A Review of “The Great Church in Captivity: A Study of the Patriarchate of Constantinople from the Eve of the Turkish Conquest to the Greek War of Independence”

Sir Steven Runciman’s The Great Church in Captivity: A Study of the Patriarchate of Constantinople from the Eve of the Turkish Conquest to the Greek War of Independence is an amazing compendium of information about a place and time that few other books cover. Due to the scarcity of extent historical records kept by the Patriarchate itself, the author combed through “reports and accounts of foreign diplomats, churchmen, and travellers” in order to piece together the history of the Great Church, as the Greeks called the Patriarchate of Constantinople, after the fall of the city to the Ottoman Turks (viii). With thirty pages of bibliography (the majority of which are books not in English) and innumerable footnotes, the author’s meticulous scholarship shines throughout the book. The text is divided into two “books”.

Book I

Book I covers the conditions of the Great Church on the eve of the Turkish conquest. Chapter 1 provides a general background of the Orthodox Church, highlighting differences between it and the Western Church, and explaining their historical development. It also lists the events that naturally divide the history of the Byzantine Empire into four epochs.

Chapter 2 covers two aspects of the visible structure of the Orthodox Church: the hierarchy and monasteries. In the section on hierarchy, it covers the development of the doctrine of the apostolic succession of bishops, the function of ecumenical councils, the development of the Pentarchy as well as the distinction between autonomous and autocephalous churches. Then it covers the rules for electing and deposing bishops, metropolitans, and patriarchs as well as the types of organizations these leaders maintained. In the section on monasteries, it covers the legal code governing them, the role they played during doctrinal controversies, and the special place in the Byzantine heart for monastics--sometimes even above the hierarchy.

Chapter 3 covers the evolution of the complex power relationship between the Byzantine Emperor and the Patriarch of Constantinople, who generally speaking was the second highest ranking official after the emperor. The pattern established at Nicaea continued until the Latin conquest, which precipitated a constitutional crisis of succession for both roles. The author defends the position that Byzantium was essentially a democracy and thus not liable to the charge of Caesaropapism.

Chapter 4 has two parts. The first part covers the relationship between the Byzantine emperor and Christians not in his dominion--both those living under infidel Turkish rule as well as those living in independent Orthodox states. The second part covers the Emperor’s attempt toward rapprochement with the Pope in order to secure military help from the West against the Turks. This includes the histories of the councils of Lyon and Florence

Chapter 5 covers the educational system of the empire, which in contrast to the West was under State instead of Church patronage. Then it covers different schools of philosophy in Byzantium, their leaders, and their interactions with the apophatic theology of Orthodoxy. Then it discusses the rehabilitation of the word Hellene and the natural development of Hellenism as the emperor ceased to be a “supra-national potentate” (120).

Chapter 6 traces the development of Orthodoxy’s theology of mysticism and the paradox of deification when the Deity is apophatically unknowable. The resolution comes by distinguishing between the unknowable essence of God and the energies of God that are knowable through prayer. The chapter continues with the history of Hesychasm and the Palamite controversy and closes with the institution of starets in Russia. Chapter 7 briefly summarizes the condition of the Empire right before Constantinople fell to the Turks in 1453.

Book II

Book II describes the situation of the church under the Ottoman Sultans and is divided into twelve chapters. Chapter 1 covers the new pattern of governance that emerged, where the Patriarch of Constantinople became the Ethnarch of the Orthodox milet under the Muslim Sultan. As such he became a civil as well as religious leader, and the organization beneath him required an increasing number of lay officials. Despite the misery that accompanied the fall of the city, the Orthodox milet were given a constitution that allowed them to increase in material prosperity.

Chapter 2 documents how the condition of the Orthodox milet degraded over time. The later Sultans converted Orthodox churches into mosques, required bribes to allow the construction of new churches, required a tribute for the ratification of every Patriarchal election, and required yearly tributes, which led to the Patriarchate’s mounting indebtedness and its increasing subservience to rich members of the laity who could help to cover expenses. The corruption of absolute impotence led Greeks to replace mutual loyalty with intrigue for survival.

Chapter 3 covers the sad state of education under the Turks. Constantinople had a Patriarchal Academy for basic priestly training, but Greeks generally had to leave the Ottoman Empire to study anything scientific, with the University of Papua near Venice being the destination of choice. Provincial priests relied on nearby monasteries to become just literate enough to perform the Mysteries.

Chapter 4 covers the relationship between the Papacy and the Orthodox under the Turks. About 45 years after the council of Florence, the Orthodox Patriarchs convened to legally repudiate it. Jesuits responded by reaching out to the Greeks by starting schools for them in both Latin and Ottoman lands. Over time some Orthodox bishops submitted to the Pope, either publicly or privately, but the common folk continued to resist steadfastly Papal overtures.

Chapter 5 covers the early Lutheran attempts at dialogue with the Orthodox. Luther himself being ambivalent about the Greeks, his successor Melanchthon dispatched the first letter to Patriarch Jeremias of Constantinople in 1559, presenting the Confession of Augsburg as the symbol of their faith. After a couple rounds of back and forth, Jeremias ended the dialogue in 1581.

Chapter 6 covers the lively history of Cyril Lucaris, first a Patriarch of Alexandria and later of Constantinople. Through Jesuit intrigue, his strongly anti-Roman and pro-Calvinist Confession of Faith scandalized the Orthodox, and incurred for him anathematization and multiple depositions while alive and strong condemnation after his repose.

Chapter 7 covers the early history of interactions between Anglicans and Orthodox. They began with chaplains of British embassies in Constantinople. Later, Greek students came to universities in England. Later, a series of Greek bishops visited England. Under the assumption that intercommunions was possible, Anglican divines tried to pin down the Orthodox on their beliefs. Due partly to the Orthodox not wanting to offend their hosts and partly to the apophatic nature of Orthodox theology, Anglicans lost interest after multiple failed attempts.

Chapter 8 covers the evolving relationship between the powers in Moscow and Constantinople. Moscow began to view itself as the Third Rome since the fall of Constantinople. The secular and religious leaders in Moscow began upgrading their titles over time: Moscow’s Prince become Tsar, the “Christian Emperor for all Christians in the whole world” (331), and Moscow’s Metropolitan went from being suffragan to the Patriarch of Constantinople to being a Patriarch in his own right.

Confronted with the friendly overtures of Protestants and the attacks of Rome, the Orthodox needed a way to express their beliefs in categories that Westerners could understand. Chapter 9 documents these attempts. Peter Moghila’s Orthodoxa Confessio Fidei, the Confession of Dositheus, and the Oros by Cyril of Nicaea are three examples, but only local councils ever approved them, so they lack ecumenical weight.

Chapter 10 introduces the Phanariots, a Greek moneyed-nobility “closely knit by common aims and interests and by intermarriage, but open to newcomers” (362). They dominated the lay organization of the Patriarchate, paid its debts, and intrigued on its behalf at the Sublime Porte. They controlled the autonomous principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia. Through their influence, Greeks came to control Orthodoxy in non-Greek lands.

Chapter 11 covers the events leading up to the start of the Greek War for Independence in 1821. By the 18th century the Ottoman Empire’s “administrative machinery was beginning to run down” (391), and even the historically virtuous village priests and monks were becoming corrupt. Many from peasant to Phanariot were joining secret societies called Klephts that fomented revolt again the Turks. The Patriarch, as servant of the Sultan, enjoined the populace to submit to the Sultan, but to no avail. At the start of the war, the Sultan considered the Patriarch in breach of contract and executed him, two metropolitans, twelves bishops, and most Phanariots (406).

Chapter 12 conclude the books by documenting the condition of the Patriarchate after the Greek War for Independence. His powers were curtailed. He was a Greek but with sworn loyalty to the Sultan, even if at war with the independent Kingdom of Greece. He continued to push Hellenism instead of Orthodoxy by trying to keep the Bulgarian Church in subjection to Greek hierarchs and encouraging nationalistic feuds between monasteries on Mt. Athos. After the establishment of the Republic of Turkey, he was reduced to “merely the chief bishop of a dwindling religious community in a secular state” (407).

From this reader’s perspective, really the only negative feature of the book was the repeated implication that the Orthodox under the Turkish yoke practiced obscurantism and rejected the “opportunity to revivify their whole attitude to religion” that Protestants offered them (319). This reader felt that the systemic lack of educational opportunities under the Turkish yoke produced a historical context where real communication between the parties just could not occur, and that the Orthodox need not be blamed for intentionally sabotaging the communication.

On the Great Schism: Causes and Core Issues

Introduction

The schism between the sees of Constantinople and Rome is the sad result of years of increasing estrangement. The year 1054 AD is memorable because it was then that the bishops of the respective sees excommunicated each other, but that event was really just a trough in a relationship whose troubles began centuries earlier. Furthermore, the exact ramifications of the event in 1054 took centuries to realize. This paper will first briefly explore the historical factors that led to their gradual estrangement and then drill down on the two doctrinal issues at the core of the schism: the papal claims of universal jurisdiction and the papal support of the filioque clause.

Historical Factors

In a sense, the gradual estrangement between Rome and Constantinople makes complete historical sense. In a day without the Internet and airplanes, the 850 miles between the cities made them worlds apart. There are four factors that especially contributed to the estrangement: distance, language, heresy, and politics. Because of the distance, the dispatch of letters took weeks or months and slowed down two-way communication. Dispatching legates was an alternative, but legates might overstep their mandate (Hussey 76), be unable to act because the situation upon arrival was so different from that specified in their original mandate (83), or even be imprisoned as the bearer of bad news (61). With respect to language, the bishop of Rome spoke Latin, and the bishop of Constantinople spoke Greek. Thus, all communication had to go through intermediary translators, who might suppress unpalatable parts of the message (46), or do such a poor job that the resulting translation almost “perpetuated those very errors which it sought to eradicate” (49). Beside the vagaries of translation, the Greek side actually disdained the Latin language as being barbarian (77) and perhaps even incapable of expressing fine theological distinctions (179). With respect to heresy, iconoclast emperors had plunged the see of Constantinople into heresy for more than a hundred years, which degraded the trust between the sees (67).

With respect to politics, there were three expressions of this. One was the fact that from the seventh century onward, Syria, Palestine, and Egypt (18), and later North Africa and Spain (31) came under Muslim rule, which sometimes absolutely obstructed communication between patriarchal sees (46). The second was the fact that the Balkans, which were the midpoint between the sees of Rome and Constantinople, at first fell to Avar and Slav invaders, impeding communication (32), and later become the center of a jurisdictional dispute between the two sees (81-82). Lastly, from the standpoint of the Byzantine Emperor, Charlemagne’s arrogation of the title “Emperor” with papal support in 800 AD challenged the universal claims of Constantinople and sowed seeds of jealousy that between the two sees (53-54).

Core Doctrinal Issues

Papal Claims of Universal Jurisdiction

Having looked at the historical factors that contributed to the schism, we now turn to the doctrinal issues, starting with papal claims to universal jurisdiction. The Pope had from antiquity been accorded primacy of honor in Christendom (126). However, with the transfer of the Imperial capital to Constantinople, the relationship between the bishops of Old and New Rome became complicated. Should that primacy be transferred to the bishop of the new capital? The Second Ecumenical Council tried to resolve this with its 3rd Canon: “The Bishop of Constantinople, however, shall have the prerogative of honour after the Bishop of Rome; because Constantinople is New Rome” (Schaff 178), with which Rome agreed although the other patriarchs were irritated. However, the Fourth Ecumenical Council revised this position in its 28th Canon: “The bishop of New Rome shall enjoy the same honour as the bishop of Old Rome, on account of the removal of the Empire” (Schaff 289), which Rome refused to accept (Hussey 27). In practice, peace was maintained by granting the Pope the right to confirm the election of other patriarchs (18) and declare the ecumenicity of a council (27) in exchange for the Emperor’s having the right to confirm the election of the Pope (21). The canons of the Council of Trullo; however, really pushed the issue. The 33rd canon re-asserted the equal dignity of Constantinople: “[W]e decree that the see of Constantinople shall have equal privileges with the see of Old Rome, and shall be highly regarded in ecclesiastical matters as that is, and shall be second after it” (Schaff 382). Not only this, but the canons of Trullo insisted on obedience, under pain of clerical deposition and laical excommunication, to certain canons that the Pope rejected (Hussey 26).

The Patriarch of Constantinople and the Emperor often sought the Pope’s confirmation of a decision but not necessarily with the presupposition that a rejection of the decision would reverse it. Sometimes out of courtesy to Rome, they would allow the Pope to make a decision only to ignore it (Hussey 77). For example, during the Photian schism, the Pope deposed and laicized Patriarch Photius of Constantinople (76), to which Photius responded by convening a council that deposed and anathematized the Pope (78). Things like this occurred with some regularity but reconciliation always eventually followed.

In the mid-eleventh century, Papal insistence on jurisdiction over affairs in the East intensified. A series of letters were exchanged between the Pope, the emperor, and Cerularius, the patriarch of Constantinople. Cerularius chided the Pope for minor liturgical differences and closed the Latin churches in Constantinople. The Pope claimed to be the head and mother of the churches and took offense at the patriarch referring to himself as the Ecumenical Patriarch. The East insisted that the Pope was only the first among equals (133) and that the Church was rightly governed through the Pentarchy and ecumenical councils (135). In the end, legates of the Pope delivered a Papal bull of excommunication for Cerularius (133), and Cerularius anathematized the authors of the bull (135). Normal relations actually continued for a while, but later history in the Crusades showed that the papal claims to universal jurisdiction actually created irreconcilable differences between it and Constantinople (136).

Papal Support of the Filioque Clause

Regarding the second doctrinal issue, the Second Ecumenical Council set forth a creed that said this: “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father, who with the Father and the Son is worshipped and glorified.” The Latin-speaking West over time began to insert the word filioque, which means “and from the Son”, into the text after “who proceeds from the Father” when they chanted the Creed. The seeds of this controversy go back to Augustine, who wrote: “We find that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Son also … Therefore He so begat Him [the Word] as that the common Gift should proceed from Him also, and the Holy Spirit should be the Spirit of both.” (Augustine 216). By 589 AD, a local council in Toledo acknowledged that the filioque was already in common usage in the West (Walker 164). The first known Eastern reaction to this introduction was in 649 AD at a local council in Rome, where the Eastern representatives chided Pope Martin I for its presence in the Creed in parts of the West (Hussey 20). At the council of Frankfort in 794 AD, Charlemagne officially approved the use of the filioque in his empire, prompting Pope III in 808 AD to warn Charlemagne against tampering with the Creed (Ware 54). Thus, up until beginning of the 9th century, the Pope and the Eastern Patriarchs still had an uneasy agreement.

When German missionaries started evangelizing toward the East into Bulgaria, bringing the filioque with them, the Pope while still not using the filioque himself, gave his full consent to its use in Bulgaria (Ware 54). This prompted Photius Patriarch of Constantinople to take action in 867 AD, writing the other Eastern Patriarchs to denounce the filioque not only as a western innovation without sanction from an ecumenical council but more importantly as a heresy since it admitted of two principles in the Godhead (Hussey 78). In 879 AD at a council in Constantinople with papal legates, all sides agreed not to change the Creed by inserting the filioque (84). However, in 1014 AD the Pope finally succumbed to Germanic pressure, and at the coronation of Henry II at Rome, the filioque was sung in the Creed, and Rome has retained it in its Creed ever after.

In a sense, the controversy around the filioque clause could be subsumed under the topic of universal papal jurisdiction because it is just one of many examples of unilateral decisions made by the Pope. Later Orthodox theologians have noted that it is possible to give an Orthodox interpretation to the phrase if it understood as referring to the temporal mission of the Holy Spirit instead of His eternal procession (Ware 213). But even so, from the Orthodox point of view, the Pope should not have at first allowed, and then encouraged, and then later adopted the filioque without sanction from an Ecumenical Council, and the fact that he did flows naturally from his claims to universal jurisdiction. In addition to the filioque, there have been other dogmas that the Pope has unilaterally introduced, including purgatory, the immaculate conception of Mary, and papal infallibility. In my opinion, the Orthodox Church, while having the fullness of the faith, simultaneously has a type of poverty while its Elder Brother, the bishop of Rome, is in schism, and I pray nearly every day that Pope Francis will take the kenotic initiative and renounce the claim to universal jurisdiction, which action would do so much toward the cause of restored communion between East and West.

Works Cited

Augustine. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Volume 3. Ed. by Philip Schaff. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Web. http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf103.i.html

Hussey, J. M. The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990.

Schaff, Philip. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: Volume 14. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Web. http://www.ccel.org/ccel/schaff/npnf214.i.html

Ware, Timothy. The Orthodox Church. New York: Penguin, 1997. Print.

Walker, Williston. A History of the Christian Church. New York: Scribners, 1959.

On the First Period of Iconoclasm in 8th Century Byzantium

Introduction

The eighth and ninth centuries were a tumultuous time in the Byzantine Empire because of the iconoclast controversy. Beginning with the Chalce Episode of 726 AD under emperor Leo III and continuing with ebbs and flows until the final restoration of icons in 843 AD under emperor Michael III’s regent Theodora, the controversy led to the expropriation of property; the destruction of cultural artifacts; and the deposition, exile, excommunication, and abuse of people. This post will explore the historical background and development of the controversy up until the first restoration of icons in 787 AD.

Historical Background

The roots of the controversy lay in the marked intensification of the cult of the icon in the late sixth and seventh centuries. The earliest church used symbolic rather than figural representations in their art in order to avoid idolatrous associations. By the fourth century, there was a growing sense that material objects, such as the relics of martyrs, were infused with holiness, in which those who venerated it could participate. When this sentiment combined with the contemporaneous cult of the imperial portrait, the veneration of religious portraits was the natural outcome, as documents from the early fifth century establish (Hussey 30). By the sixth century, palladian qualities were attributed to icons, which certainly met a felt need of peasants and soldiers coping with the instability that resulted from the loss of large parts of the Empire to Muslims, Lombards, and Slav (31 - 32). By the seventh century, apologists explained that icons of saints could bring the beholder into indirect contact with God because the saints who were the prototypes of the icon had successfully reflected the image of God, and thus icons of them still reflected this divine image (32).

Long before the 8th century, there was opposition to this evolving understanding of the icon. The early 4th century Spanish Synod of Elvira urged caution in the use of icons. Eusebius of Caesarea (d. 339/340 AD), Epiphanius of Cyprus (d. 403 AD), and a sect within the Armenian Church all expressed doubts about the veneration of icons. Anxiety about the “popular use—and abuse—of icons” (43) grew as “superstitious practices associated with icons” increased (33). Sadly, Hussey does not cite examples of these abuses and superstitious practices. Regardless, the rhetoric against icons during this time period focused on the Second Commandment and the Christian emphasis on worship in spirit and truth rather than on later Christological arguments (33-34).

Development

What specifically motivated Leo III’s iconoclast policy is hard to pin down. In his earlier military career, he certainly had contact with Muslims, who were strictly opposed to icons, and cross-fertilization of ideas might have occurred (34). Then there is also the potential Jewish influence (35). Then there were the vocal iconoclast behaviors of three bishops in Asia Minor, who indirectly blamed the emperor for not stemming the out-out-control use of icons (36). Walker cites two more motives: 1) a desire to take power away from the predominantly iconophilic monasteries, which were exempt from state taxes, soldiers, and public servants, and 2) a desire to make the Church acceptable to his dualistic army recruits (148). Whatever the complex of motives, the catalyst seems to have been a volcanic eruption in 726 AD, which many interpreted as the expression of God’s displeasure at the use of icons, because it was in the same year that he took his first official iconoclast action by removing the mosaic image of Christ above the Chalce entrance to imperial palace complex (Hussey 37). Then in 730 AD, he issued an imperial decree for the destruction of the icons of saints. The implementation of this decree resulted in the destruction of altar furniture and cloths and the removal of valuable reliquaries. Whether at this stage iconophiles were abused is lost to history. Also, at this point in the controversy, the rhetoric still focused on the violation of the Second Commandment (38). In 731 AD Pope Gregory III responded by excommunicating the iconoclasts, and Leo answered by removing Sicily, Calabria, and Illyricum from the Pope’s jurisdiction, thus deepening the split between East and West (Walker 149).

John of Damascus, who died in 749 AD, wrote On Holy Images, the classic defense of icons on Christological grounds. He argued that whereas before the Incarnation, God was undepictable, after the Incarnation He was depictable and thus the depiction of Christ in icons is appropriate. Furthermore, because God became matter in order to work out salvation, it is proper to venerate matter, through which this salvation was wrought, and thus the veneration of icons is appropriate (Damascene 15 - 16).

The iconoclast movement became more theologically sophisticated and violent under the theologically minded Emperor Constantine V. He convened the council of Hieria-Blachernae in 754 AD in order to elicit synodal support for his iconoclast policy. Episcopal representation was strong, but there was no patriarchal representation. Assuming their synod would become the Seventh Ecumenical Council, the bishops moderated the emperor’s extreme views to be consistent with the previous six Ecumenical Councils. At the same time, they responded to John of Damascus’ Christological defense of icons by laying out Christological arguments against the veneration of icons:

1. Icons circumscribed an uncircumscribable Godhead, confused the two natures of Christ, and thus violated the Fourth Ecumenical Council,
2. Icons divided the human and divine natures of Christ and thus violated the Third Ecumenical Council,
3. The only valid image of Christ is the Eucharist, and
4. The only valid image of a saint was his ethical representation in the life of a believer (Hussey 40-41).

Now having the formal ecclesiastical condemnation of icons, iconophiles could be punished as heretics through either laicization or excommunication. The implementation of this ruling resulted in intensified looting of sacred buildings, imprisonment, expropriation of monastic properties, and the public ridicule of offenders (42).

With the death of Constantine V in 755 AD, the persecution of iconophiles tapered off (43). By 780 AD the emperor was ten-year-old Constantine VI, whose regent mother was the flagrant iconophile Irene, who used her influence to bring about the first restoration of icons (44). This was complicated by three factors:

1. By virtue of Pope Gregory’s excommunication of iconoclasts, the Eastern church was in schism from the West,
2. By virtue of the Council of Hieria-Blachernae, iconodulism was still officially a heresy in the East, and
3. The majority of the clergy by this point of time were either iconoclast bishops or those ordained by them.

The solution to the crisis was to convene a general council, for which formerly iconoclast Patriarch Paul IV penitently called before retiring. Then, his successor Tarasius accepted the patriarchate only on condition of calling a general council (45). The first attempt at a general council in Constantinople failed in 786 AD when imperial guards backed by iconoclast bishops stopped the proceedings. The next year another council convened in Nicaea, including delegates from Pope Hadrian. This council, recognized by posterity as the Seventh Ecumenical Council accomplished a number of things:

1. It reconciled the Eastern Church with the Pope,
2. It decreed that formerly iconoclast bishops who repented would not be degraded as long as there was no proof that they had abused iconophiles, and
3. It repudiated the pretensions of the Council of Hieria-Blachernae by condemning as heretical the tenets of iconoclasm. Most importantly, it laid out definitively the Orthodox iconophilic position:
1. That there is a qualitative distinction between λατρεία, which is the honor that belongs to the Creator alone, and προσκύνησις, which is the relative honor shown to holy objects including icons and
2. That the relative honor given to an icon passes to the icon’s prototype (47-48).

Conclusion

The iconoclast controversy did not just disappear away after Nicaea II. Many monastics, most notably Theodore Studites, were resentful of the leniency Tarasius showed toward repentant bishops, creating a rift in the iconophile party. This weakened its efforts to root out the iconoclastic heresy (55), leading to its resurgence in the ninth century albeit in less harsh form (58). It was not until 843 AD under Emperor Michael III’s regent mother Theodora that the iconophile party was finally able to assume and retain power indefinitely in an event called the Sunday of Orthodoxy (63). Thus concluded a colorful segment of Byzantine history that was formative for Orthodox belief and practice: The final Christological controversy was settled by the final and seventh Ecumenical Council, and the veneration of icons was firmly established in daily life (67).

Works Cited

Damascene, John. St. John Damascene on Holy Images. London: Baker, 1898. Web. http://www.ccel.org/ccel/damascus/icons.i.iv.html#i.iv-Page_15

Hussey, J. M. The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990.

Walker, Williston. A History of the Christian Church. New York: Scribners, 1959.

On Alexandria and Antioch: A Comparison of Two Schools of Theology

Introduction

Alexandria and Antioch were the second and third most important cities in the Roman empire after Rome. Not surprisingly they also became centers of Biblical exegesis and theology in the early centuries of the Church. Throughout the Christological controversies of the first five centuries, the two cities were like poles representing two different approaches to the questions at hand. At the heart of the matter was the place that Greek philosophy could play in theology. On the one hand the Church leaders in the West and Asia Minor (including Antioch) distrusted Greek philosophy because of their battle with Gnosticism; on the other hand Church leaders in Alexandria followed in the footsteps of the Alexandrian Jewish philosopher Philo, who combined Plato and Judaism, by combining Plato and Christianity. This difference of approach combined with the simultaneous political rivalry for importance in the empire set the stage for a competition between the Alexandrian and Antiochian schools of theology. This post compares and contrasts the two schools in two different stages: 1) the period preceding and including the First Ecumenical Council and 2) the period preceding and including the Third and Fourth Ecumenical Councils.

Preceding and Including the First Ecumenical Council

Alexandria

Alexandria had a catechetical school at least as early as 185 AD, the first recorded leader of which was Pantænus, a converted Stoic philosopher. Little is directly known about his theological slant (Walker 72). His student and successor Clement, who died around 215 AD was also a presbyter in the Alexandrian church. Clement saw the divine Logos as the source of all intelligence and morality regardless of race. Whether using philosophy for the Greeks or the Law for the Hebrews, the divine Logos used both as a tutor to bring them to Christ. For Clement, although the divine Logos truly was incarnate in Jesus Christ, the actual events of the earthly life of Jesus generally lacked significance apart from the fact that He taught the knowledge of God, which is the highest good, so that His disciples could attain His same blessedness (73).

Clement’s pupil and successor Origen was by far the most influential of all leaders in the Alexandrian school in terms of breadth, depth, and quantity of output; the size of his reader base both while living and extending beyond his death; as well as the perfection of interpreting Christianity in terms of Hellenic philosophy. The tool he used to accomplish this was the allegorical interpretation of Scripture, with which the Alexandrian school became synonymous, and which effectively allowed Origen to read whatever he wanted into the Scriptures. The allegorical method posited three layers of meaning to a passage corresponding to the tripartite composition of man (flesh, soul, spirit), with the “spiritual” meaning being the really important one and by which only perfect people could be edified (75). Because he did not think in the rigid categories of later Orthodoxy, Origen’s writings could easily be quoted by either side in controversies. For example, he simultaneously spoke of Christ as eternally generated and yet a “second God” and a “creature.” Also, Christ is the mediator through whom all Creation came into being, including the highest of all creatures the Holy Spirit (76). Later Orthodoxy’s Logos Christology found a great defender in Origen, but because of his belief in the soul’s pre-existence and the visible universe’s purpose as a place of punishment for those who sinned in their pre-existence, he fell of out of favor in later generations (77).

The last two leaders in the early Alexandrian school were Alexander, bishop of Alexandria from around 312 AD to 328 AD (107), and his successor Athanasius, bishop on and off between 328 AD and 378 AD (109). For them, the divinity of Christ was crucial because it was the only way to guarantee salvation. Unless it was genuine Godhead that had became a man, then there would be no basis for mankind thereby to experience divinization (110).

Antioch

The early leaders of the Antiochian school were Paul of Samosata, Lucian, Arius, and Eusebius of Nicomedia. Paul was bishop of Antioch from around 260 AD to 272 AD. He was a Dynamic Monarchian, which held that Jesus was the Son of God by adoption only. The man Jesus was inspired by an impersonal Logos and fell in love with God, effecting a moral but not essential union with God. After his resurrection, Jesus received a delegated kind of divinity (69). Lucian, a presbyter who taught in Antioch from around 275 AD to 303 AD, died as a martyr in 312 AD. Although his views are lost to history, we can assume that they are similar to his more well-known pupils Arius and Eusebius of Nicomedia (97). Arius moved to Alexandria, where he was a presbyter under Bishop Alexander, conflict with whom led to the Arian controversy. Arius and Eusebius of Nicomedia followed Origen’s lead that Christ was a created being. Further, in the incarnation, the Logos entered a human body replacing the human spirit, thus making Christ neither fully God nor fully man (107).

Period Preceding and Including the Third and Fourth Ecumenical Councils

Having established in the First and Second Ecumenical Councils that the Son of God and the Holy Spirit were of one essence with the Father, the next point that needed to be clarified was what it means that the Son of God “was made a man”. In this controversy, the difference between the Alexandrian and Antiochian schools became quite manifest. The Alexandrian school emphasized the unity of Christ to the point that to some it appeared that His divinity practically absorbed his humanity. The Antiochian school emphasized the integrity of each of his divine and human natures to the point that to some it appeared that there were practically two separate beings contained within him. In this section, we will look at the main players in each of the two schools (131).

Alexandria

In the latter Alexandrian school, there are four main personages at which to look: Apollinaris, Cyril, Dioscurus, and Eutyches. Apollinaris, who died around 390 AD, was in agreement with Athanasius that unless Christ was perfectly divine, our salvation was in jeopardy. His solution to the composition of Christ was as follows: Jesus had a human body and soul, but his reasoning spirit was replaced by the divine Logos. Although the Second Ecumenical Council condemned this formulation, with slight modification it became the Orthodox position, namely that Jesus still had a human mind but that his center or subject was the divine Logos (132). Cyril was the patriarch of Alexandria from 412 AD to 444 AD. In Alexandrian fashion, his position was that God-made-flesh was born, died, and consumed in Holy Communion, thus protecting our ability to become partakers of the divine nature but allowing Christ little more than an impersonal humanity centered in the divinity (134). The popular and ancient title Theotokos for the Virgin Mary, meaning “bearer of God”, was a very natural way to encapsulate this view. Dioscurus succeeded Cyril as the patriarch of Alexandria in 444 AD and appears mainly concerned with advancing his authority than clarifying Christology. Eutyches, an archimandrite of Constantinople, protecting the divinity of Christ, unfortunately, at the expense of his full humanity, posited this: “I confess that our Lord was of two natures before the union [i.e., the incarnation], but after the union one nature”, and was condemned at the Fourth Ecumenical Council (138).

Antioch

Besides the emphasis on the integrity of the human and divine natures in Christ already mentioned, the latter Antiochian school differed from that of Alexandria in a number of ways. First, its philosophy was Aristotelian rather than Platonic. Second, its dominant model of salvation was not theosis; rather, it was Christ as the “second Adam” and the significance of the reality of his temptations and sufferings as a human. Thirdly, the members of its school favored the simple grammatical, historical approach to Biblical exegesis as opposed to the Alexandrian bent toward allegory (133).

The leading players in the latter school of Antioch where Diodorus and his three pupils Chrysostom, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Nestorius. Diodorus, who died in 394 AD, was a longtime presbyter in Antioch and later bishop in Tarsus. Similar to Paul of Samosata earlier, Diodorus taught that in Christ were two persons in moral rather than essential union. The union could be compared to the marriage of a man and wife (133). Diodorus was condemned at a local council in 499 AD (Kelly 302). Chrysostom, who lived from around 345 AD to 407 AD, served as a deacon and presbyter in Antioch before becoming bishop of Constantinople. He did not contribute much to the Christological struggles of the time; instead, he perfected the Antiochian school’s literal approach to exegesis by crafting practical homilies on Christian living (Walker 130). Theodore was bishop of Mopsuestia until his death in 428 AD. He admitted that there was only one person in Christ, but could not really explain how this was compatible with his other views that resembled those of his teacher. Theodore was posthumously condemned at the Fifth Ecumenical Council (143). Nestorius like Theodore only admitted one person in Christ (133). However, his nemesis Cyril of Alexandria accused him otherwise and took offense at Nestorius’ hesitancy to use the title Theotokos, leading to Nestorius’ condemnation at the Third Ecumenical Council (136). With teacher and fellow pupils all condemned by history, it is almost amazing that Chrysostom escaped unscathed as a member of the Antiochian school. Apparently, enraging the empress for her extravagance kept him busy from making statements that later generations might consider heretical (130).

Conclusion

The schools of Alexandria and Antioch were influential during the first centuries of the Church but had very different points of view. The leaders of the Alexandrian school were Platonic and allegorical. Their understanding of salvation as theosis created a tendency toward viewing Christ’s divinity as subsuming his humanity. The leaders of the Antiochian school, on the other hand, were Aristotelian and literal. Their understanding of salvation as stemming from an intimate conjunction of the Logos with the man Jesus created a tendency toward viewing Jesus Christ as the conjunction of two separate beings. In the battle between the two schools and their episcopal sees for power, there was sometimes as much political intrigue as there was a concern for theology. In the end, through the course of the Third through the Fifth Ecumenical Councils, the school of Antioch was effectively condemned, and the formulation of Cyril of Alexandria became the Orthodox Christology (143).

Works Cited

Walker, Willison. A History of the Christian Church. New York: Scribners, 1959.
Kelley, J.N.D., Early Christian Doctrines, revised ed, San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1978.

On the Development of Monasticism Up To and Including St. Benedict of Nursia

The institution of monasticism had a profound historical influence upon the whole Church--East and West. Although many contemporary Christians might be inclined to consider monasticism as, at best, culturally irrelevant in the modern world or, at worst, spiritually harmful, a look at its early development reveals that it certainly met a felt need of the time and still has the potential to speak positively to the world today. This paper will explore the three things: 1) the initial impetus behind monasticism, 2) its development in the East, and finally 3) its development in the West.

The Initial Impetus Behind Monasticism

From the time of the apostles until the end of the second century, the perpetual risk of persecution and martyrdom had the effect of keeping the Church relatively pure: Members of the Church were “experiential Christians” (Walker 94). The first half of the third century AD, however, was a period of considerable toleration toward Christianity. Although still illegal, it was, generally speaking, the object of only sporadic and short-lived persecutions until 248 AD because the Roman emperors were preoccupied with other matters (79). A rapid increase in converts from heathen religions accompanied this relative peace. At the same time, the fact that the Second Coming of Jesus had not yet occurred caused many to realize that the Final Judgment was not as imminent as previously assumed, and spiritual vigilance thus dwindled. All of these factors came together to encourage worldliness in the Church. As more and more nominal Christians populated public worship, it provoked a real identity crisis in the Church: It went from conceiving of itself as a “communion of saints” to an “agency for salvation”, and the standards for Christian behavior were relaxed. Obviously, this change of affairs was not satisfactory to everyone (94-95).

Church leaders had long observed an apparent distinction in Scripture between requirements and advice. The requirements were those rules binding on all Christians, but the advice was for the serious disciples of Christ. The advice centered around voluntary poverty and voluntary celibacy. For example, Jesus did not tell all disciples to sell everything and give the proceeds to the poor, but he did tell one man that if wanted to be “perfect,” he should so do (Matthew 19:21). Similarly, Jesus observed that there are those who “have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:12). In 1 Corinthians 7, St. Paul lays out an argument for the relative greater beatitude of those who choose not to marry over those who do marry. Given that church leaders such as Hermas, Tertullian, and Origen all acknowledged this distinction between a lower and higher morality, more and more of those dissatisfied with worldliness in the Church began to follow not just the requirements but also the advice. And herein the seeds of monasticism were sown (95). Initially, this ascetic ideal was still pursued while integrated with society, for example, an order of holy virgins attached to a church. However, it was not long before the increasing formalism of public worship and the lack of supply of recent martyrs as role models led to a demand for spiritual heroes who possessed a vital and personal relationship with God. And thus the monastic vocation was birthed (125).

The Development of Monasticism in the East

St. Anthony the Great, a Coptic born around 250 AD, was the first to respond to the monastic impulse. In 270 AD he gave away all his possessions. Fifteen years later, he became a hermit in the Egyptian desert, living in the severest self-denial until his repose around 356 AD. He overcame the flesh through constant prayer. Soon more and more people imitated his example, filling the deserts of Nitria and Scetis in Egypt. Some were absolute hermits; others lived in small groups. Because this was originally a lay movement, there was little ecclesiastical accountability at this time and sometimes a danger of practicing self-denial for the sake of self-denial (125-126).

St. Pachomius, born around 292 AD, converted to Christianity around age 20. At first he lived as a hermit, but soon realized its potential for unhealthy excesses. He set up the first Christian monastery in Tabennisi, Egypt, around 315 AD. Here the brothers lived in a close-knit community having regularly assigned work, regular hours of worship, and similar dress and cells for lodging. This form of a common ascetic life under the supervision of an abbot is known as cenobitic monasticism--in contrast to the eremitic monasticism of hermits--and it greatly improved the monastic ecosystem. By his death in 346 AD, Pachomius had established ten such monasteries, including ones for women (126).

Eremitic and cenobitic monasticism both flourished side-by-side and were exported from Egypt to the rest of the Roman Empire. Especially in Syria, the eremitic form became quite popular and extravagant. St. Simon Stylites, who lived on top of a pillar for 30 years until his death in 459 AD, is a famous example of extreme Syrian asceticism. In Asia Minor, however, it was cenobitic monasticism that especially blossomed under the leadership of St. Basil the Great, who lived from 330 AD to 379 AD. He like Pachomius advocated a common life of work, prayer, and Bible reading. In addition, however, not only did he require outreach in care for orphans and widows, he also actively discouraged the eremitic lifestyle (126).

The Development of Monasticism in the West

As a quirk of history, St. Athanasius the Great, bishop of the eastern see of Alexandria was the catalyst for spreading monasticism to the West because two of his five separate banishments were to western lands, where he spread the knowledge of St. Anthony the Great. Monasticism initially received a mixed welcome in the West. Through the efforts of St. Martin of Tours, it spread to France in 362 AD, and by the end of the fourth century, through the examples of Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine, monasticism was well established in the West. Similar to in the East, the first western monks were all laymen. However, Eusebius, bishop of Vercelli, who died in 371 AD, was the first to set the precedent of requiring all clergy attached to his cathedral to live as monks, thus altering its original nature as a lay movement (126).

While Syria was known for its extreme asceticism, in the West, early monastics had little consistency in ascetic fervor, and sometimes were quite lax. Things began to improve under St. Benedict of Nursia (in modern Italy), who was born in 480 AD. He became a hermit in 500 AD, and similar to Pachomius before him, went on to start a cenobitic monastery in 529 AD with an explicit written Rule of life. This monastery became the mother monastery of a network of monasteries that consciously follow his Rule. Benedict’s Rule reflected a deep understanding of human nature. He skillfully combined moderation and good sense with respect to food, manual labor, and discipline to create a system that although strict was accessible to an average, earnest disciple. At the head of the monastery was the abbot who commanded absolute obedience, but who was required to consult the brothers for matters of common concern. The institution of the novitiate was started to give people a chance to try out the monastic lifestyle before taking vows. Worship was the center of life and structured around seven daily offices. Idleness being the chief evil to avoid, work and study assignments were prescribed, leading to Benedictine monasteries becoming centers of industry and scholarship (127).

The Rule of St. Benedict spread slowly, first to England and Germany. France did not buy in until the seventh century. Monks spread civilization and Christian faith by often being the first to settle in a region, followed later by a town near the monastery. And during the war-ravaged Middle Ages, these monasteries were often the only places of refuge (128).

Although geographically situated in the West, the monasticism of Ireland and Scotland came directly from the East rather than through St. Benedict and thus retained a distinctly eastern flavor until the Roman Church solidified control over the region in the eighth century. Until that time, it fully retained its eastern mystical and extreme ascetical bent. Celtic monks also exuded missionary and scholarly fervor, which continued even after the Roman introduction of the Rule of St. Benedict (128).

Conclusion

Monasticism has had a fascinating history across regions and religions. Christian monasticism was initially a response to the general decay in the piety and fervor of the average Christian when persecution decreased. This was expressed by following Christ’s advice and embracing voluntary poverty and celibacy. Historically, this ascetic ideal was pursued in three stages: 1) asceticism while still integrated with society, 2) solitary asceticism by hermits, and later 3) communities of ascetics living a common life under an abbot. Christian monasticism started in Egypt with St. Anthony the Great and was refined by both Sts. Pachomius the Great and Basil the Great. After it spread to the West through St. Athanasius the Great, it was refined there by St. Benedict of Nursia. Since the Second Coming still has not yet happened and there is still chronic decay of Christian piety, it seems to this author that there is still a place for monasticism in the Church, and begs prayers while he tries to discern what this means for him personally.

Works Cited

Walker, Willison. A History of the Christian Church. New York: Scribners, 1959.

On the Influence of Second Temple Judaism on Christianity

Introduction

Many influences come to bear in the development of primitive Christianity. Understood initially as a sect of Judaism, Christianity was profoundly influenced by first-century Judaism. This post looks at the following elements of first century Judaism and their influence on Christianity: 1) the different sects of Judaism, 2) the institution of the synagogue, and 3) important contemporary philosophical or cultural movements.

Different Sects of Judaism

First century Judaism was divided into a number of sects reflecting different approaches toward the Law of Moses. We will look at these sects in order: the Sadducees, the Pharisees, the Essenes, and the Herodians. The Sadducees were those belonging to the aristocratic political party. High priests were drawn from the Sadducees. Although their origins trace back to the Maccabean movement of 167 BC that forcefully resisted the Hellenizing policies of the Seleucid kings, over time the Sadducees embraced Hellenism and became marked by political ambition and religious indifference. They could be characterized as conservatives because they held to the Law of Moses alone apart from its later traditions of interpretive precedent. As such, they rejected notions that were progressively revealed later on such as a physical resurrection, personal immortality, and the existence of spirit beings like angels and demons. Since they controlled the high priesthood with its center in the Temple and they participated in the Sanhedrin, a body of advisors and legal interpreters, they were politically influential but unpopular because of chronic association with corruption (Walker 13).

The Pharisees, whose name means the Separated, were another sect. They advocated the exact keeping of the Law of Moses as interpreted by the mass of interpretive precedents. Their numbers were small since the average Jew lacked the resources to learn much less keep the detailed requirements of the Law. They strictly rejected Hellenistic influences but did embrace the doctrinal influence from Persia of the existence of spirits such as angels and demons. They also accepted the belief in the physical resurrection as well as a future Judgment Day with rewards and punishments. Although the Pharisees themselves had contempt for the Jewish masses, most Jews admired the Pharisees and held them as cultural heroes because of their commendable zealousness. Generally speaking, the Pharisee sect had two major shortcomings: 1) an emphasis on external conformity to the Law, which easily became a substitute for inward righteousness and affection for God Himself and 2) an incredibly high set of legal standards, which effectively disenfranchised the common Jew who was not at liberty to become a professional Law-keeper (13 - 14). From the sect of the Pharisees came a number of early followers of Jesus, including Sts. Paul and Nicodemus, as well as according to Orthodox tradition St. Gamaliel.

The Essenes were a group of close-knit communities that dissented from the official Judaism of Jerusalem. They believed themselves to be the faithful remnant of Israel. They reckoned themselves “enlightened” and their interpretation of the Law to be the only correct one. This interpretation was that given by someone referred to as the “Teacher of Righteousness”, but his exact identity has been lost to history. Some Essene communities allowed marriage; others did not. Their sacraments included periodic washings, an annual covenant-renewal event, and a sacred meal of bread and wine. They observed strict discipline in their communities as well as set up a societal organization chart somewhat parallel to that of official Judaism as described in a document called Manual of Discipline. In addition to a tendency toward legalism, there was a mystical side to their worship as preserved in a document called Psalms of Thanksgiving. The Essenes undoubtedly influenced Christianity, but the precise points of interaction are lost to history. It is possible that John the Baptist and other early disciples of Jesus were Essenes (15 - 16).

The Herodians are a final sect of first-century Judaism that will be mentioned just in passing. They seem fully a political party. They were the supporters of the Herodian dynasty that the Romans put in place to govern Judea. The founder of the dynasty, known as Herod the Great, was a half-Jew and a Roman client king of Judea. He contributed to the material prosperity of the land through a massive rebuilding of the temple complex, but he and his descendants and courtiers were despised as complicit with the Romans and were thoroughly Hellenized. One of Herod’s sons, Archelaus, originally ruled Judea, Samaria, and Idumea, but was later deposed and replaced by a Roman procuratorship, the holder of which post was Pontius Pilate at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion (14).

The Institution of the Synagogue

Besides the various sects, another important aspect of first-century Judaism was the institution of the synagogue. The synagogue was the local cultural/social/religious center of life. It developed probably during the exile when there was no possibility for worshipping at the Temple. It was a local congregation of all the Jews in a district. It was governed by “elders” with a “ruler” at the head, and these were the ones empowered to enforce appropriate belief and behavior through excommunication. The services were not elaborate and not centered in ritual, rather they consisted of prayers, readings from the Law and the Prophets in their original Hebrew, the reading of their translation into Greek, an optional sermon, and a benediction. Because it allowed for Jewish identity to those living distant from the Temple, the institution of the synagogue grew increasingly important and persisted past the destruction of the Temple into the present day (12). The synagogues were fruitful places of Christian evangelization in the early years before the separation of Christianity from Judaism was complete (17). In fact, according to Schmemann, the Liturgy of the Catechumens grew out from the synagogue service (Schmemann 56).

Sundry Jewish Movements

In addition to the sects and the synagogue, there were some influential movements in first-century Judaism, namely, messianism, apocalypticism, mysticism, and Hellenism. Messianism was the widespread belief and expectation shared by Pharisees and common people alike that God would directly intervene in history through a descendant of King David titled Messiah, who would overthrow Roman authority in Judea, establish the new Kingdom of God, gather the Jewish diaspora back to Judea, and inaugurate a golden age. This Messiah would be preceded by a forerunner. The Essenes envisioned not a single Messiah but four different persons working together to accomplish these goals: a prophet, a teacher, a high priest, and a king. In the Gospels, Jesus identified himself as the Messiah and identified John the Baptist as his forerunner. Later New Testament writers make it clear that he fulfilled each of those four roles (Walker 14 - 15). Supporting yet flowing from Messianism was a genre of literature called apocalypticism that portrayed the present age negatively, but held out a glorious age to come. Examples of this in the Old Testament is Daniel. Non-canonical literature included the Book of Enoch and the Assumption of Moses. The influence of this genre on Christianity is clearly seen in the New Testament book of Revelation. Although its full extent is hard to pin down, there was also a Jewish mystical piety that prospered in Palestine in areas away from the Temple. The Ode of Solomon express this mystical piety, and its influence can be seen in the ninth Biblical Ode comprising the Magnificat and the Benedictus (15).

Hellenism was especially strong among the Jews who lived outside of Palestine. By the time of Christ’s nativity, the ratio of those living outside to those living within Palestine was probably 6 to 1. With the temple remote, the synagogue was central to Hellenistic Judaism. The religious beliefs of the Jews in the diaspora were generally respected by the authorities. In the early 3rd century BC, the Old Testament was translated into Greek, thus making it accessible to those not literate in Hebrew, including those not of Hebrew ancestry. In addition to proselytes, who were heathen that wholly converted to Hellenistic Judaism, there were also the “devout men,” who were those non-Hebrews that believed in one God, revered the Old Testament, and followed its strenuous morality while not fully adopting the rules associated with Sabbath, circumcision, and kosher eating (16 - 17). Especially in Alexandria, Egypt, Old Testament concepts were syncretistically combined with Greek philosophy with the result that the two were understood to be in essential harmony, and the Old Testament was the wisest of philosophical books. One Alexandrian Jew named Philo advanced the practice of allegorical interpretation of the Old Testament, which was widely used in early Christianity. He also posited that between God and His creation, there was a principle called Logos, which derived from God Himself and yet was His agent in creation. Related to this was the Jewish notion that God’s wisdom is a separate personal existence, which again is His agent in creation. Both of these foreshadowed John’s Gospel that identified the Logos with Jesus, the Son of God (17).

As can be seen, Christianity did not develop in a vacuum. It was birthed out of Judaism, which had a rich and varied heritage. There were multiple sects vying for influence. There was the institution of the synagogue where early Christians met and later whose services they imitated when they had their own meeting places. And there were a number of philosophical movements at work, each with its own influence.

Works Cited

Schmemann, Alexander. Introduction to Liturgical Theology. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s, 1986.
Walker, Willison. A History of the Christian Church. New York: Scribners, 1959.

On the “Land” On Which We Live: An Old Testament Perspective

Introduction

The words steward and sojourner encapsulate an important theme in the Old Testament. They inform both the attitude we should adopt and the behavior that we should exhibit toward everything in our purview, whether the land on which we live or the animals and other humans with which we co-inhabit that land. This post will explore three things from the Old Testament: 1) the basis for our identities as stewards, 2) the basis for our identities as sojourners and 3) our responsibilities as such.

The Basis for Our Identity as Stewards

In the ancient Near East, land usage was both patrimonial and communal. It was conceived of as entrusted by a deity to a person, and then his descendants as a whole had the right to use it. As such, it was not an absolute possession or property. Even the king of a city was conceived of merely as the locum tenens of the deity who was the city’s proper owner. Thus, the land surrounding the city was a patrimony from the deity to the monarch, whose responsibility it was then to protect all residents without discrimination (Tarazi 30).

Written in the Near East, the Old Testament shares these basic assumptions and applies them to the relationship between Yahweh and the earth and its inhabitants. The earth is the ultimate property of Yahweh: “To Yahweh belong earth and all it holds, the world and all who live in it” (Psalm 24:1). He apportions and re-apportions it and leads people groups to migrate to newly appointed places: “Are not you and the Cushites all the same to me, sons of Israel?--it is Yahweh who speaks. Did not I, who brought Israel out of the land of Egypt, bring the Philistines from Caphtor, and the Aramaeans from Kir?” (Amos 9:7). At the same time that Yahweh is apportioning lands, He also sometimes appoints specific persons and their descendants to be exemplars (positive or negative) of stewardship: “When the Most High gave the nations their inheritance, when he divided the sons of men, he fixed their bounds according to the number of the sons of God; but Yahweh’s portion was his people, Jacob his share of inheritance” (Deuteronomy 32:8-9). Besides Jacob, Adam is another person who fulfills such an exemplar role.

With this as background, the Genesis narrative takes on a new dimension. The earth becomes God’s primary concern, and mankind becomes merely God’s steward (26). The priority of the earth over humans is illustrated in three ways. First, “Yahweh God fashioned man (Hebrew ’adam) of dust from the soil (’adamah)” (Genesis 2:7). In Hebrew ’adamah is the feminine noun corresponding to the masculine ’adam (Tarazi 27). It is as though the earth is man’s mother (33). Secondly, man is made not even just directly from the soil, but from the dust of the soil. It is to this same dust of the soil that man will eventually revert: “[Y]ou [shall] eat your bread, until you return to the soil, as you were taken from it. For dust you are and to dust you shall return” (Genesis 3:19). The transient life of mankind is set against the constancy of the dust of the soil. Thirdly, man is represented as just one of the many animal creatures of the earth: He depends upon the “seed-bearing plants that are upon the whole earth” for food, just like “all living reptiles on the earth” depend upon the “foliage of plants for food” (1:29-30). From this we learn that whatever it might mean that God calls man to “fill the earth and conquer it. Be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven and all living animals on the earth” (1:28), nothing negates the fact that as caretaker of his mother earth, he should treat her and his sibling animals with respect.

As an exemplar of stewardship, Adam dwells for a time in Eden, the original patrimony for him and his descendants. It is God who plants Eden, not Adam (2:8), and it is God who “took the man and settled him in the garden of Eden to cultivate and take care of it” (2:15). Adam is tasked with being the caretaker and not the owner. As steward, he needs to obey God’s will. Doing otherwise will result in his exile from Eden, and this exile will foreshadows the later exile of Jacob’s descendants from Canaan when they also fail to be good stewards of their patrimony (Tarazi 37).

In this section, we investigated the Old Testament basis for stewardship. In the ancient Near East, the city and all its land were a patrimony from a deity to his steward king. The heavens and the earth were a patrimony from Yahweh to his steward mankind. Eden was a patrimony given to Adam. Adam failed in his stewardship and was exiled from it.

The Basis for Our Identity as Sojourners

To sojourn means to stay somewhere temporarily. Nomads are people who adopt sojourning as a lifestyle because their flocks depend upon finding fresh pasture. The sons of Jacob say to Pharaoh, “Your servants are shepherds, like our fathers before us … We have come to stay for the present in this land, for there is no pasture for your servants’ flocks, the land of Canaan is hard pressed by famine” (Genesis 47:3-4). On the one hand, since Jacob tells Pharaoh, “Ever since our boyhood your servants have looked after livestock, we and our fathers before us” (46:34), it might seem that they choose this lifestyle because they do not have any better options. But in the Biblical narrative, it actually represents the virtuous choice. In this section we briefly look at the lives of the antediluvians Abel, Seth, Enoch, and Noah and the patriarch Abraham and see that a lifestyle of sojourning is the norm for the people of God.

For the antediluvians the evidence for the virtue of sojourning is subtle, but present. Abel is “a shepherd and kept flocks” while his brother Cain “tilled the soil” (Genesis 4:2). Abel, thus, has a nomadic lifestyle while Cain, being attached to a field, has a stable lifestyle. Yahweh “looked with favor on Abel and his offering. But he did not look with favor on Cain and his offering” (4:4-5). After killing Abel, Cain, by virtue of Yahweh’s providence, is forced to forsake his stable ways and becomes for a time “a fugitive and a wanderer over the earth” (4:14), but in the end he reverts to his old ways and becomes the “builder of a town” (4:17), which implies erecting conduits to supply water (Tarazi 39). Seth, on the other hand, is the one God grants to Eve “in place of Abel” (Genesis 4:25), thus also being a nomadic shepherd, who relies on the rain that God alone provides (Tarazi 39). Of the praiseworthy Enoch and Noah, it is said that they “walked with God” (5:22, 24; 6:9). According to Tarazi, the phrase is better translated as “walked all the time with God” since the Hebrew verb hithallek means “walking to and fro; keep walking” (39), thus implying nomadism. Lastly, as a negative example, the builders of the tower of Babel say, “Let us build ourselves a town … so that we may not be scattered about the whole earth” (11:4). Despite the command to “fill the earth” being given to both Adam and Noah (1:28, 9:1), these people resist since it would entail moving and instability. Thus, even in the antediluvians narratives, we see a distinction between those who virtuously embrace sojourning and those who embrace stability.

The virtue of sojourning becomes explicit with Abraham, whom Yahweh commands to “leave your country, your family and your father’s house, for the land I will show you” (12:1). The first time the word Hebrew occurs in the Bible is in reference to Abraham: “A survivor came to tell Abram the Hebrew …” (14:13). According to Tarazi, Hebrew comes from the same root as the verb ‘abar, which means to journey within a given earth. Thus, “to be a Hebrew ultimately is to be on the go, similar to a shepherd, with an abode being a tent and not a house of brick or stone.” This, of course, is corollary to the stewardship of the first section since by always being on the go, one is necessarily using the earth without possessing it (56).

A final thing to note about Abraham is how Yahweh identifies his patrimony to him: “Look all around from where you are toward the north and the south, toward the east and the west. All the land within sight I will give to you and your descendants for ever … Come, travel through the length and breadth of the land, for I mean to give it to you” (Genesis 13:14-5,17). This is noteworthy for two reasons: 1) The land does not have well-defined property lines; rather, it is the breadth of the land visible from where he is standing. According to Tarazi, from a shepherd’s perspective, this means that “he would be granted enough pasture for himself and his herd and flock.” This, of course, means that he again is invited to enjoy the earth without possessing it (56-7). 2) The word travel is again the Hebrew verb hithallek, meaning to walk to and fro, that is used to describe Enoch and Noah. Abraham is here being invited to follow in their footsteps of intentional, virtuous sojourning.

Our Responsibilities as Stewards and Sojourners

Given the fact that by both example and precept the Old Testament calls upon people to be stewards of and sojourners in the earth, it is not surprising that it also makes explicit what behavior is consistent with this vocation. In fact the Law fulfills this purpose. The Law is given while Israel sojourns in the wilderness even before it reaches Canaan, thus implicitly approving a life of sojourning. It also makes clear that disobedience to the Law will cause them to “not live long in the land” (Deuteronomy 30:18), while obedience will cause them to “live long in the land” (32:47). One of the two precepts upon which all the Law and the Prophets rest is Leviticus 19:18: “You must love your neighbor as yourself.” This boils down to caring for anything or anyone that is needy. In this section, we will see how this is fleshed out in specific legislation about caring for the land, for animal, and finally for other people.

Caring For Land

The land must be kept clean, unprofaned, and rested. “For all these hateful things were done by the people who inhabited this land before you, and the land became unclean. If you make it unclean, will it not vomit you out as it vomited the nation that was here before you?” (Leviticus 18:27-28). Contextually, inappropriate conjugal relations make the land unclean, and result in the inhabitants being vomited out. Murder also defiles or profanes the land: “You must not profane the land you live in. Blood profanes the country, and there is no expiation for the country for the bloodshed than the blood of the one who shed it. You must not defile the land you inhabit, the land in which I live; for I, Yahweh, live among the sons of Israel” (Numbers 35:33-34). Interestingly, the argument against murder here is that Yahweh is a co-inhabitant of the land. Lastly, the land must be kept rested. Every seven years the land is to have a rest and not be planted (Leviticus 25:1-7). Failure to allow the land its Sabbath year rest will result in exile from the land and “then indeed the land will rest and observe its sabbaths. And as it lies desolate it will rest, as it never did on your sabbaths when you lived in it” (26:34-5). As we can see, rampant inappropriate conjugal relations, murder, and forced overproduction of the land are considered mistreatment of the land and are punished by exile.

Caring For Animals

The Law also prescribes the humane treatment of the land’s fellow animal co-inhabitants. Work animals are guaranteed the observance of the weekly Sabbath: “The seventh day is a sabbath for Yahweh your God. You shall do no work that day … nor your ox nor your donkey nor any of your animals” (Deuteronomy 5:14). Animals are guaranteed wages for their work: “You must not muzzle an ox when it is treading out the corn” (25:4). During the Sabbath year when the earth is resting, what grows of its own accord is specifically granted to the wild animals (Exodus 23:11). Work animals that have tipped over while working are guaranteed the help of even anonymous bystanders to help them get back on their feet (Deuteronomy 22:4). Lastly, although not part of the Law proper, Proverbs describes the proper care of animals as virtue: “The virtuous man looks after the lives of his beasts, but the wicked man’s heart is ruthless” (12:10). So we see that the Law lays down clear guidelines how to care for the animal co-inhabitants of the land.

Caring For Foreigners

Lastly, the Law as well as the Prophets and Writings give exhaustive guidelines on what it looks like to properly care for the other human inhabitants of the land. The basis, again, for the care of the needy of the land is that Yahweh is the King and owner of the land, and He is very concerned to provide for the needy. Therefore, it is of the utmost importance that his stewards in the land do His will and provide for them as well. This responsibility rests on all people, but especially the rulers and those with abundant resources. The rich are, by definition, already well-provided for, so the main legislative content concerns protecting the rights of the needy. In fact, Tarazi goes so far as to make the argument that being needy is the primary criteria for membership in Yahweh’s heritage, i.e., that group which Yahweh is bound by His justice to care for (172). The other criteria to be one of Yahweh’s people is that one is similar to Yahweh by virtue of sharing his active concern for the needy (176). In this section, we focus on the legislation for one specific group of needy people: foreigners.

Considering the xenophobia and misoxeny rampant in later Judaism, it is almost surprising how much space is given in the Old Testament to protecting the rights of foreigners sojourning in the land. Caring for foreigners is the natural response to properly understanding one’s own identity as steward and sojourner. If the land on which we live is merely a stewardship and not a possession, then in Yahweh’s eyes, there is no difference between us and the apparent sojourner: “Land must not be sold in perpetuity, for the land belongs to me, and to me you are only strangers and guests” (Leviticus 25:23). Sojourners are guaranteed the right to being taught the laws of the land in a way they can learn: “Call the people together, men, women, children, and the stranger who lives with you, for them to hear [this Law] and learn to fear Yahweh your God and keep and observe all the words of this Law” (Deuteronomy 31:12). Sojourners are guaranteed the right to observe the Sabbath day (5:14) and to enjoy the produce that grows by itself during the Sabbath year (Leviticus 25:6). Sojourners are guaranteed the right to observe the national holidays (Deuteronomy 16:14). Absolute empathy is commanded to be given to sojourners: “You must not oppress the stranger; you know how a stranger feels, for you lived as strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9). The very fact of his being an oppressed sojourner accords a person status equal to an oppressed citizen: “Yahweh, they crush your people, they oppress your hereditary people, murdering and massacring widows, orphans, and guests” (Psalm 93:5-6). In short, the command of Leviticus 19:18 to love one’s neighbor as oneself is explicitly applied to the sojourner: “If a stranger lives with you in your land, do not molest him. You must count him as one of your own countryman and love him as yourself--for you were once strangers yourself in Egypt” (19:33-4). This refrain about being a stranger in Egypt almost gives the impression that Yahweh arranged for Israel to sojourn in Egypt expressly to train them in hospitality for their later stewardship of Canaan.

Conclusion

This post just barely touched the surface of the important themes of stewardship and sojourning as they relate to land use in the Old Testament. We saw that regardless of where we live, we are merely stewards of that land since God is the ultimate owner. And as stewards, we are responsible to implement His will on that land, which boils down to caring for the other co-inhabitants. Furthermore, since we are not the owner of the land, we also have the identity of a permanent sojourner and should embrace transience. Lastly, we looked at one practical application of the identity of steward and sojourner in the Old Testament, namely, if Israel ultimately is a steward of and sojourner in Canaan, how should it treat foreign sojourners? The answer from the Old Testament, of course, is that Canaan is no more a possession for Israel than was Egypt, and thus foreign sojourners should be the object of the same love that Israel has for itself. We close with a quote from the 14th Kathisma that has taken on new meaning over the course of writing this post:

Of Philistia, Tyre, Ethiopia,
‘Here so and so was born,’ men say.
But all call Zion ‘Mother,’
Since all were born in her. (Psalm 87:4)

Works Cited

The Jerusalem Bible. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1968.
Tarazi, Paul Nadim. Land And Covenant. St. Paul, MN: OCABS, 2009.

On the Three Patriarchs in Genesis: A Comparison

Introduction

It is in the book of Genesis that a Biblical refrain first occurs: “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (50:24). This refrain shows up repeatedly in each of the books of the Pentateuch (especially concentrated in Exodus and Deuteronomy), in the Former Prophets (2 Kings 13:23), in the Latter Prophets (Jeremiah 33:26), as well as repeatedly in the Synoptic Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. Its strategic placement both at the end of Genesis and at the end of the entire Pentateuch (Deuteronomy 34:4) gives the impression that the separate narratives of these three patriarchs can really be viewed as a single narrative from two perspectives: 1) the earth promised to them and 2) the Law that God requires to be obeyed on that earth (Tarazi 123-4). Besides these two themes, there is another important theme that recurs in all three narratives: the struggle to secure progeny. One might say that the patriarchal narratives are a case study in three different ways of relating to promised earth, God’s will, and difficulties in procreation. This post will compare and contrast Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob from four perspectives: 1) how his narrative fits in the overall toledot structure of Genesis, and then how he responded to 2) promised earth, 3) God’s will, and 4) challenges in procreation. Unless otherwise indicated, all Biblical quotations will be from the Jerusalem Bible translation.

Toledot Structure

The book of Genesis is structured as a series of stories called toledot, beginning with the toledot of the heavens and the earth (Genesis 2:4) and ending with the toledot of Jacob (37:2). In Genesis toledot has the technical meaning of “the coming about of something” (Tarazi 29). One of the striking things about the usage of toledot in Genesis is that the first mention of a person is always in the toledot of his progenitor (27), implying that a person’s fruitfulness determines his value (28). In the patriarchal narratives, we find something very interesting: 1) Abraham does not have his own toledot; rather, he is merely a sub-character in the toledot of his father Terah (Genesis 11:27-25:11), which also includes part of Isaac’s narrative. 2) Jacob has his own toledot (37:2-50:26), but the content is mainly Joseph’s narrative, who does not have a toledot himself. And 3) Isaac has his own toledot (25:19-35:29), which includes a small portion of his own narrative but mainly is Jacob’s narrative. This unexpected structure begs the question: What was the author of Genesis trying to communicate about Abraham and Joseph through the structure?

Drawing on Paul’s reading of Genesis in the epistle to the Galatians, we see that the key function of Abraham in the narratives is that of promise. In other words, he does not have an independent existence; instead, he is functionally merely the link to Isaac, in whom the promise made to Abraham is fulfilled (Tarazi 131-2). Furthermore, the author of Genesis does not even represent Abraham as being party to Isaac’s conception: “Yahweh dealt kindly with Sarah as he had said, and did what he had promised her. So Sarah conceived and bore a son to Abraham in his old age, at the time God had promised” (21:1-2). This is in contrast to Ishmael’s conception where it is said of Abraham that “He went to Hagar and she conceived” (16:4). Paul makes the argument even more explicit: “The child of the slave girl was born in the ordinary way; the child of the free woman was born as the result of a promise” (Galatians 4:23, emphasis mine). Thus in one sense, Abraham is not fruitful, thus disqualifying him from having his own toledot. At the same, this frees him to function fully as a link to Isaac, and later in Paul as the virtual father of all who believe (Romans 4:11).

Something similar happens with Joseph, though for a different reason. Like Abraham, he does not have his own toledot. After Jacob adopts Joseph’s sons Ephraim and Manasseh, Joseph is functionally left without progeny (Genesis 48:3-5), thus again disqualifying him from having a toledot. But like Abraham, Joseph’s lack of a toledot does not leave him without a legacy. Rather, Joseph uniquely among Jacob’s sons is buried in the promised earth of Canaan (Joshua 24:32). Thus, we can say that the lack of toledot for Abraham and Joseph communicates that the continuation of a person depends not upon human begetting but upon God’s intervention (Tarazi 179).

Promised Earth

God make promises about the earth of Canaan to each of Abraham (Genesis 12:1-3), Isaac (26:1-6), and Jacob (28:13-15), but the degree to which they experience these promises in their lifetimes differs. Tarazi makes this observation: “Abraham is born outside the earth of Canaan and dies in it. Conversely, Jacob is born in Canaan but dies outside it, in Egypt. Isaac is born in the earth of Canaan, never leaves it, and dies in it. It is then this Isaac in whom God’s will is realized and only in him” (124). Let’s unpack in turn each of the patriarch’s interaction with the earth of Canaan.

Abraham is born in Ur of the Chaldeans (Genesis 11:28), starts out with his father Terah toward Canaan, but makes a layover of indefinite length in Haran (11:31). In Haran Abraham is invited by God to leave his familiar earth and go to Canaan to inherit new earth (12:1-4). Once in Canaan, Abraham first camps in Shechem, then Bethel, and then in the Negeb (12:6-9). At this point, Abraham is faced with a test of trusting God’s provision in the face of famine (12:10-20). Abraham’s moving to Egypt demonstrates that he has not yet learned that “the solution to famine for bread is to listen to God’s will.” His lack of trust is further illustrated by his lying about his wife’s identity. If God had not personally intervened and inflicted plagues on Pharaoh to rescue Sarai, she could not have become the ancestress of Israel (Tarazi 137-8). After a life of more transience, it is only at the end his life that he can actually lay claim to some earth: He purchases a field near Mamre, where he buries his wife (Genesis 23:17-20) and later is himself buried (25:9-10).

Jacob is born in Canaan, growing up in Beer-sheba. After stealing his brother Esau’s birthright (25:29-34) and blessing (27:1-40), he flees to Haran to escape being killed by Esau, with his first stop on the way there in Bethel, both of which were stopping places on Abraham’s journey (28:10-22). After living in exile in Haran for decades (chapters 29-30), he flees from his father-in-law with his wives and children (chapter 31) and returns to Canaan. He purchases a plot of earth near Shechem (33:18-20), which again was one of Abraham’s dwelling places. Later, just like Abraham, a famine tests his resolve to trust God’s provision by persevering in the earth of promise. Not having learned from Abraham’s example that “man lives on everything that comes from the mouth of Yahweh” (Deuteronomy 8:3), Jacob and his sons also fail this test. They move to Egypt, where Jacob dies, and where his descendants live in exile for the next 430 years until again God personally intervenes by inflicting plagues on Pharaoh to rescue them (Exodus 12:40).

Isaac’s experience of the earth of Canaan follows a very different trajectory. Like Jacob, he is born in Canaan and acquires a wife from Haran. Unlike Jacob, however, the tension between Isaac and his brother Ishmael never drives Isaac out of Canaan, and his bride comes to him. Moreover, like Abraham, Isaac faces famine, but God intervenes and specifically prevents him from going to Egypt (Genesis 26:2-3). As Tarazi summarizes: “Isaac enjoyed fully what Abraham hoped for and what Jacob never fully enjoyed” (129). In contrast, there are many parallels between Abraham and Jacob with respect to their sojourns. Not only is Jacob exiled to Haran and Egypt, but after Jerusalem falls to the Babylonians in 587 BC, his descendants actually end up on the earth of the Chaldeans, where Abraham began. One might say that Jacob really follows in the footsteps of his ancestor Abraham (130).

Obedience to God’s Will

Having looked at the patriarchs’ interactions with the promised earth of Canaan, we now turn to their response to God’s will. From the beginning of Genesis, but especially since the story of Cain, there is one overarching expression of God will, namely, that “the earth of promise, and thus any earth, is not a possession, but rather a gift from God to be enjoyed by all its dwellers”--whether human, flora, or fauna (Tarazi 153). Psalm 24:1 succinctly expresses it like this: “To Yahweh belong earth and all it holds, the world and all who live in it.” In the Law, this will of God finds expression not just in the loving of the neighbors belonging to our clan (Leviticus 19:16-18), but even more emphatically in philoxenic command: “You must not oppress the stranger; you know how a stranger feels, for you lived as strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9). The Law also makes one’s ability to continue on the earth where one dwells a function of obedience to God’s will. The author of Genesis includes stories to grade each patriarch on whether he strives for peace with all people (Hebrews 12:14).

Considering that he never leaves the earth of Canaan, Isaac not surprisingly has a near perfect scorecard. There are two episodes of potential conflict. He and his half-brother Ishmael inherit the rupture that occurred between Sarah and Hagar, but they do not seem to exacerbate it. Rather, at the passing of their mutual father, the two sons come together and bury Abraham (Genesis 25:9). The second episode is when Isaac shares earth with Abimelech, the Philistine king at Gerar, in obedience to God’s command not to go to Egypt to escape famine. The Philistines envy Isaac’s prosperity, and pick fights over the rights to use wells. In each case, Isaac surrenders the well, moves further away, and digs another (26:1-25). Isaac demonstrates that it is better to “dwell as a sojourner (that is, without possessing the land) in the location assigned by God’s word (of command) and share it with the presumed enemy, rather than end up dying in slavery in a seemingly ‘friendly’ land of plenty” (Tarazi 161). Eventually, Isaac and Abimelech swear a covenant of peace between their two peoples, and on the very same day Isaac’s servants dig a new undisputed well and find more water (Genesis 26:26-33). Isaac’s life shows that it is “obedience to God’s will and sharing his earth with all others that secures his blessings” (Tarazi 162).

Abraham also has an excellent scorecard in this respect. He peacefully settles a land dispute with Lot by conceding the better-irrigated land (Genesis 13:1-18). He liberates the captives of Sodom and their possessions and refuses to take compensation for his services (14:21-24). Tarazi observes that by so doing Abraham acknowledges that his victory over the enemy is “as much a gift from God as is the earth of Canaan which Abram had to share with Lot the Sodomite” (141). Abraham hospitably entertains the three strangers who abruptly show up at his tent on their way to destroy Sodom (Genesis 18:1-15). Lastly, the enduring effect of Abraham’s positive example of hospitality is evident in that Lot hospitably entertains and protects the two angels in Sodom (19:1-29), despite his living long-term with citizens infamous for their inhospitality (Ezekiel 16:49 and Wisdom of Solomon 19:13-17).

Jacob, on the other hand, fails on almost all accounts. He takes advantage of Esau in a weakened condition by stealing his birthright (25:29-34). He manipulates his mother and takes advantage of his father’s blindness to steal Esau’s blessing (27:1-40). He shows favoritism to his wife Rachel over his wife Leah (29:30-31). He tries to steal Laban’s better flock (30:25-43). Right after reconciling with Esau, Jacob implies that he will join Esau in Seir but then directly heads to Succoth (33:14-17). And then the enduring effect of Jacob’s negative example of inhospitality is evident in his sons’ behavior. First, Simeon and Levi wipe out the citizens of Shechem using circumcision, the sign of God’s covenant, as a subterfuge (34:25-31). And secondly, his son Joseph is sold into slavery in Egypt by his other brothers (37:12-36).

As can be seen, Abraham and Isaac learn the lesson that “the earth granted to Israel is not a possession; it is a trust. It is another ground and a garden for man to live on, sharing it with all other beings, human and animal alike” (Tarazi 128). As a result, they are allowed to die in Canaan. Jacob, on the other hand, fails to learn this lesson and models that lack of learning for his sons to imitate. As a result, none of them dies in the earth of Canaan.

Challenges to Secure Progeny

The last perspective from which to evaluate the three patriarchs is the challenges they have to secure progeny and how they respond to these challenges. The fathers of both Isaac (Genesis 24:1-9) and Jacob (28:1-5) express their desire that their sons not marry a Canaanite women but rather take a wife from among Abraham’s kinfolk. Fulfilling this request would require taking an extended journey to Haran to secure a wife. Representing the true heir of the promise, Isaac himself does not need to leave Canaan; rather, his father’s servant goes and fetches a bride for him (chapter 24). Jacob on the other hand, having made himself loathsome to his brother Esau, has to flee for his life to Haran and live in exile there for decades, all the while slaving away for the right to marry the bride of his choice and being taken advantage of by his relative Laban (29:15-30:43).

The wives of all three of the patriarchs have difficulties conceiving. Isaac, again as the exemplar, “prayed to Yahweh on behalf of his wife, for she was barren. Yahweh heard his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived” (25:21). Later, when there is some sort of complication in the pregnancy, Rebekah follows her husband’s example and “went to consult Yahweh” (25:22). In a sense, Isaac executes textbook responses to the challenges to secure progeny, and God blesses him. This is in contrast to Abraham and Jacob, both of whom resort to polygamy to secure progeny in the face of barrenness, and both of whom suffer extensively because of the jealousy incited by having rival wives. So we see that Isaac secures a wife easily, overcomes barrenness easily, and remains monogamous; Abraham secures a wife easily, falters in his faith in God’s promise, and complicates his life to a degree by taking one extra wife in order to overcome barrenness; Jacob undergoes an endless trek and veritable slavery to acquire a wife (Tarazi 157), neglects her, and creates a highly dysfunctional family because of the mutual procreative competition of three more rival wives.

Conclusion

Analyzing the lives of the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is a rewarding exercise. Contrary to common assumptions, the details of the narratives are not just random but are chosen by the author of Genesis to communicate specific points. For example, including doublets (e.g., sojourning in Gerar nearby Abimelech) is not an editorial oversight; rather, the author is trying to make specific points about the patriarchs by holding some details constant and varying others. Using techniques like this as well as the overall toledot structure, the author of Genesis has highlighted Isaac as the heir of the promised earth, to which Abraham could only look forward and Jacob could only look back. Furthermore, we have seen that the right to continue living on our allotted earth is a function of obeying God’s will that we treat our co-inhabitants with respect and dignity. Lastly, we have seen that failing to trust God’s promises and failing to strive for peace with our neighbors lead to both complications and needless suffering in our lives. The whole patriarchal narrative adds new dimension to the Psalm that begins the eighteenth kathisma:

Too long have I lived
among people who hate peace,
who, when I propose peace,
are all for war (Psalm 120:6-7)

Works Cited

The Jerusalem Bible. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1968.
Tarazi, Paul Nadim. Genesis: A Commentary. St. Paul, MN: OCABS, 2009.

On the Relationship Between Law and Wisdom in the Old Testament

Introduction

The liturgical life of nascent Judaism was structured around three readings, one from each of the three divisions of the Old Testament Scriptures: the Law (torah), the Prophets (nebi’im), and the Writings (ketubim) (Tarazi 157). Prophetic literature frequently includes polemics to demonstrate that Yahweh is the only true God and the deities of the nations are non-entities. The Law and the Writings, on the other hand, assume an equivalence between Yahweh and God (124). This shared assumption in the Law and the Writings reflects the fact that each represents a different approach in the post-exilic Jewish community’s attempt to redefine itself in the absence of a local kingdom. The Law is something that can be implemented anywhere that God’s people gather as a synagogue (121), but in its essence it is still linked with the particular realm of a deity and its monarch (123). Wisdom, which is a dominant theme in the Writings, on the other hand, is universal in nature even if expressed locally by an individual ruler (124). This post will explore three things: 1) the origin of the concept of Law in the Old Testament, 2) the origin of the concept role of Wisdom in the Old Testament, and 3) the relationship between the two in nascent Judaism.

The Origin of the Concept of Law in the Old Testament

The Bible was not written in vacuum. Rather, the authors of the Old Testament were part of a wider Near East cultural context. This context can inform our understanding of the Old Testament when we realize that the institutions and societal structures portrayed in the Old Testament are particular Hebrew implementations of general Near East categories such as tribe, patriarch, tribal deity, king, and law. In this section we explore how the concept of law develops in the Old Testament.

The basic unit of society in the ancient Near East is the tribe, the members of which are bound together by their obedience to the authority of their tribal patriarch (1-2). The tribe is known by the name of its forefather, who as the prototype of subsequent patriarchs, is also the original link to a specific deity as well as to a specific location at which the deity appeared to the forefather. Subsequent generations of patriarchs renew and perpetuate the tribal link to this deity and location (4).

Over time, nomadic tribes make permanent settlements along larger bodies of water, creating cities and necessitating new forms of governance. This gives rise to the office of king, who while no longer necessarily being the oldest descendent of the forefather, still possesses a role similar to patriarch (10-11). As such, his relationship with the deity continues to be unique: He is a vassal under the deity’s suzerainty (59) as well as high priest mediating between the citizens and the deity (69-70).

As vassal of the deity, one of the king’s responsibility is to execute justice among the citizens according to the will of the deity (36). This is where law enters the picture. The will of the deity is encapsulated in law, whose ultimate author is the deity, and the king is to rule the city in the same way that the deity does, according to divine law (66). Two places in the Old Testament especially illustrate this: 1) “the two tablets of the Testimony [are] tablets of stone inscribed by the finger of God” (Exodus 31:18) and 2) each king of Israel is commanded to “write a copy of this Law on a scroll for his own use at the dictation of the levitical priests … he must read it every day of his life” (Deuteronomy 17:18-19). Tarazi summarizes the situation in this way: “Thus, divinity, kingship, and the city commonwealth, i.e., the people or citizenry, were materially bound together through the law that was concurrently a divine, royal, and social reality” (66).

Given this general understanding of law in the Near East, we can observe two chronological distinctives of its Hebrew implementation. First, pre-exilic Israel and Judah are represented as chronically breaking Yahweh’s law and thus actively opposing the good that Yahweh intends to do for his people. Thus, it is the divine will through law that actually “founds, builds, and maintains the existence of the city” despite all the opposition of its citizens (88-89). In post-exilic Judah, on the other hand, law gets a new lease on life. Given the abolition of the kingdom and the dispersion of the citizens throughout the nations, Jews lay hold of the law as the institution to unite them and give them identity. And not only this, but obedience to and veneration of the law becomes synonymous with being one of the people of Yahweh. Tarazi summarizes thus: “It is thus the law (torah) that, in the eventual elimination of the king as necessary intermediary between God and his people, became the direct and immediate bridge between the latter two; hence, the preeminence of the torah in nascent Judaism” (83).

In this section, we saw how the concept of law in the Near East is the encapsulation of the will of a deity given to the king of his local city. This king functions as the deity’s representative for executing justice according to that law. In the Hebrew context, after the Exile when there is no longer a king nor city, the concept of law evolves to become itself the new representative of Yahweh, binding the people of Israel together regardless of where they live.

The Original of the Concept of Wisdom in the Old Testament

Similar to law, the concept of wisdom also derives its origin from tribal society. At its core, wisdom is related to preservation of life. The tribal patriarch needs to be both wise and authoritative. An unwise decision easily leads to death in a harsh climate; unheeded wise advice likewise leads to death (117). Wisdom, furthermore, is the property of a council of elders who have actively acquired it from previous generations of elders. Learning merely from common life experiences is inadequate because survival depends upon wise decisions, not trial and error (115). Thus together the patriarch and his council of elders, bound by an unwritten rule of unanimity, can make wise decisions that guarantee the continued existence of his people (119).

As tribes settle into cities and begin to be governed by kings, the locus of wisdom naturally moves to the king, who becomes the chief elder regardless of age. In order to validate his claim to wisdom, the king is represented as having received it from the deity, and thus divinely equipped to execute justice (108). This theme is quite explicit in the Old Testament. Two parallel passages link a king with divine wisdom: 1 Kings 3:4-15 and 2 Chronicles 1:3-12 both record Yahweh’s appearing to Solomon in a dream to bestow wisdom upon him. The testimony of the Queen of Sheba corroborates that Yahweh is the source of Solomon’s wisdom: “Blessed be Yahweh your God who has granted you his favor, setting you on the throne of Israel! Because of Yahweh’s everlasting love for Israel, he has made you king to deal out law and justice” (1 Kings 10:9). Even wisdom itself is given a voice and identifies divine and kingly wisdom: “I, Wisdom, am mistress of discretion … By me monarchs rule and princes issue just laws … Yahweh created me when his purpose first unfolded … I was by his side, a master craftsman, delighting him day after day” (Proverbs 8:12, 15, 22, 30). This “by [wisdom] princes issue just laws” really brings together an important point: In the Near East generally and the Old Testament particularly, it is both law and wisdom that are represented as gifts that the deity of a realm gives to his vassal king. The law is tangible and objective, but the devil is in the details, and so the deity has to bestow wisdom to the king as well in order to guarantee that his will would be implemented correctly. Wisdom is “the personal quality of understanding and knowledge that ensured the law would be put to its intended purpose” (Tarazi 119-120).

Despite the fact that among humans, wisdom is the particular property of kings, ordinary persons not only have the opportunity but also the responsibility to acquire wisdom. Personified Wisdom gives an open invitation: “Listen to instruction and learn to be wise, do not ignore it. Happy those who keep my ways! Happy the man who listens to me” (8:32-34). She also threatens those who disregard her: “They would take no advice from me, and spurned all my warnings: so they must eat fruits of their own courses, and choke themselves with their own scheming” (1:30-31).

Related to the fact that wisdom is universally accessible is the fact that wisdom technically is universal. In other words, a saying cannot be wise in one city and foolish in another. If a saying is truly wise, its value is universal (Tarazi 113). We see this in the Old Testament where Solomon’s wisdom is able to be compared to the wisdom of people in far away lands (1 Kings 4:30-31) as well as the fact that people from far away lands come to hear his wisdom (4:32). The usefulness of this fact becomes especially apparent during post-exilic times when the people of Israel are redefining what it means to be one of the people of God in the absence of king and city. As we will discover later, those living away from Jerusalem found their identity not just in observing the Law but by having wisdom writings with universal appeal.

In this section we saw how wisdom is the key to preservation of life in the Near East. Whether a patriarch and his council of elders or a king, the ruler needs wisdom in order to keep his people alive. Furthermore, he needs to appear wise so that people will heed his advice. One way this is accomplished in the Old Testament is by making wisdom to be a gift from Yahweh to the king. At the same time, wisdom is also available to everyone who applies himself to acquire it, and if a person has truly acquired wisdom, it will be universally recognized.

The Relationship Between Law and Wisdom in Nascent Judaism

Having explored law and wisdom as categories in Near Eastern culture generally as well as in Hebrew culture specifically, we now turn to the way they combined in nascent Judaism to create a system that both gave religious identity and provided a platform for dialogue with other religions. We will look at their relationship in the eschatological kingdom and their relationship in Jewish proselytization.

The prophetic writings of the Old Testament point the blame for the destruction of Jerusalem on neglect to obey Yahweh’s law, especially by the leaders, for example: “This people’s leaders have taken the wrong turning, and those who are led are lost … And so the Lord will not spare their young men” (Isaiah 9:15-6). “Woe to the legislators of infamous laws, to those who issue tyrannical decrees … What will you do on the day of punishment, when, from far off, destruction comes?” (10:1, 3). “The priests have never asked, ‘Where is Yahweh?’ Those who administer the Law have no knowledge of me. The shepherds have rebelled against me; the prophets have prophesied in the name of Baal, following things with no power in them. So I must put you on trial once more” (Jeremiah 2:8-9). The king, having been invested with the divine law and wisdom, brings about Jerusalem’s destruction by ignoring the law (Tarazi 121).

Given this fact, the only hope for the future would be a king who could with wisdom faultlessly implement the divine law (122). And it is just such a king that the prophets envision: an eschatological new David ruling over a New Jerusalem. Isaiah foresees a shoot “from the stock of Jesse” (i.e., the father of David), upon whom rests a “spirit of wisdom … and the fear of Yahweh” and who “judges the wretched with integrity” (11:1-2, 4). Jeremiah prophesies that Yahweh will “make a virtuous Branch grow for David, who shall practice honesty and integrity in the land … And this is the name the city will be called: Yahweh-our-integrity” (33:15-16). But the prophets also add a twist: The law will be so gloriously implemented by the eschatological David in the eschatological Jerusalem that other nations will be attracted to it, with the result that they too will adopt Yahweh as their deity. Isaiah describes it this way:

In the days to come the mountain of the Temple of Yahweh shall tower above the mountains and be lifted higher than the hills. All the nations will stream to it, peoples without number will come to it; and they will say: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of Yahweh, to the Temple of the God of Jacob that he may teach us his ways so that we may walk in his paths; since the Law will go out from Zion, and the oracle of Yahweh from Jerusalem” (2:2-3).

Despite the magnificence of this prophetic vision, it is hard to use it as a platform for interfaith dialogue. Even if a Jew could persuade a Gentile to take a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, he would not yet find a king gloriously dispensing justice according to the law of Yahweh. Law, as a platform for dialogue, is too localized (Tarazi 125).

And so nascent Judaism turned to wisdom as their currency of dialogue. As was shown earlier, wisdom is universal, and as such, it has a singular source, the one true Creator God, who with that one wisdom rules his one realm, the whole world. Jews knew that it was Yahweh who “by wisdom … set the earth on its foundations, by discernment, he fixed the heavens firm” (Proverbs 3:19). At the same time, by replacing the name of local deity Yahweh with a more generic God, Jews found a vocabulary for speaking about this one Creator to people with no connection to Jerusalem (124). Furthermore, although the Hellenistic context in which nascent Judaism grew up was aggressively polytheistic, Hellenism still had a wisdom tradition tracing back to ancient Greek philosophy. Showing that the Jewish and Greek wisdoms are in fact one and derive from the one Creator God proved to be a fruitful argument for monotheism (125).

Conclusion

This post explored the relationship between Law and Wisdom in the Old Testament. We first looked at the concepts of law and wisdom individually, both in their general Near Eastern origins and later in their specific Old Testament usage. Secondly, we showed how Law and Wisdom became two approaches to making the God of Israel accessible to the other nations. The prophetic writings especially focused on Law, but the later post-exilic writings found Wisdom to be a more useful notion. By including in their scripture all three components of Torah, Prophets, and Writings, nascent Judaism resolved the tension between Law and Wisdom. The Writings demonstrated that “intangible divine wisdom took tangible form in the written expression of the Law and its companion scripture, the Prophets”. In this way, the Law continued to be relevant to the Jews, whose identity depended upon the observance of it. At the same time in dialogue with Gentiles, the Law was useful as a “reference implementation” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reference_implementation) of universal wisdom. And as Jews increasingly discovered common ground with Gentiles, it protected them from the exclusivism that plagued some branches of Judaism (Tarazi 126-127).

Works Cited

The Jerusalem Bible. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1968.
Tarazi, Paul Nadim. Psalms & Wisdom. Volume 3 of The Old Testament: Introduction. St. Paul, MN: OCABS, 1996.