The art of vengeance: the biblical art of Artemisia Gentileschi

Susanna and the Elders, 1610, Artemisia Gentileschi. Public domain.

Artemisia Gentileschi was an artist of the Italian Baroque and she was quite unique for her times as she was a woman who learned the craft of painting. Born in July 1593, she was the eldest child of Orazio Gentileschi and Prudentia Montone. Artemisia’s mother died when she was twelve. Her father kept his children with him in his workshop while he painted and Artemisia showed great talent at fifteen, certainly more than her brothers who were also learning the craft. However, Artemisia was acutely aware of her limitations as a woman.

One of her first paintings at seventeen was Susanna and the Elders, a biblical story of a woman who is sexually harassed by two elders of her community.* There are echoes of the ‘Me Too’ movement in the painting as the advances from the old men are definitely not wanted. It would seem that such societal problems were nothing new as they were manifest in 1610. Such was Artemisia’s fate that she was raped as a teenager and the perpetrator, Agostino Tassi, promised to marry her. However, as is to be expected, he reneged on the deal and so Artemisia’s father decided to lay charges against the man. Rape was considered a blight against the family honour in that society and Artemisia was tortured with thumb screws before being believed. The sentence was banishment, however, there is no evidence that it was ever carried out. Artemisia is thought to have said of her torture that the thumb screws were the rings that her rapist gave her. This incident and its subsequent trauma was to shape her artistic work for the rest of her life.

Judith Slaying Holofernes, 1612–1613, Artemisia Gentileschi. Public domain.

Artemisia painted in the style of Caravaggio. Artemisia’s father was a student of the artist. One of her best known paintings was Judith Slaying Holofernes. Once again, it is the story of a beautiful woman slaying the Jewish enemy by cutting off his head, similar to the themes of the book of Esther.** Holofernes was the Assyrian general who was commissioned to subdue the Jewish people and Judith saves her people by assassinating him when they were having dinner. It was painted in 1612-13 and it has been interpreted by feminists as a strong woman taking control and dominating a man. This theme is often seen in her works and she seems to be drawn to biblical stories with this theme of female strength. It would seem that Artemisia subconsciously wished that she had such strength to use against her attacker. As the artist is a woman, her gaze is not that of a man and so there is no male gaze here to interpret the female form. Instead of seeming weak and helpless against male passion, her women are heroic.

The painting is a play of light and shadow, with the shadow casting a sinister feel, especially as there is also copious amounts of blood contrasted against the white sheets as Judith is painted as plunging the sword into Holofernes’ neck. Holofernes certainly looks intoxicated as he lies on his bed and the two women, Judith and her maid, look at him with intensity as they go about their gruesome task. He almost looks surprised as they attack. This is the last thing he expected. It is interesting to note that the costumes of the two women seem to comply with the artist’s fashions of the day in Italy rather than ancient Persian societal fashions. As a student of Caravaggio, who was reputedly a homosexual, the male figure is muscular and well defined. The artist also uses chiaroscuro well (the use of strong contrasts between light and dark) in the painting, the play of light and dark creating the haunting atmosphere.

Artemisia Gentileschi had many wealthy and famous clients but she faded into obscurity until the 20th century when she was rediscovered. Artemisia was ahead of her times but receives many accolades today.

Editorial notes:

* Susanna and the Elders is a biblical story which appears in Catholic and Orthodox Bibles as an addition to the Book of Daniel, and in other Bibles as part of the Apocrypha.

** The Book of Judith is in Catholic and Orthodox Bibles, and in other Bibles as part of the Apocrypha.

When Napoleon was King of England

François_Gérard_-_Napoleon_I_001

Portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821) in Coronation Robe, François_Gérard, c.1805-1815, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. In the public domain.

Scholars and apologists have spilled a lot of ink trying to reconcile some historical details in the Bible with actual history. I suspect the urge to eliminate any discrepancy between ‘biblical’ and ‘secular’ history begins with the theological position that the Bible is the inspired word of God and free of any errors. If there is a conflict between the Bible and historical information derived from other sources, then it’s argued (by some) that the Bible must be right and the other sources must contain errors, or there must be some way to reconcile them so that both are right.

Let me give just a couple examples. The book of Daniel dates one of Daniel’s visions specifically to the first year of the reign of “Darius the Mede”.

In the first year of Darius son of Ahasuerus, by birth a Mede, who became king over the realm of the Chaldeans— 2 in the first year of his reign, I, Daniel, perceived in the books the number of years that, according to the word of the LORD to the prophet Jeremiah, must be fulfilled for the devastation of Jerusalem, namely, seventy years. (9:1-2. See also 5:31 where he is called “Darius the Mede”.)

There are several problems here. First, there is no Median king known from history named “Darius”. We do have some Persian kings named Darius, but none from Media. At least half a dozen kings have been proposed from as early as the first century CE as contenders, but there are difficulties with each of them and none are entirely convincing. Second, Daniel places this Darius the Mede between Belshazzar and Cyrus the Great. However, history knows no king between Belshazzar and Cyrus. Third, there is a major problem with the “seventy years” prophecy. Jerusalem fell to the Babylonians in 587 BCE, and Cyrus issued his decree for the Jews to return in 538 BCE, and if my maths is correct that is a period of only 49 years. Several attempts have been made to solve the problem, but again there is no scholarly consensus as none of the solutions are very convincing. However, I don’t want to delve further into that particular difficulty here – for now I just want to focus on the problems with kings.

While we are in Daniel, I’ve already mentioned Belshazzar and we have a considerable problem with him as well. He is the main character of the story in Daniel 5 about the “writing on the wall” where he is described as King Belshazzar (5:1), and he calls Nebuchadnezzar “father” (5:2). Apart from the relatively minor problem that Belshazzar was never king (he was crown prince) we have a major problem with the fact that he was actually the son of Nabonidus, a successor to Nebuchadnezzar, and not son of Nebuchadnezzar. There are other historical problems in Daniel, but these are enough to make the point that the writer seems to be very careless with historical facts. However, I think there is another possibility which solves the problem.

Daniel is not alone in confusing his kings, as other biblical books also create problems for scholars and commentators by mixing up their monarchs. I’ve mentioned elsewhere that scholars have tried for centuries to identify King Ahasuerus in Esther, again with no consensus. We also have a problem with the “king of Nineveh” in Jonah 3:6, as Nineveh had no king in the time of the prophet Jonah.

For those who have the book of Judith in their Bible, there are considerable problems there with Nebuchadnezzar being called “king of Assyria” ruling in Nineveh (Judith 1:1) when he was actually king of Babylonia and reigned after Nineveh had been destroyed. However, I think it’s a pity that those who don’t have Judith in their Bible aren’t more aware of it, because we almost certainly have the solution there to our problems in Daniel, Esther, Jonah and elsewhere. Not only does Judith confuse Assyria with Babylonia, the book also completely messes with chronology. We know from elsewhere in the Bible, and from history, that Nebuchadnezzar beseiged Jerusalem and sent its king and many of its inhabitants into exile in Babylon. Yet Judith has Nebuchadnezzar’s general Holofernes coming against the cities of Judah after the return from exile 50 years later! (4:1-3; 5:18-19). By this time Nebuchadnezzar was dead and Babylon was in the hands of the Persians. Judith’s history is topsy-turvy! How could the writer get it so wrong?

It is actually in this topsy-turvy portrayal of history that we have a clue – and a solution – to our problems in Daniel, Esther and elsewhere. Judith deliberately distorts history for literary purposes. Its “errors” are so major and there are so many of them that they have to be deliberate. No one could get history so wrong – especially their own history – unless they intended to do so. As Carey Moore says in an article on Judith [1], to describe Nebuchadnezzar as King of Assyria would be like beginning a story with “It happened at the time when Napoleon Bonaparte was king of England …” Further to that analogy, Judith’s “confusion” about the timing of the seige of Jerusalem and the return from exile would be akin to saying “Hitler’s bombing of London came just a few years after the end of World War II.” It would be so wrong that no one would think it was a simple “mistake” – it had to be deliberate. It’s almost comical. Moore describes the book of Judith as the most quintessentially ironic biblical literature. It abounds in irony, and the historical distortions are a literary device used by the author as part of the ironic effect. The historical “errors” right from the very beginning of the story are unmistakeable signs to the reader or listener that while the story reads like historical narrative it is actually fiction. It is somewhat similar to a modern writer beginining with “Once upon a time …” You wouldn’t start a history book that way, so it’s an indicator to the reader that the story is fictional and even comical in parts, although its underlying message could be serious. In the Judith story it is inconceivable that the writer had forgotten or mixed up the timing of the most cataclysmic event in Israel’s history. However, by appearing to be confused about significant details the writer may be sounding a warning to readers or listeners that if they forget their history or don’t learn from it they are bound to repeat it.

Similarly, in Daniel, it seems to be a feature of the court tales that the writer mixes up or conflates details to give the appearance of historical narrative while also leaving clear markers that they are, in fact, fiction. This is so that the reader/listener is left in no doubt about the true nature of the book. Like Judith (and Esther), Daniel abounds in irony and satire. It shouldn’t be surprising then that these three books (and possibly others such as Jonah) were written, compiled or edited against the same historical background. There are clear signs that Judith and Daniel may have been written relatively close to each other and in response to the same historical events (Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ desecration of the Temple), and Esther too may have been written as a warning against becoming too cozy with the Greeks. In this Hellenistic era the biblical “novel” was beginning to take off as a literary genre, satire was becoming more popular throughout the wider literary world, and irony – a longtime favourite device of biblical writers – was reaching its zenith.

In my view, regardless of one’s ideas or theology about “inspiration” or “inerrancy,” there is no need to stress about conflicts between the Bible and history. They may be opportunities for readers to discover more about the motives of the writers and the literary techniques they used to bring serious issues to the attention of their readers/listeners.

___________________

[1] Carey A. Moore “Judith, Book of” in Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. III, 1117-1125

What Judith can tell us about Esther: Irony and satire in the book of Esther (6)

Judith_Beheading_Holofernes-Caravaggio_(c.1598-9)

Judith Beheading Holofernes, Caravaggio (c.1598-9). In the public domain.

Some readers of the Bible may ask “I know who Esther is, but who is Judith?” That’s because the Book of Judith isn’t in most Protestant Bibles. It is accepted as canonical (“inspired Scripture”) by the Orthodox and Catholic churches, and as Apocryphal by others (including the Anglican and Lutheran churches), but is excluded from Jewish and Protestant Bibles. If you haven’t read it I’d recommend it as a great piece of Jewish literature and story-telling from the Maccabean period (probably around 135-104 BCE). It’s relevance here is that it has been said of the book of Judith that “No biblical book is so quintessentially ironic as Judith” [1]. Moore describes the writer as “an ironist extraordinaire” who often means the opposite of what he says. The books of Judith, Tobit (also deuterocanonical, or Apocryphal) and Esther are very similar in style and in the literary techniques used by the writers. They are early forms of the “novel”. By understanding some of these techniques in Judith we can gain some insights into the intentions of the writer of Esther.

The first thing which strikes us when reading Judith is that it has all the trappings of historical narrative, but a reader who is familiar with biblical history will quickly note several historical and geographical inaccuracies, so many, in fact, that it becomes fairly certain that the writer’s carelessness with the facts was deliberate. While the story has a believable plot, someone even casually acquainted with Jewish history will recognise several discrepancies. For example, the story begins “It was the twelfth year of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, who ruled over the Assyrians in the great city of Nineveh” (Judith 1:1). Most readers of the Bible will know that Nebuchadnezzar was king of Babylonia, not Assyria, and some will know that Nineveh had been destroyed several years before his reign began. The twelth year of Nebuchadnezzar would have been the fourth year of Zedekiah (cf. Jeremiah 32:1), the last king of Judah before the exile. Yet the story is set in the post-exilic period and Nebuchadnezzar’s general, Holofernes, is said to come against Judah after they had returned from exile and rebuilt and re-consecrated the temple in Jerusalem:

When the Israelites living in Judea heard of everything that Holofernes, the general of Nebuchadnezzar, the king of the Assyrians, had done to the nations, and how he had plundered and destroyed all their temples, 2 they were therefore greatly terrified at his approach; they were alarmed both for Jerusalem and for the temple of the Lord their God. 3 For they had only recently returned from exile, and all the people of Judea had just now gathered together, and the sacred vessels and the altar and the temple had been consecrated after their profanation. (Judith 4:1-3. See also 5:18-19).

This is so obviously a distortion of history that any contemporary reader or listener would recognise that it wasn’t a telling of history but was rather a fictitious story using the names of well-known historical characters. Moore makes the point that it would be like telling a story which begins “Once upon a time, when Napoleon Bonaparte was king of England …” No reader/listener would think the writer had simply made a mistake – the errors are so huge (and there are so many of them) that it would be obvious that they were intentional and designed to mimic the style of historical narrative while serving an entirely different purpose. Almost everything about the book of Judith is ironic: it’s major and minor characters, several episodes and the overall plot are all ironic. A  number of scholars, including Edward Good in his classic work “Irony in the Old Testament” (1965), and Carolyn Sharp in her “Irony and Meaning in the Hebrew Bible” (2009), have identified several forms of irony in the Hebrew Bible, all of which abound in Judith.

The relevance of this to our consideration of Esther is that both books have features in common:

    1. Both are in the ‘style’ of historical narratives, yet contain historical inaccuracies. For example, no king of Persia had the name “Ahasuerus/Ahashverosh” and the fact that scholars over the centuries have been unable to agree on which king it could be (Xerxes I, Xerxes II, Artaxerxes?) simply highlights that it’s probably a made-up name for a non-existent king. We also know the names of the Persian Queens, and no king had a wife named Esther, or even Vashti, and we know that the wives of Persian kings all came from certain families, so it’s impossible that any Queen was Jewish. Interestingly, that other fictional biblical “novel” – the Book of Tobit (14:15) – mentions a king Ασυηρος  Asoueros, or Ahasuerus, as king of Media (not Persia). [2]
    2. Both books feature irony and ironic characters. The most obvious ironies in Esther are that Haman plotted to have Mordecai killed, but was himself executed on the gallows he had erected for Mordecai, and that the honours which Haman wanted for himself were actually bestowed on Mordecai. The writer of Esther draws  attention to the irony near the end of the story, by saying that “on the very day when the enemies of the Jews hoped to gain the mastery over them, the reverse occurred” (9:1). Such twists and reversals are the tools of an ironist. Interestingly, the Book of Tobit also abounds in ironic characters and has an ironic plot, and it too contains historical inaccuracies.

Similarities in style between Judith, Tobit and Esther suggest that the ironic “novel” may have been a known and accepted literary genre in the post-exilic period. All three books have post-exilic settings – Tobit is set in Nineveh following the Assyrian invasion, Judith is set in the Land at the time of an Assyrian/Babylonian invasion but also following the Babylonian exile, and Esther is set in Susa after the Babylonian exile (but being in the Persian period is after the decree of Cyrus and the return of many Jews to the Land). We can’t be certain about the date of composition for Tobit, but we can be confident that Judith was probably written between 135 and 107 BCE in the “Hellenistic” period, that is, the period after the Empire of Alexander of Greek was divided into four and Judea became part of the Syrian Seleucid Empire, and during the rule of the Hasmonean/Maccabean High Priest John Hyrcanus I. There are unmistakeable Hellenistic signs in the books and several clues that Judith’s defeat of Nebuchadnezzar’s general Holofernes may have been modelled on the defeat of Nicanor, a general of the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes (described in 1 Maccabees 7:43-50). If so, the writer of Judith may have been “targetting” the Seleucids but using the names Nebuchadnezzar, Assyria and Nineveh as “codenames” for Antiochus IV Epiphanes and the Seleucid Empire. This certainly wouldn’t be unusual for biblical or Jewish literature of the time. The apocryphal book of 4 Ezra and the pseudepigraphical book of 2 Baruch are both set during the Babylonian seige of Jerusalem but describe the events of the Roman seige of Jerusalem. It was probably considered “safer” to avoid referring to one’s overlords directly and therefore using “Babylonians” as a code for “Romans”. The New Testament book of Revelation does something similar by using “Babylon” as code for “Rome”. So too the writer of Judith probably used “Assyrian” as code for “Syrian/Seleucid”.

This brings us to Esther. If this book is doing something similar then “Ahashverosh” and “Persia” may be codes for someone/something else.

… to be continued

__________________

[1] Carey A. Moore “Judith, Book of” in Anchor Bible Dictionary, Vol. III, 1117-1125.

[2] Although Aramaic and Hebrew fragments of Tobit have been found amongst the Dead Sea Scrolls this verse (Tobit 14:15) has not been preserved so I cannot check to see if it is the same Hebrew spelling as Esther’s Ahashverosh.

The two (or three) versions of Esther

Queen Esther

Queen Esther. Painting by Edwin Long, 1878. National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.

The book of Esther is found in two different versions in our Bibles. Jewish and Protestant Bibles follow the Hebrew version known as the Masoretic Text, while Catholic and Orthodox Bibles follow the Greek version known as the Septuagint. This Greek version has just over 100 additional verses in 6 blocks, in addition to some other relatively minor differences. The additional material appears to have been mostly translated from a Hebrew or Aramaic original [1], and includes a colophon (Esther 11:1) which names the translator:

“In the fourth year of the reign of Ptolemy and Cleopatra, Dositheus, who said that he was a priest and a Levite, and his son Ptolemy brought to Egypt the preceding Letter about Purim, which they said was authentic and had been translated by Lysimachus son of Ptolemy, one of the residents of Jerusalem.”

From the date in the colophon we can set the latest possible date for the translation as either 142 BCE or 78/77 BCE, both dates being in the Maccabean or Hasmonean era. The longer (Septuagint) version of Esther has some noteworthy differences from the Hebrew:

  1. The Hebrew version does not mention God at all, not even once, while the Septuagint version uses “God” or “Lord” about 50 times, mostly in the additional verses but also including a handful of places where the Hebrew parallel does not mention God.
  2. There is nothing “religious” about the Hebrew version. However, the Septuagint version includes prayers by Esther and Mordecai, refers to laws of Moses including circumcision and dietary regulations, and speaks of Israel as God’s “inheritance.” It also includes the “Deuteronomistic” claim that Israel went into exile because of disobedience to God’s laws (14:6-7), and refers to the Temple in Jerusalem as God’s house (14:9). 
  3. The Hebrew version tells the story of how Esther came to be Queen, married to a Persian king, but only the Septuagint version tells us that she found it abhorent that she was compelled by necessity to be married to a Gentile (14:15-18).

There is a scholarly consensus that while the longer Septuagint version was translated from a Hebrew or Aramaic original, some of these additions were probably made to the Hebrew version before it was translated, and not added by the translator. The additions were not all necessarily made by the same person or at the same time. Scholars are mostly agreed, however, that these are additions, and were added some time after the shorter Hebrew version which has come down to us as the Masoretic Text was written, but before being translated into Greek. In other words, the shorter version is earlier than the longer version – verses were added to the long version rather than deleted by the short version. (For an alternative view, David Clines has argued convincingly that the religious elements in a Pre-Masoretic story were edited out by the author of a Proto-Masoretic version  [2].)

Interestingly, the longer (Septuagint) version is more “biblical” than the shorter Hebrew version in that it frequently mentions God and his relationship with Israel, refers to biblical commandments and morality, contains prayers, and mirrors theological ideas which we find elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible. This has led many scholars to speculate that the reason the additions were made was to give the book a more religious character, to make it a religious rather than a secular story, to make up for the “religious deficiencies” of the shorter version, and to explictly state God’s involvement which is at best only implicit in the Hebrew version. All the additions emphasise God’s providential care for Israel. The additions also add drama and detail to the shorter version, and may have had the intention of improving its trustworthiness.

In fact, we actually have two ancient Greek versions of Esther: the Septuagint is sometimes known as the β-text (or BT) but there is also another ancient version known as the α-text (or AT).  The α-text also has the additions which are in the β-text (which it appears to have copied from the β-text) but for the remainder it appears to be a translation of a Hebrew original which was different to both the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew text from which the Septuagint (β-text) was translated. So at one stage there may have been three different Hebrew versions of Esther in existence.

The fact that we have these three versions of Esther demonstrates that from a very early time, quite likely soon after the story was first written down, alternative or expanded versions (“redactions” if you like) started to appear. In Esther’s case we still have three of those versions, and in the case of other books of the Bible we can be confident that alternative, revised or expanded versions were also made. Sometimes we can detect evidence of redaction in the texts which we have, although we don’t have a complete record of the editorial process and we don’t know what the “original” form looked like. At best we can speak of the “final forms” – the versions which have been preserved in the Hebrew Masoretic Text, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Greek Septuagint, and other ancient versions – but we should never refer to any of these texts as “the original” version. I have to laugh (or cry) when I hear people speak of “the original Hebrew [or Greek]” of the Bible as though we still have those “orginal” manuscripts. The fact is, we have well and truly lost “the original” and it would be quite wrong to refer to the Masoretic Text, or any text, as the original. We have copies which have been edited, revised, expanded, and redacted, we have “final forms” of this editorial process, and our oldest manuscripts are preserved in multiple versions, but alas, no “originals.”

_____________________

[1] It is, however, generally accepted by almost all scholars that the two “edicts” in 13:1-7 and 16:1-24 were composed in Greek and are later additions.

[2] Clines, David J. A., The Esther Scroll: The Story of the Story. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament. Supplement series 30. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984.

The patience of Job

The Patient Job, Gerard Seghers (1591–1651). In the public domain, wikimedia commons.

There is a popular expression that someone has “the patience of Job,” probably based on a reference in the New Testament letter of James: “You heard about the patience of Job” (James 5:11). Job’s patience had apparently become proverbial by the time the letter of James was written, probably around the middle of the first century CE. But when we read the biblical book of Job we are hard-pressed to find much evidence of Job’s patience. The Greek word (ὑπομονή hypomonē) translated “patience” in James could equally mean “endurance” or “steadfastness”, but these are hardly major themes in Job either. Job is hardly a paragon of patience or endurance. In fact, he even protests that he has every right to be impatient! “Why should I not lose my patience?” (Job 21:4 NJPS). He constantly protests his innocence, complains that he is suffering without cause, and demands justice. The only time the word ὑπομονή hypomonē appears in the Greek version of Job is to say that God is wearing out Job’s patience, like water wears down rocks (Job 14:19LXX)! So where did James get the idea that Job was a model of patience or endurance?

David deSilva [1] argues convincingly that, rather than quoting from the biblical book of Job, James was more likely  referring to the Testament of Job (hereafter TJob), a pseudepigraphical work probably written in the first century BCE or first century CE.  TJob is based on the canonical Job but the emphasis is different: this Job is a model of endurance, and the word ὑπομονή hypomonē used by James occurs several times throughout the book. DaSilva points to linguistic similarities between James 5:7–11 and TJob and argues that James learned a version of the story of Job from a tradition beyond the canonical Job that came to written expression in TJob, which “presents a fully developed picture of Job as an athlete of endurance, holding on to his commitment to obey the One God and empowered to bear any temporal loss by God’s promise of a future reward for the righteous”. James’s brief reference to the patience/endurance of Job would presume that his audience knows the reshaped Job story from a version such as  TJob and that it is this tradition, rather than the biblical book of Job, to which he refers.

[1] “The Testament of Job: Job Becomes an Example of Patient Endurance”, chapter 9 in The Jewish Teachers of Jesus, James, and Jude: What Earliest Christianity Learned from the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, Oxford University Press, 2012, pp. 237-251.

The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Canon of Scripture

In today’s Bible History Daily from the Biblical Archaeological Society there is an interesting review of a lecture by Sidnie White Crawford about the Dead Sea Scrolls. The article refers to the roughly 515 manuscripts found at Qumran and Masada and says: “Only one quarter of the religious texts found at Qumran are included in the current Hebrew Bible. Ancient Jews did not see the Bible as a single book; they viewed it as a collection, and the choice to preserve a wider range of religious literature suggests that the Qumran community considered a larger number of books to be sacred.”

The writers of the New Testament also cite or allude to several other books which are not included in our Bible, including: Wisdom of Solomon, Sirach (or Wisdom of Ben Sira), 1 Enoch, 1 – 4 Maccabees, Psalms of Solomon, Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, Tobit, Susanna, Judith, and Bel and the Dragon. Lee McDonald (The Biblical Canon, Peabody, Mass., Henrickson, 2007) has a 13 page appendix of “New Testament Citations of and Allusions to Apocryphal and Pseudepigraphal Writings” which lists approximately 550 citations/allusions to this literature. McDonald has sourced and adapted his list from two places which he acknowledged: Novum Testamentum Graece (27th ed.; ed. B. Aland, K. Aland, J. Karavidopoulos, C.M. Martini, and B.M. Metzger; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1993), 800-806; and C.A. Evans, Ancient Texts for New Testament Studies, Appendix Two, 342-409, (Peabody, Mass, Hendrickson: 2005).

4 Ezra 14:44-48 refers to 94 sacred books. “So during the forty days, ninety-four books were written. And when the forty days were ended, the Most High spoke to me, saying, ‘Make public the twenty-four books that you wrote first, and let the worthy and the unworthy read them; but keep the seventy that were written last, in order to give them to the wise among your people. For in them is the spring of understanding, the fountain of wisdom, and the river of knowledge.’ And I did so.”

The 24 books refers to the Hebrew Bible, our Old Testament, which has only 24 (not 27) books when 1&2 Samuel, 1&2 Kings and 1&2 Chronicles are counted as three books, not six, as they are in the Jewish canon. That means that in the first century (when 4 Ezra was written) there were another 70 books which the writer(s) regarded as even more valuable.

Boccaccini, Daniel and 1 Enoch

Following on from some discussion with Dustin Smith on an earlier post about angels and princes in Daniel 10, I thought I’d post some ideas by Gabriele Boccaccini which are consistent with my conclusions.

In Roots of Rabbinic Judaism [1] Boccaccini argues for the emergence of three quite distinct Judaisms in post-exilic Judea:  (1) Sapiential Judaism (as evidenced in such works as Proverbs, Job, Jonah, and Qoheleth/Ecclesiastes); (2) Zadokite Judaism, detected in texts including  Ezekiel, Ezra, Nehemiah, and Chronicles); and (3) Enochic Judaism (priestly opposition to the Zadokites, embodied in such works as the Book of the Watchers in 1 Enoch).

In the post-exilic period the so-called Zadokite priesthood, descendants of Zadok the chief priest in the time of King David, took control of the rebuilt temple, established the priesthood as the dominant political force instead of a restored Davidic monarchy, and ruled Judea until shortly before the Maccabean revolt. Enochic Judaism is named after the Book of Enoch, which is really a composite work of five books written, according to a consensus of scholarly opinion, between 300 and 100 BCE, and reflects the theology of a group of disenfranchised priests. Sapiential Judaism was a kind of secular morality, in which the accumulated wisdom of several generations provided an alternative to the covenantal theology of the Zadokite priesthood. Their literature includes works such as Job, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, the Book of Wisdom and Sirach.

Broadly speaking Boccaccini theorises that the Sadducees were descended from the Zadokites, the Essenes and Christianity from the Enochic tradition, and Rabbinic Judaism as we know it from a synthesis of Zadokite and Enochic theology through the Pharisees.

Boccoccini argues that the book of Daniel reveals the emergence of a “third way” between Enochic and Zadokite Judaism and understands that Daniel “opposed the Enochic doctrine of the superhuman origin of evil and strenuously defended the tenets of Zadokite Judaism: the covenant (based on the Mosaic Torah) and the legitimacy of the Second Temple.”[2] There is no place in covenantal theology for a superhuman cause of sin and evil. Instead there is a temple sacrificial system which offers a framework for personal responsibility and accountability for sin, and even in the context of a vision in which some of the “host of heaven” are thrown to the ground (8:10), which sounds Enochic, Daniel is more concerned about the end of the evening and morning temple sacrifices and the desecration of the temple (8:11-14). In his prayer in chapter 9, possibly the climax of a structural chiasm, Daniel focused on Israel’s transgression of the lawof Moses (11-13), the holy city Jerusalem which is called by God’s name (16, 18, 19), the temple (17), and exile and restoration (13-15, 17); all Deuteronomic themes, and central to Zadokite theology. Enochic Judaism did not accept these covenantal theological premises or that history degenerates because of human sin and, based on the Book of the Watchers and the dream vision of 1 Enoch 83-84[3], believed that “the crisis was something deeper than the consequence of human sin”, that the degeneration of history was caused by angelic sin and that the earth is the victim of chaotic forces.[4] Reading Daniel against a background of Enochic theology one could read the conflict between Michael and the princes of Persia and Greece as a continuation of this celestial battle (as J.J. Collins does). However, Boccaccini’s reading of the clash between two (or three including Sapiential Judaism) theological worldviews makes better sense of Daniel 10 in my view.

This is not to discount the contribution of 1 Enoch to our understanding of Daniel. On the contrary, Enoch helps us to understand the divergent theological viewpoints of the time and, whether or not we agree with Boccaccini’s view that there was an alternative Enochic stream within Judaism in that period, to fully understand Daniel we need to understand the Zeitgeist of second century BCE Judea and hence the available literature.


[1] Boccaccini, G., Roots of Rabbinic Judaism: An Intellectual History, from Ezekiel to Daniel (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Pub.) 2002

[2] Boccaccini, 2002, 206

[3] Especially 84:4 “The angels of your heavens are now committing sin (upon the earth) and your wrath shall rest upon the flesh of the people until (the arrival of) the great day of judgment”.

[4] Boccaccini, 2002, 165, 167

The Lamb of God

The book of Revelation refers to the ‘lamb’ about 30 times.  The use of the lamb as a Messianic term is rare in the New Testament outside Revelation.  Paul referred to “Christ, our Passover” (while “lamb” is not stated it may be implied as he “has been sacrificed”).[1] Peter also used lamb imagery: “you were redeemed … with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect”.[2]  Acts quotes from Isaiah:  “He was led like a sheep to the slaughter and as a lamb before the shearer is silent, so he did not open his mouth.”[3] The Fourth Gospel has John the Baptist saying of Jesus: “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”[4] In Christian tradition the lamb is a frequent image for the expiatory work of Christ, drawing on these New Testament references. However, Geza Vermes  has pointed out that the title Lamb of God in John 1 does not necessarily refer to the metaphor of a sacrificial animal. He argued that in Galilean Aramaic the word טליא talya literally means “lamb” but had the common meaning of “male child”.[5] Vermes argues that in John it is a term of endearment where “Lamb of God” could have been a colloquial way of saying “Son of God”.[6] טליא can also mean “servant”, so there may be an allusion here to the servant of God in Isaiah 53 who was also a lamb. While Revelation does make use of a “slain lamb” imagery[7] it appears that  “the Lamb” is primarily used as a messianic title, rather than being a metaphorical reference to an atonement victim. For example, chapters 19 and 21 refer to the Lamb’s marriage and to his bride, with no hint of a sacrificial lamb analogy.

What are the origins of this prominent image in Revelation? The three New Testament references outside Revelation to Jesus as a “lamb” (excluding John 1 where it is possibly a term of endearment) suggest a sacrificial meaning although the writers are clearly not drawing on atonement imagery in the Hebrew Bible.[8] The emphasis in these texts is rather of an innocent victim. The Psalms of Solomon also used the lamb image with reference to the innocence of devout people:“God was proven right in his condemnation of the nations of the earth, and the devout of God are like innocent lambs among them” (8:23). From where did the author of Revelation get his lamb imagery, as it is not a popular New Testament term? Was he, like the writer of Acts, drawing his imagery from Isaiah 53? There is a possibility that the imagery came from pseudepigraphal sources, specifically the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs and 1 Enoch

The Testament of Joseph has language very similar to Revelation:

“And I saw that a virgin was born from Judah, wearing a linen stole; and from her was born a spotless lamb. At his left there was something like a lion[9], and all the wild animals rushed against him, but the lamb conquered them, and destroyed them, trampling them underfoot” (19:8). “You, therefore, my children, keep the Lord’s commandments; honour Levi and Judah, because from their seed will arise the Lamb of God who will take away the sin of the world, and will save all the nations, as well as Israel” (19:11).

Charles[10] and Kee[11] argue for a second century BCE dating for the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs[12] and O’Neill argues that “lamb of God” was “a Jewish term before it became Christian”.[13] The honouring of Levi and Judah is a reference to the dyarchic messianic hope which is common in the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs, but this rules out these texts as Christian interpolations. The Testament of Benjamin also contains the lamb of God motif, however its provenance is less certain (the Armenian text of the Testament does not have the “lamb of God” reference, so this may be a Christian interpolation, although O’Neill argues for the possibility that “the Armenian represents a text earlier than a Christian interpolator had got to work”[14]):

“Through you will be fulfilled the heavenly prophecy concerning the Lamb of God, the Saviour of the world, because the unspotted one will be betrayed by lawless men, and the sinless one will die for impious men by the blood of the covenant for the salvation of the gentiles and of Israel and the destruction of Beliar and his servants” (3:8).

In the dream visions of 1 Enoch there is an extended metaphor known as the “animal apocalypse” (chapters 83-90), which is a depiction of history in which the key biblical characters are depicted as animals. Israel is depicted as sheep and the rulers of the seventy nations as shepherds. The “turning point of history comes when small lambs are born and horns grow upon them … The lamb with the big horn is clearly Judas Maccabee”.[15] In an ensuing battle the sheep are given a sword to kill the wild animals (representing the nations). 1 Enoch 90:8 describes how one of the lambs was killed and Collins takes this as a reference to the murder of the high priest Onias III.[16] While the book of Revelation (and possibly the Fourth Gospel) appears to be drawing its lion and lamb imagery directly from the apocalyptic testaments of Joseph and Benjamin, the use of similar imagery in the Animal Apocalypse to refer to both a militaristic leader (Judas Maccabee) and a slain priest (Onias III) may also have provided inspiration for the use of the lamb image in Revelation for a messiah who is both an innocent victim and a conqueror

The roots of this imagery in Revelation are therefore likely to be in the apocalyptic books of 1 Enoch and The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.


[1] 1 Corinthians 5:7

[2] 1 Peter 1:18-19

[3] Acts 8:32, quoting Isaiah 53:7 Strictly speaking, the reference here is to a  sheep/lamb being led to its shearers or for slaughter, but not necessarily being led to the altar as a sacrificial victim. The metaphor (“like a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb before the shearer“) were both in reference to the sheep/lamb being “silent“, “so he did not open his mouth”. We should not push the metaphor beyond what the writer clearly intended. The sheep/lamb was “before the shearer”, not “before the priest”. The metaphor here is about being silent like a sheep, not being sacrificed as an offering.

[4] John 1:29-35

[5] The feminine טליתא talitha, literally “ewe lamb” and figuratively “girl” is found in Mark 5:41.

[6] Vermes, G., The Changing Faces of Jesus, (London: Penguin) 2002, 16

[7] For example Revelation 13:8 has the “… Lamb that was slain from the creation of the world”

[8] Both 1 Corinthians 5:7 and 1 Peter 1:18-19 allude to the Passover lamb.  1 Corinthians refers explicitly to “Christ our Passover, an allusion to freedom from Egyptian slavery which Passover celebrates (and in the context of the 1 Peter reference it is probably freedom from “the empty way of life handed down to you from your forefathers”). The Passover lamb was not sacrificed as an atonement or for the forgiveness of sins. The “slain lamb” metaphor could not be a reference to the Day of Atonement when Israel’s sins were forgiven and blood was sprinkled on the Ark of the Covenant in the Most Holy Place, because it was a goat that was slain on the Day of Atonement, not a lamb. For the daily sin offerings bulls and goats were most frequently sacrificed. Hence Hebrews makes the point that “it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins” (10:14). If a lamb was offered it had to be a female lamb (e.g. Lev 4:32; 5:6). Lambs were also offered as burnt offerings, but when they were offered they were distinguished from sin offerings (e.g. Lev 12:6 “a year-old lamb for a burnt offering and a young pigeon or a dove for a sin offering”; Num 6:14 when a Nazirite completed his vow he was to bring “a year-old male lamb without defect for a burnt offering, a year-old ewe [female] lamb without defect for a sin offering, a ram without defect for a fellowship offering …”). Burnt offerings and fellowship offerings were not for atonement or forgiveness of sins.

[9]O’Neill translates this “and he was at (her) left hand like a lion” (O’Neill, J.C., “The Lamb of God in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs”, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 1979 1: 2, 5).

[10] Charles, R.H., The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, (Oxford: Clarendon Press) 1913, 289-291

[11]Kee, H.C., “Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A New Translation and Introduction” in Charlesworth, J.H. (ed) The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson) 1983, 775-780, 775-780

[12] For a review of the evidence for the dating and reliability of the Testament of Twelve Patriarchs, and an alternative view, see “A Difficult Case: The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs”, Summary of a lecture by J. Davila on 20 February, 1997. http://www.st-andrews.ac.uk/divinity/rt/otp/abstracts/testoftwelve/ Accessed 27 October, 2012

[13] O’Neill, 1979, 2

[14] O’Neill, 1979, 8

[15]Collins, J.J.  (ed), “The Origins of Apocalypticism in Judaism and Christianity”, in The Encyclopedia of Apocalypticism; v. 1.  (New York: Continuum) 2000, 140

[16] Collins, J.J. The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (Second edition, 1998), 69

Angels and Princes in Daniel 10

In the prologue to the final vision of the book of Daniel (chapters 10-12) Daniel saw “a man clothed in linen”. The “man” in Daniel’s vision is sometimes assumed to be Gabriel (based on Gabriel’s appearance in chapters 8 and 9) but the man is not actually named here. “If Daniel knew it was the Gabriel he had seen earlier, surely he would have named him here” and “we would expect the description to be in chapter 8 when he first appeared to Daniel”.[1] Some elements of Daniel’s encounter with this “man” are puzzling. The man said “the prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood me twenty-one days, but Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, for I was left there with the kings of Persia”. Who is this “Prince of Persia”? Later there is a reference to the “prince of Greece” (v. 20) and “Michael, your prince” (v. 21) and “Michael the great prince who has charge of your people” (12:1). The suggestion is often made that these three “princes” are patron-angels. Michael certainly has that role here (“who has charge of your people”) and he is also referred to as one of the seven archangels in 1 Enoch 20:1-8. What we have here in Daniel 10 then may be a conflict between the visionary man and the patron angel of Persia, with the patron angels of Greece and Israel also becoming involved. There are two other texts which may suggest celestial beings may represent or rule nations:

“When the Most High gave to the nations their inheritance, when he divided mankind, he fixed the borders [Or territories] of the peoples according to the number of the sons of God. [Compare Dead Sea Scroll, Septuagint; Masoretic Text Israel]. But the Lord’s portion is his people, Jacob his allotted heritage.” (Deuteronomy 32:8-9 ESV).

“Over every nation he set a ruler. But Israel is the portion of God.” (Sirach 17:14-15)

Neither of these texts specifically refer to patron-angels but the “sons of God” in the DSS and LXX readings of Deuteronomy 32:8-9 are understood to be angels. The reference in Sirach is to a “ruler” set over each nation, and could only be understood as a reference to angels if the Deuteronomy text is read as a deliberate intertextual link (which is possible considering both texts refer to Israel as the Lord’s/God’s portion).

1 Enoch 10 also has a conflict between angels, with the angel Raphael binding the angel Azazel, the angel Gabriel destroying the children of the Watchers, and the angel Michael  binding the angel Semjaza and his associates. Revelation 12 has a war in heaven with Michael and his angels fighting against Satan. Revelation is almost certainly alluding to 1 Enoch. Do we have a similar celestial conflict here in Daniel 10?

The Hebrew word translated as “prince” throughout Daniel 10 is שַׂר sar a word often translated as “leader” or “commander”. The Hebrew term שַׂר used more than four hundred times in the Old Testament, carries the following meanings: captain, leader (Num.21:18; 1Sam.22:2); vassal, noble, official under a king who functions (a) as a ruler or counsellor (Gen.12:15; 1Kings20:14–17), (b) the sovereign or magistrate of a region (2Chron.32:31), or (c) the ruler of a city (Judg.9:30; Neh.7:2); commander (Gen.21:22,32); head of a group of people, that is, an official  (Neh.4:10; Ps.68:27 [28,Heb.]; Dan.1:7–11,18); one who carries a certain religious responsibility (Ezra 8:24,29; Isa.43:28);or a person in an elevated position (Ps.45:16[17,Heb.]; Isa.23:8). The common denominator in these diverse uses is the concept of “one who commands.”[2]

The Septuagint translates this with a word carrying a similar meaning. “The LXX diverges more markedly from the MT at the references in 10.13, and 20 to ‘the prince of Persia’ … and ‘the prince of Greece’ … [T]he terminology of the LXX translation differs in that these princes of Greece and Persia are seen as … ‘leaders/commanders’ … its referent is almost inevitably to political or military leadership. In Daniel it translates שַׂר in the list of officials in 3.2. It translates שַׂר three other times in the LXX (1 Kgs 29.3-4; 1 Chron. 11.6; 2 Chron. 32.21), and each time the context is secular.”[3] “The choice of vocabulary in the LXX suggests that the Greek translator regarded the Princes of Persia and Greece as human figures, and so interpreted an ambiguous Vorlage in a particular direction.”[4]

It is interesting that “nothing is made of the battle among the princes in the message that follows in chapter 11”.[5] Their appearance in the prologue to the vision is almost incidental. Several scholars, including William Shea, hold that the “prince of Persia” was one of the political authorities in Persia who opposed the reconstruction of the Jewish temple. Shea writes, “If one looks for an earthly human prince of Persia in the 3rd year of Cyrus, there is one specific candidate for that historical position: Cambyses, the son and crown princeof Cyrus… This is the one interpretation which takes cognizance of both (a) the potentiality for interpreting the word ‘prince’ as a human being, and (b) the actual political situation that obtained in the 3rd year of Cyrus. In my opinion, therefore, Calvin was correct in this identification.”[6]

There is a strong case, in my opinion, for Shea’s view that these “princes” are human political or military leaders. The “prince of Persia” would most likely be Cambyses who was a co-regent with Cyrus, making sense of the plural “kings of Persia” (v.13). Daniel 10:1 calls Cyrus the “king of Persia” while Cyrus was apparently known as “King of Babylon” and appears not to have used the title “king of Persia” for himself.[7] The recurrence of the expression in verse 13 in the plural “kings of Persia” is a significant detail and probably refers to the co-regency of Cyrus and Cambyses. While Cambyses is here referred to as “prince of Persia” both Cambyses and Cyrus are designated “kings of Persia”, consistent with the crown prince being a co-regent.

Cambyses’ opposition to national cultic temples is well documented by Shea, and it is significant that the Jerusalem Temple was not rebuilt during his reign. Daniel’s “mourning” occurred during the same twenty one days time-frame that the visionary man “struggled” with the prince of Persia, and may very well have been due to Daniel’s knowledge of some local political event (perhaps a delegation from opponents to the temple rebuilding in Jerusalem). It is possible then that the matter which concerned Daniel was the same matter that occupied the angel.

If this interpretation is correct then Daniel 10 has nothing to do with celestial battles between the patron angels of nations, and has no relevance for understanding the wars in heaven in 1 Enoch 10 and Revelation 12.


[1] Gowan, D.E., Daniel, (Nashville: Abingdon Press) 2001, 143

[2] Stevens, D. E., “Daniel 10 and the Notion of Territorial Spirits,” Bibliotheca Sacra 157: 628 (2000): 410-431, 413, citing Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, eds., The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, (Leiden: Brill) 1995, 1350-53

[3] Meadowcroft, T. J., Aramaic Daniel and Greek Daniel: A Literary Comparison, (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press) 1995, 253

[4] Meadowcroft, 254

[5] Gowan, 2001, 144

[6] Shea, W. H., “Wrestling with the Prince of Persia: A Study on Daniel 10,” Andrews University Seminary Studies 21 (1983), 249. The reference to Calvin is to John Calvin, Commentaries on the Book of the Prophet Daniel (reprint, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1948), 2:252

[7] Collins, J.J., Daniel: A Commentary on the Book of Daniel, (Minneapolis: Fortress Press) 1993, 372