here the exegesis of Ephrem of the ram on the tree (Gen 22:13), in which the ram is said to have been created from the tree, is set against the opinion of the ‘tradition of the School’, according to which the ram was taken by an angel from Abraham’s flock and placed in the tree, ‘in order that it be known that just as it originated from the nature of the sheep and not from the tree on which that ram was suspended, in like manner also Christ, in his manhood was created from the nature of us, men, and not from another nature’. For a discussion of this exegesis in Isho' bar Nun, its sources and its relation with Isho'dad’s exegesis, see Molenberg, The Interpreter Interpreted, 140–148. 47 For a survey of the remnants of Theodore’s commentary on Genesis, see M. Geerard, Clavis Patrum Graecorum, vol. 2, Turnhout 1974, 345. 48 Cf. D. Lerch, Isaaks Opferung christlich gedeutet (Beiträge zur historischen Theologie 12), Tübingen 1950, and the contributions of M.C. Paczkowski and L. Cignelli in: F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions (Studium Biblicum Franciscanum, Analecta 41), Jerusalem 1995, 101–126.

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later Syriac tradition follow this standard Christian typological interpretation of the sacrifice of Isaac.49 Thereupon the monk advances four examples which intended to demonstrate this typological meaning of Gen 22. In the first example the two ‘boys’ whom Abraham took with him on his journey (Gen 22:3,5) are said to represent typologically the two robbers crucified with Christ (Matt 27:44, Luke 23:39–43). This interpretation cannot be found in the works of Ephrem, but it occurs in three later East Syrian commentaries. Theodore bar Koni attributes this interpretation to those exegetes ‘who compare all things that were done by the type of the sacrifice of Isaac with the things of our Saviour and [explain] the two young men in the likeness of the two robbers’.50 Isho'dad of Merv briefly states that ‘the two boys [are] the type of the two robbers’.51 The Gannat Bussame, which in its exegesis of Gen 22 is dependent on two sources,52 presents this typology according to its second source: ‘The two young men who were with Abraham perform the type of the two robbers who were crucified together with our Saviour.’53 It is interesting to note that both Isho‘dad and the disputation call the two companions of Abraham ‘boys’ (†làyè ) and not ‘young men’ ('laymè ) as they are called by Theodore bar Koni and in the Gannat Bussame in accordance with the Syriac bible (Gen 22:3,5,19). ‘Boy’ (†alyà) implies a younger age than ‘young man’ ('laymà), and by calling the young men ‘boys’ their age is equated with Isaac’s age (Gen 22:5,12). It is possible that both the disputation and Isho'dad have preserved here an element of an older source, but, if so, its identity remains a mystery.54 Neither do

49 See S. Brock, ‘Genesis 22 in Syriac Tradition’, in: P. Casetti, O. Keel & A. Schenker (eds), Mélanges Dominique Barthélemy. Études bibliques offertes à l’occasion de son 60 e anniversaire (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 38), Fribourg-Göttingen 1981, 2–30; idem, ‘An Anonymous Syriac Homily on Abraham (Gen 22)’, Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 12 (1981) 225–260. 50 Ed./transl. Scher and Hespel & Draguet, 134/141. 51 Ed./transl. Van den Eynde & Vosté, 173/187. 52 The first source agrees with the exegesis in the Anonymous Commentary on Gen-Exod 9:32 (above n. 36), the second source is related to (but not identical with) Theodore bar Koni and Isho‘dad. The sources used in the commentary on Gen 22 are the same as the author of the Gannat Bussame has used for the exegesis of the other readings from Gen; cf. G.J. Reinink, Gannat Bussame, I. Die Adventssonntage, in: CSCO, vol. 502, Scriptores Syri, tom. 212, Leuven 1988, XXXII–XXXVII. 53 MS Leuven, CSCO, syr. 14, fol. 535v. 54 It is possible that the pa›dew of the Greek Bible were translated into ‘boys’ (tlàyè ) in a Syriac translation of some Greek commentary. Narsai, Homily 3, ed. by A. Mingana, Narsai Doctoris Syri Homiliae et Carmina, vol. I, Mosul 1905, 65, calls the

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we know how and when the typological connection between the two young men and the two robbers entered the East Syrian tradition. We know, however, that the topic figured in earlier Syriac tradition. In an anonymous dialogue poem ‘On Abraham and Isaac’, probably dating from the early fifth century,55 the two ‘young men’ ('laymè ) who accompanied Abraham are compared with the two robbers who were crucified ‘together with the son of Maria’.56 The second example concerns the wood for the burnt offering that Abraham laid upon Isaac (Gen 22:6). Again the disputation is not quoting the biblical text, but it only presents its typological exegesis: ‘The wood on Isaac’s shoulder [is] the type of the Lord’s cross on His shoulder.’ This typology figures in almost all the Syriac sources from the fifth century published by Brock.57 But the disputation’s words, that the wood was ‘on Isaac’s shoulder’, reflect the words in Ephrem’s commentary on Genesis,58 and these are also used in one of Ephrem’s hymns in connection with the wood on Isaac’s ‘shoulders’ prefiguring the cross of Jesus.59 Three later East Syrian commentaries also bear evidence of this typological exegesis. Theodore bar Koni attributes it to the same interpreters as mentioned above: ‘The wood upon Isaac is the type of our Lord carrying His cross.’60 ‘young men’ of the Syriac Bible ‘servants’ (‘abdè ) which, according to Brock (‘An Anonymous Syriac Homily’, 256; idem, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies on the Binding of Isaac’, Le Muséon 99 (1986) 83), may also reflect the Greek tradition. However, Ephrem in his commentary on Genesis already calls the ‘young men’ ‘servants’ ('abdè ); ed./transl. by R.-M. Tonneau, Sancti Ephraem Syri in Genesim et in Exodum Commentarii, in CSCO, vol. 152, Scriptores Syri, tom. 71 (text), vol. 153, Scriptores Syri, tom. 72 (transl.), Leuven 1955, 84/69. 55 For the date of this Soghitha (dialogue poem), see S. Brock, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 97–98. For its place in the Syriac tradition of dialogue poems, see idem, ‘Syriac Dialogue Poems: Marginalia to a Recent Edition’, Le Muséon 97 (1984) 41, 53, and idem, ‘Syriac Dispute Poems: the Various Types’, in: G.J. Reinink & H.L.J. Vanstiphout (eds), Dispute Poems and Dialogues in the Ancient and Mediaeval Near East (Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 42), Leuven 1991, 117. 56 Ed./transl. by B. Kirschner, ‘Alfabetische Akrosticha in der syrischen Kirchenpoesie’, Oriens Christianus 6 (1906) 64/65. New ed. by S. Brock, Soghyatha mgabbyatha, Monastery of St Ephrem, Holland 1982, 8. 57 Brock, ‘An Anonymous Syriac Homily’, 241/249; Soghyatha, 11–12 (= Kirschner, ‘Alfabetische Akrosticha’, 66/67); ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 119/123. This typology is also widespread in the Greek tradition, cf. Brock, ‘Genesis 22 in Syriac Tradition’, 12 and n. 58, and idem, ‘An Anonymous Syriac Homily’, 255–256. 58 Ed./transl. Tonneau, 84/69. The same wording is used in the first verse homily published by Brock, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 104/109. 59 Nat. 8, 13, ed./transl. by E. Beck, Des heiligen Ephraem der Syrers Hymnen de Nativitate (Epiphania), in: CSCO, vol. 186, Scriptores Syri, tom. 82 (text), vol. 187, Scriptores Syri, tom. 83 (transl.), Leuven 1959, 61/53. 60 Ed./transl. Scher and Hespel & Draguet, 135/141.

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Isho‘dad writes: ‘The wood that Isaac carried is the type of the cross of Jesus upon His shoulder.’61 The second source of the Gannat Bussame says: ‘The wood upon Isaac is the type of our Lord who carried His cross upon His shoulder.’62 The three commentaries seem to be dependent on some common source which directly or indirectly was influenced by Ephremian thought and wording. The third and fourth example belong together, both forming part of one combined christological typology according to which the binding of Isaac (Gen 22:9) is compared with Christ’s godhead and the ram (Gen 22:13) with His manhood. This interpretation, which has no parallel in Ephrem’s works, has a long history in the Greek exegetical tradition. Origen already had compared Isaac, who was not slain, with the Word who remained uninjured, and the ram, which was slain, with the flesh of the Word which died.63 In the fifth century this exegesis was adopted by Greek writers in the Antiochene christological tradition, and it is highly probable that it entered the East Syrian tradition through this channel.64 Theodore bar Koni knows this interpretation, though he shows some reservation towards this tradition: ‘I do not consider this [interpretation] likely, [namely] that Isaac [is] the type of the godhead and the ram the type of the manhood, and [that] the former did not die like the godhead that does not die, while the latter died because of the manhood that died: “This is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” ( John 1:29), and further: “As a lamb he was led to the slaughter” (Isa 53:7; Acts 8:32). We have, however, recorded [this interpretation], so that every one just as he likes can accept what he reads.’65 Although Theodore bar Koni may have found this christological exegesis ‘not likely’, it was certainly an attractive one for East Syrian exegetes because of its distinctive dyophysite character.66 The disputation gives the oldest example of this exegesis in the East Syrian 61

Ed./transl. Van den Eynde & Vosté, 174/188. MS Leuven, CSCO, syr. 14, fol. 534v. 63 Hom. in Gen. VIII, 9, ed. W.A. Baehrens, Origenes Werke, vol. VI (GCS ), Leipzig 1920, 84. Cf. Paczkowski, in: Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac, 116–117. 64 Cf. Brock, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 77–78. 65 Ed./transl. Scher and Hespel & Draguet, 134/141. The quotation of John 1:29 is also found in Origen’s commentary. 66 Some manuscripts of the East Syrian recension of the Cave of Treasures use the second part of this exegesis (the ram is the type of the manhood of the Word) to polemicise against theopaschitism; ed./transl. by Su-Min Ri, La Caverne des Trésors. Les deux recensions syriaques, in: CSCO, vol. 486, Scriptores Syri, tom. 207 (text), vol. 62

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tradition.67 But—and this makes this witness so interesting—the disputation offers an amalgam of an older Syriac motif and the GreekAntiochene christological exegesis. The older Syriac motif appears in the words which the author professes to be a direct quotation of the biblical text, but which are probably taken from his exegetical Vorlage: ‘Lift your hand from the boy (Peshitta: Do not lay your hand on the boy) and do not do anything to him, and see, a lamb was suspended on a tree (Peshitta: and see, a ram held in a branch by its horns) (Gen 22:12–13).’ The cardinal point here is the expression of the lamb that was suspended on a tree. In his commentary on Genesis Ephrem quotes Gen 22:13 as follows: ‘Abraham saw a ram on a tree, and he took it and offered it up for a burnt offering instead of his son.’ Then Ephrem explains the miraculous origin of the tree and the ram and their typological meaning: ‘The mountain threw up the tree, and the tree the ram, so that, through the ram which was suspended on the tree and became the sacrifice instead of Abraham’s son, that day of His might be depicted, when He was suspended on the wood as the ram, and tasted death on behalf of the whole world.’68 As R.B. Ter Haar Romeny has argued in connection with the quotation of the biblical text called ‘the Syrian’ (ı SÊrow) by Eusebius of Emesa (fourth century), the reading that the ram was ‘suspended (kremãmenow; cf. Gal 3:13, Acts 5:30; 10:39) on the branches of a tree’ belonged to an early witness of the Peshitta tradition, which may have been influenced by the Jewish Targumic or exegetical tradition.69 This reading appears to have been known by Ephrem and by later East Syrian exegetes,70 but the Syriac sources from the fifth 487, Scriptores Syri, tom. 208 (transl.), Leuven 1987, 226/86. Isho‘dad, ed./transl. Van den Eynde & Vosté, 172/186, connects a slightly related tradition with the introduction on Gen 22 which was taken from the Anoymous Commentary on Gen-Exod 9:32 (above n. 36): Isaac who died and did not die is a type of the Lord by His godhead that did not suffer and His manhood that did suffer (but here the ram plays no role and Isho'dad’s exegesis may be an adaptation of that of John Chrysostom; cf. Brock, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 78). 67 Brock, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 78, n. 38, suggests that Narsai represents the reversed schema, viz. Isaac representing the manhood and the ram the godhead. However, it seems that Narsai compares the divinity (the ‘Hidden Power’ dwelling in Christ) by which He was rescued, with the divine command (Gen 22:11–12) by which Isaac was rescued from death (Homily 3, ed. Mingana I, 66). 68 Ed./transl. Tonneau, 84/69. 69 R.B. Ter Haar Romeny, A Syrian in Greek Dress. The Use of Greek, Hebrew, and Syriac Biblical Texts in Eusebius of Emesa’s Commentary on Genesis, Leuven 1997 (Diss. Leiden), 80–81, 330–331. The Targumic element concerns the word ‘tree’. 70 Isho'dad, ed./transl. Van den Eynde & Vosté, 175/188. According to Ter

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century testify that the ‘ram’ (dekrà) was soon supplanted by the ‘lamb’ ("emrà),71 which through its connotations with the New Testament ‘Lamb’ could accentuate still more the typological use of this old reading of the Syriac bible.72 The two verse homilies published by Brock (probably dating from the mid and second half of the fifth century) correspond literally with the wording in the disputation: ‘And see, a lamb was/is suspended on a tree.’73 This tradition entered the School of Nisibis early, as appears from one of Narsai’s homilies: ‘And [Abraham] suddenly saw a lamb which was suspended in the type of the cross . . . On the top of the tree the lamb was suspended, which was shown to him, and instead of with nails He had fastened its body with branches of wood . . . The Destroyer of death (i.e. Christ) would die the death on the wood, and the lamb was suspended on the top of the tree, so that it would proclaim His death . . . The hidden divine command had suspended it on the tree as a type of the Truth.’74 The later East Syrian commentaries have preserved (elements of ) this reading of Gen 22:13, including its typological interpretation, though it seems that it was transmitted to them through different channels.75 Haar Romeny, A Syrian in Greek Dress, 326–300, Isho'dad draws upon Eusebius of Emesa. 71 Gen 22:7–8. The anonymous Syriac Homily on Abraham speaks of ‘the lamb . . . being suspended on the wood’, ed./transl. Brock, ‘An Anonymous Syriac Homily’, 243/251. The dialogue poem ‘On Abraham and Isaac’ speaks of ‘the lamb . . . being suspended by its horns’, ed./transl. Kirschner, ‘Alfabetische Akrosticha’, 50/51, 52/53; ed. Brock, Soghyatha, 8. 72 Note, however, that Ephrem in his Commentary on the Diatessaron XVI, 27 compares the ‘lamb’ by which Isaac was delivered with the ‘lamb’ by which the Israelites were saved in Egypt (cf. Exod 12) and the ‘true Lamb’ of John 1:29,36 by which the nations were redeemed, ed./transl. L. Leloir, Saint Éphrem. Commentaire de l’évangile concordant (Chester Beatty Monographs 8), Dublin 1963, 186/187; English transl. by C. McCarthy, Saint Ephrem’s Commentary on Tatian’s Diatessaron ( Journal of Semitic Studies Supplement 2), Oxford 1993, 257. 73 Ed./transl. Brock, ‘Two Syriac Verse Homilies’, 105/110, 120/124. 74 Homily 1, ed. Mingana I, 22. 75 The Anonymous Commentary on Gen-Exod 9:32: ‘The ram which was suspended on the tree: in order to indicate that also the lamb of God would be suspended on the cross’ (ed./transl. Van Rompay, 88/113). Dependent on this commentary is the Anonymous Commentary on the OT (above n. 40; ed. Levene, 39 [fol. 15v ]). Theodore bar Koni, Isho‘dad and the second source of the Gannat Bussame call ‘the tree which bore the ram’ the type of the cross (Theodore: ed./transl. Scher and Hespel & Draguet, 135/141; Isho‘dad: ed./transl. Van den Eynde & Vosté, 174/188; Gannat Bussame: MS Leuven, CSCO, syr. 14, fol. 535v ). Again Theodore, Isho'dad and the Gannat Bussame seem to draw upon a common source. It is interesting to note that the wording of these commentaries shows some resem-

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Summarising the preceding results, we may conclude that the disputation’s typological exegesis of Gen 22 is very much in line with the older Syriac tradition—i.e. the works of Ephrem Syrus and the subsequent Edessene tradition of the fifth century. This older Syriac tradition lived on in the School of Nisibis, and it entered there or elsewhere into an alliance with the Greek-Antiochene christological typology of Isaac and the ram. This development may have taken place in the post-Narsai period, in the course of the sixth or seventh century, when certain East Syrian exegetes wanted to emphasise the dyophysite christological meaning of the sacrifice of Isaac in conformity with the christology of their Church.76 Anyhow, the disputation’s exegesis of Gen 22 gives us a fresh and interesting piece of information about the many missing links between the older traditions of the Schools of Edessa and Nisibis and the later East Syrian exegetical compilations. 3. Conclusion: Gen 22 and the Refutation of Early Islam It is not by chance that the disputation opens with the topic of the commandments of Abraham. Syriac (and Armenian) sources from the seventh century testify that early Islam was not seen as a new religion which succeeded Judaism and Christianity, but rather as a form of the Old Testament religion adopted by the ‘people of the desert’ who converted from pagan polytheism to the monotheistic faith of Abraham.77 In order to distinguish these monotheistic Arabs from pagan and Christian Arabs, they were called ‘sons of Ishmael’ or ‘sons of Hagar’,78 the name ‘Muslims’ not being attested in Syriac

blance with the Cave of Treasures XXIX, 5, 9: ‘the tree which bore the lamb that saved Isaac’, which ‘is/was (the type of ) the cross of Christ’ (ed./transl. Su-Min Ri, 224–227/86–87). 76 We doubt, whether Theodore of Mopsuestia, the Antiochene interpreter par excellence of the East Syrians, may be connected with the disputation’s christological typology. Neither Narsai, who is in general greatly indebted to Theodore’s exegesis, nor the later East Syrian tradition, show any positive indication in that direction. On the contrary, Thedore bar Koni’s hesitations as regards this interpretation (see above) rather suggest that he did not know it as the exegesis of Theodore of Mopsuestia. 77 See the references in Reinink, ‘Beginnings’, 166–167; idem, ‘Pseudo-Ephraems “Rede über das Ende” und die syrische eschatologische Literatur des siebenten Jahrhunderts’, Aram 5 (1993) 443–444; Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 535–538. 78 Another early attested appelation is mahgrayè/mhaggerayè; cf. Reinink, ‘Beginnings’,

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sources before Abbasid times.79 Circumcision and sacrifice, as the Abrahamic commandments are defined in the disputation, may have been for a time ‘the pillars of nascent Islamic faith, which was a religion of Abraham’;80 on the other hand it is exactly these practices which were recognised by Christian tradition since its earliest times as being connected with Abraham, which, therefore, soon found a new interpretation and signification within the framework of Christian faith and practices. In other words, even irrespective of the question of how important the role of the practices of circumcision and sacrifice in early Islam actually may have been, the definition of early Islam as the religion of Abraham, either by Christians or by ‘Muslims’ or by both parties, required the discussion of these central issues—in particular in an apologetic treatise such as the disputation. As we observed above, the disputation is a scholarly product composed for the author’s monastic community, with the purpose of defining the Christian tenets over against early Islam, so that the Christians would have the right instruments with which to counter the religious claims of the new authority. Quite naturally, the topic of the sacrifice of Isaac came up in the discussion of the tawdìtà d-"Abràhàm, as the Abrahamic confession is called in the disputation. The story of the sacrifice of Isaac, together with its typological meaning, was deeply rooted in Christian self-consciousness, and, just as it was used in the past to counter Judaism,81 so it could now be used to demonstrate with the same arguments that the religion of Abraham, to which the present islamic Arabs aligned themselves, had already found its fulfilment in the truth of Christ. Or, in conclusion, to express it in the monk’s own words: ‘As the shadow is for the body, and the word to the act, so also is the manner of life of our father Abraham to the new things that Christ did for the redemption of our lives.’82 172, 177, n. 72. Syriac authors may have connected this name with the name of Hagar, but it probably has an islamic Arab background; cf. Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 179–180, 547–548. 79 Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 156, 414, n. 88. 80 Hoyland, Seeing Islam, 470. This point of view is stressed by P. Crone & M. Cook, Hagarism. The Making of the Islamic World, Cambridge etc. 1977, 12–13. 81 An interesting example for the typological exegesis of Gen 22, comparable to the arguments in our disputation, can be found in the Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati 13, a Greek anti-Jewish apologetic work which was composed about 634, ed./transl. by V. Déroche, Travaux et Mémoires 11, Paris 1991, 202–205. 82 Disputation, fol. 2v.

IBRÀHÌM’S SACRIFICE OF HIS SON IN THE EARLY POST-KORANIC TRADITION F. Leemhuis For muslims the story of Ibràhìm willing to sacrifice his son is certainly not just a story. It is part of God’s message to the world as contained in the Koran. And from this story lessons are to be learnt for those who understand. Lessons about obedience to God’s will and His reward for those who obey Him unquestioningly. Nowadays muslims generally are convinced that the intended victim was Ismà'ìl, the firstborn son of Ibràhìm. To sacrifice an animal on the 10th day of the month Dhùl-Óijja, whether it be on pilgrimage in Minà near Mecca or anywhere in the world, is to remember Ibràhìm’s preparedness to sacrifice Ismà'ìl and to repeat the sacrifice of the substitute that was provided to take the place of Ibràhìm’s son. The believers are thus reminded of the lesson to be learnt from the story. The function of the liturgy is to strengthen the faith of the believers. In the Koran the story is referred to in Sùrat al-Íàffàt (37): 100–113. It begins with a prayer of Ibràhìm: 100. ‘My Lord, grant me someone who is righteous’ 101. Then We gave him the good news of a gentle boy. 102. When he had reached the age of running [or: working] with him, he said: ‘My dear son, I see in my sleep [or: dream] that I shall sacrifice you. So, look, what is your view?’ He said: ‘My father, do what you are commanded. You shall find me, if God wills, someone who is steadfast.’ 103. When they both had submitted themselves and he had laid him on his forehead, 104. We called to him: ‘Ibràhìm!’ 105. You have confirmed [or: accepted as true] the vision. Thus We reward those who do right. 106. This indeed was the clear trial [or: clearly a trial].

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107. And We ransomed him with a great sacrifice 108. and We left for him among posterity. 109. ‘Peace be upon Ibràhìm.’ 110. Thus We reward those who do right. 111. He, indeed, was one of Our believing servants. 112. And We gave him the good news of Is˙àq, a prophet [or: as a prophet] among those who do right. 113. And We blessed him and Is˙àq. Of both their offspring there are some who do right and some who plainly wrong themselves. Obviously, this is not a usual narrative like the story in Genesis 22. It is true that elements of a story are present, but in its form, the Koranic message is too fragmentary and the style too formal and elliptical to even look much like a story. This is not surprising, it is the normal procedure in the Koran in referring to the experiences of the earlier prophets. The Koran primarily aims to get a message across, its aim is to warn the unbelievers, to comfort the faithful, to teach lessons to those who understand. Such a lesson may be drawn from a story about well-known events in the past, but the story is not the lesson. In the Koran these edifying stories are not so much told, but, rather, known stories are referred to in order to convey a message. This is precisely what Mu˙ammad A˙mad Khalafallàh in his study on narrative technique in the Koran drew attention to when he concluded: ‘The purpose of a story is the extraction of the religious truth that the noble Koran propounds from one or more stories in a sùra. . . . Events and personalities in the Koranic narrative are the elements from which the composition is formed. These elements may be historical or imaginary or they may be mental concepts i.e. convictions and postulates. . . . These elements were in most cases present in the environment wherein the Koran was revealed and the Koran based itself on their existence as they were.’1 The Koran quite clearly takes these stories, like the one of Ibràhìm’s 1 Mu˙ammad A˙mad Khalafallàh, Al-fann al-qaßaßì fì al-qur "àn al-karìm, Cairo 19572, pp. 256–257. At the time the study met with fierce opposition from conservative circles, because of the suggestion that the Koran in referring to these stories is not necessarily recording facts. The idea in itself that the Koranic reference

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sacrifice, for granted. In conveying its message, the Koran may elaborate on some of the known elements, as in Sùrat Yùsuf, the twelfth sura, but other elements may be left out or may be modified. In fact, in the Koran very few elements of the story of Ibràhìm’s sacrifice as recorded in the Thora are present. There is no mention of the typical narrative details as the cutting of the wood, the journey of three days, Abraham carrying the fire and the knife, the question of Isaac about the missing lamb, Abraham taking the knife to slay his son etc. But apart from this, the focus in the Koran is also different. This was recognised throughout the history of Islam. As a modern illustration we may quote Riffat Hassan’s comment on Sùrat al-Íàffàt (37): 100–111: It is of interest to note that in the above-cited narrative the “son” is not named. However, unlike Isaac in the Biblical narrative, the son in this story does know that God had commanded his father to sacrifice him. The Qur"anic narrative, therefore, lacks the suspense of disclosure found in the Biblical story. What this narrative stresses is the obedience of both Abraham and Ishmael who symbolize what it means to be ‘Muslim’. While Abraham and Ishmael do not show the slightest hesitation in accepting God’s command, God also does not show any hesitation in offering immediate ransom for the son. Thus while the story illustrates the faith of Abraham and Ishmael, it also shows the mercy and compassion of God toward those who remain steadfast in their resolve to live and die in accordance with the will and pleasure of God.2

In the Koran, indeed, the son is not named, but for Riffat Hassan, as for the vast majority of muslims to-day, it is clear who it was: . . . while in the Jewish and Christian traditions the son Abraham was about to sacrifice was Isaac, in the Islamic tradition it was Ishmael.

to e.g. prophetic stories aims at teaching lessons has, however, already been accepted in Islam for a long time. 2 Riffat Hassan, ‘Eid al-Adha (Feast of Sacrifice) in Islam: Abraham, Hagar and Ismael’ in Commitment and Commemoration, Jews, Christians, Muslims in Dialogue, edited by Andre LaCocque, Exploration Press, Chicago Theological Seminary, 1994, (pp. 131–150), p. 148. Similarly, Dr. Mu˙ammad al-Sayyid ˇan†àwì, the present Shaikh al-Azhar, states in his Al-qißßa fì al-qur"àn al-karìm, Cairo 1996, vol. 1, p. 173 about Ibràhìm: ‘that he—peace be upon him—faithfully fulfilled his obligation when he saw in his dream that he should sacrifice his son Ismà'ìl—peace be upon him— whom God—exalted is He—had granted him in spite of his old age, since Ibràhìm promptly and without hesitation told his son about it and executed what he saw in his dream. But God rewarded this faithfulness by ransoming Ismà'ìl with a great sacrifice.’

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f. leemhuis From the perspective of the latter, since the son whom God commanded Abraham to sacrifice was his ‘only’ son, the son in question had to be Ishmael who was Abraham’s first son.3

That it must have been Ismà'ìl is so obvious to present-day muslims that in modern commentaries it is often, without further discussion, simply stated that the intended victim was Ismà'ìl, as in the so-called Intermediate Commentary of the Koran of Dr. Mu˙ammad alSayyid ˇan†àwì.4 Even in a modern compilation of some of the classical Koran commentaries it is simply stated about Sùrat al-Íàffàt (37): 101 that ‘the majority of the commentators hold that this boy who was announced is “Ismà'ìl”’.5 Especially the reason given by Riffat Hassan which derives not from the Koran, but from Genesis 22, appears to be seen nowadays as decisive: ‘the son whom God commanded Abraham to sacrifice was his “only” son, the son in question had to be Ishmael who was Abraham’s first son.’6 This argument in favour of Ismà'ìl was forcefully put forward by the late mediaeval Syrian scholar Abù al-Fidà" Ismà'ìl ibn Kathìr (d. 774/1373) in his collection of stories of the prophets where he 3 O.c., p. 147. Riffat Hassan continues with a comment on the reason why the Jewish and Christian traditions have ignored Ismael in favour of Isaac: ‘because they do not accord to Hagar the same status of being Abraham’s “wife’ as they do to Sarah. The Islamic tradition does not, however, distinguish between the status of Hagar and Sarah, or Ishmael and Isaac.”’ 4 Dr. Mu˙ammad al-Sayyid ˇan†àwì, Al-tafsìr al-waßì† lil-qur"àn al-karim, vol. 22, Cairo 1985, p. 125. Also in his Al-qißßa fì al-qur "àn al-karìm (see note 2 above) only Ismà'ìl is mentioned. This is also found islamic sites on the internet. The following may be taken as an example. It is taken from the site www.the-webplaza.com/ hajj/Bkgnd.html#Legacy: ‘After he was blessed with a son at old age, he left his son Prophet Isma’eel and wife Hazrat Bibi Hajar (PBUT) in the barren desolate Baka (Makka) valley on Allah SWT’s commands. Allah SWT wanted to test him through this son too as a final test, and ordered him to sacrifice his beloved son. Ibraheem was successful in this test too. He took his son, Isma’eel to a mount called Marwah near the Ka’ba and laid him prostrate, face down, to slaughter him with his own hands. Satisfied with Ibraheem’s complete submission and profound love, Allah ransomed Isma’eel with a sacrificial animal. Nahr. (It is in comemmoration of this very event that animals are sacrificed during Hajj and by Muslims all over the world on the occasion of Eid-ul-Adha).’ 5 Mu˙ammad 'Alì al-Íàbùnì, Safwat al-tafàsir, Cairo 19779, vol. 3, p. 39. 6 Cf. as an example on the internet site of Majid Tucson, United Submitters International, http://www.submission.org/ismail.html: ‘The Bible teaches that God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his only son by slaughtering him with a knife.’ Incidentally, on this site it is also argued that in the Koran God never commanded Ibrahim to slaughter his son: ‘the Quran teaches us that Abraham had a dream in which he saw himself slaughtering his son. Abraham believed the dream and THOUGHT that the dream was from God (The Quran never said the dream was from God).’

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states that those who say that Is˙àq was the intended sacrifice base themselves on isrà"ìliyyàt, i.e. stories of the Jews. Then he goes on to say: ‘In their book there is ta˙rìf i.e. alteration of words. Especially in this case it is absolutely and inevitably so. According to them, God commanded Ibràhìm to sacrifice his only son, and in an Arabic version, his first-born Is˙àq. The word Is˙àq here is a false and fabricated insertion, because he was neither the only, nor the first-born son. That was Ismà'ìl.’7 In his commentary on the Koran, Ibn Kathìr makes the same choice, but there he discusses at length the different traditions and arguments favouring either Is˙àq or Ismà'ìl. It would appear, however, that for him the decisive argument was the one he brought forward in his stories of the prophets. The same choice for Ismà'ìl was made by al-Bai∂àwì (d. circa 690/1291) who dismisses the possibility that it could have been Is˙àq out of hand. However, other late mediaeval commentators, such as al-Fakhr al-Ràzì (543/1149–606/1210), al-Qur†ubì (d. 671/1272), al-Gharnà†ì (693/1294–741/1294) and al-Ma˙allì (791/1389–864/ 1459) mention both possibilities, sometimes extensively listing the arguments in favour of each candidate without making a choice. This does not necessarily mean that the majority of moslims were not convinced that Ismà'ìl was the sacrificial son, but it does suggest that even towards the end of the middle ages the issue was not yet absolutely decided, at least not in the sunnite scholarly community. In contrast to this, Goldziher,8 and, more recently, Firestone9 supposed that the original view that Is˙àq was the intended victim was quite soon superseded by the conviction that it must have been Ismà'ìl. Goldziher stated: “Nach einigem Schwanken setzt sich schliesslich im Gesamtgefühl der Muslime die letztere (i.e. the view that Ismà'ìl was the sacrificial son) durch”,10 i.e. after a short period of irresolution. Firestone reached a more or less similar conclusion: ‘The earliest exegetes supported Isaac’s candidacy as the Sacrifice, while virtually all exegetes after ˇabarì (d. 923) supported Ishmael.’11 7 Abù al-Fidà" Ismà'ìl ibn Kathìr, Qißaß al-anbiyà", ed. Abù 'Ammàr Muràd b. 'Abdàllàh, Cairo 1419/19993, pp. 149/50. 8 Ignaz Goldziher, Die Richtungen der islamischen Koranauslegung, Leiden 1920, repr. 1970, pp. 79–81. 9 Reuven Firestone, 'Abraham’s son as the intended sacrifice (al-dhabì˙, Qur"àn 37: 99–113): Issues in Qur"ànic exegesis’, Journal of Semitic Studies, vol. 34, 1989, pp. 95–131. 10 Goldziher, o.c., p. 81. 11 Firestone, o.c., p. 129.

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If Goldziher’s and Firestone’s conclusions regarding the relatively early date of the almost universal acceptance of the view of the proIsmà'ìl school have to be revised, how about their views on the beginnings of Koranic exegesis? Godziher held the view that Mohammed himself probably would have considered Is˙àq to have been the intended victim. Also the early exegetes would have no doubts. But already quite early both views came to stand opposed to each other, supported as they both were by reliable traditional authorities.12 On the basis of the analyses of much tradition material, Firestone reached the conclusion that ‘the earliest authorities cited for the traditions tend overwhelmingly to consider Isaac the intended victim.’13 The problem concerning the very extensive tradition material which relates the views of the earliest muslim authorities is that for many issues conflicting views are often trustworthily reported from one and the same authority. In fact, the early tradition material, which to a large extent is only available from later works, for the greater part does not primarily appear to simply record the opinions held by the early authorities. Rather, these transmitted views of earlier authorities were used as supportive evidence for opinions that were held in the debates on certain issues, that were going on in later generations. This was recognised by Goldziher and Firestone. Its consequence, however, that this material is not fit for unqualified use in determining the views that were hold by these early authorities apparently escaped them. Nevertheless, already at an early stage muslim scholars themselves were aware of the fact that traditions could and were wrongly remembered, defectively passed down or falsified. The discussions and debates themselves, in which these traditions were used as supportive arguments were, however, certainly genuine. For issues concerning the text and meaning of the Koran that were focussed upon in the early stage of Koranic exegesis, we have now more texts at our disposal than before, because a number of early commentaries have been edited and published in the last decennia. It is to this early stage of Koranic exegesis that the above mentioned later commentators referred. In these early texts, which were probably written down in the second century of islam14 we often find the 12 13 14

Goldziher, o.c., p. 80. Firestone, o.c., p. 129. See Claude Gilliot, ‘Les débuts de l’exégèse coranique’ in: Les premières écritures

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reflection of discussions and debates that took place a generation before.15 The issues remained, however, very often the subjects of debate for at least another two centuries. These early commentaries are mostly not very elaborate; they inform about the meaning of difficult words or passages, identify unnamed persons and may put somewhat more flesh on the skeletons of stories that are referred to in the Koran. In the case of these stories, they apparently drew upon material that was available to them from other sources, be it traditional material from the preislamic or early Islamic Arabs or material from Jewish or Christian origin. From these early commentaries it becomes clear that the fragmentary data furnished by the Koran about the story of Ibràhìm’s sacrifice asked for more details. They were supplemented from traditional stores of information and, as is the case with other Koranic stories which are know from the Tenakh, we also find material that apparently derives from rabbinic sources, mostly to be found in midrashic literature and which had been incorporated into oral traditions that were known to the early muslims.16 It has been generally acknowledged that the Koran itself appears to presuppose familiarity with all kinds of biblical stories, albeit not necessarily in their exact biblical form. That they must have preceded the Koran is quite obvious; otherwise the sometimes very scant Koranic references to them would be quite unintelligible. That these stories indeed must have preceded the Koran was also pointed out by Norman Calder, but for him it was an argument for Wansbrough’s thesis that the genesis of a textus receptus of the Koran is the result of a continuing process that probably was not concluded before the late 2nd or early 3rd (late 8th/early 9th) century.17 Rather like the development of the Mishna. The presumption is that the muslims only came into contact with rabbinic material after the conquests.

islamiques = Revue du Monde Musulman et de la Méditerranée, 58, Aix-en-Provence 1990, pp. 82–100. But see also Andrew Rippin, ‘Tafsìr’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam, new ed. Leiden 1954–, vol. 10, pp. 83–88. 15 See my forthcoming ‘Discussion and Debate in Early Commentaries of the Koran.’ In: With Reverence for the Word, Oxford University Press. 16 The seminal work in dealing with this subject is, of course: A. Geiger, Was hat Mohammed aus dem Judenthume aufgenommen?, Leipzig 1902. 17 Norman Calder, ‘From Midrash to Scripture: The Sacrifice of Abraham in Early Islamic Tradition’, in: Le Muséon, vol. 101, 1988, pp. 375–402.

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There are, however, quite strong arguments to agree with the general lines of the muslim tradtion about the fixation of the Koran as a textus receptus.18 Also independent data make the existence of a textus receptus of the Koran before the beginning of the second islamic century very probable.19 On that basis, I believe that Calder’s dating of the influx of this material must be rejected, although his relative chronology certainly remains valid. This material must indeed have been in circulation before the collection of the Koran. Probably already in Medina, where Muhammad was clearly in contact with Jewish communities. Thus, it is no surprise that most of the material with which the story of Ibràhìm’s sacrifice is padded out in later sources and which for a long time remained part of the stock in trade of the later commentators, is already present in these early commentaries of the second islamic century. Apart from the issue of the intended victim with which I will deal further on, the other elements which are presented in these early commentaries are worth noticing. These elements are mostly mentioned very succinctly, rather in the manner of giving key words referring to known parts of the story. Apparently there were a number of issues which were raised with respect to the sparse Koranic text. Some of these arose probably out of sheer curiosity, others have more serious implications. The following issues may be identified: 1. How did Ibràhìm know that his dream to sacrifice his son was true? 2. What was the age of the intended victim? 3. Was Ibràhìm not tempted to disregard the command? 4. How willing was the intended victim? 5. What exactly was the ransom that was sacrificed? 6. What was the reward for the obedient intended sacrifice? 7. Who was the intended victim and where did the event take place?

18 Angelika Neuwirth, ‘Koran’, in: Helmut Gätje (ed.), Grundriss der Arabischen Philologie, Band II: Literaturwissenschaft, Wiesbaden 1987, pp. 96–135. See especially note 20 on p. 103. 19 See my forthcoming ‘Ursprünge des Koran als Textus Receptus’, in ZDMG.

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In the later commentaries of al-ˇabarì (d. 310/923), al-Samarqandì (d. between 375/984 and 393/1003) and al-Màwardì (d. 450/1058) all these issues are addressed and a wealth of material expressing the views of the early authorities is included. In the early texts themselves, however mostly only a few of these issues are addressed. In the table on page 11 these are schematically itemized. The issues are addressed in the following ways: 1. Ibràhìm was not so much commanded by God to sacrifice his son, but he himself on the announcement of the birth of his son had vowed that this son would be sacrificed to God. In his dream he was reminded of his vow. Alternatively, Ibràhìm at first did not believe his dream, but when it was repeated, it became clear to him that the command was indeed God’s command. 2. At first glance, the question of the age of the victim seems to be mere curiosity. However, also the question of the age of full legal capacity probably was the motive behind the question. It would appear that the answers brought forward favour a minimum age of 13 years. 3. After Ibràhìm had had his dream and had left Sàra together with Is˙àq on his way to fulfil the command, the devil said that, if he could not tempt them away from what Ibràhìm was setting out to do, he never would be able to tempt them anymore. So he approached Sàra and then Ibràhìm and Is˙àq, but they all withstood his temptation, by answering that, if it was God’s command, then it surely would be done. 4. The willingness to obey God’s command is underlined by the active consent of the sacrificial son. The son wants to make sure that he himself will not try to resist his father and thus asks to be bound. He also wants to make sure that Ibràhìm will execute God’s command and that he will not show mercy at the last moment. Therefore he asks that his face be put down so that his father will not look him in the eyes. 5. The animal that was sacrificed is identified as a ram or a mountain goat. But the report that the sacrificial animal was prepared a long time before in paradise, which is also expressed, probably alludes to the idea that God had, of course, not really wanted Ibràhìm to kill his son. God had long before prepared the animal to be sacrificed instead. 6. If the sacrificial son was indeed as obedient to God’s command as the Koran tells, then he surely must have been granted a special

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reward. This reward was told to consist in the revelation to Is˙àq that he would be granted a prayer that would be answered. Is˙àq then prayed that whosoever from the ancestors and from posteriority who upon meeting God would not attribute to Him any associates, i.e. who would believe in God alone, would enter paradise. These additions not only filled in the missing parts of the story or made some elements more explicit, they also provided additional material for the edification of the believers. Other material of this kind would similarly find its way to later commentaries in order to become part of the conventional treatment of the Koranic message about Ibràhìm’s sacrifice. Although this additional material, which was registered as having been handed down from the early authorities, was not always agreed upon in detail, most of it does not really appear to be the subject of much contention. However, the identification of the sacrificial son and, in connection with it, the identification of the place where the event took place was for many commentators an issue about which opinions mattered. If we look at the extant early Koran commentaries rather than at the transmitted opinions of early authorities as they appear in later works, it becomes clear that during the second islamic century this was indeed the subject of a continuing debate at least in the scholarly community. As mentioned before, the outcome of this debate was, not decided for many centuries. The earliest extant tafsìr, that of Muqàtil b. Sulaimàn (d. 150/767)20 simply identifies the victim as Is˙àq and the place as Jerusalem.21 In Warqà"s (d. 160/776) version of Mujàhid’s tafsìr 22 no mention is made 20 Tafsìr Muqàtil ibn Sulaimàn, ed. 'Abdallàh Ma˙mùd Sha˙àta, 5 vols., Cairo 1979–1989. 21 Tafsìr Muqàti, vol. 3, pp. 613–616. Calder, o.c., p. 392, in agreement with Wansbrough, is inclined to consider the available text of Muqàtil’s tafsìr to be a late redaction. His remark ‘The Muqàtil text as related to Qur"àn 37.102–7 conveniently incorporates a gloss referring to al-Farrà" (207/822) which helps to confirm that this is indeed a late redaction’, however misses the point that the gloss of alFarrà" is in the text itself marked as such, at the end of the inserted gloss it is mentioned raja'a ilà Muqàtil ‘back to Muqàtil’! This kind of remark rather suggests a certain care to mark off the annotation from the annotated text. 22 Of this tafsìr three major versions are known. See pp. 19–25 from my ‘Origins and Early Development of the tafsìr Tradition.’ In: Approaches to the History of the Interpretation of the Qur’an, A. Rippin (ed.) Oxford, pp. 13–30. The version by Warqà" b. 'Umar (d. 160/776) is known from the tafsìr of al-ˇabarì and from an independent redaction by Àdam b. Abì Iyyàs (d. 220/835): Tafsìr Mujàhid, ed. 'Abd-alRa˙màn al-ˇàhir ibn Mu˙ammad al-Sùratì, Islamabad 1976, reprint Beyrouth

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of the name of the intended victim,23 but in Àdam b. Iyyàs’ (d. 220/835) redaction, two traditions are added, not going back to Mujàhid, of which one is favouring Is˙àq and the other Ismà"ìl.24 In the tafsìr of Sufyàn al-Thaurì (d. 161/777)25 and in the Ma'ànì al-Qur "àn of al-Farrà" (d. 207/822)26 it is only Ismà"ìl who is mentioned. In the tafsìr of 'Abd al-Razzàq al-Ían'ànì (d. 211/827)27 traditions, which favour both and which support both possible locations, are mentioned, but there is no apparent preference. In the later, more comprehensive commentaries of al-ˇabarì (d. 310/923),28 al-Na˙˙às (d. 338/949)29 and al-Sàmarqandì (d. between 375/983 and 393/1003)30 we find compilations of the traditional material of the first two centuries. On the issue of the identity of the sacrificial son they mention many traditions favouring both candidates and both possible locations, but all three opt for Is˙àq and Jerusalem. With the latter two we are already well into the fourth Islamic century. It is striking to read how al-Na˙˙às in another more specialised commentary, his I'ràb al-qur "àn forcefully and nearly scornfully n.d., Tafsìr al-imàm Mujàhid ibn Djabr, ed. Mu˙ammad 'Abd-al-Salàm Abù al-Nìl, Cairo 1989. 23 Ed. Al-Sùratì, vol. 2 p. 543, ed. Abù al-Nìl, p. 569. In the tafsìr of al-ˇabarì a tradition (nr. 92524 in the edition mentioned below n. 28) is mentioned according to which Mujàhid favoured Ismà'ìl. 24 See above n. 23. Calder, o.c., p. 392 states that the published Mujàhid tafsìr exhibits the same structural framework as his version 7 and 8, but this is incorrect as only a small part of the material concerning Ibràhìm in it is attributed to Mujàhid; the rest is interpolated by the redactor Àdam b. Abì Iyyàs. 25 Tafsìr al-Qur"àn al-Karìm lil-imàm Abì 'Abdallàh Sufyàn ibn Sa'ìd ibn Masrùq alThaurì al-Kùfì-, ed. Imtiyàz 'Alì 'Arshì, Rampur 1965, reprint Beirut (without some of the indices) 1983. See p. 213 in the Rampur ed. and p. 253 in the Beirut ed. 26 Abù Zakariyà" Ya˙yà b. Ziyàd al-Farrà", Ma'àni al-qur"àn, vol. 1, ed. A˙mad Yùsuf Nagàtì and Mu˙ammad 'Alì al-Naggàr; vol. 2, ed. Mu˙ammad 'Alì alNaggàr; vol. 3, ed. 'Abd al-Fattà˙ Ismà'ìl Shalabì and 'Alì al-Nagdì Nàßif second ed. Cairo 1955–1972, 19802. See vol. 2, p. 389. 27 Tafsìr al-Qur"àn lil-imàm 'Abd-al-Razzàq ibn Hishàm al-Ían'ànì, ed. Mu߆afà Muslim Mu˙ammad, Riyadh 1989. See vol. 2, pp. 152–153. 28 Abù Ja'far Mu˙ammad ibn Jarìr al-ˇabarì, Tafsìr al-ˇabarì al-Musammà Jàmi' al-Bayàn fi Tafsìr al-Qur"àn. Beirut: Dàr al-Kutub al-'Ilmiyya, 1412/1992 (12 vols.). See vol. 10, pp. 505–518. 29 Abù Dja'far al-Na˙˙às, Ma'ànì al-qur"àn al-karìm, ed. Mu˙ammad 'Alì al-Sàbùnì, Mecca 1988/9 (6 vols.). See vol. 6, pp. 47–52. 30 Tafsìr al-Samarqandì al-musammà Ba˙r al-'Ulùm li-Abì al-Layth Naßr ibn Mu˙ammad ibn A˙mad ibn Ibràhìm al-Samarqandì, eds. 'Alì Mu˙ammad Mu'awwa∂, 'Àdil A˙mad 'Abd al-Mawdjùd, Zakariyya 'Abd al-Madjìd al-Nùtì, Beirut 1413/1993 (3 vols.). See vol. 3, pp. 119–121.

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dismisses the argument of the pro-Ismà'ìlites that there are many trustworthy reports of early authorities who claim to have seen the horns of the ram suspended from the Ka'ba and that they were burned in the fire of the Ka'ba in the year 64/683 during the rebellion of the anti-caliph 'Abd Allàh b. al-Zubair. For the pro-Ismà'ìlites the presence of the horns of the ram in Mecca apparently was seen as a potent argument for Ismà'ìl being the sacrificial son, because only Ismà'ìl had been in Mecca and its surroundings and Is˙àq had never left Syria. Al-Na˙˙às simply states the tradition and dismisses the claim off-hand, saying that the fact that the horns were hanging there did not preclude them from having been brought to Mecca from Syria.31 At least as remarkable is the fact that the famous grammarian Ibn Jinnì (d. 392/1002), also in the fourth century, in his Mu˙taßab, a specialised work on non-canonical variae lectiones of the Koran also appears to be in the pro-Is˙àq camp. In discussing a different reading for fa-lammà aslamà ‘When they both had submitted themselves” in verse 103 of Sùrat al-Íàffàt (37) he simply mentions that with the dual in this verse Ibràhìm and Is˙àq are meant.32 A generation or so later al-Màwardì (d. 450/1058) in his commentary apparently is still undecided.33 Only in the ßùfì-commentary of al-Qushairì (d. 465/1072) it is again only Ismà'ìl who is mentioned as the intended victim.34 Although more commentaries from the classical period which is considered to begin with al-ˇabari may be consulted, we may safely conclude that, at least in the discipline of Koranic commentary, the issue was discussed for many centuries, without a clear general winner for the honour of being the sacrificial son. Of course, initially the issue of a struggle between Mecca and Jerusalem over primacy in Islam as a firmly established cultic cen-

31 Abù Dja'far A˙mad b. Mu˙ammad b. Ismà'ìl al-Na˙˙às, I'ràb al-qur"àn, ed. Zuhair Ghàzì Zàhid, Beirut 19883 (5 vols.). See vol. 3, p. 432. 32 Abù al-Fat˙ 'Uthmàn Ibn Jinnì, Al-mu˙taßab fì tabyìn wujù˙ shawàdh al-qirà"àt wa-l-ì∂à˙ 'anhà, eds. 'Alìal-Najdì Nàßif, 'Abd al-Óalìm al-Najjàr and 'Abd al-Fattà˙ Ismà'ìl Shalabì, Cairo 1966–69 (2 vols.). See vol. 2, p. 222. 33 Abù al-Óasan 'Alì b. Mu˙ammad b. Óabìb, Tafsìr al-Màwardì al-musammà alnukat wa-l-'uyùn, ed. Khi∂r Mu˙ammad Khi∂r, Kuwait 1993 (4 vols.). See vol. 3, p. 475. 34 Al-imàm al-Qushairì, La†à"if al-ishàràt, ed. Ibràhìm Basyùnì, Cairo 1971, repr. 1981. (3 vols.). See vol. 3, p. 238.

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tre may have played its part in the debate,35 but it seems highly unlikely that after the second century of Islam this still would have been the case. The debate rather was of a scholarly kind, a literary topos, and probably only became socially relevant again, when relations with the people of the Book and especially the Jews were being revised at a much later time.

35

Cf. Calder, o.c., pp. 397–8 and Firestone, o.c., p. 277.

x

ransom animal: ram that Hàbìl offered

ransom animal: ram from paradise

ransom animal: ram or mountaingoat

Knife is turned away or does not cut

Is˙àq asks for his shirt to be brought to Sàra

Ibràhìm is asked not to soil his shirt with the blood of the victim

Victim asks to be bound

Victim asks his face to be put down

x x

x x

x

Raz

x

Àda

x

x

x

ˇab

x

x

Na˙

x

x x

x

Sam

x

x

x

x

x x

x x

x

x

Far

Devil tempting Sàra, Is˙àq, Ibràhìm

Suf

x

x

Muj

Ismà'ìl 13 yrs. older than Is˙àq

Age of victim: 13 yrs

x

x

Ibràhìm dreams repeatedly: 2x or 3x

Age of victim: 7 yrs

x

Muq

Reason of sacrifice: Vow by Ibràhìm

Elements of the sacrifice story

Elements of the story of Abraham’s sacrifice in some early Koranic commentaries

x

x

Jin

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

Màw

Qus

138 f. leemhuis

x

x (x)

*

x

x

x

x

x

x

Muqàtil (d. 150/767) Mujàhid according to Warqà"s (d. 160/776) version. Sufyàn (d. 161/777) Al-Farrà" (d. 207/822) 'Abd al-Razzàq (d. 211/827) Àdam b. Abì Iyyàs (d. 220/835) Additions in his redaction of Tafsìr Mujàhid. Al-ˇabarì (d. 310/923) Al-Na˙˙às (d. 338/949) Al-Samarqandì (d. between 375/983 and 393/1003) Ibn Jinnì (d. 392/1002) Al-Màwardì (d. 450/1058) Al-Qushairì (d. 465/1072)

Abbreviations:

* See above n. 23.

Both mentioned, no preference

Horns of the ram on the Ka'ba

Place of sacrifice: Mecca or Minà

Only Ismà'ìl is mentioned

Place of sacrifice: Syrià Jerusalem

Preference Is˙àq, both mentioned

Only Is˙àq is mentioned

Is˙àq is granted a prayer that will be answered

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x x

ibràhìm’s sacrifice of his son 139

ABRAHAM’S SACRIFICE IN EARLY JEWISH AND EARLY CHRISTIAN ART Eddy van den Brink For almost 40 years any research on Abraham’s Sacrifice has been facilitated by Speyart’s invaluable article,1 containing a full, after some checking still rather complete, Catalogue of the Monuments. Her list of 311 items from the 3rd through the 13th century gives 195 items from Late Antiquity, and another 87 from the Middle Ages, the 9th through the 12th century. This means that Abraham’s Sacrifice was frequently painted and sculpted in Late Antiquity, at least by Christian artists. The list contains only 2 Jewish monuments, Doura Europos and Beth Alpha; with the discovery of Sepphoris in 1993 the sum total of Jewish monuments, to the best of my knowledge, still amounts to only 3. The image is also very old: Abraham’s Sacrifice in Doura is the first known Jewish painting (244) and it is among the earliest of the Christian in San Callisto Catacomb, dating from shortly after 200. In chronological terms we therefore start with the Christian artist in San Callisto (see fig. 1). The image is simple, but very well painted, like most of the catacomb painting. To regard it as the pious amateur brushwork of Christian dilettanti is a 19th century fairy tale. These paintings show the expert hand of professional, which in the 3rd century means: pagan painters, with whom Christian believers placed their orders. Represented here are Abraham and Isaac as orantes, with praying gesture, the ram, a tree, the wood for the burnt offering, and perhaps we catch a glimpse of an altar on the left. What we have here, is an image-sign, like most of the first Christian catacomb paintings. They ‘are not meant to represent events—they only suggest them’, they ‘imply more than they actually show’, so that their ‘clar1 Isabel Speyart van Woerden, ‘The Iconography of the Sacrifice of Abraham’, Vigiliae Christianae 15 (1961) 214–255. Easily accessible surveys are provided by Reallexikon Antike und Christentum 1, Stuttgart 1950 (RAC ), 22–27; Reallexikon Byzantinische Kunst 1, Stuttgart 1966 (RBK ), 11–22; Lexikon der christlichen Ikonographie 1, Freiburg i Br 1968 (LCI), 23–30.

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ity is a function of the training of the viewer’.2 Abraham’s Sacrifice here, like other examples of this kind: Jonah, Noah, and the Three Hebrews in the Furnace, all carry the same message of deliverance in need or from death. Their origin is the commendatio animae, the Prayer for the Dying that is still in use.3 The images allude to that prayer: save him, her, me, ‘sicut liberasti Isaac de hostia et de manu patris suae Abrahae, Amen,4 like You delivered Isaac from the sacrifice and from the hand of his father. The particular iconography of this image in San Callisto, Abraham and Isaac as orantes thanking God for his deliverance, is a hapax. Later on the representation of the dramatic climax of the story came into use, as in the Via Latina Catacomb (see fig. 2).5 This example even contains a narrative extension: a waiting servant with the ass in the zone below. The upper zone shows Abraham, clad in tunica and pallium, as a patriarch, not as a shepherd. He holds his sword6 in his raised right hand, turning his head toward the Hand of God that is hardly visible here in the upper left corner. In front of him the half-dressed Isaac is kneeled down, his hands tied on his back.7 Left of Abraham is the altar, with a burning fire, determining it explicitly as a Jewish or pagan altar, not as a Christian altar, which never has a fire. At a later stage in the iconographic history, see below, when Abraham’s Sacrifice has assumed other meanings, the altar is Christianized into a church altar. Left of the altar is the ram, its head turned to Abraham.

2 André Grabar, Christian Iconography; A Study of its Origins, Princeton NJ (1/1968) 1980, 8, 9. 3 Speyart, o.c., 215; Grabar, o.c., 10; Alfred Stuiber, Refrigerium Interim; Die Vorstellung vom Zwischenzustand in der frühchristlichen Kunst (= Theophaneia 11), Bonn 1957, 169ff. 4 Th. Klauser, ‘Abraham’ in: RAC, (n. 1) 24. 5 Lieselotte Kötzsche-Breitenbruch, Die neue Katakombe an der Via Latina in Rom; Untersuchungen zur Ikonographie der alttestamantlichen Wandmalereien (= Jahrbuch Antike und Christentum, Ergänzungsband 4 ), Münster iW 1976, 61–65. 6 Sword or knife depends on the wording of the quoted text: the Septuagint reads ‘knife’, the Vulgate has ‘sword’. The Hebrew text is irrelevant for the Christian iconography, because it left no traces there. This does not mean that Rome and the West always show a sword: the early Church was predominantly Greek, even in Rome. 7 In Christian iconography the normal position of Isaac. On the symposion it was pointed out to me, that Isaac’s tied hands in Beth Alpha (see below) are very peculiar in the Jewish tradition, going back on a rare and rather late text.

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This is the normal and with some variations frequently found8 type of Abraham’s Sacrifice in the catacombs. It carried its first Christian meaning, deliverance from need and death, well into the 5th century. Variants with Isaac carrying the wood may point to a second meaning of the image to be considered below. Roughly contemporaneous with San Callisto, but of a slightly later date, is the Jewish image in the synagogue of Doura Europos from 2449 (see fig. 3). Here Abraham’s Sacrifice is painted on the most prominent place, the front of the Tora-shrine, where it was left when the rest of the walls were repainted. The Sacrifice is portrayed on the right side in an obvious Temple context: in the middle the Temple façade resembling the picture on coins of Bar Kochba10 and to the left a huge menora with lulav and ethrog. The dramatic climax is depicted: Abraham raises his knife. He is seen from the back, a most unusual position in early painting. Does it express his priestly service in front of the people, or is it due to a Jewish reluctance at a too realistic human image? Isaac is on the altar, a position never shown in the catacombs, and rarely on the later sarcophagi. Above him the Hand of God is pointing at the sacrifice, or preventing Abraham from accomplishing it. In the upper right corner is a building or tent with a human figure, which also may be seen from the back. This detail provoked the wildest speculations, the finest and least probable being Sara in the door of her tent.11 We will come back to this tent below. The lower part of the picture shows the ram close to a tree. Before discussing the meaning of Abraham’s Sacrifice here, we will first take a look at the second well-known Jewish picture, the floor mosaic of the synagogue of Beth Alpha (see fig. 4), dated somewhere around 525,12 which is 300 years later than Doura. Above in the center is the Hand of God pointing towards Abraham, the tallest figure on the picture, who holds the knife in his right 8 Speyart, o.c., 245f. lists over 20, not counting Via Latina, published after her listing in 1960. 9 Speyart, o.c., 221, following C.H. Kraeling, Final Report of the Excavation at DuraEuropos, I, The Synagogue, New Haven 1956. 10 Kraeling, o.c., 59. 11 Gerard F. Hali, Doura Europos, Synagoge (2), Interpretatie 5 (1997) 5, 25, referring to E.R. Goodenough, Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period, 9, 11, 12, New York 1964. 12 Rachel Hachlili, Ancient Jewish Art and Archaeology in the Land of Israel, Leiden etc. 1988, 396.

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hand and Isaac, with his hands tied behind his back, in his left. He is about to throw Isaac into the burning fire on the altar, the dramatic climax of the scene, or possibly taking him away from it after God’s intervention. On the left stand the two servants with the ass, cut by the left frame. This detail clearly demonstrates the (Greek) reading direction from left to right, in spite of the Hebrew inscriptions in it. Between the lads and Abraham is the ram, tethered to the tree by a rope. This detail has provoked discussion about the meaning of the whole scene, but the peculiar fact is that it was discussed about Doura, where there is no rope between the ram and the tree. Stuiber sees it in Doura as well as in Beth Alpha and therefore speaks of ‘eine starke Tradition’,13 which is relevant because it deviates from the written text that tells the ram was ‘caught in a thicket by his horns’. This deviation enhances the explanation of the picture by a Jewish story, of which the earliest written text dates only from the beginning of the 13th century, a thousand years after Doura! The ram was created on the eve14 of the 6th day and waited in the Garden of Eden for the occasion to be slaughtered instead of Isaac. Thus the meaning of Abraham’s Sacrifice is the paradigm of God’s intervention by His Providence on behalf of those who have faith in Him. In her explanation of Doura, the almost impeccable Speyart does not doubt the (non-existent!) rope, but rejects the high-flown explanation of it.15 Introducing an attractive but too young story can be dismissed by simply pointing out that the Hellenized Jews of 6thcentury Beth Alpha read the picture from left to right, in doing so proving to be more familiar with Greek than with Hebrew. The Septuagint reads katexÒmenow, ‘caught by’ as well as ‘bound to’. Several other less convincing explanations of the pictures of Doura and Beth Alpha have been offered in the literature. Kraeling, the excavator of Doura, maintains that it refers to a the actual temple of Jerusalem, and b the reconciliation with God and obedience to his will, by which man is assured of God’s magnanimity.16 Stemberger, after relating more or less all the theological concepts concerning God’s relationship his people, formulates ‘wie 13 14 15 16

Stuiber, o.c., 178. More probable than Stuiber’s ‘am Abend des 6. Schöpfungstages’ o.c., 179. Speyart, o.c., 235f. Kraeling, o.c., 54–62; Speyart, o.c., 235 follows Kraeling at this point.

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auch immer, die Opferung Isaaks ist auf jeden Fall als heilswirkende Szene verstanden, die dem Kult im Tempel Sinn gibt, Israel Sühne schafft und ihm den Zutritt zur himmlischen Welt erlaubt’.17 Hachlili explains in only one single very typical phrase that ‘in Judaism, however, the sacrifice is a symbol of life and of belief in God’s grace, “an example of divine help as well as confirmation of God’s covenant with Israel”’.18 Her phrasing betrays the fundamental error of all these explanations, explaining the text, not the picture. Such lines of reasoning fail to appreciate the fact that pictures never coincide with texts: they add, subtract, explain, distort or even deny; never are they so gratuitous as just to correspond. I prefer therefore Schubert’s explanations, who combines careful iconographical analysis with texts on the function of synagogues as holy ground,19 and I reinforce his argument with due consideration, alongside the iconography, of the function of the images, as modern art-historical research should do. The context or the localisation of the image often discloses function. After ‘the Roman destruction of the Temple in 70, the Presence of God had not departed from Israel’,20 it was transferred to the synagogue, that was therefore considered as agiow topow or sacra sinagoga. Not only in Doura, where it is painted on the front, but also in Beth Alpha, where Abraham’s Sacrifice is the third picture after the Ark with the Temple furniture and the Zodiac on a floor strip leading to the Tora-shrine. Both here and on the floor of Sepphoris21 it accentuates the shrine as the climax of the synagogue. Its context is full of allusions to Sukkoth, the Feast of Tabernacles: the Temple front in Doura, the tent in Doura, lulav and ethrog in Doura and Beth Alpha, the menorot flanking the Ark, seen through the opened curtains in Beth Alpha, they all celebrate Sukkoth and the Temple. The feast was the occasion of an annual pilgrimage to the Temple, and after 70 the reminder of it.22 Abraham’s Sacrifice in this context explains itself, at least for anyone familiar with the Jewish identification of Mount Moriah with the Mount of the Temple (2 17 Günter Stemberger, ‘Biblische Darstellungen auf Mosaikfußböden spätantiker Synagogen’, Jahrbuch für Biblische Theologie 13 (1998) 153f. 18 Hachlili, o.c., 292, quoting M. Shapiro, Israel Ancient Mosaics, Unesco 1960. 19 Heinz Schreckenberg & Kurt Schubert, Jewish Historiography and Iconography in Early and Medieval Christianity, Assen 1992, 161–170. 20 Schubert, o.c., 163. 21 Stemberger, o.c., 154ff. 22 Hachlili, o.c., 18, 262, 267.

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Chr 3:1): it denotes this place, the Tora-shrine of Doura and of Beth Alpha as a holy place, as the Temple itself, where the Sacrifice was, is and ever shall be made. A few remarks concerning the relationship of Jewish and Christian iconography seem useful here. We know of three Jewish monuments depicting Abraham’s Sacrifice that cover a period of 300 years, which leads one to suspect that there was a Jewish tradition, but gives too little information to know how that tradition was, or whether the Christians knew it. The few coincidences of Jewish and Christian iconography are better explained in the light of their common basis, the biblical text, than by postulating influences, which by the way, considering the period from 200 till 550, might have worked both ways if at all. Research on this question, as on possible relationships of Jewish and Christian art in general, is corrupted by the ban on images from the Second Commandment. To the present day the most frequently asked question on Doura is: how come the Doura synagogue and the Doura house-church were contemporaries in circumventing the Jewish and Christian ban on images. Now, there never are good answers to bad questions and there never has been a Christian ban on images. It is a chimera, invented by Byzantine iconoclasts in the 8th century, based on bad reading of the Patres, that has been haunting church history and art history ever since. The history of that chimera is a fascinating (and humiliating) piece of historiographic history.23 We do not know, and probably never will, if there was any JewishChristian interaction with regard to Abraham’s Sacrifice; we know too much to ignore the possibility, but too little to be sure. Back to the Christian monuments. We look at the Podgoritza patera, a 4th century glass drinking disk (see fig. 5). At the center is Abraham’s Sacrifice, its meaning being proved by its context: on its edge we see (clockwise) Jonah, Adam and Eve, Lazarus, Moses striking the rock, Daniel, three Hebrews in the furnace, and Susanna, all salvation images. With Constantine and the establishment of the church Abraham’s Sacrifice appears in a totally different context on the so-called pas23

Eddy van den Brink, Van Romeins tot Romaans; Kunstgeschiedenis van Europa van 200 tot 1200, Zoetermeer 2000, 23–26; cf. P.C. Finney, The Invisible God; The Earliest Christians on Art, New York/Oxford 1994, 3–68.

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sion sarcophagi (see fig. 6) from 325 on. In actual parlance they might have better been called paschal sarcophagi, because not passion in the sense of suffering and death is at stake here, but particularly victory over death. This two-zone sarcophagus is crammed with miracles, Christ’s triumphs.24 In the corners on both sides of the central shell containing portraits of the deceased and his wife we see the Hand of God, on the left giving the law to Moses, on the right intervening in Abraham’s Sacrifice. Abraham, dressed here as a shepherd in exomis and mid-length boots, raises the sword in his right hand, with his left holding the kneeling Isaac by his hair, in front of a non-Christian altar with a fire. The ram appears from behind Abraham, who is withheld by two persons (the left’s head has been broken off ). They are angels: for a long time the church did not know how to represent them; later on angels are always depicted with wings. In comparison with the catacomb pictures the iconography of the scene has not changed, but the meaning has. The old idea of salvation from need and death does not fit in this triumphal context. Here a typological meaning must be assumed: Abraham’s Sacrifice prefigures the Crucifixion, ‘der Kontekst gibt hier die Sicherheit’.25 For at least 150 years earlier the crucifixion had already become the standard exegesis of Abraham’s Sacrifice by the Patres.26 From the theological sphere it entered the church and thus became understandable for the normal believer by way of the liturgy: ‘Genesis XXII was among the lessons from the Old Testament read during the Easter Vigil’27 and Genesis was read during Lent to the catechumens seeking baptism at Easter. In Milan the 2nd Sunday of Lent was called Dominica de Abraham.28 24 From the upper left on we read: raising of Lazarus, warning to Peter, healing of a blind person, (skipping the centre) raising of a dead person, arrest of Christ, (below:) Peter’s water-miracle, arrest of Peter, Kana, healing, Daniel, multiplication of bread, benediction of bread and fish (prefiguring the Eucharist) and a healing. 25 Sabine Schrenk, Typos und Antitypos in der frühchristlichen Kunst (= Jahrb Antike u Christentum, Ergbd 21), Münster iW 1995, 35–47, esp. 43. 26 Klauser, o.c., 26; E. Stommel, Beiträge zur Ikonographie der konstantinischen Sarkophagplastik (= Theophaneia 10), Bonn 1954, 69f.; Stuiber, o.c., 181f.; Speyart, o.c., 215ff., 239f.; E. Lucchesi Palli, ‘Abraham’, in: LCI (cf. n. 1), 28; the most encompassing compilation of texts from the beginning through the 12th century in: Rudolf Suntrup, Präfigurationen des Meßopfers in Text und Bild, Frühmittelalterliche Studien, 18 (1984) 468–528, with abundant secondary literature. 27 Speyart, o.c., 219. 28 Klauser, o.c., 22f.

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Origen’s Homily on Abraham’s Sacrifice reads like a description of the picture: And Abraham (—says the Scripture—) took the wood of the burnt offering, and laid it on Isaac his son; and he took in his hand the fire and the knife. That Isaac himself carried the wood is an example that also Christ himself carried his cross and because wood carrying is a priestly service. So he [Isaac] is Sacrifice and Priest. When there is written “So they went both together” that means, that Abraham as a priest carries fire and knife, Isaac goes not behind him, but together with him, to show that he equally performed a priestly service . . . [On Isaac’s question Abraham answers:] “God will provide himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son”. He answered his son for the future, even though Isaac asked for the present. For God will provide himself a lamb in Christ. And Abraham lifted up his eyes (—says the Scripture—) and looked, and behold, behind him was a ram, caught in a thicket by his horns. Whereas we just said Isaac to be the type of Christ, here this ram as well seems to be a type of Christ. It is worthwhile to consider how both examples fit to Christ, Isaac who was not killed, and the ram that was slaughtered: Christ is the Word of God, but the Word became flesh. So one thing in Christ is from above, one thing from human nature, taken from the Virgin’s womb. So Christ suffers, but in the flesh; he suffered death but in the flesh, of which the ram is the visible image, as St John says: “Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world”. The Word on the other hand, remained in incorruptibility, namely Christ according to his spirit, of whom Isaac is the image. That is why he is Sacrifice and Priest at the same time. According to his spirit He brings the sacrifice to His Father, according to his flesh He is sacrificed on the altar of his cross. For just as is said of Him: “Behold the Lamb of God”, so also it is witnessed of Him: “Thou art a priest for ever, after the order of Melchisedech”.29

Many sarcophagi show Abraham’s Sacrifice,30 and where a context is visible, the usual meaning is the crucifixion. The crucifixion itself, very exceptional indeed in Early Christian art, at first sight is totally lacking on sarcophagi. Therefore the contention that Abraham’s

29 Origenes, In Gen Homiliae, 8, in: Migne, PG 12, 203–240; Stommel, o.c., 70; handmade translation of Stommel’s German; Latin text in: Speyart, o.c., 218f. 30 Speyart, o.c., 243ff., counts 93, 47 alone in Rome.

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Sacrifice not only prefigured, but in fact substituted the absent crucifixion has a long tradition, dating back to the 17th century.31 In some cases the contention seems rather plausible (see fig. 7): the so-called Brethren sarcophagus shows on the right of the Sacrifice, with Abraham in tunica and pallium as patriarch, a double portrait of Pilate, ready to wash his hands, and pensively meditating the intervention of his wife. Adherents of the substitution-thesis32 always refer at least to this example, because in this scene Christ is needed, but seems absent. But taking into acccount the overwhelming presence of Christ in the accompanying triumphal miracles, even here, he cannot be said to be really absent. Recently Schrenk dismissed the substitution-thesis in particularly pointing out, that not even the crucifixion is lacking on the sarcophagi: they often have the triumphal cross referting to the crucifixion.33 This was adequate in the early church, that even in portraying the crucifixion, if at all, always pictured Christ’s triumph over death, never his suffering. Dismissing the substitution in the meantime there is no reason to dismiss Stommel’s tempting argument as to why Abraham’s Sacrifice is so adequate to represent the crucifixion. The crucifixion represents the crucifixion, nothing more, nothing less. Abraham’s Sacrifice, on the other hand, represents the biblical and theological exegesis of it: in one and the same image it shows the Father sacrificing his Son, the Son voluntarily carrying the wood and being sacrificed, salvation from death (Isaac typos) and salvation by and over death (Christ antitypos), the ram, mute, being slaughtered in someone else’s place, and God’s Hand, watching over it, bringing salvation to all mankind.34 Gregory of Nazianzus could not look at the image of Abraham’s Sacrifice without being moved to tears.35 When Abraham’s Sacrifice so thoroughly prefigures the crucifixion, it is adequate to carry a further transfiguration of the crucifixion in the Eucharistic sacrifice of the Mass. In the monuments this was already done in 400. The best-known and most beautiful picture is in the mosaic decoration of San Vitale in Ravenna (see fig. 8). On 31

Schrenk, o.c., 37. Like Stommel, o.c., 70; recently Marcus Mrass, ‘Kreuzigung Christi’, in: RBK (n. 1), 291f. 33 Schrenk, o.c., 37–47. 34 Stommel, o.c., 73. 35 Klaus Wessel, ‘Bild’, in: RBK (n. 1), 644. 32

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the north wall of the sanctuary, together with Abraham’s philoxenia, is the Sacrifice. Isaac kneels on a clearly Christian altar, exactly over the real altar in the church. The iconography of the altar as well as its localisation demonstrates its meaning and its function: to draw attention to the Eucharistic renewal of Christ’s death and resurrection in every Mass on the church’s altar. This is driven home to every viewer by the mosaic of the south wall, where Abel and Melchizedek bring their offerings to an altar that still more explicitly represents the Altar of San Vitale itself: draped white over purple, with a huge chalice and two patens on it. That the Eucharist is prefigured here is hardly controversial36 in the literature.37 San Vitale’s three sacrificers were brought together in the Supra quae passage of the eucharistic prayer in the canon of the Mass, where God’s acceptance is implored of our offering, like that ‘pueri tui iusti Abel, et . . . patriarchae nostri Abrahae’, as well as that brought by ‘summus sacerdos tuus Melchisedech’. The passage is one of the oldest in the canon, said in Rome already around 40038 and read to the present day, also in the vernacular versions of the Roman canon. The three were brought together again 125 years later in Ravenna, in a single mosaic in the sanctuary of Sant’Apollinare in Classe (see fig. 9). Here the meaning of the image is still more exclusively concentrated on the prefiguration of the actual Christian Mass: Melchizedek the high priest stands hierarchically central, with a bread-breaking gesture, behind the clearly Christian altar with chalice and patens. Abel with his lamb approaches the altar from the left, and Abraham and Isaac from the right. The Mass is focused in such a way, that Abraham’s Sacrifice loses all previous iconographic characteristics here: Abraham meekly conducts Isaac towards a Christian altar. This eucharistic iconography remains a hapax in the whole history of Abraham’s Sacrifice, its date (675) and its form, completely flat, bare of any illusionist depth, has crossed the threshold to the Middle Ages.

36 F.W. Deichmann, Ravenna, Hauptstadt des spätantiken Abendlandes, II Kommentar, 2, Wiesbaden 1976, 157, 273, is the most important to deny it. 37 Speyart, o.c., 241; Victor Elbern, Über die Illustration des Messkanons im frühen Mittelalter, in: Miscellanea pro Arte, Festschrift H. Schnitzler, Düsseldorf 1965, 60–68; Suntrup, o.c., 523; Schrenk, o.c., 58–60; Josef Engemann, Deutung und Bedeutung frühchristlicher Bildwerke, Darmstadt 1997, 141f. 38 J.A. Jungmann S.J., Missarum Sollemnia I, Kasterlee 1966, 68.

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The striking fact remains that some correspondence appears between the Jewish and the last Christian meaning of the image, without any conceivable influence of one on the other. It denoted the holy place of the Tora-shrine on one side, the holy place of the altar on the other. This third Christian meaning, referring to the Eucharist, turns out to be definitive in the church and was carried into the Middle Ages to the outskirts of the former Roman Empire. It can be seen from Visigothic Spain in the west to Palestine Sinai in the east, always close to the altar. It is painted (650) on a column next to the altar in St Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai, sculptured (650) on a capital over the altar of San Pedro de la Nave near Zamora (see fig. 10). All three, Abel, Abraham’s Sacrifice and Melchizedek are still together on the front page of a 10th-century sacramentale from Fulda,39 incorporating that same meaning. Singular, merely historical, is its meaning in Beatus’ Commentaries on the Apocalypse. Most of its 26 illuminated Spanish manuscripts from the 10th and 11th centuries are preceded by genealogical tables, illustrating the eras of world history from Adam to Noah, from Noah to Abraham, from Abraham to David and so on. The leaf with the table from Abraham on gives a tiny emblem with Abraham’s Sacrifice illustrating his name.40 But not much of the Sacrifice can be seen in these centuries. It reappeared abundantly in the 12th century, fond of prefigurations and highly ingenious in inventing new ones. And it was there to stay during the high and later Middle Ages and after. Meanwhile the original meaning of salvation was long forgotten, while the crucifixion and the Eucharist came to new popularity. It was introduced in Maastricht in the Netherlands as late as 1180 where it can be seen on a capital over the altar of Our Lady’s, Abraham’s Sacrifice on one side, the sacrifice of the ram on the other.41 Engraved on the huge gold Klosterneuburg Altar, finished around the same time by Nicolas of Verdun, is a row of images of Christ’s life from the Annunciation to the Last Judgement. The upper row 39

Göttingen, theol 231, f. 1v. New York, Pierpont Library, M 644, f. 6. 41 A.F.W. Bosman, De Onze Lieve Vrouwekerk te Maastricht; Bouwgeschiedenis en historische betekenis van de oostpartij, Zutphen 1990, 72–75. 40

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has prefigurations ante legem, before the Law, and there Abraham’s Sacrifice stands for the crucifixion. The bottom row with prefigurations sub lege, under the Law, ingeniously engraved Botrus in Vecte for it: the bunch on the stick, the grapes carried back by the spies from the Promised Land.42 Here the meaning of the crucifixion is combined with the Eucharist.

42 Helmut Buschhausen, Der Verduner Altar; Das Emailwerk des Nikolaus von Verdun im Stift Klosterneuburg, Vienna 1980, 52, pl. 25–27.

THREE ITALIAN SACRIFICES: LORENZO GHIBERTI, ANDREA DEL SARTO, MICHELANGELO MERISI DA CARAVAGGIO Jan L. De Jong The biblical episode of Abraham sacrificing his son Isaac was a current theme in Italian art from c. 1400 to 1600. It certainly was not a ‘new’ subject, for it already occurred in the arts of the fourth century, for example on the sarcophagus of a Roman prefect called Junius Bassus, who died on July 25, 359 (see ill. 1).1 This sarcophagus shows on its front side two horizontal rows of scenes, illustrating biblical episodes chosen mainly from the New Testament. The scene showing Abraham’s Sacrifice is situated in the upper row on the left corner. On the right corner of the same row is a scene which is its pendant, not only because of its position, but also with respect to its content. It shows Jesus before Pontius Pilate and this suggests a link between Isaac (almost) being sacrificed and Jesus being sacrificed. In the following centuries, this ‘parallel’ was elaborated. Two woodcut illustrations from a Biblia pauperum from c. 1460 show that not only the The sacrifice of Isaac had come to be seen as a type or prefiguration of the crucifixion of Christ, but also that this parallel had been elaborated in great detail.2 Isaac carrying the wood for the altar was paralleled to Christ carrying his cross (see ill. 2), while Isaac being sacrificed was made to correspond to Christ being crucified (see ill. 3). This extremely short survey of representations of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac illustrates that this scene was generally seen as a prefiguration of the Crucifixion, and its usual context underscored this point of view. In the period after 1400, however, the theme often appeared

1

Now in the Vatican Museum in Rome. The woodcuts illustrated here, from the Biblia pauperum blockbook which is now in Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek, date from c. 1460, but they continue a tradition going back to the 14th or 13th century. See A. Henry, ‘The Iconography of the Forty-page Blockbook Biblia pauperum: Form and Meaning’, in: S. Mertens & C. Schneider (eds.), Blockbücher des Mittelalters: Bilderfolgen als Lektüre (Exh. cat. Mainz, Gutenberg-Museum 1991), Mainz 1991, 263–288, esp. 266. 2

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as an independent scene which did not belong to a series or even to a specifically religious context. This raises the question: how should we interpret the scene of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac in the arts of the Renaissance? Was it still predominantly considered as a prefiguration of the Crucifixion, or did it acquire a new meaning? In order to give a general answer to this question, I will not give an exhaustive survey of representations of the theme, but focus on three well known works of arts from the period between c. 1400 and 1600, which were all made in Italy. In each case I will study the specific context and circumstances in which they originated, as an aid to reconstruct their original meaning. 1401: Lorenzo Ghiberti In 1401 the Operai del Duomo of Florence decided to provide the North portal of the city’s baptistery with bronze doors decorated with biblical scenes in relief. These doors would have to match those on the South portal, which had been made by Andrea Pisano around 1330–1336. In order to get the best artist to execute these reliefs, Operai del Duomo organized a competition, inviting artists to design a quatrefoil scene of c. 50 × 50 cm., showing Abraham Sacrificing Isaac. One of the reasons to chose this topic was that the reliefs on the doors were to show scenes from the Old Testament, as a counterpart to the scenes from the New Testament on the doors of the South portal. In 1550 the Italian artist and biographer Giorgio Vasari wrote that ‘. . . for the subject [the Consuls of the Guild ] chose the story of Abraham sacrificing his son Isaac, wherein they thought that the said masters should be able to show their powers with regard to the difficulties of their art, seeing that this story contained landscapes, figures both nude and clothed, and animals, while the foremost figures could be made in full-relief, the second in half-relief, and the third in low-relief. [. . .]’3 In 1956 the art historian Richard Krautheimer suggested that this subject was (also) chosen because it ‘was the outstanding typological prefiguration of the Crucifixion and 3 Giorgio Vasari, ‘Vita di Lorenzo Ghiberti’, in Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori et architettori, Florence 1550 and, revised and extended by Vasari himself, Florence 1568; the quotations are after the translation of the 1568 edition by Gaston du C. de Vere & D. Ekserdjian, Lives of the Painters, Sculptors and Architects, London 1996, I, 291–293.

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as such formed throughout the Middle Ages part and parcel of all large Old Testament cycles.’4 Six artists sent in a design, of which two were selected for the final choice: those by Lorenzo Ghiberti and by Filippo Brunelleschi.5 (see ill.’s 4 and 5). Although the four other designs have not been preserved, the similarities between the reliefs by Ghiberti and Brunelleschi suggest that there were specific reasons to select these two works of art. According to Richard Krautheimer in 1956, ‘. . . it can hardly be by chance that the competition reliefs of both Brunelleschi and Ghiberti contain the same number of figures and exceed the limits of the Sacrifice proper. Alongside the traditional elements of the subject—Abraham, Isaac, the angel appearing from heaven, the ram and the thicket—there are two servants at the foot of the rock and an ass drinking from the fountain. [. . .] The combination is not traditional. As a rule, the Sacrifice and the waiting servants form two different scenes, as, indeed, they are described in Genesis 22. Very rarely are the two scenes fused into one.’6 Given these similarities, the choice between the one and the other must indeed have been difficult. It was Ghiberti who won, and it is interesting to reconstruct the criteria which were used to come to this decision. Did Ghiberti’s rendering of the subject better express ‘the typological prefiguration of the Crucifixion’, as suggested by Krautheimer, or was it considered to better meet with the aesthetic criteria of the commission, as intimated by Giorgio Vasari? According to Ghiberti’s own memory of the event, as he recorded it in his Commentarii from around 1450, everyone—also the real art connoisseurs—agreed that his work outdid the others.7 Unfortunately 4

R. Krautheimer, Lorenzo Ghiberti (Princeton NJ ) 19823, 38. According to Ghiberti’s Commentarii from ca. 1450, repeated by Vasari in 1550 (Vita di Lorenzo Ghiberti), there were six competitors (Lorenzo Ghiberti: I commentarii (Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale di Firenze, II, I, 333), ed. L. Bartoli, Florence 1998, 93): Filippo Brunelleschi, Lorenzo Ghiberti, Jacopo della Quercia, Niccolò Aretino, Francesco di Valdambrino and Simone de’Bronzi. Their designs have all been lost, except those of Ghiberti and Brunelleschi, which are now in the Museo del Bargello in Florence. 6 R. Krautheimer, Ghiberti, 39–40. 7 Commentarii, 93: ‘Mi fu conceduta la palma della victoria da tutti i periti e da tutti quelli si provorono mecho. Universalmente mi fu conceduta la gloria sanza alcuna exceptione. A tutti parve avessi passato gl’altri in quelle tempo, sanza veruna exceptione, con grandissimo consiglio et examinatione d’uomini dotti. Vollono gli operai di detto governo el giudicio loro scritto di loro mano. Furono huomini molto periti, tra pictori e scultori, d’oro e d’argento e di marmo. I giudicatori furono 34, 5

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Ghiberti did not go into details, but Vasari’s account may offer some clarification: ‘Only that scene which Lorenzo [Ghiberti] made as a specimen—according to Vasari—[. . .] was in every part wholly perfect. The whole work had design, and was very well composed. The figures had so graceful a manner, being made with grace and with very beautiful attitudes, and the whole was finished with so great diligence, that it appeared not made by casting and polished with tools of iron, but blown with the breath.’8 Vasari’s criteria match very well with the recommendations that Ghiberti’s contemporary Leon Battista Alberti gave in his treatise On Painting from 1435/1436. It is true that this text does not relate to sculpture, but many of Alberti’s instructions regard the making of a storia (that is: how to tell a story with visual means), and are therefore applicable to both painting and relief sculpture as well. In the introduction of his treatise Alberti mentioned a few contemporary artists, of whom only one was a painter: Masaccio. The other artists he mentioned were all sculptors, and one of them was Ghiberti.9 This probably indicates, that (relief ) sculpture was an important source of inspiration for Alberti, and that he derived his recommendations from examples in relief sculpture rather than from actual paintings.10 In fact, some of Alberti’s suggestions come very close to particulars of Ghiberti’s Abraham-scene. According to Alberti, a good storia comprises: variation, emotions, and propriety. As for variation, Alberti considers it the most important aspect to make a picture attractive. A good storia should contain, for instance,

tra della città e delle altre terre cincunstanti: da tutti fu dato in mio favore la soscriptione della victoria, e consoli et operai e tutto il corpo dell’arte mercatoria la quale à in governo il tempio di sancto Giovanni Battista.’ 8 G. Vasari, ‘Vita di Lorenzo Ghiberti’, in De Vere & Ekserdjian, I, 291–293. 9 On painting, translated by C. Grayson, with an introduction and notes by M. Kemp, Harmondsworth 1991 (Penguin Books), 34: ‘But after I came back here to this most beautiful of cities [i.e.: Florence], from the long exile in which we Albertis have grown old, I recognized in many, but above all in you, Flippo [Brunelleschi], and in our great friend the sculptor Donatello and in the others, Nencio [Lorenzo Ghiberti], Luca [della Robbia] and Masaccio, a genius for every laudable enterprise in no way inferior to any of the ancients who gained fame in these arts.’ It should be noted that in 1436, when Alberti wrote the introduction to the Italian version of his treatise, Masaccio had already been dead for almost ten years. 10 Other ‘examples’ were paintings from classical Antiquity, which Alberti had never seen but which he knew through ekphrases and descriptions as for instance Pliny’s Natural History, Quintilian’s Institutiones oratoriae, Lucian’s De Calumnia (in the recent translation by Guarino da Verona), and many others.

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j.l. de jong a properly arranged mixture of old men, youths, boys, matrons, maidens, children, domestic animals, dogs, birds, horses, sheep, buildings and provinces [. . .] Though variety is pleasing in any storia, a picture in which the attitudes and movements of the bodies differ very much among themselves, is most pleasing of all. So let there be some visible full-face, with their hands turned upwards and fingers raised, and resting on one foot; others should have their faces turned away, their arms by their sides, and feet together, and each one of them should have his own particular flexions and movements. Others should be seated, or resting on bended knee, or almost lying down. If suitable, let some be naked, and let others stand around, who are half-way between the two, part clothed and part naked. But let us always observe decency and modesty.11

Variation also comprises ‘to paint well, as far as our talent allows, not only the human figure but also the horse, the dog and other living creatures, and every other object worthy to be seen.’12 It does not need an extensive description to see that Ghiberti’s relief matches many of these recommendations perfectly. Ghiberti’s relief also contains renderings of emotions, according to Alberti’s advice: A storia will move the spectators when the men painted in the picture outwardly demonstrate their own feelings as clearly as possible. Nature provides [. . .] that we mourn with the mourners, laugh with those who laugh, and grieve with the grief-stricken. Yet these feelings are known from movements of the body.13

In fact, the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac is an ideal pretext for depicting various kinds of emotions such as fear and grief, and it comes very close to Alberti’s example par excellence of depicting emotions, Timanthes’ painting of the sacrifice of Iphigenia. This painting from the fourth century BC was long since lost, but Alberti knew it through the extensive description in Pliny’s Natural History, which he quoted almost in full.14

11

On painting, II, 40 (trans. Grayson, 75–76). On painting, III, 60 (trans. Grayson, 93). 13 On painting, II, 41 (trans. Grayson, 76). 14 On painting, II, 42 (trans. Grayson, 78): ‘They praise Timanthes of Cyprus for the painting in which he surpassed Colotes, because, when he had made Calchas sad and Ulysses even sadder at the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and employed all his art and skill on the grief-strucken Menelaus, he could find no suitable way to represent the expression of her disconsolate father; so he covered his head with a veil. and thus left more for the onlooker to imagine about his grief than he could see 12

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Both Ghiberti’s own account and Vasari’s later rendering of the competition and the first prize awarded to Ghiberti’s relief, plus the criteria for assessing a ‘good’ storia by a (near) contemporary like Leon Battista Alberti, indicate that Ghiberti’s work—and that of his competitors also—was judged according to aesthetic criteria, more than on the basis of considerations about expressing a religious or didactic message. In other words, Krautheimer’s suggestion that the theme of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac was (also) chosen because it ‘was the outstanding typological prefiguration of the Crucifixion’ is not confirmed by contemporary sources.15 Ghiberti’s relief does not seem to have been considered from that point of view. The theme was rather chosen for its potential to include details creating variety and to show persons in various, contrasting states of emotion. In order to find further confirmation of this finding in the time period of the Italian Renaissance, we will turn to two more representations of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac. Before doing so, however, a few words should be said about the considerations that led to the decision to award the first prize in the contest to Ghiberti and not to Brunelleschi, for many qualifications just mentioned, including important ones such as variety and emotions are applicable to both reliefs. In fact, the decision does not seem to have been easy.16 From the aesthetic point of view, the jury members may have found Ghiberti’s more conventional and ‘fluent’ style more attractive than Brunelleschi’s ‘daring and aggressive’ (these words are Krautheimer’s) approach.17 They may have noticed that Ghiberti had adapted his composition better to the difficult shape of the quatrefoil, and had created a spatially more interesting scene with the eye.’ (ed. Grayson, Alberti’s source for this story is Quintilian’s, Institutiones oratoriae II, 13, 13; the same story is told by Cicero, Orator XXII, 74, and by Pliny, Naturalis Historia XXXV, 73. 15 See also the interesting remarks by C. Gilbert, ‘The Smallest Problem in Florentine Iconography’, in: S. Bertelli, G. Ramakus & C.H. Smyth, Essays Presented to Myron P. Gilmore, vol. 2 (Florence 1978), 193–205, esp. 196. 16 Cfr. Krautheimer, Ghiberti, 42–43. 17 Krautheimer, Ghiberti, 44–45, and 49: ‘[Ghiberti’s relief ] lacks the freshness and vehemence of Brunelleschi’s relief; it shows none of the love of experiment or the rebellious violence which made Brunelleschi’s piece both awkward and intriguing. Yet the very absence of rebellious elements in Ghiberti’s relief may have been one of its great virtues in the eyes of the jury. The perfect ease of the design, the convincing yet forceful quiet of the composition and narrative and, last but not least, its infinitely superior technical perfection were decisive, one would suppose, in obtaining the much coveted award for the young goldsmith Ghiberti.’

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by—amongst other things—making the angel not fly parallel to the picture plane, but by making him (assuming that angels are male) diagonally soar in from the background. Moreover, apart from all considerations of aesthetics, through his superior craftsmanship, Ghiberti was able to cast his relief in almost one piece (only the figure of Isaac had to be mounted on it separately), which made the costs of his work considerably lower than those of Brunelleschi’s work.18 1529: Andrea del Sarto Giorgio Vasari, who also described the life of Lorenzo Ghiberti, wrote in the biography of his older contemporary and fellow townsman Andrea del Sarto (1486–1530) about the year 1529: About the same time Giovan Battista della Palla, having bought all the sculptures and pictures of note that he could obtain, and causing copies to be made of those he could not buy, had despoiled Florence of a vast number of choice works, without the least scruple, in order to furnish a suite of rooms for the King of France, which was to be richer in suchlike ornaments [p. 850] than any other in the world. And this man, desiring that Andrea [del Sarto] should return to the service and favour of the king, commissioned him to paint two pictures. In one of these Andrea painted Abraham in the act of trying to sacrifice his son; and that with such diligence, that it was judged that up to that time he had never done anything better.19

This description is interesting because, first of all, it mentions the theme of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, in a context of competitive artistic accomplishments. Pushing the painter to show the best he could, Andrea della Palla made him paint the same subject that more than one hundred years before the Operai of Florence had selected for the competition relief. King Francis I of France, moreover, may have been very receptive to this kind of artistic tour de force. The Florentine painter Rosso Fiorentino also managed to obtain a position at the 18

Krautheimer, Ghiberti, 45–47. G. Vasari, ‘Vita di Andrea del Sarto’, in De Vere & Ekserdjian, I, 849. The other painting that Sarto made for the kimg was a woman with three children personifying Caritas. This picture is now in the Kress Collection in the National Gallery, in Washington D.C.; see J. Shearman, Andrea del Sarto, London 1965, II, 278 (cat. 91), and S.J. Freedberg, Andrea del Sarto, Cambridge (Mass.) 1963, II, 165–166 (cat. 73). 19

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king’s service by dangling a first rate work of art before him.20 Sarto’s painting, however, never made it to the king, as the painter died on November 30, 1530. It became a collector’s item and after various wanderings it ended up in the Dresden Gemäldegalerie (see ill. 6). The admiration must have been so great, that Sarto, in the short life span between the execution of the painting and his death, personally made a copy of it, which is now in the Prado Museum in Madrid.21 Andrea del Sarto made full use of the theme of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac to show his artistic abilities. The disposition and arrangement of the figures of Abraham and Isaac, for instance, are not so much a logical result of the contents of the story as they are a ‘response’ to contemporary artistic issues. In other words, they are in the first place to be seen and understood as an instance of creative emulation. A very famous and in the years around 1529 also still very relevant work of art to which Sarto ‘responded’ was the sculptural group of Laocoon. It had been unearthed only in 1506, even though it had been known for much longer through the description in Pliny’s Natural History22 (see ill. 7). One of the ‘experts’ called in immediately after its uncovering was the famous sculptor Michelangelo, whose works from after 1506 testify to the deep influence this great work of ancient art exerted on him. But also the works of the great Venetian painter Titian—to mention only one of the most obvious examples—show how it became sort of a touchstone, which was adapted, reworked or in some way integrated by many artists to show how they were able to rival or even to surpass ancient works of art (see ill. 8).23 The one artist who was generally considered to have indeed outdone the artists of classical antiquity was Michelangelo, and Sarto also responded to his sculptural works. The attitude of

20 J.L. de Jong, ‘1530: getekend, gegraveerd en geschilderd. Een ekphrasis van Lucianus bij Rosso Fiorentino, Jacob Binck en Correggio’, Desipientia—zin & waan 6/1, 1999, 4–10, esp. 6–7; D. Franklin, Rosso in Italy. The Italian Career of Rosso Fiorentino, New Haven/London, 1994, 263–264. 21 Shearman, Andrea del Sarto, II, 269–270 (cat. 79: Cleveland, Museum of Art), II, 280–281 (cat. 94: Dresden, Gemäldegalerie), and II, 281–282 (cat. 95: Madrid, Prado); Freedberg, Andrea del Sarto, II, 146–151 (cat. 66). 22 Pliny, Naturalis Historia XXXVI, 37. Sarto may have seen the Laocoön group during his stay in Rome c. 1511, or he may have know the group through prints and copies, several of which were certainly in Florence. See M. Bieber, Laocoon. The Influence of the Group and its Discovery, Detroit 1967, 15–16. 23 For a short overview, see Bieber, Laocoon, 17–20.

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Isaac, for instance, is clearly influenced by Michelangelo’s Slaves for the tomb monument of Pope Julius II, and in particular by the socalled Rebellious Slave from around 1516 (see ill. 9).24 The way in which Abraham is standing with Isaac bent forward under his knee, must have been inspired by Michelangelo’s Victoria group from around 1520 (see ill. 10). The scenery in the background of the painting is unusual for Sarto’s late work and may have been created to emulate Flemish painters, who were generally admired for their landscapes.25 How successful Sarto’s attempt at creating an artistic masterpiece was, appears not only from the various efforts by connoisseurs to obtain the work or a copy of it, but also from the long and admiring description by Giorgio Vasari. The painting stimulated him to more than just a rendering in words of its theme and characteristics; in fact, it inspired him to describe it in a way which would outdo similar descriptions by classical authors like Pliny, Lucian and Philostratus. Such descriptions, which are practically short literary masterpieces on their own authority, form a genre called ekphrasis, which was very frequent in late Antiquity and in the Renaissance. Relying as much on the text of Genesis 22 as on the painting and his own imagination, Vasari described Sarto’s masterpiece as follows: Beautifully expressed in the figure of the patriarch was seen that living and steadfast faith which made him ready without a moment of dismay or hesitation to slay his own son. The same Abraham, likewise, could be seen turning his head towards a very beautiful little angel, who appeared to be bidding him stay his hand. I will not describe the attitude, the dress, the foot-wear, and other details in the painting of that old man, because it is not possible to say enough of them; but this I must say, that the boy Isaac, tender and most beautiful, was to be seen all naked, trembling with the fear of death, and almost dead without having been struck. The same boy had only the neck browned by the heat of the sun, and white as snow those parts that his draperies had covered during the three days’ journey. In like manner, the ram among the thorns seemed to be alive, and Isaac’s draperies on the ground rather real and natural than painted. And in

24 Paris, Louvre. There is no doubt that Sarto has seen Michelangelo’s Slaves. The so-called Dying and Rebellious Slave stayed in Florence until 1546, when they were sent to Paris as a gift to Roberto Strozzi. The others have always been in Florence; see C. de Tolnay, Michelangelo, IV, Princeton (N.J.) 1954, 97. 25 Cfr. Shearman, Andrea del Sarto, II, 269–270.

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addition there were some naked servants guarding an ass that was browsing, and a landscape so well represented that the real scene of the event could not have been more beautiful or in any way different.26

1603: Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio Giovanni Pietro Bellori, writing in 1672, recorded about the painter Michelangelo Merisi, generally known as Caravaggio: For Cardinal Maffeo Barberini, who became Pope Urban VIII, in addition to a portrait, he painted the Sacrifice of Abraham, in which Abraham holds a knife to the throat of his son, who screams and falls.

With the help of payments that have been preserved, the period when Caravaggio executed this painting can be accurately reconstructed: from May 20, 1603, to January 8, 1604.27 In a recent study this painting (see ill. 12) has been interpreted as a picture whose ‘orthodox iconography’ should be understood ‘in the light of the controversies among the Christian confessions in the second half of the 16th century, in the wake of the Council of Trent.’28 According to the author of this study, three layers of ‘exegesis’ can be distinguished: the first one is that of ‘Christological prefiguration’ (i.e.: Isaac’s sacrifice should be seen as a prefiguration of the sacrifice of Christ), the second is a ‘paradigmatic’ one (i.e.: Abraham serves as ‘a metaphor of the need for the faithful to practice satisfactory works in order to sustain Faith’) and the third—at which the author arrives after discussing a large number of patristic texts—refers to satisfactio, i.e. the cancellation of Adam’s sin: On the basis of some singular exegetical texts of the Patristic [sic]29 and of visual imagery [. . .], the howling Isaac may be understood as a symbol of mankind while expiating Adam’s sin, and Abraham as

26 G. Vasari, ‘Vita di Andrea del Sarto’, in De Vere & Ekserdjian, I, 849. Sarto’s painting also inspired Vasari’s own rendering of the same theme, now in Naples, Gallerie Nazionali di Capodimonte (ill. 11); see L. Corti, Vasari. Catalogo completo dei dipinti, Florence 1989, 63. 27 H. Hibbard, Caravaggio, New York etc, 19852, 367 and 164. 28 M. Gallo, ‘Il Sacrificio di Isacco di Caravaggio agli Uffizi come meccanica visiva della satisfactio’, in S. Macioce (ed.), Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, la vita e le opere attraverso i documenti: atti del convegno internazionale di studi, Rome 1995, 331–360 and 370; the quote is from the English summary on p. 370. 29 I guess that what is meant, is: Patristics. The Italian text on p. 333 reads: ‘la grande Tradizione esegetica delle Sacre Scritture, la Patristica’.

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j.l. de jong God condemning humanity because of that crime. The angel hints at the divine nature of Christ who stops God’s action accepting to sacrifice his mortal part, symbolized by the ram.30

In the context of the representations of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac that we have discussed before, one may wonder if this interpretation is not too far-fetched.31 The patron of the picture was Maffeo Barberini (1568–1644), who in 1603 was still an ambitious young prelate. In 1606 he became a cardinal and in 1623 he was elected pope with the name of Urban VIII. From then on he revealed himself as one of the most lavish patrons ever, who practically monopolized artists such as Gianlorenzo Bernini and Pietro da Cortona. Already around 1600, however,

30 For the sake of covenience, I quote from the English summary of the article on p. 370. It is confusing, however, that the description of the three ‘layers’ of meaning in the original Italian text differs from that in the summary. Cf.: ‘[Il dipinto] di Caravaggio si avvale [. . .] della mediazione della tipologia figurale connessa ai patriarchi, venedo così a creare, ripetiamo, una triplicità di livelli esegetici: 1) quello cristologico-eucaristico apparente; 2) quello paradigmatico (Abramo come typus del fedele cattolico); 3) quello della iustificatio per fede e opere. Sono appunto gli ultimi due livelli, nel loro gioco inestricabile di intrecci e sovrapposizioni [. . . che marcano . . .] l’indubitabile appartenenza del dipinto al campo della confessione cattolica.’ (351) with: ‘On the basis of some singular exegetical texts of the Patristic [sic] and of visual imagery, like the painting by Lukas Grüneberg representing Satisfactio (i.e. the cancellation of Adam’s sin), the howling Isaac may be understood as a symbol of mankind while expiating Adam’s sin, and Abraham as God condemning humanity because of that crime. The angel hints at the divine nature of Christ who stops God’s action accepting to sacrifice his mortal part, symbolized by the ram. Two other levels may be added to the painting’s interpretation: the first one directly concerns the meaning of Christological prefiguration (according to the Bible’s exegetics Abraham and Isaac symbolized God’s acceptance in offering His Son for the redemption of mankind, so that Isaac’s sacrifice foreshadows Christ’s one), while the second one involves ethical and paradigmatical ideas, according to which Abraham is a metaphor of the need for the faithful to practise satisfactory works in order to sustain Faith.’ (p. 370). 31 For reasons of space, I skip questions such as: were pictures indeed expected to contain several layers of meaning? (see E.H. Gombrich, ‘Aims and Limits of Iconology’, in id., Symbolic Images. Studies in the Art of the Renaissance, London 1972, 1–26, esp. 15–17), and did patrons around 1600 expect pictures which were based on so many specific, well-considered textual sources? Francis Haskel’s description of seventeenth century patronage in Rome (Patrons and Painters. Art and Society in Baroque Italy, New Haven/London 19862, 8–9) suggests rather the contrary: ‘The artist was usually given the subject of the picture he was required to paint, but it is difficult to determine how far his treatment of it was actually supervised by the patron. [. . .] Indeed, a surprising degree of freedom often seems to have been left to painters, even in important commissions, and this depended a good deal on the cultural sophistication of Rome.’

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Maffeo Barberini was attracting attention as an art connoisseur. Between 1604 and 1616 he had a chapel built and lavishly decorated in the Church of S. Andrea della Valle in Rome. Some of the most prominent artists of that moment were involved in this prestigious project, but unfortunately for Barberini, the painter whom he wanted to paint the altarpiece—Federico Barocci—had become too old. Yet Barberini tried to obtain a painting from him, which he could hang in his private apartment: ‘As long as it is by you—he wrote to Barocci—I do not mind what the subject is.’32 In the same time period Barberini commissioned the Abraham Sacrificing Isaac from Caravaggio, a painter who had made furore in Rome with his scenes from the life of St Matthew in the church of S. Luigi dei Francesi, scenes of the lives of Sts Peter and Paul in the S. Maria del Popolo, and a number of other (religious and profane) pictures. Caravaggio distinguished himself by a preference for themes with a potential to show intense emotions, elaborated in a very personal style, with strong light-dark effects and on the foreground large (half ) figures, without any idealization. So again we are dealing with a context where artistic achievements were valued highly. Barberini’s decision to obtain a painting from Caravaggio should certainly be seen against this background.33 In fact, the painting of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac fits very well in it. The paintings contains a number of distinctive elements of Caravaggio’s style, such as the strong light, the unidealized rendering of Abraham as a wrinkled old man, and the various states of emotions of the characters. Abraham is presented as a bald old man, who is clearly disturbed by the sudden appearance of the angel, while Isaac is an innocent young boy, who seems to scream for help. His terrified expression is set off against the head of the goat appearing on the right and the serene countenance of the angel on the left. Apart from offering a range of various states of emotions, these figures also constitute an example of variety, which perfectly matches Alberti’s recommendations from 1436, The landscape in the background, which is rather unusual in Caravaggio’s work, further contributes to this variety. 32

Quoted by Haskel, Patrons and Painters, 26. Hibbard, Caravaggio, 167, characterizes Maffeo Barberini’s patronage before he became a cardinal as ‘personal and esthetic rather than institutional.’ 33

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From this short analysis it may be clear that Caravaggio on the one hand continued the Albertian tradition, according to which the rendering of emotions and variety were very important. On the other hand, however, he enriched this tradition with totally new artistic means. The theme of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac seemed a perfect opportunity to apply these characteristics. It is not known who chose this theme, Barberini or Caravaggio, but one may wonder if its ‘competitive’ artistic connotations were not a more important criterion than the possible theological layers of meaning. Conclusion None of the three Abraham-scenes discussed in this paper came into being in a specifically religious context, which would bestow a Christian ‘framework’ on them. They were all three created in a context of high artistic achievements and connoisseurship. The subject of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac seems to have been considered very opportune for demonstrating the artist’s genius in rendering issues which were considered very important in art, such as passions and emotions, and variety. Moreover, the theme had obvious reminiscences of a famous painting from classical Antiquity, Timanthes’ Sacrifice of Iphigenia. This lost painting was presented by Alberti and by practically all authors of art treatises after him, as the summit of rendering emotions, which stimulated Renaissance artists to equal or even to outdo their classical predecessor. These observations must lead to the conclusion that the theme of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac was chosen rather for its artistic potentials than for its religious implications. That does not mean, of course, that the theme lacked religious significance. It could always be seen as a general example of firmness in faith. Many biblical texts, especially from the New Testament, had ‘preconditioned’ men to interpret this event in this way: ‘By faith Abraham, when God tested him, offered Isaac as a sacrifice.’34 Observers may have sensed this

34 Heb 11:17; Cf. Rom 4. In these passages, it is in particular Abraham’s faith which is stressed. In Jas 2:20–24 Abraham’s actions are stressed just as much. In the course of the 16th century these different accents were heavily debated in the discussion between Protestants and Catholics on the justification by faith. I do not think that these issues played any role in the works of art discussed in this paper.

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general connotation immediately, even before studying the specific details of the works of art. This appears for instance from the first line of Vasari’s description of Sarto’s painting, which was preponderantly focussed on artistic matters: ‘Beautifully expressed in the figure of the patriarch [Abraham] was seen that living and steadfast faith which made him ready without a moment of dismay or hesitation to slay his own son.’ This general religious connotation made the works of art appropriate in various different contexts: on the doors of a Baptistery, as a donation to the ‘most Christian King’ of France, and as a private painting for a prelate. They offered space and freedom for the personal religious thoughts and feelings of the owners and observers. But they were more compelling as works of art: any connoisseur or art lover would have grasped the sense of competition with the lost Sacrifice-scene from classical Antiquity, the aspiration to emulate prominent contemporary works of art, and the effort to create new artistic means within the firm Albertian tradition of variety, emotions and decorum. The theme of Abraham Sacrificing Isaac ranked as a general example of firmness in faith; to Renaissance artists, however, it offered an occasion to demonstrate the faith in their own artistic powers.

KIERKEGAARD’S READING OF THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC Andy F. Sanders 1. Introduction Reading the story of the sacrifice of Isaac is one thing, reading Søren Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling (1843), one of its famous literaryphilosophical interpretations, another. In this contribution my aim is, first, to give a brief exposition (sections 2–3) of how Genesis 22:1–19 is read by Johannes de Silentio, the pseudonymous writer of Fear and Trembling and, next, to exhibit its ongoing significance by comparing it briefly with Derrida’s recent reinterpretation of it (section 4). Though there are perhaps few philosophers whose life and work are so intricately connected as those of Kierkegaard, I cannot go into the controversial issue of his pseudonymous authorship.1 Let me just recall that, except for a few journeys to Berlin, he lived and worked as a writer in Kopenhagen where he was born in 1813 and died in 1855, that he got a Lutheran upbringing by a severe and melancholic father, that his mother, six of his seven brothers and sisters and his best friend died before he was 23, and, not surprisingly, that he suffered himself from ‘melancholy’. Also important to recall in this connection is that he broke off his engagement with the love of his life, the seventeen year old Regine Olsen in October of 1841, less than two years before Fear and Trembling appeared. From his diaries we know that he himself understood this rupture as a sacrifice and that it was very much in his mind while he was writing the book.2 However, as I will focus on the text itself, the host

1 Though there is no reason to suppose that Kierkegaard’s views are significantly different than those of his pseudonym, I will respect the distance he wished to create between his writings and his own person by referring to de Silentio or Kierkegaardde Silentio as the author. 2 It has been suggested with good reason that part of the hidden meaning of Fear and Trembling was to disclose to Regine why he had broken off their engagement. According to Malantchuk, it is therefore not Abraham, but Isaac who represents Kierkegaard-de Silentio: ‘[he] simply wanted to tell Regine that he himself

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of psychological hypotheses that have been ventured to uncover and explain the author’s motives, will not be my concern. In the context of this volume it may also be worth mentioning that Fear and Trembling was not without influence on Old Testament studies. This, to mention but two examples, can be detected in the work of G. von Rad and C. Westermann.3 Whereas the former is quite sympathetic and even seems to adopt certain Kierkegaardian elements in his own interpretation of the narrative, Westermann is critical. According to him, the many attempts to read the narrative as a eulogy on Abraham or as representing him as a paradigm example of faith are off the mark: ‘such eulogies on Abraham (Kierkegaard) have not understood the narrative.’ He then goes on to argue that the story is not addressed to onlookers, but to participants; for the latter the story gets a different meaning because ‘they know what it means to have to give up a child’.4 They do not see Abraham passing the test successfully, but rather his suffering all the way to the moment when he says ‘God will see to it!’. This, according to Westermann, means to Abraham that, thank God, his child is saved. As I hope will become clear below, it is hard to comprehend Westermann’s brief but negative appraisal of Fear and Trembling. Certainly, Abraham is praised and admired by Johannes de Silentio, but very much so from a participant’s point of view, a view wholly focussed on understanding Abraham and his actions. De Silentio is at pains to distinguish between test of obedience and personal ordeal and his emphasis is wholly on the anxiety and the suffering involved in the latter. Westermann, it seems to me, is criticizing one-sided or partial readings of Fear and Trembling rather than the work as a whole. But he surely is right in pointing out that not the differences in interpretations of the story are essential, but that the process of interpreting it will continue. was being sacrificed, and therefore he had to sacrifice her’. His problem was that he felt bound to his father’s memory not to reveal to her ‘terrible things, my relationship to my father, his melancholy, the eternal night brooding within me . . .’, cf. G. Malantchuk, Kierkegaard’s Thought, Princeton 1974, 236f. In this sense Fear and Trembling might also be read as the story of ‘the binding of Isaac’. Cf. also G. Fendt, ‘Whose Fear and Trembling?’, in: (ed.) R.L. Perkins, International Kierkegaard Commentary, Vol. 6, Macon 1993, 177–191, esp. 180–183, where this possibility is overlooked. 3 Cf. G. von Rad, Das Opfer des Abraham, München 1971, 7–41; C. Westermann, Genesis. Biblischer Kommentar Altes Testament, Band I/2, Neukirchen-Vluyn 1981, 429–447, esp. 433, 446f. 4 Westermann, Genesis, 447.

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The book has a rather slow start: no less than four beginnings take almost half of the book—a Preface, an Exordium, a Eulogy on Abraham and a Preliminary Expectoration, a lengthy section that Mooney aptly calls a ‘Preamble from the Heart’.6 The remainder consists of the treatment of three Problemata or dialectical aspects implicit in the story of Abraham and a brief Epilogue. Let me begin with the Exordium because it illustrates nicely Johannes de Silentio’s modus operandi. It tells a little story about a man who became so fascinated and puzzled by the story of Abraham that in the end he wished he could have gone along on the threeday journey ‘when Abraham rode with sorrow before him and Isaac behind him’. He wished to be there at the moment that Abraham raised his eyes and saw Mount Moriah in the distance, the hour when he left the asses behind and went up the mountain with Isaac: ‘what occupied him was not the beautiful tapestry of imagination but the shudder of the idea’ (FT 9). The man admired Abraham but was at the same time appalled by him: he just wasn’t able to understand him. This man, de Silentio tells us, was neither a systematic theologian nor a theist and certainly no follower of the great Hegel. Worse, he was not even an exegetical scholar: ‘[h]e did not know Hebrew; if he had known Hebrew, he perhaps would easily have understood the story and Abraham’ (ibid.). This ironical remark already suggests that the focus of de Silentio’s enterprise will be primarily on Abraham and on Isaac, Sarah and his servants only in a secondary sense. So crucial is the person of Abraham that as far as de Silentio is concerned, . . . If Abraham perhaps did not do at all what the story tells, if perhaps because of the local conditions of that day it was something entirely different, then let us forget him, for what is the value of going to the trouble of remembering that past which cannot become a present. (FT 30)

5 All references are to the critical edition of S.A. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, (eds.) H.V. Hong & E.H. Hong, Kierkegaard’s Writings VI, Princeton, NJ, 1983. Further references to this edition will be abbreviated as FT. 6 E.F. Mooney, Knights of Faith and Resignation. Reading Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling, Albany 1991, 15.

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For the author of Fear and Trembling the essential point of the story is its portrayal of Abraham as ‘the first to feel and bear witness to that prodigious passion’, i.e., to faith (FT 23). Accordingly calling him ‘the father of faith’ (FT 55) and ‘the knight of faith’ (FT 38). Abraham becomes the paradigm example of the religious believer who is not a teacher of faith but a witness to it.7 The interest is not in the historical or the literary aspects of the narrative for they might distract readers from trying to (re)appropriate its significance. More polemically speaking, Kierkegaard-de Silentio does not wish to speak scholarly about the narrative and about Abraham for that would only further enhance the general lack of interest among Christian believers of his days to appropriate the biblical narratives in the first place. What speaking humanly means, can be illustrated by the four little stories, imaginative retellings of the narrative, in the Exordium. Together they prepare the reader for what is to come. Each little story sketches the substance of the narrative from a slightly different angle but they all have one thing in common: they lure the reader into imagining what might have happened if Abraham had not had faith. In the first story, Abraham, Isaac and the servants ride for three days and go up on the mountain on the fourth. Then Abraham decides to tell Isaac what their journey is all about. But Isaac doesn’t understand and begs for his life, but to no avail. As they go up the mountain Abraham suddenly becomes angry: ‘Stupid boy, do you think I am your father? I am an idolator. Do you think it is God’s command? No, it is my desire!’ At that moment Isaac realizes he has lost his father. But Abraham says softly to himself: ‘Lord God in heaven, I thank you; it is better that he believes me a monster than that he should lose faith in you’ (FT 11). Abraham does not tell the truth and fails in his duty to God. He sacrifices his son’s love for him in order for Isaac to keep his love for God. The gist of the second retelling is that Abraham keeps Isaac but only at a very high price: his own love for God: ‘Abraham could not forget that God had ordered him to do this . . . [his] eyes were darkened and he saw joy no more’ (FT 12).

7

Cf. also: ‘Abraham is an eternal prototype (Forbillede) of the religious man’, Journals and Papers IV 4650, in: FT, Supplement, 266f.

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The third retelling suggests that Abraham has in fact sacrificed Isaac and now has lost his faith—he despairs about what he has done and prays to God to forgive him for forgetting his duty to his son and for not comprehending that it was a terrible sin that he had been willing to sacrifice to God the best he had, the son whom he loved. The fourth story shifts the attention to Isaac. At the moment the knife is drawn he sees that his father’s left hand is clenched in despair. They go back, but because Isaac had seen his father’s despair he has lost his faith. In this case the whole point of the story collapses: Abraham passes the test of obedience, he retains Isaac but not in virtue of his trust. Each of the four stories is concluded with a brief moral in terms of the methods a mother might use in weaning her child, the anxiety she thereby endures and the risk to the child who now must depend on a new source of nurture. A striking feature of these little morals, as Edward Mooney argues convincingly, is that the essence of the patriarch’s faith is depicted in the imagery of motherhood: the ordeal of the separation of the child from the mother’s love and what that does to both of them.8 It is left to the reader to decide whether the child represents Abraham or Isaac, or both. Each moral evokes a different image of the deeply human problem of achieving independence-in-relationship through a giving up (in resignation) and getting back (in faith) which, as we will see, is precisely how Kierkegaard-de Silentio characterizes the double movement of Abraham’s faith. What does it mean to be a knight of faith like Abraham and what is the aim of de Silentio in exploring Genesis 22 in the first place? We need to answer these questions before turning to the three Problemata regarding the dialectical aspects of the knight of faith: singularity, duty and silence. 2.1

The Aim

The aim of Fear and Trembling as a text is wholly in line with the overall aim of Kierkegaard’s authorship, the reintroduction of Chris-

8 E.F. Mooney, ‘Art, Deed, and System: The Prefaces to Fear and Trembling’, in: (ed.) R.L. Perkins, International Kierkegaard Commentary, Vol. 6, Fear and Trembling and Repetition, Macon 1993, 67–100, esp. 82f.

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tianity into Christendom. Positively this means edification (by means of indirect communication), negatively internal critique. In the Preface and the Epilogue, de Silentio underscores time and time again that Christianity has become such a cheap bargain, such a real steal and so distant from the actual lives of women and men ‘that it becomes a question whether there is finally anyone who will make a bid’ (FT 5). That de Silentio will have none of this is already clear from the title of the book. It is clearly an allusion to Paul’s letter to the Philippians 2:12: ‘Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling’. Working out one’s salvation shouldn’t be cheap or easy, on the contrary, and especially the rich in the realm of ideas should expect it to go hand in hand with anxiety and suffering.9 It is also clear that Johannes has a rather low view of the way in which the Genesis narrative is treated in the practices of Danish Christendom. For example, preachers are ridiculed for voicing clichés like: ‘The great thing was that he loved God in such a way that he was willing to offer him the best’ (FT 28). What if on Monday someone would set out to do as Abraham did? Surely that person would be the first to be told by that very same preacher how despicable he was. Or, to take another example: ‘We praise God’s mercy, that he gave him Isaac again and that the whole thing was only an ordeal’ (FT 52). What if the audience said ‘Oh well, it’s just a test, you just have to wait a minute and than you’ll see the ram and the ordeal will be over, no big deal’? Surely any preacher would severely denounce such spiritless superficiality. It would be ludicrous ‘to sell a cheap edition of Abraham and yet forbid everyone to do likewise’. Rather, the essential point is: to perceive the greatness of what Abraham did so that [a] person can judge for himself whether he has the vocation and the courage to be tried in something like this. (FT 53)

9 There is more New Testament background to Fear and Trembling. E.g., Luke 14:26 is quoted in full as an example of a ‘hard’ teaching on the absolute duty to God and in support of de Silentio’s claim that becoming a Christian is not a bargain but has its price (cf. FT 72ff.).

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2.2 Faith as Paradox Throughout Fear and Trembling, and in most of the other pseudonymous works as well, it is emphasized time and again that faith is a paradox. If a person has faith, its is ‘by virtue of the absurd’. What Kierkegaard means by the paradox of faith, is a matter of considerable controversy. In my own field, the philosophy of religion, it is often construed as a thesis on the relation between faith and reason. For example, Plantinga suggests that according to Kierkegaard faith teaches ‘the absurdity that “the eternal is the historical” [i.e., that God became man] and that this proposition is among the deliverances of faith but absurd from the point of view of reason; and that it should be accepted despite the absurdity.’10 In my view this is a misconstrual of Kierkegaard’s view that faith is not adherence to a set of propositions, beliefs, doctrines or even a view of life, but rather a way of life. Moreover, as de Silentio argues, the paradoxical is ‘not identical with the improbable, the unexpected or the unforeseen’ (FT 46), but rather that which ‘no thought can grasp’ (FT 53), is ‘impervious to thought’ (FT 56) or ‘cannot be mediated’ (FT 66, 70). So when he says that ‘[f ]aith begins precisely where thought stops’ (FT 53), this does not mean that faith is logically contradictory, but rather that one’s reasoning cannot fully encompass or capture one’s life simply because it is part of that life. Reasoning is but one of the things we do, and there are many things we do, and do quite well, without any (conscious) reasoning involved. De Silentio’s own reasoning is quite consistent with this. He admits that he cannot fully understand Abraham and thus cannot follow him all the way either in thought or in action. But he denies that this means that he cannot describe the paradox of faith, as it were, from the outside (like dry swimming). The paradox of faith can be described in many ways, but in Fear and Trembling the two central expressions are: ‘that the single individual is higher than the universal’ (FT 55) and that the single individual relates himself absolutely to the absolute within his relationship of absolute duty to God, that is, ‘there is an absolute duty to God’.

10 A. Plantinga, ‘Reason and Belief in God’, in: (eds.) A. Plantinga & N. Wolterstorff, Faith and Rationality. Reason and Belief in God, Notre Dame/London 1986, 87f.

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The paradox is central because ‘either there is this paradox or Abraham is lost’ (FT 120). He would not be the knight of faith, but a murderer. To be a single individual (in relation to God, the absolute or wholly other) is higher than to be an individual who is wholly determined by the universal, i.e., the moral law. As the single individual is characterized by interiority (Innerlichkeit), interiority is higher than and, as we will see, incommensurable with, exteriority (cf. FT 69). Prototypically, Abraham, the knight of faith, is the singular individual whose whole life is constituted by his relationship of duty to, and love for, God. The narrative bears this out. It is itself riddled with paradox: Abraham loves Isaac, as a fact and in virtue of the universal moral obligation of a father to love his son. But he also loves God both as a fact and in virtue of his absolute duty to God. Morally speaking, Abraham intends to kill Isaac, but religiously speaking he means to perform a ‘holy act’ of sacrificing Isaac (FT 30). Abraham has faith that God will not demand Isaac of him and yet he is willing to sacrifice him when it is demanded (FT 33). God commands Abraham to sacrifice his son and in the next moment rescinds the requirement (FT 34). All this illustrates that the paradox of faith is not an apparent contradiction between propositions but rather a conflict and a subsequent dilemma of choice between different modes of existing as a human being. For example, love of God does not belong to the sphere of the universal or the ethical, whereas love of one’s child does. Kierkegaard’s objection against the Hegelianism of his days is that this conflict cannot be mediated by reason, but only in and through action which in its turn requires a moment of choice. If this choice can be derived from a set of universal moral principles, there could not be a religious sphere distinct from the ethical. Or, could an appeal be made to specifiable religious principles, for example, that when a divine command comes into conflict with moral duty, the former should override the latter? De Silentio, I think, would deny that possibility because it would not relativize the ethical sphere by subsuming it under the religious, but annihilate it. It would take all the anxiety out of real life dilemmas and make their solution not a matter of responsible choice, but mere calculation. The story of Abraham suggests otherwise as well. Abraham, as much as he may be shattered by the command, simply is not in the reasoning or calculating line of business. He goes underway, carrying

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with him all the anxiety and suffering that a horrifying conflict of duty and responsibility brings with it. So far the issue of the paradoxical nature of faith. Let me now briefly consider the three major dialectical problems that Johannes de Silentio detects in the narrative substance of Genesis 22:1–19. 3. Singularity, Duty and Silence The first problem is whether there is a teleological suspension of the ethical. The answer is affirmative. The story of Abraham does involve such a suspension in that he transgressed the sphere of the ethical (FT 55, 66). Any other construal of Abraham’s situation, de Silentio maintains, would make him not even a tragic hero but a murderer. But what does this transgression mean? The ‘universal’ is the ethical; it pertains to every individual in the same way, and it is distinguished sharply from the sphere of the religious. A person may wholly be defined by the universal when he or she expresses his or her life in terms of it. This is righteous and virtuous and provides safety—after all, don’t we all try to live according to the moral law? What more can one want? To this the answer of de Silentio is: yes, a person may want more. Faith is higher than the ethical because it has a telos that lies outside the ethical, namely one’s relation to the absolute, the Wholly Other, God. It is precisely this that the story of Abraham and Isaac bears out. To enter into that relationship a person has to become a singular individual and that means that he or she has to suspend the sphere of the ethical. This is not a one time affair, but rather something that is done all the time—that is, being or becoming such a singular individual is, as we might say, a way of life, it is something in which a person may have his or her whole life. Interestingly, de Silentio illustrates the differences between the spheres of the ethical and of faith by contrasting what he calls ‘tragic heroes’ like Agamemnon, Jephta and Brutus ( Junius) with the knight of faith, Abraham. The tragic hero sacrifices his child but remains wholly within the moral sphere of the universal. His conflict is between public and private morality and so he is always able to give an account of why he acts as he does: for the sake of a greater public good, such as, e.g., saving the nation, fulfilling a promise, upholding the idea of the state or, in still other cases, to appease the angry

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gods. Everybody can understand the tragic hero in his courage, greatness and distress, but why it is not so with Abraham? Unlike the tragic hero, Abraham cannot be understood publicly because he neither expresses the universal nor himself. In his unique singularity he is ‘incommensurable’ to general understanding. As soon as he would speak he would, by virtue of his using a common language and the general categories embedded in it, be cancelling his singularity and return to the sphere of the universal. So, as the sphere of the singular individual, of faith and interiority, is not exhausted by the ethical the latter can be suspended in virtue of, and with an eye to, one’s relationship to God. This leads to the second problem: is there an absolute duty to God that transcends the universal? Again, the answer is in the affirmative. But if the single individual has an absolute duty to the absolute, what does this mean for the ethical? First, it does not follow that the ethical now becomes invalid, as if anything goes. On the contrary, leading a morally good life is part and parcel of the sphere of faith as well. However, ‘the single individual determines his relation to the universal by his relation to the absolute’, not the other way around (FT 70). Hence, the ethical gets a wholly different expression: ‘love to God may bring the knight of faith to give his love to the neighbour’ (ibid.). The difference, I suggest, is between loving one’s neighbour in virtue of one’s duty to God and thus as an expression of one’s love for God (interiority), and loving one’s neighbour in virtue of one’s duty to the moral law as an expression of the universal (exteriority). Here also the specific Christian character of Kierkegaard’s reading comes to the fore: though absolute duty may lead to what ethics would forbid, ‘it can never lead the knight of faith to stop loving’ (FT 74). Second, the ethical remains present also in another sense: it becomes a temptation, something that lures a person away from doing his duty to God. Morally speaking, Abraham’s duty is to love his son. Yet he is willing to sacrifice him. How to understand this? As he is obviously not willing it for the sake of Isaac, de Silentio suggests that Abraham can only be willing it both for God’s sake and his own. He does it for God’s sake because God demands it as a proof of his faith, and he does it for his own sake ‘so that he can prove it’ (FT 59f.). It is precisely this that makes it both a personal ordeal and a temptation.

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Faced with a terrible conflict between his duty to love and obey God and his moral duty to love Isaac, Abraham resists the temptation.11 But that is not to say that he also stops loving Isaac. As de Silentio points out, Abraham must love him or it would not be a real sacrifice on his part. Moreover, his obedience to God’s command is only fulfilled in the moment that his deed absolutely ‘contradicts’ his love (FT 74). So whereas the tragic hero sacrifices himself in order to express the universal, the knight of faith sacrifices the universal in order to become a single individual before God. But, as we saw earlier, in doing so he makes him incommensurable to the universal and this means that he cannot communicate to others what he is going through. Abraham, then, has to keep silent and this leads to De Silentio’s third main problem, namely, ‘was it ethically defensible for Abraham to conceal his undertaking from Sarah, from Eliezer, and from Isaac?’ One of the most striking features of the story of Abraham is his silence. In reply to God’s command he only says, ‘Here I am’, and the next morning the small party is already on its way. But he conceals the real purpose of the journey and thereby excludes the voices of Sarah, Isaac and Eliezer. Nothing is said or done on behalf of Sarah. No word is spoken for the whole three days of the journey, not even to God. It is Isaac, not Abraham, who breaks the silence by posing the core question that ruptures the third person narrative. But is Abraham’s reply really an answer? ‘God will see to it’ could still mean anything and surely the least plausible meaning would be that Abraham knew for certain, rather than hoped or trusted, that he was going to retain Isaac or was going to get him back. Strictly speaking, Abraham is ‘not telling an un-truth’ but he is not telling the truth either—for he is concealing what he intends to do. The category here is hiddenness and the ethical demands its disclosure. De Silentio makes this clear again by contrasting the tragic hero Agamemnon to Abraham. The former speaks openly, announcing Iphigenia’s fate to her, but Abraham does not speak in a similar way to Isaac. For as soon as he would express himself he would have to refer in some way or other to the universal and the uni11 That one may be rationally justified in believing oneself to be in such a conflict is convincingly argued by P.L. Quinn. Cf. his ‘Moral Obligation, Religious Demand’, in: (eds.) R. Audi & W.J. Wainwright, Rationality, Religious Belief, & Moral Commitment, Ithaca/London 1986, 195–212.

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versally acceptable, the moral law. He ought to speak but if he would disclose his secret, doubt and calculation would start and the whole endeavour would collapse. De Silentio puts the question thus: How is he to explain that although he loves Isaac more than anything else in the world, he also feels bound by his absolute duty to God? If he were to express his anxiety, obviously, his family might say to him ‘Why do you want to do it then? After all, you can abstain’ (FT 114). So Abraham cannot speak, he cannot express himself in a way that someone else could understand (cf. FT 115). Emigrating from the sphere of the ethical to that of the strictly personal, he is making what De Silentio calls ‘the double movement of faith’. Like the tragic hero he gives up his child in resignation, but then he makes a further movement: in faith he fastens all his hope—in fear and trembling—that he will nevertheless get Isaac back. Though he could not be understood and had to suffer in silence, he achieved the highest, that is, faith. This is how Johannes de Silentio puts it near the end of Fear and Trembling: And yet what did he achieve? He remained true to his love. But anyone who loves God needs no tears, no admiration; he forgets the suffering in the love. Indeed, so completely has he forgotten it that there would not be the slightest trace of his suffering left if God himself did not remember it, for he sees in secret and recognizes distress and counts the tears and forgets nothing. (FT 120)

Notice the allusion to Matthew where the phrase ‘your Father who sees in secret will reward you (openly)’ appears three times.12 The passage clearly suggests that God saw what Abraham could not speak about and had to keep secret but there is no mention at all of compensation: Abraham retained Isaac not as a reward for his obedience, but as a matter of mercy. The beauty of the passage, as I read it, is that it would still be a portrayal of Abraham’s faith even if Isaac had in fact been sacrificed. The whole weight of the picture is on the patriarch’s interiority, his suffering, his love and his forgetting—of which God forgets nothing. So far my all too brief retelling of Fear and Trembling as an interpretation of Genesis 22:1–19. I think it is clear that it reinscribes the story of ‘the binding of Isaac’ into a Pauline-Lutheran space,

12

Cf. Mt 6:4, 6, 18.

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demarcated theologically by the concepts of faith and grace. Focussing almost exclusively on the person of Abraham as involved in a horrendous conflict between moral and religious duty, it is undoubtedly a major effort to understand and portray him as a model both of and for a man of faith. Its affirmation of the suspension of the ethical may be regarded as ‘a compelling rejection of modern ethical thought from Kant to Hegel’.13 Its deliberate employment of conceptions from the sphere of the personal invites one to read it as an attempt not only to redefine the traditional ideas of faith, duty and love and their relations but also to reclaim a legitimate sphere of the religious at a time when modernity had already discarded that sphere.14 But Fear and Trembling is certainly also an internal critique of Christian life and practice far beyond its nineteenth century manifestations in North Western Europe. Whether it fulfilled its author’s endeavour to raise the price of Christian discipleship, is a question I will not venture to answer. As Kierkegaard’s classical work has settled itself firmly in the history of the interpretation of the Abraham narrative, let us rather have a look at one of the ways in which it is still projecting its world into Western culture of today. 4. A Deconstructionist Reading of Fear and Trembling Recently, the French philosopher Jacques Derrida published a philosophical reinterpretation of Fear and Trembling in an essay called ‘Giving Death’.15 He sides with Kierkegaard-de Silentio’s account of the sacrifice of Isaac by affirming the call for a suspension of the ethical and by positing an absolute duty to the wholly other. In doing so he shows himself not only to be a biblical theologian but also a reinterpreter of Fear and Trembling. Pointing out the similarities between the notion of the mysterium tremendum, De Silentio’s title and its allusion to Paul’s letter to the 13 H. Ferguson, Melancholy and the Critique of Modernity. Søren Kierkegaard’s Religious Pychology, London 1995, 108. 14 Cf. C.O. Schrag, ‘The Kierkegaard-Effect in the Shaping of the Contours of Modernity’, in: (eds.) M.J. Matu“tík & M. Westphal, Kierkegaard in Post/Modernity, Bloomington/Indianapolis 1995, 1–17. 15 J. Derrida, ‘Donner la mort’, in: (eds.) J.M. Rabaté & M. Wetzel, L’éthique du don. Jacques Derrida et la pensée du don, Paris 1992, 11–107, esp. 56–107. References to the text are abbreviated by DM, translations are mine, AFS.

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Philippians, Derrida focusses first on the question of Abraham’s silence over against Sarah, Isaac and Eliezer. He detects a double secrecy: one between Abraham and God and one between Abraham and his nearests. Abraham cannot speak: ‘he is reduced to silence because he is let in a secret’ (‘Il est tenu au secret parce qu’il est au secret’, DM 60). That is to say, he doesn’t know why God is demanding him to do this horrible thing, this mysterium tremendum, common to the three religions of the Book. So he suspends the ethical and, in doing so, betrays the common moral order. He does not intend to save Isaac by his silence, he doesn’t know the rationale of the divine command, but he obeys as a matter of absolute duty to the wholly other. As in Fear and Trembling, common morality or the ethical is a temptation and in order to resist it he has to hate it—putting someone to death who one hates isn’t a real sacrifice: ‘I have to sacrifice whom I love’ (‘Je doit sacrifier ce que j’aime’, DM 64). However, at this point Derrida reinterprets de Silentio’s text in a very decisive but also interesting way by reconstruing the paradox of faith into the paradox of responsibility. Consider: The story of the sacrifice of Isaac could be read like the narrative meaning of the paradox inherent in the concept of duty or absolute responsibility. This concept brings us in rapport (without rapport and within the double secrecy) with the absolute other, with the absolute singularity of the other, of which God is the name here. (DM 66)

What we see is that the Kierkegaardian sphere of absolute duty to God is reconstructed as the sphere of the absolute duty that any human being has to every other. Like de Silentio, Derrida suggests that common moral duty has to be sacrificed in the name of a higher and absolute duty to the wholly other. But as God is the name of the absolute other, he is now able to make a surprising move: the other is the wholly other in the sense that every other is wholly other (‘tout autre est tout autre’, DM 68). This, it seems, is not suspending the ethical into the religious, but into a hyper-morality (‘une moralité de la moralité’, DM 67). Introducing a new kind of knight, ‘the knights of good conscience’, Derrida criticises them for not recognizing that the sacrifice of Isaac illustrates the most daily and most common experience of responsibility. One cannot respond to the appeal, to the demand, the obligation, not even to the love of another, without sacrificing to him the

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other other (‘sans lui sacrifier l’autre autre’, DM 68). The Abraham narrative is horrifying (tremendum) not because it portrays something unique but because it exhibits the universal: I give death, I commit perjury, I don’t need to raise the knife over my son at the top of mount Moriah for that. Day and night, in every instant, on all the mounts Moriah of the world, I’m doing that, raising the knife over those whom I love and ought to love, over the other, this or that other to whom I ought to be absolutely and incommensurably faithful. (DM 68f.)

One cannot respond to someone without sacrificing the other other to him or her. As in the case of Abraham, such a sacrifice can never be justified and one will always have to keep silent about it. Derrida not only agrees with de Silentio that ‘[o]nly in the moment when his act is in absolute contradiction with his feelings, only then does he sacrifice Isaac’ (DM 65, FT 74), but he also sides with his account of the silence of Abraham—that he could not speak and had to keep his secret. In reply to Isaac’s question, Abraham replies without replying (‘il répond sans répondre’, DM 73). The most we can say is that he has decided to give death but that he prefers not to. Still, even though he doesn’t know what will happen, he doesn’t hesitate. If every other is the wholly other, then Fear and Trembling tells the truth. In each moment of decision in our relationships with every other, we all ought to act like the knight of faith (cf. DM 77). But Derrida also admits that he deplaces Kierkegaard’s reading to some extent: we do not know who Abraham is any more. Though we all share his secret, this secret is a mysterium of which neither he nor we know anything about. And we cannot distinguish as easily between the ethical and the religious spheres, we cannot distinguish between the infinite alterity of God and the otherness of every human being any more (FT 81).16 Derrida then goes on to elaborate de Silentio’s allusion (cf. FT 120, see above) to Matthew 6 in the final section of his essay. Comparing the return of Isaac as a pure gift of God with the infinite treasures that await those who seek neither earthly recognition nor returns for their deeds, he detects in Matthew a secret, celestial economy of sacrifice. One can count on this economy provided that one 16 Comparing Kierkegaard with Lévinas (‘whose ethics is already religion’), Derrida suggests that their distinctions between the ethical and the religious are more than problematic, cf. DM 81.

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knows how to sacrifice the terrestrial one.17 The presupposition is that ‘God is watching me, that he is seeing the secret in me but that I do not notice this secret nor him watching me’ (‘Dieu me voit, it voit dans le secret en moi, mais je ne le vois pas, je ne le voit pas me voir’, DM 87). Derrida suggests that we shouldn’t take the sentence ‘Your father who sees into the secret will reward you’ as a descriptive statement. Rather than thinking of God as a somebody, out there, transcendent, and being able to see into the most secret and most inner places, it would be better to say ‘God is the name of the possibility for me to keep a secret that is visible from the inside but not from the outside’ (DM 101). Calling this the structure of conscience, a ‘being-with-you’ it is also the sphere of the divine: God is in me, He is “me” in an absolute sense, i.e., ‘He is that structure of invisible interiority which is called subjectivity in a Kierkegaardian sense’ (DM 102). In sum, Derrida’s reappropriation of Fear and Trembling turns the paradox of faith into the paradox of human responsibility, it turns Abraham’s singularity and silence into a radical human subjectivity that encompasses the ‘divine’ mystery that I am myself as well as every other. Absolute duty to God becomes the absolute duty to the radical alterity of every other and the suspension of the ethical by the singular individual becomes the suspension of common morality as the safe haven of the knight of good conscience. This morality has to be sacrificed in the name of every other as the wholly other for whom we are absolutely responsible. So the sacrifice of Isaac continues every day—but who now counts the tears and forgets nothing?

17 In what sense and to what extent Derrida is criticizing the Christian religion is a question I will not consider here. But cf. J.D. Caputo, ‘Instants, Secrets, and Singularities. Dealing Death in Kierkegaard and Derrida’, in: Kierkegaard in Post/Modernity, 228ff.

THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM AS A (TEMPORARY) RESOLUTION OF A DESCENT CONFLICT? A GENDER-MOTIVATED READING OF GEN 22 Heleen Zorgdrager 1. Introduction1 An important characteristic of gender-motivated reading of biblical narratives is its attention to knots, tensions, fractures and silences in the text. Questions arise such as: Who is speaking in this story? From whose point of view the story is written, whose voice might have been erased in the process of redaction of the text? Whose interests (M/F)2 are being served by the transmission of this story, and can any countervoices be heard in the story or in its context? In order to find an answer to these questions it is important to lay open the relief of the text, to listen to the joint voices, the opposing voices and the complementary voices arising from tradition. For that purpose, feminist exegesis uses literary approaches such as the deconstructivistic reading and the narrative model of analysis. However, the more ‘classical’ method of splitting up the sources can also be useful in enlightening gender issues in the Pentateuch. Discerning of the different layers in the text can be very helpful in discovering the different voices and traditions which still resonate, still evoke a lot of tension, even in the ‘Letztgestalt’ of the text before us. Ed Noort refers to this critical method of splitting sources when he says that the naming and ‘labelling’ of the sources need not lead to annoyance only: ‘These labels do represent voices, voices With special thanks to Wieteke van der Molen for her first concept of the translation. 2 The codes F and M (female/feminine, male/masculine) are introduced by Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes in her study on traces of women texts in the Hebrew Bible. They are theoretically useful in the labelling of texts as products of ‘women’s culture’ or ‘male culture’. They do not designate the sex of the texts’ authors, but might offer insights on the question of whether the dominant speaker or narrator in these texts can be identified either as a female/feminine voice or a male/masculine voice. See Athalya Brenner & Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes, On Gendering Texts, Leiden 1993. 1

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which theologize, each in their own specific way, in a dispute with their tradition at hand and the situation in their own era. One who speaks about contextual theology may not pass over this.’3 In this contribution I would like to present a gender-motivated reading of Gen 22 in which in the background discerning text sources in the Abraham cycle has an important function. Central to my approach of Gen 22 is a theory of Nancy Jay, an American researcher in Religious Studies, about the function of the (blood-)sacrifice in the identification, legitimation and maintenance of enduring structures of intergenerational continuity between males. In her pioneering study Throughout Your Generations Forever. Sacrifice, Religion and Paternity (1992), she also wrote a chapter on the analysis of descent conflicts in the Pentateuch. In this chapter she uses the method of splitting sources. She illustrates her hypothesis also with the (nearly) sacrifice of Isaac in Gen 22.4 I would like to explore her insights further and link them to other results of women’s studies research on Gen 22. But first, let us try to clearly point out the questions concerning Gen 22 from the gender-motivated point of view. This will be our very first step. Our second step, will contain several approaches from women’s studies, which have tested their strength on this narrative. In a third step I will further examine the theory of Nancy Jay and analyse its applicability for a renewed interpretation of this narrative from a gender-motivated point of view. 2. Questions From a Gender-perspective A superficial reading of Gen 22 shows that the main characters are a father and his son. The wife/mother is not mentioned in Gen 22, nor does she act or speak. She is absent. We are kept in ignorance of whether she knew all along about Abraham’s plan when he left 3 Ed Noort, article in Gereformeerd Theologisch Tijdschrift 1988, cited by Henk Leene in: ‘Wereldbeeld en geschiedenis. Honderd jaar Oude Testament in het GTT’, in: Wessel Stoker & Henk C. van der Sar (eds), Theologie op de drempel van 2000, anniversary edition GTT 1999/3 and 4, Kampen 1999, 82, and also cited by Kune Biezeveld in: ‘Strepen’, in: GTT 100 (2000) 1, 14–18. 4 Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever. Sacrifice, Religion and Paternity, Chicago/London, 1992. In the chapter ‘Sacrifice, Descent and the Patriarchs’, (94–103) she discusses descent conflicts in the Pentateuch. This chapter, somewhat revised, was previously published in Vetus Testamentum 38 (1988) 52–70.

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with their son. We also do not hear a word about her reaction to the event when they turn back home. The father is the one who, in action and words, is the initiator, even though his initiative is presented as embedded in obedience to an order from God/Elohim. The son just follows and obeys his father. Only once does he put a question (22:7). At the end of the story (22:19) we are, remarkably, not told that he also returns home, together with his father Abraham and the servants. He has remained ‘nowhere’. The (simple) questions after a first reading are: Where is the mother in this story? What happened to the son at the end of the story? What about the relations of power in this narrative, between the characters of God (presented as JHWH, as Elohim)—Abraham—Isaac and the absent mother? 3. Survey: Women’s Studies Interpreting the Narrative Though not really part of women’s studies, but nevertheless relevant for the gender-perspective interest, is the midrash which the rabbinical tradition transmitted regarding this story.5 It throws light on the role of Sarah. The midrash tells us how Abraham fools Sarah. He tells her that he wants to take Isaac with him to teach him religious lessons ‘at a place not far from here’. He asks Sarah to prepare some food and drink. He leaves very early in the morning (22:3) just in case Sarah might change her mind. After the event on Mount Moriah, Satan, disguised as Isaac, visits Sarah (read: Sarah sees an apparition of Isaac). Sarah asks: ‘What did your father do to you?’ When Isaac/Satan tells her all about it, Sarah cries out loud, seven times, and then drops dead. The midrash makes a connection here between the sacrificial narrative and Gen 23:1f.: the death of Sarah. The narrations of the story of Gen 22 by Søren Kierkegaard in the first chapter of Fear and Trembling (1843),6 are written from a feminist perspective as little as the midrash.

5 In: Samuel A. Berman (ed.), Midrash Tanhuma-Yelammedenu, New Yersey 1996. See also the contribution of Wout van Bekkum in this volume. 6 Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling (published together with Repetition) (eds. Howard V. Hong & Edna H. Hong), Princeton 1983. See for a lengthy review of Fear and Trembling the contribution by Andy Sanders in this volume. The remarks of Sylvia Walsh in her book: Living Poetically, Kierkegaards Existential Aesthetics, Pennsylvania

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Kierkegaard’s interpretation is even very harshly criticized by some women’s studies researchers, because it extols Abraham’s faith ‘in virtue of the absurd’. Kierkegaard’s interpretation would justify on religious grounds that there can be circumstances that simply demand giving up reason and breaking the body of the powerless (for instance: the child, the woman).7 Nevertheless, I would like to mention the meditations of Kierkegaard here, because they emphazise the character of the mother Sarah, and even all four narrations are framed within the perspective of maternal emotions and commitment during this horrible event. It is true, the imagery of motherhood in every closing paragraph reaches far beyond the ‘actual’ mother Sarah at the beginning of the meditations. This mother ‘who blackens her breasts and hides them in order to wean the child’ seems to be more a metaphor of God and of (the transformation of ) the religious binding, but nevertheless there is a textual link between the actual mother at the beginning and the metaphorical mother at the end. This connection shows that Kierkegaard has at least seen or has searched for the ‘inscription’ of a feminine/maternal presence in the narrative, however we should interpret or evaluate this. From a feminist point of view, Carol Delaney offers a culturalhistorical interpretation in her article ‘The Legacy of Abraham’

1994, 137, are interesting. She writes: ‘In the “Exordium” with which the book begins, Johannes imaginatively explores several responses Abraham might have made with respect to the command from God (. . .) What might have happened if Abraham would not have had faith?’ This imaginative playing or experimenting with different possibilities or roles, is for Kierkegaard part of the ‘aesthetic’. Different from many other Kierkegaard-interpreters, Sylvia Walsh states that the aesthetic and poetic dimension in religious existence is still preserved and integrated in a new way of affirming finite reality. In this sense, the first chapter, which contains the four narrations, has an integrated place in the book as a whole, in which in various imaginative ways the author ‘Johannes de Silentio’ attempts to come near to Abraham’s ‘absurd’ leap into faith. 7 So Jonneke Bekkenkamp, ‘Breaking the Waves: Corporeality and Religion in a Modern Melodrama’, in: Jonneke Bekkenkamp & Maaike de Haardt (eds.), Begin with the Body. Corporeality, Religion and Gender, Leuven 1998, 134–156. More nuanced evaluations of the gender question in Kierkegaard’s oeuvre in: Sylvia Walsh, Living Poetically (see note 5); Sylvia Walsh, ‘On “Feminine” and “Masculine” Despair’, in: Robert L. Perkins (ed.), International Kierkegaard Commentary: The Sickness unto Death, Macon Ga: Mercer University Press 1987, 121–134: Gepke Louise Hameete, Kierkegaard, van exemplaar naar de enkeling, Delft 1990: Alison Leigh Brown, ‘God, Anxiety and Female Divinity’ and Wanda Warren Beaty, ‘Kierkegaard and Feminism: Apologetic, Repetition, and Dialogue’, in: Martin J. Matustik & Merold Westphal (eds.), Kierkegaard in Post/Modernity, Indiana University Press, 1995.

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(1977).8 She asks herself whether this story, which has paradigmatic relevance for the faith in the Jewish and Christian traditions, can have the same meaning for both women and men. ‘Is this the kind of model we need?’ Or is the narrative symptomatic of masculine culture? She compares Gen 22 with a Greek mythological story, the Theogony by Hesiod, and discovers that the motives in both stories are interwoven in a comparable way: child murder/sacrifice is associated with the establishment of the father’s authority; he also becomes the father of a new religion. For example: Zeus swallows his daughter Athena, whom Metis gave birth to, and gives her a new birth from out of his head. Even though Isaac in Gen 22 is not actually sacrificed due to the saving intervention of the angel who points to the ram—and in this way the narrative maintains liberating potentials—that does not alter the fact that the appropriate sacrifice in the narrative is the child. Delaney states: The relevance of Gen 22 is not to be found in the elimination of the practice of child sacrifice, but in the symbolic establishment of the father’s rights and his primary role in the reproductive process. The narrative symbolically demonstrates the father’s power over life and death, and the loss of power and status of the mother, of female fertility and of a woman-centered religion. Elements from this interpretation return later on, in Nancy Jay’s approach. The in-depth psychological reading of Gen 22 by Naomi H. Rosenblatt and Joshua Horwitz moves in a very different direction.9 They read the story of this ‘heartbreaking test’ Abraham is put to as a dream, a nightmare which reveals Abraham’s deepest and most unconscious fears. The narrative, with its dreamlike structure, is ‘Traumarbeit’ of a father confronted with his deepest fears and desires, who is struggling with his own ambitions and narcissism, but who simultaneously loves his son deeply. On the one hand, they see this psychological struggle as originating from the universal complexity of the parent-child dynamics, on the other hand, Abraham’s religious zeal plays tricks on him. ‘In his dream, Abraham is wrestling with his doubts and anxieties about

8 Carol Delaney, ‘The Legacy of Abraham’, in: Rita M. Gross (ed.), Beyond Androcentrism, Missoula Montana 1977, 217–236. 9 Naomi H. Rosenblatt & Joshua Horwitz, Wrestling with Angels. What Genesis Teaches Us about our Spiritual Identity, Sexuality and Personal Relationships, New York 1995, 192–201.

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the vulnerability of his young son, about the demands of his covenant with God, and about the possible risks to Isaac of inheriting this weighty commitment. By conjuring his worst fear—that his covenant with God would compel him to sacrifice his son, that the promise of the covenant could be arbitrarily reversed by the God of justice and compassion—Abraham is able to work through his anxieties and discover the comforting power of faith’.10 According to these authors, Sarah’s ‘unnatural’ absence in the narrative can also be explained as an element of dream: her absence marks the loneliness of Abraham’s internal struggle. A psychoanalytical approach such as the above does, however, abstract the narrative from its historical and social context.11 The essential weakness of this interpretation is, as far as I can see, the assumption it is based on, the assumption that this story is about a dream. The text does not mention this dream at all, although the Hebrew Bible contains more than one dream story and always points that out, very explicitly. Of greater theological interest is Irmtraud Fischer’s study: Die Erzeltern Israels (1994).12 She would like to understand Gen 22 in the context of the ‘women texts’ in the Abraham cycle. These ‘women texts’,—including the wife-/sister stories in Gen 12 and 2013 and the ‘chasing stories’ in Gen 16 and 2114—tell how Abraham is willing 10

Ibidem, 197. For another kind of psycho-analytical approach: see the contribution of Patrick Vandermeersch in this volume. 12 Irmtraud Fischer, Die Erzeltern Israels. Feministisch-theologische Studien zu Genesis 12–36, Berlin/New York 1994. Also see her contribution on Gen 22 in: Anzgar Franz (ed.), Streit am Tisch des Wortes? Zur Deutung und Bedeutung des Alten Testaments und seiner Verwendung in der Liturgie, (Pietas Liturgica 8), St. Ottilien 1997. Fischer’s study is the only contribution from women’s studies reviewed by Hans Dieter Neef in his survey: Die Prüfung Abrahams. Eine exegetisch-theologische Studie zu Gen 22, 1–19, Stuttgart 1998, 20. 13 Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes offers a critical-feministic reading of these stories: ‘Sarai’s Exile: a Gender-Motivated Reading of Genesis 12.10–13.2’ in: Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Genesis, Sheffield Academic Press 1993, 222–234. 14 Feminist exegesis of these narratives are offered by, among others, Mieke Bal & Fokkelien van Dijk-Hemmes & Grietje van Ginneken, En Sara in haar tent lachte . . . Patriarchaat en verzet in bijbelverhalen, Utrecht 1984, 27–46; Phyllis Trible, ‘Hagar- de eenzaamheid van de afwijzing’, in: Verhalen van verschrikking. Een literair-feministische lezing van bijbelverhalen, Kampen 1986, 19–46 (translation of: Texts of Terror. LiteraryFeminist Readings of Biblical Narratives, Philadelphia 1984); Savina J. Teubal, ‘Sarah and Hagar, Matriarchs and Visionaries’, in: Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Genesis (note 12), 235–250; Arie Troost, ‘Reading for the Author’s Signature: Genesis 21.1–21 and Luke 15.11–32 as Intertexts’ in: idem, 251–272: Ellen van 11

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to sacrifice, to give up his wife (this time Sarah, the next time Hagar) in his own best interest. Fischer points to strong textual links between Gen 22 and the preceeding narrative Gen 21, the chasing of Hagar and Ishmael. Thematically speaking both stories are also variations on the same theme: a son has to leave the house for good, and in both stories the son is saved at the last moment by an angel. The textual similarities not only show parallels between the stories, there are also three key-words (jlv, acn, dy) that make the stories each other’s antitheses. The mother in Gen 21—Hagar—resigns to her fate and has to see how her son dies, while the father—Abraham—in Gen 22 actively supports the sacrifice of his own son. It makes one suspect that both stories were written by the same author, but it is also possible that the second story was deliberately written closely after the first one by a different author. What might be the theological meaning of this parallel? For Fischer, the connection is not that both cases tell about a ‘sacrifice of Abraham’, an interpretation that would affirm the image of the ‘sacrosanct patriarch’. There is more to this case. Abraham’s whole conduct up until this moment is being questioned here. He showed cowardice in supporting the chasing of Ishmael and his mother in Gen 21, because Ishmael was a threat to the inheritance of Sarah’s son. Now only Isaac is left to carry on all hope, being Abraham’s only link to the future. And this is precisely whom God demands for a sacrifice in Gen 22. ‘Die parallele Gestaltung von Gen 22 zu Gen 21 weist darauf hin, dass Gott dem Erzvater zumutet, die Trennung, die er von seinem Erstgeborenen leichtfertig vollzogen hat, nun vom einzig verbliebenen Sohn, vom gehätschelten Isaak (22:2), selber zu vollziehen. Der eine Sohn wurde leichten Herzens preisgegeben, der andere muss schweren Herzens geopfert werden.’15 All his life Abraham has chosen the easiest way, cf. the ‘women stories’ in Gen 12, 16, 20 and 21. That is why Fischer views his ‘test’ in Gen 22 as follows: Will Abraham also be prepared to sacrifice

Wolde, ‘Leven in de marge’, in: Bettine Siertsema (ed.), Aartsmoeders, Kampen 1994, 21–34: Jeannet Schut-Klunder, ‘Hagar, de vrouw in de woestijn. Genesis 16:1–16’, in: Jopie Siebert-Hommes (ed.), De vrouw van de nacht en andere verhalen uit de bijbel, Zoetermeer 1998, 11–26. 15 Fischer, Die Erzeltern Israels, 337.

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his own future—and so himself—in his son? That Sarah is missing in Gen 22 is a deliberate move of the author. Sarah has already felt what it means to be sacrificed (Gen 12 and 20). While in Gen 21 she still played the double role of both victim and perpetrator, here in Gen 22 any form of co-perpetration is missing on her side. Here Abraham has to solve his problem on his own. Fischer is convincing, in my opinion, when pointing out the parallels between Gen 21 and 22. I support her acknowledgement of the idea that both cases are about the sacrifice of a son, in which both times the mother (Hagar/Sarah) has a different role to play than the father. But the opposition she creates between the ‘lighthearted’ sacrifice, in the first case, and a sacrifice ‘with a troubled mind’, in the second case, I consider too much a psychological ‘hineininterpretieren’ into the psyche of Abraham. Abraham has a lesson to learn: to sacrifice himself. But why should a vulnerable person, Isaac, be handed over to this existential ordeal of Abraham? And is not the mother—Sarah—handed over again in this threat to her son? 4. Nancy Jay: Sacrifice as Remedy for having been Born of Woman The most promising gender-motivated reading is, as far as I can see, the theory of Nancy Jay, on descent relations and the function of sacrifice. Nancy Jay focusses on gender-related features of sacrifice which are analyzed in the field of comparative religious studies.16 She notices that around the world, ordinarily only adult males (fathers, real and methaphorical) may perform sacrifice. Where women do so it is as virgins, as consecrated unmarried women, or as post-menopausal women. It is never women as mothers (as childbearers or as potential childbearers) who perform sacrifice. Sacrificing and childbearing seem to be opposites. Why this opposition? In order to find an answer to this question, Jay investigates the social contexts of sacrificial rituals. In what manner do sacrificial rituals connect to family

16 Nancy Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever, (note 4). She has written before on the same theme ‘Sacrifice as Remedy for having Been Born of Women’, in: C.W. Atkinson et al. (eds), Immaculate and Powerful, Boston 1985. See for a critical application of Nancy Jay’s theory: Anne-Marie Korte, ‘Ontvreemding en ontferming: het raadsel van Rachels ‘godenroof ’ (Gen 31)’, in: Bert Blans (ed.), Stapstenen: Opstellen over spiritualiteit en filosofie, aangeboden aan Ilse N. Bulhof, Best 1997, 41–67.

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structures, the organized social relationships in which women produce children? Sacrifice occurs in societies where families are integrated into extended kin groups of various kinds, where agriculture provides the means of living and where family-life and the system of inheritance is organized around important productive property such as farmland and herds. Jay’s hypothesis is that the sacrificial ritual plays a central role in identifying and maintaining intergenerational continuity between males. The most important function of the sacrificial ritual, and especially the sacrifices in which blood is shed, is to legitimate and affirm the relations between males and thereby to constitute their line of descent outside or above the ‘natural’ female shedding of blood during childbirth. The sacrifice’s symbolic function is a ‘remedy for having been born of woman’. ‘The only action that is as serious as giving birth, which can act as a counterbalance to it, is killing’.17 Sacrifice symbolically expiates the descent from women and integrates a ‘pure and eternal’ patriliny. Patrilineal descent has no naturalness at all, but is conquered at the cost of other structures of descent in which the position of women as mothers and sisters is more or less evidently acknowledged.18 Jay’s research investigates also sacrificial rituals in the Pentateuch. The book of Genesis shows many traces of an ideological battle to establish only the patrilineal descent and to religiously sanctionize it. The communion sacrifices of the patriarchs are directly linked to the constitution of their patrilineal relationship.19 But most interesting is that the Genesis narratives also show many traces of rival systems of descent, in which the role of women/mothers is acknowledged. Cultural anthropology acknowledges the extremely important role of the lineage principle. Some descent theorists even consider the lineage principle ‘primary and determining’ for every sphere of social life: economic and ecological relationships, and religion, cult and morals are seen as deriving from lineal social organization.20 I doubt 17

Jay, ‘Sacrifice as Remedy for Having Been Born of Women’, 294. For the anthropological terms about kinship I consulted Ira R. Buchler & Henry A. Selby, Kinship and Social Organization. An Introduction to Theory and Method, New York 1968 and Jan N. Bremmer, ‘Fosterage, kinship and the circulation of children in ancient Greece’, in: Dialogos 6 (1999) 1–20. 19 Example: the communion sacrifice of Jacob and Laban in Gen 31, 46–54. Through this sacrifice, invoking the ‘God of Abraham, the God of Nahor, the God of their father’, Jacob patrilineally reconstitutes his descent-relations with Laban. See: Jay, ‘Sacrifice as Remedy for Having Been Born of Women’, 298f. 20 Buchler & Selby, Kinship and Social Organization, 72f. 18

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whether the connection is this causal and unambiguous. More recent research, including gender studies, has revealed the complexity of determining ‘the’ lineage principle and ‘the’ character of kinship relations for a distinct historical society. One should in any case differentiate between the ruling ideology of a community and the everyday practice of its members.21 In the case of the patriarchal narratives, the issue of the prevailing rule of descent is of extreme importance— especially from a religious point of view—because the line of descent is the means, the ‘channel’ by which the divine promise in history is fulfilled, by which the blessing is transmitted from generation to generation. The question is: what links (M/F) are entitled to a position in this chain? Jay points to the different concerns the three sources, J, E and P, have with regard to sacrifice: P is the most concerned about sacrifice and cult, and P is, of all three sources, also the most concerned about a ‘pure and eternal’ patrilineal descent. The genealogy of P is perfectly patrilineal. J is the least interested in sacrifices and also the least interested in patrilineal descent. A comparison between J’s genealogy in Gen 4 and P’s genealogy in Gen 5, for example, shows that J’s genealogy includes women who become pregnant and give birth, while in P’s genealogy it is always the man who ‘begets’ a son. What is happening here? According to Jay, these differences point to an ongoing tension in the patriarchal narratives, a tension between the descent of fathers and the descent of mothers, and the three sources J, E and P all deal with it in different ways. P mostly denies that such a problem exists. P cannot use sacrifice to remedy it, for it is not in P’s interest to sanction sacrificial practices without a priest. E and J both acknowledge the descent problem. J is willing to let it be, while E tries to offer a resolution for it by means of sacrifice. All sacrificial narratives in the patriarchal stories descend from E and all solve the problem of ambiguous descent in favor of the pure patrilineal descent. J tolerates the bilateral descent. J, with its acknowledgement of the female descent, can be heard as a ‘countervoice’ in the Pentateuch. The culture that J and E both reflect on shows clear traces of matrilineage.22 The marriage system as practiced in this culture is 21

Bremmer, ‘Fosterage, kinship and the circulation of children in ancient Greece’,

11. 22

Matrilineage is defined as the collective membership of a corporate matrilineal

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the agnatic endogamy, more precisely: matrilateral cross-cousin marriage. This means that sons marry a daughter of the brother of their mother. A fine example of this in the Pentateuch is Jacob marrying Leah and Rachel, both daughters of his mother’s brother Laban. In this way he also inherits the property of his mother’s family. The preference of the mother’s family is obvious: the cousin inherits from the uncle, the brother on the mother’s side. This organization of inheritance recognizes the fact that the descent/birth from the mother is indisputable, while the descent from the father, this father, is uncertain. The descent/birth from the mother is fully acknowledged and recognized in the Jacob cycle. In Isaac’s case, matters are a little less clear. To what extent is there an acknowledgement of the matrilineal descent in his marriage to Rebekka? Rebekka is, according to the story, not a relative of Sarah, but of Abraham: Rebekka is the granddaughter of Abraham’s brother Nahor. Or should we assume that Abraham is telling the truth to king Abimelech in Gen 20:12 (E) and Sarah really is his half-sister?23 In that case, a half-sister relationship also exists between Sarah and Nahor, and then the marriage of Isaac and Rebekka and their claim of inheritance is also structured according to the principle of matrilateral cross-cousin marriage. An argument supporting this is that J’s description in Gen 24 presents Rebekka’s family as ‘matrilineal’, as organized around the mother and her brother. The brother (Laban) is in the position of authority concerning her marriage, the wedding gifts go to her brother and her mother, and both give their blessing to Rebekka’s fertility. The system of agnatic endogamy does seem to solve the dilemma of how to maintain unilineal descent from fathers while recognizing

descent group. It should be noticed that even in the matrilineal system ‘men ordinarily hold the major positions of authority. It is the descent from authority, and of property, that differs: in patrilineages descent is from father to son, in matrilineages from mother’s brother to sister’s son, from uncle to nephew.’ The main difference is that dependence on women’s powers of reproduction for intergenerational continuity is structurally recognized in matrilineal descent, but ideologically transcended in patrilineal descent. See: Jay, ‘Sacrifice as Remedy for Having Been Born of Women’, 286ff.: see also Buchler & Selby, Kinship and Social Organization, 73. 23 See for Jay’s approach to the wife/sister stories in the Pentateuch (in discussion with Ephraim Speiser’s and Samuel Greengus’ interpretation of the Nuzi texts): Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever, 99. According to her, P remains silent on the half-sisterly relationship between Abraham and Sarah in Gen 12, 29, for recognizing this fact is assumed not to be in P’s interest.

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descent from mothers. But it conceals a conflict at the same time: Who is the ‘real’ parent through whom unilineal descent flows? Whose son is it, the father’s or the mother’s? The descent/birth from the mother is very clear, the descent from the father is awkwardly insecure. In what way does the father confirm his status? That is the main problem which Jay sees as a leading thread running through the patriarchal narratives. She wants to read these narratives as dealing with an ongoing ideological conflict about descent. Through whose line of descent is the divine blessing transmitted, the paternal or maternal? Is the role and part of women in the transmission of the divine blessing acknowledged or obscured in the stories? In what way do the men/fathers claim their status and authority in the line of descent (and thereby in the divine blessing), and how do the voices of the sources J, E and P sound as counterparts on this point? Jay writes: ‘Biblical scholars have not recognized the descent conflict in their interpretations of the patriarchal narratives because they bring to the stories a presupposition of established certainty of patrilineal descent not to be found in the text, except in P’.24 5. Who is Sacrificed on Mount Moriah? We will now look at Gen 22 and let the above direct our choice of questions. My question is: Is it possible to read the story of the sacrifice of Abraham as a narrative that (also) tells about a descent conflict, in other words, whose son is Isaac actually, through whose line of descent does the divine blessing proceed? I will make myself clear: The descent issue plays an undeniable role in the Abraham-Sarah cycle. For example, the ‘double’ blessing in Gen 17—first on Abraham as ‘father of many nations’ (17:5) and then on Sarah: ‘kings of people shall be of her’ (17:16)—points this out very obviously. How do both blessings relate? Several codices, including the Septuagint, read 17:16: wnmm, ‘shall be of him (Isaac)’. The rivalry between Ishmael and Isaac also proves the importance of the descent issue in the Abraham-Sarah cycle. The story on their rivalry can be read as a conflict about priority in descent, between a ‘father’s son’ and a ‘mother’s son’. 24

Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever, 101.

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In Gen 16:2, Sarah wishes a son by means of Hagar, her slave woman. She wants to be ‘built’ by her. But Ishmael does not and cannot become Sarah’s son. He is ‘only’ a father’s son, a descendant from an exogamic relationship, unqualified for inheritance. In Gen 16, a J-narrative, Sarah tries everything she possibly can to claim Hagar’s child for herself in her line of descent (she literally places her slave woman into Abraham’s lap, as a way of symbolic appropriating of the child to be begotten), but without success. Hagar must leave with her—still unborn—child. In Gen 21, an E-narrative, the conflict focusses on the two boys. Ishmael has to leave, even though he is the firstborn. Only Isaac can be the true heir, for he can perpetuate his mother’s line of descent. The theme of the two rival descendants appears over and over again in the patriarchal stories. Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Josef and Benjamin all are variations on the same theme. The fact that the theme plays an important role in each generation proves that no definitive resolution for the descent conflict is found in the stories of the patriarchs and matriarchs. Whose son is Isaac actually? The texts ( J/E) are everything but clear about it. Of course, he is Sarah’s son, without any question. But it looks like the patrilineal descent is deliberately kept unsure. If we compare the begetting of Ishmael with the begetting of Isaac, it is absolutely clear that in the first case, Abraham is the father. In Gen 16:4 it says: ‘and he went in unto Hagar, and she conceived’. In Gen 21:1, the birth narrative of Isaac, it is surprisingly left open. Here it is not Abraham, but JHWH who visits Sarah, ‘and JHWH did unto Sarah as he had spoken and she conceived’. In the fertility issues in Tenach it is a known theme that JHWH himself begets the child and gives descendants to the childless couple. But this is not the only place where the text questions Abraham’s role in the begetting. The text also (naughtily) plays with the possibility that king Abimelech could be the begetter of Isaac: Sarah’s stay in Abimelech’s harem (Gen 20) directly precedes the story of Isaac’s birth. However it may be: Abraham’s position is insecure. What link does he have with Isaac, the child of the promise? In what possible way can Isaac be placed into patriliny? Gen 22 might offer a resolution for this problem. At least, this is how the narrative can be read, as a (temporary) resolution to a descent conflict.

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Nancy Jay attributes the text to E. She states that here, as in the rest of E, the sacrifice has the function of (re-)constituting the pure patrilineal descent. But Old Testament research disagrees vehemently about attributing Gen 22 to one of the sources of the Pentateuch. Some say it is E (including H. Gunkel, H.C. Schmidt), others think it is a J-narrative (including J. van Seters, H. Gese). Many researchers, however, do not answer this question, for there is not enough evidence for either E nor J.25 I agree with their arguments, and think that some reserve on this point need not interfere with a valid interpretation of this narrative from the point of view of rivaling lines of descent. To be clear: This gender-perspective reading does not pretend to offer an exhaustive interpretation of Gen 22. But focussing on the issue of rivaling lines of descent does touch on a certain dimension of the narrative. I’d like to plead that this approach be taken along in the critical research whenever the (theological) meaning(s) of this narrative is asked for. It broadens the perspective which generally dominates the exegesis, a perspective that does not reach beyond the triangle father-son-JHWH/Elohim. In this gender-perspective reading, the position of the mother is explicitly brought into play. Let us try to find an interpretation: In Gen 22 Abraham is asked to sacrifice his son, his ‘only one’ (the only one who is still left to pass the heritage, the blessing unto). At the final moment his hand is stayed by an angel of JHWH and he sees the ram which he sacrifices as a substitute for Isaac. What happens here—according to Jay—is that Isaac, on the brink of death, receives his life, not by birth from his mother, but from the hand of his father, as directed by JHWH. It is a ‘spiritual birth’, accomplished without female assistance. Sarah is totally absent here. Her remarkable absence in the narrative is appropriate, for she has no role whatsoever in this history; she literally vanishes from the stage. Abraham, in his turn, is amply rewarded for his willingness to sacrifice his son: he is promised a prodigious offspring (Gen 22:16–18). This promise emphasizes, Abraham saved the pure patrilineal descent by not hesitating to sacrifice his son. He is (re-)affirmed as the father of countless offspring. Isaac might have been saved by the bell from the sacrifice; Sarah is, symbolically speaking, sacrificed as the mother of this child.

25

Neef, Die Prüfung Abrahams, (note 12), 8f.

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I read the announcement of Sarah’s death immediately following this narrative (Gen 23:3) as a well-chosen narrative strategy, in which the story-teller points out the (symbolic) consequences of the event on Mount Moriah. The principle of patrilineal descent has (for the moment) defeated the matrilineal. Isaac is now, finally and without doubt, his ‘father’s son’. The line of descent in which Sarah had a crucial position is now put aside.26 6. Countervoices However, in the margins of the text subtle countervoices can be heard. I hear them as a silent protest within the text; they undermine the mainstream outcome of the story, they question the ‘victory’ of Abraham and also the ‘divine’ command in Gen 22:1. I already pointed out the strange silence surrounding Isaac in Gen 22: 19. He, though saved, is not present when Abraham and his servants return from Mount Moriah. Where did he go? Maybe he does not want to take part in the outcome of this history? Does he not want to be an accomplice in the victory of patriliny? Another remarkable fact is that Isaac is the only patriarch who does not sacrifice; he even refuses to eat meat from sacrifice. His preference for game (Gen 27:3f.) should not (only) be taken as a culinary preference, it could imply an aversion to (blood-)sacrifice and its symbolic function as well, for in the Pentateuch the difference between game and domestic animals is a sacrificial difference.27 Especially Gen 24:67 ( J) shows how Isaac wants to stay linked to his matrilineal descent: When they first meet, he brings Rebekka into his mother Sarah’s tent (wma hrc hlhah) and takes her to be his wife in this meaningful place: ‘Thus Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death’. This is the first time after the report of her death that Sarah’s name is mentioned again in the Pentateuch. It looks like a rehabilitation of her position in the history of the patriarchs and matriarchs.

26 But even after her death her role in the realization of the divine promises is not yet over: Abraham can realize not only the promise of offspring, but also the promise of land only with Sarah’s help: the one piece of land he acquires is the land on which he buries her. See Ellen van Wolde in: Aartsmoeders, (note 14), 19. 27 Jay, Sacrifice, Descent and the Patriarchs, 104.

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Isaac’s choice to remain a mother’s son too, not to erase his descent from Sarah, has great consequences for the remainder of the history. The ambiguity in the issue of descent remains. Isaac opens up the possibility for new matrilineal and patrilineal descent conflicts.28 With Esau and Jacob, again a ‘father’s son’ and a ‘mother’s son’, the conlict flares up again. In this case, the text of Gen 25:19 is curious and meaningful. It starts with: ‘These are the generations (begettings) of Isaac, Abraham’s son’. One would expect, according to P’s genealogical order, a list of patrilineal offspring to follow this verse. But after mentioning the name of Isaac, the list breaks down. What follows is the long story of the internecine fraternal struggle between Jacob and Esau. This narrative about the twin brothers—with their different bonds and interests—shows that the descent conflict is still far from being solved. The struggle to let women/mothers maintain their role as active coactresses in the story of the transmission of the divine blessing from generation unto generation still continues at full strength.

28 Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever, 104: ‘Isaac’s refusal to sacrifice led to his loss of control of his line of descent.’

ISAAC THREATENED BY THE KNIFE OF PSYCHOANALYSIS? Patrick Vandermeersch This discussion of psychoanalysis and the Bible begins by differentiating three types of such enterprises with their corresponding difficulties. Before addressing the specific topic of the sacrifice of Isaac, or the Aqedah, I briefly outline these discussions. The first type, typical of the early period of psychoanalysis, was to point to certain peculiar motives that psychoanalysts were accustomed to observing in the unconscious of their patients, which they happened to also recognize in the Bible. Having experienced, e.g., that fantasies about castration played an important part in many people’s minds, they were pleased to find the same topic—somewhat hidden—in Exod 4:24–26, when Sipporah cuts her son’s prepuce and with the bleeding skin touches someone’s (whose?) ‘feet’. This comforted psychoanalysts’ conviction that what they found in the mind of people lying on the couch was not just a product of suggestion, but something actually existing, for it was also to be found in the unviolated forests of biblical writers’ minds. The problem with this type of interpretation is that it was made mainly for the psychoanalysts themselves. It reassured their own minds, while often one cannot see how it would bring more insight to a scholar (or even just a reader) of biblical texts. The second type of psychoanalytical interpretation, modelled along the lines of B. Bettelheim’s study on the efficacy of fairy tales, limits itself to biblical stories that can be seen as the expression of typical conflicts reflecting the development of the human psyche. In this way, Joseph’s dreams can be interpreted in line with the fairy tale of Humpty Dumpty, both typical stories able to capture the mind of a little brother who is unconsciously invited to identify with the hero and to dare to imagine: ‘Yes, I’m the little boy, but a day will come that I will oversee my brothers.’ In a way, this type of psychoanalytical interpretation comes nearer to the enterprise of exegesis, as it focuses on the question: ‘What does this text mean to me?’ On the other hand, the interest in biblical text is restricted to

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those parts reflecting the psychological structure of frequently occurring conflicts. The peculiarity and individuality of the biblical message disappear, and might even be eliminated from the beginning by the choice of a particular type of biblical story. There is not much room for historical or legal texts in such an analytical approach. The third type of interpretation focuses on the interaction between the reader and the text. This approach is mainly in favour today, and not without reason. It provides the opportunity to keep the gains of both previous approaches, but lays its critical emphasis upon the motives that sustain the reader’s interest in the given text—and the interest in psychoanalysis. This approach does not claim its identity by competing with the other, commonly used methods of biblical research. It is not so much a method as it is a critical reflex of selfobservation acquired by a journey of many years ‘on the couch’. Someone who has undergone psychoanalytic treatment is not constantly applying psychoanalytical categories while, e.g., reading a menu in a restaurant or enjoying the pleasures of love; one does not make interpretations unless they are needed. An analyzed person has, to speak in the terminology of Microsoft, a second window in the background, scanning for unwanted viruses. In the same way, such a person keeps watch for interfering unconscious motives. Psychoanalytic experience can accompany the Bible reader or biblical scholar as a technique of self-observation. This psychoanalytical scanning from the background of one’s mind operates at the personal, as well as the professional, level. Our personal psychology can determine our choice of certain themes and passages in the text. When one is fascinated by the sons of God loving human women in the Flood story or by the heroism of Masada, it can reflect a very personal motivation. I immediately add that this is a personal matter, and should not lead to psychoanalysis in public, which is always impolite. But psychoanalytically informed selfreflection can also accompany professional daily work on texts. When trying to explain, e.g., Gen 32:23–33 ( Jacob’s struggle at the Jabbok), upon distinguishing two layers in the story, the critical voice of selfreflection could ask: ‘When I say that there is, on the one hand, the old and universal motive of a demon dwelling on rivers and killing travellers and, on the other hand, the motive to provide an aetiology for a temple at Pniel, am I not making use of the classical psychological mechanism of isolation, known to me from my analysis? What are the consequences of my attempt to ‘understand’ when I

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focus on the foundation of an eighth-century cult?’ In this way the experience of psychoanalysis becomes an auxiliary to self-reflection, addressing critical questions to the prevalence given to certain cues for interpretation. Why do we distinguish sources, genres, reception, formation of the canon, etc., and why does it give us the impression that we grasp a text better? To return to the previous example: do we feel better when our mind is dealing with primitive demons or when we imagine ourselves building a temple that marks a certain phase in the evolution toward monotheism? In the case of the sacrifice of Isaac, I was first inclined to go directly to the third model of psychoanalytical behaviour and to remain at the reader-response level. The story of the sacrifice seems such a typical story that it is easily predictable how people are inclined to react. The shocking experience is obvious: suddenly, in the Bible, God appears aggressive without any reason. As this contradicts the current image of God, one can imagine several attempts to save this image. A first attempt could be to seek a hidden sin, as in this way the representation of God is brought back within the boundaries of the well-known psychology of an Oedipal conflict, of a father punishing a competing child for well-defined reasons. This is less threatening than aggression experienced on a pre-Oedipal level, where the distinction of good and bad is only a matter of irrational power and violence. A God behaving aggressively within the boundaries of a world where right and wrong are clearly distinguished and where there are well-defined rules is less threatening than a God dominating a world of mere chaos and irrational destruction. Consequently, one can expect that the tradition-process of the text, and even present day readers, will be inclined to find a sin that could account for God’s anger; this would at least keep the image of God within the limits of that of a creator of an organised world. Another attempt to save the customary image of God could make use of the isolation-mechanism previously mentioned. One could say that this story combines older memories of human sacrifices and superadds to them the warning that they do not please Israel’s God. One can imagine yet other exegetical strategies meant to preserve an image of God in agreement with that represented in mainstream biblical understanding. Are these procedures wrong? Not necessarily. For religious commitment as well as intellectual interest, it can be legitimate to construct a coherent concept of divinity from what emerges from texts, interpretations and cultural history. Nevertheless,

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in applying these streamlining exegetical manoeuvres we should be aware that we possibly erase certain marginal, irrational and dark sides of the sacred from the complex representation of the divinity and from our understanding. The representation of God is not necessarily without contradiction, in history as well as in our own minds. And are we sure we would be better off if we could overcome the conflicting elements?1 From a psychoanalytical point of view, this would be an essential point in the interpretation of the sacrifice of Isaac. I was pleased to learn that some rabbis went in the same direction, insisting in their exegeses that Isaac had really been sacrificed, and that the ram was offered ta˙at, after him.2 Thus, as I said, I was first inclined to carry on this way, as a psychoanalytic companion to exegetical practice. However, I then realised that I would have needed the time to make an overview of the existing exegetical literature, and that other material was lying at my disposal, my use of which would avoid the reproach: ‘As a biblical scholar, you begin with asking a psychoanalyst what he thinks of a text, but very soon you are yourself lying on the couch’. The material I discuss here is that of psychoanalysts having themselves made an interpretation of the sacrifice of Isaac. Without any shame, they display their own motivation in dealing with the text. This can be the mirror that asks us, in a way not entirely different from the mirror in Snow White: When we see these psychoanalysts making exegetical errors do we simply correct them? Or are we inclined to see therein proof that we dislike their motivation? Inviting the reader to this exercise, I take two psychoanalysts who have dealt with the Aqedah, coming from very different backgrounds: S. Gioara Shoham, interested in criminology, belonging to the Jewish tradition and clearly influenced by American psychoanalysis, and Marie Balmary, the most well-known author on psychoanalysis and the Bible in France, a typical representative of Lacanian influence and Catholic past.

1 I felt uneasy when a few years ago, someone asked me bluntly: ‘Are we really sure that monotheism is better—or more true—than polytheism?’ 2 S. Giora Shoham, ‘The Isaac Syndrome’, American Imago 33 (1976) 329–349. The author refers on p. 333, notes 7–10, to Genesis Rabba 22, 13, to Talmud Zevachim, p. 62, side 1 and to the following scholars: S. Spiegel, ‘Meagadot Ha’akedad’, Festschrift for A. Marx, New York 1940, M. McNamara, The New Testament and the Palestinian Targum to the Pentateuch, Rome 1966, 164ss, G. Vermes, Scripture and Tradition in Judaism, Leiden 1961, 205–207.

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With Shoham’s study (1976), we enter clearly into the American (and perhaps Americanised) psychoanalysis of the International Psychoanalytical Association. One characteristic of this area of psychoanalytic thought and practice is that it has laid the emphasis upon the mother, whereas for Freud himself the father was the predominant issue. This appears especially in the interpretation of the Oedipus complex. For Freud, this was essentially a problem of identification with the father (the boy identifies very early with the father, but observes at a certain age that the father is also his rival for the possession of the mother, resulting in ambivalence and guilt in his relation to the father); the Oedipus complex later became mainly understood as an incestuous clinging to the mother. In this way, we can understand that for this branch of psychoanalysis, a different concept was introduced for the psychological mechanism that produces separation from the mother. This is the point at which Shoham introduces the term ‘Isaac Syndrome’.3 The Isaac Syndrome refers to the interaction between father and son, whereby the father severs the ties between mother and child and introduces the latter into the normative system of society. Readers accustomed to European psychoanalytical style would be inclined to recognize in such a statement analogous ideas, as in J. Lacan’s ‘instauration de la métaphore paternelle et l’accession à l’ordre symbolique’, but one should not ignore the differences, which become manifest in Balmary’s view on the same topic, from a biblical as well as a psychoanalytical point of view. The basic question of identification is lacking in 3 A similar approach to the Aqedah story is to be found in E. Wellish, Isaac and Oedipus. A Study in Biblical Psychology of the Sacrifice of Isaac, London 1954. The book is as valuable for the many cultural parallels it provides on infanticide as for the overview of Judaic use of the theme. The psychoanalytical part sees in the ‘Aqedah experience’ the representation of a basic psychological process that can follow the introjection into the super-ego of the moral precepts of parents and ancestors. Some aggressive impulses are experienced as being in line with the super-ego, which provides anxiety. ‘The moral code developed in Abraham’s super-ego by his call from God overcame the aggressive and incestuous tendencies of his ego. This stage was suddenly altered by the command to sacrifice Isaac. This command emanated from the same source which formerly imposed the powerful repression of aggressive impulses but now apparently coincided with them. It cruelly allowed Abraham to re-enact his primitive infanticidal wishes but at the same time it forbade him to indulge in them. Abraham is described as being in an acute agonizing stage of moral masochism. The indications of this in Genesis were taken up and elaborated in legends and commentaries’ (82).

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Shoham’s conception, as one could expect from his American psychoanalytical background. According to Shoham’s view, the father simply severs the ties between child and mother, ejecting him from the family cocoon and compelling him (Shoham refers mostly to boys) to become a responsible person. ‘The making of the “responsible person”, the “stable human being” is achieved by constant indoctrination by the various socialization agencies, family, school, church, etc. These convey to him the harsh realities of life and urge him to “grow up” with the help of some rigorous initiation rites. In due course, the scar tissue of human experience and learning covers the sores and wounds. The child becomes less vulnerable, but also less sensitive, and he is more reluctant to expose himself with loving embraces to his environment. This is the lore of the rape of innocence by life. The end product is separation of the alienated man who is basically lonely.’4 It is the task of the father to perform this separation. ‘The Freudian Oedipal pressures have been perennially associated with the acquisition of morality and social indoctrination by the (male) children. I claim, however, that the actual process of normative separation is initiated by the father or his surrogate by a dynamic that is diametrically opposite to the Oedipal pressures. This dynamic initiates deprivational pressures from the father towards the son and is meant to effect the normative separation of the adolescent from the family fold into loneliness and social responsibility. The pressures to expel the groaning child from the family are initiated by covert dynamics within the family, which stem from the father. These pressures may aptly be called the Isaac Syndrome after the biblical myth of the offering of Isaac by his father. As we have pointed out elsewhere, myths are personal realities insofar as they constitute, many times, a projection of personal developmental history. The myth of the offering of Isaac may, therefore, be taken in its psychological context as a basic family dynamic which counteracts the oedipal pressures postulated by Freud.’5 In his definition, Shoham tells immediately how he conceives the biblical story: it is a myth, and a myth reflects psychological processes and even teaches the listener how to handle them.6 This is clearly in the second model of psychoanalytical explanation, that of Bettelheim, 4

P. 331. P. 332. 6 ‘If myths are a projection of personal history which we indeed hold them to be, then the Aqedah myth is of prime importance as a psychological source-mate5

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as mentioned in the beginning of this text. Consequently, Shoham says that it does not matter if the sacrifice actually happened, although he lists a number of rabbis who assert Isaac was really slaughtered.7 He continues by mentioning several cross-cultural parallels in which the firstborn is sacrificed to the gods. His statement is clear: the myth of the sacrifice of Isaac reflects a basic and quite universal pattern of psychological growth: in the interaction between father and son, the father should be seen as he who kills the child in the boy, meaning that he compels the boy to leave home and join adult society.8 This is only one side of the Isaac Syndrome, however; the other side has to do with the reaction of the boy. There are boys who readily accept the process of separation and even seem to pose as acquiescent victims. In his description, Shoham clearly demonstrates his ambivalence before such a behaviour. On one hand, he clearly dislikes people who try to escape the separation from the family fold by seeking surrogates. Thereby he refers to phenomena flourishing at the time he wrote: ‘The love-ins, the group drug rites; the Woodstock Nation, the Flower People and now the diffuse, multi-mothered commune family’.9 On the other hand, he seems much harsher against those who accept too easily ‘the pigeon holes of social norms and the Sisyphean drudgeries of socio-economic duties’.10 He even fulminates against the ideology that leads children to sacrifice themselves for the Fatherland, the Party or the Cause, and that honours fathers who lost their sons to such a cause. Referring to Israel’s wars, he writes bitterly: ‘The ultimate rationalization of the grieving father might then be that his son, the dying God, has been projected unto eternity with the halo of perfect beauty and permanent youth. Yet, this rationalization may not save the father from the abysmal guilt which may plague him for the rest of his days for having partaken in the reincarnation of the ever-recurring Aqedah episode’.11 And more rial irrespective of its historical truth. Consequently, the Aqedah myth may serve as an archetype of covert father-son relations both in its version as a temptation of Abraham or its interpretation as a consummated burnt offering of Isaac.’ (334). 7 See note 2. 8 ‘Well, the Aqedah myth with its universal analogies ranging from the Indian myth of the offering of Cunacepha to the God Varuna, to the slaughter of Icelandic princes at the shrine of Odin in the Ynglinda Saga show that a deprivational attitude of father towards son is an archetypical dynamism of the human family.’ (335). 9 P. 339. 10 P. 340. 11 P. 343.

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explicitly: ‘we suggest cautiously that the Isaac Syndrome may be linked to society’s need for holy martyrs, for mystic heroes to boost its ideologies and group goals. The Isaac Syndrome may, therefore, underlie and covertly legitimise the mass destruction, slaughter and pain inherent in wars and political strife.’12 Obviously, Shoham is more sympathetic with the devil, who according to the Midrash, said to Abraham when he was about to kill his son: ‘What happened to you, old-timer, you seem to have lost your heart. A son is given to you when you are hundred years old and now you are about to slaughter him.’13 At the end of his text, Shoham addresses the classical parallel made between Isaac’s and Jesus’ sacrifices. In both cases are young men having victimized themselves to an archetypical perfection. In each case, the myth presents the story as if the boy was revived by a divine miracle, and it was said that the sacrifice was redeeming: the sacrifice of the Passover lamb was linked to the Messianic redemption through ‘the blood of the binding of Isaac’.14 Thus the sacrifice of Isaac, the ‘tame dove’, redeemed the sins of all Israel and was remembered by the sounding of a ram’s horn on the day of atonement. The sacrifice of Jesus, the Agnus Dei, redeemed the sins of all mankind. What is the message addressed to us by Shoham after this expose? In the last lines of his text, he states briefly that the idea of a redeeming sacrifice only reflects the psychological urges of the Isaac Syndrome but is nonsense to the rational thinker. Giving the floor to Nietzsche, he summarises the latter’s views as follows: ‘Who, but the Antichrist— the Devil, could have sensed the sinister vicissitudes of the Isaac Syndrome?’15 Obviously, he warns us against the biblical message or, at least, against the way it can be understood. Marie Balmary’s forbidden sacrifice Marie Balmary makes Isaac’s sacrifice central: It provides the title for her book on Bible and psychoanalysis.16 We enter a completely 12 13 14 15 16

P. 344. Genesis Rabbah 22, 12, quoted by Shoham p. 347. Shoham p. 345 referring to the Melkhilta of Rabbi Ishmael 1, 57–58. P. 349. M. Balmary, Le sacrifice interdit. Freud et la Bible, Paris 1986.

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different atmosphere, of psychoanalytical approach as well as the accuracy in respecting details of the biblical text. Clearly influenced by J. Lacan and F. Dolto, Balmary has a much more positive view on the role of the father or, more precisely, of cultural valuation of fatherhood, for a growing child.17 Surely, the father has his function in separating mother and child, but he does so by giving recognition to the child. This recognition is basically performed by utilizing and respecting the name of the child and, further on, by teaching him or her to circumscribe inner drives by linking them to words; in this way, drives acquire differentiation. The father separates mother and child not by ruthless power, but by introducing language as an intermediary between desire and fulfilment. This cornerstone of Lacanian psychoanalysis results in Balmary’s attention to the peculiar message addressed by the biblical texts in its most concrete formulation. As a consequence of this sensibility, Balmary (being primarily a psychoanalyst), found it necessary to learn Greek and Hebrew in order to undergo a real exposure to the text closest to its original form. Once she did this, she was astonished at how much of the Bible was in line with her ethical convictions as a psychoanalyst. She especially noted the recurrence of the sequence lier, délier, allier (to tie, to release, to unite) as the key processes operating in her psychoanalytic practice as well as in the biblical message. 18 In both cases, it is said that a human being is initially in a state of fusion and dependency, and that the next step to individuality and freedom consists of separation. Separation, with the pain and, sometimes, aggression this process implies, is not a final stage. In a third phase, human beings must recognize that they actually need each other. This does not mean regression to the previous stage, but a new type of relationship—the relationship or alliance of people who are truly individuals. Before displaying Balmary’s method in the case of the sacrifice of Isaac, I list three objections raised to her approach, so as to move beyond them in the discussion. First, Balmary’s novice status with the Greek and the Hebrew likely meant that she gave some expressions a weight that they do 17 In order to overcome frequent misunderstanding: for the development of this psychological structure, a child does not need a particular physical father, but a culture wherein fatherhood is represented as being symbolically important. 18 P. 188.

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not necessarily have for someone accustomed to the daily use of the language. Her emphasis on lekh lekha, interpreted as ‘go for yourself ’ or ‘go to yourself ’, is said to be more banal than she thought. D. Stein, one of her more pertinent critics, says it would be as if you could give a very peculiar meaning to va-t-en! as different from pars!, which indeed is questionable.19 The same can probably be said of her interpretation of 'alah, which she understands only as ‘to elevate’, refusing to acknowledge that the idea of sacrifice could also be a common meaning. Secondly, Balmary reads the text in a synchronic way, paying no attention to the different layers in the text and making no specific issue of the etiologic function of some stories. This is questionable from not only an exegetical, but also a psychoanalytical, point of view as the idea of an après-coup, the function of giving meaning in retrospect, is a crucial issue in psychoanalysis.20 This is truly a critical issue, as I will argue at the end of this text. However, in favour of Balmary, I should add that this criticism rebounds upon who is speaking. Actually, one should also ask which type of understanding is provided by the contemplation of distinct sources operating their dialectics in one text. The third objection could be that of a too easy concord. Mary Balmary has her own psychoanalytic experience and recognizes the same findings in her reading of the Bible. But here also, the criticism rebounds upon the critic, for fundamentally she does nothing different from a believer who tries to grasp the real message of the Bible. Both are in the hermeneutical circle and must ask why they look at that passage in the Bible with that particular, often unconscious, expectation. But let us now look more closely to the exegesis of Marie Balmary. She starts by putting the story of the sacrifice of Isaac, or the Aqedah— she clearly prefers the latter term—in its context. Let us begin, very psychoanalytically, with what happens afterwards, while this often sheds light upon the hidden dimension in the story. Immediately after the story, it is said that Milkah, the niece of Abraham and wife of his brother Nahor, gave birth to children, one of whom (Betuel) 19 D. Stein, ‘Une lecture psychanalytique de la Bible. Le sacrifice interdit de Marie Balmary’, Revue de Sciences philosophiques et théologiques 72 (1986) 95–108, esp. 100–101. 20 P. 104.

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has a daughter, Rebecca, who will become Isaac’s wife. Immediately after this genealogy, the length of Sarah’s life is given and her death is mentioned. Thus, after the story of the Aqedah, Isaac loses his mother and gains a wife. To this remark, I would add that Isaac, when he has sexual intercourse with Rebecca, does so in his mother’s tent in order to gain consolation.21 And let us turn now to what happened before the Aqedah. Isaac is born and his name refers to laughing: the laughing of Abraham when it was said that he would have a child (Gen 17:17), the laughing of Sarah when she heard that she would become pregnant (Gen 18:12), and the laughing of Isaac playing with Ismael (Gen 21:9). Laughing is a primitive expression of autonomy. We can understand that it is a problem for Sarah when Isaac is weaned and a huge feast is given by Abraham on this occasion (the verse repeats two times: when Isaac is weaned—gamal ) and she sees her son Isaac laughing with Ismael,22 the son of Abraham and Hagar. It is then that she urges that Hagar and Ismael be sent away to the desert, where they obviously were expected to die. Abraham, the ‘father of a multitude’ obeys and is not strong enough to protect Ismael, one of his two sons. When we read carefully, we see that Sarah obviously has difficulties recognizing that both Isaac and Ismael are Abraham’s children. She speaks of ‘the maidservant and her son’ who should not inherit together with ‘my son’ (Gen 21:10). Thus, she is unable to recognize that her son, whose weaning has been celebrated by Abraham, is an autonomous being. Neither is she capable of recognizing Abraham in his very function of a father; Abraham himself fails to take his position as such. Then, after the episode in which Abraham shows his ability to calmly and justly handle public affairs in making a treatise with Abimelek, we come to the story of the Aqedah. Elohim begins to ask Abraham to ‘elevate’ ('alah) Isaac, and calls the latter with insistence 21 This appeared so shocking for J. Wellhausen that he supposed the text was corrupted and originally must have been ‘his father’s tent’—which was difficult to conceive if Isaac’s father was still alive, so he decided to let Abraham die earlier in the text. Actually, you could ask if Wellhausen was demonstrating his own Oedipal conflicts in his biblical scholarship. See T. Reik, ‘Unbewusste Faktoren in der wissenschaftlichen Bibelarbeit’, Imago 5 (1917–1919) 358–363, reprint in: J. Spiegel, Psychoanalytical Interpretationen biblischer Texte, Munich 1972, 29–35. 22 Balmary sees no reason to find something indecent in the laughter of Ismael, as has been supposed by some interpreters in order to justify the fact that he is sent away.

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your son, your only son. Balmary insists upon the Hebrew formula: ‘Go for yourself and elevate him in elevation’. The formula ‘go for yourself’ is the same as in the beginning of Abraham’s story, when God asks him to leave his family, and thus carries a heavy emphasis for Abraham. But is the sacrifice of Isaac the special thing God will now ask for? Does the sentence contain a word referring to a sacrifice, or to a holocaust, as most translations suggest? Balmary says she was not able to find such a word, and was pleased to read in the commentary of Rashi in the tenth century: ‘God does not say: “sacrifice him”. The Holy, hallowed be His name, did not want it. He wanted only that he would be elevated on the mountain so that Isaac would get the character of a sacrifice. Then, once he would be elevated, the Lord would have said: “Let him now come down”.’ Balmary notices also that the Greek translation of the Septuagint, although it speaks explicitly of a sacrifice demanded by God, does not use the word holocaustum, but olokarposis, a term referring to the offering of fruit. Thus even the Septuagint did not suppose that God was asking for Isaac’s death.23 Nevertheless, as Abraham takes wood with him, he seems convinced that God asks him to sacrifice Isaac. According to Balmary, this is the tension in the text: Abraham not being able to conceive that God is asking for something other than a sacrifice. The reason for this is that Abraham does not consider Isaac a separate individual. Twice, the text repeats about Abraham and Isaac: ‘They went together’, (literally: ‘two being one’: Gen 22:6 and 8), and Balmary notes that what is repeated twice generally points to something conflicting or repressed. Thus, Abraham considers that giving his child away is killing him. Therefore, he binds his child and is ready to sacrifice him. At this moment, Balmary says, we should note two essential changes in the terminology. God, who has been indicated until now by the term Elohim, appears suddenly under the vocable YHWH, the unmistakable God of Israel. At the same time Abraham sees an animal that he can sacrifice—not the sheep Isaac spoke of when they were climbing on the mountain, but a ram, a fatherly animal. This must be sacrificed. Abraham sacrifices his possessive paternity and recognizes that his son is a free man with his own destiny. Indeed, after

23

P. 197.

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the Aqedah story, Sarah dies, Isaac marries, Abraham dies and is buried by Isaac and Ismael. This is, in brief, the core of Balmary’s psychoanalytic reading. It is clear—she does not hide it—that her perspective has been determined by her psychoanalytic training and practice. This experience made her free from an authoritarian and narrow-minded Catholicism, and she acknowledges very openly that she felt happy when she found in the Bible arguments confirming her new belief. But does she do something different from most believers who read and study the Bible to check something important to them? Is there such a difference from those who, as they cannot accept that the God of the Bible asks for human sacrifices, split the text into a Jahwist and an Elohist, and seek their truth in the Jahwist’s emending of the more primitive Elohistic religiosity? Quite bluntly, Balmary demonstrates what we all generally do: trying to understand the Bible from our point of view, putting some parts in perspective so that we can position ourselves on a comfortable point in a reconstructed history. Balmary simply accepts that there is always a personal motivation in the study of the Bible, as in any research, and it is better to be conscious of this than to cultivate the illusion of pure science. Every reading of texts is part of a hermeneutical circle, and the criterion of validity is the progress made in the mutual elucidation of the text and the reader during the process. This is not mere relativism: the existence of the hermeneutical circle is no obstacle to realize that you sought in a text something different from what is actually there! A subsequent question deals with the explanatory categories one uses in this hermeneutical circle. Balmary reads the text synchronically, while generations of biblical scholars have taught us to read diachronically. They make source criticism, form criticism and tradition analysis. This approach invokes no less complicated psychological mechanisms than a synchronic reading, although we have not learned to become conscious of them. To advance in the issue of the Bible and psychoanalysis, the next step should be to enter into the psychology of historical research and investigate how the experience of our identity—and the identity of our belief—motivates us to delve into the past.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF RECENT STUDIES M. PopoviÆ Bibliography Genesis 22 (1990‒2001) Human Sacrifice B. Chilton, ‘The Hungry Knife: Towards a Sense of Sacrifice’, in M.D. Carroll R., D.J.A. Clines & P.R. Davies (eds.), The Bible in Human Society: Essays in Honour of John Rogerson ( JSOTS 200; Sheffield, 1995) 122–138. J. Ebach, ‘Moloch’, Neues Bibel-Lexikon 10 (Solothurn/Zürich, 1995) 829–831. H.-P. Müller, ‘Genesis 22 und das mlk-Opfer: Erinnerung an einen religionsgeschichtlichen Tatbestand’, BZ 41 (1997) 237–246. K. Koch, ‘Molek astral’, A. Lange, H. Lichtenberger & D. Römheld (eds.), Mythos im Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt: Festschrift für Hans-Peter Müller zum 65. Geburtstag (Berlin/New York, 1999) 29–50. J.J. Prentiss, ‘The Sacrifice of Isaac: A Comparative View’, in W.W. Hallo, B.W. Jones & G.L. Mattingly (eds.), The Bible in the Light of Cuneiform Literature: Scripture in Context III (Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies 8; Lewiston NY, 1990) 203–230. Ch.S. Sassmann, Die Opferbereitschaft Israels: anthropologische und theologische Voraussetzungen des Opferkults (Bochum, 1994). K.A.D. Smelik, ‘Moloch, Molekh or Molk-Sacrifice: A Reassessment of the Evidence Concerning the Hebrew Term molekh’, SJOT (1995) 133–142. A. Tucker, ‘Sins of our Fathers; a Short History of Religious Child Sacrifice’, ZRG 51 (1999) 30–47. W. Zwickel, ‘Menschenopfer’, Neues Bibel-Lexikon 10 (Solothurn/Zürich, 1995) 765f. Exegesis H.H. Abramovitch, ‘The Relations between Fathers and Sons in Biblical Narrative; toward a New Interpretation of the Akedah’, WCJS 11,A (1994) 31–36. E. Auerbach, Mimesis: Dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der abendländischen Literatur (Tübingen/Basel, 19949) 5–27. Y. Avishur, ‘The Narratives of the Binding of Isaac and Abraham’s Exodus from Haran—Structure, Style and Language’, in M. Heltzer, A. Segal & D. Kaufman (eds.), Studies in the Archaeology and History of Ancient Israel: In Honour of Moshe Dothan (Haifa, 1993) *91–*106. W. Bader, ‘The Agents in Gen 22:1–14’, in Actes du Troisième Colloque International Bible et Informatique: Interprétation, Herméneutique, Compétence Informatique: Tübingen 26–30 août 1991 (Travaux de Linguistique Quantitative 49; Paris/Genève, 1992) 49–76. W.F. Bakker, ‘Thysia tou Avraam, ameses skenikes hodegies’, Cretan Studies 3 (1992) 1–19. K. Baltzer, ‘Jerusalem in den Erzväter-Geschichten der Genesis?: Traditionsgeschichtliche Erwägungen zu Gen 14 und 22’, in E. Blum, Ch. Macholz & E.W. Stegemann (eds.), Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte: Festschrift für R. Rendtorff zum 65. Geburtstag (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1990) 3–12. B.L. Bandstra, ‘Word Order and Emphasis in Biblical Hebrew Narrative: Syntactic Observations on Genesis 22 from a Discourse Perspective’, in W.R. Bodine (ed.), Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew (Winona Lake IN, 1992) 109–123.

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W. Berg, ‘Siebenerreihen von Verben und Substantiven’, BN 84 (1996) 11–15. R.D. Bergen, ‘The Role of Genesis 22:1–19 in the Abraham Cycle: A ComputerAssisted Textual Interpretation’, Criswell Theological Review 4 (1990) 313–326. D.R. Blumenthal, ‘Confronting the Character of God’, in T. Linafelt & T.K. Beal (eds.), God in the Fray: A Tribute to Walter Brueggemann (Minneapolis, 1998) 38–51. L. Bodoff, ‘The Real Test of the Akedah; Blind Obedience versus Moral Choice’, Judaism 42 (1993) 71–92. L. Bodoff, ‘God tests Abraham, Abraham tests God’, Bible Review 9 (1993) 53–56.62. L. Cardellino, ‘Jahweh contro gli Elohim per il sacrificio di Isacco’, Bibbia e Oriente 38 (1996) 91–110. J.J. Collins, ‘Faith Without Works: Biblical Ethics and the Sacrifice of Isaac’, in S. Beyerle, G. Mayer & H. Strauß (eds.), Recht und Ethos im Alten Testament—Gestalt und Wirkung: Festschrift für Horst Seebass zum 65. Geburtstag (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1999) 115–131. O. Davidsen, ‘Og Gud sagde til Abraham’, Religionsvidenskabeligt Tidsskrift 26 (1995) 79–118. E.F. Davis, ‘Self-Consciousness and Conversation: Reading Genesis 22’, Bulletin for Biblical Research 1 (1991) 27–40. K.A. Deurloo, ‘The Way of Abraham: Routes and Localities as Narrative Data in Gen. 11:27–25:11’, in M. Kessler (ed.), Voices from Amsterdam: A Modern Tradition of Reading Biblical Narrative (SBL Semeia Studies 22; Atlanta, 1994) 95–112. K.A. Deurloo, ‘Omdat ge gehoord hebt naar mijn stem (Gen 22)’, ACEBT 5 (1984) 41–60; ‘Because You Have Hearkened to my Voice’ (Genesis 22)’, in M. Kessler (ed.), Voices from Amsterdam: A Modern Tradition of Reading Biblical Narrative (SBL Semeia Studies 22; Atlanta, 1994) 113–130. B.J. Diebner, ‘Was sich auf dem Berg im Land Moriyah abspielte: Gen 22 erklärt als Teil der »israelitischen« Torah’, Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament 28 (1992/1993) 47–57. B.J. Diebner, ‘Noch einmal zu Gen 22,2: “Eretz ha-Moriah”’, Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament 29 (1998) 58–72. B.J. Diebner, ‘. . . dass Abraham nur einmal »im Lande« war und ansonsten zumeist in Idumäa lebte’, Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament 29 (1998) 73–91. J. Doukhan, ‘The Center of the Aqedah: A Study of the Literary Structure of Genesis 22:1–19’, Andrews University Seminary Studies 31 (1993) 17–28. J. Ebach, ‘Isaak wird immer wieder geopfert’, JK 54 (1993) 95–97. J. Ebach, ‘Theodizee: Fragen gegen die Antworten: Anmerkungen zur biblischen Erzählung von der »Bindung Isaaks« (1 Mose 22)’, in J. Ebach, Gott im Wort: Drei Studien zur biblischen Exegese und Hermeneutik (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1997) 2–25. W.D. Edgerton, The Passion of Interpretation: Literary Currents in Bible Interpretation, Louisville 1992. B. Ego, ‘Abraham als Urbild der Toratreue Israels: Traditionsgeschichtliche Überlegungen zu einem Aspekt des biblischen Abrahambildes’, in F. Avemarie & H. Lichtenberger (eds.), Zur theologischen Begriffsgeschichte in alttestamentlicher, frühjüdischer und urchristlicher Tradition (WUNT 92; Tübingen, 1996) 25–40. D.E. Fass, ‘Unbinding mother Rebekah’, Judaism 41 (1992) 361–376. I. Fisher, ‘Die Lebensprobe des Abraham: Gen 22 im Kontext der Frauentexte der Erzeltern-Erzählungen’, Bibel und Liturgie 72 (1999) 199–207. T.E. Fretheim, ‘God, Abraham, and the Abuse of Isaac’, Word and World 15 (1995) 49–57. F. García López, ‘Le sacrifice d’Isaac: Étude littéraire et théologique de Gn 22,1–19’, RICP 62 (1997) 199–217. F. García López, ‘Gen 22, entre la interpretacion historico-critica y la literario-teologica’, in F. García López & A. Galindo Garcia (eds.), Biblia, literatura e Iglesia (Salamanca, 1995) 47–62.

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P. Gilbert, ‘Le sacrifice d’Abraham: Lecture du livre de la Genèse 22,1–13.15–19’, Bulletin de l’Institut Catholique de Lyon 122 (1998) 46–54. R. Gilboa, Intercourses in the Book of Genesis: Mythic Motifs in Creator-Created Relationships, Sussex 1998. H. Gossai, ‘Divine Vulnerability and Human Marginality in the Akedah: Exploring a Tension’, Horizons in Biblical Theology 19 (1997) 1–23. Y. Hocherman, ‘Notes to Several Passages in Genesis [Gen 4,1; 6,3; 22,6; 27,40]’, BetM 36 (1990–1991) *20–*28. S. Japhet, ‘The Trial of Abraham and the Test of Job: How do They Differ?’, Henoch 16 (1994) 153–172. W.S. Johnson, ‘God’s Ordering, Providing, and Caring for the World: Grace as »Gift of Death«’, Theology Today 54 (1997/1998) 29–42. O. Kaiser, ‘Isaaks Opferung: Eine biblische Besinnung über einen schwierigen Text’, HoLiKo-N.F. 10 (1992/1993) 428–441. I. Kalimi, ‘The Land of Moriah, Mount Moriah, and the Site of Solomon’s Temple in Biblical Historiography’, HThR 83 (1990) 345–362. K.J. Kaplan, ‘Isaac and Oedipus: A Re-Examination of the Father-Son Relationship’, Jdm 39 (1990) 73–81. M.J. Kohn, ‘The Trauma of Isaac’, JBQ 26 (1991/1992) 96–104. H.A.J. Kruger, ‘God Test Abraham: The Command to Sacrifice Issac’, NGTT 32 (1991) 187–200. S.D. Kunin, ‘The Death of Isaac: Structuralist Analysis of Genesis 22’, BiSe 39 (1996) 319–343; Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41 (1995) 35–58; JSOT 64 (1994) 57–81. P.K. Kurz, ‘Abraham: Wegsucher—Gottessucher: Literarische Annäherungen’, US 51 (1996) 266–276. C. Leviant, ‘Parallel Lives: The Trials and Traumas of Isaac and Ishmael’, Bible Review 15 (1999) 20–25. H. Mbachu, Abraham, Offer Your Only Beloved Son as Holocaust!: Narrative-Inculturation Study of Gen 22,1–19 (Deutsche Hochschulschriften 1100; Egelsbach/Frankfurt a.M./St. Peter Port, 1996). S. Mittmann, ‘ha-Morijja—Präfiguration der Gottesstadt Jerusalem (Genesis 22,1–14.19). Mit einem Anhang: Isaaks Opferung in der Synagoge von Dura Europos’, in M. Hengel, S. Mittmann, A.M. Schwemer (eds.), La cité de Dieu: Die Stadt Gottes: 3.Symposium Strasbourg, Tübingen, Uppsala 19–23. September 1998 in Tübingen (WUNT 129; Tübingen, 2000) 67–97. R. Mizuno, ‘The binding of the “Akedah”; the literary working of Gen 22’, Kwansei Gakuin University Annual Studies 44 (1995) 1–10. S. Mleynek, ‘Abraham, Aristotle, and God: The Poetics of Sacrifice’, JAAR 62 (1994) 107–121. H.-D. Neef, ‘«Abraham! Abraham!»: Gen 22, 1–19 als theologische Erzählung’, JNWSL 24 (1998) 45–62. H.-D. Neef, Die Prüfung Abrahams: Eine exegetisch-theologische Studie zu Gen 22,1–19 (AzTh 90; Stuttgart, 1998). E. von Nordheim, Die Selbstbehauptung Israels in der Welt des Alten Orients: religionsgeschichtlicher Vergleich anhand von Gen 15/22/28, dem Aufenthalt Israels in Ägypten, 2Sam 7, 1Kön 19 und Psalm 104 (OBO 115; Fribourg (Switzerland)/Göttingen 1992). W. Oswald, ‘Text segmentation and pragmatics’, in Actes du Quatrième Colloque International Bible et Informatique: ‘Matériel et Matière’: Amsterdam 15–18 août 1994: l’Impact sur les Études Bibliques (Travaux de Linguistique Quantitative 57; Paris 1995) 140–153. C. Palacios, ‘El sacrificio de Isaac, una parábola de la vida religiosa’, Confer 32,123 (1993) 359–375. J.D. Pleins, ‘Son-Slayers and Their Sons’, CBQ 54 (1992) 29–38.

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S. Prolow & V. Orel, ‘Isaac unbound’, BZ 40 (1996) 84–91. M. Prudkÿ, ‘Der prüfende Gott—Genesis 22: Was Abrahan eigentlich opfern sollte’, in H. Pavlincová & D. Papou“ek (eds.), The Bible in Cultural Context (Brno, 1994) 247–254. W.R. Renninger, ‘Seeing and Believing: A Study of Gen 22,1–19’, in M.W. Pretorius (ed.), The Secret of Faith: In Your Heart—In Your Mouth: In Honour of Donald Moreland (Heverlee-Leuven, 1992) 133–146. C.S. Rodd, ‘What kind of God is this?’, ET 103 (1991/1992) 18–19. M. Roshwald, ‘The meaning of faith’, Modern Theology 7 (1991) 381–401. C. Savasta, ‘Schemi e strutture in Gen 22,1–19’, RivBib 42 (1994) 179–192. H. Schmid, Die Gestalt des Isaak: ihr Verhältnis zur Abraham- und Jakobtradition (EdF 274; Darmstadt, 1991). H. Schult, ‘Eine Glosse zu »Moriya«’, Dielheimer Blätter zum Alten Testament 29 (1998) 56–57. M. Schwantes, ‘»Lege deine Hand nicht an das Kind.«: Überlegungen zu Gen 21 und 22’, in F. Crüsemann, Ch. Hardmeier & R. Kessler (eds.), Was ist der Mensch. . . . ? Beiträge zur Anthropologie des Alten Testaments: Hans Walter Wolff zum 80. Geburtstag (München, 1992) 164–178. M. Schwantes, ‘»Era un niño«’, Ribla 14 (1993) 41–52. E. Starobinski-Safran, ‘Moriyya [Gn 22,1; 2 Chr 3,1]’, in Ph. Borgeaud et al. (eds.), Le Temple lieu de conflit: actes du colloque de Cartigny 1991 (Centre d’Étude du ProcheOrient Ancien 7; Leuven, 1994) 171–179. G. Steins, Die »Bindung Isaaks« im Kanon (Gen 22): Grundlagen und Programm einer kanonischintertextuellen Lektüre: mit einer Spezialbibliographie zu Gen 22 (Herders biblische Studien 20; Freiburg im Breisgau, 1999). G. Steins, ‘Die Versuchung Abrahams (Gen 22,1–19). Ein neuer Versuch’, in A. Wénin (ed.), Studies in the Book of Genesis. Literature, Redaction and History (BETL 155; Leuven, 2001) 509–520. G.G. Stroumsa, ‘Herméneutique biblique et identité: L’example d’Isaac’, RB 99 (1992) 529–543. X. Tilliette, ‘Bible et Philosophie: Le sacrifice d’Abraham’, Gregorianum 77 (1996) 133–146. A. Torres Queiruga, ‘El sacrificio de Isaac; de la muerte por la letra a la plenitud del simbolo’, in F. García López & A. Galindo Garcia (eds.), Biblia, literatura e Iglesia (Salamanca, 1995) 115–130. P. Trible, ‘Genesis 22, the Sacrifice of Sarah’, in J.P. Rosenblatt & J.C. Sitterson, Jr. (eds.), ‘Not in Heaven’: Coherence and Complexity in Biblical Narrative (ISBL; Bloomington, 1991) 249–253. M. Vervenne, ‘«To Bind or Not to Bind, That is the Question»: Een exegetische oefening over Genesis 22’, in L. Leijssen, H. Lombaerts & B. Roebben (eds.), Geloven als toekomst: Godsdienstpedagogische visies en bijdragen aangeboden aan Professor Jozef Bulckens bij zijn emeritaat (Leuven, 1995) 79–94. D. Vetter, ‘Die Bindung Jizchacks: das sprachliche Werk—»ein mit den Lippen geschlossener Bund«’, in L. Hagemann & E. Pulsfort (eds.), “Ihr alle aber seid Brüder”: Festschrift für A.Th. Khoury zum 60. Geburtstag, Würzburg 1990) 263–284; D. Vetter, Das Judentum und seine Bibel: gesammelte Aufsätze (Religionswissenschaftliche Studien 40; Würzburg, 1996) 430–453. D. Volgger, “Es geht um das Ganze—Gott prüft Abraham (Gen 22, 1–19)”, BZ 45 (2001) 1–19. A.L.H.M. van Wieringen, ‘The Reader in Genesis 22:1–19’, EstB 53 (1995) 289–304 M.M. Wilfong, ‘Genesis 22, 1–18’, Interpretation 45 (1991) 393–397. I. Willi-Plein, ‘Die Versuchung steht am Schluss: Inhalt und Ziel der Versuchung Abrahams Gen 22’, in K. Seybold (ed.), Das universale Gebet: Studien zum Unservater:

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Jan Milic Lochman gewidmet zum 70. Geburtstag von der theologischen Fakultät Basel, ThZ 48 (1992) 100–108. M.J. Yeres, ‘The meaning of Abraham’s test; a reexamination of the Akedah’, JBQ 19 (1990) 3–10. D.J. Zucker, ‘Conflicting Conclusions: the Hatred of Isaac and Ishmael’, Judaism 39 (1990) 37–46.

Reception history G. Abrahamson, ‘The Reinterpretation of the Akedah in Modern Hebrew Poetry’, JJS 41 (1990) 101–114. Y. Azuelos, ‘Toward the Significance of the Term ma’akelet (Gen 22:6)’, BetM 37 (1991/1992) *199–*201. W. Balke, ‘Calvins Auslegung von Genesis 22’, in I. Backus & F. Higman (ed.), Théorie et pratique de l’exégèse: actes du troisìeme colloque international sur l’histoire de l’exégèse biblique au XVI e siècle (Genève, 31 août—2 septembre 1988) (Études de philologie et d’histoire 43; Genève, 1990) 211–229. L.M. Barth, ‘Introducing the Akedah: A Comparison of Two Midrashic Presentations’, in P.R. Davies & R.T. White (eds.), A Tribute to Geza Vermes: Essays on Jewish and Christian Literature and History ( JSOTS 100; Sheffield, 1990) 125–138. L.M. Barth, ‘Textual Transformations: Rabbinic Exegesis of Genesis 22:14’, in S.F. Chyet & D.H. Ellenson (eds.), Bits of Honey: Essays for Samson H. Levey (SFSHJ 74; Atlanta, 1993) 3–23. A. Barugel, The Sacrifice of Isaac in Spanish and Sephardic Balladry (American university studies. Series 2, Romance languages and literature 116; New York, 1990). F. Bejaoui, ‘L’intervention divine et le sacrifice d’Abraham sur la sigillée africaine: deux coupes inédites de Tunisie’, RivAC 67 (1991) 325–336. C.J. Bekker, S.J. Nortjé, ‘Die gebruik van die ‘offer’ van Isak as ’n motief vir die verkondiging van Jesus as die lydende Christus’, HTS 51 (1995) 454–464. L.A. Berman, The Akedah: The Binding of Isaac (Livingston St. Northvale, NJ, 1997). M.J. Bernstein, ‘Angels at the Aqedah: A Study in the Development of a Midrashic Motif ’, DSD 7 (2000) 263–291. M. Bieber, ‘Religiöser Wahn oder Urerfahrung des Glaubens?: Die Deutung des Abraham-Opfers im neuzeitlichen Denken’, US 51 (1996) 316–328. M.B. Bourgine, ‘Das Opfer Abrahams in jüdischer und christlicher Auslegung; Gen 22,1–19 im Midrasch Bereschit Rabba und in den Genesis-Homilien des Origenes’, US 51 (1996) 308–315. G. Braulik, ‘Das Opfer Abrahams, wie die Liturgie es sieht: Zur liturgischen Hermeneutik von Genesis 22 als Lesung der Ostervigil’, Bibel und Liturgie 72 (1999) 155–163. M.R. Bredin, ‘The Influence of the Aqedah on Revelation 5.6–9’, IBSt 18 (1996) 26–43. M. Bregman, ‘The Riddle of the Ram in Genesis Chapter 22: Jewish-Christian Contacts in Late Antiquity’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a symposium on the interpretation of the Scriptures held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem 1995) 127–145. P.M. van Buren, ‘Das Evangelium und die Bindung Isaaks’, KuI 11 (1996) 74–81. P.M. van Buren, According to the Scriptures: The Origins of the Gospel and of the Church’s Old Testament (Grand Rapids MI/Cambridge, U.K., 1998). M.M. Caspi & S.B. Cohen, The Binding (AQEDAH) and Its Transformations in Judaism and Islam: The Lambs of God (Mellen Biblical Series 32; Lewiston NY, 1995). L. Cignelli, ‘The Sacrifice of Isaac in Patristic Exegesis’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a symposium on the

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interpretation of the Scriptures held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995) 123–126. E. Cortese, ‘Gen 22,1–19: History and Theology of the Narrative’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a symposium on the interpretation of the Scriptures held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995) 11–23. I. Craps, ‘Het offer van Isaak (Gn 22,1–19): Een ambivalent maar hoopgevend verhaal: Lezing van een offertekst in het spoor van René Girard’, Ter Herkenning 26 (1998) 114–124. J.R. Davila, ‘The Name of God at Moriah: An Unpublished Fragment from 4QGenExoda’, JBL 110 (1991) 577–582. E. Dirscherl, ‘Die Bindung Isaaks und die Bindung an Gott: Abraham und die Intrige des Opfers im Dialog mit S. Kierkegaard und E. Lévinas’, Bibel und Liturgie 72 (1999) 208–223. J. Doukhan, ‘The Akedah at the “Crossroad”: Its Significance in the Jewish-ChristianMuslim Dialogue’, AUSS 32 (1994) 29–40; in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a symposium on the interpretation of the Scriptures held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995) 165–176. M. Dulaey, ‘La grâce faite à Isaac: Gn 22,1–19 à l’époque paléochrétienne’, RechAug 27 (1994) 3–40. L.H. Feldman, ‘Josephus’ portrait of Isaac’, RSLR 29 (1993) 3–33. Y.S. Feldman, ‘Isaac or Oedipus?: Jewish Tradition and the Israeli Aqedah’, in J.Ch. Exum & S.D. Moore (eds.), Biblical Studies/Cultural Studies: The Third Sheffield Colloquium ( JSOTS 266. Gender, Culture, Theory, 7; Sheffield 1998) 159–189. R. Firestone, ‘Merit, Mimesis, and Martyrdom: Aspects of Shi‘ite Meta-Historical Exegesis on Abraham’s Sacrifice in Light of Jewish, Christian, and Sunni Muslim Tradition’, JAAR 66 (1998) 93–116. R. Firestone, ‘Comparative studies in Bible and Qur"an; a fresh look at Genesis 22 in light of Sura 37’, Judaism and Islam (2000) 169–184. B.N. Fish, ‘Offering Isaac Again and Again Pseudo-Philo’s Use of the Aqedah as Intertext’, CBQ 62 (2000) 481–507. J.I. Gellman, The Fear, the Trembling, and the Fire: Kierkegaard and Hasidic Masters on the Binding of Isaac (Boston, 1994). J.I. Gellman, Abraham! Abraham! Abraham!: Kierkegaard and the Hasidim on the binding of Isaac (forthcoming 2002). C.T.R. Hayward, ‘The Sacrifice of Isaac and Jewish Polemic against Christianity’, CBQ 52 (1990) 292–306. C. von Heijne, ‘Aqedat Isak: Judisk tolkning av Genesis 22:1–19’, SEÅ 62 (1997) 57–86. F. Higman, ‘Calvin polémiste’, ETR 69 (1994) 340–365. S. Japhet, ‘Rashbam’s Commentary on Genesis 22: ›Peshat‹ or ›Derash‹?’, in S. Japhet (ed.), The Bible in the Light of its Interpreters: Sarah Kamin Memorial Volume ( Jerusalem, 1994) *349–*366. D. Jasper, ‘‘The Old Man Would Not So, But Slew His Son’: A Theological Meditation on Artistic Representations of the Sacrifice of Isaac’, RL 25 (1993) 122–130. R.M. Jensen, ‘The Binding or Sacrifice of Isaac: How Jews and Christians See Differently’, BibleReview 9 (1993) 42–51. R.M. Jensen, ‘The Offering of Isaac in Jewish and Christian Tradition: Image and Text’, Biblical Interpretation 2 (1994) 85–110. I. Kalimi, ‘Zion or Gerizim? The Association of Abraham and the Aqeda with Zion/Gerizim in Jewish and Samaritan Sources’, in M. Lubetski, C. Gottlieb &

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S. Keller (eds.), Boundaries of the Ancient Near Eastern World: A Tribute to Cyrus H. Gordon ( JSOTS 273; Sheffield, 1998) 442–457. E. Kessler, ‘The Exegetical Encounter between the Greek Church Fathers and the Palestinian Rabbis’, in M.F. Wiles & E.J. Yarnold (eds.), Studia Patristica Vol. 34 –38: Papers Presented at the Thirteenth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held in Oxford 1999 (Leuven, 2001) 395–412. M. Krupp, Den Sohn opfern?: Die Isaak-Überlieferung bei Juden, Christen und Muslimen (Gütersloh, 1995). M. Krupp, ‘Die Bindung Isaaks nach dem Midrasch Bereshit Rabba’, TeKo 65/66 (1995) 3–59. L. Kundert, « . . . der seinen eigenen Sohn nicht verschont hat » (Röm 8,32a): Die Opferung/Bindung Isaaks im Alten Testament, frühjüdische, neutestamentliche und rabbinische Texten (Basel, 1997). L. Kundert, Die Opferung/Bindung Isaaks: Bd. 1: Gen 22,1–19 im Alten Testament, im Frühjudentum und im Neuen Testament (WMANT 78; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1998). L. Kundert, Die Opferung/Bindung Isaaks: Bd. 2: Gen 22,1–19 in frühen rabbinischen Texten (WMANT 79; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1998). L. Kundert, ‘Die »Bindung Isaaks« im frühen Judentum und ihre Wirkung auf das Neue Testament’, Bibel und Liturgie 72 (1999) 135–154. J.D. Levenson, ‘Abusing Abraham: Traditions, Religious Histories, and Modern Misinterpretations’, Judaism 47 (1998) 259–277. J.D. Levenson, The Death and Ressurection of the Beloved Son: The Transformation of Child Sacrifice in Judaism and Christianity (New Haven, 1993). M.A.H. Maltz, ‘The Dynamics of Intertextuality: The ‘Akedah’ and Other Biblical Allusions in Henry Abramovitch’s Psalms of the jealous God and Matti Megged’s The Akedah’, Journal for Semitics 8 (1996) 79–95. F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a Symposium on the Interpretation of the Scriptures Held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995). F. Manns, ‘The binding of Isaac in Jewish liturgy’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a Symposium on the Interpretation of the Scriptures Held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995) 59–67. F. Manns, ‘The Targum of Gen 22’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a Symposium on the Interpretation of the Scriptures Held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995) 69–80. S. Meißner, ‘Paulinische Soteriologie und die »Aqedat Jitzchaq«: Alan Franklin Segal zum 50. Geburtstag’, Judaism 51 (1995) 33–49. Th. Meurer & Chr. Uhrig, ‘»Was sagst du dazu, was denkst du, Abraham?«: Woody Allen und Origenes als Leser von Gen 22’, Bibel und Liturgie 72 (1999) 187–198. R.W.L. Moberly, ‘Christ as the Key to Scripture: Genesis 22 Reconsidered’, in R.S. Hess, G.J. Wenham & Ph.E. Satterthwaite (eds.), He Swore an Oath: Biblical Themes From Genesis 12–50 (Grand Rapids MI, 19942) 143–173. R.W.L. Moberly, The Bible, Theology, and Faith: A Study of Abraham and Jesus (Cambridge Studies in Christian Doctrine 5; Cambridge, 2000). O. Millet, ‘Exégèse évangélique et culture littéraire humaniste: entre Luther et Bèze, l’Abraham sacrifiant selon Calvin’, ETR 69 (1994) 367–389. Y. Milman, ‘The sacrifice of Isaac and its subversive variations in contemporary Hebrew protest poetry’, RL 23 (1991) 61–83. M.R. Niehoff, ‘The Return of Myth in Genesis Rabbah on the Akedah’, JJS 46 (1995) 69–78. M. Paczkowski, ‘The Sacrifice of Isaac in Early Patristic Exegesis’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a symposium

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G. Vermes, ‘New Light on the Sacrifice of Isaac from 4Q225’, JJS 47 (1996) 140–146. D. Vetter, ‘Rechtfertigung im Gericht: die Bedeutung von Genesis 22 für Rosch Ha-Schana und Jom Kippur’, in D. Vetter, Das Judentum und seine Bibel: gesammelte Aufsätze (Religionswissenschaftliche Studien 40; Würzburg, 1996) 364–368. B.Z. Wacholder, ‘Patterns of biblical dates and Qumran’s calendar; the fallacy of Jaubert’s hypothesis’ with an appendix ‘Date of the Akedah, the binding of Isaac’, HUCA 66 (1995) 1–40 at 38–40. G.J. Wenham, ‘The Akedah: A Paradigm of Sacrifice’, in D.P. Wright, D.N. Freedman & A. Hurvitz (eds.), Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (Winona Lake, 1995) 93–102. I. Wollaston, ‘«Traditions of Remembrance»: Post-Holocaust Interpretations of Genesis 22’, in J. Davies, G. Harvey & W.G.E. Watson (eds.), Words Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F.A. Saywer ( JSOTS 195; Sheffield 1995) 41–51. D. Yanow, ‘Sarah’s Silence: A Newly Discovered Commentary on Genesis 22 by Rashi’s Sister, Introduced and Presented with Additional Commentary’, Judaism 43 (1994) 398–408. A. Yunis, ‘The Sacrifice of Abraham in Islam’, in F. Manns (ed.), The Sacrifice of Isaac in the Three Monotheistic Religions: Proceedings of a symposium on the interpretation of the Scriptures held in Jerusalem, March 16–17, 1995 (Studium biblicum Franciscanum Analecta 41; Jerusalem, 1995) 147–157.

Selected Bibliography Genesis 22 ante 1990 Human Sacrifice A.I. Baumgarten, The “Phoenician History” of Philo of Byblos: A Commentary (EPRO 89; Leiden 1981). J. Day, Molech: A God of Human Sacrifice in the Old Testament (UCOP 41; Cambridge 1989). J. Ebach & U. Rüterswörden, ‘ADRMLK, »Moloch« und BA’AL ADR: Eine Notiz zum Problem der Moloch-Verehrung im alten Israel’, UF 11 (1979) 219–226. O. Eißfeldt, ‘Menschenopfer’, RGG3 Bd. IV (Tübingen, 1960) 868. A.R.W. Green, The Role of Human Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East (Dissertation Series of the American Schools of Oriental Research 1; Missoula/Montana, 1975). G.C. Heider, The Cult of Molek: A Reassessment ( JSOTS 43; Sheffield, 1985). F.J. Hinkelkammert, Der Glaube Abrahams und der Ödipus des Westens: Opfermythen im christlichen Abendland (Münster, 1989). O. Kaiser, ‘Den Erstgeborenen deiner Söhne sollst du mir geben: Erwägungen zum Kinderopfer im Alten Testament’, in O. Kaiser (ed.), Denkender Glaube: Festschrift: Carl Heinz Ratschow zur Vollendung seines 65. Lebensjahres am 22. Juli 1976 gewidmet von Kollegen, Schülern und Freunden, Berlin/New York 1976, 24–48; in O. Kaiser, Von der Gegenwartsbedeutung des Alten Testaments: Gesammelte Studien zur Hermeneutik und zur Redaktionsgeschichte (Göttingen, 1984) 142–166. P. Maiberger, ‘Genesis 22 und die Problematik des Menschenopfers in Israel’, BiKi 41 (1986) 104–112. H.-P. Müller, ‘Molæk’, ThWAT IV (Stuttgart, 1984) 957–968. M. Smith, ‘A Note on Burning Babies’, JAOS 95 (1975) 477–479. M. Weinfeld, ‘The Worship of Molech and of the Queen of Heaven and its Background’, UF 4 (1972) 133–154. M. Weinfeld, ‘Burning Babies in Ancient Israel: A Rejoinder to Morton Smith’s Article in JAOS 95 (1975) 477–479’, UF 10 (1978) 411–413.

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T.D. Alexander, ‘Genesis 22 and the Covenant of Circumcision’, JSOT 25 (1983) 17–22. E. Blum, Die Komposition der Vätergeschichte (WMANT 57; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1984) 320–331. F. Bovon & G. Rouiller (eds.) Exegesis: Problems of Method and Exercises in Reading (Genesis 22 and Luke 15) (Pittsburgh, 1978). S. Brock, ‘Where was Sara?’, ET 96 (1984/1985) 14–17. G.W. Coats, ‘Abraham’s Sacrifice of Faith. A Form-Critical Study of Genesis 22’, Interpretation 27 (1973) 389–400. J. Crenshaw, ‘Journey into Oblivion: A Structural Analysis of Gen 22:1–19’, Soundings 58 (1975) 243–356. P.R. Davies & B.D. Chilton, ‘The Aqedah: A Revised Tradition History’, CBQ 40 (1978) 514–546. C. Delaney, ‘The Legacy of Abraham’, in M. Bal (ed.), Anti-Covenant. Counter-Reading Women’s Lives in the Hebrew Bible ( JSOTS 81; Sheffield, 1989) 25–41. C. Delaney, Abraham on Trial: The Social Legacy of Biblical Myth (Princeton NJ, 1998) J.-L. Duhaime, ‘Le sacrifice d’Isaac (Gn 22,1–19): L’héritage de Gunkel’, ScEs 33 (1981) 139–156. J.P. Fokkelman, ‘«On the Mount of the Lord There is Vision»: A Response to Francis Landy concerning the Akedah’, in J.C. Exum (ed.), Signs and Wonders: Biblical Texts in Literary Focus (SBL Semeia Studies, 1989) 41–57. A. Galy, ‘Une lecture de Genèse 22’, in L’Ancien Testament: Approches et Lectures: présenté par A. Vanel (PoTh 24; Paris 1977) 117–133. O. Genest, ‘Analyse Sémiotique de Gn 22,1–19’, ScEs 33 (1981) 157–177. D.C. Hopkins, ‘Between Promise and Fulfilment: Von Rad and the ›Sacrifice of Abraham‹’, BZ 24 (1980) 180–193. K. Jaros, Die Stellung des Elohisten zur kanaanäischen Religion (OBO 4; Freiburg, Switzerland/Göttingen, 1974) 283–349. R. Kilian, Isaaks Opferung. Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte von Gen 22 (SBS 44; Stuttgart, 1970). R. Lack, ‘Le sacrifice d’Isaac—Analyse structurale dans Gn 22’, Bib 56 (1975) 1–12. F. Landy, ‘Narrative Techniques and Symbolic Transactions in the Akedah’, in J.C. Exum (ed.), Signs and Wonders: Biblical Texts in Literary Focus (SBL Semeia Studies, 1989) 1–40. Y. Mazor, ‘Genesis 22: The Ideological Rhetoric and the Psychological Composition’, Bib 67 (1986) 81–88. D. Michel, ‘Überlieferung und Deutung in der Erzählung von Isaaks Opferung (Gen 22)’, in P. von der Osten-Sacken (ed.), Treue und Thora: Beiträge zur Mitte des christlichjüdischen Gesprächs: Festschrift für Günther Harder zum 75. Geburtstag (VIKJ 3; Berlin 1977) 13–16. R.W.L. Moberly, ‘The Earliest Commentary on the Akedah’, VT 38 (1988) 302–323 J.B.Moster, ‘The testing of Abraham’, Dor le Dor 17 (1989) 237–242. G. von Rad, Das Opfer Abrahams: Mit Texten von Luther, Kierkegaard, Kolakowski und Bildern von Rembrandt (KT 6; München, 1971). H. Graf Reventlow, Opfere deinen Sohn: Eine Auslegung von Gen 22 (BSt 53; NeukirchenVluyn, 1968). L. Ruppert, ‘Das Motiv der Versuchung durch Gott in vordeuteronomischer Tradition’, VT 22 (1972) 55–63. J.D. Safran, ‘Balaam and Abraham’, VT 38 (1988) 105–113. O. Sarda, ‘Le sacrifice d’Abraham (Gn 22), Le déplacement des lectures attestée’, in L’Ancien Testament: Approches et Lectures: présenté par A. Vanel (PoTh 24; Paris, 1977) 135–146.

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H.-C. Schmitt, ‘Die Erzählung von der Versuchung Abrahams Gen 22,1–19* und das Problem einer Theologie der elohistischen Pentateuchtexte’, BN 34 (1986) 82–109. J.L. Ska, ‘Gn 22,1–19: Essai sur les niveaux de lecture’, Bib. 69 (1988) 324–339. O.H. Steck, ‘Ist Gott grausam?: Über Isaaks Opferung aus der Sicht des Alten Testaments’, ThG(B) 21 (1978) 65–75. J. Unterman, ‘The Literary Influence of »The Binding of Isaac« (Genesis 22) on »The Outrage at Gibeah« ( Judges 19)’, HAR 4 (1980) 161–165. T. Veijola, ‘Das Opfer des Abraham—Paradigma des Glaubens aus dem nachexilischen Zeitalter’, ZThK 85 (1988) 129–164. T. Veijola, ‘Abrahams offer (Gen 22)—tid och budskap’, SEÅ 54 (1989) 236–244 W. Vogels, ‘Dieu éprouva Abraham (Gen. 22,1–19)’, SémBib 36 (1982) 25–36. J.D. Walters, ‘Wood, Land and Stars. Structure and Theology in Gen 22,1–19’, TJT 3 (1987) 301–330. A. Wénin, ‘Abraham à la rencontre de YHWH: Une lecture de Gn 22’, RTL 20 (1989) 162–177. H.C. White, ‘The Initiation Legend of Isaac’, ZAW 91 (1979) 1–30. P. Zerafa, ‘The Land of Moriah’, Ang. 44 (1969) 84–94.

Reception history A.R. Agus, The Binding of Isaac and Messiah: Law, Martyrdom and Deliverance in Early Rabbinic Religiosity (Albany, 1988). D. Ben-Amos, ‘The Akedah: A Folklorist’s Response’, in R. Polzin & E. Rothman (eds.), The Biblical Mosaic: Changing Perspectives (Philadelphia, 1982) 166f. . S. Brock, ‘Genesis 22 in Syriac Tradition’, in P. Casetti, O. Keel & A. Schenker (eds.), Mélanges Dominique Barthélemy: Études Bibliques Offertes à l’Ocassion de Son 60 e Anniversaire (OBO 38; Fribourg (Switzerland)/Göttingen 1981) 1–30. M. Brown, ‘Biblical Myth and Contemporary Experience: The Akedah in Modern Jewish Literature’, Judaism 31 (1982) 99–111. D.L. Christensen, ‘The Akedah in Genesis 22:1–19: An Invitation to a JewishChristian Dialogue’, American Baptist Quarterly 4 (1985) 340–346. J. Cohen, ‘Philosophical Exegesis in Historical Perspective: The Case of the Binding of Isaac’, in T. Rudavsky (ed.), Divine Omniscience and Omnipotence in Medieval Philosophy (Dordrecht, 1985) 135–142. R. de Déault, ‘Le Targum de Gen 22,8 et Ipt. 1,20’, RSR 49 (1961) 103–106. S. Feldman, ‘The Binding of Isaac: A Test-Case of Divine Foreknowledge’, in T. Rudavsky (ed.), Divine Omniscience and Omnipotence in Medieval Philosophy (Dordrecht, 1985) 105–133. R. Firestone, ‘Abraham’s Son as the Intended Sacrifice (al-Dhabih, Qur’an 37:99–113): Issues in Qur’anic Exegesis’, JSSt 34 (1989) 95–131. R. Gordis, ‘Faith of Abraham: A Note on Kierkegaard’s Teleological Suspension of the Ethical’, Jdm 25 (1976) 414–419. A. Green, Devotion and Commandment: The Faith of Abraham in the Hasidic Imagination, Cincinnati 1989. R.M. Green, ‘Abraham, Isaac, and the Jewish Tradition: An Ethical Reappraisal’, Journal of Religious Ethics 10 (1982) 1–21. J. Gutmann, ‘The Sacrifice of Isaac: Variations on a Theme in Early Jewish and Christian Art’, in D. Ahrens (ed.), Thiasos Ton Mouson: Studien zu Antike und Christentum: Festschrift für Josef Fink (Beihefte zum Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 20; Köln, 1984) 115–122. M. Harl, ‘La »ligature« d’Isaac (Gen 22,9) dans la Septante et chez les pères grecs’, in A. Caquot, M. Hadas-Lebel & J. Riaud (eds.), Hellenica et Judaica: hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky (Leuven, 1986) 457–472.

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R. Hartmut, ‘Die Erzählung von Abrahams Opfer (Gen 22) und ihre Deutung bei Kant, Kierkegaard und Schelling’, Neue Zeitschrift für Systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 27 (1985) 251–261. R. Hayward, ‘The Present State of Research into the Targumic Account of the Sacrifice of Isaac’, JJS 32 (1981) 127–150. A. van der Heide, ‘Aqeda; de beproeving die verzoening bewerkte; de middeleeuwsjoodse exegese van Genesis 22’, in W. Zuidema et al. (eds.), Betekenis en verwerking; het offer van Isaak en de holocaust (Baarn, 1982) 19–59. P.W. van der Horst, ‘Korte notities over vroeg-joodse epiek’, NTT 39 (1985) 102–109. R. Kartum-Blum, ‘Where Does This Wood in My Hand Come From?: The Binding of Isaac in Modern Hebrew Poetry’, Prooftexts 8 (1988) 293–310. H. Lenowitz, ‘The Binding of Isaac: A View of Jewish Exegesis’, Dialogue (Mormon) 20 (1987) 90–99. D. Lerch, Isaaks Opferung christlich gedeutet: Eine auslegungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (BHTh 12; Tübingen, 1950). Z. Levy, ‘The Sacrifice of Isaac in Modern Jewish and General Philosophy’, in A. Goldberg, B.M. Bokser, I.J. Mandelbaum, et al. (eds.), Proceedings of the Ninth World Congress of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, August 1986 ( Jerusalem, 1986) *167–*174. R. Martin-Achard, ‘La figure d’Isaac dans l’Ancien Testament et dans la tradition juive ancienne’, BFCL 66 (1982) 5–10. J. Milgrom, The Binding of Isaac: The Akedah: A Primary Symbol in Jewish Thought and Art (Berkeley, CA, 1988). C. Nauert, ‘Zweifelhafte Isaak-Bilder in der koptischen Kunst’, in G. Koch (ed.), Studien zur frühchristlichen Kunst II (Göttinger Orientforschungen 2. Reihe, Studien zur spätantiken und frühchristlichen Kunst 9; Wiesbaden, 1986) 1–5. F. Neubacher, ‘Isaaks Opferung in der griechischen Alten Kirche’, Amt und Gemeinde 37 (1986) 72–76. A. Rippin, ‘Saadya Gaon and Genesis 22: Aspects of Jewish-Muslim Interaction and Polemic’, in W. Brinner & S. Ricks (eds.), Studies in Islamic and Judaic Traditions: papers presented at the Institute for Islamic-Judaic Studies, Center for Judaic Studies, University of Denver (Brown Judaic Studies 110; Atlanta GA, 1986) 33–46. L. Sabourin, “Isaac and Jesus in the Targums and the N.T.” Religious Studies Bulletin 1 (1981) 37–45. A.J. Saldarini, ‘Interpretation of the Aqedah in Rabbinic Literature’, in R. Polzin & E. Rothman (eds.), The Biblical Mosaic: Changing Perspectives (Philadelphia, 1977) 149–165. R.-P. Schmitz, Aqedat Jishaq: Die mittelalterliche jüdische Auslegung von Genesis 22 in ihren Hauptlinien ( JTSt 4; Hildesheim, 1979). A. Soetendorp, ‘Lege deine Hand nicht an den Knaben! Jüdische Erfahrung— Midrasch, Maimonides, Franz Kafka, Elie Wiesel’, in W. Zuidema (ed.), Isaak wird wieder geopfert: Die »Bindung Isaaks« als Symbol des Leidens Israels: Versuche einer Deutung (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1987) 70–103. S. Spiegel, The Last Trial: On the Legends and Lore of the Command to Abraham to Offer Isaac as a Sacrifice: The Akedah (New York, 1979). E. Starobinski-Safran, ‘Sur le sense de l’épreuve (Interprétations juives de Genèse 22)’, RThPh 114 (1982) 23–35. W.R. Stegner, ‘The Baptism of Jesus and the Binding of Isaac’, in H.O. Thompson (ed.), The Answers Lie Below: Essays in Honor of Lawrence Edmund Toombs (Lanham, 1984) 331–347. J. Swetnam, Jesus and Isaac: A Study of the Epistle to the Hebrews in the Light of the Aqedah (AnBib 94; Rome, 1981). R.L. Wilken, ‘Melito, the Jewish Community at Sardis, and the Sacrifice of Isaac’, Theological Studies 37 (1976) 53–69.

bibliography of recent studies

223

R.L. Wilken, ‘The Authenticity of the Fragments of Melito of Sardis on the Sacrifice of Isaac (Genesis 22): Comments on Perler’s Edition’, in F. Paschke (ed.), Uberlieferungsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen: A Tribute to Marcel Richards (Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur 125; Berlin, 1981) 605–608. A. Zeltzer, ‘An Existential Investigation: Buber’s Critique of Kierkegaard’s »Teleological Suspension of the Ethical«’, Church Divinity (1987) 138–154. W. Zuidema (ed.), Isaak wird wieder geopfert: Die »Bindung Isaaks« als Symbol des Leidens Israels: Versuche einer Deutung (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1987).

REFERENCES TO ANCIENT TEXTS I. JEWISH TEXTS 1. Hebrew Bible Genesis 6:9 12 12:1 12:2 12:3 12:4 12:6 12:8 12:11 12:16 13:2, 4 13:16 13:17 14:14 15 15:1 15:4 15:4–5 15:5 15:6 16:2, 4 17:1 17:1–27 17:2–5, 16 17:5, 16 18:25 20:12 20:15 21 21:1–21, 22–34 21:8–21 21:15f.; 17f. 21:17 21:18 21:20 21:32 21:33 21:34 22

22:1–19 68 3, 6 6, 15 6, 69 4 66 6 66 60 66 66 47, 48, 69 59 66 15, 66 4, 72, 92 6 15 47, 69 48, 49 194 68 67 69 193 60 192 5 4, 5, 6 3 5 5 17 5 72 5 4, 5, 66 4, 5 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 14, 15, 16, 17, 20, 46, 49, 62, 69, 71, 183

22:1–14, 19 22:1–4a 22:1 22:2 22:2–3 22:3 22:5 22:6 22:7 22:8 22:9 22:10 22:11 22:12 22:13 22:14 22:15–18 22:15 22:16 22:16–18 22:17 22:18 22:19 22:20 22:20–24 23:1f. 23:3 24 24:14 24:35 24:67 25:8 25:19 25:27 26 26:24 27:3 27:41 39:7

61, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 71, 72, 75 3, 5 15 2, 5, 14, 15, 72, 73, 194, 196 2, 5, 6, 11, 15, 27, 81 15 14, 118 118 51 51, 184 14, 70 14, 120 5, 52 5, 14, 54, 55, 64 14, 16, 17, 54, 59, 60, 67, 69, 80, 81, 118 120, 121, 122 14, 16, 17 3, 4, 5, 6 54 3, 81 195 3, 47, 56, 70 4, 5, 70 4, 5, 6, 118, 184, 196 4 6 184 196 192 68 66 196 70 197 68 4 68 196 49 4, 72, 73

references to ancient texts

226 40:1 42:18 48:1

72 67 72

Exodus 1:17 13:13, 15 14:22 14:31 15:25 16:4 22:28b 22:29 32:13 34:19 34:20

16 9 101 68 16 16 7, 8 9, 14 68 7 8

Leviticus 15:18 18:21 20:2–5 23:6–8

11 8, 10 8, 10 75

Numbers 12:7 14:24 22:32 28:16–25

68 68 2 75

1 Kings 9:4 16:34 17:17 18:3, 12 18:36 21:1

68 13 72 67 18 72

2 Kings 3:27 9:7 13:23 16:3 17:13, 23 20:12–19 21:6 23:10

13 68 18 8 68 15 8 10, 11

Isaiah 1:16 20:3 30:33 41:8f. 51:2 53:7 59:15 63:16

68 68 10, 13 18 18 120 68 18

Jeremiah 7:31 7:32 19:5 19:6, 12, 13, 14 25:9 32:35

8, 9 9 8 9 68 8, 10, 11

Ezekiel 14:12, 20 16:20f. 20:11 20:25 20:26 20:31 33:24

58 7 7 8 7, 8 7 18

Hosea 11:8f. 12

20 19

Deuteronomium 8:2 8:2.16 9:24 12:5 12:29ff. 13:4 33:8–10 34:54

15 16 68 17 8 16 16 68

Joshua 24:2, 3 24:29

18 72

Judges 2:22 3:1, 4 11:31

16 16 13

1 Samuel 10:24 30:14

68 4

Micah 6:7

13

2 Samuel 7:5, 8

68

Zechariah 3:1–2

85

references to ancient texts Psalms 22:21 25:21 26:2 34:15 37:27, 37 46:7 47:10 105 105:6, 42 Job 1:1–2:13 1:1–2:13; 42:10–17 1:1

91 68 15 68 68 20 18 18 68

2:7 2:8; 9–10 2:10 7:9 9:22 16:9 28:28 30:21 31:9 42:10–17 42:11

62, 61, 59, 67, 64, 59 16, 67, 67 69 70 64, 2 16, 68 69, 70 69 60 60 49 68 49 60 70 69

Proverbs 2:7, 21 3:7 4:7 13:19 14:16 16:6 28:10 29:10

68 68 68 68 68 68 68 68

1:6–12 1:7 1:8 1:9 1:13–17; 18–19; 21 1:21–22 2:1–7a 2:1 2:3

Esther 2:1 3:1 7:1

72 72 72

227

1 Chronicles 16:13 21:1

68 85

2 Chronicles 3:1 32:31

17, 82 15

2. Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha

63, 71 63 60, 68 66 59, 63, 68

66 67, 84

Judit 8:26

55

4 Maccabees 13:12 14:20 16:20 18:11

106 53 107 107

Ben Sira 49:9

58

1 Enoch 40:7 65:6

85 85

Jubilees 2:1 2:29–30 10:1–14 14:1 16:15 17:1 17:15–18:19 17:15–18 17:15 17:16 17:17 18:1–17 18:2 18:3 18:9 18:10 18:11 18:12 18:13 18:14 18:15 18:16 18:18 18:18–19 19:8 39:5

80 74 85 72 74 74 62, 63, 62, 71, 79, 84 50, 73, 50 49 76–85 81 74, 75 73, 79, 79, 80 79, 80, 55, 79, 82 54, 80 81 73, 84 74, 75 71, 76 49 73

71 72, 73, 76, 74

80, 84 81 84

228

references to ancient texts

39:14 48:1–19 48:13 49:1

72 85 85 75

6. Pseudo-Philo

Testament of Abraham 15:14–15

58

7. Rabbinic Texts

3. Qumran Texts 1QapGen 21:13 4Q213 1:17 4Q225 2

48 85 45–57, 73, 74 55

4Q226 7:1 4. Targumim Tg. Tg. Tg. Tg.

Onq. Gen 22:9 Neof. Gen 13:16 Ps.-J. Gen 22:4 Ps.-J. Gen 22:9

91 48 52 91

5. Josephus Antiquities I.222, 224 I.225 I.232

103 104 53

Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 32:1–4 40:2

Gen. Rab. 39:9 49:9 55:4 55:7 56:1–2 56:5 56:7 56:10 Lev. Rab. 29:10 Num. Rab. 17:2 Sifre Deut 32 M Avot 5:9 T Sotah 6:1 BT Ber 62b BT Pes 88a BT Sotah 31a BT Baba Batra 15b–16b BT Sanh 89b PT Sotah 5 (20d) Pesiq. R 47:3 Pirqe R. El. 105

50, 73 53

88 60 51, 73, 74 82 52 54 53, 54 82 90 89, 90 53 89 59 82 82 59 59 50–51, 73, 74, 87 59 60 52

II. CHRISTIAN TEXTS 1. New Testament Matt 27:44 Luke 23:39–43 John 1:29 Acts 5:30 Acts 8:32 Acts 10:39 Rom 4:39 Gal 3:6 Gal 3:13 James 2:23

118 118 120 120 120 120 48 48 121 48

2. Early Christian and Patristic Texts The Shepherd of Hermas Vision of Dorotheus Eusebius, H.E. 5.1.3–2.8 Gregory of Nyssa De deitate

102 97, 102 106 104

Gregory of Nazianzus Oratio 15, 10 106 Origen Hom. in Gen 8 120, 147 3. Syriac Texts ‘Abdisho’ Catalogue Anonymous Commentary on Gen-Exod 9:32 Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius Cave of Treasures Cave of Treasures XXIX 5,9 Disputation Ephrem Syrus Commentary on Genesis Ephrem Syrus De Nativitate Ephrem Syrus Commentary on the Diatessaron XVI 27

110 116, 121, 122 113 120 123 109–124 121 119 122

references to ancient texts 115, 116, 118, 120, 122

Gannat Bussame Isho’ bar Nun Selected Questions

229

Isho’dad of Merv 116, 122 Theodore bar Koni Scholion 112, 116, 118, 119, 120, 122

116

III. GREEK AND LATIN PAGAN TEXTS Alcmaeonis

26

Antoninus Liberalis 25 27.4

27 40

Apollodorus Epitome 3.16 Epitome 3.20–1

22–23 38

Demaratos FGrH 42 F 4 Euripides Electra 15 Iphigeneia in Aulis Iphigeneia in Aulis 20–21 Iphigeneia in Aulis 1555 Iphigeneia in Tauris Iphigeneia in Tauris 131, 1153 Iphigeneia in Tauris 1462–7 Phoenissae Phoenissae 934 Herodotus 4.103.2 Homer Iliad I.69 I.320 II.299–332 II.305ff. V.449–53 IX.141 IX.145 XXIII.175–6 Odyssey 3.430–63 6.66; 20.74 Julianus Contra Galileos fr. 83 Masaracchia

31 24 21, 23 27 30 21 41 40 28 27 31

26 29 26 25 43 29 24 34 31 106

21

Lucretius 1.85 Neanthes FGrH 84 F 16 Pausanias 1.41.3 1.43.1 2.22.6 2.35.1 4.9.1 6.22.10–11 7.19.3–4 7.21.1–5 7.26.5 9.17.1 Philo of Byblos FGrH 790 F3b

24 27 36 25, 31 37 37 27 25 27 27 36 28 28

Philodemus De Pietate

36–37

Pindar Pythian Ode XI.22

34

Plutarch Mor. 314 C Aristides 9.1 Themistocles 13.2

27 27 27

Proclus

22

Pseudo-Hesiod Catalogue F 23a, 16–7 Catalogue F 23a, 17–24

24 43

Pythokles FGrH 833 F 1 Sophocles Antigone 1199

31

31

230 Electra 157 Stasinos Cypria

references to ancient texts Stesichorus F 192–3 F 215

24 21–22, 24–25, 27, 29, 31

IV. QUR"AN Sura 12 127 Sura 37:100–113 125–126, 127, 128, 136

43 31, 37

ILLUSTRATIONS

1. San Callisto catacomb, Rome, c. 200

ABRAHAM’S SACRIFICE IN EARLY JEWISH AND EARLY CHRISTIAN ART by E. VAN DEN BRINK

2. Via Latina catacomb, Rome, c. 350

3. Doura Europos, synagogue, upper panel of Tora-shrine, 244

4. Beth Alpha, synagogue, floor mosaic, c. 525

5. Podgoritza patera, Petersburg, Ermitage Oo 73, after 300

6. Passion sarcophagus, Rome, Museo Pio Cristiano, rep. 42, c. 325

7. Brethren sarcophagus, detail, Rome, Museo Pio Cristiano, rep 45, c. 325

8. Ravenna, San Vitale, north wall of sanctuary, 547

9. Ravenna, Sant’Apollinare in Classe, south wall of apse, c. 675

10. San Pedro de la Nave near Zamora, capital of sanctuary, after 650

1. Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus, c. 359, Rome, Vatican Museums

THREE ITALIAN SACRIFICES. LORENZO GHIBERTI, ANDREA DEL SARTO, MICHELANGELO MERISI DA CARAVAGGIO by J.L. DE JONG

2. Abraham and Isaac; Christ Carrying the Cross; The Widow of Sarefta; woodcut from a Biblia pauperum-blockbook, c. 1460, Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek

3. Abraham Sacrificing Isaac; The Crucifixion of Christ; Moses with the Brass Serpent; woodcut from a Biblia pauperum-blockbook, c. 1460, Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek

4. Lorenzo Ghiberti, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1401, Florence, Museo del Bargello

5. Filippo Brunelleschi, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1401, Florence, Museo del Bargello

6. Andrea del Sarto, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1529, Dresden, Gemäldegalerie

7. Marco Dente, engraving after the Laocoon-group by Hagesandros, Polydoros en Athenodoros of Rhodes, c. 1520 (B. XIV, 268, 353)

8. Titian, St Sebastian, detail of the Averoldi-altarpiece, 1519 – 1522, Brescia, Ss. Nazzaro e Celso

9. Michelangelo, Rebellious Slave, 1513 – 1516, Paris, Louvre

10. Michelangelo, Victoria, c. 1520, Florence, Palazzo Vecchio

11. Giorgio Vasari, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1545–1546, Naples, Gallerie Nazionali di Capodimonte

12. Caravaggio, Abraham Sacrificing Isaac, 1603, Florence, Gallerie degli Uffizi