Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Non-apocalyptic Apocrypha And Pseudepigrapha
In dividing up the intertestamental literature in the way I have, I would not want to give the impression that fixed chasms exist between each type. That is manifestly not the case. Nevertheless, for convenience of treatment some distinctions must be introduced, even if they entail simplifications.
As far as the division between apocalyptic and non-apocalyptic literature is concerned, this discussion adopts the classification of D. S. Russell, and accepts the preliminary definition of ‘apocalyptic’ offered by K. Koch. Some of the books on Russell’s list are only ‘predominantly’ apocalyptic, but these are treated in the next chapter along with those whose apocalyptic nature is undisputed. This seems to be methodologically superior to an arbitrary narrowing of the apocalyptic category, stemming from a debatable thesis. The outstanding example is the approach of Schmithals, who not only compares apocalyptic with gnosis but who tends to eliminate what does not fit his overlap of these two categories.
These chapters cannot hope to be exhaustive. I have purposely avoided mentioning Pseudo-Philo. 1 Esdras is cited rarely because most of the relevant passages are free translations of Ezra and 1 Chronicles, and because the unambiguous theological tendencies of the book are in any case irrelevant to this study. Fragments of a Zadokite work will be considered with the Qumran literature.
non-apocalyptic literature
Most of the Old Testament features relating to divine sovereignty continue in the non-apocalyptic intertestamental literature. God is the creator of all (Rest of Esther 13:10; 2 Macc. 1:27; Pr. of Man. 1:1–3; Bel & Dr. 5; Ep. Arist. §§15f., 201; 4 Macc. 5:25), and rules over everything (e.g. Ecclus. 10:4f.; 17:17; Bel & Dr. 5; Ep. Arist. §§16f., 201, 210). In prayer these beliefs are extravagantly phrased by a wealth of epithets which describe the limitless reaches of divine sovereignty (e.g. 2 Macc. 1:24f.; 3 Macc. 2:2f.: ‘O Lord, Lord, King of the heavens, and Ruler of the whole creation, Holy among the holy, sole Governor, Almighty.…’ Cf. also Pr. of Man. 1–4). Numerous passages spell out the direct control of God over complex sequences of events. Tobias’s marriage really was made in heaven (Tobit 6:18). Mordecai’s dream shows that the entire Esther episode was pre-determined (Rest of Esther 13:1ff.; 10:4f.). Judith acknowledges divine sovereignty in her crisis (Judith 9:5ff.). In these instances, the sovereignty-responsibility tension inheres; for Judith’s acknowledgement forms part and parcel of her petition for divine assistance to make her deceit successful, while Mordecai prays for divine deliverance (Rest of Esther 13:8ff.). In other words, belief in the proposition that God sovereignly predetermines these unpleasant events engenders not fatalism but prayerful intercession: the tension of the Old Testament persists.
The writer of the Wisdom of Solomon displays the same sort of tension in his re-interpretation of the exodus. The Egyptians forgot what God had already done and pursued the Israelites to the Red Sea, because they were being drawn on to their appointed destiny of torments. The same writer, within the space of a few verses, also speaks of the Egyptians deserving this end, and of God foreknowing what they would do. Again, Judas Maccabeus recognises both the divine ruling over his hour of death, and his own responsibility to fight manfully (1 Macc. 9:10; cf. 3:60). ‘Judaism, indeed, managed to combine a very strict notion of predestination with the conviction that each individual is at the same time fully accountable for his choices.’ That judgment is sound for at least some elements of Judaism.
Ecclesiasticus presents God’s sovereignty in a slightly different manner. Ben Sira says that God made men as the potter makes his vessels: according to his own pleasure. Some he exalted and blessed; others he cursed and abased (33:10–15; Gr. 36:10–15). Pfeiffer and others consider this to be polemic against a group contending for the essential equality of different races of men. Whether that interpretation is sound or not, the passage certainly affirms the creatorship and authority of God over the whole of reality—even that which seems evil. God himself, of course, is good (39:16); but the paired opposites of good and evil, godly and sinner, death and life, are all under his rule. As far as Ben Sira is concerned, they argue for a system in which no person is qualified to make adequate judgments (39:16), since God is good and yet has set up the opposites to provide appropriate contrasts. No man can assess one thing as worse than another, for everything is marvellous in its time (39:33f.).
To see God in some way standing behind all of reality forms the essence of recognising his ultimacy as the personal cause: and indeed, in many respects this theme emerges in the intertestamental non-apocalyptic literature unchanged from earlier Old Testament parallels. Occasionally God is portrayed regulating and controlling nature (e.g. Ecclus. 42:15ff.; Ep. Jer. 1:60–63). Kings enjoy their power by his decree (Wisd. 6:1ff.; Ep. Arist. §224; 4 Macc. 12:11). Health and food are simply his benefits, his gifts; even medicines of themselves can do nothing (Wisd. 16:12f.; Ep. Arist. §190). This does not mean the medical profession is rejected; rather, God made both the physician and his herbs, and so these God-provided benefits are to be used (Ecclus. 38:1f., 4, 9f., 12, 15). God gives wealth (Ep. Arist. §196); and even human popularity is considered one of his best gifts (Ep. Arist. §225). The source of all wisdom, knowledge and skill is God, and this fact is recognised both abstractly (e.g. 1 Esdr. 4:59f.; Wisd. 7:15–21) and in the concrete crisis (e.g. Sus. 45). The Epistle of Aristeas especially emphasises that God is the source of all human virtues (e.g. §§216, 231, 236, 238, 248).
But it is perhaps in the recognition of the immediate hand of God in personal and national victories that this corpus of literature most stresses divine ultimacy. It is God who smites Holofernes by the hand of a woman (Judith 13:15; 14:10; 15:8). Indeed, in Judith 9:1ff., the Genesis 36 story is re-interpreted to make God the moving force behind the massacre by Simeon and Levi. But note that such a belief even before her success (8:15ff.) does not prevent Judith from taking some remarkable initiative. Again, the reason Tobit becomes Enemessar’s purveyor is because the Most High gives him grace and favour before the king (Tobit 1:13). The multiple reprieves in 3 Maccabees, ostensibly due to such mundane circumstances as a paper shortage, oversleeping, and a faulty memory, are in reality the work of God (4:20f.; 5:12ff., 28, 30). There is, of course, considerable variation from book to book as to how much stress is laid on divine ultimacy. But even so sober an historical recital as 1 Maccabees never permits this ultimacy to be far from the surface (e.g. 3:18f., 21f., 53, 60; 4:55; 9:46), even if it is missing at junctures where one might expect it (e.g. 13:41). 2 Maccabees, which is much more interested in the religious struggle than the political one, underscores the divine ultimacy not only with pious phrases (e.g. 1:20; 10:1) holy-war cries (8:23; 13:15), and a statement about the divine control of Antiochus’ mind (13:4; cf. Ep. Arist. §§17, 20f., 227, 256, 266), but also with a theological appraisal of historical observations: e.g. pious Onias is slain by Andronicus, who is in turn killed by Antiochus: thus the Lord rewarded Andronicus with the punishment he deserved (4:38). Very occasionally God is seen to stand behind both good and evil (Ecclus. 33:7–15; Ep. Arist. §197).
With such themes not hard to isolate, it is only to be expected that the concept of election should be given some prominence as well. God chose individuals: Moses (Ecclus. 45:16), David (Ecclus. 47:2), Solomon as king (Wisd. 9:1ff.), the prophet Jeremiah (Par. Jer. 1:5, 8; 3:5, 7; 7:9; etc.). God’s righteous ones are in his hand; they are his elect (Wisd. 3:1ff., 7–10; 4:15). As for the nation, God not only chose the fathers (2 Macc. 1:25), he chose the people as opposed to the giants (Baruch 3:26–8), he favoured Israel instead of the Gentiles (Rest of Esther 10:10–12; Ecclus. 17:17; 36:11ff.). None protects Israel but God alone (Judith 9:14; 1 Macc. 4:10; 3 Macc. 6:15). Further, while there is nothing of a catholic hope in several of the books (e.g. Tobit, 2 Maccabees), 3 Maccabees narrows down God’s people to those who remain faithful under persecution (chap. 7). As a rule, however, election pertains to the Jews as a whole, rather than to the individual. As in the Old Testament, the city of Jerusalem and its temple are frequently said to be chosen by God (e.g. Tobit 1:4 (v.1.); 1 Macc. 4:10; 7:37f.; 2 Macc. 1:30; 3 Macc. 2:9; Ecclus. 36:13; 49:6; Par. Jer. 1:6), although now for the first time we are told that the place was chosen for the sake of the people, and not vice versa (2 Macc. 5:19f.).
In numerous cases a particular doctrine or concept functions in this literature as in the Old Testament. Ecclesiasticus 5:2f., 6 forbids using God’s mercy as a cloak for sin, while 15:9–12 prohibits using God’s sovereignty to excuse man’s sin. The ancient covenant with the fathers is brought up before God as a ground for contemporary rescue (1 Macc. 4:10; Dan. 3:34–6 (LX )). With the same end in view, appeal is made to God’s choice of Jerusalem and his love for Israel (3 Macc. 2:2ff.). Divine sovereignty over the hour of death, far from evoking fatalism, functions as sufficient ground for responsible behaviour as long as there is life (1 Macc. 9:10), while Judith uses God’s infinite knowledge to plead for religious faithfulness. Indeed, the strongest predestinarian language on Judith’s lips functions as part of the plea for divine intervention against the invading Assyrians (sic; 9:5; cf. the battle-cries, 2 Macc. 8:23; 13:15). Wisdom 6:1ff. reasons from God’s authority over kings to their responsibility (cf. 4 Macc. 12:11). Divine omniscience becomes a reason for being good (Ep. Arist. §189) as well as for fearing judgment (Rest of Esther 16:4; Ecclus. 15:18f.; Ep. Arist. §§131f.).
There is in this literature an equivalent stress on human responsibility. Men are said to choose: e.g. the people choose Jonathan (1 Macc. 9:30), who in turn chooses other men (12:1); Solomon chooses Wisdom (Wisd. 7:7–10); and the mother of the martyrs chooses, instead of her sons, that religion which leads to eternal life (4 Macc. 15:2f.). Indeed, Ben Sira didactically affirms the freedom of man to choose (Ecclus. 15:11–20); but this has no clear parallel in the Old Testament. Men face the demands of the law; they are said to be good or wicked, to obey and repent: they seek the Lord or sin and rebel, receive rewards or endure judgment (e.g. Judith 5:17; 8:28; Tobit 13:6; 2 Macc. 4:38; 5:9f.; 6:12–17; 15:32f.; Pr. of Man. 1:13; Ep. Jer. 1:2). The sin of failing to recognise God’s ultimacy is exemplified in Antiochus (2 Macc. 5:17; cf. Isa. 10:5ff.). The converse formulation, by which the recognition of divine ultimacy is nothing less than the summum bonum, is explicitly enunciated in Ep. Arist. §195.
And yet, despite the admitted parallels with the Old Testament, there are some readily identifiable differences between the way in which the sovereignty-responsibility tension is handled in some of these writings and the way it appears there. It is not just that human freedom is propositionally formulated (as we noted, supra; cf. Ecclus. 15:11–20. Compare 4 Macc. 3:3f.), there is something more: an unmistakable accent on human merit in all divine-human relationships. That the guilt of the people is sufficient cause for disaster is a commonplace both in this literature (2 Macc. 7:18f., 36; Ep. Jer. 1:2; etc.) and in the Old Testament. But it is much more difficult to find Old Testament parallels for the way in which good actions are treated as meritorious in this literature. Nicanor, for example, is humbled and forced to admit that the Jews have God to fight for them and therefore remain unbeatable—because they follow his laws (2 Macc. 8:34–6; cf. 15:21, where the recipients of divine support are said to be worthy). Men are dear to God because they have trained their minds to contemplate the noblest themes (Ep. Arist. §287; cf. §199). Mattathias’s dying speech pulsates with the same idea, ascribing success to leaders from Abraham onward on the basis of their obedience, fervency, faithfulness, and so forth (1 Macc. 2:49ff.; cf. Ecclus. 44ff.; only the example of Caleb has specific Old Testament warrant).
Enslin understands the main theme of Judith to be ‘that righteousness will ultimately triumph and that the children of Israel will be victorious over their enemies as long as they obey the laws of God.’ Indeed, this idea is made explicit: while they did not sin before their God they prospered, because the God who hates iniquity was with them (Judith 5:17). But Enslin is surely mistaken, or at least oversimplifying, when he repeatedly says1 that this agrees with the Deuteronomic special stress: Do this and prosper. In the first place, despite passages like Deuteronomy 27f., it is also Deuteronomy which insists that God chose the people in defiance of their demerits and insignificance (especially Deut. 4, 7; although some for this theological reason see evidence of an independent source). Second, there are other passages in Deuteronomy which make retribution less than mechanical. See especially 8:1–9:6 in which God tests Israel, allows her to hunger, reminds her that it is God and not man who is the ultimate power in the accumulation of wealth, and that Israel dispossessed the nations because of God’s promise to the fathers, not because of her own righteousness. In the third place, Deuteronomy 27f. and related passages are framed in terms of promised blessing and threat of curse, while the intertestamental literature tends to concretise and historicise both. This is not done in the fashion of the ‘Deuteronomic historians’ who use Israel’s history to deduce urgent lessons. Rather, it goes a step farther and claims God’s blessing because of the people’s obedience (so Judith 8:18–20).1 By contrast, the Old Testament prophets frequently urge that God will hear and bless if the people repent; but when do they say he will hear and bless because the people are good?
Tobit reflects the same trend toward a view of earned merits, with his heavy emphasis on the so-called ‘three pillars of Judaism’, prayer, almsgiving and fasting. Despite the fact that righteousness and almsgiving are already becoming confused, the book is spared the hypocrisy and externalism of extreme legalism by virtue of its heart-felt prayers and warm devotion bordering on mysticism. But what is truly symptomatic of this growing theological conception is the pride which repeatedly surfaces (e.g. Tobit 1:3, 5ff., 16, 22ff.), only barely relieved by the occasional admission of sin (3:2–6). Other examples of the same sort of pride emerge again and again in this literature (e.g. Wisd. 8:19–21; 12:1–7; Ep. Arist. §§3–8, 37–9, 226; 4 Macc. 9:18), few examples of which can be paralleled in the Old Testament.
Another indication that ‘merit theology’1 is in the ascendancy comes from the vanity of the theodicies which surface in this literature. Although there is some recognition of the limits of human knowledge (e.g. Judith 8:11f.; Wisd. 9:13; Ecclus. 3:21–4; 11:4; 42:15ff.), other approaches gain dominance. The pressure of merit theology does not easily allow for a non-solution shrouded in divine ‘unknownness’; it demands the answer that sin and rebellion never pay except in the coinage of judgment, while obedience earns blessing and reward (e.g. Tobit 4:6; 2 Macc. 7:18f.; 12:40–42; Ecclus. 51:30 (Gr.); Baruch 1:13; 2:10, 22ff.; 3:10–13; 4:6–8; Ep. Arist. §§232, 255; Par. Jer. 4:7f.). Ecclesiasticus appears to argue that justice is done by the manner of one’s death (11:26–8); but it also insists that God is sovereign over the paired opposites formed at creation by divine decree. These demand the choice of men, even though all the divine decrees are themselves good and right in their own time.1 2 Maccabees 6:12–17 draws comfort by viewing divine punishment as loving chastening for God’s people, as opposed to the experience of all other nations which are simply ignored until the day of reckoning (cf. 9:5–29). In the first part of Wisdom (1:1–6:8), suffering tests the righteous and proves them worthy of immortality (3:1–6); while farther on (11:21ff.), punishment seems to be deserved but remedial. Although the facts of experience often harshly contradict such theories, nevertheless theodicies based on a final accounting after death become popular only in apocalyptic literature dealt with in the next chapter.
Merit theology is also suggested by the prayers in these writings. There is very little pure praise1 (Ecclus. 42:15–43:33 is a notable exception); the overwhelming majority of the prayers are requests (e.g. Rest of Esther 13:8ff.; Judith 4:9ff.; 6:18ff.; 9:1–14; 13:7; Tobit 3:2–6, 11ff.; 1 Macc. 4:10, 30–33; 7:37f.; 9:46; 11:71ff.; 2 Macc. 1:8, 24, 30; 2:22ff.; 8:1ff.; 11:6–13; 12:6, 11, 15f., 28; 13:9–17; 14:34ff.; 3 Macc. 1:16f.; 2:2f.; 5:7f., 22, 50f.; 6:2ff.; Pr. of Man.; Wisd. 8:21; Ecclus. 48:20; 51:6ff., 13; Sus. 42, 44; Ep. Arist. §17; Par. Jer. 1:2), the incorporated praise serving as part of the plea, a sort of precursor of the request (e.g. especially Rest of Esther 13:8ff.; Judith 9:5ff.; Tobit 6:18; 3 Macc. 2:2ff.). In itself this use of praise does not differ from the Old Testament (e.g. Ps. 80:1ff.; 94:1ff.), except in degree; but the praise of this literature becomes more and more specialised, uttered with the particular request in view. For example, God is praised for previous mercy and asked to show more mercy (Tobit 8:17). ‘In all these prayers … the aim dictates the phrasing of the act of adoration by which the petitioner hopes to influence God to grant the request.’1 Rarely is there any reference to God’s will in the matter (although cf. Ecclus. 39:5f.): more commonly there is something of a knee-jerk reflex view of prayer and blessing, dependent only on human obedience, or even on the fervency with which the prayer is offered (Judith 4:9ff.).
There are a few other indications that merit theology is on the rise. The doctrine of creation is used not only to formulate a proposition about divine ultimacy in areas like power and beauty and speech (Ep. Arist. §201), but to establish the freedom of human choice (4 Macc. 2:21) or the finality of the law (since the Creator himself gave it: 4 Macc. 5:25). Divine omniscience is now used, not only to threaten judgment, but to justify Mordecai (Rest of Esther 13:12). We have already observed how often human faithfulness becomes the ground of petition: the divine sense of fair play, rather than the divine mercy, is thus being appealed to. Hence, in not a few instances human merit provides the explanation for some notable success (2 Macc. 8:34–6; 15:2ff.; Ecclus. 44:16ff.). True, Ecclesiasticus 47:16–22 uses the election promises to build confidence in God’s faithfulness to provide a remnant, despite human sin; but it is more common to show the human heroes in a less injurious light, possibly even without sin (Pr. of Man. 8). No longer are there any overwhelming statements about being born in sin, about human acts of righteousness being the equivalent of menstruous cloths, about hearts set to do evil (the hearts of the persecutors excepted, of course!). And where is the heartrending wrestling of Job and Qoheleth? The theodicies have become too glib, too rigid, too rationalistic. We have seen that election in the Old Testament is not only to privilege but to far-reaching ethical and covenantal obligations: where in this later literature is election used to underline such national responsibilities? There are a few instances where individual (as opposed to national) election entails service (e.g. Ecclus. 45:16). However, such individual election is rare in this literature, being squeezed out by the rewards and punishments schema. And where are the passages which portray God as in some sense behind specific evil actions—passages like Genesis 50:19f.; Judges 14:4a; 2 Samuel 24:1? Although there is diversity in this literature, the Epistle of Aristeas, perhaps the most anaemic book when it comes to sin, goes to the extreme, so emphasising God’s benignity and forbearance that he is described as the One who ‘rules the whole world in the spirit of kindness and without wrath at all’ (§254).
Thus, ultimately it is the view of God which has changed. True, God is in one sense increasingly sovereign: the potter-and-clay model for the first time is used to spell out a deterministic view of man (Ecclus. 33:10–15 (Gr. 36:10–15); cf. Ep. Arist. §197); but this is mild metaphysical speculation in the wisdom tradition, not agonising wrestling. God is increasingly transcendent, sovereign in an abtract sort of way; but this progressive exaltation of God is at the expense of meaningful divine personality. Yahweh is now God or the Lord; he is the God of heaven, the Lord of heaven (e.g. Tobit 10:11; 13:7), and, most popularly, the Most High God. 1 Maccabees repeatedly uses ‘Heaven’ as the divine surrogate (e.g. 3:18f.; 4:40). The tendency to substitute some attribute, or the divine dwelling-place, for the name of deity, is part of the process which is stripping God-language of its anthropomorphisms and anthropopothisms. Because anthropomorphisms and anthropopothisms bring home God’s personality, the sacrifice of the former tends to obliterate the latter. Hence there is no longer any place, for example, for the God of this literature to plead with men to turn from their wicked ways. Of course, it would be tendentious to read too much into these developments, not only because their distribution is uneven in the literature, but also because it is extremely difficult to assess conceptual changes by the lack of certain descriptive epithets. Nevertheless it is wishful thinking which sees no significant theological change whatever.
What W. O. E. Oesterley perceptively writes about 1 Maccabees is true of more books than the one with which he is concerned:
Just as there was a disinclination, on account of its transcendent holiness, to utter the name of God, and instead, to substitute paraphrases for it, so there arose also a disinclination to ascribe actions among men directly to God, because of his inexpressible majesty. One result of this was the further tendency to emphasise and extend the scope of human free-will. These tendencies were only beginning to exert their influence, but they largely explain the religious characteristics of the book.1
The tension persists, but the historical situation in which Israel now finds herself has changed its focus. Before the exile idolatry was the problem; but now, almost as an over-reaction, divine transcendence is being stressed at the expense of divine personality. With this development, and with merit theology on the increase, statements about divine sovereignty tend to become all-embracing only in the abstract, while in fact specific human decisions are being fenced off from divine control. In this sense the sovereignty-responsibility tension is polarising. More ontological descriptions are being introduced, and more speculation about the origin of sin. The relationship between God and man turns less and less on spontaneous, sovereign grace and more and more on human merits and demerits, while the Jews as a people look more and more like wonderful heroes and less and less like the cherished objects of God’s elective love.