persuasion in 1 corinthians 1:1–9

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Volume 30
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VERBUM ET ECCLESIA
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Original Research
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Persuasion in 1 Corinthians 1:1–9
Andries H. Snyman
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’n Narratiewe benadering tot die liturgie
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Francois D. Tolmie
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Original Research
Author:
Andries H. Snyman1
Affiliation:
1
New Testament
Department, University of
the Free State, South Africa
Correspondence to:
Andries H. Snyman
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Posbus 28304, Danhof,
9310, South Africa
Keywords:
persuasion; Corinthians;
grounded theoretical
approach; Paul’s rhetorical
strategy; New Testament
hermeneutics
Dates:
Received: 22 Mar. 2009
Accepted: 10 June 2009
Published: 04 Sept. 2009
Article #57
This article is available
at:
http://www.ve.org.za
INTRODUCTION
1 Corinthians has been the subject of much discussion among New Testament scholars, who base
their analyses upon the Greco-Roman rhetorical tradition. Although they use the same tradition,
they differ with regard to the dispositio of the letter and its rhetorical genre. As to the dispositio,
Mitchell (1991), Schrage (1991) and Witherington (1995) agree that the thanksgiving in 1:4–9 forms a
rhetorical exordium, which leads to the propositio in 1:10, followed by the narratio in 1:11–17. They differ,
however, with regard to the demarcation of the probatio. Mitchell (1991:xi) ends her probatio with the
conclusion of the deliberative argument in 15:58 while Witherington extends it to 16:12. There is also
no consensus as to the closing of the letter.
With regard to the rhetorical genre of 1 Corinthians, scholars generally accept that it is an example
of deliberative rhetoric (Mitchell 1991; Schüssler-Fiorenza 1987; Witherington 1995). The classicist
Kennedy, however, is of the opinion that the genre of 1 Corinthians is best understood as ‘largely
deliberative, although it contains some judicial passages’ (1984:87). Wuellner (1979:177–188) again,
who relies on Perelman and Olbrecht-Tyteca’s redefinition of the epideictic genre, argues that 1
Corinthians is epideictic. The variety of these interpretations casts serious doubt on the theoretical
justification for applying categories of classical rhetoric to Paul’s letters.
An interesting feature of rhetorical analyses of 1 Corinthians is the tendency to analyse individual
chapters in the letter, arguing that each of them displays the traditional dispositio and represents
a specific rhetorical genre. Examples include the analyses of Smit (1993:211–230) of 1 Corinthians
12–14 and those of Bünker (1984:59–72), Shaw (1995) and Watson (1993:231–249) of 1 Corinthians
15. Bünker, for example, argues that 1 Corinthians 15 is judicial while Watson and Shaw regard it
as a piece of deliberative rhetoric. It is probably assumed that these chapters could be analysed as
speeches in 1 Corinthians while the letter as a whole could also be analysed in terms of the same
rhetorical categories. Porter (1997:554) is correct in asserting that the value of such analyses is
difficult to determine, in so far as they reveal the profitable use of ancient rhetorical categories in the
interpretation of these chapters.
As a result of these and other concerns (such as the mixing of epistolary and rhetorical categories),
New Testament scholars started analysing Paul’s letters without using ancient rhetorical categories.
They began to apply modern rhetorical theories, or they analysed the arguments in a letter in terms
of a text-centred approach, whereby the letter itself serves as starting-point for analysis. Examples of
the latter are the analyses of Anderson (1999) of Galatians 1–5:12, Romans 1–11 and 1 Corinthians, as
well as the works of Kern (1998) and Tolmie (2005) on Galatians.
The purpose of this article is to study persuasion in 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 in terms of Tolmie’s proposal
for rhetorical analysis. His proposal will be summarised, followed by an analysis of these nine verses.
I hope to prove that a text-centred approach, aimed at reconstructing Paul’s rhetorical strategy from
the text itself, provides a better understanding of his rhetoric than using ancient rhetorical categories
from outside.
Verbum et Ecclesia
How to cite this article:
Snyman, A.H., 2009,
‘Persuasion in 1
Corinthians 1:1–9’, Verbum
et Ecclesia 30(2), Art. #57,
6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.57
ABSTRACT
In this article, 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 is analysed from a perspective that differs from the typical
approach of researchers, who tend to force ancient rhetorical categories on the letter. The analysis
is done in terms of what is called a ‘grounded theoretical approach’. This approach is briefly
summarised, followed by a description of the rhetorical situation of the letter and a systematic
analysis of these nine verses. It will be argued that these verses are an integral part of Paul’s
rhetorical strategy, constructed from the text itself and aimed at persuading the Corinthians to
accept his authority as apostle and to follow his instructions in realising their new life in Christ.
The conclusion is that a text-centred approach with its focus on the functional aspects of the text
provides a better understanding of Paul’s rhetorical strategy than a typical rhetorical analysis,
with its focus on the formal aspects of the text.
RHETORICAL ANALYSIS FROM A TEXT-CENTRED PERSPECTIVE
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A text-centred approach is exactly what it says: It involves an analysis of the rhetoric of the text
that focuses primarily upon identifying and describing the rhetorical strategies from the text itself
instead of making the text fit into a preselected rhetorical model. Scholars opting for this approach
regard it better to let the text ‘speak for itself’ or to ‘trust in the text and in its internal logic’ (Meynet
1998:177). Tolmie’s (2005) proposal represents one way of describing the persuasive force of Paul’s
letters from such a perspective. It has proved fruitful in analysing other letters of Paul and will be
used to describe persuasion in the first nine verses of 1 Corinthians.
Since it is impossible to analyse a text in a totally objective way, Tolmie (2005:27–30) gives an
explanation of the approach that he used in analysing the letter to the Galatians. His purpose is not
to prescribe a fixed methodology, but to provide a general guideline for analysis. After constructing
the rhetorical situation or context, that is, the broad outline of what Paul wants to achieve in the letter
Vol. 30 No. 2 Page 1 of 6
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(page number not for citation purposes)
1
Original Research
Snyman
as a whole, he formulates his ‘minimal theoretical framework’,
consisting of the following aspects:
•
•
•
•
The identification of the dominant rhetorical strategy in
a particular section by answering two questions: ‘How
can one describe Paul’s primary rhetorical objective in
this section?’, and ‘How does he attempt to achieve this
objective?’
The analysis of the section by focusing on the types of
argument Paul uses and why they are effective or by
describing the manner in which he argues to persuade his
audience. Exegetical issues are discussed, especially when
there is not agreement on the meaning of a specific phrase
or expression of rhetorical significance.
The identification of the rhetorical techniques Paul uses to
enhance the impact of his communication.
A description of the way in which the argument in the letter
as a whole has been organised. Of course, this aspect can
only be addressed once the analysis of the whole letter has
been completed. (See Tolmie 2005:122–123 for his description
of the argument in Galatians.).
RHETORICAL CONTEXT
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #57
The rhetorical situation or context in which Paul wrote this
letter might be conceived as follows:
‘Those of Chloe’ in 1:11 supplied him with oral information
about the situation in Corinth. Most probably they also
presented him with the letter referred to in 7:1 (SchüsslerFiorenza 1987:395). From these two sources Paul learnt, first
of all, about the divisions and partnership in Corinth, which
had implications for his apostolic authority. It is unlikely that a
group of anti-Pauline agitators were causing these problems, as
Marshall (1987:23–27) argues. The difficulties were essentially
internal and resulted in divisions among the Corinthians
themselves (Pogoloff 1992:237; Schüssler-Fiorenza 1987:397–398;
Witherington 1995:74). Fee (1988:6) also agrees that the church
was experiencing internal strife but argues convincingly that
the greater problem was the division between Paul as the
founder of the church and some influential teachers who were
leading the Corinthians in an anti-Pauline direction. For Paul
this greater conflict presents a crisis over his apostolic authority
as well as the truth of his message. Exegetes agree that the key
issue between Paul and his audience was what it meant to be
pneumatikos. The Corinthians made glossolalia the basic criterion
of spirituality while their interest in sophia and gnosis gave them
special wisdom and superior knowledge. All of this is opposed
to both Paul and his gospel and results in boasting and false
confidence, which needs to be addressed.
Secondly, 1 Corinthians was written in response to certain
practical issues raised in the letter Paul received from them.
The major issues that needed to be settled were marriage and
sexuality (5–7), meat sacrificed to idols (8:1–11:1), worship (11:2–
14:40), resurrection (15:12–37) and the collection for the saints
(16:1–4). In response to these issues as well as to the oral reports
of Chloe’s people, Paul addresses various – mainly behavioural
– concerns in the letter.
In her much-quoted article Rhetorical situation and historical
reconstruction in 1 Corinthians, Schüssler-Fiorenza (1987:397–398)
describes the rhetorical situation as follows: The Corinthians
had debates as to how their new life in Christ could be realised
in the midst of a society rooted in divisions between Greek and
Jew, slave and free, man and woman, etc. These debates dealt
with issues such as ‘no longer male and female’ and marriage
relationships. In the light of competing interpretations and
practices they decided to write to different missionaries
(including Paul) for their advice, since some of the interpretations
most likely originated in different theological views held by
these missionaries. This consultation process did not mean that
they would accept such advice without judgement in terms of
their own pneumatic self-understanding. According to some
2
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of the Corinthians, Paul was not well qualified in terms of
pneumatic competence. The apostle must somehow have learnt
this and in order to convince them to accept his interpretation,
he had to argue why they should follow his instructions and
not those of the other missionaries. In the process of persuasion,
Paul presented himself as the sole founder and father of the
church in Corinth who must be obeyed and not as one apostle
among others.
Whether one accepts this specific reconstruction or not, the
broad picture remains the same: The letter is dominated
by Paul’s attempt to persuade the Corinthians to accept his
authority as apostle (including the truth of his message) and to
follow his instructions in realising their new life in Christ. He
is not addressing a single subject but a wide variety of issues,
using a variety of arguments and persuasive techniques. To
examine these in the first nine verses of the letter is the aim of
this paper.
ANALYSIS OF 1 CORINTHIANS 1:1–9
Introduction
Two issues need attention before analysing Paul’s persuasive
strategy in these nine verses:
• Scholars who follow Betz in his approach to rhetorical
analysis define 1:1–3 as the epistolary prescript and
1:4–9 as the exordium of the letter (Mitchell 1991:192–
197; Witherington 1995:78–94). The primary aim of the
exordium was to prepare the audience psychologically for
the speaker and his case. As Lausberg (1960:180) puts it,
‘Ziel des exordiums ist es, die Sympathie des Richters (oder im
weiteren Sinn: des Publikums) für den (parteimässig vertretenen)
Redegegenstand zu gewinnen.’
• In line with this definition, Watson (1988:62) highlights
three functions of the exordium: ‘…to obtain audience
attention, receptivity and goodwill’. The major drawback in
describing 1 Corinthians 1:4–9 as exordium is that it leads
to a degradation of the argumentative value of this part
of the letter. The exordium (and narratio) cannot merely be
regarded as ‘preparatory’ for the ‘real’ arguments in the
probatio, as Tolmie (2005:46–47) points out in his analysis of
Galatians. He distinguishes between the theological content
of Paul’s arguments and their persuasive value. Even if the
arguments at the beginning of a letter may appear less
‘theological’ in nature, it does not imply that they should
be viewed as inferior or less persuasive than the ones used
later on in the letter. On the contrary: It might just be that
Paul preferred to use his best arguments first!
• In this analysis 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 has been demarcated
by rhetorical considerations from the text itself. It consists
of three sections. The first three verses are separated from
verses 4–7a by the verb eu c
j aristw ` in verse 4, indicating a
shift in Paul’s rhetorical strategy. In 1:7b–9 he moves from
thanksgiving to an eschatological perspective, which has an
important function in his persuasive strategy. In 1:10 there
is another shift when he starts appealing (parakalw )` to his
audience in the light of the divisions among them. Thus, the
three sections in 1:1–9 are verses 1–3, 4–7a and 7b–9.
• How should one describe the rhetorical strategy in each
of these sections? In 1:1–3 Paul is emphasising the divine
origin of his apostleship and the Corinthians’ calling as
‘church of God, sanctified in Christ Jesus’. The dominant
strategy in this section could thus be described as ‘adapting
the salutation to emphasise his and their divine calling’.
In the second section (1:4–7a) he thanks God for the
Corinthians themselves and for the gifts they have received.
The strategy in the third section, dealing with eschatology,
could be described as ‘assuring the Corinthians of their
future glory, thereby persuading them to use their gifts
correctly’ (1:7b–9).
The rest of the article will be devoted to a verse-by-verse
analysis of the way in which Paul tries to persuade his audience
to his point of view.
Original Research
1 Corinthians 1:1–3: Adapting the salutation to
emphasise his and their divine calling
In the opening section of his letters Paul usually employs the
three traditional elements of sender, receiver and greetings
but describes the sender(s) and receiver(s) in more detail
(Schnider & Stenger 1987:4–24). The greeting of a traditional
letter (cai r` ein) is also changed to ‘grace and peace to you’ and
Christianised (White 1984:1730–1756). Although Paul follows
the traditional pattern, he adapts it to the particular occasion of
the letter in order to strengthen his overall rhetorical strategy
(Tolmie 2005:31).
The designation of the senders
The two senders are described as Pau l` o~ klhto ~; a p
j o sv tolo~
Cristou ` Ij hsou ` dia ; qelh m
v ato~ qeou ` and Swsqe v v nv h~ o J
a dj elfo ~v . Paul stresses two aspects in describing himself. The
first is that he is ‘called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus’. The use
of these words in the salutation implies that his apostleship was
such an important issue that he used the very first opportunity
in the letter to address it – as is the case in the letter to the
Galatians. Given the tensions between Paul and the Corinthians,
who are questioning his apostleship, Paul asserts that he is
an apostle commissioned by the Lord Himself. Secondly, he
emphasises the origin of his apostleship with the addition ‘by
the will of God’. There has been some discussion as to whether
the addition qualifies klhto ~v or a p
j o sv tolo~ Cristou ` Ij hsou, `
or both (see Barrett 1979:30–31). Conzelmann (1975:20) and Fee
(1988:29) agree that it includes both ideas. This interpretation is
supported by the placement of dia ; qelh m
v ato~ qeou ` at the end
of the description in an emphatic position. The addition bases
his apostleship in God’s eternal plan.
Important for our purpose is the fact that the name of Sosthenes
is added after Paul’s description of himself as someone ‘called
to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God’. This word
order differs, for example, from Philippians 1:1 (Pau l` o~ kai;
Timo qv eo~ dou l` oi Cristou ` Ij hsou )` and almost certainly
excludes Sosthenes from being an apostle as well. Its primary
function is to emphasise Paul’s apostolic authority as over
against his coworker. The Corinthians would most certainly
have realised this as well as the fact that the ‘our’ is inclusive: it
includes the whole Christian community in Corinth.
The description of the receivers
As is the case with the senders, the extensive description of the
receivers is directed towards the situation in Corinth. The letter
is addressed
to the church of God in Corinth (th / ` e kj klhsiav / tou ` qeou ` th / `
ou s
[ h / e nj Kori nv qw )/ , to those sanctified in Christ Jesus and
called to be holy (h g
J iasme nv oi~ e nj Cristw / ` Ij hsou ,̀ klhtoi ~`
ag
J iov i~), together with all those everywhere who call on the name
of our Lord Jesus Christ – their Lord and ours (to ; o n[ oma tou `
Secondly, they are described as ‘sanctified in Christ Jesus and
called to be holy’. The verb a g
J ia zv w means ‘to cause someone
to have the quality of holiness – to make holy’ (Louw & Nida
1988:745) and the preposition e nj with Cristw ` / Ij hsou ` is
instrumental, referring to the work of salvation which God
accomplishes ‘in Christ’ (Conzelmann 1975:21). Similarly, God
or Christ is the subject of their calling (klhtoi ~` ) to be holy. The
adjective a g
{ io~ means ‘possessing certain essentially divine
qualities in contrast to what is human’ (Louw & Nida 1988:745).
The type of argument used here is an argument based on divine
involvement. This type of argument is highly effective and is
frequently used in 1:1–9 as well as in Paul’s other letters. Here
it is used to emphasise the human-divine opposition, which
plays such an important role in the rest of the letter. As such it
prepares the audience for what is coming and enables them to
understand at the outset their responsibility as people of God.
They must bear the character of the One who has called them
to be his people.
The third issue pertains to the phrase ‘together with all those
everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ –
their Lord and ours’. The syntax poses some problems for
interpreters. Is it to be connected to the immediately preceding
‘called to be holy’ or to ‘the church of God in Corinth’ or even
to the senders Paul and Sosthenes in verse 1? Fee discusses the
possibilities and concludes that the point is quite clear:
The pneumatikoi in Corinth seem to have struck an independent
course, both from Paul and therefore also from the rest of the
churches…. So Paul starts by giving them a gentle nudge to
remind them that their own calling to be God’s people belongs to
a much larger picture.
(Fee 1988:33)
Article #57
Paul is joined by a coworker described as ‘Sosthenes, the/our
brother’. Conzelmann (1975:20) and Thiselton (2000:69–70) are
of the opinion that it is not necessary to speculate on his relation
to the Sosthenes of Acts 18:17, since the name was widely used.
Barrett (1979:31), on the other hand, thinks that he is probably
the Sosthenes of Acts 18:17 and well-known to the Corinthians.
The point is that there should have been a reason for mentioning
his name as a cosender. This fact as well as the designation ‘my/
our brother’ suggests that Barrett is most probably correct.
The following issues are rhetorically significant in this
description. Firstly, the qualification of the church as ‘the church
of God’. As Thiselton (2000:73–74) points out, the function of
this qualification is to address at the outset one of the problems
among the Corinthians: The church does not belong to the
wealthy or to people who manifest certain spiritual gifts. The
church belongs to God, to whom everyone is accountable.
Verbum et Ecclesia
An examination of 1:1 reveals that the primary aim of the
addition is to emphasise in a forceful way that Paul’s apostleship
is completely dependent on God. The type of argument used
could be defined as an argument based on divine authorisation.
It is assumed that in order to be an apostle of Jesus Christ,
one should have been called by God. The importance of this
argument – from Paul’s perspective – is clear from the fact that
he uses it at the very beginning of the letter.
kuriov u h m
J w n` Ij hsou ` Cristou ` e nj panti; to p
v w ,/ au tj w n` kai;
hm
J w n` )’.
(1 Cor 1:2).
Fee’s conclusion is supported by Paul’s argumentation in the
remainder of the letter (4:17; 11:16; and 14:36).
As such the phrase has two important functions. Firstly,
it associates the Corinthians with all the other churches,
thereby strengthening their relationship and focusing on their
‘togetherness’. The Corinthians have a share with all the saints
who ‘call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ’. Secondly, it
strengthens Paul’s apostolic authority in the sense that what he
is saying to them, he is saying to all the churches. There is a
large group of people standing behind him and for whom he
– as apostle – is responsible. He is the apostle of the universal
church, as the prepositional phrase e nj panti; to p
v w / indicates.
According to Schüssler-Fiorenza (1987:398), Paul claims the
authority of Christ and that of other churches whenever his
argument breaks down. I am of the opposite opinion. As in
his other letters (especially Galatians but also Romans and
Philippians) he is using this authority as one of his strongest
arguments in order to persuade his audience to his point of
view. The audience must first of all be persuaded of who he is
before they can pay attention to what he has to say. This is why
he uses this argumentation at the very beginning of the letter.
The salutation is concluded by the traditional ‘grace and peace
to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ’, also
used in Paul’s other letters. The inclusive ‘our’ is used to bind
Paul to his audience and to create a common understanding
between them.
Verbum et Ecclesia
3
Original Research
Snyman
In addition to ‘inclusive language’, the following rhetorical
techniques have been identified in 1:1–3:
•
•
•
•
Repetition of ‘God’ and ‘Christ Jesus/Jesus Christ’ in all
three verses, emphasising the divine involvement that
characterises the section.
Paranomasia with h g
J iasme nv oi~ / a g
J iov i~ and pa s
` in /
panti v in 1:2 creates links between key items, thereby
effectively highlighting them.
Furthermore, the description of the receivers as
hg
J iasme nv oi~ / a g
J iov i~ emphasises their privileged status,
thus bestowing honour upon them. Genade (2007:184)
calls this technique honorific referencing or classification,
here used to build a relationship between Paul and his
audience.
he placement of au tj w n` kai; h m
J w n` at the end of 1:2
emphasises the ‘togetherness’ of all the saints ‘who call on
the name of our Lord Jesus Christ’.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #57
To conclude: Paul’s rhetorical strategy in 1:1–3 can be described
as ‘adapting the salutation to emphasise his and their divine
calling’. He begins by describing himself as one ‘called to
be an apostle of Christ Jesus’, thereby using the very first
opportunity in the letter to address the issue of his apostleship.
His apostleship is further strengthened by an argument based
on divine authorisation, while the word order in 1:1 also serves
to highlight his apostolic authority.
The description of the receivers is also aimed at addressing the
situation in Corinth. Of the various ways in which Paul adapts
the receiver element, two are of special significance. Firstly,
the argument based on divine involvement, used to emphasise
the human-divine opposition and to enable the Corinthians to
understand their responsibility as God’s holy people. Secondly,
the phrase ‘together with all those everywhere who call on the
name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours’, which serves
to associate the Corinthians with all other churches, thereby
highlighting Paul’s apostleship of the universal church.
Rhetorical techniques enhancing Paul’s communication in 1:1–3
include repetition of names, paranomasia, honorific referencing
and the placement of au tj w n` kai; h m
J w n` at the end of 1:2.
1 Corinthians 1:4–7a: Thanking God for the
Corinthians and their gifts
This section is demarcated by a shift in Paul’s persuasive
strategy. Verses 4–7a deal with the grace and gifts given to the
Corinthians while verses 7b–9 refer to the final consummation
at the coming of Christ. It is a shift from the past to the present/
future, from thanksgiving to a strong affirmation, from the
graces they have received to what God will do for them ‘on the
day of our Lord Jesus Christ’. Thus, although 1:4–8 is a single
sentence in the original, the second part of verse 7 paves the
way for the affirmation in verses 8–9 and will be discussed in
the next section.
Verses 4–8 read as follows:
I thank my God always for you on the ground of his grace (e p
j i; th ` /
ca rv iti tou ` qeou )` , given to you in Christ Jesus (th ` / doqeisv h /
um
J i n` e nj Cristw ` / Ij hsou )` , in that (o t{ i) in him you have been
enriched (e p
j loutisv qhte) in every respect (e nj panti )v – in all
your speaking and in all your knowledge (e nj panti; lo g
v w / kai;
pa sv h / gnw sv ei) – just as (kaqw ~v ) our testimony about Christ was
confirmed (e bj ebaiw qv h) in you so that you fall short in no gift (e nj
mhdeni; carisv mati), while you wait for the revealing of our Lord
Jesus Christ.
(1 Cor 4–8)
Considerable research has been done on the Pauline
thanksgivings. Thiselton (2000:85–87) discusses four stages of
research, ending with O’Brien’s work Introductory thanksgivings
in the letters of Paul (1977). A shared characteristic of Paul’s
thanksgivings and the Greek epistolary literature was to
express thanks for some aspects that would then be developed
4
Verbum et Ecclesia
more fully in the body of the letter (O’Brien 1977:107–137). This
is also the case in 1:4–8, as will become clear in the analysis
below.
The basis of Paul’s thanksgiving is God’s ‘grace given you in
Christ Jesus’. The term ca rv i~ is associated with carisv mata
and refers to concrete expressions of God’s gracious activity in
the Corinthians (Fee 1988:37). Such a concrete understanding
of grace is supported by verses 5–7, in which manifestations
of certain gifts are referred to – manifestations that the
Corinthians prize very highly and boast about. As indicated
above, Paul does not develop the issue of the carisv mata at any
length here but merely refers to it. The reference, however, is
important from a rhetorical perspective. Paul stresses the fact
that the grace (and gifts) they received were given to them by
God. As such it represents another argument based on divine
involvement. Precisely because these gifts were given by God,
the Corinthians had no reason for boasting. Thus, Paul is
arguing from the beginning of his letter, trying to persuade his
audience to share his point of view by stopping their boasting
over things they have received and starting to focus on God,
who gave them these gifts.
In verse 5 Paul continues with the same argument by explaining
that the Corinthians have been enriched (e p
j loutisv qhte) in
every respect. Scholars differ as to the meaning of o t{ i at the
beginning of the verse. Does it mean ‘because’ or ‘that’ and
should it be linked to eu c
j aristw ` or to th ` / doqeisv h / u m
J i n`
e nj Cristw ` / Ij hsou ?` Barrett (1979:36) favours the meaning
‘because’ on the basis of parallels in Greek letter forms.
Conzelmann (1975:25) also prefers ‘because’ and links it to
eu c
j aristw ` (‘I thank God…because’). Grosheide (1957:39) and
Thiselton (2000:90), on the other hand, are of the opinion that
o t{ i is explicative, indicating that what follows modifies verse
4. As such it could be translated ‘in that’, which renders the
translation, ‘I thank my God…on the ground of his grace given
to you in Christ Jesus, in that…’ (or ‘I mean…’). The structure of
the sentence in the original justifies such an interpretation.
Thus, verses 5–7 spell out in more detail the meaning of
the grace given to the Corinthians in Christ Jesus: They
were enriched in Christ in every respect. The gifts are to be
understood as manifestations of God’s grace. This argument of
divine involvement once again serves to focus their attention
on God and away from the gifts per se – the gifts as source of
their boasting.
The two gifts mentioned explicitly in 1:5, namely lo g
v o~ and
gnw s
` i~, should be interpreted in this context. Whatever their
specific meaning, they are given by God for the edification
of the church and are not something human about which
the Corinthians could boast. This issue will be developed
at length later on in the letter (chapters 12–14). For now Paul
merely mentions it and expresses his thanks to God for the
gifts, thereby trying to persuade his audience to do the same
by focusing on God.
As is the case with o t{ i at the beginning of 1:5, the conjunction
kaqw ~v in 1:6 creates problems for interpreters. Conzelmann
(1975:27) proposes the translation ‘for indeed’, while O’Brien
(1977:120) and Thiselton (2000:94) see it as introducing a causal
clause, explaining the reason for their richness of spiritual
gifts. Grosheide (1957:40) and Fee (1988:40), again, argue for
the ordinary comparative sense of kaqw ~v (‘just as/even as’).
Fee finds support for his interpretation in 1 Thessalonians
1:5 where Paul asserts that his gospel came with power, the
Holy Spirit and deep conviction and then adds the reminder
kaqw ~; oi d[ ate oiJ o` i e g
j enh qv hmen (e nj ) u m
J i n` di j u m
J a ~` (‘just as
you yourselves know how we lived among you for your sake’).
Here in 1 Corinthians 1:6 it suggests that the gifts are the
evidence that Paul’s testimony about Christ was confirmed in
the Corinthians.
Original Research
Fee’s well-motivated interpretation is to be preferred to that
of O’Brien, Thiselton and others. If correct, it means that God
confirmed Paul’s testimony to Christ among the Corinthians by
giving them the spiritual gifts in 1:5. The true proclamation of
Christ was confirmed in their own experience by way of the
gifts they received.
Two issues are of rhetorical significance in 1:6. The first is the
use of an argument based on own experience. This type of
argument is very powerful and persuasive, since people are
not prone to doubt their own experience. They actually have
no other option but to agree. This is exactly what Paul achieves
in 1:6: He bases his argument on earlier experiences of the
Corinthians, which they now cannot deny. These experiences
include above all else their experience of the gifts they received,
which proves the truth of his message.
Secondly, the one who confirms (e bj ebaiw qv h) Paul’s witness
to Christ among the Corinthians was God Himself. This
argument of divine involvement also serves to guarantee the
truth of Paul’s gospel: They have been enriched by the gifts
God Himself gave them. Thus, by way of two strong arguments
Paul is trying to persuade his audience as to the truth of his
testimony to Christ.
With the result clause w s
{ te u m
J a ~` mh ; u sJ terei s
` qai e nj mhdeni;
carisv mati in 1:7a Paul brings his thanksgiving to a close. The
clause merely repeats negatively what has been stated positively
in verse 5 (Conzelmann 1975:27). The repetition emphasises
that the gifts of grace are indispensable as part of the Christian
life; without these gifts the Corinthians would fail to fulfil their
calling.
The techniques of repetition and paranomasia highlight keynotes
in the argumentation.
1 Corinthians 1:7b–9: Assuring the Corinthians
of their future glory, thereby persuading them to
use their gifts correctly
Paul shifts his persuasive strategy from thanksgiving to an
assurance of future glory when he writes,
…while you are waiting for (a p
j ekdecome nv ou~) the revelation
of our Lord Jesus Christ; He (God) will also confirm you (o ~} kai;
bebaiw sv ei u m
J a ~` ) to the end, so that you will be blameless on the
day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful (pisto ~; o J qeo ~; ), by
whom you have been called (e kj lh qv hte) into fellowship with His
son Jesus Christ, our Lord.
(1 Cor 1:7–8)
Two issues are rhetorically significant in this section. The
first relates to the phrase ‘while you are waiting for the
revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ’. What is the function of this
eschatological note at the end of verse 7? Groenewald (1967:22)
is of the opinion that the Corinthians had a sound expectation
of Christ’s return – unlike many other churches – as a result of
which they were using their gifts correctly and with diligence.
Thus, the function of the note is to encourage them to continue
in the same vein. The majority of commentators, however,
The second issue of rhetorical significance is the antecedent of
the relative o ~[ at the beginning of verse 8. Is it God or Jesus
Christ? Grammatically it could only be Jesus Christ at the end
of verse 7. This interpretation is preferred by Barrett (1979:39)
and Godet (1957:58) while Conzelmann (1975:28), Groenewald
(1967:22) and Grosheide (1957:43) are in favour of the first option,
namely God. Schrage (1991:121) and Thiselton (2000:101) leave
the matter open and translates the relative with ‘He’.
To my mind the antecedent of o ~[ is God, for two reasons:
1. The type of argument that dominates 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 is
an argument based on God’s involvement. Here in 1:8 Paul
is using it once again to good effect. God is also the subject
of e bj ebaiw qv h in 1:6, where the verb was used for the first
time, while the kai v in o ~} kai; bebaiw sv ei (left untranslated
by, inter alia, Conzelmann 1975:28 and the NIV) supports
this interpretation.
2. To begin and end verse 8 with Jesus Christ renders the
translation ‘Jesus Christ will also confirm you to the end,
so that you will be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus
Christ’. Such a statement is awkward and to a certain extent
senseless. Thus, although Jesus Christ is grammatically the
only antecedent of o ~[ , it makes better sense to translate the
passage as ‘God will confirm you…on the day of our Lord
Jesus Christ’.
Article #57
To conclude: The rhetorical strategy in 1:4–7a could be described
as ‘thanking God for the Corinthians and their gifts’. Arguments
based on divine involvement are used to good effect (in 1:4, 1:5
and 1:6) while the argument of the Corinthians’ own experience
in 1:6 leaves the audience with no other option but to accept the
truth of Paul’s testimony to Christ.
Which interpretation is to be preferred? Probably the second
one, mainly due to the rhetorical context of the letter. The
Corinthians’ experience of the gifts allows them to be pompous
as if the final word has already been spoken. Therefore, Paul’s aim
is to deflate this pomposity, without awakening terror (Barrett
1979:39). The linguistic context of the phrase also supports this
interpretation: The Corinthians do not lack any spiritual gift as/
while they wait for (praes part a p
j ekdecome nv ou~) the revelation
of the Lord. By adding this note Paul is trying to persuade the
Corinthians by reminding them that the final revelation of
Christ is yet to come and that the gifts have to be used in the
light of this eschatological event.
Verbum et Ecclesia
In addition to the repetition just mentioned, the prepositional
clause e nj Cristw ` / Ij hsou ` (1:4) is repeated with e nj au tj w ` / in
1:5 to emphasise Christ’s instrumental role, while paranomasia
with pa nv tote (1:4), e nj panti v (twice) and pa sv h / in 1:5 is used
as supportive rhetorical technique to stress the totality or
completeness of what is said.
argue that the Corinthians had an ‘overrealised eschatology’
(based on the spiritual gifts they had received, especially
the gift of tongues), which repressed their eager expectation
of Christ’s coming (Barrett 1979:39; Fee 1988:43; Grosheide
1957:43). Therefore, Paul finds it necessary to remind them that
the present is still incomplete and that all Christians are still
awaiting the revelation of the Lord.
In line with his persuasive strategy up to now, Paul is once again
using an argument of divine involvement in 1:8 to redirect the
Corinthians’ attention from themselves to God, who assures
their future glory. The apostle is confident that God will
confirm them to the end, as is clear from the future indicative
bebaiw sv ei, which expresses a certainty (as Conzelmann 1975:28
argues correctly, with reference to e p
j itele sv ei in Phil 1:6), not
a wish.
The argument of God’s involvement is finally used in the
summary statement of verse 9: ‘God is faithful, by whom you
were called (e kj lh qv hte) into the fellowship of His Son Jesus
Christ, our Lord.’ God is the only author and guarantee of the
Corinthians’ existence, both in terms of their calling and their
future glory.
Rhetorical techniques used to enhance Paul’s communication
in this section are the following:
• The clause tou ` kuriov u h m
J w n` Ij hsou ` Cristou ` is repeated
at the end of verses 7, 8 and 9 in an emphatic position. It
serves to highlight that everything God is doing for the
Corinthians is done in/through Jesus Christ.
• The inclusive ‘we’ in all the clauses quoted above serves
to bind Paul to his audience, thereby achieving a common
understanding between them.
Verbum et Ecclesia
5
Original Research
Snyman
•
isto ~v is placed first in 1:9 to emphasise this characteristic
P
of God.
• The clause pisto ~; o J qeo ~v is not linked to the previous
sentence (asyndeton), indicating that Paul is shifting to a
new (summative) statement in verse 9.
To conclude: Paul’s persuasive strategy in 1:7b–9 could be
described as ‘assuring the Corinthians of their future glory,
thereby persuading them to use their gifts correctly’. The
phrase ‘while you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus
Christ’ (1:7b) serves to deflate their pomposity and to persuade
them to view their gifts from an eschatological perspective. The
assurance itself is based on an argument of divine involvement
(1:8) while God is also the sole author of their calling and future
glory (1:9).
Rhetorical techniques in this section include repetition,
inclusive language, placement of words and asyndeton.
CONCLUSION
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #57
The aim of this article was to prove that Paul’s persuasive
strategy in 1 Corinthians 1:1–9 can be reconstructed from the
text itself, without using rhetorical categories from outside.
I hope to have proved that these introductory nine verses are
not only preparatory for the ‘real’ arguments in the so-called
probatio but are already an integral part of Paul’s argumentation
in the letter.
1 Corinthians 1:1–9 is demarcated by rhetorical considerations
and divided into three sections: 1:1–3; 1:4–7a and 1:7b–9. In
analysing them, the focus was on the way Paul argues, on the
types of arguments he uses and on the rhetorical techniques
that could enhance the impact of his communication. Examples
of arguments based on divine authorisation, on divine
involvement (which dominate all three sections) and one based
on own experience have been identified, while supportive
techniques such as repetition, paranomasia, inclusive language,
the placement of words, honorific referencing and asyndeton
all contribute to the impact of his communication and serve to
persuade Paul’s audience to his point of view.
REFERENCES
Anderson, R.D., 1999, ‘Ancient rhetorical theory and Paul’,
Catholic Biblical Quarterly 18.
Barrett, C.K., 1979, A commentary on the first epistle to the
Corinthians, 2nd edn., Black, London.
Bünker, M., 1984, ‘Briefformular und rhetorische Disposition
im 1 Korintherbrief’, Gestalt Theory 28.
Conzelmann, H., 1975, 1 Corinthians: A commentary on the first
epistle to the Corinthians, Fortress Press, Philadelphia.
Fee, G.D., 1988, The first epistle to the Corinthians, Eerdmans,
Grand Rapids.
Genade, A.A., 2007, ‘A text-centred rhetorical analysis of Paul’s
letter to Titus’, PhD dissertation, University of the Free
State.
Godet, F., 1957, Commentary on the first epistle to the Corinthians,
Eerdmans, Grand Rapids.
Groenewald, E.P., 1967, Die eerste brief aan die Korinthiërs, NG
Kerk Uitgewers, Cape Town.
Grosheide, F.W., 1957, De eerste brief aan de Kerk te Korinthe, N.V.
Uitgeversmaatschappij J.H. Kok, Kampen.
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rhetorical criticism, University of North Carolina Press,
Chapel Hill.
Kern, P.H., 1998, Rhetoric and Galatians: Assessing an approach
to Paul’s epistle, SNTS.MS101, Cambridge University Press,
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Hueber, München.
Louw, J.P. & Nida, E.A., 1988, Greek-English lexicon of the New
Testament based on semantic domains, UBS, New York.
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Marshall, P., 1987, ‘Enmity in Corinth’, Wissenschaftliche
Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2.23, J.C.B. Mohr,
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Meynet, R., 1998, Rhetorical analysis: An introduction to biblical
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Mitchell, M., 1991, Paul and the rhetoric of reconciliation: An
exegetical investigation of the language and composition of 1
Corinthians, Mohr-Siebeck, Tübingen.
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Testament Studies 21(1), 144–155.
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(ed.), Handbook of classical rhetoric in the Hellenistic period 330
BC–AD 400, pp. 532–585, Brill, Leiden.
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Briefformular, New Testament Studies 12, EJ Brill, Leiden.
Schrage, W., 1991, Der erste Brief an die Korinther, 1 Teilband,
EKKNT 7/1, Benzinger, Zürich.
Schüssler-Fiorenza, E., 1987, ‘Rhetorical situation and historical
reconstruction in 1 Corinthians’, New Testament Studies 33,
386–403.
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utilizing the theories of classical rhetoric, Mellen, Lewiston.
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Original Research
Author:
Philip P. Venter1
Affiliation:
1
Departement van Ou
Testament Studies,
Universiteit van Pretoria,
Suid-Afrika
Correspondence to:
Philip Venter
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Posbus 73095, Fairland 2030,
Suid-Afrika
Keywords:
kognitiewe wetenskap;
filosofiese denkraamwerk;
oriëntasiemiddelpunt;
medium; beliggaamdheid
Dates:
Accepted: 28 Apr. 2009
Published: 23 Oct. 2009
LIGGAAM, DENKE EN DIE ABSTRAKTE
Article #58
at:
INLEIDING
Die bevindinge van moderne kognitiewe wetenskappe het ingrypende implikasies vir die filosofiese
denkraamwerk waarin kulturele geskrifte, veral teologiese tekste, vertolk is en kan word. Dit dwing
die liggaam voorop as ‘n uiters belangrike epistemologiese agent. In die woorde van Leder (1990:1):
‘Human experience is incarnated.’ Die liggaam is nooit bloot ‘n objek in die wêreld nie, maar die medium
waardeur ons wêreld in aansyn geroep word (Leder 1990:5). Die liggaam is die oriëntasiemiddelpunt
waardeur ons met ons wêreld omgaan en betekenis konstrueer. Liggaamskritiese ondersoek van die
tekste in die Bybel bied ‘n invalshoek tot insig in die gemeenskaplike en kulturele faktore wat tot
sodanige tekste aanleiding gegee het. Dit bring ‘n andersoortige filosofiese benadering mee, te wete
‘n beliggaamde filosofie wat in pas is met die beliggaamdheid van denke, die kognitiewe onbewuste,
en die metaforiese aard van abstrakte konsepte. Erns met die liggaamsideologie onderliggend aan
die konstrukte en konsepte in religieuse tekste sal ‘n nuwe diskoers oor sogenaamde ‘normatiewe’
begrippe stimuleer en moontlik nuwe (beliggaamde) perspektiewe in die verhouding tussen die
mens, die omgewing en ander ‘andere’ bring. ‘n Samelewing wat begaan is oor ekobillikheid wat
die onderlinge verbondenheid van alle skepsele betref, het immers die verantwoordelikheid om die
hiërargiese normatiewe paradigmas op grond waarvan dit funksioneer, voortdurend in oënskou
te neem. Die doel van hierdie artikel is om die rol en plek van die liggaam in die vestiging van
godskonstrukte as sodanige normatiewe paradigmas uit te wys.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Venter, P.P., 2009,
‘Beliggaamde realisme en
ekobillike godskonstrukte‘,
Verbum et Ecclesia 30(2), Art.
#58, 6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.58
ABSTRACT
Embodied realism and congruent God constructs
The findings of modern cognitive sciences have far-reaching implications for the philosophical
framework within which theological texts have been and could be interpreted. In this regard, the
body presents itself as an important epistemological agent. Body-critical analysis of Bible texts
provides insight into the societal and cultural factors that brought about those texts, and presents
a philosophical approach of embodied realism congruent with the embodiment of thought, the
cognitive subconscious and the methaphorical nature of abstract concepts. By taking the body
ideology fundamental to the concepts and constructs in religious texts seriously, a new discourse
can be stimulated that will bring about new embodied perspectives on the relationship between
humans, the environment and other ‘others’. A society that is serious about ecojustice as far as
the interrelatedness of all creatures is concerned should shoulder the responsibility continuously
to consider and revise its hierarchical normative paradigms. The purpose of this article is to
investigate the role and place of the body in the establishment of God constructs as normative
paradigms.
Die vernaamste empiriese bevinding van moderne kognitiewe wetenskappe is dat ons versteekte
konseptuele meganismes, wat beeldskemas (‘image schemata’), metafore en beliggaamde konseptuele
strukture insluit, ons in ‘n groot mate daartoe in staat stel om ‘‘n leefwêreld te hê’. Ons kognitiewe
onbewuste speel ‘n kernrol, nie net in die konseptualisering van ons leefwêreld nie, maar ook om die
wêreld wat ons ervaar, te skep (Lakoff & Johnson 1999:509). Dié bevinding kan in drie dele uiteengesit
word:
• Gees is altyd beliggaam.
• Denke is meestal onbewus.
• Abstrakte konsepte is grootliks metafories.
Beliggaamde gees
Die bevinding oor die beliggaamdheid van die gees, selfs die term ‘beliggaamde gees’ op sigself,
betwis in wese tradisionele dualismes, en trek ‘n streep deur die byproduk van Cartesiaanse dualisme,
naamlik objektivisme. As sulks is dít goeie nuus in ‘n situasie waar die Aarde juis herdefinieer moet
word – as subjek beskou moet word – ten einde haar ondergang te voorkom. As gees, denke of gedagte
as onbeliggaamd beskou word, word die gaping tussen denke en wêreld onoorbrugbaar, en hou dit
die wrede dualisme tussen kultuur en natuur in stand.
Creative Commons
Die beliggaamdheid van gees, denke en rede, soos die kognitiewe wetenskappe uitwys, bied ‘n nuwe
begrip van die verhouding tussen gedagte of denke, en realiteit: Dít kan ‘n beliggaamde realisme
genoem word (Lakoff & Johnson 1999:95). Beliggaamde realisme, wat die Cartesiaanse digotomie
tussen denke (gees) en liggaam verwerp, is gegrond op die menslike vermoë om suksesvol in
‘n fisiese omgewing te funksioneer. Dus is dit ‘n evolusiegegronde realisme. Evolusie het ons van
aangepaste liggame en breine voorsien, wat ons in staat stel om ons omgewing te omarm en selfs te
omvorm. Realisme, as omgekeerde van objektivisme, gaan dus in wese oor die mens se suksesvolle
funksionering in die wêreld. Iemand wat ‘onrealisties’ is, is ‘n wanaangepaste persoon – uit voeling
en in disharmonie met die wêreld. Realisme behels om met die wêreld in voeling te wees op wyses
wat oorlewing verseker, groei waarborg, en die verwesenliking van doelwitte inhou. Om egter só in
voeling te kan wees, vereis iets wat kan ‘voel’, naamlik ‘n liggaam.
Verbum et Ecclesia
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Original Research
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Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #58
Konsepte, ook oorlewingskonsepte soos sogenaamde
hanteringsmeganismes (‘coping mechanisms’), ontstaan in en word
begryp deur die liggaam, die brein, en liggaamlike ervaringe in
die wêreld. Konsepte kry betekenis deur beliggaming, en veral
deur persepsuele en motoriese vermoëns (Lakoff & Johnson
1999:497). In beliggaamde realisme hang waarheid nie van een of
ander eksterne rasionele konstruk, byvoorbeeld ‘n ‘openbaring’,
af nie, maar van subjektiewe begrip en insig (Lakoff & Johnson
1999:114).
In objektivistiese sienings van betekenis en rasionaliteit word
die menslike liggaam, veral die struktuur van konseptualisering,
verbeelding en begrip wat uit ons beliggaamde bestaan na
vore kom, tot dusver grootliks geïgnoreer en onderskat. Dít is
weens die oortuiging dat die liggaam ‘n subjektiewe element
na vore bring wat nie in die objektiewe aard van betekenis ter
sake is nie. Die liggaam word geïgnoreer omdat rede as abstrak
en transendent, sonder enige verband met enige liggaamlike
aspek van menslike begrip, beskou word. Die liggaam word
geïgnoreer omdat dit klaarblyklik geen rol in ons redevoering
oor abstrakte konsepte speel nie (Johnson 1987:xi). Dat hierdie
gevolg van die Cartesiaanse liggaam-gees-dualisme betwis moet
word, blyk uit die geweldige sosiale impak wat dit gehad het
en steeds het. Die hiërargiese Cartesiaanse dualisme het die
onderdukking van vroue, diere, die natuur en ander ‘andere’
regverdig (Leder 1990:4). Viviers (2005:883) verwoord dit soos
volg: ‘The body is also thrown away for the sake of the mind, and the
result: an impoverished experience of life...bodies know deeper than
minds alone.’ Gevolglik dien die bevindinge van die kognitiewe
wetenskappe om ons ons gewaande transendensie te laat
oorkom, sodat ons die inherensie van ons bestaan in eenheid en
vervlegting met die ganse universum kan besef. Die denkende
gees en die liggaam is in werklikheid nie teenoorgestelde
substansies nie, maar vervlegte aspekte van dieselfde lewende
organisme. Cartesiaanse kategorieë van gees en liggaam dien
bloot om ervaringsklasse wat in onophoudelike wisselwerking
is en mekaar aanvul, te hervestig en te skei. Geleenthede waar
die liggaam hoogs verborge en selftransendent is, val onder
die kategorie ‘gees’. Ander ervaringe, waar liggaamlikheid
‘n sterk tematiese teenwoordigheid het, val weer onder die
kategorie ‘liggaam’. Tog is ons as mense ‘begeesterde liggame’.
Ons ervaringe toon weliswaar wisselende aksente. Soms is ons
hoogs bewus van onsself, en ander kere heel onbewus. Ons
beleef onsself soms as wesens wat ons omgewing beïnvloed,
maar voel ander kere weer grootliks uitgelewer. Soms word ons
getref deur die transendensie van ons aardse bestaan; ander kere
is die lewe op aarde ‘n dreigende, harde werklikheid. Dit is egter
dieselfde liggame wat hierdie wisselende ervarings het en dit
uiteindelik metaforiseer (Leder 1990:149).
Die bevinding van die vervlegtheid van gees en liggaam,
oftewel die beliggaamdheid van die gees, betwis en omvorm
verder alle ander dualismes wat uit dié van gees en liggaam
vloei. Dit impliseer dat die beliggaamdheid van alle konsepte,
soos gender, natuur, God, ensovoorts, erken en moontlik aan
die hiërargieë wat daarop gebou is, ontruk moet word. Dit
kan belangrike gevolge vir die herstel van vele verbrokkelde
verhoudinge inhou.
Onbewuste denke
Ashbrook (1996:385–398) beskryf ‘n ingrypende studie
in 1987 deur Diane Jonte-Pace wat aan die hand van die
Rorschach-projeksietegnieke uitgevoer is, welke studie die
breingegrondheid van sowel subsimboliese as simboliese
bewussyn toon. Die studie bevind dat normale menslike
waarneming en funksionering ‘n wederkerige wisselwerking
tussen die subsimboliese (‘ou brein’ of ouer korteks) en simboliese
(‘nuwe brein’ of neokorteks) behels, waar die subsimboliese ons
gemeenskaplike erfenis verteenwoordig – dít wat ons met elke
ander wese, ongeag kultuur, klas, ras of gender, in gemeen het,
terwyl die simboliese na ons unieke erfenis, die kultuurbepaalde
instinkte en intuïsies verwys. Ons ‘ouer brein’ verbind ons met
8
Verbum et Ecclesia
alle ander organismes; met elke deel van die fisiese universum.
Die ‘nuwe brein’ verteenwoordig ons verwantskap aan die hand
waarvan ons van sommige ander organismes onderskei word:
‘The nonconscious mind attends to maintaining an inner equilibrium
and our conscious mind attends to developing an outer rationale.’
(Ashbrook 1996:387). Wat insiggewend is van Ashbrook se
bevindinge, benewens die fisiese grondslag van ons mees
subsimboliese sowel as ons eksplisiet simboliese funksionering,
is eerstens die wederkerigheid of wisselwerking tussen
liggaamlik bepaalde instinktiewe bewussyn en liggaamlik
bepaalde kultuurvorming en -rangskikking – ‘n sleutelaspek
van hierdie studie – en die evolusiegegrondheid of evolusionêre
aard van ons breinbewussyn: ‘…[T]he neocortex acts in accordance
with what the older cortex determines to be necessary for the long-term
survival of humanity.’ (Ashbrook 1996:387) Spirituele ervaring,
of waarneming uit ‘n diepgesetelde spirituele (religieuse)
paradigma, kan die subsimboliese bewussyn in ‘n groot mate
deoutomatiseer:
…[I]n spiritual experience, ordinary perception is deautomised
and then resymbolised primarily in terms of which the particular
culture used to interpret and explain the cosmos…
(Ashbrook 1996:386)
Dit kan op sy beurt tot wanfunksionering lei, aldus Diane JontePace se studie van drie verskillende godsdienstige ‘meesters’.
Nogtans kan daar nie aan die liggaamlike evolusionêre
interaktiwiteit van breinfunksionering ontkom word nie, en
bly die kognitiewe onbewuste alleen as beliggaamde bewussyn
verstaanbaar.
Hierdie en ander empiriese studies oor menslike waarneming
dui op ‘n wesenlike grondbeginsel: enige sinvolle siening van
betekenis en rasionaliteit móét ‘n kernplek aan beliggaamde
en onbewuste strukture van begrip toeken waardeur ons ‘n
greep op ons wêreld kry (Johnson 1987:xiii). Ons is produkte
van evolusionêre prosesse, en ons breinfunksies ‘skep’
aan die hand van die wisselwerking daarvan ons nuwe
bestaan in sowel die subsimboliese as die simboliese sfeer.
Doelbewuste deoutomatisering van ons breinprosesse, soos
in eksterne magsuitoefening deur spiritualiteit, religie en
politiek, is dus kontramenslik, en dit is geen wonder dat die
drie geestelike ‘meesters’ in Diane Jonte-Pace se studie ál drie
selfs op subsimboliese vlak tekens van wanaanpassing en
wanfunksionering toon nie.
Metaforiese aard van abstrakte konsepte
In die lig van die liggaam se belang in ons
simboliseringsaktiwiteite, is dit voorts nodig om die
beliggaamde kognitiewe prosesse waardeur ons ons wêreld
konstrueer (Johnson 1987:102), in oënskou te neem. Vorster
(1997a:452) voer aan dat ons nie slegs dinge rondom ons as
verlenging van ons eie liggaamlikheid beliggaam nie, maar dat
ons ook ons liggaamlikheid op metaforiese wyse verleng deur
die konstruksie van kosmologieë of simboliese wêrelde waarin
ons leef. So onderskryf ons die antieke oortuiging dat die liggaam
‘n mikrokosmos van die makrokosmos is; ‘n kleiner weergawe
van die groot wêreld (Martin 1995:16; sien ook Berquist 2002).
Metaforisering is dus noodsaaklik vir ons bestaan as menslike
wesens. Om te leef, is om in ons wisselwerking met die realiteit
te metaforiseer, te simboliseer, en betekenis te soek en aan te voer
(Viviers 2002:516). Ons beliggaamdheid lê daaraan ten grondslag.
Daar is reeds daarop gewys dat ‘n filosofie van beliggaamde
realisme, teenoor byvoorbeeld objektivisme, hier as filosofiese
uitgangspunt dien. Die besondere bydrae van moderne
kognitiewe wetenskappe, wat ‘n nuwe deur vir diskoers oor
filosofiese konsepte of ‘rede-nasies’ oopmaak, lê daarin dat die
kognitiewe wetenskappe beliggaamde realisme empiries as
uitgangspunt staaf, in teenstelling met die inherente aannames
van byvoorbeeld objektivisme (Lakoff & Johnson 1999:14, 15,
551–552). Rede, soos dit deur die liggaam gevorm word, word
soos volg beskryf:
Original Research
From the commonalities of our visual systems and motor systems,
universal features of spatial relations (image schemas) arise. From
our common capacities for gestalt perception and motor programs,
basic-level concepts arise. From the common color cones in our
retinas and the commonalities of our neural architecture for
color vision, the commonalities of color concepts arise. Our
common capacity for metaphorical thought arises from the neural
projections from the sensory and motor parts of our brain to
higher cortical regions responsible for abstract thought. Whatever
universals of metaphor there are arise because our experience in
the world regularly makes certain conceptual domains coactive
in our brains, allowing for the establishment of connections
between them. The commonalities of our bodies, brains, minds
and experience makes much (though not all) meaning public.
(Lakoff & Johnson 1999:463)
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #58
Ons liggaamlike sensoriese en motoriese ervaringe gee
aanleiding tot abstrakte konsepte, welke abstrakte konsepte
dus ‘n kwalitatiewe ‘tasbaarheid’ het (Lakoff & Johnson
1999:128). ‘n Sensoriese ervaring gaan dikwels deur middel
van ‘n beeldskema oor in primêre en dan meer komplekse
metafore. So kan die abstrakte konsep ‘gelukkig’, in die sin
van ‘n emosionele hoogtepunt, afgelei word van die primêre
metafoor dat ‘gelukkig’ op opwaartse beweging of die ‘toppunt’
van emosionele ervaring dui. Dit op sigself kom van die regop
liggaamshouding wat op energie, gesondheid en beheer dui
(Lakoff & Johnson 1999:50). Die uitdrukkings ‘my gedagtes het
gedwaal’ of ‘idees het deur my kop gemaal’, is afgelei van die
metafoor ‘denke is beweging’, wat op sigself afgelei is van die
liggaamlike belewenis van rondbeweeg om inligting te versamel
(Lakoff & Johnson 1999:236). Ook ons abstrakte konsepte oor
moraliteit is in ons fisiese welsyn veranker. Ons konsep van
regte, byvoorbeeld eiendomsreg, vryheid van beweging, en
beskerming teen leed, is afgelei van ons fisiese ervaringe in ons
kinderdae, toe ons besittings (speelgoed) gehad het of deur ‘n
verskeidenheid ouerlike metodes teen fisieke belemmerings en
pyn gevrywaar was (Lakoff & Johnson 1999:128). Nog etlike
voorbeelde kan opgenoem word om te bevestig dat ons liggame
ons denke bepaal.
Hierdie bevindinge, soos dit in die filosofiese konsep van
beliggaamde realisme teenoor objektivisme geopenbaar word,
het verreikende implikasies vir godsdienstige diskoers, en
open nuwe deure vir die studie van byvoorbeeld religieuse
tekste. Veral ten opsigte van godsdiens en godsdienstige
konsepte, het objektivisme ‘n wurggreep uitgeoefen wat ons
vir ons menslike subjektiwiteit verblind het. Die onafhanklike
waarheidsmomente van godsdienstige ‘feite’, wat so kenmerkend
is van ‘n fundamentalistiese godsdiensbeskouing; dit wat as
‘normaal’ of ‘natuurlik’ bestempel word (Vorster 1998:205); die
‘geopenbaarde’ of ‘ingegewe’ waarhede, is duidelik niks anders
nie as versinnebeelde produkte van ons eie liggaamlikheid.
Objektivisme word dikwels in uitsprake oor God aangetref,
en kom tot uiting in kategoriese uitlatings soos ‘God het die
man as die vrou se meerdere geskape, dit is ‘n natuurlike
gegewe’. Vorster (1997b:409) wys daarop dat sodanige uitsprake
wat wesenlike uitbeeldings vervat, die ‘ononderhandelbare
kwessies’ van ‘n gemeenskap verteenwoordig, en gewoonlik
daarop gemik is om alle bespreking met ‘n gesaghebbende
argument te beëindig. Bogenoemde voorbeeld onthul egter
nie ‘n ‘waarheid’ nie, maar toon die patriargale strewe na
mag en beheer. So is die ‘God’ van Godspraak gewoonlik ‘n
personifieerde simbool – ‘n kragtige sosiale strategie waardeur
gemeenskapspraktyke beheer word; as’t ware die ‘gemeenskapas-god’ (Vorster 2003:4). Uit samelewingsverskynsels, soos
patriargie, seksisme en rassisme, word dit dan ook duidelik hoe
sekere liggame met goddelike ondersteuning bo ander voorrang
kry. In dié verband dien die Suid-Afrikaanse apartheidsbeleid
van die twintigste eeu, en die godsdienstige onderbou wat
daaraan verleen is, as kragtige voorbeeld. Die bevinding van die
liggaamlike bepaaldheid van menslike metaforisering oor selfs
die abstrakste konsepte, ook godskonstrukte, lê uitlatings oor
God as subjektiewe, menslike metaforiserings bloot, gebore uit
bepaalde liggaamlike belewenisse. Die wyse waarop sodanige
metaforiserings in ‘n gemeenskap gestalte kry, word vervat in
die simbolisering van die liggaam as ‘n gemeenskap se kulturele
kode of sosiale ‘teks’.
Verbum et Ecclesia
In ‘n vroeëre werk konsentreer Johnson (1987) op die prosesse
van metaforisering en simbolisering deur die term ‘image
schemata’ of beeldskemas te gebruik. Beeldskemas is die menslike
denkgereedskap of ‘hardeware’ (Viviers 2002:517) waarmee ons
ons ruimte orden, en betekenis toeken aan die miljoene stimuli
wat ons deur ons sintuie ontvang. Natuurlik filtreer ons die
massa data wat ons sintuie versamel, en aanvaar slegs dít wat ons
benodig. ‘n Beeldskema is ‘n herhalende patroon of vorm in die
ordeningsaktiwiteit (Johnson 1987:29). Hierdie ordeningspatrone
is geheelstrukture sonder voorskrif en voor enige waarneming
(Johnson 1987:44), maar is nie irrasioneel nie. In taal word hierdie
patrone uiteindelik in voorskriftelike, feitelike of objektivistiese
stellings geopenbaar, en dit is hierdie voorskriftelike stellings
wat bepaal wat ons glo. Sulke feitelikhede of voorskriftelikhede
word gewoonlik as ‘geopenbaarde waarhede’ beskou, maar
blyk bloot die oppervlak of die buitewand van ons beliggaamde
begrip te wees ‘which we peel off as abstract structures’ (Johnson
1987:138). Die oppervlaklaag van ons konseptuele begrippe
en stellinge, en die liggaamlike bepaaldheid daarvan, is een
proses, en nie ‘n dualisme waarvolgens eersgenoemde as ‘n
hoër waarnemingsvorm en laasgenoemde as minderwaardig
bestempel kan word nie (Johnson 1987:167–168). Liggaam
en gees funksioneer as ‘n eenheid. Beeldskemas verbind
liggaamlike ervaringe, sensasies en gedagtes. Dit is eie aan die
menslike vermoë om liggaamservaringe tot verdere of ander
fisiese of niefisiese sfere te verleng, te vertaal en te metaforiseer.
‘n Toepaslike voorbeeld is die beeldskema van balans. Ons
projekteer ons liggaamlike ervaring van balans op ons dieet
deur gebalanseerd te eet; ons is voorstanders van gebalanseerde
stadsbeplanning en -bestuur; of ons brei die ervaring van balans
na die psigologiese sfeer uit deur ons emosies ‘in toom te hou’ of
gebalanseerd tot uiting te laat kom. Ander beeldskemas waarmee
ons in dieselfde trant omgaan, is byvoorbeeld omsluiting, krag,
siklusse, skakels en roetes (Johnson 1987:126).
Volgens Johnson (1987:x) bestaan die sogenaamde ‘objektiewe
wêreld’ uit objekte met eienskappe wat in ‘n verskeidenheid
verwantskappe tot mekaar staan en wat onafhanklik is van
menslike begrip. Die wêreld is soos dit is, ongeag wat enige
persoon daaroor dink of glo. Daar is maar een korrekte,
goddelike beskouing van wat en hoe die wêreld is. Daar is ‘n
rasionele struktuur inherent in alle realiteit, en korrekte rede is
die spieëlbeeld van sodanige rasionele struktuur. ‘Waarheid’
kan dus ontdek word deur die menslike rede met die suiwere,
universele (ontliggaamde) rede te verbind. Uit die empiriese
bevindinge ten opsigte van die beliggaamdheid van denke en
metaforiserings blyk egter duidelik dat sogenaamde ‘universele
waarhede’ oor die ‘objektiewe werklikheid’ beter verklaar kan
word aan die hand van menslike, gedeelde liggaamlikheid waaruit
(abstrakte) wêrelde geskep word, in plaas van die objektivistiese
aansprake op gegewens of realiteite ‘daar buite’. ‘n Beliggaamde
realisme lei nie tot absolute of transendente waarhede nie, maar
is ook nie ‘n blote relativisme nie. Dit lei tot stabiele waarhede
namate mense oor kulture heen van hulle omgewings sin maak,
gesamentlik beperk deur hulle gemeenskaplike liggaamlikheid
(Lakoff & Johnson 1999:6). ‘n Elementêre voorbeeld wat die
aanname dekonstrueer dat objekte oor eienskappe beskik
wat onafhanklik is van menslike konseptualisering daarvan,
is kleur. Kleur bestaan nie onafhanklik van ons breinfunksie
van kleurwaarneming nie, en is ook nie ‘n afskynsel van die
oppervlak van ‘n objek nie. Deur die proses van evolusie het ons
die vermoë ontwikkel om groen as kleur te ‘sien’, waarskynlik
as bron van voedsel of beskerming. Die blou lugruim is nie die
afskynsel van een of ander oppervlak nie, nogtans ‘sien’ mense
wêreldwyd die lug as ‘blou’. Kleure bestaan nie as objektiewe
eienskappe nie, maar is menslike denkkonstrukte. Ons wêreld
verteenwoordig skynbaar ‘n objektiewe werklikheid omdat ons
deur ons beliggaamdheid so merkwaardig daarby aangepas het
(Lakoff & Johnson 1999:23–26).
9
Original Research
Venter
DIE LIGGAAM AS SOSIALE TEKS: DIE
SIMBOLIESE LIGGAAM
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #58
Malul (2002:42) beskryf ‘n teks as enige groepering tekens en
stimuli wat tot ons sensoria spreek om geabsorbeer te word, en
wat ons stimuleer om betekenis daaraan toe te ken, dit wil sê om
die boodskap wat daarin weggelê is, te ontsyfer. Die liggaam is
nie slegs die immerteenwoordige realiteit wat ons kognitiewe
vermoëns bepaal nie. Die liggaam as sodanig verkry ook
simboliese of retoriese waarde wanneer dit as sosiale teks of kode
gekonstrueer en aan die gemeenskap gebied word. ‘Liggaam’ as
teks van die gemeenskap verwys na die simboliese liggaam van
‘n gemeenskap, of die idees wat ‘n bepaalde gemeenskap oor
die liggaam daarop nahou. As kode bevestig en herbevestig die
liggaam die kulturele identiteit van ‘n gemeenskap.
Alvorens daar op die retoriese aard van die liggaam, of die
liggaam as kulturele teks, gekonsentreer word, eers enkele
opmerkings oor metafore in die algemeen. Basson (2005:31)
wys op die belang van metaforisering as taalgebeure wat onder
andere die waardestelsel, menslike opvattings, oriëntasies
en voorkeure van ‘n bepaalde kultuur openbaar. Die mees
grondliggende waardes van ‘n kultuur sal met die metaforiese
struktuur van die mees grondliggende konsepte van die kultuur
ooreenstem (Basson 2005:31). Die metafoor kies, beklemtoon,
onderdruk en organiseer eienskappe van die primêre subjek deur
stellinge daaroor te impliseer wat gewoonlik op die sekondêre
subjek van toepassing is, en andersom. In die stelling: ‘Only the
mountains have lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of
the wolf’ (Aldo Leopold, soos aangehaal deur Ahlers 1990:433)
word die ouderdom van die berge (‘so oud soos die berge’)
byvoorbeeld met die kort leeftyd van die mens in ‘n kosmiese
sin gekontrasteer. Die menslike eienskappe van lewe, luister,
objektiwiteit of goeie oordeel word weer op die berg toegepas,
en die berge se opneming van hierdie menslike eienskappe bring
‘n nuwe verhouding tussen die mens en die wolf tot stand – ‘n
verhouding analoog aan die verhouding tussen die berg en die
wolf (of ten minste probeer Leopold met hierdie metaforiese
uitdrukking so ‘n ekobillike insig by mense tuisbring). Die
sifting van een stel gemeenplase met ‘n ander bring ‘n nuwe
konseptuele struktuur tot stand wat ‘n nuwe beskouing van ‘n
gebeurtenis of objek bied (Basson 2005:36).
Begrip van ‘n metafoor bring iets nuuts na vore, omdat ‘n
metafoor ‘n taalgebeurtenis is wat ‘n skeppende reaksie uitlok.
Die kognitiewe teorie van metaforisering beklemtoon dat
metafore ons gedagtes deurdrenk en ‘n integrale deel van ons
daaglikse redenering uitmaak. Metaforisering is die wyse waarop
menslike wesens ondersoekend met wetenskap, godsdiens,
digkuns, politiek, ensovoorts omgaan (Basson 2005:37).
Ook ‘n gekonstrueerde liggaam as sodanig funksioneer as ‘n
metafoor/simbool om iets nuuts in die kultuur tot stand te
bring. Vorster (1997a:450–453; 1997b:390) bevestig die liggaam
as ‘fundamentele konsep van kultuur’ (om Basson se verduideliking
hier bo verder te voer). In retoriek val die klem sterk op die
‘persoon’, en Vorster (1995:401) verbind dit dus met menslike
motivering: ‘Human motivation within rhetoric is not a regress
into intentional fallacy, because it is open-ended and implies multiple
motivations.’ Hoekom doen, praat, skryf en vertolk ons soos wat
ons doen? Wat motiveer ons om uit die groot omvang van simbole
sekeres te kies, en ander te ignoreer of te verwerp? (Vorster
1995:400–402) Dít verleen erkenning aan ons subjektiwiteit. Die
konsep ‘persoon’ verwys na die sosiale of verbonde aard van
die liggaam (Vorster 1997b:390; Viviers 2005:880). Die dialektiek
tussen liggaam en taal spruit uit die menslike wese se vermoë
om te simboliseer, wat aan die liggaam sy retoriese aard verleen
– wat die liggaam as’t ware ‘n ‘stem’ maak. Sodoende verkry
die liggaam politieke mag (Vorster 1997b:393). ‘n ‘Persoon’
is dus ‘n liggaam met mag; ‘n liggaam wat oor dieselfde
wisselwerkings-, strukturerings- en skeppingsvermoë van taal
beskik, en dus realiteite kan vorm (Vorster 1997:393). In dié
verband tipeer Vorster (2000:109) die simboliese liggaam as ‘n
10 Verbum et Ecclesia
konstruksie, net soos klas, ras en gender. Hierdie beskouing
staan teenoor die siening dat taal bloot ‘n stel simbole is wat die
objektiewe werklikheid weerspieël, met min ruimte vir menslike
subjektiwiteit. Vorster (1997b:393) toon hoe die liggaam van
die mens se geboorte af by die diskursiewe praktyke van ‘n
gemeenskap ingetrek en sodoende deur taal beheer word: Die
liggaam word ‘n taaldaad; ‘n sosiale of kulturele teks of kode
(Vorster 2002:21). ‘n Gemeenskap se waardes word op en in die
liggame as tekste ingegrif, dikwels verborge (Vorster 2001:441).
As ‘n taalkonstruksie vorm en plooi hierdie kodes of tekste die
aanhangers van ‘n bepaalde gemeenskap om die liggame te
wees wat hulle behoort te wees. Hierdie liggaamsideologieë
van ‘n gemeenskap stem nie noodwendig met werklike vleesen-bloedliggame ooreen nie, maar is ideale konstrukte (Viviers
2005:879–880). Dit bied aan die lede van die gemeenskap
voorstellinge van kultureelspesifieke subjektiwiteite of
selfbegrip. Die liggaam is die produk van, én repliseer, hierdie
betekeniskonfigurasies. Vorster (2002:7) gebruik die konsep
habitus om hierdie betekeniskonfigurasies van ‘n bepaalde
gemeenskap, wat oor ‘n lang tydperk as ‘objektiewe waarheid’
gevestig raak, te beskryf. Hy omskryf habitus as stelsels van
volhoubare, oordraagbare voorveronderstellings wat bestem
is om ook vormend te funksioneer. Dit dien as beginsels wat
praktyke en voorstellings teweegbring en organiseer, wat
objektief aangepas kan word na aanleiding van die uitkomste
daarvan, sonder ‘n bewuste voorafgerigtheid op die uitwerking
daarvan, of sonder ‘n uitdruklike bemeestering van die vereiste
werkinge om sodanige strukturerende beginsels te bereik.
Hierdie ‘feite en waarhede’ fabriseer, skep en vorm die liggame
van ‘n gemeenskap tot die ideale liggaam wat die gemeenskap
koester. Sodanige normatiewe liggaam kan as die gemeenskap
se ‘reguleringsliggaam’ bestempel word – ‘n status wat in die
antieke wêreld aan die manlike liggaam toegeken is (Vorster
2002a:11–19; Berquist 2002:36).
Die simboliserings van die liggaam via die sosialiteit daarvan
word deel van ‘n gemeenskap se ideologiese wêreld, lê die
diepste oortuigings en waardes daarvan bloot, en verskaf
so tasbare toegang tot die hart van ‘n kultuur. Hierdie
konstrukte of simboliserings van die liggaam word dikwels
in ‘n gemeenskap se letterkundige konstrukte, as deel van die
gemeenskap se diskursiewe praktyke, veranker. Dit word deur
die gemeenskap se groot verhale of ‘metanarratiewe’ gedra ‘to
construct and equip their followers with the status, roles and actions
of the different bodies within that specific culture’ (Isherwood
2000:9). Die patriargale narratief van die Ou Testament is
tipies van so ‘n ononderhandelbare meesterverhaal. Hierdie
liggaamsimboliserings, wat die gemeenskap se ideale liggaam
verteenwoordig, word soms as heel openlike en bedoelde
konstrukte in literatuur aangetref, byvoorbeeld in Genesis 1:
Toe het God gesê: “Kom ons maak die mens volgens ons afbeelding,
ons beeld, sodat hy kan heers oor die vis in die see, die voëls in die
lug, die mak diere, die diere wat op die aarde loop en al die diere
wat op die aarde kruip.” God het die mens geskep na sy beeld, as
beeld van God het Hy die mens geskep, man en vrou het Hy hulle
geskep.
(Gen 1:26–27, eie vertaling)
Dus: Om na die mens te kyk, is om God (se liggaam) te sien. Die
mens lyk soos God, soos wat God soos die mens lyk.
Ander kere is die liggaamsimboliek verborge; weggesteek as ‘n
soort kulturele kode, byvoorbeeld in Genesis 1:
En God het hulle geseën, en God het vir hulle gesê: “Wees vrugbaar
en vermeerder en vul die aarde, onderwerp dit en heers oor die
visse van die see en die voëls van die hemel en oor al die diere wat
op die aarde kruip.”
(Gen 1:28)
Verskuil in die konsep ‘seën’ is die bedoeling van die liggaam
as verwekkende entiteit. Om mens te wees, is om soos God te
funksioneer wat voortplanting betref. Die simboliese liggaam is
voortdurend teenwoordig, veral in die vorm van die ideale of
reguleringsliggaam.
Original Research
DIE REGULERINGSLIGGAAM
DIE GODSKONSTRUK AS
REGULERINGSLIGGAAM
Religieuse diskoers beoog die daarstelling van ideale,
paradigmatiese of absolute volmaakte konsepte. Dit is gemoeid
met die oprigting van betekeniskonstrukte wat die bestaan van
die mensdom sinvol en betekenisvol struktureer. Dit maak
aanspraak op die besit van finale betekenis. In navolging van
Vorster (2002:11) kan die term ‘god’ dus as die hoogtepunt en
kulminasie van ‘n kultuur se linguïstiese hiërargie bestempel
word. Die konsepte of strukture, selfs personifikasies, van
religieuse diskoerse is dikwels so kragtig dat dit onbetwis
aanvaar word, en funksioneer as strukturerende beginsels.
In haar studie van ‘geleefde religie’ bring Bach (2004:23) die
habitus, wat sy as ‘the power of cultural structures and inherited
idioms’ bestempel, nie net met die vorming van die denkpatrone
van ‘n gemeenskap in verband nie, maar skets sy dit veral as
voortbrengingsfaktor; as kreatiewe krag agter godsdienstige
vertolking en skeppingsvermoë. Die habitus van ‘n gemeenskap
– die sieninge, oortuiginge en simboliserings met betrekking
Godskonstrukte is dus nóg gegewens van buite waaraan
‘n gemeenskap bepaalde waarde of mag kan toeken of nie,
nóg onskuldige of ‘skadelose’ figure met wie die lede van
‘n gemeenskap hulle ‘speels’ of met erns en oortuiging kan
vereenselwig of nie. Gode is die kulminasie van die sosialewaardesediment grondliggend aan die liggaamsideologie.
As geprojekteerde metaforiserings en denkkonstrukte – as
‘vergeestelikte’ liggaam – verteenwoordig die godskonstruk
die gemeenskap se hoogste of uiteindelike waardes, maar
ook sy uiterste bemagtigende (of ontmagtigende) hiërargiese
hoogtepunt.
Noukeurige studie van ‘n gemeenskap se godskonstrukte,
byvoorbeeld wat gender betref, behoort dus insig te gee in die
waardes wat ‘n gemeenskap aanhang, en kan moontlik die weg
aanwys tot transformasie ter wille van gendergelykheid en
ekobillikheid.
Literatuurverwysings
Ahlers, J., 1990, ‘Thinking Like a Mountain: Towards a Sensible
Land Ethic’, Christian Century 107(14), 433–434, toegang 12
Mei 2006, by http://0-web5.silverplatter.com.raulib. rau.
ac.za/webspirs.
Ashbrook, J.B., 1996, ‘Toward a New Creation of Being’, Zygon
31, 385–399, toegang 10 Maart 2006, by http://0-web5.
silverplatter.com.raulib.rau.ac.za/webspirs.
Bach, A., 2004, ‘Women’s Altars: Lived Religion from Now to
Then’, in A. Bach, A. Brenner, S. Beigs et al. (reds.), On the
Cutting Edge: The Study of Women in Biblical Worlds, pp. 21–35,
Continuum, New York.
Basson, A., 2005, ‘Divine Metaphors in a Selection of Biblical
Hebrew Psalms of Lamentation’, D Litt-proefskrif,
Universiteit Stellenbosch.
Berquist, J.L., 2002, Controlling Corporeality: The Body and the
Household in Ancient Israel, Rutgers University Press, New
Brunswick.
Butler, J., 1993, Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of ‘Sex’,
Routledge, New York.
Isherwood, L., (ed.) 2000, The Good News of the Body: Sexual
Theology and Feminism, Sheffield Academic Press, Sheffield.
Johnson, M., 1987, The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of
Meaning, Imagination and Reason, The University of Chicago
Press, Chicago.
Lakoff, G. & Johnson, M., 1999, Philosophy in the Flesh: The
Embodied Mind and its Challenge to Western Thought, Basic
Books, New York.
Leder, D., 1990, The Absent Body, The University of Chicago
Press, Chicago.
Malul, M., 2002, Knowledge, Control and Sex. Studies in Biblical
Thought, Culture and Worldview, Archaelogical Center
Publication, Tel Aviv, Jaffa.
Martin, J.D., 1995, Proverbs, Sheffield Academic Press, Sheffield.
Viviers, H., 2002, ‘Body and Nature in Job’, Old Testament Essays
14(3), 510–524.
Viviers, H., 2005, ‘The Body and Lady Wisdom (Proverbs 1-9)’,
Old Testament Essays 18(3), 879–890.
Vorster, J.N., 1995, ‘Why Opt for a Rhetorical Approach?’,
Neotestamentica 29(1), 393–418.
Article #58
Hieruit blyk reeds die mate waarin ‘n liggaam se retoriek mag
uitoefen oor die persone van ‘n kultuur. Wanneer die retoriek
van die liggaam, in besonder die reguleringsliggaam, egter in
religieuse diskoers tot uiting kom, verkry die liggaam besondere
mag. Ander liggame word die plek waarop die hiërargieë, soos
wat dit deur die reguleringsliggaam van ‘n gemeenskap gerig
word, (selfs met geweld, soos uit Vorster 2001 blyk) sigself
uitspeel.
tot die ideale liggaam in ‘n gemeenskap – kulmineer en het sy
grondslag in die konstruksie van ‘n god of gode. Die perfekte,
hoogste, ideale liggaam word gevind in die persona van die god
(Viviers 2005:881). ‘n Gemeenskap se god en sy/haar wêreld
word op die menslike sosiale wêreld gemodelleer. Om die
liggaam van ‘n gemeenskap se god waar te neem, ontsluit die
begrip van ‘n gemeenskap se liggaamsideologie. As kulturele
konstruk, gevorm deur die gemeenskap se ideologie en
simboliseringsdade, verkry die god van die gemeenskap ook ‘n
retoriese aard, in die sin dat daardie godskonstruk weer op die
liggaam van die gemeenskap, sowel individueel as gesamentlik,
ingegrif word, en die ideologie en waardes vorm en slyp.
Verbum et Ecclesia
‘Feite en waarhede’ wat deur diskoerse oorgedra word, ook
die sogenaamde ‘meesternarratiewe’ van ‘n gemeenskap, word
tweede natuur; dit word geïnternaliseer, en die proses kan met
die aanleer van ‘n tegniek vergelyk word (Vorster 1997b:394).
Dit word dermate deel van die eienaar, dat dit outomatiese,
meganiese gedrag word. So sosialiseer die geïnkorporeerde
patriargale narratief byvoorbeeld mans en vroue om sonder
bevraagtekening hulle ‘regte’ plekke in die samelewing in te
neem. Dit word eenvoudig deel van ‘n gemeenskap se hiërargiese
struktuur. Mense weet ‘instinktief’ wat die regte gedrag in die
gemeenskap is, en deur die ‘reguleringsliggaam’ van jou kultuur
uit te leef, hou jy daardie ideale liggaam in stand, en verseker
die voortbestaan daarvan. ‘Liggame’ word dus nie alleen deur
‘n kultuur gevorm nie, maar reproduseer en sit sodanige kultuur
voort. Vorster (1997b:395–397) skets die uitwerking van ‘n
gemeenskap se simboliese ‘liggaam’ soos volg: Dit vestig beheer
oor die liggaam om dit in pas te bring met die waardesisteem
van ‘n gemeenskap. Hierdie gereguleerde liggaam word dus
die ‘normale’ of aanvaarbare liggaam van ‘n kultuur. Voorts
word die liggaam ook bemagtig en by ‘n bepaalde sosiale
struktuur geïntegreer. Die liggaam funksioneer nou binne
die parameters van die gemeenskap, en dien die gemeenskap
se belange. Deur die herhaling van norme en waardes met
betrekking tot die liggaam, word die liggaam ‘n ‘afsetting’ of
‘sediment’ van daardie herhalings, soms ook in die vorm van
rituele praktyke (Butler 1993:16). Liggame materialiseer namate
dit deur sosiale norme gereguleer word, en in die proses kom ‘n
simboliese ideale liggaam, en terselfdertyd ook die simboliese
misvormde liggame, tot stand. Hierdie ideale liggaam verkry
‘n retoriese aard deur sosiale wisselwerking, want ‘persone’
is immers sosiale liggame, en funksioneer gevolglik as die
reguleerder of die reguleringsliggaam van ‘n kultuur. Die ideale
of reguleringsliggaam word dus nie maklik bevraagteken nie,
maar is die ‘erfenis’ of die ‘kultuur’ waarin nuwelinge gebore
word; die bril waardeur daar na persone gekyk word, en die
norm waaraan alle liggaamlikheid gemeet word. Dit deurdrenk
‘n gemeenskap se taal en kommunikasie, en graveer so die ideale
liggaamswaardes op die liggame van die gemeenskap. Die
reguleringsliggaam word die gemeenskap se ideale kulturele
kode waardeur alle ander kodes of konstrukte bepaal word.
Verbum et Ecclesia 11
Original Research
Venter
Vorster, J.N., 2000, ‘(E)mpersonating the Bodies of Early
Christianity’, Neotestamentica 34(1), 103-124.
Vorster, J.N., 2001, ‘‘n Politieke Tegnologie van die vroeë Christen
se Gepynigde Liggaam’, Verbum et Ecclesia 22(2), 434–454.
Vorster, J.N., 2002, ‘A Rhetoric of the Body, Praxis and Wisdom’,
lesing gelewer by OTWSA Kongres, Stellenbosch, Kaapstad,
Augustus.
Vorster, J.N., 2003. Wat sê die Bybel regtig oor God?, CB Powell
Bybelsentrum, Unisa, Pretoria.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #58
Vorster, J.N., 1997a, ‘Construction of Culture through the
Construction of Person: The Acts of Thecla as an Example’,
in S.E. Porter & T.H. Olbricht (reds.), pp. 445–473, Sheffield
Vorster, J.N., 1997b. ‘The Body as Strategy of Power in Religious
Discourse’, Neotestamentica 31(2), 388–410.
Vorster, J.N., 1998, ‘The Study of Religion at the ‘Multi-versity’:
Probing problems and possibilities’, Neotestamentica 32(1),
203–240.
Original Research
Engendered representations: exploring sexuality through
symbols and myths
Authors:
Rory du Plessis1
Marinda Maree1
Affiliations:
1
Institute for Women’s and
Gender Studies, University
Correspondence to:
Rory du Plessis
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Institute for Women’s
and Gender Studies,
Humanities Building 2017, University of Pretoria,
Pretoria, 0002, South Africa
Keywords:
gender; patriarchy; sperm;
semen; symbolism;
sexuality
at:
In particular, this project, which was conducted between 2006 and 2007, aimed to explore and debate
key issues of human sexuality with religious and cultural leaders from the urban and semi-urban
areas that surround Tshwane in the province of Gauteng in South Africa. The project took the form of a
series of workshops in which the identified participants (religious and cultural leaders) from the given
communities dialogued the key issues of human sexuality – the taboos, myths and misconceptions –
that give rise to the increased vulnerability of HIV infection among their community members.
This article presents an analysis of the symbols and myths presented by the participants at the
project’s workshops1.
This article first gives a background to the project. The background identifies the relationship
between gender divisions and HIV infection and provides a framework to contextualise the findings
of the project. These findings were initially documented by the focus groups that informed the
project’s workshops. Discussions on the study of sexuality and on the very nature of symbols and
myths are then highlighted, after which the analysis is provided. The culminating analysis of the
representation of sexuality through symbols and myths is limited to that of sperm, which is saliently
demonstrated to reveal patriarchal descriptions of sexuality – male virility and female passivity
and/or receptivity.
Article #55
Du Plessis, R. & Maree,
M., 2009, ‘Engendered
Representations: Exploring
Sexuality through Symbols
and Myths’, Verbum et
Ecclesia 30(2), Art. #55,
6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.55
INTRODUCTION
This paper aims to discuss the symbols and myths that are used to represent sexuality with reference
to a project spearheaded by the Institute for Women’s and Gender Studies at the University of Pretoria
entitled Religious and cultural perspectives of human sexuality.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
ABSTRACT
This article reflects the findings of a project that was conducted by the Institute for Women’s
and Gender Studies at the University of Pretoria. In particular, the project sought to dialogue
with religious and cultural leaders on the taboos, myths and misconceptions of human sexuality.
The article provides an analysis of the symbols and myths of sexuality that were presented by
these leaders. These symbols and myths were demystified to reveal their alignment to patriarchal
gender divisions and inequality. This alignment proves problematic for women, as it views men
as possessors of their bodies – insofar as women’s bodies are conceived as the vessels for men’s
body fluids and the container of the foetus.
BACKGROUND
The motivating factor for embarking upon the previously mentioned project was the recognition
that, although religious and cultural leaders are influential in their respective communities, many
are ill prepared to discuss matters relating to human sexuality. Most of these leaders are not, to a
large extent, equipped with knowledge and skills related to key areas of healthy human sexuality.
Certain unhelpful attitudes and teachings furthermore continue within these communities even
though these very same attitudes are shown to increase the risk of HIV infection among the members
of the communities.
This overarching factor established the project’s target group: leaders and members of religious
and cultural groups who inform the perspectives and positions of their communities in relation to
human sexuality. The parameters of the target group were restricted to communities in the greater
Tshwane region.
Individuals express their sexuality in a variety of ways that are determined to a significant extent
by the messages, teachings, views and perspectives of religious and cultural leaders within their
communities. The aim of the project was thus to provide these leaders with skills and knowledge to
inform their understanding of human sexuality. This would, in turn, enable them to provide their
communities with leadership on matters of responsible and informed sexual decision-making and,
ultimately, contribute towards reducing the vulnerability of their community members to sexually
transmitted infections, especially HIV/AIDS.
Creative Commons
To achieve this aim, the project created a structured dialogue process to explore human sexuality.
These dialogues enabled the identified leaders to explore the ways in which social and cultural
environments shape or construct sexuality and the ways in which human sexuality continues to
be affected by the legacies of colonialism, apartheid, the historical influence of missionaries and the
migrant-labour system, as well as by urbanisation and globalisation. The dialogues also promoted
sexual literacy and access to accurate sexual education as both a right and a norm.
1.This article is limited to the investigation into the symbols and myths (both African and Western) presented by the participants. It does
not include an investigation into the interface of religion, myths and sexuality. For discussions on religion and sexuality in Africa, see
Maticka-Tyndale, Tiemoko & Makinwa-Adebusoye (2007).
Original Research
Du Plessis & Maree
The project’s dialogues were based on the fact that the country
is culturally diverse and that this influences how individuals
express their sexuality. The project therefore promoted the
values that underpin the South African Constitution: the
prohibition of all forms of discrimination and the protection
and promotion of the rights of individuals, especially of their
sexual rights. As such, the project improved the understanding
of human sexuality among different communities while
simultaneously forging an awareness of and respect for people
with different sexual values.
However, informing leaders with knowledge of human sexuality
is in itself not sufficient to bring about a change in perspective.
Information must also be linked to culturally appropriate
notions of sexuality, of social and sexual relations and of gender
relations and identities. Information must furthermore impact
on the culturally collective values that perpetuate unequal
social relations – the privileging of men in sex relations that
limits women’s ability to choose safer sexual practices or to
refuse sexual activity. The outcomes of the workshop therefore
moved beyond traditional notions of knowledge dissemination
to include the following aspects:
•
•
•
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #55
•
•
Exploring existing perceptions, conventions and myths in
relation to masculinity and femininity.
Identifying aspects of gender behaviour that evoke risk
and harm.
Making men aware of their social power and of the dangers
to both men and women of its exercise and making women
aware of how they collude to reinforce male power.
Challenging men and women to redefine their masculinity
and femininity so that they are able to express their own
sexual desires, to manage risks and to insist on their own
safety and equality.
Creating a positive conception of the possibilities of sex
as both enjoyable and safe, so that both men and women
can communicate what they want and resist sex on other
terms.
The outcomes of the workshop therefore included emphasis
on the unique elements of women’s lives, elements that are
too often ignored or overshadowed when women’s issues are
subsumed under patriarchal approaches to history, culture, civil
rights, access to resources and political decision-making. The
outcomes also acknowledged the need to continue addressing
issues of gender: the broader socio-cultural constructs that
enculturate men and women into stereotypical and restrictive
roles, attitudes and aspirations and that impose differences in
power, and authority and access to resources based on the sex
of an individual.
Through these outcomes, the project’s dialogues on human
sexuality ensured that the participants could not only dispel
myths regarding sexuality but also recognise the gendered
implication of such belief structures.
LITERATURE REVIEW
The past few decades have seen increasing interest in sexuality
across a wide array of disciplines. This can be attributed in part
to the fact that, since the emergence of HIV/AIDS, issues such as
sexual health and the need to provide for what were previously
viewed as private issues between individuals have entered the
public sphere.2 The HIV pandemic has thus contributed to a
process in which sex has become very visible (Posel 2005a; Posel
2005b; Reid & Walker 2005; Serrant-Green 2005:513). Sexuality
in the public sphere, however, has been marred by sexual
controversies (rape, HIV infection, molestation and abuse),
which have immersed sexual dialogues in a wider matrix of
2.For example, to curb the spread of HIV/AIDS, widespread and very explicit
advertising around the negotiating of sex and safer sexual practices is channeled
through billboards, television advertisements and magazine supplements (Lovelife).
HIV/AIDS has also become an integral part of soap-opera plots (Isidingo) and media
events (the 46664 Concert).
moral anxiety, social instability and public contestation.3 Amid
this public pathologisation of sexuality, the definition of sexual
health by the World Health Organisation (WHO) has moved
away from these narrow approaches of sexuality to considering
how sexuality is interconnected with our daily lives and health
and to including a positive and pleasurable conception of
sexuality. The definition of sexual health by WHO is viewed
as follows:
A state of physical, emotional, mental and social well-being related
to sexuality; it is not merely the absence of disease, dysfunctions
or infirmity. Sexual health requires a positive and respectful
approach to sexuality and relationships, as well as the possibility
of having pleasurable and safe sexual experiences, free of coercion,
discrimination and violence. For sexual health to be attained and
maintained, the sexual rights of all persons must be respected,
protected and fulfilled.
(WHO 2008)
In this definition, sexual health refers to the ability to express
sexuality free from the risk of sexually transmitted infection,
unwanted pregnancy, coercion, violence and discrimination. It
includes the right to an informed, enjoyable and safer sex life
based on a positive approach to sexual expression and mutual
respect in sexual relations. Sex and sexuality are thus no longer
viewed as a physical act or drive but as immersed in society,
culture and gender relations.
The possibilities for positive and pleasurable conceptions of
sexuality, however, are marred by issues of gender inequality,
which can increase vulnerability to HIV infection. A full
description of gender inequality as a vehicle or transmission
route for HIV infection is outlined below.
Specific focus on gender reveals startling findings such as the
fact that 56% of all HIV adult infections in South Africa are
female (UNAIDS 2006:455). Additionally, the HIV prevalence
rate in South Africa is 14.5% for men and 21.8% for women
(UNFPA 2008).
This implies that, to understand the differences between the
infection rates of women and men, an analysis of HIV should
move beyond the health sector to recognise the complex ways
in which biology and social factors interact with one another
and result in the exacerbation of the biological vulnerability
of women’s bodies to HIV (Van der Kwaak & Dasgupta 2006).
Furthermore, women’s vulnerability to HIV/AIDS is increased
by societies that subordinate and marginalise their access
to resources and knowledge. Women’s marginalised status
can mean that they have less power to negotiate sexual and
reproductive health matters, less economic independence,
less education and less access to health care. Thus, the current
trends of HIV transmission and prevalence clearly reflect that
the epidemic is fuelled by gender-based vulnerability. Taking
this into consideration, it is clear that the mainstreaming of
gender within sexual-health research should become integral
in the attempt to curb the further spread of the epidemic (Van
der Kwaak & Dasgupta 2006).
The spread of HIV/AIDS is significantly related to the position
of men in gender relations, more specifically to misogynistic
and heterosexual masculinity (Morrell 2001:31). In most gender
systems, men have predominant control in sexual relations.
Men who hold gender ideologies that prioritise men’s pleasure
over women’s or that assume that men have rights to the
bodies of women increase the vulnerability of women to HIV
infection and negate the efforts of women to negotiate safer sex
practices (Kometsi 2004:10). Thus, the fact that a man is far more
likely than a woman to initiate, dominate and control sexual
3.Sexuality has, in fact, become political. For Foucault (1980), sexuality has always
been political in the sense that it is saturated by the effects of power. He elaborated
that the regulation of sexuality is inherent in the production of the modern state and
its conditions of citizenship. Modern sexuality can thus be viewed as a political phenomenon entwined in relations of power and shaped in ways that bear the imprints
of various forms of inequality.
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Engendered representations: Exploring sexuality through symbols and myths
interaction creates a tremendous barrier to the ability of women
to adopt HIV risk-reducing behaviour. Additionally, this
position of sexual power is often associated with a dominant
(hegemonic) masculinity that values risk-taking or that sees
virility as a measure of a man’s worth (Connell 2003:16). In
such hegemonic markers of masculinity – those that prize
virility, sexual voraciousness and multiple sexual partners to
prove manhood – all become contributors to the spread of HIV
(Sorrell & Raffaelli 2005:593; Sternberg 2000:89).
These findings suggest both direct and indirect linkages
between the gendered notions of masculinity and femininity
and HIV/AIDS infection. The findings also highlight the need
for prevention efforts that focus on the provision of alternative
avenues to attain culturally recognised markers of gender and
gender relations (Sorrell & Raffaelli 2005:585).
METHOD
The project entailed two five-day workshops during which
discussions and dialogues on sexual beliefs were explored.
Several discussion groups were conducted within each
workshop, the discussions taking the form of focus groups
of five to seven participants. The focus groups reflected the
composition of the sample to a large extent in terms of its
religious-affiliation, age and gender composition. Focus groups
are a way mainly to collect data and, in this instance, they
formed part of the action research. Action research aims to
stimulate groups of people to change (Reinharz 1992). In terms
of this project, the action research was deployed to bring about
transformation on sexual beliefs that endanger both women
and men in respect of sexual abuse and HIV infection. For the
purposes of this article, however, focus was not on the process
of change, as such, but on the reporting of the representations of
sexual beliefs. The research design for this article was therefore
based on the outcomes of the focus groups.
The utilisation of focus groups in the project was useful
because it facilitated the collection of qualitative data within a
naturalistic context; participants had the opportunity to voice
opinions, debate and criticise (Wilkinson 2003). To foster this
approach, the workshops were based on certain agreed-upon
ground rules, such as allowing for the voicing of opinions
and respect for various and dissimilar opinions. In this way,
an atmosphere of sharing and openness was created. The fact
that the meaning of sexual belief is revealed only through
context was also acknowledged. Focus groups are favoured
as a research tool, as they afford for the contextualisation and
facilitation of social process in which the creation of meaning is
made (Wilkinson 2004).
Data collection
The proceedings of the focus groups were documented by a
rapporteur. Although the sessions were not videotaped, as is
However, research on African sexuality has tended to view
sexuality as static and ahistorical rather than dynamic and
subject to change (Reid & Walker 2005). The implication of this
is not only that colonial images and stereotypes are manifest
in discourses on African sexuality but also that these myths
of sexuality become framed and eternally essentialised. The
implication of envisaging African ‘tradition’ as fixed culminates
in the conviction that there is no power to resist these myths
and that the myths are unchanging (that they do not and cannot
reflect contemporary influences). This framing of the concept
of ‘tradition’ masks the flexibility of cultural constructions of
identity and the porousness and mutability of traditions. Thus,
rather than positing a binary of African versus Western, the
myths and symbols discussed in this analysis seek to expose
contemporary beliefs (whether African or Western) as sharing
a patriarchal scripting of sexuality and gender roles.
Article #55
Research design
DISCUSSION
In discussions on sexuality, sexuality tends to be pivoted on the
assumption that the sexual act is a definable and a universal
experience. This assumption is problematic, as it ignores the
great variety of cultural patterns revealed by history and the
very different meanings given to sexual activity (Weeks 1989:1).
Thus, rather than sexuality being an essentially human quality
known through all time, sexuality is a historical construction
(Bristow 1997:5; Laqueur 1992),4 that cannot be isolated from
its discursive, socially determined milieu (Bhattacharyya
2002:39).
Verbum et Ecclesia
As stated previously, the research reported in this article was
documented in a series of workshops that formed part of the
Religious and cultural perspectives of human sexuality project.
Religious and cultural leaders from urban and semi-urban
areas of Tshwane, such as Garankuwa, Hebron, Kgoma-Kgoma,
Mabopane and Soshanguve, were the predominant participants
in the project’s workshops. In total, there were 46 participants,
of which 21 (46%) were male and 25 (54%) were female. Their
ages varied between 23 and 65 years (the average age being
40 years). In particular, the participants were community and
religious leaders involved in home-based care, youth work and
HIV/AIDS counselling. Several religious groups and affiliations
were represented, namely the Apostolic Faith Mission, the
Roman Catholic Church, the Christian Fellowship Church,
the Baptist Church, the Greek Orthodox Church and Jehovah’s
Witnesses.
normal practice with focus groups, one should keep in mind
that the purpose of the focus groups was to facilitate discussion
within the process of a workshop. The workshops were based
on adult educational methods and active learning methods
that consisted of case studies, reflective exercises, small-group
presentations and practical assignments. These documented
focus groups were analysed through thematic analysis: themes
were identified and discussed. For the purposes of this article,
the themes were interpreted within a constructionist context
(Wilkinson 2003). This means that the theme (a myth, a symbol
or a particular understanding of sexual practices) can be seen
as a cultural construct created within a culture that accords it
with a specific meaning.
Fundamental to this paper and the previously mentioned
readings is that research into sexuality is extended to move
beyond sexual practices to include the beliefs, perceptions
and representations of sexuality in all their cultural and
historical variety. In this light, traditional scientific methods
of sexual research, such as epidemiological methods of the
conceptualisation and quantification of sexuality, do not
allow for an understanding of the meanings associated with
sexuality. Research on sexuality is therefore moving beyond a
statistical reading of sexual health to explore the mechanisms
and symbols of sexuality, a move from studying the sex act to
positioning sexual behaviour within its cultural settings. These
cultural settings act as systems of classification that structure
and define sexual experience in different social and cultural
contexts (Peltzer 2006; Shoveller & Johnson 2006).
Researchers on sexuality are therefore implored to devote
more attention to the social formation and representation of
sexual mores, since the adoption of such an approach reveals
the relationship between sexual fantasies and sexual modes of
behaviour or the connection between social circumstances and
sexual practices (Hekma 1991:188).
4.For Foucault (1980), sexuality is not an obstinate drive that is by its very nature
defiant to power but rather a historical construct that acts as a transfer point of
the relations of power, a surface network in which the body becomes linked to discourses and strategies of knowledge and power (Foucault 1980:105–106). Thus,
the importance accredited to Foucault’s work is that he posited sex within the context of the institutions and history in which it evolves. In other words, he allowed for
sex to be viewed as relational, as shaped in social interaction and understood only
in its historical context and in terms of the cultural meanings assigned to it. This, in
turn, demands an exploration of various forces that have shaped and constructed
‘sexuality’, such as gender, religion, class and power relations.
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Du Plessis & Maree
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #55
In studies regarding the symbols and myths of sexuality, the
(gendered) body proves to be a crucial reference point. Douglas
believed that the human body provides the basic scheme for
all symbolism, which, in turn, reflects complex social forms.
These bodily symbols located in and on the body represent
socio-cultural markers mirroring the hierarchy of a given social
system (Douglas 2004:4). In this sense, the social body (read
as ‘social system’) constrains the way in which the physical
body is perceived. The physical experience of the body is thus
modified by the social categories through which it is known.
This is what sustains a particular view of society. There is a
continual exchange of meaning between these two kinds of
bodily experiences so that each reinforces the categories of the
other.
This model is manifest in the dominant formation of female
and male physiology as equivalent to a vessel that is cautioned
not to pour away or dilute its vital fluids. In this arrangement,
females are seen literally as the entry point of the male’s ‘pure
content’ (semen) and, as counterfoil to this, men are seen as
pores through which sperm is released (Douglas 2004:156).
This configuration restricts the medium of the body to an
expression of patriarchal ideology. It establishes sexuality in a
singular (male) form that is preoccupied by the ‘rightful’ and
highly prized deposit of sperm in its resting place – females.
The corollary of this notion is that female sexuality and body
morphology are established as male-orientated, defined in
terms of male needs (Grosz 1994:228; Myerson 1986:68). This
phallocentric formation is inadequate in accounting for the
diversity of sexuality – its practices, acts, behaviours and
desires – for both women and men. Like sexuality, the body is
not an ahistorical, a precultural or a natural object but the fluids
and sexual expression, the drives and pleasures of the body are
mediated by cultural representations, models and images that
are guided by dominant ideologies. The body (and its fluids,
practices and behaviour) is a central locus and metaphor for
the understanding and exploration of discussions on sexuality
(Mirzoeff 1995:2).
By recognising these key insights on sexuality, the following
analysis of the project’s findings are pivoted on a core
framework that recognises the following: (1) Sexuality is not
a biological constant but an ever-changing phenomenon. This
means that studies in sexuality should not pay attention only
to social, economic or religious sides of sexuality but also to
the symbols and myths that categorise the ‘architecture’ of
sexuality. (2) The study of sexuality through symbols and myths
does not frame African beliefs as separate but describes them as
one manifestation (along with Western myths) as a reflection
of contemporary patriarchal views on gender and gender
relations. (3) The body provides a scheme for all symbolism
that reflects the hierarchy of the social system. As such, our
access to our very own drives and expressions are mediated by
representations that are ideologically motivated. Thus, in sum,
these points provide a framework for the subsequent analysis
of the symbols and myths of sexuality: rather than exclusively
conceptualised as a biological drive, a neutral surface, sexuality
is argued to be constituted through cultural practices. These
cultural practices manifest symbols and myths that legitimate,
construct and perpetuate patriarchal prescriptions of sexuality
through functioning as models of sexual behaviour and acts.
ANALYSIS
Although the project identified several key topics (menstruation,
semenarche, circumcision, virginity-testing, masturbation and
sexual orientation) for discussion and debate, the following
analysis is limited to the representation of sperm as identified
by the participants.
Although there are distinct differences between sperm and
semen (sperm constitutes only between 2% to 5% of semen, the
rest of the semen being composed of fluid from the seminal
vesicles and prostrate), in the discussions on semen, sperm was
separated from semen and anthropomorphised, that is given
human qualities (Moore 2007:5). In this light, sperm becomes
an extension of masculinity and of gender stereotypes: sperm
(man) is strong, while the ovum (woman) is passive. Thus, sperm
is a liminal substance as it traffics between biological and social
worlds; in terms of biology, it is required for fertilisation but
this scientific knowledge is socially filtered to reveal patriarchal
descriptions of gender and sexuality that assign meanings to
sperm (Moore 2007:12).
Sperm is layered with meanings related to both the public and
the private realms of human sexuality, reproduction, health and
illness, masculinity and femininity. These layered attributes to
the meaning of sperm permit Moore to term our understanding
of sperm as ‘polyspermous’ (Moore 2007:5). That being said,
the analysis that follows traces the diverse social and cultural
representations of sperm situated within the project’s findings.
However, no matter how diverse and ‘polyspermous’ these
representations are, they are all described as a manifestation of
patriarchy, as a substance linked to hegemonic masculinity and
phallic attributes.5
Venting virility: Sperm as a sign of manhood and
male sexuality
Sperm was described by the participants as ‘a sign of
manhood’. This seemingly innocent account, however, carries
an ideological impetus. This ideology was revealed in later
discussions in which the participants explained that, if a
man does not make a woman pregnant, he is deemed to have
weak sperm, that the ‘man is giving Sprite not inkomazi’.6 In
this sense, the relationship between a man and his semen is
anthropomorphised to an affinity between the cells and the
man who produces the sperm (Moore 2007:139). In other words,
men represent sperm as a projection of the man that produces
the sperm and these projections are measured according to
hegemonic descriptions of manhood: as virulent and dominant
in sexual schemas (Moore 2007:139, 148). Thus, in regard to the
quote in question, the sperm’s inability to impregnate a woman
becomes a projection onto the man that produces the sperm and
his masculinity becomes dubious.
Continuing with the preceding findings, participants identified
that ‘if one is not sexually active, the sperm will travel in the
bloodstream to an individual’s brain and make him mad’. This
view corresponds with what van Dyk (2001) identified as a
principal African belief, in which the blockage of the natural
flow of the body’s fluids is believed to be an inevitable cause of
illness that can even be fatal (van Dyk 2001:63).
Such a belief, however, is not unique to Africa. It is also manifest
in Western accounts in which sperm (like testosterone and
penises) is similarly portrayed as a powerful force by which men
are driven to certain (sexual) acts that are beyond their control,
5.It is imperative to note that both female and male participants provided statements
akin to patriarchal formations. Irigaray (1985) described that even female eroticism
and sexuality are conceptualised according to the masculine parameters of a desire in which female sexuality becomes an obliging prop for male fantasies and
sexuality.
6.In this description, semen deemed to be fertile is depicted as milky, thick and white
and thus akin to Inkomazi (a South African full-cream, cultured milk). Conversely,
infertile semen is depicted as a transparent liquid (like Sprite, a lemonade-flavoured
drink registered to the Coca-Cola company). Such descriptions distinguish the
fluids of men (as milky and thick) from the perceived fluidity of women (as liquid).
Furthermore, sperm (rather than semen) is represented primarily through what
it makes (a foetus) and what it achieves (male virility). In addition, in this sense,
its fluidity and potential seepage are perpetually displaced by discourses that
construct it as an object (Grosz 1994:199). Irigaray (1985) sees this conception
of a fluid (semen) as a solid (sperm), as the establishment of a boundary that
congeals – phallicises – male flows, which usually link male bodies to the modes
of representation that are commonly attributed to female bodies (Grosz 1994:199).
In regard to the quote, the reading implies that an infertile man is relegated to the
same frame of reference as a woman, as expressing a seepage (due to infertile
sperm, semen remains fluid and cannot be phallicised, as it serves no inherent or
procreative function).
Original Research
Engendered representations: Exploring sexuality through symbols and myths
hence men not being wholly responsible for such acts (Moore
2007:152). These sentiments were revealed in the 2008 July to
September issue of Intimacy,7 in which the article Do you refuse
to have sex? (2008:30–35) discussed the common perception that
men are believed to have a higher sex drive than the average
woman8. It is troubling enough that this perception was taken as
common fact within the article but even more troubling are the
gendered implications of this perception. The unquestionable
‘truth’ of a man’s high sex drive is seen to amount to strong
sexual urges, culminating in him taking sexual risks (despite
the consequences), being unfaithful and/or frequenting
prostitutes. In this equation, women are implored to satisfy the
sexual urges of their male partners. Women are also cautioned
against being ‘gate-keepers’ to sex and are warned that this may
lead to negative consequences, such as male partners losing
their sex drive or, conversely, seeking sex elsewhere.
The findings showed throughout that both African and Wester
n beliefs reveal a portrayal of male sexuality that is biologically
determined and an instinctual drive akin to hydraulic
pressure that must be expressed and released (no matter the
consequences of such actions). The corollary of this is that sex
in this framework cannot be a consensual or negotiable act;
women are mere passive vessels for the release (receiving) of
the male sex drive.
Reproduction as male: The sole procreative
function of semen
7.Intimacy is described as ‘a unique magazine that addresses intimacy within the
context of marriage, for the first time ever, information that was previously taboo is
discussed in a safe environment, from a Christian perspective’ (bold in original)
(Fernandez 2008).
8.The ‘science’ of such a claim proves problematic, as it has been revealed that the
medical, chemical and biological analyses of bodies do not show absolute truths
but show, instead, that the ‘truths’ of such ‘science’ are guided by the prevailing ideologies of the epoch concerned (Laqueur 1992:43). Investigations such as
these therefore serve only to naturalise dominant social relations (Moore 2007:13).
9.Historically, Aristotle is heralded as the most influential pre-modern author on human
sexual activity and is widely regarded as the founder of Western sexology (Bullough
1994:9). Aristotle’s theory that women’s only part in conception was merely to supply a container in which ‘seed’ grows was refuted only in the 16th century AD. For
further discussions on Aristotle and the gendered implications of his claims, see
Laqueur (1992).
Negating safer sexual practices
In the context of HIV/AIDS, ways of having sex that are nonpenetrative in nature are encouraged to reduce infection rates.
However, certain attitudes towards these interfere with their
adoption as ‘legitimate’ ways of having sex (Kometsi 2004:32).
The previously mentioned analysis of sperm revealed that
the issues impacting on safer sexual practices include male
virility (high-risk sexual activity as validated by a sex drive
that requires release) and the important role allotted to sperm
(exemplified in the refusal to wear a condom, as its usage is
deemed to avert the ‘natural’ flows of sperm and its ‘natural’
resting place in a woman’s body). These are both markers and
beliefs that, whether contemporary or historical, ‘African’ or
‘Western’, validate male privilege and power and negate the
use of condoms (and the efforts by women to negotiate safer
sexual practices).
CONCLUSION
Article #55
The belief of the crucial and even exclusive role of men in
human reproduction, in which women are deemed mere vessels
for carrying the foetus, is evident not only in African belief; it
may even be described as a hallmark of Western thought since
its origin. The basis of many Western cultural notions about
conception and sexual reproduction came from a theory by
Aristotle (fourth century BC), in which he posited different roles
for men and for women. This gave political connotation to ideas
about sex and reproduction from which we have not yet fully
escaped. Aristotle believed that the male was the major factor
in reproduction and that the female only provided the material
for the semen to work upon (Bordo 1999:246).9 Contemporary
expressions of the marginalisation of the generative or
With sperm symbolised as singularly responsible for
reproduction in both African and Western beliefs and combined
with the previous thoughts on the anthropomorphisation of
sperm, the resounding reading reveals patriarchal visions and
ideals: sperm is not only the lone driver of human sexuality
but it also positions men as being in control of human
reproduction. Sperm is seen to commandeer men’s bodies while
simultaneously compelling men to behave in particular ways.
Furthermore, by marking sperm with the traits of hegemonic
masculinity, these behaviours are naturalised and legitimated
(Moore 2007:31–37).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Further discussions on sperm saw the participants define it in
terms of its reproductive capacity in that it is ‘important for
producing babies’ and that ‘one drop can make a child’. A more
pervasive thought was later revealed in which the participants
marvelled at the powerful agency and self-contained role in
reproduction of sperm cells. This was evident in descriptions
such as ‘It [sperm] is a life-giving capacity limited to men alone’.
Although theorists have explored the African beliefs of the value
of women being determined by their fertility (van Dyk 2001:64),
there have been few substantial studies on the very same
fertility of women as dependent on the procreative potential of
men – their semen. This concept is illustrated in some African
beliefs that repeated contributions of semen are needed to ripen
the growing foetus in the womb and that semen is believed to
contain important vitamins that are necessary not only for the
continued physical and mental health of women but also for
their beauty and future fertility (Van Dyk 2001:64).
reproductive capacity of women have been discussed at length
by several authors (Hanafin 2009; Moore 2007; Sharpe & Faulkner
2008).10 All these authors have discussed extensively how sperm
becomes linguistically scripted to fulfil the patriarchal visions
of the marginalisation of the reproductive potential of women.
Women are represented as a transitional site for the production
of a life that is ultimately generated by the fathers. The fact that
the role of women in reproduction and birth is bypassed in this
schema allows males to claim themselves to be the fount of all
life (Hanafin 2008).
Throughout the preceding discussions, the central motivating
factor has been that it is imperative to analyse the social
structures that shape and influence sexuality. This goal was
approached through the demystification of the symbols and
myths of human sexuality to reveal the alignment of sexuality
to patriarchal gender divisions. As such, the study is a critical
analysis that resists and challenges naturalist and essentialist
beliefs regarding human sexuality that ensure the maintenance
and reproduction of male supremacy.
To address these factors, analysis of symbols and myths was
limited to that of the representation of sperm as revealed
through the participants in the project’s workshops. Their
understanding of sperm was revealed to be constructed through
representations that drew upon gendered beliefs and ideologies.
Although sperm does come from male bodies, sperm are not
men; they are not gendered and neither are they sentient beings
with emotions and personalities (Moore 2007:69). However, the
expressions and meanings of sperm gleaned from the analysis
reveal that sperm is represented in accordance with patriarchal
gender divisions and inequality; the meaning is always to
reinforce a sense of virile masculinity. This conception proves
problematic for both gender and sexuality, as it valorises
virile male sexuality as a potent drive that must constantly be
10.In terms of psychoanalytic discourse, Horney theorised the marginalisation of
the generative or reproductive capacity of women as ‘womb-envy’. This term is
used to explain the envy that both boys and men have of women. Their ‘wombenvy’, according to Horney, is the psychological driving force behind the creation
of the state, religion, art and science. But, since these creations fail to compensate
men adequately for their envy of women, men attempt to compensate for this by
devaluing women and their maternity and by over-valuing male creative generation
and male genitalia (Berger 1994; Sayers 1986:37–38).
Original Research
Du Plessis & Maree
‘quenched’ while simultaneously viewing women as a mere
outlet for the male sex drive and/or as a vessel for carrying
a foetus. Thus, by anthropomorphising sperm in our beliefs
and practices, symbols and myths, we institutionalise gender
inequalities.
In regard to the project, by exposing such inherent gender
inequality in the dominant symbols and myths of human
sexuality, the workshop’s participants were exposed to a model
of sexuality that reflects and promotes the interests of men: sex
defined in male terms and thus facilitating the sexual-political
control of women by men. Beyond this, the project also offered
empowerment through a positive conception of sexuality in
which sex is both enjoyable and safe, an expression of sexuality
that is redefined to respect communication between sexual
partners, to reclaim rights to the body and to insist on safety
and equality.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #55
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Implications for AIDS education and prevention in Africa,
South African Journal of Psychology 31(2), 60–66.
Weeks, J., 1989, Sex, politics and society. The regulation of sexuality
since 1800, Longman, New York.
WHO n.d., Sexual and reproductive health, viewed 20 November
2008,
from
http://www.who.int/reproductive-health/
gender/sexualhealth. html.
Wilkinson, S., 2003, ‘Focus groups’, in J.A. Smith (ed.), Qualitative
psychology: A practical guide to research methods, pp. 184–204,
Sage, London.
Wilkinson, S., 2004, ‘Focus groups: A feminist method’, in S.N.
Hesse-Biber & M.L. Yaiser (eds.), Feminist perspectives on
social research, pp. 271–295, Oxford University Press, New
York.
Original Research
Being thought from beyond our borders: Towards ethical global
citizenship
Author:
Johann-Albrecht Meylahn1
Affiliation:
1
Department of Practical
Theology, University of
Correspondence to:
Johann-Albrecht Meylahn
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
P O Box 14885, Lyttelton
0140, South Africa
Keywords:
identity; Other;
deconstruction;
postmodernism; subjectivity
Dates:
Received: 12 Aug. 2008
Accepted: 20 Oct. 2008
Derrida (2002:371–386) argues that there are positive and negative forms of globalisation. He
focuses specifically on the numerous advances that techno-science has made. These advances
raise numerous questions as they challenge traditional borders, for example the border between
public and private space. However, globalisation also creates new borders and boundaries with
certain homogenising tendencies. A certain culture is necessary for specific economic and political
interests; for example, global capitalism thrives on a culture of materialism and consumerism
(Jankowitsch & Sauvant 1978:226), which excludes other ideologies, cultural values and people.
Article #56
at:
Introduction
To think beyond borders is not just a challenge or an invitation of our time, but it is a given, as
different borders are crumbling in the wake of the forces of this epoch, namely the forces of
global capitalism and techno-science. Global capitalism, along with multinational corporations
and international finance markets, force humanity to think without national/political borders, as
never before in history has the globe been so interconnected economically, environmentally and
socially.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Meylahn, J.-A., 2009, ‘Being
thought from beyond our
borders: Towards ethical
global citizenship‘, Verbum
6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.56
Abstract
This article is a response to the challenge of global citizenship in an age of global crisis. Citizenship
has to do with where one feels ‘at home’, namely the space that gifts identity and life. What kind
of narrative is necessary to transform global space into a home from where we can go beyond
our borders to embrace the other in multidisciplinary research or interfaith praxis? The different
models for multidisciplinary research1 are made possible by the idea that research seeks that
which is beyond its borders. This search could be a common space where the different traditions
can accommodate one another, but it is not a home. The dominant discourse of this common
space is to seek commonality and identities across borders while being aware of but ignoring
differences – identity at the expense of differences. A home founded on identity at the expense
of difference will always exclude. Theology can either be interpreted as thinking beyond the
borders toward the Divine, or the Divine thinking us. The Exodus, the Incarnation and the Cross
are all narratives of the Other crossing borders, liberating from boundaries, deconstructing the
laws and norms that exclude. The religious traditions of these sacred narratives have something
to offer, namely: to be thought by the Other, to receive life and (alien) identity from the Other, the
gift of a home which is continuously deconstructed by the home still to come, therefore always
open for the Other.
I would like to interpret the theme ‘Thinking beyond borders’2 as thinking the other, those excluded
by the new borders. To think beyond borders is to think the other, the foreigner, the one who is
different from the same. In Of Hospitality, Derrida (2000:3) reflects on Plato’s dialogues, in which
the foreigner always raises the question. It is from this position of beyond the borders of the same
that the question arises and from where thinking starts. I believe that a conference with the theme
‘Thinking beyond borders’ is borne out o this question of the foreigner – in both senses of the word
‘of’. Firstly, the question of the foreigner is a question that concerns the foreigner (other) as a theme
or a problematic, for example: Who is the foreigner and how does one define foreigners? Secondly,
the question of the foreigner is the question posed by the foreigner. My interpretation of the theme
incorporates both these senses of the question of the foreigner.
In this article, I would like to respond to the theme ‘Thinking beyond borders’ by reflecting on
the possibility of global citizenship that has the ethical capability to respond to some of the above
challenges, but also a citizenship that resists homogenising tendencies by respecting alterity. I
believe what is needed to create such a responsible global citizenship is a narrative that will help
us to transform global space into a home from where we can go beyond our borders to embrace the
other in multidisciplinary research and interfaith praxis. For this purpose, I have chosen one specific
narrative, which is in itself a global narrative because it goes beyond the borders of one religious
community, as it is shared by three of the world’s religions, but more importantly, it is an example
of how narratives can create spaces for an ethos of hospitality.
Creative Commons
This narrative is a narrative about the origin, the beginning or the archē (Genesis) of global space,
namely the creation narrative, which culminates in the creation of the first city (the archē-polis) in
the story of Cain and Abel (Gn 4). It is a text of the beginning in the sense that it tells a story of
the beginning, but it is also a text of the archē, that which institutes or calls into being. It is the
story of the archē of our world. Derrida argues that the origin of our world is the face of the other:
‘…the face [cry/question of the other] is not of this world. It is the origin of the world’ (Derrida
1978:128). This first human space (city) was constructed by one who is eternally marked by the cry
1.Based on critical realism, root metaphors, experiential adequacy, epistemological adequacy and approximate truths.
2.This article is a re-worked paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Canadian Theological Society, University of British
Columbia, Vancouver, Canada, 2–4 June 2008, with the theme ‘Thinking beyond borders’.
Original Research
Meylahn
of the other and who builds a city in response to that cry. This
story tells of the origin of the first space that is constructed by
humans – the polis.3 My approach to this narrative will be to take
the narrative absolutely seriously and not disappear behind the
narrative to a historical critical exegesis of this text. Therefore I
will focus on what the text ‘gives to thinking’ as Levinas (1976)
describes the reflective philosophical approach to Scriptures.
From this Talmudic approach to Scripture, and seeing that this
is a Talmudic text, we can learn to approach the text as:
4[e]vidence and source of a specific way of thinking which is taken
completely seriously only by pursuing one’s own thinking through
and beyond. When one takes the Bible itself as one’s point of
departure for further reflection and penetration, one comes not so
much to one or another vision as to an irreducible form of thinking
with its own originality.
(Burggraeve 2000:168)
In this article I will seek to penetrate this narrative to discover
what this text gives to thinking by bringing this narrative into
dialogue with the questions and experiences of our time in the
context of the philosophical thinking of Derrida.
In the beginning there were two:
one and an other – who were
brothers
Adam lay with his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave
birth to Cain. She said, “With the help of the Lord I have brought
forth a man.” 2Later she gave birth to his brother Abel. Now Abel
kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil.
(NIV Gn 4:1–2)
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #56
1
Adam and Eve had two children, Cain and Abel. Cain sounds
like the Hebrew for ‘brought forth’ or ‘acquired’, which means,
to come into possession. Cain is the firstborn, the one brought
forth, the one who came into possession or into presence.
Abel, whose name means ‘breath’ or ‘vanity’ (Kidner 1971:74),
is the second born. He is an afterthought, the shadow of his
twin brother Cain,4 only the breath after the one brought forth.
According to Bataille, ‘[s]ilence is a word which is not a word,
and breath an object which is not an object’ (Derrida 1978:167).
As the second born, Abel is not important within hierarchical
society. He is meaningless in comparison to the firstborn, who
has the favour of the family and will inherit the family wealth.
The afterthought is but a breath, a non-object, not present.
These two brothers, who share the same blood, family and
home (oikos), are very different as the one kept flocks and the
other worked the soil. There is a difference between them, an
otherness which cannot be included into the same, and yet there
is familial similarity – they are brothers. That which identifies
them as brothers and separates them as different is the breath of
the other.
Abel is both other and brother, he is the breath, the other, the
other of his brother, the shadow of his brother, the spectral nonpresence that haunts presence. It is only in this simultaneous
presence of the other as both brother and other that Cain’s
identity is established. ‘[T]he other appears as such only in its
relationship to the same’ (Derrida 1978:161). Cain can only be
if there is his shadow, that which is not, the breath. Cain, as the
one brought forth, can only be present if there is the one who
is not brought forth. Cain’s identity as firstborn can only be if
there is a second born. Identity is dependent on the other who
is both excluded and included in the same (brother), but always
with a spectral difference that haunts the same (the breath), the
other without which there cannot be the same. Identities are
constructed in the space between sameness and otherness.
3.It is a text that tells the story of the first city: ‘Cain lay with his wife, and she became
pregnant and gave birth to Enoch. Cain was then building a city, and he named it
after his son Enoch’ (New International Version, Gn: 417).
4.The Adam Clark Commentary argues that it is most probable that Cain and Abel
are twins because there is no reference again to conception, only that Abel was
born later.
The unavoidable murder (a sin we
cannot master): to think the other
by including and limiting his/her
otherness
3
In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil
as an offering to the Lord. 4But Abel brought fat portions from
some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord looked with favour on
Abel and his offering, 5but on Cain and is offering he did not look
with favour. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.
6
Then the Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your
face downcast? 7If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?
But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door,
it desires to have you, but you must master it.” 8Now Cain said to
his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” And while they were in
the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.
(NIV Gn 4:3–8)
There is violence in every archē. There is violence in the
establishment of identity, namely the violence of excluding the
other. Cain had to kill Abel. Sin was crouching at his door; it
desired to have Cain and Cain was not able to master it. Was
Cain’s murderous act the first violence in this story, or was
there a prior spectral violence, namely the haunting of Cain, as
firstborn, by the breath, the other, seeking recognition, favour
and presence? In the story Abel’s offering received favour while
Cain’s offering did not receive favour, thus questioning Cain’s
right as firstborn, questioning his being brought forth and his
presence, by the breath, the other whose sacrifice found favour.
Abel, the breath, the other, asks the question by putting Cain’s
being-brought-forth in question. It is the foreigner, the one who
is other, who puts the same in question (Derrida 2000:3). Abel
is only the breath, a shadow of the one who is present, but this
shadow, this non-present asks the question and puts that which
is – the present – in question. This links our narrative to another
narrative, Plato’s Sophist, thus crossing another border from the
faiths of the book (Jerusalem) to the Greeks (Athens).
In the Sophist, the foreigner (xenos) puts forward the question and
thereby puts in question the logos of the father Parmenides. ‘The
Foreigner shakes up the threatening dogmatism of the paternal
logos: the being that is, and the non-being that is not. As though
the Foreigner had to begin by contesting the authority of the chief,
the father, the master of the family, the “master of the house”…’
(Derrida 2000:5). This is the inherent danger of opening the same
(offering hospitality) to that which is other (the foreigner), as the
other will inevitably question the same. The Foreigner in the
Sophist pleads ‘… not to think of me as a patricide’. How is it
possible for a foreigner to be the murderer of the father? Does
the murderer not have to be a child of the father to be accused of
patricide? Derrida’s answer to this question is that there is war
internal to the paternal logos (Derrida 2000:7). ‘In truth, with the
question he is getting ready to put, on the being of non-being, the
foreigner fears that he will be treated as mad…a son-foreignermadman’ (Derrida 2000:9). In the very first home, the nonbeing’s sacrifice is accepted, thereby questioning the being of the
firstborn. Abel as non-being challenges the being of Cain. Abel
is both brother and other (brother-foreigner). Abel’s non-violent
violence is thus the originary violence, a spectral violence of the
other putting the brother in question (a form of parricide). The
first question, the first ‘violence’, is to be in-question by being
thought from the point of view of the other. Abel’s sacrifice finds
favour; the other, the non-being, is welcomed and thereby the
one brought forth; the firstborn is questioned. Was it possible for
Cain to resist the originary non-violent violence that threatened
to destroy him? Could Cain not have offered hospitality to this
non-being, this shadow, which was other without risking his
own destruction as firstborn, as same?
Cain’s response is the contra-violence of excluding the other
that inaugurates identity and history. ‘Without intermediary
and without communion, neither mediate nor immediate, such
is the truth of our relation to the other, the truth to which the
Original Research
traditional logos is forever inhospitable’ (Derrida 1978:112).
Cain could not have done otherwise – he could not have resisted
and mastered the sin that was at his door. One could argue
that it is a necessary sin (violence) responding to a potential
(spectral) destructive non-violent violence that occurred prior
to this murder. The identity of Cain is established through the
violence of this murder and it marks him, identifies him for life.
His identity is established there where he limits the power of the
other, where he limits his being-in-question by the question the
other is raising.
same. Cain’s identity as firstborn was dependent on his brother
as second born. Thus his identity as firstborn was dependent on
welcoming and including his brother into the same as second
born, but Abel was both brother (same) and breath, the other
other, and as such cannot be included in the same because he
remains other (he is not Cain) – an infinite Otherness that refuses
to be included in the same. Abel was no longer just brother; he
was infinite Other, who questioned the firstborn and therefore
had to be limited to prevent the destruction of the identity of the
firstborn, the one present.
Identity needs a safe space where the power of the other who
threatens to destroy it is limited. Home5 is such a safe space as a
home is established through boundaries that clearly define what
is in (part of the same) and what is out (other). For a home to be a
home that gifts identity (for example as firstborn), it also needs to
be hospitable towards the other (recognise and define the other
as second born). ‘The nomad of home has to be hospitable in
order to be ipse, itself at home, habitable at-home in the relation
of the self to itself’ (Derrida 2000:61). It is the dual movement of
being at home (sameness) and being hospitable to others in which
identity as ipse is established. Yet hospitality must be limited
or the other will destroy the home. We know that boundaries,
borders and limits are constitutive of life and of being and thus
boundaries are necessary in order to be, to understand and to
find meaning. Without boundaries, identity and understanding
are impossible. There have to be limits (boundaries) to the home
for the self to be itself, at home in itself. For the home to be able to
gift identity, it needs to be open and closed at the same time. The
home welcomes the second born, but limits the second born’s
power to challenge the firstborn. Identity as ipse is established
through this aporia – the impossible possibility of hospitality.
Identity is established via the question of the other in both these
senses, and in both senses there is violence – either the violence
of inclusion into the same, thereby ignoring difference, or the
violence of exclusion, thereby limiting difference. The other
must not be allowed to put in question the borders of my home
or identity, because that would destroy the home and therefore
would constitute an unavoidable violence. It is a sin we cannot
master. It is on this basis of including and limiting otherness that
identities are established – not only of individuals, but also of
homes, families, cities and societies. Thus it is the basis of the
establishment of citizenship, which is the identity of the people
of the polis.
It is in the presence of the other who is not my brother that
identity is established not as inclusion within the same, but as a
limitation to responsibility and hospitality.
Through the fact that the other [l’autre] is also a third part [tiers],
in relation to an other who is also his neighbour (in society, one
is never two but at least three), through the fact that I find myself
before the neighbour and the third party, I must compare; I must
weigh and evaluate.
(Levinas 2000:182–183)
In the presence of the third, I need to make decisions about the
hospitality of the home and thus define my home, my identity.
‘What is the limit of responsibility towards the other other (third)
before I begin to lose my identity, my home’ (Meylahn 2008:1)?
As long as Abel as other was defined as the second born brother
there was no problem regarding hospitality or identity, but the
moment his sacrifice found favour the brother became an other
who challenged (questioned) the identity of Cain as firstborn.
This leads us into the second sense of the question of the other,
where the other poses the question and thus puts the same in
question. As long as Abel was defined as second born brother
there was peace; but Abel is more than this identification as he
is also breath, shadow, that which cannot be defined within the
borders of the same. The sameness of the home is threatened by
the presence of the other other who cannot be included in the
5.In this article I use the word ‘home’ in a broader sense, which includes home, family,
community, society, polis, citizenship and self, as an identity who is at home within
him/herself.
To live without borders is to live exposed. Robertson describes
this global condition as nostalgia – a longing for a lost home
(Robertson 1992:146). Nostalgia as a condition can also be
described as homelessness or homesickness (Robertson
1992:155). There is a dominant feeling of homelessness because
of a loss of boundaries through the process of relativisation, as
the home is continuously relativised by the interruption of the
other. Walsh describes the actual physical homelessness of those
living in a shelter in Toronto with the following words: ‘They
have no stabilizing walls against which they can lean for the
identity and security so critical for personal and family dignity’
(Walsh 2002:1). These same words could describe a general
feeling of our time.
Article #56
Firstly, the question of the other is a question of definition where
the other is recognised (defined) as someone who is either
welcome or not. Cain recognised the other as his brother and
thus welcomed him. It is a question of inclusion and exclusion
and thus a question of the borders of the home. Most homes offer
hospitality to those who are defined as brother, sister, family or
friend, the other who is the same.
The theme of the conference at which this article was originally
presented called us to think beyond borders, and as I have stated
previously, in a global world we are forced to think without
borders. I began this article with a description of the demise of
various borders within the postmodern global village. How does
one think, think oneself or think citizenship, without borders?
This is one of the challenges of our time.
Verbum et Ecclesia
The question of hospitality and therefore the question of
identity is the question of the other in both senses as referred to
previously.
TEXT AND CONTEXT
I would now like to cross another border: from the text to the
context, or from the abstract to the practical.
In such a context where the sameness of the home is threatened
on so many levels by the other, it seems impossible not to react as
Cain did, by protecting the home from otherness, by excluding
and strengthening our borders. This reaction finds expression in
social phenomena such as xenophobia, racial tension, religious
fundamentalism and the amount of money spent on private and
national security. The evil that was knocking on Cain’s door was
too powerful and he was unable to master it. The murder of the
brother had to be for the survival of the firstborn. Cain had to
protect himself against that which is other. Is this violence, this
murder, then not justified? The need for borders, the limitation
of the being-in-question by the other, is so powerful that it seems
justified.
However, it cannot be justified, because it is justified only by
amnesia, the forgetting that the home/identity is established as
much through the closure within sameness as the openness to
otherness.
Asymmetry, non-light, and commandment then would be violence
and injustice themselves – and indeed, so they are commonly
understood – if they established relations between finite beings,
or if the other was but a negative determination of the (finite or
Original Research
Meylahn
infinite) same. But we have seen that this is not the case. Infinity
(as infinitely other) cannot be violent as is totality.
(Derrida 1978:133)
The violence toward the other is not justified because it is only
in relation to the infinite Other that identity can be established.
The other is not a threat to identity; rather the otherness of the
other gifts space for identity. Cain becomes Cain (the master of
the oikos – the home of his identity) through the grace of Abel –
who is simultaneously his other and his brother. Derrida writes
in Of Hospitality:
The guest (hôte) becomes the host (hôte) of the host (hôte). These
substitutions make everyone into everyone else’s hostage. Such are
the laws of hospitality. Now the impossibility of that “at the same
time” is at the same time what happens. … One takes without
taking. The guest takes and receives, but without taking. … We
thus enter from the inside: the master of the house is at home, but
nonetheless he comes to enter his home through the guest – who
comes from outside. … The master thus enters from the inside as if
he came from the outside. He enters his home thanks to the visitor,
by the grace of the visitor.
(Derrida 2000:125)
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #56
Before I can be an ‘I’ who thinks the other I am already a me-inquestion by the thinking of the Other.
The subject – the famous subject resting upon itself – is unseated
by the other [autrui], by a wordless exigency or accusation, and
one to which I cannot respond with words, but for which I cannot
deny my responsibility. The position of the subject is already his
deposition. To be me (and not I [Moi]) is not perseverance in one’s
being, but the substitution of the hostage expiating to the limit for
the persecution it suffered.
(Levinas 2000:181)
The Other cannot be silenced by murder – his/her blood will
cry out from the ground that absorbed it.
The impossible murder: The cry of the
other echoed in the Divine question
Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” “I
don’t know”, he replied, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” 10The Lord
said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out
to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven
from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s
blood from your hand. 12When you work the ground, it will no
longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on
the earth”. 13Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is more than
I can bear. 14Today you are driving me from the land, and I will
be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the
earth, and whoever finds me will kill me”. 15But the Lord said to
him, “Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven
times over”. Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who
found him would kill him.
(NIV Gn 4:9-15)
9
Although Abel the breath, the afterthought, is murdered, the
Other cannot be silenced as this murdered spectrality still
haunts Cain as the cry of the other from the ground echoes in the
Divine question, which cannot be silenced. The other cannot be
murdered as he/she cannot be included in the same and so the
murdered afterthought, the non-present continues to cry out to
God and in God and so originally and eschatologically questions
Cain, the founder of the first city.
This question is a Divine interruption or a Divine non-violent
violence that opens what is by transcending presence in that it
inquires about the one who is not present: ‘Where is your brother
Abel?’ It is a question concerning the breath, the infinite Other.
A question that cannot be answered by either a simple negative
(he is not) or a positive (he is included in the same) thus Cain
answers by trying to avoid taking responsibility for the other. ‘I
don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ However,
this question cannot be avoided because the blood of the other
cries out from the very ground. The blood of the murder is
absorbed into the ground (the foundation) and this very ground
will curse and drive Cain out so that Cain will no longer have
a home, doomed to be a restless, homeless wanderer. The very
ground that has absorbed the blood of the other has become
a non-ground, or maybe a holy ground. It has become a nonfoundation that brings with it a restlessness, a woundedness and
an open-endedness as the Divine question is eternally asked,
never to be forgotten.
The foundation, logos, language of the same, identity, home, city
– all those things that seem so solid and foundational because
the other has been limited – are tainted because of the blood of
the other who is murdered either by inclusion or by the attempt
at exclusion. This tainted ground reveals that the surface of all
grounds (foundations) are cracked, opening their mouths, to
receive the other’s blood, and that which appeared so solid is in
fact its rigidity toward the other.6
The cry of the other cannot and will not be silenced because it is
taken up in the question of the infinite Other, which taints and
cries out from all grounds and cannot be avoided. The other
as infinite Other is inescapable. ‘A relationship that obsesses,
one that is an obsession, for the other besieges me, to the point
where he puts in question my for-me, my in-itself – to the point
where he makes me a hostage’ (Levinas 2000:138). The other is
the only being we want to kill, need to kill (a sin that we cannot
master), but at the same time the Other is impossible to kill, for
you cannot kill a shadow or a breath as you cannot destroy a
non-being.
The Other is the only being who I may wish to kill, but the only one,
also, who orders that “thou shall commit no murders,” and thus
absolutely limits my powers. Not by opposing me with another
force in the world, but by speaking to me, and by looking at me
from an other origin of the world, from that which no finite power
can restrict: the strange, unthinkable notion of unreal resistance.
(Derrida 1978:130)
This Other limits my power to kill it or to include it in the same,
because even if I kill my brother, his shadow, breath, the infinite
Other, still calls out from the ground which absorbed the blood
and is thus echoed in the Divine question. This question comes
to me from another origin of the world, an archē prior to my
response, and likewise eschatologically interrupts me, thus
limiting my power.
It is in this infinite Other that the question of the Divine resounds,
or in the Divine question that the infinite Other resounds.
The face is neither the face of God nor the figure of man: it is
their resemblance. A resemblance which, however, we must think
before, or without, the assistance of the Same.
(Derrida 1978:135)
This relation to the infinite Other is prior to any other relation
and this relation haunts all other relations. It is an unavoidable
ethical relation and as such it is a religious relation. “The ethical
relation is a religious relation. Not a religion, but the religion, the
religiosity of the religious”.
(Derrida 1978:119)
Before Cain can go and build a city this infinite question holds
him, places him in an inescapable responsibility towards the cry
of the other. Derrida argues that this is
[n]ot a theoretical interrogation, however, but a total question,
a distress and denuding, a supplication, a demanding prayer
addressed to a freedom, that is not a commandment: The only
possible ethical imperative, the only incarnated non-violence in
that it is respect for the other.
(Derrida 1978:119)
6.‘This unthinkable truth of living experiences, to which Levinas returns ceaselessly,
cannot possibly be encompassed by philosophical speech without immediately revealing, by philosophy’s own light, that philosophy’s surface is severely cracked, and
that what was taken for its solidity is its rigidity’ (Derrida 1978:112).
This question one cannot escape. It is an ethical responsibility
toward the other that is prior and posterior to any other
responsibility or relation. It is a non-law Law prior to the laws
that govern all thinking. ‘Moreover, is this Ethics of Ethics
beyond all laws? Is it not the Law of Laws?’ (Derrida 1978:138).
Cain stands homeless and denuded before this question, yet it
is impossible to live naked, without a home. One cannot live
in such an ethical relation to the religious. ‘My punishment is
more than I can bear,’ is Cain’s response to the persistence of the
Divine question. It is unbearable to live without ground, without
foundation, hanging above the abyss between being and nonbeing on a thin thread of responsibility toward the other as
other, the infinite Other.
In response to this plea, God marks Cain with an eternal mark
– as a trace of the question of the Other, but also to protect him
from the other(s). It is a mark of grace as it creates a space within
a groundless wandering to build a city.
The Grace to build a city on tainted
ground: to think beyond borders
So Cain went out from the Lord’s presence and lived in the land
of Nod,7 east of Eden. 17Cain lay with his wife, and she became
pregnant and gave birth to Enoch. Cain was then building a city,
and he named it after his son Enoch.
(NIV Gn 4:16-17)
16
It is time to cross a vitally important border from the world of
our text to our postmodern world and how this text creates a
space for thinking about epistemology, understanding and
knowing – building cities of knowledge. Research reaches out
toward that which is other um es zu ergreifen oder es zu begreifen,
thus to capture the other in a Begriff, thereby including the other
in the totality of the same. This certainly describes modern
epistemology. Postmodern epistemology seeks to avoid these
totalizing strategies of modernity, thereby respecting the alterity
of the other without capturing the other in the same.
Is it possible to think the other without the murder (destruction/
inclusion of the other into the same)? Is knowledge without the
violence of ergreifen, begreifen and Begriff possible or is it too
much to bear, as Cain pleads? The ground that has absorbed
the blood of the other cries out and forces the murderer to be
a restless (groundless) wanderer. How is it possible to think,
to find meaning, to be and to establish a city without a ground
(foundation), because from the ground comes the cry of the other
echoed in the question of the infinite Other? How does Cain, the
restless wanderer, build his city without any ground? Is the only
ground that is left to him this tainted non-ground?
I believe that Van Huyssteen’s postfoundationalism echoes
something of this grace and seeks a way beyond this impossibility
of groundlessness (non-foundationalism) without resorting
again to foundationalism. Postfoundationalism has incorporated
different epistemic models. I will shortly reflect on two of them.
The first model is ‘critical realism’. Critical realism is fully
aware that the other cannot be included in the same. There is
always a différance8 (a shadow or a breath) and all ‘totalities’ are
marked and wounded by this shadow, but the shadow does
not deny the fact that there is an other and that the other can be
recognised, although within a veil of shadow. Cain did build a
city, so there are cities even if these cities are marked with the
shadow. The problem is that the other can only be recognised,
known, interpreted and understood from within the borders of
the same, thus destroying the other, but the breath, the shadow,
cannot be destroyed and so it marks, limits and defies the same
by eternally deferring ‘totality’ as it questions (deconstructs) any
attempt at totality in the present.
The language and the metaphors used to understand and
interpret the other within the borders of the same are local and
paradigm specific and because they are ‘marked’ they are not
universal and complete, but wounded and open to the question
of the other. Van Huyssteen (2005) argues that the different
localised paradigm-specific languages (metaphors) are not
completely different from each other because they use similar
reasoning strategies. Thus the same has shifted, so that it is no
longer the same content or the same reference, but the same
reasoning strategies or shared rational resources. For example
[s]cience and theology have similar ways of reflecting and a
similar understanding of what knowledge is, therefore they might
not agree on the reference of their texts, but they certainly can
make sense of each other’s texts, because they are constructed on
similar principles of how knowledge is acquired (epistemology).
(Meylahn 2006:987)
The same has shifted from the object of knowledge (the other
who is never fully known) to the method of knowledge, but
what is forgotten in Van Huyssteen’s critical realism is that the
same (same reasoning strategies) is still haunted by the mark of
Cain, by a trace, by différance.
The second model is what Van Huyssteen calls ‘root metaphors’
or what Ricoeur calls ‘itineraries of meaning’. There are different
models of interpretation and each of these models in their own
way probe the inner limits of texts9 (Meylahn 2006:988). Texts,
understanding, interpretation might be founded on wounded
ground because from the ground comes the persistent cry of the
Other, but they are not completely groundless. Cain still built his
city although it was on tainted ground and therefore this tainted
ground still guides our interpretations and constructions. ‘As
such reading and interpretation is in a sense rule-governed and
is in fact guided by a productive imagination at work in the text
[tainted ground] itself’ (Van Huyssteen 1997:150).
The city that Cain built is built on ground and as such the city
is not fictional (groundless) – but the ground is marked with the
blood of the other, therefore the city is ‘rooted’ in tainted ground
from which the cry of the Other is eternally heard. The city is
In this post-murder time, or postmodern time, is the only ground
on which to build a home localised, historic, cultural-linguistic
non-foundations (non-truths) relative to other localised, historic,
cultural-linguistic non-foundations?
8.Derrida’s concept of différance for me captures something of this mark of Cain,
which eternally reminds us of the cry of the other, both the original (archē) difference
between the same and the other and the infinite difference that is eternally deferred
and eschatologically postponed. Différance is a combination of both these words:
differ and defer (Critchley 1999:35).
7.Nod means wandering.
9.Texts understood in this context in the widest possible sense of texts (phenomena),
as all that which can be interpreted.
Article #56
Cain leaves the presence of the Lord to live in the land of
wandering (Nod), but with the mark of grace. He leaves the
presence of the Lord, the unbearable groundless question, so he
can build a city, but with him as protection and reminder goes a
trace of the Lord – the mark.
No, the Lord was gracious, and Cain left the presence of the
groundless question with only a mark, a trace of that infinite
question, as reminder and as protection. All that Cain has is his
marked self that speaks of hi[s]story, and by this grace he builds
the first city.
Verbum et Ecclesia
The Lord is gracious and allows Cain to leave the Divine presence
with its unbearable denuding question. But the Divine leaves a
trace on Cain, thus placing Cain’s life and identity under the trace
of the question (the mark), as a reminder but also as protection.
This trace (mark) is both the reminder of the first question, but
also the continuous eschatological interruption by the question
(cry) of the Other and as such protects against another murder.
As long as identities, cities are marked (wounded) by the trace
of the question of the Other there can be no murder by including
the other in the same or by trying to eliminate the other.
Original Research
Original Research
Meylahn
built on the ground, but because the ground is tainted, the city is
restless and never completely at home within itself. Our cities and
our constructions are temporal constructions – haunted, marked
by the cry of the other that is heard from the very ground upon
which the cities are built. By the grace of the mark, which is but
a trace of the infinite question, cities are constructed; therefore
the absolute relativism of groundlessness has been curbed by the
use of ‘root metaphors’ and ‘critical realism’. Grace is bestowed
on us to enable us to build the city, maybe a postfoundational
city, which is not built on a foundation or on a non-foundation,
but on a marked foundation, a foundation marked with a trace
of the cry of the other and Other, différance.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #56
Postfoundationalism enables, even invites us to think beyond
the borders of different disciplines. Each postfoundational city
(each construction) has a certain limited view of the other –
limited by the trace (mark) that tells the story of both the archēlogical cry of the other whose blood taints the foundation of
the city as well as the infinite cry of the Other still to come that
eschatologically interrupts the city by seeking hospitality. This
limited view (understanding of the other) can be described as
approximate truth. ‘Approximate truth means that there are
adequate epistemic and experiential reasons to believe that
this construction does indeed suggest a certain truth’ (Meylahn
2006:898). This paves the way to think beyond borders and opens
the door to bring together different disciplines, each with their
own adequate truths, thereby finding a fuller picture (optimal
coherence) of the other and hence the possibility to construct
optimally coherent cities.
We cannot escape the sin, as optimal coherence is still a form
of Begreifen within the same, although it has greater respect for
alterity. The mark of Cain remains, even on optimal coherence,
thereby again and again wounding and thus reminding Cain of
the breath, the other, the cry of the other taken up in the Divine
question. The city will always be wounded, as it is marked by
the cry of the Other. This city will always be restless since the
ground slips away as it absorbs the blood of the other, there
where he is included in the same. This mark of Cain deconstructs
the optimal coherence as it wounds and thus opens what is for
the Other always still to come. The mark made it possible for
Cain to build the city, a postfoundational city, but the trace
remains, reminding Cain and all builders of cities that the city
is wounded by the trace of the infinite Other, by différance. The
city is question-marked by the Other; it exists by the grace of
the Other.
INCONCLUSION: THEOLOGY AS BEING
THOUGHT FROM BEYOND
By marking us with a trace of the Divine question, the Other
continually thinks us. It is the thought of the Other that puts us
in question. It is not we who think the other who is beyond the
borders of the same, but the Other who eternally thinks us, and
our thinking, language and history is a response to that prior
being-in-question and continuous being-in-question.
Theology can either be interpreted as thinking beyond the
borders toward the Divine, the Infinite or the Transcendent, or
it can be understood as the thinking that seeks to respond to our
being-in-question because of the Divine question that echoes
the cry of the other. I believe that theology is the thinking that
is called forth by being-in-question through the thinking of the
Other. Theology in this sense is thus to think the being-thought
by the Other.
They offer us the gift of a home, which is originally marked by
the being-in-question and continuously deconstructed by being
questioned by the home still to come and as such always open
– being-in-response to the Other. The sacred narratives gift us
with a temporal home/city, which is marked by the divine trace
of being-in-question by the archē-logical question and the beingin-question by the eschatological interruption by the Other
always still to come. Maybe this narrative, which places all that is
between the archē (alpha) and the eschaton (omega) of the Other,
can open that which is to embrace an ethos of hospitality as that
which is a journey in the ‘marked groundless space/home’ of
this narrative towards a democracy still to come.
REFERENCES
Burggraeve, R., 2000, ‘The Bible gives to thought: Levinas on
the possibility and proper nature of biblical thinking’, in J.
Bloechl (ed.), The face of the other and the trace of God: Essays
on the philosophy of Emmanuel Levinas, pp.165–183, Fordham
University Press, New York.
Critchley, S., 1999, The ethics of deconstruction: Derrida and Levinas,
2nd edn., University of Edinburgh Press, Edinburgh.
Derrida, J., 1978, ‘Violence and metaphysics: An essay on the
thought of Emmanuel Levinas’, in Writing and difference, pp.
97–192, Routledge, London.
Derrida, J., 2000, Of hospitality: Anne Dufourmantelle invites Jacques
Derrida to respond, transl. R. Bowlby, Stanford University
Press, Stanford.
Derrida, J., 2002, Negotiations: Interventions and interviews 1971–
2001, transl. E. Rottenberg (ed.), Stanford University Press,
Stanford.
Jankowitsch, J. & Sauvant, K.P. (eds.), 1978, The Third World
without super-powers: The collected documents of the non-aligned
countries, vol. 1, Oceana, New York.
Kidner, D., 1971, Genesis: An introduction and commentary, Tyndale
Old Testament commentaries, Tyndale Press, London.
Levinas, E., 1976, Difficile Liberté: Essais sur le Judaism, Albin
Michel, Paris.
Levinas, E., 2000, God, death, and time, transl. B. Bergo, Stanford
University Press, Stanford.
Meylahn, J-A., 2006, ‘Postfoundationalism, deconstruction and
the hope that motivates research in Practical Theology’, HTS
Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 62(3), 965–992.
Meylahn, J-A., 2009 ‘Responsibility, God and society: The cry of
the other in the sacred texts as challenge towards responsible
global citizenship’, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies
65(1), Art. #131, 5 pages. DOI: 10.4102/hts.v65i1.131.
Robertson, R., 1992, Globalisation, social theory and global culture,
Sage, London.
Van Huyssteen, W., 1997, Essays in postfoundational theology,
Van Huyssteen, W., 2005, ‘In conversation with prof Wentzel
van Huyssteen about postfoundationalism and practical
theology’, Seminar proceedings from Suid-Oos Pretoria
Dutch Reformed Church, Pretoria , South Africa, August 1,
2005.
Walsh, B., 2002, ‘With and without boundaries: Christian
homemaking amidst postmodern homelessness’, paper
presented at the Canadian Theological Society Conference,
Toronto, Canada, 22 June.
The text examined throughout the article, as well as others,
for example the Exodus, the Incarnation and the Cross, are
all narratives of the Other crossing borders, liberating from
boundaries, and deconstructing the laws and norms that exclude.
I believe that the religious traditions of these sacred narratives
have something to offer our globe, namely to be thought by the
Other, to receive life and identity (alien identity) from the Other.
Original Research
Fundamentalism on stilts: A response to Alvin Plantinga’s
reformed epistemology
Author:
Jaco W. Gericke1
Affiliation:
1
School of Basic Sciences,
Faculty of Humanities,
North-West University
(Vaal Triangle Campus),
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Jaco Gericke
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
P.O. Box 1174,
Vanderbijlpark, 1900,
South Africa
Keywords:
philosophy of religion;
biblical studies; reformed
epistemology; Alvin
Plantinga; fundamentalism
at:
To be sure, not all philosophers of religion have been so interested in – or have any pains with –
biblical criticism. The ones in question are associated with the movement commonly referred to
as Reformed Epistemology (RE), the views of which are encountered in the writings of Christian
(Protestant) philosophers such as Alvin Plantinga, William Alston and Nicholas Wolterstorff (see
Forest 2006; Hoitenga 1991). As a school of thought, RE had its beginnings in the so-called parity
argument presented by Alvin Plantinga in his book God and other minds (see Plantinga 1967). With
reference to Biblical Studies, RE’s primary concern seems to be the ‘unorthodox’ results of historicalcritical biblical scholarship. Allegedly, what critical biblical scholars are doing goes against the grain
of ‘traditional perspectives’ and, according to some proponents of RE, renders the Bible useless for
contemporary philosophical theology (Plantinga 2000c:374–421; Stump 1985). As a result, some RE
exponents have taken biblical scholarship to task in their writings and, in doing so, have issued an
invitation to interdisciplinary dialogue – something which I agree is long overdue. However, I am
myself motivated to taking up the invitation, partly as a result out of a concern with what Stump (1985)
considers the two main motives for the discussion, which are the following:
Article #90
Gericke, J.W., 2009,
‘Fundamentalism on
stilts: A response to
Alvin Platinga’s reformed
epistemology’, Verbum
5 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.90
INTRODUCTION
Since the middle of the 20th century philosophers of religion have proliferated considerably (Stump
2000:896). As a result it has become increasingly difficult to make a clear distinction between the
philosophy of religion and philosophical theology. This has meant that in contrast to an earlier period
when philosophers felt that reflection on religion was philosophically respectable only if it was abstract
and generic, philosophers of religion today feel free to examine any concept in any religion, since
these are philosophically interesting in their own right (Stump 2000:896). As part of this expansion of
religious-philosophical loci, some philosophers of religion have begun to look beyond the propositions
of Systematic Theology to the presuppositions of Biblical Theology for philosophically interesting
topics to discuss. In doing so, a number of them have expressed a concern with what they perceive to
be serious philosophical problems pertaining to the epistemological assumptions of biblical criticism
(e.g. Plantinga 2000c:374–421; Stump 1985; Ward 1998:81–98).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
Received: 02 Apr. 2009
Accepted: 04 Aug. 2009
Published: 30 Oct. 2009
ABSTRACT
During the greater part of the 20th century, biblical scholarship and the philosophy of religion
were not considered to have much in common. However, towards the end of the millennium,
a movement of a few Christian philosophers of religion called ‘Reformed Epistemology’ (RE)
suggested the need for interdisciplinary dialogue. With Alvin Plantinga as primary representative,
these philosophers claimed to be concerned with what they considered to be the lack of
philosophical reflection on the foundations of historical criticism and its non-traditional findings.
In this article, the author (qua biblical scholar) suggests that Plantinga’s arguments have not been
taken seriously because of his fundamentalism and the resulting failure to grasp the nature and
contents of the hermeneutical debates that have raged within biblical theology for the past 200
years.
• Philosophers of religion can learn much from biblical scholars and a detailed acquaintance with
biblical criticism is crucial for the philosophical examination of Judaism and Christianity.
• Philosophical reflection on the epistemology of biblical criticism is lacking and the findings of
biblical criticism will turn out very differently if biblical scholarship is subjected to analysis and
questioning by philosophers.
When taken out of context, these claims seem relatively unproblematic. However, when considered
along with the details of the ideas many RE proponents put forward about the Bible, these motives
for wanting to engage in interdisciplinary dialogue become problematic. On closer inspection they
are actually driven by the ideological agenda of what has become lamentably all too familiar in
contemporary Christian society: fundamentalism (see Carroll 1997 on ‘biblical’ Christianity). This is
perhaps exactly why many critical biblical theologians have not bothered to enter into dialogue with
these philosophers of religion (aside from the other lamentable fact – that of the anti-philosophical
sentiment fashionable in 20th-century Biblical Theology; see Barr 1999:146–171). However, given the
rising popularity of fundamentalism in lay spirituality and as an Old Testament scholar who takes
an interest in the philosophy of religion, I cannot set this opportunity for interdisciplinary discussion
lightly aside. It is my conviction that while the philosophy of religion can and should be applied to
biblical thought (something I do myself), it is hermeneutically problematic when one does this while
at the same time failing to take seriously the philosophical implications of the history of (Israelite)
religion.
Creative Commons
The fact is that the charges against biblical criticism made by Stump (1985) and Plantinga (2000c) are not
wholly correct. It is not the case that biblical scholars have not paid attention to their epistemological
assumptions, especially in view of the fact that the last 200 years of biblical criticism since the separation
of biblical and dogmatic theology with Gabler (and the subsequent distinction between Old and New
Testament theology with Bauer) has led to intricate hermeneutical discussions, the epistemological
ramifications and philosophical issues of which neither Stump (1985) nor Plantinga (2000c) seem to
appreciate. To be precise, these two exponents of RE’s philosophical handling of the Bible is strangely
Original Research
Gericke
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #90
reminiscent of what one found in pre-critical Reformed
Orthodoxy from the time before Gabler, when dogmatic
biblical ‘eisegesis’ was practiced bereft of any real historical
consciousness or of the possibility of a real appreciation of the
fact that conceptions of God in classical philosophical theology
are anachronistic in the context of ancient Israelite religion. And
while being ‘Reformed’ might mean for many believing today
exactly what Calvin supposedly believed centuries ago, many
Calvinist systematic-theological convictions are of little use
when confronted with the conceptual challenges contemporary
non-fundamentalist Biblical Theology has to deal with (contra
Childs 1992:72).
However, up to now no Old Testament scholar that I am aware
of has bothered to respond to the charges of RE, to the effect that
their views are still considered intellectually respectable in many
philosophical circles (in biblical scholarship the movement is
mostly unknown). So, out of a concern to expose the fallacies of
the sort of philosophy of religion one might call ‘fundamentalism
on stilts’ (i.e. making outdated biblical-theological conceptions
seem respectable with the aid of philosophical jargon) I have
decided to accept the invitation of Stump (1985) and others and
to devote this article to a discussion of why I believe some of
RE’s philosophy of religion is seriously damaged by a failure to
appreciate the problems of Old Testament theology. I have no
pains with the concept of a ‘Reformed’ epistemology per se but
I do believe that in the writings of some philosophers of religion
it really involves little more than a disguised attempt to sneak
fundamentalist theology back into the academia (in a way not
dissimilar from what one finds in the biblical theology of Brevard
Child; see Barr 1999:437). In order to show what exactly it is that
I consider to be problematic in RE’s philosophical views about
the Bible (and in view of the limitations of space incumbent in
the writing of this article), I therefore have decided to provide a
cursive and introductory critical assessment of the fundamentalist
biblical-theological foundations of the philosophy of religion of
RE’s leading exponent, Alvin Plantinga.
ALVIN PLANTINGA’S REFORMED
EPISTEMOLOGY (REP)
According to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alvin_Plantinga,
Alvin Carl Plantinga was born in 1932 and is a contemporary
American philosopher known for his work in epistemology,
metaphysics and the philosophy of religion. In 1980 already
Plantinga was described by Time magazine as ‘America’s
leading orthodox Protestant philosopher of God’ (‘Modernizing
the case for God’, 1980:55-56). He was portrayed in that same
article as a central figure in a ‘quiet revolution’ regarding the
respectability of belief in God among academic philosophers.
More recently, many American Christians looked to him as
their representative in the apologetic attempt to respond to the
controversial ideas of the atheist Richard Dawkins in his The God
delusion (Dawkins 2006). Plantinga has moreover delivered the
prestigious Glifford Lectures on three separate occasions and his
philosophy of religion is characterised by defences of theological
ideas from the Dutch Reformed tradition in which he was raised.
Not surprisingly, many of his writings incorporate discussions
about the Bible and biblical scholarship (e.g. Plantinga 2000c).
Plantinga is currently the John A. O’Brien Professor of Philosophy
at the University of Notre Dame and somewhat of a cult-figure
in American conservative Reformed apologetics.
REP as such can be construed as exemplifying the following
philosophical superstructure, which is itself characterised by a
number of negative epistemological tendencies:
• A rejection of evidentialism – REP argues that religious
belief is rational and justified even if there is no proof to
support its truth claims. It also argues that evidentialism is
inconsistently applied and self-refuting.
• A rejection of radical fideism – REP is very concerned to show
that faith and reason are compatible and that belief in God
is rational even without any supporting evidence to back it
up.
• A rejection of classical foundationalism – For REP the belief
in God is held to be properly basic and not something to be
inferred from more fundamental beliefs.
• A rejection of internalism – REP is externalist and argues
for proper functionalism and reliabilism with reference to
human cognitive apparatus (with an ad hoc error theory of
transworld depravity to account for unbelief).
These tenets are evident from the writings of Wolterstorf (1976;
2001), Plantinga (1964; 1983; 2000a–c) and Alston (1991). As such
they have been subjected to critical assessments which, according
to Clark (1990), Sennett (1992) and DeRose (1999a) have been put
forward by both theistic and atheistic philosophers of religion.
The major objections are as follows (inter alia):
• REP’s naïve-realist appeal to religious experience is
rejected, since most philosophers feel the concept of a
sensus divinitatus on which the parity argument is based is
essentially contested.
• REP is too latitudinarian, permitting the rational acceptability
of virtually any belief and giving rise to the so-called Great
Pumpkin Objection. According to this line of critique
(alluding as it does to a scenario in the Peanuts cartoon
where the character Linus sincerely believes in the return of
the Great Pumpkin to the pumpkin patch each Halloween),
if RE is consistently applied without double standards it
allows belief in any sort of far-fetched entity to be justified
as simply foundational or basic. Anyone can claim that their
own beliefs are properly basic without the need for any
justification in holding them. Therefore, the Great Pumpkin
Objection to Plantinga’s notion of proper basicality intends
to show that there must be something wrong with RE if it
allows such wayward beliefs to be warranted as basic.
• REP has been rejected because it has been perceived to be
crypto-fideism (if one defines fideism as the view that belief
in God may be rightly held in the absence of evidence or
argument).
All of these objections have as their focus point REP’s central
claim, namely that belief in God is properly basic (cf. Swinburne
2001:203–214). Of course, Plantinga has responded thoroughly
to these critiques (see Plantinga 1983:16–93; 2000c). His response
in turn itself invited a counter-response (see DeRose 1999b). In
the end, the bottom line of the philosophical critique concerns
REP’s presupposition that there is religious truth, when the
existence of such truth is exactly the bone of contention and
so cannot be taken for granted. This is why evidentialist and
presuppositionalist theistic philosophers of religion have also
faulted REP for its commitment to ‘negative’ apologetics, in that
not only does REP offer no reasons for supposing that theism
or Christianity is true (contra so-called positive apologetics),
it also leaves no tool for discriminating between justified and
unjustified constituent beliefs (Swinburne 2001:212).
To be sure, the above summations of REP’s views and the
philosophical critique against it are of necessity cursory and
cannot do justice to the intricacies and details of the debates
that have raged in and around the movement since its inception
(see Forest 2006; Suddith 2000). What is relevant to the present
discussion is the fact that past critiques of Plantinga have tended
to focus almost exclusively on problems in the philosophical
‘superstructure’ of REP with little real attention being paid to
the biblical-theological ‘base structure’ of his arguments. And yet
it cannot be disputed that the latter is ultimately foundational
to the former – its raison d’être, if you will. But if this is indeed
the case, it means that whatever the merits of Plantinga’s
sophisticated philosophical rhetoric, if it can be shown that
his biblical foundations are both mistaken and/or nothing of
the sort, the entire modus operandi of REP will have been fatally
compromised. Given that philosophers of religion have already
demonstrated the conceptual fallacies in REP’s philosophical
superstructure, the discussion to follow is therefore meant as
a supplemental critique aimed at exposing related fallacies in
the biblical-theological base structure on which Plantinga’s
philosophy is built.
Fundamentalism on stilts: A response to Alvin Plantinga’s reformed epistemology
THE CONTENTS OF THE BIBLICALTHEOLOGICAL BASE STRUCTURE OF REP
Before we can understand the fallacies of the biblical-theological
base structure, we have to understand the assumptions in
Plantinga’s philosophical superstructure about the relation
between text and reality (or ‘referentiality’, as Barr 1999:38 calls
it). In this regard, REP presupposes the following ideological
isomorphisms:
• The assumption that the Bible provides a unified view of
reality
• The assumption that biblical theism is metaphysically true
•
The assumption that REP is itself ‘biblical’.
As for the actual materials constituting the foundations, Plantinga
furthermore endorses REP solely because he considers it to be
• an affirmation of Christian philosophical theology – REP is
basically Christian apologetics in philosophical garb;
• an affirmation of Reformed Protestantism – the reason why the
epistemological approach is called ‘Reformed’ to begin with
is Plantinga’s notion that it is based on some of the central
ideas in Calvinist dogmatics; and
• an affirmation of fundamentalist hermeneutics – Plantinga
assumes on a priori grounds that the Bible is historically,
scientifically and theologically ‘inerrant’ (literally the ‘Word
of God’).
This is a typically Protestant fundamentalist confession on
the Bible and biblical interpretation. As such, it is vulnerable
to a number of criticisms based on related fundamentalist
hermeneutical fallacies.
FALLACIES IN REP’S ARGUMENTS FOR A
‘BIBLICAL’ EPISTEMOLOGY
Like most Protestant fundamentalists accusing the rest of the
world of not being ‘biblical’ enough and constantly calling
everyone to return [sic] to a ‘biblical’ view on just about every
particular theological subject, Plantinga is neither as ‘biblical’
nor as ‘Reformed’ as he thinks. His philosophical arguments
aimed at discrediting the work of biblical scholars engaging in
historical-critical analysis are riddled with a number of glaring
fallacies, stereotypically encountered in the writing of all
fundamentalist philosophers of religion.
The second problem follows from the first: What kind of God is
it with reference to which Plantinga asserts belief to be properly
basic? It is useless to say belief in God is properly basic unless
one can specify what the contents of the beliefs about God are
supposed to be. But in this Plantinga’s philosophy is radically
undermined by his failure to take cognisance of the fact that he is
committing the fallacy of essentialism. Like all fundamentalists
he seems to know nothing (and want to know nothing) of the
philosophical problems posed by conceptual pluralism in Old
Testament theology or the diachronic variation in the beliefs
about YHWH in the history of Israelite religion. In short, he
seems blissfully unaware that there is no such thing as the
‘biblical’ perspective on God. So if it is the ‘biblical’ God with
reference to which belief is supposed to be properly basic,
and given the pluralism in the biblical discourse, most Old
Testament theologians would like to know which particular
version of YHWH it is with reference to which belief is supposed
to be properly basic. This suggests that any recourse to proper
basicality to avoid justification is shipwrecked by the fact that the
notion is essentially non-informative, since the actual practice of
holding any belief in God requires filling it with a notion of God,
which in turn requires justification for choosing one view of
God over another. Therefore a second-order set of beliefs, which
Plantinga himself implies is not properly basic, comes into play,
and this concerns his belief that a) REP’s belief that the Bible is
true and coherent is correct; b) REP’s view of God is biblical; and
c) REP’s interpretation of the texts are correct. Yet on all three
counts biblical criticism has shown Plantinga is mistaken, and
as a result, his entire philosophical superstructure becomes in
jeopardy.
Article #90
Scripture is inerrant: the Lord makes no mistakes; what He
proposes for our belief is what we ought to believe. Scripture is a
wholly authoritative and trustworthy guide to faith and morals.
God is not required to make a case. The principal Author of the
Bible – the entire Bible – is God himself, not so much a library
of independent books as itself a book with many subdivisions
but a central theme: the message of the gospel. By virtue of this
unity…”interpret Scripture with Scripture.” One can’t always
determine the meaning of a given passage just by discovering what
the human author intended.
(Plantinga 2000c:384)
First of all, Plantinga claims that belief in God is properly basic
and that the God with reference to whom belief is such is,
conveniently for him, the God of the Bible (Plantinga 2000c:384).
Yet Plantinga’s view of YHWH is radically anachronistic and
conforms more to the proverbial ‘God of the Philosophers’
(Aquinas in particular) than to any version of YHWH as
depicted in ancient Israelite religion. This means that the prephilosophical ‘biblical’ conceptions of YHWH, the belief in
whom is supposed to be properly basic, is not even believed by
Plantinga himself. His lofty notions of God in terms of ‘Divine
Simplicity’, ‘Maximal Greatness’ and ‘Perfect-Being Theology’
are utterly alien with reference to many of the characterisations
of YHWH in biblical narrative (e.g. Gn 18). The absence of
critical historical consciousness on the part of Plantinga on this
issue means an utter lack of awareness of the fact that REP’s
philosophical monotheism is – technically – ‘unbiblical’.
Verbum et Ecclesia
With regard to the third point above, following the views
put forward by Barr (1977; 1984), I do not use the term
fundamentalism in the context of Biblical Studies as in popular
discourse where it refers to someone who reads the Bible in a
consistently literal fashion. It has been demonstrated that the
essence of fundamentalism is not literalism but the a priori
belief in the inerrancy of biblical discourse. Because the defence
of inerrancy is their main concern, fundamentalists are not
consistently literal but will switch to non-literal readings when
a literal reading seems problematic from their own scientific,
theological or historical point of view. To be sure, Plantinga
may deny that REP is fundamentalist in essence but the denial is
contradicted by what Plantinga himself has actually had to say
about the Bible on those occasions when he has ventured across
disciplinary lines to take to task mainstream biblical scholarship.
In his When faith and reason clash: Evolution and the Bible (1991)
and Warranted Christian belief (2000c:374–421; Chapter 12: Two (or
more) kinds of scripture scholarship), Plantinga’s fundamentalism
is readily discernable from claims such as the following:
Original Research
A third problem concerns another way in which Plantinga’s
philosophy of religion brackets the history of religion. REP claims
to be ‘biblical’ in that the religious epistemology is assumed to
mirror that of the biblical texts themselves. Of course, the biblical
texts are not philosophy and the biblical authors do not discuss
religious epistemology – yet even the Old Testament discourse
contains epistemological assumptions about the nature of
knowledge, belief and truth. Now aside from the possibility
of epistemological pluralism that may once again rear its ugly
head (e.g. in the incommensurable religious epistemologies
of Daniel and Qoheleth), the fact is that it is wrong to assume,
as Plantinga does, that the Old Testament is anti-evidentialist.
On the contrary, there is ample reason to believe that a ‘soft’
evidentialism is in fact the default epistemology taken for
granted in ancient Israelite religion given the nature of many of
the pre-philosophical epistemological assumptions in the biblical
narratives. The whole idea of miracles (signs) and revelation via
theophany, audition, dreams, divination and history can be said
to presuppose an evidentialist epistemology (see the oft-repeated
formula ‘so that they may know…’). After all, of all the religious
epistemologies that come to mind, it is difficult to imagine that
the prophet Elijah in the narrative where he takes on the Baal
Prophets on Carmel was endorsing anything remotely similar to
‘Reformed Epistemology’ (see 1 Ki 18). If that is not an instance
of evidentialism in the Old Testament, what is? To be sure, there
Original Research
Gericke
might be other biblical trajectories more amenable to Reformed
Epistemological ideas but my concern lies with those that are
not, particularly in view of Plantinga’s insinuation that his view
is the only ‘biblical’ one.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #90
A fourth biblical-theological shortcoming of REP concerns
Plantinga’s naïve-realist hermeneutics. The naïveté lies both on
the level of the practice of biblical interpretation and on the metalevel of views on the nature of the biblical materials. With regard
to exegesis, Plantinga (2000c:387) suggests that we should check
our interpretations of the text with the text itself, thereby failing
to appreciate the fact that we cannot compare our view with
the Bible itself, we are always only comparing interpretations
with each other. Therefore it is a priori impossible to check our
interpretation of the Scriptures against the Scriptures absolutely
(in a sense analogous to the distinction between the Kantian
‘phenomenon’ and ‘noumenon’, the thing-as-it-appears and the
thing-in-itself). In this Plantinga seems not to have awaken from
his ‘dogmatic slumbers’ (to borrow Kant’s reference to himself
following a reading of Hume) in that on the meta-level he seems
unable to distinguish between God / the Bible as such and his
(Plantinga’s) views (or dogmas) on God / the Bible (his dogmas
or ideology). Plantinga imagines himself and RE to be loyal to
and fighting for the Bible as such when in fact he is not so much
defending the Bible for its own sake but struggling to place his
own Reformed Fundamentalist view of the Bible beyond the
possibility of critique.
The fifth problem – and this point follows from the previous one
– Plantinga argues along typical fundamentalist apologetic lines
that one either assumes beforehand that the Bible is the Word of
God or merely fallible human superstition (Plantinga 2000c:388).
Moreover, he believes that the problems of biblical criticism
are in fact generated by having the wrong presuppositions
(Plantinga 2000c:389). This seems to me to involve a category
mistake in that here Plantinga has failed to distinguish between
the descriptive and evaluative modi in biblical interpretation.
Historical biblical scholarship is supposed to be a descriptive
enterprise in which one’s personal beliefs about the Bible need
not be given up but should be bracketed lest they interfere with
the reading process of discovering what the Bible itself means,
whether this meaning coheres with our own dogmas or not. To
be sure, purely descriptive reading remains only an ideal – like
objectivity itself – and I am not assuming an outdated positivist
hermeneutics. Yet the fact is that in working descriptively it is not
necessary to decide beforehand what the Bible is in the context
of systematic theology, since that would be presumptuous.
Plantinga therefore confuses the operations of biblical and
dogmatic theology and to insist that beliefs about inspiration be
endorsed or denied from the outset involves mistaking exegesis
for doctrinal reflection. Certainly, we all have assumptions in this
regard, but the entire point of critical reading is the willingness
to test these assumptions in view of the evidence. Yet Plantinga’s
own presuppositionalist hermeneutics show that he is more
interested in safeguarding his own fundamentalist assumptions
than allowing them to be modified should the nature of the
biblical data require it. In wanting to prejudge the issue on
inspiration, Plantinga conveniently forgets that the question of
meaning precedes the question of truth (as analytic philosophy
has taught us), and that without this insight no corrective from
the Bible on dogmas are possible to begin with.
The sixth problem is that Plantinga claims that his own readings
of the Bible follow a ‘traditional’ approach (Plantinga 2000a:385
and passim). However, not only is any appeal to tradition in
itself a potential logical fallacy in the justification of truth claims
in the philosophy of religion, but the problem is also that the
concept of a singular ‘traditional’ reading is meaningless, for
there never was a single way of reading the text anywhere in the
history of interpretation. Moreover, the reason why Plantinga is
so concerned with what he takes to be the ‘traditional’ approach
is his mistaken belief that the problems of biblical criticism
were generated when biblical interpreters exchanged historical-
grammatical exegesis for historical criticism. Therefore,
Plantinga seems to assume that the problems dealt with in
Biblical Theology (e.g. theological pluralism, the problem of
history, the relation between the testaments, the question of a
‘Mitte’, and the relation to ancient Near Eastern religions) only
exist if the exegete endorses the ‘evils’ of humanism, rationalism,
evolutionary theory and methodological naturalism. But this
is simply not true and many of the questions biblical scholars
ponder are in fact much older than the modern period (known
from Rabbinic sources). Moreover, Plantinga overlooks the fact
that the primary impetus for historical criticism was not the
Enlightenment but the Protestant Reformation itself (see Hayes
& Prussner 1985:1; also see Barr 1999’s critique of Brevard Childs
as crypto-fundamentalist for an analogical situation within
biblical theology).
A seventh and final matter for discussion concerns the nonsequitur involved in the ultimate objectives of REP in the context
of the discussion with biblical scholars and the critique of biblical
criticism. Plantinga thinks that if he can discredit historical
criticism and evolutionary theory, then his own fundamentalist
and creationist hermeneutics win by default and can be taken
seriously again (2000c:398). In this he seems to forget that proving
historical criticism wrong is not the same as proving historicalgrammatical hermeneutics correct – that is another task on its
own. The same is the case with regard to his raging against
evolution – even if Plantinga could somehow demonstrate a fatal
problem in the theory, this does not vindicate creationism. The
latter still needs to be justified as part of a separate project and
imagining that it gets a second chance if evolution is someday
left behind is as naïve as thinking that astrology gets another
shot at it if a contemporary astronomical theory is discredited. It
does not work that way – one has to go forwards, not backwards,
and creationism and fundamentalism have had their day. To
discredit historical criticism is not to have done away with the
problems of biblical criticism or with the justified critique of
fundamentalist and creationist hermeneutics. After historical
criticism and evolution have had their day, we will require
a new theory, not a reversion to what has had its chance and
remains outdated. That is why biblical scholarship developed
literary and social-scientific criticism and why modifications
in evolutionary theory came about following discoveries in
genetics. Plantinga, in his critique of historical criticism and
evolutionary perspectives, seems to be battling a straw man in
that he engages with older varieties of these views that have
little to do with these perspectives in their current formats.
In the end, reading between the lines of Plantinga’s pains
with biblical criticism, it eventually becomes readily apparent
that Plantinga’s entire case is in fact little more than a huge
demonstration of special pleading. Time and again it is implied
that the main reason Plantinga cannot and will not accept a
critical approach to the text is not because he really understood
what biblical criticism is all about, but rather because of what
he takes to be its implication – that he would have to take leave
of his own cherished personal ‘properly basic’ dogmas about
the text. This is why Plantinga will not be taken seriously by
mainstream biblical theologians. He is always arguing on a metalevel, merely aghast at the revolutionary findings without ever
really coming to grips with the details of the research that led
to those findings in the first place. Like most fundamentalists,
Plantinga has a very distorted and oversimplified view of
critical biblical scholarship, assuming all those practising it to
conform to the demonised profile of the critical scholar he has
constructed from a combination of isolated individuals and out
of a paranoia concerning anything approaching ‘liberalism’. The
lack of understanding in this regard is not a virtue and from the
perspective of biblical theologians is simply doing major damage
to his philosophical claims.
CONCLUSION
From the discussion above it should be clear that in raging
against what he calls ‘historical biblical criticism’, Alvin
Plantinga is not really in a position to speak on these issues –
Fundamentalism on stilts: A response to Alvin Plantinga’s reformed epistemology
and will not be taken seriously if he does – if only because he
shows no sign of understanding the nature and contents of the
problems that biblical scholars themselves have been grappling
with for the past 200 years. Unless proponents of RE (and other
philosophers of religion interested in dialogue with biblical
scholars and concerned with biblical criticism) can get beyond
the fundamentalism inherent in REP and come up with a nonfundamentalist alternative, they will never be taken seriously by
anyone acquainted with the discussion in mainstream biblical
scholarship.
Of course, being fundamentalist, REP’s invitations to debate
the issues concerning the nature and interpretation of the Bible
were, of course, not really meant seriously. Plantinga never for
one moment really intends to consider the possibility of actually
learning something from biblical scholars practicing historical
criticism. Rather, he has already decided beforehand that no
apparent problem, fact, interpretation or piece of evidence can
be true if it clashes with what he already believes on the level of
personal dogma. No serious reconsideration of personal opinion
is ever seriously envisaged. Hence debates on REP will never get
anywhere as they are always based on the assumption that it is
the biblical critics who are in need of changing their mind. Even
so, let it not be said that no response has been forthcoming.
REFERENCES
Alston, W.P., 1991, Perceiving God: The epistemology of religious
experience, Cornell University Press, New York.
Barr, J., 1977, Fundamentalism, SCM Press, London.
Barr, J., 1984, Escaping from fundamentalism, SCM Press,
London.
Barr, J., 1999, The concept of biblical theology: An Old Testament
perspective, SCM Press, London.
Carroll, R.P., 1997, Wolf in the sheepfold: The Bible as problem for
theology, SCM Press, London.
Childs, B.S., 1992, Biblical theology of the Old and New Testaments,
SCM Press, London.
Clark, K.J., 1990, Return to reason, Eerdmans, Grand Rapids.
Dawkins, R., 2006, The God delusion, Houghton Mifflin, Boston.
DeRose, K., 1999a, Are Christian beliefs properly basic?, viewed 10
May 2009, from http://pantheon.yale.edu/~kd47/basic.htm
DeRose, K., 1999b, Voodoo epistemology, viewed 8 March 2009,
from http://pantheon.yale.edu/~kd47/voodoo.htm
Forest, P., 2006, Religious epistemology, viewed 18 February
2009,
from
http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/religionepistemology/
Gordon, R.P., 2006, Hebrew Bible and ancient versions: Selected
essays of Robert P. Gordon, Ashgate, New York.
Hayes, J. & Prussner F., 1985, Old Testament theology: Its history
and development, SCM Press, London.
Hoitenga, D., 1991, From Plato to Plantinga: An introduction to
Reformed Epistemology, State University of New York Press,
Albany.
‘Modernizing the case for God’, Time, 5 April, 1980, pp. 55–56.
Plantinga, A., 1967, God and other minds: A study of the rational
justification of belief in God, Cornell University Press, New
York.
Article #90
Plantinga, A., 1983. ‘Reason and belief in God’, in A. Plantinga
& N. Wolterstorff (eds.), Faith and rationality: Reason and belief
in God, pp. 16–93, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre
Dame.
Plantinga, A., 1991, When faith and reason clash: Evolution and
the Bible, Christian Scholar’s Review XXI:1 (September 1991)
Plantinga, A., 2000a, ‘Arguments for the existence of God’, in
E. Craig (ed.), The Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, pp.
319–325, Routledge, New York.
Plantinga, A., 2000b, ‘Religion and epistemology’, in E. Craig
(ed.), The Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, pp.895–896,
Plantinga, A., 2000c, Warranted Christian belief, Oxford University
Press, New York.
Sennett, J., 1992, Modality, probability, and rationality: A critical
examination of Alvin Plantinga’s philosophy, P. Lang, New
York.
Stump, E., 1985, ‘Modern biblical scholarship, philosophy of
religion and traditional Christianity’, Truth Journal (vol.
1), viewed 02 March 2009, from http://www.leaderu.com/
truth/1truth20.html
Stump, E., 2000, ‘Religion, philosophy of’, in E. Craig (ed.),
The Shorter Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, pp.896-898,
Routledge, London.
Sudduth, M., 2000, Reformed epistemology and Christian apologetics,
viewed 04 March 2009, from http://academics.smcvt.edu/
philosophy/faculty/Sudduth/3_frameset.htm
Swinburne, R., 2001, ‘Review of Warranted Christian belief by A.
Plantinga’, Religious Studies 37, 203–214.
Ward, K., 1998, Concepts of God, Oneworld Publications,
Oxford.
Wolterstorff, N., 1976, Reason within the bounds of religion,
Wolterstorff, N., 2001, Thomas Reid and the story of epistemology,
Cambridge University Press, New York.
Verbum et Ecclesia
I would therefore like to conclude by pointing out that one need
only be cognisant of the fallacies in REP as outlined above to
see that Plantinga has mistaken the philosophy of religion for
fundamentalist Christian apologetics. In doing so, he turns out to
be neither biblical nor Reformed (or even really ‘philosophical’)
in his arguments. It hardly matters how sophisticated, coherent,
interesting, orthodox, complex or convincing the philosophical
and specifically epistemological arguments in justifying
REP in its current format might be or become. As long as the
assumptions underlying the philosophical jargon are riddled
with such biblical-theological fallacies as demonstrated above,
Plantinga’s version of RE will be considered by many to be no
more than fundamentalism on stilts.
Original Research
Poverty and pastoral
counselling: Design for an
extensive research project
Photo Title: Open hands
Taken by: Agata Urbaniak
Original Research
Poverty and pastoral counselling: Design for an extensive
research project
Author:
Johan Janse van Rensburg1
Affiliation:
1
Theology, University of the
Free State, South Africa
Correspondence to:
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
CM van der Heverstraat
13, Langenhovenpark,
Bloemfontein, Free State,
9330, South Africa
Keywords:
poverty; extensive research;
planning; participatory
action research; design
at:
Creative Commons
This research is interested in the task of the church of Jesus Christ in general and in the possibilities
for a pastoral approach to address the many aspects of the problem in particular. We dare not allow
a feeling of hopelessness to cause the church to abandon all efforts to make a real difference in the
lives of individuals, families and communities and in the country. Neither may we continue with
well-meant efforts to offer support without really changing the status quo. Since this is a scientific
research project stretching over four years, careful planning of the methodology for this research
project is indispensable. The very essence and nature of poverty, however, highlight the difficulties of
deciding on an approach for a workable and most fruitful research methodology and of identifying
and uncovering the basic underlying driving forces, motives and dimensions of poverty. It was
therefore decided to involve researchers who have already made contributions in this particular
field in participatory action research. It is hoped that the knowledge and expertise of these carefully
selected specialists in the field will add more perspectives on this issue and deepen the conceptualism
about this phenomenon, thereby preventing the research project from subsiding into the mediocrity
of generalisations.
Article #180
Janse van Rensburg, J.,
2009, ‘Poverty and pastoral
counselling: Design for an
extensive research project’,
#180, 8 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.180
INTRODUCTION
‘As old as the mountains and as wide as the sea’ – this is how one could describe the phenomenon
of poverty. Poverty has been with us for so long and we have grown so accustomed to its ugly face
that we are in danger of not noticing or not caring about the terrible consequences of this disease. It is
unimaginable to think that there is a corner of the globe where poverty in some form or another is not
a destructive or disruptive force in any given society. Most probably, it is the feeling of hopelessness
and the lack of knowledge and skills to make a difference that cause many people to be indifferent to
the problem. But poverty creeps up on all societies and touches all communities in so many ways. We
may probably assume that the problem is worsening, as more and more people are dehumanised by its
destruction. It is therefore no longer possible to ignore it as ‘something that is not our problem’.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
Accepted: 29 Sept. 2009
Published: 04 Nov. 2009
ABSTRACT
Poverty is arguably the most common and devastating social disease in the world. It is not,
however, only a social, political or economic problem. Knowing how to respond to the calling
of caring for the poor is an incredible charge for the church. It is not only a matter of Christian
charity but also a matter of pastoral care. Extensive research on such a phenomenon needs careful
planning and precise execution. It was therefore decided to conduct participatory action research
with informed researchers. It is hoped that the input of these informed participators will help the
researcher to design a methodology that will be able to dig deeper than the surface of the problem
and to uncover the most important driving forces and basic needs of poverty. This article serves
as an introduction to a four-year research project on poverty, financially supported by a generous
bursary from the National Research Fund.
RESEARCH METHODOLOGY
It is important to distinguish between the methodology for the whole research project and the
methodology for this particular article. While the project in general will make use of a wide range
of literature on the subject, the literature study should also form the foundation for a basis theory on
theology and poverty in general and on pastoral theology and poverty in particular. The principles
underlying scriptural references to poverty and its consequences for research were therefore
investigated. In a multidisciplinary approach, meta-theoretical literature forms an important part of
information. It is envisaged that qualitative research with both poverty-stricken people and with people
involved in programmes of empowerment will serve as a significant source of information to come
close to the people involved and to understand their experiences and needs. The research therefore
moved from an investigation into poor people to a research with the participation of poor people, true
to the nature of participatory action research. Besides literature on research methodology, such as the
recent publication by Smith (2008), particular attention was given to the methodology on qualitative
and participatory action research during the consultation of the large volume of publications in this
regard.
Regarding the research for this particular article, the decision to involve informed specialists in the
field was made to benefit from the many views, contributions and findings of their own research. It
would, after all, be less than wise to embark on a research project such as this, pretending that nothing
has been done before in terms of research or active involvement – almost like wasting time and effort
to rediscover and redesign the wheel. Planning was therefore a very important prerequisite for this
methodology. Babbie (1998:139) distinguished between the conceptualisation (planning) and the
operationalisation (execution) of research. This article served as the planning stage for the execution
of the whole research project.
Participatory action research is understood as participation in the planning of research and in the
identification of the most important aspects of the problems, in this case, those problems forming the
Original Research
Janse van Rensburg
basis of the participants’ views and findings on poverty. From
these contributions, decisions will have to be made on the issues
to be researched and on the systematic order in which to deal
with them. This research then served as a launch article to guide
the broader research project to be conducted. From the nature of
and goals for this research, it is therefore to be understood that
this article could not include an extensive reference to relevant
literature, although some references were made. The vast volume
of existing literature will be analysed in subsequent articles. The
views expressed by the participants in this participatory action
research furthermore served exactly the same purpose in guiding
and planning the whole of the research project.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #180
The participatory action research for this particular article was
conducted in a structured way according to acknowledged
methods for this type of research. The participants were chosen
for their acknowledged contributions to scientific research
on poverty or for their active involvement with organisations
and programmes that address the many problems created by
poverty. Only a small cross-section of experts was chosen out
of the many available possibilities, however, since it would be
difficult to give full attention to all the points of view of more
than six participants in one article; it should be remembered
that this was only a launching article for an extensive research
project. The purpose of this article was therefore merely to
acquire direction and markers for the extensive research. Expert
opinions of informed researchers not accommodated in this
article will most definitely be included in the extensive research
that is to follow. A brief but relevant curriculum vitae for each
participant is supplied in Addendum A.
Although Mouton and Marais (1989:157) advised that qualitative
research should operate with a hermeneutic approach and that it
therefore favours unstructured conversations, the questions here
were designed to introduce the basic issues involved as they
presented themselves to me. These questions were therefore not
meant to create a formal structure or to inhibit the contributions
of the participants but rather to serve as mini-maps (Bothma
2003:201) to ensure that certain issues would come under
discussion. Most of the conversations were taped, except those
with Prof. Kallie August and Prof. Stef Coetzee, as the tape
recorder failed to function. The tapes of the conversations were
kept for further reference. During all the conversations, careful
notes were also made to ensure that the participants’ points
of view were reflected as precisely as possible. Johann Breed’s
contribution was received via e-mail, since it was not possible
to conduct a personal discussion with him. In cases where
personal contact in qualitative research is not possible, the
strategy may be varied without jeopardising the scientific value
of the research. Because qualitative research may be carried out
with different methods, personal contact, although preferable,
is not an indispensable requirement. Personal documents, such
as letters, diaries and biographies, photographs, and tape and
video recordings, may also be a source of qualitative research
(Mouton 1988:1–16). To ensure a true reflection of the points of
view expressed, the completed article was submitted to all the
participants either to confirm or to correct details of the views
expressed.
HYPOTHESES
and the great varieties of poverty are but three grave mistakes
that could jeopardise the research and cause the outcome to be
insignificant. The need for external help in planning the research
was therefore apparent. The contributions of the different
participants confirmed this hypothesis. The variety of points
of view introduced a wide range of important perspectives
and prevented the research from being incarcerated in onedimensional patterns of thought.
Two secondary hypotheses were fragmented from the main
hypothesis:
a) A multidisciplinary approach is indispensable, since the
phenomenon of poverty has many causes and effects. This
hypothesis necessitated the inclusion of non-theologians as
participators and underlined the essential need to take note
of literature in scientific fields beyond theology in general
and practical theology in particular.
b) If the hypothesis in a) is not implemented in a careful
and responsible manner, the research could end up in a
multifaceted conglomerate of ideas and perspectives from
different scientific disciplines without a particular identity.
Careful planning was therefore done to prevent any given
scientific discipline from high-jacking the research. This
article was, and the whole of the research project will be,
conducted from the perspective of practical theology,
using methods of research acknowledged within the field
of practical theology. The research concentrates on the role
that pastoral counselling can play in alleviating the many
dimensions of suffering caused by poverty. It is therefore
hoped that the research will ring true and come home to the
grass-roots level of the church’s pastoral ministry.
RESEARCH GOALS
The very nature of participatory action research determines
the research goals. The participants here were therefore given
the opportunity to contribute to the planning of the extensive
project. The initial and preliminary design of the researcher was
thus affirmed or corrected to the extent that a new and more
informed design for the extensive research could be structured.
This particular research therefore served as a launching article
for extensive research on poverty.
DIFFERENT THEMES ON POVERTY TO BE
RESEARCHED
Defining poverty
From the answers given by the participants, it is crystal clear
that a definition or description of poverty is an indispensable
yet almost impossible endeavour. Prof. Daniel Louw answered
the question about definitions by referring to the influence of
paradigms on the precipitation of poverty. How does poverty
differ in post-modern societies in comparison with third-world
countries? He quoted staggering statistics from India, where 250
million people out of a total population of 1.3 billion people live
under the breadline, so to speak. The conclusion is apparent that
different contexts influence the description of poverty and its
consequences.
There is a need for specialised information in order to maximise
the effectiveness of a design for research on poverty
Prof. Cas Vos likewise expressed the importance of
understanding poverty within different contexts, of which the
cultural and family context plays a major role. In this sense, we
may speak of a culture of poverty. Families may be caught up in
this endless spiral of poverty, thereby condemning generations
to a psychological spirituality of poverty (‘born to be poor’).
It has already been emphasised that the very nature and
dynamics of poverty are so complicated that there is a real
danger for any research on the theme to fall short in so many
ways. Not dealing with the correct issues, not pushing through
to the most powerful driving forces that precipitate or stimulate
poverty and not working with so many important contexts
For Prof. Attie van Niekerk, the psychological aspect as
determining factor for the precipitation or stimulation of poverty
is of the utmost importance. The ability to combat poverty has
weakened considerably during the past decades. When attempts
to break the shackles of poverty are perpetually unsuccessful,
the prisoners of poverty become reluctant to keep their hope
The following primary hypothesis functioned as the driving
force for the research:
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alive. This leads to an unwillingness to be encouraged or to
participate in efforts to alleviate the effects of poverty. The result
is an alarming complacency that could easily lead to fatalism
and a perception of ‘born to be poor‘, thus rendering all efforts
to change the status quo ineffective. August agreed with the
need to describe poverty in its different forms and consequences
rather than giving a definition. In this regard, he referred to the
important work of Davids, Theron and Maphunye (2005). They
referred to different approaches in describing poverty. These
different approaches operate with different points of departure,
such as developmental psychology, the basic human-needs
approach, comparisons with national net income, the holistic
approach (the deprivation of jobs, an income, etc.), the substanceneeds approach (the deprivation of food, clothing, housing, etc.,
representing the most basic needs) and the capabilities approach.
According to August, the capabilities approach holds a great
deal of promise, as it is assets-based. It works with the point
of departure that every individual and every community have
basic assets. Assets in this context refer to capabilities, talents or
potential that need to be unlocked or developed. The need for a
catalyst to develop the assets of people suffering from poverty
offers an immense opportunity to the church.
An interesting and most important perspective was added to
the above by Breed, who referred to the category of ‘indigent
poverty’. From Constitutional laws, he quoted ‘indigent’ to
mean ‘lacking the necessities of life’, which includes matters such
as sufficient water, basic sanitation, refuse removal in denser
settlements, environmental health, basic energy resources,
health care, housing, food and clothing. The quote concludes:
‘Anyone who does not have access to these goods and services
is considered indigent'. Many of the local governments in our
country have such policies in place, yet the situation of poverty
seems to worsen.
For the researcher, it is evident that the many contexts, aspects
and variables of the phenomenon of poverty should be
investigated and described to put in place at least a workable
concept to operate with in dealing with poverty. It is envisaged
that the ongoing research will focus primarily on a contextual
understanding of poverty, rather than attempting to give a fixed
definition. This could include the context of HIV and AIDS and
Paradigms influence economic policies that have an effect on the
creation or stimulation of poverty. The implication of this point
of departure is that the broader research project should take
note of economic policies and their influence on poverty. Louw
preferred the term ‘pastoral philosophy’ to indicate the need for
a critical analysis of ideologies that determines people’s destiny
and quality of life. August not only agreed but also expressed his
conviction more prolifically. Referring to publications by Perlas
(2000), Duchtrow (1998), Nurenberger (1999), Todaro (1991) and
Castels (1996; 1997), he was adamant that the extensive research
should take note of world ideologies that influence economic
policies as reflected in World Bank activities, UNESCO and the
G8.
The need to contextualise the problem of poverty does, of
course, imply that relevant South African policies should also
be scrutinised. In answer to the question of political influences
in the enhancement of a culture of poverty, Vos was of the
opinion that a critical evaluation of the history of South Africa
would be an indispensable exercise. Governmental policies of
the past (apartheid) and the present (affirmative action) have
had a marked influence on the creation of a culture of poverty.
Van Niekerk openly rejected affirmative action as a means to
combat poverty and preferred broad-based black economic
empowerment as the only just and effective alternative. Vos,
who found affirmative action acceptable only on the condition
that it be applied in such a manner that particular groups would
not automatically be disadvantaged, concurred with this.
From these remarks, it should be clear that we must learn
from history so that the mistakes of the past are not continued
or repeated. Coetzee, however, expressed concern for the fact
that, despite the new policies of our democratically elected
government, there is no marked improvement in the alleviation
of poverty. This troublesome picture is further darkened by
the fact that greater investment since 1994 and the creation of
job opportunities for skilled workers (non-skilled workers do
not benefit much) are not having any significant impact on the
worsening situation of poverty in our country. The levels of
poverty have, in fact, been inhibited by only 2–3% up to now. In
critical reflection, Coetzee was alarmed by the inability for social
and economic sustainability to be upheld and identified matters
that contribute to the worsening situation in our country. The
serious deterioration in basic service by local governments,
systems and structures, which have come under serious
pressure, and the loss of knowledge and skills via emigration are
all contributing factors that weaken efforts to combat poverty.
Article #180
• extreme poverty, where the income per person is $1 per
day;
• moderate poverty, where the income per person is $2 per
day; and
• relative poverty, where only the basic needs for survival are
found.
Political and economic ideologies
Verbum et Ecclesia
In the same vein, Coetzee stressed the need to develop and
enhance entrepreneurial abilities by developing latent skills
and talents. Mentorship programmes could be the working
agent for such actions of empowerment. This poses an urgent
challenge to Christian leadership. The leaders of congregations
should identify and utilise the great variety of knowledge and
skills in their congregations and involve their congregants in
such mentorship programmes. Many members of any given
congregation would be eager and more than willing to help if
they were only asked. Coetzee was convinced that the apparent
lack of interest in congregation members to be involved could
be ascribed primarily to the fact that the members with skills
are never asked to be involved, thus rendering their skills,
knowledge and capabilities lost to the church and to the world.
Although Breed defined poverty within its many contexts and
considered the many variables causing or influencing poverty,
such as disease, insufficient infrastructure and natural disasters,
in the final analysis, ‘poverty is poverty’ and it needs to be
addressed. In this regard, Breed referred to the introduction to
the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa, Act 108 of 1996,
stating that it is the responsibility of this constitution to improve
the quality of life of all citizens and to unlock the potential of all
people. Breed also referred to the three indicators for poverty
given by the World Bank, namely
its relatedness to poverty (Magezi 2007:39), cultural world views
(Magezi 2007:31–38) and political and economic ideologies. In
this regard, the research will focus primarily on the context of
South Africa, while the broader context of world views, politics
and economy will inevitably have to be considered.
Added to this, Van Niekerk was of the opinion that the policies
that the democratic government has applied since 1994 could
have a more positive result were it not for the fact that these laws
have created a spirituality of indifference. People now feel that
poverty is the responsibility of the government and that it is no
longer their problem. They have consequently started to focus
on enriching themselves. Sadly, people enriching themselves at
the cost of the poor do not realise that a worsening scenario of
poverty in the country will inevitably catch up with them and
that they, too, will suffer.
Furthermore, Coetzee quoted his mentor, Prof. Sadi, saying that
any country with an unemployment rate of 6% or more could be
considered to be in trouble. South Africa already finds itself in
this position, while the unemployment rate in Europe has risen
to 5%. This situation is doomed to worsen. At the time of the
conversation with Coetzee, on 27 January 2009, the Business Day
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Janse van Rensburg
was reported to calculate that 310 000 workers would probably
be laid off during 2009. Coetzee pointed out that this is only the
beginning, since a worsening of economic dispensations could
lead to more job losses. According to economists, an economic
recession comes in three phases. South Africa (at the time of the
conversation) was experiencing only the first phase!
Although it makes perfect academic sense to revisit our history,
it is not a simple matter to deal with. It should be remembered
that the theme of economic ideologies and development does not
fall within the boundaries of theology; neither do we have the
knowledge to assess the consequences. In an interdisciplinary
approach, the results of such economic policies and ideologies
should be interpreted from the perspective of theology in general
and of pastoral counselling in particular. A meta-theoretical
approach to research in practical theology is well within the
research methodology chosen for the extensive research.
All these views on political and economic ideologies have such
exciting potential, yet it remains an immense challenge to the
church to respect boundaries and to remain true to the very nature
of the church. Vos added another dimension to the problem by
warning that such investigation of history should be careful not
to give the impression of siding with particular political agendas
or with the ideologies of particular labour unions.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #180
Role of the church
A link between information on economic development and
on poverty, on the one hand, and the opportunities offered by
pastoral counselling to participate in this field of empowerment,
on the other hand, has to be found. According to Breed, such
bridging developmental agencies (and structures) do exist; the
Gauteng Developmental Agency and the Industrial Development
Corporation1 are but two of these. The church, however, has
neglected the theme of poverty in its preaching, according to Vos,
while important biblical concepts, such as sjalom and tzedekia, as
vehicles for making congregation members aware of the many
challenges of poverty have been left untouched.
The question on the role that the church could play in fighting
poverty was answered dialectically by Breed. He asked whether
‘church’ in the question should not be substituted by ‘society’.
This could give the impression that it is not the church’s
responsibility – which is clearly not what he meant, since he
was referring to the biblical principles that form the basis of the
church’s responsibility. What was meant is that, since the church
does not have all the infrastructure to be effective in its plight to
help to combat poverty, it would have to liaise with society and
existing infrastructure to make its efforts more effective, a point
reiterated by the other participants in the research.
This means active involvement with society; getting hands
dirty, metaphorically speaking. The culture of caring from a
distance by merely giving money should be changed and church
members should be encouraged and trained to be actively
involved. August described the church as ‘wounded healer’ and
referred to the example of Christ becoming a servant (Phlp 2).
He quoted Burkey (1996) in this regard: ‘Go to the people, live
with them, love them, learn from them, work with them, start
with what they have, and build on what they know’.
When poverty is given a face, the need and the urgency will ring
clear in the minds and hearts of church members (Vos). More
publicity should be given to both needs and actions to create
greater awareness, Breed felt. When this awareness sets in,
careful planning should be done to prevent the duplication of
sustaining efforts, which Breed felt was already happening all
too often.
A narrative approach could help us to establish solidarity with
the plight of the poor (Coetzee). Where structures for addressing
1.A special unit for the purpose of generating funds for projects.
the many needs of poverty do not exist, the church should
take the initiative by starting such structures and projects. This
implies the need for a ‘public theology’, which could also be
described as a missional diaconia, said Vos. Breed refers to the
moral fabric of society to empower the rich to help the poor and
the poor to sustain the poor, help being offered across cultural
boundaries. Some local governments, such as the Emthanjeni
Municipality (De Aar, Hanover and Britstown), have made large
areas available for agricultural and subsistence purposes for the
poor, known as Commonage Projects and comparable with the
so-called Green Revolution in India, said Breed.
This concurs with Coetzee’s view, who urged the church and its
members to become actively involved in the activities of existing
structures to make a significant contribution. In the words of
Magezi, apathy should be changed to empathy (Magezi 2007:8).
Coetzee stressed the point that the church simply does not
have the ability to make a marked difference on its own, since
the inherent problems precipitating and feeding poverty are
multidimensional. There is so much that the church could do,
however, in terms of education, training and so on, if the leaders
and members of the church were to seize the opportunity
to work together with existing organisations and structures.
Synergy with local government is essential. According to
Coetzee, this could include the improvement of services, such
as the availability of clean water, effective sanitation and the
creation of job opportunities. Regarding the last-mentioned,
Coetzee considered the possibility of involving poor people
in public services, such as building and repairing roads and
building houses.
It seems as though there is a perfect opportunity for the church
to respond to the need of the moment, to rise to the occasion,
so to speak. Van Niekerk referred to research being done by
Blair (2005) on poverty in Africa, where it has been found that
the people of Africa are disillusioned with political ideologies
and structures and no longer believe that politicians can save
them from poverty. They are therefore turning to religion and
the church to find hope and help again. If this assumption is
correct, then the time for the church to become relevant and
become a major role-player has never been better. If this is to
happen, however, the church will have to change its strategy.
According to Van Niekerk, dialogue within the church is not
effective enough. Congregations should be motivated to engage
in meaningful discourse by listening to narratives from the poor
community in order to understand the urgent need. Only then
will the church be empowered and motivated to become a partner
with poor communities to strategise joint efforts in combating a
common enemy. In order to do this, the church should engage
in discourses on an alternative lifestyle, thereby addressing the
restless pursuit of wealth and luxury; the destructive forces of a
consumer’s mentality should be exchanged for a sober Christian
lifestyle.
Reviewing and assessing the participatory action
research
The marked characteristic of this research is that the points of
view of the different participators not only agree in all major
aspects but also interrelate with each other to such an extent
that theories are extended, thus enabling the development
or extension of basis and practical theories. Revisiting the
convictions expressed, the following brief conclusions are
made in view of the continuation of the broad research that is
to follow:
Defining poverty
Although it is important to profile the major concepts in this
research, it seems to be a futile pursuit to try to define poverty. All
the participants agreed that poverty has too many faces, causes
and consequences to try and capture it all in one definition. Louw
illustrated this very effectively by explaining that a conversation
with a so-called bergie (an alcoholic who begs for money and
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Context of the research
Humaneness (ubuntu) as goal
The context of the planned research will be Africa in general and
South Africa in particular. It is not, of course, possible to isolate
the poverty in Africa from the poverty in the rest of the world.
There are too many common denominators in the phenomenon
to limit the research to the relevant literature and issues of
Africa. Perlas (2000) explained the context of globalisation and
the phrase ‘global and local’ has developed into the coining of
the word ‘glocal’. And, indeed, much can be learnt from other
contexts and what is being done in those situations. When Louw,
for example, referred to the terrible situation in India, he used
Mother Teresa as an example of a humanitarian approach to
be followed; she did not merely work with some action plan to
combat poverty but she went to the people merely to be with
them. The impact of this example is well known throughout the
world, and not taking notice of such lessons would leave the
research all the poorer. There must be many other lessons that
we can learn from.
Besides agreeing on the prophetic task, all the participants also
agreed that the church has a significant and indispensable role
to play in changing the destiny of people. The early work of
the systematic theologian Lehmann is very relevant here. He
described the task of Christian ethics as ‘making and keeping
human life human’. This has definite political implications for
the church: ‘In the koinonia the will of God is no pious platitude
but a clear and concrete matter of politics. In short, “the God of
the Church” is “the God of politics”’ (Lehmann 1976:82). August
was therefore correct in identifying the focus of the church as
human centredness (or humaneness). The important work by
August (2005) dealt directly with this issue and will be the first
to be consulted in further work. I am particularly interested in
the consequences of August’s point of view in that the peoplefirst approach implies that respect for the culture of the people
to be helped is extremely important. An approach that merely
criticises and subsequently breaks down third-world culture
would be unproductive, since it would be viewed by certain
cultures as insensitive, arrogant and unacceptable. Louw
likewise spoke of community pastoral care. He identified the
task of the church as God-founded and human-centred, using
the terms ‘centripetal’ and ‘centrifugal’ to illustrate the principle
(Louw 1997:89). He emphasised the principle of hope and saw
the church as the conveyer of such hope. Although he did not
really make an issue of the principle of hope in the hour-long
discussion, he is renowned for his eschatological proprium for
pastoral care. August concurred with Louw, explaining in the
same vein as Louw’s eschatology that both the eternal and the
earthly consequences of God’s Kingdom should be included in
the principle of hope, covering both the here and now of the
manifestations of the Kingdom to be pursued by the church
and the ‘not yet’ of things to come. Eschatology and hope will
therefore play a predominant role in the theological basis theory
for pastoral care and poverty. In this regard, I am excited about
August’s remark that a theology of hope would lead to the
courage to be, thus precipitating the will to take up personal
responsibility.
Paradigms and ideologies
One of the most daunting tasks of the research seems to be the
understanding of paradigms and ideologies in the precipitation
and worsening of poverty. Louw’s concept of a pastoral
philosophy is relevant here. It has been clearly illustrated how
political agendas have influenced destructive processes in the
South African context. Research of this nature, taking a pastoral
theological point of departure, could hardly be informed enough
to evaluate political programmes. Furthermore, an approach that
does not respect the boundaries of different disciplines could
easily go astray and lose its theological character. However,
this does not mean that the matter of ideologies and paradigms
is out of bounds. Theology in general and practical theology
in particular could and indeed should be able to evaluate
such matters in terms of their effect on societies, cultures
and individuals. Using an interdisciplinary approach, the
knowledge of experts in their own field will therefore be used.
All the participants agreed that a study without attending to the
matter of paradigms and ideologies would render such research
irrelevant and fruitless. The warning that we should be careful
not to side with particular political parties will also be heeded
but the need to be just but radical in evaluating policies will have
to be pursued vigorously. This brings us to the next marker for
the research.
Prophetic task of the church
For too long, the church has not contributed enough in terms
of combating poverty. Many churches, for example, remained
silent when they should have spoken out against the atrocities
of apartheid. The church (including all denominations) certainly
did much to alleviate the suffering of the poor but this was
more focused on Christian charity and not really on substantial
and structural efforts to combat poverty. Furthermore, where
significant efforts came from individual theologians and
researchers, they did not always receive attention from the
church. I am of the opinion that the prophetic task of the church
should function much more in the current political and social
Article #180
dispensation of South Africa. The radical condemnation of king
and country during the times of the prophets should again be
bravely pursued. Isaiah and Amos (to mention but two) did
not refrain from relating unjust conduct towards the poor and
the marginalised with a rejection of God’s compassion. God’s
wrath and judgement were proclaimed. This could, of course,
precipitate the wrath of political and even church leaders but
the urgency of the matter demands nothing less. Examples
to be followed do exist (such as in Theron’s report). August’s
understanding of a pastoral anthropology, including the matter
of sin and the responsibility to reprimand when needed, could
be seen as part of the prophetic task. In many cases, there are
indeed links between people’s situation of poverty and the sinful
lifestyle that influences that situation. Such examples should be
investigated and pastoral remedies should be pursued.
Verbum et Ecclesia
food) is totally different from a conversation with an empowered
and learned person who has lost her or his job because of
retrenchment. Efforts to describe poverty from different
vantage points, as illustrated by Davids et al. (2005), seem to be
troublesome in themselves, since they could end up describing
causes, effects or remedies (in other words, the capabilities
approach) rather than working towards a definition. Although
these are all extremely important in dealing with poverty and
will most definitely be examined in the future research, this
would be in an attempt to describe and analyse poverty rather
than defining it. In this regard, the most important determining
factor should probably be the many different contexts within
which poverty develops and thrives. Understanding the context
helps to understand the nature of poverty for those particular
sufferers in that particular situation.
Holistic approach
If the church is to play this designated role, a shift in paradigm
is needed. The church will have to see its task within a much
broader responsibility than merely adhering to preaching and
traditional pastoral care for the poor. I have found immense
inspiration from the views expressed by the participants on
practical ways to be involved in order to make a difference.
These include using existing structures both within and outside
the church, creating structures where they do not exist, liaising
with government and undertaking interdenominational actions.
It is clear and it has been emphasised that the church will not be
able to be a significant role-player on its own. This is probably
one of the major reasons why efforts by the church in the past
have not nearly been as successful as hoped. In this regard, I
was impressed by the finding of Blair (2005) that poor people
are disillusioned by politicians and policies and are now turning
to the church for hope and help. This offers both a unique
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Janse van Rensburg
opportunity – not to be missed again – and an immense challenge
to the church. While revisiting these examples of the many
possibilities offered to the church, I could not help but wonder if
the move of some congregations from a denominational link to a
community-based church was influenced by the insight of their
church leaders into the charge of the church and what is urgently
needed to facilitate this. The motives and functioning of such
community churches will therefore be investigated in order to
learn from them. Does such a move, for example, open up more
possibilities for funding and support from the private sector,
since it is possible that organisations in the private sector would
be hesitant to support one particular denomination? I am also
aware of other church projects and publications similar to those
of Burger, Meiring, Van Niekerk and Wepener (2005; see also
BUVTON 2002; Nel 2006). Such publications will be thoroughly
scrutinised for possible markers in methodology and results.
Empowerment
Verbum et Ecclesia
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The driving force behind the church’s involvement would be
primarily the need for empowerment. Since this term is loaded
with political intention and many congregation members
instinctively resent the political connotation to a theology of
revolution, a clear understanding of what is understood by
empowerment within the context of the church’s action would
be necessary. Some of the participants in this research used
alternative words, such as mentorship, leadership and the
church acting as catalyst for processes of change and healing.
I believe in the matter of empowerment, with its many
possibilities of being at the core of the church’s responsibilities.
This need was again imprinted on my mind when one of the
participants in a discussion on poverty for Radio Pulpit rejected
research on poverty outright, saying that there is no more time
for research. Instead, she identified the church’s responsibility as
giving hand-outs of bread and milk.
This probably reflects the lack of knowledge and understanding
of the problem of poverty as the most threatening aspect
jeopardising the efforts of the church. Without structured actions
of empowerment to help people to overcome their predicament,
we would simply lose face and effectiveness if we adhere merely
to handouts. Of course, as Van Niekerk warned, such financial
aid, food supply and material support should not be stopped but
rather increased. At this stage, however, given the seriousness
and urgency of the problem, we need to look further and dig
deeper, not only to find means and create structures but also to
work towards preventative action.
This makes the church’s responsibility so much more daunting.
In this regard, I feel the need to investigate ways and means of
effective empowerment in order to prevent what Breed referred
to as ineffective training, leaving trained people in a state of
unawareness of their potential and capabilities. This means that
training fails to empower people to apply their training to their
personal needs and context and to better their capabilities and
circumstances.
Personal involvement
Since much has been made of the need to be personally involved
with the plight of the poor and since the narratives of sufferers
have been identified as a medium to achieve this, it is envisaged
that a qualitative cross-section analysis would be one of the
much-needed projects for the future research. Careful planning
and the possible limiting of the cross-section choice, however,
would be indispensable in attaining some cohesion. After all,
there are so many thousands of sufferers. How do you choose
a cross-section and according to which guidelines? The goals of
this type of research will therefore have to be identified carefully
to prevent an unsystematic parading of sufferers.
Extended view of pastoral care and counselling
All the comments on the nature of poverty necessitate an
extension of perceptions on pastoral care. In this regard, the
question of whether we can afford the luxury of clinging to fixed
definitions of pastoral care, counselling and therapy arises. If the
church is to be an effective agent of hope, not just for eternal life
but also for this life (Coetzee), and if pastoral care is to be seen
as an agent of hope within the context of the Kingdom of God,
we will most definitely have to revisit our own ideologies and
methodologies. In this regard, Van Niekerk championed a more
pragmatic approach. Congregations will have to be empowered
to analyse social patterns within a community if they are to
empower the community in turn. This includes the responsibility
not just to focus on trying to break the vicious cycle of violence
but also to take prophylactic measures. Children’s nursery
schools could, for example, be a point of departure to inform,
motivate and train children to become aware of the possibilities
of a better life, according to Van Niekerk.
The traditional understanding of pastoral counselling will
therefore have to be revisited, for we can no longer adhere to
the basics of pastoral counselling (care, counselling and therapy)
if we are to be involved significantly in searching for effective
strategies to combat poverty. The view of De Klerk (1978) that
we need to make a distinction between Christian charity and
pastoral care is theologically correct. It is, however, a theoretical
distinction that, in the past, has caused an unacceptable divide
between the two theological disciplines. It offers a luxury that we
can no longer afford. Further investigation is envisaged, which
would have to include the implications of the definition given to
pastoral counselling by exponents such as Hiltner, Heitink and
Louw.
Magezi (2007:3) expressed the same sentiments: ‘In order to
provide a support system to people suffering from HIV/AIDS
within a poor community setting, the pastoral ministry should
move away from a very sophisticated counseling room approach
to a congregational systems approach, which is focused not only
on the congregation but also on the needs, pain and suffering
of the community and society’. Van Niekerk likewise wanted
pastoral counselling to go further than spiritual counselling.
Pastoral advice could include the sharing of knowledge and
skills, fund-raising and liaising with existing networks. This
matter will receive extensive attention in the research article on
pastoral care and poverty that is to follow.
Psychological dimensions of poverty
From the moment that I started researching the phenomenon of
poverty, I was interested in the psychological aspects of suffering
within a poverty-stricken context. Myers (1999:100–101) used
the term ‘entrapment’ to indicate the many aspects contributing
to a situation without apparent escape. The psychological
aspect seems to be one of the most important. When asking the
participants about this, my anticipation about this matter was
confirmed. Aspects that came to the fore were the psychological
influences on personality within a poverty-stricken context, the
possibility of low self-esteem and the consequent drawbacks, and
the preconditioning to accept the situation of poverty passively,
giving up all hope and relinquishing all effort to change one’s
destiny. I anticipate that this aspect will be an important one
to focus on and that a separate article will be needed to attend
to this matter, again not from a perspective of psychology (this
has already been done by other researchers, such as Carr &
Shoan [2003]) but from a perspective of pastoral theology. What
can the pastoral counsellor offer to assist people with such a
psychological drawback? Can pastoral care and counselling
develop inner healing and stimulate an internal (endogenous)
process of personal growth and confidence? The work by Castels
(1997) will be relevant in this regard. This brings us to another
matter.
Pastoral anthropology
Revisiting the contributions of the participants, the importance of
pastoral anthropology came under discussion as an indispensable
part of a basis theory for pastoral care and poverty. This theme
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is such a core issue in the pastoral theology of Louw that he
dedicated a large part of his many publications to this issue
(1997; 1999; 2005; 2008). In my own approach, I am particularly
interested in the link and interaction between anthropology and
Christology. I refer not merely to a Christ-centred approach, as
does August, or to a Trinitarian approach (Burkey 1996:38) but
intend to investigate the pastoral implications of Christology
for anthropology in general and for the poverty-stricken man
in particular, giving attention to aspects such as the kenosis
of Christ and the relevant issues of solidarity, compassion,
salvation and healing, which can be derived from this. Also, the
point of departure of Clinebell, as seen in John 10:10 (1987:51),
would naturally be part of such a Christological approach.
An abundant life concurs with what Louw terms ‘existential
meaning in existence’. The contribution of systematic theology
will also be utilised and applied to the pastoral context.
CONCLUSION
The decision to utilise the knowledge and experience of experts in
a participatory action research proved to be a fruitful endeavour.
Many basic issues that will now be thoroughly investigated in
the extensive research project were identified. It is hoped that
the contribution of my specific research from the perspective
of pastoral care and counselling will highlight the theological
dimensions and practical implications left untouched until
now.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
This research is being done with a grant from the National
Research Fund.
PARTICIPANTS IN THE PARTICIPATORY
ACTION RESEARCH
Attie van Niekerk
Prof. Van Niekerk was born on 6 April 1951. He has been
director of the Nova Institute since March 1994 (seconded by
the Transvaal Synods of the NG Church as tent-maker minister),
director of the Institute for Missiological and Ecumenical
Research and a part-time senior lecturer in the Department of
Religion and Missiology at the University of Pretoria. The Nova
Institute focuses on research and development with the aim of
finding solutions to improve the quality of life of low-income
households in the African context. It works closely with churches
but also with industry and government departments.
Daniël Louw
Prof. Louw is responsible for Practical Theology in general and
Pastoral Theology and Counselling in particular at Stellenbosch
University. He was part of a research team and was project
researcher on the theme of poverty. This research culminated
in a publication on poverty. He also contributed to a research
publication on poverty, Poverty, suffering and HIV-AIDS (Couture,
Millert & McLemore 2003) by the International Academy for
Practical Theology. He is an acknowledged researcher of high
standard.
Article #180
ADDENDUM A
Verbum et Ecclesia
REFERENCES
August, K.T., 2005, The quest for being public church, Moravian
Printing Works, Cape Town.
Babbie, E., 1998, The practice of social research, Wadsworth
Publishing Co., Albany.
Blair, T., 2005, Commission for Africa. Our common interest.
An argument. Report of the Commission for Africa. Penguin
Books, London.
Bothma, J.D., 2003, ‘Pastorale terapie met die MIV/VIGS
geaffekteerde familie: ‘n Narratiewe benadering’, Doctoral
dissertation, University of the Free State, Bloemfontein.
Burger, C., Meiring, L., Van Niekerk, A. & Wepener, C., 2005,
Waar die kerk werk, Lux Verbi, Wellington.
Burkey, S., 1996, People first, Zed Books, London.
BUVTON, 2002, Raak betrokke by armoede. ‘n Handleiding vir
gemeentes en kleingroepe, Lux Verbi, Paarl.
Carr, S.C. & Shoan, T.S., 2003, Poverty and psychology, Kluwer
Academic, New York.
Castels, M., 1996, The rise of network society, Blackwell, Oxford.
Castels, M., 1997, The power of identity, Blackwell, Oxford.
Clinebell, H., 1987, Basic types of pastoral care and counseling,
Abingdon Press, Nashville.
Couture, P.D., 2003, Poverty, suffering and HIV-Aids, Cardiff
Academic Press, Cardiff.
Davids, I., Theron, F. & Maphunye, K.J., 2005, Participatory
development in South Africa, Van Schaik, Pretoria.
De Klerk, J.J., 1978, Herderkunde, NG Kerkboekhandel, Pretoria.
Duchtrow, U., 1998, Alternatives to global capitalism, Kairos/
Kaiser Verlag, Heidelberg.
Lehmann, P.L., 1976, Ethics in a Christian context, Harper & Row,
New York.
Louw, D.J., 1997, Pastoraat as vertolking en ontmoeting, Lux Verbi,
Kaapstad.
Louw, D.J., 1999, A mature faith. Spiritual direction and anthropology
in a theology of pastoral care and counseling. Theological &
pastoral monographs 25, Peeters Press, Louvain.
Louw, D.J., 2005, Ratwerke van die menslike siel. Oor volwassenheid
en lewensvaardighede, Stellenbosch University Press,
Stellenbosch.
Louw, D.J., 2008, Cura Vitae. Illness and the healing of life, Lux
Verbi, Wellington.
Magezi, V., 2007, HIV/AIDS. Poverty and pastoral care and
counseling, Stellenbosch University Press, Stellenbosch.
Mouton, J., 1988, ‘The philosophy of qualitative research’, in
M. Ferreira & J. Mouton, Introduction to qualitative research,
Module 3, pp. 1–16, Human Sciences Research Council,
Pretoria.
Mouton, J. & Marais, H.C., 1989, Metodologie van die
geesteswetenskappe: Basiese begrippe, J.C. Insto-Print, Pretoria.
Myers, B.L., 1999, Walking with the poor, Orbis Books, New York.
Nel, M., 2006, Stories van hoop, Christelike Uitgewers Maatskappy,
Vereeniging.
Nurenberger, K., 1999, Prosperity, poverty and pollution, Zed
Books Ltd, London.
Perlas, N., 2000, Shaping globalization, Falcon Press, Cape Town.
Smith, K.G., 2008, Academic writing and theological research, S.A.
Theological Seminary Press, Johannesburg.
Todaro, M.P., 1991, Economic development in the Third World,
Longman House, Harlow.
Kallie August
Prof. August is head of the Department of Practical Theology and
Missiology, University of Stellenbosch.. He is also coordinator
of the Division for Theology and Development Studies in the
Department. His doctoral dissertation, Public church studies
(2003), and his knowledge and experience in the field of poverty
have equipped him with amazing skills to make a significant
contribution to the research on poverty.
Cas Vos
Prof. Vos is dean of the Faculty of Theology, University of
Pretoria. He is an established and acknowledged researcher, with
many academic accolades, and a leader in the field of research
in practical theology. Of particular interest are his contribution
towards determining the theme of hope in preaching during
the world conference of the Societas Homiletica in South Africa
and his contribution to the resulting publication under the title
Preaching as a language of hope (Vos, Hogan & Cilliers 2007).
Stef Coetzee
Prof. Coetzee completed an MA (1974) and DPhil (1980) in
economics. He also completed the Strategic Leadership Program
Original Research
Janse van Rensburg
at Templeton College, Oxford, in 2000. His career can be divided
into four phases:
Johann Breed
Johann Breed is a local government management consultant for
the Amatenda Group of Companies. He is particularly guided
by the prayer of Psalm 25: 4–5 (a prayer for the guidance of
God) and by existential psychology in general and Viktor E.
Frankl in particular. He is currently busy with research on the
theme ‘Beyond local government’. His focus is local economic
development. He has done extended research in this field and
has had extensive experience, which makes him an important
contributor to the participatory action research.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #180
• He became known as a development economist, first as
an academic at the University of the Free State and the
University of South Africa and then at the Development
Bank of Southern Africa and as head of the Africa Institute
of South Africa.
• In a surprising move to himself, he then entered the field
of higher education as vice-rector responsible for research
development at the then University of Potchefstroom for
Christian Higher Education (1994–1996) and, from 1997 to
2002, as rector and vice-chancellor of the University of the
Free State, where he successfully led transformation and
financial turnaround programmes, for which he received
the Centenary Medal from the University of the Free State
in 2004.
• He used the above-mentioned experience in the third phase
of his career to lecture in change management, leadership and
sustainable business in poor communities at the Stellenbosch
University Business School (USB) (2003–2007), where he
was advisor to the CEO of NEPAD, became director of the
South African Learning Laboratory on doing business at the
bottom of the income pyramid and represented the USB as
member of the Globally Responsible Leadership Initiative.
• This subsequently led to his appointment as executive
director of the Afrikaanse Handelsinstituut (AHI) (an
organised business movement) from 1 October 2007, where
he plays a leadership role in the organised business sector of
SA. The strategic agenda of the AHI includes the base of the
pyramid learning laboratory (in other words, doing business
in poor communities), a black empowerment trust and a
partnership with the Department of Provincial and Local
Government on local government issues and local economic
development.
Original Research
A hermeneutics of sexual identity: A challenge to conservative
religious discourse
Author:
Samuel Hill1
Affiliation:
1
University of Johannesburg,
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Samuel Hill
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
99 Railway St., Mayfair,
Johannesburg, 2092,
South Africa
Keywords:
homogenital acts; queer
theory; Deuteronomistic
history; Jewish national
grand narrative; politics of
survival
at:
Creative Commons
Instead what I do in this article is to address the issue of homosexuality and the Bible from a
hermeneutical perspective. Anthony Thiselton, in his article Can hermeneutics ease the deadlock? Some
Biblical exegesis and hermeneutical models (Thiselton, cited in Bradshaw 2003:145), has attempted to
address the issue of homosexuality and the Bible from a hermeneutical perspective. However, in
my opinion he does so unsatisfactorily in that he fails to take seriously the historical and linguistic
situatedness of certain words or concepts with regard to this debate. For instance, he insists that the
apostle Paul knew of ‘homosexuality’ (Thiselton, cited in Bradshaw 2003:188), which is clearly to
commit an anachronistic fallacy with regard to the modern-day concept of homosexual (Stone 2001:24;
Weeks 2000:24–25), as such a concept cannot be said to occur in the Bible. Therefore, what I argue, using
hermeneutical insights, is that, while the Bible does condemn homogenital acts, it does not condemn
homosexuality. Furthermore, I argue that such condemnation of homogenital acts takes place in the
context of a politics of survival. In the course of my argument, using the insights of queer theory, I
shall be looking at ‘sexual identity as [SH] a fiction’ (Weeks 2000:192). The ‘necessity’ of this fiction
will be seen in the context of what is known as Deuteronomistic history. My argument will thus result
in the question of whether it is legitimate to use laws (such as in Leviticus 18 and 20) regarding sexual
conduct that were forged in a context of survival to determine normative principles for sexuality in our
contemporary 21st-century context.
Article #92
Hill, S., 2009, ‘A
hermeneutics of sexual
identity: A challenge to
conservative religious
discourse’, Verbum et Ecclesia
30(2), Art. #92, 6 pages. DOI:
10.4102/ve.v30i2.92
INTRODUCTION
In what can be called the ‘gay-debate’ (Punt 2007:965) there is tension between two extremes around
which the controversy concerning homosexuality and the Bible revolve. This tension can be expressed
in terms of an ‘essentialist’ school of thought versus a ‘constructionist’ school of thought (Weeks 2000:
130) or, to put it another way, a distinction is made between ‘chromosomally determined sex [as
opposed to – SH] culturally constructed gender’ (Andrew Parker, cited in Warner 1993:20). Much of
the literature in the gay debate over the past decade or so has already covered this ground, so much so
that it would be superfluous for me even to attempt to give a brief survey of such current literature.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
Received: 02 Sept. 2008
ABSTRACT
I argue that since two significant periods (that form part of what is called ‘Deuteronomistic
history’) in the history of the Jews contributed to the development of the Biblical narrative in the
format that we have it in today, it can be said that what we have in the Old Testament is really
a Jewish national grand narrative. As such, part of the function of this text is to create a strong
national identity for the purpose of a people to survive as a people in a hostile environment.
Understanding the Old Testament (specifically the books Genesis to II Kings) in this way, and using
the insights of the queer theorist Judith Butler with regard to performativity and interpellation,
I demonstrate that the Biblical narrative, while condemning homogenital acts, nevertheless has
limited application when trying to establish normative guidelines around contemporary issues
regarding sexual identity, especially homosexuality, since laws and attitudes that are seen to
proscribe homogenital activity arose in a context of a politics of survival.
QUEER THEORY
To begin with, Teresa de Lauretis coined the term ‘queer theory’ in 1990 (Talburt & Steinberg 2000:16).
Etymologically, the word queer means across (Talburt & Steinberg 2000:3). Queer theory (and by
extension queer theology) engages in the ‘crossing of borders’ (Althaus-Reid 2003: 50). Queer theory
challenges the very concept of ‘normal’ (Thiem 2007:469; Warner 1993:xxvi), and as such it questions
the identity categories such as ‘heterosexual’ or ‘homosexual’, ‘male’ or ‘female’ (Pilcher & Whelehan
2004:129; Tate 2007:293), as well as notions of what constitute legitimate ethnic boundaries (Stone
2001:22).1 Such questioning includes the very notion of essential sexual characteristics or ‘essences’
(Dreyer 2006:162) or ideas about ‘gender cores’ (Butler 2004:42; Talburt & Steinberg 2000:21).
Furthermore, queer theory focuses its efforts on the seemingly natural binary relationships (such as
male and female) to explore the implicit or unspoken interdependencies that exist in such binary
relationships (Stone 2001:26). In terms of sexuality, queer theory can be said in one instance to be
leaning on Simone de Beauvoir’s idea that ‘one is not born a woman but becomes one’ (Butler 2004:65).
In other words, queer theory2 asserts that gender is not something that one is born with, but something
that one grows into or is acculturated into. Queer theory challenges us in terms of how we come to
understand ourselves as sexual individuals in relation to the greater community or culture in which
we find ourselves situated (Stone 2001:22). In exploring the issue of homosexuality and the Bible, I
shall be referring to two concepts that are elaborated on in the works of the prominent queer theorist
Judith Butler (Stone 2001:25), namely performativity and interpellation.
1.The importance of queer theory’s questioning of ethnic boundaries will become evident as we explore the role that the Bible plays in
creating a Jewish national identity.
2.Queer theory differs from a ‘gay hermeneutics of suspicion’ (Althaus-Reid 2003:81) in that a gay hermeneutics of suspicion tends to
look for heterosexual normativity (or heteronormativity) that is inherent in texts, whereas queer theory seeks to expose inconsistencies
that are presented with regard to sexual binaries in texts (Stone 2001:29).
Original Research
Hill
Performativity
When it comes to the nature of sexuality or gender, Butler asserts
that ‘gender is a complexity whose totality is permanently
deferred’ (Butler 1990:16). One way to understand this statement
is to assert that ‘the body is not naturally “sexed”’ (Spargo
1999:55). In other words, sex or gender is something that is said
about the body, not something that comes out of or is intrinsic
to the body. If this is the case, how then do we explain gender
and sexuality? Firstly, one can say that ‘gender ought not to be
conceived as a noun or a substantial thing’ (Butler 1990:112). Or
to express it differently, gender can be linguistically understood
or construed, not as a noun, but as a verb (Pilcher & Whelehan
2004:59). In other words, gender, rather than being a ‘naturally’
occurring phenomenon (or object in the world), is a really fluid
socially or culturally constructed reality. Following this line of
reasoning, one can say that ‘we do not behave in certain ways
because [SH] of our gender identity’ (Spargo 1999:56); rather, we
have a certain gender identity because of the way we behave.
Thus, for example, men are men because they behave in a ‘manly’
way; they do not behave in a manly way because they are firstly
‘men’ (or have a pre-existing inherent ‘manly’ essence).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #92
In terms of Butler’s theorising, the ‘gendered subject’ should be
understood as the result of language, rather than the cause of
language. To augment this idea, it can be asserted that identity
categories ‘are in fact the effects [SH] of institutions, practices,
discourses with multiple and diffuse points of origin’ (Butler
1990:74; Pilcher & Whelehan 2004:58). Sexuality or gender
can thus be described as an effect or outcome of language that
is used (Butler 1993:187) in a particular culture or interpretive
community (Plummer 1995:94).3
With regard to the idea that sexuality is an effect rather than a
cause, Butler argues that crucial to and constitutive of sexual
identity formation is the rehearsal of certain norms (Butler
1993:8), so that gender is a ‘stylized repetition of acts’ (Salih
2004:114). In describing gender in terms of ‘performativity’, or
stylisation of acts, Butler is asserting that gender is something
one does, and not something that one is. However, her concept
of performativity is more complex than that, in that Butler is not
reducing our sexuality to coital activity, or ‘mere’ role-playing,
but rather that she is looking at the totality of how we express
ourselves as individuals. So firstly, by describing gender in
terms of performativity, Butler is not asserting that gender is
something that is freely chosen, so that one can say, ‘I choose
to be gay’, or ‘I choose to be heterosexual’. Rather, gender is
something that we are ‘born’ into, not in the sense that we are
genetically predetermined as a particular gender, but in the
sense that the culture that we are born into ‘determines’, through
its own pre-existing systems of signification or language, the
gender that we are (or ‘have’).4 The significant crux of gender
as performativity is that Butler is asserting that gender takes on
its meaning in terms of language. Language not only determines
the meaning of gender, but language itself is constitutive of
gendered persons. Another way to put it is to say that, when we
are born, the language of our natal community already exists,
and thus certain notions or ideas of gender already pre-exist
us, so that at birth we are simply placed in a ‘position’ within
that system of linguistic signification, or verbal meaning, of
language (Butler 2004:46). Our position or gender on the level
of language alone then becomes determined by our linguistic
situatedness (or genderedness) in relation to other words or
3.‘Interpretive communities’ is a concept that Ken Plummer develops in his book Telling
sexual stories. Power, change and social worlds (1995). Interpretive communities
are communities that develop around people sharing the same experiences (political
and sexual) with regard to identity issues. As a result, these communities develop
common vocabularies with which to articulate and make sense of their experiences
(Plummer 1995:94). In this way, interpretive communities provide individuals
within those communities with a ‘vocabulary of values’ (Weeks 2000:181). Such
vocabularies may include concepts like homosexual or heterosexual.
4.A typical example of such early gender enculturation in our Westernised society
is the attitude or belief that baby boys should wear blue clothing, while baby girls
should wear pink clothing, or that young boys should play with guns and toy truck,
and young girls with dolls and tea sets.
linguistic signifiers. Thus what we do, and the way we behave,
are interpreted or understood by our pre-established position or
positionality within language that we come to ‘inherit’ as a result
of society associating certain body parts (or secondary sexual
characteristics such as genitalia and body hair) with certain
linguistic categories.
But with regard to this ‘linguistification’ of reality, a significant
ramification is that language itself is not static, so that our
positionality within the language structures that we find
ourselves inhabiting is not indelible. In other words, the meaning
of gender surrounding our bodies, which we have come to
inherit, is not necessarily permanently tied to us throughout
our lives. Not only is it possible for a man5 to come to have a
different understanding of his genderedness or sexuality the
older he becomes (as is the case with the ‘coming out’ experience
of many gay men), but it is also possible that, on a cultural level,
ideas concerning the expression of gender or sexuality can and
do change. Thus, in terms of Butler’s theory of performativity,
gender is not seen as a biological absolute, but something that
can be changed or expressed differently. To demonstrate that
gender is not something that we are essentially born with, Butler
is able to use the idea, or parody, of drag (Butler 2004:216), to
assert that these ‘positions’ of gender within language can be
challenged (Comstock & Henking 1999:195).6 Thus men (in drag)
wearing women’s clothing is not only visually contentious, but
challenges on a profound level our notions of maleness and
femaleness. This is because these men in drag are not only
wearing ‘women’s’ clothes; they are also behaving differently
from culturally assumed norms with regard to male or masculine
conduct.
In the above line of reasoning, Butler uses Nietzsche’s insight
that ‘there is no “being” behind doing, acting, becoming; the
“doer” is merely a fiction imposed on the doing – the doing
itself is everything’ (Salih 2004:91); in other words, ‘the psyche
[or gender – SH] is not in the body, but in the very signifying
process [SH] through which that body comes to appear’ (Salih
2004:134). Thus, to reiterate, there is no subject behind the
doing, the doing itself constitutes the subject (Salih 2004:130),
so that it can be said that gender, if subject to change, can be
described as an open-ended process in that it has no fixed
‘origin’, nor has it any clear destiny (Salih 2004:90). This is
because, ‘sexuality always exceeds any given performance’
(Salih 2004:131), due to the fact that no one person is ever the
‘perfect’ male or the ‘perfect’ female (Ruse 1988:9), so that ‘the
norm [of heterosexuality or even homosexuality – SH] cannot be
reduced to any of its instances … neither can the norm be fully
extricated from its instantiations’ (Butler 2004:52). However,
what is it that constitutes the norm? If gender is ‘just’ a matter of
performativity or linguistic positionality, why then does it seem
like our genders or sexual orientation constitute so much of who
and what we are (Comstock & Henking 1999:196)? What can be
said to be the web or matrix comprising the relationality in which
gender as a term finds itself implicated or entwined? To answer
this question we will look at Butler’s development of the concept
of interpellation, and the role that Deuteronomistic history plays
in gender identification in terms of the Biblical narrative.
5.At this point I would like to make the reader aware that the discussion and use
of Judith Butler’s queer theory (in terms of performativity and interpellation) is
androcentric, in that I apply her theory specifically to male homosexuality. There
are at least two reasons for this. Firstly, the Old Testament texts that I refer to are
themselves very androcentric, being created by an essentially patriarchal society of
conservative male Jewish priests. Thus, when it comes to the issue of homogenital
acts, the focus of the texts is on penetration or male sexual activity (Greenberg
2004:85). Secondly, due to the focus being so much on male sexual activity, it can
be argued that lesbianism is not something that the Old Testament or the Torah texts
themselves address at all (Greenberg 2004:85–86).
6.It can be said that the process of performativity involves the aspect of reiteration
or constant repetition. What is significant with regard to the reiterative aspect of
performativity is that it becomes a sight of potential disruption, or a point of rupture
leading to instability (Burrus 2004:126). One possible reason for this is that, as
everyone knows, no human process of repetition involves exact reduplication. But
with every iterative act comes slight difference. This introduction of difference is one
way to understand how it is possible for Butler to argue that, intrinsic to the linguistic
understanding of genderedness, is an inherent possibility for change.
Interpellation
This problematic becomes evident in that, through the
interpellative act, ‘identity categories tend to [become – SH]
instruments of regulatory regimes [SH]’ (Salih 2004:121). What this
means is that gender terms, such as ‘gay’ or ‘heterosexual’, are
not simply neutral terms, but, intrinsic to them, have normative
implications (Lance & Tanesini, in Morland & Willox 2005:171),
as they form part of society’s dominant discourse surrounding
sexuality and sexual conduct. This normative implication
can be understood by recalling how gender itself arises out of
particular interpretive communities, as a story that unifies, or
gives ‘cosmic structure’, to common shared experience. In other
words, it is not possible ‘just’ to have sexual intercourse, since
‘there is no sex that is not already gender’ (Salih 2004:91), but
every time that one has sexual intercourse one does or acts as
or from a position of genderedness. Another way to understand
this process is to say that a person conforms to a particular
gender script (Lance & Tanesini, in Morland & Willox 2005:181).
Thus, by being interpellated by another person or one’s culture,
as ‘gay man’ or ‘heterosexual woman’, this in turn creates certain
7.So, for example, heterosexuality is presented as the true reality of nature, while
homosexuality is resented as a perversion or deviance from nature.
It is important to note once again that Butler does not deny
the possibility that, in the construction of gender, there are
possible ‘extra-linguistic’ factors that might contribute to one’s
sexuality (for example genetic factors).8 Indeed, it can be said
that, for Butler, ‘language and materiality are not opposed, for
language both is and refers to that which is material, [but – SH]
what is material never fully escapes from the process by which
it is signified’ (Salih 2004:152). To put it another way, ‘language
and materiality are … chiasmic in their interdependency’ (Salih
2004:153). In other words, there is an area of overlap between
linguistic discourse surrounding sexuality and the biological
realities underlying sexual orientation.
The significance of the concepts of performativity and
interpellation will become more evident as we consider the
role of Deuteronomistic history in the development of negative
attitudes towards homogenital acts, and subsequently towards
homosexuality.
DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY
Biblical scholars studying the contents of the Old Testament
Biblical text have for a long time noticed certain ‘telling’ clues
in the text itself that give rise to the idea that the final form
of the text that we have today was actually put together by
redactors or editors at a later stage than the original composition
of the individual fragmentary parts. And so we also have
what can be identified as the ‘Deuteronomistic history’ of
the biblical narrative, which includes the seven books of
Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, I Samuel, II Samuel, I Kings
and II Kings (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:13). The theory of
Deuteronomistic history was developed by Martin Noth in 1943
(Person 2002:2), and is based on the idea that a guild of scribes
belonging to the royal court of king Josiah (Person 2002:7) was
instrumental in compiling the scriptures (particularly Genesis
through to II Kings) in the format that we have them today.
They are thought to have selectively compiled these scriptures,
with emphasis on particular themes that suited their political
and religious agenda.9 The development of Deuteronomistic
history can be said to have taken place over the duration of two
significant periods (Person 2002:83), the one being the reign of
the king Josiah, and the other the post-exilic period, when the
Jews returned from Babylonian captivity.
Article #92
Thus it can be seen that, paradoxically, through the very
medium of interpellation it is possible to ‘constitute a truth of
oneself through the act of verbalization itself’ (Butler 2004:163).
And so, in declaring oneself to be queer or gay, by coming out of
the closet, one is, in the verbal declaration itself, reconstituting
one’s own existence, both publicly and in terms of self-ascribed
linguistic signification. Problematic, however, is that the phrase
‘I am gay’ is both a performative act (Butler, in Morland & Willox
2005:142), as well as a moment of yielding to interpellation,
in that the above person is choosing a term that is already in
common currency, and as such is a term that has been created by
the ‘other’ (of culture and of language).
social expectations of a person, certain behavioural scripts that
come with being part of that category. An example of such a
gender script is the instance in which homosexuals tend to be
stereotyped as having ‘feminine’ behaviour, because that is the
expected gender script associated with the term gay.
Verbum et Ecclesia
The role that language plays in gender formation and identity
is demonstrated in the concept of interpellation. Originally
formulated by Louis Althusser (Macey 2000:9), interpellation can
be said to be the process through which an official brings a subject
into ‘being’ by directly and verbally addressing them. For Butler,
interpellation is an example of performative language, in that
the naming act itself, or the verbal articulation that is directed at
a subject, is the very vehicle that brings a subject into existence
(Salih 2004:138). One consequence of this process of interpellation
is that the culturally constructed language creates the illusion
that its own created reality is the only reality that there is (Pilcher
& Whelehan 2004:76).7 And since ‘all representations of reality
are mediated through ideology [and thus language SH]’ (Pilcher
& Whelehan 2004:76), there is no contestation on the part of
those who find themselves (as homosexuals) interpellated in
terms of the master ideology (heteronormativity). In one sense,
the designation of homosexual is beyond the control of the
person to whom it is directed. Being labelled as a homosexual
is to be brought into ‘existence’ in terms of another person’s
understanding of reality (and ‘sexual’ reality in particular).
However, this does not mean that there can be no resistance on
the part of the ascribed or designated homosexual person, since
ideology ‘is also paradoxically and with promise, a resource, the
means by which [one’s – SH] transformation becomes possible’
(Butler 1993:247). Thus, for example, the verbal abuse of ‘fag!’
or ‘queer!’ can be said to interpellate or bring into existence the
queer subject. However, such abuse is subverted through reappropriation by the queer subject of the negatively intended
term into something that the individual queer subject owns for
themselves (Pilcher & Whelehan 2004:129; Stone 2001:16; Weeks
2000:86). Such a phenomenon of re-appropriating pejorative
labelling is aptly demonstrated in the history of Christianity,
for the very word or term ‘Christian’ itself was intended to be
a derogative term aimed at followers of Christ (Acts 11:26).
However, the followers of Christ re-appropriated the term, and
have subsequently worn it as a badge of honour and pride.
Original Research
Josiah reigned as king of Judah between 640 and 609 BCE
(Rogerson 1999:122), and was responsible for tremendous social
and religious reforms in Judah (II Ki 23). Such reforms were
enabled and heavily influenced by the defeat of the northern
kingdom of Israel approximately a century or more before, as
there was a resultant major immigration of people as refugees fled
from the north and settled in and around Judah, and specifically
in Jerusalem (Rogerson 1999:139, 147). This migration brought
people with it who had skills and wealth that would enable
a ‘religious development and literary expression of national
identity’ (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:289). Previously, literary
skills were not widespread, as writing tools and materials were
very expensive and there simply was not enough manpower
8.Here I must admit that I am disappointed, in that so far in my readings of Butler I
have not come across her addressing the issue of why some people are gay and
others are not. In other words, while Butler does acknowledge that the link between
‘gender identity and sexual orientation [is – SH] murky’ (Butler 2004:79), she does
not seem to directly address the issue of why the linguistic positionality of ‘gay’ more
accurately expresses (or verbally describes) the reality or experiences of some men
and not of others.
9.To quote Raymond Person, such themes included ‘1. The struggle against idolatry, 2.
The centralisation of the cult, 3. Exodus, covenant and election, 4. The monotheistic
creed, 5. Observance of the law and loyalty to the covenant, 6. Inheritance of
the land, 7. Retribution and material motivation, 8. Fulfilment of prophecy, 9. The
election of the Davidic dynasty’ (Person 2002:20).
Original Research
Hill
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #92
to sustain the demands of a large reading public. However,
as noted, this poverty of literacy dissipated with the large
southward migration of skilled and wealthy peoples.
And so, under contemporary prosperity and the reforms of
Josiah, Jerusalem became the dominant centre of Jewish religion
and politics (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:243; Person 2002:27;
Theodore Mullen 1993:4). As a result of Josiah’s reforms, the socalled ‘Yahweh alone’ cult (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:273)
took centre stage in a Jewish notion of the divine (Finkelstein
& Silberman 2001:247), as priests began to consolidate a
monotheistic understanding of Yahweh, and to consolidate
the relevant religious texts that were to become authoritative
in the worship of Yahweh. And because the destruction of the
northern kingdom of Israel was still very fresh in the minds of
these priests (in fact some of them probably found themselves
living in Jerusalem because they themselves were refugees of
those tragic events (Rogerson 1999:139, 147), there was intrinsic
to the construction of the text the driving need to establish
an identity for the purposes of survival. With such a need
and the consolidation of a textual canon, the phenomenon of
‘retrospective theology’ (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:249) arose,
in which already existing fragments of texts were fused together
to form a continuous narrative, with contemporary concerns
permeating the narrative structure and content of Biblical books.
Such ‘fusion’ obviously involved a degree of selectivity in which
some fragments were included in the Biblical narrative, and
others were excluded (Theodore Mullen 1993:9). What guided
this selectivity in turn were the contemporary seventh-century
theological and political orientations of the priests or redactors
who compiled or collated the Biblical text. Thus the compilation
of the Biblical text involved the retelling of past events, in which
those past events were framed in terms of the current ideological
priorities. In other words, issues of the day were retrojected onto
the past (Theodore Mullen 1993:14), in the sense that stories of
the past as they are recounted in the Biblical narrative are infused
with the priestly redactor’s own seventh-century political and
theological agenda. Of significance to this phenomenon of
retrospective theology is that, at this time of the compilation of
the Biblical narrative, a mysterious book was ‘discovered’ in the
temple. Finkelstein and Silberman describe the significance of
this discovery as follows:
That book, identified by most scholars as an original form of the book
of Deuteronomy, sparked a revolution in ritual and a complete
reformulation of Israelite identity [SH]. It contained the central
feature of Biblical monotheism: the exclusive worship of one God in
one place; centralized, national observance of the main festivals of
the Jewish year (Passover, Tabernacles); and a range of legislation
dealing with social welfare, justice, and personal morality.
(Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:276)
And so we can see from this example of the book of Deuteronomy,
the retrospective theology of the priestly redactors placed great
emphasis in the collated texts on centrality of worship and the
uniqueness of the Jewish identity as played out in the observance
of special holy days, food laws and rules regarding social and
personal conduct. Such rules invariably included issues of sexual
conduct and the regulation of procreative activity.
As with the reforms of Josiah (Person 2002:27), another crucial
period in the development of the format of the text as we have
it today is the exile and post-exile period of Jewish history,
which also overlaps with what is known as the ‘second temple’
Judaism (Rogerson 1999:157). It was the time when the southern
kingdom of Judah was taken captive by the Babylonians, circa
586 BCE. Loss of land and living in a foreign country stimulated
a focus on what it was to be a Jew. Sabbath observance,
circumcision and dietary laws, as well as endogamous marriage
laws and regulations around sexual conduct became means
by which to define oneself as a Jew (Rogerson 1999:155). With
the return of some of the Jews to Jerusalem, and under the
influence and rulings of Ezra and Nehemiah, a Jewish identity
was consolidated (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:361). And so
‘a rewritten history of Israel was the best way for the exiles to
reassert their identity’ (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:303). With
such a consolidation came a text that was to have a far reaching
and profound influence on how later users of these texts, for
example Christians, were to understand and formulate their
own sense of identity (including sexual identity) in the world.
From the above discussion, what is significant about the form
and content of the Biblical narrative that we have today is not
so much the historical ‘facts’ that are recorded in its pages, but
what we can learn about the interests and pressing concerns of
the redactors who collated these Scriptures (Rogerson 1999:20).
As noted, such interests reflect the concerns of the seventhcentury BCE ‘Judahite’ focus on the southern kingdom of
Judah (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:45). Thus, for example, the
redactors are at pains to emphasise the apparent righteousness
of the southern kingdom of Judah, and the evil of the northern
Kingdom of Israel (Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:121). And
so ‘history’ as recorded or collated by the Biblical redactors
forms more of a foil for what is really the main concerns of the
redactors, i.e. the presentation of theological and political ideals
in an attempt to establish a ‘defining and motivating text’ that
lies at the very heart of what it means to be a Jew in the world
(Finkelstein & Silberman 2001:229, 283; Rogerson 1999:149). Of
significance is that such meaning of what it means to be a Jew
influenced the presentation of ideals and meaning in the text
as we have it today, whether theological or political (Rogerson
1999:75).
Deuteronomistic history is not only a narrative but can also
be understood as a grand narrative, the ‘grand narrative’ of
Scripture (Goheen 2008:475; House 2005:231; Larkin 2000:405).
The term ‘grand narrative’ is a phrase used by Jean-François
Lyotard (Hammer 1998:137) to describe the type ‘of story that
underlies, gives legitimacy, and explains the particular choices
a culture prescribes as possible courses of action’ (Taylor &
Winquist 2001:164). Deuteronomistic history presents us (on a
narrative level) with a ‘unique interpretation [SH] of universal
history’ (Goheen 2008:472). Thus Deuteronomistic history
(Scripture) provided the Jew with an ‘interpretive grid’ (Weeks
2000:100) that enabled the Jew to have a firm and definite
sense of self and nation amidst the chaos of Babylonian exile.
Thus Deuteronomistic history is really a Jewish national grand
narrative.
POLITICS OF SURVIVAL
It has been asserted that ‘in times of social crisis, when national
borders and identities are threatened, there is likely to be a
concern with the maintenance of existing bodily boundaries [SH]
and the purity of bodies’ (Standing 2004:68; Stone 1996:13).
This is clearly evident in the development of Deuteronomistic
history, the development of a Jewish national grand narrative,
the development of a particularly Jewish identity. In his book,
Making sexual history (2000), Jeffrey Weeks asserts that ‘identities
have become narratives, built out of stories we tell each other in
the various interpretive communities to which we belong’ (Weeks
2000:64). The assertion that ‘identity is shaped by narrative
structures’ (Schuegraf 2006:32) has particular significance for the
issue of homosexuality and the Bible. Through the development
of Deuteronomistic history, the Jews developed a narrative
(Jewish national grand narrative) that enabled them to survive
as a people in a time of severe crisis. Identities (including sexual)
become ‘necessary fictions’ (Weeks 2000:84), in that we can see
that this Biblical narrative was not merely a descriptive account
of historical events, but was a story constructed with political
ends in mind. Thus, as an attempt to establish meaning through
narratively created identity structures, these narratives or stories
invariably include in them socio-political ideals in one form or
another, including ideals around social structures of sexual
conduct (Rogerson 1999:22). This development of political ideals
through the instrument of narrative structure took place against
the background of what can be called a politics of survival.
Original Research
This is a term used by Frederic Homer in his commentary
in Primo Levi and the politics of survival (Homer 2003:158). It is
a term that I find particularly fitting to describe the context
of the development of the Biblical grand narrative or Jewish
national grand narrative. As evident in my above argument, I
use the term ‘politics of survival’ to refer to this very process of
a people using narratives to construct a strong sense of national
identity, against a background in which such an identity is being
threatened by extinction. The use of narrative in a politics of
survival creates certain ‘identity markers’ (such as circumcision
and Sabbath observance) that not only help to define what it is to
be a Jew, but also what it is to behave like a Jew. Thus, the Jewish
national grand narrative was created in a context of a politics of
survival. This politics of survival, in turn, informed normative
implications with regard to national behaviour, including sexual
conduct.
CONCLUSION
Understanding the Biblical text as being a Jewish national grand
narrative forged in the heat of a politics of survival helps us to
realise that
although it is important to know that a particular act [homogenital
– SH] is forbidden or permitted by the religious authorities of a
culture, the meaning (sic) of sex cannot be reduced to the specific
proscriptions and prescriptions [such as those in Leviticus 18 and
20 – SH] which build up around it.
(Stone 1996:14)
REFERENCES
Althaus-Reid, M., 2003, The queer God, Routledge, New York.
Bradshaw, T. (ed.), 2003, The way forward? Christian voices
on homosexuality and the Church, William B. Eerdmans,
Cambridge.
Burrus, V., 2004, The sex lives of the saints. An erotics of
ancient hagiography, University of Pennsylvania Press,
Pennsylvania.
Butler, J., 1990, Gender trouble, Routledge, New York.
Butler, J., 1993, Bodies that matter. On the discursive limits of ‘sex’,
Butler, J., 2004, Undoing gender, Routledge, New York.
Comstock, G.D. & Henking, S.E. (eds.), 1999, Que(e)ring religion.
A critical anthology, Continuum, New York.
Dreyer, Y., 2006, ‘Prejudice, homophobia and the Christian faith
community’, Verbum et Ecclesia 27(1), 155–173.
Finkelstein, I. & Silberman, N., 2001, The Bible unearthed.
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sacred texts, Touchstone, New York.
Germond, P. & De Gruchy, S., 1997, Aliens in the household of
God. Homosexuality and Christian faith in South Africa, David
Philip, Cape Town.
Goheen, M., 2008, ‘The urgency of reading the Bible as one
story’, Theology Today 64, 469–483.
Greenberg, S., 2004, Wrestling with God and men. Homosexuality
in the Jewish tradition, The University of Wisconsin Press,
Wisconsin.
Hammer, D., 1998, ‘What the Iliad knows: Why Lyotard is wrong
about grand narratives’, Soundings 81(1–2), 137–156.
Homer, F.D., 2003, ‘Primo Levi and the politics of survival’,
Shofar 21(2), 158–160.
House, P.R., 2005, ‘Examining the narratives of Old Testament
narrative: an exploration in Biblical theology’, Westminster
Theological Journal, 67, 229–245.
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Benedict, Minnesota.
Larkin, W.J., 2000, ‘The recovery of Luke-Acts as ‘grand
narrative’ for the church’s evangelistic and edification tasks
in a postmodern age’, Journal of the Evangelical Theological
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Macey, D., 2000, Dictionary of critical theory, Penguin, New York.
Morland, I. & Willox, A. (eds.), 2005, Queer theory, Palgrave
Macmillan, New York.
Person, R.F., 2002, The Deuteronomistic School. History, social
setting and literature, Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta.
Article #92
However, when it comes to this interpellative definition of
what it is to be Jewish, when we look at the New Testament,
we can already see that at the very beginnings of Christianity,
even though the Biblical narrative (or Jewish national grand
narrative) was foundational to the Christian religion, Christians
already had an ambivalent attitude towards it. Thus, a breakdown
of the Jewish national grand narrative and its concomitant
‘identity markers’ can already be seen in the theology of Paul,
so that it can be asserted that ‘Paul no longer took the Torah at
face value’ (Germond & De Gruchy 1997:192). Paul undermines
(even negates) the identity markers of the Jewish national grand
narrative in that, firstly, he relativises the Sinaitic covenant by
implying that it is of lesser value than the covenant God made
with Abraham (Gl 3:17). Secondly, he further implies that the
observance of holy days is not necessary for salvation, and in
fact might even be a definite hindrance to salvation (Gl 10).
Thirdly, Paul insists that circumcision is no longer mandatory for
salvation (Gl 5:1–6). And, finally, Paul goes on to imply that the
Law, far from being a blessing, is really a curse (Gl 3:1–14), in fact
the Law (though ‘holy, just and good’, Rm 7:12) is seen by Paul
to be our enemy (Eph 2:14). Most powerfully of all, Paul seems
to announce (perhaps without realising the full consequences
and implications of such an announcement) the dissolution and
breakdown of the Jewish national grand narrative by declaring
that the middle wall of division (Jewish nationalism?) has been
abolished by the work of Jesus (Eph 2:14). Having said this,
however, it can be added that it is strange that Paul still seems
to hold on to this national grand narrative in his condemnation
of homogenital acts (Rm 1:26–27). I would hypothesise that this
is probably because Paul is still trying to hang onto the Jewish
sense of ‘cosmic order’ that is presented in the creation myth of
Genesis chapters one and two, in which there are ‘natural’ (Rm
1: 27) categories, categories which, if transgressed, would lead to
Thus, while there is a negative stance in Paul towards
homogenital activity, there is also ambivalence in Paul towards
the very texts (Pentateuch and Deuteronomistic history) that
would support such a negative stance. And so Paul’s ambivalent
stance toward the scriptures can become a means by which it
can be asserted that ‘we [need – SH] not be the prisoners of a
textual past’ (Pinnock 2000:72). There is scope for us to go
beyond a superficial reading of the Biblical narrative to a deeper
understanding of the political currents that were instrumental
in its composition. We would then see that the Biblical text is
historically situated, addressing the specific needs and questions
of a particular people at a particular time in their history, when
a hostile political environment threatened their survival as a
people. Acknowledging the historical situatedness of the Biblical
text would then help us to have a more balanced and fair approach
towards minorities within the church who are persecuted and
marginalised because of their sexual orientation.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Thus, what do Butler’s insights mean in terms of a hermeneutics
of sexual identity with regard to the issue of homosexuality and
the Bible? We can come to understand using Butler’s concept of
performativity that ‘gender’, as construed in terms of the Biblical
narrative, is not a biological given but a socially constructed
reality. This social construction of gendered reality in terms of
the Biblical narrative is the ‘interpellative’ process and result of
the Jewish priestly redactors taking it upon themselves to define
what constitutes the defining features of what it is to be a ‘true’
Jew.
confusion and ultimately to idolatry (Rm 1:23). However, very
tellingly, already in Galatians 3:29 Paul is beginning to let go of
the creation ‘categories’ of male and female when he writes (The
Amplified Bible – emphasis added): ‘There is neither Jew nor
Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is not male or female: for
you are all one in Christ Jesus!’
Original Research
Hill
Standing, E., 2004, ‘Homophobia and the postmodern condition’,
Theology & Sexuality 10(2), 65–72.
Stone, K., 1996, Sex, honour and power in the Deuteronomistic
history, Sheffield Academic Press, Sheffield.
Stone, K., 2001, Queer commentary and the Hebrew Bible, The
Pilgrim Press, Cleveland.
Talburt, S. & Steinberg, S.R. (eds.), 2000, Thinking queer: Sexuality,
culture and education, Peter Lang, New York.
Tate, W.R., 2007, Interpreting the Bible. A handbook of terms and
methods, Hendrickson Publishers, Massachusetts.
Taylor, V.E. & Winquist, C.E. (eds.), 2001, Encyclopedia of
postmodernism, Routledge, London.
Theodore Mullen, E., 1993, Narrative history and ethnic boundaries,
Scholars Press, Atlanta.
Thiem, A., 2007, No gendered bodies without queer desires: Judith
Butler and Biblical gender trouble, Old Testament Essays 20(2),
456–470.
Warner, M. (ed.), 1993, Fear of a queer planet. Queer politics and
social theory, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis.
Weeks, J., 2000, Making sexual history, Blackwell, Oxford.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #92
Pilcher, J. & Whelehan, I., 2004, 50 key concepts in gender studies,
Sage, London.
Pinnock, C.H., 2000, ‘Biblical texts – past and future meanings’,
Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 43(1), 71–81.
Plummer, K., 1995, Telling sexual stories: Power, change, and social
worlds, Routledge, New York.
Punt, J., 2007, ‘Romans 1:18–32 amidst the gay-debate:
Interpretive options’, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological
Studies, 63(3), 965–982.
Rogerson, J., 1999, Chronicle of the Old Testament kings. The reignby-reign record of the rulers of ancient Israel, Thames and
Hudson, London.
Ruse, M., 1988, Homosexuality. A philosophical inquiry, Blackwell,
Oxford.
Salih, S. (ed.), 2004, The Judith Butler reader, Blackwell, Oxford.
Schuegraf, O., 2006, ‘Telling God’s stories again and again –
reflection on remembrance and reconciliation’, Modern
Believing 47(3), 31–42.
Spargo, T., 1999, Foucault and queer theory. Postmodern encounters,
Icon Books, London.
Original Research
‘n Narratiewe benadering tot
die liturgie
Authors:
Lourens Bosman1, 2
Julian Müller2
Abstract
A narrative approach to liturgy
The fact that current liturgical renewal is not based on sound theological reflection, is cause
for concern. A narrative approach to liturgy is therefore proposed, which would allow a better
connection between the cultural story on the one hand, and the story of the gospel and the liturgical
tradition on the other. The article therefore explores possibilities for a narrative understanding of
the liturgical context, and shows how a worship liturgy could be created like a collage instead of
in the form of linear argumentation.
Affiliations:
1
Nederduitse
Gereformeerde Gemeente,
Lux Mundi, Pretoria,
Suid-Afrika
Departement Praktiese
Teologie, Universiteit van
Pretoria, Suid-Afrika
2
Correspondence to:
Julian Müller
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Departement Praktiese
Teologie, Fakulteit Teologie,
Universiteit van Pretoria,
Pretoria, 0002, Suid-Afrika
Bosman, L. & Müller,
J., 2009, ‘n Narratiewe
benadering tot die liturgie,
Verbum et Ecclesia, 30(2) Art.
#179, 6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.179
at:
Note:
Hierdie artikel word ook in
Engels en verwerkte vorm
vir die Festschrift ter viering
van Malan Nel se 70ste
verjaarsdag aangebied.
‘n Narratiewe begrip van die liturgie behels onder andere die volgende:
•
•
•
•
•
Liturgie is ‘n voortgaande proses van verhaaloordrag en -ontwikkeling.
Liturgie kan as ‘n oorvertelling van ‘n bekende verhaal beskou word.
Liturgie behels ook die voortdurende opbou van ‘n nuwe begrip van die bekende verhaal.
Liturgie is ‘telling a past and dreaming a future’ (Brueggemann 1989).
Net soos alle aspekte van kerkwees, speel liturgie te midde van die dinamiek tussen dominante en
gemarginaliseerde verhale af.
• Liturgie is ‘n dramatiese vertelling wat simboliese en verbale kommunikasie integreer.
Dié artikel het as uitgangspunt dat die verhale wat mense van hulleself vertel, aan hulleself vorm gee
en ook weerspieël wat hulle oor hulleself glo. Hierdie verhale wat mense oor hulleself vertel, word
egter nie outonoom deur elke individu gekonstrueer nie. Verhale word ook aan ons gegee; mense
ontvang verhale, wat dan vorm gee aan die wyse waarop hulle hulle eie verhale skryf, en aan dít wat
hulle uiteindelik oor hulleself glo. In hierdie verband ís al aangetoon watter groot invloed sprokies
(synde sulke verhale wat ontvang word) het op die manier waarop kinders, en later ook volwasse
mans en vroue, hulle eie verhale skryf – die dinge wat hulle as sukses en mislukkings beleef; hoe
hulle hulle eie lewens aan die norm meet van die verhale wat hulle kleintyd herhaaldelik gehoor het.
Ongelukkig is hierdie meesterverhale nie altyd goed vir mense nie. Dit plaas hulle dikwels in rolle
waar ander hulle domineer; waar hulle nie hulle eie waarde kan raaksien nie, en waarin die waardes
van sukses en ‘n goeie lewe nie met die waardes van die Evangelie strook nie.
Article #179
Dates:
In die Protestantse kerklike praktyk in Suid-Afrika vind daar tans baie verandering en soms vernuwing
op die gebied van die liturgie plaas. Vernuwing in die liturgie is verblydend, maar ongelukkig
blyk dit of baie van hierdie vernuwing sonder teologiese oordenking plaasvind, en eerder deur die
charismatiese ‘praise and worship’-beweging gerig word. Hierdie artikel wil graag ‘n bydrae lewer
tot tersaaklike oordenking vanuit ‘n postmoderne hoek. Die vraag is: Op watter manier hou ons, te
midde van vernuwing, vas aan die identiteit van die erediens as ‘n uitlewing van die Joods-Christelike
tradisie van aanbidding? Om hierdie oordenking so tersaaklik en teologies verantwoordbaar moontlik
te maak, ontgin hierdie artikel die moontlikhede van ‘n narratiewe benadering tot die liturgie.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Keywords:
Narratiewe; Liturgie;
aanbidding; vernuwing;
Evangelie
INLEIDING
Liturgie – waarom DIT narratief benader?
Dit is egter nie net die inhoud van dié gegewe verhale wat ‘n groot vormende invloed het op die
manier waarop mense hulle eie verhale skryf en beoordeel nie, maar ook die struktuur van die verhale.
Narratoloë wys daarop dat daar in elke kultuur ‘n aantal meesternarratiewe bestaan waarvolgens
die meeste groot stories geskryf is: Heldeverhale, tragedies, die verhaal van die groot reis, en die
verhaal van die held wat die skoonheid red, is ‘n paar voorbeelde. Hierdie meesterverhale word ook
soms ‘diskoerse’ genoem. Freedman en Combs (1996:42) gebruik Hare-Mustin se omskrywing, wat sê:
‘A discourse is a system of statements, practices, and institutional structures that share common values.’ Dié
outeurs wys verder daarop dat die manier waarop die meeste mense ‘n sekere gedeelde standpunt
huldig, dit bespreek en op grond daarvan handel, ‘n manier is om sulke diskoerse in stand te hou en te
laat voortbestaan. In ‘n bepaalde kultuur sal mense intuïtief hulle eie verhale aan die hand van hierdie
meesterverhale konstrueer.
In hierdie verband wil die narratiewe benadering tot terapie (sien Müller 2000) mense help om bewus
te raak, en sodoende bevry te raak, van hierdie een dominante verhaal of diskoers wat hulle lewens
oorheers. Só word hulle gehelp om tot ‘n deegliker en ryker begrip van hulleself te kom. Dít word
gedoen deur eers die dominante verhaal of verhale uit te wys, en te kyk na die maniere waarop
dit negatief op die persoon se self- en wêreldbeskouing inwerk. Daarna soek die terapeut en die
gespreksgenoot saam na alternatiewe verhale wat laasgenoemde help om sy/haar eie verhaal op so ‘n
manier te herskryf dat dit hom/haar vorentoe sal help.
Creative Commons
Hoe hou dít alles egter verband met die liturgie? Die liturgie is een van die heel sterkste vormende
invloede op die manier waarop erediensgangers hulle geloofsverhale konstrueer. Die herhalende aard
van die liturgie gee aan mense ‘n duidelike vorm waarin hulle hulle eie geloofsverhale giet. So sal ‘n
liturgie waarin mense elke Sondag van voor af gered moet word deur na die wet te luister, hulle skuld
te besef en te bely, en daarna vrygespreek te word, ‘n bepaalde invloed hê op die manier waarop hulle
hulle verhouding met God én hulleself sal beskou, en hoe hulle hulle geloofsverhale sal konstrueer.
Original Research
Bosman & Müller
Dit kan egter ‘n probleem wees wanneer slegs een of twee verhale
die liturgie domineer. Dit verskraal die ryke verskeidenheid van
meesterverhale van die verhouding tussen God en die mens
wat in die Bybel te vinde is, en hou nie rekening met die groot
verskeidenheid verwagtings en ervarings waarmee mense na
die erediens kom nie. Daarom is ‘n verskeidenheid liturgiese
verhale nodig om die erediensgangers te help om die rykdom
van ervarings van die menslike staat, met die ervaring van die
teenwoordigheid van God in die erediens, en daarna ook in
hulle lewens, in verband te bring.
Die liturgie is die samevloeiing en konsentrasiepunt van
‘n verskeidenheid verhale. Hierdie artikel poog om dié
verskeidenheid verhale aan die hand van drie liturgiese
perspektiewe te beskou, wat telkens vanuit ‘n narratiewe hoek
benader sal word:
• Die liturgiese handeling as deel van ‘n groter verhaal
• Die verhalende verloop van die liturgie
• Die verhalende inhoud van die liturgie
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #179
Die liturgiese handeling as deel van
‘n groter verhaal
Gibbs en Bolger (2006:70–71) dui twee groot verskuiwings
aan wat tussen die moderne en postmoderne era ten opsigte
van inligtingsoordrag plaasgevind het. Eerstens is daar die
verskuiwing weg van die lineêre oordrag van abstrakte,
proporsionele waarhede, na konkrete, veelvlakkige narratiewe
met veelvuldige betekenisse. Voorts is daar ook die verskuiwing
weg van die enkelvoudige klem op die gehoor, na die dominansie
van visuele kommunikasie. Die erediens vind deesdae in ‘n
visuele en verhaalgegronde kultuur plaas.
Hierdie ontwikkelinge bied opwindende moontlikhede
vir ‘n nuwe benadering tot die liturgie. Die liturgie, wat ‘n
simboliese versameling van ‘n verskeidenheid verhale is, hoef
nie noodwendig lineêr-logies te ontwikkel nie. Dit bied juis die
moontlikheid van veelvlakkige, narratiewe kommunikasie.
Die blote feit dat menslike handelinge ‘vertelbaar’ is, is te danke
daaraan dat dit reeds betekenis het wat in ‘n bepaalde kultuur
daaraan toegeken word:
If, in fact, human action can be narrated, it is because it is always
already articulated by signs, rules, and norms. It is always already
symbolically mediated.
(Ricoeur 1984:58).
Liturgie is niks anders as simboliese vormgewing aan die verhale
van mense nie, maar in besonder die verhaal van God en die
mens. Ricoeur (1984) stem ook hiermee saam:
A symbolic system thus furnishes a descriptive context for
particular actions. In other words, it is “as a function of” such a
symbolic convention that we can interpret this gesture as meaning
this or meaning that.
(Ricoeur 1984:59)
In die erediens is sekere handelinge reeds met betekenis gelaai;
dit het rituele funksie, en maak gesamentlik die liturgie uit.
Die verhalende verloop van die
liturgie
Ricoeur (1984:54) se driedeling (sien Demazure & Müller
2006:410–413) van hoe ‘n mens deur ‘n teks lees, en dit jou tot
nuwe begrip en optrede bring, is nuttig om te verstaan wat
met erediensgangers kan gebeur wanneer die liturgie hulle as
deelnemers betrek. Hierdie drieledige proses:
• begin met ‘n voorafgaande voorstelling (oftewel
prefigurasie) waarmee die leser die teks benader;
• gaan dan oor tot die skep van gelykvormighede en begrip
(oftewel konfigurasie) wanneer die leser deur die teks lees
waarin die gebeure in ‘n samehangende geheel saamgevoeg
word, en die teks só betekenis kry (Ricoeur 1984:67); en
•
lei uiteindelik tot nuwe betekenis of sin (oftewel refigurasie)
wanneer die leser deur die lees van die teks tot ‘n nuwe
self- en werklikheidsontdekking kom. Dit verwys dus na ‘n
proses van transformasie by die leser as gevolg van sy/haar
ontmoeting met die karakters en gebeure van die verhaal.
Dit is belangrik dat dit vir Ricoeur nie bloot oor nuwe begrip
gaan nie, maar ook oor nuwe optrede in die werklikheid;
refigurasie lei immers terug na die wêreld en na handelinge.
Die postmoderne mens is geskool in, en geniet, ‘n sirkulêre,
speelse, paradoksale en nimmereindigende proses van
allegoriese voorstelling, oftewel ‘figurasie’. Dít maak die
hedendaagse liturgie uitdagend, maar open terselfdertyd etlike
deure van verbeelding en vormgewing.
Kearney (1998) verduidelik dat die paradigmaskuif van
premodern tot postmodern aan die hand van drie metafore
beskryf kan word. Waar die premoderne paradigma deur
‘n enkele spieël verteenwoordig kan word (wat die lig uit ‘n
transendente oorsprong weerkaats), kan die moderne paradigma
weer as ‘n lamp beskou word (wat ‘n oorspronklike lig van binne
homself projekteer). Die postmoderne paradigma kan die beste
beskryf word as ‘n hele reeks spieëls wat mekaar weerkaats:
The postmodern paradigm is, in other words, that of a labyrinth
of mirrors which extend infinitely in all directions – a labyrinth
where the image of the self (as a presence to itself) dissolves into
self-parody.
(Kearney 1998:253)
Hierdie parodie, of speelse weerkaatsings van die werklikheid en
die self, word die kenmerk van postmodernisme. Die mense wat
Sondae in die kerk sit, is behoorlik geskool in hierdie paradigma.
Hulle word daarin ingelyf deur hulle blootstelling aan die teater,
skilderkuns en letterkunde. In hierdie verband sê Kearney (1998)
ook: ‘The parodic paradigm recurs time and again in postmodern
works of art and literature’ (Kearney 1998:253). Die vraag is nou:
Wat is die liturgiese reaksie op hierdie werklikheid?
As die lineêr-logiese benadering tot die liturgie met ‘n sirkulêre
collage-benadering vervang kan word, sal die postmoderne
mens waarskynlik beter aanklank daarby vind. Hierdie stelling
moet egter nie misverstaan word nie. Met collage word nie ‘n
arbitrêre sameflansing van ‘n aantal items bedoel nie, maar
eerder ‘n ander manier van plotontwikkeling en -vormgewing.
In die roman The Crossing, die tweede deel van Cormac
McCarthy se Border Trilogy (1994), verduidelik ‘n verloopte
priester dat verhale vorm gee aan die ervarings en gebeure van
die werklikheid. Die priester stel dit só:
Things separate from their stories have no meaning. They are only
shapes. Of a certain size and color. A certain weight. When their
meaning has become lost to us they no longer even have name.
The story on the other hand can never be lost from its place in the
world, for it is that place.
(McCarthy 1994:n.p.)
Voordat gebeure en ervarings nie in ‘n plot samehang vind
nie, het dit geen betekenis nie. Die verhaal waarin dit gegiet
word, verleen daaraan betekenis en plek. Daarom praat
Ricoeur (1984:66) dan ook van ‘emplotment’ as ‘a synthesis of
the heterogeneous’. Die skrywer of verteller bring heterogene
gebeure, ervarings, simbole, vertellings, liedere en gedigte
in ‘n plot byeen waarin dié dele gesamentlik meer beteken as
afsonderlik: ‘Plotting is an activity in which temporal happenings are
shaped into meaningful units‘ (Polkinghorne 1988:160).
In ‘n oordenking oor liturgie as verhaal, bepaald vir die
postmoderne era waarin eredienste tans gestalte kry, moet ten
minste twee oënskynlik teenstellende aspekte van postmoderne
narratiewe van nader bekyk word. Aan die een kant geld die
narratiewe beginsel steeds dat plot nie iets arbitrêr is nie. Die
liturg kan nie sommer enige klomp gebeure of vertellings
saamgooi, sonder om te vra hoe dit bymekaar hoort nie. ‘n Goeie
Original Research
‘n Narratiewe benadering tot die liturgie
plot het ‘n bepaalde interne logika. Die plot help om die gebeure
in ‘n besondere samehang te plaas wat in sy geheel groter is
as die individuele gebeure. Waarde word as’t ware tot die
individuele gebeure toegevoeg; elkeen se afsonderlike betekenis
word ryker, meer genuanseerd, deur die samehang waarin dit
geplaas word.
Daarom is die plot van ‘n liturgie nie arbitrêr nie. In ‘n narratiewe
begrip van die liturgie moet liturgieë by die verband pas waarin
die erediens plaasvind, maar moet dit ook getrou wees aan
die groot Joods-Christelike tradisie waarvan dit deel uitmaak.
Uit ‘n postmoderne hoek word die verband van die erediens
beter aangevul deur liturgieë wat na die groot verhale uit die
Joods-Christelike tradisie teruggryp, as wanneer die liturgieë
op die sistematiserings geskoei is van die moderne projek om
die algemene/universele waarhede van die Christendom tot
logies samehangende dog kille en onpersoonlike, leerstellige
uiteensettings van die inhoud van die Bybel te reduseer
(sien Brueggemann 1989:1–2). Die doel is ervaringsgetroue,
lewensegte, gebeurlike verhale waarin die erediensgangers hulle
eie ervarings en lewens kan herken. Hierdie soort verhaalvorme
is veel eerder in die groot narratiewe van die Bybel as in die
dogmatiek te vinde.
Die tweede aspek van postmoderne narratiewe is die konsep
van ‘collage’ of ‘montage’ as kenmerkende postmoderne
mediums. Collage is ‘n styl wat dikwels in postmoderne kuns,
letterkunde, argitektuur en stadsbeplanning gebruik word
(Harvey 1990:40,48,51; Scheepers 1998:30). Harvey (1990) verwys
ook na Derrida, wat collage of montage as die hoofvorm van
postmoderne diskoers beskou het waarin betekenis vloeibaar en
toevallig is:
Die idee van liturgie as ‘n postmoderne narratief met die
kenmerke van ‘n collage, laat ruimte vir ‘n verskeidenheid
perspektiewe, liturgiese handelinge, simbole en verhale wat
in ‘n plot saamgevoeg word. In ‘n collage pas alles nie presies
en eenduidig op ‘n bepaalde plek nie, en daarom is dit meer
lewensgetrou vir postmoderne mense, wat in ‘n versplinterde
werklikheid leef. Tog is daar ook samehang en voortgang in
die liturgiese plot, al is dit nie voor die hand liggend nie. ‘n
Liturgie as narratief met kenmerke van ‘n collage, nooi die
erediensgangers om aan die konfigurasie van die verhaal deel te
neem, en skep daarom ook moontlikhede vir die refigurasie van
hulle eie lewensverhale.
Die verhalende inhoud van die
liturgie
Hoe moet daar egter, met voormelde in gedagte, te werk gegaan
word om ‘n liturgie van so ‘n verhalende aard te skryf? Anne
Lamott se model vir fiksieskryf is in hierdie verband ‘n nuttige
struktuur aan die hand waarvan ‘n hedendaagse moderne
liturgie ontwikkel kan word. In haar boek oor die skryf van
fiksie, Bird by Bird, ontwikkel sy die ABDCE- (‘action, background,
development, climax, ending’-) model. Dit kan as grondslag dien
waarop die liturgie telkens weer beslag kan kry.
Liturgie is nie veronderstel om tydloos te wees nie, maar juis
tydgebonde en getrou aan ‘n baie bepaalde verband.
Dit is juis hierdie behoefte aan verankering in ‘n bepaalde
verband wat tot weerstand teen eredienste in antieke tale soos
Latyn gelei het.
Agtergrond (‘background’)
Elke aksie speel af teen ‘n agtergrond. Dinge gebeur nie maar net
nie; daar is ‘n aanloopstorie. Die liturgie verteenwoordig nie net
‘n aktuele verband nie, maar is ook veronderstel om ‘n eeue-oue
geloof en die teologie van die tradisie te vergestalt.
Lamott gebruik die beeld van die ‘ontwerper’ van ‘n toneelstuk,
rolprent of verhaal:
It may help you to know what the room (or ship or the office or
the meadow) looks like where the action will take place. You want
to know its feel, its temperature, its colors. Just as everyone is a
walking advertisement for who he or she is, so every room is a little
showcase of its occupants’ values and personalities.
Lamott (1995:74)
Koos du Plessis se Kerslied, Welkom, o stille nag van vrede (NG Kerk
2001), verwoord die agtergrond waarteen ‘n ‘Somerkersfees’
vorm aanneem op onverbeterlike wyse met die volgende woorde
in die tweede vers: ‘Hoor jy hoe sag die klokke beier in eeue-oue
taal’ (NG Kerk 2001:358).
Article #179
Die gebruik van collage of montage hang saam met die
versplinterde werklikheid, wat ‘n hoofmotief in die postmoderne
samelewing is (Harvey 1990:54). ‘n Collage bestaan uit
verskillende prente, motiewe en style wat in ‘n kunswerk
opgeneem word, en wat gesamentlik die kunswerk uitmaak. In
postmoderne narratiewe tekste is daar ‘n eklektiese vermenging
van style, verhale en brokstukke van verhale, wat in ‘n enkele
verhaal saamgevoeg word (Scheepers 1998:30).
Aksie verwys na die huidige, aktuele verband: die dinge wat in
die gemeenskap aan die gang is en waarmee mense hulle besig
hou; sake waaroor gepraat en in koerante en tydskrifte geskryf
word. Dikwels word hierdie aksie in die kulturele uitinge van ‘n
gemeenskap bespeur. Waaroor handel die rolprente, en wat is
die temas van die jongste boeke en teateropvoerings? Die aksie
kan iets in die gemeentelewe, die kerkjaar, die gemeenskap of
die nuus wees. Dit kan huidige debatte wees oor kernsake van
die Evangelie, oor verdeeldheid in die kerk, oor hoe ons mekaar
ten spyte van verskille probeer verdra, of oor die gemeenskap
se moeite om die misdaadsituasie doeltreffend dog Christelik te
hanteer.
Verbum et Ecclesia
The inherent heterogeneity of that (i.e. collage), (be it in painting,
writing, architecture) stimulates us, the receivers of the text or
image, ‘to produce a signification which could be neither univocal
nor stable’. Both producers and consumers of ‘texts’ (cultural
artifacts) participate in the production of significations and
meanings...
(Harvey 1990:51)
Aksie (‘action’)
Die liturgie moet dié ‘eeue-oue taal’ verklank, en dít maak die
agtergrond of dekor uit waarteen ‘n hedendaagse drama moet
afspeel.
Ontwikkeling (‘development’)
Hier gebruik Lamott (1995:39) die wonderlike beeld van die
Polaroid. Hoewel die digitale geslag dalk nie dié beeld sal
verstaan nie, bly dit ‘n besonder raak beskrywing vir dié wat
nog kan onthou hoe die Polaroidkamera se foto voor jou oë uit
die dofgrys papier verskyn.
Liturgie poog om twee wêrelde op so ‘n manier bymekaar te
bring dat verhaalontwikkeling plaasvind. Die ou verhaal van
kerklike tradisie en geloofsbelydenis word by ‘n aktuele verband
ingeweef om ‘n nuwe borduurwerk te skep.
Wanneer liturgieë ontwikkel word waarin vorige sowel as
huidige verbande ten volle verreken word, en iets aktueels kom
tot stand, behoort ‘n verskeidenheid verhale en verhaalvorme
liturgies gestalte te kry. Hier onder volg drie kort besinnings wat
kan help om deegliker en ryker beskrywings van die lewe voor
God in die liturgie te ontwikkel.
Die evangelies en die verhaal van Jesus as
grondslag vir die liturgie
Van die sterkste en aanhoudendste kritiek op die gereformeerde
eredienste wat in die afgelope dekades na vore getree het, was
die manier hoe dit erediensgangers week ná week met skuld
belaai het. Die prediking het sonder twyfel hierin ‘n rol gespeel,
Original Research
Bosman & Müller
maar die liturgie waarin ‘n mens jou elke week weer diep moes
neerbuig voor die hoë reg, het ook ‘n aandeel hieraan gehad.
Die tradisionele gereformeerde liturgie verwoord ongetwyfeld
‘n geldige verhaal wat sy plek het, maar is waarskynlik sterk
deur ‘n Pauliniese begrip van die Evangelie oorheers, wat
verder deur die Augustiniaanse erfsondeleer versterk is. ‘n
Beter aanwending van die evangelies, met die verhaal van Jesus
wat uit verskillende hoeke vertel word, is moontlik ‘n ryke
skat vir die liturgie wat nog onontgin lê. Vervolgens word die
ontstaansgeskiedenis van die evangelies (veral aan die hand van
Armstrong 2007 en Spong 2007) met ‘n kontemporêre film, As it
is in Heaven, in gesprek gebring.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #179
Volgens die mees onlangse datering, is die drie sinoptiese
evangelies (dit wil sê, dié met dieselfde siening) in die 20 jaar
tussen 70 en 90 nC geskryf – ongeveer 40 jaar ná die kruisiging,
en nadat die briewe van Paulus (sedert ongeveer 52 nC) die lig
gesien het.
• Volgens Bybelwetenskaplikes het die boek Markus teen
ongeveer 70 nC die lig gesien. Die jaar 70 was toe die tempel
van Jerusalem verwoes is. Vanaf 66 tot 73 nC het die Jode
in ‘n ongelukkige verloorstryd teen die Romeinse owerheid
betrokke geraak. Die laagtepunt vir die Jode was toe die
Romeinse legioene onder leiding van Titus in 70 nC die
stad Jerusalem ingeneem het, en die heilige tempel met die
grond gelykgemaak het. Dit moes vir die Jode en die vroeë
Christene ‘n ontsettende verlies gewees het – byna iets soos
die 9/11-gebeure in New York. Hoewel die Christene hulle
reeds duidelik afsonderlik van die Judaïsme georganiseer
het, is daar ook aanduidings dat hulle nog baie nou verbonde
gevoel het aan die sinagoge en die tempel. Hulle het hulleself
as ‘die ware Israel’ beskou.
• Met die tempel wat verwoes en die Jode wat verneder is,
word die Markus-evangelie geskryf om die lesers daaraan
te herinner dat hulle op die God van Eksodus moet vertrou
– die God wat redding bewerk te midde van die grootste
nood. Al is die tempel verwoes en al is Jesus gekruisig, maak
God weer ‘n nuwe begin. Daarom word die grootste deel van
die Markus-evangelie aan die lyding en kruisdood van Jesus
gewy. Markus is in wese ‘n uitgebreide kruisigingsverhaal,
en só word die kruisboodskap as God se Woord in die
donkerste uur aangebied – ‘n boodskap van hoop en nuwe
lewe, wat juis uit die diepste vernedering spruit. Jesus is die
eintlike tempel wat verwoes is en weer in drie dae opgebou
is. Daar ís hoop.
‘n Dekade of twee later is die verwoesting van die tempel egter
nie meer die oorheersende motief nie. Nou begin vrae oor die
toekoms van hierdie nuwe, groeiende Jesusbeweging sterker na
vore tree. Die Evangelie van Jesus het immers intussen, veral
onder leiding van Paulus, ‘n wêreldbeweging geword, en daar
was steeds verskille oor of dit hoofsaaklik Joods moes ontwikkel,
en of die boodskap ook op die nie-Jode gerig moes word.
Nou skryf Matteus en Lukas hulle evangelies. Tien tot 15 jaar
ná die verwoesting van die tempel, beskik hulle oor Markus se
weergawe. Dit word gereeld in die sinagoge gelees, maar hulle
het behoefte aan iets meer. Waarheen nou? Is die Evangelie van
Jesus vir ‘n spesiale klein groepie – die ware Israel – of moet
hulle anders daaroor dink? Dit is interessant dat albei dit nodig
vind om iets vooraan die Markus-evangelie te las. Van hoofstuk
13 af volg Matteus grootliks die Markusteks, en van hoofstuk
8 af doen Lukas dit ook. Hulle las egter die geboorteverhale
vooraan. As dit nie vir hulle was nie, het ons nie ‘n Kersevangelie
gehad nie. As deel van die geboorteverhale, gee albei ook ‘n
geslagsregister.
Matteus veranker syne baie duidelik in die Joodse tradisie, met
‘n geslagsregister wat by Abraham begin.
Lukas begin syne nie by Abraham nie, maar by Adam.
Matteus beklemtoon Jesus se Joodsheid, terwyl Lukas sy
mensheid beklemtoon. Matteus sê dat net soos die Jode uit die
Egiptiese slawerny verlos is, so is die kindjie Jesus ook uit Egipte
teruggebring om in Galilea en Nasaret sy taak te vervul. Lukas
sê Jesus is ‘n kind van Adam, en plaas sy geboorte onmiddellik
in die groter verband van keiser Augustus. Dit is ook Lukas
wat die verhaal vertel van die tien melaatses wat genees is, en
dan meld dat slegs een van die tien dankbaar teruggekom het
– hy was ‘n Samaritaan. Lukas vertel ook die gelykenis van die
barmhartige Samaritaan. Matteus bied die Joodse aksent; Lukas
bied die universele aksent. Tog doen albei ook moeite om die
ander kant te beklemtoon. Dit is juis Matteus wat die verhaal van
die wyses uit die Ooste en die ster insluit – dinge wat Jesus in
die groter wêreld plaas. Lukas doen weer moeite om die verhaal
van Jesus se besnydenis en sy besoek aan die tempel op 12-jarige
ouderdom in te sluit.
Dit blyk dus dat albei, sowel Matteus as Lukas, hoewel op
verskillende maniere, dieselfde twee dinge beklemtoon: Die
Jesusverhaal is in die Joodse tradisie veranker, en Jesus is nie
die Jode se eiendom nie, maar is vir ‘die mense in wie Hy ‘n
welbehae het’ (Luk 2:14).
Aan die hand van voormelde, kan die drie sinoptiese evangelies
dus soos volg met die film As it is in Heaven vergelyk word:
Markus wys vir ons dat die krisis juis die saad word waaruit
die nuwe tot stand kom. Uit die donkerte van die kruis kom die
nuwe lewe. Die uitkoms is daar waar jy dit die minste verwag.
In As it is in Heaven word die kombinasie van die armsalige
dorpie, die sukkelende kerkkoor met selfs ‘n erg gestremde lid,
en die ongeneeslike siekte van ‘n dirigent sonder sy orkes, die
kweekplek van nuwe hoop.
Matteus leer ons dat die antwoord in die bekende boodskap te
vinde is – nêrens anders nie. Die verhaal van God met Abraham,
Isak en Jakob voorsien die antwoord op al die vrae. Ons hoef nie
op vreemde plekke te gaan soek nie. In As it is in Heaven is die
kerk wél moedeloos en vasgeloop met ‘n skynheilige predikant,
maar vind die ontknoping nie sonder en buite die kerklike
strukture plaas nie. Die koor wat die unieke uitkoms bied, is
steeds deel van die gemeente.
Lukas se boodskap is dat ‘n nuwe begin nooit kan plaasvind as
daar net na binne gekyk word en bekrompe aan die bestaande
vasgeklou word nie. Die vreemdeling moenie net ontvang word
nie, maar moet as die gestuurde van God beskou word wat die
sleutel tot die oplossing en vernuwing dra. Hou in gedagte dat
dit juis Lukas is wat die Emmaus-verhaal vertel, waar die Here
Jesus as ‘n doodgewone vreemdeling met die Emmaus-gangers
kom saamloop. Eers as hulle hom innooi en toelaat om gasheer
in hulle eie huis te speel, kom die ontknoping. Dit is presies soos
dit ook in die film gebeur.
• Met Markus gee ons nie moed op nie, want in die verleentheid
is die geleentheid; in die kruis is die opstanding.
• Met Matteus vind ons die gerusstelling dat ons deel het aan
die ou Verhaal, en nie paniekerig na nuwe antwoorde hoef
te soek nie.
• Met Lukas ontdek ons dat die Evangelie van Jesus nie net
via ons eie begripstradisie na ons toe kom nie, maar soms
juis verrassend, soos ‘n vreemdeling, van buite af. Is ons
ontvanklik daarvoor?
Op grond van hierdie drie sinoptiese evangelies sou ‘n mens dus
drie verhalende liturgieë kon ontwikkel wat die boodskap van
hoop in ‘n tyd waarin die tempel by wyse van spreke verwoes lê,
weer nuut kan verwoord. Dít sou gedoen kon word deur grepe
(verhale) uit ‘n evangelie voor te lees, en dit met liedere, gebede
en simboliese handelinge aan te vul. ‘n Mens sou ook die snitte
en musiek van As it is in Heaven baie treffend kon gebruik.
Hoekom is ek hier?
Net soos die prediking, kan die liturgie mense help om die groot
vrae van die lewe te verwoord en te beantwoord. In hierdie
verband is dit uiters belangrik om te verreken wat die groot vrae
Original Research
‘n Narratiewe benadering tot die liturgie
is waarmee mense deesdae na die erediens toe kom. Daar is ál
meer eenstemmigheid dat die groot vraag nie meer is ‘Hoe kan
ek gered word?’ nie, maar eerder ‘Hoe kan ek sinvol leef?’ en
‘Hoekom is ek hier op aarde?’.
Een van die maniere waarop hierdie groot vraag liturgies
hanteer kan word, is aan die hand van die meesterverhale van
roeping. Die roepingsverhale in die Bybel het tipies die volgende
elemente (Burger 2005:35):
• ‘n Bewustheid van God se teenwoordigheid
• Skok wanneer die persoon van die grootsheid en heiligheid
van God bewus word
• Troos wanneer God sy genade en liefde openbaar
• Roeping wanneer God ‘n opdrag gee. Hierdie ervaring lok
gewoonlik die volgende bepaalde reaksies uit:
• ‘n Gevoel van onvermoë of selfs onwilligheid
• God wat volhou met sy roeping
• Die individu wat toegee en die roeping aanvaar
Moet ons tog nie aan ons lot oorlaat nie!
In Suid-Afrikaanse verband, met hoë misdaadvlakke, kom
geloofsgemeenskappe deesdae soms na die erediens met ‘n
verenigde belewing van pyn en radeloosheid. Dit sou tipies met
gebeure in die nuus of bepaald in die gemeenskap saamhang.
Die verenigde klaagpsalms kan help om ‘n liturgie te skryf
wat hierdie gemeenskaplike klag in ‘n verhaal laat afspeel.
Westermann (1980:35–41) gee ‘n volledige uiteensetting van
die tipiese elemente wat hierdie meesterverhaal van klag in die
teenwoordigheid van God kan bevat:
• Die aanroep van God
• Die verhaal van klag, wat gewoonlik drie sye het:
Herinnering aan God se reddingsdade in die verlede
Gebede om redding
God se reaksie op hulle versoeke
‘n Belofte van lof
Klimaks (‘climax’)
As aksie, agtergrond en ontwikkeling suksesvol ineengeweef is,
sal dit op ‘n skielike insig, ‘n plotselinge wete, ‘n sogenaamde
‘a-ha-oomblik’, uitloop. In teologiese taal sou ‘n mens hierna as
‘n coram-deo-ervaring kon verwys. So ‘n klimaks is moeilik om
te beskryf, en nóg moeiliker om te bewerkstellig. ‘n Mens kan
hoogstens ‘n lys maak van die elemente wat teenwoordig moet
wees vir so ‘n ‘a-ha-ervaring’:
• ‘n Sinvolle samevoeging van eeue-oue taal en die
kontemporêre
• Die stylvolle benutting van kuns, musiek en estetika
• ‘n Getroue uitbeelding van gangbare kultuur
• Aanklank by die eeue-oue, dog intellektueel uitdagend en
alternatief
• Verstaanbare simboliek
• Gerusstellende handelinge
In Müller (2001) se oordenking oor terapie, sê hy: ‘Both good
writing and therapy move on the edges of life, are interested in the
essence of life and of relationships. Like the writer, the therapist doesn’t
bring God in from outside; he or she just discovers God in the writing
and in the therapy.’ Dieselfde geld die liturgie. Liturgie kan God
nie van buite inbring nie; dit kan die deelnemers slegs help om
God te ontdek. Daarom moet die liturgie getrou bly aan al die
verhale, en die koers aandui, maar moet dit die individuele
gelowige terselfdertyd genoeg vryheid bied om God op sy/haar
unieke manier te ontdek.
Volgens hierdie benadering word die klimaks in die liturgie
nie met ‘n oordonderende fanfare bereik nie, maar deur ‘n
sensitiewe fasilitering van ‘n proses wat mense sal help om
Die erediens is deel van ‘n groter ‘skryfproses’ – mense is immers
heeltyd besig om hulle lewensverhale te skryf. Hulle stap nie
die kerk as onbeskrewe, oop leie binne waarop na hartelus
geskryf kan word nie; inteendeel, hulle is almal reeds beskrewe.
Hulle luister en beleef met ‘n positiewe óf negatiewe reaksie, en
gebruik dit om verder aan hulle eie stories te skryf.
Daarom is die seën aan die einde van die erediens, wat
inderwaarheid ‘n ‘wegsending’ is, so gepas.
Wat Müller (2001) oor die terapeut sê, is eweneens op die liturg
van toepassing: ‘To be a therapist, like being a writer, is to be
able to dream for and with people.’ Lamott (1995) gebruik die
beeld van die sandkasteel: ‘n Deel van jou sien die volgende
brander aankom, en wanhoop, want jy dink die oseaan gaan die
sandkasteel platvee.
Another part of us thinks we’ll figure out a way to divert the ocean.
This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep
in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow
the ocean won’t wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind
of person to be.
(Lamott 1995:231)
Die liturg tel onder die kunstenaars van die lewe: daardie mense
wat ondanks alles steeds hoop; daardie mense wat aanhou om
met hulle woorde boodskappe soos sandkastele te bou; daardie
mense wat glo dat hulle sandkastele sal bly staan en, ten minste
vir so lank as wat dit bly staan, betekenis het. Liturge is gelowige
profete wat nie moeg word om mense met die woorde van die
Evangelie te konfronteer en in die kunswerke van aanbidding
in te nooi nie.
‘n Narratiewe benadering tot die liturgie kan ongetwyfeld
‘n bydrae tot groter integriteit vir die liturgie lewer. Deur
die skeppende beligting en ontginning van die raakpunte
tussen die verskillende verhale wat in die liturgie ontmoet, sal
erediensgangers die liturgie as ‘n betekenisvolle oomblik te
midde van die golwe van die tydsgees ervaar.
Article #179
•
•
•
•
Einde (‘ending’)
Verbum et Ecclesia
• ‘n Aanklag teen God
• ‘n Klag oor die lyding wat die gemeenskap beleef
• ‘n Aanklag oor en teen die vyande
God te ontdek. Dit kan selfs gedoen word sonder om die naam
van God oorvloedig te gebruik, soos wat liturge geneig is om te
doen. Dit is veel doeltreffender om sagkens op die ‘edges of life’
te beweeg. Dáár maak mense hulle eie preke onder die geklank
van die Woord, en in die ruimte wat die liturgie skep.
LITERATUURVERWYSINGS
Armstrong, K., 2007, The Bible: A Biography, Atlantic Monthly
Press, London.
Brueggemann, W., 1989, Finally Comes the Poet. Daring speech for
proclamation, Fortress Press, Minneapolis.
Burger, C., 2005, Ontmoetings met die lewende God, Lux Verbi.BM,
Wellington.
Demazure, K. & Müller, J., 2006, ‘Perspectives in support of the
narrative turn in pastoral care’, Nederduits Gereformeerde
Teologiese Tydskrif 47(3&4), September & Desember 2006,
410–419.
Gibbs, E. & Bolger, R.K., 2006, Emerging Churches. Creating
Christian Communities in Postmodern Cultures, SPCK,
Londen.
Freedman & Combs, 1996, Narrative Therapy, WW Norton &
Company, New York.
Harvey, D., 1990, The condition of postmodernity, Blackwell,
Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Kearney, R., 1998, The Wake of Imagination. Toward a postmodern
culture, Routledge, Londen.
Lamott, A., 1995, Bird by Bird, Pantheon, New York.
McCarthy, C., 1994, The Crossing, Picador, Londen.
Müller, J., 2000, Reis-geselskap, Lux Verbi-BM, Wellington.
Müller, J., 2001, ‘Therapy as Fiction Writing’, Nederduits
Gereformeerde Teologiese Tydskrif 42(1&2), Junie 2001, 64–
70.
Original Research
Bosman & Müller
Scheepers, R., 1998, Koos Prinsloo. Die skrywers en sy geskryfdes,
Tafelberg, Kaapstad.
Spong, J.S., 2007, Jesus for the Non-Religious, HarperCollins, New
York.
Westermann, C., 1980, The Psalms, Structure, Content & Message,
Augsburg Publishing House, Minneapolis.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #179
Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk, 2001, Liedboek van die Kerk,
NG Kerk-Uitgewers, Wellington.
Polkinghorne, D.E., 1988, Narrative knowing and the human
sciences, State University of New York Press, Albany, New
York.
Ricoeur, P., 1984, Time and narrative, Volume 1, University of
Chicago Press, Chicago.
Original Research
Psalm 118 (117 lxx) in Luke-Acts: Application of a
‘New Exodus Motif’
Author:
Hyuk J. Kwon1
Affiliation:
1
Department of New
Testament, University of
Correspondence to:
Hyuk Kwon
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Department of New
Testament Studies, Faculty
of Theology, University of
Pretoria, Pretoria, Gauteng,
0002, South Africa
Keywords:
Luke-Acts; New Exodus
Motif; Psalm 118; New
Testament hermeneutics;
Targum
at:
Psalm 118 belongs to the so-called ‘Egyptian Hallel Psalms’ (Ps 113–118). These psalms were praises
sung as part of the liturgy during the major Jewish feasts of the Passover, the Pentecost and the
Tabernacles. Psalm 118 was especially related to the feast of the Passover, which serves as a reminder
of the Exodus from Egypt. During the festival, pilgrims recounted the deeds performed by Yahweh to
save the Jewish people during their exodus from Egypt, under the leadership of Moses. The question
is whether the early Christian writers, especially the New Testament authors, had the New Exodus
Motif3 in mind when they quoted from Psalm 118.
The TraditionAL-Historical Aspect of PsALM 118
The background of Psalm 118
As with many of the psalms, when and under what circumstances Psalm 118 was composed still
remains a matter of scholarly controversy. The majority view today is that the psalm was composed
in the post-exilic era as a liturgy intended as part of a festival of thanksgiving (Kraus 1989:395).
Article #59
Kwon, H.J., 2009, ‘Psalm
118 (117 lxx) in Luke-Acts:
Application of a “New
Exodus Motif”’, Verbum
6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.59
Introduction
There are numerous psalm quotations in the New Testament.1 Among such quotations, the use of
Psalm 118 in the New Testament is conspicuous. According to the tables of quotation of the United
Bible Societies (UBS 3rd edn.) and Nestle-Aland 27th edn., Psalm 118 is one of the most quoted
psalms in the New Testament, and perhaps the most quoted Old Testament chapter.2 However, the
same amount of attention has not been paid to the occurrence of Psalm 118 in the New Testament.
Such a situation calls for closer investigation into the use and interpretation of Psalm 118 in the New
Testament.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
Received: 16 Feb. 2009
Published: 09 Dec. 2009
Abstract
This contribution explores the presence of Psalm 118 (117 LXX) in Luke-Acts. The
Wirkungsgeschichte of Psalm 118 will be traced by means of a twofold approach: from a
traditional-historical and a hermeneutical angle with regard to the reception history of Psalm
118. Firstly, in terms of a traditional-historical, otherwise known as a diachronic, approach, the
background of Psalm 118 and evidence of the use and application of Psalm 118 in the tradition
(namely in the ancient Jewish materials, such as the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Targums, and Rabbinics,
and the New Testament books of Mark, Matthew, Luke, Acts, John, Romans, 2 Corinthians,
Ephesians, 1 Peter, Hebrews, Revelation, as well as in terms of Church Fathers 1 Clement and
Barnabas and the Apocryphon Thomas) will be discussed. Secondly, on the hermeneutical level,
otherwise known as the synchronic approach, the function and interpretation of the quotations
of Psalm 118 in its new context of Luke-Acts will be examined. In terms of the latter approach,
attention will be paid to investigating a possible underlying ‘New Exodus Motif’.
Psalm 118 forms part of the Hallel Psalms,4 which were specifically composed for festivals and
pilgrimages (West 1981:440). Hallel Psalms 113–118, as a unit, are called the so-called ‘Egyptian Hallel’,
since they recount the saving deeds of Yahweh performed during the Exodus from Egypt under the
leadership of Moses (to whom the authorship of the psalms was traditionally attributed) (Swanson
1992:30). Hence, they were customarily related to the Passover (Schaefer 2001:288). The Hallel was
first sung at the Feast of the Lights (also known as the Hanukkah), as is made clear by the inclusion
of Psalm 118:27, which states ‘Yahweh is God, he is our light’. The liturgical use of Psalm 118 was
later extended to the three great festivals of the Passover, the Pentecost and the Tabernacles (De Vaux
1980:512). Psalm 118 is a bridging psalm, as it not only forms the conclusion of the Egyptian Hallel
group of psalms, but also belongs to the opening of the Great Hallel, consisting of Psalms 118–136.
Psalm 118 and its motifs
Psalm 118, as the climax of the Egyptian Hallel, includes a number of Exodus parallels and connections
which make it very suitable for use during Passover. Firstly, many similarities exist in the vocabulary
of Exodus 14 and Psalm 118. Mays (1988:304) notes the stark verbal contrast between ‘die’ in Ex 14:11–
12 and ‘not die’ in Psalm 118:17–18. Prinsloo (2003:415) also mentions the verbal similarities existing
1.The UBS3 lists 79 different verses taken from 40 psalms as being cited in the New Testament. New Testament citations from the Old
Testament come mainly from the Pentateuch (51), the Psalter (40) and Isaiah (38) (Ellis 2000:52; Swete 1900:386).
2.According to UBS,3 with Exodus 20, Psalm 118 is the most frequently quoted Old Testament chapter in the New Testament. According
to NA27, Psalm 118 is found 24 times in the New Testament (11 quotations and 13 allusions).
Creative Commons
3.It is necessary to distinguish between ‘the Exodus Motif’ and ‘the New Exodus Motif’. The former is based on ‘the Exodus from the
Egyptian Exile.’ The latter finds its model in the Exodus from the Babylonian Exile. In the process of salvation history, there is also
development in the Exodus Motif. The prophets transformed the first Exodus into a New Exodus. As God delivered the Israelites
from Egypt in the past, he will save them in the future from slavery in Exile (Ryken, Wilhoit & Longman 1998:254). Accordingly, the
term ‘Exodus Motif’ mainly refers to the Exodus idea in the Pentateuch tradition, and the reference to a ‘New Exodus’ points to the
eschatological concept of a New Exodus in the book of Isaiah, especially in Isaiah 40–66.
4.The name ‘Hallel Psalms’ has been variously used to describe the following psalm groups: 104–106, 111–118, 120–136, and
146–150 (Swanson 1992:30).
Original Research
Kwon
between Exodus 14:30–31 and Psalm 118 as follows: ‘saved’
(Ex 14:30a) and ‘save’ (Ps 118:14b, 15a, 21b, 25a); ‘that day’ (Ex
14:30b) and ‘this day’ (Ps 118:24a); ‘saw’ (Ex 14:30–31a) and ‘look
down upon’ (Ps 118:7b); ‘Yahweh did’ (Ex 14:31b) and ‘the deeds
of Yahweh’ (Ps 118:17b); and ‘[t]he people feared Yahweh’ (Ex
14:31c) and ‘those who fear Yahweh’ (Ps 118:4a).
Davidic emphasis of the Dead Sea Scrolls may suggest an
eschatological reading of Psalm 118. Brunson (2003:88) supports
Wacholder’s view, arguing that the combination of psalms in
Fragment E would have promoted eschatological aspirations,
since Psalms 118, 104 and 105 contain references to the Exodus,
and Psalm 147 mentions the future gathering of the Exiles.
Secondly, several scholars see intertextual links between Psalm
118 and the so-called Song of Moses (Ex 15:1–21). Dahood
(1970:156) has, for instance, emphasised the verbal similarities
between Psalm 118 and the ancient victory hymn in Exodus
15:14 with Exodus 15:2;5 Exodus 15:15–16 with Exodus 15:6; and
Exodus 15:28 with Exodus 15:2. Prinsloo (2003:415) also notes
the strong verbal connection: Exodus 15:2ab is cited verbally
in Psalm 118:14ab. Furthermore, Exodus 15:2b is alluded to in
Psalm 118:21b, with Exodus 15:2bc being alluded to in Psalm
118:28bc.
Another compelling explanation for the unusual arrangement
of 11QPsa is that it is arranged according to liturgical
considerations. Whether or not the compiler borrowed phrases
from Psalm 118 to shape a new psalm, it seems that the Catena
was an intentional grouping, liturgical in purpose,10 and so the
fact that the psalm provides material for the liturgical complex
implies that it was well-known and adaptable, and that it played
an important liturgical role. The occurrence of Psalm 118:25–29
in Fragment E might suggest the use of the Hallel as a unit, or,
alternatively, might have served to shape the part of another
liturgical complex. Therefore, it is probable that the Dead Sea
Scrolls largely provide examples of the liturgical use of Psalm
118, rather than a simple copying of the psalm in its biblical
order (Brunson 2003:86–87).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #59
The intertextual relationships existing between Psalm 118 and
the New Exodus passages reflect the eschatological expectation
of the restoration of Israel. Isaiah 266 and Zechariah 10, both of
which were composed in the context of Judah’s eschatological
restoration, include striking parallels with Psalm 118 (Prinsloo
2003:416–417): ‘that day…salvation’ (Is 26:1) versus ‘this day’
(Ps 118:24a), ‘save’ (Ps 118:14b, 15a, 21b); ‘open the gates that
the righteous nation…enter’ (Is 26:2) versus ‘open for me the
gates of righteousness’ (Ps 118:19a), ‘enter’ (Ps 118:19b), ‘the
gate of Yahweh’ (Ps 118:20a), ‘the righteous may enter through
it’ (Ps 118:20b); and ‘cornerstone’ (Zch 10:4) versus ‘cornerstone’
(Psalm 118:22).
Psalm 118 in the Jewish and early Christian
traditions
Psalm 118 (LXX 117) itself was closely associated with the
Passover by the Jews, as well as with the celebration of Easter by
the early Church (Thomas 1965:319). According to Kistemaker
(1961:57), Psalm 118 was ‘sung during the entire week following
Easter Sunday, being the last remnant of the seven-day long
Jewish celebration of Passover’. Werner (1959:57) argues
similarly, saying that ‘apparently this psalm citation belonged to
the liturgy of synagogue and church’.
The use of Psalm 118 in the Jewish tradition
Psalm 118 in the Dead Sea Scrolls
Although numerous copies of various psalms were found in
the Qumran library, few manuscripts were found to preserve
portions of Psalm 118.7 Among the few such that remain extant,
the scroll 11QPsa, which includes six verses from Psalm 118
in column XVI has aroused great interest, due to its unusual
arrangement and contents.8 The sequence has been found to
consist of Psalms 135, 136, as well as parts of Psalms 118 and
145, accompanied by some additional inserts and a (largely
missing) subscription (Skehan 1973:195).
Whether 11QPsa is a scriptural Psalter or a secondary collection,
all parties have suggested the strong Davidic emphasis in the
scroll, which recognises the importance of David’s compositions,
with the prose ‘epilogue’9 that appears in column XXVII (Flint
1997:176–177). According to Wacholder (1988:23), the strong
5.Psalm 118:14 is the classic statement, coined by the song sung after the victory at
the Red Sea in Moses’ days (Ex 15:2) and then again used effectively in Isaiah’s
days (Is 12:2), The Lord is my strength and my salvation. The echoes of the hymn
ring down to the New Testament (Rv 15:3) (Leupold 1972:815).
6.Psalm 118 parallels Exodus 15:2, and Isaiah 26:2, 11 (Botha 2003:211).
7.Segments of Psalm 118 are found in the following scrolls: Psalms 118:25–29 (11QPsa
fragment E I); 118:1, 15, 16, 8, 9, 20 (11QPsa col XVI); 118:1, 5, 16 (11QPsb);
118:1–3, 6–12, 18–20, 23–26, 29 (4QPsb); 118:29 (4QPse).
8.According to Abegg, Flint and Ulrich (1999:505), from Psalm 91 onward, many of the
psalms scrolls differ radically from the MT Psalter. The variations involved are of two
chief types: variations in arrangement (referring to the different order of the psalms)
and variations in content (referring to the inclusion of compositions not found in the
traditional book of psalms).
9.That is to say, the last columns of the scroll end with an emphasis on David.
Psalm 118 in the Targum
Compared with Masoretic Text Psalm 118:22, the Aramaic
tradition interprets ‘stone’ as ‘a youth’. Most scholars (Evans
2001:238; Jeremias 1966:259; Strack & Billerbeck 1965:876)
understand the reference to the youth to be a reference to David.
The fact that the young man was identified as being one of the
sons of Jesse, and that all those concerned in the antiphonal
praise were contemporaries of David support the idea that
the reference was to David himself (Snodgrass 1973:83).
Accordingly, the Targum on Psalm 118 seems to incorporate
themes from David’s life, beginning with his initial rejection in
his youth, continuing through his acceptance as Israel’s king,
and ending with Samuel’s offering of a sacrifice to celebrate
young David’s accession to the throne (Evans 2001:229).
Gärtner (1953:100–101), however, interprets the reference to
the youth to be a reference to the Messiah himself, meaning
David’s son, suggesting that ‘king’ and ‘rule’ are terms used
in connection with the Messiah. The Messianic-eschatological
interpretation of other Old Testament stone passages and the
description of the stone as a ruler/king increases the possibility
that similar associations could be made with Psalm 118:22
(Brunson 2003:41).
Psalm 118 in the Rabbinic literature
As Table 111 demonstrates, the Hallel, as a whole, was interpreted
eschatologically and/or Messianically in late Judaism.
The second section of the Hallel in particular was interpreted
Messianically in rabbinic literature. Such an eschatological
interpretation is well represented in the Midrash on the Psalms,
especially in 118, §22, which is presented in Table 2.
For instance, the Midrash on Psalms 118, §22 interprets Psalm
118:24 as referring to the day of deliverance which ends all
slavery eternally, namely to the Messianic redemption (Brunson
2003:92–93).
The use of Psalm 118 in the early Christian tradition
• Possible Psalm 118 (117 LXX) references in the early Christian
tradition consist of the following:
• Psalm 118:5, 21 (117 LXX) are alluded to in John 11:41–42.
• Psalm 118:6 (117 LXX) is quoted (Hab 13:6), and alluded to
once (Rm 8:31b), in the New Testament.
• Psalm 118:10–12 (117 LXX) are alluded to in John 10:24–25.
• Psalm 118:15 (117 LXX) is alluded to in Luke 1:51.
10.Skehan (1973:195) contends that the Catena forms the clearest of the liturgical
groupings in the scroll. Some scholars are of similar opinion (Goshen-Gottstein
1966:24; Talmon 1966:12; Wacholder 1988:43–44, 48).
11.Jeremias (1966:256–257).
Original Research
Psalm 118 (117 LXX) in Luke-Acts: Application of a ‘New Exodus Motif’
Psalm 118 in the Synoptics
TABLE 1
Interpretation of the Hallel
Hallel
Rabbinic Literature
Psalm 113:2
The praise of God in the world to come (Midr Ps 113:4)
Psalm 113:9
Zion in the end time (Pes 141a)
Psalm 115:1
The suffering of the Messianic times and the war against
Gog and Magog (b Pes 118a)
Psalm 116:4
Saving of the souls of the pious from Gehenna (b Pes
118a)
Psalm 116:9
Resurrection of the dead (b Pes 118a); the eschatological
meal (Ex R 25.10 on 16:4)
Psalm 116:13
David’s table-blessing after the meal of the salvation time
(b Pes 119b; Ex R 25.10 on 16.4)
Psalm 118:7
The last judgement (Midr Ps 118, §10)
Psalm 118:10–12
War against Gog and Magog (Midr Ps 118, §12)
Psalm 118:15
Beginning of the Messianic times (Pes 132a)
Psalm 118:24
The Messianic redemption (Midr Ps 118, §22)
Psalm 118:24–29
The antiphonal choir at the Parousia (Midr Ps 118, §22)
Psalm 118:27a
God, the light of salvation, time (Midr Ps 36, §6)
Psalm 118:27b
The days of Gog and Magog (j Ber 2.4d.49)
Psalm 118:28
The future world (j Ber 2.4d.50)
Unlike Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22–23, the lines from Psalm 118 (117
LXX):25–26 about the blessedness of the one who comes in the
name of the Lord are expressed in various ways in the Synoptics.
Matthew, after speaking of the crowds giving praise to ‘the son
of David’, cites the psalm, and then notes the cries of ‘Hosanna
in the highest’. Mark speaks of those going before and behind
crying hosanna, cites the psalm, notes another blessing for ‘the
coming kingdom of our Father David’, and closes with cries of
‘Hosanna in the highest’. Luke does not mention the crying out
of ‘Hosanna!’, but speaks of ‘the king’ and ‘peace in heaven, and
glory in the highest heaven’. Like Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22–23,
Psalm 118 (117 LXX):25–26 is Christologically interpreted by
the Synoptics. The phrase ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the
name of the LORD’, which originally referred to the benediction
pronounced upon ‘those coming or entering the gates of the
temple’ was changed into ‘the welcome for Jesus as the coming
Messiah’ (Menken 2004:70).
Psalm 118 in the Gospel of John
TABLE 2
The Midrash on Psalm 118, §2212
Psalm 118:25
From inside the walls, the men of Jerusalem will say, ‘We
beseech Thee, O Lord, save now!’ And, from outside, the
men of Judah will say, ‘We beseech Thee, O Lord, make us
now to prosper!’
Psalm 118:26
From inside, the men of Jerusalem will say, ‘Blessed be he
that cometh IN the name of the Lord!’ And, from outside, the
men of Judah will say, ‘We bless you OUT of the house of
the Lord!’
Psalm 118:27
From inside, the men of Jerusalem will say, ‘The Lord is God
and hath given us light’. And, from outside, the men of Judah
will say, ‘Order the festival procession with boughs, even unto
the horns of the altar!’
Psalm 118:28
From inside, the men of Jerusalem will say, ‘Thou art my God
and I will give thanks unto Thee’. And, from outside, the men
of Judah will say, ‘Thou art my God, I will exalt Thee’.
Psalm 118:29
Then the men of Jerusalem and the men of Judah, together,
opening their mouths in praise of the Holy One, blessed be
He, will say ‘O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good, for
His mercy endureth for ever’.
• Psalm 118:16 (117 LXX) is alluded to in Luke-Acts three
times: Luke 1:51; Acts 2:33; Acts 5:31.
• Psalm 118:17–18 (117 LXX) are alluded to in 2 Corinthians
6:9.
• Psalm 118:20 (117 LXX) is alluded to in Revelations 22:14.
• Psalm 118:22–23 (117 LXX) is one of the favourite parts of
Psalm 118 among the early Christian writers. The verses are
found at least ten times in the early Christian literature (Mk
8:31; Mk 12:10–11; Mt 21:42; Lk 9:22; Lk 17:25; Lk 20:17; Ac
4:11; Rm 9:32–33; Eph 2:20; 1 Pt 2:7; Gl 66; Barn 6:2–4).
• Psalm 118:24 (117 LXX) is alluded to in John 8:56 and in
Revelations 19:7.
• Psalm 118:25–26 (117 LXX) are quoted at least six times in
the Gospels (Mk 11:9–10; Mt 21:9; Mt 23:39; Lk 13:35, Lk
19:38; Jn 12:13) and are alluded to twice in the Synoptics (Mt
11:3; Lk 7:19).
12.This translation of the Midrash on the Psalms 118, §22 was borrowed from Braude
(1959:245)
Article #59
After all the redemptions that came to Israel, enslavement
followed, but from this point on no enslavement would follow,
as is stated.
While the Synoptics focus on a few verses of Psalm 118 (117
LXX) (22–23, 25–26), the Fourth Gospel employs a wider range
of wording from Psalm 118 (117 LXX) (5, 10–12, 19–20, 21, 24, 25–
26), but does not use the wording of Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22. John
12:13 contains the only quotation from Psalm 118 (117 LXX). Like
the Synoptic parallels, the Psalm 118 (117 LXX) quotation in John
has no introductory formula, and is also suitably contextualised
by adding the note of blessing on ‘the king of Israel’. In the title,
which forms an inclusio with Nathanael’s confession at the
introduction of the Gospel, the phrase ‘the coming one’ and the
quotation from Zechariah 9:9 in John 12:15, John describes Jesus
as a Messianic king who comes to bring the New Exodus to his
people (Daly-Denton 2004:127).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Psalm 118:24
The Synoptic writers concentrate on Psalm 118:22–23, 25–26
(117 LXX). Although the citation from Psalm 118:22–23 in the
Synoptics follows the LXX text of Psalm 117 closely, the writers
apply it to a different context and reinterpret it Christologically.
‘The builders’, who referred to ‘the nations’ in the LXX Ps 117:22
now turn out to be ‘the leaders of Israel’. In the original psalm,
‘the stone which the builders rejected’ referred to ‘the nation of
Israel’ or ‘Israel’s king’. In the Synoptics, the term is applied to
Jesus.
Psalm 118 in the Pauline Epistles
The Pauline literature does not quote Psalm 118 (117 LXX)
directly, but merely alludes to the stone text of Psalm 118:22 at
least twice (Rm 9:32–32 and Eph 2:20), and applies ‘the stone’
to ‘Christ’. It seems, therefore, that there is an underlying
possibility of the New Exodus Motif in Paul’s allusions to Psalm
118 (117 LXX) (Dunn 1988:594).
Psalm 118 in the General Epistles
In Hebrews 13:6, Psalm 118 (117 LXX) is quoted in relation to
the Jewish feasts, namely to the Sabbatical Year, the Tabernacles
and the Passover, all of which are closely associated with Exodus
themes (Steyn 2006:130). By using the Psalm 118:22 citation,
sandwiching it between two Isaianic quotations, 1 Peter seems
to depict Jesus as Isaiah’s righteous servant, whose task it was to
bring the New Exodus to his church through his suffering and
death (Nixon 1963:28).
The Hermeneutical Aspect of PsALM
118 in Luke-Acts
According to Doble (2004:83), Luke stressed that Jesus’ story
was the fulfilment of the Old Testament, especially in terms of
the psalms. Fourteen psalm quotations are given in Luke-Acts,
four of which come from Psalm 118 (117 LXX). The quotations
appear in Luke 13:35 (Ps 118[117 LXX]:6); Luke 19:38 (Ps 118[117
LXX]:26); Luke 20:17 (Ps 118[117 LXX]:22); and Acts 4:11 (Ps
118[117 LXX]:22).
Original Research
Kwon
The New Exodus Motif in Luke-Acts
Luke describes the journey of Jesus as his ‘Exodus’, which will
be fulfilled in Jerusalem (Lk 9:31). In so doing, Luke clearly
thinks particularly of the eschatological New Exodus, which is
depicted in Isaiah 40–66.13 Such an approach not only matches
Luke’s eschatological viewpoint and massive interest in the
book of Isaiah well,14 but it also corresponds with his unique
Christology, which focuses on ‘Jesus’ role as the expected
Davidic Messiah, Isaianic servant and prophet like Moses’.
Luke understands Jesus to be a Davidic king, who (like Moses)
brings an eschatological New Exodus to his people through
his suffering as the Lord’s servant. The New Exodus Motif is
continued in Acts, where Jesus’ apostles follow the New Exodus
way of deliverance, which is manifested throughout his entire
life (Strauss 1995:304).
The interpretation of Psalm 118 in the Gospel of Luke
Three explicit quotations from Psalm 118 (117 LXX) appear in
Luke’s Gospel, with the New Exodus Motif being given in each
citation.15 Whereas the first citation appears in a different place in
Matthew’s Gospel, the second and last are distinctively Lukan.
The third quotation is shared with Mark and Matthew (Wagner
1997:156–157).
The lament over Jerusalem (Lk 13:31–35)
A comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 117:25–
26 (LXX) with Luke 13:35 appears in Table 3.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #59
TABLE 3
Comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 117:25–26 (LXX) with Luke
13:35
LXX
Lk 13:35
25
ὦ κύριε, σῶσον δή, ὦ κύριε, εὐόδωσον
δή
ἰδοὺ ἀφίεται ὑμῖν ὁ οἶκος ὑμῶν. λέγω
[δὲ] ὑμῖν, οὐ μὴ ἴδητε με ἕως [ἥξει ὅτε]
εἴπητε·
26
εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος ἐν ὀνόματι
κυρίου,
κυρίου
εὐλογήκαμεν ὑμᾶς ἐξ οἴκου κυρίου
While Luke 13:34–35 shares the same citation and much
of its situation with Matthew 23:37–39, Luke drastically
recontextualises it (Doble 2004:85–86). Matthew positions the
lament after Jesus has arrived in Jerusalem between the Woes
(23:1–36) and the Apocalyptic Discourse (24:1–25:46). In such a
context, Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26 clearly refers to the end of days.
Luke, however, incorporates the episode into his long journey
narrative (Lk 9:51–19:27), before Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem.
Therefore, the wording of Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26 most naturally
refers to Jesus’ expected arrival in Jerusalem (Wagner 1997:163).
In Luke 13:34, Jesus complains that he often wanted to gather
in, love, and protect his people, but they were not willing to
accept him in this way. Consequently, judgement on the temple
is proclaimed: ‘Your house is left to you desolate’ (Lk 13:35a). A
quote from Psalm 118 (117 LXX) follows: ‘You will not see me
until you say, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the
Lord” (Lk 13:35b)’. They will not see him again before the day
when he is welcomed into Jerusalem as the end-time Messiah.
The words of hail are taken from Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26, and
are employed by the multitudes of disciples in an anticipatory
way in 19:38 (Nolland 1993a:742).
Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26 refers to the priests’ benediction of those
who came to worship in the temple, who were perhaps pilgrims
13.Numerous recent studies review the Lukan writings in light of the Isaianic New
Exodus programme (cf. Denova 1997; Pao 2000; Sanders 1982; Seccombe 1981;
Strauss 1995; Turner 1996).
14.According to Koet (2005:79–80), there are nine explicit Isaiah quotations (of which
four are in Luke and five are in Acts) in the Lukan writings, namely Isaiah 40:3–5
(Lk 3:4–6); Isaiah 61:1–2a (Lk 4:18–19); Isaiah 56:7 (Lk 19:46); Isaiah 53:12 (Lk
22:37); Isaiah 66:1–2a (Ac 7:49–50); Isaiah 53:7–8c (Ac 8:32–33); Isaiah 55:3 (Ac
13:34); Isaiah 49:6 (Ac 13:47) and Isaiah 6:9–11a (Ac 28:26–27).
led in procession by the king (Bock 1996:1250). Luke reinterprets
the benediction Christologically: ‘a Messianic exclamation and
greeting, here referring to the (eschatological) moment when Israel
will acknowledge Jesus as its Messiah’ (Reiling & Swellengrebel
1971:520). The key phrase ‘the coming one’ amounts to Messianic
terminology in Luke’s Gospel: in Luke 3:15–16 and Lk 7:19 the
expression alludes to the coming Messianic figure, who brings
God’s salvation. In both the pericope and Lk 19:38, the phrase
also has clear Messianic overtones (Bock 1996:1250).
The triumphal entrance (Lk 19:28–40)
A comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 117:26
(LXX) with Luke 19:38 appears in Table 4.
TABLE 4
A comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 177:2 (LXX) with Luke 19:38
LXX
λέγοντες·
εὐλογημένος ὁ ἐρχόμενος, ὁ βασιλεὺς ἐν
ὀνόματι κυρίου·
κυρίου,
εὐλογήκαμεν ὑμᾶς ἐξ οἴκου κυρίου
ἐν οὐρανῷ εἰρήνη καὶ δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις
The second quotation of Psalm 118 (117 LXX) occurs in the
context of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (Lk 19:28–40). The goal of
the Isaianic New Exodus is to reach Jerusalem/Zion (Is 35:10;
40:9; 51:11), where Yahweh’s glory will be revealed (Is 40:5;
52:10), and where he will reign as king (Is 52:7). In Luke, too,
the emphasis is on Jerusalem. Hahn pinpoints the priority of
Jerusalem in Luke:
For Luke, it is theologically important that the word of God go
forth from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth (Lk 24:47; Ac 1:8;
cf. Is 2:3). The gospel begins in Jerusalem (1:5–23), the only two
narratives from Jesus’ childhood find him in Jerusalem (2:22–52),
for most of the narrative he is travelling to Jerusalem (9:51–19:27),
and the gospel climaxes in Jerusalem (19:28–24:49), wherein the
disciples are told to ‘remain’ (24:49).
(Hahn 2005:303–304)
Luke inserts his interpretative comment ‘o` basileuj' in Luke
19:38. By adding the word to the original psalm, Luke, like
Matthew, relates the citation from Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26 to the
prophecy in Zechariah 9:9 (Ellis 1966:227).
Though Luke has previously referred to Jesus’ Davidic link (1:32;
18:38–39), here he directly calls Jesus 'king' (Bock 1996:1558).
According to Doble (2004:86), 'from Annunciation (Lk 1:32–35)
to Paul’s dialogues (Ac 28:23–24), Luke’s work is founded on
Jesus’ being the long-awaited Davidic king'. The reference to the
king makes it plain that a royal figure is in view, which might be
a further allusion to Zechariah 9:9 (Bock 1996:1558).
In contrast to Mark, Luke intentionally drops Mark’s addition to
Psalm 118 (117 LXX) of 'the coming kingdom of our father David'.
According to Brunson (2003:117–118), Luke drops Mark’s distinct
expression, 'perhaps to avoid political misunderstanding and/or
to counter the impression that the kingdom of God should have
been inaugurated on or shortly after Jesus’ arrival to Jerusalem’.
By removing Mark’s vague expression ‘kingdom of our father
David’, Luke clearly identifies Jesus as king (Kinman 1995:117).
The parable of the wicked tenants (Lk 20:9–19)
A comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 117:22
(LXX) with Luke 20:17 appears in Table 5.
TABLE 5
Comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 177:22 (LXX) with Luke 20:17
LXX
Lk 20:17
ὁ δὲ ἐμβλέψας αὐτοῖς εἶπεν· τί οὖν
ἐστιν τὸ γεγραμμένον τοῦτο·
λίθον, ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ οἰκοδομοῦντες,
οὗτος ἐγενήθη εἰς κεφαλὴν γωνίας
15.Psalm 118 (117 LXX):25–26 in Luke 13:5, Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26 in Luke 19:38,
and Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22 in Luke 20:17.
Lk 19:38
λίθον ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ
οἰκοδομοῦντες, οὗτος ἐγενήθη εἰς
κεφαλὴν γωνίας;
Original Research
Psalm 118 (117 LXX) in Luke-Acts: Application of a ‘New Exodus Motif’
Compared with Mark and Matthew, Luke’s citation of the Old
Testament does not include Psalm 118 (117 LXX):23 ‘this was
done by the Lord and it is an amazing thing in our eyes’, as in
Mark 12:11 and Matthew 21:42b. The reason for Luke’s omission
of the quotation from Psalm 118 (117 LXX):23 is explained by
scholars in the following ways:
• the omission in Luke of Psalm 118 (117 LXX):23 is 'due to his
proclivity to omit irrelevant parts rather than a theological
motivation' (Snodgrass 1983:62);
• Luke, thereby, is able to concentrate exclusively on the
rejection theme, just as he also does with the identical
quotation in Acts 4:11 (Johnson 1991:306);
• such an omission might allow for a closer connection with
Acts 4:18, which maintains the stone imagery (Nolland
1993b:952). Another possible reason for the omission lies
in Luke’s development of his narrative over two volumes,
allowing for Psalm 117:23 (LXX) to be referred to in Paul’s
speech at Pisidian Antioch (Ac 13:41) (Doble 2004:86). All of
the above explanations seem plausible.
The parable itself does not indicate Jesus’ resurrection; it only
promises judgement on his opponents. The cornerstone metaphor,
however, must point to the vindication of Jesus by means of
resurrection (cf. Ac 2:29–36). Perhaps Luke regarded the
resurrection vindication of Jesus as preceding the appearance of
the new Christian leadership of the early church (cf. Ac 1–2). By
doing so, he was able to consider the Psalm 118 (117 LXX) citation
as supporting the conclusion of the parable in which the vineyard
falls into the hands of others.
(Nolland 1993b:953)
The interpretation of Psalm 118 by Acts
A comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Ps 117:22
(LXX) with Ac 4:11 appears in Table 6.
TABLE 6
A comparison of the reading of the Greek texts of Psalm 117:22 (LXX) with
Acts 4:11
LXX
λίθον, ὃν ἀπεδοκίμασαν οἱ
οἰκοδομοῦντες, οὗτος ἐγενήθη εἰς
κεφαλὴν γωνίας
Ac 4:11
οὗτος ἐστιν ὁ λίθος, ὁ ἐξουθενηθεὶς ὑφ̓
ὑμῶν τῶν οἰκοδόμων, ὁ γενόμενος εἰς
κεφαλὴν γωνίας
Peter’s defence and the prayer makes use of three different
psalms: Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22 in Acts 4:11; Psalm 145:6 in Acts
4:24; and Psalm 2:1–2 in Acts 4:25b–26. Only Psalm 2 has an
introductory formula (Doble 2004:97). Like Luke, Acts quoted
only Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22, though there are some differences.
Firstly, no introductory formula is given. Dunn (1996:53) sees
the sentence as being close to a direct citation from Psalm 118
(117 LXX):22. Secondly, the wording is couched in the second
(u`mw/n tw/n oivkodo,mwn), rather than in the third, person plural (oi`
oivkodomou/ntej).
The middle clause has been made more forceful and turned into
a petition of the charge of rejection (as in Ps 3:13-14) – not just
rejected (passed over as unsuitable), but rejected with contempt (as
in Lk 23:11 where the same verb is used), “by you the builders”.
(Dunn 1996:53)
In order to account for such differences, Barrett’s (1994:229)
reasonable solution is that ‘the sentence was adapted to the flow
of Peter’s argument’.
Wagner rightfully argues that Acts 4:11 functions to interpret
Psalm 118 (117 LXX) in the Gospel of Luke:
At last Luke lays all his cards out on the table, as it were, making
explicit the connections between Ps 118 and the story of Jesus that
up to now have been implied in the narrative rather than clearly
stated. … Ac 4:11 thus serves as the hermeneutical key to Luke’s
use of Ps 118 throughout the Gospel. For Luke, the psalm clearly
prefigures the rejection and vindication of God’s Messiah.
(Wagner 1997:173)
Conclusion
On the traditional-historical level, Luke understood the quotation
from Psalm 118 in terms of tradition, where there is clear
evidence of quotations from the psalm in the liturgical use of
Psalm 118 in the scroll 11QPsa of the Dead Sea Scrolls, as well
as a Messianic-eschatological interpretation of Psalm 118 in the
Dead Sea Scrolls and the Targum on Psalm 118.
On the hermeneutical level, regarding the function and
interpretation of the quotation from Psalm 118 in Luke-Acts, the
application of the New Exodus Motif is noteworthy. Psalm 118
(117 LXX):22 is cited twice in Luke-Acts (Lk 20:17; Ac 4:11). Acts
4:11 is the key to the interpretation of Psalm 118 (117 LXX):22
in Luke’s Gospel. By means of such references, Luke describes
Jesus as Isaiah’s Suffering Servant, who is closely linked to the
New Exodus. Psalm 118 (117 LXX):25–26 is also quoted twice in
Luke (Lk 13:35; 19:38). Compared with Luke 13:35, the quotation
of Psalm 118 (117 LXX):26 in Luke 19:38 adds ‘o` basileuj'. By
means of the addition, Luke depicts Jesus as the Davidic king
who leads the Isaianic New Exodus.
Article #59
Wherever else in the NT there is an allusion to Ps 118:22 the
LXX’s word is used, and e xv ouqenh q, ein can hardly be called a
Lucan word and adds the rewording of the Psalm is not Luke’s
own; it presumably came to him by tradition, and the tradition
was in all probability a tradition of a speech, or at least was
contained in a preaching context.
(Barrett 1994:230)
Verbum et Ecclesia
Unlike the previous two quotations from Psalm 118 (117 LXX)
(Lk 13:35; 19:38), Luke 20:17 introduces a new theme, that of
the rejected (by the builders), yet exalted (by God), stone. In
the psalm, use of the builders as a term refers to the nations.
However, Luke applies the term to the builders of Israel, meaning
the leaders of Israel (Nolland 1993b:953). In the original context,
the stone rejected by the builders refers to a nation rejected by
the nations, meaning Israel and its king. Luke uses the same
metaphor paradoxically: Jesus is rejected by his nation, Israel.
'The irony in the usage is that a psalm of national comfort now
indicts them of unfaithfulness because of their opposition to
God’s commissioned one' (Bock 1996:1603).
Thirdly, Luke substitutes the verb ‘evxouqenhqei,j' (in the passive,
to scorn) for the verb 'avpedoki,masan' (in the active, to reject). The
same verb is employed elsewhere to describe the attitude of the
leaders (Lk 18:9) (Johnson 1992:78). Barrett appropriately states
Luke’s use of the term ‘evxouqenh,qein':
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Original Research
Missional church and local constraints:
A Dutch perspective
Author:
Rein Brouwer1
Affiliation:
1
Protestant Theological
University, Utrecht, The
Netherlands
Correspondence to:
Rein Brouwer
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
PO Box 80105, NL-3508 TC
Utrecht, The Netherlands
Keywords:
empirical theology;
practical ecclesiology;
congregational ecology;
missional church; local faith
communities
at:
Note:
Dr Rein Brouwer is a
Research Associate of Prof.
J.C. Müller, Department
of Practical Theology,
University of Pretoria
Creative Commons
Article #329
Brouwer, R., 2009,
‘Missional church and
local constraints: A Dutch
perspective’, Verbum et
5 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.329
INTRODUCTION
There is an anecdote about a meeting between Hans Hoekendijk, on the one hand, and Peter Beyerhaus
and Donald McGavran, on the other. Dutch theologian Hans Hoekendijk (1912–1975) was a professor
of practical theology and missionary theology in the 1950s and 1960s in the Netherlands. In 1966,
he transferred to the Union Theological Seminary in New York and, during those years, became a
leading missionary theologian within the World Council of Churches. He was, for example, one of
the (more important) authors of Church for others, a study on missionary ecclesiology published in
1967. Hoekendijk died in 1975 but, a couple of years before his untimely death, he met Beyerhaus and
McGavran: In 1973, just a year ahead of the Lausanne conference on world evangelisation, Hoekendijk
was invited for a discussion with the two ‘big shots’ of the evangelical movement. During that session,
he expressed his thanks to his parents for raising him as an evangelical. His father had been a missionary
in Indonesia and, after their return to the Netherlands, a minister in an evangelical congregation.
Hoekendijk took pride in his evangelical background. To him, ‘evangelical’ and ‘ecumenical’ were
no opposites. But Beyerhaus and McGavran repudiated him as a suspected ecumenical and blamed
him for preaching a secular gospel of humanisation. Hoekendijk, so the story goes, was hurt by this
accusation; he may have been naïve but he had thought that he was among friends.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
ABSTRACT
The missional church concept promises to guide local churches in the direction of a new identity
and mission. It is a response to a sense of ecclesiological and congregational urgency that is felt
all over the world. In Africa, North America and Europe, churches and local faith communities
have been challenged by the changes in the religious state of affairs since the 1960s. Whether we
still call it ‘secularisation’ or rephrase it as ‘differentiated transformation’, the face of religion
is changing globally. In many parts of the world, this raises a feeling of crisis that gives way
to the redefinition of the mission and purpose of the church. ‘Missional church’, however, is a
precarious concept. Nobody disagrees with the intention but can it be more than an inspiring
vision? In order to realise this vision, a multi-layered and multi-dimensional analysis of ‘culture’
is essential. We should move the analysis beyond the philosophical interpretation of relatively
abstract and evasive macro-level processes, such as ‘modernity’ and ‘post-modernity’. The
future of the missional church depends on a differentiated and empirical, informed perspective
on culture. For this purpose, this article proposes the concept of ecology: A system of diverse
populations, including populations of congregations and faith communities, that interacts with
these populations and with their specific environments. Preparing a missional congregation for
the future should be accompanied with a thorough empirical investigation into the ecology of the
congregation. We should be thinking intensively about and looking for vital ecologies.
This story is worth telling for two reasons. The first reason is that, in my view, Hoekendijk is a forebear
of the missionary and even missional church movement (Bosch 2005:9). The second reason is that
any report on the missional church in the Netherlands has to deal with Hoekendijk’s ecclesiology
against the background of the broader Dutch apostolic theology, the so-called apostolaatstheologie. This
missional theology, represented by Hendrik Kraemer, Arend Th. van Leeuwen, Arnold van Ruler and
Hoekendijk, was relatively influential in the Netherlands from the 1950s through to the 1970s (Rasker
1986:317–330); many Dutch Reformed congregations in the 1960s endeavoured to be a missional
church for the world.
This article presents a case of such a Dutch Reformed congregation and sheds some light on how
this congregation developed from its beginnings in the 1960s into the 21st century. The case study
shows how difficult it is to stay truthful to the intentions of being a missional church in a continuously
changing social, cultural and political context. More than 40 years ago, the local church that I studied
started off with a missional intention in the spirit of Hoekendijk (Brouwer 2009). But, for some years
now, it has, in fact, been withdrawing from its parochial context and has been forming a ‘niche’ within
its immediate neighbourhood. The reasons for this are multidimensional and complex. An analysis of
the empirical situation of this particular Dutch Protestant congregation during the last 40 years poses
a powerful challenge to a naïve perception of culture. Guder and others in the Gospel and Our Culture
Network have, in fact, recognised the difficulty in defining post-Christendom culture (Guder 1998:9;
Hunsberger & Van Gelder 1996:53–56). We should, however, go beyond recognition, since the future
of the missional church depends on a differentiated and empirical, informed perspective on culture.
That is the point that I wish this article to make: A thorough empirical investigation into the ecology of
a congregation is a prerequisite for the preparation of a missional congregation of the future.
The argument starts with Hoekendijk and his influence on Dutch missionary theology. I then present
the case of a Dutch Protestant congregation against the background of the transformation of the Dutch
religious landscape. The article finishes with some exploratory thoughts on ecology, ecosystems and
biodiversity.
THE CHURCH INSIDE OUT
Hoekendijk intended to turn ‘the church inside out’, as the collection of some of his writings is
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called (Hoekendijk 1964). According to Hoekendijk, the church
is missional by definition, it is a function of the apostolic and
it is an instrument of God’s redeeming work in and for the
world (Hoekendijk 1964:50–51). ‘Missional’ is not the same as
promoting the church and church growth. ‘Missional’ is about
God’s shalom for the world, which is represented in kerugma,
lived in koinonia and demonstrated in diakonia. The eschatology
therefore precedes the ecclesiology. The Christian congregation
should be a paroikia, a group of nomad people, free to relate
to whatever form or structure; koinonia means an open and
flexible community, directed at establishing significant signs of
the kingdom of God in this world (Hoekendijk 1964:21–31).
Hoekendijk put down these thoughts more than four decades
ago, when he was a prominent figure in the missionary and
ecumenical discourse. Theology students in the Netherlands
nowadays, however, hardly know who Hoekendijk was. The
reason for this may be that they are more on par with Beyerhaus
and McGavran but it may also be that Hoekendijk’s apostolic
theology was too radical, according to his Dutch colleagues
Berkhof and Van Ruler. The former criticised him for his
‘functional ecclesiology’ and the latter emphasised, against
Hoekendijk, the special character of the church as a creation of the
Spirit (Brouwer 2003). Hoekendijk was furthermore no empirical
theologian. He was a keen missional theologian and an influential
visionary in the ecumenical movement but he was not well versed
in social scientific enquiry. This could well be the reason for his
underestimating the counter-pressure of Christendom and the
ability of the church to endure. ‘Morphological fundamentalism’,
a concept calibrated by Hoekendijk, is still a relatively manifest
ecclesial reality in mainline Dutch Protestant churches. One
could argue that Hoekendijk should have paid more attention to
a ‘thick empirical description’ (Browning 1991:105–108; Geertz
1973:3–30; Hopewell 1987:3–18) of the contexts of missional
congregations. Instead, however, he presented an inspiring
vision that was not fully realised by any means. But an inspiring
vision it was. And this was also the vision – and the intention –
with which the congregation that I studied started in the 1960s.
After World War II, the Netherlands entered the so-called
wederopbouw period (Kennedy 1993; Schuyt & Taverne 2000).
This meant, materially, rebuilding the houses and churches
and other important buildings that were damaged during the
war and, socially, reconstructing society both culturally and
politically. This period of redevelopment lasted nearly two
decades. They were years of soberness throughout Western
Europe; Dutch society was kept together by strict rules and
paternal authorities. The 1950s could be seen as a period of
innocence – people cherishing community and closeness – but it
could also be seen as suffocating. This may well be the reason for
the 1960s to have been hailed as liberating: The economy took off,
social divisions were turned around, the world belonged to the
young and imagination ruled. ‘The times they are a-changin’’,
according to one Bob (Dylan) Zimmerman; ‘The Great Society’
(Hoekendijk 1964:35–41) reached the Netherlands and the ‘fourth
man’ – beyond Christianity, the church, the bourgeoisie, the self,
religion – announced his advent (Hoekendijk 1964:56–71).
A CASE STUDY OF A DUTCH PROTESTANT
CONGREGATION
During the 1960s, a city in the middle of the Netherlands –
Amersfoort – entered a new era by building new city quarters
after the war. Until then, housing shortage had been a huge
problem. Most people in Amersfoort lived in old and small
houses – if they were fortunate enough to have a place of their
own and not compelled to lodge with family or with strangers.
Everything in these newly built quarters was new and fresh
and full of hope. The inhabitants felt as if they had the world
at their feet. The same post-war ardour was discernible in the
Amersfoort churches; they even went so far as to build new
residences for their faithful in the new city quarters. The Dutch
Reformed Church, however, not only intended to build a
57
Verbum et Ecclesia
church for the local Dutch Reformed; in the spirit of Kraemer,
Hoekendijk and Van Ruler, it heeded a calling to be a church
for the whole population, to be an inclusive church. Optimism
about the future of the church and of society was prevalent. The
church believed that it should play an important part in society
by challenging the drawbacks of the post-war era, namely the
individualism and the anonymity in the new neighbourhoods,
the loss of community, the loss of sense of direction.
In 1970, the Dutch Reformed in Amersfoort established in one of
the new quarters a place where the congregation could worship
on Sundays. The building looked more like a community
centre than a church. For instance, a bell tower was lacking.
Furthermore, the name of the centre did not include the suffix
‘church’, as had been the case with all the previous Dutch
Reformed church buildings in Amersfoort. The intention was to
establish a congregational meeting place that was an integrative
part of the nearby shopping area, a place that people should not
be discouraged to enter. And, indeed, all kinds of welfare and
neighbourhood organisations made use of the facilities during
the week. The church centre was one of the few larger venue
halls in the city and it was therefore also host to musical and
vocal performances. The place was known by all.
In a recently published empirical theological study, I reported
on the culture and theology of this Protestant congregation
(Brouwer 2009; see also Brouwer 2008). The culture of a local faith
community is perceived as the comprehensive configuration
of four congregational study perspectives: context, resources,
process and identity (Ammerman et al. 1998; Brouwer 2005).
The nature and essence of congregations can be grasped by
an empirical research through the use of these perspectives as
analytical tools. Theology, as the theological interpretation of
the congregational description, is seen as part of the culture of
a local faith community (Ammerman et al. 1998:23–39; Schreiter
1985; Tanner 1997:63–93). The theological interpretation of the
thick description of congregations is an elementary component
of congregational studies.
Part of the above-mentioned ethnographic study of the Protestant
faith community in Amersfoort was an overview of the history
of this congregation. In the beginning, the congregation
wanted to be an ‘open’ church and the building was supposed
to be an ‘open door, an open house and an open heart to the
neighbourhood’, according to a policy document from 1970. The
centre was called ‘The Bridge’ to indicate a place where people
could meet and bridge their differences and strengthen the local
community. ‘This center is built because we believe that God
wants something with people. God builds a bridge to the earth,
through Jesus Christ, the Pontifex, the pontiff, the builder of
bridges,’ said the then minister. The church was to be a church
for others in the post-war culture of estrangement and societal
upheaval – a missional church, according to the meaning that
Hoekendijk attached to it.
When I started to study this congregation a few years ago
and made a more profound exploration of its origins, I was
surprised to learn about these beginnings. The congregation
that I familiarised myself with initially through participant
observation seemed to differ from its founding principles of
the 1960s. In 2007, there were indeed some sincere attempts to
attract people from the neighbourhood to the church, to organise
easy accessible activities, to let people know that God loves them
and that every Sunday morning the gospel is proclaimed in the
church. But the congregation was in no way a missional church.
The church did try to adhere to the new policy of the Protestant
Church in the Netherlands (PCN) in respect of becoming a
missional church but it was a long way from realising this aim.
So different from its original intentions of the 1960s.
In 2005, one year after the merger of three Protestant churches
into one, the synod of the PCN welcomed a document titled
Learning to live out of wonder (PCN 2005), announcing a missional
Original Research
change in the denominational policy of the PCN. There were
criticisms on the too-optimistic pitch of the text optimistic about
missionary opportunities and on the influence of the evangelical
movement that seemed to be present in the document. Overall,
however, the congregations responded benevolently to this
synodal plea – before they carried on with business as usual.
Agreeing with a missionary vision is one thing; changing into a
missional church is something else.
The synodal report presents the congregation as missionary;
there is a missionary calling and there should be a missionary
presence: ‘The Word to life should be translated and brought
over the borders of the church and Christianity’ (PCN 2005). The
church wants to be many things to many people:
A powerful community of faith where people discover the purpose
of their life; to represent and bear witness of the life-changing
message of the Gospel in a contemporary manner; a community
where God’s presence is being celebrated; a community of prayer; a
centre of values and spirituality; a caring community, where people
may feel secure; a movement of hope and anticipation, across limits
of poverty, injustice and hopelessness.
(PCN 2005)
According to the document, people, society and culture are
estranged from the gospel; the solution is to communicate
the gospel in a new way to a culture of experience, an
Erlebnisgesellschaft.
ECOLOGY
The empirical context of a local congregation is a multi-layered
texture that consists of influences at the macro, meso and micro
levels of society. Nowadays in the Netherlands, it is more precise
to use the concept of ‘transformation of the religious landscape’
instead of ‘secularisation’.
In 2009, about 1.7 million people with a non-Western ethnicity
were living in the Netherlands, a little more than 10% of the
Dutch population. About 1 million of these new Dutch women
and men are presumed to be Muslim and about 600 000 or 700
000 to be Christian. The influx of migrant workers and asylum
seekers and their families is therefore forcing Dutch society
to deal with the subject of religion again, one (the Christian
version) which many thought had been dealt with in the 1970s.
The debate about the separation of church and state is, however,
back on the political agenda.
This was already the case in 1970, when the Protestant
congregation that I studied built its church centre. The
Protestant congregation then anticipated that the building of
new houses in a new developed quarter in the city of Amersfoort
would guarantee a continuous stream of church members. The
empirical situation, however, differed. Secularisation in the
Netherlands in 1966 dealt a hard blow to the Dutch Reformed
church, although this was not the only church affected. The
numerical increase in church members did not equal the growth
percentage of the population. In 1958, for example, a quarter of
the population mentioned no affiliation with any church; in 1966,
this had risen to a third (33%). In 1979, the percentage stood at
43% and, in 1996, more than half the population (53%) had no
church affiliation. In 2004, it was nearly two-thirds; the estimate
for 2020 is even worse (Becker & De Hart 2006:94–96).
Three Dutchmen and one woman have recently, for different
reasons, become international household names with regard to
the multicultural debate in Western Europe. Intended Member
of Parliament Pim Fortuyn and film maker Theo van Gogh were
murdered in 2002 and 2004, respectively: Fortuyn because of
his radical criticism of Muslim extremism, Van Gogh by the
hand of a radical Muslim extremist. Politician and publicist
Ayaan Hirsi Ali exchanged the Dutch climate that she electrified
with her controversial thoughts on Islam and women’s rights
for the United States with its freedom of thought and speech,
and Geert Wilders, leader of a populist political party, caused
some international commotion with his anti-Islamic movie Fitna.
Religion may not be said to be making a comeback in Dutch
society but it may be said that both Muslims and migrant or
international Christians have put religion back on the political
and cultural agenda.
Churches are finding it increasingly difficult to stay connected
to changes in Dutch society. The missional vision with which the
congregation that I studied started was, in fact, already outdated
In addition to this renewed political and cultural interest in
religion, there is another factor that influenced and continues
to influence the religious landscape in the Netherlands: the
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This diaconal and missional ‘captivity’ comes as no surprise. The
synodal report and the perspective of the PCN on its missional
future are somewhat superficial; they are a projection of a vision
that very much resembles a form of wishful thinking. A sound
empirical foundation is lacking. The church policy does not
account for the societal complexities, the political intricacies or
the cultural quandaries that make becoming a missional local
church a very delicate enterprise. Most of the time, reality is
different from what we hope it is.
This challenge is indeed a very complicated one. It is too easy to
state that we live in a culture of modernity or post-modernity.
And it is also too easy to suggest that Western culture is resistant
or even hostile to the Christian faith and that the church should
therefore be a distinct social community as the Gospel and Our
Culture Network (Barrett 2004:xii–xiv; Guder 1998:142–182) and
theologians such as Stanley Hauerwas and John Howard Yoder
assert. What we need is a differentiated concept of culture.
When we state that a missional church is incarnational (Bosch
2005:512), we should be as concrete and specific as possible about
the context of a local congregation. It is not very useful to confine
an analysis of the culture of a local church to a philosophical
interpretation of modernisation or to the modern way of life or
to the post-modern definition of the self. It is equally not very
interesting to reduce the cultural analysis to the macro level of
society (rationalism, individualism, materialism, pluralism). In
order to understand the local context in which a congregation
intends to be a missional church, we should instead grasp the
empirical situation in its complexity. The further development of
the missional-church concept therefore requires a fundamental
theological reflection on a scale of thick descriptions of local
communities of faith, otherwise missional ecclesiology will
suffer from theological reductionism. Empirical congregational
studies determine the credibility of a theological account of the
church by its concrete appeal to history and sociology, that is by
providing realism (Haight & Nieman 2009:585).
Verbum et Ecclesia
This is what the congregation that I studied tried to do – without
success. The evaluation of the empirical research showed that
the congregation could be characterised as a ‘congregation of
difference’ (Heelas & Woodhead 2005:17–23); the congregation
is not attuned to its surrounding civic community. Although
it has not declined significantly since its early days and the
average number of worship attendees has been stable for a while
now, the faith community is not very successful in drawing
new and younger members. The congregation is relatively
strong in bonding social capital but it is unable to invest the
existing networks of trust and reciprocity in strengthening the
neighbourhood and in bridging the social, cultural and economic
tensions between the old and the young, the affluent and the
marginalised, the indigenous residents of the neighbourhood
and the migrants, the Christians and the Muslims, the religious
people and the secular ones (Brouwer 2009:372–383).
in the 1970s. The congregation wanted to be a church for others
but ‘the others’ wanted something different; people wanted
to decide for themselves if and how they would include faith
and spirituality in their life plan. The local Dutch congregation
in Amersfoort was not up to this challenge; for a long time,
in fact, the congregation did not even realise that there was a
challenge.
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Brouwer
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #329
enormous growth of the Dutch economy in the 1960s and 1970s,
again in the 1990s and at the beginning of the 21st century up
until 2008. Economic growth, increasing levels of welfare and
the explosion of communication media have made the world
a global village. These globally induced international and
national developments, which are all intertwined, have resulted
in changes in spatial planning in the Netherlands. Holland is a
small country and space is a valuable asset, as, for example, is
water in parts of Africa. The allocation and destination of space
therefore has to be carefully thought through. The national and
regional governments have to plan and order in detail the use of
available space. Agricultural, urban, industrial, infrastructural,
environmental and recreational objectives all compete for the
limited availability of Dutch soil. Amidst these conflicting
demands, the Dutch government tries to balance the maelstrom
of the economic market with the future of both our children and
our habitat; ‘planning for profit, people and planet’. The outcome
is that spatial and physical planning is in a permanent dynamic.
Unexpectedly, this dynamic is important for the chances and the
possibilities of local missional congregations.
The dynamic of spatial planning leads to ever-changing urban und
rural ecologies in the sense of geographical spaces where people
live, work, meet and entertain themselves and each other. These
changing ecologies influence the congregations that are part of
these ecologies. Some ecologies are full of potential for churches,
such as those with many new housing estates, young parents and
children, a vibrant economy, cultural diversity and a reasonable
level of homogeneity. But it is not difficult to perceive ecologies
that offer hardly any opportunities for churches to develop and
grow, such as those of the congregation that I have researched:
a post-war quarter that is now, euphemistically, characterised
as a ‘quarter in need of social and political attention’; many of
the buildings in the neighbourhood have grown old and are out
of fashion, the housing is cheap, the residents are mostly old or
young and moving through or ethnic (Brouwer 2009:164–185).
The concept of ecology is borrowed from Ammerman (2001:36–
40, 310–321), even more so from Eiesland. In her book A particular
place, Eiesland (2002:13–17) described how faith communities
respond to changes within their ecologies. There is an analogy
to biology and to the evolution theory. Like a biological species,
communities of faith form a ‘population’ within a specific
environment, habitat or biotope. They differ from each other but
also interact with each other. The populations of congregations
also, however, interact with other populations, such as those
of voluntary associations or governmental agencies, civic
initiatives, schools, businesses and public health organisations.
These different populations interact with each other and with
their social, political and cultural environments. Together,
these populations and environments give shape to ecosystems
or ecologies. Ecologies differ according to their geographical
location, degree of urbanisation, regional economic situation,
political culture, religious diversity etc. Where there is only
one faith community, such as in a small village, there is no
biodiversity. In vital ecologies, with great biodiversity in a
rich (nutritious) environment, there are different active faith
communities that both compete with and/or support each other.
Communities of faith therefore form a religious population
within an ecology that is continually changing and evolving.
This biological analogy gives reason to change focus from
individual congregations to a population of faith communities in
a specific environment and to attend to the shifts in the relational
pattern of the population. International economic developments
with national and regional consequences can lead to radical
changes in the infrastructure, demography and particular
culture of a region. Cities and villages are transformed as a result
of changes in spatial planning. And, with the transformation of
habitat, congregations also change from macro level down to
micro level. Shifts in religious populations are therefore caused
not only by the restructuring of the religious landscape but also,
if not more, by the ecological effects of spatial planning, such
as sub-urbanisation, ex-urbanisation, urban renewal and rural
fringes.
Eiesland added the importance of spatial and social development
to the analysis of religious transformation. These developments
may even be more influential on ecologies and religious
populations than changing religious landscape. It is as a result
of this that religious populations have changed and become
more diversified (Eiesland 2000:203–209). For instance, the
status of a congregation nowadays is determined by its size and
public dominance and no longer by its denominational tradition
and history. The appearances of faith communities have also
changed. This can be illustrated with the changing ecology of the
Dutch Protestant congregation that I have researched (Brouwer
2009:186–220). The neighbourhood started with three Christian
congregations, according to the ‘pillarisation’ of Dutch society:
a Roman-Catholic parish and two different Reformed churches.
Next to these longer-existing Christian faith communities, the
neighbourhood has been enriched during the past two decades
with a Turkish Muslim mosque, a Chinese migrant Christian
congregation, two different Christian Reformed churches, a
spiritual centre, a youth church, a Church of the Nazarene,
an evangelical congregation and possibly different (post)
denominational house churches. Faith communities relocate,
innovate, start afresh or find a niche within their ecologies. All
in all, a vibrant habitat to some and a hostile environment to
others.
CONCLUSION
Eiesland’s research showed the importance of an interest
in changing ecologies. Religious diversification and spatial
planning rearrange ecologies and, consequently, congregational
populations. Congregations should adapt to these rearrangements.
Adaptation leads to dynamics and differentiation; it leads either
to decay or to vitality. Preparing a missional congregation for
the future should be accompanied by a thorough empirical
ethnographic investigation into the ecology of the congregation
(Brouwer 2009:397–439). We should be thinking intensively
about and looking for vital ecologies and even for vital potential
within less vibrant ecologies. Only then may the missional
church have a chance beyond local constraints.
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Nederland [Religious transformation in the Netherlands],
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Original Research
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Article #329
Verbum et Ecclesia
Leadership in Acts
through a social capital
lens
Ian Nell
Photo Title: Old Bible
Taken by: Not Available
Original Research
Author:
Ian A. Nell1
Affiliation:
1
Theology and Missiology,
University of Stellenbosch,
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Ian Nell
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
171 Dorp Street, Faculty
of Theology, Stellenbosch,
7600, South Africa
Keywords:
leadership; Acts; social
capital; faith communities;
post-apartheid South Africa
Dates:
Accepted: 04 Nov. 2009
Note:
This article was previously
delivered as a paper
at the Acts conference,
‘Missionary Church in
Acts? A joint project of
the Faculty of Theology
of Stellenbosch and
Communitas’, 18–20
May 2009. This material
is based on work
supported by the National
Research Foundation
under Grant number
65620. Any opinions,
findings, conclusions
or recommendations
expressed in this material
are those of the author and
the NRF does not accept
any liability in regard
thereto.
Creative Commons
Tinyiko Maluleke is the president of the South African Council of Churches and, as a respected
theologian and church leader, he has first-hand experience of the church and the role of the churches
in post-Apartheid South Africa. With his extensive influence within the churches and South African
public life, he lays his finger on the (weak) pulse of the lack of, and need for, spiritual leadership in our
country. He does not hesitate to state that we must pay strict attention to the (often cutting) criticism
directed openly against the church and her leadership.
We need to hear the message and the message behind the message. As churches, we need to take responsi
bility not merely for this particular phase in the history of the church, not only for the history of our church
denominations; but for both our good and bad legacies.
(Maluleke 2008:5)
The objective of this contribution is to accept the responsibility (with reference to Maluleke), by
examining leadership with an imaginary bifocal lens. The focus of a ‘short-distance’ lens will fall on
‘social capital’ and the potential role that this can play in the development of spiritual leadership in
our young democracy. This concept will be defined and how it could possibly help us to focus even
more clearly on the role of faith communities and, in particular, the role of leadership within these
communities will be examined.
Article #87
at:
INTRODUCTION
The church lost a number of experienced and proven leaders after 1994. This had to happen as the new
government needed to round up the handful of skilled people in order to lay the foundation for a new country
and a new government. Churches and NGOs had to ‘donate’ a number of their leaders to political parties,
local and national government. If one adds this to the opening up of opportunities for education and jobs
in sectors of the economy previously unavailable to the majority of people – then it become [sic] clear how
much the church lost.
(Maluleke 2008:8)1
Verbum et Ecclesia
Nell, I.A., 2009, ‘Leadership
in Acts through a social
capital lens’, Verbum et
7 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.87
ABSTRACT
Social capital can be defined in various ways. In most of these definitions at least three dimensions
can be distinguished. First there is ‘bonding’ (the horizontal relationships between people
operating within different social networks and with specific norms and values). The second
dimension is ‘bridging’ (bonds that transcend differences in religion, ethnicity, culture and socioeconomic status). This dimension prevents horizontal ties from becoming the basis for narrow
and even sectarian interests. Normally, a third dimension called ‘linking’ also forms part of social
capital, and ideological aspects come into focus here. This dimension includes aspects such as
justice, political power and the equitable distribution of income and property. When leadership
in Acts is analysed through the lenses of these multi-focal spectacles, interesting perspectives
are discovered that can enrich theories on leadership. These discoveries can also open up new
perspectives on aspects of being a missional church in our South African context from within the
context of Acts.
In view of the concept of social capital, the purpose of the lens for ‘distant vision’ is to focus on the
role of leadership in the earliest Christian faith communities, as recorded in Acts. Here, the focus is
specifically on Peter as one of the earliest Christian leaders. We shall thus examine three pericopes in
Acts, as three ‘moments’ in Peter’s leadership of this early Christian faith community.
The final section of this contribution contains the notion of bringing together the above-named
perceptions and questioning their implications for being a missionary congregation, as well as
missionary leadership, particularly in the context of post-Apartheid South Africa; this as a contribution
to the responsibility of the leadership in our country, as called for by Maluleke, and specifically the
leadership in faith communities.
SOCIAL CAPITAL
Civil society and social capital
The notion of social capital2 has been around for some time and is a useful lens with which to examine
civil society from the angle of ‘reclaiming public life’. The World Bank, as well as, inter alia, experts
also use this concept in the areas of economic and societal development as a way of discovering how
development takes place in organisations. It is obvious that faith communities are important sources of
social capital in community development and regeneration. In South Africa, the government has used
1.De Gruchy and Ellis (2008:9) talk about ‘Christian leadership in “another country”’ when they describe the situation: ‘This intensive
engagement with the context of apartheid was the great strength of Christian witness in South Africa; but it has also proved to embrace
a serious weakness. As the context changed so radically … we woke up in ”another country” in which the politics of “apartheid” had
dissolved so quickly, weakening the ability of the Church to engage with public discourse on social themes.’
2.‘The term ‘social capital’ is sometimes distrusted because it seems to impose a utilitarian economic language on human relationships.
It is also seen as linked to a community and social-order agenda which many question. Rather like the notion of ‘community,’ it is also
an idea which sounds positive but can hide a negative, destructive side. However, social capital is not bound inevitably to a particular
economic theory or political standpoint. It is a means to expand our understanding of how people can be advantaged (or indeed
disadvantaged) by their social networks as well as by their physical and human capital. In particular, the distinctions between bonding,
bridging and linking social capital can be used to develop a closer, critical exploration of community networks, the resources they offer,
and the constraints they impose’ (Furbey et al. 2006).
Original Research
Nell
this concept at national and provincial levels to address societal
and community development.3
Social capital is normally associated with the work of Jane
Jacobs (1961), in relation to urban life and neighbourliness; of
Pierre Bourdieu (1986), with regard to social theory; of James S.
Coleman (1988), regarding the social context of education; and
of Robert D. Putnam (1993, 2000) who launched social capital
as a popular focus for research and policy discussion. Putnam
introduces the idea as follows:
Whereas physical capital refers to physical objects and human
capital refers to the properties of individuals, social capital refers
to connections among individuals – social networks and the norms
of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them. In that
sense social capital is closely related to what some have called ‘civic
virtue.’ The difference is that ‘social capital’ calls attention to the
fact that civic virtue is most powerful when embedded in a sense
network of reciprocal social relations. A society of many virtuous
but isolated individuals is not necessarily rich in social capital.
(Putnam 2000:19)
According to the Social Capital Formation Document of the
Western Cape Provincial Department of Social Services and
Poverty Alleviation,
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #87
social capital refers to the strengthening and establishment of
networks, relationships, norms and values that contribute to the
building of social cohesion, racial integration and the strengthening
of a social safety net during times of crisis (economic, natural, and
other). It is not an end in itself, but a means to an end.
(Department of Social Services and Poverty Alleviation
2005:23)
In general, three types of social capital can be distinguished.
Bacon explains these types as follows:
Bonding social capital is characterized by strong bonds like those
between family members or members of an ethnic group. Bridging
social capital designates weaker, less dense but more crosscutting ties like those between business associates, acquaintances,
friends from different ethnic groups. Linking social capital refers
to connections between people at different levels of power or social
status. The capacity of individuals and communities to access
resources, ideas and information from formal institutions beyond
the immediate community radius could be said to depend upon
linking social capital (my italics).
(Bacon 2002:5)
Faith communities and social capital
Ammerman (1999) uses the distinctions of social capital by
applying them specifically to faith communities.4 Together with
a few colleagues, she did research in 23 congregations in the
USA. This research focused on the impact of social change and
the transformation of congregations, and vice versa, thus on the
impact that faith communities possibly have on society. In this
regard she arrives at the following conclusion:
The social processes of community formation govern the rise
and fall of congregations, and the spiritual energies generated in
congregations help to shape the social structures of community.
(Ammerman 1999:2–3)
Ammerman (1999:342) defines social capital within this context
as ‘those connections of communication and trust that make the
organization of a complex society possible’. She then continues
to pay particular attention to the question: What type or quality
of social capital do congregations generate and do these forms of
social capital differ in any way from those that other voluntary
organisations generate? Her conclusion is that there is no
dramatic difference, but that congregations indeed have certain
identifications that promote a ‘sense of belonging’ (see ‘bonding’
above). Here, relations of trust develop that, in turn, contribute
3.See the document of the Department of Social Services and Poverty Alleviation
(2005) in the Western Cape, ‘Social capital formation document’.
4.In this respect, also compare Wepener and Cilliers (2006).
towards communication and the coordination of the activities
in a community that, in this way, contribute towards the wellbeing of the community (see ‘bridging’ above). Individuals and
communities both benefit from this on the basis of a certain
‘legitimacy’ received, which means that they enjoy a certain
status and recognition (Ammerman 1999:363).
Furthermore, Ammerman (1999:364) believes that faith
communities also contribute towards the development of
what she calls ‘civil know-how’, which she refers to as ‘civic
capital’. The latter can be viewed as an arsenal of skills and
even networks for a community’s political life. This ‘civil knowhow’ is nothing but the ‘linking social capital’ referred to above.
Woolcock’s (2001:3) definition sums this concept up as follows:
‘Linking social capital, (is the kind of social capital) which reaches
out to unlike people in dissimilar situations, such as those who
are entirely outside of the community, thus enabling members to
leverage a far wider range of resources than are available in the
community’ (Italics IN).
The above distinction (bonding, bridging and linking) is
especially important when we reflect upon the leadership in
communities and congregations. This distinction is further
emphasised when Ammerman (1999:365) writes that faith
communities still produce two elements: 1) the ‘social’ capital of
association (bonding and bridging); and 2) the ‘civil’ capital of
communication and organisational skills (linking). In a special
way, these aspects often become visible within communities in
times of crisis.
To finally cleanse the lens of social capital before paying
attention to leadership, the three aspects of social capital can be
summarised as follows:
•
•
•
bonding social capital – refers to the (strong) horizontal bonds
that exist between people who find themselves in similar
situations – such as immediate relatives, close friends,
neighbours or even members of a congregation
bridging social capital – refers to the (weaker) horizontal
bonds that exist between people who find themselves in
similar situations, but which could be cross-cultural – such
as acquaintances, partners or colleagues at work and loose
friendships, which could also include people of other ethnic
groups
linking social capital – refers to the (potential) vertical bonds
that exist between people who do not find themselves in
similar situations (thus, people whose status and power
in the community differ) and who exist outside their
immediate communities, but who provide a much larger
arsenal of sources for local communities – such as local and
national political structures. In faith communities this could
include synodical structures and Church Councils (national
and international).
With this lens that, like a prism, divides the light into three rays
(bonding, bridging and linking), we shall now pay attention to a
few aspects of leadership.
LEADERSHIP
Three forms of leadership are often distinguished in theories on
leadership,5 with the first being task leadership. This is the ability
that leaders develop to perform certain roles successfully in
organisations. In respect of churches and congregations, this is
the role that leaders play, for example, to lead a worship service,
proclaim the Word, instruct members, establish a small group,
practise pastoral care, chair meetings, and visit congregants in
hospital. Being equipped and being aware that one is called to
fulfil these different roles is an important part of leadership and
can be regarded as the proverbial ‘business as usual’. A large
part of theological training is about preparing students to fulfil
these different roles with the necessary knowledge, attitudes and
5.In this regard, compare, inter alia, the works of Burns (1978), Hackman and Johnson
(1996), Burke (2002), Quinn (2004), and Bass and Osmer (2008).
Original Research
skills within a variety of faith communities. In terms of social
capital, task leadership concerns ‘bonding’ challenges, which
entails paying attention in various ways to the building of close
bonds that are based on mutual faith convictions (theological
studies and creeds), where the articulation of the vision for faith
communities takes place.
The second form of leadership is transactional leadership, which
consists of reciprocity, that is, where I can do something for
another and he/she reciprocates. This is a ‘trans-act’ or reciprocal
act of giving and receiving. According to Osmer, this takes place
in two basic ways in the leadership of organisations:
(1) meeting the needs of those involved in an organization in return
for their contribution to the organization, and (2) making political
trade-offs to deal with competing agendas of different coalitions in
an organization so it can best accomplish its purpose.
(Osmer 2008:176)
The third form of leadership is transformation leadership, which
is about ‘deep change’ (Quinn 2004:200), and is related to the
leading of an organisation by a process in which identity,
mission and culture are fundamentally transformed. Within
a congregational context, this is about the transformation of
worship and fellowship, reaching out and offering hospitality to
new members who are different. It concerns developing a vision
of what the congregation can become and the mobilisation of
followers who are willing to subscribe to this vision.
To lead this type of ‘deep transformation’ can be risky, and it
demands much effort. This type of transformation requires
the sound distinction of the key values and most profound
convictions of an organisation. There must be honest examination
of activities that could be hypocritical and that do not truly
reflect the values of the organisation with integrity. This type
of transformation is often resisted by the core group who are at
risk of losing their power and their control of the organisation.
Therefore, profound transformation often is a quite nasty affair
that does not unfold rationally or according to the rules. In the
interim period, when there is a realisation that the earlier modus
operandi is outdated but new plans are not yet operational, there
often is a sense of chaos. This period is then characterised by
conflict, dissatisfaction and failure (Quinn 2004:201).
At the deeper levels of culture, vision and mission, part of
this transformation generally also entails transformations that
are necessary at other levels within a community.6 Political,
•
•
•
Task competence: Performing the leadership tasks of a role in
an organisation well.
Transactional leadership: Influencing others through a process
of trade-offs.
Transforming leadership: Leading an organisation through a
process of ‘deep change’ in its identity, mission, culture, and
operating procedures.
Furthermore, Osmer (2008:179) is of the opinion that these three
forms of leadership are all necessary in faith communities, but
that today, especially in the mainstream Protestant churches, the
greatest need is for transformation leadership. Therefore, it is
clear from the above discussion that ‘bonding social capital’ can
be linked to task leadership, while ‘bridging social capital’ can
be connected directly to transactional leadership and ‘linking
social capital’ can relate to transformation leadership.
However, neither of these forms of leadership can succeed if
the ‘moral formation’ of leadership is not taken into account.
Kretzschmar (2007:18–36) places the formation of moral leaders
in our Southern African context within a Christian moral
framework and, in her opinion, at least five types of ‘conversions’
are necessary for the moral formation of character in leadership,
namely the conversion of the mind, heart, will, relations and
actions of leaders.
LEADERSHIP IN ACTS
To give justice to leadership in Acts within the confines of
an article such as this is virtually impossible.7 Therefore, in
this section we shall concentrate mainly on aspects of Peter’s
leadership in Acts 1:12–26, 10–11 and 15. The aim is to examine
three ‘moments’ of leadership in an attempt to ask whether the
lenses of social capital and leadership could indeed teach us
something of being a missionary church in Acts.
Article #87
In my opinion, a further important part of this leadership
concerns the challenge to establish ‘trans-actions’ with other
faith communities in the area; that is, a horizontal challenge to
start ‘bridging’ through ecumenical bonds with believers from
other denominations and socio-cultural backgrounds. This asks
special demands from leadership, as it often requires people to
be taken outside their ‘comfort zones’. Within our own context,
examples include ‘healing-of-memories’ workshops that are
offered for members from various congregational backgrounds.
In summary, Osmer (2008:178) provides a brief description of
the three forms of leadership:
Verbum et Ecclesia
Within faith communities, this form of leadership cannot be
enforced by means of a contract. It often depends on people’s
willingness to become involved. Leaders in faith communities
often attain people’s support by reacting to their needs or
requirements, and then offering the members an opportunity
to participate in activities, make friends, become part of the
community and help to establish koinonia. In congregations,
leaders participate in a variety of ways in various ‘trans-actions’.
This may be in the form of instructions in faith to children, where
parents want their children to learn the basic truths of the faith,
or in the form of small groups where people have a need to share
their faith with others at a more intimate level. The leaders hope
that, in reaction, the members will support the congregation
with their thanks-offerings and volunteer to participate in the
various activities (Osmer 2008:177).
social and economic structures often play an important role
in the transformation of communities (see Ammerman’s work
mentioned above). It requires leadership to cultivate the ‘vertical
bonds’ of ‘linking social capital’ within a community where
sources are available that enable local communities to address
problems such as drug abuse and HIV/Aids as part of the
transformation of faith communities.
I am acutely aware of the dangers of comparing models of
leadership from a modern (especially Western) paradigm of
leadership to those in Acts, without taking into account the
huge historical and cultural differences between a 1st century
Mediterranean culture and our modern culture. Together
with Robertson (2005:276), I am of the opinion, however, that
models and approaches from the social sciences do not offer
new answers to old questions as much as they suggest a new
level of questioning. New paradigmatic queries can then be
explored through more traditional forms of exegetical analysis.
We therefore can examine how these three passages can help to
open some new perspectives on missional leadership by making
use of the social capital and leadership lenses.
Acts 1:15–26
In the Biblical stories, symbols are important, as they function
as theological markers for the readers. In this respect, there
is hardly a more important symbol than that of the 12, which
naturally symbolise Israel as God’s people. The meaning of 12
apostles has special prominence in Acts, as the restoration of
6.See, for example, MacMaster’s (2007) discussion of gangsterism on the Cape
Flats.
7.See the contribution of Robertson (2005:273), in which he points out the role of the
twelve, the seventy and the seven as groups who functioned as leaders at different
stages in Acts. By making use of a ‘systems approach’ he help to open up a different
understanding of leadership in the early church, which at the same time raises questions that bear on tensions in the authority and leadership of the church today.
Original Research
Nell
Israel, according to Luke, forms part of the role (or task) of these
12 apostles. The re-establishment of the group’s original number
also allows the light to fall on their role as agents of God’s plan
for the restoration of the ‘twelve tribes of Israel’ (Wall 2002:47).
In this respect, we cannot but take note of Peter’s leadership
role early in Acts, together with the ironic parallel in both his
and Judas’s failures as described in the gospels. However, the
difference is that, where Judas was full of shame about his
betrayal and turned into himself, we find that Peter’s remorse
allowed him to return to Jesus and the faith community, where
he received forgiveness. By this strategic placement of these
events, Luke points out the theological meaning of Judas’s
betrayal as more than a mere failure of a single disciple, but
also how Judas’s action represents danger for the survival of the
whole faith community (Wall 2002:48–49).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #87
In contrast, we find the reaction of Peter, who, as a reinstated
member of the community, now comes forward as a leader
and interpreter of the events. In this, his first speech (Ac
1:16–22), which is followed by several others in Acts, he takes
responsibility for especially two tasks. Firstly, with the assistance
of the authority of the Scriptures, he points out the ‘need’ (dei) of
the fulfilment that David predicted as part of God’s plan. Judas’s
tragic story is then related here. This clarifies that the Spirit-filled
(re)interpretation of the Scriptures’ prophesies, as part of God’s
aim and as the interpretation of the meaning thereof for the faith
community, formed the primary and most important aspect of
Peter’s leadership role (Tannehill 1990:20).
The second task for which Peter accepts responsibility is to
appoint somebody in Judas’s place: ‘May another take his place
of leadership’ (Ac 1:20b). In the second part of his speech (Ac
1:20b–22), we find an exposition of the prerequisites required
of Judas’s substitute. We also see how the whole community is
involved in this decision-making process. Firstly, they ask God’s
guidance and then they cast the lot, upon which Matthias was
elected as the 12th apostle (Johnson 1992:36).
When looking through the lenses of social capital and
leadership, one recognises aspects of ‘bonding capital’ and ‘task
leadership’ in Peter’s actions. Here, as the interpreter of the faith
community, Peter articulates God’s plan for them and finds
this in the Spirit-filled re-interpretation of the tradition within
new circumstances. God’s plan for the restoration of Israel goes
ahead and this plan begins with him who betrayed Jesus, but
who returned remorseful and who was reconciled with God and
the faith community again.
Thus, Peter’s task is that of discernment, in which, guided by the
Spirit, he led the faith community in a decision-making process
in which the Scriptures (Ac 1:20), an intimate relation with Jesus
(Ac 1:21–22) and prayer (Ac 1:24–25) played a central role. All
these acts form part of ‘bonding capital’ to form the horizontal
bonds of the community by attaining clarity about their identity
as part of God’s chosen people.
Acts 10–11
In Acts 10–11 we find the conversion of Cornelius in the second
Lukan volume (Acts) as the central occurrence. The acceptance
of this uncircumcised Gentile within the Christian circle of
believers leads, as it were, to a second Pentecostal happening.
According to Acts 10:44–48, the Spirit of the Lord is poured onto
even a Gentile and his family (Bosch 1992:114). Johnson describes
this event as follows:
After the interlude devoted to the call of Saul who would be the elect
vessel for carrying the name to the Gentiles (9:1–30), Luke again
showed the work of Peter in Judea, healing the lame, raising the
dead, and at the same time moving geographically and ethnically
closer to the edge, to the place by the sea in Joppa, where he resided
with the ritually impure tanner Simon, ready to hear the call from
the Gentile city of Caesarea (9:31–42). Now at last Luke is ready to
show how the Church made this most fundamental and dangerous
step, which would involve the greatest struggle and demand the
most fundamental self-reinterpretation for the nascent messianic
movement, which in fact would in principle establish its identity
as universal and not simply ethnic religion.
(Johnson 1992:37)
According to Bevans and Schroeder (2006:23–24), Acts 10:1–11:18
(Cornelius and his household) already forms the fifth stage in
the seven stages of mission that they distinguish in Acts. We find
the culmination of these events in Acts 10:34–48: Peter’s speech
at Cornelius’ home, when he begins with the following words:
‘I now realize how true it is that God does not show favouritism
but accepts men from every nation who fear him and do what is
right’ (Ac 10:34–35). With these opening words he testifies about
his own ‘conversion’ that took place shortly before: ‘But God has
shown me that I should not call any man impure or unclean’
(Ac 10:28). This divine revelation leads to Peter’s missionary
activities outside Jerusalem’s borders and also wider than the
people of Israel. Now, the full implication of this mission had
become clear to him. God does not distinguish on the basis of
ethnicity, but on the grounds of faith. Thus, God accepts people
from all nations who worship him and do what is right (Ac
10:35; Wall 2002:167).
To read how Peter was confronted with resistance when he
returned to Jerusalem is interesting. ‘So when Peter went up to
Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him and said, “You
went into the house of uncircumcised men and ate with them”’
(Ac 11:2). After Peter’s testimony about what had happened, they
were satisfied and it seems that they enthusiastically made this
new insight part of their lives: ‘When they heard this, they had
no further objections and praised God, saying, “So then, God has
granted even the Gentiles repentance unto life”’ (Ac 11:18).
Now, when we draw the lenses of social capital and leadership
closer, one recognises the bridging elements that are at issue
here. These are the (weaker) horizontal bonds that exist between
people who find themselves in similar situations but are crosscultural. On the grounds of inner conviction (conversion), Peter
succeeds in overstepping the Jewish and Gentile boundaries,
thus bringing about ‘bridging’ and binding the Jewish believers
cross-culturally to other believers.
When examining how Peter set to work it is possible to
recognise aspects of transactional leadership. It is also clear that
Peter definitely influenced his co-Jewish believers and that, by
means of ‘trans-actions’, he led them to new insights. Thus, a
broadening of their understanding of God takes place and,
simultaneously, a broadening of their own identity. But, as
Johnson points out above, it was a dangerous step that did not
take place without conflict, as this demanded a fundamental
re-interpretation of this Messianic group’s identity. Therefore,
transactional leadership requires knowledge, skills and attitudes
other than task leadership.
Acts 15:1–35
Both Johnson (1992:268) and Wilson (2006:192) regard Luke’s
description of the meeting in Jerusalem as a ‘watershed’ in
the theological history of Acts. These cardinal moments in the
history of the early church’s development of self-comprehension
are described in concise and rich theological terms. After several
people, previously Pharisees, raised the problem related to the
circumcision of the converted Gentiles (15:5), the leadership
met. After lengthy debates by the core group, including Peter,
Barnabas and Paul, they began testifying about their own
experiences. We find the consequences of this in Acts 15:7–11,
where Peter stood up and addressed the meeting. His final
conclusion was: ‘No! We ... believe that we are saved only by the
grace of the Lord Jesus’ (Bevans & Schroeder 2006:28–29).
During the further course of the meeting, one notes how
Barnabas and Paul (Ac 15:12) had the opportunity to speak,
and later also James (Ac 15:13), who contributed meaningfully.
Original Research
From Acts 15:22 we discover that the resolution of the entire
meeting boiled down to the fact that a deputation would be sent
to Antioch with a letter explaining the situation. In summary,
Johnson regards the Jerusalem meeting as a ‘theological process’
in which the church had to decide about her identity as God’s
people. Therefore, it was a process that was characterised by
dialogue and conflict (Johnson 1983:86–87).
When we look through the lenses of social capital and
leadership, we reach the point that ‘linking capital’, together
with ‘transformative leadership’, offers valuable insights. In Acts
15 it is clear that the events in Antioch gave rise to the need for
contributions and counsel from a ‘vertical’ relation, from which
‘other sources’ could be drawn to solve the problem. We see this
in the way in which the believers in Antioch looked to Jerusalem
for guidance and leadership and how, through a process of
dialogue, a resolution was reached that had definite implications
for believers in both Antioch and Jerusalem (Wall 2002:210).
Naturally, a further ‘vertical’ source that could be investigated
here is tradition. This is evident in Simon’s long citation, which
refers to the prophets (Ac 15:15–17) as the authoritative source
and motivation for his argument. But, peculiar to transformation,
this vertical source cannot be limited to talks and citations;
action must take place. So, Peter and his co-leaders proposed a
process that could introduce this transformation, which would
be initiated by the deputation visiting Antioch by means of a
letter as a document in support of this process. In Acts 15:31 we
read how this process of consultation had the required result
and how, from here, the process of transformation would gain
ever more momentum.
the Spirit who thus bears witness in the life of the Church to
the purpose of the Father is not confined within the limits of the
Church. It is the clear teaching of the Acts of the Apostles, as it
is the experience of missionaries, that the Spirit goes, so to speak,
ahead of the Church.
(Newbegin 1964:59)
Bosch (1991:189) distinguishes the Lukan missionary paradigm
from that of Matthew and Paul and believes that these paradigms
form sub-paradigms of a coherent Christian missionary
paradigm. Characteristic of this Lukan paradigm is, inter alia, the
ministry and role of the Holy Spirit, the role of the confession of
guilt and forgiveness, prayer, love and acceptance of the enemy.
This brings us to the final matter to be focused upon, which
concerns perspectives on missionary leadership.
LEADERSHIP FROM A MISSIONAL
PERSPECTIVE
The objective of this final section is to place social capital,
leadership and Peter’s leadership in Acts within a missionary
paradigm. ‘Missionary ecclesiology’ is a term used to point out
that the being or nature of the church is missional and that the
mission of the church is not but ‘one of’ the church’s tasks or
assignments. Since 1993, we find this emphasis very strongly in
the World Council of Churches, with its focus on the intimate
bond that exists between koinonia, mutual confession, testimony,
mission and evangelisation.8
8.See Towards koinonia in faith, life and witness (The Dublin Paper), Fifth World
Conference on Faith and Order (Geneva, Switzerland: WCC Publications, 1993),
18.2.1.
The question is, what does this kind of (transformative)
leadership and organisation look like? Van Gelder (2007:122)
explores this kind of leadership from three different sources of
information in seeking to engage the dynamics of a changing
context: (1) biblical materials, (2) historical polities, and (3) social
science insights. According to him it is important to realise that
each source makes a significant contribution to the whole (Van
Gelder 2007:122).
The earlier discussion on ‘social capital and leadership’ was
a perspective from the third source, while the comments on
‘leadership in Acts’ were from the first source. The second
source, historical polities, normally involves forms of polity that
developed within theological traditions over the centuries.
The development of these polity traditions over the centuries makes
it difficult to go back into the New Testament without bias ... power
gets institutionalized within structure, and once structure is in
place it is quite difficult to reform.
(Van Gelder 2007:122)
Here is not the time and place to go deeper into the important
role and function of historical polities. Suffice it to say that
they bring with them an identity, ministry and organisation
that are important sources of information, both in the forming
and reforming of the church in new situations. However, it
is important for leaders in faith communities to realise that
all three types of social capital formation do need attention
within a missional context. To concentrate only on bonding
without attention to the other, the core leadership group can
become stagnate and sectarian. To concentrate only on bridging
without taking the other into account, the leaders can become
disconnected and powerless. To concentrate only on linking,
leaders can lose the core group’s interest and end up without
support, community and identity.
Article #87
The lenses of social capital and leadership should not deter us
from focusing further and deeper. This focus namely is on the
role and work of the Spirit in each of the scriptural pericopes
that we examined. In these pericopes, we read how the Spirit
actually enables and energises every form of ‘social capital’ and
leadership (see Ac 1:16, 10:46, 15:8, and 15:28). Even the role that
the church plays in this respect may not blind us to the work of
the Spirit. In this regard, Newbegin states that
Upon examination of missional leadership, it is clear that
Guder (1998) and others are convinced that leadership is the
key for the formation of missional communities. ‘The Spirit
empowers the church for mission through the gifts of the people.
Leadership is a critical gift, provided by the Spirit because, as
the Scripture demonstrates, fundamental change in any body of
people requires leaders capable of transforming lives and being
transformed themselves’ (Guder 1998:133).
Verbum et Ecclesia
The role of the Holy Spirit
It is widely acknowledged that two theologians in particular
were at the forefront of making the church and theology aware
of this missionary challenge, namely Dawid Bosch (1991) and
Lesslie Newbegin (1992). In the recent publication of Van Gelder
(2007:121), written from the ‘missional paradigm’, he explains
that ‘the missional church is missionary by nature – the church is.
In living in the world, the missional church engages in ministry
that is consistent with its nature – the church does what it is. Finally,
the missional church seeks to bring order and organization to
these activities – the church organizes what it does’.
The same is true concerning the three mentioned aspects of
leadership. You need to concentrate on all three, realising that
the second and third forms of leadership take a special effort
and need the development of knowledge, skills and attitudes
that differ from the daily tasks of ministry ‘as usual’. To become
a missional church, nothing less than ‘deep change’ is necessary.
Peter’s leadership in Acts showed that it is not an easy task to
take people across boundaries of race and ethnicity.
CONCLUSION
Let us return to the challenge set out at the start that Tinyiko
Maluleke poses to the leadership of the church in the South
African context. With the different biblical, historical and social
sciences perspectives in mind, the purpose of the article is to
encourage Christian leaders to take up the missional challenge
of ‘bonding, bridging and linking social capital’ through ‘tasks,
transactions and transformative actions’ in the way that Peter
operated in the early faith communities in Acts. But what would
Original Research
Nell
this ‘missional challenge’ look like within our South African
context?
De Gruchy and Ellis (2008:18–20) are of the opinion that we
need to pay attention to the issues of power, collaboration and
pedagogy if we are concerned about future leadership in our
specific context. The question of power deals with relationships
in terms of key factors like race, age, gender, nationality,
language and professional status. Because our individual lives
are embedded in wider social narratives, we carry power (or the
lack of it) into any relationship and these can be a hindrance in
the empowering of the next generation of leaders.
The second aspect, collaboration, is equally important in
developing the next generation of Christian leaders. Because
we are living in a very individualistic and competitive culture,
we often tend to focus on career development and promotion
at the cost of others. Such an approach does not help the next
generation of leaders. We need to develop models of team work,
peer support and collaboration in mutual capacity building.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #87
Thirdly, we have to focus on a dialogical pedagogy in the spirit
of Paulo Freire, where we are concerned about the wisdom of
ordinary people. In this sense, leadership is interested in the
wisdom of the whole team and not just that of the current leaders.
In other words, the ‘teachers’ need to learn and the learners need
to teach through conversation and dialogue. It is not difficult to
see in what ways these three pedagogical challenges can inform
missional leadership that seeks to empower the church for
mission through the gifts of the people; gifts that are capable of
transforming people’s lives and being transformed themselves.
Again taking into account Maluleke’s remark that the
churches lost leadership to political parties, local and national
government and many other places, we must also not lose sight
of the potential of these leaders to exercise ethical leadership in
their new positions of power. If we are serious about ‘linking
social capital’, they provide excellent resources for ‘vertical’
relationships.
As leaders we take up these challenges, in the last instance,
with the realisation that none of these activities will bear any
‘missional fruit’ or transform God’s people if we lose sight of
the ‘theological perspective’. The focal point of the theological
perspective is that the Holy Spirit has been poured out on the
day of Pentecost on all people to empower the ministry of the
missional church as a community led by the Spirit.
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Their Partners, University of California Press, Berkeley.
Bacon, D., 2002, ‘Revitalising civil society through social
capital formation in faith based organizations: research
findings from Northern Ireland’, paper presented at the
fifth conference of the International Society for Third
Sector Research, University of Cape Town, Cape Town, 9–11
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Bevans, S. &. Schroeder, R.P., 2006, Constants in context: a theology
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mission, Orbis Books, Maryknoll.
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of Social Capital in Contexts of Poverty: A South African
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country”: Contributing to an ethical development agenda
in South Africa today’, in S. de Gruchy, N. Koopman & S.
Strijbos, From our side: Emerging perspectives on development
and ethics, pp. 9–20, Rozenburg Publishers, Amsterdam.
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‘Social Capital Formation Document’, Document presented
at workshop hosted by the University of the Western Cape’s
Economics Department in partnership with the Western
Cape Provincial Department of Social Services and Poverty
Alleviation, 9–10 February 2005.
Fukuyama, F., 2001, ‘Social Capital, Civil Society and
Development’, Third World Quarterly 22(1), 7–20.
Gomulia, C., 2006, ‘State-society networks: A case of political
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House, New York.
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Liturgical Press, Collegeville.
Kärkkäinen, V.–M. 2002. An Introduction to Ecclesiology:
Ecumenical, Historical & Global Perspectives, InterVarsity
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elements’, Journal of Theology for Southern Africa 128, 18–36.
MacMaster, L., 2007, ‘Resilience of faith communities on
the Cape Flats. South Africa – a pastoral theological
perspective’, paper presented at the 8th World Congress of
the International Council on Pastoral Care and Counselling
(ICPCC), Krzyzowa, Poland 7–14 August 2007.
Maluleke, T., 2008, ‘A postcolonial (South) African church:
Problems and promises’, paper presented at the annual
Desmond Tutu Lecture at the University of the Western
Cape, Bellville, 10 April 2008.
Newbegin, L., 1964, Trinitarian faith and today’s mission, John
Knox Press, Louisville.
Newbegin, L., 1992, ‘The logic of mission’, in Scherer, A. &
Bevans, S.B., New directions in mission and evangelization,
Orbis Books, Maryknoll.
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Grand Rapids.
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and public life’, The American Prospect 4, 13–24.
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American community, Simon & Schuster, New York.
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American Community, Simon & Schuster, New York.
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apostolic homeostasis in Luke-Acts’, Anglican Theological
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Original Research
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and reflections. The new interpreter’s Bible: A commentary in
twelve volumes, Abingdon Press, Nashville.
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generation of social capital in contexts of poverty: A
theoretical departure’, Ned Geref Teologiese Tydskrif 47(3&4),
786–798.
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Woolcock, M., 2001, ‘The place of social capital in understanding
social and economic outcomes’, Isuma: Canadian Journal of
Policy Research 2(1), 1–17.
Article #87
Verbum et Ecclesia
The ‘Jezebel spirit’: A
scholarly inquiry
Trudie Stark & Hans van Deventer
Photo Title: Renaissance Fair
Taken by: Patti Gray
Original Research
Authors:
Trudie Stark1
Hans J.M. van Deventer1
Affiliations:
1
North-West University
(Vaal Triangle Campus),
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Hans van Deventer
e-mail:
hans.vandeventer@nwu.
ac.za
Postal address:
PO Box 1174, Vanderbijl
Park, Gauteng, 1900,
South Africa
Keywords:
Old Testament; narrative;
Jezebel; spirit; modern
church
at:
The primary aim of this article is to provide a narratological analysis of the Jezebel texts in the books
of 1 and 2 Kings and, on the basis thereof, evaluate the idea of a ‘Jezebel spirit’ as proclaimed in some
Christian circles. Kaiser and Silva (1994:70) state that readers often project a moral or spiritual truth on
a biblical character, paying more attention to the moral lesson than to the story itself. It is important to
come to terms with how narratives are being presented and used by the writers of Scripture.
AN OVERVIEW OF NOTIONS REGARDING JEZEBEL
The character named Jezebel in the text lived during the reign of Ahab, king of Israel between 869–850
BCE (cf. 1 Ki 16:31). Many subsequent interpretations of this character are found in biblical writings
as well as in later literature, theatre, film and poetry, spanning a period of more than 2 000 years.
Pippin (1995:228) observes that Jezebel is a fantasy space. She is a personality, a lifestyle and an ethical
way of being female in the world. Her stories are parodies and as such the Jezebel texts are ironic,
contradictory, ambiguous and paradoxical. Moreover, there is no closure to the narrative of Jezebel’s
death in 2 Kings 9:30–37; she engages the reader in a montage of images.2 Bronner (1964:17) remarks
that everything we know about Jezebel shows her to have been a woman born to rule. She has a strong
and dominant character, a fountain of energy and determination, stopping at nothing to affect her
ends. This ambitious and self-willed queen clamoured for her god, Baal, to have at least equal rights
with Yahweh, the God of Israel.
Article #301
Stark, S.G. & Van Deventer,
H.J.M., 2009, ‘The “Jezebel
spirit”: A scholarly inquiry’,
#301, 9 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.301
INTRODUCTION
Jezebel is doubtless the most infamous of all the female figures in the Hebrew Bible. She is seen as the
embodiment of feminine evil. References by evangelical preachers to Jezebel as a ‘spirit’ create an enemy
‘outside’ the individual rather than confronting personal sin. Frangipane (1994:119) refers to Jezebel
as a stronghold of immense proportions, a way of thinking that exists unchecked in most churches.
Some references identify Jezebel as the source of obsessive sensuality, unbridled witchcraft, hatred of
male authority and false teachings in the church and society at large. Jackson (2001:11, 12) explains that
the cause of the corruption of Ahab’s throne was a woman: Jezebel. She brought destruction on the
Israelites through her fanatical devotion to the false gods Baal and Ashtoreth. Christians today live in
an age of apostasy in which society has turned its back on God and sin has infected the body of Christ
and its leaders.1 The central issue that this research wishes to investigate is whether or not the Jezebel
from the Scriptures can at all be understood as a ‘spirit’ influencing the modern church or as a specific
character type as portrayed by Queen Jezebel in the books of 1 and 2 Kings. In Scripture, Jezebel is a
person. The Bible mentions Jezebel but does not reveal a ‘Jezebel spirit’ or ‘spirit of Jezebel’.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
ABSTRACT
Queen Jezebel is rightly recognised as one of the powerful women in the Old Testament. In the
biblical text she is introduced as a ‘foreign’ queen and wife to Ahab, the 8th century king of the
northern kingdom, Israel. This article examines some of the interpretations of this character in
the church over the centuries. The focus falls on the latest development in this regard whereby,
in some circles, the biblical character is linked to the existence of a ‘Jezebel spirit’ within the
contemporary church. On the basis of a narratological reading of the Jezebel texts it is indicated
that such an interpretation is unfounded and fails to take cognisance of developments in biblical
interpretation related to literary understandings of the text.
Cultural representations of Jezebel
Pippin (1995:221) writes that Southern women in the United States of America define Jezebel as a cheap
harlot, scheming, promiscuous, a female gigolo, a biblical queen, evil and treacherous, wicked, wild,
uninhibited, cute, happy, slinky, powerful, calculating, ambitious, ruthless and self-centred, and so
the list continues. Hence Ferris Beach (2005:x) can introduce her book on the fictitious correspondence
of Jezebel by asking the question, ‘Was Jezebel … really a slut?’ Pippin (1995:222) states that the
ambiguous and complex character of Jezebel in the Bible serves as an archetypal bitch-witch-queen in
misogynist representations of women.
Creative Commons
Jezebel was also a condescending term used for African American women in the time of slavery. Pippin
(1995:224) says that the juxtaposition of the images of the mammy and the Jezebel served as an apologetic
for the exploitation of the female slave. The image of the mammy was asexual, warm, maternal, darkskinned, big, older, hair covered with a kerchief, loyal, religious and pious. Women slotted as jezebels
were sexual, young, with changing skin colour, comely, provocative in dress, rebellious and whores.
These images were created by white masters to control and dominate the female slave. The mammy
represented the desire for a positive image for African Americans whereas the jezebel was an excuse
for white masters to justify their adolescent and later adulterous behaviour. White women blamed
1.The Internet provides ample examples of this notion in popular church culture (cf. http://christianblogs.christianet.com/1169072216.
htm).
2.Recently Ferris Beach (2005) elaborated on this character by presenting her as surviving an attempt on her life and afterwards
corresponding with different people in the 9th century BCE context. In her book Ferris Beach draws on an array of literary and
archaeological evidence in providing the reader with her interpretation of this remarkable woman.
Original Research
Stark & Van Deventer
the jezebels in order to deny the oppression and rape of slave
women.
Children’s Bible stories
In her study, Jezebel in the Nursery, Christine Mitchell examined
10 children’s Bibles concerning the characterisation of Jezebel.
Mitchell (2001:4, 6) explains that children’s Bibles generally
follow a canonical order for their presentation of the narrative
and are usually lavishly illustrated with colour drawings.
As such they have great influence over the formation of the
readings of characters such as Jezebel by the attractiveness of
their presentation and their easy-to-read text. From the works
examined, several features become apparent. Those retellings
that abridge or slightly adapt an English translation of the biblical
text leave more of the possible meanings of the biblical text intact.
The works that retell more freely are more open to a narrowing
of the interpretations in order to make characterisations and
actions coherent within the ideology of the reader or reteller.
These retellings not only almost invariably cast Jezebel in a bad
light; they also often eliminate her as soon as possible from the
retellings. Mitchell (2001:7) indicates that the phenomenon of the
children’s Bible has vast ideological implications. In her study
she exposes the way Jezebel is read in the American culture
through the medium of children’s Bibles and shows that these
readings of Jezebel have political implications, especially when
it is considered that many children will never read the biblical
text.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #301
Religious tractates and sermons
Not surprisingly, some of the Church Fathers cast Jezebel as a
wanton woman. In one of his works St Jerome uses the word
hortus (garden) to assert that Jezebel’s selfish motivation for
killing Naboth is to create a ‘pleasure garden’ for Ahab and
herself. This garden is supposed to be a playground for sexual
impropriety (Gaines 1999:98).
Much later a 16th-century author wrote that Jezebel was the
veritable prototype of Catherine de Medici (1519–1589). Though
the latter encouraged the arts and politics, she was dishonest
and ruthless. She originally supported the Protestant Huguenots
against the Catholic Guise faction in the Protestant-Catholic
religious wars but switched sides later on. She was largely
responsible for the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre of 1572
and it is probably this incident that caused her to be compared
to Jezebel of the Naboth episode, as both women were held
responsible for slaughtering the innocent (Gaines 1999:99).
The name Jezebel often appears in sermons. The Jesuit sermon
Oratio ad Milites that was delivered to Spain’s Armada fighters in
the latter part of the 16th century termed Queen Elizabeth I the
‘second Jezebel’. The Roman Catholic-Protestant struggles of the
16th century considered any woman on the opposite side to be a
Jezebel (Gaines 1999:99). In the opening sentence of the preface
of The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment
of Women, John Knox (1558:3) uses Jezebel’s name to call forth
ancient names of wicked female rulers of the past. He states that
the empire or rule of a wicked woman, a traitor and a bastard,
is abominable before God. Knox (1558:11) affirmed the empire
of a woman to be repugnant to nature. Nature paints women to
be weak, frail, impatient, feeble and foolish, and experience has
shown them to be inconsistent, variable, cruel and lacking the
spirit of counsel. Knox (1558:45) considered women in authority
as rebels against God.
Isaac Williams, born in 1802, is, among others, remembered
for his sermons entitled Female Characters of Holy Scripture.
This work includes his examination and evaluation of Jezebel.
Williams (1859:178) poses a question: If Ahab was in wickedness
beyond the wicked kings of Israel and the reason was that he
was stirred up to do evil by one worse than himself (Jezebel),
how bad must Jezebel have been? She appears like the type that
has appeared in the history of the world – women in high places
who incite men to commit great crimes. Williams (1859:179)
maintains that these women seemed as if they themselves were
fully and directly under the influence of evil spirits who used
them as instruments of seduction.
The Reverend Hugh M’Neile delivered a speech in 1839 at a
Protestant meeting for the purpose of ‘considering the best
means of arresting the encroachments of the Papacy’. According
to Gaines (1999:103, 104) this speech amounts to an anti-Catholic
diatribe in which he declares ‘Romish doctrines’ to be repugnant
to God and blasphemous. There is a resemblance between Jezebel
and popery because Jezebel bowed down to graven images
and so do Catholics. In M’Neile’s view popery introduced into
Christianity precisely the parallel of what Jezebel introduced
among the Jewish faithful.
Novels
Gaines (1999:107) discusses a number of biblical and non-biblical
novels condemning Jezebel. Few novels retelling the biblical
story of Jezebel are sympathetic to the queen. In non-biblical
works condemning Jezebel, some works use the name Jezebel
as point of departure while others explore the story in the Bible.
Though a character may bear the name Jezebel or be called a
jezebel, the stories are set in modern times and often do not refer
to ancient Israel. Samuel Richardson’s modern English novel
Pamela (1740) includes nine references to Jezebel. The purpose
of this epistolary novel is to advance conventional religious
principles. In this novel the name Jezebel is transformed from
a noun to a verb when one character beats the heroine as she
exclaims to her, “I’ll Jezebel you, I will so!” (Gaines 1999:115,
116).
In a few novels Jezebel is redeemed by portraying her in a
favourable light. One of these writings retells the story from the
book of Kings. It is entitled Jezebel: A Romance in the Days when
Ahab was King of Israel by Lafayette McLaws and was published
in 1902. This novel contains unique additions to the biblical
plot and is generous to Jezebel.3 Jezebel’s relationship to God
is explained in a sympathetic manner that is opposed to the
biblical account. In the novel Jezebel honours the God of Israel
though she considers him to be cruel and threatening while Baal
is a kinder and gentler alternative (Gaines, 1999:132, 133).
Jezebel in archaeology
The marzeah
Marzeah is a technical term for a religious association and its
observances as in a ceremonial setting. The ivory carvings
excavated from Samaria, to which the prophet Amos alluded
in his 8th century BCE oracles to the last northern dynasty,
are among the best known Iron Age remains from Israelite
territory. Scholars have virtually ignored these visual artefacts
and have instead concentrated on literary approaches to help
explain biblical texts. According to Ferris Beach (1993:94, 96) the
Samaria ivories have not been used as iconographic resources for
interpreting the marzeah itself or for explaining biblical passages
that might have been influenced by it.
Ackerman (1998:155) indicates that the series of 9th- and 8thcentury BCE ivory plaques is practically identical. Each shows
the head of an elegantly coiffed female who stares straight
ahead, looking out of a window from the inside of a building.
The decoration of the window suggests that the building
represented is either a temple or a palace, which may imply that
the plaques depict a goddess. Ackerman (1998:159, 161) suggests
that this goddess is the mother goddess of Canaanite mythology,
Asherah. The description of Jezebel in 2 Kings 9:30–31 then
seems meant to present the queen mother, standing at her palace
window as the human counterpart of Asherah.
Ferris Beach (1993:97, 100) agrees with scholars who see a strong
3.cf. Ferris Beach (2005) for a similar portrayal.
Original Research
memorial element in biblical references to the marzeah. The motif
of the woman at the window on the ivories suggests that the
Phoenician carvers intended to emphasise certain values. In the
above-mentioned text from the book of Amos, Amos rejects the
false confidence of those who celebrate continuity and who seek
integration of the living and the dead and who claim legitimacy
through the marzeah. Ferris Beach (1993:101) suggests that the
depiction of Jehu’s encounter with Jezebel in 2 Kings 9:30–37 is
strongly influenced by this imagery. Their encounter takes place
when the succession is unclear, when the rites for memorialising
the past ruler and establishing continuity and legitimacy for the
new one should be undertaken. Jehu encounters the personified
visual image from the marzeah in Jezebel. He shatters her as the
last obstacle to the throne and thereby denies the necessary
memorial rites to the murdered kings and queen and asserts his
independent legitimacy. Ferris Beach (1993:103) concludes that
this inquiry demonstrates that the Hebrew biblical texts were in
dialogue with, drew upon and in some cases were intentionally
shaped in relation to powerful visual symbols.
physical contact or seductive glances, to control men (Frangipane
1994:121). The spirit of Jezebel seeks to manoeuvre itself into
leadership positions in female ministries and comes to the fore
when women insist upon recognition, disregard male leadership
in the church or manipulate men. Jezebel abhors humility, prayer
and the Word of God (Frangipane 1994:122–124).
The seal of Jezebel
• Spinning a web of deceit (Jackson 2001:44–51)
• Using seduction as strategy (Jackson 2001:54–62)
• Devising even deadly ploys in order to succeed in driving
her host into occult involvement (Jackson 2001:65–106).
The focus of this section is a discussion of the Jezebel phenomenon
referred to in some Christian circles as ‘the Jezebel spirit’. Two
publications concerned with this issue are The Three Battlegrounds
by Francis Frangipane (1994) and Unmasking the Jezebel Spirit by
John Paul Jackson (2001). These works are analysed separately
by looking at their descriptions of the characteristics of the
‘Jezebel spirit’ phenomenon as well as methods and techniques
this ‘spirit’ employs and how it operates. This section closes with
an inquiry into the exegetical method employed by the authors.
The Three Battlegrounds – Francis Frangipane
The purpose of Frangipane’s discussion of the Jezebel spirit is
to help equip the church in the battle in the heavenly places,
which is known as the spirit realm (Frangipane 1994:157). In the
introduction to his book Frangipane (1994:9) indicates that his
book is about spiritual warfare. Frangipane states that:
… to understand the spirit of Jezebel, we must understand the
genesis of this personality in the Bible. The first mention of Jezebel
is seen in the rebellious, manipulative wife of King Ahab. It was
actually this spirit, operating through Jezebel ….
(Frangipane 1994:119)
Interpretive method(s) employed by authors of
popular Christian literature
The task of hermeneutics is to ascertain to the best of the exegete’s
ability what the text means and therefore to hear God’s Word in
the text. In their exegesis of biblical texts concerning the Jezebel
spirit, Frangipane and Jackson do not apply the principles of
Bible interpretation in a scholarly manner, perhaps because they
present their writings as popular literature to a specific religious
community. However, this is all the more reason for applying
proper exegetical methods in interpretation. With regard to a
specific religious community, Hayes and Holladay (1987:141)
explain that the Bible is read and interpreted in many different
contexts and in many different ways in contemporary culture.
Within Christianity, the Bible has the status of sacred texts and
plays a normative role. As such, it is read and employed in ways
that are different from those of the general reading public.
Since the earliest days of the Christian faith and through the
centuries believers were admonished to equip themselves for
spiritual warfare. The New Testament is often cited to underline
this:
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the
rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world
and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
(Eph 6:12 NIV)
If these ‘rulers’ exercise power in different areas of the world,
some of the world’s most intractable problems may be due at
least partly to spiritual forces behind the scenes rather than
merely the obvious overt factors such as geography, history or
political conditions. It is from this awareness and understanding
of the spiritual dimension that Frangipane and Jackson present
their views on the phenomenon of the Jezebel spirit. However,
exegetes should always keep in mind that an awareness of the
spiritual dimension does not safeguard them from reading their
own convictions into the Scriptures.
The Three Battlegrounds – Francis Frangipane
This citation indicates that he directly links the existence of a
Jezebel spirit to the actual historical personality of Jezebel.
Frangipane (1994:120) further states ‘that the spirit which
produced Jezebel existed before its namesake was born’. This
spirit is operating through women who publicly humiliate their
husbands and control them by their fear of public embarrassment.
Jezebel uses the power of sexual passion, whether it is through
Frangipane (1994:119) opens his discussion on the Jezebel spirit
by quoting from the book of Revelation:
4.Ferris Beach (2005) builds her argument on this premise.
Obviously this text indicates that the congregation in Thyatira
is led astray by a woman called Jezebel. In sketching the
5.cf. http://www.bib-arch.org/debates/jezebel-seal-00.asp
Article #301
AN OVERVIEW OF THE JEZEBEL SPIRIT IN
POPULAR CHRISTIAN LITERATURE
Throughout this book Jackson recounts stories of many who
have battled the Jezebel spirit. In discussing Jezebel of 2 Kings
9:22, Jackson (2001:19) states, ‘I believe an evil spirit motivated
Jezebel’s actions.... I also believe the influence of this spirit exists
today and has never been eradicated from the Church.’ Jackson
(2001:12–15) discerns the Jezebel spirit as a celestial power that
has worldwide influence. It works in consort with demonic
powers, which include spirits of manipulation, religion, control,
lust, perversion and the occult. Jackson goes on to elaborate on
specific characteristics of Jezebel and the spirit that is associated
with her name. Here these are only briefly listed:
Verbum et Ecclesia
Avigad (1964:274) reports on a seal of unknown provenance
belonging to the Voss-Hahn collection of ancient seals, donated
to the Israel Department of Antiquities. According to Avigad
(1964:275) the seal was not manufactured with the intention
of inserting an inscription. It was probably purchased for its
attractive appearance by a lady who had her name engraved
in the lower register of the seal. The inscription on the seal
reads ‘Jezebel’. There is, however, no basis for identifying the
owner of the seal with Jezebel, although they may have been
contemporaries and the seal seems worthy of a queen.4 Jezebel is
also a rare Phoenician name, nowhere previously documented
other than in the Old Testament. In 2006 Korpel revisited this
issue and set the proverbial cat amongst the pigeons by claiming
this seal to be in fact that of Queen Jezebel (Korpel 2006). This led
to a heated debate in a public domain, sometimes crossing the
boundaries of academic discourse.5
Unmasking the Jezebel Spirit – John Paul Jackson
But I have this against you, that you tolerate the woman Jezebel,
who calls herself a prophetess, and teaches and leads my bondservants astray, so that they commit acts of immorality and eat
things sacrificed to idols.
(Rv 2:20)
Original Research
background of the Jezebel spirit, Frangipane mentions Jezebel as
the wife of King Ahab. He then cites 1 Kings 18:22 and 19:4, 14–18
as well as 2 Kings 9:21–26, 30–33. To explain the spirit of Jezebel,
he draws on the characteristics of Jezebel, but he also relies on
several New Testament texts in which the name Jezebel does not
surface to support his discussion. Frangipane alternately calls
the phenomenon of Jezebel a spirit, a stronghold and a demon,
but nowhere is this stated in the texts that he cites.
Frangipane (1994:127) employs the genre of apocalyptic literature
in his argument for an ancient war between the spirit of Jezebel
and the spirit of Elijah. The war between Jezebel and Elijah
continues today. Just as Jezebel had viciously and systematically
murdered all of God’s servants until only Elijah remained, so this
spirit of Jezebel continues in our day with modern-day prophets.
However, in reading the Old Testament it is important to keep in
mind the interpretative methods developed by biblical scholars.
When these methods are applied properly, they yield verifiable
results that give the reader more accurate information about the
meaning of the Bible (Barton 1996:8, 9). Either Frangipane is not
aware of the literary genres of the Scriptures or he chooses not to
employ interpretative methods concerned with these genres.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #301
Unmasking the Jezebel Spirit – John Paul Jackson
Unlike Frangipane, Jackson begins by drawing a parallel between
the age of apostasy in which the Israelites lived and the apostasy
of our day. He builds his exegesis on the narratives in 1 Kings
21:35, 2 Kings 8:25–27 and 2 Kings 9:6–7, 22. He also cites several
passages from both the Old and the New Testament to support
his in-depth analysis of the characteristics of the Jezebel spirit.
Jackson identifies a major battle between the spirit of Jezebel
and modern-day prophets, just as in the days of old. He discerns
Jezebel as a celestial power, a demonic power, a demonic spirit
and a stronghold in the minds of people. No scriptural passages
cited in his discussion reveal Jezebel as a spirit.
INTERPRETATION OF THE JEZEBEL
NARRATIVES IN THE OLD TESTAMENT
Introduction
John Goldingay (1995:1) opens his introduction to the varied
forms of Scripture by quoting from the Letter to the Hebrews,
which observes that ‘God spoke to our ancestors in many and
various ways by the prophets’. This indicates that the Bible has a
variety of ways of speaking and that the process of interpretation
requires a variety of interpretative approaches, with the goal
to reach an informed understanding of the text. Hayes and
Holladay (1987:23) relate in this respect that the exegete cannot
present the exegesis of a passage as if it were the final word.
This implies that exegesis is an ongoing process, since there will
always be new dimensions of the text that may come to light.
The most common genre in the Old Testament is narrative.
Narratives in the Old Testament relate to the origin of the world,
the sins of humanity, its destruction and the covenant and
history of Israel (cf. Gn–2 Ki). Reeves (1996:265) states that the
biblical stories should be read on microscopic and macroscopic
levels. This implies that readers should not only pay attention
to every detail of a narrative but also keep the whole picture
in focus. Each narrative portion of the Old Testament has its
own plot, prominent and less prominent characters,6 settings,
narrator, heroes, villains and so forth. The recognition of these
details enhances the reader’s understanding of a narrative.
Discussion of a model to be used
Narrative criticism has been one of many new methodologies
to arise in biblical studies. Tannehill (1996:488) defines narrative
criticism as a method of interpreting the biblical narrative with the
assistance of ancient and modern literary theory. It approaches
the biblical narrative as a literary text that can be analysed in
6.cf. Van der Bergh (2008) for a recent discussion on characterisation in the Hebrew
Bible.
literary terms. Newport (1996:135) says that the literary aspects
of narrative have increasingly become the centre of interest since
the late 1960s. Rhoads (1999:265, 269) explains that narrative
criticism arose in the context of the predominance of traditional
historical-critical methods. It arose when New Criticism was
prevalent among secular literary critics. It argued for the study
of a text in its own right apart from authorial intention or reader
responses. Subsequent literary studies indicated that there is
no narrative world apart from the social context and there is no
narrative world apart from the reading experience. The major
contribution of narrative criticism to biblical studies in general
has been the establishment of the surface narrative of the text as
a legitimate object of study.
Rhoads (1999:265) says that narrative criticism has come to be
understood as the analysis of the story world of a narrative and
the analysis of its implied rhetorical impact on readers. Analysis
of the story world focuses on the world inside a narrative with
its own times, places, characters, set of values, past and future,
and series of events moving forward in a meaningful way. This
story world is an imaginary world created by the telling of the
narrative. Analysis of the rhetoric of a narrative also focuses on
the implied impact of a narrative, both from the story itself as
well as from the way it is told. On this point Kaiser and Silva
(1994:71) explain that the biblical narrative presents matters
indirectly. It depends on the selection of details, arrangement
of events and rhetorical devices to establish the principles it
wishes to convey. Kaiser and Silva (1994:68) list and discuss the
following key elements of the narrative: scene, plot, dialogue
and rhetorical devices. These elements assist the interpreter to
understand the meaning and purpose of each episode. Elements
of structure are exhibited at four levels, namely verbal, narrative
technique, narrative world and conceptual content.
Focusing the model on the Jezebel texts
Background to the books of 1 and 2 Kings
Nelson (1998:38) lists the Old Testament as the main source for
the history of the monarchy of Israel. This period spans roughly
the 10th–7th centuries BCE. The books of 1 and 2 Kings deal with
the decline and fall of the Davidic Empire and the reasons thereof.
Dumbrell (1988:91) comments that the history of this period
is cast into a pattern of rebellion and punishment. This theme
is typical of the manner in which the Deuteronomists cast the
history of Israel when they edited it during the exile. Robinson
(1972:9) explains that the Deuteronomists were concerned with
more than the purging of pagan influences. They had worked
out a comprehensive theological system that is expressed in
the book of Deuteronomy. The political experience of Israel is
unique since the state was understood to be a theocracy under
God. Wiseman (1993:17) suggests that the books of Kings also
contribute to the modern reader’s understanding of the cultural
milieu of the period. They tell of the writings and wisdom, the
law, justice and injustice, the dangers of interfaith and mixed
marriages, international trade, famine, wars and so on. Provan
(1995:1) points out that in the books of Kings the narrative nature
can be seen in the fact that a story is told, a number of characters
are presented, events follow each other in chronological sequence
and verbal and thematic links bind the whole unit together.
Nelson (1987:47) suggests that the books of Kings were finalised
in the early years of the Babylonian exile. By reading the books
of Kings, the reader can learn a great deal about the intended
audience. The books of Kings expect their audience to know
the saving traditions of Israel. This knowledge includes the
patriarchs, the exodus, the ancient tribal system, the exterior of
the Temple and the geography of Jerusalem. Great respect for
the law is implied by the books. Wiseman (1993:26) notes that
the author felt free to vary the repetitive formulae that served
as the framework in which he wrote and to introduce his own
review at different points in the composition. The introductory
formulae include the king’s name and relation to his predecessor.
To this is added the date of accession with a synchronism to
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the corresponding contemporary ruler in the other kingdom,
whether Israel or Judah. Next given is the king’s age on coming
to the throne. The length of his reign is recorded in total years,
with months and days when it was less than a full year. The
place of reign is given – the kings of Judah resided in Jerusalem
while for the kings of Israel it was initially Tirzah until the capital
was relocated to Samaria under Omri. The king’s mother’s
name is added for the kings of Judah. A theological appraisal
of each reign is given by a statement judging the reign as ‘right’
or ‘evil’. This judgement is an evaluation of the individual’s
life and rests on theological criteria. The account of each reign
is usually terminated by a series of statements arranged in a
common order. The concluding formulae include a citation of
sources that provide additional information. The name of the
successor concludes the concluding formulae. In some instances
a postscript has been added after the concluding formulae, as in
2 Kings 10:36.
An overview of the Jezebel texts
Frangipane and Jackson want to lay biblical foundations for their
argument concerning the ‘Jezebel spirit’ by citing the Jezebel
texts from the books of 1 and 2 Kings. The texts concerned are 1
Kings 16:31–33; 18:4, 9; 19:1–2; and 21:1–15, 23, 25; and 2 Kings
9:7, 10; and 9:30–37. These texts should now be analysed as to
their bearing on the notion of a ‘Jezebel spirit’.
1 Kings 18:4, 19
Rice (1990:140) comments that 1 Kings 17, 18 and 19 centres
around a great drought that lasted about three years. The
confrontation between Elijah and the Baal prophets and the
ending of the drought fall within the action of Chapter 18. Trible
(1995:6) states that Chapter 18:3–6 is a short narrative of return
and meeting. In Chapter 18:1–2 the Word of God instructs Elijah
to journey to Ahab. Verse 4 contains a condemnatory reference to
Jezebel by testifying to her power over the prophets of God. The
reference to Jezebel’s killing the prophets of the Lord in Verse 4
forms part of the gradual revelation of Jezebel’s character. It also
amplifies the negative image of her already established in the
introductory formula. Verse 4 is repeated in Verse 13. In Verse
4 the narrator informs the reader that while Jezebel was killing
1 Kings 19:1, 2
1 Kings 19:1–18 forms the last of three acts described by Rice
(1990:140), namely the drought as a challenge to the Canaanite
religion in Chapter 17; the confrontation between Elijah and the
leaders of the Canaanite religion and the ending of the drought
in Chapter 18; and Elijah’s flight and self-examination following
his victory in Chapter 19:1–18. Wiseman (1993:171) relates that it
is not certain whether the historian intended to recount events
in chronological sequence. Jezebel sent a messenger because
she was afraid to confront Elijah in person, with a strong curse
referring to the gods.
Rice (1990:157) suggests that Ahab’s report to Jezebel in Verse 1
was a great opportunity for him to take a stand for God. Instead,
he passively yields to the desire of Jezebel for revenge, which
is expressed by her vowing to take Elijah’s life. Ahab reports to
her, as though religious and political power is allocated to her.
For the first time the narrator assigns speech to Jezebel in Verse
2. This speech affirms the development of her character in the
narrative. The result of her threatening message to Elijah is his
flight to Beer-Sheba in Judah. The role and importance of her
Canaanite gods are emphasised through the force of her words
in Verse 2. The oath that she utters, ‘May the gods deal with
me, be it ever so severely...’, parallels Elijah’s first speech in
Chapter 17:1. Here Elijah and Jezebel are contrasted concerning
their calling on their gods. Trible (1995:8) suggests that these
utterances share a genre but not a deity. They also share a theme
but not the specificities.
Article #301
Nelson (1987:100, 101) refers to 1 Kings 14:21–16:34 as
paradigmatic history. The nature of these chapters makes it
the centre of a network of negative evaluative judgements. In
Israel the king is always the focus of disobedience. The loyalty
of Israel to God reaches a low point in Ahab. In Deuteronomistic
evaluative language the setting up of an Asherah is a common
crime. However, Ahab reflects further apostasy by building an
altar and temple for Baal. The narrator cites this as evidence to
give the impression that Ahab was the worst king of Israel thus
far. Wiseman (1993:162) indicates that the usual introductory
formulae on Ahab is followed by an evaluation of the increasing
evil of the family as progressively worse than the evil done by
Omri. By his marriage to Jezebel Ahab introduced the worship of
Baal officially alongside that of Yahweh. Trible (1995:4) explains
that in the Deuteronomists’ censure of Ahab, Baal’s name is
repeated three times. Jezebel is introduced with hostility due
to her religious affiliation and thus the faith she espouses, her
name announces.
An interesting comment is made by Gray (1977:389) when he
observes that Verse 4 is the first explicit reference in the books
of Kings to associations of prophets. It is also the first explicit
reference to organised prophetic resistance to the assimilation
of the Baal cult. Nelson (1987:115) remarks that the necessary
background of hostility has been established by Verse 4. The
violence Obadiah anticipates against himself parallels Jezebel’s
murderous violence against God’s prophets. Obadiah and
Jezebel are contrasted concerning feeding the prophets. Whereas
Obadiah fed the prophets of God, Jezebel fed the prophets of
Baal. This is indicated in Verse 19 where Elijah asks Ahab to also
summon to the assembly on Mount Carmel the 450 prophets
who eat at Jezebel’s table. Rice (1990:149) points out that to eat
at the table of the king or queen was to be subsidised by the
state. Jezebel was so aggressive that she promoted the worship
of Baal and Asherah at state expense. Trible (1995:7) says that in
citing the large number of Jezebel’s prophets, Elijah witnesses
her religious zeal. In specifying that these prophets eat at her
table, Elijah suggests her economic independence as well her
resources. This episode as narrated leaves the reader with an
ever-increasing negative image of Jezebel, an awareness of her
murderous violence that knows no bounds.
Verbum et Ecclesia
1 Kings 16:31–33
1 Kings 16:31–33 forms part of the formulaic report on the reign
of King Ahab. The two characters under discussion in this
introduction are King Ahab and Jezebel. Ahab’s primary evils
are cited as marrying Jezebel, daughter of Ethbaal, king of the
Sidonians; erecting an altar for Baal, whom he began to worship;
and making an Asherah pole. Gray (1977:367, 368) explains that
the name Jezebel is a parody, meaning ‘no nobility’, ‘where is
the prince?’ (a cultic cry known from Ugarit texts) or ‘dung’ (a
perversion of the title of Baal). Wiseman (1993:163) suggests that
Ahab married Jezebel early in the reign of king Omri to mark the
political and economic treaty between Israel and Sidon.
off the Lord’s prophets, the faithful character Obadiah hid 100 of
them in two caves and fed them with bread and water. In Verse
13 Obadiah relates the same information to Elijah.
The strength of Jezebel’s character is revealed through this
narrative not as a positive trait but negatively. She is shown to
be fearless in her revenge and capable of extreme violence to
attain her goal of establishing the worship of Baal.
1 Kings 21:1–5, 23, 25
Nelson (1987:140) comments that 1 Kings 21:1–15 is an episode
of royal tyranny. The situation is presented in verses 1–2. The
chapter is held together by the themes of eating and fasting:
Ahab’s reaction to the oath of Naboth is a refusal to eat in Verse
4; in Verse 7 Jezebel insists that he eats while she instigates a
fast; Ahab’s blood will be licked up by dogs and Jezebel will be
devoured by dogs; those belonging to Ahab who die in the city
will be eaten by dogs and the birds will feed on those who die
in the country. In his examination of the literary artistry of the
chapter, Nelson (1987:140) sees Jezebel as the prime mover in the
narrative and Ahab as the centre of attention, though Naboth is
Original Research
also strongly present. Naboth’s oath introduces a complication
in the plot, as he will not have the vineyard given by God to his
ancestors turned into a vegetable garden. When Ahab becomes
angry and sulks, Jezebel takes the initiative. Jezebel’s words
to Ahab in Verse 7 may be a rhetorical question, a sarcastic
indicative of his kingship or a prediction. Nelson (1987:142)
comments further that Jezebel literally took over the royal
authority by writing letters in Ahab’s name. The repetition of the
content of her letter and the repetition of ‘Naboth’ is a narrative
technique that communicates precise fulfillment. The words in
Verse 10, ‘stone him to death’, clarify the purpose of her legal
charade. The two witnesses distorted Naboth’s refusal into an
abusive use of God’s name. In verses 10 and 13–15 the mention
of the stoning becomes a refrain. Trible (1995:12) explains that
Jezebel’s words to Ahab in Verse 15 freed him to move to fulfil
his desire. Her report to Ahab that Naboth is dead omits the
details of her role in the matter.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #301
This narrative portrays Jezebel to be more active as a character.
She dismisses the Israelite tradition of land ownership since
she is rooted in another set of values concerning kingship and
landownership. She devises a legal frame-up cloaked in piety to
steal Naboth’s land. The matter of contrast surfaces also in this
story. Just as Jezebel planned Naboth’s death, Elijah speaks of her
death through a word of judgement from God. Deuteronomistic
language takes over in this condemnation. Rice (1990:179) says
that Jezebel is singled out in Verse 23 to be devoured by dogs
and thus denied a proper burial, which was a major disgrace to
the people in antiquity.
2 Kings 9:7, 10
2 Kings 9:1–16 encloses the designation of Jehu. Wiseman
(1993:220) comments that when the prophets had completed
the anointing of Jehu, he expanded the divine declaration in
verses 7–10. This defined Jehu’s mission: He was to terminate
Ahab’s house. This would include the vengeance required
by Deuteronomy 32:43 for the slaying of the servants of God.
Emphasis is placed on Yahweh as an avenging God who uses a
human agent in Jehu as the avenger of blood. Again we observe
the occurrence of repetition in Verse 7. The divine speech
through the prophet sent by Elisha reaches back to Jezebel’s act
of violence against the prophets and servants of Yahweh. Verse
10 is a repetition of Elijah’s prophecy delivered in 1 Kings 21:23
concerning Jezebel. Verse 10 creates tension in the narrative for
the question arises whether Jezebel will survive the Word of the
Lord.
2 Kings 9:30–37
Nelson (1987:203) comments that chapters 9:17–10:36 are
organised on the basis of seven violent acts. The killing of Jezebel
in 9:30–37 is the third act. It opens with Jezebel’s painting her
eyes, arranging her hair and looking out of the window. Nelson
(1987:203) points out that this final toilet of Jezebel could be
evaluated as a reflection of her idolatries referred to in 1 Kings
9:22. An alternative interpretation is to see her final act as a
seductive preparation for lovemaking in the expectation that
Jehu would take over Jehoram’s harem. Wiseman (1993:223)
disagrees here. He suggests that Jezebel was not necessarily
acting coquettishly and her question ‘Have you come in peace?’
could be sincere and not sarcastic. Her request may have been
made in the hope of some agreement. Jezebel’s looking out of the
window does not necessarily mean that she acted in a shameless
way as a prostitute. Jezebel’s reference to Zimri could be irony
in taunting Jehu as one unlikely to survive his attempt on the
throne. This is an allusion to the events described in 1 Kings
16:8–20.
After Jehu’s order that Jezebel be thrown out of the window
and she is trampled by the horses, he went into the palace to
eat and drink. Nelson (1987:203) says that Jehu’s words ‘that
cursed woman’ (v 34) agree with those of God and the narrator.
Jezebel’s gruesome death is described in graphic detail without
the slightest trace of compassion. The narrative itself does not
reveal why so little was left of her. In Verse 36 Jehu recalls the
prophecy that dogs would devour her on the plot of ground at
Jezreel. He interprets this as a fulfilment of Elijah’s prophecy.
In conclusion then, Jezebel is characterised in the books of Kings
as an unscrupulous foreigner. In the introductory formula of
King Ahab, Jezebel is introduced as the wife of Ahab and the
daughter of Ethbaal. Ahab’s primary evil was his marriage to
Jezebel. This immediately paints her in a very negative light,
which remains with the reader as the narrative unfolds. Her
deeds of murder, violence, theft and support of other deities
arouse revulsion. Jezebel can be known only as she is presented
in these narratives, and the reader can only refer to them. Kam
(1995:139) comments that Jezebel the person gets lost in the
rhetoric. Only if one moves beyond the stereotypes can one find
the woman whom no one seems to have mourned. Feminist
interpretations concentrate more on this aspect of Jezebel the
woman.
Feminist interpretations
Fokkelman (1999:22, 23) points out that a Bible text is a living
text in search of a competent reader. With every new reader the
text moves through constantly changing times and contexts. It
always meets new audiences and is always subject to new and
different views. Fokkelman (1999:24, 26) continues to say that
the reader’s subjectivity does not mean that the reader is at
liberty to subject the text to any wild speculation. The reader is
unconsciously subject to the influence of his or her expectations,
religious beliefs and prejudices.
Concerning reading the Bible from a feminist perspective, Bal
(1989:87) explains that feminism’s most valuable contribution to
modern scholarship consists of the emphasis on the ideological
position of the Bible scholar. Achtemeier (1988:45) explains
that there is not only one feminist approach to the Bible and
its theology or a single system of thought but a multitude of
different views.
Frost (1964:504) comments that history has pronounced adverse
judgement on Jezebel and he takes an instructive look at other
women of gentile origin in the Old Testament. Frost (1964:505)
concludes that it seems as if treason, seduction and murder are
praiseworthy when done to Israel’s advantage but are deserving
of censure when used by the enemies of Israel. It would seem
that the Bible upholds a double standard of judgement. From
the above it is clear that Jezebel, who was opposed to Israel, had
no chance of a fair trial in a biblical court. An important aspect of
Jezebel’s marriage to Ahab is that she achieved a husband-wife
relationship with him that is unique in the Old Testament. This
alone is a testimony to the strength of Jezebel’s character.
Holt (1995:83) comments that the Old Testament literature often
portrays opposing tendencies in the description of events and
persons. Jezebel is here presented as scapegoat. As such, Holt
(1995:93, 94) underlines Jezebel’s death as the outcome of her
double responsibility. She actively seduced Ahab to turn away
from God and passively seduced him to institute the cult of Baal.
Jezebel died the death of the scapegoat.
Trible (1995:4) states that no woman or man in the Bible endured
a more hostile press than Jezebel. The focus of this hostility was
her religious affiliation. The Deuteronomists shaped a narrative
in which Elijah and Jezebel emerged as opposites – he was
the epitome of good, she of evil. Trible (1995:3) says that this
juxtaposition was so successful that it has persuaded readers
throughout the ages to make the proper Deuteronomistic choice
to love Elijah and hate Jezebel. In the end Elijah is triumphant
while Jezebel is looked upon contemptuously.
Appler (1999:67, 68) states that when Jezebel is devoured her
symbols of power, which are the head, feet and hands, are left
behind. These are perhaps the power symbols of the goddess
Original Research
Anat. As daughter of Ethbaal it is likely that Jezebel worshipped
Anat in conjunction with her devotion to Baal. This may offer
clues to the reason for the left-over body parts of Jezebel. Anat
had two symbols of power: a necklace of skulls that was worn
around the neck, and hands that she wore as a belt around her
waist. Thus, Jezebel leaves behind the symbols of a Canaanite
goddess.
THE JEZEBEL NARRATIVES: A
NARRATOLOGICAL APPRAISAL
Queen Jezebel as a character type
Bar Efrat (1997:47) points out that characters can transmit the
values of the narrative to the reader, since they usually constitute
the focal point of interest. Their personalities and histories attract
the reader’s attention and arouse emotional involvement. In a
work of literature it is the portrayal of a character that creates the
character. Ackroyd (1983:256) indicates that Jezebel was defined
as alien in origin, and in this line of interpretation, she becomes
a type. The hostility to what is believed to be alien practice is
projected in detail onto her figure.
The narrator
In his discussion on the narrator and his or her characters,
Fokkelman (1999:55, 56) indicates that the narrator is an attitude
or a pose. He or she could be called a subpersonality of the author.
The narrator draws the lines and selects the details that suit him
or her, structures time, sketches space and brings characters on
and takes them off; the narrator also enforces his or her point of
view. In the books of 1 and 2 Kings we know that the point of
view is that of the Deuteronomists. Bar-Efrat (1997:15, 16) states
that the point of view of a narrative is important for several
reasons: First, it is a factor in according unity to the narrative;
second, it dictates what will be narrated and how; third, it can
enhance the interest or suspense of a narrative; finally, the
point of view is a means by which the narrator influences the
reader. It is important to note here that the author’s attitude and
views are usually intertwined with the facts of the narrative,
manifesting in the way the narrative unfolds. The effectiveness
of the narrative is to a considerable extent dependent on the
point of view. This technique in biblical narrative attempts to
influence readers by imparting a view of people, God, life, good
and evil and God’s activity in the world. The narrator does not
often provide the reader with information about God’s feelings.
When such information is given, the issue is of great importance.
This is the case with God’s judgement on Jezebel in 1 Kings 21:23
and 2 Kings 9:10, 36–37. Judgement by God is more effective
and convincing than judgement by the narrator or one of the
The character Jezebel
Bar-Efrat (1997:47) mentions that many of the views in
a narrative are expressed through the speech and fate of
characters. Characters’ actions, emphasis on their characteristics
and revelations about them by the narrator reveal the values
and norms within the narrative. The decisions that they make
when confronted with different alternatives and the results of
these decisions provide evidence of the ethical dimension of the
narrative. Characters can arouse either sympathy or revulsion in
the reader but never indifference. We can know characters from
the biblical past in a narrative only as they are presented in the
narratives.
Introducing Queen Jezebel
Bar-Efrat (1997:111, 112) notes that the presentation of the
situation existing in the beginning of the narrative is called
exposition. It serves as an introduction that supplies background
information, introduction of characters (their names, traits and
state in life) and details that are important for understanding the
narrative. Two methods are applied for bringing expositional
material to the attention of the reader: One is to concentrate all
information at the beginning of the narrative and the other is
to reveal it gradually in the course of the narrative. Jezebel is
introduced in the opening of the file of King Ahab in 1 Kings
16:31–33. Bar-Efrat (1997:90) remarks that character is existential
since it is revealed in actual real-life situations and that epithets
relating to biblical characters do not refer to their personalities
but to their origin. Jezebel is introduced as ‘daughter of Ethbaal,
king of the Sidonians’. The reader is also oriented to the sins of
Ahab with reference to Jezebel as instigator of them. A gradual
revelation of the character of Jezebel is found in the Jezebel texts
following this introduction:
Article #301
Trible (1995:3) explains that the Deuteronomist authors shaped
a narrative in which Jezebel and Elijah emerged as opposites.
She was for the Baals and Asherah and he was for Yahweh, the
God of Israel.
Fokkelman (1999:65) points out that the narrator sometimes
lets the reader share in prior knowledge about characters as
in 1 Kings 16:30–33 by relating the evil that Ahab did and in 1
Kings 21:25 by telling the readers that Jezebel urged Ahab to do
evil. The relation between the narrator and every character in a
narrative is that of creator and creation. Where communication
is concerned, the narrator is outside the story while the character
lives inside the story and is part of that world. Characters
cannot escape from the level where the narrator has placed them
(Fokkelman, 1999:59, 63).
Verbum et Ecclesia
In her discussion Bach (1999:357) indicates that character can
exist in the consciousness as an element independent of the
narrative in which the character originally was discovered.
In reading, a sequence of events can lend itself to various
interpretations, depending upon the perspective or context
in which the reader places the material. The reader does not
respond passively to characters as they have been presented in a
story but actively and even appropriates them. When the reader
responds negatively to the narrator and rejects his or her codes,
the reader in question may reject the story altogether. However,
at the same time one of the characters from the narrative may
live on in the reader’s mind. According to Chatman (cited by
Bach 1999:357), the experience of reading often involves the
retention of the reader’s image of a character, not just apart from
events but also long after the reader has forgotten most of the
narrative. The reader then creates a paradigm of traits. From
the narrator’s report about the character, gestures, actions and
thoughts of the character, the reader transforms the paradigm of
traits into a character. This process results in the character taking
on an existence independent of the original narrative.
characters in the plot, since God is the absolute and supreme
authority (Bar-Efrat, 1997:19).
• Jezebel is introduced as instigator of Ahab’s setting up an
altar for Baal in the temple of Baal that he built in Samaria as
well as making an Asherah pole
• She shows her loyalty to the prophets of Baal and Asherah
by feeding them
• Her witchcraft is revealed as she invokes a curse over Elijah
as well as herself
• Jezebel bends the Deuteronomistic law concerning property
in Israel to her own ends, which reveals her as a schemer,
plotter and murderer
• She draws on the name of Yahweh (her enemy) to her own
profit, and she assumes royal authority by writing letters in
Ahab’s name and placing his seal on them
• The narrator reveals Jezebel as exterminator of Yahweh’s
prophets
• The narrator reveals the judgement of Yahweh by stating the
horrible death awaiting her
• Her final toilet can be evaluated as an assessment of her
idolatries or a reflection of a decision to meet her death with
dignity as a queen, or it can be understood as preparation to
sexually seduce Jehu.
The shaping of her character
Bar-Efrat (1997:48, 49) says that biblical narratives do not give
detailed descriptions of the physical appearance of characters.
Original Research
When information of this kind is given it serves solely as a means
of the plot. In the case of Jezebel, no description is given of her
outward appearance concerning facial expressions or clothing.
Explicit mention of her painting her eyes and arranging her hair
is made in 2 Kings 9:30.
In discussing the personality of a character Bar-Efrat (1997:53)
states that there are two kinds of direct statement about this.
One refers to character traits and one relates to mental state.
Direct characterisation entails an element of judgement. This is
evident in the Jezebel texts, as indicated above. The references
to her idolatry, witchcraft and murdering constitute both
characterisation and judgement. Characters are indirectly
shaped by external features such as speech or actions. These
are revelations of their inner states. From this the reader has to
interpret and construct the character’s mental and emotional
make-up (Bar-Efrat 1997:64). The Jezebel texts give ample
evidence of this.
Reflection of her viewpoint
Bar-Efrat (1997:39, 41) says that the way in which the narrator
refers to a person reflects either the narrator’s own attitude or
that of another character. In the Jezebel texts the narrator, Elijah,
Obadiah and Jehu reflect the Deuteronomistic view and attitude
towards Jezebel in their references to her. Whenever Jezebel
uses direct speech in the narrative her point of view is reflected.
Her views are based upon her upbringing in Tyre against the
background of Baal and Asherah worship and the values and
norms influenced by her religion.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #301
Her ethical stance
In reading the Bible, readers can sense a distinct ethical appeal.
Janzen (1994:20, 31) explains that particular characters are
shaped by their particular stories. When we consider the conflict
between Ahab and Naboth, it seems that it is a conflict over real
estate that might raise a question concerning general ethical
principles of private property in light of government purchase
or expropriation. If both Ahab and Naboth had been shaped
in their ethics by Israel’s story of relating to land, Ahab would
never have made the request to buy Naboth’s vineyard. On the
other hand, if both had been shaped by Canaanite history with
its assumption of absolute kingship, Naboth would never have
considered refusing Ahab’s request. Thus, no ethical quandary
would have existed. However, this quandary came about
because Naboth had been shaped by Israel’s history whereas
Ahab hovered at its edges. For Jezebel, acting within Canaanite
history, Naboth, acting outside her history, had to be coerced to
conform to her norms.
The Jezebel texts then portray a character in direct opposition to
the Deuteronomistic laws; a character who kept to the values,
norms and convictions of her religious background; a character
who never compromised her own convictions; a character who
ruthlessly promoted ungodliness and influenced the erection of
pagan worship places and sponsored pagan priesthood. This
character persecuted righteousness and tried to eradicate the
true worship of God. She engineered the death of a landowner to
acquire his property to her own advantage and used treason and
false accusation to this end. This character invoked curses on her
enemies. In the end she died and was destroyed according to the
Word of God delivered through his prophets.
The theology of the Jezebel texts
Freeman (1996:307) explains that since most lay people do
not have access to the critical tools of biblical study, they
are dependent upon the preaching they hear to provide an
accurately interpreted Word of God to them. Hermeneutics
should be seen as a servant of the work of preaching rather than
as an exercise for a few academicians. Ramm (1996:277) states
that the proper alternative to spiritualising the Jezebel texts is to
principilise them. This means to discover in the narratives basic
theological principles. These principles are latent in the text and
it is the process of deduction that brings them to the surface.
By principilising the preacher is able to obtain devotional and
spiritual truth from Scripture and avoid the charge of eisegesis.
Nelson (1987:120) comments that the books of 1 and 2 Kings
as canonical Scripture insist that the real fabric of history is the
issue of faithfulness to God. These narratives reflect a variety
of intentions: They seek to evoke loyalty to Yahweh as the only
God, they demolish any attempt at syncretism, they convince
the reader of the power of God’s Word to structure history and
they provide an example that calls the unfaithful to repentance.
Rice (1990:2) comments that the narratives of 1 Kings prod the
reader to identify the equivalent of Canaanite religion in his or
her own society. The book of 1 Kings directs the Christian to look
for God’s presence in the arena of public life and service. Nelson
(1987:145) urges that the community that accepts the Scriptures
should ask itself some hard questions. The community of faith
should always ask whether it is functioning as Elijah, bearing the
Word of God, or whether it is playing the role of Ahab or Jezebel.
Nelson (1987:145) concludes that like Ahab, the church is not just
under the influence of Jezebel but also under the power of God’s
Word.
CONCLUSION
This article proposes to present Queen Jezebel of the books of 1
and 2 Kings as a character type. The discussion indicated that
her image has lived on in readers’ minds ever since the Jezebel
texts were compiled. A paradigm of traits was created from this
and then transformed into a character that took on an existence
independent of the original narrative (Bach 1999:357). In
considering her character as shaped by the narrator of the books
of 1 and 2 Kings, her viewpoints and her ethical stance, one may
conclude that she is not a significant, albeit peculiar, character.
She exhibits the nature of all human beings.
This article indicated that reference to a Jezebel spirit in the
modern church is based on a misreading of the biblical narratives
in the books of Kings as well as a misunderstanding of the
notion of characterisation in narratives. Recent developments
in hermeneutical methods that draw attention to these matters
should be taken seriously by preachers of the Word in the
church as well as by institutions preparing men and women for
the ministry.
REFERENCES
Achtemeier, E., 1988, ‘The impossible possibility: Evaluating the
feminist approach to Bible and theology’, Interpretation 42(1),
45–57.
Ackerman, S., 1998, ‘Out of the window she peered’, in S.
Ackerman (ed.), Warrior, dancer, seductress, queen, pp. 155–
162, Doubleday, New York.
Ackroyd, P.R., 1983, ‘Goddesses, women and Jezebel’, in A.
Cameron & A. Kuhrt (eds.), Images of women in antiquity, pp.
245–259, Croom Helm, London.
Appler, D.A., 1999, ‘From queen to cuisine: Food imagery in the
Jezebel narrative’, Semeia 86, 55–71.
Avigad, N., 1964, ‘The seal of Jezebel’, Israel Exploration Journal
14(4), 274–276.
Bach, A., 1999, ‘Signs of the flesh: Observations on
characterization in the Bible’, in A. Bach (ed.), Women in the
Hebrew Bible: A reader, pp. 351–365, Routledge, London.
Bal, M., 1989, ‘Reading as empowerment: The Bible from
a feminist perspective’, in B.N. Olshen & Y.S. Feldman
(eds.), Approaches to teaching the Hebrew Bible as literature in
translation, pp. 87–92, The Modern Language Association of
America, New York.
Bar-Efrat, S., 1997, Narrative art in the Bible, Sheffield Academic
Press, Sheffield.
Barton, J., 1996, Reading the Old Testament: Method in biblical study,
Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville.
Bronner, L., 1964, ‘The stories of Elijah and Elisha’, unpublished
DLitt thesis, University of Pretoria.
Original Research
Article #301
Nelson, R.D., 1987, First and second Kings (Interpretation), John
Knox Press, Louisville.
Nelson, R.D., 1998, The historical books, Abingdon Press,
Nashville.
Newport, J.P., 1996, ‘Contemporary philosophical, literary
and sociological hermeneutics’, in B. Corley, S. Lemke &
G. Lovejoy (eds.), Biblical hermeneutics: A comprehensive
introduction to interpreting scripture, pp. 133–144, Broadman
& Holman, Nashville.
Pippin, T., 1995, ‘Jezebel re-vamped’, Semeia 69–70, 221–233.
Provan, I.W., 1995, 1 and 2 Kings (New International Bible
Commentary), Hendrickson Publishers, Peabody.
Ramm, B., 1996, ‘The devotional and practical use of the
Bible’, in R.B. Zuck (ed.), Rightly divided: Readings in biblical
hermeneutics, pp. 267–277, Kregel Publications, Grand
Rapids.
Reeves, R., 1996, ‘Reading the genres of scripture’, in B. Corley,
S. Lemke & G. Lovejoy (eds.), Biblical hermeneutics: A
comprehensive introduction to interpreting scripture, pp. 263–
274, Broadman & Holman, Nashville.
Rhoads, D., 1999, ‘Narrative criticism: Practices and prospects’,
in D. Rhoads & K. Syreeni (eds.), Characterization in the
Gospels: Reconceiving narrative criticism, pp. 264–285, Sheffield
Rice, G., 1990, I Kings: Nations under God: A commentary on the
book of I Kings (International Theological Commentary),
Robinson, J., 1972, The Cambridge Bible commentary on the New
English Bible: The first book of Kings, Cambridge University
Press, London.
Tannehill, R.C., 1996, ‘Narrative criticism’, in R.J. Coggins &
J.L. Houlden (eds.), A dictionary of biblical interpretation, pp.
448–489, SCM Press, London.
Trible, P., 1995, ‘Exegesis for storytellers and other strangers’,
Journal of Biblical Literature 114(1), 3–19.
Van den Bergh, R.H., 2008, ‘Deadly traits: A narratological
analysis of character in 2 Samuel 11’, Old Testament Essays
21(1), 180–192.
Williams, I.B.D., 1859, Female characters of Holy Scripture, in a
series of sermons, Rivingtons, London.
Wiseman, D.J., 1993, 1 and 2 Kings: An introduction and commentary,
Inter-Varsity Press, Leicester.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dumbrell, W.J., 1988, The faith of Israel: Its expression in the books of
the Old Testament, Appolos, Leicester.
Ferris Beach, E., 1993, ‘The Samaria ivories, marzeah, and biblical
text’, Biblical Archaeologist 56(2), 94–104.
Ferris Beach, E., 2005, The Jezebel letters: Religion and politics in
ninth-century Israel, Fortress Press, Minneapolis.
Fokkelman, J.P., 1999, Reading biblical narrative: An introductory
guide, Deo Publishing, Louisville.
Frangipane, F., 1994, The three battlegrounds, New Wine Press,
Chichester.
Freeman, H., 1996, ‘Biblical criticism and biblical preaching’, in
B. Corley, S. Lemke & S.T. Frost (eds.), ‘Judgment on Jezebel,
or a woman wronged’, Theology Today 20, 503–517.
Frost, S.T. 1964, ‘Judgement on Jezebel, or a woman wronged’,
Theology Today 20:503–517.
Gaines, J.H., 1999, Music in the old bones: Jezebel through the ages,
Southern Illinois University Press, Edwardsville.
Goldingay, J., 1995, Models for interpretation of scripture, Eerdmans,
Grand Rapids.
Gray, J., 1977, I & II Kings: A commentary, SCM Press, London.
Hayes, J.H. & Holladay, C.R., 1987, Biblical exegesis: A beginners
handbook, John Knox Press, Atlanta.
Holt, E.K., 1995, ‘Urged on by his wife Jezebel: A literary
reading of I Kings 18 in context’, Scandinavian Journal of the
Old Testament 9(1), 83–96.
Jackson, J.P., 2001, Unmasking the Jezebel spirit, Kingsway
Publications, Eastbourne.
Janzen, W., 1994, Old Testament ethics: A paradigmatic approach,
John Knox Press, Louisville.
Kaiser, W.C. & Silva, M., 1994, An introduction to Biblical
hermeneutics – the search for meaning, Zondervan, Grand
Rapids.
Kam, R.S., 1995, Their stories, our stories: Women of the Bible,
Continuum, New York.
Knox, J., 1558, The first blast of the trumpet against the monstrous
regiment of women, University Microfilm International,
London.
Korpel, M.C.A., 2006, ‘Seals of Jezebel and other women in
antiquity’, Journal of Semitics 15(2), 349–371.
Mitchell, C., 2001, Jezebel in the nursery, viewed 2 March 2009,
from http://homepage.usask.ca/~ckm365/jezebel.pdf.
Social implications of
knowing Yahweh: A study
of Jeremiah 9:22–23
Wilhelm Wessels
Photo Title: Study
Taken by: Ove Tøpfer
Original Research
Social implications of knowing Yahweh:
A study of Jeremiah 9:22–23
Author:
Wilhelm J. Wessels1
ABSTRACT
In the brief passage of Jeremiah 9:22–23, wisdom, might and riches are explicitly rejected as reasons
for boasting. The only true reason for boasting is if a person ‘knows Yahweh’. In verse 23, this is
linked with three other concepts: steadfast love, justice and righteousness. Jeremiah described
the society of his day as corrupt in every sense of the word. People were stubborn, refused to
acknowledge Yahweh and showed no signs of truly knowing him. They had, in fact, deserted the
Torah of Yahweh. To know Yahweh has social implications. The rhetorical appeal of Jeremiah
9:22–23 to readers and hearers of this oracle is quite clear. To know Yahweh is not to claim to be
wise or be the strongest or have the most possessions but to respond to Yahweh’s way of acting.
This implies an understanding of his loving–kindness and acting in a morally correct way.
Affiliation:
1
Department of Old
Testament and Ancient
Near Eastern Studies,
University of South Africa,
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Wilhelm Wessels
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
277 Eleanor Street,
Garsfontein, Pretoria,
Gauteng, South Africa
Keywords:
wisdom; knowing Yahweh;
justice; righteousness;
loving-kindness
at:
ANALYSIS OF THE TEXT: JEREMIAH 9:22–23 (English translations
9:23–24)
That the Jeremiah 9:22–23 verses form a separate unit is clear from the following: Firstly, the previous
section is concluded by a setuma (s) in the Masoretic Text (MT) and, secondly, the new passage in verse
22 is introduced with the messenger formula (hwhy> rm:a hK) and concluded in verse 23 with a declaration
that the preceding words come from Yahweh. This short section is again concluded with a setuma (s).
The next passage – which begins with verse 24 – is introduced with a new formula that indicates a
futuristic announcement. In short, verse 24 is clearly the beginning of a new section.
Article #83
Wessels, W.J., 2009, ‘Social
implications of knowing
Yahweh: A study of
Jeremiah 9:22–23’, Verbum
7 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.83
Scholars differ over the meaning of these two verses. Duhm (1903:97), on the one hand, regarded it as
‘a harmless unimportant saying’. Brueggemann (1978:99), on the other hand, expressed the view that
‘in categories of the Christian faith, Jeremiah here presents a theology of the cross in protest against
a theology of glory’. The purpose of this article is, firstly, to search for an understanding of the two
verses within the theological context of the Book of Jeremiah. This is a challenging endeavour that may
not provide any conclusive results. The second purpose is to allow Scripture to create an awareness of
and challenge us on what ‘to know Yahweh’ means for our particular societies. In this regard, readers
have to answer for themselves what it implies with regard to their conduct.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
INTRODUCTION
Jeremiah 9:22–23 (English translations 23–24) is a fascinating passage that focuses on the idea of
knowing Yahweh. These verses form a unit that does not seem to link with either the previous section
or the sections that follow. In most societies, qualities such as wisdom, might and riches are valued
and it is these qualities that people often boast of. In this brief passage, these are explicitly rejected
as reasons for boasting. Indeed, the only true reason for boasting is if a person ‘knows Yahweh’. In
verse 23, this ‘knowing of Yahweh’ is linked with three other concepts: steadfast love, justice and
righteousness.
The passage presents us with an interesting structure that displays contrasting ideas. Three negatives
(in verse 22) – wisdom, might and wealth – are contrasted by three positives – steadfast love, justice and
righteousness. The pivotal point of the section is the phrase ‘to understand and know Yahweh’. The
verb ‘boast’ is repeated no less than five times; boasting of what does not matter is strongly contrasted
with boasting of what does matter (verse 23). To demonstrate the structure, the MT is displayed as
follows:
hwhy> rm:a ŸhKo22
Atmk.xB. ‘~kx’ lLeh;t.yI-la
At+rWb)g>Bi rABGIh; lLeh;t.yI-la;w;
`Ar*v.[B. ryvi[ lLeh;t.yI-la
lLeh;t.Mih; lLeh;t.yI tazOB.-~ai yKi23
hwhy> ynIa yKi ytiAa [:doyw> élKef.h;]
( #r<aB’hqdc.W jPv.mi ds,x,² hf,[o
yTic.p;x hL,aeb.-yKi
s `hw)hy>-~aun>
Jeremiah 9:22–23
:
Creative Commons
Arguments have already been presented as to why these two verses are regarded as a separate section,
as a complete unit in themselves. It has already been pointed out that these verses are a prophetic
oracle introduced with the messenger formula and concluded with a declarative statement that
Yahweh endorses the oracle. This passage is therefore more than wise reflection on social matters; it
makes clear in no uncertain terms that Yahweh demands obedience.
The messenger formula that introduces verse 22 (MT) is followed three times by the verb llh, a thirdperson imperfect masculine singular verb, hitpael, jussive in meaning. The verbs are preceded all three
times by la (‘do not’). The verb llh in the hitpael means ‘to boast’.
Original Research
Wessels
.
Three groups of people are reprimanded and commanded not to
boast of their wisdom, might (power) or wealth: the wise should
not boast of their wisdom, the mighty not of their might and the
rich not of their wealth. The thought of boasting is continued in
verse 23 (MT) in the positive sense of the word, with an indication
of what we may boast of. The introductory particle yKi,, followed
by ~ai,, sets up the contrast (comparison) to the previous sentence
– ‘but’.1 The verb llh is used twice in verse 23, first in the hitpael
imperfect third person singular, jussive in meaning, followed by
the hitpael participle masculine form of the verb. Two infinitive
forms of the verbs lkf (Hi)2 and [dy (qal) follow to qualify the
boasting, that is to show insight and knowledge of Yahweh. The
particle yKi is used here to introduce an objective clause following
the verb ‘to know’ and has a causal purpose. It is then stated that
Yahweh practises (hf,[) loving-kindness (ds,x,), justice (jPv.mi) and
righteousness (hqdc)
in the land (#r<a’_B).3 This is again followed by
:
the yKi particle (demonstrative) to state emphatically that Yahweh
delights in the triad of matters referred to in the preceding part
of the sentence. The verb #px (qal first person singular) goes with
the particle B,
expressing what the satisfaction lies in. Verse 23
:
(MT) closes the passage with the declarative expression that
Yahweh confirms the oracle. The focus in verse 22 is on people
and, in verse 23, on Yahweh (first person singular).
Verse 22 describes certain categories of actions that people
carry out but should not carry out. In verse 23, we are informed
what Yahweh does on earth, things that are good because he
delights in them. Contrast is therefore created. The two verses
under discussion use rhetorical devices, such as the repetition
of verbs (llh), triad patterns and successive repetitions of
the same consonants in words used as adjectives followed by
possessive pronouns (same root – Atmk.xB. ~kx, At+rWb)g>Bi rABGIh;, and
Ar*v.[B. ryvi[). Furthermore, the particle yKi is used three times in
verse 23 for different purposes. Finally, verse 22 commences
with the announcement that the oracle to follow is from Yahweh
and verse 23 concludes by declaring, again, that the oracle is
from Yahweh. In the discussion to follow, focus is on the three
groups of people (the wise, the mighty and the wealthy) and on
the three practices of loving-kindness, justice and righteousness
(as referred to in the Book of Jeremiah).
the text (Carroll 1986:247–249; Duhm 1903:97; McKane 1986:212–
213). Other scholars, however, regard the passage as ‘echt’ (‘true’)
Jeremian (Rudolph 1968:69) and construct a case to show how
these verses fit into the context of the time (Huey 1993:121–122;
Jones 1992:169–170; Schmidt 2008:211–213; Thompson 1980:318;
Weiser 1969:83–84).
.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #83
.
Jeremiah 9:23 (23–24) is regarded by many commentators as
poetry (McKane 1986:212–213; Rudolph 1968:69; Thompson
1980:318–319; Weiser 1969:83–84); one can, at the least, find a
certain rhythmic prose in this unit (Lundbom 1999:570). These
two verses are also well balanced through contrasting triads:
9:22 – wisdom, strength and riches – and 9:23 – steadfast love,
justice and righteousness. These two sets of triads stand in
contrast with each other. This is a deliberate contrast and clearly
has the function of indicating where the focus in this passage
lies. There is also the contrast of people, on the one hand, and
Yahweh, on the other hand.
TEXT AND CONTEXT
Thus far, matters have been relatively clear. It is obvious that, in
Jeremiah 9:22–23, we are dealing with a separate unit and that this
unit displays a clear structure that supports the understanding
of the passage. This is discussed later in this article.
Less clear, as far as the entire passage is concerned, is the
context. There are no obvious links with the previous passage or
the following passage. This is why some scholars regard it as an
editorial interpolation that was inserted during the formation of
1.Adversative ~ai yKi. O’Day (1990:262) said the following: ‘This adversative receives
the rhetorical stress of the pericope.’ It sets up a contrast between anthropomorphic
boasting and theocentric boasting.
2.Saebo (1976:824) stated the following: ‘Die Hauptbedeutung des Verbums lässt sich
am besten durch «einsichtig, klug sein» wiedergeben.’ He also stated the following:
‘Doch liegt öfter das Gewicht auf dem Akt des aufmerksamen Hinsehens, des
Wahrnehmens und Achtgebens, wodurch man «einsichtig» wird.’
3.Stulman (2005:106) admitted that we can translate this either as ‘in the earth’ or
as ‘in the land’. He preferred, in this context, ‘in the land’, since it refers to national
boundaries.
An important issue that one should not lose sight of is that
the Jeremiah text is an interpreted text. By that I mean that
the various prophetic sayings and collections of the prophet’s
proclamations were assembled and structured with deliberation
and that deliberation, in itself, is an act of interpretation.
The purpose was certainly to preserve Jeremiah’s prophetic
utterances for future generations but even more so to show
relevance and to explain why the editor’s community was
undergoing certain experiences. The Jeremiah textual collection,
according to this line of argument, is therefore a reflection on
the prophetic proclamation of Jeremiah in pre-exilic times and
on appropriation to a new context. This context is of those in
exile, living far away from their homeland, temple and social
and religious security, all of which are in danger of becoming
culturally extinct. It is important that these people do not seek
for meaning – in exile – in conventional wisdom, power and
riches (Stulman 2005:105). These have failed as a means of
security in pre-exilic times and cannot replace their relationship
with Yahweh. Only in such a relationship can they grow in their
knowledge of what Yahweh requires.
Research shows that the composition of the book of Jeremiah
is extremely complicated and that the text, as we now have it,
has a long history (Carroll 1986:38–55).4 For the purposes of this
article, it is not necessary to discuss this in detail. What is clear,
from the experience of working with the text of Jeremiah and,
for that matter, with other texts in the Masoretic collection, is
that whoever was responsible for the collection and structuring
of the biblical text did so deliberately. There has to be a reason
for the placement of Jeremiah 9:22–23 in its current position,
whether it is clear to us or not. Although we might not be able
to conclude with certainty why the passage was placed where it
now stands, it is worth suggesting possibilities (contra Carroll
1986:248–249). Note that Rudolph (1968:69) believed that these
two verses relate to Jeremiah 2:8, 4:22, 9:2, 5 and 22:16.
Literary context of Jeremiah 9:22–23
As far as the literary context of Jeremiah 9:22–23 is concerned,
verses 22 to 23 do not seem, at first sight, to link with the
previous or the following sections. Scholars have, however, tried
to suggest possible literary contexts. One such suggestion is to
work with 4:1–4 and 9:22–25 as a unit (Lundbom 1999:569–570).
Another suggestion is to regard Jeremiah 8–10 as the context for
the interpretation of 9:22–23 (Baumann 2002:77–78).
Carroll (1986:86) believed that Jeremiah 9:22–23 forms part of
the section of Jeremiah 7:1–9:26, which consists of a collection of
individual poems. In his discussion on the formation of the Book
of Jeremiah, Schmidt (2008:34) postulated that some sections of
the Jeremiah text were added to the older collection, Jeremiah
1 to 6, at a later date. He regarded chapters 8 to 9, for example,
as part of this later addition but dated these additions before
the downfall of Jerusalem in 586 BCE (certainly not much later
than this). His reasoning is that the focus of these passages is on
complaints against the city of Jerusalem. If one accepts his point
of view, it does, to some extent, create a social context, albeit
vague, of a time when the reasons for the imminent exile became
clear; there is a steady build-up and a confluence of the reasons
why Judah is heading for disaster.
For the purpose of this article, I am interested in the first oracle,
which is in 9:22–23 (23–24). When one compares this oracle
with the oracles in 4:2 and 4:4, certain keywords – which are
4.McKane (1986:l–liii) used the concept of a ‘rolling corpus’ to characterise the nature
of the Jeremiah text.
Original Research
important to note – can be noticed from time to time. In 4:2, we
find the words ‘in justice and in righteousness they shall boast’ and,
in 4:4, there is a reference to circumcision; the words ‘they shall
boast’ also appear. Lundbom (1999:569–570) indicated that 4:1–4
and 9:22–25 (23–26) act as a frame to the collection that we find
in 4:5–9:21 (22).
Another group of scholars regards Jeremiah 7 to 10 as a literary
unit. Diamond (2003:561–564) regarded Jeremiah 7:1–10:25 as
a collection that consists of a group of texts under the rubric
Singing the death of Jerusalem (8:4–23; 9:1–10, 16–21; 10:17–22).
This collection also consists of a group of texts under the rubric
Dismantling the temple: Prophetic sermons and ideal worshippers
(7:1–8:3; 9:11–15, 22–25). According to Diamond, the passage
under discussion in this article forms part of this last-mentioned
group of texts. Diamond said that
To save Yahweh and his prophets from such aporia and fend off the
symbolic abyss so generated, the composition intervenes with prose
speeches (7:1–8:3), commentary (9:11–15, 22–25) and liturgical
proclamation (10:1–16, 23–25)5.
(Diamond 2003:562)
According to Stulman (2005:88), section 8:4–9:25 talks about
Yahweh’s reasons for judging his people for their neglect of the
law and resultant wrongdoing. He summarised the content of
Jeremiah 7 to 10 as follows: ‘… a daring assessment of Judah’s
systems of worship and the false sense of security they engender.
The Jerusalem temple is the centrepiece of this critique.’ The
cycle of laments in Jeremiah 8:4–9:26 does not mention the
temple but Stulman (2005:89) made the important observation
that these laments were read in synagogues to commemorate the
destruction of the temple in 587 BCE and, much later, in 70 CE.
Jeremiah 9:22–23 and wisdom
Another question that needs attention is the influence of wisdom
in the book of Jeremiah. In this regard, Baumann (2002:77)
viewed Jeremiah 8 to 10 as the context within which 9:22–23
should be interpreted. Although these two verses are, first and
foremost, a prophetic oracle, this does not preclude the influence
from wisdom circles on this passage.6
It is important for the purpose of this article to place Jeremiah 9:22
5.Stulman (2005:86–89) had a similar idea regarding Jeremiah 7 to 10 as a literary
unit. He divided these chapters into 7:1–8:3, which is a prose collection concerning
abuses when Judah, as a people, worships together, and 8:4–10:25. This last section consists mainly of poems relating to the disaster that is about to befall Judah.;
a sense of sadness is expressed in this section. The second section talks about
Yahweh’s justification in judging his people for wrongdoing (8:4–9:25). In 10:1–16,
a hymn of praise celebrates Yahweh’s power and sovereignty, also contrasting it
with the powerlessness of the gods of the nations. The section 10:17–25 consists of
several poems revealing, as Stulman said, ‘… escalating anxiety, a marked sense of
panic, and an urgency to evacuate the land before the night falls’ (2005:88).
6.Schreiner (1981:73) stated that ‘ein weisheitlicher Spruch’ probably forms the basis
of this reprimand by Yahweh. Maier (2002:232), following Duhm, Carroll and Wanke, said that ‘Jer 9, 23 ist eine späte weisheitliche Reflexion.’ Schmidt (2008:212)
regarded the style of the passage as wisdom, and the concepts of loving-kindness
(loyalty), justice and righteousness belonging to wisdom circles.
Baumann (2002:71) remarked that we should not regard
Jeremiah 9:22–23 as a general denouncement of wisdom, might
and wealth. We should, instead, regard the passage as a subtle
criticism of specific groups of people that Jeremiah had in
mind, using vocabulary that they would recognise. It is clear in
Proverbs that wisdom is, first and foremost, to be associated with
Yahweh; he is the source of all wisdom and all human wisdom is
relative to his wisdom.
The second group of people addressed in Jeremiah 9:22 is the
mighty (rABGIh. ). This term is used in the book of Jeremiah mostly
in a military context (Kühlewein 1971:399–402); besides referring
to physical strength, it can also be used to depict military and
political power (1 Ki 15:23; Is 11:2; cf. O’Day 1990:261). The term
is used differently in the book of Proverbs. There it is used in
comparison with those who experience longevity (Pr 16:32) and
with the wise (who are superior to the mighty – Pr 21:22).
Article #83
From what I have said so far, it is obvious that it is difficult
to show formal links between our passage and the previous
section in chapter 9. The passage in Jeremiah 9:22–23 (23–24),
in the context of the day, serves the function of softening the
judgement oracle in verse 21 – it mentions Yahweh’s lovingkindness, justice and righteousness. It is difficult, however, to
determine whether this ‘softening effect’ was intentional or not.
It does, however, remain important for readers of the Jeremiah
text to take note of who Yahweh is and how he acts.
In fact, in the book of Jeremiah, we have a differentiated
understanding of wisdom, which includes both its positive and
its negative aspects. On the whole, however, the wise are objects
of Jeremiah’s criticism. The one exception may be the women in
mourning (Jr 9:16).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Also of importance is that these two verses (9:22–23) are presented
to us as a prophetic oracle. They commence with the messenger
formula of ‘thus says Yahweh’. Lundbom (1999:570) pointed out
that the messenger formula is a clear indication that the passage
is not ‘simply a piece of reflective wisdom’ but a true prophetic
oracle. He continued by saying that, although one cannot claim
beyond any doubt that this passage comes from Jeremiah, it
clearly fits in with the spirit of his thinking and speaking.
in the context of the book of Jeremiah. Jeremiah 9:22 criticises the
boasting of the wise, the strong and powerful and the wealthy.
In Jeremiah 4:22, the people of God are regarded as wise – wise
people being the first group of people addressed in Jeremiah 9:22
– in that they have plenty of experience in committing evil. In
Jeremiah 8:8 and 9, the wise are those who have the law but who
regard their own wisdom as superior to the Word of Yahweh.
According to Jeremiah, disaster will strike them. Certain skilled
people are also, however, referred to as wise people (Jr 10:9).
Jeremiah 18:18 speaks of three different groups of people known
in Judean society to speak divine words. There is a reference to
the priests, who explain the law, to the wise, who advise people,
and to the prophets, who are known for their divine oracles.
These wise people may have been the ‘elders’ in Judean society
(Carroll 1986:378). In this context, however, these so-called
wise people are some of the people who are plotting against
the prophet. Jeremiah also refers to Yahweh’s wisdom in 10:7.
Compared with Yahweh, there is nobody among the nations or
kingdoms who can match his wisdom. The passages referred
to in Jeremiah are characterised by negative undertones. It is
quite clear that trust in human wisdom does not bring about
desired results but, instead, leads to injustice and the downfall
of people.
The third group of people addressed in Jeremiah 9:22 is the
wealthy or the rich (ryvi[).7 In Jeremiah 5:26–28, reference is made
to evil people who are wealthy simply because they have abused
the widows and the poor; Jeremiah says that their wealth will not
last. The reference in Jeremiah 17:11 is also to wealth obtained by
unjust means.
Baumann (2002:74) concluded that, both in the book of
Jeremiah and in the book of Proverbs, boasting is regarded as
self-glorification (Selbstüberhebung) and should be regarded as
falsehood.
We also find a triad in verse 23. In the book of Jeremiah, this
triad has a positive connotation. The concept of justice and
righteousness, in particular, is highly regarded in the book of
Jeremiah.8 Wolff (1993:287–288) argued that this word pair
7.In the book of Proverbs, wealth is often regarded in the positive sense of the word
(10:4, 11, 16; 10:15; 14:20). There are, however, verses that display a critical attitude towards wealth (Pr 11:28). In this regard, there is reference to the illegal gaining
of wealth (10:2; 21:6; 28:6). Righteousness is also regarded as being of higher worth
than wealth (11:4). The same applies to a good reputation (22:1). What is perhaps
important to note is that wealth is not necessarily associated with wisdom. On the
contrary, in the book of Proverbs, wisdom is always associated or linked with poverty
(28:11). It is Yahweh who is the true source of wealth (10:22) and, before him, the
poor and the wealthy are equal (22:2; cf. Baumann 2002:272).
8.The combination hqdc.W jPv.mi hf,[ appears in Jeremiah 9:23; 22:3, 15; 23:5; 33:15
.
Original Research
Wessels
originated from Israelite ‘Spruchweisheit’ (Pr 18:8; 21:3; 1:3; 2:9).
The biggest defect or deficiency in Israel was that the justice
that people received from Yahweh (8:7) was not carried out as it
should have been, that the requirement of justice was not being
fulfilled. The people of Yahweh and particularly the society’s
leaders violated justice and righteousness and therefore violated
the Torah of Yahweh. Contrary to this, ‘loving-kindness’ (ds,x) is
not a human virtue but an attribute of Yahweh (16:5; 31:3; 32:18;
33:11).
:
In the book of Proverbs, the phrase ‘justice and righteousness’
occurs many times, equalling the number of references to the
knowledge of Yahweh and wisdom. Justice and righteousness
are also often posed as opposites to godlessness (‘wicked people’
– ~y[i_vr>) and people who do wrong ([r). We can therefore conclude
that, both in the book of Proverbs and in the book of Jeremiah,
justice and righteousness are held in high regard. It is only in
Jeremiah 9:23, however, that we find the triad in this sequence
(hqdc.W jPv.mi ds,x).
:
As I have already stated, we find elements in Jeremiah 9:22–
23 of both wisdom and prophetism combined. The biggest
concentration of references to the wise is in Jeremiah 8 to 10 (see
my comments on content and context).9 I agree with Baumann
(2002:77) that 9:22–23, in terms of Jeremiah 8 to 10, should be
regarded as an understanding of what a wise way of living
(doing) entails. The negative portrayal of human wisdom relates
directly to the people’s perversion of the Torah. Human wisdom,
which so often fails, is directly contrasted with Yahweh’s social
and universal wisdom (Jr 10:12).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #83
SYNTHESIS AND RELEVANCE
In the Jeremiah 9:22–23 prophetic oracle, the words are
addressed to three different groups of people in society.
The first group comprised those who boasted of their wisdom;10
whether other people agreed with them or not, these people
were a distinguished group of people in society.
The second group comprised the mighty, the people with power.
Again, this was a recognised group of people in society.
Then there was a third group, the rich. This group comprised
people with material means. These people were probably
literate, influential people who dominated society at the time.
Intellectuals, along with the powerful and the rich, always form
the upper echelons in any society. They were the ones envied by
many and, at the same time, the ones on whose mercy ordinary
people depended.
In many prophetic passages in the Old Testament, these,
however, were the very people whom the prophets denounced.
We need to remember that most of these people occupied
important positions in a king’s administration and in other
places where decisions were made; their words and actions had
a decisive bearing on the existence of ordinary citizens and much
was therefore expected of them. However, they frequently failed
to discharge their duties.
Jeremiah, for one, expected these people to know Yahweh’s law
and the stipulations of the covenant (ch. 5). Jeremiah 9:22–23
is, in fact, a criticism of these very people because they relied
(footnote 8 continues...)
and 4:2 without the verb.
9.Baumann presented an extensive argument, taking Jeremiah 8–10 into account,
that we are dealing with a new profile of wisdom in Jeremiah. She said that ‘[a] new
wisdom profile is developed here: Instead of the self-boasting of the wise, the mighty
and the wealthy, recognition is now given to the cosmic power of Yahweh which
would serve as basis or foundation for “menschlichen Selbstruhms”’ (Baumann
2002:77). Although she argued her case thoroughly, the link that she drew between
9:22–23 and 10:12 was perhaps somewhat overstated.
10.Oosterhoff (1990:308) did not regard wise people to be wisdom teachers but advisers to the king who were convinced of the accuracy of their advice, boasting about
it and tolerating no opposition to their views (Jr 18:18).
entirely on false sources of security. This threatened to disrupt
Judean society because Judah was neglecting her covenantal
obligations. Worse still, it threatened the identity of the members
of this society as Yahweh’s covenant people (O’Day 1990:266). It
frustrated Jeremiah because these people lacked real knowledge
of what Yahweh expected of them as leading figures in society.
The way that they are addressed in verse 22 reveals that their
boasting does not please Yahweh by any means. From the fact
that the counter verse, verse 23, places emphasis on other issues
that impact heavily on the lives of ordinary people, one can
deduce that verse 22 is very much a criticism of Judah’s leaders.
In other words, the unit is not simply two sets of verses that
bear no relation to each other. It is no coincidence that verse 23
emphasises the relational aspects of loving-kindness (loyalty),
justice and righteousness. Whereas the achievements in verse 22
are solely human achievements with benefits mainly for those
who have gained and possess these things, verse 23 describes
the triad of deeds that impacts on everyone in the land as being
deeds that Yahweh himself has carried out. They are, in other
words, godly deeds. The combining of the two verses implies
that Yahweh does not delight in the boasting of those in the upper
echelons of society on account of their being wise, powerful and
wealthy; on the contrary, he delights in loving-kindness, justice
and righteousness. As O’Day said:
Distorted sources of human identity are superseded by the true
sources of the community’s identity that are grounded in God’s
faithful character and acts (hf,[o). God’s steadfast love, justice and
righteousness are the sources of identity and well-being, of security
and governance.
(O’Day 1990:262)
Besides the two verses stating who Yahweh is and how he acts,
we should also hear prophetic criticism. The people (the leaders
in particular) have failed Yahweh and each other in terms of the
concepts referred to previously. Schmidt (2008:213) made an
important point when he said: ‘In der Gegenwart erfolgen weder
das Erkennen noch das Handeln entsprechend. Solche Aspekte bilden
wohl den Grund der Einfügung des Wortes, die Voraussetzung für
des Mahnung, dan auch die Hoffnung.’ The people of Judah have
failed in confession and in their actions in terms of what the
God of the covenant expects of them. They therefore deserve to
be reprimanded and punished but, at the same time, the hope
remains that, in the future, a ruler who fulfils the expectations of
loyalty, justice and righteousness so needed in society will arise
(Jr 7:32; 23:5, 7).
The term ds,x strongly emphasises a relationship in which one
party acts in a beneficial way towards the other party in that
relationship. Normally, the exercise of ds,x is between two
unequal partners, where the more powerful partner or the
partner with more means has the obligation to respond to the
partner in need. This help should be rendered in a spirit of love
and care and should be voluntary (Houston 2006:42).11 In the Old
Testament, this term should be understood within the context of
the covenant between Yahweh and his chosen people. It reflects
a mutual commitment between the two parties; there is a sense
of reciprocity embedded in this term. By acting in love, fidelity
and care in the relationship, the beneficiary is enticed to respond
in a similar fashion (Brueggemann 2002:127). In regard to the
covenant, Yahweh, as the Superior Power, exercises ds,x (fidelity,
loving-kindness, loyalty, steadfast love) towards the lesser
party.12 The term has a great deal to say about the character of
Yahweh and his attitude to his people (Thompson 1980:319). It is
a term that not only expresses an emotion but is also providential
:
:
:
11.Houston (2006:41–47) referred to the term ds,x: within the context of his discussion
of the patronage system.
12.Stoebe (1971:603) referred to Glueck, who regarded this concept not as
friendeliness but as ‘eine Verhaltensweise, die aus einem durch Rechte und
Pflichten bestimmten Lebensverhältnis (Mann-Frau; Eltern-Kinder; FürstUntertanen) herrühre’. When expressed by Yahweh, it has to do with the realisation
of promises relating to the Covenant. It first and foremost concerns relationship. As
Stoebe (1971: 600–621) indicated in his discussion, the context should determine
the meaning of the concept, whether it means ‘love, loyalty, faithfulness’ etc.
Original Research
:
The term jPv.mi (‘justice’) is a judicial term,13 which also implies
that the people responsible for justice are educated people.
Again, it is, in a sense, a superior taking care of the rights of
an ordinary person. In verse 23, it is said that Yahweh exercises
justice.14
While the members of the elite or upper class of Judean society
boast of their human achievements, verse 23 opens up boasting
13.Thompson (1980:319) said that it ‘… covers a wide variety of action which both
accompanied and followed court proceedings. Not only was a verdict pronounced,
but a sentence was carried out’.
14.Oosterhoff (1990:309) was of the opinion that Yahweh exercises justice on earth
both in the fulfillment of his promises to those who worship him (Ps 11:7; 33:4;
36:11; 51:16; 71:15; 103:6) and in his retribution towards those who hate him (Ps
97:2f; Is 5:16; 10:22).
15.Jr 5:1; Is 5:7; 28:17; Hs 2:21 (Eng 19); 10:12.
16.According to Stulman (2005:106), what we have in these two verses is a move from
royal/urban values (conventional wisdom, military power and commercial interests)
to values associated with and treasured in village set-ups (loyalty, generosity and
integrity).
17.Schmitz (1971:395) said the following about this knowledge: ‘Experience becomes
a reality in a relationship based on familiarity with the person or things known.’ This
view was also expressed by Schottroff (1971:686).
The implication of this is that anyone – in any situation at any
time in history – who claims to know Yahweh will feel obliged to
act like Yahweh does. To have knowledge of Yahweh means to
understand the moral obligation to live as an ethically responsible
person in society. The stability and welfare of a society depend
on the commitment to and practice of such concepts. The truth
of the matter, however, is that, in our societies with their focus
on individuality and commoditisation, there is a struggle to
maintain these crucial features (Brueggemann 2002:127).
We need to remember that the terminology of loving-kindness,
justice and righteousness, as used in the book of Jeremiah,
presupposed a certain understanding within the Judean context
of the day. The two concepts of justice and righteousness appear
in this combination several times in the book of Jeremiah.19
The way in which the expression ‘justice and righteousness’
is used in the book of Jeremiah shows the two words to be
almost synonymous in meaning. Taken separately, each of these
concepts has somewhat different meanings but, when used, as
it were, in combination (as in the book of Jeremiah), it is not
necessary to distinguish between them. Combined, the two
concepts (justice and righteousness) express what social justice in
society entails.20 They provide a comprehensive understanding
of what is meant by ‘just’ and ‘ethical’ (Maier 2002:232). Justice
and righteousness refer to an attitude that results in fair practice
in the treatment of others in society, particularly the vulnerable
and those without legal status. Those who know Yahweh will
see that justice prevails in society.
Article #83
At the beginning of this article, when I referred to the structure
of the passage, I said that the pivotal point is the phrase
ytiAa [:doyw>élKef.h;] (‘to understand and know Yahweh’). In contrast to
boasting of undesirable things, the advice in verse 23 is that, if
someone really wants to boast, he should boast of his knowledge
of Yahweh.17 ‘To know Yahweh’ and ‘to have knowledge of
Yahweh’ are phrases that we often come across in the book of
Jeremiah. In 4:22, for example, the references are ‘to know me
[Yahweh].’ In 9:2 and 9:6, this is expressed in the negative of ‘they
do not know me [Yahweh].’ In 5:4 and 5, it is said that they do not
know the way of Yahweh, they do not know the requirements of
Yahweh (jPv.mi). In 8:7, the same sentiments are repeated: they do
not know the requirements (jPv.mi) of Yahweh. It therefore seems
that knowledge is about who Yahweh is and what he requires.
In Jeremiah 9:23, the verb ‘to know’ has Yahweh as the direct
object (ytiAa [:doyw>). This verb is followed by a yKi and content is then
given to what it means to know Yahweh. It is further stated that
all of this is happening on earth or in the land; in other words, in
the space where people live. Loyalty, justice and righteousness
therefore have ethical implications. True understanding and
knowledge of Yahweh, according to verse 23, entail fidelity
(loving-kindness), justice and righteousness.
The rhetoric of Jeremiah 9:22–23 is important and should not
escape our attention. Verse 22 tells us plainly what is unpleasing
to Yahweh; the three groups of people mentioned should not
boast of their human achievements. In contrast, verse 23 does
not give a direct order or a specific command about how people
should act. Instead, the people who boast are simply told that they
should boast because they know Yahweh. And this knowledge
implies an understanding of who Yahweh is and what he does.
He exercises loving kindness, justice and righteousness. This is
one of his traits.18 It is then further stated that Yahweh delights
in these characteristics. The implied message in the rhetoric of
this passage is this: if people know Yahweh, they will exercise or
practise these things, the things in which Yahweh delights.
Verbum et Ecclesia
The term hqdc: (‘righteousness’) is a more regular term for doing
what is right and cannot be used to support the argument of a
superior’s action towards an ordinary person. Stulman (2005:106)
said the following of righteousness: ‘“Righteousness” alludes to
moral symmetry, integrity, the absence of duplicity, and ethical
governance.’ In practice, justice and righteousness imply that
people’s rights (in particular the rights of the oppressed, the
poor and the vulnerable) should be restored and that those
who transgressed should be punished. Thompson (1980:320)
remarked that the term ‘righteousness’ in several passages is
synonymous with ‘deliverance’ or ‘salvation’.15 Leaders are
expected to ensure that justice prevails among the people in their
community. Yahweh (verse 23) does exactly this and regards it
as important. It seems not too far-fetched to regard verse 23 as
criticism of society’s elite for not acting as superiors should.
Yahweh, the One who has to be revered and acknowledged as the
God of Judah and Israel, practises justice and righteousness but
the elite do not. Instead, they boast of their own achievements,
achievements that do not bring any benefits to the people in their
society. Their selfish and self-serving acts are contrasted with
acts that serve and benefit others (Brueggemann 1998:101).16
to anyone who claims to have knowledge of Yahweh. These
terms are relational and have to do with a proper attitude and
fair practices. I have argued that it was usually those in elite
or privileged positions that were expected to act with sound
judgement and fairness. These were the people who were
supposed to take care of people in lesser positions, people such
as the poor, widows and orphans and various other oppressed
people. Knowledge of Yahweh should result in the leaders having
an attitude of care towards others and ensuring that justice
prevailed for everyone in society (Brueggemann 1994:66).
Brueggemann (1997:736–737) differentiated between two types
of justice, the one called ‘retributive justice’ and the other
‘distributive justice.’ The first form of justice concerns reward on
performance, whilst the second form concerns the willingness
to share
…social goods and social power so as to avoid unequal and
potentially destructive distribution of resources. Yahwistic
justice, and the knowledge of Yahweh are realized when the
community freely practices such economic and social generosity
and commitment.
(Soza 2005:142)
‘Distributive justice’ implies that the focus of wealth and material
18.Stulman (2005:105–106) said that this knowledge of how Yahweh acts is creedal
and relational. The triad in 9:23 defines Yahweh’s character.
19.The combination hqdc.W jPv.mi hf,[ appears in Jeremiah 9:23; 22:3, 15; 23:5; 33:15 and
4:2 without the verb. Wolff (1963:287–288) argued that the word pair originated
from Israelite ‘Spruchweisheit’ (Pr 18:8; 21:3; also Pr 1:3; 2:9).
.
in nature in that it specifically addresses the needs of the other
party in the relationship (Clark 1993:267). In this instance (9:23),
it is Yahweh who practises ds,x on earth. The expectation is that
Judah will respond to Yahweh’s attitude by being loyal to him
and kind to others (Lundbom 1999:572).
20.Some scholars regard the use of the two concepts in combination in prophetic
literature as exilic or post-exilic (Maier 2002:232). Maier said that ‘Jer 9:23 ist eine
späte weisheitliche Reflektion’ (2002:232).
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Wessels
goods is not on what the individual possesses but on everybody
in the community sharing the resources available to that
community on terms that are deemed fair. This, again, would be
one of the results of knowing Yahweh. It was particularly in this
regard that the leadership of Judean society in Jeremiah’s time
failed. This, in turn, testified to the fact that the leaders of Judah
lacked any knowledge of Yahweh.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #83
Justice and righteousness were not simply impressive-sounding
concepts but they also had concrete meaning and specific
requirements. The way in which the expression ‘justice and
righteousness’ was used in Jeremiah meant that the poor and
the marginalised should be protected. Judah’s leaders were
responsible for seeing that all this did, in fact, occur (Jr 5:1–6).
Furthermore, the king and his officials should safeguard and
care for those who were in danger of being exploited (through
economic oppression – Jr 22:1–5). Justice and righteousness
also prohibited robbing people of their freedom and shedding
innocent blood (Jr 22:16; cf. Maier 2008:27).21 This brings us back
to Jeremiah’s complaint: that society lacked a true knowledge
of Yahweh and his covenant stipulations.22 The leaders and the
people failed morally and Jerusalem would therefore fall into
the hands of her enemies, the Babylonians.
According to Houston (2006:96–97), we should not regard
the criticism of the prophets as structural criticism. Israelite
and Judean societies, like contemporary societies, consisted
of different classes (such as the poor and the rich). According
to Houston, the prophets did not denounce the fact that the
poor and the wealthy existed side by side but that some of the
wealthy obtained their wealth by exploiting others. To prophets
like Jeremiah, what was wrong was that the powerful took
advantage of those who were at their mercy.
I do not, however, agree with Houston’s statement that the
prophets ‘… have nothing to say about positions held by
individuals, the powers of the state or the legitimacy of the class
structure’ (Houston 2006:96). Jeremiah condemned the false sense
of security in the royal temple ideology promoted by the upper
classes, who supported the king and his administration – to their
benefit. Using forced labour for state projects and turning a blind
eye to land exploitation by wealthy people in the cities seems to
me a serious misuse of the structures and positions of power.
Jeremiah was an enemy of the king (and therefore the state) and
all those who sought the favour of the king. In exchange for their
support, the kings of Judah granted the exploiters the freedom
to commit injustices. Houston did, however, draw an important
conclusion when he remarked as follows:
Through the prophets we have learnt to understand social
relationships as governed by morality as interpersonal relationships
are – that social relationships are moral relationships, and hence
that we can speak of social justice.
(Houston 2006:97)
Although prophets such as Jeremiah speak from a religious
context, it is in the political and social contexts (including
economics) that the moral transformation needed should take
effect. True knowledge of Yahweh would bring the shift in focus
from human achievements to an appreciation of true values.
FINAL REMARKS
The first aim of this article was to come to an understanding of
Jeremiah 9:22–23 within its literary and social context. Throughout
the preceding chapters (1–7), Jeremiah makes it clear that Judah is
disobedient and disloyal to Yahweh. Chapter 8 shows the claim
of the so-called wise to know the Torah to be false.23 Jeremiah
21.Houston (2006:88–93) regarded the following as acts of oppression: Bloodshed,
violence and coercion, extortion, unjust gain, loss of freedom, perversion of right
and indulgence at the expense of the poor.
22.Yahweh’s reprimands and judgement of Judah’s actions of injustice should, according to Houston (2006:84), be understood within the framework of faithfulness
to Yahweh, his covenant and its commandments.
describes the society of his day as corrupt in every sense of the
word. People are stubborn, refuse to acknowledge Yahweh and
show no signs of truly knowing him. They have, in fact, deserted
the Torah of Yahweh. There are no wise people left in Judean
society, except the women in mourning, who are wise enough to
know that they should weep over Jerusalem and its impending
misery. In this context, Jeremiah 9:22–23, which uses vocabulary
and ideas relating to wisdom, is presented as a divine oracle. The
thrust of the oracle is a scathing criticism of Judah and Jerusalem
for boasting of things that provide false security (Brueggemann
1998:101). True security consists of knowing Yahweh, which
entails living according to the covenant stipulations. This is the
solution to Judah’s problems but, at the same time, its downfall,
because its leaders have proved to be moral failures. As the
last part of chapter 9 states, Israel has an uncircumcised heart,
meaning that she is disloyal to Yahweh, her covenant partner.
It is important to observe that there are similarities and even
strong resemblances in terms of vocabulary, concepts and
even metaphors between the book of Jeremiah and some of the
wisdom passages in the Old Testament. We should not, however,
jump to the conclusion that the passage in Jeremiah 9:22–23 is
a wisdom text. The most it shows is what a prophet such as
Jeremiah regards as a wise way to live as Yahweh’s people: with
insight, humility and obedience (cf. also Mi 6:8).
The second aim of this article was to explore the social implications
of knowing Yahweh. The rhetorical appeal of Jeremiah 9:22–23
to readers and hearers of this oracle is quite clear. To know
Yahweh is not to claim to be wise or to be the strongest or to
have the most possessions but to respond to Yahweh’s way of
acting. This implies an understanding of his loving kindness and
acting in a morally correct way. It means feeling morally obliged
to act justly and to ensure that justice prevails. In short, knowing
Yahweh has social implications.
REFERENCES
Baumann, G., 2002, ‘Jeremia, die Weisen und die Weisheit.
Eine Untersuchung von Jer 9, 22f’, Zeitschrift fur die
Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 114, 59–79.
Brueggemann, W., 1978, ‘The epistomological crisis of
Israel’s two histories (Jer. 9:22–23)’, in J.G. Gammie, W.A.
Brueggeman, W.L. Humphreys & J.M. Ward (eds.), Israelite
wisdom: Theological and literary essays in honor of Samuel
Terrien, pp. 85–105, Scholars Press, Missoula.
Brueggemann, W., 1994, A sociological reading of the Old Testament.
Prophetic approaches to Israel’s communal life, Fortress Press,
Minneapolis.
Brueggemann, W., 1997, Theology of the Old Testament. Testimony,
dispute, advocacy, Fortress Press, Minneapolis.
Brueggemann, W., 1998, A commentary on Jeremiah. Exile &
homecoming, Eerdmans, Grand Rapids.
Brueggemann, W., 2002, Reverberations of faith. A theological
handbook of Old Testament themes, Westminster John Knox,
Louisville.
Carroll, R.P., 1986, Jeremiah. A commentary, SCM (OTL), London.
Clark, G.R., 1993, The word hesed in the Hebrew Bible, Sheffield
Academic Press (JSOT SS 157), Sheffield.
Diamond, A.R.P., 2003, ‘Jeremiah’, in J.D.G. Dunn & J.W.
Rogerson (eds.), Eerdmans commentary on the Bible, pp. 543–
559, Eerdmans, Grand Rapids.
Duhm, B., 1903, Das Buch Jeremia, JCB Mohr, Tübingen.
Houston, W.J., 2006, Contending for justice. Ideologies and theologies
of social justice in the Old Testament, T&T Clark, London.
Huey, F.B. Jr, 1993, Jeremiah, lamentations, Broadman Press (The
New American Commentary), Nashville.
Jones, D.R., 1992, Jeremiah, Eerdmans (New Century Bible
Commentary), Grand Rapids.
23.Maier (2008:24) argued that Jeremiah 2:8; 8:8 and 31:33 allude to the Torah as
a written code of law. He regarded Jeremiah as a teacher of the Torah, showing
people how to amend their ways (2008:26).
Original Research
Kühlewein, J., 1971, ‘gbr’, in E. Jenni & C. Westermann (eds.),
Theologischer Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament (THAT),
pp. 399–402, Chr. Kaiser Verlag, München.
Lundbom, J.R., 1999, Jeremiah 1–20, Doubleday (The Anchor
Bible), New York.
Maier, C., 2002, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora. Soziale Gebote des
Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches,
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Göttingen.
Maier, C.M., 2008, ‘Jeremiah as teacher of the Torah’, Interpretation
22–32.
McKane, W., 1986, A critical and exegetical commentary on Jeremiah,
T & T Clark (ICC), Edinburgh.
O’Day, G.R., 1990, ‘Jeremiah 9:22–23 and 1 Corinthians 1:26–31.
A study in intertextuality’, Journal of Biblical Literature 109(2),
259–267.
Oosterhoff, B.J., 1990, Jeremia, Uitgeversmaatchappij JH Kok
(COT), Kampen.
Rudolph, W., 1968, Jeremia, 3, verbesserde Aufl, JCB Mohr,
Tübingen.
Saebo, M., 1976, ‘lkf hi. Einsichtig sein’, in E. Jenni & C.
Westermann (eds.), Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum
Alten Testament, pp. 824–828, Chr. Kaiser Verlag (THzAT),
München.
Schmidt, W.H., 2008, Das Buch Jeremia. Kapitel 1–20, Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht (ATD 20), Göttingen.
Schmitz, E.D., 1971, ‘Knowledge’, in C. Brown (ed.), The new
international dictionary of New Testament theology, pp. 392–406,
The Paternoster Press, Exeter.
Schottroff, W., 1971, ‘jd erkennen’, in E. Jenni & C. Westermann
(eds.), Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament, pp.
682–701, Chr. Kaiser Verlag (THzAT), München.
Schreiner, J., 1981, Jeremia 1–25,14, Echter Verlag (Die Neue
Echter Bibel), Würzburg.
Soza, J.R., 2005, ‘“Knowing the Lord”: Moral theology in the
Book of Jeremiah’, Unpublished thesis, University of South
Africa.
Stoebe, H.J.,1971, ‘ds ,x, Güte’, in E. Jenni & C. Westermann (eds.),
Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament, pp. 600–
621, Chr. Kaiser Verlag (THzAT), München.
Stulman, L., 2005, Jeremiah, Abingdon Press (Abingdon Old
Testament Commentaries), Nashville.
Thompson, J.A., 1980, The book of Jeremiah, Eerdmans, Grand
Rapids.
Weiser, A., 1969, Das Buch Jeremia, Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht
(ATD), Göttingen.
Williams, D.H.H. III, 2002, ‘Of rags and riches: The benefits
of hearing Jeremiah 9:23–24 within James 1:9–11’, Tyndale
Bulletin 53(2), 273–282.
Wolff, H.W., 1993, Amos. Dodekapropheten 2, Neukirchener Verlag
(BK XLV/8), Neukirchen-Vluyn.
Article #83
Verbum et Ecclesia
Perceptions about civil
war in Central Africa: Can
war be justified or solve
problems?
Kitambala Lumbu, Peet van Dyk &
Alta van Dyk
Photo Title: Soldiers
Taken by: Marcos Santos
Original Research
Perceptions about civil war in Central Africa: Can war be justified
or solve problems?
Authors:
Kitambala Lumbu1
Peet van Dyk1
Alta van Dyk2
Affiliations:
1
Department of Old
Testament and ANES,
South Africa
Department of Psychology,
South Africa
2
Correspondence to:
Peet van Dyk
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Department of Old
Testament and ANES, PO
Box 392, Unisa, 0003,
South Africa
Lumbu, K., Van Dyk,
P. & Van Dyk, A., 2009,
‘Perceptions about civil
war in Central Africa:
Can war be justified or
solve problems?’, Verbum
6 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.82
at:
The disrupting influence of the displacements and conflicts has caused major social problems, which
also involve the Church. In such a situation the potential positive influence of religious leaders (and
future leaders or students) in breaking the cycle of violence cannot be overestimated. In order to try
and mobilise religious leaders against possible future violence, this survey was conducted to assess
current views and perceptions about violence in Central Africa. Based on this assessment suggestions
will be made on how these perceptions may be addressed through theological education.
The purpose of the research was to explore the perceptions of religious leaders and lecturers and
students of theology with regard to civil war and ethnic violence in the DRC and Rwanda, focusing
on the following aspects:
Article #82
Dates:
Received: 31 July 2009
INTRODUCTION AND AIM
Civil war and ethnic violence are major problems in Central Africa, with large-scale conflicts occurring
since 1990 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), Rwanda, Burundi and Uganda. These
conflicts have caused death and large internal and external displacements. According to the report of
the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA), published on 31
July 2008, an estimated 1 250 000 internally displaced persons (IDPs) had been registered in the eastern
province of North and South Kivu and the district of Ituri (Province Orientale) in the DRC alone.
These figures further show that there have not been substantive changes in this situation compared to
the first quarter of the same year. In the second quarter of 2008 a staggering 65 400 persons (4% over
the estimated total) were newly displaced and/or had been displaced for longer but their status only
became accessible during the reporting period. At the same time some 65 000 people returned to their
areas of origin in South Kivu and Ituri. Many displaced people are also being harboured in refugee
camps in neighbouring countries (externally displaced persons [EDPs]).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Keywords:
Tutsi; Hutu; DRC; Rwanda;
Church
ABSTRACT
Civil war and ethnic violence are major problems in Central Africa and have caused the death
and displacement of millions of people over the years. The aim of this study was to investigate the
perceptions of religious leaders, lecturers and students in theology at various tertiary institutions
in Central Africa with regard to civil war in the region. A structured questionnaire was used to
investigate participants’ perceptions about and attitudes towards civil war. The questionnaire
was completed by 1 364 participants who originated or lived in the Democratic Republic of the
Congo (DRC) and Rwanda. The results of the study illustrated the severe effect that civil wars had
on the participants or their families and further indicated that Rwandans, Tutsis and males were
more inclined toward justifying wars and seeing them as solutions for problems. The role of the
Church in countering these perceptions is discussed.
• To what extent have the participants been affected by civil wars or conflicts during the past 20
years?
• According to them, what were the main causes of the civil wars?
• Can civil wars be justified?
• Do they think that civil wars are sometimes necessary to solve political and social problems?
• How do they think civil wars and conflicts can be avoided in future?
Following is a brief historical survey of the conflict in Central Africa and the increasing polarisation
between the Tutsi and Hutu peoples, especially in Rwanda and Burundi, and how this has also had
detrimental effects on the situation in the DRC. Biblical views on war will also be discussed.
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND TO THE CONFLICT
The conflict in Central Africa (and specifically Rwanda) has a long and complex history, with its roots
in precolonial and colonial history. When the kingdom of Rwanda took shape in precolonial times, the
region comprised three distinct groups: the Hutu, Tutsi and Twa. The main difference among these
groups was in terms of their socio-economic lifestyle: The Hutus were primarily cultivators, the Tutsi
cattle owners and the Twa hunter-gatherers. To promote political stability it was expected of the king
to marry wives from all three communities (Gakunzi 1996:3–4).
Creative Commons
However, when the first European colonists arrived in the 1900s in Rwanda, they found the country
weakened and destabilised by the fact that one clan (the Tutsi) dominated the leadership and refused
to pass on the leadership to one of the other two groups (Gakunzi 1996:4). The German colonial
government further contributed toward the division among the Rwandan society by promoting the
idea that the Tutsi was a ‘lordly’ race, partially descended from either Semitic or European ancestors.
On the other hand, the Hutu group was considered a ‘lazy’ people and only fit for being labourers or
slaves. The German colonial government therefore supported the Tutsi leadership and entered into an
alliance with them (Gakunzi 1996:4).
Original Research
Lumbu, Van Dyk & Van Dyk
Perceptions among certain Tutsis are also that missionary
work in the African Great Lakes region (especially by Catholic
missionaries since 1880) caused an increased tension between
the Tutsis and Hutus. According to them the Tutsi resisted
conversion (due to their supposed Jewish origin) while the
missionaries were more successful among the Hutu. In an effort
to reward their conversion, the Catholic Church often confiscated
traditional Tutsi land and awarded it to the recently converted
Hutu tribes, thus beginning a conflict that has lasted into the 21st
century (Berg 2003).
The bad blood between the Tutsi and Hutu was exacerbated
when the Belgians assumed control of Rwanda and Burundi
following World War I. They continued to promote the Tutsi over
and against the Hutu and retained the hierarchical classification
of the population into either Tutsi or Hutu (Berg 2003).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #82
However, during the drive for independence in Africa (during
the late 1950s) the Tutsi were in favour of independence from
Belgium, causing the colonial power to suddenly switch its
alliance from the Tutsi to the Hutu. It therefore allowed the
majority Hutu to assume control of the government through
universal elections. In the 1960s the Rwandan monarchy was
overthrown and a republic headed by Gregoire Kayibanda was
established. His Hutu-dominated regime persecuted the Tutsi,
who in many cases were forced to flee to neighbouring countries
such as Uganda and the DRC.
In 1973 when many Tutsis were fired from private and public
institutions and young Tutsis were molested and threatened
in schools and colleges, the situation in Rwanda exploded,
leading to the overthrowing of the government by Habiarimana,
an army officer who promised new national unity (Gakunzi
1996:5). Unfortunately this did not happen and various forms
of persecution persisted under his regime, causing many of
his opponents (mostly Tutsi) to be imprisoned or to flee to
neighbouring countries such as Uganda. When the Tutsi in
Uganda were pressurised by the Ugandan government to return
to Rwanda, the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), a rebel group of
Tutsi refugees, was formed and invaded Rwanda in 1990.
The resulting Rwandan Civil War vastly increased the ethnic
tensions in the country, which included the displacement of large
numbers of Hutu in the north (by Tutsi rebel forces) and periodic
localised ethnic cleansing of Tutsi to the south. Eventually the
Arusha Accord (1993) arranged a cease-fire, but in 1994 the
Rwanda genocide followed when the country experienced mass
killing of hundreds of thousands of Tutsis (and Hutu political
moderates) by Hutus. Over the course of approximately 100
days at least 500 000 people were killed.1
Another genocide occurred earlier (1972) in the neighbouring
country of Burundi, but this time against the Hutu population.
In this killing an estimated 500 000 Hutus died at the hands of
Tutsis. In 1993, Burundi’s first democratically elected president,
Melchior Ndadaye (of Hutu descent), and his successor were
assassinated by Tutsi officers. This sparked a period of civil
strife in Burundi between Hutu political structures and the Tutsi
military in which an estimated 800 000 Burundians died. During
this conflict there were indiscriminate mass killings, first of
Tutsis and then of Hutus (Lemarchand 1996).
Within the DRC the Tutsi forces of the National Congress for the
Defence of the People (CNDP) rebel group in the north-eastern
regions are considered as outsiders from Rwanda by the local
Congolese inhabitants. So the ethnic conflict existing within
Rwanda and Burundi has to a large extent also become part of
the conflict in the DRC.
In summary one can say that colonial powers in Central
Africa exacerbated the precolonial situation by establishing
1.However, many estimates indicate a death toll of between 800 000 and 1 million,
which could be as high as 20% of the total population.
multicultural societies that often came about because of the
establishment of arbitrary colonial boundaries (Pakenham
1991). One of the main consequences of the resulting conflicts
was a huge number of IDPs and EDPs, as mentioned in the
introduction. This is a continuing problem in Central Africa with
a cycle of violence that has become endemic and needs urgent
attention.
BIBLICAL VIEWS ON WAR
As suggested in the introduction, Christian leaders can
potentially play a significant role in combating violence and
conflict in Central Africa. To be able to play this role they would,
however, in the first place need to be convinced that the Bible
condemns violence and in the second place spread this message
of peace effectively to their respective communities.
Unfortunately the biblical (and especially the Old Testament)
views about war and conflict are to some extent ambiguous. For
example, in the early Christian Church Marcion denounced the
Old Testament for being ‘unchristian’ (Gunneweg 1978:115–117)
while many other scholars have criticised the Old Testament
for being a book about wars, killing and raping (cf. Van Dyk
2003:96).
Niditch (1993) described the Old Testament’s complex treatment
of war and violence by identifying seven different ideologies
regarding war, ranging from justification of war (under certain
conditions) to implicit and explicit criticism of violence. She sees
these coexisting, contradictory and overlapping ideologies with
regard to war as an important literary device that expresses the
psychological paradoxes within a community and even within
the same person.
Elliot (1993) made the important point that one should understand
the Bible against the social context and belief systems of its time
and Van Dyk (2003:110–111) argued that individual biblical
texts should be interpreted against the broader ethical principles
of the Bible, even if this sometimes mean that one should read
‘against the grain’ of a specific text (cf. Clines 1992:82–83).
The fact that the broader Old Testament ideal is not one of
war and conflict but one of peace was expressed by Hanson as
follows:
If one were to choose a single word to describe the reality of which
God created the world, and in which He seeks to sustain the
community of those who respond to his initiating grace ... that
would be “shalom”.
(Hanson 1984:341)
Chester (1989:470–472) emphasised that the Hebrew word
shalom is much broader than the English word peace and is much
more than an empty slogan. It not only denotes the cessation of
conflict but also expresses the onset of universal harmony and
happiness.
Van Dyk (2003:102) further pointed toward the Old Testament
imperative to love the non-Israelite or sojourner. In this regard
the Old Testament is a major advance over the usual ethical
principles of ancient and traditional societies by demanding
not only that sojourners should be protected but also that they
should be ‘loved’, that they should be included in the Israelite
festivals and that provision should be made for their livelihood.
Van Dyk (2003:105–107) also criticised the easy way in which
religious people often ‘succumb’ to the view that wars and
conflicts can be justified by viewing them as an instrument of
God’s justice or by romanticising them as heroic acts.
Although the Old Testament view of war and conflict is
complex, this fact should not, however, detract from its overall
condemnation of violence and its imperative for peace. This
research was an attempt to understand current perceptions
about violence and conflict among Christian leaders in Central
Original Research
TABLE 1
Ethnic groups
Africa and propose to what extent these should be rectified in
the light of the broader biblical imperative for peace.
ETHNIC GROUP
METHOD
FREQUENCY
PERCENTAGE
A structured questionnaire (available in English and French)
was used to conduct a survey among religious leaders and
students and lecturers in theology in Central Africa. It assessed
the perceptions of these religious participants about the civil war
and ethnic violence, specifically in the DRC and Rwanda.
Tutsi
86
6.3
Hutu
257
18.8
Luba
329
24.1
Nande/Yira
281
20.6
Sample
Other
411
30.1
Questionnaires were completed by church leaders, lecturers
and students (at various private and public theological training
institutions) in Central Africa during 2007. Participants from
different backgrounds and religious denominations as well as
from urban and rural areas, originating or living in the DRC
and Rwanda, were included in the survey. The sample should
be seen as a convenient sample (cf. Coolican 2004:42) and is not
necessarily representative of all church leaders and theology
lecturers and students in the region. The results can therefore
not necessarily be generalised to all religious leaders in the DRC
and Rwanda.
TOTAL
1 364
100
During sampling it was, however, attempted to avoid any bias in
terms of religion, gender, age, ethnicity, occupation or geographic
location. Participants from two countries, representing 31
tribes (language groups), were included in the sample of 1 364
participants who completed the questionnaire.
Measuring instrument: Structured questionnaire
• Participants were further asked to indicate
°° whether their ethnic group had been involved in civil
war during the past 20 years and, if so, how they were
affected by it;
°° what, according to their ethnic group, were the main
causes of the war; and
°° in what way their group could in future help to prevent
conflicts.
A few participants needed assistance with the completion of the
questionnaire, but the majority of the respondents (because of
their generally high level of education) filled in the questionnaires
anonymously and without any help.
Statistical analysis
The closed questions were coded and analysed using the
Statistical Package for the Social Sciences (SPSS). Descriptive and
inferential statistical techniques were used to analyse the data.
The level of significance was set at 0.01. The non-parametric
Mann-Whitney U test was used to determine possible group
differences with regard to the Likert scales. The reasons for the
choice were that because these scales are non-standardised,
they do not necessarily adhere to normality and do not measure
interval data (cf. Coolican 2004:363).
In all cases size effects were calculated to determine how strong
effects really were. Pooled variances (for unequal sample sizes)
were used in the formula to calculate size effects.2 Cohen’s (1988)
scale was used to interpret the results obtained for size effects (cf.
Coolican 2004:384–385).
2.Size effect is calculated by using the formula
Undergraduate student
FREQUENCY
PERCENTAGE
1 133
85.1
Postgraduate student
74
5.5
Lecturer
21
1.6
103
7.7
1 331
100.0
Church leader
TOTAL
RESULTS
Demographic features of participants
A total of 1 364 people participated in the survey, of whom 370
(27.1%) were women and 986 (72.3%) men. Of the participants
151 (11.1%) resided permanently in Rwanda and 1 213 (88.9%)
in the DRC. Participants from 31 ethnic groups completed
questionnaires, but smaller language groups were lumped
together for statistical purposes. Participants were, therefore,
divided into the following ethnic groups: Tutsi, Hutu, Luba,
Nande/Yira and others (see Table 1 for frequencies per group).
Because the survey was primarily conducted among church
leaders and lecturers and students of tertiary educational
institutions, the education level of participants was generally
high. The frequencies of the positions in the Church or educational
institutions reported by the participants are reported in Table 2.
Article #82
• Biographical information (i.e. country of permanent
residence, gender, ethnic group and religious affiliation).
• Likert scales (ordinal 5-point scales, ranging from ‘strongly
agree’ to ‘strongly disagree’) were used to measure
participants’ perceptions and attitudes in terms of the
following:
°° Justification of war.
°° Did the war solve problems?
STATUS
Verbum et Ecclesia
A structured questionnaire was used to obtain the following
information from the participants:
TABLE 2
Position in the Church or educational institution
The participants came from various church denominations.
However, because it was a convenient sample, the frequencies
of church denominations were not representative of the DRC
or Rwanda and were especially biased towards the Seventh
Day Adventist denomination (see Table 3 for frequencies of
denominations).
The demographic data indicated that the sample included a wide
variety of people associated with various theological training
institutions and representative of most of the large Christian
groups within the DRC and Rwanda.
TABLE 3
Denominations
DENOMINATION
FREQUENCY
PERCENTAGE
Catholic
368
27.0
Protestant
335
24.6
Adventist
561
41.1
Other
71
5.2
None
8
0.6
1 343
98.5
TOTAL
(Coolican 2004:384).
Original Research
TABLE 4
Relative importance of effects
EFFECT
PERCENTAGE OF PEOPLE AFFECTED
Loss of possessions or land
49.0%
Displaced or became refugee
42.2%
Personally or family member wounded
36.7%
Involved in fighting
8.7%
Loss of political power
7.8%
The effects of civil war, views of participants regarding the civil
wars in Central Africa and especially how these perceptions may
differ among various groups will be considered next.
Effects of civil war
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #82
Three-quarters of the participants indicated that they had been
in some way affected by civil war or conflict in the region during
the past 20 years, while 25.2% had not been directly affected. The
majority of the participants who had been affected by the civil
war suffered the loss of their possessions or land, were displaced
or became refugees and were either wounded themselves or had
close family members being wounded. It is of importance to
note that one out of every 11 participants reported that they had
been involved in the fighting themselves. Interestingly, loss of
political power was not perceived as having a major effect on
the participants’ lives (See Table 4 for frequencies of the effects
of civil war on the participants).
It is clear from Table 4 that a large proportion of the participants
experienced severe effects from the civil war or conflict. This
paints an extremely serious picture of people’s lives being
disrupted in some way. Although some of them had been
actively involved in fighting, most of the participants were
passive victims of the war.
Causes of civil war
Participants were asked to rate the main causes for the civil war
in their region from 1 to 3. The ranks were then converted into a
scale with the following results (see Figure 1).
From Figure 1 it is clear that the main causes of wars and
conflicts were perceived as follows: ethnic or tribal factors
(43%), economic factors (41%), outside groups (39%) and power
struggles (37%). Lesser causes were listed as group suppression
(25%), disagreement among leaders (22%), corruption (18%) and
other unspecified reasons (9%).
The high rank of outsiders as a cause for conflict in Figure 1 can
possibly be attributed to the fact that the Tutsi forces of the CNDP
rebel group in the north-eastern DRC are considered as outsiders
from Rwanda by the local Congolese inhabitants. It should also
50
45
40
35
30
25
20
15
10
5
0
er
cy
ra
oc
The results showed that 23.4% of the participants thought that
the conflict (in which their ethnic group or their neighbours
were involved) was justified, while 15.4% were uncertain and
59.4% thought that it was not justified. Although the majority
of participants were therefore negatively inclined toward civil
wars in the region, it is still disconcerting that more than 20%
agreed or strongly agreed with the notion that these wars could
be justified.
Perceptions about the possible justification of civil wars differed
significantly among different groups. Note that only significant
differences (p < 0.01) and size effects above 0.3 are reported
below:
• Rwandans were more inclined to think that the civil war or
conflict was justified than people in the DRC (U = 72 693; p =
0.002; size effect = 0.309 [small to medium effect]).
• Males leaned more toward seeing wars as justified than
females (U = 72 693; p = 0.002; size effect = 0.338 [small to
medium effect]).
• Ethnic groups differed significantly in terms of their views of
the justification of the civil wars. The Tutsi group was much
more inclined to view the civil wars as justified in contrast
to the other ethnic groups. Table 5 summarises the ethnic
differences.
Other smaller differences existed among other ethnic groups
but with relative small effect sizes and are thus not reported.
It was, therefore, mainly the Tutsi ethnic group that was more
inclined to view the civil wars as justified while the other groups
were more inclined to perceive them as unjustified. As suggested
above, the Tutsi group is often regarded as ‘outsiders’ in the
north-eastern DRC and is blamed by other groups as a major
cause for the civil war within the DRC.
Did the wars solve problems?
The second main focus of the research was to determine to
what extent the participants perceived civil wars as solutions
to political and other problems. The results showed a highly
significant correlation between the perception of just wars and
the view that it solved problems (Spearman, ρ = 0.264; p <
0.000).
TABLE 5
Differences in perceptions about justification of wars among ethnic groups
LESS INCLINED TO
JUSTIFY
SIGNIFICANCE
SIZE EFFECT
Tutsi
Hutu
U = 8 468
p = 0.001
0.469 (medium)
Tutsi
Luba
U = 10 793
p = 0.002
0.418 (medium)
Tutsi
Nande/Yira
U = 8 646
p < 0.000
0.576 (medium)
Tutsi
Combined smaller
groups
U = 11 646
p < 0.000
0.631 (medium to
large)
De
m
al
ni
lo
Co
Justification of war
Ot
h
n
ism
rs
io
pt
rru
Le
a
Co
ou
Gr
de
r
er
pp
su
p
s
er
w
id
Po
Ou
ts
ic
hn
on
Causes of War
Ec
Fights for democracy and remnants of colonialism were not
chosen by any participant as a possible cause of war. This is
an important finding in the light of the fact that scholars often
identify remnants of colonialism as possible causes for conflict
in Africa (e.g. Shah 2009).
MORE
INCLINED TO
JUSTIFY
Causes of War
Et
be noted that views regarding the possible justification of civil
war differed significantly between the Tutsi ethnic group and all
the other ethnic groups (see below).
FIGURE 1
Causes of war
TABLE 6
Differences among ethnic groups in perceiving wars as solutions to problems
MORE INCLINED
TO SEE AS
SOLUTION
LESS INCLINED
TO SEE AS
SOLUTION
SIGNIFICANCE
SIZE EFFECT
Rwanda
DRC
U = 60 782
p = 0.000
0.709 (large)
Tutsi
Hutu
U = 7 582
p = 0.000
0.533 (medium)
Tutsi
Luba
U = 9 377
p = 0.000
0.715 (large)
Tutsi
Nande/Yira
U = 6 598
p = 0.000
1.136 (extremely
large)
Tutsi
Combined
smaller groups
U = 10 286
p = 0.000
0.935 (large)
As with the perceptions about the justification of war, significant
differences also existed among different ethnic groups in terms
of their views about war as a possible solution to problems. Only
significant differences among ethnic groups and size effects
above 0.3 are reported in Table 6.
It is clear from Table 6 that it is mainly the Rwandans and the
Tutsi ethnic group that perceived war as a solution to problems.
Differences among male and female, status/education levels
and churches were either not significant or effect sizes were too
small to report.
From Figure 2 it is clear that the participants regarded positive
measures as much more valuable than negative measures as
a way to solve and prevent future conflict in the region. Most
of the participants believed that praying for peace (47%) and
working towards democracy and fair and free elections (42%)
will solve conflict or prevent future conflict. Some believed that
conflict can be solved or prevented by educating other ethnic
groups (25%) and by facilitating negotiations (21%).
Further important results to note were that nobody regarded
force as a way to resolve or prevent future conflict and that
nobody thought that UN intervention or measures to fight
corruption would be effective in preventing future conflicts.
DISCUSSION
The extent to which participants were directly or indirectly
The fact that the Tutsi group has during the past five decades
lost political and economic power in Rwanda and Burundi
and that its rebel forces have been to some extent successful in
regaining some of the lost power may explain why Tutsis are
much more inclined to see civil war and conflict as justified or
solving problems. This may be especially true if they further
adhere to the racist view that they are a ‘superior’ ethnic group
that has the right to political power. This fact and the fact that the
Hutu population has been increasingly suspicious since the late
1950s of a perceived plot by the Tutsi group to regain power and
‘enslave’ the Hutu have constantly fuelled the conflict.
Although the ‘racial’ separation can at least partially be ascribed
to the historical role German and Belgium colonial forces played
in the region, it is nonetheless interesting to note that colonialism
as such was not perceived as a major factor in the conflict. Along
a more cynical line this can probably be seen as an indication of
how successful the colonial policy of ‘divide and rule’ has been
in this region. On the other hand it is probably true that colonial
racial policies are not the only factors to blame but that both
precolonial and postcolonial factors have been instrumental in
the Tutsi-Hutu conflicts.
The negative perceptions about United Nations (UN) forces
and their possible positive role in helping to resolve the conflict
in Central Africa is understandable in the light of the fact that
UN forces are often perceived as outsiders who are not an
uninterested or neutral force. For example, the presence of the
UN in the DRC is not welcomed for multiple reasons (own
observation):
Article #82
Participants were in the last instance asked to rate possible
preventative measures in terms of importance (from 1 to 3) and
these results were then converted into a scale with the following
results, as illustrated in Figure 2.
affected by the civil wars and conflict in Central Africa is a
confirmation of how deep the impact of the conflict is. This
emphasises the importance of trying to break the cycle of
violence. Especially the Tutsi-Hutu conflict that dates back
many decades formed people’s perceptions about the causes of
the wars as being mainly attributable to ethnic and economic
factors, outsiders and the struggle for power. All these factors
can be explained in terms of the economic and power struggle
between the Hutu and Tutsi (and other groups) that has scorched
this part of the continent for so long. The fact that outside forces
are ‘blamed’ for the violence is in the first place explainable
by the fact that it is primarily seen as an ethnic conflict (which
automatically defines the parties in terms of ‘in’ and ‘out’
groups) and the fact that Tutsi rebel groups have often in the
past launched wars from neighbouring countries into Rwanda
and also the DRC.
Verbum et Ecclesia
How to prevent future conflict
Original Research
• The local population feels that the UN plays the card of the
aggressor or the card of the opposition.
• It seems as if the UN personnel is very well paid, and the
perception is that they therefore wish to remain in the
country for a longer period for financial gain.
• It further often seems to the locals that while the UN is in
the region it exploits the natural resources, providing itself
with additional financial gain. The view of many local
inhabitants within the DRC is therefore that it is to the
economic advantage of UN personnel to maintain conflicts
in the region.
In contrast to the situation in the DRC, perceptions in Central
Africa are that the UN has a different agenda in Rwanda where it
plays the card of the government by supporting the government
forces. Gakunzi (1996:10) evaluated the role of the UN as follows:
‘What happened in Rwanda demonstrated the incredibility and
the ineffectiveness and inefficiency of the United Nations.’ The
potential role of UN forces in resolving the conflicts in Central
Africa is therefore perceived as extremely limited in both
Rwanda and the DRC.
FIGURE 2
Perceived importance of possible preventative measures
In respondents’ suggestions on how their ethnic group could
best help to solve or prevent future conflict (such as praying for
peace, working towards democracy and educating other ethnic
groups), the need for assistance from organisations such as
Original Research
the Church became apparent. Within this scenario the Church
and its leaders can potentially play a significant and positive
role in alleviating tension among groups. Following are some
recommendations in the light of the results of our research.
WHAT CAN THE CHURCH DO?
The Church and the Bible’s message of peace can potentially play
an important role in solving the conflict in Central Africa. The
time has come for the Church to educate the heart and the soul of
church members and church leaders, that is to educate the heart
and the soul of those who will become presidents, ministers,
members of parliament, college and university lectures and
church leaders. If the heart is not well educated, people will have
no love for others. This is education for life.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #82
Nicole (1982:7) summarised the role of the Church as follows:
• Every church leader and member is called to come out of
this world and rise above the conflict and serve the Lord.
• The Church must be a church of peace, not the church of
pieces, by teaching members and the community to be
people of peace.
• The Church must live and share the ‘shalom Yahweh’
because peace is a result of God’s activity in covenant and is
the result of righteousness (Isaiah 32:17).
• The Church in Central Africa must be a loving church and be
constituted of God’s people who realise that God, in creating
all things, has acted in love: God’s calling of Abraham to be
the father of a people serving as a light to the nations is an
act of love; God’s freeing the enslaved Hebrews from Egypt
to a new life is an act of mercy. This needs to be a teaching
experience of the people of God, living in this part of the
world.
• The Church in Central Africa must train communities to be
God-fearing communities.
In the light of the current findings, the following can be added to
Nicole’s suggestions:
• The Church must lead by example to illustrate what
democracy, fairness and freedom mean in practice.
• The Church should play a role in facilitating diversity
training whereby groups can learn to respect and trust each
other.
• Education should not only be about ‘educating the outside
group’, as suggested by some participants of this study, but
attention should also be given to re-educating the ‘inside’
group to better understand the ‘outside’ group.
• The Church should offer post-traumatic stress counselling
for the many victims of war and violence and assist them to
repair their trust in the human race.
• The Church should address the perception of ‘just’ wars and
the view that it may be a solution to problems. This can be
done by emphasising the negative effects of wars and the
fact that they mostly serve the short-term self-interest of a
specific ethnic group, leader or country. The ways in which
so-called ‘just’ wars are rationalised should also be exposed
by offering a multi-ethnic perspective.
specific group for the conflict because this would merely serve
to strengthen old divisions.
REFERENCES
Berg, I.M, 2003, Jews in Central Africa, viewed 25 July 2009, from
http://www.kulanu.org/tutsi/jews-africa.php
Chester, A., 1989, ‘The concept of peace in the Old Testament’,
Theology XCII(750), 466–481.
Clines, D.J.A., 1992, ‘Images of Yahweh: God in the Pentateuch’,
in R.L. Hubbard, R.K. Johnston & R.P. Meye (eds.), Studies in
Old Testament Theology, 79–98, Word Publishing, Nashville.
Cohen, J., 1988, Statistical power analysis for the behavioral sciences,
Academic Press, San Diego.
Coolican, H., 2004, Research methods and statistics in Psychology,
4th edn., Hodder & Stoughton, London.
Elliott, J.H., 1993, What is social-scientific criticism? Fortress Press,
Minneapolis.
Gakunzi, D., 1996, ‘Rwanda: The roots of a genocide’, Propeace 1,
3–10.
Gunneweg, A.H.J., 1978, Understanding the Old Testament, SCM
Press, London.
Hanson, P.D., 1984, ‘War and peace in the Hebrew Bible’,
Interpretation XXXVIII(4), 341–362.
Lemarchand, R., 1996, Burundi: Ethnic conflict and genocide,
Woodrow Wilson Centre and Cambridge University Press,
New York.
Nicole, J.M., 1982, Précis de l’Histoire de l’Église, Éditions de
l’Institut Belgique: Ngonget-Marne.
Niditch, S., 1993, War in the Hebrew Bible, Oxford University Press,
New York.
OCHA Regional Office for Central and East Africa, 2008,
‘Displaced populations report’, OCHA, January-June 2008,
Issue 3, viewed 13 May 2009, from http://www.ochaonline.
un.org.
Pakenham, T., 1991, The scramble for Africa 1876–1912, Jonathan
Ball, Johannesburg.
Shah, A., 2009, Global issues: Conflicts in Africa – Introduction,
viewed 14 May 2009, from http://www.globalissues.org/
article/84/conflicts-in-africa-introduction#TheLegacyofEur
opeanColonialism.
Van Dyk, P.J., 2003, ‘Violence and the Old Testament’, Old
Testament Essays 16(1), 96–112.
In her teaching the Church cannot take sides and should stress
the fact that the use of force (even though it may sometimes seem
like an attractive alternative) often fails to solve problems and
only creates more problems and more unrighteousness in the
world in the long term. The fact that no participant supported
the idea of resolving future problems by using force is a positive
indication that the message of peace already plays a role, but it
should be emphasised and further underscored by teaching and
ministry.
From the results of this study it became clear that the Church
and theological institutions will have to pay special attention
to certain groups that are more inclined towards justifying war
and violence (especially the Rwandans, Tutsis and males). This
should be done in such a loving way that it does not imply
that the Church is targeting the Tutsi group or is blaming any
Original Research
Author:
Karin van Marle1
Affiliation:
1
Department of Legal
History, Comparative Law
and Legal Philosophy,
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Karin van Marle
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Department of Legal
History, Comparative Law
and Legal Philosophy,
Faculty of Law, University
of Pretoria, Pretoria, 0083,
South Africa
Keywords:
reconciliation; slowness;
common sense; Arendt;
transformation
at:
Note:
This is a reworked version
of a paper delivered at a
conference What is law
without morality? at the
University of the Western
Cape in August 2007
hosted by the Department
of Religion and Theology
and the Ecumenical
Foundation of South
Africa in consultation with
the Faculty of Law. My
gratitude to the organisers
for the opportunity.
My thanks also to the
anonymous referees for
their insightful comments.
Any mistakes do, of course,
remain my own.
Creative Commons
I start by drawing on an article written by Deborah Nelson, in which she investigates the politics
and ethics followed and lived by Hannah Arendt and her friend Mary McCarthy (Nelson 2006:1).
Arendt and McCarthy, in contrast to the post-war calls for solidarity and community, firmly embraced
loneliness and detachment as more apt responses to the political, social and ethical problems of
their time. I connect their stance with an earlier call for slowness as an ‘ethical’ approach to law
(Van Marle 2003:239). I also discuss an argument for slowness by Paul Cilliers within the context of
complex-systems theory (Cilliers 2007). I conclude with reference to Mahmood Mamdani’s call for
social reconciliation (Mamdani 1998). The argument tentatively sets out social reconciliation as an
engagement with ordinary lives that will inevitably be slower, more attentive and less grandiose and
monumental.
LONELINESS AND DETACHMENT, COMMON SENSE AND
FACTS – SLOW REFLECTIONS
As already noted, my concern is how the law, legal theory and jurisprudence could respond in an
ethical and political manner to the severe social problems that people encounter in their everyday lives
or, to use the familiar terms, how law could respond to social justice – in Mamdani’s words, ‘social
reconciliation’. I should explain from the start my understanding of and engagement with the term
‘social’. With ‘social’, I do not mean merely issues of economic concern but also issues that concern a
sociality, the living together of plural people. Against this background, I am intrigued by the stance of
loneliness and detachment taken by Hannah Arendt and her friend Mary McCarthy.
Deborah Nelson, in the article The virtue of heartlessness: Mary McCarthy, Hannah Arendt, and the
anaesthetics of empathy, discusses the friendship between Hannah Arendt and Mary McCarthy and
uses the idea of ‘being alone’ and on the ‘same side’ to describe their relationship (Nelson 2006:1).
She argued that the ‘detached quality of relation’, which was a feature of their friendship, also guided
their political and ethical affiliations. Both Arendt and McCarthy defy easy categorisation concerning
their political commitments but their ‘mode of relation’ also placed them in a peculiar position vis-àvis their potential allies (Nelson 2006:2). Nelson states that, within the post-war context, progressive
social movements called for solidarity, ‘bonds of intimacy and group identification’ (Nelson 2006:2).
Arendt and McCarthy, however, refused these stances in theory and in practice in their preference for
solitude over solidarity and for detachment. Arendt’s critique on compassion in political life, which
she regarded as ‘devastating’, was at the core of her work On revolution (Arendt 1960).
Article #338
Van Marle, K., 2009, ‘On
loneliness and the value
of slow reflection’, Verbum
4 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.338
INTRODUCTION
The broader concern of this article is to question our response to social ills in times where morality, ethics
and normative considerations are subsumed day by day not only by claims for logic and rationality but
also by instrumental, functional and pragmatic strategies. I reflect on notions of loneliness, slowness
and social reconciliation in order to continue conversations and contemplations on the relations
between law and morality or, rather, between law and ethics, reconciliation and transformation.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
ABSTRACT
In this article, the author considers the relationship of law, morality and reconciliation. Intrigued
by the political and ethical stances taken by Arendt and McCarthy, the author supports notions
of detachment, slowness and social reconciliation concerning contemporary political and ethical
questions.
Nelson highlights the two extreme responses to pain that we all experience in our daily confrontations
with the media and the social ills of our times: The one response leads to the situation ‘where pain
supplies an overabundance of meaning or stimulation’ and the other to one ‘where it fails to produce
any affective response at all’ (Nelson 2006:2). Arendt and McCarthy did not follow either of these two
responses. Instead, they acted in a manner that Nelson names ‘toughness’ (Nelson 2006:2). They did
not shy away from suffering but were wary of being drawn into a discourse that makes it ‘attractive’
(Nelson 2006:2). Instead of being indifferent or callous, they wanted to face ‘reality’ without being
consoled by intimacy, empathy or solidarity, which they regarded as having a potential ‘anaesthetic’
effect (Nelson 2006:2–3). Arendt rejected notions of friendship that relied on intimacy as well as
notions of national belonging, ideological partisanship and party politics. Nelson explains that, apart
from solidarity’s potential anaesthetic effect, it also holds the danger of coercion and exclusion. The
insulation of it comes in forms such as national belonging, which protects individuals against the
‘loneliness and isolation of mass society’; ideological solidarity, which prevents unpredictability by
putting in place a ‘coherent theory of experience and shared narrative of the future’; and the solidarity
of pariah groups, which provides a togetherness ‘found nowhere else in modern society’ (Nelson
2006:4). The last-mentioned position comes to the fore in Arendt’s work on Rahel Varnhagen, whom
she criticised for her lack of ‘worldliness’ (Arendt 1957). Arendt associated a loss of worldliness with a
loss of common sense, a matter on which I shall elaborate.
Arendt and McCarthy insisted on the ‘ordinariness’ of pain and suffering. Nelson phrases their stance
as one of, instead of coming face to face with the Other, coming ‘face to face with reality in the presence
Original Research
Van Marle
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #338
of others’ (Nelson 2006:3). They had two reasons for requiring
‘facing reality’: Firstly, to reject the self-delusion that follows
from the reluctance to look directly at pain and suffering and,
secondly, because facing reality could set in motion processes
both of transformation and of self-transformation, which
are conditions for any form of social change (Nelson 2006:3).
Another important reason is that such self-transformation
could bring a person uncertainty and anxiety. The features of
uncertainty and anxiety recall Gillian Rose’s reliance on Arendt
(together with Luxemburg and Varnhagen) as women who
lived in unequivocation and risk (Rose 1992). Nelson describes
Arendt’s choice of facing reality in terms of her reliance on what
she regarded as ‘common sense’ and McCarthy’s on what she
regarded as ‘facts’.
‘Common sense’ for Arendt, as we have seen, is connected to being
in the world. It has nothing to do with obvious, ‘self-evident and
natural truths’ but rather with an ‘active and complex sharing of
a necessarily partial view of the world’ (Nelson 2006:3–4). The
modern emphasis of logic, according to Arendt, is quite useless
as far as matters of the world are concerned. She supported a
‘restoration of the sensual component of common sense’ (Nelson
2006:5). Her support of common sense is closely connected
to her call for political action – common sense is activity, not
knowledge (Nelson 2006:5). Importantly, common sense is
part of self-becoming, of the process of self-transformation, of
changing beliefs, views and positions. Pariahs, who act only
with others like themselves, can never partake in these processes
of becoming or what Arendt called ‘refinement’ (Nelson 2006:5).
Plurality is, of course, central to Arendt’s political understanding
– to bring the ‘self into contact with non-intimate others’ (Nelson
2006:5; see also Arendt 1958). We can recall Arendt’s description
of Adolf Eichman – his evil as banality and thoughtlessness
rather than as a failure of empathy (Arendt 1963). Nelson notes
two requirements for common sense learned from Eichman’s
example, namely difference and language (Nelson 2006:6). In
these two requirements – or facts – Arendt’s theory connects
with McCarthy’s literary writing and her notion of facts. For
McCarthy, facts do not represent ‘a faith in objective and stable
reality but a confrontation with reality’s elusive, sensual, and
frequently painful qualities’ (Nelson 2006:4).
Nelson regards fact and factuality as the foundation of
McCarthy’s aesthetics, as it was a foundation to Arendt’s politics
(Nelson 2006:6). Facts are aesthetic, something that one requires
by way of cognition, not knowledge. McCarthy highlighted
the difficulty of achieving facts through cognition in her times
and criticised her contemporaries for retreating from traumatic
events and embracing the realism of pure ‘sensation’ and
‘sensibility’, thereby ‘abolishing the social’ (McCarthy 1961:276;
Nelson 2006:7). She declared:
To find the ideal realist, you would first have to find reality . . .
And if no dramatist today . . . can accept being a realist in its full
implications, this is perhaps because of a lack of courage.
(McCarthy 1961:311; Nelson 2006:7)
Nelson notes that McCarthy’s understanding of a fact is relatively
difficult – she clearly does not mean pure information, although,
in some cases, it can be that. A fact can, for example, refer to
a historical event (such as the death camps) or a cultural one
(such as a new art form or artist) or to an aesthetic object (such
as a painting). It is easier, according to Nelson, to understand
what a fact (for McCarthy) does. Like Arendt’s common sense,
a fact is less concerned with providing information than with its
capacity to change the observer. McCarthy criticised the absence
of facts in American life – she argued that, although there was
enough opinion and even critical opinion, there was no diversity
of opinion or truly dissident ideas; the reason for this was the
general fear of confronting facts. Writers were more interested
in ‘displaying their cleverness than contending with facts’
(Nelson 2006:7). She called for ‘yielding’ to facts, by which she
meant being ‘open to alteration which is genuinely painful’ and
asked for intellectuals to ‘in place of cleverness’ ‘risk perplexity
and lack of mastery’ (Nelson 2006:8). This entails embracing
a continuous process of ‘self-alienation’ (Nelson 2006:8). The
dissident potential of the fact is connected to the ‘accident’, the
‘unexpected’, ‘the surprise’, ‘the miracle’ in everyday experience.
Herein lies another connection with Arendt, namely Arendt’s
insistence on unpredictability, natality and new beginning
(Nelson 2006:11).
Nelson concludes with reference to McCarthy’s eulogy to
Arendt. In describing their friendship, McCarthy chose to
emphasise the limits of and ‘the need for space’ that comes with
intimacy (Nelson 2006:11). In this understanding of friendship,
attachment ‘has to be refused on principle’ (Nelson 2006:11).
The bearing that this view of friendship then has on politics
is that the heartlessness that is so preservative of friendship is
also a precondition for public life. As Nelson argues, this should
be regarded not simply as insensitivity but rather as a call to
re-sensitisation, ‘not to look away, but to look hard’ (Nelson
2006:11–12).
SOCIAL RECONCILIATION AND
TRANSFORMATION AS SLOWNESS
I have previously argued for slowness as an approach to legal
interpretation but also as an approach to law more generally
(Van Marle 2003:239). The argument is that with slowness
could come greater attention to particularities. With references
to reflections on language and memory, I raised the possibility
of a slower contemplation going hand in hand with a material
recollection, an approach that could be embedded and situated
within a context in contrast to law’s tendencies to generalise and
universalise.
I have subsequently also connected slowness and, particularly,
material recollection with what Lourens Du Plessis called
the ‘memorial constitution’ (Du Plessis 2000:63). Memorial
constitutionalism, in contrast to monumental constitutionalism,
holds the potential of being more aware of history, of the role of
memory in post-apartheid law and, importantly, of being more
aware of its own limits, its own impossibilities. Slowness as an
approach to law means an approach that calls for more reflection
and contemplation. It is, from the outset, an approach concerned
with ethics, with law and with the precarious relationship
between law and ethics. Relating these ideas to Arendt and
McCarthy, one could say that slowness is less concerned with
gestures of solidarity and more with Arendtian common sense
and with what McCarthy referred to as facts. As an ethical
approach, it is concerned with ‘looking hard’ without being
tempted by grand gestures of monumental constitutionalism,
nation building and political reconciliation.
Paul Cilliers, in a reflection on slowness within the context
of complex-system theory, argues that ‘a slower approach
is necessary not only for survival, but also because it allows
us to cope with a complex world better’ (Cilliers 2007:1). He
explains that our understanding of time has been distorted by
the rational and instrumental theories of the modern world and
by the effects of certain technologies. He makes a few important
remarks pertaining to slowness. One of these is an argument
for slowness not being a conservative one. It is not merely
backward-looking or a glorification (monumentalisation) of
what has been. It does show concern with the historical nature of
knowledge and memory but it is also, simultaneously, forwardlooking. It is, in itself, a temporal notion in contrast with a static
notion (Cilliers 2007:1). He argues that slow and fast might
not be the correct terms and that terms such as ‘reflective’ and
‘unreflective’, ‘mediated’ and ‘unmediated’ might capture the
argument better.
Cilliers refers to Bauman’s reflections on time and explains
the aim of instrumental rationality to create conditions of
certainty in which we can escape contingency. In order to do
this, we need to understand and, more importantly, control
Original Research
the future: ‘Modernism becomes a project which demands our
total commitment against the forces of irrationality and chaos’
(Cilliers 2007:2). Modernism influences our conceptions of
time in two ways. Firstly, it attempts to coordinate our actions
by universalising time as if ‘we all live in the same time’.
Technology, particularly clocks, has made this possible; time
has been synchronised and we have to live our lives according
to a ‘generalised and controlled understanding of time’ (Cilliers
2007:3). Secondly, it results in the desire to control the future, to
make it knowable. As Cilliers explains, this is possible only if we
could perpetuate the present, if we lived in an eternal present, in
‘the tyranny of the moment’ (Cilliers 2007:3).
Mamdani is concerned with how the difference between
perpetrator and beneficiary has become obscured in the South
African reconciliation process (Mamdani 1998). The ‘truth’
sought and the reconciliation ‘achieved’ was to the benefit of
the minority, to the exclusion of the majority of people who
suffered under apartheid. The minority in the South African
context includes perpetrators, people who were part of or closely
connected to the previous regime and those political activists
who were directly involved in the struggle and persecuted
by apartheid officials. The majority of white South Africans,
although they were not directly involved in the institutional
workings of apartheid, nevertheless benefited; similarly, the
majority of black South Africans were not directly involved in
For me, Mamdani’s call for social reconciliation resonates with
the concerns raised by Arendt and McCarthy. Focus on and
preoccupation with grand narratives and with the ideals of group
solidarity and ‘political’ reconciliation as used by the TRC to
address ethical concerns of suppression, discrimination, poverty
and exclusion only hinder real reflective engagement with
change. Arendt’s insistence on common sense and McCarthy’s
on facts, however, provide a suggestive way of approaching the
issue of social reconciliation raised by Mamdani.
It is well known that Arendt criticised the French Revolution
for being overtaken by bread-and-butter issues to the detriment
of political freedom (Arendt 1960). It is for this reason that she
praised the American revolution. If Mamdani were calling
merely for a programme of socio-economic reform, he would be
in exact opposition to Arendt. My interest is to see connections
between the two stands, albeit, at a first read, they seem to be
conflicting or, at the least, in tension with each other.
The very (im)possibility of reconciliation must, of course, be
considered. Social reconstruction, development and upliftment
can be programmed and measured to a certain extent.
Reconciliation, however, will always stand within the gesture of
an event – it is unpredictable and may happen only because of
human appearance and the trait of natality. When contemplating
reconciliation, we immediately think about more than one party
– it takes two to reconcile, as it were.
Article #338
It is useful to recall Mahmood Mamdani’s critical reflection on the
South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) and
its ideal of creating a common society in which new and common
identities could be formed so that both victims and perpetrators
could live together (Mamdani 1998). Mamdani argues that (to
a certain extent) ‘political reconciliation’ in South Africa has
been achieved. The big challenge, however, is how to make
this reconciliation durable. What must be added to Mamdani’s
critique of the TRC is the inevitable connection between the
ideals of the TRC and post-apartheid law, specifically the notion
of constitutionalism and human rights. The TRC and its ideals of
national unity and reconciliation did, after all, have their origins
in the epilogue of the 1994 Constitution. A critique of the TRC
process and, more pertinently, the lack of social reconciliation
and social justice is therefore also a critique of the constitutional
endeavour.
Mamdani’s call is for a shift from perpetrators to beneficiaries
and from activists to victims, so that social reconciliation and
social justice can be addressed (Mamdani 1998). This shift
would expose apartheid as a system of white privilege. People
who suffered systemic violations, such as pass laws and forced
removals, and who remained anonymous, their suffering
seemingly circumstantial, would benefit from this shift, as their
suffering currently remains unnoticed. Mamdani explains that
this shift would require a shift in logic: Perpetrators are personally
and individually guilty; beneficiaries are not necessarily linked
to individual agency (Mamdani 1998). In order truly to challenge
the continuance of past privilege and oppression, the question
of individual agency should not be used to negate responsibility
and, as a consequence, stand in the way of redress.
Verbum et Ecclesia
A further step in this development is the phenomenon of
immediacy. Because an immediate response is always available,
the delay associated with reflection is unacceptable. Cilliers
refers in this regard to Derrida’s notion of différance as a way
of undermining the metaphysics of presence (Cilliers 2007:3; see
also Derrida 1978). Différance combines two meanings, namely
difference as a spatial notion and delay as a temporal notion,
with the result that ‘the present consists only as a combination
of memory (of what has been) and anticipation (of what is to
come)’ (Cilliers 2007:3). Memory is explained as ‘something
embodied in the system’ and not as something abstract – ‘. . . the
system is its memory’ (Cilliers 2007:4). Memory is not, however,
merely a process of accumulation. It is also the result of a process
of selection. It is furthermore possible only if the system can
also forget. And it is ‘not an instantaneous thing, it takes time
to develop, it is slow’ (Cilliers 2007:4). Returning to Arendt and
McCarthy and their response of loneliness and detachment to
the social woundedness of their time, it is important to consider
responses to the social ills of post-apartheid South Africa.
Continuous socio-economic inequality, poverty, homelessness
and a lack of health care, food, water and education permeate life
in post-apartheid South Africa. Added to these socio-economic
problems is the continuous drive for grand ‘political’ gestures
and for the private enrichment of a minority of individuals to the
detriment of the majority of the South African population. It is
therefore not merely the socio-economic context that is at stake
but also – and, in fact, integrated with the former – the absence
of a vibrant public realm where, in Arendt’s terms, people can
appear to each other.
the struggle but suffered under apartheid’s systemic oppression
and discrimination.
Arendt’s stance for loneliness and detachment was by no means
a total rejection of sociality. Her critical engagement with Rahel
Varnhagen, who appeared ‘worldless’ and who sought the
comfort of group solidarity, underscores her (Arendt’s) affinity
for the world, for being active in a public realm where human
plurality could come to the fore. This is not a sociality that is based
on hegemony and heteronormative values, where, as Drucilla
Cornell aptly notes the ‘heteros’ has been erased to serve only the
being of one (Cornell 2007). When Arendt emphasised common
sense, it was exactly the sensibilities of the world, of being part
of a public, that were of concern. Having such common sense,
however, would be possible only through the ability to detach,
to stand alone in order to prevent a mere following of the herd
mentality or of business as usual. Mamdani criticises the TRC’s
‘political’ reconciliation for not following common sense, for not
serving the world, but for fulfilling narrow strategic, economic
motivations.
The project of constitutionalism and human rights in postapartheid South Africa is, in many instances, the suggested
framework from which to address many of the dilemmas facing
us. Like the TRC, however, this project could have only limited
success. My suggestion is that this project could benefit through
the consideration of an approach of slowness and through
the stances of loneliness and detachment lived by Arendt and
McCarthy. The embrace of slowness, loneliness and detachment
could heed the optimistic, quick and grand gestures associated
Original Research
Van Marle
with the constitutional and human rights discourse. With respect
to reflection on reconciliation, the aim should be to achieve more
than has been achieved until now – what Mamdani calls ‘social
reconciliation’ must be embraced. This is not social reconciliation
focused only on socio-economic reform – in other words, socioeconomic reparation and reconstruction – but reconciliation
aimed at the ongoing construction of an active public sphere and
at the becoming of a sociality that truly reflects plurality.
REFERENCES
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #338
Arendt, H., 1957, Rahel Varnhagen. The life of a Jewess, John
Hopkins University Press, London.
Arendt, H., 1958, The human condition, University of Chicago
Press, Chicago.
Arendt, H., 1960, On revolution, Penguin Books, London.
Arendt, H., 1963, Eichman in Jerusalem, Penguin Books, London.
Arendt, H., 1978, Writing and difference, Routledge, London/New
York.
Cilliers, P., 2007, On the importance of a certain slowness. Stability,
memory and hysteresis in complex systems 1–8, viewed 10
November 2007, from http://complexity.vub.ac.be/phil/
drafts/Cilliers.pdf. Also published in C. Gershenson,
D. Aerts & B. Edmonds (eds.), Worldviews, science and us:
Philosophy and complexity, pp. 53–80, World Scientific,
Singapore.
Cornell, D., 2007, ‘The shadow of heterosexuality’, Hypathia 22,
229–242.
Du Plessis, L.M., 2000, ‘The South African constitution
as memory and promise’, in C. Villa-Vicencion (ed.),
Transcending a century of injustice, pp. 63–94, Institute for
Justice and Reconciliation, Cape Town.
Mamdani, M., 1998, When does reconciliation turn into a denial of
justice? HSRC Press, Pretoria.
McCarthy, M., 1961, On the contrary: Articles of belief, 1946–1961,
Farrar, Straus and Cudahy, New York.
Nelson, D., 2006, American literary history 18, 86–101, viewed 15
July 2007, from http://allh.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/content/
full/18/1/86 1–14.
Rose, G., 1992, In a broken middle, Blackwells, Oxford.
Van Marle, K., 2003, ‘Law’s time, particularity and slowness’
South African Journal on Human Rights 19, 239–255.
Original Research
The story of the Red Sea as a theological framework of
interpretation
Authors:
Young M. Song1
Jan A. du Rand2
Affiliations:
1
Kosin University, Kosin,
South Korea
Department of Biblical
Studies, University of
Johannesburg, South Africa
2
Correspondence to:
Jan du Rand
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Studies, University of
Johannesburg, PO Box
524, Auckland Park,
Johannesburg, 2006,
South Africa
Song, Y.M. & Du Rand,
J.A., 2009, ‘The story
of the Red Sea as a
theological framework
of interpretation’, Verbum
et Ecclesia 30(2), Art. 337,
5 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.337
at:
Note:
This article was
delivered as a paper at
the International SBL
meeting in Auckland,
New Zealand, 2008, as a
result of Y.M. Song’s DLitt
et Phil thesis: ‘A partial
preterist understanding of
Rev 12–13 in intertextual
perspective’, supervised
by Prof Jan A. du Rand,
Department of Biblical and
Religious Studies, Faculty
of Humanities, University
of Johannesburg.
Creative Commons
The focus of the first section of the article is on the Gospel according to Luke, since Luke prominently
introduces the ‘exodus’ of Jesus (Lk 9:31). Broyles (1992:561–562) correctly interprets Luke’s
understanding of the transfiguration, suffering and resurrection of Jesus as related to the exodus
theme. Such peculiarities can be summarised as follows: only Luke records that Moses spoke with
Jesus of his impending exodus from Jerusalem. The Passover lamb, whose bones are not to be broken
(Ex 12:46) and the blood of the Covenant (Ex 24:8; cf. Lk 22:20) foreshadow Jesus’ sacrificial death,
although no explicit reference to the person of Moses is made.
In the central section of Luke (9:1–50), Jesus recapitulates and fulfils the Exodus, similar to the prophet
Moses in Deuteronomy (cf. Garrett 1990:12). The textual context of Luke 9:1–50 shows that the ‘exodus’
of Jesus is the watershed and pivotal focus of the entire narrative. Just before the journey to Jerusalem,
Jesus announced his exodus (Lk 9:51). Such timing parallels the Exodus in its preceding the journey
to the promised land of Canaan. Jerusalem, as the new Canaan, is the promised location of the Holy
Spirit as an eschatological gift (Lk 24:49) and the central location of God’s redemption of Israel and
the Gentiles (Ac 1:8). By means of the above-mentioned typology of Moses and the exodus theme, it is
clear that Luke intends to reveal the suffering, resurrection and glorification of Christ, not only as the
second Moses, but as the One greater than Moses (cf. Garrett 1990:659). The points of contact between
Moses and Jesus, mentioned in Luke, are points of continuity in terms of redemption.1
The chronological fulfilment of the exodus theme
Article #337
Dates:
Received: 08 Dec. 2008
Accepted: 12 Mar. 2009
Introduction
Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection as the archetypal exodus
Verbum et Ecclesia
Keywords:
Red Sea; interpretation;
theological framework;
exodus motif; salvational
acts of God
Abstract
The exodus motif is widely agreed to be one of the central frameworks illustrating the salvational
acts of God in both the Old and New Testaments. According to the Old Testament, the exodus
motif was, to Israel, the paradigm of redemptive historical renewal. For this reason, the exodus
motif provided the typological expression for all future hope of salvation and served as a
theological paradigm to be used by Old and New Testament authors. In this article, the exodus
theme in the Book of Revelation, chapters 12 to 13, is discussed in the following order: (1) Christ’s
crucifixion and resurrection as the archetypal exodus; (2) the chronological fulfillment of the
exodus theme in the Bible; and (3) the exodus theme in Revelation 12 to 13. To investigate the
exodus theme in Revelation 12 to 13, the intertextual interpretation, as based on the redemptive
historical interpretation, will be highlighted.
The collective memory of the Exodus from Egypt shaped accounts of God’s past acts of redemption,
and provided, in a typological sense, a framework for all future hope (cf. Garrett 1990:656). The Old
and New Testament prophecies and covenants are fulfilled spirally, rather than in a linear fashion (cf.
Goldsworthy 1991:76, 92). In other words, such fulfillment is a progressive duplicate. At this stage of the
article, the fulfillment of the exodus theme will be traced in chronological order, by means of referring
to selected glimpses of several important redemptive historical events. It will be demonstrated that the
fulfilment of the exodus theme is to be noted both in the Exodus, and in the post-Exodus periods.
The pre-Exodus period
During the period of the patriarchs, the exodus theme appears in the form of a shadow. Abraham’s
return with spoils from Egypt provides a foretaste of Israel’s Exodus, which is led by Moses. The
‘exodus’ of Joseph’s bones into Canaan can be understood as occurring within the same context. The
Covenant of Abraham and of the patriarchs was the main motivation for the Exodus (Ex 2:24-25; cf.
Lk 1:55). Several similarities between the story of Jacob and the exodus theme come to light: (1) In
several texts, Jacob’s departure from Laban is understood in terms of the release of a slave. (2) For
example, the two verbs ‘to drive out’ and ‘to send’ are common and characteristic terms of the exodus
(Ex 6:1; cf. Lk 1:51). (3) Jacob, together with the Israelites, returned to his homeland Canaan with a
wealth of possessions (Ex 12:36). (4) The division and separation themes appear in both accounts (Gn
30:40). (5) Military terminology is evident in both texts (Gn 32:2; Ex 12:41; Lk 1:51–52). (6) A change of
identity takes place in both the Old Testament and the New (Gn 32:28; Lk 1:48). (7) Service to God is
emphasised in both Genesis and Exodus (Gn 35:14–15; Ex 8:1) (cf. Daube 1979:63–64).
The period of the Exodus led by Moses
The Exodus led by Moses, which functions as an antitype, is a fulfilment of the events in the pre-Exodus
period. The Exodus itself functions as a pattern or paradigm for the later salvific acts of God. Thus,
the consummation, as well as the fulfilment, of the Exodus in the person and works of the new Moses,
1.When searching for the exodus theme in the Four Gospels, it is useful to compare Moses, who, as the representative of Israel, directly
received the OT law on Mount Sinai, with Jesus Christ, who, as the lawgiver, proclaimed the law of the eschatological kingdom of God.
Christ, as the inaugurator of the new Covenant, conveys the true meaning of the OT (in the Johannine term ‘truth’; cf. Lk 24:44). The
exodus theme in the Gospels is an important theological framework in which the typology of Moses and Jesus comes to the fore, as it
sheds light on the redemptive death and resurrection of Christ.
Original Research
Song & Du Rand
Jesus Christ, remain valid. The fact that the Exodus from Egypt
exemplifies a holistic salvation, which includes both physical and
spiritual aspects, foreshadows the holistic redemption attained
in Jesus. The Exodus led by Moses is the true and legitimate
beginning of the eschatological exodus theme.
The period of the Judges
The return of the ark from the Philistines during the time of judge
Samuel (1 Sm 6:6–21) is redolent of the exodus theme, in that
the event recalls the Exodus. Several parallels exist between the
return of the ark from the Philistines and the exodus motif: (1)
God punished both the gods of Egypt and those of the Philistines
(Ex 12:12; 1 Sm 5:3–4). In other words, the ark was not welcome
to the god Dagon. (2) God punished the Philistines by inflicting
tumours on them (Ex 9:10; 1 Sm 5:6). (3) The notion of service to
God is evident (1 Sm 7:3). (4) Similar words, such as ‘to smite’
(Ex 9:15; 1 Sm 5:12) and ‘plague’ (Ex 9:14; 1 Sm 6:4), can be seen
in both accounts (cf. Fretheim 1991:387).
(5) Moses and Samuel are comparable in terms of their leadership
of Israel (1 Sm 7:6–9, 15) (cf. Daube 1979:73–74). By recalling the
Exodus led by Moses, the return of the ark during the period
of the Judges is related to its return during the time of David.
In addition, the return of Ruth’s family from Moab can also be
understood in terms of the exodus theme.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #337
The period of King David
The Exodus and the Davidic covenants relate to each other: (1)
God performed great wonders to rescue his people (2 Sm 7:23–
24). (2) God drove nations (such as Egypt) and their gods away
from his people. The Davidic covenant, accordingly, not only
relates backwards to the Exodus, but also forwards to the eternal
Messianic kingdom of the future.
The periods of the pre-Babylonian and the postBabylonian exile
The period of the pre-Babylonian exile
As Collins (1995:156) claims, apart from Amos (Am 2:10; 9:7),
Micah is the only prophet to recite all that God as the Lord of the
world did for Israel during the Exodus, after which he refocuses
on the person of the worshipper. During the period of the preBabylonian exile, some prophets recalled the Exodus in their
proclaiming of both the leading of a moral life and the practising
of true worship as the appropriate lifestyle for the people of God.
Indeed, the Exodus imposes certain moral obligations on the
lifestyle which is required to be led by the people of God. In this
instance, the Exodus also functions as a paradigm for the preexile prophets. Even during this period of pre-exile, the exodus
theme reveals the scope of universalism. Moreover, the airing of
the exodus theme gave birth to the norms of the Israelites who
lived as the people of God during the pre-exile period.
The period of the post-Babylonian exile
In Isaiah, the hope of deliverance from exile is referred to, both
in terms of the Exodus and also in anticipating the Messianic
salvation (Is 42:1). The Abrahamic Covenant provided an
important motivation for liberation from exile (Is 41:8; cf. Collins
1995:157). The central themes of both Hosea and Ezekiel are
phrased in terms of the reminiscences of the Exodus. Hosea
provides the assurance that God will renew his Covenant by
again leading his people through the wilderness (Hs 2:14–20).
The Exodus furnishes evidence of God’s love for Israel (Hs 11:1;
Ezk 20). In post-exile times, the prophets considered Israel’s
breach with God’s norms, which, in a sense, derived from the
Exodus, as the reason for the Babylonian exile.2
2.The Book of Esther should be kept in mind, because Esther functions with the
exodus framework in the background. Though every detail of the exodus pattern
is not present in every instance of it, and there are twists in the way in which the
pattern is presented, the pattern is always obvious and clear. The following is the
sequence, as applied to Esther (see Jordan 1996:1–4):
(1) Some threat, some aspect of sin or of the curse, drives God’s people from their
home. The sins of Israel drove the Jews into exile in Babylon, which became Persia.
(2) During the sojourn in captivity, Eve (i.e. the exiled Jews) is assaulted by the
The period of Jesus Christ
Dillard and Longman rightly claim that
many parallels are drawn between the Exodus and Christ’s earthly
ministry, particularly during his passion. Jesus went to the cross
during the time of Passover. Christ fulfilled the Exodus during his
earthly ministry.
(Dillard & Longman 1994:66)
In fact, Jesus has recreated the new Israel through the restoration
that he achieved in his person and works. In a certain sense, the
Old Testament Exodus and the later salvations were confined
to the restoration. This is proven by the focus on the verbs ‘to
return’ and ‘to restore’ (1 Ki 13:3; Job 33:25; Hs 6:1). Jesus is the
leader or the redeemer of a new and final exodus, through which
God initiated his trans-historical plan, such as the new Messianic
era. The coming, the person, and the works of the Messiah
decisively fulfill all the previous exodus themes and implicitly
embody their consummation (cf. Kim 1997:636).
The period of the Apostles and the Early Church
During the period of the Apostles and the Early Church, the
exodus theme can be understood in terms of the suffering,
resurrection, and glorification of Christ. The archetypal exodus
of Christ legitimates the exodus of the Early Church. This is
demonstrated by Garrett (1990:670–680), who compares the
rescue of Peter (Ac 12:1–24) with both the resurrection of Jesus
(Lk 9:31) and the exodus. Garrett identifies several similarities
in such texts: (1) Peter’s imprisonment and rescue take place at
Passover (Ex 12; Ac 12:3–4, cf. Lk 22:1–2). (2) The concept of ‘[g]
etting up quickly’ (Ac 12:7) is closely related to the term ‘raise
up’, which is used to describe God’s action of raising Jesus
from the dead. (3) The sequence of events after Peter’s escape
recalls the events immediately following on Jesus’ resurrection
(Ac 12:13–14; cf. Lk 24:11). (4) The angel’s command to Peter to
‘dress yourself and put on your sandals’ (Ac 12:8) recalls God’s
instructions to the Israelites in Exodus 12:11. (5) The description
in Acts 12:11, ‘rescued me from the hand of Herod’ runs parallel
with that of the deliverance from the hands of the Egyptians (Ex
3:8). The above similarities demonstrate that the deliverance of
Peter enacts the meaning of Jesus’ resurrection (i.e. the archetypal
exodus).
The development of the redemptive revelation history illustrates
the fulfillment of the exodus theme in Jesus Christ. God has
properly applied, and has repeatedly fulfilled, the exodus theme
in every period by means of one great watershed, namely the
cross and resurrection of Christ as the decisive fulfillment of the
(footnote 2 Cont..)
Serpent, who wishes to use her to raise up his own wicked seed. While nothing is
said about Ahasuerus desiring children from Esther, he does take her into his harem because she is beautiful, the same reason Pharaoh took Sarai from Abram in
Genesis 12 (one of the earliest exoduses). In the Esther events, though, there is a
twist: the ‘attack’ on Eve is not really an attack at all, but rather something Mordecai
and Esther cooperate with.
(3) The righteous use ‘holy deception’ to trick the serpent and protect Eve. Esther
tricks Haman into thinking he is going to be honoured, and in a way tricks Ahasuerus
into a situation where he is confronted with Haman’s perfidy.
(4) Very often, God’s people are enslaved during the sojourn outside the land. In a
strict sense, that is not the case in this instance.
(5) God brings blessings upon his people during the captivity, but plagues the tyrant,
either progressively or as part of the deliverance. Haman notes that the Jews have
the blessing of keeping their own laws in the empire of Persia. The destruction of
Haman is the plagues on the tyrant.
(6) God miraculously intervenes, often with visions to the pagan lord, in order to
save his people. The dream given to the pagan lord during the night is, in this case,
Ahasuerus’ sleepless night during which he is read the chronicles of his reign, and
determines to bless Mordecai.
(7 ) Very often the serpent tries to shift blame and accuses the righteous man of
being the cause of the difficulty. In Esther 3 Haman insinuates to Ahasuerus that the
Jews are troubling his empire.
(8) God humiliates the false gods of the enemy. Haman clearly has his own gods;
in fact, when he boasts of his glory and praises his own accomplishments, Haman
seems to be his own god (Es 5:11).
(9) God’s people depart with spoils. Since God wanted the Jews to be ‘spread out as
the four winds’ within the empire, no geographical departure was needed.
(10) On the way, God’s people are attacked (Ex 17; 1 Sm 15). Cyrus has let the
people return, which is the initial Exodus. Now the Jews are attacked by Haman
the Agagite.
(11) Finally, God’s people are installed in the Holy Land. Such installment means
building God’s house out of some of the spoils. The Jews did not take the spoils for
themselves, but set them aside for God.
Original Research
theme. Therefore, each fulfillment in every period has naturally
to be connected to Christ, whether explicitly, implicitly or even
partially.
The exodus theme in Revelation 12–13
The exodus theme in the Book of Revelation3 in
general
In the Book of Revelation, the soteriological message is anchored
in Jesus Christ’s eschatological salvific works and is aligned
with the blessings which his saving work brings to the universal
Church, as well as to the whole of creation (Du Rand 1993:310).
According to Jenkins (1972:68, 71), John alludes to the Book of
Exodus 27 times, particularly in emphasising the event of the
Exodus itself. John draws images from the past redemptive work
of God (i.e. the Exodus) and presents them anew as the vehicle
of the present moment to encourage his community to endure
those persecutions to which they are being subjected.
Many obvious parallels between Exodus 15 and Revelation 15
are important: (1) The theme of victory in Exodus 15 becomes
the basis for praise in Revelation 15:3–4 (Mounce 1983:287). (2)
Several Exodus terms, such as ‘glory’, ‘victory’, and ‘tabernacle’
are used in both texts (cf. Ex 15:11; Rv 15:4). (3) The entire scene
of Revelation 15:2 revives the memory of the Israelites standing
on the shore of the Red Sea. (4) The seven plagues (Rv 11:6; 15:8)
recall the ten plagues which were inflicted on Egypt. (5) The
universal recognition of Jahweh as the one true God (Ex 15:14;
Rv 15:4) is a common theme (Mounce 1983:288).
The exodus theme in Revelation 12-13
The provision by the exodus theme of a theological framework
for New Testament authors, including John, should be seen in the
light of the relevance of Revelation 12–13 for the exodus motif.
John offers a view to the oppressed Christians in Asia Minor in
the form of a symbol derived from the Exodus experience of
deliverance and liberation. In particular, John aims to convince
his audiences that they comprise the community of the new
Exodus.
3.In their recent commentary on the NT use of the OT, Beale & McDonough (2007:1082)
hold that in Revelation roughly more than half of the OT references are from Psalms,
Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. They also agree that the accounts of the plagues in
Exodus are the source of some of the most startling imagery in Revelation. In
addition, the theme of liberation from oppressive rulers is the predominant motif in
Exodus and Revelation.
John’s allusion to especially Dt. 32:10–11 is significant, for in the
text Moses compares God’s presence with Israel in the wilderness
to God’s presence at creation in Gen. 1:2. That Moses does in fact
make this comparison is signalled by two points. On the one hand,
the typical verb used to describe God’s activity in Dt. 32:11 occurs
again in the Pentateuch only when Moses describes the Spirit’s
activity at creation in Gen. 1:2b. On the other hand, the noun used
to describe the wilderness where God accompanied Israel in Dt.
32:10 occurs again in the Pentateuch only when Moses describes
the state of the earth over which the Spirit hovered at creation in
Gen. 1:2a. From these lexical parallels it is not difficult to see that in
Dt. 32:10–11 and Ex. 19:4 Moses interprets the Exodus event as a
redemptive re-enactment of creation, indeed as Israel’s redemptive
re-creation. When John alludes to those texts in Rev. 12:14, it is no
more difficult to see that he understands the woman’s experiences
as her participation in the new Exodus under the Lamb. … John
is also telling us that the woman’s participation in the Messianic
Exodus entails her redemptive re-creation.
(White 1989:117–118)
Article #337
The three songs in Revelation 19:1–8 emphasise the fulfilled
salvation and the triumphant kingdom of God, despite the
constant threat posed by Christ’s enemies. The martyrs praise
the characteristics of God, namely his truth and righteousness,
which accord with his works (Rv 19:2). Jesus fulfills the role of
the Paschal Lamb (Is 53:7), causing the triumphant redeemed
to sing ‘the Hallel [i.e. Hallelujah] Psalms’ (Ps 113–118, cf. Ex
15:21; Rv 19:1,3,4,6). In John’s contemporary context, the jubilant
proclamation of ‘Hallelujah! The Lord our God the Almighty
reigns’ (Rv 19:6) strongly affirms God’s absolute sovereignty,
which recalls the punishment that was imposed on the Egyptian
gods (Ex 12:12; Boring 1986:257). In short, John’s first readers,
who formed part of the new Exodus community, must have
been encouraged by the singing of such songs.
The woman’s flight to the wilderness is described in terms of
an exodus (Rv 12:6,13). The desert (Rv 12:6,14) is a common
symbol in both the Old and New Testaments for a place of God’s
protection while waiting for the fulfillment of his promises. Even
the eagle’s wings (Rv 12:14) make patent reference to Exodus
19:4 and Deuteronomy 32:10–12, in which the wings of the eagle
are a symbol of God’s protection and providence (cf. Mazzaferri
1989:371). In Revelation 12:14 the combination of the exodus
theme and the re-creation theme is emphasised. White correctly
articulates the point as follows:
Verbum et Ecclesia
All those redeemed on earth shall stand at the sea of glass to
join the victorious crowd in singing the song of Moses and of
the Lamb (Rv 15:3), with their song, therefore, combining the
imagery of both the Old and the New Testament. Moreover,
the multitudes (Rv 15:2) also sing about the fulfillment of all
the prophecies, in that all nations shall fear God and glorify his
name (cf. Hoeksema 1974:522–526). The implication is that the
nation of Israel in the Old Testament already sang the song of
the Lamb, with the people of the Lamb in the New Testament
also singing the song of Moses (cf. Du Rand 1997:273). Thus, the
song of Moses is theologically congruent with the song of the
Lamb. The old and the new dispensations both sing about the
same message: God’s salvation.
John associates the dragon (Rv 12:3) with Egypt and Rome or
Jerusalem, since the Old Testament metaphors of the sea monster
predominantly portray Egypt as an opponent of God’s people
(Ps 74:13–14; 89:10; Hab 3:8–15). John sees (Rv 12) a repetition
of the exodus pattern (Beale 1999:633). When he narrates how
the dragon appears in heaven, he describes it as ‘red’. This is the
only instance in the whole Bible where the dragon is referred to
as being of that colour. The red dragon is reminiscent of the Red
Sea of the Old Testament, which should have indicated to John’s
audiences that, although the dragon is awe-inspiring, God will
surely overcome it. In line with the long tradition of the Jewish
people, Jewish audiences would immediately have understood
God’s impending overthrow of the dragon, as soon as John said
that it was red (Kio 1989:131). The key incident in Revelation
12:4 to which the idea corresponds, and in which it is realised,
may be found in Pharaoh’s efforts to destroy the infant Moses
(Miligan 1889:202).
Apart from the purely metaphorical meaning of God’s protection,
in terms of the allusion made in Exodus 19:4 to ‘bearing you on
eagle’s wings’, such imagery may also be political in nature. In
Egypt, the vulture goddess Nekhbet represented Upper Egypt,
protecting both Pharaoh and the land. Nekhbet, who was
depicted as being particularly maternal, was believed to assist
at royal and divine births. Her temple in el-Kab was worked on
extensively during the reign of the Eighteenth Dynasty, toward
the end of the Israelites’ captivity in Egypt, indicating that she
was a popular goddess at the time. In Egypt, God protected the
Israelites, as can be seen in both Exodus 19:4 and Deuteronomy
32:11, which speak of the Lord’s care and protection of his people,
in terms of imagery reminiscent of the Egyptian metaphors of
care and protection (Walton & Matthews 1997:106,267).
In terms of the exodus motif, blood (Rv 12:11) serves as a seal of
protection and safety. In contrast, blood, as a symbol of death,
binds both God and the people together as one in partnership
in the Covenant seal (Ex 19:4–6; 24:3–8; Kio 1989:134). Although
John’s clear intertextual references to the Exodus cannot be
denied, it should be noted that White points out the difference
between the victory in Revelation 12:11 and the victory that was
experienced during the Exodus of the Old Testament:
The great irony of Israel’s victory over the dragon (Egypt) had
been that, though they were released from Egypt, they were not
Original Research
Song & Du Rand
released from their sins. Therefore, through the law given to Israel
in their continuing bondage to sin, God could accuse them of sins
and by his indictments subject them to the curses of defeat and
death. The saints’ victory over the dragon, however, is profoundly
different. As depicted in Revelation 12:10–11, the holy seed is still
accused of sins, but they are accused by the dragon, not by God.
(White 1989:114)
Hanson (1993:226) captures the significance of the allusion to
blood (Rv 12:11; cf. Rv 7:14; 19:13) in terms of the pure–impure
social system. He compares Revelation with Leviticus: In contrast
to the Aaronic priesthood, who must use animal blood within
the confines of a sanctuary, the Lamb’s4 blood accomplishes
redemption for all, creating a new community, in which all
members are, at least symbolically, priests (Rv 5:9–10; 7:14). The
image of the blood of the Lamb also reverses the categorisation of
blood on garments in Leviticus 6:27. Instead of being a source of
pollution, the Lamb’s blood becomes a metaphor of purification,
when the saints and the Word of God wash their robes in it (Rv
19:13–14; cf. Lv 7:14; 19:13).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #337
Embedded in the exodus motif, John also uses ‘the eagle
metaphor’ (Rv 12:14), which was familiar to his audience in Asia
Minor as a symbol of the Roman army. John uses the metaphor
in order to accentuate the fact that it is not Rome, but God, who
protects the seven churches in Asia Minor. As Sweet (1990:203)
notes, the model for her flight (Rv 12:14) is the Exodus story.
God brought his people on eagle’s wings into the wilderness
(Ex 19:4).5,6 The river-flood (Rv 12:15) evokes Pharaoh’s attempt
to destroy male Israelites in the river (Ex 1:22), as well as his
pursuit of the Israelites in the gap created in the waters of the
Red Sea (Ex 14:21; cf. Beale & McDonough 2007:1126).
Revelation 12:16 may be linked to Exodus 15:12: ‘…You
stretched forth your right hand, the earth swallowed them up…’
(Minear 1991:76). The ‘…earth opening its mouth…’ (Rv 12:16)
also calls to mind the destruction of Korah in Deuteronomy 11:6:
‘… the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them…’ (cf. Gn
4:1–16; Nm 16:30–33). The earth’s protection of the woman in
Revelation 12:16 ironically reverses the earth’s endangerment
of the remaining Israelites in Numbers 16:34 and Deuteronomy
11:6. Although John freely uses and alters the exodus motif, the
results of the new Exodus are the same as those of the old: the
mother of the seed, as it were, walks on dry land through the
midst of the waters (Ex 15:19; cf. White 1989:118).
When John records the dragon’s rage over the woman’s escape,
and his leaving of her to wage war against the rest of her seed in
Revelation 12:17, he characterises such seed as those ‘who keep
the authoritative instruction of God and hold to the testimony
of Jesus’ (cf. Rv 14:12). The phrase ‘obey God’s commandments’
bears a theological intertextuality to Exodus. During the time of
the Exodus, the Israelites’ obedience to God’s commandments
would have signified the victory of the nation over sin, the
sequel to which would have been her re-creation as God’s holy
kingdom (cf. Rv 1:5–6). The phrase describing the seed’s keeping
of God’s authoritative instruction (i.e. his Commandments) in
Revelation 12:17, indicates the seed’s re-creation as the kingdom
constituted by the Lamb. In fact, the salvation of John’s audience
surpasses that of Israel: unlike the nation of Israel, his audience
would have been constituted as God’s kingdom not simply by
divine precept, but also by divine power (White 1989:120–121).
4.The idea of a lamb being offered as a cultic sacrifice certainly contributes to this imagery. One should not over hastily interpret the lamb image as being solely, or even
primarily, part of cultic-sacrificial terminology (see Reddish 1995:215).
5.Instead of the second person plural pronoun of MT, the translators of LXX use the
third person, which is short for ‘you yourselves’ with the meaning of ‘you have seen
what I have done’. In the past, the Israelites had taken note not only of the salvific
acts, but also of God’s bringing them as on eagles’ wings, meaning that they soared
with ease, being both provided for and protected by him at Sinai, where the Covenant
between God and his people was formally enacted (see Wevers 1990:293–294).
6.Compare Dt 32:11: ‘eagle’s wings’ with Rv 12:14, where God’s people were
nourished for 42 years.
Revelation 13:4 might be a parody of Exodus 15:11, in the sense
that the beast’s victory over death is paralleled with God’s
victory over the Egyptians (Kraft 1974:272). In terms of such
thinking, the dragon’s sending of the two beasts (Rv 13:1,11)
would correspond with the test inflicted at the hands of Balak
and Balaam,7 whom the Israelites encountered upon their entry
into the promised land (Sweet 1990:203). The rhetorical question,
‘Who is like the beast?’ (Rv 13:4) echoes the type of language
that was frequently used to praise God in biblical times, such
as ‘Who is like you, Lord, among the gods’8 (Ex 15:11; cf. also
Ps 35:10; 113:5; Beckwith 1967:636). Following on the rhetorical
question ‘who is like the beast, and who is able to wage war
against him?’, three aspects of Yahweh’s incomparability are
raised in a further rhetorical question: his magnificent holiness;
his praiseworthy deeds; and his extraordinary accomplishment.
Thus, John reminds his audience of the strong contrast between
the true God and the beast, urging them to remain faithful to the
incomparable God.
The temple motif is also an important part of the exodus theme
in Revelation 13:6. The fellowship and residence of God in the
tabernacle in the historical Exodus event (Ex 40:34) foreshadow
God’s dwelling and fellowship in the true temple, which is
embodied in those believers who experience the new Exodus in
Christ (cf. Rv 21:3). The Exodus, which was led by Moses, is not
only transformed into a form of new exodus by Christ, but is also
a form of deliverance from exile. So, the exodus led by Jesus is
the archetype of the consummated salvation of God in future, as
well as the antitype of the Exodus led by Moses.
In Revelation 13:8 (as well as in Rv 5:6, 9,12), John uses the word
‘slaughter’ for ‘slain’. Since ‘slaughter’ refers to the violent death
of the lamb slaughtered in sacrifice (Ex 12:6), the image evokes
the memory of Israel’s Exodus and liberation from Egypt,
which was considered in Judaism as a prototype of the final
eschatological salvation (Kio 1989:132–133).
The mark of the beast in Revelation 13:17 (cf. Rv 14:9b), which
signifies that those marked in this way belong to the beast, is
equated to the sign in Exodus 13:9,16. Both books define the
mark as a proof of possession (Kio 1989:126). Another echo of the
mark that is first described in Exodus consists of the first plague
of the seven bowls in Revelation 16:2, which appears as ‘an ugly
and painful sore’ on those who bear the mark of the beast and
worship his image (cf. Ex. 9:9–11).
Relying on the exodus-based intertextual theme, John offers his
worldview to the oppressed Christians in Asia Minor, consisting,
as it does, of a symbolic world, which is derived from the Exodus
experience of deliverance and liberation. In order to accomplish
his goal, John uses a number of exodus symbols and images. He
does so not for the sake of secrecy, but rather for the sake of
7.According to the OT, in only two cases (Gn 3:1–5; Nm 22:22–35) are animals
endowed with the capacity to express themselves articulately, with, in such cases,
the impact of their speech being central to the understanding of the texts concerned.
A number of significant intertextual parallels among Gn 3:1–5, Nm 22:22–35, and
Rv 13 reveal John’s exodus intertextuality in connection with Genesis. Although
there are partial parallels, the outstanding parallels consist of the following: (1) The
ass, the snake, and the beast use interrogatory statements to persuade the listener,
though their questions have different rhetorical intent (Gn 3:4–5; Nm 22:28; cf. Rv
13:4). (2) The image of an angel armed with a sword is common to the three stories
(Gn 3:24; Nm 22:31; cf. Rv 13:10). (3) The motif of knowledge or wisdom is also
common to the three accounts (Gn 3:6; Nm 23:34; Rv 13:18). (4) Obedience to the
voice of the snake and the beast entails the rejection of divine authority. (5) Evil
is associated with a foreign ruler in the story in Numbers and Revelation. (6) The
animals speak only by divine initiative (e.g. the divine passive in Rv 13), and have no
special powers of their own. (7) In the three texts, it seems that the animals exhibit
a deeper understanding of the relationship between the human and the divine than
do their human counterparts. (8) The three animals lead people astray. Whereas the
snake and the beast do so figuratively, the ass does so literally. (9) The significance
of cursing in the three texts is noteworthy (Gn 3:14–19; Nm 22:17; Rv 13:6). The
intertextual relationship among the stories of the anomalous animal speech sheds
light on the larger patterns of inner-biblical interpretation (see Savran 1994:34, 55).
8.The hymnodic lines are nominal clauses, with attributive modifiers emphasising the
point of comparison in the question ‘who is like you?’. The first instance is modified
simply by a prepositional phrase ‘in God’. The phrase, in turn, influences the ‘in’
phrase, which follows in the next line, i.e. ‘among the holy ones’, with MT having
a singular word: ‘holiness’. The latter might be translated as ‘among the holy ones’
(Wevers 1990:231).
Original Research
impact. Such symbolism and imagery powerfully convey a sense
of evocative and emotive force (Kio 1989:131). In particular, John
uses the battle between God and the dragon of Egypt to explain
Christ’s inaugural victory over the dragon which wages war
against the Church. John intends to convince his audience, as the
community of the new Exodus, of the fact that God’s protection
leads them to the asylum in Pella via the Jordan River during the
Jewish-Roman War (Rev. 12:6,14; cf. Kraft 1974:264).
The exodus intertextuality is so closely intertwined with the
re-creation motif that John clearly compares the status of his
audience with that of the Israelites in the Old Testament. If
Revelation 12–13 is read in terms of the exodus intertexts,
such intertextuality functions as a paradigm for describing
God’s saving of his own people, as well as his judgement of
the oppressors (cf. Du Rand 1996:52–53). The eschatological
redemption in terms of the exodus theme for which Christ has
worked is so clear in Revelation 12–13 that God’s people in Asia
Minor, who have already experienced salvation, but who still
anticipate its consummation,9 are compelled to praise God with
great joy.
REFERENCES
Aune, D.E., 1998, Revelation 6–16: Word biblical commentary, 52B,
Thomas Nelson Publishers, Nashville.
Beale, G.K., 1999, The Book of Revelation, NIGTC, Eerdmans,
Grand Rapids.
Beale, G.K. & McDonough, S.M., 2007, ‘Revelation’, in G.K. Beale
& D.A. Carson (eds.), Commentary on the New Testament use
of the Old Testament, pp. 1081–1161, Baker Academic, Grand
Rapids.
Beasley-Murray, G.R., 1997, ‘Book of Revelation’, in R.P. Martin
& P.H. Davids (eds.), Dictionary of the later New Testament and
its developments, pp. 1025–1038, IVP, Downers Grove.
Beckwith, I.T., 1967, The Apocalypse of John: Studies in introduction
with a critical and exegetical commentary, Baker, Grand Rapids.
Article #337
Conclusion
The Exodus, which took place at the time of Moses, functions
both as an antitype for the pre-Exodus period and as a type for
the post-Exodus period. Although the Exodus theme begins
with the full-scale exodus from Egypt, the cross and resurrection
of Christ, the new Moses and the Son of David play the crucial
role of archetype for all exodus events in the progressive
redemptive history. Jesus’ exodus from Jerusalem (Lk 9:31) is,
by way of typological interpretation, the consummated exodus
of the new covenantal people at his Parousia in the final stage of
redemptive history. Revelation 12–13 expresses the fulfillment
of the exodus and provides a foretaste of its consummation on
the basis of Jesus’ archetypal Exodus. The seven churches in Asia
Minor, as a new Exodus and re-created community, must have
experienced the new and eschatological exodus from the Roman
and the apostate Jewish persecuting power.
Verbum et Ecclesia
In summary, in John’s use of the exodus theme, he sometimes
changes its expression and thought in terms of the archetypal
exodus of Christ, in order to make his message fit his audience.
In this sense, John understands that the exodus is not so much
‘Christocentric’ as ‘Christotelic’, in that the person and works
of Christ serve as the starting point for an understanding of the
Old and New Testament texts. The exodus theme is so closely
intertwined with the re-creation motif that John is clearly able to
accentuate the superior status of his audience (as the re-created
new Exodus community) to that of the Israelites in the Book of
Exodus. If Revelation 12–13 is read from the exodus intertexts,
the exodus theme functions as a paradigm for describing God’s
saving of his own people, as well as his judgement of their
oppressors.
Boring, M.E., 1986, ‘The theology of Revelation: The Lord our
God the Almighty reigns’, Interpretation 40(3), 257–269.
Broyles, C.C., 1992, ‘Moses’, in J.B. Green, S. McKnight & I.H.
Marshall (eds.), Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, pp. 560–
562, Inter-Varsity Press, Leicester.
Chevalier, J.M., 1997, A postmodern Revelation: signs of astrology
and the Apocalypse, University of Toronto Press, Toronto.
Collins, J.J., 1995, ‘The Exodus and biblical theology’, Biblical
Theology Bulletin 25(4), 152–160.
Daube, D., 1979, The exodus pattern in the Bible, Greenwood Press,
Westport.
Dillard, R.B. & Longman, T., 1994, An introduction to the Old
Testament, Zondervan, Grand Rapids.
Du Rand, J.A., 1993, ‘A “basso ostinato” in the structuring of the
Apocalypse of John?’, Neotestamentica 27(2), 299–311.
Du Rand, J.A., 1996, ‘“… Let him hear what the Spirit says …”:
The functional role and theological meaning of the Spirit in
the Book of Revelation’, Ex Auditu 12, 43–58.
Du Rand, J.A., 1997, Johannine perspectives. Part 1: Introduction to
the Johannine writings, Orion, Johannesburg.
Fretheim, T.E., 1991, ‘The plagues as ecological signs of historical
disaster’, Journal of Biblical Literature 110(3), 385–396.
Garrett, S.R., 1990, ‘Exodus from bondage: Luke 9:31 and Acts
12:1–24’, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 52(4), 656–680.
Goldsworthy, G., 1991, According to plan, Korea Scripture Union,
Seoul.
Hanson, K.C., 1993, ‘Blood and purity in Leviticus and
Revelation’, Listening 28(3), 215–230.
Hoeksema, H., 1974, Behold, He come: An exposition of the Book
of Revelation, Reformed Free Publishing Association, Grand
Rapids.
Jenkins, F., 1972, The Old Testament in the Book of Revelation,
Cogdill Foundation Publications, Marion.
Jordan, J.B., 1996, ‘Esther: historical & chronological comments
(II)’, Biblical Chronology 8(4), 1–4.
Kariamadam, P., 1997, ‘Transfiguration and Jesus’ ascended
glory’, Bible Bhashyam 23(1), 1–13.
Kim, S.Y., 1997, ‘Kingdom of God’, in R.P. Martin & P.H. Davids
(eds.), Dictionary of the later New Testament and its developments,
pp. 629–638, Inter-Varsity Press, Leicester.
Kio, S.H., 1989, ‘The Exodus symbol of liberation in the
Apocalypse and its relevance for some aspects of translation’,
Bible Translator 40, 120–135.
Kraft, H., 1974, Die Offenbarung des Johannes, Mohr-Siebeck,
Tübingen.
Mazzaferri, F.D., 1989, The genre of the Book of Revelation from a
source-critical perspective, De Gruyter, Berlin.
Miligan, W., 1889, The Book of Revelation, Hodder & Stoughton,
London.
Minear, P.S., 1991, ‘Far as the curse is found: The point of
Revelation 12:15–16’, Novum Testamentum 30(1), 71–77.
Mounce, R.H., 1983, The Book of Revelation, Eerdmans, Grand
Rapids.
Reddish, M.G., 1995, ‘Martyr Christology in the Apocalypse’,
in S.E. Porter & C.A. Evans (eds.), The Johannine writings:
A Sheffield reader, pp. 212–222, Sheffield Academic Press,
Sheffield.
Savran, G., 1994, ‘Beastly speech: Intertextuality, Balaam’s ass
and the Garden of Eden’, Journal for the Study of the Old
Testament, 64, 33–55.
Sweet, J.P.M., 1990, Revelation, SCM, London.
Walton, J.H. & Matthews, V.H., 1997, The IVP Bible background
commentary: Genesis-Deuteronomy, IVP, Downers Grove.
Wevers, J.W., 1990, Notes on the Greek text of Exodus, Scholars
Press, Atlanta.
Wevers, J.W., 1995, Notes on the Greek text of Deuteronomy, Scholars
Press, Atlanta.
White, R.F., 1989, Victory and house building in Revelation 20:1–
21:8: A thematic study, UMI, Ann Arbor.
9.The story of salvation, the new Exodus, ends at Revelation 21:8, with its depiction of
the new creation. The description of the bride of the Lamb is deliberately contrasted
to the antichristian city, which is described in Revelation 17. For this reason, the
Book of Revelation reaches its climax as the story of the harlot and the bride. It is, in
truth, a tale of two cities (Beasley-Murray 1997:1031).
Inviting and initiating
youth into a life of
discipleship
Malan Nel
Photo Title: Asking Help
Taken by: Sanja Gjenero
Original Research
Author:
Malan Nel1
Affiliation:
1
Centre for Contextual
Ministry, University of
Correspondence to:
Malan Nel
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
PO Box 12549, Hatfield,
Gauteng, 0028, South Africa
Keywords:
youth; discipleship; youth
ministry; commitment;
Christian message
Dates:
Received: 14 Apr. 2009
Post-modern emerging movements might just be a form of serious reductionism of the gospel, and
especially of the faith community as a gospel community. Only time teaches whether something new
is an instance of reformation or deformation. Let us hope that we live in a time of reformation, during
which we are at least able to recognise the sequence of ‘absolutized reductionisms’ in both our past
and present, which will allow us enough time in which to repent and reverse our ways. Many renewal
movements have proved to be a ‘reaction to various forms of reductionism’ and ‘called the church
(back) to greater faithfulness to the gospel’ (Guder 2000:103). Some of McLaren’s writings deal with
such a phenomenon. His case for generous orthodoxy is largely an attempt to unite the two concepts of
generosity and orthodoxy, despite an admission that such concepts, in conventional church parlance,
tend to be used in such a way as to exclude each other, in ‘oxymoronic’ fashion (McLaren 2004:27; also
cf. McLaren 2008, to which reference is made below).
The research question/problem on which I want to reflect in this article is whether we have lost the radical
nature of the faith community as disciples of Jesus and seekers of the Kingdom. Have we to follow Jesus into
the mission field?1 If so, how should we invite and initiate youth into a life of discipleship?
Article #344
at:
INTRODUCTION
The gospel of the Kingdom is our message, as it was the message of Jesus (cf. Lk 8:1–3). Reducing
the gospel of the Kingdom to a culturally manageable entity is more than a temptation: it is a reality.
Our ‘sinfulness expresses itself in a constant, and often subtle process: While adapting the gospel to
the cultural context, which is essential to faithful witness, there is always the temptation to bring the
gospel under control, to make it manageable’ (Guder 2000:97). Reductions take place, in any case,
in translating the gospel. When reduction becomes a game of (usually cultural) control, it becomes
‘reductionism’ (Guder 2000:100). Such devaluation of the gospel, which is inflationary in nature, has
occurred since the beginning of the Christian era, being almost fast tracked in the post-Constantine era,
with ongoing serious consequences.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Nel, M., 2009, ‘Inviting and
initiating youth into a life
of discipleship’, Verbum
11 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.344
ABSTRACT
The research question/problem with which this article deals is whether we have lost the radical
nature of the faith community as disciples of Jesus and seekers of the Kingdom of God? In youth
ministry children and adolescents are often invited to make a decision for Christ as if such a
decision comprises the totality of being a Christian. Being a Christian, as with being a disciple,
consists of more than a mere decision. Both the Old and New Testaments reveal greater depth
to such a commitment. Discipleship involves following Christ in a more considered way. Such a
commitment requires the willingness to be initiated and guided into the acquisition of wisdom
which enables one to discern what the more appropriate options are for a Christian to make.
Given such a positioning, the role of the faith community as a people demands consideration. This
article argues that we are the invitation and recommends how to frame the invitation.
The church began to lose its discipleship focus very early on in history. While Guder (2000:106–113)
does not specifically refer to such lack of focus as reductionism, such might have been one of the
most ‘disastrous’ reductionisms. Christians have often, throughout the history of Christendom, sought
acceptance through belonging to an
organization that is conservative, accepts secular order, dominates the masses, has universal claims, and
therefore uses ... the state and the ruling classes to sustain and expand its domination and to stabilize and
determine the social order.
(Rasmusson 1995:234)
Whether such a Christendom still exists is doubtful (cf. Guder [1998:46–54], for a description of the
‘disestablishment’ of Christendom).
To the extent that we have lost the radical nature of the church, we might have lost the art of discipleship
(cf. Schaller 1999; Snyder 2005).
My research hypotheses are as follows:
• Kingdom-seeking churches are serious about discipleship and disciple-making churches are
serious about the Kingdom of God and his justice under his rule.
• When we recover the ‘making of disciples’, youth, together with their ‘disciple makers’, will ‘make
disciples’, seeking the Kingdom passionately and responsibly.
I would like to take two well-known pericopes from the gospel of Matthew as theological departure
points for the above hypotheses:
Creative Commons
• Matthew 6, verses 24 to 34, with special reference to verse 33: ‘But seek first his Kingdom and his
righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well’ (NIV).
• Matthew 28, verses 18 to 20, with special reference to verses 18 and 19: ‘All authority in heaven
and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples (mathyteusate) of all nations...’
(NIV).
1.In reference to the subtitle of Easum’s (2001) Unfreezing moves: Following Jesus into the mission field.
Original Research
Nel
UNDERSTANDING DISCIPLESHIP
A look at Scripture
Learning and discipleship
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #344
The concept ‘disciple’ has a unique dimension in the New
Testament. The New Testament writers did not invent the word.
In the antique Greek world, the concept was used to refer to an
apprentice (Rengstorf 1967:415). The concept also refers to the
intellectual bond between teacher and pupil. Such a meaning
is rooted in the verb manthanein, which literally means focusing
your thoughts on something (Rengstorf 1967:391). The verb, which
is used 55 times in the Greek translation of the Old Testament,
is used to translate more than one Hebrew word. It is clear that
the ‘attitude sought in manthanountes is that of obedience of the
whole man to God in the doing of his will’ (Rengstorf 1967:401).
‘Learning’ is the process by which a people apply themselves to
the doing of the will of God, as revealed to them in the Tôrâ. An
obedient Israelite is a pupil or disciple of the Law. He not only
understands the Law, but is also obedient to the Person of God
– he does God’s will. As time went by, the teaching of rabbinic
Judaism developed an intellectual bias.
The verb manthanein is found, surprisingly, only 25 times in the
New Testament, while another word for teaching, didaskein,
is used four times as often. Similarly, the word manthanein
is found only six times in the Gospels and Acts. Scholars say
this is because the verb ‘to follow’ (akolouthein) is the word
used most often to describe the New Testament disciple,
rather than the term manthanein, which is used for ‘teaching’ or
‘instruction’ (Rengstorf 1967:406). Such a finding does not imply
that teaching and instruction are treated as unimportant in the
New Testament. The New Testament teaching, however, differs
from the rabbinical emphasis on mere intellectual teaching
and instruction. Jesus neither merely conveys information, nor
does he tend to enshrine reigning attitudes. Rather, he seeks
to awaken an unconditional dedication to, and bonding with,
himself.
The term ‘disciple’ (mathytys) is a derivative of manthanein (Louw
& Nida 1988:328). As stated above, in the Greek world, the word
has been used for an apprentice, as well as for an enthusiastic
follower, even an imitator, of a teacher (cf. Rengstorf 1967:417).
Manthanein also refers to a ‘process by which one arrives at
understanding which seems to be semantically dominant in the
meaning of this series’ (Louw & Nida 1988:381).
The New Testament term for ‘disciple’ (mathytys) does not
appear in the Greek translation of the Old Testament. The
Hebrew equivalent for disciple is found in the Old Testament
only in 1 Chronicles 25:8, where it is translated in the NIV as
‘student’ (the Hebrew Talmid). It is striking that, in the Old
Testament, it is the people of God as a whole who have to teach
and instruct. All the people of God must know and obey his
will. The vocation to be God’s people and to know and obey
his will is of the greatest importance in the revelation of God
in the Old Testament (cf. Dt 4:10; 5:1; 6:1; Smart [1954], for an
overview of how Old Israel approached the practice of teaching).
Such communal following, on the basis of God’s choice of Israel,
is seen as the most important reason why the noun is not used
in the Old Testament. The use of a noun would emphasise
the individual, which would contradict the tenet of the Old
Testament, with such an individual being seen as one who
gives merely of himself. Such a focus on self would tend to have
separated the individual from the other members of the ‘chosen
people’ as a whole (Rengstorf 1967:412).
Similarly, the Greek emphasis on the Lord–pupil relationship is
missing from the Old Testament, in terms of which God himself
is the teacher, as is the Tôrâ. The strong revelatory character of
Old Testament religion relativises man as teacher. The rabbinic
disciple was not an individualist. If he had been, he would have
placed himself outside the circle of other rabbinic disciples.
Jesus encountered rabbinic Judaism and its idea of the teacher
(rabbi/pupil/disciple) in the Israel of his time. The system
he encountered contained a distinction between two types of
disciples – those who were just starting out on their study of
rabbinic writings, and a second group of scholars who were so far
advanced that they could choose what to study independently.
However, the rabbinic ideas on discipleship were now also
influenced by ideas from the Hellenistic world. The rabbis
integrated many such ideas into their own mindset, especially
regarding their own concern for, and preoccupation with, the
Tôrâ. A legalistic bent dominated religion and the teaching of the
rabbis and their pupils. Jesus often criticised the Pharisees for
their preoccupation with the teachings of men, rather than with
focusing on an understanding of the real meaning of the will of
God, as revealed in the Tôrâ (cf. Mt 12:1–8; 15:1–23).
As has already been said, the term disciple in the New Testament
is found only in the Gospels and Acts. The noun is used about
250 times (some say 259 times; Lawson 1981:51), in contrast to
the verb, which is rarely used (especially in the Gospels). The
noun refers to those who are committed to Jesus as their master
or rabbi. Such is, indeed, the main point of New Testament
discipleship – ‘disciple’ implies the existence of a personal bond,
which determines the whole life of the individual. The bond is
clear in respect of which of the two (the teacher or the pupil) has
the power and influence to change people (Rengstorf 1967:441).
Therefore, New Testament discipleship reminds us of the Old
Testament bond between God and his people. What distinguishes
New Testament discipleship is the Person and Work of Jesus,
who calls people to become his disciples. While the initiative in
rabbinic Judaism lay with the individual to join the righteous
(with the pupil choosing the rabbi), it is Jesus himself who saw,
chose, and called his pupils. Although there are examples of
such occurrences in Greek literature, it remains a dimension
unique to the Gospels. The accent is exclusively on the person
of Jesus, with the truth explaining the strong emphasis on his
words in the context of discipleship (cf. Jn 8:31, 15). After the
Resurrection, too, the disciples rallied round the risen Person of
the Christ (and his words).
While rabbis and Greek philosophers all presented a specific
subject to their pupils, Jesus Christ presents (sacrifices) himself.
Two things constitute Biblical discipleship:
• acceptance into a personal relationship with Him who calls
you to belong to Him; and
• a vocation, which means that you have to be a follower and
pupil of the Christ who has called you.
(Rengstorf 1967:446)
In other words, according to Rengstorf (1967:406),
Jesus’s concern is not to impart information, nor to deepen an
existing attitude, but to awaken unconditional commitment to
Himself. That mathytys, as akolouthein, is also manthanein,
is self-evident.
(Mt 11:29)
In contrast to both Rabbi Akiba and the philosopher Socrates
‘Jesus binds exclusively to Himself’ (Rengstorf 1967:447).
In addition, according to Louw and Nida, the verb ‘to make
disciples’ (mathyteusate) refers to
disciple in the sense of adhering to the teachings or instructions
of a leader and promoting the cause of such a leader ... In many
languages the equivalent of ‘to follow’ (in the sense of ‘to be a
disciple’ is literally ‘to accompany’ or ‘to go along with’ or ’to be
in the group of’.
(Louw & Nida 1988:470–471)
Louw & Nida (1988:471) also state that the verb means to
‘cause people to become followers ... In order to avoid a wrong
implication of a causative (bold italic – MN) it may be important
to use such expression to ‘convince them to become disciples’ or
‘urge them to be my disciples’.
Original Research
Teaching (didachein) and discipleship
Firet makes an additional point in this regard:
Discipleship can easily degenerate into the rabbinic and Greek
notions of the word, with it then referring to an endeavour to
be like a rabbi, or to become a rabbi yourself (with your own
disciples). For the disciples of Jesus, their discipleship was not
the first step, with a promise of greater things to come. It was,
rather, the fulfilment of their very existence (Rengstorf 1967:448).
In this relationship, the Lordship of Jesus (as the Kurios) was, and
became increasingly more, vital. He was not only the Teacher of
the congregation – he was the Lord of his disciples. He was not
merely the rabbi (the teacher), but the Kurios (Dulles 1980:19).
Such an attribution gave authority to his words in the lives of
the disciples.
Is such a quality not what we have lost? Often, we teach as
though teaching makes disciples. God, in Christ through the
Spirit, makes disciples of us in and through ourselves and our
teaching. Have we lost the scriptural meaning of teaching? We
should consider what kind of teaching God has employed, all
through history, to make people his followers.
Firet (1986:50–68) has often provided guidance on what it should
be to invite, and where we might have lost the ‘art’ of inviting,
youth into a life of discipleship. He (Firet 1986:53) invites his
readers to ‘first savor the spirit of the didache in the world of the
Old Testament’.
Initiation (Chanukkâ)
Drazin reflects that:
the “way” (Proverbs 22:6) is the life of a person seen from the
perspective of destination. Lives do not just “run out”: as a rule,
they go somewhere. Every life has its own purpose; to direct oneself
to that end is mandatory; in order to be able to direct oneself to it a
chanukkâ is needed – a “transfer of dedication”.
(Firet 1986:53)
The use of such a word explains the atmosphere of Jewish
upbringing and didache best. According to Firet:
This appears most clearly in the family where the upbringing,
and hence the didache, begins and belongs ... The “transfer of
dedication” consists especially in the initiation of the child into
the story of Yahweh and his people: it implicates him personally so
that it becomes his story. The child is initiated into the story with a
view of where he has to go. The “way” did not begin when he was
born: it started with the Exodus. He was there when it happened
... The didache is not primarily an explication of history, or of the
words and works of Yahweh. It is first of all the act of implicating
the young Israelite in the story of Salvation. He learns to say and
experience “we” – the “we” of the covenant.
(Firet 1986:54, cf. Dt 4:6, Ex 10; Ball 1988:1, 8–13)
Tôrâ
The Old Testament contains numerous references to the way of
God (cf. Ps 25:4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 12; 119: 1, 3, 5, 9 etc.). That “way” must
be learned. In order to find it, and to walk in it, one needs tôrâ.
Buber (1951, 2003:57) writes:
The Torah of God is understood as God’s instruction in His way,
and therefore not as a separate objectivum. It includes law ... but
Torah itself is essentially not law. A vestige of actual speaking
always adheres to the commanding word; the directing voice is
always present ... To render Torah by “law” is to take away from
its idea this inner dynamic and vital character’.
Buber ([1951] 2003:57)
Chokmâ has its own function in the Jewish didache. Firet (1986:55)
refers to such a function in relation to the everyday question
‘Now what do I do?’, in relation to those situations in which one
must arrive at one’s own answer. Knowledge of ‘the way’ is not
enough: One also needs knowledge of affairs, a perspective on
specific situations, insight into problems (cf. Micha 6:8). Chokmâ
addresses itself to such a need. Fohrer (1971:476) writes that the
reference is to ‘prudent, considered, experienced and competent
action to subjugate the world and to master the various problems
of life and life itself’. The wise one is not a superior person, but
‘wisdom begins – and this is the essential and unique feature of
the Israelite concept of chokmâ – in the “fear of the Lord” (Prov.
1:7; 9:10; Ps. 111:10)’ (Firet 1986:56).
Firet’s summary of such a point is striking:
To be truly human, according to the Old Testament, is to be
implicated in the story of the covenant, to live in the fear of the
Lord, to walk in the way of the Lord amid the complexities of the
life of every day, at work and in social activities ... To help human
beings gain and experience this humanity is the purpose of the
didache in its various forms.
(Firet 1986:58)
Firet (1986:58–68) continues to discern the uniqueness of Christ’s
teaching, and what impact it has on the teaching of the church.
Osmer (2005:284) phrases such discernment well, finding that ‘[d]
iscernment, thus, is a weaving together of our stories, learning to
see the unfolding dramas of our lives within the larger Theodrama of God’s dealings with the world.’ Saying this, Osmer
emphasises the koinonia that we share with, and in, Christ.
Article #344
The verb, as a rule, refers to the dedication of a house, which
makes it fit for a purpose. Firet (1986:53) adds that
Chokmâ
Vriezen (1958:315) explains the subtle, but important, distinction
between law and wisdom, in terms of the fact that ‘fundamentally
the laws are looked upon as received directly from God, while
wisdom is, as it were, the human reflection on this’.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Jewish education was rather synonymous with life. It unfolded life,
giving it direction and meaning. In fact a modern Hebrew term
for education, Chinuk from a root found twice in the Bible in the
sense of to “train”, etymologically means dedication or initiation
(cf. Proverbs 22:6).
(Drazin 1940:12)
Torah is “direction, instruction, information”. It points out the
way, offers guidance on the road. It is the word of revelation in
which God comes to a person...To direct a person to her destination,
to initiate her into the story, to take and lead her on the way – that is
the Jewish Didache...life-shaping pointers for concrete situations...
Torah in their totality, are the means by which God’s coming to
direct and redirect his people continually takes place.
(Firet 1986:55)
‘The Teacher is here...’ (Jn 11:28)
A brief look at the uniqueness of ‘the One who teaches with
authority’ (Mt 7:29) should start with finding that it was his
exousia that discerned, and which discerns him, from the
many rabbis, then and now. Firet (1986:61) is, to my mind,
correct when he writes: ‘The didache of the church certainly has
everything to do with the didache of the Lord, but it cannot be a
continuation, still less an imitation, of it’. The imperative to teach
(Mt 28:19) rests in the ‘indicatives of messianic fulfilment and the
promise of the Spirit’ (Hoekendijk 1948:224; also cf. Dingemans
1991:163–168). The Lord (the Messiah-King) remains the teacher.
According to Firet,
It is clear that the didache of the church does not replace the
didache of Jesus. Jesus Christ remains the teacher: The apostles
and the church, by their didache, can only lead people into
discipleship of this teacher.
(Firet 1986:163)
Discipleship is truly, according to a New Testament
understanding, ‘the following of the way, a continuous life with
Jesus’ (Firet 1986:163). According to Dingemans (1991:163–164),
the characteristics of the New Testament teachings are its
• pastoral nature
• dialogic character
• practical nature
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• persuasive structure
• central focus on faith in Jesus Christ.
If one wants to relate such characteristics to Old Testament
tradition, it might help to think of the halacha (the normative
part of teaching) as the centrality of God in Jesus the Christ and
the Spirit and of the haggada (the narrative part of teaching) as
the open-ended, interpretational learning process, which was so
critical to the Jewish tradition (cf. Dingemans 1991:160).
As has been explained above, in reference to wisdom (chokmâ),
learning was not only aimed at understanding, but also at
attaining a certain way of life, governed by the making of
decisions about amending practice in everyday life. Abram
(1980:112) called such decision-making the dynamic between
tradition and the individual. By learning from tradition, you
come to change, and as you change you add to your practice.
Tradition also grows from the insights and new activities
provided by the learner, resulting in the real ‘mediational
happenings’ (‘bemiddelingsgebeuren’) between God and man.
Dingemans (1991:161) states that the encounter with content and
experience lies at the heart of the Jewish tradition, being ‘not
primarily aimed at “scholarship”, but on “wisdom”, meaning
living wisely (“recte handelen”)’ (freely translated, MN). I believe
that Verboom (2003:177–195) picks up on what one might call the
‘experiential’ or ‘existential’ nature of teaching and learning in
his article on ‘bevindelijke catechese’ (‘experience in catechesis’).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #344
The lifelong nature of New Testament discipleship also alludes
to the Jewish perception that learning is permanent. Dingemans
(1991) refers to Abram’s (1980:151) enumeration of the five
principles of learning in the Jewish tradition: Learn
•
•
•
•
•
permanently
by repeating
individually and collectively
by bringing it into practice
by planning your learning personally.
Our challenge is to invite children and adolescents into his
teaching. We are only employed to help in the hermeneutical
process. God, the Spirit, continues to ‘lead you into all the truth
... He will take what I say and tell it to you’ (Jn 16:13, 14, Good
News Bible).
A brief look at history
The purpose of my research is not to describe the history
of teaching as a way of inviting and initiating youth into
discipleship as such. Others have already done so. Osmer
(1990:61–138;
1996:27–160)
investigates
the
historical
perspective on confirmation. A brief look at history is crucial
for contextualising the question of whether we have lost the art
and the desire to take discipleship seriously in youth ministry
and, more specifically, in Christian education as a part of youth
ministry. Dingemans (1991:15)2 argues for the use of the concept
mathyteus (‘mathetiek’) rather than catechein (‘catechetiek’), to
convey his departure point regarding ‘How do people become
pupils (learners) of Jesus? How do they learn to believe?’ (Free
translation of the Dutch – MN: ‘Hoe worden mensen leerlingen van
Jezus? Hoe leren ze te geloven?’).
I will briefly focus on the so-called ‘golden age’ (Turner 2000:7–
11) of disciples and teaching, stretching from 300 to 500 AD, and
including the Augustinian period. Nichols calls the period
a time of difficulty, from both within and without. Yet it was also
a time of victory and triumph, and a time that witnessed God’s
faithfulness in building the church’s foundation.
(Nichols 2006:26)3
The time was one of vibrant missionary outreach, during which
those adults who converted to Christianity were not only taught,
2.Dingemans (1991:159–177) also offers a short overview of history.
3.cf. Nichols 2006:65–83 for his excellent description of the life and writings of
Augustine.
but also baptised. Such adults were presented to the congregation
by Christians, who were most probably involved in their
conversion. Such godparents or ‘sponsors’ (Dujarier 1979:35;
Field 1997:21) were called Pater (male) and Mater (female).
The introduction (teaching) of those who inquired into the
secrets of the Christian faith took some time. In 385 AD
Augustine himself (who was then 30 years old) received such
teaching for two years (cf. Dingemans 1991:168). The 4th century
Constitutiones Apostolicae set a period of three years for such
training. The teaching was in the well-known four modes of
faith, law, prayer, and the Sacraments, which are found in many
references to teaching in the Early Church, and which also run
through the history of the Old Testament as the Torah, prayer,
faith, and the feasts (pesach, sukkot, and sabbath) (cf. Dingemans
1991:160).
Field (1997:11) points out, in relation to the overall impression of
ancient texts regarding the rites of Christian initiation, that a
strong unanimity existed among catechists throughout the church,
pointing to a common tradition going back to apostolic times... the
fulfilment of the realities of the Old Testament in Christ and in
the Sacraments of the New Covenant...the corporate character of
Christian initiation, the vivid use of rites...Conversion is thought
of in terms of engagement in the tremendous drama of redemption,
in which God is the principal actor.
(Field 1997:11)
According to Field, every inquirer or applicant for membership
to the church was
examined regarding their motives, their condition in life and
their morals ... The church did not want halfhearted Christians
who might endanger her principles ... Certain occupations were
considered incompatible with Christianity ... anything connected
with pagan worship, the theater, or the gladiatorial games.
(Field 1997:19)
Once admitted, they were allowed for three years to attend the
Liturgy of the Word, but that was the limit of their allowable
public devotion. After the three years, ‘an enquiry was made into
the conduct of the candidates during their probation ... Those
who proved ready then received several weeks of intensive
preparation for baptism at Easter’ (Field 1997:20). Such baptism
normally took place during Lent. Studying the intensive teaching
of the time makes for good reading. Field (1997) describes in
great detail what was taught in every stage, quoting the original
(translated) texts, such as the Bishop’s opening address at the
‘reception of the candidates’ (Dujarier 1979:40; Field 1997:22–31;
cf. Turner 2000:4–11).
Dingemans rightly remarks that ‘the result of this stringent
period of admission was that the church existed of members
(fideles – believers) who were wholeheartedly committed to the
cause of the gospel’ (Dingemans 1991:168, freely translated,
MN). A growing number, however, did not undergo baptism,
leading to the consideration of baptism as a form of secret
‘initiation’ at the end of the period, with its being for the real
‘insiders’ only, as with that undergone in the mystery religions.
Already, tendencies towards one-sided intellectual teaching
were observable, with the well-known Schools for Catechists,
such as those in Alexandria, Antioch and Caesarea, dating from
the period.
As a more favourable attitude started to develop towards the
Christian Church, catechetical teaching became less stringent and
was sometimes even neglected. ‘Instruction in and of the faith
shallowed to nothing more than initiation into the sacraments
and superficial acknowledgement of the Apostolicum, the Lord’s
Prayer and the Ten Commandments’ (Dingemans 1991:169–170,
freely translated, MN). In relation to the greater focus placed on
reflection and confessions at the time, I refer the reader to the
insights provided by Nichols (2006:26–27), in his references to
the building of ‘the church’s foundation’.
Original Research
Some current emphases
My recent reviewing of over 50 books on the reformation
of congregations has been directed towards obtaining an
understanding of their identity and faithfulness to the gospel
of the Kingdom. Authors refer to such a process by different
names. McLaren (2008:128) asks whether one should choose
between reformation and, as he puts it, ‘revolution and
refounding’. Others call the process renewal (Snyder 1996, 2005),
revitalisation (Avery 2002; Gibbs 1993), redevelopment (cf.
Mann 1999:1–12), or a second Resurrection (Easum 2007). Most
of the authors concerned have conducted empirical research
into, and on, congregations. They have tried to find answers
to the question: Why are some churches (irrespective of their
size) more effective (in the sense of making a difference) than
others? Most of the researchers found the main reasons to be the
form of Christian education adopted, and the importance placed
on commitment and discipleship, by the churches concerned.
Discipleship (which is sometimes called by a different name) is
part and parcel of congregational reformation.
The difficulty of embarking on such a new dawn is described by
Barbara Hixon in her description of her denomination, which
for a thousand years have been conservationists (her emphasis)...
but [then] came along Vatican II, a veritable earthquake, cracking
the Roman rock to expose its component pebbles: the people of
God ... We are as yet uncomfortable with it. Living Rock moves.
That means changing, reshaping, levelling mountains, and filling
valleys. It means making way for the Lord. The switch from
conservation to transformation is difficult.
(Hixon 1997:63)
• McIntosh and Reeves (2006:73–108) devote two chapters
to discipleship in their book on thriving churches in the
21st century. Extensively they discuss the importance of
spiritual discipline, as ‘life-giving system 3’ (McIntosh &
Reeves 2006:73–87), and of mentoring relationships, as ‘lifegiving system 4’ (McIntosh & Reeves 2006:88–108), for such
churches.
• Schnase (2007:7, 59–78), who undertook research into the
Missouri Conference of United Methodist Communities in
the USA, describes ‘intentional faith development’ as one
of the five practices of faithful congregations. He writes
(Schnase 2007:62) that, through the ages, ‘the followers
of Jesus [have] mature[d] in faith by learning together
4.My main focus is not discipleship per se. I, therefore intentionally neither describe
my own reflection on discipleship in building up missional congregations (Nel
2005:96–111), nor refer to the classics on discipleship by Wilson (1976) and Watson
(1982). I also neither refer to the recent writings by Gibbs (2000) and Gibbs and
Bolger (2005), nor to the two well-known books by Ogden (1998, 2003). I also do
not shed light on any of the 36 discipleship-related books that were published in
2008 alone.
thinking holistically about the congregation; balancing both the
inward and outward focus; and pursuing the practice of lifelong
learning.
Dick (2007:118) describes the situation as follows:
Promoting a love of learning and developmental plans are high
priorities in vital congregations. Vital churches have a clear
picture of what it means to be a Christian believer, a Christian
disciple, a Christian leader, and the body of Christ.
(Dick 2007:118)
Keifert (2006:117–137) refers to the formation of Christian
community, in connection with which he says that learning and
growing are
always about the catechumenate, about initiating persons into
the reign of God, through evangelism and a deliberate spiritual
journey that takes them from being seekers (consumers of religion
as commodity) to being disciples of Jesus. Forming Christian
community without this basic activity leaves the congregation
without the profound engagement of real people who seek to truly
understand God.
(Keifert 2006:126)
• Woolever and Bruce (2004:3), in their comprehensive study
of more than 4 000 congregations, mention a few universals
that they found, among which they list as the second of
five the tendency of ‘congregations universally seek to
educate worshippers about the faith and behaviors expected
of the faithful’. They explicitly mention the focus of the
congregations ‘on the young’. The universals that follow in
the list refer to the involvement in mission or to the making
of disciples.
Article #344
Campolo (1995:133) writes, ‘Of all the failures of mainline
churches over the last three decades, none has been more
pronounced than their failure in Youth ministry’. Churches
might be in decay due to their exclusive philosophies of
ministry, or because they have lost the desire to make disciples
of their own children. I have tried to argue a case for inclusive
youth ministry in many different books and articles (cf. www.
malannel.co.za). Even though many of the authors to whom I
refer to above do not directly relate what they have to say about
learning, teaching and discipleship to youth and youth ministry,
they do at least acknowledge what might lead to the rediscovery
of the importance of youth ministry. The work of the following
empirical researchers is worth mentioning in this regard:4 In the
well-known research of the Gospel and Culture Network relating
to the patterns to be found in missional faithfulness, Barrett
(2004:59–73) lists ‘Biblical formation and discipleship’ as second
on the list of 12 patterns enumerated, explaining: ‘The missional
church is a community where all members are involved in
learning to become disciples of Jesus’ (Barrett 2004:160).
• Dick (2007:116–126) researched 717 congregations of the
United Methodist Church, during which research he
discerned the existence of four different types of churches.
In the conclusion to his research, he describes the first three
‘pathways to vitality’ as:
Verbum et Ecclesia
Hixon’s description relates directly to the restoration and
transformation of the catechumenate.
in community’. Churches that practise ‘Intentional Faith
Development offer high quality learning experiences that
help people understand Scripture, faith, and life in the
supportive nurture of caring relationship” (ibid. 2007:62).
With reference to my broader research into building up
missional congregations, it makes sense that the next
prioritised practice of fruitful congregations, as described
by Schnase (2007:79), is ‘risk-taking mission and service’.
Schnase (2007:125–144) relates such practices to excellence
and fruitfulness in his context of the Missouri Conference.
Many books have been written on the Roman Catholic Rite of
Christian Initiation of Adults, to which I only wish to make passing
mention here. According to Dujarier (1979:18), ‘Even before the
opening session of the Second Vatican Council, a Roman decree
of April 16, 1962 authorized the restoration of the stages of the
catechumenate.’ When the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults
was published in 1972 in Rome ‘it brought to completion a work
that was ten years in the making’ (ibid. 1979:18).
Several authors, in addition to Field (1997), to whom I earlier
referred, describe the process and content of initiation learning.
Steffen (1997:9–13) describes such learning as the process of
leading people to become discerning disciples. Already in
1988 the British Council of Churches Working Party published
a report on the relationship between Christian initiation and
church membership. In the same year, Ball (1988) published a
work on helping leaders to understand the themes at stake in
the Christian initiation of adults. As recently as 2006, Yamane,
MacMillen and Culver published a collection of accounts of how
such initiation takes place, of which one is entitled ‘We’re about
Making Disciples’ (1–30).
• Heitink (2007:79–116) devotes a chapter of his book on a
church with character (freely translated, MN) to the process
of initiation, which he deems necessary, due to the sometimes
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Nel
complete break between adults and youth. He describes the
concept of initiation from a cultural-anthropological point of
view. All children are introduced into the culture in which
they grow up, such as in the case of African culture, in terms
of which culture they have to undergo a separate rite de
passage into adulthood. In the Early Church adult converts
underwent just such a process. Many churches have come to
neglect such a rite, due to cultural and pedagogical changes.
Heitink (2007:88) quotes several European authors, who refer
to the fact that culture has changed so much that children
are no longer children and adults are no longer discernible
as such either. He refers to Koops, Levering and De Winter
(eds. 2007:21) who call the times in which we live a ‘childless
time’ (‘kinderloze tijdperk’).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #344
Due to exposure to a multimedia-dominated society, the world
in which we live no longer contains any secrets. As Heitink
(2006:88) puts it, ‘electronic media can keep no secret and without
secrets the concept child cannot survive’ (freely translated, MN).
Such a cultural reality has deeply impacted on the pedagogical
system. Never before has so much attention been given to
children. In this time of no children (due to the lack of secrets),
there is so much more ‘child’. Godot (2003:24) says that never
before has so much attention been paid to the wishes of children,
and never such a ‘speelruimte op maat’, with advanced marketing
being employed in relation to even the smallest child. In terms
of modern-day culture and education, children are expected to
be extremely responsible from a very young age. With parents
being involved in their own world, ‘the responsibilities for their
(the children’s, MN) own coming and going rest upon their
own small child shoulders’ (‘eigen kleine kinderschouders’) (Godot
2003:26). Part of the dilemma is the generational divide that
has developed, due to such pressures. In reformed churches, a
certain apprehension about baptism has developed, resulting
in decisions being taken ‘over the head of the child’ (Heitink
2007:103). In a situation that is subject to growing missionary
endeavour, the occurrence of such a phenomenon might increase
still further. Already in 1990, Callahan (1990:13) described the
situation in the following terms: ‘The day of the churched culture
is over. The day of the mission field has come.’
Heitink’s (2007) work on a church with character has prompted my
investigation into this issue, and led directly to this article. Many
other researchers could have been quoted above. Almost all
would agree: It looks as though we have lost the art of initiation,
and maybe even the plot! And we need to get it back, or else the
consequences could be dire.
INVITING TO, AND INITIATION INTO, A
LIFE OF DISCIPLESHIP, AND TO A LIFE OF
SEEKING THE KINGDOM OF GOD
It is hard to imagine anything more challenging than seeking the
Kingdom of God. The Kingdom of God is so daringly different
from the world that we once knew, as well as the world that we
now know. Brueggemann (2006:16) describes the difference well
when stating that the ‘recovery of the text (biblical, MN) is to
mediate a present tense of covenantal neighborliness in the face of
the dominant text of anxious selfishness and alienated greed’. He
concludes that the dominant text (our world, MN) features:
• a nonexistent past of amnesia, in which there is only the
hard, endless work of self-invention;
• a future of despair, in which there are no more gifts to be
given, but only a no-win struggle against scarcity;
• a present, consisting of a jungle of frightened meanness; and
a world which is characterised by the credo ‘Greed is good’
(referring to the film Wall Street).
In this world, according to Brueggemann (2006:16), our present
is dominated by ‘greed powered by anxiety and issuing in
shameless brutality against the neighbor. The world, in such
limited horizon, really has no option’.
In terms of Brueggemann’s (2006:9–19) recovery of the text as
being, in essence, the text of the Bible, and, as such, the text of the
Kingdom, his contrasting of biblical and present text explains
much about the radical nature of the Kingdom.
The recovery of the text:
•
•
•
is in order to mediate a memory of generosity in the face of a
dominant text of amnesia;
is to mediate hope of utter fidelity into all futures in the face of a
dominant text of despair;
is to mediate a present tense of covenantal neighbourliness in
the face of the dominant text of anxious selfishness and alienated
greed.’
Where God reigns,
•
•
•
•
‘scarcity can be displaced by generosity;
anxiety can be displaced by confidence;
greed can be displaced by sharing;
brutality can be displaced by compassion and forgiveness [own
emphasis].
(Brueggemann 2006:17)
Even if it was only for the risky nature of seeking such a Kingdom,
it would have been worthwhile inviting children and adolescents
to participate in such a life. The youth enjoy taking risks. Many
even risk taking or losing their lives for what they love and like.
Dean (2004:4–6) refers to the object of their affection as something
or someone for whom they consider it to be worth dying. In the
Christian context, she refers to such a phenomenon as ‘losing it
for Jesus’. In terms of my argument, I prefer referring to such as
‘losing it for the King’. Not only in the armies of this world, but
also in seeking out the rule of the crucified one, the young are the
best. But how will they know it? How will they both voluntarily
and passionately sign up for so daring a task as to seek first the
Kingdom of God and go to make disciples of all the nations?
Why has it become so critical to rethink our invitation to, and
our way of initiation into, following the way of the Lord? It is
because we have lost the art of being, due to our very God-given
nature. We have lost track of how to be disciples who seek the
Kingdom and of how, as we walk and talk, to make disciples of
our own children, as well as those of ‘the nations’.
The few recommendations that I make as to how to recover the
art are in no way meant to be prescriptive. The way in which we
recover such an art differs from context to context. Borne out of
conviction and my extensive readings, I have come to share a
few insights in this regard.
The host: Being the invitation
Disciples make disciples
Disciples in the making, make disciples. For the invitation to
be valid and worthy of being extended, the so-called ‘adult’
members of the group of disciples (the congregation) need to
understand such a precept. Such an understanding defines a
missional people who are serious about converting their own
children, as well as the ‘nations’, into disciples. Halter and Smay
ask some pertinent questions in this regard:
Leaving, listening, living among, and loving without strings are
the practices that help us draw the hearts of the sojourning world.
What if and when they “Start inquiring”? What are we “inviting
them into”?
(Halter & Smay 2008:147)
The recovery of the faith community demands of us that we
clean up our house in preparation for the party, else how dare
we invite others to, and want to initiate them in, the celebration?
Sjogren (2002) refers to the current church as being perfectly
imperfect, in short the ideal church. We follow and commit to
Jesus, the Christ because we are broken, and because we are in
constant need of healing, of knowing, of gaining the wisdom to
discern, and so on. We do not yet ‘have it’ and we are just not
there yet. He has us, and we have only him (cf. Ps 83). We are
Original Research
but disciples in the making and, as such, best ‘qualified’ to be
involved in inviting others into the discipleship and the making
of disciples (cf. Nouwen 1994).
God’ (Mt16:23), which is a more literal translation. Even Paul has
to learn, a fact of which he is implicitly aware. As he says, your
mind is continuously renewed (Rm 12:1–2).
Such a prerequisite has to be understood in terms of the theology
of Ephesians, especially in terms of Chapter 4. Building up the
body requires simultaneous consolidation and missional intent
(Nel 2005:23; Roberts 1983). As we grow into the fullness of
our union with him, we invite others to become part of the
body constructed on him. The importance of such a dynamic
reality or dialectic escapes many congregations, with disastrous
consequences of decay and death for the body concerned (cf. Nel
2005:24–37).
Discipleship is a journey, and not just a decision, though it
might start with one. No young person should be duped into
thinking that a once-off acceptance of Jesus is a guarantee of
being saved. The apostle John helps us to gain greater insight
into such decision-making: Accepting Jesus as Saviour is the
opposite of rejecting him, and of not acknowledging that he is
the Christ. Confessing and accepting that he is, is only part of
the initial stages of a lifelong commitment to learning that he is
the crucified one. To remain in him (in terms of the typical John
phraseology) is to listen (to obey, if you prefer) to him. 1 John 2:6
states in no uncertain terms: ‘Whoever says that he remains in
union with God should live just as Jesus Christ did’ (Good News
Bible). Faith consists of ‘leaning into life’ (Fowler 1981:92) and
learning how to make reckoning with God, entailing a renewed
commitment every step of the way.
An incarnational community
With such an embodiment being a prerequisite to making the
ultimate invitation, we must consider how we are perceived
by the youth. Do they see us as people who think, talk, walk,
and live in his presence, in the present? Or do they see us as
people who think, talk, walk, and live like the rest of the ‘world’,
entering into some spiritual trance only once in a while. Such a
trance is characterised by a state of mind in which consciousness
is fragile and voluntary action is poor or missing, being a state
that resembles deep sleep (Word Perfect Thesaurus). Snyder
(2005:192) refers to such a state as spiritism, and considers it as the
first disguise of the enemy. Why should anyone pay attention to
the invitation when they perceive that the community of disciples
is no different from what they perceive the non-Christian world
to be?
Lifelong learners
Any good in the generational gap is likely to lie in adults in the
faith community no longer thinking of themselves as people
who have arrived. The unending information explosion should
help us to understand that ‘Christian initiation has a crucial
process dimension’ (British Council Of Churches Working Party
1988:24). We follow as we learn, and we learn as we follow.
Despite Peter’s confessing him as the Christ (Mt 16:16), having
the capacity to be called the rock (Mt 16:18), and being capable
of being sufficiently inspired to confess him (Mt 16:17), do not
keep him from being reprimanded: ‘Go away from behind me
Satan’ (Mt 16:23). Why is Paul referred to as Satan in the Gospel
context? The answer is clear: ‘Because you think not the things of
Inevitably, some are closer to the young than others: Parents,
whether separated or together, divorced or widowed, broken or
in the healing process, are ideally situated to be the invitation.
Whoever is related to a child has a God-given relational
(covenantal) opportunity to be the invitation. My purpose in
this article is not to argue a case for a developmental approach
to Christian education, but to emphasise that certain people
are natural, God-given invitations at certain times of their life.
For the children of disciples, such people are the members of
the community of disciples: Parents, significant others, such as
members of a discipleship peer group, teachers, leaders either
in or outside the congregation, and any others who, under the
guidance of the Spirit, are excited about Jesus the Christ and his
spiritual body of followers. Heitink’s (2007:109–111) reference
to house and basis catecheses can be seen in terms of such
a category. ‘A baptized church is a studying church’, writes
Brueggemann (2006:108).
Article #344
In Kingdom language, Matthew 25 means providing water for
the thirsty, visits for the lonely, and hospitality for the stranger,
without our conscious awareness of serving as providers, but
rather merely as a result of our being different. Disciples, who
actively seek out the Kingdom, neither pretend to care for others,
nor shout out invitations to non-disciples in order to secure life
after death for themselves. We should embody the invitation to a
life worth living, both in the here and now, and forever.
Heitink (2007:104) is, to my mind, correct when he says that in a
post-Christian culture we will have to do much more than merely
be a pastoral and catechetical embodiment of child or adult
baptism in the life of the congregation. In this way, catechesis or
Christian education is made central to the inviting and initiating of
children and adolescents into a life of discipleship of Jesus. At a time
when the priesthood of all believers is at least confessed by
most, the new challenge which is set for all believers is that of
becoming involved in the invitation. Only if we are the invitation,
dare we extend the invitation. A learning community, which is
modest in its accomplishments of learning, is an open invitation
for the inquisitive mind of the child and the questioning mind
of the adolescent. Firet (1986:246) describes such openness as
constituting the ‘equihuman’ approach.
Verbum et Ecclesia
A pneumatological view of the body of disciples compels us
to think of ourselves as an incarnational community. The one
who became flesh dwells and remains in us, and we in him.
The ebbing away of such a spirit(ual) reality is not necessarily
recoverable by means of sprinkling the concept of ‘spirituality’
everywhere we go. Only as an earth-bound (fleshy) confessional
reality can we be the incarnational community, being made by
the Spirit and sustained by him. In this sense, more than in any
other way, the congregation is a spiritual reality and being. The
Holy Spirit makes known the Father and the Son, so that when
he reigns and fills his people they participate fully in what he
does. We, the congregation, are employed by God the Spirit to
perform that for which we were created and for that which he
came to do: To proclaim the involvement of the Father and the
Son in the healing and restoration of such a broken reality (cf.
Van Ruler 1969:181, 1973:12, 28–29, 36–37; Dingemans 1991:42–
52). For such reasons, Jesus became flesh, and lived among us.
He now lives within us, enabling us continuously to be restored,
so that we can represent God on Earth.
A learning community puts its arms around children and
adolescents and walks with them, in a way that embodies Tôrâ
and Chokmâ at their best. We know that our only advantage over
younger disciples is that we have been ‘on the way’ longer then
they have. We know how challenging it sometimes is to remain
faithful to him and the values of the Kingdom. We know that
making the right (or better) choices in life does not come easily.
Therefore, the parakalein (only speaking when your arms are
around the one to whom you speak) is our mode of invitation.
Such an encounter is close and personal, as well as being one
which is supported by the community.
As adult disciples, we have learned to say ‘we’, though such
learning sometimes takes a lifetime and even when we often,
erroneously, opt for ‘I’. Dick (2007:92) finds that vital churches
work on such a principle. ‘We’ is the word spoken most
frequently in vital congregations. The community of faith comes
first. It is striking to be in a large group of people where agendas
are set aside for the common good, though this is the norm in
vital churches. Unity, connection, oneness, and communion are
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Nel
defining terms for such congregations. That is not to say that
there is not disagreement or conflict in such churches, but only
that, where such disagreement does exist, there is a healthy,
respectful way of addressing it. Vital congregations are striking
for the absence of ‘toxic influencers’. Bad behaviour is confronted,
challenged, and either fixed or removed. Such is the importance
of modelling Christian unity and grace. You can only imagine
how invitational such an approach is in a broken world!
The Holy Spirit makes discipleship possible. He calls us into a
relationship with the Father and the Son, by maintaining the
constant and permanent relationship with the Lord whom we
follow. Only through the Spirit and under his guidance is true
discipleship of Christ possible. It is he who helps the disciples
to remain ‘in the words’ of the Lord. Such an emphasis shows
that discipleship is about obedience to the Lord’s Word and
will. His words teach his disciples perpetually to improve their
understanding and conduct under the guidance of the Spirit,
and in communion with other disciples.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #344
Passionate about Jesus
From the short biblical and historical overview given above, it
is clear that what discerns discipleship in a Christian setting is
the presence of Jesus. Therefore, when churches lose their focus
on him, they are on dangerous ground. Effective churches and
churches that make a difference focus on holistic ministry and
centre on a ‘congregational life around passionate worship of
the Triune God, celebrating salvation by grace through faith
in Christ and relying on the power of God’s Spirit for fruitful
ministry’ (Sider, Olson & Unruh 2002:129). In the words of De
Claisse-Walford (2006:72), ‘Holistic churches hold to the centrality
of Jesus in congregational life’. (Both such sources view ‘holistic’
as amounting to ‘a wholehearted embrace and integration of
both evangelism and social ministry so that people experience
spiritual renewal, socioeconomic uplift, and transformation of
their social context’ [Sider, Olson & Unruh 2002:325]).
When it comes to us, being the invitation and initiating youth
into a life of discipleship, such a ‘prerequisite’ is critical. I believe
that Dean is correct when she states:
The adolescent quest for passion reveals a theological aneurysm
in mainline Protestantism: We are facing a crisis of passion,
a crisis that guts Christian theology of its very core, not to
mention its lifeblood foe adolescents [her emphasis].
(2004:7)
Passion in discipleship should not be confused with fanaticism,
with the former being marked by caring constructiveness
and the latter by uprooting destructiveness. Passion for Jesus
does not so much ask what Jesus would do and leave many
misjudged individualistic options to one side. Passion asks
what Jesus or God did, as well as what the Triune God is doing.
Then it is that discipleship kicks in, with personal study of the
Word and the acknowledgment of the wisdom of the many
preceding and contemporary disciples, as well as the wisdom
of Christian tradition, which facilitates the discernment of how
we as a faith community can contribute to his work. (For Dean’s
understanding of passion cf. 2004, especially pages 17 to 21.)
Mandela (1994:19) recalls the respect and awe with which he held
the local Methodist pastor, whose ‘powerful presence embodied
all that was alluring in Christianity’.
My conviction is that pastoral narration should be the frame of
this amazing pictorial invitation (which might be broken, but
which is perfectly imperfect) of the faith community, which is
the community of people already following Jesus, namely the
congregation. What then will and should be the function of
tradition? The following explanation phrases the answer to this
question in relation to the biblical explanation given above.
A communal
discipling
commitment
to
discipleship
and
Working with parents to secure the port of entry for mutual
discussion regarding communal commitment should facilitate
sharing about what has gone wrong and about how we have
now to pay the price for the current lack of Kingdom-seeking
disciples. We should consider the following statement of
Brueggemann:
Does it strike you that congregational life [his emphasis] for the
most part is remote from such deeply rooted, biblical understandings
of discipleship and evangelism? Well, yes. Much congregational
life has so fuzzied the claims of the Gospel in order to accommodate
to culture that the church, only with difficulty, can be a truth-teller
in the face of denial and a hope-teller in the face of despair.
It is clear now, is it not, that this is a new time in the church.
It is a time when many people, with deep ambiguity, want an
alternative with a deep sense that dominant patterns of life in
our society simply are not working. There is a hunch and a wish,
guarded to be sure, that the church should let the news, with all its
implications, have its say. Such a say depends upon preachers who
risk, supported by congregations who will stand by in solidarity.
McLaren writes, with almost tangible pain, of how he grew up
loving the church and then had to discover how ill it is:
I want to welcome them in, to help them become part of our life and
mission. But often I have felt like an ambulance driver bringing
injured people to a hospital where there’s an epidemic spreading
among the patients and doctors and nurses ... You try to help the
hospital get the epidemic under control again, so they can get back
to helping people heal ... The hospital can be a pretty sick place
sometimes.
(McLaren 2004:21)
We have to transform the hospital into a place of healing. We
need to reform, and redevelop, reinventing the invitation, which
is the body of disciples themselves.
Rethinking and
opportunities
restructuring
teaching/learning
We are the invitation. Being disciples of Jesus, the Christ,
is invitational in itself. And, yes, we have to invite and to
initiate. Carroll takes a leaf out of the autobiography of Nelson
Mandela:
This invitation and initiation cannot bypass teaching and
learning. It might be wise to take parents more seriously in our
process of rethinking and restructuring teaching and learning
opportunities. It is no secret that the family is under pressure.
Within the congregation as ‘learning community’ (Schippers
1977), parents and families should find ‘cover against the storm’.
Only then can one agree with Sweet (2008:5) that ‘… the perfect
storm offers the church its greatest chance to become the ‘Ultimate
Church’ and make the ultimate catch for the gospel’, and, may I
add, this is so in spite of the ‘Hurricane of Post-Christendom’, as
Sweet (2008:104) typifies the ‘religious storm’.
Like all Xhosa children, I acquire knowledge mainly through
observation. We were meant to learn through imitation and
emulation, not through questions. When I first visited whites, I
was often dumbfounded by the number and the nature of questions
that children asked of their parents – and their parents’ unfailing
willingness to answer them ... My life, and that of most Xhosas
at the time, was shaped by custom, ritual and taboo. This was the
alpha and omega of our existence.
(Carroll 2000:12–13)
Even where fathers and/or mothers cannot be the early church
‘sponsors’ or ‘godparents’, disciple-making churches should
find other mentors (cf. Osmer [1996:202–210] for a description of
the role of spiritual mentoring in confirmation). God is as serious
about youth as he is about making disciples who will make still
more disciples. He is intent on providing, and has already done
so. We who are responsible for such provision in the present have
to identify such mentors. When it is that we will grow serious
‘Framing’ the invitation
Original Research
enough about families (as mentoring houses) depends on when
it will be that we are able to develop a high level of sensitivity
for the Scriptures and for the second text of our society. Barna
(1998:191) adopts a pleading tone towards the church when he
writes: ‘The future of the Church in America depends largely upon the
spiritual commitment of families’ [his emphasis].
Need I refer to the many other such pleas, such as my own
and those of so many others (DeVries 2004; Nel 2005:9–27; Sell
1995; cf also DeVries 2008)? Of what significance others are in
youth ministry is well-known. Dean and Foster (1998) rightly
call such ministry ‘the art of soul tending’. How much more
critical to my ‘becoming’ is it if those people who cared for me in
pre-birth and especially since ‘I’ entered their present space by
birth or adoption are those who are also able to minister to my
spiritual needs? Their space then becomes my ‘hermeneutical
raum’ (meaning space; Nel 2005:18), encompassing of my initial
invitation to, and initiation into, the goodness of God.
Barna (1998:202–203) argues for assimilation into the family
that Christ came to establish. Jesus ‘recruited people who were
willing to sell out to God, with no holds barred’ (Barna 1998:202).
Whoever accepts such a call is called to exercise discipline and
sound ethical values. Snyder (2005:130–137) positively relates
discipline, sanctification and the exercising (which he terms
‘operationalising’) of spiritual gifts to the service of evangelism
and justice. McLaren (2008:80) writes that ‘most of the truly
important skills we learn in life come through training, practice,
and tradition or community’. Everybody who has succeeded in
dieting, in sport, or in academic achievements knows the truth of
such a statement. Why do we want to water discipleship down
to those who are not in the practising disciplines? Would we
not prove, if we were to do so, that religion is for those who are
unsuccessful? Would discipleship not then be a crutch to assist
the lame-spirited rather than those ‘getting fit to run the race’?
Osmer (2005:26–56, 106–117) concludes his discussion of
what he calls ‘Paul’s Teaching Ministry in Congregations’,
by discerning three core tasks in Paul’s teaching: catechesis,
exhortation and discernment (Osmer 2005:26–27). He finds Paul’s
teaching to consist of both formation and education. ‘Formation
has to do with the relationships, practices, narratives, and
norms of a community’s shared life ... Education has to do with
• help one locate oneself in the larger narratives of family,
tribe, or community
• provide us with the basic frame or perspectives through
which we view the world
• help us to learn what is expected of us, in a general sense,
both in day-to-day routines and in relationships with others
• connect us with larger narratives from the past in which we
can locate ourselves, because they also give us perspectives
and precepts that guide our understanding and behavior in
the present, they also to some degree shape how we organize
our future.
Keifert (2006:118–126) also calls the congregation a learning
community, inviting others to a life of learning along with
other disciples. The purpose is not just factual knowledge,
however important such knowledge, at times, might prove to
be. The point is ‘doing local theology’ as a listening and learning
community, and as a body of disciples, in terms of which we can
think and discern together (in a form of what Carroll 2000:105
calls ‘reflectivity or reflective practice’) as to where and how
God is at work, and how we can join in. One might call such
teaching and learning existential and experiential. According to
Firet (1986:186), ‘Nurture’s aim is self-reliance.’
Article #344
The disciplines function to inconvenience us enough that we
become conscious, self-conscious, and intentionally aware of who
we are and what we are doing with our lives ... I submit that only
those who are inconvenienced enough to be intentional will have
the energy for mission.
I wish to return to Carroll’s reference (2000:12) to Mr. Mandela’s
story one more time, in order to consider what traditions do and
why they are important. Carroll’s (2000:12–13) answer to such
questions, I believe, pertains to who we are and how we can
extend the invitation. Tradition, which frames the invitation to
look good and in place, also serves to:
Verbum et Ecclesia
Teaching and learning in biblical terms was never supposed
to become either one-sidedly intellectual or emotional. Biblical
teaching is existential in nature, involving being taken by the
hand, by those who care. Such teaching, in a sense, entails taking
those who inquire about the invitation on a walking tour through
the discipline of following Jesus. Such teaching provides the
opportunity to walk the talk as we talk the walk (cf. 1 Pt 3:15–
18). ‘The walk is to cure, the restoration of broken humanness to
full creaturely well-being. The talk is to assert the nearness of the
new rule’ (Brueggemann 2006:101). Brueggemann continues to
relate this walk and talk to exercising the discipline of following
Jesus: ‘The church is a community engaged in disciplines that
make following the master-teacher possible and sustainable’
(Brueggemann 2006:107). One might say, in biblical phraseology,
that such disciplines make one ‘fit to complete the race’ (cf. Heb
12:1–14). Such discipline is inconvenient to us all. We are all
disciples, though we are ones in the making. Such disciplining is
inconvenient, until we are ‘fit’ enough to enjoy the benefits that
we can gain therefrom. Such uneasiness with having to conform
to the dictates of a discipline can become deadly when we lose
focus on Jesus. When we do so, the discipline becomes a form
of imposed exercise and no longer an expression of spiritual
fitness. According to Brueggemann,
those practices that focus directly on teaching and learning.’ No
matter whether we like and agree with such a distinction or not,
we need to care that the purpose is so much more than just a
mere gathering and remembering of facts, but rather forms a
‘resituating of our lives’ (Brueggemann 2006:107). We need to be
equipped to help construct the body of believers (cf. Eph 4:7–16).
Disciplining youth, along with inviting and initiating them into
a life of discipleship, is about finding purpose is life, in terms of
something that is worth both living and dying for: The seeking
out of the Kingdom of God and the trusting in our loving Father
for all our needs of tomorrow (cf. Mt 6:24–34).
Inviting on behalf of ... the God who invites us into
discipleship
The invitation that we are and the invitation that we extend is ‘on
behalf of’. The whole Bible bears witness to the God who calls
(cf. Brueggemann 2006:92–96), which, once again, is the unique
difference between the concept of the disciple in the Gospels and
other, related, concepts in the Greek and Hebrew cultures. While
‘students’ chose a rabbi, meaning a teacher, we know that Jesus
was the one who ‘saw’ and ‘called’ in the biblical context.
When we extend the invitation on his behalf, we should never
forget this. The fact that God does the calling does not take
anything away from our seriousness or passionate intentions.
It does, however, call for us to exhibit modesty and integrity.
Being employed by the Spirit to invite and to initiate gives new
meaning both to our dependence upon God and our self-reliant
functioning simultaneously. Firet (1986:182–230) has tried to help
us understand such simultaneity, by stressing the dual nature of
dependence and self-reliance. Under the guidance of the Spirit
of Christ, disciples come to grow in receptivity, discernment
and creativity. Whenever we train disciples to make still more
disciples, and, in their turn, to invite and to initiate, we should
develop such open-minded discernment in creative ways. We
need to learn how and when to invite, so that we can extend the
call to ‘follow Him’ on his behalf and in terms of his spirit.
I do not know of a theologian who does not agree that, when
you have a sustainable relationship with youth, you may invite
them to become disciples. God is a relational (covenantal, if you
prefer) God and honours his commitment to closeness, even to
death, in the form of the death of his son. The invitation has to
Original Research
Nel
come from those who walk the talk and talk the walk. According
to Firet
The mode of the didache calls for a style of pastoral role-fulfilment
which differs from the style of the professor. The didache as
initiation into discipleship calls for a person who himself lives ‘the
way’ and is exemplary in his entire life, not just in what he says
as a teacher.
(Firet 1986:67)
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #344
Providing meaningful rites de passage
Providing meaningful rites of passage where there are no secrets
and, therefore, ‘no children’ any longer is difficult. What helps us
as disciples is that there is ‘more’. In union with the one whom
we follow, there is always ‘more’. In fact, there is so much that
we do not know and that we have not yet experienced. What we
need to take seriously is the creative reinvention, in a simple but
meaningful way, of what I will call celebrations of inclusion. The
younger that children are, the more simple and accessible such
celebrations of inclusion should be. Bijlsma (1977:136), who, in
the Dutch theological world, is so well-known for his writings
on catechesis, for instance, even devised a formula for publicly
celebrating the ‘transfer from childhood to adolescence’. Such
a formula is not to be confused with the public confession of
faith in the reformed tradition. All the literature on the Rite of
Christian initiation of adults, which is referred to above, refers to
such celebrations. In his book Finding our way again, McLaren
(2008) often refers to ‘the return of the ancient practices’.
Rediscovering and employing such practices, along with all
that we have learned about youth and culture, is our challenge.
McLaren (2008:145–146) rightly, to my understanding, writes:
‘When our churches are schools of practice, they make – and
change – history ... when the community of faith realizes it has
lost its way, it begins moving forward by looking back.’ Osmer’s
(1996:194–218) chapter on a fitting practice of conformation is
worthwhile consulting in this regard.
The challenge to creativity in youth ministry is certainly not a lack
of options for rites de passage but, rather, how to relate whatever
celebration, as a rite of inclusion, there is to the living faith of the
community of disciples. To my mind, the key to meeting such a
challenge lies in us continuously discovering the new horizons,
and the unveiled secrets (cf. Eph 1:1–14) of our ‘following Him
into the mission field’ (Easum 2007). When following him, there
is no predicted future, but only a safe one.
CONCLUSION
Disciples themselves are the invitation. While following and
discovering (learning), we invite others to follow the one whom
we follow. As Paul wrote, ‘Follow my example, as I follow the
example of Christ’ (1 Cor 11:1).
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Original Research
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Verbum et Ecclesia
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Considerations for
acceptability in Bible
translation
Diphus Chemorion
Photo Title: Bible Notes
Taken by: Billy Alexander
Original Research
Author:
Diphus C. Chemorion1
Affiliation:
1
Studies, Theology and
Philosophy, St Paul’s
University, Kenya
Correspondence to:
Diphus Chemorion
e-mail:
dchosefu@stpaulslimuru.
ac.ke
Postal address:
St. Paul’s University,
Private Bag 00217, Limuru,
Kenya
Keywords:
Bible translation;
acceptability; Great
Commission; interpretation;
linguistics
at:
Note:
The author of this article,
Dr D.C. Chemorion, is an
alumnus of Stellenbosch
University. This article is
adapted from the author’s
dissertation that was
submitted as fulfilment of
the requirements for the
degree Doctor of Theology
at Stellenbosch University
(cf. Chemorion 2008). Dr
Chemorion is a lecturer of
Biblical and Translational
Studies at St Paul’s
University, Kenya.
Creative Commons
In his article entitled ‘Perceived authenticity: The fourth criterion of good translation’, Andersen (1998)
proposes that the fourth criterion for a good translation – in addition to accuracy, clarity and naturalness
(Barnwell 1992:23) – is ‘perceived authenticity’.2 He defines perceived authenticity as ‘the receptor
audience’s perception that the text is an authentic and trustworthy version of the original message’.
He argues that the receptor audience’s evaluation of a translation is subjective, but if a translation
that is properly done lacks the things the receptor language regards as the mark of authenticity, the
translation may not be accepted (Andersen 1998:2).3
In response to Andersen’s views, Larsen (2001:40–53) wrote an article entitled ‘The fourth criterion of a
good translation’. Larsen agrees with Andersen on the need to acknowledge the existence of the fourth
criterion for a good (Bible) translation, namely that the receptor audience expects to see certain things
in a translation before they can trust it as a true word of God. According to Larsen, accuracy, clarity
and naturalness are well-known criteria for an objective evaluation of a translation, but the fourth
criterion is different because it is concerned with how the intended receptor audience evaluates the
text without necessarily having been trained in translation principles (Larsen 2001:40).
Larsen suggests that this fourth criterion should be called ‘acceptability’ and not ‘perceived authenticity’,
as proposed by Andersen. Larsen’s main reason for this shift of terminology is that ‘a translation
neither can nor should be authentic in the primary sense of that word, because a translation is different
from original authorship’ (Larsen 2001:42). To Larsen, the criterion of acceptability is essential in Bible
translation. Using the analogy of a traditional three-legged African stool Larsen states: ‘If accuracy,
naturalness, and clarity are like the indispensable three legs of a stool, then acceptability is like the seat
on the stool. You want to trust the legs to be solid but the seat should also be comfortable – and maybe
even beautiful’ (Larsen 2001:43–44).
Article #343
Chemorion, D.C., 2009,
‘Considerations for
acceptability in Bible
translation’, Verbum et
5 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.343
INTRODUCTION
THE PHENOMENON OF ACCEPTABILITY IN BIBLE TRANSLATION1
‘Acceptability’ as a principle in Bible translation
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
Received: 25 June 2008
ABSTRACT
The ministry of Bible translation is an important component of the Great Commission (Matthew
28:18–20) and its mandate is to reach everyone with the word of God. One of the main goals of
a Bible translation project is to produce a translation that will be used by the church in a given
language group. Bible translation teams believe that the lives of the intended recipients will be
changed positively when they gain access to Scripture in their own language. However, recent
developments regarding Scripture use have shown that the success of any Bible translation project
depends on whether or not its products are acceptable. If a translation is not acceptable to the
intended audience, it may not be used, and as a result, it may fail to bring about the desired
impact. This article explores the concept of ‘acceptability’ as used in Bible translation and
highlights important considerations that translators need to keep in mind in order to enhance the
acceptability of their translation products.
Although the concept of ‘acceptability’ has only been articulated recently, issues of acceptability in Bible
translation are as old as the practice of Bible translation. The history of Bible translation reveals that
Scripture translations have always been characterised by questions regarding the acceptability of any
given version of the Bible. Pioneer Bible translators such as St Jerome, John Wycliffe, Erasmus, Martin
Luther and William Tyndale had both admirers and persecutors who viewed their translations from
different perspectives. According to Glassman (1981:12), ‘practically none of the pioneer translations
of the Bible ever saw light of day without incurring the displeasure of many detractors’. Even today,
no mother tongue translation of the Bible can be used effectively unless it is acceptable.
The subjective nature of acceptability
As noted in the previous section, both Andersen and Larsen agree that the notion of ‘acceptability’ as
an additional criterion for a good translation is very subjective in nature. Their position has also been
supported by other scholars. According to Van der Merwe (2003:6), ‘it is the perceptions and individual
expectations of people that determine how people respond to new translations, and not necessarily
1.cf. Chemorion (2008:20ff).
2.Translators affiliated to the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) hold the view that a good translation is a meaning-based (idiomatic)
translation, which can be achieved through the criteria of accuracy of meaning, clarity of sentence construction, and naturalness of
expression. These three criteria are expected to increase the level of intelligibility of a translation. While articulating the dynamic/
functional theory of translation, Nida & Taber (1974:12) explain that ‘translation consists of reproducing in the receptor language
the closest natural equivalent of the source language message’ and that the act of translating should primarily aim at producing
the meaning of the source text. By emphasising ‘naturalness’ of a translation, these authors imply that intelligibility is an essential
component of a good translation. However, in his later writing, Nida acknowledges that greater intelligibility does not necessarily
lead to greater acceptability and that a perfectly intelligible translation may not be acceptable, while a badly done translation may be
embraced (Nida 1988:301–308).
3.Andersen identifies three different kinds of proofs of authenticity, namely stylistic features, certification by a checking procedure, and
the credibility of the translator.
Original Research
Chemorion
the inherent merits of the translation’. Nord (2001:188) refers
to the subjective views of the receptor audience as ‘subjective
theories’, which she also describes as a people’s perception
of reality that is dependent on the knowledge and experience
drawn from one’s culture. According to Nord (2001:187), one’s
cultural background and established conventions shape how
one perceives reality. She therefore argues that the target text
recipients may, on the basis of their subjective theories, judge a
translation as either excellent or poor even when they have not
compared it with the corresponding source text.
In general, it can be stated that the acceptability of a translation
depends on the client’s evaluation of the translation as either
useful or not with regard to the desired communicative function
of the translation. It is difficult to measure acceptability in
precise and objective terms. Nevertheless, there are certain
indicators which may help translators determine whether or
not the translation is acceptable. Three of the most important
indicators of an accepted translation are explained in the
following section.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #343
Manifestations of acceptability
The first manifestation of the acceptability of a translation is
when people have a compelling desire to acquire a copy of the
translation once it is published4. People will not spend their
money on buying a copy of a translation unless they consider it
valuable and necessary for them to possess. In situations where
a translation is acceptable, Christians in particular would want
to purchase their own copies of the mother tongue translation
as their primary resource for spiritual nourishment. Sometimes
even illiterate elderly people buy the translation so that their
children or grandchildren can read it to them. On the contrary,
when a translation is not acceptable, it would become difficult to
sell because people may not want it.5
The second manifestation of acceptability of a translation occurs
when those who bought the translation actually use it. It is one
thing to buy a translation out of initial excitement and another
thing to find it essential for daily use. When a translation is
acceptable, people will use it for several purposes, some of
which are listed in Conradie et al. (1995:1–2). According to these
authors, people read the message in the Bible in order to reflect
on it and apply it to their lives. For this reason the Bible is read
in church or during personal and family devotions. It is also read
in schools and political gatherings or elsewhere (Conradie et al.
1995:1). These authors go on to explain:
The Bible, for example, plays an important role in the worship
of Christian congregations. The Bible is not only read, explained
and applied in Christian liturgies: biblical phrases also play a role
in the worship itself. It provides the vocabulary for many of the
prayers and hymns. Christian hymns may even be called the “Bible
of the laity” since they present an already and relatively simple
“Bible” to the laity. To a certain extent Christian hymns provide
the “spectacles” through which the Bible is read.
(Conradie et al. 1995:1–2)6
The third manifestation of acceptability of a translation occurs
when certain aspects of the translation begin to affect the life of
the people in general. For example, some people may become
converted to Christianity after reading parts of the translated
Scripture. Other people, especially the illiterate, may memorise
certain verses from the translation and quote them when
necessary. Those who sing may compose songs from translated
4.cf. the discussion on best ways of judging a published sample material in Nida &
Taber (1974:172–173).
5.Smalley (1991:217) gives several reasons why people may not want a translation
in their own language: ‘Perhaps it is not an idiomatic translation, or it is difficult to
understand or unpleasant to read, or perhaps people believe that a Bible in a foreign
language is superior, or that a different dialect would be more suitable, or perhaps
they do not see any value to the Bible at all.’
6.For more information on how a translation of the Bible is used refer to Smalley
(1991:224–233).
texts and some people may adopt the vocabulary used in the
translation in their daily conversation with other believers. In
other words, when people like a particular translation, they
tend to internalise its contents and apply it to practical daily life.
When the translation is popular, it becomes deeply rooted in
people’s lives. People will discuss what they have heard or read
and retell in their language some of the passages that they find
most interesting. They also share the stories with their children.
People who regard the Bible as containing God’s guidelines for
proper human existence allow the Bible to govern their behaviour
patterns. In that case the translation would be respected as a
behavioural guide for Christian individuals and communities. It
therefore goes without saying that when a translation is accepted
and correctly used, it can have a positive impact on the receptor
audience as they strive to lead lives that are concordant with
what they understand the biblical message to be.
CONSIDERATIONS FOR ATTAINING
ACCEPTABILITY IN BIBLE TRANSLATION
The characteristics of acceptability as suggested in the preceding
sections suggest that clients are attracted to translations that
have greater utility value for them. In general it may be argued
that people tend to have subjective views on what they consider
to be an acceptable translation. Therefore, in order to achieve
the acceptability of a translation, translators need to account for
the target audience’s subjective views. Below are some of the
aspects that translators should consider in their quest to secure
widespread acceptability of their translations.
The significance of target audience participation
Each target audience into whose language a translation is to
be produced has two possible roles to play in the translation
process. Firstly, the target audience may play a passive role as
the addressees of the translation, just waiting for the finished
product. In this case the target audience is not a major decision
maker as to what type of translation needs to be done. Secondly,
the target audience could play the more active role of being
the ‘initiator7-cum-addressee’ of the translation. By doing so,
the target audience is the one that designs the translation brief8
in conjunction with the translation team. The role of initiator
affords the target audience the opportunity to participate in
establishing the vision of the translation project as well as in
planning, implementing and evaluating the translation process.
The involvement of the receptor audience in the translation
process is a prerequisite for ownership of the translation project
and its products.
The emerging consensus among Bible translation scholars is
that the translation team and genuine representatives of the
receptor audience should make technical decisions pertaining to
the actual product of the translation jointly. In the recent past,
some scholars have argued that the intended readership of the
translation should be given adequate opportunity to make an
input concerning the type of translation that should be produced.
For instance, Wendland (2002:183–184, 2004:25–26) observes
that in the past, translation theory noted the importance of the
intended readership, but often in a unilateral or even monolithic
sort of way, in which the act of communication was viewed as
a message transmission in one direction, where the author or
translator contributes more or less everything, and the audience
simply receives the text, interprets it and then decides how to
respond.
7.In this article, the term ‘initiator’ is used interchangeably with the term ‘client’. Nord
(1997:139) defines an initiator of a translation as ‘the person or group of people
or institution that starts off the translation process and determines its course by
defining the purpose for which the target text is needed’.
8.According to Nord (1997:137), a ‘translation brief’ is a ‘definition of the communicative
purpose for which the translation is needed. The ideal brief provides implicit or explicit
information about the intended target text function(s), the target text addressee(s),
the medium over which it is to be transmitted, the prospective place and time and, if
necessary, motive of production or reception of the text’.
Original Research
According to Wendland, recent studies have shown that
communication (in text production or translation) needs to be
a truly shared process in which an audience (as an active consumer
of the message) brings to a text their own distinct expectations,
values, norms, biases, experiences, perspectives, and cognitive
frameworks, all of which greatly influence either to foil or to
facilitate the message that they perceive, understand and ultimately
react to.
(Wendland 2002:184)
For this reason, Wendland urges that planners and organisers
of Bible translation should not simply anticipate or overlook the
intended target audience:
Rather, they must make every effort to find out beforehand the
specific nature of their listenership/readership – not only their
perceived needs, but their actual expressed needs and goals for the
translation.
(Wendland 2002:184)
The above discussion suggests strongly that Bible translation
organisations should not assume that a particular type of
translation is suitable for the whole community simply because it
is the type of translation preferred at organisational level. Rather,
the translation agency should work jointly with representatives
of the intended audiences from the target language community
to identify a type of translation that is best suited for each
audience. Harriet Hill has also stressed this point by cautioning
translators against thinking that they are best suited to design
translation products on behalf of the community they serve. In
her view, translators should discuss with the community the
pros and cons of various approaches of translation and leave the
community to choose what is best for them (Hill 2006:179).
Translate/interpret/speak/write in the way that enables your text/
translation to function in the situation in which it is used and with
the people who want to use it and precisely in the way they want
it to function.
(Nord 1997:29)
The main implication of the skopos rule is that for a translation
to be acceptable, it must serve the purpose for which it was
needed. In other words, a translation is acceptable when the
intended recipients consider it valuable and appropriate for
their situation.
The need to have a translation skopos that is client-oriented is
also emphasised by Nord, who regards the notion of function as
an overriding criterion for her translation model (Nord 1991:4).
In Nord’s view a functional translation is one that fulfills the
intended communicative purpose as defined by the client or
commissioner in the translation brief (Nord 1999). Put differently,
a functional translation is one that responds to the ‘expectations,
needs, previous knowledge, and situational conditions’ of the
receiver for whom it is intended (Nord 1997:28). Since different
types of translations are needed for different functions, it is
necessary for translators to determine the function for which
a particular audience needs a translation and the nature of the
translation that would be most suitable for that function.
It is important to note that a translation that is produced without
considering the functional preferences of the receptor audience
In her theoretical framework of translation, Nord states that
translators should also observe an ethical principle, which she
calls ‘function-plus-loyalty’ (Nord 1997:126). This principle
requires the translator to be accountable to both the author of
the source text and the initiator (or client) of the target text. The
‘function-plus-loyalty’ principle is therefore meant to serve as
an ethical reminder for the translator not to act arbitrarily but
to be committed bilaterally to both the target text requirements
and the intentions of the source text sender. When a target
audience performs the role of initiator for its own translation, it
has an opportunity to determine the function for which it would
like to have a translation. Acceptability of the translation can,
therefore, be boosted if the translator fulfills the expectations of
the target audience. However, the principle of ‘function-plusloyalty’ restrains the translator from producing a translation
that unilaterally fulfills the expectations of the receptor audience
while violating the original intentions of the source text author
(Nord 1997:126). In other words, translators have a moral
responsibility of addressing the expectations of the receptor
audience genuinely, while ensuring that the message of the
source text is not distorted unnecessarily.
The principle of ‘function-plus-loyalty’ is of great significance
in the field of Bible translation because it protects the integrity
of Scripture. Since many Christians believe that the Bible is
the inspired word of God, they would resist any rendering
that appears to contradict what the original authors of the
Bible actually said. When effectively applied, the principle of
‘function-plus-loyalty’ will not only hold translators accountable
for the kind of decisions that they make during the translation
process, but it will also make the translation more acceptable.
Consideration of cultural norms and existing
conventions
Article #343
One of the main principles held in functionalist theories of
translation is that translations are meant to carry out certain
communicative functions, which are ideal for certain types of
audiences. From the perspective of functionalist theories, the
skopos (purpose) of a translation may be regarded as the central
criterion for determining the acceptability of a translation. Hans
J. Vermeer, who was the founder of the skopos theory, maintained
that a translation is produced for a given purpose, which it
should serve (Nord 1997:27). According to Vermeer, translators
need to observe the skopos rule, which is the following:
Loyalty to the initiator of the translation and the
source text author
Verbum et Ecclesia
The need for an audience/client-oriented purpose
of translation
may be regarded as having an inappropriate skopos, however
accurate, clear or natural it may be. The appropriateness of the
translation skopos is therefore an important consideration, which
should be determined before the translation process starts.
The concept of culture is one of the aspects of human life that
can easily be described but which is not easily defined. The
English anthropologist Edward Bernett Taylor formulated
one of the oldest and most quoted definitions of culture. In
his definition he states: ‘Culture is that complex whole which
includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, customs and any
other capabilities and habits acquired by man and as a member
of society’ (Taylor as quoted in Katan 2004:25). Katan (2004:25)
suggests that culture needs to be understood as a shared system
for interpreting reality and organising experience. He also
refers to culture as a shared mental model or map of the world.
In his discussion on translators as cultural mediators, Katan
(2004:7–23) sees translators as cultural mediators who should
be able to understand and recreate culturally bound frames,
wherever necessary, for easy and meaningful understanding of
translations. He highlights the need for translators to understand
the frames of interpretation in the source culture and be able to
produce a translation which would create a comparable (rather
than equivalent) set of interpretation frames to be accessed in
the target reader’s mind.9 It is, therefore, very important for
translators to note that in as far as written texts are concerned, each
culture has its own habits, norms and conventions which shape
the understanding of written information. As Nord (1997:66)
observes, the differences in the norms and conventions create
translation problems that must be solved for the translations to
be acceptable.
The task of Bible translation necessarily involves the reexpression of culturally bound information from a biblical
9.For further information on cultural frames of reference see Bascom (2003:81–111)
and Wendland (2008:19–35).
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #343
Original Research
Chemorion
source text language using the target text language within its
target text cultural setting. In other words, Bible translators
mediate between the source text author and the target text
audience. The cultural information that is often encountered
in the translation process includes proper names, key terms,
symbolic actions, animals, tools, festivals, etc. Since cultures are
bound to be different in many respects, Bible translators have
to adjust the culturally conditioned message of the Scriptures
to fit into the contemporary culture. In order for the biblical
cultural information to be meaningful in the target text culture,
the translator needs to supply a code that makes appropriate
sense in the target text culture. However, there are some things
that would look extremely strange and complex to comprehend
because they are culture specific. Agar (1991:168 cited in Nord
1997:25) refers to such things as the ‘rich points’ of a particular
culture. Adopting Agar’s perspective on the notion of ‘rich
points’, Nord cautions translators to be sensitive to cultural
differences between the source culture and the target culture
in order to realise a successful intercultural translation. If the
translation of cultural ideas is not handled appropriately, the
target text readers may mistrust the translation, especially if
they think culturally equivalent terms have deliberately been
ignored. Examples to illustrate this point are given below.
Apart from looking for appropriate ways for re-expressing
cultural ideas, translators need to consider appropriate target
language conventions. In every culture, there are certain
established conventions or accepted standards for measuring
the quality of translations. Cultures gradually develop or adopt
genre conventions, which characterise how different types of
literature are organised within a particular cultural group (Nord
1997:53, 127). The prevailing concept of translation can influence
the type of translation that the intended audience expects (Nord
1997:125). For this reason, translations that are produced in
a manner that contradicts the regular conventions for doing
translations face the risk of being rejected by the people for
whom they are intended. It is therefore very important for Bible
translators to be familiar with existing translation conventions
within the receptor culture and try to conform to them as much
as possible. If the skopos of the intended translation must be
discordant to the prevailing conventions in translation, the
translator has the obligation of explaining to the initiator of the
translation the reason for producing an unorthodox translation.
For acceptability of the translation to be achieved, the translator
and the initiator of the translation must be in agreement
concerning the nature of the intended translation before the
actual drafting of the translation begins.
Before the New Testament was translated into the Sabaot
language10, the Sabaot people were already exposed to biblical
literature, especially the literal versions of the Bible that exist in
Kiswahili and English. Over the years, the Scriptures had come
to be understood in certain ways that created preconceived
opinions on how certain texts were to be understood and
translated. Although there was no written translation into the
Sabaot language, some piecemeal renderings of the cultural
concepts had been attempted orally through exposure to other
language versions such as the Swahili Union version.11 When
the Sabaot New Testament was published in 1997,12 some
of the Sabaot Christians and church leaders expressed their
dissatisfaction with regard to how some of the key biblical terms
were translated. They complained that the translators left out
culturally familiar concepts and used other renderings, which
they considered inappropriate. For example, in the Sabaot
New Testament, the word ‘prophet’ was translated with a
descriptive phrase as ng’älooltooyiintëëtaab Yëyiin,13 which means
a ‘spokesman of God’. However, ordinary Sabaot Christians
in their normal speech simply refer to the word ‘prophet’ as
wöörkooyoontëët, which is a local term for a traditional Sabaot
‘prophet’ or seer. Another example is the translation of Jesus’
title ‘Son of man’. It was translated as Chiitaab Barak,14 which
means a ‘person from heaven’ yet ordinary Sabaot Christians
orally refer to ‘Son of man’ as wëritaab chii, which means ‘Son of a
person’. Similarly the preferred cultural equivalent for the word
‘priest’ is tisiintëët (one who presides over traditional rituals) but
in the Sabaot New Testament it was translated as bëëliintëëtaab
körösëëk,15, which means burner of incense. During a Sabaot Bible
key terms workshop that was held in August 2008, participants
strongly expressed the need for translators to consider using
familiar and culturally acceptable terms in the ongoing revision
of the Sabaot New Testament.16
Consideration of language and literacy issues
10.The Sabaot people live on the slopes of Mt. Elgon along the Kenya-Uganda border.
They are categorized linguistically as part of the Kalenjin family of the Southern
Nilotic cluster of languages (Larsen 1986:143). The Sabaot New Testament was
published by Bible Translation and Literacy (BTL) in 1997.
11.According to Lefevere (1992:114), translations such as religious texts tend to
acquire a timeless quality of their own, and readers do not easily part from them.
They come to trust the translation for no other reason than their familiarity with it.
Readers often feel reluctant to switch to another, newer translation, even if experts
have pronounced it better. In Lefevere’s view, the Septuagint has survived because
of this reason even if it may not have been done well.
12.The New Testament, Sabaot translation, Bible Translation and Literacy, Nairobi.
13.See for example Matthew 2:15 in the Sabaot New Testament.
16.The Sabaot key terms workshop was organised by the staff of Sabaot Bible Translation Project and the writer of this article was one of the facilitators.
One of the most important features of the intended translation
that should be highlighted in the translation brief concerns the
chosen medium of translation. Before attempting to translate
the Bible into any language, the translator needs to find out the
community’s attitude towards their own language (Chemorion
2008:93). Studies on attitudes towards local languages in Nigeria
have shown that many speakers of both majority and minority
ethnic languages do not believe that their languages can be
used for any serious conduct of modern-day affairs (Adegbite
2004:90). Among the elite in Nigeria, the English language is
held in high esteem because parents believe that it has a higher
socio-economic value. A child’s mastery of English is not only
an indication of higher social class, but it is also considered the
key to good employment. According to Adegbite (2004:93),
‘some parents in the elite group go to the extent of banning
their children from using their mother tongue at home even
though both parents speak the same language’ and ‘in certain
schools, indigenous languages, pejoratively called ‘vernaculars’
are highly prohibited in preference for English’. However,
a study on the attitudes towards ethnic languages among
university students indicated that many students developed a
positive attitude towards their mother tongue after attending
lectures aimed at promoting the use of mother tongue (Adegbite
2004:91). The negative attitude towards ethnic languages is not
only found in Nigeria but in many other African countries. If
people have a negative perception of their own mother tongue
they are likely to reject Scripture that has been translated into
their language. In some cases, communities may look down
upon a Bible translation in their own language simply because
they think that their vernacular is not sacred enough for it to be
used in translation (Smalley 1991:87). It is therefore worthwhile
for translators to consider promoting positive attitudes towards
the target language in order for the translation to gain wider
acceptability.
Translations that are rendered using dialects that are viewed
as inferior stand a high risk of being despised and rejected.
According to Dye (2003:6), people only read Scripture in a
particular language if they are pleased to use that language
for that purpose. Dye explains that in order for the translation
to be acceptable, the language used in the translation should
be considered a valid medium for Scripture and the intended
audience should not consider it to be unimportant or
inappropriate. The translators should therefore ensure that the
dialect chosen for translation is acceptable to the audience.
Besides the question of the suitable dialect to be used in
the translation, the translator must also consider the level
Original Research
of vocabulary that would be most suitable for the intended
audience. A translation that is full of obsolete terms or archaic
expressions that are only known to the elderly may not be useful
to the youth, who are only used to contemporary vocabulary of
their language. Similarly, a translation that sounds childish may
be rejected by educated or older people who know the language
very well. Therefore, before the translation is produced, the
translators should carry out serious sociolinguistic research and
testing in order to gauge the level of vocabulary that would be
suitable and acceptable to the receptor audience.
The translator should also consider the level of literacy in the
receptor language. As Sterk and Muthwii (2004:151) noted,
‘[c]rucial to the success of a publication is the knowledge that
there is a readership for it, and that these potential readers are
willing to purchase the translation’. If the writing system of the
receptor language has been established only recently it is very
likely that many people are not yet literate in their language. In
that case, illiterate people will only have access to mother tongue
translation through an oral-aural medium. The translator must
therefore produce a translation that is easy for public reading
and hearing. Such a translation needs to be written in simple
style and easy vocabulary so that the reading would be fluent for
the benefit of illiterate people.
CONCLUSION
Article #343
REFERENCES
Adegbite, W., 2004, ‘Enlightenment and attitudes of the Nigerian
elite on the roles of languages in Nigeria’, in M.J. Muthwii
& A.N. Kioko (eds.), New language bearings in Africa: A fresh
quest, pp. 89–100, Multilingual Matters, Clevedon.
Andersen, T.D., 1998, ‘Perceived authenticity: The fourth
criterion of good translation’, Notes on Translation 12(3),
1–13.
Bascom, R., 2003, ‘The role of culture in translation’, in T. Wilt
(ed.), Bible translation frames of reference, pp. 81–111, St Jerome,
Manchester.
Barnwell, K., 1992, Manual for Bible translation: Introductory course
on translation principles, Summer Institute of Linguistics,
Dallas.
Chemorion, D.C., 2008, ‘Translating Jonah’s narration and
poetry into Sabaot: Towards a participatory approach to
Bible translation (PABT)’, Doctor of Theology dissertation,
Stellenbosch University.
Conradie, E.M., Jonker, L.C., Lawrie, D.G., Arendse, R.A., 1995,
Fishing for Jonah: Various approaches to biblical interpretation,
University of the Western Cape, Cape Town.
Dye, T.W., 2003, ‘Conditions necessary for Scriptures to be used’,
Word and Deed 2(2), 5–10.
Glassman, E.H., 1981, The translation debate: What makes a Bible
translation good?, Intervarsity Press, Illinois.
Hill, H., 2006, The Bible at cultural crossroads: From translation to
communication, St Jerome, Manchester.
Katan, D., 2004, Translating cultures: An introduction for translators,
interpreters and mediators, St Jerome, Manchester.
Larsen, I., 1986, ‘Sabaot Noun Classification’, Nilo–Saharan, 6,
143–163.
Larsen, I., 2001, ‘The fourth criteria of translation’, Notes on
Translation 15(1), 40–53.
Verbum et Ecclesia
This article has highlighted the significance of acceptability
in Bible translation and some of the considerations relevant
to translators in order to produce acceptable translations. In
summary, it can be stated that whether or not a translation is
acceptable depends on the intended audience’s subjective
preferences and not necessarily on objective assessment of a
translation. In most cases, the subjective feelings of the receptor
audience revolve around the purpose for which they need a
translation. It therefore follows that a translation that fulfils
the expectations of the intended audience has a good chance of
being accepted.
Lefevere, A., 1992, Translating Literature: Practice, Theory in
a Comparative Literature Context, The Modern Language
Association of America, New York.
Nida, E.A., 1988, ‘Intelligibility and acceptability in Bible
translating’, The Bible Translator 39(3), 301–308.
Nida, E.A. & Taber, C.R., 1974, The Theory and Practice of
Translation, Brill, Leiden.
Nord, C., 1991, Text Analysis in Translation: Theory, Methodology
and Didactic Application of a Model for Translation-oriented Text
Analysis, John Benjamins, Amsterdam.
Nord, C., 1997, Translating as a purposeful activity: Functionalist
approaches explained, St Jerome, Manchester.
Nord, C., 1999, Translating as a Text Production Activity,
viewed 3 Dec 2009, from http://www.humnet.unipi.
it/t r a du z i o n e _ l e t t e r a r i a/do w n l o a d/ b r ut i/No r d _
Translatingtextproduction.pdf
Nord, C., 2001, ‘Royalty revisited: Bible Translation as a case in
point’, The Translator 7(2), 185–202.
Smalley, W.A., 1991, Translation as mission: Bible translation in
the modern missionary movement, Mercer University Press,
Macon.
Sterk, J. P. & Muthwii, J.M., 2004, ‘The publishing of Scriptures
in Africa: Sociolinguistic challenges’, in E.R. Wendland &
J. Loba-Mkole (eds), Biblical texts and African audiences, pp.
150–170, Acton, Nairobi.
Van der Merwe, C.H.J., 2003, ‘A new translation of the Bible
into Afrikaans. A theoretical and practical orientation’,
Unpublished presentation, Department of Ancient Studies,
University of Stellenbosch.
Wendland, E.R., 2002, ‘Towards a “literary” translation of the
Scriptures with special reference to a “poetic rendition”’,
in J.A. Naudé & C.H.J. van der Merwe (eds.), Contemporary
translation studies and Bible translation: A South African
perspective, Acta Theologica, Supplementum 2, pp. 164–201,
University of the Free State, Bloemfontein.
Wendland, E.R., 2004, Translating literature of Scripture: A literary
rhetorical approach to Bible translation, Summer Institute of
Linguistics, Dallas.
Wendland, E.R., 2008, Contextual frames of reference in translation:
A course book for Bible translators and teachers, St Jerome,
Manchester.
‘I am writing this with my
own hand…’: Writing in
New Testament times
Pieter Botha
Photo Title: Scroll Collage
Taken by: Billy Alexander
Original Research
‘I am writing this with my own hand…’: Writing in
New Testament times
Author:
Pieter J.J. Botha1
Affiliation:
1
Department of New
Testament and Early
Christian Studies,
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Pieter Botha
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Department of New
Testament and Early
Christian Studies,
UNISA, PO Box 392,
Pretoria, Gauteng,
0003, South Africa
Keywords:
writing; New Testament;
literacy; orality; authorship
at:
A seemingly innocuous question concerns the physical and material aspects of writing in antiquity. Yet,
the historical appropriateness of some proposals regarding how the oral tradition about Jesus became
written texts, for instance, requires consideration of the concrete aspects of writing in the Roman
Mediterranean world. What we perceive a text to be, and how we should go about understanding it,
are influenced by what we think about how the text came into being.
In a nutshell, the following article proposes that we will gain a better historical grasp on the early
Christian texts when we study the realia of writing. In this study I focus on some of the physical
constraints and characteristics of writing in antiquity.
WRITING UPON ONE’S KNEES
In her discussion of the ‘illiterate mode’ of medieval written communication Denise Troll notes that
the
material and tools were so problematic that they affected the process of book production and the appearance of
the books produced — which in turn affected the cost, availability, and the quality of books, and the medieval
experience of reading and writing.
(Troll 1990:99)
The physical position adopted in writing is part of the experience of writing, and, consequently, is of
importance to the understanding of some of the social, epistemological and psychological ramifications
of writing. Interestingly enough, much about the posture of writing in antiquity is often assumed. For
instance, recall Mack’s description of the creation of the Gospel of Mark: ‘It was composed at a desk in
a scholar’s study lined with texts and open to discourse with other intellectuals’ (Mack 1988:322–323).
Article #209
Botha, P.J.J., 2009, ‘“I am
writing this with my own
hand…”: Writing in New
Testament times’, Verbum
11 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.209
INTRODUCTION
It has become quite fashionable to emphasise the pitfalls of anachronism when attempting historical
interpretation of texts, and rightly so; proper contextualisation is of considerable importance to
responsible analysis and understanding.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
ABSTRACT
When the New Testament and early Christian writings are considered as situated, culturally
mediated and historically functional events, the pitfall of a binary contrast between literacy and
orality should be avoided. Focus should be on the physical and experiential aspects of ancient
writing. Discussions of posture, education, cost and the amount of time involved in physical
writing in Greco-Roman times are concluded by an analysis of the disposition of subservience
that surrounded writing.
It is well known that the ancient Egyptian scribe did not use a table when writing.
When writing on a roll, the Egyptian always sat and this is the position displayed by statues of scribes....
Egyptians sat either with the hind part of the body on the ground with the legs crossed in front or with the
body resting on the crossed legs.... In a squatting position the loin cloth of the scribe is tightly stretched so as
to provide a firm support for the papyrus.... He never uses a table of any kind.
(Černý 1952:13–14)
Like the Egyptians, the Greeks and Romans did not use tables or writing desks, but it seems that they
sometimes sat on a seat of some kind when writing. The papyrus roll was spread upon the lap or
placed upon one knee or thigh (Parássoglou 1985). A small tablet might have been used for support. A
sharpened reed pen (rather than the brush of the classic Egyptian scribes) was used in Greco-Roman
writing.
‘Writing on one’s knees’ is quite unlike how a modern scholar works. In antiquity scribes were, typically,
not accustomed to writing on tables or desks, as is shown by a wide range of artistic, archaeological,
and literary evidence (Parássoglou 1979; Turner & Parsons 1987:5–6). When a scribe was making
relatively brief notes on a wax tablet or on a sheet of papyrus or parchment, he would usually stand
and write while holding the writing material in his left hand. In the case of a more extensive task, such
as the copying of a lengthy manuscript, a scribe would sit, occasionally on the ground but sometimes
on a stool or bench, supporting the scroll or codex on his knees (Metzger 1968:123). Scribes wrote their
scrolls or sheets by holding, shifting and balancing their writing materials on their thighs (Metzger
1968:125–126).
Creative Commons
An illustration of this is the colophon (scribe’s mark, signature or note) at the close of a papyrus scroll
containing portions of the third and fourth books of the Iliad (third century), which mentions the
cooperation of the stylus, the right hand and the knee in writing: kavlamov~ mÆ e[graye dexia; cei;r kai;
govnu.1
1.P.Lond.Lit. 11. See Turner & Parsons 1987:5 n.13; see also P.Oxy. 2079.21–22.
Original Research
Botha
Given that such a writing position – often without either back
support or crucial forearm support2 – is not only uncomfortable,
but also physically taxing, the ongoing delegation of writing
to servants, slaves and hired craftspersons is particularly
noteworthy. Consider, also, the demand of availability: the
scribe was required to provide his writing skills in basically
any conceivable situation, from the bathroom to the bedroom,
from the banquet to the street corner, and often while travelling.
Adding to the physical stress was the need to refresh the ink
on the reed pen. The ink pot was either placed on the ground,
or, as is illustrated in a 3rd-century relief, held by a slave (cf.
Parássoglou 1979:10, plate 2).
world – but the real issue lies in the meaning of terms such as
‘literate’ and ‘illiterate’. During the Roman Period people of
various backgrounds participated in elementary schooling,
with some progressing to more advanced levels of learning. The
connections between elementary schooling and the demands
of daily life in ancient societies placed writing into particular
‘subsets’ of social and institutional life. People could (and
did) exploit the skills they had learned in schools by drafting
messages, compiling daily lists and accounts and testifying
to the authenticity of documents by adding subscriptions or
signatures.
Such physical constraints affected the appearance of ancient
writing. The width of columns (on a scroll) averages about six to
nine centimetres, which is the width of an average thigh. In some
papyrus writings the successive columns are not exactly vertical;
sometimes they incline to one side or the other, and the writing
may have a tendency to be larger at the bottom than at the top of
the column (Turner & Parsons 1987:5; cf. Johnson 2004:92, 100).
We also know that significant percentages, in fact, the vast
majority of all 1st-century Mediterranean societies were ignorant
of ‘letters’, and unable to read or write, including some who
had to deal with ‘letters’ on a fairly regular basis. The degrees
of literacy, that is, the various possibilities along the spectrum
of writing and/or reading skills, did not correlate directly with
class, wealth and status. In other words, literary activities and
literacy skills did not correlate.
Only by the eighth century did artistic representations of persons
writing on desks or tables begin to appear. By ‘the end of the
ninth century and throughout the tenth and eleventh centuries,
examples of persons writing on desks, tables and stands multiply
noticeably’ (Metzger 1968:130).
In the Greco-Roman world the lack of (proficient) writing skills
did not engender stigma nor disdain. Illiterate persons usually
had recourse to a network of literates: the ubiquitous scribe, a
relative, a friend, a slave in a nearby household.
Clearly, there was no desire, want, or perceived need for desks
for writing (and reading) in antiquity. The following reasons are
conventionally suggested for persisting with the ancient custom
of holding on one’s lap the scroll or loose pages on which one
was writing:
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #209
•
Writing in antiquity was largely done by slaves. The
adoption of writing desks in early medieval times is quite
possibly connected with the circumstance that
ancient society, being little concerned with the comfort or efficiency
of slaves, provided no artificial support for the professional scribe
who was a slave; whereas the medieval scribe, usually a monk, was
more likely to improve his means of writing.
(Metzger 1968:132, quoting Meyer)
•
The use of the codex became widespread only in late
antiquity. Writing a codex makes different demands than
writing a scroll. The development of the medieval desk
probably served to solve some of the difficulties concerned
(Small 1997:155). The growing popularity of large deluxe
codices must also have contributed to changes in the customs
of scribes (Metzger 1968:133).
The posture of the ancient scribe at work was closely linked
with the methods of instruction and the realities of ancient
schooling.
At every level, teaching was geared to fit the condition of the
ancient classroom, which, if it was provided with seats at all,
contained only benches. Most of the time, ancient students had
only their knees on which to rest a text…
(Cribiore 2001:131)
Above all, such a posture reflects an attitude: writing was labour.
Literariness, high education, though inextricably connected to,
nevertheless differed from, the practice of writing. In antiquity
a distinction between reading and writing was maintained in
ways that seem strange (and problematic) to present perceptions
of literacy. Writing and reading were not perceived as different
parts of an undifferentiated process, despite their obvious
overlap.
‘For he writes slowly…’
The 1st-century Mediterranean world was not an ‘illiterate’
2.Of course, ergonomic and physiotherapeutic studies of ancient scribes do not
exist. However, correlating the physical stress induced by scribal posture with the
investigation of contemporary problems is fairly easy. For example, such research
shows how forearm support reduces the incidence of musculoskeletal discomfort
and disorders: Cook, Burgess-Limerick & Papalia (2004); Marcus et al. (2002);
O’Sullivan et al. (2006); and Rempel et al. (2006).
The papyri from Roman Egypt inform us about the bradevw~
gravfonte~, ‘those writing slowly’ and the uJпοgraφεiς, ‘substitute
writers’. In these papyri we glimpse a world in which someone
wrote on behalf of someone else, because that person either
wrote slowly or did not know letters (Youtie 1971a, 1971b, 1975a,
1975b). Illiterates and semi-literates, in fact, manipulated the
world of (Greek) writing quite effectively.
~
A remarkable illustration of this is Petaus, the kwmogrammateuv~
(town clerk) of Ptolemais Hormou and associated villages
towards the end of the 2nd century CE. His signature is found
on several documents, written in rigid, multi-stroke letters
of varying size. However, we also have a sheet of papyrus
on which Petaus repeatedly practised his signature. On this
papyrus he wrote, Petau’~ kwmogra(mmateu;~) ejpidevdwka (his
name, title and a verb ‘I have submitted’): the formula required
to sign documents in his official capacity (P.Petaus 121). The
papyrus shows that on his fifth attempt Petaus omitted the first
vowel of the verb, which he continued to omit in his further
seven attempts to practise the formula. Obviously he could not
reproduce the formula correctly by heart and needed a model
(i.e., the line immediately above) to copy. He clearly could not
read his own writing with understanding. Yet Petaus knew
where and how to sign documents and was quite capable of
dealing with the demands of his office, in which he made use of
professional scribes.3
The Apostle Paul might have been one of these ‘slow writers’
(Gal 6.11) and so, we can safely assume, were several other early
Christian authors.
‘By the hand of a Scribe…’
In the world of Greco-Roman writing another widespread and
powerful force was at work. Even among the members of the
elite and in scholarly circles who used writing with varying
degrees of sophistication, practising writing as such was
relegated to assistants, secretaries and servants. Although such
individuals were undoubtedly educated their background and
schooling socialised them to have distinct attitudes towards
physical writing.
Learning to write in the ancient school was not governed by the
same rules that regulated the process of learning to read. As a
consequence, ‘… defining the relationship between writing and
3.On Petaus, see: Hanson 1991:171–174; Turner 1973:36–47; Youtie 1971b:239–
243.
Original Research
‘I am writing this with my own hand…’: Writing in New Testament times
reading in Greco-Roman pedagogy is not a straightforward
endeavor’ (Cribiore 2001:176).4 Interaction between reading and
writing was far less pronounced in Greco-Roman societies than
it is among ourselves as ‘writing was a separate skill’ (Lane Fox
1994:144; cf. Cribiore 1996:176–178; Hanson 1991:179–183).
This particular attitude towards learning writing skills reflects
deep-seated convictions about civilisation and achievement:
Quintilian and all the theorists and schoolmasters who have
followed suit are silent on the subject of the differentiated practices
of reading and writing. There is only one education worth writing
about and that is liberal education. Its early stages are usually
beneath notice. What counts is training to be an orator.
(Bloomer 1997:62)
Although a limited ability in writing was central to early or initial
education, advanced education was associated with discrete
ideas about literacy. After elementary education, specialised
writing skills were taught by trades, crafts and slave schools. By
contrast, advanced, ‘liberal’ education focused on providing a
training in social distinction and in the linguistic skills suited
for the fashioning of governors (Morgan 1998:226–234). This
bifurcation was profound. After the initial exposure to teaching,
the privileged boy’s companion group changed from the free
and slave children (the vernae) of the household to the liberi of the
school (Bloomer 1997:60–61). His teachers changed from nurses,
parents, freedmen and the people from his father’s household
to professional teachers and the world of his peers. Attending
school meant rehearsing the social and sexual segregation of
going to court or to elections, practising to speak in the forum (on
behalf of others), and becoming adept carriers of the emblems of
Roman civic life (Bloomer 1997:61; Morgan 1998:234–239).
4.Our picture of Greco-Roman pedagogy is multifarious and incomplete at best.
Recently scholars have started to reconsider and improve our understanding of
primary and secondary education (Booth 1979; Kaster 1983). Noteworthy is that
literate education was recognisably the same throughout the Empire, whether in
Latin or Greek speaking areas (cf. Morgan 1998:66–67). In some cases the first
elements of reading and writing must have been taught at home (Harris, 1989:307).
‘Slaves were schooled in profitable literate trades. Poor boys picked up reading and
writing in a portico or rented shop stall’ (Bloomer 1997:61–62).
5.The hermeneumata, like the progymnasmata, are school texts (exercises) of the
Roman Period. See, among others, Bloomer (1997); Bradley (1994:26); Dionisotti
(1982); Morgan (1998:64–65); and Webb (2001).
To write, even by one’s own hand, entailed writing by the hand
of a scribe.
‘For best writing, … 25 Denarii…’
Writing was a prized skill. The Edictum Diocletiani de pretiis rerum
venalium was issued between 21 November and 31 December 301
in the name of the two augusti Diocletianus and Maximianus as
well as in that of the caesares Constantius and Maximianus. The
term ‘edict’ was derived from the expression dicunt in the praefatio
(praef. 4), though in the text itself we find the terms lex (praef.
15) or statutum (praef. 15, 18, 19, 20). This ‘law’ was published
across the Empire as part of a comprehensive administrative and
financial reform whose primary goal was to secure provisions
for the Roman army.
The praefatio names the occasion and purpose of the Edict,
namely to set maximum prices as a way of controlling the avaritia
of merchants and traders, who sometimes demanded eight
times the usual amount for goods. Soldiers were particularly
vulnerable, as they often had to spend a significant part of their
pay on purchases from the marketplace. The Edict threatened
capital punishment in cases of overcharging, illegal negotiations,
or the hoarding of goods.
The Edict then continues with a list of foods, goods, and services,
indicating more than a thousand maximum prices in denarii. In
column 7, lines 39–41, we find the tariffs set for scribal work: 40
denarii for the preparation of a lot of four parchments, 25 denarii
for 100 lines of best quality script, and 20 denarii for the same
number of lines of second-grade quality script.7
Article #209
The ‘liberal’ education about which Quintilian writes dealt with
declamation, but the subjects of the declamatory speeches by
the students were not neutral topics merely for the practice of
technique. Declamation abounds with examples of those figures
who prompt speech but will never be admitted to civil speech:
freedmen, slaves, women. ‘At the least, like other childhood
games, declamation taught competition, rule following, and
inculcated habits of stratification and distinction’ (Bloomer
1997:69). In their actions as in their words, those boys were
telling themselves and each other this is what we do and this is
how we do it because this is who we are. Those who approved, their
fathers, were affirming, you are one of us.
The remarkable thing about all of this is the teachers who were not
elite persons themselves but often slaves and mostly freedmen. This
fact reminds us that we should beware the numbers trap: literacy
is not merely about how many writing how much. Though
individuals could (and did) write for, and by, themselves, but
even when writing by oneself the attitudes, the expectations,
the bodiliness of hierarchy and status sensitivities were present,
implicating the ‘natural and right order of things’ (cf. Morgan
1998:268–270).
Verbum et Ecclesia
When we study the writing exercises of these young people at
school (the hermeneumata)5 we can see that they were learning to
make distinctions, to categorise, to argue within a circumscribed
field of characters, events, and solutions. They were learning
not just how to speak, but who may speak and about what on
whose behalf. Orally and in writing they were re-producing,
and thereby positively identifying themselves with ‘the cultural
material and the ethical precepts’ of their world, becoming active
users of ‘a vital marker of social status and power’ (cf. Morgan
1998:198). They were learning about the inextricably connected
social subordinations that constituted the Mediterranean world:
where, in their perceptions and deliberations, to place various
personae and what actions and sensibilities were appropriate
to them. The linguistic and rhetorical expertise brought about
by their schooling ‘came to distinguish them from those with a
craft literacy or vernacular or spoken linguistic skills’ (Bloomer
1997:62).
These habits shaped literary practices which often did not entail
writing for themselves. Greco-Roman societies insisted on the
‘institution’ of scribes (rather than mass education). Advanced
education (to become part of civil society) and specialised
training (to write long texts) were considered distinct and very
unequal aspects of society.6
An exploration of the world of ‘payment for lines written’ will help
to explain writing costs and the values associated with writing.
The following are exercises in historical imagination, consisting
of some speculations as to what might have been involved in
the production and copying of the works of New Testament
‘authors’. Any description today must rely on generalisation,
even though we know that the actual use of writing and writing
technology in different contexts was quite diverse. Precision and
certainty are therefore impossible. Technological application is
continually re-imagined and re-deployed according to unique
circumstances by creative human beings.
The limitations of our current documentation are severe. For
instance, the Edictum Diocletiani does not specify what is meant
by a “line” nor what is ‘best’ writing (scriptor in scriptura optima
versus n. centum). Putting together the following general picture
is intended simply to contribute to a background for discussions
of the contexts of early Christian writings.
Copyists charged by the number of lines (stivcoi), with books
being priced accordingly (Ohly 1928:86–125; Haines-Eitzen
6.In the late Empire and Late Antiquity, and most noticeably in the Christian Empire,
scribal and secretarial special skills started to become important means of rising to
power and gaining status.
7.The Edict is accessible in Graser (1940). On the economic crisis that led to the Edict
(and discussion of the problems interpreting it) see Corbier 2005; Drinkwater 2005;
and Meißner 2000.
Original Research
Botha
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #209
Table 1
Estimated costs of copying some early Christian documents
Stivcoia
Drachmai
±225 CE
‘labour days’b
Edict Diocl., 301,
denarii c
Ed.Diocl., skilled ‘labour
days’d
Matthew
2 560
5½–7½
4⅓
512–640
9
Luke
2 750
6–8
4⅔
550–688
9½
Acts
2 560
5½–7½
4⅓
512–640
9
John
2 020
4–6
3½
404–505
7
Mark
1 610
3½–4½
3
322–403
5½
Romans
980
2–3
1⅔
196–245
3⅓
1 Corinthians
910
2–2⅔
1½
182–228
3
2 Corinthians
610
1⅓–1⅔
1
122–153
2
Galatians
310
⅔–1
½
62–78
1
Ephesians
330
⅔–1
½
66–83
1
Revelation
1 350
2¾–3¾
2⅓
270–338
4⅔
Hermas
12⅔
3 650
7½–11
6
730–913
Ep. Barnabas
880
1¾–2½
1½
176–220
3
Hebrews
715
1½–2
1⅓
144–180
2½
1 Timothy
240
½–⅔
½
48–60
1
Gs Thomas
660
1½–1¾
1
132–165
2
Didache
300
⅔–¾
½
60-75
1
note:
a. These estimates ignore all text-critical questions. There are of course arbitrary aspects in any such calculations, given the evidence. The line totals are rounded in multiples of 5
for easier calculation. The point is not absolute precision (which is impossible) but reasonable approximation. Statistics for NT stivcoi: Harris, J R 1883b:313–330; Metzger
1981:38–40; 1987:298–299; Murphy-O’Connor 1995:120.
b. Calculated at five hours per day, writing two lines per minute.
c.
At 20 and 25 den. per 100 lines respectively. Note that the information based on the Edictum Diocletiani is included for interest’s sake only; in a way these are artificial prices. The
Edict aims at providing maximum prices. It does not tell us what ‘a line’ entails. There is also a problem with the ‘value’ of Diocletian denarii. By the time of the Edict, the denarius
was no longer in circulation.
d. The Edict sets the wage for an agricultural worker (operarius rusticus) at 25 denarii, with keep (pastus). The scribe’s wage excludes support. The Edict sets the wage for various
skilled workers (e.g., faber intestinarius, faber tignarius and carpentarius) at 50 denarii a day, including food (pastus). Scribal work probably fell in this category. For comparative
purposes I include cost for daily support (taken at 12–15 denarii).
2002:87–88). In literary works, copyists maintained an average
hexameter line, composed of (16) syllables with a total of about
36 letters per line (Harris, J R 1883a:137–145; Ohly 1928:22).8 For
the purposes of this exercise I assume that the copying of early
Christian documents followed the same standard, including
Paul’s letters (considering the exceptional length of his letters9).
It is not a simple matter to use the Edictum Diocletiani as a guide to
actual prices (if it can be used at all). An interesting alternative is
Papyrus London Inv.2110, a fragmentary papyrus dating from the
first half of the third century CE. It is an account of the receipts
of a professional scriptorium (the text is published by Ohly
1928:88–90, 126–129). In this papyrus two prices are quoted, 47
drachmai for a book of 16 600 lines and 13 drachmai for a book of
6 300 lines. This gives us a range of price (for a long text and for
a shorter text) of 0.283 to 0.207 drachmai per 100 lines.
Copying the Gospel of Luke at such prices would cost 5.7 or
7.9 drachmai. If we take the average (0.245 dr. per 100 lines) the
price would be 6¾ drachmai (see Table 1). The account from
the scriptorium makes clear that the cost of the papyrus is not
included in the price for copying.10
The cost of papyrus is a notorious problem.11 Papyrus rolls were
8.It should be noted that Johnson found the average line length (a sort of ‘normal’
range) ‘at roughly 13 to 24 letters per line’ for prose texts among the Oxyrynchus
bookrolls that he studied (Johnson 2004:114). There was ‘no consistent correlation
between width of column and letter counts’ (Johnson 2004:114).
9.The typical papyrus letter is about one page (averaging about 100 words). Even
literary authors, such as Cicero and Seneca, did not write letters as lengthy as Paul’s
(Richards 1991:213).
10.P.Lond.Inv. 2011, column 1 line 9 reads, uJpe;r gravptrwæn tw’n aujtw’n biblivwn stivcwn
…, indicating that the preceding item, costing 41 drachmai must be something
other than the cost of copying, which must be the cost of the papyrus required
(Skeat 1982:67).
11.Which cannot be properly dealt with here. See the discussion by Skeat (1995).
TABLE 2
Estimated costs of papyrus scrolls
Lines
Columns
Length, cm.
drachmai
Matthew
2 560
85
940
6½
Luke
2 750
92
1 010
7
Acts
2 560
85
940
6½
John
2 020
67
740
5
Mark
1 610
54
590
4
980
33
360
2½
Pauline letters
4 450
149
1 635
11
Revelation
1 350
45
495
3½
Romans
produced in lengths of about 6 metres (20 sheets of ±30 cm wide
glued together), with a height of about 25 centimetres12 (to fit
comfortably on the ‘knee’) and sold in Egypt for about 4 drachmai
a roll.13 If we take the estimates of lines (see Table 1) and use
30 lines per column, at an average width of 9 centimetres,14 to
which intercolumn spacing should be added (2 centimetres),
New Testament writings set on rolls would entail the costs
indicated in Table 2.
These calculations can be compared with P 45 (which is a codex)
as a control. P45 has columns of writing of 16 × 19 centimetres (w
12.The conventional estimate is 25 centimetres; the Herculaneum papyri has a
standard height of 19 to 24 centimetres. Johnson shows that early Roman period
scrolls are 19 to 25 centimetres high; in the later Roman era a height of between 25
to 33 centimetres came to dominate (Johnson 2004:141–143).
13.The price of 4 drachmai for an unused roll remained fairly constant during the
first two centuries in Egypt (Bagnall 1995:13; Drexhage 1991:384–389; Harris,
W.V.1989:195; Hedrick 2005:73; Lewis 1974:129–134).
14.Johnson (2004) found that the typical column width among literary papyri from
Oxyrhynchus is about 6 centimetres, averaging about 24 letters. In my calculation
a line is 36 letters, hence a column width of 9 centimetres.
× h, per page); if we include intercolumnar space of 2 centimetres
the gospels set on rolls would entail:
Matthew (49 columns)
Mark (32 columns)
Luke (48 columns)
John (38 columns)
Four Gospels, single scroll
49 x 18
32 x 18
48 x 18
38 x 18
= 882 cm.
= 576 cm.
= 864 cm.
= 684 cm.
= 3 006 cm.
Using P46 as comparative basis the Pauline Letters (including
Hebrews) would transcribe onto a roll of 2 806 centimetres.
These calculations correlate adequately with those in Table 2.
Thus, a copy of Matthew (in the 2nd century) would probably
have required handing over at least 12 drachmai, about 6 for the
papyrus and 6 more for copying. Copies of Luke and Acts on a
single scroll would have cost about 27 drachmai. Comparatively
speaking, instead of a copy of the Gospel of Matthew, one could
have bought 72 loaves of bread or 18 litres of wine. A cheap tunic
(citwvn) made by apprentices cost between 16 and 24 drachmai, a
white shirt (for special occasions) about 40 drachmai, and a bath
towel 3 drachmai 3 oboloi.15
The price of copies of early Christian texts cannot be seen as
particularly exorbitant. What is more revealing is that during the
2nd century an ‘average’ six-person household required at least
a thousand drachmai a year for food, clothing and housing just to
survive (summarising Drexhage 1991:440–454). By the middle of
the 2nd century the average wage for a day-labourer was about
1 drachma 1 obol, which increased by about 3 to 5 oboloi16 towards
the 3rd century (Drexhage 1991:405).
Dictation, it is important to keep in mind, often played a role
in the various aspects of authoring.18 Dictation probably was
part of not only note-taking and composition, but of editing,
compiling and publication.
15.The prices given are all from the second half of the second century, in Egypt.
See Drexhage 1991, ad. loc. Szaivert & Wolters (2005) has detailed price lists.
However, such compilations should be used circumspectly, especially for translation
into first-century values. We need to keep in mind that during the early Empire,
Egypt was mainly a closed currency area, and the tetradrachm was tariffed at 1
denarius, making the drachma equal to the sestertius (Duncan-Jones 1994:90).
16.6 oboloi = 1 drachma.
17.Composition in memory – even for very long texts – is possible and was done;
probably most Greco-Roman authors were quite practised at doing so (Botha
2005). Yet we have many indications of authors deliberately seeking advice from
friends and/or employing correctors. ‘Paul may have had a particularly retentive
memory, but it would have been more in keeping with the ethos of his age to have
noted, either personally or by a secretary, such items as he felt might be useful in
his oral instruction and written communication’ (Murphy-O’Connor 1995:36) – a
description probably valid for other New Testament authors as well.
18.In fact, one of the defining characteristics of Greco-Roman literacy is the presence
of dictation. Typically, authoring in antiquity entailed two different activities
accomplished by (at least) two different individuals. Especially for literary texts,
autograph manuscripts seem quite exceptional in antiquity (and the Middle Ages).
Cribiore (1996:93 n.172) reminds us of the importance of ‘interior dictation’.
Regarding dictation in Greco-Roman times, see: Dorandi 1993; Harris, 1989: 224
n.247, 336; Johnson 2004:39–40; Skeat 1956; Small 1997:170–174.
By means of a few experiments I have established that I can copy
a page of 30 lines (at about 36 letters per line), writing in capitals,
in about ten minutes. A practised, motivated professional would
easily be able to match or even improve on such a rate, that is,
writing at three lines (stichoi) per minute. However, as I write
with modern materials using a quality ballpoint pen (therefore
without the need for having to dip the pen in ink or to sharpen
the point) I would surmise that three lines per minute would
most probably be the upper limit for writing done quickly, in the
type of handwriting which Turner describes as informal round
hand.19 The average over a period of time would, most likely, be
closer to two lines per minute.
Writing with precision and attempting to achieve a calligraphic
appearance was very difficult and almost impossible for me to
do quickly. Even with considerable practice it was challenging to
improve on one line per minute, though I think it safe to submit
that an experienced professional could probably do about 1.5
lines per minute of formal mixed hand.20
A long time ago Eduard Stange suggested a tempo of about 1.5
lines per minute for Paul’s secretary.21 That would seem to be a
useful guideline for neat writing; that is, writing out a proper
version ready for circulation.22
Though fast writing can keep up with slow dictation, it cannot
do so for protracted periods. To take down a speech with some
reliability absolutely requires some form of speedwriting or
shorthand — as all secretaries and journalists working without
modern recording devices know.23 Though longhand writing
was certainly used to compose some early Christian texts,
the role of scribes who were capable of speedwriting and/or
shorthand must be considered.
Speedwriting can be done at more than twice the speed of
longhand, due to using less letters and abbreviations. Speeds
of up to 120 words a minute are possible for short periods of
time, with speeds of 80 words a minute being regularly attained.
However, speedwriting is nowhere near as fast as symbolic
shorthand systems.
Article #209
What was involved in writing a New Testament document?
From the working methods of the two Plinys, Cicero and others,
we learn that for longer works, including letters, writing began
with note-taking which would be worked up into a draft copy,
after which a proper version of the work was prepared, to be
sent off to its prospective recipients (Dorandi 1991; 1993; cf.
Botha 2009). The writing of a rough draft took relatively little
time, whereas the refined version was written more carefully,
typically on fine papyrus. The rough draft(s) would also entail
composition, dictation, possible discussion, redirection and
consultation of notebooks (e.g., notes kept by the author and/
or the scribe).17
We do not know, but I imagine writings such as the Gospel of
Mark, Luke-Acts and letters such as 1 Corinthians or Romans
were likely to have been completed in at least three phases:
firstly, note-taking and basic composition; secondly, rough
drafting, and thirdly, the final copy. These works were likely to
have been written out, in various forms, at least three times.
Verbum et Ecclesia
When we turn to the origins of the New Testament writings the
costs calculated in Table 1 are incomplete. Papyrus London 2110
indicates costs for copying an existing text and an author required
more extensive assistance than just copying. Did a scribe
contracted to perform secretarial work include the time spent on
preparatory work in the cost of the final copy’s number of stichoi?
Probably not, if we consider the amounts listed in Table 1.
Original Research
19.Turner classified literary hands of the first four centuries ce into three main groups:
(1) Informal round hands; (2) Formal round hands; (3) Formal mixed hands (Turner
& Parsons 1987:20–21) ‘The class of informal round hands is large …. It includes
hands so quickly written as to be almost characterless — “nondescript” …’ (Turner
& Parsons 1987:21).
20.Turner’s ‘formal mixed’ is similar to the ‘severe’ style of handwriting used in other papyrological handbooks (e.g., Kenyon 1899:75–76). The assumption is that
New Testament authors did not publish in a ‘formal round’ hand which is almost
instantly recognisable (from the generous size of their letters and the use of serifs
or decorated roundels). It is, of course, possible that the New Testament authors
published in a calligraphic hand, in something similar to ‘biblical majuscule’, which
is not confined to the writing of biblical texts (it is a terminological relic). ‘Of all
styles of ancient handwriting this one attained the greatest fixity of form’ (Turner &
Parsons 1987:22). For my purposes in the current article the calligraphic option is
excluded from the account.
21.‘Rechnen wir für die flüchtige Abschrift einer Seite des Nestleschen Testaments
(ca. 30 Zeilen) bei Akzentloser Minuskelschrift mindestens 10 Minuten, für das
paulinische Diktat derselben aber, das ja nicht onhe einzelne Wiederholungen
und Stockungen abging, mindestens das Doppelte, also 20 Minuten, so ergibt
das für das Diktat des Römerbriefes 11⅓ Stunde, des I.Korintherbriefes 10⅓, des
Philipperbriefes 2½, aber auch noch für I.Thessalonicherbrief 2⅓ Stunde’ (Stange
1918:109).
22.Making use of the data collected by Dixon, Kurzman & Friesen (1993), it can be
calculated that handwriting, on average, requires 0.465 seconds per letter (in
sentences in English, using cursive script) or about 17 seconds for a 36-letter line,
equalling about 3 stichoi per minute.
23.Generally, the maximum possible writing rate is 40 words per minute, with the
maximum possible speaking rate considered to be 200 words per minute (Gould &
Boies 1978:1146). Of course, the notion of the ‘speed’ of speech is itself problematic
(Wainschenker, Doorn & Castro 2002).
Original Research
Botha
Speedwriting and shorthand were well-known in antiquity.
Using symbols for letters, syllables, words and short phrases
shmeiogravfoi (later called tacugravfoi), notarii and exceptores
could easily take down speeches.
According to Plutarch (Cato Minor 23.3) the first speech recorded
in this way was delivered by Cato on 5 December 63 BCE,
demanding the death penalty for the Catilinarians. Plutarch
adds that Cicero had scribes specially trained for the purpose of
taking down speeches.24 Cicero’s freedman and secretary, Tiro,25
devised a system of signs (notae) for prepositions and other short
words, and then invented signs for endings (declinationes). These
notae Tironianae were widely used in the imperial administration,
as well as later by the Church.
Martial mentions both the shorthand scribe (notarius, 14.208) and
the shorthand teacher (10.62.4).
Quick as speech is, the hand is quicker;
Before the tongue stops, the hand has finished.
(Martial Epigrams 14.208)
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #209
Quintilian notes the impact of the competent shorthand scribe:
The condemnation which I have passed on such carelessness in
writing will make it clear what my views are on the luxury of
dictation, which is now so fashionable. For, when we write even
quickly the hand cannot follow the rapidity of our thoughts so
we have time to think, whereas the presence of our amanuensis
hurries us on, and at times we feel ashamed to hesitate or pause,
or make some alteration, as though we were afraid to display such
weakness before a witness. As a result, our language tends not
merely to be haphazard and formless, but in our desire to produce a
continuous flow, we let slip positive improprieties of diction, which
show neither the precision of the writer nor the impetuosity of the
speaker.
(InstOrat 10.3.19–20)
Seneca writes about the remarkable things invented by slaves
(Epistulae 40.25): ‘What about signs for words with which
a speech is copied in writing, however rapid, and the hand
follows the speed of tongue’. About his uncle, Pliny the Younger
reports:
In his journeys … he found leisure for this sole pursuit [continuing
his studies]. A shorthand writer (notarius), with bookroll and
tablets (pugillaribus), constantly attended him in his chariot, who,
in winter, wore a particular sort of warm gloves, that the sharpness
of the weather might not occasion any interruption to his studies;
and for the same reason my uncle always used a sedan chair in
Rome.
(Epistulae 3.5)
From papyri and wax tablets which were found in Egypt we
learn about Greek shorthand. From the 2nd century onwards,
examples of Greek shorthand and parts of manuals survive in
large numbers. In these examples we find properly organised
systems, composed of syllabaries and commentaries, as well
as groups of words, arranged in fours or occasionally eights,
with a sign attached to each, which had to be memorised (Milne
1934:3–6). Initially, such systems were practised only by slaves
and freedmen trained as scribes (Teitler 1985:27–29, 31–34).
Was tachygraphy (in Greek) common during the first century?
All indications are that it was. Cicero (in a letter to Atticus, 45
BCE) explicitly uses the Greek phrase dia; shmeivwn to refer to
shorthand, indicating the existence of such systems (Cicero Ad
Atticum 13.32). Cicero’s son writes (to Tiro — Cic. Ad familiares
24.Plutarch also reports that Julius Caesar kept a slave ‘who was accustomed to write
from dictation’, sitting next to him on his travels (Caes. 17.4–5).
25.Marcus Tullius Tiro, slave (born as a child of a war prisoner) and secretary of
Cicero, who eventually manumitted him (in 53 BCE), was clearly a highly educated
and gifted person who probably shaped Cicero’s work and heritage to a remarkable
extent. Yet, due to his status he will always remain a shadowy figure (McDermott
1972). McDermott (1972:272) doubts whether Tiro actually devised a shorthand
system, but see Milne 1934:1; Teitler 1985:172–173.
16.21.8) to justify his less-than-sterling performance studying
philosophy in Athens: ‘But I beg you to see that a copyist
(librarius) is sent to me as quickly as possible, most preferably a
Greek (maxime quidem Graecus), for that will relieve me of a lot of
trouble in writing out lecture notes’ (the assumption being that
a competent scribe could be found in Rome). Oxyrhynchus Papyri
4.724 (155 CE) is an apprenticeship contract with a shorthand
teacher, the agreement entails a two-year training period.26
To visualise the kind of secretaries who could have been
involved in the creation of the New Testament documents the
following examples seem relevant. In 108 the slaves Sabinus
and Diadumenus, both notarii of ‘P. Dasumius Tuscus’, were
manumitted by testament in Rome (CIL 6.10229). Dating from
the year 111, P.Oxyrynchus 44.3197 tells us that in Egypt the
notavrioi Ammonas, Epaphrys, Agathys, Sarapas and Eucaerus,
together with a large number of other slaves, were distributed
among the heirs of a certain Ti. Julius Theon.
As there was no organising authority to determine the ‘real’ form
of ancient shorthand writing, the modern debate about what
should be and what should not be considered ancient shorthand
and whether dictation was syllabatim or viva voce seems somewhat
fruitless. Clearly, both approaches were practised as situation
proscribed and possibilities became available.27 In P.Michigan
2.121, dated to 42 CE the scribe uses ‘frequent phonetic spellings,
and a great deal of abbreviation’ (Turner & Parsons 1987:100).
Scribes, we can be very certain of, made use of various forms of
speedwriting.
Obviously, not all scribes were stenographers, though notarii/
notavrioi often were both scribes and shorthand writers. What
exactly distinguished them from other writers such as librarii,
scribae, scriptores, epistulares, grammatei~, grafikoiv, ojrqovgrafoi,
kwmogrammatei~, uJpogrammatei~ and uJpomnhmatogravfoi (to
name but some of the crafts/functions) we do not know, though
they probably shared many of the same skills and training. One
implication seems fairly certain: the production of a literary text
involved several people during the ‘authoring’ process.
~
~
~
Very likely most early Christian authors employed a variety of
secretarial skills for their writings. Some general considerations
support this view. Scribal skills often included more than just
writing. ‘The training of slaves in clerical skills to increase their
value was common’ (Booth 1979:11).28 Precisely such skills
made the difference between whether one made use of scribes,
or wrote oneself. Knowing how to read and write did not make
the specialist role of scribes superfluous. Also, the very speed
with which early Christian literature spread through the Roman
Empire must have been due, in part at least, to the successful
participation of competent scribes in the movement.
With all these considerations in mind, some possibilities about
the investment of time for the New Testament writings can
be calculated. (Note that the focus is on the writing, the time
spent on research, composition and rethinking is left out of
consideration.)
Performing the Gospel of Mark requires about seventy-five
minutes, the Letter to the Romans about forty-five; it can
be assumed that dictation at normal speech speed would
require about the same amount of time. However, composing,
formulating and consultation of notes inevitably intruded, so
that note-taking during the first stage, even in shorthand, would
26.The earliest indication of Greek tachygraphy among the papyri dates from the late
first century (Giovè Marchioli & Menci 1998).
27.Dictation syllabitim is self-evident. See for example, Seneca Epistulae 40.10; Bahr
(1966:470–471). Dictation viva voce: secretaries recorded speeches in the Senate
(cf. Seneca Epistulae 40.25; Suetonius Divus Titus 3.2; Seneca Apocolocyntosis
9.2).
28.An aspect also emphasised by Mohler (1940) and Forbes (1955). On the presence
of slaves in Roman education: Bloomer (1997:61–62). Opportunities for slaves with
literate training are discussed by Joshel (1992:46–91) and Treggiari (1969:123).
Original Research
Table 3
The time needed for writing some early Christian texts
Matthew
Luke
Acts
John
Mark
Romans
1 Corinthians
2 Corinthians
Galatians
Ephesians
Revelation
Shepherd of Hermas
Epistle of Barnabas
Hebrews
1 Tim
Gospel Thomas
Didache
Stivcoi
Perform
(minutes)e
Notetakingf
(hours)
Draft copyg
(hours)
Revised copyh
(hours)
2 560
125
3
23
29
2 750
130
3
25
31
2 560
120
3
23
29
2 020
100
3
19
23
1 610
75
2
15
18
980
50
1½
9
11
910
50
1½
8
10
610
33
1
6
7
310
16
¾
3
4
330
22
¾
3
4
1 350
60
1½
12
15
3 650
180
7
34
41
880
50
1½
8
10
715
35
1
7
8
240
15
½
2
3
660
35
1
6
8
300
16
¾
3
4
At least–
probablyi
5–11 days
6–12 days
5–11 days
4–9 days
3–7 days
2–5 days
2–4 days
1–2½ days
½–1½ days
½–1½ days
2½–6 days
7–16 days
1½‑4 days
1½–3 days
½–1 day
1½–3 days
½–1½ days
Note:
e.
My estimates, based on reading the Greek text aloud, and some experiments with performed NT texts.
f.
Performance time × 1.5, assuming the shorthand recording of the dictation (performing the text), plus half that period of time.
g.
Writing at 2 lines per minute, and adding time for reading, consultation of notes and preparation of writing materials (estimated at equivalent to reading the complete text).
h.
Writing at 1.5 lines per minute.
i.
A text could hardly have been written out in usable format more quickly than might have been taken for a ‘draft’ copy (column 5), hence that figure is the ‘at least’ time required.
Realistically, the text was taken down, written out and neatly rewritten, hence the ‘probably’, which represents the sum of the figures in columns 4, 5 and 6.
How many hours should count as a working day? I would
suggest a working day of five hours of actual writing. This is
to realistically account for availability of daylight, weather
conditions and all sorts of (inevitable) interruptions.30 Table
3 presents some calculations with regard to time involved in
writing basic versions of some early Christian literature.
To factor in the cost of papyrus at the time of writing these
documents a price of 5 denarii per scroll can be used (transport
costs increased the price of papyrus outside Egypt). If Mark
wrote in Rome he most probably kept a scribe or two busy for
about seven days and consumed at least two rolls of papyrus (10
denarii). Luke would have used about three-and-a-half rolls (17
denarii) and kept a few scribes busy for twelve days.
It is doubtful whether early Christian authors actually paid for
their papyrus and scribes. They probably had patrons supplying
writing materials and scribes, or, as at least in the case of Paul,
scribes probably gave their assistance voluntarily.
29.The assumption is that there is some interaction between author and scribe(s).
Composition by speaking is faster than composition by dictation, which is faster than
composition by writing (about 20% faster, if modern standards are any indication:
see Gould & Boies 1978:1146). Interestingly, involvement in language production
(i.e., composition) affects the speed and legibility of handwriting; conversely, focus
on speed (legibility) impacts on understanding and recall (Brown et al. 1988; Van
Galen 1991:179).
30.Secretaries working in British parliamentary committees during the 1880s worked
in pairs taking turns at shorthand note-taking and longhand text preparation. Apparently they maintained two to three hours of continuous shorthand writing; when
a ‘turn’ of fast writing was over, the longhand transcripts were prepared, again in
bouts of about two hours with overall shifts lasting about 5 hours. Written (final)
manuscripts were produced at about 47 words per minute (cf. ‘The shorthand congress’ 1887:195).
More to the point, we are reminded of the many hands involved in
the writing of the New Testament and early Christian literature.
Producing literary texts was in many ways labour intensive.
Also, we are reminded that the past is like a different country.
To take Paul as an example, an exercise like this serves
Article #209
What must further be taken into account is the time needed by
the scribe(s) to prepare the papyrus sheets, score the lines on the
sheets, prepare the ink and pens, arrange note-books and other
such activities.
Whatever the case might have been, the creation of most early
Christian documents reflects dedication and commitment.
Though nothing wildly exorbitant, we are once again reminded
of a fairly serious investment of resources.
Verbum et Ecclesia
have taken at least one-and-a-half times longer, though possibly
twice or even three times as long.29
… to remind the reader that everything took a lot longer in Paul’s
day. We need to slow down radically if we are to appreciate
the rhythm of his life. We tend to imagine that travel and
communications were just somewhat slower than today. In fact,
there was a huge quantitative difference, which had a great impact
on the quality of communication.
(Murphy-O’Connor 2004:viii; cf. Hartman 1986:138)
pupil and freedman and assistant in
his literary work…
This is how Aulus Gellius describes Marcus Tullius Tiro, ex-slave
of Cicero: ‘the pupil and freedman and an adiutor in [Cicero’s]
literary studies’ (Noctes Atticae 13.9.1). Authors, we know, not
only dictated their works to scribes but also made use of them
for note-taking, editing, proofreading, correcting, reading, and
research. This raises an interesting question: who wrote what?
The scribe, the literate slave, might have been used as a mere
copyist, just a means to get words onto papyrus, but more often
than not the scribe was secretary, research assistant, reader and
messenger. He (or she)31 might even have been a co-author.
Gellius had a high respect for Tiro – he mentions Tiro’s ‘care
31.We know less about the literacy education of girls than we would like to know
– a telling fact in itself – but there is some evidence of the existence of female
scribes. Teitler (1985:31–32) refers to the only two female stenographers known
from antiquity; there were also female calligraphers (Haines-Eitzen 1998). The best
discussion of women and education of which I am aware is Cribiore (2001:74–101).
Girls who attended schools probably ‘learned reading, writing, and perhaps reciting
as a mimicry of male behavior’ (Bloomer 1997:75).
Original Research
Botha
and learning’ (Noct. att. 1.7.1) — though he sometimes missed
little things:
Therefore I am not so much surprised that Marcus Tullius erred in
that matter, as that it was not noticed later and corrected either by
Cicero himself or by Tiro, his freedman, a most careful man, who
gave great attention to his patron’s books.
(Noct. att. 15.6.1–2)
Cicero refers to Tiro frequently in his letters, remarking on how
useful he is to him for studies and literary work (e.g., Epistulae
ad Atticum 7.532). Tiro’s duties included taking dictation,
deciphering Cicero’s handwriting, revising and rewriting as well
as managing the copying of texts. He probably authored several
books himself. Aulus Gellius says, ‘[Tiro] wrote several books on
the usage and theory of the Latin language and on miscellaneous
questions of various kinds’ (Noct. att. 13.9) and Plutarch cites him
as a source for incidents in Cicero’s life (Plutarch Cicero 41, 49).
Clearly, the scribe, the one wielding the pen, was more than just
an instrument.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #209
We cannot know in how many steps an author’s work progressed
or to what extent further readings and additional research and/
or consultations resulted in actual reworkings of a text. We do
know that material was noted in the margins of the previously
collected parts or added to the verso of the scroll. Various
supplementary notes, and linguistic or stylistic improvements
were included either on the margins and on the empty places of
the recto or on the verso. Such insertions and additions were not
made by the author himself but written down by a scribe or by
the professional diorqwthv~ (corrector).
Often the secretary was entrusted with the responsibility for
writing up the text from incomplete notes. Authors regularly
left considerable scope to their secretaries; either on purpose, or
due to rapid dictation, or because often only an outline or draft
was provided. The line between editing and co-authorship is
extremely difficult to draw.
If one writer excerpts or copies portions of another’s work, but adds
comments, supplements, appendices or insertions — or subtracts
or epitomizes — then whether we regard the ‘new’ work thus
produced as distinctively a different document in its own right,
or as a ‘new edition’ or adaptation of the old, becomes a matter of
degree only.
(Hall 1996:412–413)
The various roles assistants/scribes played in ‘writing’ a text,
which are not unknown in New Testament scholarship, have
drawn mostly the attention of Pauline scholarship. Usually,
there is an insistence on distinguishing between a co-author and
an amanuensis. Discerning such a difference is difficult, though.
Can we discover the different contributions of copying, editing
and re-writing?
In cases of deliberate co-authorship various options present
themselves (cf. Prior 1989:39–50). The authors may have
considered the substance of the letter individually, and then gone
over the general plan of what they were to compose, or perhaps
suggested the style and expression which they had separately
chosen while thinking about the message before collaborating
towards an agreed content and form.
Richards (1991:15–67) gives a useful overview of the use of a
secretary in the Greco-Roman world. He notes that secretarial
assistance was common, but that the role a secretary played
varied greatly, depending on the degree of control he had over
the content, style and/or form of a letter. Richards classifies
the various roles of a secretary into four broad categories. (1)
When the secretary functioned as a ‘recorder’, he would write
32.‘I see that you are interested about Tiro. Though he is serviceable to me in a
thousand ways, when he is well, in every department of my business and my
studies, yet my anxiety for his recovery is founded on his own kindness and high
character, rather than on my convenience.’
the letter exactly as it was dictated by the author. (2) When
the secretary served as an ‘editor’, he would make extensive
notes of the author’s dictation to be used later composing a
final draft. The secretary’s personal contribution consisted of
relatively minor decisions about syntax, vocabulary, and style.
(3) When the secretary worked as a ‘co-author’, the same type
of procedure would be followed as in an editorial role except
that the secretary’s contribution would be greater. (4) When the
secretary functioned as a ‘composer’, he would construct a letter
on behalf of the author without receiving instructions as to its
specific contents. Secretaries/scribes probably played similar
roles in the writing of literary texts.
A related question is whether an author assumed full
responsibility for the content and form of a book. The answer
probably depended on circumstances, though ‘the scribe’ must
have been a handy excuse in cases of unpleasant and awkward
communications. Such excuse making is a noted feature of slave
societies: ‘Blaming the slave was a convenient way of avoiding
embarrassment’ (Fitzgerald 2000:58).
As an approach to understanding the textual characteristics
of the gospels and especially the synoptic problem, or Acts
and Revelation, little attention to possible roles of secretarial
assistants and scribal options has been paid by New Testament
scholars.
Given the limitations of our evidence, answers to our questions
is almost impossible. Yet, most of the answers to our questions
regarding gospel origins and the enscripturation of traditions
simply ignore the material aspects of ancient literacy.
Recently Kim Haines-Eitzen (2002) has shown the importance
of scribes in the production, reproduction and interpretation of
early Christian texts. She argues that early Christian scribes were
not only copyists but also the creators and users of texts who
not only conserved texts but also modified them in accordance
with their own theological knowledge and proclivities. Is it not
possible that the very origins of Christian writings lie among
such (small) groups of itinerant and marginal scribes? The very
anonymity of most early Christian literary texts points in this
direction.
Be that as it may, there is a fateful reason why we know so little
about the contributions that were made by scribes and secretaries
to ancient works.
The Master’s Voice …
The key to understanding Greco-Roman literacy is often
described as the ‘living voice’. Can we be a bit more precise
about that ‘voice’?
In his Rethinking writing, Roy Harris notes that ‘how literate
people view writing is often colored by their opinions concerning
literacy and their own status as literate members of the human
race’ (Harris 2000:ix). He wants us to rethink writing in a broad
sociohistorical context. His concerns are with the limitations and
problems that have to do with functional or utilitarian literacy,
though his insight that what one thinks writing is as crucial to
how one understands literacy, is important (cf. Harris 2000:x).
When we look at ancient manuscripts and visualise the pen
making the markings in ink and we consider the hand holding
the pen: how do we see the body behind the hand? The hands
that held the pens that wrote the texts were the hands of stooped
bodies, sitting low down. These were bodies looked upon,
looked down on by authors and patrons and even clients.
The hands that made those artifacts, handled them, wrote on
them, corrected them, took care of them, were the hands of
subservient persons.
We, today, look at these writings as instruments by means of
which to lever our way into ‘the minds’ of authors. The ‘text’ is a
surrogate or extension of a ‘noble mind’. I would like to prompt
Original Research
us to consider literacy not as a window into disembodied verbal
worlds and especially not to treat the artefacts of inscription
as separate from actual persons, settings and communicative
modalities.
To adopt a more theoretical tone,33 we should rather dare to
visualise the interplay of structure and construction, of history
and agency. We should consider what can and what should be
said about the institutional contexts that gave distinct (i.e., GrecoRoman) significance to the literacy events that we call the New
Testament and early Christian texts.
Writing in Greco-Roman times was part of a system which was
influenced by such considerations as writing materials and the
provision of technical support available in society. Such aspects,
in turn, were extended by cultural factors such as mores which
forbade upper-class members of society from being physically
lower than lower-class individuals. Scribal duties, which
required at least some bending, were relegated to people low
enough in class to stoop.
Seneca may be defending the virtues of the properly trained
philosophical (Stoic) mind, but he affords us a glimpse of how
writers (scribes) were seen. He describes several useful things
that have been invented, among them
… our signs for whole words, which enable us to take down a
speech, however rapidly uttered, matching speed of tongue by
speed of hand. All this sort of thing has been devised by the lowest
grade of slaves. Wisdom’s seat is higher; she trains not the hands,
but is mistress of our minds.
(Seneca Younger, Letters 90.25–26)
We like to think of education (specifically reading and writing)
as forces of liberation and class-transcending powers. Education,
however, can also be hierarchical and cause division. In the
Greco-Roman world the
highest level of linguistic and literary achievement came to those
who completed the secondary stage of education and then studied
with a teacher of rhetoric. Greco-Roman culture regarded the welldelivered and persuasive speech as the most characteristic feature
of civilized life. In contrast to our own culture, linguistic skill
focused on oral speech; the written word was secondary, derived
from primary rhetoric.
(Stowers 1986:33–34)
In addition, in that world writing, in its wider sense, was
considered labour.
The laborious is clearly not the noble. There are many things that
are laborious, which you would deem not appropriate to boast of
having done; unless, you actually thought it glorious to copy out
stories and whole speeches in your own hand.
(Rhetorica ad Herennium 4.6)
The copyists and the literary scribes, the amanuenses and the
librarii, the correctors and the calligraphers were all either
slaves or freedmen. That the scribes who took down dictation,
who corrected and improved texts, and who were responsible
for copying and distributing books were from the slave and
freed classes should not surprise us, and we should not forget
the stigma that was attached to such labour. ‘No matter how
indispensable these scribes were, they were not members of the
upper classes’ (Haines-Eitzen 2002:31).
33.The useful conceptual term in this regard is ‘practice’, reflecting the legacy of
thinkers such as Marshal Sahlins, Raymond Williams, Anthony Giddens, Michel
Foucault, and Pierre Bourdieu.
The creation of early Christian literature came about through the
application of skills and practices typically employed elsewhere,
and by doing so the New Testament and other early Christian
authors not only advanced the spread of the Jesus movement,
but also gave it a remarkable ‘scriptural’ identity.
We should take care not to romanticise these subordinates using
their skills to promote an alternative society. In their emulation
of literary practices powerful distinctions were still at work. It
could not have been otherwise. They may have criticised power
and evoked alternatives to abuse of power, but their writings
also reflect claims to power. Inevitably they engaged in a process
of organising and negotiating and establishing power and
control. As in the contact with the influential classes where elite
and non-elite are to a degree complicitous (Bloomer 1997:76) by
maintaining society, the early Christian scribes were inscribing
who may speak and about what; who will be the ‘competent’
speaker and who will be the ‘proper listener’.
Concluding remarks
This discussion has as its aim the consideration of GrecoRoman writings as events, as situated ‘doings’, where the
issue is not a binary contrast between literacy and orality, not
about people just decoding or encoding text, but rather texts as
socially embedded and culturally mediated performances. The
participants in such events were socialised into and enacted
particular views of writing. We need to look at ancient writing
as structured practices where people took roles in these events,
which constituted part of larger-purpose endeavours. In brief:
literary practices need to be seen as part of social practices.
Article #209
[although both the hammer and the tongs ]… were invented by
some man whose mind was nimble and keen, but not great or
exalted. The same holds true of any other discovery which can only
be made by means of a bent body and of a mind whose gaze is upon
the ground.
(Seneca Younger, Letters 90.10)
Mastery is more than a metaphor or some idealised hope or trope
of the governing class. At stake is not so much a proscription of
who may read and write (as a participant in physical activities),
but an expectation of who reads and writes in what capacity: ‘…
the maintenance of subordinates was inextricably connected to
practices of reading and writing, indeed to the development
of upper-class speech’ (Bloomer 1997:60). A scribe did not just
write a text, but performed a code; an almost ceremonial act
necessarily circumscribed by the roles of superior and inferior.
Verbum et Ecclesia
He does not deny slaves and scribes the possession of intelligence
and great skill, as he lists in detail many astounding achievements
of lower-class people, but he insists that
In the physical act of writing out literary texts there was a social
dynamic at work, and the (scribal) writer need not to have been
a slave de jure to be caught up in the social, moral and even
aesthetic value judgements enacted by one who was a dictator
and one who ‘took dictation’.
People do things for a reason; people have purposes. Literacy serves
other purposes. In general, people do not read in order to read, or
write in order to write; rather, people read and write in order to do
other things, in order to achieve other ends. ...The importance of
viewing reading and writing in terms of social practices is that we
see the purpose behind the activities; we also see how intertwined
the written word is with other forms of communication, especially
spoken language.
(Barton 1991:8)
The explorations undertaken in this study have been done for
illustrative purposes to gain some sense of values and implicit
and explicit costs involved with the making and distribution
of early Christian literature. We have seen that writing was
performed by seated individuals, who rested a papyrus roll
or sheet on their lap, using their knee to support the material
on which they wrote. Producing literary texts required several
people, and necessitated extensive material support and settings
where ample allocation of time could be made. Most of all,
writing in Greco-Roman times reflected the enactment of socially
established values and attitudes marked by servitude.
Woolf (2000:875) argues that ‘…the study of Roman writing
practices sheds new light on many aspects of early imperial
society, economy, religion and government, and suggests new
connections between them’. The current study should serve as a
small contribution in this regard.
Original Research
Botha
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #209
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Original Research
Manichaeism: Its sources
and influences on Western
Christianity
Johannes van Oort
Photo Title: Sermon Time
Taken by: Simon Cataudo
Original Research
Manichaeism: Its sources and influences on western
Christianity
Author:
Johannes van Oort1, 2
Affiliations:
1
Faculty of Theology:
Church History, University
Faculty of Theology, Chair
for Ecclesiastical History,
Utrecht, Netherlands
ABSTRACT
The aim of this paper is twofold. First, it will discuss the origins of Manichaeism, a gnostic-Christian
world religion that was founded by the prophet Mani (216-276). My discussion of the origins of
Manichaeism may serve as an excellent example to illustrate what ‘Gnosis’ or ‘Gnosticism’ actually
was. Second, the paper will outline how Manichaeism, being an alternative form of Christianity
and even an alternative Christian Church, seemed to have exercised a considerable influence on
Catholic Christianity.
2
Correspondence to:
Johannes van Oort
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Faculty of Theology,
Pretoria, 0002, South Africa
Van Oort, J., 2009,
‘Manichaeism: Its sources
and influences on western
Christianity ‘, Verbum et
5 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.362
at:
In order to give an outline of the main features of this gnostic Church, it seems appropriate to start
from the very beginning. There was once a certain historical figure called Mani. He was, as he styled
himself, a prophet ‘from the land of Babylon’ (Ort 1967:73–74). Mani, or by his Syriac name: Manî
hajjâ, ‘the living Mani’ was born in 216 CE. Several antique sources even state the exact day of his
birth – Sunday, 14 April. For some time, we have also had precise information about the place where
he was born, namely near the southern Mesopotamian town of Seleucia-Ctesiphon. This capital city,
so famous in Late Antiquity, was located not far from present-day Baghdad.
At the beginning of the third century CE, some ascetic Jewish-Christian sects were found in those
regions. From Mohammed Ibn al-Nadîm, a Muslim writer who lived at the end of the 10th century,
we have an important report on the origins of Mani (Dodge 1970:773 ff.). He tells of a certain person
named Futtuq, a resident of the ‘Twin-Cities’ (i.e., Seleucia-Ctesiphon), who joined a baptizing sect in
response to a call to asceticism. This Futtuq is said to have been a native of Hamadhân [i.e., the ancient
city of Ecbatana], and his wife Mays, or Marmaryam, is reported to be related to the formerly ruling
house of the Arsacids.
Article #362
Dates:
THE ORIGINS OF MANI AND MANICHAEISM: AL-NADÎM AND THE
CODEX MANICHAICUS COLONIENSIS
Verbum et Ecclesia
Keywords:
gnostic-Christian;
Futtuq; asceticism; Codex
Manichaicus Coloniensis;
Mani
INTRODUCTION
Already in Late Antiquity, Manichaeism had become a world religion. This means that in its
Manichaean form Gnosticism was once a real world religion, i.e., a world-wide and distinct gnostic
community or Church (ekklèsia) with its many thousands and, later on, even millions of adherents. It
had its own leader, bishops and priests; its own liturgy and rites; its own canonical Scriptures; and
even its own and very attractive art (Van Oort 2002, 2008). Manichaeism spread from the region of
Babylonia in Southern Mesopotamia (= the south of present-day Iraq) as far as the Atlantic in the
West and the Pacific in the Far East (de Stoop 1909; Lieu 1994; Lieu 1998). It had adherents in Egypt,
Roman North Africa, Spain, Gaul, Italy, the Balkans and, in the end, even along the South China
Coast. Its history covers the period from the beginning of the third century CE to modern times. Even
recently, until the middle of the previous century, 120 Manichaeism was forbidden by law in Vietnam
(Kawerau 1967:51).
One day, while Futtuq was worshipping in a temple of idols, he heard a loud voice admonishing him
not to eat meat, nor to drink wine, nor to have intercourse with women. This happened a number of
times during the following three days. Futtuq was eventually won over by this voice and consequently
joined a sect known as Mughtasilah – those who wash (or: baptize) themselves. His wife Maryam was
pregnant when Futtuq decided to join this baptist sect, and in due course she gave birth to their son.
Fihrist or Catalogue in which al-Nadîm reports these things reads as follows:
Then his father sent and brought him to the place where he was, so that he was reared with him, in accordance
with his cult. Even when young, Mani spoke with words of wisdom and then, when he was twelve years old,
there came to him a revelation. According to his [= Mani’s] statement it was from the King of the Gardens
of Light (...). The angel bringing the revelation was called the Tawm, which is a Nabataean word meaning
‘Companion’. He said to him, ‘Leave this cult, for thou art not one of its adherents. Upon thee are laid purity
and refraining from bodily lusts, but it is not yet time for thee to appear openly, because of thy tender years’.
When he had completed his twenty-fourth year, the Tawm came to him saying, ‘The time is fulfilled for thee
to come forth and to give the summons to thy cause’.
(Dodge 1970:774)
Creative Commons
Al-Nadîm continues to relate how Mani, at the age of twenty-four, broke away from the Mughtasilah
and formed his own sect with his father and a handful of fellow Baptists. After this account, al-Nadîm
writes of the history and the doctrines of Mani and the Manichaeans on the subsequent pages of his
Fihrist he completed in Baghdad by either the year 988 or 989 (Dodge 1970:xxi).
It must be noted that, even in modern times, al-Nadîm’s account has provoked great scepticism. To
many scholars, the gnosis of Manichaeism seemed to be an offshoot of a kind of dualistic Iranian
religion that was closely connected with Zoroastrianism. Evidently, the testimony of al-Nadîm did
not support this view. The opinion or even dogma of the so-called ‘History of Religion School’ on
Original Research
Van Oort
the Iranian origin of Manichaeism (Colpe 1961; Verheule
1973:159ff) has now definitely turned out to be wrong, however.
Al-Nadîm’s account has been confirmed magnificently by the
discovery of the so-called Cologne Mani Codex. Since a few years
we know that Mani was indeed reared in a Baptist community
in Southern Mesopotamia. Moreover, we now know that this
sect was a Jewish-Christian one and that the origins of Mani’s
gnostic-dualistic world religion should be explained from
this background. All this is due to the recent discovery of a
unique Manichaean document, the so-called Codex Manichaicus
Coloniensis or CMC.
I believe that it must be stated in no uncertain terms that, in order
to understand the origins of Manichaeism, the CMC is of crucial
importance. This document was discovered shortly before 1970
in Egypt. It came into the possession of the University of Cologne;
hence its name. It is the world’s smallest parchment codex. Its
pages measure only 4.5cm by 3.5 cm and the writing on them is
3.5cm by 2.5 cm. Despite its minute format, Manichaean scribes
managed to copy an average of twenty-three lines of Greek
majuscules onto each page.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #362
The first preliminary report on the CMC was given by the
German scholars Albert Henrichs and Ludwig Koenen in a now
famous 1970-issue of the Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik
(Henrichs & Koenen 1970). A complete critical edition of the CMC
appeared in the year 1988 as Der Kölner Mani Kodex (Koenen &
Römer 1988). Ever since the publication of this document there
has been an ongoing scholarly evaluation of and debate on
the correct interpretation of the text (Van Oort 1996b). A final
academic edition with extensive annotations is still awaited for.
The CMC is written in Greek. It has as its running title on each
two subsequent manuscript pages: PERI THS GENNHS / ΤΟΥ
ΣΩΜΑΤΟΣ ΑΥΤΟΥ, i.e., Peri tês gennês / tou sômatos autou. This
may be translated as ‘On the genesis / of his body’. How might
this be interpreted? Two main views have emerged as a result
of the ongoing scholarly debate regarding the CMC. According
to one opinion, ‘his body’ refers to Mani’s physical body and
‘genesis’ (génna) could be translated as ‘procreation’. Several
passages in the Codex may support this view. The other opinion
claims that the title of the CMC is already an echo of the Pauline
elements so evident in the Codex. As the apostle Paul in his
letters described the Church as the body of Christ, similarly the
Manichaean Church (ekklèsia) is described as the body of Mani
(Van Oort 2004; Van Oort & Quispel 2005:87–89). From this
perspective the Codex may be interpreted as constituting the
first part of a history of the early Manichaean Church.
It is difficult to come to a final decision as to which opinion is
correct. Most scholars are partial to the first interpretation (Van
Oort 1996b). The extant pages of the Codex have, as their main
theme, the story of young Mani’s sojourn among the Baptists
that also recounts his earliest missionary journeys after his final
break with the sect at the age of twenty-four (Römer 1994).
It is essential to note that the CMC is not the work of one single
author, but comprises excerpts from the testimonies of Mani’s
closest disciples and early followers. Just as the Evangelists gave
their account of the life and the works of Jesus – or better: their
account of Jesus’ ‘deeds and words’ (cf. Acts 1:1), so in the CMC
these earliest witnesses give their account of Mani’s deeds and
words. And, just like one Gospel harmony was created from
several Gospels as is, for instance, the case with the Diatessaron of
Tatian (c. 120–c. 180; Petersen 2005, 2008), so in the CMC we have
a compilation and redaction of the earliest testimonies of Mani’s
deeds and words Among the names of the Manichaean witnesses
which have been preserved are Salmaios the Ascetic, Baraies the
Teacher, a certain Timotheos, Abjesous the Teacher, Innaios the
brother of Zabed, a certain Za[cheas?], Koustaios the Son of the
Treasure of Life, and Ana the Brother of Zacheas the Disciple.
From the number of different authors of the original sections,
it must be concluded that Mani used to speak frequently and at
length about himself and about his supernatural experiences to
his closest disciples. In the CMC these earliest disciples appear to
serve as trustworthy witnesses of Mani’s deeds and words.
It is something of a revelation to analyse the contents of the
CMC and to detect the most essential origins of Mani and his
gnostic-Christian Church (Van Oort & Quispel 2005). We cannot
enter into all details here, but some of the main facts could be
mentioned. First, we now see how well-founded and in essence
reliable Ibn al-Nadîm’s testimony is, for according to the CMC
Mani grew up among ‘Baptists’. We also learn from the new
Codex that they performed daily ablutions on themselves and
on their food (CMC 80:1–3; 80:23–83:13; 88:13–15). In addition,
their religion is referred to as ‘the Law’. Nomós suggests that the
community lived in accordance with the Jewish Law (e.g. CMC
20:9–11; 87:16–18; 89:11–13). Moreover, these Baptists appealed
to ‘the traditions of the Fathers’ (CMC 87:2–7; 91:4–9). These
characteristic expressions in the passages indicated refer to
Jewish traditions.
Another indication of the Jewish roots of the community is that
their members observed the ‘Rest of the Hands’ (CMC 102:15).
This seems to refer to the observance of the Jewish Sabbath,
probably is also this custom which can be found in later
Manichaeism, known as ‘the Seal of the Hands’, observed by the
Manichaean Elect. It meant that they abstained from agricultural
work in order to refrain from damaging the divine light elements
present in the earth and its fruits. Moreover, in a passage from
Baraies ‘the Teacher’, one of the Manichaean authors from
which the compiler of the CMC edited his work, no less than five
Jewish apocalyptic writings are quoted: an Apocalypse of Adam,
an Apocalypse of Sethel, an Apocalypse of Enos, an Apocalypse of
Sem and an Apocalypse of Enoch (CMC 48:16–60:7; cf. Gruenwald
1983:31ff; Frankfurter 1997; Reeves 1991).
The religious group described in the Cologne Mani Codex
apparently acknowledged a certain Alchasaios (CMC 94:10.23;
95:13; 96:13.19; 97:3.13.15) as the founder of their rule. They were
followers of the well-known Jewish-Christian prophet Elxai
or Elchasaios (Van Oort 2008) and thus can rightly be termed
Elchasaites or Elkesaites (contra Luttikhuizen 1985). Again this
appears to support al-Nadîm’s observation that the community
of the Mughtasilah was instituted by a certain al-Hâsîh, a
Jewish-Christian prophet said to have lived at the beginning of
the second century. Thus Mani was brought up and educated
in a Jewish-Christian community, a community of Jews in
which Jesus was accepted as the promised Messiah. Virtue of
his Jewish background we can say with some certainty that he
lived according to the Mosaic law, which in turn may lead us to
assume that he was circumcised.
It was, however, against this Law (Nómos) that Mani protested
and thus became a gnostic. In the CMC, this break with the
legalistic religion of his youth is recounted vividly, even
dramatically. We find in Mani’s own words (handed down by
his closest disciples) what kind of gnostic experience inspired
him. He claims that, since his early youth, he had come under
special divine protection and instruction. Angels and powers of
holiness were entrusted with his safekeeping. He also received
visions and signs (e.g. CMC 3ff). All this may seem highly
unusual from a modern point of view, but in the apocalyptic
Jewish milieu in which Mani was brought up such experiences
appears to have been quite common.
One of these divine messengers appears to have been Mani’s
special protector. This was his ‘Syzygos’, ‘Twin’, ‘Companion’ or
guardian angel, the figure described in Manichaean teaching as
an emanation of the Jesus of Light, who in turn is an emanation
of the ‘Nous’ or ‘divine Intellect’ (Van Tongerloo & Van Oort
1995). Between the young Mani and his Syzygos grew an
intimate relationship, which he praises in moving poetry:
and he who is the most trusty
him I received piously
Original Research
Manichaeism: Its sources and influences on western Christianity
and him I acquired as my own property.
Him I believed
and he belongs to me
he is a good and kind guide.
Him I recognized
and I understood that I am he
from whom I was separated ...
appeared in Adam, Seth(el), Enoch, Noah, Abraham, and also
in Jesus, among others. Soon his father Pattikios became an
adherent of Mani as well.
(CMC ff24:2)
The divine revelations and admonitions, which Mani received,
were incompatible with some of the doctrinal tenets and
practices of the Baptists. The CMC describes how Mani protested,
for instance, against their harvesting (because it hurts the divine
light elements present in the earth), against their gathering of
fire-wood (idem) and, moreover, against their ritual ablutions.
True purity, according to Mani, can only be achieved through
special knowledge (Greek: gnosis). This gnosis is not obtained by
outward observances, but by inner revelation. It is only through
gnosis that we know the difference between good and bad, life
and death, Light and Darkness (cf. CMC 84:10–17). According
to Mani, the Baptists had gone wrong in observing a merely
outward purification.
Encouraged by these and similar words from his divine Twin,
Mani made the final break with the Baptists. In the long passage
handed down by Timotheos, Mani’s mission statement, which is
remarkably full of biblical references, runs as follows:
Thus,
according to the will of our Lord (despótès),
I came forward and left that Law (nómos)
in order to sow his most beautiful seed,
to light his brightest candles,
to redeem the living souls from their subjection to the rebels,
to walk in the world after the image of our Lord Jesus,
to throw on to the earth a sword, division and the blade of the
spirit,
to drop the bread on my people
and to overcome the immeasurable shame which is in the world.
(CMC 107)
According to the Codex, Mani first went to Ctesiphon, where
he was later joined by two fellow Baptists, who bore the typical
Jewish names of Simeon and Abizachias. During Mani’s trial
before the Sanhedrin, they had already come to consider him to
be the true Prophet, the recurrent heavenly figure that, according
to these and other Jews and Jewish-Christians, had previously
Christ, guide me: my Saviour, do not forget me.
I am the love (agápè) of the Father, being the robe clothing thee.
Christ, guide me: my Saviour, do not forget me. My brethren
are the Aeons and the Aeons of the Aeons. Christ, guide me, my
Saviour, do not forget me. The air and the Land of Light -- they
travailed with me. Christ, .... [etc.].
(Allberry 1938:116)
Article #362
Not only to this religion (dógma)
you have been sent out,
but to every people and school of learning
and to every city and region.
For by you this Hope (elpís) will be made manifest
and it will be preached in every clime and every zone of the world
and in very great numbers men will accept your word.
Therefore,
come forward and travel about.
For I will be with you
as your helper and protector
in every place
where you proclaim everything I revealed to you.
(CMC 104–105)
This may explain the special place of Jesus in Mani’s belief
system. It is essential to note that Jesus was venerated, not only
in Western Manichaean sources, but also in the sources from
Central Asia and China (Waldschmidt & Lentz 1926; Rose 1979).
In the Coptic manuscripts, which were discovered in Medinet
Madi in Egypt around 1930, the famous Coptic Psalm-Book (the
second part of which was edited and translated by the British
scholar Charles Allberry), contains many Psalms to ‘Jesus’ and
Psalms to ‘Christ’. Psalm-Book, the second part of which was
edited and translated by the British scholar Charles Allberry,
there are many Psalms to Jesus and Psalms to Christ. Two
passages can attest to the essential ‘Christocentric’ character of
these psalms. The first one is from a ‘Psalm to Christ’: Verbum et Ecclesia
The Codex goes on to describe how Mani’s severe criticism was
accepted by some of his fellow community members, but was
in the end rejected by the majority. A certain ‘elder’ (presbýteros)
named Sita or Sitaios, together with the majority of the other
elders, set up a synod deal with Mani's apparent apostacy. These
leaders of the sect constituted its ‘Sanhedrin’ (Synhédrion) (cf.
Reeves 1991) and certainly would have killed him had not his
father Pattikios convinced them to spare Mani’s life. After this
event they left him to himself and during this time he prayed
for guidance and support. The CMC continues by claiming that
in the moment of his deepest despair his Syzygos appeared and
encouraged him. In reply to Mani’s desperate lamenting the
‘Splendid One’ (endoxótatos) says:
Here we may conclude our observations dealing with the
origins of Mani’gnosis. Much more can be noted in regard to it,
especially when looking into several other original Manichaean
sources, such as those from Medinet Madi in Egypt (e.g. Wurst
1996; Richter 1998) and Turfan in Central Asia (e.g. Klimkeit
1993). Particularly from the pivotal information in the Cologne
Mani Codex, we are able to gain a fresh insight. In summation we
may state the following: It is now known that Mani was raised
in a Jewish-Christian community of Baptists. He rejected their
notions and practices regarding baptism, ablutions and Jewish
Law. However, among the Elchasaites he heard about Jesus as
the true prophet, a manifestation of God’glory (Greek: doxa,
Hebrew: kabod) that was first embodied in Adam, then revealed
itself to the Old Testament patriarchs, and finally was incarnated
in the Messiah, Jesus.
The second passage is from one of the famous ‘Psalms of the
Wanderers’ (Psalmoì Sarakôtôn) in the Manichaean Psalm-Book:
I will] glorify thee, my God, I will glorify thee, my [giver
of] rest to everyone. My God, I will glorify thee.
[Stone of?] corner-stones, my God, I will glorify thee.
My giver of rest to everyone, my God, I will glorify thee.
Corner-stone unchanging, unaltering,
Foundation unshakeable,
sheep bound to the tree,
treasure hidden in the field,
Jesus that hangs to the tree,
Youth, son of the dew,
milk of all trees,
sweetness of the fruits (karpós),
eye of the skies,
guard of all treasures,
[power?] that bears the universe,
joy of all created things,
rest of the worlds (kosmós).
Thou art a marvel to tell,
Thou art within, thou art without,
Thou art above, thou art below,
Thou art near and far,
Thou art hidden and revealed,
Thou art silent and speakest too.
Thine is the glory,
the glory due to thee.
(Allberry 1938:155; Villey 1994:95)
To conclude in a few words: right from its inception the figure
of Jesus had an important place in the gnosis of Mani. This Jesus
was regarded as being the Jesus of Light who is an ‘emanation’
Original Research
Van Oort
of the divine Nous (Intuition, Insight, Gnosis ). This Jesus, Burkitt
(1925:43) wrote ‘signified the divine redemption of man; divine
nourishment for man; divine suffering for man’. In essence,
these are gnostic-Christian ideas.
MANICHAEISM AND WESTERN
CHRISTIANITY: THE CASE OF AUGUSTINE
Did this Manichaean Gnosis, once a world religion and
alternative Christian Church, exert any influence on ‘orthodox’
mainstream Christianity and thus on the tradition of the main
Christian Churches? In this context, it is perhaps the most
intriguing question, but I will only briefly touch upon it here. It
should be stressed that many of its aspects still await exploration
in more detail. Yet, some references can be made to a number of
special studies.
Our focal point is the North African bishop Augustine (354–430),
the greatest and most influential Father of the Church. He was
once an adherent of Manichaeism in North Africa, as well as
during his sojourn in Rome. It is also possible to speculate that
he might have been involved in Manichaeism as a doubting
seeker of ‘truth’ when he was in Milan.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #362
The Manichaean phase of his life started in 373 and lasted for
more than ten years. After his Manichaean years, Augustine, now
having reconverted to the Catholic Christianity of which he had
become a catechumen in his early youth (Van Oort 1991:25–30),
wrote many books and tracts against his former co-religionists.
Nevertheless, it was near the end of his life that he was again
accused of Manichaeism because of his view regarding sexual
concupiscence and original sin, among other views he held.
Even as an Ethiopian (i.e., a black man – and Augustine was from
Africa) cannot change his skin nor the leopard his spots, even so it
is impossible for you to wipe out your Manichaean past
(quote in: Augustinus, Contra Iulianum opus imperfectum
IV,42)
There seems to be some truth in this scathing, perhaps even
racist remark, made by Augustine’s colleague and severe
opponent, the Catholic Bishop Julian of Eclanum from Southern
Italy. Three main possible areas of the influence of Manichaeism
on the Western Church could be discerned and about each one a
few observations may be made.
Firstly, there are some striking similarities between Augustine’s
view of sexual concupiscence and original sin and the
Manichaean attitude to sex and sin (Adam 1958; Van Oort 1989).
Both views are very negative, in particular with regard to the
‘randomness’ of the sexual impulse and, moreover, both stress
that this randomness is sin. They agree that in its randomness,
in itsmotus inordinatus ‘movement’ (motus inordinatus), the sinful
nature of sexual desire reveals itself prominently, and that sin is
transmitted through this sexual desire.
Secondly, there are many similarities between Augustine’s
famous and very influential doctrine of the two ‘cities’ or
‘kingdoms’ (Latin: ciuitates) and the dualistic Manichaean view
of the two ‘realms’, ‘cities’ or ‘kingdoms’. Everyone who reads
Augustine’s famous City of God, and its Book XI in particular, will
be struck by such similarities. These similarities in thought and
even terminology seem to serve as justification to observe direct
influences here (Adam 1958; Van Oort 1991:212-228; Van Oort
1996a).
The third and probably most important area of influence seems
to be Augustine’s own spirituality. Nowhere in the Early Church
before 400 does there appear to be, in my opinion, such a tender
and appealing piety, along with such a prominent place given
to Christ, as in the writings of Augustine and the Manichaean
sources. When reading Augustine’s Confessions, one is more than
once reminded of the Manichaean Psalms (Van Oort 1997; Van
Oort 2002; Kotzé 2004). He tells us that he also ‘learned’ from the
Manichaeans and it is quite certain that he had sung their psalms
(Van Oort 1991:35). Some essential features of Augustine’s own
spirituality reflect how he has served as a ‘conduit’ through
which the influences of Manichaeism flowed to effect a lasting
impact on Christian spirituality as a whole.
REFERENCES
Adam, A., 1958, ‘Das Fortwirken des Manichäismus bei
Augustin’, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 9, 1–25.
Allberry, C.R.C., 1938, A Manichaean Psalm-Book (Manichaean
Manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Collection, Volume II),
Stuttgart, Kohlhammer.
Augustinus, Contra Iulianum opus imperfectum: J.P. Migne (ed.),
Patrologiae Cursus completus, Series Latina, volumen 45, Paris:
Montrouge 1841.
Burkitt, F.C., 1925, The Religion of the Manichees, Cambridge
University Press, Cambridge.
Colpe, C., 1961, Die Religionsgeschichtliche Schule. Darstellung
und Kritik ihres Bildes vom gnostischen Erlösermythus,
VandenHoeck und Ruprecht, Göttingen.
De Stoop, E., 1909, Essai sur la diffusion du manichéisme dans
l’empire romain (Université de Gand, Recueils de travaux
publiés par la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres 38), Gand:
E. van Goethem.
Dodge, B., 1970, The Fihrist of al-Nadim. A Tenth-Century Survey of
Muslim Culture, vol. II (Records of Civilization; Sources and
Studies 83), Columbia University Press, New York.
Frankfurter, D., 1997, ‘Apocalypses Real and Alleged in the
Mani Codex’, Numen 44, 60–73.
Gruenwald, I., 1983, ‘Manichaeism and Judaism in Light of
the Cologne Mani Codex’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und
Epigraphik 50, 29–45.
Henrichs, A. & Koenen, L., 1970, ‘Ein griechischer Mani- Codex
(P. Colon. inv. nr. 4780)’, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und
Epigraphik 5, 97–216.
Kawerau, P., 1967, Geschichte der Alten Kirche, N.G. Elwert Verlag,
Marburg.
Klimkeit, H-J., 1993, Gnosis on the Silk Road. Gnostic Texts from
Central Asia, Harper, San Francisco.
Koenen, L. & Römer, C., 1988, Der Kölner Mani-Kodex: Über das
Werden seines Leibes: Kritische Edition aufgrund der von A.
Henrichs und L. Koenen besorgten Erstedition, Westdeutscher
Verlag, Opladen.
Kotzé, A., 2004, Augustine’s Confessions. Communicative Purpose
and Audience (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae LXXI),
E.J. Brill, Leiden-Boston.
Lieu, S.N.C., 1992, Manichaeism in the Later Roman Empire and
Medieval China (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum
Neuen Testament 63), Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck).
Lieu, S.N.C., 1994, Manichaeism in Mesopotamia and the Roman
East (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 118), E. J. Brill,
Leiden–New York–Köln.
Lieu, S.N.C., 1998, Manichaeism in Central Asia and China (Nag
Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 45), E. J. Brill, Leiden–
Boston–Köln.
Luttikhuizen, G.P., 1985, The Revelation of Elchasai. Investigations
into the Evidence for a Mesopotamian Jewish Apocalypse of
the Second Century and its Reception by Judaeo-Christian
Propagandists, (Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum
8), J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), Tübingen.
Ort, L.J.R. 1967, Mani. A religio-historical description of his
personality, E.J. Brill, Leiden.
Petersen, W., 2005/2008: ‘Tatian’, Die Religion in Geschichte
und Gegenwart, vol. VIII, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck (reprint
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck 2008), 47.
Reeves, J.C., 1991, ‘The “Elchasaite” Sanhedrin of the Cologne
Mani Codex in Light of Second Temple Jewish Sectarian
Sources’, Journal of Jewish Studies 42, 68–91.
Reeves, J.C., 1996, Heralds of That Good Realm. Syro-Mesopotamian
Gnosis and Jewish Traditions (Nag Hammadi and Manichaean
Studies XLI), E.J. Brill, Leiden-New York-Köln.
Richter, S.G., 1998, The Manichaean Coptic Papyri in the Chester
Beatty Library: Psalm Book, Part II, Fasc. 2: Die Herakleides-
Original Research
Manichaeism: Its sources and influences on western Christianity
Psalmen (Corpus Fontium Manichaeorum, Series Coptica,
I, Liber Psalmorum, Pars II, Fasc. 2), Brepols Publishers,
Turnhout.
Römer, C., 1994, Manis frühe Missionsreisen nach der Kölner
Manibiographie. Textkritischer Kommentar und Erläuterungen
zu p. 121 - p. 192 des Kölner Mani-Kodex, Westdeutscher
Verlag, Opladen.
Rose, E., 1979, Die manichäische Christologie, Harassowitz,
Wiesbaden.
Van Oort, J. & Quispel, G., 2005, De Keulse Mani-Codex.
Vertaald, ingeleid en toegelicht (Pimander 11), In de Pelikaan,
Amsterdam.
Van Oort, J., 1989, ‘Augustine on sexual concupiscence and
original sin’, in: E. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Patristica XXII,
Leuven, Peeters, 382–386.
Van Oort, J., 1991, Jerusalem and Babylon. A Study into Augustine’s
City of God and the Sources of his Doctrine of the Two Cities
(Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 14), E.J. Brill, LeidenNew York-København-Köln.
Van Oort, J., 1996a: ‘Manichaeism in Augustine’s De ciuitate
Dei’, in: E. Cavalcanti (ed.), Il ‘De ciuitate Dei’: L’opera, le
interpretazioni, l’influsso, Roma-Freiburg-Wien, Herder, 193–
214.
Van Oort, J., 1996b: ‘The Study of the Cologne Mani Codex, 19691994’, Manichaean Studies Newsletter 13, 22–30.
Van Oort, J., 1997, ‘Manichaeism and anti-Manichaeism in
Augustine’s Confessiones’, in L. Cirillo & A. Van Tongerloo
(eds.), Atti del Terzo Congresso Internazionale di Studi
‘Manicheismo e Oriente Cristiano Antico’, Arcavacata di Rende Amantea, 31 agosto - 5 settembre 1993 (Manichaean Studies III),
Turnhout: Brepols, 235–248.
Van Oort, J., 2002/2008, ‘Manichäismus’, Die Religion in
Geschichte und Gegenwart, vol. V, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck
(reprint Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck 2008), 732–741.
Van Oort, J., 2004, ‘The Paraclete Mani as the Apostle of Jesus
Christ and the Origins of a New Christian Church’, in
A. Hilhorst (ed.), The Apostolic Age in Patristic Thought
(Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae LXX), Leiden-Boston:
E.J. Brill Academic Publishers, 139–157.
Van Oort, J., 2008, ‘Elkesaites’, Religion, Past and Present, Volume
IV, Leiden-Boston, E.J. Brill Academic Publishers, 416.
Van Tongerloo, A. & Van Oort, J., 1995, The Manichaean ΝΟΥΣ.
Προχεεδινγσ οφ τηε Ιντερνατιοναλ Σψµποσιυµ οργανιζεδ ιν
Λουϖαιν φροµ 31 ϑυλψ το 3 Αυγυστ 1991 (Manichaean Studies,
Vol. 2), Louvain, International Association of Manichaean
Studies.
Verheule, A.F., 1973, Wilhelm Bousset. Leben und Werk, Amsterdam,
Ton Bolland.
Villey, A., 1994, Psaumes des errants. Écrits manichéennes du Fayyum
(Sources gnostiques et manichéennes 4), Paris, Cerf.
Waldschmidt, E. & Lentz, W., 1926: Die Stellung Jesu
im Manichäismus, Berlin: Verlag der Akademie der
Wissenschaften.
Wurst, G., 1996, The Manichaean Coptic Papyri in the Chester
Beatty Library: Psalm Book, Part II, Fasc. 1: Die Bema-Psalmen
(Corpus Fontium Manichaeorum, Series Coptica, I, Liber
Psalmorum, Pars II, Fasc. 1), Turnhout: Brepols Publishers.
Article #362
Verbum et Ecclesia
Book Review
From Fast to Feast: A ritual-liturgical exploration of r
econciliation in South African cultural contexts
Reviewer:
Hennie J.C. Pieterse1
Affiliation:
Theology, University of
1
Correspondence to:
Hennie Pieterse
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
262 Marraisstraat,
Brooklyn, 0181, Pretoria,
South Africa
Keywords:
ritual; liturgy;
reconciliation; South
African context; Truth and
Reconciliation Commission
By means of a participatory research methodology in liturgical studies he works with three key
concepts in his research namely ritual, liturgical inculturation and reconciliation. He has done four
ritual probes. Firstly, a brief historical overview of Christian reconciliation rituals during the periods
60–312AD, 312–600AD, 500–1550AD, 1500–1600AD, 1570AD and afterwards. The second probe was a
cultural-anthropological study regarding the place of ritual in the process of reconciliation including a
contribution from the Gospel of Luke. Furthermore, a descriptive study of the ritual market resulting
in typologies of reconciliation rituals, and a South African ethnographic exploration complying with
a comparative description of three congregations and their surrounding communities (White, Black
and Coloured).
The finding of this research journey is basically that liturgy, in reconciliation and in the unification of
the Dutch Reformed Church and the Uniting Reformed Church, is an irreplaceable route. The work
of Christ, his reconciliation, is the task of the church. The ritual treasure of the church of Jesus Christ
is an instrument that should serve this reconciling work. It is the purpose of this book to improve the
church’s reconciliation rituals. Cas Wepener’s work has also opened windows for the renewal of our
liturgy at large. The approach is to formulate liturgical theory and practice in contemporary terms
based on tradition and not traditionalism.
at:
Creative Commons
Article #86
Pieterse, H.J.C., 2009, ‘From
Fast to Feast: A ritualliturgical exploration of
reconciliation in South
African cultural contexts’,
#86, 1 page. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.86
Cas Wepener is a brilliant and committed young liturgist. This book is based on his doctoral thesis in the
Afrikaans language (Stellenbosch University 2004), roughly double the length of this published From
Fast to Feast, but this book is a fundamental revision of the thesis. Wepener’s work on reconciliation as
practised in the liturgy is still very relevant in our post-apartheid context in South Africa and will be
topical for some time to come.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Dates:
Accepted: 31 Aug. 2009
ISBN: 978-90-429-2034-7
Author: Cas Wepener
Published by: Peeters
Postal address:
Bondgenotenlaan 153
B-3000
Leuven
Belgium
Tel: + 32 16 23 51 70
Fax: + 32 16 22 85 00
e-mail: [email protected]
Price: €60,00 online (at the time of publishing this book review)
Book Review
Pelze, Gold und Weihwasser: Handel und Mission in Afrika
und Amerika
Reviewer:
Christoph Stenschke1
Affiliation:
1
Department of New
Testament and Early
Christian Studies,
PO Box 392, Pretoria, 0003,
South Africa
Correspondence to:
Christoph Stenschke
e-mail:
[email protected]
Postal address:
Department of New
Testament and Early
Christian Studies,
PO Box 392, Pretoria, 0003,
South Africa
Stenschke, C., 2009, ‘Pelze,
Gold und weihwasser:
Handel und mission in
Afrika und Amerika’,
#80, 2 pages. DOI: 10.4102/
ve.v30i2.80
at:
Die Begegnung mit Menschen aus anderen Kulturen die europäische Expansion beeinflusste. Denn die
Europäer staunten über große Reiche in Asien, die reicher und kultivierter waren als ihre eigenen. Sie lernten
unbekannte Religionen und Gesellschaften kennen, die sich in keines der vertrauten Muster einfügen ließen.
Portugiesen und Spanier, später auch Niederländer, Franzosen und Briten, waren keineswegs so überlegen,
wie sie sich einredeten, sondern mussten sich oft lokalen Verhältnissen anpassen und ihre wirtschafltichen
Gewinnchancen für politische Unterwerfungsgesten einhandeln. Die Versuche, das Christentum zu
verbreiten, stießen nicht nur bei Muslimen auf Ablehnung und Widerstand (8f).
Zuerst geht es um die Eroberungen der Portugiesen in Südostafrika (12–42). Die Portugiesen konnten
sich zwar die Herrschaft an der Küste sichern (hier gingen Kolonisierung und Mission Hand in
Hand), aber das soziale und politische Normengefüge der Karanga-Reiche im Landesinneren nicht
aufbrechen. Das zeigt sich auch daran, dass die Mission nur im unmittelbaren Einflussbereich der
Portugiesen Erfolge aufweisen konnte (42).
Article #80
Dates:
Accepted: 31 July 2009
Marx lehrt als Professor für außereuropäische Geschichte an der Universität Duisburg-Essen.
Sein Spezialgebiet ist die Geschichte des südlichen Afrika. Das vorliegende Bändchen zeigt an
vier Fallstudien die große Bandbreite der Begegnung europäischer Händler und Missionare (die
Missionsträger dürften wohl deutlicher zwischen Händlern und Missionaren unterschieden haben als
dies in der Wahrnehmung der Einheimischen der Fall war) mit anderen Kulturen in der Zeit vor der
systematischen Kolonialisierung in unterschiedlichen Epochen, als noch nicht absehbar war, dass sich
die Europäer durchsetzen würden. Marx zitiert immer wieder ausführlich aus den Quellen, die der
Darstellung zugrundeliegen. Dabei wird die Sicht der anderen, soweit die Quellen dies erlauben, mit
einbezogen. Marx beobachtet, dass
Verbum et Ecclesia
Keywords:
review; mission; history of
mission; Africa; America
ISBN: 978-3-89678-334-9
Author: Christoph Marx
Published by: Primus Verlag
Postal address:
Primus Verlag GmbH
Postfach 10 11 53
D-64211 Darmstadt
Germany
Tel: +49 61 51 31 80 47
Fax: +49 61 51 3 30 82 08
e-mail: [email protected]
Price: €16,90 online (correct at time of publishing this review)
Dann untersucht Marx Pelzhandel und Missionare bei den Huronen im Gebiet der großen Seen
Nordamerikas (43–74). Die Mission wurde wesentlich von französischen Jesuiten getragen. Zur
Wirkung der Mission trugen neben der Destabilisierung der Gesellschaft verschiedene Epidemien
bei, die viele Huronen tief verunsicherten: „Immer mehr Menschen begannen ihre Kosmologie in
Zweifel zu ziehen und Alternativen zu akzeptieren. Die Todesorientiertheit der christlichen Botschaft,
das Heilsversprechen im Jenseits und die Aussicht auf Wiederauferstehung, die in der huronischen
Religion nicht vorkamen, erhielten unter dem Eindruck des Verlusts vieler Familienangehöriger eine
neue Qualität und Verlockung“ (69f).
Anschließend geht es unter der Überschrift „Der König und der Missionar: Die neue Welt der
Ndebele“ (75–104) um Robert Moffat und Mzilikazi, den König der Ndebele. Hier zeigt Marx u.a.
die Wirkung der Schilderungen der Missionare auf die folgende Geschichtsschreibung (er spricht
von „historiografischem Rufmord“). Der König war nicht sonderlich an der christlichen Botschaft
intereriessert, doch die Missionare waren als Vermittler im Streit wichtig, stellten Kontakte zur
Kapkolonie her und verschafften ihm Zugang zu westlichen Waren.
Abschließend geht es um Händler und Missionare an der kanadischen Westküste (105–135). Die
dortigen Indianer waren ausgesprochen gewiefte Händler und den Weißen gegenüber in vieler
Hinsicht im Vorteil. Die kulturellen Änderungen durch die Einführung neuer Werkzeuge, Kleidung
und durch sich ändernde Bedürfnisse wurden zumindest in der Anfangsphase von den Indianern
bestimmt (111).
Creative Commons
Die Fallstudien zeigen, dass die Reiche, die man im „geschichtslosen“ Afrika ohnehin nicht vermutete,
die Europäer für ihre Zwecke nutzten, die Missionare auf Abstand hielten und sich als den weißen
Kaufleuten ebenbürtige Partner erwiesen. Ferner wird deutlich, dass die Begegnungen teilweise von
unfreiwilliger Komik waren. Der Umgang miteinander blieb auf beiden Seiten von anhaltendem
Misstrauen bestimmt; die Kontakte wurden hauptsächlich vom Interesse an den Waren des jeweils
anderen aufrechterhalten.
Im Handel mit den Europäern beherrschten die Einheimischen alle Tricks des Handels, von dem sie
ebenso profitierten wie die Europäer (137). Sie waren zu eigenständigem und wohlüberlegtem Handeln
Book Review
Stenschke
nachvollziehbar. Die Analyse der Motive der Missionare ist
hingegen unbefriedigend. Marx’ Darstellung ist ernüchternd
und zeigt ein anderes Bild als manche, vor allem ältere,
missionsgeschichtliche Darstellung. Sie ist daher eine wichtige
Ergänzung zu missionsgeschichtlichen Gesamtdarstellungen
oder Einzelstudien.
Marx’ Fallstudien eignen sich auch für den Unterricht.
Sie werfen interessante und wichtige Fragen für die
Missionsgeschichte und Missionspraxis auf und sensibilisieren
für die Perspektive der Einheimischen sowie die Rolle der
Missionsgeschichtsschreibung.
Verbum et Ecclesia
Article #80
in der Lage. Nach Marx ist daher eine Geschichtsschreibung,
die diese Menschen ausblendet und nur die Europäer als gute
oder böse Täter im Blick hat, öde und langweilig (137). Diese
Fallstudien zeigen die bescheidenen Erfolge der Mission vor
oder in der Anfangsphase der Kolonialisierung. Eine Ausnahme
in der Darstellung bilden die Bestrebungen der Portugiesen
in Südostafrika (siehe oben). Die europäische Expansion war
von den Leitmotiven Handel und Mission bestimmt: „Von
ihrem Ausgangspunkt in der Feindschaft gegen den Islam
und der Suche nach Gold für die innereuropäischen Kriege bis
hin zum privaten Glück der Goldsucher und dem jenseitigen
frommer Missionare“ (11). Die Würdigung des konkreten
Handelns der Missionare ist durchweg kritisch aber zumeist

persuasion in 1 corinthians 1:1–9

Transcription

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