Ralph the Sacred River

Eighth Annual Ralphies

2011-12-26T21:20:00.001-05:00

Before I begin the long-awaited Ralphies, I would like to congratulate myself on keeping "Ralph" going. Way to go, buddy! By the way, if anyone is interested in knowing how many hits are produced by a mention in the New York Times -- the answer is zero. Not one. This is because the clueless NYT doesn't provide click-through links for blogs mentioned in its august pages (on-line edition), and its readers don't really think about looking anything up for themselves. Thanks a lot, Gray Lady.

All right, enough self-serving patter. The question is, Who gets the awards? As in past years, the answers don't come easily.

Music: This year I paid a bit more attention to music than in the past, partly due to the Sirius satellite radio installed in the new car. This provides not only a steady stream of old favorites (like the Electric Prunes), but also an introduction to new (Real Estate) and semi-newish (Metric) bands. Hello, world! The Song of the Year Ralphie goes, as it did last year, to the one song that annoyingly got stuck on repeat play in my brain and wouldn't go away for weeks: Pumped-Up Kicks by Foster the People. The Album of the Year goes to a group who returned after a long hiatus, and were still awesome: Gillian Welch, with The Harrow and the Harvest.

Books (FIction): I actually read a couple of fairly new books in the fiction category this year. Unfortunately, they won't get a Ralphie. I read Anthony Horowitz's House of Silk, based on a rave review in the Washington Post. It was a reasonably good read, but not really in the same league as Conan Doyle. I also read Tana French's Faithful Place. One of these day, she is going to write a great novel -- she's got it in her -- but she hasn't yet. All of her books are page-turners, but have some fatal flaw. In the Woods neglects to tie up a big loose end; The premise of The Likeness is just too unbelievable; and now Faithful Place telegraphs the ending from a mile away. No, the best fiction I read this year was graphic: David Mazzucchelli's Asterios Polyp, Rutu Modan's Exit Wounds, and Brian Michael Bendis's Alias series. The Ralphie goes to the last named, by a hair.

Books (Non-fiction): Wow, I don't even know where to begin. I read a lot of stuff this year. I'm going to give the Ralphie to Nick Riemer's Introducing Semantics, for getting a whole lot of ideas going in my brain, although as a textbook I'm not sure that John Saeed's Semantics is not better for students than Riemer.

Television: Television took a big back seat this year, as did Movies. The only show I consistently have to watch is Fringe. which is still the best thing out there, although it has yet to catch fire in Season 4. I also found myself watching, although not compulsively, Game of Thrones and Homeland. The latter was enjoyable, but suffered in comparison with the similar but much superior series on AMC, the much-lamented Rubicon. But Fringe gets the Ralphie.

Movies: Didn't see that many. We went to see the last Harry Potter movie, and my reaction was the same one that I had for all the others: OK, but so what? Much better was Super 8, which gets the Ralphie. But I'm sure there were good movies out there; I just didn't see them.

All right kids, be sure and write in to tell me what your favorites are! The best response gets a free lifetime subscription to "Ralph." Cheers!

Swarming in Hebrew

2011-10-22T22:28:00.001-04:00

For about the past year, I've been preoccupied with the question of "argument alternations" or "diathesis alternations" in Biblical Hebrew, just because I think they're interesting and also because I think they've been neglected in the lexicography and grammar of Biblical Hebrew. I've been trying both to understand them in a general way, and also to identify them in Hebrew.

Very briefly: What I mean by "argument alternation" is an alternation in the syntactic or semantic arguments of a verb that leave the form of the verb unchanged. For instance in English we can say "John broke the window" and also "the window broke." The object of the first sentence has become the subject of the second sentence, but the verb is unchanged. Another example is "Water filled the tank" and "The tank filled with water." The object of sentence 1 becomes the subject of sentence 2, while the subject of sentence 1 is placed in a prepositional phrase in sentence 2, but there is no change to the verb filled. Such phenomena have been the object of intense scrutiny, for instance in Beth Levin's English Verb Classes and Alternations (1993).

It seems to me that in Biblical Hebrew, alternations like this are rarer than in English, because typically in Hebrew when the semantic arguments change their syntactic mapping from, say, Patient/Object to Patient/Subject (as in the "broke" example), the verb stem or binyan also changes, so that, for instance, shavar (Qal) "he broke (something", would change to nishbar (Niphal), "(something) broke."

However, this is not always the case, and there is actually a fair number of alternating verbs in Biblical Hebrew. One small group that I have just run across has to do with the verbs meaning swarm or teem. For English, verbs of this type were studied at length in an article by Maurice Solkoff, "Bees are swarming in the garden" (1983). Briefly, verbs of this type (and it is larger than just the verb swarm and its synonyms), display an alternation in which the semantic Agent may switch syntactic Subject slots with the Location word, so that one may say "Bees are swarming in the garden" (agent subject) or "The garden is swarming with bees" (location subject). This type of alternation occurs, it seems, only with intransitive verbs.

Interestingly, the root שׁרץ in Biblical Hebrew apparently displays just such an alternation. The agent-subject type is attested; e.g. Gen 7:21 ha-sheretz ha-shoretz al ha-aretz, "the swarm that swarms on the earth"; or, e.g., Gen 9:7 "swarm (shirtzu) in the earth and multiply in it." But the location-subject is also attested: Gen 1:20 "let the waters swarm (yishretzu) with a swarm of creatures"; or, Exod 7:28 "the river will swarm (ve-sharatz) with frogs." A concordance will turn up all the examples, but if you want to track them down the references are Gen 1:20-21; 7:21; 8:17; 9:7; Exod 1:7; 7:28; Lev 11:29, 41-43, 46; Ezek 47:9; Ps 105:30. The synonymous verb רמש displays the same behavior, although the location-subject examples are few: Gen 9:2, Lev 20:25, both tirmos ha-adamah, "(all the creatures that) the soil teems with."

What is not immediately clear to me is whether the location-subject type has the same entailments in Hebrew as it does in English. It has been observed that in English the location-subject type has a "holistic" effect, and entails that the Location is more affected, more filled up, than with the agent-subject type; "the garden is swarming with bees" entails that every part of the garden has bees swarming in it, while "bees are swarming in the garden" does not have the same entailment. But in Hebrew I'm not sure that the waters in Gen 1:20 (location subject) will be more full of swarming creatures than the earth will be in the apparently similar Gen 9:7 (agent subject). This needs to be looked at in greater depth.

It is also not clear to me (yet) whether the core of the Hebrew verb has to do with motion (crawl, creep) or with numerical increase (abound, teem). It would be nice if the agent types would line up with the motion idea and the location types with the idea of increase, but they don't.

In fact, it is possible that this is another type of alternation altogether: the location-subject types do not have the look of intransitives at all. I've translated them that way (as do most English Bibles), but the complements in fact could be construed as accusative direct objects: not "the river swarmed with frogs" but "the river swarmed frogs" (i.e. produced them in swarms); "let the waters swarm a swarm of creatures," etc. This is in fact the way the LXX construes these instances. This, then, would be an example of the so-called Causative-Inchoative alternation, consisting of an intransitive verb and a transitive alternation meaning "to cause to (intransitive meaning)." In this case, the agent-subject would be intransitive and the location-subject would be transitive.

So we have, as it were, alternative alternations. Which is it? I'll have to think about it some more, but I'd be happy to receive the views of others.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: See also David Dowty, The Semantic Assymetry of Argument Alternations (and why it matters) (2001), at his personal webpage; Maurice Salkoff, "Bees Are Swarming in the Garden," Language 59 (1983): 288-346.

Dylan and Plagiarism

2011-07-30T13:06:00.001-04:00

The discussion of Bob Dylan and his "borrowing" habit goes on (especially on the Internet), but not usually at a high level of sophistication. Part of the problem is that people in general are not working with a clear notion of what plagiarism is. I would like to submit some criteria for understanding the notion of plagiarism and the conditions under which it can be identified.

The minimal necessary condition for plagiarism is the uncredited use of someone else's work. I think everyone can agree that if this condition is not present, then plagiarism is not present. However, note that this is a necessary condition, not a sufficient condition. By itself, uncredited use is not plagiarism. One might allude to another's well-known work, without a citation and without plagiarism. Faulkner did not need to credit Shakespeare for the title of The Sound and the Fury; he could assume that the allusion would be recognized. We can sing the song "Happy Birthday" without crediting Patty and Mildred Hill every time. We might also unconsciously or forgetfully incorporate someone else's words into our own composition; when someone is accused of plagiarism, this is usually the first line of defense.

The last point leads to an addition to our first necessary condition. There must also be an intention to present the uncredited work as your own work. That's why an effective defense can be "I forgot to give credit" or "I used this unconsciously"; it denies that the use was intentional. Every teacher has heard this defense from students accused of plagiarism, and sometimes it might even be true. It was George Harrison's (unsuccessful) defense against his plagiarism of "He's So Fine" for "My Sweet Lord."

It might seem that these two necessary conditions, uncredited use and intention to mislead, are jointly sufficient criteria for plagiarism. Nevertheless, I want to add one more condition. The question is often raised whether older authors, like Chaucer or Shakespeare, were guilty of plagiarism. Chaucer, for instance, used extensively Boccaccio's Il Filostrato in composing Troilus and Criseyde. Many of Shakespeare's plots come from Raphael Holinshed's Chronicles. Going even farther back, the gospels Matthew and Luke made use of passages taken almost verbatim from the Gospel of Mark. Are all these writers plagiarists? I think we feel intuitively that the answer is no, although our definition as currently constructed would imply that the answer is yes.

Therefore we need to add the further condition making reference to a presumption of originality. During the time of Chaucer, or Shakespeare, or the gospels, there was no overarching presumption that a book or play contained only original work. The cultural norms were different; but at some point between Shakespeare's time and our time (indeed, already in the 18th century) a new assumption of authorial originality became normative, at least for written compositions.

So our concept of plagiarism has these three components: (1) uncredited use that is (2) intentional (3) within a presumption of originality.

The problem with Dylan's borrowing habit is complicated. He and others have often made reference to a "folk process" in the arena of folk music or popular music, wherein the older, pre-modern, practice of free borrowing and re-use of older work was still normative. Hence the many tunes and lyrics derived from other artists found in his catalog are widely felt (possibly correctly) to be non-problematic (although Dylan is unwilling to extend this permissiveness to artists borrowing his work). In other words, there is no strong presumption of originality in folk music — or possibly in music in general (although there has to be at least a weak presumption of originality in order to copyright anything).

However, there is a much stronger presumption of originality in written work published under one's own name. That's why, in the many passages in Chronicles, Volume 1 where Dylan has lifted from other authors, without credit or credible expectation of a recognizable allusion, he is arguably guilty of plagiarism.

I'm not trying to tear down the whole body of Dylan's work. I don't want to—I'm a fan—and I couldn't even if I did want to. However, I do think that in the last 10 years or so he has compensated for the waning of his creative powers by over-indulging in this borrowing habit, which reaches a high point in his own autobiography. It's not pernicious in the sense that any living person is harmed by it, but it should be acknowledged for what it is.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Besides the links given above, see Scott Warmuth's Goon Talk (passim). See also the relevant chapter in David Yaffe, Like a Complete Unknown. Their take is different than mine.

Notes on the Structure of the Hebrew Verbal System

2011-06-20T11:09:00.000-04:00

These really are just notes, not a full-fledged think piece.

The issue with the Hebrew (I mean Biblical Hebrew prose here) verbal system (HVS) is accounting for the different uses of qatal and yiqtol at the appropriate level of generalization. It's not that difficult to list all the different functions of these verbal forms, but finding a way to characterize the whole thing has proved controversial.

Everyone agrees at this point that the HVS is not a tense-only system. This can be demonstrated with one fact:

(1) If HVS were tense-only, then yiqtol could never receive a past interpretation. But it can receive a past interpretation in prose (with the past habitual use).

There is much less unanimity that HVS is not an aspect-only system. In fact, my impression is that this view is held by the majority. Nevertheless, this approach also fails, for the following reason:

(2) If HVS were aspect-only (e.g., perfective/imperfective), then qatal could receive a future interpretation. But in fact, it does not receive a future interpretation in prose.

Hence it seems that HVS is a combined tense-aspect system, with qatal being both past and perfective, and yiqtol being past imperfective (habitual), future (either perfective or imperfective), present (general, not actual) and modal. Many languages of the world combine tense and aspect (e.g., Greek and English) so there's nothing weird or unwelcome about this. Nevertheless, there is still a hankering (in me, at least) to find some feature of the qatal/yiqtol opposition that licenses its several interpretations without any appeal to the arbitrary.

To me the most important clue lies in an argument made by Jan Joosten (in this JANES article), that yiqtol never indicates the actual present (similar to English present progressive), only the general present (gnomic or habitual). I find Joosten's argument convincing, although you can still find statements in the grammars to the effect that yiqtol can function to indicate the actual present. If Joosten is right, then there are not any functions of yiqtol where it refers to an actual, instantiated verbal action (event, state, or process); that is, it is non-referential in that there is no particular action that it picks out.

Here, then, I think is the opposition. Qatal is referential, yiqtol non-referential; again, by referential, I mean that it points to or picks out a particular instantiated action. If qatal is referential, then that entails past tense. The entailments of yiqtol are not as constrained as those of qatal; not having referentiality means that it can be used for a typical action in the past (habitual) or the present (general present) or for a non-instantiated action (such as the future or modal). Hence the wider range of interpretations or readings (in the semantic sense) that are available for yiqtol.

"Referentiality" is usually discussed in terms of nouns and noun phrases, and verbs are not considered in that context. Nevertheless, I think one can argue that verbs can be referential (like a definite noun phrase) or non-referential (like an adjective or an indefinite noun phrase).

This doesn't explain the workings of what I call the "secondary" HVS, that of wayyiqtol and we-qatal. I'll discuss those at a later time. Also it leaves open the use of qatal and yiqtol in poetry, where some possible counter-examples to (1) and (2) above can be found. I don't believe that they are true "defeaters" of my proposal, because quite often, in my view, what seem to qatal and yiqtol in poetry are actually forms of we-qatal and wayyiqtol that vary because of the peculiar modes of coordination (and conjunction reduction) available in Hebrew poetry. Again, I'll leave that for another time. Suffice it to say that in the final analysis I think the HVS is ultimately uniform in prose and poetry.

Wow, the New York Times

2011-06-03T21:22:00.001-04:00

Well, if that don't beat everything. "Ralph" is mentioned in the New York TImes, in connection with Bob Dylan, natch.

If you are interested in the posts about Dylan, then go here and here and here.

What's next? Osservatore Romano? The Sacramento Bee? Cool.

Fun with Popes and Presidents

2011-03-24T15:09:00.000-04:00

One of the most obscure areas of human knowledge is the comparison in ages and terms of office between Popes and Presidents. It is arguably of no value whatsoever, and therefore eminently suited for scholarly research. Based on the studies of myself and my former colleague Matthew Jaffe, I offer the following tidbits in handy question-and-answer format:

Q. How many times in history has a president been inaugurated at an older age than the currently reigning pope?

A. Three times: In 1849, when Zachary Taylor was 64 and Pius IX was 57; in 1981, when Ronald Reagan was 70 and John Paul II was 61; and Reagan again, in 1985, when he was 74 and John Paul II was 65.

Q. Have the president and pope ever been the same age at inauguration time?

A. Yes, once when James Buchanan was 65 and so was Pius IX.

Q. What pope reigned through more presidential administrations?

A. Pius IX, through the terms of Polk, Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, Lincoln, A. Johnson, Grant, and Hayes.

Q. When was the youngest inaugurated president juxtaposed with the oldest reigning pope?

A. In 1901, Theodore Roosevelt was inaugurated at age 42. Leo XIII was then 91, 49 years older.

Q. What president has served through more papal reigns regardless of duration?

A. Jackson and Carter served through three each. Jackson: Leo XII, Pius VIII, Gregory XVI; Carter: Paul VI, John Paul I, and the start of John Paul II.

"Loving This Book": Stative and Progressive

2011-03-05T16:24:00.001-05:00

This semester our Hebrew seminar is considering the semantics of the Hebrew verb, and, as a foil to other treatments of verbal semantics, we are reading Waltke & O'Connor's Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax with a view to assessing how they dealt with semantic notions.

The last time we met, our agenda was to discuss IBHS ch. 22 (on the Qal) in the light of current thinking about situation aspect, especially stativity. During the discussion, we got held up for a moment by an English example that they use:

[S]tative verbs in English do not occur in progressive forms. ... [For example], one cannot freely say 'I am loving this book.' Since 'love' describes a stative situation (in this case, a psychological state), one freely says 'I love this book.' (IBHS 22.2.1e).

The students unanimously felt that the example was poorly chosen, since in fact one can say "I am loving this book," or the like, as in the following example: "You know that book you gave me for Christmas? Well, I'm really loving it!" Or, "Dr. Cook, I'm really loving this class!" One of them suggested that the language was changing to allow statives to violate the aspectual rule. I suggested this was probably not the case, but was unable, on the fly, to satisfactorily account for the progressive use of "love" except by vaguely saying that it was being used in a different sense in these cases. We had to move on, and there we left it.

I kept thinking about the case, however, and have come to some further conclusions. First of all, I do think the example in IBHS was poorly chosen. A better example of stative+progressive illformedness might be something like *I am knowing the multiplication table or *I am having a new computer or *I am now owning my own home. These usages are indeed incompatible with progressivity, since these statives are not events and denote no action that can "progress" in terms of having some kind of internal temporal structure (like "I am walking the dog").

Second, the situation that IBHS likely envisaged in their sample sentence I am loving this book must have been like the sentences in the previous paragraph, indicating a non-event. For example, if someone pointed to a book on their shelves and said, "See that book with the red cover? Well, I am loving this book," that would be an example of the same kind of illformedness as "*I am owning this book."

Whence, then, the "event" reading of "loving" in I am loving this book? Under that reading, "this book" cannot mean "this object"; it has be taken as "the current process of reading this book." It can't even mean "this book that I finished last week." "Love" can only receive a non-stative reading, and be used in the progressive, when it has for its object (either explicitly or implicitly) another currently ongoing process that is itself progressive. Yet another example: consider the sentence "I am loving this week's episode of Glee." It can only be used of watching this week's episode of Glee (let's say you are on the phone with your friend), and not of the script or performances or plot. Not every stative can participate in this alternation, however.

The fact that Waltke & O'Connor say that the sample sentence cannot be "freely" uttered is unclear. It could mean that they were aware of counter-usages like the one discussed here (in which case they should have chosen a better example).

BIBLIOGRAPHY: The original description of stativity as incompatible with the progressive can be found in Zeno Vendler's classic article, "Verbs and Times," The Philosophical Review, Vol. 66, No. 2. (Apr., 1957), pp. 143-160. By the way, this is not cited in IBHS.

Seventh Annual Ralphies

2010-12-16T15:53:00.001-05:00

Here we go ...

Best TV Show: First, I have to say a few words about Lost, which has won this award for several years. By the time the last minute of the show ticked off, the method of the creators had become clear: for five seasons, go as far out on a limb as you possibly can, and then, in the sixth season, cut the limb off. Then, as we watch you drop out of sight, call out "It's better to travel hopefully than it is to arriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive!" Um, no, it's not. This was not a year for successful TV. Not only did Lost end with a whimper, but Flashforward and Rubicon, both great and fun shows, were cancelled after one season. However, Fringe had a great year, and has already succeeded where Lost, Heroes, and X-Files all failed. The Ralphie goes to Fringe, with enthusiasm.

Best Movie: Didn't see that many, just the biggest of the big, viz., Toy Story 3 and Inception. Neither one of these highly praised movies stuck in my mind for even 5 minutes after viewing, which is kind of a test I have for a good movie. The only movie that really did that for me was one I viewed on pay-per-view, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. It gets the Ralphie.

Best Record: A better year than last year, for sure. Although I didn't buy many records, thanks to YouTube, I heard a fair amount of new and good music. The Black Keys are great; the new Sufjan Stevens; a fictional group called Sex Bob-Omb (music by Beck) that was awesome. But the Ralphie goes to a song that, for 2 weeks this summer, I literally couldn't get out of my mind, namely Fireflies by Owl City. It was even there when I was dreaming, which just shows you that the music module of your brain is separate from the other modules. It took me a while before I finally figured out the song was actually about insomnia.

Best Non-Fiction Book: As you know, I read a truckload of linguistics books and articles; there's a lot of good stuff out there. I would have to put Steven Pinker's The Stuff of Thought: Language as a Window Into Human Nature at the top because of its accessibility and generally jaunty style.

Best Fiction Book: The award goes to Lev Grossman's The Magicians. The book is a compulsively readable fantasy that attempts to undermine the worlds of both Harry Potter and Narnia. Me, I love Narnia, but The Magicians is a tremendously fun read on its own terms (unlike, say, the works of the King of Boredom, Philip Pullman).

Now We Are Six

2010-12-05T17:12:00.001-05:00

On November 30, 2004, the first post of this blog appeared. The first year or so was quite active, and coincided approximately with the birth of biblioblogging, of which this blog was one of the first. But "Ralph" has never sought, or received, any factitious badge of approval or value-ranking from the world of biblioblogging (now firmly part of the Establishment) and I now question whether my blog is a part of that increasingly self-conscious and contentious world.

The last few years have been less active, as other activities have crowded out daily, or even weekly, blogging. Most particularly, I consciously decided a while back to devote most of the time I had for writing to preparing scholarly books and articles; and, this, I think, was a wise choice.

Still, writing for "Ralph" is always one of my greatest pleasures. Looking back, I see plenty of ephemeral matter, but nothing that embarrasses me. Several of the posts have in the past developed into lectures, presentations, or articles, and some may still do so. And, as far as I know, "Ralph" is still the only blog ever to be cited in a scholarly footnote in Revue de Qumran.

This year especially has been quiet for "Ralph," although the most famous post in Ralph's history was cited in two books about Bob Dylan. One of them is Sean Wilentz's Bob Dylan in America (Doubleday, 2010), pp. 303ff. Wilentz, professor of American Studies at Princeton, cites "Ralph," without giving the URL (how rude!) or the author (how clueless!). Indeed, he appears to believe that the name "Ralph" is my pseudonym, apparently without noticing that my name and email appear (and have always appeared) right there on the blog.

The other citation is in Alessandro Carrera, "Oh, the Streets of Rome: Dylan in Italy," which appeared in Highway 61 Revisited: Bob Dylan's Road from Minnesota to the World (ed. C. J. Sheehy & T. Swiss; Univ. of Minnesota Press, 2009), where the author refers to me as "very puzzled." Sure, if by puzzled you mean outraged. I also was interviewed by phone by yet another author who is writing a book about Dylan. Not bad for a philologist whose expertise is in a wholly different area.

"Ralph" will continue, probably at the same slow pace. And yes, the Ralphies for 2010 will shortly appear. Watch this space.

Scenes and Observations from SBL Atlanta 2010

2010-11-24T15:28:00.001-05:00

In no particular order ...

Two huge ballrooms were assigned to a session attended by about 15 people.

My room, thankfully, was in a tower (Hyatt) where I didn't have to go up in one of those glass elevators.

Best meal: Atlanta Grill, with Marty Abegg and James Bowley. We planned the next volume of the Dead Sea Scrolls Concordance.

I bought two books: The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism by Adele Berlin and the Cambridge Companion to C. S. Lewis.

The good people at Accordance updated me and fixed me up with a ton of awesome software.

The most crowded session I attended was the one on Biblioblogging. I listened to Jim Davila's and Chris Brady's excellent papers on the state of the art, then had to go to another session. Chris suggested (as you can read here) that there be an SBL committee to provide peer-review insight on the tenure-relevant research found in online sources. I agree if the sources are research resources, but not if they are blogs. Blogs should resist "sivilizin'".

Jim Davila is still watching Lost.

Against all probability, the guy I sat next to at the Bloggers lunch lives only a few blocks away from me.

John Hobbins is really tall.

The HUC grad school survives.

I enjoyed discussing syntax with fellow UCLA alums Kirk Lowery and Randy Buth.

There will never be a time when most people know how to deliver a paper at SBL.

I met a man who had taken Hebrew from me over 20 years ago.

I enjoyed talking about Amazon's Kindle with Dean Forbes.

The number of religious books being published every year is inversely proportional to the number of actual Christians.

I worked on my paper the night before I gave it. At least I didn't write my paper the night before I gave it.

Air Tran advertises free Wi-Fi in their terminal. It's only free if you want to check your flight information. For anything else, you have to pay.

I enjoyed seeing some of my students at their first SBL.

The memorial service for Hanan Eshel was moving, with most major Qumran scholars in attendance.

MARTA is better than Metro. Cheaper, too.

The Brill reception was awesome, and the view from the 49th floor of the Peachtree Tower was spectacular.

The Fuller breakfast was great, but it's a little sobering to realize that I am now among the oldest attendees.

I'll add more as I recall more....

Old Dog, New Trees

2010-08-28T22:05:00.001-04:00

Summers, for academics, are empty vessels waiting to be filled; not like the academic year, whose content is largely determined by others. During summer, to a certain extent, free will returns; and therefore each summer takes on a character of its own.

This summer for me was the summer of trees, in two senses. The first is the literal sense of our vegetable friends and neighbors. It was inevitable that trees should attract my attention, since the DC area has one of the largest tree canopies in the nation. Sooner or later I had to take some account of them. Probably it was on walks with the dachshund, whose interest in trees is of long standing, that I first said to myself "What about these trees?" I don't remember the moment, but there must have been one in which trees presented themselves to me as objects of worthy curiosity, and I found myself getting some books about trees, and how to identify them, and what was the nature of their leaves, bark, flowers, overall shape, and usefulness. I started taking note, and the diversity amazed me. In our neighborhood are many lindens (or basswoods) planted for shade, as well as many varieties of that handsome genus Acer, the maple. Silver, red, striped, goosefoot, the delicate little Japanese maple. Very common is the Eastern white pine, and kinds of spruce and fir that I have not yet gotten to. The great elms. The mighty oak — best of all. Near us the common type is the pin oak, but near the Capitol you can find the awesomely large Northern Red Oak. The cherry trees — of course! Lots of those. Two dogwoods in our back yard. The gorgeous and immense yellow poplar, with its tulip-shaped leaves. From the Metro you can see the catalpa, or indian bean, with huge leaves and long seed pods. On the CUA campus are many other varieties, including a cedar of Lebanon. Sycamores, ash, willow — where have you been all my life?

I don't have any desire to be an arborologist and my interest in the industrial use of trees is nil. I am only a watcher of trees, and this summer I have learned to take in my surroundings with more discernment. That's one feature of the summer of 2010.

The other kind of trees is the figurative, linguistic type. Originally I planned to do a not very intensive review of Greek, and duly began working through some grammars. It was not long, though, before I began to be distracted by the unsatisfactory way in which the grammars (which shall remain nameless) approached syntax — even in some cases, using the old grammar-school sentence diagrams. I gradually found myself searching for a better approach and abandoned Greek for technical linguistics, in fact, the severe formalities of the Chomskyan generative school. I devoured a good many textbooks of this approach, even reading Chomsky himself, and had the sensation of a keen intellectual pleasure as I delved into the system, which is powerful and elegant (although not perfect, which is the topic for another post). I filled many sheets of paper with trees, i.e., tree diagrams — and not your dull flat structures either, but the beautiful binary structures of the X-bar theory and its various epicycles. If I can, I will keep up this exploration into the fall, as time permits. But even with just a few short weeks of study, I feel braced by the austere rigor of the system. That's the second benefit of Summer 2010.

On Monday classes begin, and free will has to be put on a leash again. I don't really mind. The trees, all of them, will continue to be there, summer's gift, as duty returns.

Bob Dylan, Carl Sandburg, and the "Borrowing" Problem

2010-06-03T20:38:00.001-04:00

One of the oddest things (among many odd things) in Bob Dylan's memoir Chronicles is his narration of a conversation with poet and playwright Archibald MacLeish, who had commissioned him to write some music for a play. According to Dylan, MacLeish said that he, MacLeish, had been a classmate of Douglas Macarthur at West Point (Chronicles, p. 112). In fact, MacLeish, although he served in the Army, never went to West Point. So how did this misinformation get into Dylan's book?

It has already been established that Dylan incorporated expressions, phrases and entire sentences from other authors in the book. A little research reveals that the same practice underlies parts of the MacLeish conversation and is responsible for the misattribution of certain statements to MacLeish. In this case, the source is the preliminary material to the Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg, (2002). This book has an introduction by Archibald MacLeish, and a preface (called "Notes for a Preface") by Sandburg himself. The remark about West Point comes in the Sandburg preface, not the MacLeish introduction:

Sandburg, p. xxx:
"At twenty-one I [Sandburg] went to West Point, being a classmate of Douglas MacArthur and Ulysses S. Grant III ..."

Chronicles, p. 112:
"MacLeish had been a classmate of Douglas MacArthur at West Point ..."

Confirmation of Dylan's borrowing comes from elsewhere in Sandburg's preface, such as this remark:

Sandburg, p. xxx:
"A few masterpieces last across the years. ... Perhaps no wrong is done and no temple of human justice violated in pointing out that each authentic poet makes a style of his own. ... I have forgotten the meaning of twenty or thirty of my poems written thirty or forty years ago."

Chronicles, p. 113:
"He said that he'd forgotten the meaning of a lot of his earlier poems and that an authentic poet makes a style of his own, a few masterpieces last across the years."

Sandburg (Preface, p. xxviii) also alludes to "Michelangelo saying in 1509, 'I have no friends of any kind and I do not want any,' and forty years later writing, 'I am always alone and I speak to no one.' " This too is picked up in Chronicles: "He also talked about Michelangelo, said that Michelangelo had no friends of any kind and didn't want any, spoke to no one" (p. 112).

Another possible allusion lies on p. xxvii of Sandburg's preface, where he says (italics added): "A well done world history of poetry would tell us of the beginnings and the continuing tradition of blank verse, rhymed verse, ballads, ballades, sonnets, triolets, rondeaus, villanelles, the sestina, the pantoum, the hokku; also odes, elegiacs, idylls, lyrics, hymns, quatrains, couplets, ditties, limericks, and all the other forms," and Dylan quotes MacLeish to the same effect: "Archie spoke about blank verse, rhyme verse, elegiacs, ballads, limericks and sonnets" (Chronicles, p. 112).

One final parallel: Sandburg writes of Stephen VIncent Benet (p. xxvi): "He knew the distinction between pure art and propaganda in the written or spoken word." Dylan says of MacLeish: "He also told me that there's a difference between art and propaganda and he told me the difference between the effects" (p. 112).

However, Dylan also attributes to MacLeish some expressions found in MacLeish's introduction to Sandburg, such as on p. xx, where the poet alludes to "... the comparative dimensions of ... Sappho and Sophocles, of Dante and Donne," which Dylan turns into this: "He asked me if I had read Sappho or Socrates. I said, nope, that I hadn't, and then he asked me the same about Dante and Donne." (Note the miscopying of "Socrates" for "Sophocles.") (I owe this observation to Scott Warmuth.)

It is now apparent what happened. Dylan, in the course of concocting (or reconstructing) a conversation with MacLeish, pulled from his shelves a copy of Sandburg's Complete Poems, Introduction by Archibald MacLeish, to get some ideas. However, he confused MacLeish's short introduction with Sandburg's long preface, and as a result wound up making MacLeish say a number of things that actually were said by Sandburg.

No doubt many Dylan-worshippers will now argue that this confusion is a sign of Dylan's genius. I think Bob just got his sources mixed up. It happens, especially when you're "borrowing" a lot from other writers.

Shoddy-Wall-Builders

2010-03-27T21:57:00.001-04:00

When translating the Damascus Document for the Dead Sea Scrolls book I co-authored with MIke Wise and Martin Abegg, I took some pains not simply to translate mechanically the Hebrew words of the text, but to make explicit the nuances of certain enigmatic expressions that were important for a better understanding. One of these expressions is "Shoddy-Wall-Builders," which occurs four times in the Damascus Document (4:19; 8:12, 18; 19:31), and which is a rendition of Hebrew בוני החיץ.

Peter Flint and James VanderKam make generous use of our translation in their popular textbook The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls (2002). Nevertheless, in their discussion of Qumran history, they refer to this translation of mine as "curious," and they prefer to translate the phrase as "Builders of the Wall." I now want to make explicit the reasoning behind the choice of words I used, and suggest that it is not curious at all, but demanded by the context.

The persons designated as "builders of the wall" in the Document are portrayed as followers of a false teacher and a false law, and as such have earned the displeasure of God. But why are they called "builders of the wall"? It is agreed by all that the phrase is taken from Ezekiel 13:10: "Because, yes, because they have misled my people, saying, Peace, when there is no peace; and because, when one builds a wall (בנה חיץ), they smear whitewash on it." In the original context, the prophet is denouncing false prophets who give as a divine message something out of their own imaginations. Their message is false and unreliable.

The metaphor the prophet uses is of someone who builds a wall, which is then covered with white paint to hide its imperfections. For the metaphor to function properly, in fact, it is necessary that the wall be understood as one that is not solid or well-built. Otherwise, what would be wrong with whitewashing a wall? Note that the JPS translates this part of the verse as "daubing with plaster the flimsy wall which the people were building."

The word used for "wall" reinforces this interpretation. The word חיץ is not the ordinary Hebrew word for a city wall (חומה) or a building wall (קיר) or a fence (גדר). It only appears here in the Hebrew Bible, and in post-Biblical Hebrew, it seems to refer to a light temporary partition. Jastrow defines it as "a pile of loose and uneven material, a rough extemporised embankment, opp[osed] to earth-covered and finished." To build such a wall and then to paint it as if it were a dependable finished structure would be highly irresponsible.

The authors of the Damascus Document knew perfectly well the implications of the phrase. Their opponents were in every way comparable to the false prophets of Ezekiel's time; like them they built up an unreliable body of teaching – a "shoddy wall" – and like them they hid its imperfections (in 8:12 the same group is called "Whitewashers"). They were not "builders of the wall" – an expression that conveys little – but they were "Shoddy-Wall Builders."

BIBLIOGRAPHY: VanderKam, James C., and Peter W. Flint. The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity. San Francisco, Calif: HarperSanFrancisco, 2002.

Wise, Michael Owen, Martin G. Abegg, and Edward M. Cook. The Dead Sea scrolls: a new translation. San Francisco: Harper, 1996, rev. ed. 2005.

Olive Pits and Alef-Bets: Notes on the Qeiyafa Ostracon

2010-03-14T19:59:00.001-04:00

There seems to be a general feeling that there is something about the Qeiyafa Ostracon that counts against a strong minimalist understanding of the history of the Israelite monarchy. I personally think that a strong minimalist position is highly unlikely even without the evidence of the ostracon, so evidence of this kind would not surprise me. Nevertheless it might be interesting, now that the ostracon has been officially published, to give it a brief assessment of its nature and significance.

One of the key tenets of a minimalist stance is that there is little evidence of a strong state in Israel from the 10th century BCE, the period when the United Monarchy is usually placed. Since Khirbet Qeiyafa is dated to the early 10th century BCE (based on the evidence of pottery and carbon-14 dating of olive pits at the site), this causes any finds from the site to have some bearing on the question of the situation in Judah at the time. Even without the ostracon, the fact that there was a strongly fortified town within the borders of ancient Judah at the time evinces some degree of organized building activity, suggestive of political unity. This is a point that the excavators themselves make.

Another trait of state centralization often said to be lacking during the crucial 10th century is literacy, or at least the evidence of a writing tradition in epigraphic artifacts. Here is where the ostracon comes in. The more the ostracon can be taken as evidence of literacy at some level, or as the product of a scribal culture, the more the idea of a centralized state and its educational system becomes probable. Can it be taken in this way?

The ostracon itself is hard to read because of the faded letters, and even the letters that are clear do not yield a connected text or even hint at a possible genre, at least in the readings contained in the official publication. (The interpretation of Gershon Galil, so far available only in a press release, seems to depend on restoring crucial letters or filling in key lacunae in a way that does not carry conviction.) Although the reading of Misgav and his associates agrees in several points with the alternate reading provided by Ada Yardeni, the two readings also diverge from each other in important ways, and neither reading is conducive to meaningful consecutive translation.

So what do we have?

(1) A text written from left-to-right. Although some may choose to withhold judgment at this point, the fact that the second line swerves upward at the right side of the ostracon confirms the general impression of left-to-right direction: a writer swerves upward when he runs out of room at the end of a line.

(2) A text written in the Old Canaanite form of the alphabet, the form that the letters took before (but more about this later) the evolution of national scripts. The closest analogue among previous discoveries is the Izbet Sartah Ostracon, also written left-to-right. But several of the Qeiyafa letters are still unidentified, and for others there are different opinions about their values. Even for those where there is agreement, there are some violent changes of letter stance within the text, which is more typical of earlier forms of this script but not of later (e.g. Izbet Sartah does not have the same variations in stance). My impression is that this would count against rather than for the idea that there was a widespread scribal culture: surely a guild of national scribes would regularize the letter shapes and stances?

(3) A text whose language, although North-West Semitic, is still undetermined. The key sequence of letters is the first five letters: אלתעש. This has plausibly been interpreted as Hebrew אל תעש, "do not do!" Among the NW Semitic languages, the verbal root עשה 'to do' is diagnostic of Hebrew (and its congeners, such as Moabite). Although HALOT gives a few other languages where the root may appear, in this location at this date, only Hebrew is a viable candidate, if the interpretation is correct.

However, the sequence may be interpreted otherwise, and I will come back to it. Other sequences that have been plausibly read are שפט, line 2, עבד, line 1, בעל, line 3, נקם, line 4, מלך, line 4, and possibly חרם, line 5. The roots give us no help for language identification, since all of them are attested throughout North-West Semitic (although נקם and שפט are less common in Aramaic). The lack of a clear text is a handicap, needless to say.

One key sequence is found at the end of line 4. Misgav et al. read the last few letters as יסד מלך גת, "YSD king of Gath," although the last letter is restored. Yardeni, however, reads it differently. Leaving the yod aside, the last five letters she reads as בדמלך. The letter she reads as bet Misgav et al. take as either samekh or ḥet. But the letter in question, although it does not look like the other bets of the text, does look like the bets of some other Old Canaanite texts. If Yardeni is correct, then this sequence is crucial, because בדמלך is a Phoenician name, Bōd-Milk, and the name element "Bod-" ("in the hand of") is not found in Hebrew.

If this is a Phoenician name, then we might explore, heuristically, whether the other readable sequences also suggest names. In line 1, we can take עבדא as Abda, a name attested in several Phoenician inscriptions (Benz 148), as is Bodmilk (Benz 75). The first three letters of line 2 are שפט and this can be taken as Shaphat, an extremely common Phoenician name (Benz 182-184). In Yardeni's reading, the sequence beginning line 3 is גרבעל which could be "Gerbaal," an attested Phoenician name (Benz 103). The letters נקמי in line 4, while not attested, could be a hypocoristic (shortened) form of a name with the verbal form naqam, "to avenge."

Finally, we may reconsider the form אלתעש in this light. The verbal root עוש has been identified in a number of Semitic names (including Biblical Yeush, Gen 36:5 and elsewhere). If the root does occur in the present sequence of letters, then we might take the letters אלת as the goddess Ilat; the name would mean "Ilat helps" or "Ilat, help!" Ilat is a component of some Phoenician names.

If the names are Phoenician, this might mean that the text is Phoenician, but it doesn't prove it. Phoenician names could be mentioned in a text of another language. But the text as a whole would have to be understood in a convincing way before this could be argued. Unfortunately, we are still far from understanding what kind of text the ostracon is overall.

(4) The most significant fact about the ostracon, in my view, is the date. If the dating of the level it was found in is correct – late 11th/early 10th century BCE – then the use of this Old Canaanite script is surprising. Within a century or less of the ostracon's writing, another inscription would be made in ancient Israel of a very different sort. I refer to the Tell Zayit abecedary, which dates at the latest to the late 10th century BCE. But unlike the Qeiyafa ostracon, the Tell Zayit text is written from right-to-left and already has many of the distinctive letter shapes that would characterize Hebrew inscriptions after that time. It is on the way to becoming the Hebrew national script. If any text by itself indicates the presence of a literate culture or scribal guild, it is not Qeiyafa, but Tell Zayit. The chronological gap between the two epigraphs is not very large, but the contrast is dramatic, and may indicate a correspondingly rapid dramatic change in the cultural situation in 10th century Judah. Was this change caused by the monarchy? That's too big a conclusion from this limited data, but the possibility is tantalizing.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Misgav, H., Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S., "The Ostracon." In Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S., Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1. Excavation Report 2007-2008 (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 2009), pp. 243-257; Yardeni, A. 2009. "Further Observations on the Ostracon." In Garfinkel, Y. and Ganor, S. Khirbet Qeiyafa Vol. 1. Excavation Report 2007-2008, pp. 259-260; Franz Benz, Personal Names in the Phoenician and Punic Inscriptions (Rome, 1972).

Is Sin in Aramaic a Commercial Term?

2010-02-11T13:12:00.001-05:00

I have not yet read Gary Anderson's Sin: A History, but Bruce Marshall, in discussing the book, attributes the following view to Anderson:

Before the Babylonian exile ... sin was sometimes described as a defiling stain but mainly as a burden to be borne. . . . Part of the reason all this changed after the Babylonian exile was linguistic. Aramaic became the primary tongue of the Persian Empire in which the Jewish people lived during the Second Temple period, and in Aramaic the language for religious transgression comes directly from the world of commerce. The word for a debt owed to a lender is the same as the word for a sin.

The Aramaic word that Anderson (or Marshall) refers to is ḥōb, which can indeed mean in many Aramaic dialects either a debt owed to a lender or a sin. However, this does not mean that Israel's view of sin changed because the nation adopted the Aramaic language.

1. The earliest occurrences of ḥōb in Aramaic sources – in this case, the Elephantine papyri – refer exclusively to commercial debt. The verbal/nominal root for "religious transgression" in the earliest sources is ḥṭʾ, as in Hebrew.

2. The single occurrence of ḥōb in the Hebrew Bible, in Ezek 18:7, also refers to commercial debt (apparently; the text is in some disorder). The post-exilic texts that Anderson (or Marshall) cite (Second Isaiah, Daniel) don't use the term (except Dan 1, which uses the verbal root metaphorically for "making something forfeit"). Therefore the Exile is not the key phase linguistically.

3. The use of the verbal root at Qumran does refer to religious transgression, but is not used very often either in Hebrew (CD 3:10, 4Q266, 4Q276 [?]) or in Aramaic (4Q534, 4Q537, 4Q550, 11QtgJob [2 or 3x]). (Note also the related word ḥōbā in 4Q162 [Hebrew] and 4Q534/4Q536, 4Q542 [Aramaic], which means guilt or obligation). The primary word in both languages is still ḥṭʾ (Hebrew and Aramaic), ʿwn (Hebrew), or pšʿ (Hebrew).

4. The great increase in the attested uses of ḥōb for "religious transgression" happens after the Second Temple period in both Hebrew (see the Mishnah) and in Aramaic (see Targum Onkelos). It is also used in these sources to refer to non-religious obligations or duties.

I infer from these facts that the Babylonian exiles did not encounter a form of Aramaic that used a commercial term for religious transgression, leading to a change in the concept of sin. Instead, the change in the concept of sin occurred first and then the commercial term was gradually adopted to express it. This may have happened to some degree in Second Temple Judaism, but the sources don't suggest a big terminological change at this time.

In fact, the idea of debt and sin are necessarily related, whether terms from commerce are used or not. Sin is necessarily understood as something prohibited; and, if it occurs, there is an obligation to seek a remedy (forgiveness or expiation) if one is available or undergo punishment if not. In any case, something is owed. The semantics of religious obligation are thus very close to the semantics of commercial debt; in both cases, a duty exists to make up for a lack that one is responsible for. It is not surprising or wrong that eventually the language of financial debt should eventually be adopted to express religious or moral obligation. But the idea that Aramaic facilitated this process is incorrect.

I'm not sure that the other conclusions Anderson (via Marshall) draws from this are warranted, but my concern in this post is to establish the philological facts.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Bruce D. Marshall, "Treasures in Heaven," First Things (January 2010, no. 199), pp. 23-26.

Sixth Annual Ralphies

2009-12-14T19:40:00.003-05:00

The Ralphies. "Are they still around?" Yes, they are, VIrginia. And you get to read them.

Most of the year my mind was on my work, for a change, and therefore I kind of lost touch with the outside world – which, as far as I can tell, is not a bad thing. But still, no one can totally cut themselves off. So, without more ado, here are the awards for ...

Best TV Show: It's Lost, OK? Lost, Lost, Lost, Lost, Lost! Only one more year to go, and I expect it to be good. I also very much like Fringe, and Walter Bishop is my new role model.

Best Movie: Ummmmmm, didn't see many movies this year. I saw a couple of blockbusters – Harry Potter and (on DVD) Star Trek. Not bad, I guess, but not great. Am I getting too old for this fanboy stuff? Gee, I hope not. But the movie I liked best (although I think it dates to 2008) was Gran Torino.

Best Record: Oh gee, here's another category I've lost touch with. Most of what I hear is unsystematically gleaned from the radio, not from buying records or downloading tracks. Via the radio I have to admit I always tapped my toe, or some other appendage, whenever Katy Perry's "Hot n Cold" came on. Another guilty pleasure was John Mayer, whose "Gravity" I first heard on an episode of House, loved it, and then was red-faced when I found out it was the work of that poseur. But the Ralphie goes to the recordings of a Washington state bluegrass group, Molly & Tenbrooks. Highly recommended.

Best Non-FIction Book: I read a ton of stuff for work, but I don't know what to pick out of that stack for higher praise than anything else. So this will have to lie fallow this year.

Best Fiction Book: Not a lot of new stuff came through; this year, the pleasure reading mostly was confined to old favorites. In London I bought a paperback copy of Stephen King's Under the Dome, which reinforced my impression that, although King knows how to start a story, he doesn't know how to end one. No, the best fiction book I read, though it was not new, was The Annotated Innocence of Father Brown, by G. K. Chesterton, with notes by Martin Gardner. Although Gardner is not completely in sympathy with Chesterton's worldview, he does provide a lot of interesting information in his annotations.

Best Blog: I just wanted to tip my hat to a blog that everyone who is interested in Hebrew studies should read regularly, John Hobbins's Ancient Hebrew Poetry. I bet this guy preaches some interesting sermons.

OK, boys and girls! That's it for this year! Be very, very good and there will be more Ralphies in the years to come!

Poetic Tenses (cont.): Hidden Preterites and False Preterites

2009-11-01T21:26:00.001-05:00

1. As I noted previously, the SC2 can appear in poetry without the waw which usually accompanies it in prose. The same is true (and this is more widely accepted) of the PC2, which can appear in poetry as the type wayyiqtol, as in prose, or simply as yiqtol. Examples are ready to hand, such as Ps. 24:2, כי הוא על ימים יסדה || ועל נהרות יכוננה , "for he founded it (the earth) on the seas, and made it firm on the rivers." The past orientation is clear from the context, which deals with the creation of the earth. Other examples are Deut 32:10-13, Ps. 18: 4-19; etc. (There is an excellent post here on this very verse, with stimulating discussion in the comments.)

Another example, precisely of the same sort, is found in Ps. 78:58: ‏‏ויכעיסוהו בבמותם ובפסילים יקניאוהו. "They angered him with their high places, and with their images made him jealous." Only the most captious or over-subtle interpreter could find a difference in the time reference of the two verbs here.

2. More controversial are examples of the opposite kind, in which verbs vocalized as preterites (PC2) must be understood as PC1 (imperfect) or jussive (PC3). This entails a rejection of the Masoretic vocalization, but the overall implicature of the poem, along with lexical and syntactical cues – in short, the context – make such a move necessary in many cases. An example is Ps. 94:23: ‏‏וישב עליהם את אונם וברעתם יצמיתם. "May he turn against them their sin, and destroy them for their evil."

In this case, the first verb wayyashev must be understood as PC3, not PC2. The LXX translates both verbs in the future tense (see the BHS apparatus). Another example is Ps. 29:9, where ‏וַיֶּחֱשֹׂף must be understood as PC1, in accordance with the sense and form of the verb ‏יְחוֹלֵל in the previous line. Here also the LXX translates the first verb as present participle, the second as future; note also that the targum translates both by participles.

To sum up: in Biblical Hebrew poetry, the form known as wayyiqtol (preterite) in prose can be simply yiqtol in poetry, but still a preterite. On the other hand, forms that the Masoretic text presents as wayyiqtol preterites must sometimes be understood from the context to be imperfect or jussive with conjunctive waw (and therefore the MT must be vocalized differently).

I think these principles are fairly uncontroversial. I'll try to get to more debatable ones (e.g., the prophetic perfect) sometime in the near future. In the meantime, comments are welcome.

Toward a Theory of Hebrew Poetic Tenses

2009-10-25T12:56:00.001-04:00

A simplistic take of the Hebrew verbal system is that there are two conjugations, the prefix-conjugation (or imperfect), or PC, and the suffix-conjugation (or perfect), or SC. Formally, this is not far from the truth, but it is generally recognized now that there are actually three different PCs: the imperfect (PC1), the preterite (PC2) and the jussive-cohortative (PC3). All of these have diverse historical origins. Although formally they often fall together in Biblical Hebrew, occasional differences in morphological form are discernible between these three.

There are also two kinds of SC: the perfect (SC1) and a second form (SC2) sometimes called the "converted perfect," or just we-qatal (because in prose the SC2 is usually preceded by the conjunction ו). My impression is that the SC2 is currently the most discussed of these forms. Although SC1 and SC2 may have the same historical origin, they function synchronically in different ways, and should always be distinguished.

The workings of these five conjugations is pretty well understood now in prose texts: PC1 for future, general present, modal, or past habitual; PC2 for narrative past; PC3 for volitional mood. SC1 is also used for past tense when narrative sequence is not in view, while SC2 is used in the same way as PC1 with the added feature of sequentiality. There are various fine-tunings of all these functions, but the broad outlines are agreed upon.

As I said, this picture is valid for prose only. When it comes to Hebrew poetry, the outline is not so clear. Various conjugations appear in neighboring poetic lines without clear difference in function. PC1 appears to sometime be used for the past, SC1 for the future. Plus "odd" uses of SC1, such as the precative perfect or the prophetic perfect, are claimed to appear in poetry.

Without going into the whole history of discussion, I propose that Hebrew poetry is more like prose than usually thought, but with the difference that word order is variable and the usual conjunctive particles that in prose differentiate the conjugations are either absent or replaced with different particles. More particularly, I think that the "odd" uses of the SC1 are often actually "normal" uses of SC2. The reason this has been hard to notice is because usually SC2 in prose occurs with the conjunction ו, but in poetry the ו is optional. In other words, in poetry you can have the וקטל without the ו. This accounts for some anomalies in Hebrew poetry.

For instance, in Ps. 23, all the finite verbs are PC1 except for v. 5, ‏dishanta. (The questionable form veshavti in v. 6 I leave out). Although dishanta is SC, it is almost always translated in accordance with the presumed general present tense of the other verbs: "thou anointest (my head with oil)." Here it makes most sense to take this SC as SC2, continuing the tense of the PC1. In prose, the line would read as follows: תערך שלחן -- ודשנת בשמן וגו , "you prepare a table ... and anoint with oil," etc.

Another example is from Ps. 11:2: הרשעים ידרכון קשת כוננו חצם , "the wicked string the bow, they set their arrow (on the string)."** Most English translations again use the general present for both verbs, although the first is PC1 and the second is SC. In prose, the second verb would be וכוננו , "and then they set," etc. It is SC2, not SC1.

The picture is complicated, of course, by the fact that SC1 is also used in poetry, both in a past sense and, depending on the Aktionsart of the verb, as a present. Plus it should be asked whether there was some kind of suprasegmental differentiation (such as stress accent) between SC1 and SC2 in poetry. In a future post, time permitting, I might go into these issues and also the question of the prophetic perfect and the precative perfect as poetic usages of SC2, but this necessarily brief survey gives the general idea. Comments and reactions are welcome.

**Many translations obscure the fact that the idiom דרך קשת means "to string the bow" (by stepping on one end and bending the other end down to attach the string), not "to bend the bow (for shooting)." Hence stringing has to precede setting the arrow, and the second verb cannot be taken as past or as conceptually prior to bending.

A Note on the Translation of Gen 3:15

2009-09-28T13:04:00.002-04:00

A Roman Catholic deacon, in a talk I heard yesterday, asserted that the usual English translations of Gen 3:15b, "He/it shall bruise your head," are mistaken. The proper translation, he said, was "she shall bruise your head," and refers allegorically to the Virgin Mary.

I checked this when I got home and the Hebrew clearly says הוא ישופך ראש, "he/it will bruise your head." Whence the good deacon's assertion? The Septuagint also clearly uses the masculine form. But the Vulgate says ipsa conteret, "she will bruise." A little research turned up a boatload of comment on this reading (a controversy of which I had been until yesterday completely unaware). The RC Douay Rheims translation follows this reading. However, the Nova Vulgata, the revised Latin version authorized by the Vatican now reads ipsum conteret, "it will bruise." This is no doubt correct in terms of the original text; nor can I believe that St. Jerome's original translation of the Hebraica veritas was anything but ipsum.

What amazed me in the literature was the fierceness of the opposing sides. Apparently in a previous age, up to the 19th century, the question of Gen 3:15 seemed to both RC and Protestant to involve crucial questions, and that to retreat amounted to surrendering a key point. But there could only be one outcome to the debate, and the RC church has accepted it, recognizing, I think, that its claims about Mary are not really at risk in the question of the translation of this verse. Nevertheless, I can tell you that at some levels, among the laity, the old debate is still very much alive.

UPDATE: Translation of ipsum corrected to neuter, with thanks to Scott Johnson.

Apposition in Biblical Hebrew

2009-09-25T16:32:00.001-04:00

I've been going through Waltke and O'Connor's Intro to Biblical Hebrew Syntax with some students, giving it a detailed read and appraisal. It's been tremendously influential and is without question a magisterial work. However, I must admit I'm not wholly sold on everything in it.

An example is the treatment of apposition (Chapter 12). Apposition is described as a "sequence of nouns ... with the same syntactic function and agreement and with comparable reference" (p. 226). This is not very clear, as W&OC seem to recognize. I want to discuss a different set of criteria, without discussing all the details of the chapter.

The appositive phrase is basically of the structure N1 N2. This is similar to the structure of the construct phrase, but in the construct phrase the N2 cannot be omitted without disturbing the phrase structure. In apposition N2 can be dropped and the phrase structure is left intact. For instance in the construct phrase nehar Perat, "the river Euphrates", while notionally appositional, is syntactically a construct phrase and Perat cannot be omitted leaving only nehar. But in the phrase ha-melek Dawid, "king David," Dawid could be omitted leaving ha-melek to function as a one member noun phrase. So the first test is omission of N2.

The omission test doesn't work against adjectival phrases however. In the phrase N-Adj, Adj could be dropped, just like N2 in the appositional phrase, e.g., ish tov, "a good man" could be pared to just ish. We could say that tov has a "distinct sort of reference" (W&OC 12.1c) as an adjective, but not every word used attributively in Biblical Hebrew is morphologically an adjective, e.g., ish yoshev ba-bayit, "a man dwelling in the house," where Adj = participle + prepositional phrase.

In fact, it is not easy to find further tests to differentiate appositional phrases from adjectival, but I propose two possibilities. One is the reversibility test. One could conceivably reverse the order of N1 and N2 in apposition, e.g., ha-melek Dawid = Dawid ha-melek. One could not similarly reverse ish tov into *tov ish. Thus the adjectival phrase shares with the construct phrase the trait of irreversibility.

However, I am not sure this works all the time. My intuition (as well as W&OC) tells me that ishah almanah "woman, widow" in Hebrew is apposition, but it is not reversible. One could not say, I don't think, *almanah ishah just as well as ishah almanah. Perhaps this means we should actually understand this phrase and others like it as adjectival modification, and not apposition.

Another possible test is the repetition of the preposition test (or: "rep of prep"). In apposition, a governing preposition may be repeated before N1 and N2, e.g., livni le-Yitzxaq, "to my son, to Isaac" (Gen 24:4). The same could not happen in the adjectival phrase, e.g., ha-ish ha-tov "the good man" cannot become *la-ish la-tov "to the good man." But as W&OC point out (12.3f), the preposition or other particle is not repeated in apposition if N1 is a proper name. It is not clear why this is.

In any case, I think it is clear that some of the further cases mentioned by W&OC, e.g., shloshah banim, "3 sons," cannot possibly be apposition. The relation between numeral (or other quantifier) and the quantified noun does not meet any set of criteria for apposition, including W&OC's. Further discussion of quantifiers will have to wait, however. For now, I'd be interested in hearing comments about apposition.

Teaching Aramaic: Diachronic or Synchronic?

2009-09-07T14:01:00.001-04:00

This note is more jottings for my own benefit --a form of thinking out loud -- than a fully considered proposal. Comments from scholars are welcome.

In teaching introductory Aramaic, the decision has to be made whether a synchronic or diachronic approach is to be used. The textbook I currently use (an unpublished text by another scholar) uses the synchronic approach, with the Aramaic of Targum Onkelos as the beginning dialect.

For a certain class of nouns, the synchronic approach leads to certain problems. Consider the two words gabra "man" and nahra "river." Although they are alike on the surface, a diachronic approach would discern historical etymons of a different shape, namely [gabr] and [nahar]. Because of differing processes of historical change, these forms have a similar outcome. Because of changes affecting monosyllablic nouns ending in a consonant cluster, [gabr] becames at a certain point [gabar] (with anaptyxis), and then [gbar] (with pretonic short vowel reduction in open syllables), although the base form for suffixes remains [gabr]. On the other hand, [nahar] was bisyllabic from the beginning, and only underwent the vowel reduction yielding [nhar] for the absolute, while the base form for suffixes also underwent vowel reduction, yielding [nahr-] out of [nahar].

But in the synchronic approach, is there any reason to posit different historical base forms? Can one come up with a set of rules that generates all the relevant forms, both absolute and determined, without appeal to historical forms?

Let's propose for both forms the underlying base forms [gabr, nahr]. The next rule would be:
A. CVCC bases must be changed to CVCVC in free-standing forms. This gives us [gabar, nahar]

Next rule:
B. Short vowels in open unstressed syllables reduce to shewa or zero. This gives us [gbar, nhar].

One could even reduce it to one rule, as follows:
A'. CVCC bases must be changed to CCVC in free-standing forms.

Does this work? Let's try it on two more nouns: sipra "book" and zimna "time."
A'. The rule rewrites [sipr, zimn] as [spar, zman]. These are the correct absolute forms.

But the rule should probably specify that the vowel in the rewritten form has to be /a/.
A''. CVCC bases must be changed to CCaC in free-standing forms.

Does this work? Let's try two more, malka "king" and laxma "bread." Application of A'' should yield [mlak, lxam]. However, these forms are not correct. The absolute forms are [málak, lxem]. Now what?

For malka, there has to be another rule modification, namely
A'''. CVCC bases must be changed to CCaC in free-standing forms, or else to CáCaC.

For laxma, the rule needs a further modification, namely
A'''''. CVCC bases must be changed to CCaC or CCeC or CáCaC in free-standing forms.

This rule might cover most forms. However, the rule has to be understood as predicting the parameters of possible lexical surface forms, and not as generating forms on its own.

I'm starting to think that the diachronic approach might just as well be introduced at this point. For instance, the diachronic approach will predict correctly that historical CVCC bases can become CáCaC or CCaC or CCeC, while historical CVCVC bases will become only CCaC or CCeC. This seems like a useful distinction to make.

Of course, this doesn't even start to deal with the question of spirantization. Maybe I'll deal with that in the next post.

More Dylan Thefts, II: Rollins, Pynchon, Hemingway, etc.

2009-08-12T14:36:00.001-04:00

A while back I reported on some passages of other authors that Bob Dylan had re-used in Chronicles. I've continued to find more, as have others, especially the indefatigable Scott Warmuth.

Some of the more interesting borrowings I've found are the following:

The Portable Henry Rollins (1998), p. 131:
"Roads full of debris and sadness, old music shifting on the radio. The smell of gasoline on my hands."

Chronicles, p. 74:
"Radio sounds came shifting out of cafes. Snowy streets full of debris, sadness, the smell of gasoline."

Hemingway, "The Battler," The Nick Adams Stories:
"Nick saw that his face was misshapen. His nose was sunken, his eyes were slits, he had queer-shaped lips. Nick did not perceive this all at once; he only saw the man's face was queerly formed and mutilated. It was like putty in color."

Chronicles p. 75:
"His face was misshapen, looked queer formed, almost mutilated -- like putty in color."

Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow, p. 529
"...cast-iron flowers on spiral vine all painted white..."

Chronicles, p. 58:
"There were some iron flowers on a spiral vine painted white leaning in the corner"

Jack London, "The White Silence":
"All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege ...."

Chronicles, p. 96:
"When I hear Hank sing, all movement ceases. The slightest whisper seems sacrilege."

"The Yellow Claw", Sax Rohmer:
"Through the leaded panes of the window above the writing-table, swept a silver beam of moonlight."

Chronicles, p. 166:
"From the far end of the kitchen a silver beam of moonlight pierced through the leaded panes of the window illuminating the table."

Scott has also uncovered a lot of other interesting material, which I'll leave to him to write about.

There are two ways to take all this. One is to say that Dylan is alluding, not copying; paying tribute, not ripping off; and conceivably playing a game with his readers, daring them to find (as he knows they will) the various authors whose words he has creatively re-used. This is part of his genius. This is a perfectly respectable point of view. The second perspective, however, is the one that I favor, which is to be disappointed that Dylan's descriptions, narrations, and word choices are, much of the time, not his. It seems like lack of imagination, and maybe a little distrust of his own abilities, to say nothing of the questionable ethics.

But whatever you think, isn't it better to know what his method is? Chronicles, it's now becoming clear, is comprised of some authentic reminiscence and some fiction (I take it that the characters Ray, Chloe, and Sun Pie, to name a few, are fictional). Within this mixture, typically when he is reaching for an eloquent description of the physical setting, or of his own tangled thoughts, he uses the words of others, sometimes heavily rewritten, sometimes only lightly retouched. Plagiarism or collage? It's your choice.

This is to be distinguished from the use of sources for the purpose of information. Scott has demonstrated that Dylan used an issue of Time magazine for his portrait of the early '60's. It can also be demonstrated, for instance, that Dylan's information about Balzac (Chronicles, pp. 45-46) is derived from Graham Robb's Balzac: A Biography (1995). (What, you thought Bob knew Balzac personally?) Nothing problematic about any of that. I would have cited these sources, but I'm an egghead, and Bob is not.

More of this stuff will come out. Eventually the palimpsest that is Chronicles will be as full of marginal glosses as the Talmud. Like his method or not, it is interesting to see what the dude has been reading. And if we didn't like Bob, it wouldn't matter, right?

Little Walter, Bob Dylan, and the Two Sonny Boys

2009-07-30T13:35:00.003-04:00

Bob Dylan, in his autobiographical Chronicles, tells this story of Sonny Boy Williamson:

The only comment that I ever got [on my harmonica playing] was a few years later in John Lee Hooker's hotel room in Lower Broadway in New York City. Sonny Boy Williamson was there and he heard me playing, said, "Boy, you play too fast." [p. 257]

An interesting parallel is found in Blues with a Feeling: the Little Walter Story, by Tony Glover, Scott Dirks and Ward Gaines:

[Billy Boy Arnold] asked [Little Walter] if he knew Sonny Boy. Walter replied, "Yeah, I knew him. He was really good man, he was the best. He used to tell me 'you play too fast, you play too fast.' " [p. 89]

There are several possibilities here. One is that "Sonny Boy Williamson" really said that Little Walter and Bob Dylan played too fast and told them so. It is certainly true that the early Dylan occasionally played harmonica at a frantic, helter-skelter tempo.

On the other hand, since it is now clear that Chronicles contains generous helpings of fiction as well as fact, maybe Dylan appropriated this story to himself. It is a telling fact that the section in which Dylan's story occurs deals partly with Minnesota harpist Tony Glover, who is co-author of Blues with a Feeling. Also pointing to the fictional character of the story is the fact that the Little Walter anecdote refers to the first Sonny Boy Williamson, who died in 1948. Dylan's anecdote has to refer to Sonny Boy Williamson II, who died in 1965.

Therefore if both stories are true, then Sonny Boy I told Little Walter that he played too fast, and Sonny Boy II told Dylan that he played too fast. This is certainly possible. But I have to favor the idea that, given other evidence of Dylan's borrowing of sources, he also borrowed this one, without noticing that he assigned the saying to the wrong Sonny Boy.

Williamson on the Oxford Hebrew Bible Project

2009-07-12T18:27:00.001-04:00

I've been sort of planning to write a critique of the plans for the Oxford Hebrew Bible, and why I think the whole plan is misconceived; but H. G. M. Williamson beat me to it. Good, it saves me some time.

Saludos Lakers, Campeones Mundiales

2009-06-18T15:04:00.001-04:00

This is a rare post about sports. Those who know me know I'm a Lakers fan. I come by it honestly, living for 13 years in LA during the height of the Magic-Kareem era. Despite my travels since then, I've retained an allegiance to the purple & gold.

So I'm jazzed the Lakers won the NBA championship this year. I have to say, though, that any feelings for or against Kobe, so prominent in media coverage, had little to do with it. I love what Kobe does for the Lakers, I admire his abilities, and I root for him. But I don't find Kobe all that appealing as a person, and the style of his game doesn't galvanize me. When I was a kid we called players like Kobe "hot dogs," and it was not a compliment. Nowadays every above-average player is a hot dog, and the league is the worse for it.

So these days I'm actually more interested in two other kinds of players. One is the non-hot-dog, the guy who plays (seemingly) without arrogance but with excellence. My two favorite non-hot-dogs -- let's call them hamburgers -- my two favorite hamburgers are Lamar Odom and Pau Gasol. It's always good to see hamburgers get rings.

The second kind I like is the big man. My heart has always been with the big men of the Association. The first team I ever loved and rooted for in the NBA was the Philadelphia 76ers of 1967, with Billy Cunningham, Hal Greer, Matt Guokas, coach Alex Hannum, etc. -- but mainly, if you were a kid like me, you noticed Wilt Chamberlain, freakishly large, a man among boys. Kids like the big men for the same reason they like dinosaurs, and if you need any further explanation, then you don't get it. I've never grown out of this, and my favorite players have been the giants, like Wilt, Kareem, Shaq, Yao, even Rik Smits, Ralph Sampson, Manute Bol, Shawn Bradley. I want to see them succeed and amaze me while they're doing it. (No, Dwight Howard isn't in this category. He's just not tall enough. Good player, though.)

On the Lakers, there's only one big who fits in this superhuman category, and that's Andrew Bynum. He's shown flashes of greatness, but he's been hampered by injuries. But he's the guy that really interests me. I hope that the Lakers make it back to the Finals next year, with Bynum performing superhuman feats of dunking and blocking, helped by a couple of hamburgers and, OK, maybe the one hot dog.

Bob Dylan, Young Thief

2009-05-20T14:09:00.001-04:00

Looks like Bob Dylan got an early start "borrowing" lyrics, according to this. His career winds down as it began, passing off the words of others as his own.

"Lost": The Godgame Returns

2009-05-14T11:41:00.001-04:00

A while back, I wrote about "Lost as Godgame." After watching last night's season finale, I think I was right, although possibly there are two godgames going on.

We met Jacob last night, the white figure (and therefore good guy), and his nemesis, dressed in black. Let us call him Esau, although Seth (nemesis of Osiris) would be quite as suitable. I think everything that has happened thus far is due to the manipulations of one of these two figures.

Some significant reveals of the finale:

Dead means dead. No one returns from the dead on the island. Therefore "Neo-Locke," as we discover, is a tool or meat puppet of Esau. When Neo-Locke told Richard Alpert to tell the real Locke that he had to die, this was a con of some kind. Esau needed Locke's corpse in order to con Ben and the Others.

This presumably means also that "Christian Shephard" is also a meat puppet or manifestation of Esau. (Note that Neo-Christian and Neo-Locke never appear on screen together.) Therefore everything "Christian" has said to anyone is a con of some kind. He doesn't speak for Jacob. Locke was not supposed to move the island or die. Jack wasn't supposed to come back.

If so, then Esau at the moment can only work through one kind of being: dead people: Christian Shephard, John Locke, Yemi, Alex Rousseau.

Since the Smoke Monster (through Alex) told Ben that he had to obey Neo-Locke, we have to assume that Smokey is also a manifestation (or perhaps is) Esau. Ben Linus's "judgment" was also a con. (Is there more than one Smokey? Is there a white Smokey, too?)

We saw Greek and Egyptian last night, and we heard some Latin. Would it have killed them to put some Aramaic in the show?

New Ancient Document

2009-05-10T14:22:00.001-04:00

This (HT: Paleojudaica) looks like it might be interesting. Kudos to the IAA for providing a hi-res photograph link.

The cursive script is hard to read. The beginning of the text, at least, is in Aramaic: בתרין עשר (on the 12th day) and then dated to לחרבן בית ישראל -- an unusual dating formula, to be sure ("after the destruction of the house of Israel"). However, I am told that the rest of the text is in Hebrew, and that it will be published in due course by Esti Eshel and Ada Yardeni.

IT'S "FREE REIN"

2009-04-15T18:40:00.001-04:00

Once again, I encountered the spelling "free reign" in a magazine. This is starting to happen a lot. NO. This is not correct. The correct spelling is free rein. Get it right or pay the price.

Easter

2009-04-12T09:09:00.001-04:00

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
It was as His body;
If the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
The Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers
each soft Spring recurrent;
It was not as his Spirit, in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of His eleven Apostles;
it was as His Flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that-pierced-died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendance;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time which will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.
-JOHN UPDIKE

Dylan Quellenforschung

2009-04-02T17:26:00.001-04:00

In advance of the new album, a track has been released from Bob Dylan's new album, "Beyond Here Lies Nothin'." It's a blues number that won't blow anyone's mind.

All the Dylanologists are saying, though, that it "sounds like 'Black Magic Woman'." That song, it will be remembered, was originally recorded by Fleetwood Mac, although the one everyone knows is the cover version by Santana.

However, in my opinion, the real template for the Dylan song is Otis Rush's "All Your Love," right down to the recurrent words "pretty baby." As with "Black Magic Woman," the more famous version is someone else's, in this case John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, with some absolutely scorching guitar licks from Eric Clapton. Give all of these a listen, and let me know what you think.

The Wheel in the Wind

2009-04-01T19:27:00.001-04:00

In Ps. 83:14, God is enjoined to make the wicked ‏kglgl, which the KJV translates as "like a wheel" (similarly LXX and Vulgate). Although the word glgl does mean "wheel," it makes little sense in context, and exegetes have generally seen in the Hebrew a reference to some other round thing that the wicked could intelligibly be compared to. Since in this verse glgl is compared to qash, straw, driven before the wind, and in Isa. 17:13 to motz , chaff, whipped up by the storm, many take glgl in these two verses to be a reference to a plant, Gundelia tournefortii, which, when dry, forms a kind of tumbleweed. (It is also an extraordinarily ugly plant.)

Although HALOT, in giving this information, refers us in the first instance to Gustav Dalman's Arbeit und Sitte in Palästina (1928-42), Dalman got his information from Immanuel Löw's Die Flora der Juden (1924; still a great reference tool). And where did Löw get it from? From the great 12th century commentator Rashi, who made the identification more than 900 years ago.

Most modern translations reflect this insight, such as NIV "make them like tumbleweed" and JPS "make them like thistledown." But it is surprising how many translate as "like the whirling dust" (ASV, NAS, NRSV), which is less apt. Possibly these translators were under the influence of the older lexicon BDB, which interprets this glgl as "whirl (of dust or chaff), sim. of foes put to flight by God."

I first noticed all this while reading through the 16th century Aramaic lexicon, Meturgeman, by Elias Levita. Levita, as expected, understands the word as does Rashi, glossing it as ‏פרח עשב שהוא מתגלגל, a plant growth that rolls. The citation he gives from the Psalms Targum is ‏היך גלגלא דמתגלגל ואזיל ניח במודרון, understood as "like a glgl, that keeps on rolling, coming to rest on a slope."

However, Levita's text differs from other Targum texts, which read ‏ולא ניח במודרון, "... and does not come to rest on a hillside." The second reading fits the context better, but the image as a whole is obscure to me. Does it mean the wind blows the weed without stopping, so that even when it comes to an obstacle it keeps on rolling? Or is it possible that the reference really is in this case to a wheel, so that we must understand it as "like a wheel that keeps on rolling and does not stop, down a slope"? The last translation is the one I gave in my Psalms Targum text; but now I am not sure. Anybody out there have any thoughts on the Aramaic?

New Dylan Album

2009-03-21T09:18:00.001-04:00

Bob Dylan has a new record coming out. Sounds like it could be interesting; supposedly a rock record, but with lots of accordion on it. Is it zydeco? I doubt it. The name of it is Together Through Life.

As for the previous record, Modern Times, the always alert Scott Warmuth has some Chaucerian observations.

Speaking

2009-03-10T23:22:00.001-04:00

I'll be speaking Monday at 5:15 pm at Catholic University on the topic "Recent Epigraphic Discoveries and their Bearing on the Origin of Christianity." The lecture is part of the Early Christian Seminar sponsored by the Center for the Study of Early Christianity and is open to the CUA community and invited guests. If any readers of "Ralph" are in the neighborhood and would like to come, let me know and I'll send you more info.

Song of the Week

2009-03-07T14:15:00.001-05:00

Come on
Step up
Jump around
Step in
Get up
Stay up
Get down
Come on
Jump in
Move around
Come on
Step up
Get up
Way up
Get down
All right

Raphael Golb Arrest

2009-03-06T15:42:00.001-05:00

Wow, this is a blockbuster that will have the community of Qumran scholars buzzing for months, if not longer. A vast quantity of relevant material has been collected by Bob Cargill here.

The sad thing about this scandal is not only the paranoia and vitriol on display in what was originally a scholarly dispute, but the tawdry and shoddy means used to propagate them. Incredible. The scholars who were the victims (particularly Cargill and Larry Schiffman) are to be congratulated for taking steps to bring this activity to an end, but it's a shame that their time had to be spent doing that instead of scholarship.

I'm just watching it all with disbelief from the sidelines. If I learn anything not available from other sources, I'll report it.

Linguistics Terms that Illustrate What They Mean

2009-03-04T19:33:00.001-05:00

I see that I haven't blogged the ENTIRE month of February, which is a new record of some kind of futility (or possibly: commitment to work outside of cyberspace. Take your pick.).

To get the ball rolling again, I shall submit a list of terms from linguistics that illustrate what they mean. The late Herb Paper and I cooked these up years ago over lunch (although "haplogy" already existed as a joke among linguists).

HAPLOGY < haplology

DITTOTOGRAPHY < dittography

SYNCPE < syncope

APOCOP < apocope

'PHAERESIS < aphaeresis

NANSALIZANTION < nasalization

ANAPATYXIS < anaptyxis

Book Fans Bid Updike Adieu

2009-01-27T19:16:00.001-05:00

Now John Updike is gone. Time was when I thought he was the greatest American writer of them all. I moved away from that, but I never read an Updike book that didn't have me shaking my head in wonder at his mastery of the language. Some of his phrases have stuck in my mind ever since I first encountered them: the hand in Couples that "showed cornute against the cruciform mullions." The Russian accent of a man trying to speak French who "sloshed in the galoshes of Russian zhushes" (from The Coup). In Roger's Version, the aftermath of intimacy when a man sees his ejaculate "glistening on her belly like an iota of lunar spit." He was a wordsmith without parallel.

He was also the last Barthian in an age when Protestantism either became evangelical or went liberal. My hat's off to him for that, even though I think it left him without sufficient resources to fight off secularism. But I loved it when he told an interviewer that, although he had doubts, he refused to make the "leap of unfaith." Hopefully, he now has his reward.

(BTW: I always thought that Updike wrote this sentence: "His breath smelled of (though no banquet would serve, because of the known redolence of onions, onions) onions." But on looking it up, I find that it was penned by Anthony Burgess. Live and learn.)

Top 100 Theology Blogs

2009-01-13T10:44:00.001-05:00

I'm amazed to have made this list, or any list other than "Long-Running Blogs with Under 50 Visitors a Day." But I'm too old to reject pleasant surprises. You'll find Ralph under the "History" heading.

Richard John Neuhaus

2009-01-08T19:16:00.001-05:00

Richard John Neuhaus has died. He was one of the great Christian voices in the US, from the 'sixties until now. His book The Naked Public Square (1984) played a big role in the formation of my thinking (such as it is) about Christian faith and public policy.

The obituaries will probably focus on his Catholic years, and probably rightly. But I don't want to forget a few things he did in his Lutheran days, either. One of them was to help convene the group that later issued the "Hartford Declaration: A Theological Affirmation." Its concerns are still valid today. Among the signatories, besides Neuhaus, were Peter Berger, Richard Mouw, Avery Dulles, Ralph McInerny, Lew Smedes, Robert Wilken, William Sloane Coffin, Stanley Hauerwas, and others — a veritable Who's Who of orthodox Christian theology in America.

Another was his book Time Toward Home (1975, now out of print), which rehabilitated the idea of American history and religion as a possible avenue of God's grace.

It was not long after TIme Toward Home came out that Neuhaus gave the Payton Lectures at Fuller Seminary while I was a student, and I met him briefly. I asked him some kind of convoluted question about resurrection and Pannenberg's theology, which he turned into some kind of sense and gave a thoughtful answer to. But in general he did not suffer fools gladly. He was an important advocate for the church, and we'll not see his like again. Recquiescat in pace.

Fifth Annual Ralphies

2008-12-11T18:59:00.001-05:00

Oh yeah, the Ralphies. Even more than last year, I have been out of touch with popular culture. In fact, since around August, when we moved to the DC area, I've been busy in the academic life and haven't bought a CD, gone to a movie, or read a ... no, actually, I've read plenty of books, so never mind that. I've also watched some TV. But generally I feel like I've been away.

And I haven't been blogging that much, either, and I've paid the price for that, in that very few people stop by here anymore. Such is life. But despite it all, I shall award Ralphies, as I do every year, for my own sake, if not for yours.

BEST MOVIE: As I say, I haven't seen a movie since the summer. I never got to see The Dark Knight (unlike every other living human) or Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D, which I really wanted to see. In fact, all I remember going to see was WALL*E and Hellboy II, both of them excellent. Since WALL*E is the politically correct choice in this politically correct year, I shall award the Ralphie to ... Hellboy II.

BEST RECORD: Uhhh .... I really haven't been listening to much music lately. Did I even buy a CD this year? If I did, I can't remember what it was. But I hereby choose to define "record" quite loosely, so I award the Ralphie to a melancholy song I downloaded that went to the top of my iTunes playlist: Pull of the Pint, by Bill Coleman.

BEST BOOK (FICTION): I had a couple of good reads this year. During the whole move (which was not a moving experience, if you get me), I beguiled the time by reading Stephen King's Dark Tower sequence, which I would recommend only if you are a big King fan already. Otherwise, skip it. I also enjoyed The Tin Roof Blowdown, by James Lee Burke. But I give the Ralphie to a book that I actually read last December too late for the 4th Ralphies: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, by Junot Diaz. Highly recommended.

BEST BOOK (NONFICTION): I've read a ton of non-fiction lately, but mainly in connection with my work, and none of those books are of recent vintage. I will award the Ralphie to a non-academic work, though, that gave me much to think about: James Martin's My Life with the Saints.

BEST TV SHOW: Lost is, and will continue to be, the TV show for me, and the 4th season was as great as ever. But it was cut short by the writers' strike and somehow it feels like the Ralphie should go to something that is around more. The Office is just not worth watching anymore, and The Simpsons is far gone from its glory days. I award the Ralphie this year to House, which is compulsively watchable, fun, thought-provoking, and on practically 5 nights a week in syndication. Can't beat that.

That's all, folks! Have a fantabulous Christmas and an ecstatic New Year! See you next year!

Post SBL 2008

2008-11-29T19:44:00.001-05:00

I haven't had time till just now to comment on the SBL 2008 in Boston; nor have I much to say this time around. I greatly enjoyed the various meals and meetings I had with friends and students, both planned and unplanned (especially the McGreevy's pub hilarity), but overall I'd have to say this meeting lacked some luster. Maybe it was the absence of the AAR, which made everything seem smaller, especially the book exhibits; maybe it was the unseasonably cold weather; maybe it was the chastened mood of an academy feeling the economic pinch; maybe it was just me. But Boston 2008 didn't knock my socks off.

I greatly enjoyed several papers, especially those of David Everson, Edward Goldman, Joe Zias, and my colleague Andrew Gross. My own paper, after being finished months ago, felt stale and unpolished to me, and I'm sorry I didn't do a better job of composition and execution. Hopefully it came off better to others than it seemed to me.

The nicest moment for me came when Sam Greengus told me at the Hebrew Union College luncheon, "We will always consider you a ben bayit." Thank you, and a blessing on HUC and its outstanding graduate studies program.

As for the new Zinjirli inscription, I may add a few updates to the post dealing with it; but in general I thought Prof. Pardee did an excellent job and he is to be thanked for putting this interesting inscription in front of the scholarly world so rapidly. The full philological treatment of the inscription will be published in BASOR within a year's time.

The New Zinjirli Inscription

2008-11-18T11:51:00.003-05:00

The new Zinjirli inscription is featured in a New York Times article, along with a good (but not quite clear enough) picture. I can make out a few phrases, but the resolution is not great enough for my eyes to transliterate the whole thing.

The picture features a man, probably Kittamuwa, the sponsor of the stele, sitting with a TV remote in one hand and a turkey drumstick in the other. Just kidding! I surmise that he is actually holding a pomegranate and some other foodstuff.

A partial translation from Dennis Pardee, with whatever bits of Samalian I can glean:

I Kuttamuwa, servant of [the king] Panamuwa (אנכ כתמו עבד פנמו), am the one who oversaw the production of this stele for myself while still living. I placed it (ושמת ותה) in an eternal chamber [?] and established a feast (חגג) at this chamber (יד זנ): a bull for [the god] Hadad (שור להדד), a ram for [the god] Shamash (יבל לשמש) and a ram for my soul that is in this stele (ויבל לנבשי זי
בנצב זנ).

Interesting to note is another occurrence of the definite object marker wt. The inscription may also throw light on the occurrence of ybl in the notoriously obscure line 21 in the Panamuwa inscription, which now seems to require interpretation as referring to sacrifice.

A few other phrases are readable; but why not wait for Pardee's definite treatment this weekend? I'm looking forward to it.

UPDATE (11/30/08): Pardee's presentation in Boston was a thorough and competent survey of the inscription. The word for "chamber" is syr or syd, not yd. I will deal with other aspects of the inscription at another time. I will further note that the text will no doubt inaugurate a discussion concerning aspects of the West Semitic cult of the dead due to the expression "my soul that is in this stele." As one scholar noted in Boston, this has to be connected to the use of the term nephesh for tombs at a much later time. It is also possible that the Kuttamuwa stele may have some relation to the so-called baityloi, also known from a later period, which were considered to house spirits or other numina; Philo of Byblos called them lithoi empsychoi, "stones with souls." Let the games begin.

A Note on Sirach 42:18b

2008-11-11T19:59:00.001-05:00

(Tristan, this post is for you.)

The Hebrew text of Ben Sira (Ecclesiasticus ) 42:18b, from the Masada manuscript, says of God ‏יׄביט אתיות עולם, "he sees from of old the things that are to come" (NRSV). The word אתיות is everywhere taken to be the feminine plural participle of the verb ‏אתי, "to come." This is a reasonable supposition since that form does occur in the Hebrew Bible, in Is 41:23; 44:7; 45:11. On the other hand, in the next verse a different word, ‏נהיות, is used for future events.

Nevertheless it occurred to me while reading the text with a seminar class today that an alternative understanding of the word might be "letters," understood as "elements." In post-Biblical Hebrew the word ‏אות "sign, letter" has two plural forms: ‏אותות when the meaning is "signs, miracles" and אתיות when the meaning is "letters."

If God is said to "see the letters of the world," what could that possibly mean? It might mean the same as the expression τὰ στοιχεῖα τοῦ κόσμου, "the elements of the world" used in Paul's letters; στοιχεῖα means not only "elements," but also "letters." It is possible that Hebrew "letters" could also mean "elements," and that Ben Sira's expression refers to the four elements, the building blocks of creation.

But also possible — if this reading is accepted — is the idea that the 'otiyyot `olam are the "eternal letters," the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet through which, according to later tradition, the world was created. This idea plays a role in the later Sepher Yezirah and in the thought of Kabbalah. I doubt that Ben Sira had a fully developed Kabbalistic concept in mind, but the intersection in meaning of Greek stoicheion and Hebrew 'ot may have worked on his strongly Torah-centric theology to influence his expression in this one verse, which in turn influenced or foreshadowed later developments.

Orthography of the High Priest Sarcophagus

2008-10-06T20:50:00.001-04:00

Jim Davila has directed us to the discovery of an inscription on a sarcophagus dating from the Second Temple period, which reads ‏בן הכהן הגדול, "son of the High Priest."

I will leave the historical analysis to others who are better qualified. What interests me are the orthographical minutiae. The main two words, kohen and gadol, both give the opportunity for the use of matres lectionis (consonants used as vowel letters). However, only one word has a mater, ‏גדול. This is consistent with the vast majority of its occurrences in the Masoretic Text of the Hebrew Bible.

The spelling of the other word, ‏כהן, without a mater, is also consistent with its spelling in the Masoretic Text, where it never appears with a mater. Not very interesting, I know. However, in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the largest collection of Second Temple Hebrew texts that we have, the word appears with a mater in the majority of cases (‏כוהן), as does ‏גדול. This is true for both words even of the biblical texts.

The Mishnah has the same orthography as the Masoretic text, but for the expression "High Priest," it uses the phrase without the definite article: ‏כהן גדול. The same is true of the Hasmonean coins, but this may be for reasons of space.

So of the three ancient forms of this title (Masoretic tradition, Qumran, Mishnaic/numismatic), the sarcophagus is aligned with the Masoretic tradition. As far as I know, this has no historical implications. I just think it's interesting.

The Jesus Bowl: Another Crock

2008-10-01T16:39:00.001-04:00

Well, this is all over the place. Once again, it does not seem to be as big a deal as everyone is saying.

(1) The bowl pretty clearly reads δια χρηστοu, "through Chrestos," not "Christ." Chrestos is a personal name, as well as an adjective meaning "decent" or "useful."

(2) If the bowl is dated from the 2nd century BCE to the early 1st century CE, it cannot in any case refer to Jesus Christ. The epithet Christ was not added to the name of Jesus of Nazareth until after the crucifixion, in the 30's of the first century. And Jesus of Nazareth did not exist in the 2nd or 1st century BCE (unless he was an infant in the closing years of the 1st century BCE, as seems probable).

Not visible in the photo are the words supposed to be "the magician": O GOISTAIS. I don't recognize this form; I know the word γοητής or γόης which can mean magician. I have no idea what GOISTAIS is supposed to be.

In short, this big story is something of a muddle. Perhaps some experts on Greek paleography and lexicography could weigh in. In the meantime, don't get too excited.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Magic and Magicians in the Greco-Roman World, by Matthew Dickie (Routledge, 2003).

Jailer, Gaoler ... Goaler?

2008-09-27T09:24:00.002-04:00

I was playing a little hooky yesterday from class preparation and reading a bit of Anthony Trollope's Barchester Towers. I came across the phrase "king, judge, or goaler." ("The temporal king, judge, or goaler, can work but on the body.") My first thought was that "goaler" was a typo for "gaoler," the British equivalent of "jailer," and I so emended the text in my mind.

My second thought was that maybe the reference was to some other function, and that perhaps I had been too hasty. So I looked in the online OED. Lo and behold, the spelling "goaler" was listed as one of the spelling variants of JAILOR, JAILER, GAOLER. A little more research via Google Print turned up a great many occurrences of the spelling GOALER with the meaning, and presumably the pronunciation of, "jailer." It goes back at least as far as variant readings in Shakespeare's Folios and seems to expire sometime in the late 19th century; Trollope was using a spelling that was on the way out.

Granted then the venerable pedigree of the spelling "goaler," does that make it any less of an error? Judging from the etymology of the word, the combination OA cannot be anything but a confused orthography for the more correct AO — and yet it was surprisingly popular and widespread.

From this I draw this lesson for textual studies, that it is necessary to distinguish between the proper ("correct") reading and the "correct" etymology. GOALER is the correct reading in Trollope, although the orthography is a poor representation (therefore "incorrect") of the pronunciation and the etymology of the word in general (which is why, no doubt, such a spelling gradually vanished in the presence of competing spellings).

Qal or Niph'al?

2008-09-21T10:12:00.003-04:00

In response to a student's question, I was led to look up the parsing of the form ‏יֵחַת in HALOT — the Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, now the standard lexicon for Biblical Hebrew (a revision of the older Koehler-Baumgartner lexicon). I was surprised to see that all of the forms of that type (the imperfect of the root ‏חתת) were taken to be from the Niph'al stem.

If you look at the same forms in BDB (Brown-Driver-Briggs), they are parsed, correctly in my opinion, as from the Qal stem. Now purely from the standpoint of morphology, either parsing is possible. Due to the accidents of accidence (so to speak) the same vocalization would be used in either case.

Nevertheless, if HALOT is correct, we would have the strange arrangement whereby the perfects of the root are in the Qal and the imperfects are in Niph'al (there are a few in Piel and Hiphil but they don't concern us). It is more sensible (and more economical) to assume that both perfect and imperfect forms are parsed as the Qal.

This assumption is strengthened when one notes that חתת is a stative verb, not an active verb (look at Jer. 50:2, for example), and the underlying Qal vocalization *yiqtal is standard for stative verbs. With geminate verbs, the vocalization יֵחַת is exactly what would be predicted. I have no idea why HALOT opted for the Niph'al in this case.

I don't suppose that anyone really thinks that HALOT is infallible, do they? If you do, then stop.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Among many grammatical treatments, see Waltke & O'Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax, §22.3j (p. 369).

RIP DFW

2008-09-14T08:43:00.001-04:00

Writer David Foster Wallace is dead. I will miss him.

All the newspapers are calling him "postmodern," which is true in kind of a chronological way, but he really didn't fit that whole ironic life-is-just-a-game-without-rules mold of the postmodern. More than any other modern writer (not that I know that much about modern writing), he tried to meld a contemporary sensibility with a commitment to values, or at least value-seeking, that is universal.

This old interview at Salon, after Infinite Jest came out, has a lot of insights. Some excerpts:

There's something particularly sad about [living in America today], something that doesn't have very much to do with physical circumstances, or the economy, or any of the stuff that gets talked about in the news. It's more like a stomach-level sadness. I see it in myself and my friends in different ways. It manifests itself as a kind of lostness. Whether it's unique to our generation I really don't know.

... I get the feeling that a lot of us, privileged Americans, as we enter our early 30s, have to find a way to put away childish things and confront stuff about spirituality and values. Probably the AA model isn't the only way to do it, but it seems to me to be one of the more vigorous.

... The idea that something so simple and, really, so aesthetically uninteresting [as not lying] -- which for me meant you pass over it for the interesting, complex stuff -- can actually be nourishing in a way that arch, meta, ironic, pomo stuff can't, that seems to me to be important. That seems to me like something our generation needs to feel.

There are certain contemporary writers or artists that one feels like are companions for the journey, and this is different than liking the old writers who are great and nourishing but dead long ago. They (the companions) make one feel not alone. And now DFW has gone, and we're a bit more alone than we were.

One last thing: his essays in books like Consider the Lobster and A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, are just incredibly funny. His description of the McCain 2000 campaign in Lobster (as well as his evisceration of John Updike in the same) just have to be read. Honor a great writer and go read 'em.

The Noise of Solemn Assemblies

2008-08-28T16:37:00.001-04:00

Today the inaugural Mass marking the beginning of the academic year at Catholic U. took place, the first event in which I marched in procession as a faculty member. I very much enjoy the pageantry of this sort of thing, to say nothing of the doxological aspect. I have a liking for the heraldry of the event, with all the faculty in doctoral robes from a hundred different universities, the procession of a hundred concelebrating priests, the monks and nuns, austere but distinctive in the habits of their several orders. It's like a meeting of the Justice League of America, combined with the Avengers, but holier.

Unfortunately my own finery was completely borrowed, since I do not own the UCLA regalia. The Office of the Provost made some spare robes available, and mine was a plain black thing, although with the requisite three stripes and front panels of the Philosophiae Doctor. However, I regret to say that my borrowed hood proclaimed me only a Master. I am determined by the next convocation to acquire (somehow) the attractive plumage of the over-educated Bruin. But dang: it's expensive.

Tell me, readers who are faculty — do you have your own regalia? How in the world did you afford it? And what is your favorite academic costume? Or: Who has the worst?

Catching Up

2008-08-16T09:41:00.001-04:00

Sorry I've been gone so long (sounds like a Dylan song). I've been moving across 3 states and doing all the things that that entails, as well as organizing some classes for the fall. I hope to check in a little bit more often into the blogosphere.

There have been a lot of interesting things going on out there. Some of the most interesting are these:

A new Zincirli inscription. Of all the recent discoveries, this one looks like the most interesting. I look forward to Pardee's presentation in Boston. Save me a seat.

A new seal.

More discussion on the Vision of Gabriel — more than I have time to summarize. However, I gather that the crux of Israel Knohl's philological argument is reading a certain word in line 80 as ‏חאיה, and understanding it as the Qal imperative of the root ‏חיי, translated "live!" But we would not normally expect aleph to serve as a mater lectionis for a reduced or zero vowel, which is what we would expect in the first syllable. It seems pretty far-fetched to me. You have one scholar arguing on the basis of a disputed reading for a philologically unlikely verb found in an inscription of questionable provenance. I think Christianity is safe.

On the non-philological front, Adam Gopnik has written a very good article on G. K. Chesterton in The New Yorker. Unfortunately only the abstract is available on-line. There are any number of things I might take issue with Gopnik here, but in one case I think he is (regrettably) dead right, and that is the issue of Chesterton's anti-Semitism. I don't think any objective reader, even one who loves GKC (as I do), could deny that he was anti-Semitic. This doesn't mar every one of his books (here I disagree with Gopnik), and the great ones, like Orthodoxy, are free of it. But no one can read, say, The New Jerusalem, without being saddened by the vile things he occasionally uttered. For this reason, a defense such as this one at Ignatius Press Insight, is misconceived.

The Vision of Gabriel

2008-07-07T06:52:00.001-04:00

The so-called "Vision of Gabriel" (background from Paleojudaica here) has begun to attract the attention of the mainstream press. Instead of repeating the usual complaints about how the mainstream press doesn't do their homework and tends to exaggerate or misconstrue the true significance of an ancient text, let us take them as read and move on.

The excitement of the press apparently has to do with the supposed relevance of the text as background to early Christian doctrine about the death of Christ and his resurrection on the third day. This is from the wire service story:

Israel Knohl, Professor of Biblical Studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, says one line of the text tells the 'prince of princes' slain by the evil government, 'in three days you shall live'.

He suggests the story refers to the death of a Jewish prince called Simon who led a revolt against King Herod.

Daniel Boyarin, of the University of California at Berkeley, said that there was growing evidence suggesting that Jesus could be best understood through a close reading of the Jewish history of his day.

'Some Christians will find it shocking - a challenge to the uniqueness of their theology, while others will be comforted by the idea of it being a traditional part of Judaism,' he said.

Now I haven't read anything scholars have written about this text other than the article in Cathedra by Yardeni & Elitzur, which also contains a photo and a transcription. However, just based on reading the transcription of the text itself, I confess I can't see much of anything that might give rise to the remarks quoted in the press.

The text is very lacunose and very obscure, and there are only a few groups of lines together that allow a connected translation. Although the phrase "after three days" occurs more than once, only one of them occurs in a chunk of connected text (lines 15-26; the x's represent illegible text):

... one, two, three, forty prophets and sages and pious men. My servant David sought from Ephraim [xx] The sign I am seeking from you. For YHWH Sabaoth, God of Israel [xxx xxx] holiness for Israel. After three days you shall know that YHWH God Sabaoth, God of Israel has said it. Evil is broken from before righteousness. Ask me and I will tell you what this evil(?) Branch [unclear] you are standing. The angel is as your support for Torah. Blessed be the glory of YHWH God from his dwelling place. It is yet only a very little while and I shall shake the heavens and the earth. Behold, the glory of YHWH God Sabaoth, God of Israel — these are the seven chariots by the gate of Jerusalem and the gates of Judah ...

(The expression "three days" also occurs in line 54 and line 80 in fragmentary contexts.) Clearly the text will require a good bit more of collaborative analysis before its purpose and nature are clarified. But in this chunk at least, nothing is stated about resurrection or the Messiah. The mention of "the Branch" (tzemach, lines 21-22) could easily have a messianic connotation, but the fact that it is evil (if the reading is correct) argues that "this evil plant" is a more apt translation.

The lines that Israel Knohl refers to are apparently lines 80-81, which I would translate as follows:

... within three days [...] I am Gabriel [...] prince of princes [...] windows(?) of enemies [...]

The "prince of princes," if not Gabriel himself, may be a reference to the archangel Michael or to God, as in Dan 8:25. Obviously Knohl's reading or restoration of the text is extremely hypothetical.

There are throughout the text some clear references to post-exilic prophetic literature, such as the allusion to Haggai 2:6 in the paragraph quoted above. In line 75, there is a mention of "three shepherds [who] went forth for Israel," probably an allusion to Zechariah 11:8. My guess is that the text has something to do with an interpretation or re-contextualization of these prophetic scriptures. I certainly do not see anything directly relevant to early Christian beliefs about the death and resurrection of Jesus.

I breathe again.

2008-06-26T10:37:00.001-04:00

Just a note to let my readers know that next month I'll be moving to DC to take up a post at the Catholic University of America, Department of Semitics, as Associate Professor. I'm looking forward to it.

Goodbye, cubicle, hello, office. Some words from Wordsworth seem apposite:

I breathe again!
Trances of thought and mountings of the mind
Come fast upon me: it is shaken off,
That burthen of my own unnatural self,
The heavy weight of many a weary day
Not mine, and such as were not made for me.

UPDATE: Many, many thanks to those of you who have left comments and sent emails of congratulation. I'm overwhelmed and humbled. See you all in Boston this November!

CB: Drop in for a cuppa anytime. Mike H.: Email me and let me know what you're up to.

The Lost Finale: Welcome Home

2008-06-04T16:17:00.001-04:00

One more little thing I noticed, that gives added credence to the idea that the Lost writers really are planning ahead (I think): It was actually a pretty moving scene in the finale when Richard Alpert greets John Locke, the new leader of the Others, with "Welcome home," which links up to the title of the finale: There's No Place Like Home.

But it also links up with one of Locke's previous jobs, as owner of the Welcome Home Professional Home Inspections Company. That was established back in the Season 2 episode "Lockdown." Coincidence? Ha!

The Lost Finale: We Got Wormhole

2008-05-30T12:06:00.001-04:00

Among the many factors that made the season finale of Lost so fascinating was the mention on the Orchid orientation video of "a pocket of negatively charged exotic matter." As every schoolboy knows, NCEM is the crucial ingredient needed to stabilize a wormhole and make it traversable. And traversing a wormhole can enable time travel as well as space travel.

So that's one mystery solved; the Island uses wormhole technology for its jaunts around the space-time continuum. Although I'm really hoping that Ben's stunt with the donkey wheel didn't put the whole Island in the desert (or on another planet).

More Terrific Scholarship From Me

2008-05-23T20:22:00.001-04:00

I see (HT: Awilum.com) that an article of mine from a while back, "4Q246," is available in several formats from the Institute for Biblical Research website. If you're really interested, you can also read John Collins' article attacking my conclusions. Both were originally published in the Bulletin for Biblical Research.

4Q246 is the fragment that mentions the "son of God." One of these days I plan to rebut JC's refutation (or refute his rebuttal). I'll post the information here when I do.

My New Book

2008-05-09T17:04:00.004-04:00

I'm pleased to announce the forthcoming publication of A Glossary of Targum Onkelos. Enjoy. It's amazing what you can get done if you don't blog.

Makes a great Mother's Day gift!

Book Reports

2008-05-04T10:28:00.001-04:00

Thanks to readers' suggestions, I have a book list for the next several months. I just finished reading Eifelheim, by Michael Flynn, and it's a good one. The plot basically is "Aliens land in 14th century Germany," although that doesn't begin to convey the depth of the book. I don't know anything about the author, but he appears to be well-informed about both contemporary physics and medieval philosophy and theology. I imagine this is a rare combination. Depth of religious feeling is unusual in sci-fi and Eifelheim compares well in this respect with the gold standard of Walter Miller's Canticle for Leibowitz.

I'm not sure what's next on the list; depends on when I can get to the library next. In the meantime, I'm reading whatever I can find in the house. I re-read Alan Garner's Elidor, which was fine, but too short. Right now I'm in the middle of Horace Walpole's Castle of Otranto. Most of what I know about HW is based on Macaulay, who basically considered Walpole a boob. The Castle, unfortunately, will not change that opinion. Stylistically and narratively, it is a mess, and finds readers today only by virtue of being the first gothic novel.

It's interesting that "taproot texts" like this are often so unreadable to moderns. I also find Mary Shelley's Frankenstein pretty lame, and only of historical interest. On the other hand, Bram Stoker's Dracula is still a good read today and fully the equal (or superior) of Stephen King and his ilk.

Earthquake

2008-04-18T07:22:00.001-04:00

The news around here is the earthquake. It wasn't a jolt, not particularly scary, but I definitely felt it, as I lay in bed this morning. "That's an earthquake. Huh."

I lived in southern California for 13 years, and have been through smaller quakes and bigger ones, including the Whittier Quake of 1987. But around here, where earthquakes are rare, it's really big news. The local morning TV shows are all geeked up with you-are-there camera coverage. There's not much to cover. No damage in this area as far as I can tell. Didn't even alarm the dogs. But I hope the New Madrid fault is not feeling restless; buildings in the Midwest are not built with earthquakes in mind.

Recommend a Fantasy Book

2008-04-07T19:25:00.001-04:00

To relax, I like to read genre fiction, especially mysteries and sci-fi/fantasy. It's been almost all mysteries and crime fiction the last few months, and I'm getting tired of that genre. It's time for some fantasy.

However, I don't know exactly what to read next. So I would like to ask my handful of faithful readers for some recommendations on some good fantasy I should read. I've read all the obvious ones, all the big names. What little-known masterpiece would you guys recommend?

UPDATE (4/18): Many thanks to you all for the suggestions. I've started reading Eifelheim, and I hope to get to the rest of the list in due course.

A Note on Psalm 139:18b

2008-03-25T14:08:00.001-04:00

I very much enjoyed the Easter message of Pope Benedict. I like this pope, and I like his gentle insistence on the link between faith and reason as the way forward, not only for Christianity, but for the world.

I was intrigued by his use of Psalm 139:18b (Ps. 138 in the LXX/Vulgate tradition) as a point of departure:

Resurrexi et adhuc tecum sum – I have risen, I am still with you, for ever. These words, taken from an ancient version of Psalm 138 (v. 18b), were sung at the beginning of today’s Mass. In them, at the rising of the Easter sun, the Church recognizes the voice of Jesus himself who, on rising from death, turns to the Father filled with gladness and love, and exclaims: My Father, here I am! I have risen, I am still with you, and so I shall be for ever; your Spirit never abandoned me. In this way we can also come to a new understanding of other passages from the psalm: “If I climb the heavens, you are there; if I descend into the underworld, you are there … Even darkness is not dark for you, and the night is as clear as day; for you, darkness is like light” (Ps 138:8,12).

This is as sensitive a modern exposition of the Christological sensus plenior as you could ask for; and I am increasingly convinced that this kind of exegesis is (and should) be making a comeback within the church.

But, being who I am, I am most interested in the textual question. The sentence resurrexi et adhuc tecum sum corresponds to ‏הקיצתי ועודי עמך in the Masoretic text, "I awoke and still I am with you." Resurrexi, "I rose again" is an interesting interpretation of the Hebrew "I awoke." In this case it is probably mediated via the Septuagint translation ἐξηγέρθην, which could be taken either as "I woke up" or "I rose up." In fact, even the Hebrew word (derived from the root ‏קיץ) could plausibly be connected with awaking from the sleep of death, as in Isa. 26:19, Jer. 51:39, Job 14:12, and Dan. 12:2. So resurrexi is not necessarily a far-fetched translation.

But whose translation is it? The text of the Easter Introit in the Mass at St. Peter's is derived from one of the oldest of the Latin translations of the Psalter, the Psalterium Romanum, which is St. Jerome's first revision of the Old Latin translation. In this case, resurrexi is probably left over from the Old Latin, and not from Jerome's revision. A later revision of Jerome's, the Psalterium Gallicanum, reads exsurrexi, which is more unambiguously "I rose/stood up" without the overtones of resurrection. His last version of the Psalter, rendered directly from the Hebrew (iuxta Hebraeos), reads evigilavi, "I woke up."

But many of today's translations read completely differently. For instance, the JPS translates, "I end — but am still with You." The NRSV has "I come to the end—I am still with you." In fact, the "Neo-Vulgate," sanctioned by the Vatican reads si ad finem pervenerim, adhuc sum tecum. This stems from a hypothesis that הקיצתי should be derived from a root ‏קצץ, "to come to an end" (see BHS and HALOT).

I must admit I don't agree with or even understand this hypothesis. For one thing, the proposed root is otherwise unattested in verbal form. Plus, none of the ancient versions understand the verb in this way. The whole context is as follows (from the NRSV):

I try to count them—they are more than the sand;
I come to the end—I am still with you.

"Them" refers to "God's thoughts," which v. 18a says are "more than the sand," i.e. literally innumerable. The modern emendation actually suggests that the psalmist can number God's thoughts, and come to the end of them. But surely this is against the whole tenor of the passage (and the psalm as a whole)?

The psalm as a whole is based on the idea of God's limitlessness. He is everywhere, and his thoughts exceed human comprehension. This couplet in that context has to mean this: (a) God's thoughts surpass human limitations; they cannot be counted; (b) God's presence is not conditioned by human weakness; the psalmist sleeps and then awakes, but God's presence does not waver and wane in the same way. "When I wake up, I am still with thee." Thus even the literal sense is not altogether foreign from Benedict's homiletical interpretation.

Easter Varia

2008-03-22T21:55:00.001-04:00

-- I was sorry to see that Paul Scofield died the other day. He portrayed, unforgettably, St. Thomas More in the 1966 film A Man For All Seasons, one of my favorite movies. More's indomitability in the face of persecution is still inspiring. One of the last of his public remarks didn't make it into the movie, and it shows the Christian temper of the man even at the last extremity. Just after he was condemned to death, he said to his judges:

"More have I not to say (my Lords) but like as the blessed Apostle St. Paul, as we read in the Acts of the Apostles, was present, and consented to the death of St. Stephen, and kept their clothes that stoned him to death, and yet be they now both twain holy saints in heaven, and shall continue there friends for ever, so I verily trust and shall therefore right heartily pray, that though your Lordships have now in earth been judges to my condemnation, we may yet hereafter in heaven merrily all meet together to our everlasting salvation."

-- Another of my favorite writers, as readers of the blog know, was C. S. Lewis. I'm always on the lookout for interesting books about Lewis, and Alan Jacobs's biography The Narnian (2005) caught my eye a few days ago. Unfortunately, I can't recommend it. There are no new facts or insights in the book, and in truth Jacobs does not seem to have any great appreciation for Lewis. I was a little taken aback when Jacobs referred to Lewis's friend Charles Williams (another favorite of mine) as "creepy," and I decided to stop reading altogether when Jacobs called Perelandra "unreadable." Don't waste your time on this book.

-- I have many reasons this Easter season to be thankful (some of which I will post in due course). I wish for all my readers the manifold blessings of the season. Happy Easter!

Lost Again

2008-03-07T11:06:00.001-05:00

So. Lost is still awesome, although Doc Jensen thinks last night's episode was "subpar." I disagree, for a number of reasons.

The Opening. This completely subverts our expectations for an opening. So far this season, we've had only flashforwards (not counting Desmond's Dr. Demento time travel experience). So when Juliet walks in, talks about feeling like a "celebrity" to her "therapist," I'm thinking, "So Juliet is one of the Oceanic 6, wow." But then, Mr. Friendly pops his head in. "So Mr. Friendly is not dead? What th--? No, it's a flashback! You magnificent bastards!"

Michael Emerson. Although this episode seemed to be all about Juliet, it's really all about Ben. How did he get word to Harper Stanhope? (Speaking of whom — is she alive or dead? She vanished awfully quickly after Jack showed up.) Just what exactly are Ben's powers? Plus, I loved Emerson's range in this. He played his "date" with Juliet (We're havin' ham!) so perfectly, as the smitten, geeked-up nervous nerd he essentially is. And then reverted to the bug-eyed control freak.

VALIS. As it happens, I just finished reading Phillip Dick's VALIS last week, and I was delighted to see a close-up of Ben re-reading it. The show is saying, "Here's a hint, folks." There are two aspects to VALIS that might be germane to Lost (spoiler alert). One is that the main character, Horselover Fat, seems to be separate from the narrator (Phillip Dick), but the big reveal is that they are one and the same. The other aspect is that Fat occasionally shares consciousness with (or merges selves with) someone from the past, a 1st century Gnostic named Thomas. I think the latter is the most relevant, given the temporal consciousness-switching we saw in the previous episode. Or, just the acronym VALIS might be important: Vast Active Living Intelligence System, which is the book's name for God. (BTW, I don't really recommend VALIS; as a story, it is kind of inert, and religio-philosophically, it's just incoherent.)

The Whispers. They're back, and I'm glad. How long will it be before some geek decodes them, plays them backwards, and figures something out?

And, OK, still: Who is Ben's man on the boat? I've already hypothesized it is Sayid. Would that cause Ben to tell Locke, "You'd better sit down"? It might. Most people are guessing it's Michael. Would that be equally as shocking?

On the other hand, I share Doc Jensen's feelings about the episode-ending kiss. This couple, Jack and Juliet, has absolutely zero chemistry. None. I don't know if that's a function of the actors, Matthew Fox and Elizabeth Mitchell, having no chemistry (possible) or if somehow Juliet is messing with Jack's mind, Ben-fashion (also possible). But I just don't believe this couple.

UPDATE (3/13): Aaaaaand ... it's Michael. So much for the insights of my unconscious.

Ohio Democratic Primary: The Candidates

2008-03-03T18:47:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow there will be a primary election in Ohio. You might have heard something about it.

Since I never overtly discuss politics on this blog, I am going to use code names, or allegorical images, for the candidates. There are two main candidates on the Democratic side.

Gabbo:

The other candidate is Krusty:

For the first time in history, Amy and I are voting for the same person. We are both voting for Krusty. We feel that Gabbo does not have enough experience.

See you in the voting booth, kids!

Separated at Birth: Anton Chigurh and Charlie Watts

2008-02-18T19:11:00.004-05:00

Lost Dreams

2008-02-15T18:43:00.001-05:00

OK, as of last night, Lost, which is always interesting, is getting really interesting. I won't bother non-afficionados with a recap, but if you've been watching it, you know what I mean.

As it happens, I went to bed last night soon after watching 2 hours of Lost (last week's re-run and this week's new episode) and I had what seemed like a night-long continuation in my dreams. Among the events I dreamed (for real, honest):

I was in some kind of secret FBI installation, and they had there some kind of machine that emitted puffs of black smoke — yes, that smoke — that congealed into little electronic butterflies. In the dream I'm thinking, "The FBI is involved in this?"

I was walking with Sawyer out of Ben's house, and I clapped him on the back and said, "So you and Kate are getting married, huh?" To which he replied, "Uh-huh."

Towards daybreak, I was incarcerated in some room, possibly in Ben's house, and they put Weird Al Yankovic in with me. He was sporting an Afro, and I said, "I thought your hair was long these days." He said, "You mean like this?" and removed his Afro wig.

And then I woke up, with a realization. For some reason, all this dreaming had given me a perfect insight into the actual episode. Wait for it .... Ben's man on the freighter is — Sayid! No, really. We all know that time is increasingly fluid in this show, and that at the end of the episode Ben had talked Sayid into doing some kind of spying on the freighter. But since Ben had already received the information before he sent Sayid, this must mean that Ben has knowledge of the future. Probably, like Desmond, he is a time traveler: he has lived through more than one cycle of these events, but, unlike Desmond, he has perfect recall of each iteration.

If you're not a fan of the show, this will sound like gobbledygook, I know. I promise the next time I dream-blog I'll come up with something of more general interest. (Or, you could start watching the show.)

Objective Values

2008-02-12T16:26:00.001-05:00

The last few months, during travels to San Diego and Washington, DC, I've had occasion to spend some time with friends I haven't seen in a long time, in some cases for a decade or more. And I was a little worried as I went into these encounters that time might have eroded these friendships, or irrevocably changed one or both of us, or in some way covered or altered or made permanently inaccessible whatever was real and unique and good about these relationships. Because (let's face it) that does happen.

In every case I was happy to find that nothing essential had changed, and that it felt like days or weeks since I had last seen each one of the people I'm talking about, instead of years or decades, and in no way was I forced to change my opinion of them (or myself) or my memories. It's a tremendous experience, and gives a feeling of stability and reality to one's own biography.

All of this is just by way of prelude to presenting this link to a video lecture by Robert Kane of the University of Texas at Austin. Dr. Kane's course in "Problems of Knowledge and Value" was a key experience for me when I was a young Plan II nerdling at UT, and helped me (as it did many others) make some cautious first steps into becoming a rational, critical thinker. When I came across the video, I was happy, once again, to see that although Dr. Kane is grayer (aren't we all?), he's still thinking about the same issues that came up in class back in 1970, and still lecturing with the same blend of humor and clarity. Some things, thankfully, never change.

The Odd Translations of Garry Wills in "The Rosary"

2008-02-01T15:35:00.001-05:00

I've been reading The Rosary, by Garry Wills, which is not a bad book, as far as the history and practice of the rosary are concerned. Nevertheless, the book is a little spoilt for me by the idiosyncratic nature of his New Testament translations.

Wills is a former Classics prof, and I don't doubt his control of the languages. Nevertheless, the phrase "lost in translation" might have been created for his versions. I'll just give a couple of examples, both from the Magnificat (Luke 1:48-55).

First, a word of explanation. Each saying of the Rosary is accompanied by meditation on a Mystery from the life of Christ, whether Joyful, Luminous, Sorrowful, or Glorious. The Visitation of Elizabeth by the Virgin Mary, which includes the prayer by Mary called the Magnificat, is one of the Joyful Mysteries, and so, as he does with each of the Mysteries, Wills provides an original translation of the relevant Scripture passage and a brief reflection.

In the King James Version, the first line of the Magnificat is "My soul doth magnify the Lord," which renders Gk. megalunei he psuche mou ton kurion. Even the most modern version does little to change this, with the NRSV rendering "My soul magnifies the Lord" and the NIV "My soul glorifies the Lord." The background is Hebraic; a similar phrase from Ps. 34:4 "O magnify the Lord with me" (Heb. gaddelu l-YHWH itti) is rendered by the Septuagint megalunate ton kurion sun emoi. A good Hebrew back-translation for Mary's utterance would begin tegaddel naphshi l-YHWH.

But this makes Wills uncomfortable; he quotes St. Augustine to the effect that "we cannot make [God] any greater than he is." And so he translates: "My soul expands toward the Lord." Now this isn't just fine as a paraphrase, it's inaccurate. The verb megalunein is not intransitive; and the Virgin isn't making a statement about her religious experience, she is praising the Lord. Stripped down to its denotative core, her statement means "I am praising the Lord," and the rest of the canticle follows in that intention.

Wills, having chosen the theme of "expansion," inserts it again in his translation of Luke 1:49a, which I always memorized as "he that is mighty has done great things for me" (Gk. epoiesen moi megala ho dunatos). But Wills renders this as "Power itself has expanded me." Again, this is not quite correct. The phrase "to do great things" is also Hebraic, reflecting Heb. 'asah gedolot (e.g., Psa 71:19; 106:21; Job 5:9; 9:10; 37:5). The reference is to miraculous, amazing works, whereas it is not clear at all to me what "Power itself has expanded me" means. Plus, "Power" is not an apt rendition of ho dunatos, which means "the mighty one, the powerful one," not an impersonal "Power" (for which he dunamis would be a better original). The original Hebrew might have been ki 'asah li gedolot ha-gibbor.

To be fair, not all of Wills's translations are this inept; but regrettably the clunkers are too many for comfort (although I do like the color reproductions of the paintings of Tintoretto). Those who are looking for a good book on the Rosary can probably do better.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Garry Wills, The Rosary (Penguin, 2005); Randall Buth's seminal article, "Hebrew Poetic Tenses and the Magnificat," Journal for the Study of the New Testament 21 (1984) 67-83, should be read by all NT scholars. He includes a complete back-translation.

A Little GKC

2008-01-03T21:37:00.000-05:00

It's a pity that G. K. Chesterton lived, by and large, before the electronic media became widespread. As the video (mainly audio) shows, he was a natural speaker and comedian. (HT: Insight Scoop).

Fourth Annual Ralphies

2007-12-16T22:42:00.000-05:00

Ah, the Ralphies. This year, for me, has been a year of retrenchment, retreat, and hunkering down to work, and I don't feel that I've been in a lot of touch with the outside world of movies, books, etc. On the other hand, that's never stopped me before, has it? So, on with the highly idiosyncratic awards. I expect all of you to follow suit. Yes, you too. Don't try to hide behind that sign. I see you.

BEST MOVIE: Actually, there are still of lot of movies I'd like to see that I haven't. They'll have to wait until they show up on the Netflix queue. Of the movies we actually got out to see, the best and most thoughtful was probably The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen). However, the one I liked the best was The Simpsons Movie. So Homer gets the Ralphie this year. Woo-hoo!

BEST RECORD: A couple of my favorite bands had new records this year — the Fiery Furnaces with Widow City and The National with Boxer. Good stuff, but my socks remained on my feet, if you know what I mean. Like other baby boomers, I really enjoyed Raising Sand with Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. And, I spent a lot of time catching up with records from the past, and the best record I listened to this year (and one of the best ever) is Shoot Out the Lights by Richard and Linda Thompson (1982). But the Ralphie has to go to a record from 2007 and this year it goes to Icky Thump by the White Stripes. Loud, messy, and good.

BEST BOOK (FICTION): Again, it was a year of reading old favorites and not reading a lot of new stuff. Besides the old favorites, I did read a few novels by Charles Portis, Jay MacInerny, and Doug Coupland. But the only 2007 fiction book I read is a worthy winner of a Ralphie: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. The whole series is a great achievement, and will no doubt prove to be an enduring classic.

BEST BOOK (NON-FICTION): I don't think I actually read a non-fiction book published this year. However, the Ralphie for Best Non-Fiction that I did read goes to Baruch Halpern's David's Secret Demons (2000). It elevated the whole question of minimalism vs. maximalism to a new plateau of sophistication and made both sides look shallow by its very erudition. (This achievement is not lessened by the fact that Halpern is plainly and perversely wrong in many of his exegetical judgments.)

BEST TV SHOW: My usual favorites are all on the list: The Office, Lost and the Fox Sunday night animated lineup. The Office wound up its 3rd season in a blaze of glory, and then stumbled in its 4th season, at least what we've seen so far. When Pam and Jim got together, the air just seemed to go out of the series. The only shows that consistently made me laugh out loud were Family Guy and 30 Rock. But I'm giving the Ralphie to Lost for a great story, compelling acting, and for featuring the hero of demented 50-something guys everywhere, Terry O'Quinn as Locke.

That's it for this year, folks. If I didn't link to something, just Google it, will ya, or look it up on Wikipedia. Do I have to do everything? Sheesh.

Satan, Romney, and 2008

2007-12-13T12:17:00.000-05:00

An election is coming up — so they tell me — in 2008. And that can mean only one thing: Total boredom for the next 12 months. Yes, politics makes me weep for its very dullness, and an election year is the worst of all, because it’s so difficult to avoid.

Most annoying are the people who say, “Tut-tut! Don’t you think it’s important to make an informed choice? Don’t you feel it is your bounden duty as a citizen to pay close attention to all the candidates and then cast an intelligent vote? Huh? Don’t you?” My answer to that is: Yeah, I guess. But I don’t think it’s necessary for me to spend a huge amount of time figuring out where I should cast my vote, which will count for 1/190 millionth of the total voice of the electorate. As usual, I will spend a couple of hours the day before the election reading up on the platforms, and then decide in the voting booth.

Fortunately, however, the current campaign seems to be diversified away from the usual boring policy discussions and is getting into something that is actually interesting, namely, theology. Mike Huckabee, in connection with Mitt* Romney’s Mormonism, asked the question, “Don’t Mormons believe Jesus and Satan were brothers?”

Now I don’t care whether Huckabee had a political agenda in asking that question or not. Probably he did. What I do care about is this: Do Mormons actually believe Jesus and Satan were brothers? And the answer seems to be yes:

On first hearing, the doctrine that Lucifer and our Lord, Jesus Christ, are brothers may seem surprising to some—especially to those unacquainted with latter-day revelations. But both the scriptures and the prophets affirm that Jesus Christ and Lucifer are indeed offspring of our Heavenly Father and, therefore, spirit brothers. Jesus Christ was with the Father from the beginning. Lucifer, too, was an angel “who was in authority in the presence of God,” a “son of the morning.” (See Isa. 14:12; D&C 76:25–27.) Both Jesus and Lucifer were strong leaders with great knowledge and influence. But as the Firstborn of the Father, Jesus was Lucifer’s older brother. (See Col. 1:15; D&C 93:21.)

The actual import of this is not, as the Mormons point out, that Jesus and Satan are friends. They aren’t. But they are “spirit brothers,” which, I assume, means that both of them or neither of them are “one with the Father” in the credal sense. In short, Mormons are not Trinitarians in the traditional Christian way; and therefore, arguably, are not Christians.

I mean this in the formal sense. I take it for granted that “being a Christian” can be understood in a formal sense, wherein dogmatic definitions long held in common by all churches (such as those of Nicea and Chalcedon) define what “Christian” means. “Christian” can also be taken in a material sense, in that someone who is formally a heretic or even an “unbeliever” can have (or be on the way to having) saving faith in Christ, although unable to articulate it properly or (in the case of the unbeliever) unaware of it. The opposite is also true, that someone who is formally a Christian, in the sense of assenting outwardly to the formal dogmas of the faith, may materially not be one, in the sense of being unregenerate and having no actual, saving faith in Christ.

It follows then, that Mitt Romney may or may not be a Christian (material sense), but is certainly not a Christian (formal sense). Does this make any difference politically? Or should it? I assume that our overall judgment of someone’s fitness for office in this country should concentrate on whether their policies conduce to the common good, and not whether they belong to a particular group (even if it is our group). Our theology will influence our views of what policies are best for the commonwealth, but we regrettably can’t assume that the candidates will draw the same conclusions from their theology (or lack thereof). We can only look at the policies themselves. Therefore our decision must ultimately rest on the boring grounds of public policy and not on the interesting grounds of theology.

It’s gonna be a long year.

*What kind of name is “Mitt”? Shouldn’t it be “Mitch”?

Home again (2)

2007-11-27T19:06:00.001-05:00

After the SBL conference in San Diego, I flew up to the Bay Area to visit my daughter Liz and her husband Brian. It was a delight to see them both, since I hadn't since shortly after the wedding. We paid a visit to the Stanford campus (where Liz is a grad student in Classics), the Googleplex (where Brian works), City Lights bookstore, the cable cars, Union Square, and the Haight. On Thanksgiving Day, we enjoyed a genuine feast courtesy of one of Liz's fellow students (thank you, Micah!) and then had dessert with the multitalented Patrick Hunt and his gifted family, where I got another free book (thank you, Patrick!).

After a packed and eventful week, I flew home, catching a cold on the plane. Only now am I beginning to emerge into full sentience again.

And now for some awards:

Best Meal: This is a tough one. I'll have to say the tofu stir-fry at Wild Note, but the huevos rancheros at Croce's was (were?) also really good. Not to mention Brian's pancakes. Well, and Micah's feast, of course. Dang it, it was good eatin' all the time, even the hot dog at O'Hare.

Best discussion: Again a lot of competition. But I'll give the nod to the "Man in the Moon" convo on Micah's porch between me, Liz, and Brian. I also bent a lot of ears (and bored many, I'm sure) with my recent thoughts on popery.

Worst Transportation: The SBL shuttle buses were fine when they stopped, but on more than one occasion they roared past me at the hotel, although I was standing by an official SBL shuttle bus sign. This forced me to walk from the Sheraton Suites to the Convention Center (not bad — about 1.5 miles), in shoes not made for long walks. My feet still have the blisters.

Scariest Moment: When the taxi driver taking us to see Suzanne Vega in Solana Beach pulled out his map book and began to study it, while driving. At night. In traffic. On the I-5, at 75 mph. I lived through it, somehow.

Proudest Moment: When I almost had Liz convinced that Palo Alto was Spanish for "old friend." (She'll deny it.)

Most Humbling Moment: Finishing 3rd in a 4-handed game of Scrabble.

A good week. Better than Philadelphia, that's for sure. See you next year in Boston.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig (Part I)

2007-11-24T16:01:00.001-05:00

My, what a busy week. Friday I arrived in San Diego for the SBL meeting, and attended (briefly) the Accordance seminar that night, much the worse for wear from jet lag. Saturday morning I had coffee with JT; we discussed sola Scriptura and bird watching in Korea, and he kindly gave me a copy of his latest book. Later I had lunch with the estimable Targuman, and dinner with my co-authors Marty and James. After that we went to see Teddy Thompson and Suzanne Vega at the Belly-Up Tavern, where a good time was what all of us had.

Sunday was devoted to the business at hand, namely conversations with prospective employers and prospective publishers. These were very positive; and as soon as I have something concrete to report, I'll report it. In the evening I went to the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit at the San Diego Natural History Museum. I would give this exhibit a B-plus overall. The set-up was nicely done, the scrolls were displayed to good advantage, and the information was solid — although the recurrent interpretation of Locus 30 of Qumran as the "scriptorium" was not presented with the necessary reservations, and no doubt would mightily vex the soul of Norman Golb. Nevertheless, I would give the exhibit I saw a few years ago in Chicago a better grade, simply because of a better walk-through arrangement and more actual physical space (much of the space, in San Diego, was wasted on photography that was minimally relevant to understanding the scrolls, but which seemed to encourage tourism to the Holy Land).

Monday was more of a day of rest; the Fuller breakfast, lunch with the Targuman at the Tin Fish, followed by the Aramaic Studies session, where a couple of hapless presenters were tossed and gored (deservedly, I fear) by a senior scholar. But in general the session was excellent. Tuesday I had breakfast with MMT, made a last visit to the book exhibit, and then escaped to the Bay Area. I'll pick up the story at that point in my next post.

Lawrence and Lewis

2007-11-14T12:30:00.001-05:00

Last week I watched, over the course of several nights, Lawrence of Arabia (1962). They just don't make movies like that anymore. I don't think they even make theaters big enough to show movies like that anymore.

And it reminded me of something I read a while back, that T. E. Lawrence met C. S. Lewis at Oxford in the early '20's. Neither of them had any idea of who the other one was (and indeed Lewis was far from achieving any fame at this time). Here's the entry from Lewis's diary for August 11, 1922:

I lunched with Beckett in All Souls. He advised me to try for a fellowship there. We fed in the buttery with a man called Lawrence (formerly of Jesus) and an older one whose name I did not catch. Both were most interesting and agreeable. We drank beer bottled in the 19th century: it is clear red, tastes and smells like toffee, and is very strong.

At this time, Lawrence must have been in the process of writing Seven Pillars of Wisdom, published in 1926. In 1924 (March 14), Lewis heard more about Lawrence:

During tea Beckett talked of his mysterious colleague Lawrence. He started the Hejaz business and got a job in the Foreign Office, which he held for a time, refusing to take any salary, but soon dropped it. He then took his Fellowship, but again refused the money and hung about All Souls, never dining in Hall, and haunting the Common Room of evening in ordinary clothes, talking very well when he did talk, but far more often silent. Now he has gone back to the army as an infantry private soldier under an assumed name. He is believed to have no private means to speak of: no man is intimate with him.

Beckett was Eric Beckett, later legal adviser to the Foreign Office, who helped shape British policy in the Middle East. File this under "Conversations You Wish You'd Heard."

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Walter Hooper, ed., All My Road Before Me: The Diary of C. S. Lewis, 1922-1927. Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991.

O Reader, If Thou Needest a Laugh

2007-11-05T23:19:00.000-05:00

Readers who need a good laugh are encouraged to read Alan Jacobs' review of Kahlil Gibran's Collected Works.

Busybusybusy

2007-10-22T20:15:00.000-04:00

Sorry I haven't been blogging much. I know you all (all three of you) have been anxiously waiting for more new wisdom.

But I've been busy, maybe more so than I have ever been. I have a book manuscript due on Dec. 31, which I realized last night that I can't finish on time. Hopefully the good folk at Brill will be understanding.

I also have two contributions to books to finish; one for the More Old Testament Pseudepigrapha project, and another for a Festschrift for a man whom I would like to honor by finishing on time.

All of this is on top of many hours of tagging and glossing several projects for Accordance. Happily these are almost done, and the Fragment-Targum and Cairo Geniza Targum Texts should be available with the latest release next month, as well as the Elephantine Papyri module released earlier this year.

Ah yes, November. I will be attending the SBL in San Diego this year. It's always fun to make the scene at these things, but it's also a chunk of time subtracted from the working schedule. I hope things will happen there that will make it all worthwhile.

So I have good reasons for silence. Watch this space, though, blogging will return in full force one of these days.

Halpern and the Beerothites

2007-09-21T09:13:00.000-04:00

I've been reading, with great enjoyment, Baruch Halpern's David's Secret Demons. There is much of value in the book, as well as much with which I would vigorously disagree. Nevertheless, it is certainly a tour de force. (Interesting how calling something a tour de force can be either a compliment or a criticism.)

One point of disagreement I would spotlight here is Halpern's statement that the Gibeonites were responsible for the murder of Ishbaal, Saul's son and heir:

Two non-Israelites, from the Gibeonite town Beeroth, assassinated Ishbaal and rushed his head to Hebron — presenting it to David on a plate. ... It is no coincidence that Ishbaal's assassins were Gibeonites, from the town of Beeroth. Saul, the text states, had expelled the population of that town. Although David avenged the killing — of his enemy and rival — it was not much later that he allowed the Gibeonites the joy of avenging themselves on the House of Saul (2 Sam. 21). (Halpern, pp. 308, 310, see also pp. 31, 81)

The text Halpern refers to is 2 Sam 4:2-3:

Saul’s son had two captains of raiding bands; the name of the one was Baanah, and the name of the other Rechab. They were sons of Rimmon a Benjaminite from Beeroth—for Beeroth is considered to belong to Benjamin. (Now the people of Beeroth had fled to Gittaim and are there as resident aliens to this day). [NRSV]

These verses are not quoted by Halpern, et pour cause, for they say, rather plainly, that Ishbaal's killers were not Gibeonites, but Benjaminites, i.e., Israelites, from the same tribe as Ishbaal himself. True (says the writer), they were from Beeroth, a town of Gibeon, but at this time, Beeroth belonged to Benjamin, the natives having fled to Gittaim. (The text also does not say that Saul expelled the natives, although it is a reasonable guess.)

This is not an insignificant detail, because Halpern builds up an elaborate theory that David himself was a Gibeonite, or a Gibeonite sympathizer, and in fact colluded with these men to have Ishbaal killed. If the killers were not native to Beeroth, however, a major prop of this theory falls to the ground. Halpern has to deal somewhere with the clear statement of this text — but he never does.

Judging from the book as a whole, I think Halpern would probably claim that the assassins were in fact Gibeonites, and that the assertion that they were Benjaminites was a falsehood concocted by David's apologists to counter the idea that David was complicit in the slaying. But he never says this outright, and winds up giving a false impression of the story.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: Baruch Halpern, David's Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King, Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2001.

Heimgehen

2007-09-13T19:45:00.000-04:00

Blogger Scott Becker has died of cancer. His blog Aufhebung ("Cancellation") has been a moving, and sometimes harrowing, account of his last months. I didn't know Scott, but I know some who did, and by all accounts he was a most remarkable man and Christian.

In his first few posts — less than 10 months ago — he said:

[M]y life thus far has been extraordinarily rich, a fact that has been impressed upon me especially in the last couple of weeks, as people from all different moments of my past have surfaced to express their love and support. Yes, I am aware of a certain Job-like quality to my life: three bouts with cancer, heart failure, a number of related physical difficulties and a couple of major career setbacks. But there is something truly wonderful about this life that I of all people have been given. At almost every point along the way, I’ve been allowed to connect with others in such a way that my current circle of good friends includes people I knew in college in the early 80s, kids from my first youth group twenty years ago and hundreds of people who became a part of my life during my years in Carnation, Seattle, and now Pasadena, dozens of whom I would feel quite confident turning to in a moment of crisis. I think, too, that I inherited from both of my parents an ability to find tremendous pleasure in relatively insignificant things: a well-made omelet or bowl of oatmeal, catching a tiny bit of air beneath my skis, a 10-mile bike ride, or a clever turn of a phrase. My siblings are a lot of fun to be with, and I’m insanely happy in my marriage. This has been very good, and if my threescore and ten comes up a score short, I can’t really say that I’ve been cheated.

He also stated his intent to continue

certain practices and disciplines by which I have sought to abide, if not always successfully, since my teen years: the daily habit of Scripture reading and meditation; the habit of choosing, when the choice is given to me, to express gratitude, to make space in myself for someone who is different from me, to forbear rather than to find fault; the mental discipline of referring life experiences and questions back to the central narrative of God’s self-revelation in Christ.

Keep his family and friends in your prayers.

I (heart) Popery

2007-09-10T21:32:00.000-04:00

The return of Francis Beckwith, president of the Evangelical Theological Society, to Catholicism, happened quite a while back, but still is being talked about. I'm not a member of ETS, so I'm not familiar with their bylaws, but I can't think of any prima facie reason why a Catholic should not be a member (or President). Nevertheless, I've read some pretty nasty reactions to the whole thing from Protestants.

I think Protestants should start thinking that the Reformation (and the Counter-Reformation) might be over, and accept that Catholicism is part — the larger part! — of the household of faith. The attitude of Thomas Browne, so rare in the 17th century, could still be adopted with profit:

We have reformed from them, not against them; for (omitting those Improperations and Terms of Scurrility betwixt us, which only difference our Affections, and not our Cause,) there is between us one common Name and Appellation, one Faith and necessary body of Principles common to us both; and therefore I am not scrupulous to converse and live with them, to enter their Churches in defect of ours, and either pray with them, or for them. (Religio Medici)

Voldemort at Qumran?

2007-08-30T14:28:00.000-04:00

In one of the manuscripts of the Vision of Amram (4Q544), the title character has a vision of two angels; one of the angels is good, the other evil. According to Emile Puech in Discoveries in the Judean Desert 31, the bad one is described as having a "visage molting like a serpent" (Aramaic ‏חזוה חשׁל [כפ]תן‎). Which sounds a lot like Lord Voldemort — or at least some other follower of Salazar Slytherin.

But I have some problems with Puech's reading. For one thing, the root חשׁל doesn't mean "to molt," but "to crush" (unless you posit a connection with ‏שׁלח‎ II "to strip, flay"). For another, at this point in the scroll the text is ragged and only bits of the letters of this phrase are readable; I can't share Puech's certainty about his reading of this verb. Lastly, and somewhat subjectively, it just doesn't sound right; it's not something they would say.

J. T. Milik, the first editor of this scroll, read the phrase as ‏דחיל[ כפ]תן‎, "dreadful as a serpent." That sounds better, but is still not totally satisfying. Klaus Beyer's version, ‏דחיל[ כמו]תן‎, "dreadful as a plague" is no better, and is actually worse: what meaning can we attach to the idea that someone's face is as frightful as a plague? It might fit into a modern poem, but just doesn't sound right for the 1st century B.C.E.

My own suggestion is that the phrase should be restored as ‏דחיל [ואימ]תן‎, "dreadful and terrifying." It fits the readable traces as well as the other suggestions, and similar descriptions are known from other texts: Dan. 7:7, where the fourth beast is said to be "dreadful and terrifying" (‏דחילה ואימתני‎) and Targ. Hab. 1:7, where the Kittim are "terrifying and dreadful" (‏אימתנין ודחילין‎).

Not as much fun as having Lord Voldemort in the Scrolls, I admit. But still pretty terrifying.

New Targum Location

2007-08-13T19:06:00.000-04:00

Kudos and major props are due to Chris Brady, who is refurbishing and renewing the website of the Newsletter for Targumic and Cognate Studies. (This, not incidentally, gives the Psalms Targum translation by yours truly a new address.)

Thanks, Chris!

Nebo-Sarsekim (Jer. 39:3)

2007-07-19T20:04:00.000-04:00

In Jeremiah 39:3, several Babylonian officials are named: "Nergal-sharezer, Samgar-nebo, Sarsechim the Rab-saris, Nergal-sharezer the Rab-mag" (NRSV). Translations of these difficult names differ, and the NIV has "Nergal-Sharezer of Samgar, Nebo-Sarsekim a chief officer, Nergal-Sharezer a high official."

A recent discovery of a cuneiform tablet in the British Museum confirms that the second official was "Nebo-Sarsekim" (Akkadian Nabu-sharussu-ukin, "Nabu has established his king"). The discovery of a named biblical figure in an ancient Babylonian tablet is pretty interesting news, although it doesn't confirm the inerrancy of the whole bible, as some would have it. On the other hand, it is more evidence (if any were needed) that the historical parts of Jeremiah are reliable.

Jim West is among the debunkers of the discovery, stating, "No one has ever argued that there was no Babylonian of that name." Not so; many, if not most, recent expositors have argued that the "Sarsekim" of the Masoretic Text is a textual corruption, and that the text must be emended to make sense.

For instance, in the standard Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, we are given two ways of approaching "Sarsechim": as a textual error for "Nebushazban" (Jer. 39:13), or as a corruption of "sar sukiyyim", glossed as "supervisor of the African slaves." The first option is followed by BHS; the second has little to recommend it. Both can now be safely discarded.

Thanks to archaeology, the first two names can be reconstructed with certainty. In 1930, another tablet had given us the identification of the first name as Nergal-shar-usur prince of Sin-magir or Simmagir. The new discovery gives us Nabu-sharusu-ukin rab sha-reshi. My guess would be that Nebushazban should be substituted for the second "Nergal-sharezer" in 39:3, giving us three officials:

Nergal-shar-usur simmagir
Nabu-sharussu-ukin rab-shareshi
Nabu-shezibanni rab-mugi

Nergal-sharezer (prince of) Simmagir
Nebo-sarsekim chief eunuch
Nebushazban the rab mugi [this term for a high official is still not clear]

It is interesting that only the NIV, of modern translations, correctly understood that there were three officials in 39:3. In the Jerusalem Bible, for instance, "Sarsekim" has been emended out of existence.

There is still a problem in reconciling 39:3 with 39:13, where Nebushazban is the chief eunuch and Nergal-sharezer is the Rab-mag. I presume that this verse is the one that needs emendation. In view of the new discovery, it would seem that v. 13 is more corrupt than v. 3, and should be emended to agree with it — exactly the opposite of what was thought to be the case only a few weeks ago. Ain't biblical archaeology fun?

BIBLIOGRAPHY: See E. Dalglish, "Samgar-Nebo," Anchor Bible Dictionary 5:947-948.

Of Sayers, James, and Bells

2007-06-14T14:37:00.000-04:00

Given that there is such a thing as "comfort food," why shouldn't there also be "comfort books"? Comfort books, as I imagine them, are personal, much-read favorites, to be resorted to when other reading (or life in general) seems flat, stale, and unprofitable.

My own canon of "comfort books" includes the mysteries of Dorothy Sayers, and recently I have been re-reading The Nine Tailors (1934), which many people feel is the best of them. I think Gaudy Night is my favorite, but The Nine Tailors surpasses it in literary quality.

On this particular re-read, I noticed what I think is a connection to another one of my "comfort" favorites, the ghost stories of M. R. James, in particular "The Treasure of Abbot Thomas," from Ghost Stories of an Antiquary (1904). In that story, a scholar solves a coded message, embedded in ancient stained-glass windows, left behind by the 16th century Abbot Thomas concerning the location of a lost treasure on monastery grounds. The scholar locates the treasure and discovers that it has an unpleasant guardian, left behind by the unpleasant Abbot.

In The Nine Tailors, there is also an old church containing the tomb of an Abbot Thomas: "[Wimsey] brooded for a time over the tomb of Abbot Thomas, with its robed and mitred effigy. A stern old boy, he thought, this fourteenth-century cleric, with his strong, harsh face, a ruler rather than a shepherd of his people." The oldest bell in the church, one of the nine bells alluded to in the title of the book, is "Batty Thomas," named after the Abbot who had it cast. Of this bell the sexton says, "She's queer-tempered. They do say as how old Batty [the Abbot] down below, what had her put up here, was a queer sort of man and his bell's took after him."

So you have two Abbots named Thomas, neither of them very nice, who left, on church grounds, items that have something of the nature of their owner. Now if you add that both stories concern a buried treasure that is found by reading coded messages that have a very similar solution, the conclusion is inescapable that James's story influenced Sayers' story.

Which doesn't bother me. I like this kind of intertextuality, especially when one "comfort book" influences another. If you haven't read either, read them both.

Speaking of bells, which The Nine Tailors does a lot, I can't resist passing along an old poem I ran across, from 1781, posted in an English church bell tower to keep people from sneaking in and ringing the bells for fun:

Who turns a Bell by light or dark
Two pence shall pay to Parish Clerk
Who turns a Bell on Sabbath Day
Double the sum at least shall pay
Ring not till four nor after nine
Who keeps worse hours shall twelvepence fine
With Hat, with Cap, or with Spurs on
Must four pence pay or else begone.
If any one caught pissing here
Shall four pence pay & then be clear
And who those are that will not pay
Presented shall the next Court Day.

Two Quick Movie Reviews

2007-06-04T13:11:00.000-04:00

Spider-Man 3:
Good

Pirates of the Caribbean 3:
Bad

Avudim

2007-05-26T20:30:00.000-04:00

During the run-up to the season finale of Lost (which was terrific, by the way), I was watching (while working) some past episodes available on the internet which were apparently downloaded from Israeli TV, because they had Hebrew subtitles.

"Lost" in Hebrew, by the way, is Avudim, which is correct in Modern Hebrew, but made me wonder why one couldn't use the present participle Ovdim as in Biblical Hebrew. Ordinarily you wouldn't use a passive participle with an intransitive verb (would you?). Comments welcome.

I learned some vocabulary. When Hurley calls someone "dude," the subtitle said ‏בנאדם‎, written exactly that way. I knew that Aramaic barnash was used colloquially to mean "guy," but I wasn't aware that benadam could mean "dude" (or perhaps "chap" or "fellow").

Also, when Hurley says, "I screwed up," the translation is ‏פשׁלתי‎, pishalti. I wasn't aware that this root occurred in the Piel, and doesn't occur in the big Even-Shoshan dictionary or in the Bantam-Megiddo. There is a Hiphil that means to roll up sleeves or pant legs. My guess is that somehow the root ‏פשׁל‎ is related to ‏פתל‎, to twist or pervert. But how did this meaning develop? On the street or did someone in the Language Academy decide that Israelis needed a way to say "to screw up"? (Don't we all?)

August 1966

2007-04-21T20:24:00.000-04:00

The nightmarish Virginia Tech shootings have reminded me of my own very remote memory of the Charles Whitman shootings from the University of Texas tower on Aug. 1, 1966. We were living in Austin at the time, and once it became clear what was happening on the campus, the local TV station started showing live pictures of the Tower. Not much to see; every couple of minutes, a puff of smoke appeared as Whitman squeezed off another round. That's it.

I remember going out in the front yard and looking at the Tower, a couple of miles away. Back then, there were only two buildings on the Austin skyline, the Capitol building and the Tower. There the tower was, looking like it always did, and the puffs of smoke were not visible at that distance. It was hard to believe that carnage was taking place. It was a miserably hot still day, like almost all August days in Austin. It felt like a furnace outside.

Later on I biked south (toward the Tower) to go hang out at my friend Arthur Aleman's house. We were still well out of range, and we eventually got bored watching the TV feed of the motionless Tower with the occasional smoke and pop of gunfire from the invisible sniper. Arthur's dad said he was going to go down there and "see what was happening." I thought that was an incredibly stupid thing to do, but I couldn't say that to Arthur's dad. By the time Mr. Aleman arrived for his sightseeing, it was all over, so he came back.

I went home. Later on the whole thing was on the national news, and I remember thinking how strange it was that Austin, the Tower, Guadalupe Street ("The Drag") and all the other places I knew so well were talked about by Huntley & Brinkley.

Years later, when I was a student at UT in the early '70's, I went up to the Tower deck (it was still open to the public then) and looked down, imagining what Whitman saw. The people looked as small as ants; maybe he even thought of them as ants, but through a rifle scope they would look like individual persons. Over in the corner where Whitman died, there was still an unrepaired gouge in the wall from a shotgun blast fired by one of the cops who killed him.

I think the observation deck is closed these days; I can't say I'm sorry. Someone I knew, slightly, jumped to his death from there in 1974, and then they shut it down. It's an amazing edifice, but for me it is always somewhat redolent of violent death.

Old Poem

2007-03-30T15:34:00.000-04:00

While cleaning out some papers, I came across a poem I wrote in college (that's back in the seventies, kids) for some class or other. Maybe the assignment was to "cram as many classical references as possible into one overwrought sonnet." In any case, that's what I did, and it's still better than anything I could write now, 35 years later.

Day after day I spend on a journey
With You; but too often the one who fell
Calls, calls, luring me, Siren-like, to Hell.
Sometimes I feel that I dangle helplessly
(Beyond your grace, your love, your bliss)
Over the pit of Satan, his outer dark.
Too often his attacks leave their mark
And, despairing, I feel the heat of his abyss.
But then you come; his Phlegethons
Cannot compare with the flow of blood
That swept and washed away my million sins.
Then, like magic, I can feel my bonds
Give and break; and, borne on that flood,
I continue my journey, higher up and farther in.

Thoughts about Arni (Luke 3:33)

2007-03-18T20:39:00.000-04:00

As a side-effect of the Talpiot tomb discussion, I've been reading Richard Bauckham's Jude and the Relatives of Jesus, an interesting read and a work of high merit. One of the most stimulating chapters is the one on the Lukan genealogy of Jesus. The genealogy has a couple of odd names that drew my attention. In this post I'll discuss one of them, the name Arni in Luke 3:33 ("Amminadab, son of Admin, son of Arni").

"Arni" is an odd name in Hebrew. Although there are names with a general similarity — Aran (Gen 36:28) and Oren (1 Chr. 2:25) — the name in Luke 3:33 corresponds in the parallel Greek/Hebrew genealogies to "Ram" or "Aram" (Ruth 4:19, 1 Chr. 2:10; cp. Matt. 1:4). In several major witnesses to the text of Luke (including D and A and Peshitta), "Aram" appears instead of "Arni," and in others it occurs in addition to "Arni." "Aram" was apparently added later as a correction or crept in as a marginal or interlinear gloss. (I assume that "Admin" also originated as a correction of "Arni.")

It therefore seems that "Arni" was a copyist error for "Aram" and recognized to be such already in ancient times. However, "Arni" could only be an error for "Aram" in Hebrew script: ‏ארם‎ could be mistakenly read as ‏ארני‎, but ΑΡΑΜ could not as easily be read as ΑΡΝΙ.

There are examples of similar errors in the Bible at Amos 7:7, where the Hebrew text ‏אדני‎ should probably, on the evidence of the LXX, be read ‏אדם‎. The reverse error occurred in 1 Sam. 17:32, where Hebrew ‏אדם‎ should probably be read ‏אדני‎ (cf. LXX).

This suggests that the original of Luke's genealogy, at least for these names, must have been in Hebrew script, since it reflects a copyist error only possible in Hebrew. The question is, was the copyist error present in the Hebrew biblical genealogies that were used as a source for these names, or was it present in a separate Hebrew genealogy preserved, say, in the family of Jesus? If it was the latter, then the Lukan genealogy may be older and more reliable than it is usually considered to be. In a future post I'll try to adduce some evidence to show that that is actually the case.

"Mary the Master"

2007-03-03T12:45:00.000-05:00

The biblioblogosphere has been jumping on the Jesus Tomb documentary with both feet; I haven't seen such a bonanza of crackpot-theory refutation since The DaVinci Code. So there's not much left for me to do. Enjoy Jodi Magness's take on the subject, or Mark Goodacre's, or Ben Witherington's, or Richard Bauckham's at Paleojudaica. Shooting fish in a barrel is fun.

I'll limit myself to a few observations on one point. The sole Greek text among the ossuaries reads Μαριαμηνου Μαρα. (The particle η, said to be present between the two words, is not.) The "Jesus Tomb" scholars would like to understand this as "Mariamene (= Mary Magdalene) the Master." They are taking the word Μαρα to be a transliteration of the Aramaic word meaning "lord, master." However,

1. It is hard to understand why the Aramaic word would be used instead of a Greek one in the Greek ossuary.

2. It's not clear exactly what form of the Aramaic word they are referring to. Μαρα could = מרה ‎, that is, the emphatic state of the masculine form of ‏‎maré. However, this form is only attested centuries later; the usual emphatic masculine form at this period would be ‏מריא‎. It's also not clear why a female would have a title in the masculine gender.

3. The word Μαρα could also = מרה, ‏מראה‎, the feminine absolute form of the word. However, the absolute form would have to mean "a lady" or "a mistress," not "the Master" or "Master." The emphatic form of the feminine would be ‏מרתא‎ = Μάρθα, "the Mistress," "the Lady" (also the proper name Martha).

Therefore the Jesus Tomb scholars seem to be wrong again. "Mara" is pretty obviously either a nickname for Mariamene, or refers to another woman whose bones were also interred in the ossuary.

Tobit Fragment Published

2007-02-28T12:55:00.000-05:00

I've just seen the following article:

Hallermayer, Michaela and Torleif Elgvin, "Schøyen ms. 5234: Ein neues Tobit-fragment Vom Toten Meer," Revue de Qumran 22/3 (2006) 451-461.

This is the first official publication of the fragment that I blogged about here. (That post is referenced, by the way, on p. 452 n.3.)

Congratulations to Hallermayer & Elgvin for a fine treatment of the fragment.

The "Jesus Tomb" Ossuary

2007-02-26T19:59:00.000-05:00

I'm not happy with my initial response, so I've removed it. If I come up with something else, I'll post it in this space.

UPDATE (3/3): Here it is.

A Spurious Addition to Targum Pseudo-Jonathan?

2007-02-09T22:24:00.000-05:00

I notice that it is common to quote the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Genesis 4:1 as Mahlon Smith does at his website, where we find this translation:

And Adam knew that his wife Eve had conceived
from Sammael the angel (of death)
and she became pregnant and bore Cain.
And he was like those on high and not like those below.
And she said: "I have got a man from the angel of the LORD."

My problem with this translation is that the words in italics above are not found in any text of Pseudo-Jonathan. The only surviving manuscript of Pseudo-Jonathan (PsJ), in the British Museum, reads, according to the publication of it by Clarke, "And Adam knew that Eve his wife was pregnant from Sammael, angel of the Lord." The standard printed text (editio princeps) as published in the rabbinic bible reads: "And Adam knew Eve his wife, that she had desired the angel; and she conceived and bore Cain, and she said, I have acquired a man, the angel of the Lord."

Obviously the version with the addition is closer to the editio princeps than to the London MS, but neither text (and they are the only witnesses to the text of PsJ) has the addition. Nevertheless, the belief that the words really are in PsJ is widespread. James Kugel quotes the latter part of PsJ's version as "He resembled the upper ones [angels] and not the lower ones, and she [therefore] said, I have acquired a man, indeed, an angel of the Lord" (The Bible as it Was, p. 86). Birger Pearson, in an essay in The Rediscovery of Gnosticism (1981) quotes the same version (p. 479). And Phillip Davies, in the Blackwell Reader in Judaism (2001), does the same (p. 40). These are all reputable scholars.

As far as I can tell, there is no evidence that any version of PsJ (or any other targum) contains these words. However, another text that has some affinities to PsJ, the Hebrew Pirke de-Rabbi Eliezer, in relating the story of Cain's conception, says "she saw his likeness that it was not of the earthly beings, but of the heavenly beings." Is that where these words come from? Or is there a version of the text of PsJ that I'm not aware of?

I'm frankly stumped as to the source of this spurious text of the targum. Do any of my readers have any insight?

UPDATE (3/2): Many thanks to those who have left comments below. Andy, can you point me towards a source for that quote?

Incredulous Laugh of the Day

2007-02-05T10:01:00.000-05:00

Episcopal Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts-Schori is quoted in USA Today today, with reference to breakaway congregations trying to hold on to their property:

The church’s laws are broad but they are there, and beyond these lines you cannot go. Crossing boundaries has consequences.

My measured response to this is: You have got to be kidding me. You're willing to jettison the creeds, Scripture, and a 2,000-year-old tradition of Christian ethics, but you start getting strict with regard to property ownership? Lady, do you have any sense of irony at all?

God help The Episcopal Church. I mean that quite literally.

(For casual readers; I'm a member of said church, so I'm allowed to say stuff like that.)

"She obliterated me as an apologist": Lewis and the Anscombe Legend

2007-01-21T15:23:00.000-05:00

Last week when I was laid up with a stomach virus, I had the opportunity to read a large part of C. S. Lewis's Collected Letters, Vol. 3, which has just been published. Letters do not contain all that is relevant for understanding a man's life, but they are datable, first-person documents and therefore are primary in a way that biographies (or even autobiographies) are not.

This particular volume sheds a bit of light on what has come to be called "the Anscombe legend." On Feb. 2, 1948, Lewis and the philosopher G. E. M. (Elizabeth) Anscombe engaged in a disputation at the Oxford Socratic Club, of which Lewis was president. The subject was Lewis's argument that naturalism (the view that the natural world is all that exists) is self-refuting, since "no thought is valid if it can be fully explained as the result of irrational causes" (Lewis, Miracles, ch. 3). Anscombe argued that he failed to distinguish two senses of the word "because," which can be used to denote not only a cause-effect relation, but also a ground-consequent relation. An argument could be valid, because (Ground-Consequent) its propositions entail each other, even if the propositions are generated (Cause-Effect) by irrational factors. Lewis eventually agreed that his argument was inadequate at this point and needed revision.

Those facts are not in dispute, but the consequences of them in Lewis's life have been debated. It was reported by some of Lewis's friends that he was greatly shaken by his defeat, as he saw it, and eventually turned away from formal apologetics altogether, devoting himself instead to other kinds of writing, such as the Chronicles of Narnia. This view was first put forth, I believe, by Humphrey Carpenter in his book The Inklings.

Certainly after it was all over Lewis himself was in very low spirits.... [Derek] Brewer write in his diary: "None of us was at first very cheerful. Lewis was obviously deeply disturbed by his encounter last Monday with Miss Anscombe ..." ... Brewer added that Lewis's imagery when talking about the debate "was all of the fog of war, the retreat of infantry thrown back under heavy attack."
Lewis had learnt his lesson... (Carpenter, Pt. 4, ch. 1)

However, a reaction has set in against this view of Lewis's response. The "Anscombe legend," as Victor Reppert calls it, is, according to some, purely mythical. Lewis was not in fact devastated by the Anscombe argument, although he agreed that his argument needed revision. (This is the view taken by Anscombe herself.) The fact that he wrote no further book-length works of apologetics can be explained by other factors besides a putative loss of nerve in the wake of a shattering defeat. This view is most notably championed by Victor Reppert and John Beversluis.

However, the evidence of the new letters, such as it is, is more supportive of the first view. Most important is the letter to Stella Aldwinckle, secretary of the Socratic Club, of June 12, 1950. Lewis was proposing speakers for the new term, and he suggested that "Miss Anscombe" speak on "Why I believe in God." His comment was this:

The lady is quite right to refute what she thinks bad theistic arguments, but does this not almost oblige her as a Christian to find good ones in their place: having obliterated me as an Apologist ought she not to succeed me? (Letters 3:35; emphasis mine.)

One may question whether there is more irony than bitterness in this comment; nevertheless, it shows that Lewis was felt, either by himself or others, to have sustained a crippling blow.

The same feeling is evident in a letter to Robert C. Walton of the BBC on July 10, 1951:

... like the old fangless snake in The Jungle Book, I've largely lost my dialectical power. (Letters 3:129)

Another key piece is the letter of Sept. 28, 1955, to Carl F. H. Henry, who asked him to write some apologetic articles for Christianity Today:

I wish your project heartily well but can't write you articles. My thought and talent (such as they are) now flow in different, though I think not less Christian, channels, and I do not think I am at all likely to write more directly theological pieces. . . . If I am now good for anything it is for catching the reader unawares — thro' fiction and symbol. I have done what I could in the way of frontal attacks, but I now feel quite sure those days are over. (Letters 3:651; emphasis Lewis.)

All of this suggests that Lewis really felt a change in himself in the wake of the Anscombe disputation. Nevertheless, he did from time to time return, in a small way, to apologetics, most notably in revising Chapter 3 of Miracles in line with Anscombe's critique for a 1960 reprint, as well as a variety of smaller pieces.

Of course, it should also be noted that Lewis's feelings and Lewis's arguments must be assessed separately. The fact is that his argument about naturalism was not obliterated by Anscombe, and in fact has enjoyed a revival, most notably in Alvin Plantinga's Warrant and Proper Function. Many of Lewis's enemies (for instance A. N. Wilson) attempt to employ Lewis's own retreat from apologetics as an ad hominem attack on the totality of his work, without engaging the particularities of the argument, or of Lewis's revision of it in the 1960 Miracles.

Personally, I prefer to see the hand of Providence in Lewis's turn from formal apologetics. If he hadn't turned to "fiction and symbol," would we have the Chronicles of Narnia, Till We Have Faces, The Four Loves; or the great critical works, such as The Discarded Image or Studies in Words? Omnia cooperantur in bonum.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: The "argument from reason": Victor Reppert, C. S. Lewis's Dangerous Idea: In Defense of the Argument from Reason; Alvin Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Function, 1993; Richard Taylor, Metaphysics, ch. 10 (1974). See Reppert's blog for other references, both pre- and post-Lewis.

UPDATE: For Jim Davila and others who have inquired: Anscombe's paper can be found in her collection Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Mind (1981; vol. 2 of her Collected Papers), which also contains her own memories of the disputation; Lewis's initial response and the minutes of the Socratic Club meeting are reprinted in the collection God in the Dock, pp 144-146 (UK title: Undeceptions).

Papa Ooh Mouw Mouw

2007-01-10T11:12:00.000-05:00

Richard Mouw, president of Fuller Seminary, has a blog. Dr. Mouw entered the Fuller scene after I graduated, but I've followed his Presidency with admiration. His books are worth reading; his academic field is philosophy, but he writes well for a general audience. I particularly recommend Uncommon Decency.

The blog looks like it will be interesting, if he can keep it up. Welcome to the 'sphere, Doc!

How conservative am I?

2007-01-08T16:23:00.000-05:00

How conservative am I? More conservative than Colin Powell, but not as conservative as George Bush père, according to this test. (HT: Althouse.)

My score: 22. Actually, just about right in the middle, which is what I've always claimed.

Department of Redundancy Department

2006-12-28T16:29:00.000-05:00

From a story on Ben Roethlisberger's bad year as Pittsburgh quarterback:

''It was tough, frustrating,'' Roethlisberger said. ''At least you know it will be awfully hard for next year to be any worse next year.''

Third Annual Ralphies (3): Books

2006-12-27T21:33:00.000-05:00

BEST NON-FICTION BOOK (Scholarly): Again, I didn't read anything published this year. The closest I came was in reading Joe Fitzmyer's 3rd edition of his commentary on the Genesis Apocryphon (2004; good) and Klaus Beyer's revised volume 2 of Die Aramäische Texte vom Toten Meer (2004; ditto). But the Ralphie goes to Alan Millard's Reading and Writing in the Time of Jesus (2000), an excellent survey, and subtly subversive of a number of scholarly shibboleths.

BEST FICTION: I read and enjoyed King Dork (2006) by Frank Portman, but the best novel I read all year was one I read the same week in May: The End of the Affair, by Graham Greene. Very moving.

BEST GRAPHIC FICTION: So many to choose from. Marvel's Civil War series is great, if published at a glacial pace; also great is the current story arc of Ultimate Fantastic Four written by Mark Carey. I also have to mention the must-read Hatter M; my nephew Greg Cook works on that book as "Cartographic Chronicler and Historian." The Ralphie, however, goes to Brian K. Vaughan's Y: The Last Man. No, it's not a male fantasy; it's an exciting quest tale that illuminates, and deconstructs, a number of assumptions (both male and female) about what the world would look like if all the men died (except one). Vaughan has recently been hired as a writer for ABC's drama Lost.

That's it for this year, folks!

Happy Birthday, O pale Galilean

2006-12-25T20:58:00.000-05:00

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath

—A. C. Swinburne, Hymn to Proserpine

The skeptical Swinburne, under the guise of a pagan critique of Christianity, really was writing against, I suppose, the dull pieties of Victorian Anglicanism, but his attitude crops up quite a bit still. The grey world? yet as I look out my window, the neighborhood is a blaze of brightly colored lights, glistening decorations, and crazy plastic figurines. These things are only the echoes or the outskirts of genuine religion; but could a life-denying faith really engender such a merry display?

The other day in the New York Times, an unrepentantly Jewish writer talked about how she and her husband celebrated Christmas for the first time:

I love that as soon as I told a Catholic friend what I was up to, she invited me to a gingerbread-house decorating party. How fun is that? And why wasn’t I invited before? What does a gingerbread house have to do with Jesus?
...
Some nights, I put on our Starbucks Christmas CD, light a fire, turn on the tree and play with the different settings, put liquid smoke in the train’s smokestack and turn on the choo-choo sound effects and then I sit back and enjoy my first Christmas, in all its kitschy splendor. I feel a little guilty when I look at our lone menorah on the mantel (the only evidence of my faith other than my guilt), but I ask you: how can this much pleasure be wrong?

It reminded me for some reason of a passage from Azar Nafisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran, when one of her students told of the religious instruction in the university after the Islamic Revolution:

On one side [the teacher] had written, in large white letters, MUSLIM GIRL, and drawn a vertical line in the middle of the board. On the other side, in large pink letters, he wrote CHRISTIAN GIRL. He had then asked the class if they knew the differences between the two. One was a virgin, he said at last, after an uncomfortable silence, white and pure, keeping herself for her husband and her husband only. Her power came from her modesty. The other, well, there was not much one could say about her except that she was not a virgin. To Yassi's surprise, the two girls behind her, both active members of the Muslim Students' Association, had started to giggle, whispering, No wonder more and more Muslims are converting to Christianity.

I know that neither woman's experience is religious, or has anything to do with "authentic" Christianity; but it has everything to do with the world that Christianity made. After 2000 years, there are still plenty of people out there, on the outside looking in, who have the impression that such a world, with its colored lights and gingerbread, has something to do with pleasure and liberation. The pale Galilean, who was criticized for enjoying food and drink too much (Luke 7:34), might, after all, have had something to do with that.

Happy birthday, Lord. And many more.

Third Annual Ralphies (2): Film

2006-12-17T15:24:00.000-05:00

BEST MOVIE: Boy, what a lousy year for movies, just as we knew it would be. I enjoyed Nacho Libre and Pirates of the Caribbean 2, but they're not really Film of the Year material. The one movie I was anxious to see, For Your Consideration, turned out to be a disappointment. So, I hate to get all haughty and everything, but I just can't award a Ralphie this year for Best Movie. However, I can start a new category:

WORST MOVIE: Lots of competition here. But I'd have to give it to Strangers with Candy, which is not only the worst movie I've seen this year, but possibly the worst movie I've ever seen. Like, in my life. I started checking my watch to see how much torture I had to endure after five minutes. It's even worse than the second worst movie ever, which I also happened to watch this year on DVD: Broken Flowers.

BEST TV SHOW: I've built my schedule around two shows this year, Lost (still great) and Heroes (also terrific). But the Ralphie goes to The Office. It's the only show I watch with Amy, whose taste otherwise runs towards earnest PBS documentaries. So, huge kudos to Carell & Co. just for luring my wife to network television.