The New Zinjirli Inscription

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

(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

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

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?

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?

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- 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

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

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

Lost Dreams

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

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"

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

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

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

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)

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)

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

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

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

Busybusybusy

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

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

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

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?

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

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)

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

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

Spider-Man 3:
Good

Pirates of the Caribbean 3:
Bad

Avudim

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

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

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)

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"

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

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

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?

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

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.)