Robert Alter's Conjectural Emendation to 1 Samuel 30:20

Alter renders 1 Sam 30:20 thusly:

 

And David took all the sheep and the cattle. They drove before them that livestock and said, “This is David’s booty.” (Robert Alter, The Hebrew Bible, 3 vols. [New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2019], 2:303)

 

Alter explains his conjectural emendation to the text:

 

They drove before them that livestock. The Masoretic Text has the syntactically problematic “before that livestock” (lifney hamiqneh hahuʾ). This translation is based on a small emendation, lifneyhem (“before them”), assuming a haplography—an inadvertent scribal deletion of repeated letters, since the last two letters of lifneyhem (heh and mem) are also the first two letters of hamiqneh. (Robert Alter, The Hebrew Bible, 3 vols. [New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2019], 2:303)

 

Robert Alter on 1 Samuel 26:22

 

And David answered and said, “Here is the king’s spear.” It is noteworthy that David does not immediately respond to Saul’s renewed profession of regret and good faith. (The Masoretic consonantal text, the ketiv, tries to rescue this lapse by representing these words as a vocative, “Here is the spear, king,” but the qeri, or pronounced Masoretic version, properly renders it as ḥanit hamelekh, “the king’s spear.”) In the encounter at the cave, David vowed he would not harm Saul’s descendants, though his actual words were not reported. Here, he first gives an impersonal order to have the spear brought back to Saul. It is only when he goes on to recapitulate his profession of innocence that he again addresses Saul. By this point, he no longer trusts any promises Saul may make not to harm him but hopes that God will note his own proper conduct and therefore protect him (verse 24). (Robert Alter, The Hebrew Bible, 3 vols. [New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2019], 2:290)

 

Roberto Flores on the Macuahuitl Being Called a "Sword" ("Espada")

  

Esta característica hace que, en el caso de los atributos que visten al ixiptla, sea imposible abordarlos únicamente desde su sentido utilitario. El xiuhcoatl que blande el ixiptla de Huitzilopochtli es un macuahuitl (‘una espada’), pero, al mismo tiempo, es un objeto flamígero de carácter solar (tonalli): un rayo de sol. Ambos sentidos coexisten durante el ritual de Panquetzaliztli. El primer problema para la semiótica es relacionar ambos sentidos: es decir, determinar cómo procede el tránsito de uno al otro, desde la constitución del atavío como signo. El segundo problema es elucidar el modo en que esa relación da lugar a la presencia viva del ente sobrenatural. Es decir, el primero es un problema de inmanencia en el estrato sígnico-textual, y el segundo, de trascendencia en el estrato de las prácticas enunciativas. En el ixiptla se produce el tránsito de un estrato a otro.

 

. . .

 

Para entender tanto los efectos de sentido de las magnitudes semióticas involucradas en el ixiptla de Huitzilopochtli (espada, rayo solar, deidad, etc.) como el sentido de la presencia viva, es preciso comenzar con una caracterización semiótica de sus formas apariencia y de re-presentación6 en el seno de una semiótica connotativa.

 

Al abordar el caso del ixiptla y su apariencia, resulta claro que es imposible dar cuenta de ellos en términos simplemente denotativos, como la función semiótica establecida entre una expresión y un contenido, sino que corresponde a un signo connotativo compuesto de tres estratos (Figura 1⁷). En el primero de ellos (E-₁), el xiuhcoatl es un signo denotativo cuyo sentido principal es el de ser una espada solar de carácter mágico religioso. Ese signo pasa a ser parte integral de la figura sensible (cualquiera que sea su manifestación: escultura, imagen grabada en piedra o pintada, el nombre mismo) de Huitzilopochtli (E₀), que es un texto dotado igualmente de un valor solar; al ser la espada emblema de la divinidad, la metonimia opera en dos isotopías figurativas: la celeste-ígnea y la guerrera. De esta manera, la figura de la espada pasa a connotar la figura de la divinidad: el signo connotativo opera en el plano de la expresión, al que se le asigna un contenido suplementario. Un segundo paso consiste en integrar un discurso totalizante y circunstanciado en una práctica significante (Fontanille, 2008, capítulo 1) (E₊₁) a partir de la constitución progresiva de las figuras de los estratos inferiores: de esta manera, es posible afirmar que el ixiptla, en primera instancia, está constituido por un sistema de connotaciones distribuidas en múltiples estratos. El procedimiento es recursivo. Puesto que una figura dada se compone mereológicamente de formantes figurativos, es posible que, a su vez, un formante esté compuesto de formantes de menor alcance: así, por ejemplo, un accesorio ritual como el xiuhcoatl tiene diversas partes funcionales, pero también simbólicas (empuñadura, filos de obsidiana, forma de serpiente, colores) que poseen sentidos específicos.

 

Ahora bien, el procedimiento analítico que conduce del signo a su presencia en situación no ha finalizado: no es posible afirmar que el sentido sobrenatural de xiuhcoatl sea el de la simple connotación; no se trata de una significación que se añada a un sentido de base y que se pase de un sentido literal a un sentido figurativo en contexto (la figura sobrenatural como contexto de la espada y el ritual como contexto de la figura). Hay un hiato que, en el recorrido de las connotaciones, aparece entre la figura material y la presencia divina. Para comprender la presencia viva, se requiere adjuntar un metalenguaje semiótico de carácter mítico. (Roberto Flores, “Presencia y experiencia de lo sobrenatural en los antiguos mexicanos,” Tópicos del Seminario 55 [January 26, 2026]: 84-85, 86-87)

 

 

English Translation:

 

This feature means that, in the case of the attributes that dress the ixiptla, they cannot be treated solely in terms of their utilitarian meaning. The xiuhcoatl wielded by the ixiptla of Huitzilopochtli is a macuahuitl (“a sword”), but at the same time it is a fiery, solar object (tonalli): a ray of sunlight. Both senses coexist during the Panquetzaliztli ritual. The first problem for semiotics is to relate the two senses: that is, to determine how the passage from one to the other takes place, starting from the constitution of the accoutrement as a sign. The second problem is to elucidate how that relationship gives rise to the living presence of the supernatural being. In other words, the first is a problem of immanence in the sign-textual stratum, and the second a problem of transcendence in the stratum of enunciative practices. In the ixiptla the passage from one stratum to the other occurs.

 

. . .

 

To understand both the sense-effects of the semiotic magnitudes involved in the ixiptla of Huitzilopochtli (sword, sun-ray, deity, etc.) and the sense of the living presence, it is necessary to begin with a semiotic characterization of its forms, appearance, and re-presentation6 within a connotative semiotics.

 

When tackling the case of the ixiptla and its appearance, it becomes clear that they cannot be accounted for in simply denotative terms — i.e., as the semiotic function established between an expression and a content — but correspond rather to a connotative sign composed of three strata (Figure 1⁷). In the first of these (E_-1), the xiuhcoatl is a denotative sign whose primary sense is that of a solar sword of magical-religious character. That sign becomes an integral part of the sensible figure (whatever its manifestation: sculpture, image carved in stone or painted, the very name) of Huitzilopochtli (E₀), which itself is also endowed with a solar value; since the sword is an emblem of the divinity, metonymy operates in two figurative isotopies: the celestial-fiery and the warrior. In this way, the figure of the sword comes to connote the figure of the divinity: the connotative sign operates on the plane of expression, to which a supplementary content is assigned. A second step consists in integrating a totalizing and circumstanced discourse into a signifying practice (Fontanille, 2008, chapter 1) (E₊₁) from the progressive constitution of the figures of the lower strata: thus it is possible to assert that the ixiptla, in the first instance, is constituted by a system of connotations distributed across multiple strata. The procedure is recursive. Because a given figure is mereologically composed of figurative formants, it is possible that, in turn, a formant is itself composed of formants of lesser scope: thus, for example, a ritual accessory such as the xiuhcoatl has various functional but also symbolic parts (hilt, obsidian edges, serpent shape, colours) that possess specific senses.

 

Now, the analytical procedure that leads from the sign to its presence in situation is not yet complete: one cannot assert that the supernatural sense of the xiuhcoatl is simply that of connotation; it is not a signification added to a base sense whereby one moves from a literal meaning to a figurative one in context (the supernatural figure as the context of the sword and the ritual as the context of the figure). There is a gap that, in the itinerary of the connotations, appears between the material figure and the divine presence. To understand the living presence, it is necessary to attach a semiotic metalanguage of a mythic character.

 

 

Jesús Erick González Rizo on the Tonaltec Variant of the Macuahuitl and it being called a sword ("Espada")

  

Características generales del macuahuitl

 

Sobre las dimensiones de esta arma, la menor o estándar era de entre 60-70 cm y se utilizaba con una mano (Garduño 2009: 109, 115); la mayor era conocida por los españoles como “espada a dos manos o mandoble”, midiendo aproximadamente 1.20 m. El macuahuitl llevaba filos de obsidiana, usualmente cuchillas prismáticas; éstas también se usaban más comúnmente como lancetas y navajas (Taube, 1991). El uso de las navajas prismáticas representó una innovación tecnológica muy importante, ya que por primera vez los ejércitos mesoamericanos disponían de una superficie cortante, eficaz y relativamente amplia. La creación de grandes cuchillos de obsidiana no era viable en las batallas debido a su fragilidad. Esta amplia superficie cortante es lo único que las asemejaba con espadas, pues en la práctica, no servían para apuñalar, sino sólo para cortar. El macuahuitl llevaba filos de obsidiana, generalmente cuchillas prismáticas, las cuales se utilizaban comúnmente como lancetas y navajas (Taube 1991).

 

. . .

 

En sus versiones más grandes, el macuahuitl debía manejarse con las dos manos debido a su peso. Era un arma diseñada solamente de ataque, no de defensa, ya que no podía resistir impactos directos como lo haría una espada. Esencialmente era un arma de corte que podía desgarrar tejidos –causando infecciones debido a las microlascas–, así como provocar pequeñas fracturas en los huesos, pero no era capaz de amputar miembros completos (Cervera Obregón 2007: 65). Entonces, probablemente, un guerrero portador de macuahuitl centraría su ataque fundamentalmente en los miembros del oponente, más que a su torso, que con frecuencia estaba mejor protegido. En ocasiones se le ha llegado a comparar con la espada hispana, incluso, se le ha llamado espada mesoamericana (Roper 1996); pero, el macuahuitl no tiene un equivalente exacto en el armamento hispánico, ya que no sirve para punzar. A diferencia del arco y la flecha o los lanzadardos (atlatl), cuyo uso era más amplio, incluso como instrumento de cacería, el macuahuitl no tenía otra finalidad más que la bélica.

 

En el mismo Lienzo de Tlaxcala se atestigua que el uso de porras de madera con remate y pomo esférico estaba mucho más extendido, que el del macuahuitl. Cabe mencionar que en la región Occidente muchas de las porras son representadas sin pomo.

 

. . .

 

El Macuahuitl tonalteca: singularidades y características

 

Sabemos que había guerreros tonaltecas bien entrenados para el uso del macuahuitl, tanto por las fuentes hispanas como por las indígenas. Del puño y letra de Nuño de Guzmán que los hispanos “juzgaban no haber visto más osados ni valientes indios que estos. Las armas que traían heran (sic) arcos y flechas y macanas y espadas de dos manos, de madera, y algunas hondas y rodelas, y muy emplumados y teñidos” (Razo y Cortés 1982: 40; véase también Iturriaga 2010: 19). La habilidad de los tonaltecas y forma de estas armas no sólo impresionó a Guzmán, sino también a los auxiliares tlaxcaltecas que lo acompañaban, ya que aparecen fielmente retratados en el lt. Incluso, Guzmán señala la agresividad de los guerreros tonaltecas que directamente, y en solitario, atacaban a los jinetes hispanos (Razo y Cortés 1982: 39). Sobre las espadas de dos manos o mandobles, se deduce claramente que se refiere a macuahuimeh de mayores dimensiones.

 

. . .

 

El Macuahuitl tonalteca: un análisis experimental

 

Tras el análisis iconográfico y la revisión de fuentes se procedió a realizar la fase experimental de esta investigación. Por la forma puntiaguda y el doble biselado, se planteó como hipótesis inicial que el macuahuitl tonalteca estuviera endurecido con tratamiento térmico, para poder usarlo como arma punzocortante, similar a una espada hispánica. Desde esta premisa, ambas armas: espada y macuahuitl tonalteca serían el fruto de una evolución convergente. Asimismo, el pomo esférico sería solo un elemento decorativo y el biselado ayudaría para mejorar el empuje del arma dentro del cuerpo del enemigo.

 

. . .

 

Conclusiones

 

El macuahuitl es un arma distintiva de la panoplia mesoamericana, de diseño original y uso distinto al de otros armamentos más conocidos (e.g. la espada europea). Surgió durante los siglos previos a la conquista hispánica y desapareció de los campos de batalla novohispanos en menos de un siglo tras el contacto. (Jesús Erick González Rizo, “La variante tonalteca del macuahuitl durante el Posclásico tardío. Una visión desde la arqueología experimental,” Anales de Antropología 58, no. 2 [July-December 2024]: 136-37, 138, 140, 141)

 

 

English Translation:

 

General characteristics of the macuahuitl

 

Regarding the dimensions of this weapon, the smaller or standard version measured between 60–70 cm and was used with one hand (Garduño 2009: 109, 115); the larger one was known to the Spaniards as a “two-handed sword or mandoble,” measuring approximately 1.20 m. The macuahuitl bore obsidian edges, usually prism-shaped blades; these were also more commonly used as lancets and knives (Taube 1991). The use of prism-shaped blades represented a very important technological innovation, since for the first time Mesoamerican armies had an effective and relatively broad cutting surface. Creating large obsidian knives was not viable for battle because of their fragility. This broad cutting surface is the only feature that made them resemble swords, because in practice they were not useful for stabbing, only for cutting. The macuahuitl carried obsidian edges, generally prism-shaped blades, which were commonly used as lancets and knives (Taube 1991).

 

. . .

 

In its larger versions, the macuahuitl had to be handled with both hands because of its weight. It was a weapon designed only for attack, not for defense, because it could not withstand direct impacts the way a sword would. Essentially it was a cutting weapon that could tear flesh—causing infections due to micro-flakes— and could produce small fractures in bone, but it was not capable of amputating whole limbs (Cervera Obregón 2007: 65). Therefore, a warrior armed with a macuahuitl would probably concentrate his attack mainly on an opponent’s limbs rather than the torso, which was often better protected. At times it has even been compared to the Spanish sword and has been called a Mesoamerican sword (Roper 1996); however, the macuahuitl has no exact equivalent in Hispanic weaponry, since it does not serve to puncture. Unlike the bow and arrow or the atlatl (spear-thrower), whose use was broader and even served as hunting tools, the macuahuitl had no purpose other than warfare.

In the same Lienzo de Tlaxcala it is attested that the use of wooden clubs with a terminal and spherical pommel was much more widespread than that of the macuahuitl. It is worth mentioning that in the western region many clubs are depicted without a pommel.

 

. . .

 

The Tonalteca macuahuitl: peculiarities and characteristics

 

We know there were Tonalteca warriors well trained in the use of the macuahuitl, both from Hispanic and indigenous sources. In the autograph of Nuño de Guzmán the Spaniards “judged they had not seen braver or more daring Indians than these. The weapons they carried were bows and arrows and macanas and two-handed wooden swords, and some slings and shields, and very plumed and painted” (Razo y Cortés 1982: 40; see also Iturriaga 2010: 19). The skill of the Tonalteca and the form of these weapons impressed not only Guzmán but also the Tlaxcalan auxiliaries who accompanied him, since they are faithfully portrayed in the painting. Guzmán even notes the aggressiveness of the Tonalteca warriors who directly and alone attacked the Hispanic horsemen (Razo y Cortés 1982: 39). Concerning the two-handed swords or mandobles, it is clear he is referring to macuahuimeh of larger dimensions.

 

. . .

 

The Tonalteca macuahuitl: an experimental analysis

 

After the iconographic analysis and review of sources, the experimental phase of this research was undertaken. Because of the pointed shape and double bevel, the initial hypothesis proposed that the Tonalteca macuahuitl had been hardened by heat treatment so it could be used as a thrust-cutting weapon, similar to a Spanish sword. From this premise, both weapons—the sword and the Tonalteca macuahuitl—would be the result of convergent evolution. Likewise, the spherical pommel would be only a decorative element and the beveling would help improve the weapon’s thrust into an enemy’s body.

 

. . .

 

Conclusions

 

The macuahuitl is a distinctive weapon of the Mesoamerican panoply, of original design and use different from better-known weapons (e.g., the European sword). It arose during the centuries before the Hispanic conquest and disappeared from the battlefields of New Spain in less than a century after contact.

 

Note on the Text of 1 Samuel 30:15 in the LXX Traditions

  

15. At the end of the verse LXX^L adds “and he swore to him.” Omit with LXX^B, MT. (P. Kyle McCarther Jr., 1 Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes, and Commentary [AYB 8; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008], 432)

 

Jewish/Rabbinical Sources on the Nations/Gentiles Receiving Privileges Reserved for Israel Due to the Latter's Sin (cf. Matthew 21:43)

  

21:43: The kingdom of God will be taken from you and given to a people that will produce fruits.

 

The expression is comparable to what we find in b. Ḥag. 5B: (“My soul will weep because of גוה,” Jer 13:17.) What does “because of גוה” mean? R. Samuel b. Isaac (ca. 300) said, “Because of the ‘highness’ of Israel, which was taken from them and given to the nations of the world מפני גאוותן של ישראל שניטלה מהם ונתנה לאומות העולם.” (See the unabbreviated passage at § Luke 15:10.)—See also 1 Sam 15:28.—‖ Midrash Esther 1:2 (85A): R. Aibo (ca. 320) said, “It says, ‘For the kingdom is Yahweh’s, and he rules over the nations’ (Ps 22:29) and you say, ‘On the throne of his kingdom’ (Esth 1:2)? Yet in the past the kingdom (sovereignty) was with Israel. But when they sinned, the kingdom was taken from them and given to the nations of the world. This is what ‘I sold the land into the hand of wicked people’ (Ezek 30:12) means.”—R. Isaac (ca. 300) said, “Into the hand of wicked administrators; tomorrow, if Israel repents, God will take the kingdom from the nations of the world and give it back to the Israelites. When? ‘And liberators will go up … and the kingdom will fall to Yahweh’ (Obad 21).” ‖ Midrash Psalm 75 § 5 (170B): When the Israelites had sinned, (the ten horns attributed to them in Scripture) were taken from them and given to the nations of the world. See Dan 7:7: “(The fourth animal) had ten horns.…” As long as the horns of the godless continue to exist, the horns of Israel will be cut off (see Lam 2:3). But when he exalts the horns of the righteous, the horns of the godless will be cut off. See Ps 75:10: “All the horns of the godless I will cut off,” and immediately (v. 10): “The horns of the righteous will be exalted.” (Hermann L. Strack and Paul Billerbeck, A Commentary on the New Testament from the Talmud and Midrash, ed. Jacob N. Cerone, 4 vols. [trans. Andrew Bowden and Joseph Longarino; Bellingham, Wash.: Lexham Press, 2022], 1:1004)

 

Scriptural Mormonism Podcast Episode 94: Polygamy and the Scriptures with J Celene Anderson

  

Episode 94: Polygamy and the Scriptures with J Celene Anderson

Taylor Patrick O’Neill on the de auxiliis debate

  

For nearly the last five centuries the Thomistic conversation regarding premotion of sin, providence, predestination, and reprobation has largely centered around the great debates between the Order of Preachers and the Society of Jesus, arbitrated by the Church’s Congregretatio de Auxiliis. At the forefront of these often intense debates was an attempted rapprochement between God’s causal influence on the created will and the integrity of human freedom. “The Dominicans declared that the Jesuits conceded too much to free will, and so tended toward Pelagianism. In turn, the Jesuits complained that the Dominicans did not sufficiently safeguard human liberty, and seemed in consequence to lean towards Calvinism.”

 

The period of this great debate de auxiliis is often said to have begun in 1581, spanning over twenty years before effectively ending in a stalemate in 1607. During its time, the Congregatio held eighty-five conferences, which were presented before Popes Clement VIII, Leo IX, and Paul V, featuring the greatest and most preeminent minds that the sixteenth-century Dominicans and Jesuits had to offer. At the heart of the beginning of the controversy was the censure of the works of Luis de Molina and the condemnations that Molina and Spanish Dominican Domingo Báñez launched against each other. By the closing of the Congregatio in 1607, both sides had been told that they could maintain and defend their respective schemas (after a brief silence for both parties), but steps were taken to greatly limit the vitriolic climate which had erupted between the two sides.

 

While the debate may have softened somewhat since the Congregatio, it has largely continued, spilling over even into the early twentieth century. Up until recently, much ink had been spilled continuing the debate between the Jesuit scientia media and simultaneous concurrence and the Dominican physical premotion and election, which is ante praevisa merita. This debate had certainly continued to animate much of the theological writing in the twentieth century regarding premotion, the permission of sin, providence, predestination, and reprobation. However, with the death of many of the great figures of that twentieth-century debate, the disputation between the Dominicans and the Jesuits seems to have slowed considerably. (Taylor Patrick O’Neill, Grace, Predestination, and the Permission of Sin [Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2019], 1-2)

 

Excerpts from R. J. Matava, “A Sketch of the Controversy de auxiliis" (2020)

Source:

 

R. J. Matava, “A Sketch of the Controversy de auxiliis,” Journal of Jesuit Studies 7 (2020): 417-446

 

Abstract

 

In the 16th century, the Dominicans and the Jesuits engaged in a polarized theological debate about how God can move the human will in a way that neither compromises human free choice nor makes God the author of moral evil. This debate, called the “controversy de auxiliis,” was never resolved. In 1607, Pope Paul v decreed that neither side was heretical and forbade further publishing on the issue without his explicit permission. This article explains the main theological points of the various Dominican and Jesuit actors, the human factors that contributed to the debate, and the reasons why this is still an important issue today. It concludes that both positions were based on important theological insights that would need to be taken into account if any resolution were to be found, that a resolution of this debate would benefit the Church in a number of ways, and that Jesuit and Dominican tribalism and polemics have contributed to keeping this issue unresolved. (p. 417)

 

Conclusion

 

While the polemics that characterized the de auxiliis debate can misleadingly suggest that the Dominican and Jesuit positions were the only two games in town and that these two positions were monolithic in their uniformity, they were not. There were outlying theologians in both orders, and theologians from outside these two orders also weighed in. However, by-and-large, the Dominicans and the Jesuits remained aligned against each other along party lines with remarkable uniformity up until the early twentieth century.

 

There is a hackneyed portrayal of the controversy as a sterile, intramural debate that expended the efforts of the brightest theologians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries on a pointless exercise in hairsplitting, thereby disrupting the peace and unity of the church at a time when it was already bruised and bleeding from the Protestant schism. While this portrayal has some limited basis in reality, the portrayal is misleading insofar as it suggests that the debate was much ado about nothing. In fact, the de auxiliis question continued to haunt the church for centuries—as long as theologians were willing to think about it—and the question was never adequately answered. The Dominicans and Jesuits were fixated upon a substantive issue—a genuine theological mystery at the heart of the Christian faith—one which deserves the kind of sustained reflection and clear formulation that has been given to such mysteries as the Trinity and the Incarnation. It also ignores the fact that the Dominican and Jesuit positions were serious attempts at giving clear and plausible expression to this mystery, attempts that, from both sides, were intended to further the peace and unity of the church while upholding the integrity of the deposit of faith.

 

In fact, while neither school articulated a position that was ultimately adequate, both sides had insight into certain fundamental truths. The Dominicans were right in their uncompromising defense of the truth that God is the first cause of all that exists, including the free acts of creatures, and that God has the initiative in salvation. The Jesuits were right to insist that the human person has the capacity for genuine self-determination and that this capacity would be undermined if choices were determined by exogenous created antecedents.

 

But that both sides had genuine insight into the issue does not mean that a via media is tenable. For common suppositions led both sides into an insoluble dilemma. Chief among these was the highly intuitive but mistaken idea that God’s efficient causality is literally a force or influx (somewhat like physical energy), a tertium quid bridging between cause and effect. On such an understanding, God is either determining or determined, as Garrigou-Lagrange pointed out: for the Dominicans, God is determining. For the Jesuits, God is determined.

 

This extremely tempting conceptual mistake about efficient causality, taken with each side’s true grasp of one pole of the mystery, converged with several other human and, broadly-speaking, methodological factors to make the controversy de auxiliis virtually unavoidable. The dispute between the Dominicans and Jesuits was as complicated humanly as it was conceptually, although the sheer conceptual complexity of the debate tends to eclipse its moral, psychological, and spiritual dimensions.

 

From a methodological standpoint, neither position took a sufficiently dialectical approach to the mystery, in the broad, medieval sense of determining a position in light of back-and-forth consideration of counterarguments, as in the format for settling disputed questions. It is not that the Dominicans and Jesuits did not consider one another’s views or even other counterpositions. It is clear from the structure of their writings (which included dubia and so forth, as was customary) that they did. Rather, there was a dispositional shortcoming on the part of the disputants: in general, neither side was sufficiently self-critical to take the respective counterarguments seriously enough to make significant modifications to its own position. While this posture affected both the Dominicans and Jesuits, it seems to have affected the Dominicans more because they were defending an established position that, in its main lines, had been previously held, and one that, in its specific points of detail, had been developing since the fourteenth century. Whereas the Jesuits were advancing a new theory, they were forced to confront counter-positions from the very start.

 

This led to another complicating factor—the Dominican and Jesuit positions were polemical. They were positions formulated against someone in the heat of controversy. As a result, the two positions do not display the kind of balance that is necessary to do justice to the mystery as a whole. While this factor affected both schools, it was a more characteristic flaw of the Jesuits than the Dominicans, for the Jesuits developed their view in order to address the problem of Luther and Calvin’s teachings on the bondage of the will and the soteriology resultant from these teachings. While this problem affected the Dominicans less in respect to the main lines of their theory, it does seem to have driven the development, clarification, and hardening of the more distinctive features of their account by the 1590s. The rise of the Molinist threat caused the Dominicans to double down on their basic position and this caused declination from a more balanced Thomistic view. The outcome was that sound basic principles were run far forward without stopping to look back and check course. This resulted in a pure, logically tight position to be sure, but a distorted one.

 

A related factor that contributed to the impasse is party loyalty. Members of both Dominican and Jesuit schools were highly committed to the official position of their religious order. I do not mean to suggest that these loyalties were irrational or that they made the protagonists’ quest for truth disingenuous. If one were to ask a protagonist from either side the reasons for his position, he would surely have said that he held his position primarily because he thought it to be true, not because it was the position of his order. However, a spirit of partisanship undeniably characterized each side’s quest for truth, and to an extent that foreclosed avenues for transcending the conceptual limitations of tightly formed but insufficiently dialectical positions that were forged in the heat of controversy. What was necessary was a sharper distinction between the deposit of faith and apostolic Tradition on the one hand, and a scholastic tradition with its received doctrines on the other. The tendency to conflate theological opinion with what is of the faith has for centuries contributed to the intractability of de auxiliis dispute.

 

In addition to grasping the fundamental truth about one pole of the mystery, protagonists from each side also grasped the truth about what were the principal deficiencies of their opponents’ position, despite the fact that they did not overcome the factors which led them to an impasse. This apprehension of each side’s respective deficiencies is not an insignificant contribution to a resolution of the debate. With the benefit of hindsight, it is clearer today than it could have been to thinkers in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that both of the principal positions advanced in the controversy were erroneous, despite the real but limited traction they gained in accounting for the relationship between God and human action. The mistakes that were made in the controversy are mistakes that are almost impossible to avoid, especially in a fallen world where even holy and bright thinkers contend not only against their creaturely limitations of intellect, but also against the effects of sin. They are the kind of mistakes that are most visible (and therefore most avoidable) in hindsight—once they have been made and their implications seen. The blunders of the controversy, as vexing and painful as they were, could contribute to the conflict’s resolution not only conceptually, but also insofar as they might serve as a chastening reminder of how easily minds greater than our own can err in thinking about so difficult a matter as the relationship of God and secondary causes. A resolution of the conflict depends not only on right thinking, but on right ways of thinking, especially intellectual humility and an abandonment of what Newman calls “love of system.”

 

What is needed today is a fresh re-thinking of the controversy that gets beyond the mistaken suppositions and polemics of the original debate, but which draws upon its lessons. I would propose that a reframing of the controversy must begin from a consideration of God’s simplicity and creative causality and explain the implications of these doctrines for conceptualizing God’s causation of change in the world. (pp. 443-47)

 

 

Jewish Sources on the Purity of Little Children (cf. Matthew 18:3)

  

18:3: Like little children.

 

The child appears as an image for purity from sin in Pesiq. 61B: “Two one-year-old lambs” כְּבָשִׂים (Num 28:3). The school of Shammai said, “כְּבָשִׂים, for they press down כּוֹבְשִׁין Israel’s debt; see Mic 7:19: ‘He will press down יִכְבּוֹש our debts.’ ” The school of Hillel said, “Everything that is pressed down ultimately swims up; rather כְּבָשִׂים, because they wash away מְכַבְּסִין Israel’s debt and make them (the Israelites) like a one-year-old child, which is pure from every sin.”—A parallel passage is found in Pesiq. Rab. 16 (84A). (Hermann L. Strack and Paul Billerbeck, A Commentary on the New Testament from the Talmud and Midrash, ed. Jacob N. Cerone, 4 vols. [trans. Andrew Bowden and Joseph Longarino; Bellingham, Wash.: Lexham Press, 2022], 1:881)

 

Justin Martyr on the Use of “Christian” in First Apology 26

  

And almost all the Samaritans, and a few even in other nations, worship this man and confess him, as the first god; and a woman Helena who went about with him at that time, and had formerly been a public prostitute, they say was the first idea generated by him. And a certain man Menander, also a Samaritan, of the village of Capparetaea, who had been a disciple of Simon’s, and inspired by demons, we know to have deceived many while he was in Antioch by his magical arts, who even persuaded his followers that they would never die; and even now there are some living who profess this from him. And there is a certain Marcion of Pontus, who is even now teaching his disciples to believe in some other god greater than the Demiurge; who by the aid of the demons, has caused many of every race of men and women to speak blasphemies and to deny that God is the Maker of this Universe, and to profess that another, who is greater than He, has done greater works. All who take their opinions from these people, as we said before, are called Christians, just as also those philosophers who do not share the same views are yet all called by one common name of philosophy. (Justin Maryr, First Apology 26, St. Justin Martyr: The First and Second Apologies [trans. Leslie William Barnard; Ancient Christian Writers 56; New York: Paulist Press, 1997], 40-41)

 

The Greek for the text in bold reads:

 

Πάντες οἱ ἀπὸ τούτων ὁρμώμενοι, ὡς ἔφημεν, Χριστιανοὶ καλοῦνται, ὃν τρόπον καὶ οἱ οὐ κοινωνοῦντες τῶν αὐτῶν δογμάτων τοῖς φιλοσόφοις τὸ ἐπικατηγορούμενον ὄνομα τῆς φιλοσοφίας κοινὸν ἔχουσιν.

 

In a note (ibid., n. 41):

 

Justin is emphatic that this is the distinguishing name of Christians; cf. 1 Apol. 4 and 26. The formation of the name accords with the Latin method of adding ianus-ianos to a personal name, as in Hērōdianoi in Mk 3:6; 12:13. This may suggest that the word Christos had come to be regarded as a proper name when this derivative was formed. Non-Christians apparently used it as a nickname, which may account for its absence from the writings of the Apostolic Fathers (with the exception of Ignatius). By Justin’s time, however, it was the distinguishing name of believers although Gnostics and semi-Christians also used it (cf. 1 Apol. 26). On this name see A. Gercke, “Der Christenname ein Scheltname,” in Festschrift zur Jahrhundertfeier der Universitat Breslau (Breslau, 1911), 360–65; P. de Labriolle, “Christianus,” Bulletin Du Cange 5 (1930): 69–88; and H. J. Cadbury, “Names for Christians and Christianity in Acts” in BC 5 (1933), 383–86.

 

 

David E. Aune on Hebrews 2:17-18

  

JESUS SUFFERED AND WAS TEMPTED

(HEBREWS 2 17-18)

 

¹⁷Therefore he had to be made like his brethren in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make expiation for the sins of the people. ¹⁸For because he himself has suffered and had been tempted [πεπονθεν αυτος πειρασθεις], he is able to help those who are tempted [πειρασθεις]

 

The sufferings of Jesus referred to must have involved such human experiences as fear, grief, pain, anxiety, and anguish. Whether this refers to the story of the temptation of Jesus by the devil or Satan depends on the meaning of the verb πειραζω The verb is used in the introduction to the story of Jesus’s temptation in Matt 4 1-11 and Luke 4 1-13 and in the brief summary of the temptation story in Mark (1 13), in these contexts the verb πειραζω means “to tempt” in the sense of “to entice to improper behavior” The verb is also used with some frequency in the Gospels of attempts by the opponents of Jesus in the sense “to test or entrap [through a process of inquiry]” (Matt 16 1, 19 3, 22 18, 35, Mark 8 11, 10 2, 12 15, Luke 11 16, 20 23) In Heb 2 18, however, it is likely that GK means “to test” in the sense of “to try to learn the nature or character of someone or something by submitting such to thorough and extensive testing,” in which case the temptation accounts in Matthew and Luke are not being referred to. (David E. Aune, “Historical Jesus Traditions in Hebrew,” in The Figure of Jesus in History and Theology: Essays in Honor of John Meier, ed. Vincent Skemp and Kelley Coblentz Bautch [Catholic Biblical Quarterly Imprints 1; Eugene, Oreg.: Pickwick Publications, 2020], 227)

 

Aune makes reference to (1) BDAG and (2) Louw-Nida:

 

BDAG:

 

πειράζω impf. ἐπείραζον; fut. πειράσω; 1 aor. ἐπείρασα, mid. 2 sg. ἐπειράσω. Pass.: 1 aor. ἐπειράσθην; pf. ptc. πεπειρασνένος (fr. πεῖρα; Hom., then Apollon. Rhod. 1, 495; 3, 10. In prose since Philo Mech. 50, 34; 51, 9; also Polyb.; Plut., Cleom. 808 [7, 3], Mor. 230a; Vett. Val. 17, 6; schol. on Aristoph., Pl. 575; PSI 927, 25 [II a.d.]; LXX; TestJos 16:3 v.l.; ApcSed 8:5 p. 133, 5 Ja.; Joseph.; Just., D. 103, 6; 125, 4.—B-D-F §101 p. 54; Mlt-H. 387 n. 1; 404).

 

① to make an effort to do someth., try, attempt at times in a context indicating futility (ὁ θεὸς τῷ πειράζοντι δοὺς ἐξουσίαν τὴν τοῦ διωκειν ἡμᾶς Orig., C. Cels. 8, 70, 11) w. inf. foll. (Polyb. 2, 6, 9; Dt 4:34.—B-D-F §392, 1a) Ac 9:26; 16:7; 24:6; Hs 8, 2, 7. Foll. by acc. w. inf. IMg 7:1. Abs. Hs 8, 2, 7.

 

② to endeavor to discover the nature or character of someth. by testing, try, make trial of, put to the test

 

ⓐ gener. τινά someone (Epict. 1, 9, 29; Ps 25:2) ἑαυτοὺς πειράζετε εἰ ἐστὲ ἐν τῇ πίστει 2 Cor 13:5 (π. εἰ as Jos., Bell. 4, 340). ἐπείρασας τοὺς λέγοντας ἑαυτοὺς ἀποστόλους Rv 2:2. προφήτην οὐ πειράσετε οὐδὲ διακρινεῖτε D 11:7.

 

ⓑ of God or Christ, who put people to the test, in a favorable sense (Ps.-Apollod. 3, 7; 7, 4 Zeus puts τὴν ἀσέβειαν of certain people to the test), so that they may prove themselves true J 6:6; Hb 11:17 (Abraham, as Gen 22:1). Also of painful trials sent by God (Ex 20:20; Dt 8:2 v.l.; Judg 2:22; Wsd 3:5; 11:9; Jdth 8:25f) 1 Cor 10:13; Hb 2:18ab; 4:15 (s. πειράω); 11:37 v.l.; Rv 3:10 (SBrown, JBL 85, ’66, 308–14 π.=afflict). Likew. of the measures taken by the angel of repentance Hs 7:1.

 

ⓒ The Bible (but s. the Pythia in Hdt. 6, 86, 3 τὸ πειρηθῆναι τοῦ θεοῦ κ. τὸ ποιῆσαι ἴσον δύνασθαι ‘to have tempted the deity was as bad as doing the deed’; cp. 1, 159) also speaks of a trial of God by humans. Their intent is to put God to the test, to discover whether God really can do a certain thing, esp. whether God notices sin and is able to punish it (Ex 17:2, 7; Num 14:22; Is 7:12; Ps 77:41, 56; Wsd 1:2 al.) 1 Cor 10:9; Hb 3:9 (Ps 94:9). τὸ πνεῦμα κυρίου Ac 5:9. In Ac 15:10 the πειράζειν τὸν θεόν consists in the fact that after God’s will has been clearly made known through granting of the Spirit to the Gentiles (vs. 8), some doubt and make trial to see whether God’s will really becomes operative. τὸν διά σου θεὸν πειράσαι θέλων, εἰ since I want to put the god (you proclaim) to a test, whether AcPt Ox 849, 20–22 followed by οὐ πειράζεται ὁ θεός God refuses to be put to a test.—ASommer, D. Begriff d. Versuchung im AT u. Judentum, diss. Breslau ’35. S. πειράω.

 

③ to attempt to entrap through a process of inquiry, test. Jesus was so treated by his opponents, who planned to use their findings against him Mt 16:1; 19:3; 22:18, 35; Mk 8:11; 10:2; 12:15; Lk 11:16; 20:23 v.l.; J 8:6.

 

④ to entice to improper behavior, tempt Gal 6:1; Js 1:13a (s. ἀπό 5eβ) and b, 14 (Aeschin. 1, 190 the gods do not lead people to sin). Above all the devil works in this way; hence he is directly called ὁ πειράζων the tempter Mt 4:3; 1 Th 3:5b. He tempts humans Ac 5:3 v.l.; 1 Cor 7:5; 1 Th 3:5a; Rv 2:10. But he also makes bold to tempt Jesus (Just., D. 103, 6; Orig., C. Cels. 6, 43, 28) Mt 4:1; Mk 1:13; Lk 4:2 (cp. use of the pass. without ref. to the devil: ἐν τῷ πειράζεσθαι … καὶ σταυροῦσθαι Iren. 3, 19, 3 [Harv. II 104, 3].—Did., Gen. 225, 2). On the temptation of Jesus (s. also Hb 2:18a; 4:15; 2b above) s. HWillrich, ZNW 4, 1903, 349f; KBornhäuser, Die Versuchungen Jesu nach d. Hb: MKähler Festschr. 1905, 69–86; on this Windisch, Hb² ’31, 38 exc. on Hb 4:15; AHarnack, Sprüche u. Reden Jesu 1907, 32–37; FSpitta, Zur Gesch. u. Lit. des Urchristentums III 2, 1907, 1–108; AMeyer, Die evangel. Berichte üb. d. Vers. Christi: HBlümner Festschr. 1914, 434–68; DVölter, NThT 6, 1917, 348–65; EBöklen, ZNW 18, 1918, 244–48; PKetter, D. Versuchg. Jesu 1918; BViolet, D. Aufbau d. Versuchungsgeschichte Jesu: Harnack Festschr. 1921, 14–21; NFreese, D. Versuchg. Jesu nach den Synopt., diss. Halle 1922, D. Versuchlichkeit Jesu: StKr 96/97, 1925, 313–18; SEitrem/AFridrichsen, D. Versuchg. Christi 1924; Clemen² 1924, 214–18; HVogels, D. Versuchungen Jesu: BZ 17, 1926, 238–55; SelmaHirsch [s. on βαπτίζω 2a]; HThielicke, Jes. Chr. am Scheideweg ’38; PSeidelin, DTh 6, ’39, 127–39; HHoughton, On the Temptations of Christ and Zarathustra: ATR 26, ’44, 166–75; EFascher, Jesus u. d. Satan ’49; RSchnackenburg, TQ 132, ’52, 297–326; K-PKöppen, Die Auslegung der Versuchungsgeschichte usw.’61; EBest, The Temptation and the Passion (Mk), ’65; JDupont, RB 73, ’66, 30–76.—B. 652f. DELG s.v. πεῖρα. M-M. EDNT. DLNT 1166–70. TW. Spicq. Sv.

 

 

Louw-Nida:

 

27.46 πειράζω^a; πειρασμός^a, οῦ m; ἐκπειράζω^a: to try to learn the nature or character of someone or something by submitting such to thorough and extensive testing—‘to test, to examine, to put to the test, examination, testing.’

 

πειράζω^a: ἑαυτοὺς πειράζετε εἰ ἐστὲ ἐν τῇ πίστει ‘put yourselves to the test as to whether you are in the faith (or not)’ 2 Cor 13:5; προσελθόντες οἱ Φαρισαῖοι καὶ Σαδδουκαῖοι πειράζοντες ἐπηρώτησαν αὐτὸν σημεῖον ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἐπιδεῖξαι αὐτοῖς ‘the Pharisees and Sadducees came, and to test him they asked if he would show them a sign from heaven’ Mt 16:1.

 

πειρασμός^a: μὴ ξενίζεσθε τῇ ἐν ὑμῖν πυρώσει πρὸς πειρασμὸν ὑμῖν γινομένῃ ‘don’t be surprised at the painful testing you are experiencing’ 1 Pe 4:12; ὅταν πειρασμοῖς περιπέσητε ποικίλοις ἐκπειράζω^a: οὐκ ἐκπειράσεις κύριον τὸν θεόν σου ‘you shall not put the Lord your God to the test’ Lk 4:12; νομικός τις ἀνέστη ἐκπειράζων αὐτόν ‘an expert in the Law stood up to test him’ Lk 10:25.

 

It is also possible to understand πειράζω and ἐκπειράζω in Mt 16:1 and Lk 10:25 as meaning ‘to try to trap’ (see 27.31). See also 88.308.

 

 

88.308 πειράζω^c; ἐκπειράζω^c; πειρασμός^b, οῦ m: to endeavor or attempt to cause someone to sin—‘to tempt, to trap, to lead into temptation, temptation.’

 

πειράζω^c: ἦν ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ τεσσεράκοντα ἡμέρας πειραζόμενος ὑπὸ τοῦ Σατανᾶ ‘he stayed for forty days in the desert and Satan tried to make him sin’ Mk 1:13. In translating expressions involving tempting or trying, it is necessary in a number of languages to indicate clearly whether or not the temptations succeeded. Therefore, it may not be sufficient in Mk 1:13 to simply say ‘Satan tempted him’; in fact, in some instances it may be necessary to make the failure of the temptation quite specific, for example, ‘Satan tried to make Jesus sin, but was not successful.’

 

ἐκπειράζω^c: νομικός τις ἀνέστη ἐκπειράζων αὐτόν ‘a certain teacher of the Law came up and tried to catch him (saying something wrong)’ Lk 10:25. It is also possible to understand ἐκπειράζω in Lk 10:25 as merely a process of testing (see 27.46) or of trying to trap (see 27.31).

 

πειρασμός^b: συντελέσας πάντα πειρασμὸν ὁ διάβολος ἀπέστη ἀπ̓ αὐτοῦ ἄχρι καιροῦ ‘when the Devil completely finished tempting (Jesus), he left him for a while’ Lk 4:13.

 

 

Philip W. Comfort on Scribal Gap-Filling

  

APPENDIX A

Scribal Gap-Filling

 

It is my opinion that scribal gap-filling accounts for many of the textual variants (especially textual expansions) in the New Testament—particularly in the narrative books (the Four Gospels and Acts). Usually, textual critics examine textual variants as accidental deviations from the original text. However, some variants may be accounted for more accurately as individual “reader-receptions” of the text. By this, I mean variants created by individual scribes as they interpreted the text in the process of reading it. In the centuries prior to the production of copies via dictation (wherein many scribes in a scriptorium transcribed a text as it was dictated to them by one reader), all manuscript copies were made singly—each scribe working alone to produce a copy from an exemplar. The good scribe was expected not to have really processed the text internally but to have mechanically copied it word by word, even letter by letter. But no matter how meticulous or professional, a scribe would become subjectively involved with the text and—whether consciously or unconsciously—at times produce a transcription that differed from his exemplar, thereby leaving a written legacy of his individual reading of the text.

 

Even a scribe as meticulous as the one who produced 𝔓⁷⁵ could not refrain, on occasion, from filling in a perceived gap. This occurs in the parable in Luke 16:19–31 where the reader is told of an unnamed rich man and a beggar who has a name, Lazarus. Perceiving a gap in the story, the scribe gives the rich man a name: “Neues,” perhaps meaning “Nineveh” (see note on Luke 16:19). Other scribes gave names to the two revolutionaries crucified with Jesus: Zoatham and Camma (in some manuscripts), or Joathas and Maggatras (in other manuscripts; see note on Matt 27:38). Many other scribes filled in bigger gaps, especially in narratives. In the story of the salvation of the Ethiopian eunuch recorded in Acts 8:26–40, some scribes added an entire verse so as to fill in a perceived gap of what one must confess before being baptized. Thus, we are given these extra words in Acts 8:37, “And Philip said, ‘If you believe with all your heart, you may [be baptized].’ And he [the eunuch] replied, ‘I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.’ ” (See note on Acts 8:37 for further discussion.)

 

The observations of certain literary theorists who focus on reader reception help us understand the dynamic interaction between the scribe (functioning as a true reader) and the text he or she was copying. Textual critics must take into account the historical situation of the scribes who produced the manuscripts we rely on for textual criticism. Textual critics must also realize that scribes were interactive readers. Indeed, as many literary critics in recent years have shifted their focus from the text itself to the readers of the text in an attempt to comprehend plurality of interpretation, so textual critics could analyze variant readings in the textual tradition as possibly being the products of different, personalized “readings” of the text created by the scribes who produced them.

 

The work of Wolfgang Iser is useful for understanding how scribes read and processed a text as they transcribed it. Iser is concerned not just with the question of what a literary text makes its readers do but with how readers participate in creating meaning. In other words, the meaning of a text is not inherent in the text but must be actualized by the reader. A reader must act as cocreator of the text by supplying that portion of it which is not written but only implied. Each reader uses his or her imagination to fill in the unwritten portions of the text, its “gaps” or areas of “indeterminacy.” In other words, the meaning of a text is gradually actualized as the reader adopts the perspectives thrust on him or her by the text, experiences it sequentially, has expectations frustrated or modified, relates one part of the text to the other, and imagines and fills in all that the text leaves blank. The reader’s reflection on the thwarting of his or her expectations, the negations of familiar values, the causes of their failure, and whatever potential solutions the text offers, require the reader to take an active part in formulating the meaning of the narrative.

 

While readers do this gap-filling in their imaginations only, scribes sometimes took the liberty to fill the unwritten gaps with written words. In other words, some scribes went beyond just imagining how the gaps should be filled and actually filled them. The historical evidence shows that each scribe who copied a text created a new written text. Although there are many factors that could have contributed to the making of this new text, one major factor is that the text constantly demands the reader to fill in the gaps.

 

A literary work is not autonomous but is an intensional object that depends on the cognition of the reader. As an intensional object, a literary work cannot fill in all the details; the reader is required to do this. During the reading process, the reader must concretize the gaps by using his or her imagination to give substance to textual omission and/or indefiniteness. Since this substantiation is a subjective and creative act, the concretization will assume many variations for different readers. For example, the Gospel of Luke says that the crowds who had watched Jesus’ crucifixion “returned home, beating their breasts” (Luke 23:48). Although it would seem that most readers are given enough text to visualize this scene, the imaginations of various scribes were sparked to consider how extensive their grief was or to re-create what they might have been saying to one another as they walked home. A few scribes, imagining a more intense reaction, added, “they returned home, beating their breasts and foreheads.” Other scribes provided some dialogue: “they returned home beating their breasts, and saying, ‘Woe to us for the sins we have committed this day, for the destruction of Jerusalem is imminent!’ ”

 

Iser calls the textual gaps “blanks”; each blank is a nothing that propels communication because the blank requires an act of ideation in order to be filled. “Blanks suspend connectibility of textual patterns, the resultant break in good continuation intensifies the acts of ideation on the reader’s part, and in this respect the blank functions as an elementary function of communication” (Iser 1978, 189). According to Iser, the central factor in literary communication concerns the reader’s filling in of these textual blanks. His theory of textual gaps is useful for understanding scribal reader-reception. Of course, his perception of gaps or blanks is far bigger and more demanding on the reader’s imaginative powers than was usually the case for New Testament scribes. Nonetheless, scribes were confronted with gaps or blanks that begged for imaginative filling. Many scribes, when confronted with such textual gaps, took the liberty to fill in those gaps by adding extra words or changing the wording to provide what they thought would be a more communicative text. Indeed, the entire history of New Testament textual transmission shows the text getting longer and longer due to textual interpolations—i.e., the filling in of perceived gaps. We especially see the work of gap-filling in the substantial number of expansions in the D-text of the Gospels and Acts. Whoever edited this text had a propensity for filling in textual gaps, as he perceived them. Such gap-filling is especially pronounced in the book of Acts, where the D-reviser made countless interpolations (see introduction to Acts). (Philip W. Comfort, New Testament Text and Translation Commentary: Commentary on the Variant Readings of the Ancient New Testament Manuscripts and How They Relate to the Major English Translations [Carol Stream, Ill.: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., 2008], 873-74)

 

 

Examples of Lexicons Understanding כִּידוֹן kîdôn to refer to a Curved Sword (Scimitar; cf. Book of Mormon "cimeter")

  

HALOT:

 

כִּידוֹן: MHeb. javelin, etym. ?: trad. javelin (Sept., Bardtke ThLZ (1955):401ff.), impossible because of 1QM 5:7, 10-13: short sword (Yadin War Scroll 124, 129ff.; vdPloeg 94ff.; Carmignac VT 5:345ff.: —hunting knife, scimitar (Kuhn ThLZ (1956):25ff.; Molin JSS 1:334ff.; Galling VTSupp. 15:165f.): Jos 8:18, 26 1S 17:6, 45 Jr 6:23 50:42 Jb 39:23 41:21 Sir 46:2; → כִּידֹן. †

 

The Lexham Analytical Lexicon of the Hebrew Bible:

 

כִּידוֹן

kîdôn, n.c., hunting knife, scimitar; javelin. 9×

Root: כִּידוֹן. Cognates: גֹּ֫רֶן כִּידֹן

 

 

Lexham Research Lexicon of the Hebrew Bible:

 

כִּידוֹן (kydwn), n. hunting knife, scimitar; javelin. Greek equiv. fr. LXX: ἀσπίς (2), γαῖσος (2), ἐγχειρίδιος (1), ζιβύνη (1).

 

Mark Reasoner on 1 Corinthians 5:5

  

Ciampa and Rosner state that “destruction of the flesh” means the loss and removal of the person’s sinful nature (208; citing Rom 8:13 and Gal 5:24 as parallels). This is a possible interpretation, but another one is that it simply means that once out of the church’s community, the man is more vulnerable to losing his life. If his body is destroyed, Paul envisions that it will lead to a repentance resulting in the salvation of his spirit. This is analogous to the relationship between suffering in the flesh and the salvation of the spirit that is implied in 1 Cor 11:30 or between physical suffering (“messenger of Satan”) and spiritual growth in 2 Cor 12:7–10. Forkman notes a verbal parallel between 5:5a and LXX Job 2:6 in God’s words to the satan there—ἰδοὺ παραδίδωμί σοι αὐτόν. The curses also that Job experiences are all reflected in Deuteronomy 28:13, 31–32, 35, again showing that the satan in Job is the Lord’s agent. Forkman thinks that the “Satan” here in 1 Cor 5:5 also, as in 2 Cor 12:7, is someone God is using for God’s own purposes, not exactly the archenemy of God (1972: 143–144; cf. 1 Peter 5:8). But there are no verbal signals of whom Paul would mean by some other enemy besides Satan, and in light of Rom 16:20, 2 Cor 2:11 and the dualism of 1 Cor 11:21, it is most probable that the enemy in view here in 5:5 is Satan as traditionally understood.

 

There are no personal pronouns modifying flesh and s/Spirit in 5:5, so it is not clear that Paul is referring simply to the sinner’s own flesh and spirit. But given the fact that “flesh” almost certainly refers to the sinning church member, it is likely that “spirit” in the next clause refers to this same member’s spirit. Also, Paul does not seem to have a bipartite (soul-body) or tripartite (soul-spirit-body) anthropology; he retains a Jewish, holistic anthropology (15:44–46). These considerations count against the simple reading that Paul is anticipating the man’s physical death so that the man’s spirit will be saved (Waters 2015: 245–246). The only places in the Pauline corpus where “flesh” and “spirit” indicate two parts of one person are 2 Cor 7:1 and Col 2:5, and both these places may not have been written by Paul. Paul uses the “body” and “spirit” contrast in 5:3; this is more typical of his anthropology. The juxtaposition of “flesh” and “spirit” in Paul is normally a comparison between the weak, sin-vulnerable human and the divine spirit that God provides, as in Rom 8:4–6 (Forkman 1972: 145).

 

What is the destruction of the flesh supposed to accomplish? Forkman finds Essene and rabbinic parallels that viewed someone’s death as expiation for their sins, an idea Forkman also sees in 11:30–32, in regard to those who receive Jesus in the Eucharist without considering the body (1972: 145). According to this approach Paul expects the incestuous, expelled church member to die, and that death to be effective in satisfying divine justice. The one lacuna in this reconstruction is that no mention is made of the church member’s repentance. It is possible that Paul is simply passing over, with his summary statement, an expected repentance that the expelled man will reach before or at death (Forkman 1972: 146). (Mark Reasoner, 1 Corinthians [Brill Exegetical Commentary Series 3; Leiden: Brill, 2025], 220-22)

 

 

David Trobisch on the Protoevangelium of James vs. the Gospel of Matthew on Mary's Postpartum Virginity

  

Filing in Narrative Gaps

 

The Infancy Gospel of James answers numerous other questions in his gospel book by providing episodes not contained in the Canonical Edition. For example, how could Mary have been born without sin? Answer: Mary’s mother, Anna, conceived without having sex (chapter 4). How could Jesus be Mary’s only child if he had brothers and sisters? Answer: The other children were from Joseph’s first marriage (chapter 8). How could one know that Mary was a virgin even after giving birth? Answer: A miracle. After the birth of Jesus, skeptical Salome performed a medical exam, and she found Mary to still be a virgin (chapter 20). The assessment of Mary’s virginity is not consistent with Gospel according to Matthew, which clearly communicates that Mary and Joseph had intercourse after Jesus was born. (David Trobisch, On the Origin of Christian Scripture: The Evolution of the New Testament Canon in the Second Century [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2023], 47)

 

 

“When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife but had no marital relations with her [καὶ οὐκ ἐγίνωσκεν αὐτὴν] until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus” (Matt 1:24–25). The story implies that Joseph and Mary had sex after Jesus was born. According to the editorial narrative of the Canonical Edition, Jesus had four brothers and at least two sisters. “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” (Mark 6:3). “Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary? And are not his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not all his sisters with us?” (Matt 13:55–56). According to the editorial narrative of the Canonical Edition, the Letters of James and Jude were written by Jesus’s brothers. (Ibid., 151 n. 22)

 

Reference to Hekaptaḥ in The Triumphal Stele of Pi(ʻankh)y

The following comes from:

 

N. C. Grimal, La stèle triomphale de Pi(ʻankh)y au Musée du Caire, JE 48862 et 47086-47089 (Études Sur La Propagande Royale Égyptienne; Cairo: Institut Français D'archéologie Orientale, 1981)

 

The following is the relevant image from p. 107:

 

 

Here is the discussion of the above; note the reference to Hekaptaḥ:

 

Vinrent alors le roi Aouapet, en compagnie du chef des Ma' Akanosh, du prince héritier Pétisis et de tous les comtes du Nord, chargés de tributs, pour contempler la splendeur de Sa Majesté.

 

Alors on assigna les trésors et les greniers de Memphis au domaine d'Amon, de Ptah et à l'Ennéade de ḥeķaptaḥ. (p. 106)

 

Then King Aouapet came, accompanied by the chief of the Ma' Akanosh, the crown prince Pétisis and all the counts of the North, bearing tributes, to behold the splendour of His Majesty.

 

Then the treasuries and granaries of Memphis were assigned to the domain of Amon, to Ptah, and to the Ennead of ḥeķaptaḥ

 

Conclusion de la prise de Memphis : v. supra, n. 208-10 et 382. — Sur la construction, v. Priese, ZÄS, 98 (1972), p. 104 [20]. On remarquera le partage des « dépouilles » entre Amon, Ptah et les dieux de Hékaptaḥ ; peut-être ne s’agit-il pas ici d’Amon de Thèbes : v. J. Vercoutter, ibid. ; supra, n. 389. (Ibid., 129 n. 396)

 

 

Conclusion of the capture of Memphis: see supra, nos. 208–10 and 382. — On the construction, see Priese, ZÄS, 98 (1972), p. 104 [20]. One will note the division of the “spoils” between Amon, Ptah, and the gods of Hékaptaḥ; perhaps this is not a reference here to Amon of Thebes: see J. Vercoutter, ibid.; supra, no. 389.

 

Martin McNamara on the Korban Rule in Mark 7/Matthew 15 and Jewish Sources

  

ii. Korban—(korban ho estin dōron)

 

In Mark’s Gospel after rejecting the position of the Pharisees and some scribes from Jerusalem regarding their tradition on hand-washing, Jesus goes on to condemn “them” (Pharisees and some scribes?) on another of their traditions, qorban. The text of Mark 7:9–12 reads: “Then he said to them: ‘You have a fine way of rejecting the commandments of God in order to keep your tradition! For Moses said: “Honour your father and your mother”; and “Whoever speaks evil of father or other must surely die.” But you say that if anyone tells father or mother, “Whatever support you might have from me is Corban” (that is, an offering to God) (korban ho estin dōron—) then you no longer permit him to do anything for a father or mother.’ ”

 

It is noteworthy that Mark gives both the Hebrew/Aramaic word qorban and its Greek rendering: “Anything which I have which might be used for your benefit is Corban, that is a gift” (Mark 7:11; NRSV), where dōron is given as a gloss on the Hebrew/Aramaic word qorban. The fact that Mark retains the Semitic as well as the Greek explanation might indicate that the combined Semitic/Greek formula may have been current in first-century Palestine. That this was so seems to have been borne out by Josephus who also gives both (Antiquities 4,4,4, § 73): “Such also as dedicate themselves to God as a corban, which denotes what the Greeks call a gift (dōron).…” Again in Against Apion 1,167 where he mentions that the Greek writer Theophrastus among oaths used by foreign (non-Greek) peoples mentions “korban; which oath,” Josephus remarks, “will be found in no other nation except the Jews, and, translated from the Hebrew, one may interpret it as meaning ‘God’s gift’ (dōron theou).” (See also Josephus, Antiquities 4, 73: “… a korban to God—meaning what Greeks would call ‘a gift’ [dōron].”) The Greek Septuagint renders the Hebrew qorban as dōron without retaining the Hebrew term. It is worth noting that the Greek term dōron exists as a loan word in Aramaic (particularly in the Palestinian Targums), sometimes as a rendering of the term mnhh (minḥah) of the Hebrew text, but more often in free paraphrase. It can alternate with the Aramaic qrbnh as a rendering of the Hebrew minḥah, with or without cultic connotations. Thus in a free paraphrase in Tg Pal Genesis 4, both in Targum Neofiti and in the other Palestinian Targum texts.

 

The term korban (qrbn) is found in an inscription in a first-century Jewish ossuary, which reads: “All that one may find to his profit in this ossuary is an offering (qrbn) to God from him who is within.” The Gospel text, however, occurring in the context of a rabbinic discussion is to be understood against the background of rabbinic tradition rather than that of a Jewish ossuary, even if this is roughly contemporary with the Gospel texts. With regard to the Jewish practice of qorban (Mark 7:11) one may note the related texts in the Mishnah, the date and relevance of which for New Testament studies are to be evaluated. That taking oaths or vows by use of the term qorban was part of Jewish piety is clear from the Mishnah tractate Nedarim (“Vows”) where the practice is legislated for. Variants of the term were Konam, Konah or Konas. “If a man says to his fellow, Konam or Konah or Konas, these are substitutes for Korban, an Offering” (m. Ned. 1:2), that is, as a note in Danby’s English translation says: “A thing forbidden to him for common use as a Temple offering.” We have a formula similar to Mark 7:11 in m. Nedarim 8:7: “Konam (= Korban) be the benefit thou hast of me.…” The question as to whether a vow could be dispensed by the sages by reason of “the honour due to father and mother” was also discussed in the Mishnah (m. Nedarim 9:1)

 

These Mishnah texts illustrate the Jewish institution of qorban, and thus serve as a background to the Gospel texts. However, there is little or no evidence for the precise form of the practice censured by Jesus. It may be that it was known to characterise at least some groups of Pharisees or scribes. (Martin McNamara, Targum and Testament Revisited: Aramaic Paraphrases of the Hebrew Bible: A Light on the New Testament [2d ed.; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2010], 229-31)