Leitura do livro de Rute: algumas dificuldades

Meu artigo Leitura socioantropológica do livro de Rute ficou pronto no dia 27 de dezembro. Será publicado na revista Estudos Bíblicos número 98, em junho de 2008. Confira aqui a minha proposta de leitura.

Contudo, ainda não sei se consegui fazer uma leitura socioantropológica – que explica os fatos sociais – ou uma leitura sócio-histórica – que descreve os dados sociais relevantes! Mas o que foi feito, bem ou mal, já foi feito. A partir de março, por favor, as avaliações são bem-vindas.

O que eu gostaria de colocar a seguir, após a bibliografia e as resenhas de obras sobre Rute, são algumas questões difíceis que encontrei ao estudar o texto e ao confrontar posições de diferentes autores. Questões que eu chamaria de abertas, porque podem ter muitas respostas ou mesmo não ter nenhuma resposta mais segura, por enquanto. Como já disse, o livro é pequeno, muito bem escrito, mas tem alguns nós difíceis de desatar.

Observo que neste texto serão colocados apenas os problemas. As soluções que encontrei ou escolhi estarão na revista Estudos Bíblicos.

1. Uma questão metodológica, para começar. Já abordada em meu artigo Leitura socioantropológica da Bíblia Hebraica. Uma típica dificuldade encontrada pelos biblistas no uso da leitura socioantropológica é a diversidade de tendências e a grande extensão do campo das ciências sociais, o que faz com que alguém, mesmo com um conhecimento razoável das obras de Durkheim, Weber e Marx e de eventuais pensadores mais recentes, se sinta bastante perdido quando se fala de perspectivas de conflito, funcionalismo estrutural, idealismo cultural, materialismo cultural… Com freqüência não se sabe que método escolher ou misturam-se na análise várias tendências sociológicas, criando um método eclético que corre o risco de oferecer uma belíssima solução para um problema inexistente ou mal colocado. Ou, como alertam outros autores, nós, biblistas, costumamos utilizar teorias antropológicas e sociológicas que já foram abandonadas pelos especialistas nas respectivas áreas, porque consideradas superadas. Ou, em outras duras palavras: chegamos sempre atrasados, e o resultado é bastante insatisfatório.

2. Por que será que o autor/a de Rute situa os acontecimentos em Belém de Judá e os seus personagens como efrateus? Por causa da genealogia de Davi em 4,17b-22 (Booz gerou Obed, Obed gerou Jessé e Jessé gerou Davi)? Mas seria a genealogia de Davi parte da obra original ou um acréscimo posterior usado para “canonizar” o livro? Ora a genealogia tem uma perspectiva exclusivamente androcêntrica, em contraste com o restante do livro que tem uma perspectiva ginocêntrica. Como conciliar as duas coisas? Buscando outra solução, há quem pense que pode ser uma aplicação da profecia de Mq 5,1-3 (5,1a: “E tu, Belém-Éfrata, pequena entre os clãs de Judá, de ti sairá para mim aquele que governará Israel”)… Porém assim não estamos, mais uma vez, arrumando uma solução “davídica” para o problema? Outros dizem: sim, solução davídica, mas não por causa deste ou daquele texto, mas porque há um “davidismo” forte entre os judaítas que elogiam Belém em contraste com Jerusalém, pois os reis (de Jerusalém) levaram Judá ao exílio, enquanto Davi (de Belém) levou as tribos acuadas e dispersas a grande país… Contudo, pergunta-se ainda: há realmente este “davidismo” no pós-exílio? Como comprová-lo? De qualquer maneira, seria viável a postura que insiste em ler o livro de Rute como uma defesa da restauração da dinastia davídica no pós-exílio?

3. Por que escolher Moab como destino da família de Elimelec e uma moabita, Rute, como a portadora da solução para a crise da família? Moab é a terra de um povo que outras tradições bíblicas vêem com hostilidade, conforme se lê em Dt 23,3-7 e Ne 13,1-3. Lembro ao leitor que em todo o livro apenas os territórios de Judá (restrito a Belém de Judá e aos efrateus) e Moab (restrito a “campos de Moab e às moabitas Orfa e Rute”) são explicitamente citados.

4. A migração da família de Elimelec para Moab e a volta de Noemi e Rute a Belém poderiam estar sugerindo ao leitor uma analogia com a situação de exílio babilônico e volta para Judá e isto poderia ser usado como um argumento razoável para colocar o livro na época persa?

5. Terá mesmo existido em Yehud – nome aramaico do Judá pós-monárquico -, a partir da metade do século V a.C, a chamada comunidade do “Segundo Templo”, também apelidada pelos estudiosos, em alemão, de Bürger-Tempel-Gemeinde? Esta comunidade pode ser sumariamente definida como uma unidade social que surge da união do pessoal do templo com os proprietários de terra, criando um sistema econômico autônomo. Esta Bürger-Tempel-Gemeinde criaria, assim, uma sociedade dentro da sociedade, um restrito grupo privilegiado não co-extensivo com a sociedade mais ampla da província. Seria este o contexto no qual foi escrito o livro de Rute, que defende a tradicional estrutura do clã (mishpâhâ) constituído por um agrupamento de famílias ampliadas (bêth-‘abhôth) que moram na mesma região e se auxiliam tanto no setor social quanto no econômico, constituindo uma comunidade jurídica local?

6. Na época do domínio persa sobre Yehud, há, pelo menos, outras três propostas para dar estabilidade e identidade à comunidade. Há a proposta de Zorobabel e Josué: reconstruir o Templo e o altar, narrada em Ag 1,1-15a; Zc 4,1-6a;10b-14; Esd 3,1-13; já a proposta de Esdras é manter a pureza da raça e observar a Lei, narrada em Esd 9,1-10,44; Ne 8,1-18 e, finalmente, a de Neemias, que é reconstruir Jerusalém, devolver terras alienadas e perdoar dívidas de agricultores empobrecidos, como está em Ne 5,1-19. As três vêm de Jerusalém. Ora, estas três propostas são rejeitadas ou, no mínimo, ignoradas pelo autor/a do livro de Rute. Jerusalém, o Templo, o culto, as autoridades centrais enviadas pela Pérsia nem são mencionadas no livro. Situar a estória na “época dos juízes”, não seria um modo inteligente de camuflagem literária utilizada pelo autor/a do livro de Rute para fazer sua própria proposta tão diferente das outras? E nem tão sutil assim é o desafio à proibição de casamentos com estrangeiras decretado por Esdras: Rute não é apenas uma estrangeira, ela é uma moabita. E assim é insistentemente chamada no livro: “Rute, a moabita”! Uma moabita que jamais é designada na estória como estrangeira residente (ger), merecedora de ajuda, pessoa com direitos (Dt 24,19–21), mas que é uma nokriyyâ, uma estrangeira sem nenhum direito (Rt 2,10). Para aqueles que gostam de pensar que a estória está, de fato, falando dos “dias em que julgavam os juízes”, pergunto: onde estão estes juízes no quarto ato do livro (4,1-12)? Nem mesmo se usa o verbo “julgar” (shâphat), na reunião em que se decide quem vai comprar a propriedade de Noemi e se casar com Rute …

7. Quem lida com o livro de Rute enfrenta o grande problema de decidir se a solução proposta pelo autor/a no capítulo 4 envolve além do resgate da terra, a ge’ulla (Lv 25), também o casamento com o cunhado, o levirato (Dt 25,5-10), e qual seria a relação entre estas duas leis. Esta questão divide os especialistas, pois Rute não é judaíta, Booz não é seu cunhado, não há contrato de casamento (contrariando normas legais documentadas, na época, em papiros da comunidade judaíta de Elefantina), o texto fala o tempo todo apenas de “resgate”, a exigência de casamento com Rute feita por Booz ao parente anônimo que tem direito de resgate da terra parece extraordinária, já que os textos das leis não falam nada disso. Estaríamos lidando com uma lei anterior a Dt 25,5-10, que poderia ser chamada de “casamento redentor”, mais amplo que o levirato em sentido estrito? Ou, em sentido oposto, estaríamos lidando com uma interpretação bem mais recente de Dt 25,5-10, uma espécie de midrash da antiga lei, aplicada aqui de maneira muito mais livre? Enfim, por que as duas leis estariam interligadas, devendo ser executadas em conjunto (4,5)? Ou ainda: o livro de Rute aplica, no capítulo 4, a lei do resgate e do levirato ou apenas a lei do resgate?

8. Uma questão menor, mas que aparece em certos autores é a compra da terra que Booz faz no capítulo 4. De quem é a terra? É de Noemi ou de outra pessoa do clã para quem Noemi já vendera a terra? Há autores que dizem ser de outra pessoa. Mas onde está isto no texto?

9. Onde foi escrito o livro de Rute? Em Jerusalém? Em outro lugar? Esta é uma questão que não abordei…

10. Quem escreveu o livro de Rute? Um homem? Uma mulher? Qualquer um dos dois? O livro tem uma perspectiva ginocêntrica e isto coloca a possibilidade de uma autoria feminina. Mas seria esta autoria feminina necessária para explicar a perspectiva do livro? Sendo as duas genealogias do final – uma curta, 4,17b, e uma longa, 4,18-22 – essencialmente androcêntricas, e considerando como bastante provável que não faziam parte da obra original, quando teriam sido acrescentadas e quem o teria feito?

International Biblical Studies Writing Month

Chris Brady at Targuman, circa a month ago, declared December through January International Biblical Studies Writing Month: “By the power vested in me by the Great Meturgeman (…) I declare January (and a bit of December) Biblical Studies Academic Writing Month”.

Till now the challenge has been accepted by Tim Bulkeley at SansBlogue, by Chris Heard at Higgaion, by AKMA at Random Thoughts, by Charles Halton at Awilum, and by Dr. Claude Mariottini at Dr. Claude Mariottini – Professor of Old Testament. If it is an International Call for any material related to the Bible and submitted for publication, I have something.

I finished in December 27, 2007 an article about Ruth. The article, in Portuguese (Brazilian) Language, Leitura socioantropológica do livro de Rute [Ruth in Social-Scientific Perspective], will be published until June of 2008 by Estudos Bíblicos [Biblical Studies Journal] n. 98, Editora Vozes, Petrópolis, RJ, Brazil – ISSN 16764951.

The essay seeks to look for the background world of the story of Ruth in the Persian Province of Yehud. Accepting the biblical book as a fictitious story based on real locations, the article uses social science approaches to describe the imaginative world in which the action takes place. Since the story uses real places and fictitious persons to construct the narrative, I considered three levels of perception: 1. the imaginative world of the story itself; 2. the real world behind the book’s references, and 3. the social and ideological constructs of this world.

The story of Ruth, often read as an idyllic story or as a book oriented to the final Davidic genealogy, and yet sometimes as a figurative expression of a post-exilic hope for the restoration of the Davidic dynasty, was modified by an androcentric closure, but it is a strongly gynocentric narrative with a serious intent: it may be read as a countertext, deviating from dominant biblical norms, and producing a radical vision while remaining seamlessly attached to the prevailing traditions that it implicitly transforms.

I introduce the article, in Portuguese, with these words:

Ao fazer a proposta de uma leitura socioantropológica, estou sugerindo que estas duas ciências sociais, entre outras, podem contribuir hoje de maneira eficaz para o estudo dos textos bíblicos. Mas também estou pressupondo como necessária a abordagem literária dos mesmos textos bíblicos, para evitar a armadilha da leitura do texto como relato fidedigno da realidade social subjacente.

Qual seria, porém, a contribuição específica da leitura socioantropológica? Penso que pode ser o fato desta abordagem examinar não somente a literatura bíblica, mas também as forças sociais subjacentes à produção desta literatura, onde se distingue a sociedade que está por trás do texto da sociedade que aparece dentro do texto. O desafio maior, neste caso, será combinar, sem reducionismos, as abordagens socioantropológica e literária.

Vou utilizar o livro de Rute para visualizar esta proposta. Este livro é uma estória que usa lugares reais e pessoas fictícias situadas em determinado espaço e tempo para construir a sua narrativa. Daí que três níveis conectados pela perspectiva conferida ao texto pelo autor/a da estória devem ser considerados:
· o imaginário do autor/a que gera a narrativa
· o mundo real fora do livro
· a construção social e ideológica deste mundo pelo autor/a para atingir um objetivo.

É preciso, portanto, como sugeri, olhar em duas direções:
· para a sociedade que aparece dentro do texto, observando quem são os personagens, o mundo no qual se movem e quais são suas práticas econômicas, políticas e sociais
· para a sociedade que aparece por trás do texto, investigando a situação na qual e para a qual o livro foi escrito.

Deste modo deveria ser possível mostrar que o modo como os personagens organizam sua visão de mundo são, na verdade, ferramentas literárias utilizadas pelo autor/a na construção de uma estória totalmente fictícia, mas que, sem dúvida, produz uma mensagem que é considerada pelo autor/a de Rute como um caminho a ser buscado, estruturando o livro como uma narrativa orientada por uma proposta séria.

O artigo pode ser desenvolvido da seguinte maneira:
1. Olhando a estória com os olhos do autor/a, pergunto: o que diz o livro de Rute?
2. Olhando para além do livro, pergunto: o que é possível saber da época em que foi escrito o livro de Rute?
3. Olhando a estória com os olhos do leitor atual, pergunto: qual é a proposta do livro de Rute?

Como diz o causo do outro

“Num mito, quanto mais se bate, mais ele cresce. Porque ao contrário do que essas vulgaridades pensam, um mito não é sinônimo de uma mentira. Um mito é uma história que explica porque estamos aqui e somos assim ou assado. Um mito remonta a enigmas que não conseguimos explicar. Então temos que narrar”.

Este texto é do Flávio Aguiar, editor-chefe da Carta Maior. Está no artigo A sombra do Che, e fala de cinco razões para os arautos da direita brasileira detestarem a sombra de Ernesto Guevara. Publicado em 05/10/2007, o artigo é bom.

Mas penso no texto aqui citado por outras razões. Os mitos bíblicos. Um mito explica porque estamos aqui e somos o que somos. Mesmo quando não conseguimos ou queremos explicar, podemos narrar.

Quem ainda se lembra de meu post Gn 1-11 e a importância dos mitos, de 22 de setembro passado?

Pois é… Amanhã continuarei conversando com o Primeiro Ano de Teologia do CEARP, na aula de Pentateuco, sobre isso. Estamos estudando Gn 1-11.

O título do post?

Quando eu era menino pequeno lá em Minas, Juca Garcia, fazendeiro rico e estúrdio, homem sistemático, vizinho nosso, aparecia, de vez em quando, para uma visita nas tardes de domingo. E dizia para meu pai: “Cumpadre, como diz o causo do outro…”, sendo o “outro” ele mesmo.

Um jeito de contar, uma sabedoria especial do sertão. Mitos. Mito.

Hauser bate forte na teoria das fontes do Pentateuco

No Forum SBL de setembro 2007, Alan J. Hauser, Professor da Appalachian State University, Boone, Carolina do Norte, USA, publicou um artigo sobre a situação atual da pesquisa do Pentateuco, com o título de Sources of the Pentateuch: So Many Theories, So Little Consensus [Fontes do Pentateuco: tantas teorias, tão pouco consenso].

Hauser critica, neste artigo, fortemente, as muitas tentativas pós-wellhausenianas de explicação do Pentateuco que ainda permanecem no campo da teoria das fontes. Ele insiste que é preciso verificar com mais rigor os pressupostos metodológicos subjacentes a tais teorias: “In source-critical studies, the energy and focus have typically been on discerning the details and content of the sources. Rarely has there been a serious look at underlying methodological presuppositions. I want to raise a few of these methodological issues, pointedly“.

Hauser concorda com a insuficiência do consenso wellhauseniano. Mas também vê a falência das propostas posteriores, que não conseguem construir um novo consenso e atribui este fato a uma teimosa acomodação a pressupostos que deveriam ser questionados.

O modelo das fontes do Pentateuco, que insiste em sobreviver nas atuais propostas, é, para o autor, o problema maior. Ele diz, por exemplo: “… a key flaw of source criticism is that, rather than reexamining its conceptual framework, and rather than probing for its methodological flaws, it continues to generate nuanced reiterations of its central construct, assuming that the best way to study the Pentateuch is to divide it into its sources, place each into its own proposed historical context, and then interpret the content in this conceptual framework. Source-critics have rarely questioned the cogency and usefulness of this approach“.

Ele conclui que

Factors that should challenge the center of source criticism include our growing awareness of the complex interrelationships among the many parts of the Pentateuch, as well as with other ancient Israelite literature, both oral and written; the difficulty of reconstructing the particulars of historical contexts for specific periods/events in ancient Israelite history; our imperfect understanding of ancient Israelite literature, its conventions, its variety, and the ways in which creative writers played on these; and the promise of new methods that can help us better evaluate the text of the Pentateuch. Taken as a whole, these factors demonstrate the need for a thoroughgoing reassessment of the foundation on which source critical studies have been based for well over a century.

Entretanto: se alguém pensa que vai encontrar, neste artigo, uma solução para o problema do Pentateuco, desista…

Para mim, está claro: enquanto algumas questões fundamentais da História de Israel não forem resolvidas, não se chegará a um novo consenso acerca de quem, quando e como foi composto o Pentateuco.

O que sabemos do antigo Israel através da Bíblia Hebraica, para nós, hoje, não é mais uma resposta. É um problema. Como já notava, em 1992, Philip R. Davies.

Ora, no ano seguinte, em 1993, também Rolf Rendtorff já afirmava, com todas as letras: “Os problemas da interpretação do Pentateuco estão intimamente ligados aos problemas mais amplos da reconstrução da história de Israel e da história de sua religião (…) Não é por acaso que uma das mudanças mais importantes estejam ocorrendo com as hipóteses sobre as origens de Israel”. E completava: “Um dos muitos pontos de incerteza é a questão da identidade de Israel” (RENDTORFF, R. The Paradigm is Changing: Hopes and Fears. Em LONG, V. P. (ed.) Israel’s Past in Present Research: Essays on Ancient Israelite Historiography. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999, p. 60-61 – ISBN 9781575060286. O artigo de Rendtorff, à época professor em Heidelberg, foi reimpresso da revista Biblical Interpretation 1 (1993), p. 34-53).

 

O artigo

Sources of the Pentateuch: So Many Theories, So Little Consensus

As I ponder the post-Wellhausian quest for sources of the Pentateuch, the myth of Sisyphus haunts me. The numerous attempts by source critics to delineate definitively and ground historically the sources of the Pentateuch sooner or later have stalled without reaching the hilltop, and the rock has become well worn from its repeated downhill journeys.

In source-critical studies, the energy and focus have typically been on discerning the details and content of the sources. Rarely has there been a serious look at underlying methodological presuppositions. I want to raise a few of these methodological issues, pointedly.

It is difficult when an old construct shows its age and flaws, especially when a new, consensus-driven construct has not yet appeared. However, the failure of a new construct to coalesce does not necessarily lend credence to an old construct that may have outlived its usefulness.

Determining the Sources
Without doubt, the Pentateuch contains diverse literary styles and units. This can be seen, for example, by comparing the literary structure and systematic ordering of Gen 1 with the story-like nature of Gen 2-3. Once that diversity is recognized, however, key issues emerge. Can we articulately and consistently use these different styles and structures to discern earlier pentateuchal sources, as well as the historical matrix in which they were composed? And, how much reliance can we place on any particular iteration of the documentary hypothesis as we reconstruct various aspects of ancient Israelite religion, literature, and history? Entire worlds of biblical scholarship have been built on the documentary hypothesis construct. But has this helped us to understand the Old Testament? I cite David Clines’s questions presented last year at the International SBL meeting in Edinburgh: “Is such a theory useful? Should I be interested in it? How important is it to have a theory of Pentateuchal origins?” [1] Many rigorous studies on pentateuchal sources have been published, but consensus regarding these sources continues to elude us. Yet, even if a stable consensus on the sources and their historical contexts were to appear, recent methodological concerns lead us to ask whether source-critical analysis is the best way to study the Pentateuch in the twenty-first century, since the conceptual framework for biblical scholarship is changing rapidly. See Rolf Rendtorff’s excellent survey of recent source critical analysis. [2]

A foundational assumption of source criticism is that the pentateuchal text is best studied when divided into sources. Recent literary constructs, typically J, E, D, and P, have been assembled using criteria of literary style, convention, and format primarily derived from our modern Western world. Unfortunately, seldom is there any awareness of how bound readers are to contemporary perspectives regarding proper literary style. A primary example of this is the inclination to find at least two literary strands wherever there is what we, by our standards, view as redundancy in the text. Repetition must indicate different sources, it is assumed, even though the received text must have made good literary sense to ancient Israelite writers or editors, according to literary standards they endorsed. If they skillfully blended the materials they received, why is their literary product not worth our careful attention? Why see it instead as an obstacle we must get past in order to achieve our scholarly goals? If we shape modern literary constructs as the sources we propose for the Pentateuch, why should we decline to value the comprehensive ancient construct these writers/editors assembled in order to understand their heritage?

If repetition/parallelism is a core feature of the poetry of the Hebrew Bible, as scholars typically assume, then why is it deemed unacceptable in the prose of the Hebrew Bible? Allan Rosengren recently argued this point. See his discussion of divergent details in the Flood Story (Gen 6-8), such as the number of pairs of animals taken onto the ark, or the seven pairs of clean animals mentioned in one case, but not in the other.[3] Source critics typically take such differences in detail as pointing to different sources, without asking whether ancient Hebrew narrative style may not have incorporated such diversity within its notion of parallelism. Along similar lines, when I composed a study on parataxis in the Song of Deborah, I was amazed at the tendency of scholars to dissect and shorten the poetry of Judg 5: 26-27 simply because its lines are deemed excessively repetitive, even for Hebrew poetry.[4] As I argue, such repetition has a clear purpose in this text, providing catharsis for the Israelite victors, which supersedes typical scholarly criteria defining “proper” ancient Hebrew poetic structure and meter. My analysis led me to realize how strongly scholars are tied to contemporary criteria of acceptable literary style, and how insensitive recent scholarship can be to the varieties of styles and creative options employed by skilled ancient Israelite writers. The implications of this observation for attempts to discern sources for the Pentateuch should not be taken lightly.

Historical Contexts of the Sources
While Wellhausen’s seminal work laid the foundation for subsequent source-critical work on the Pentateuch, Wellhausen himself saw his analysis as a prolegomenon.[5] That is, unraveling the pentateuchal strands was an entree to the more important task of reconstructing ancient Israelite history. Wellhausen’s primary purpose was not to study the subtle nuances of the pentateuchal text. In the intellectual climate of late-nineteenth century Germany, under the influence of historical positivism as advocated by von Ranke and others, this historical-reconstructive approach was the presumed proper way to study the Pentateuch. One wonders, however, whether such a methodological mind-set provides a good fit for twenty-first century scholarship.

There is thus a strong interface between Wellhausen’s source-critical analysis and the history of ancient Israel as constructed by modern writers upon that base. Proposed pentateuchal sources feed into the reconstruction of ancient Israelite history, which, in turn, feeds back into the study of the sources. Such reconstructions are essentially incestuous, and the opportunity for circular thinking is boundless. The key question concerns just how much reliable data we can derive from this circular process. This can be like trying to nail Jello to the wall. In order for the construct to stick, there must be an undisputed center. Finding such a consensus-driven core is becoming increasingly problematic, and new methodological issues, noted below, reveal the shortcomings of source critical analysis.

Source critical reconstruction presupposes sufficient knowledge of ancient Israelite history to reconstruct the specific contexts of the several writers/editors who composed the various pentateuchal sources. Today, scholars are questioning this presupposition, and the dates and contexts proposed for the sources vary considerably. For example, John Van Seters places J in the Exilic era, rather than, as typically has been done, in the period of the early monarchy. [6]

The Priestly source (P), considered the latest source of the Pentateuch, is commonly placed in the Postexilic era, a time frame in which any attempt to reconstruct ancient Israelite history struggles. After the events of 587, 538, and 515 B.C.E., Israelite history essentially drops off the radar screen, with only the time of Ezra and Nehemiah receiving significant attention in biblical literature prior to the Hasmonean Era. Yet, it is precisely in this historical black hole that the final compilation of the Pentateuch is typically vested. The uncertainties of this period therefore provide a wide-open breeding ground for theories about the communities that produced P, as well as the final compilation of the Pentateuch. There is little dependable, core knowledge to which these theories can be attached. Scholars are, for all practical purposes, given a blank sheet of paper on which they can compose the nature of the historical community responsible for the source(s) that scholars have reconstructed. Reconstructed communities feed into reconstructed sources, which in turn feed back into reconstructed communities. But what is holding the Jello to the wall? And how solid an anchor for the study of the OT are these pentateuchal source theories?

Other Methodological Issues
Another underlying presupposition of source criticism is that the final form of the text is of minimal value. However, an issue raised by Childs, and not taken with the seriousness it deserves, is the undeniable fact that for many centuries the final form of the text has been the basis for study within both the Jewish and Christian communities. [7] Thus, on what grounds does scholarship brush aside the final form of the text and replace it with a variety of hypothetically reconstructed sources? If there were a resounding consensus among scholars about the content and scope of these proposed sources, as well as the socio-historical context in which each was produced, one might be less inclined to pay attention to the challenge Childs and others have raised. However, an encompassing consensus on these points is precisely what has been lacking. There is consensus that the Pentateuch has sources, and that P is a late source, but beyond that, consensus gets quite thin. I am unwilling to make decisions about the nature of the Old Testament on the basis of continually morphing theories and constructs. We need to find a better approach. A serious dialogue between those scholars doing source criticism and scholars engaged in the numerous other forms of contemporary biblical scholarship would certainly help source critics address these concerns.

Based on modern presuppositions, source-critics often assume that a single writer, or a school of writers, is responsible for composing each source. Unfortunately for this perspective, compositional processes are typically far more complicated and dynamic than this simplistic approach presumes.

The Book of Isaiah provides an example. Scholars have recently come to see the complex interwovenness of First, Second, and Third Isaiah. No longer can we view First Isaiah as a unit, composed in Preexilic times, with Second and Third Isaiah created as unified, discrete pieces in subsequent Exilic and Postexilic stages. It has been argued, for example, that the final form of First Isaiah has been significantly influenced by Third Isaiah.[8] Scholars are discerning considerable intertextual influence among the three Isaiahs, rather than interpreting each as a separate piece. Thus, the book of Isaiah is being interpreted holistically, with growing emphasis on the ongoing interplay and cohesiveness among the various elements of the book. By analogy, we should consider the possibility that we likewise view the composition of the Pentateuch too simplistically if we talk of four basic sources by four separate writers. There could have been far more dynamic intertextuality among the many sources of the Pentateuch than scholars have heretofore presumed. Of course, this makes the process of reconstructing the sources of the Pentateuch and their growth monumentally more complex. This, by itself, may suggest that source-critical analysis has gone as far as scholars can take it. If scholars cannot agree about the content and historical contexts of four pentateuchal sources, what might be the multiplicity of theories if a more complex formative process must be considered? Sisyphus’s task would become considerably more difficult.

Many generations stretched between the time of David and Solomon, typically the earliest era to which a pentateuchal source is assigned, and the final compilation of the Pentateuch, commonly placed in Postexilic times. While, during this lengthy period, there likely was substantial interaction among the many pieces now found in the Pentateuch, there could also have been a great deal of interplay with other ancient Israelite texts, those in other portions of the Tanak, as well as others no longer available to us, such as the Book of Jasher (Josh 10:13), the Book of the Acts of Solomon (1 Kgs 11: 41), and the Book of the Wars of the Lord (Num 21:14). Such intertextuality not only goes well beyond our ability to reconstruct it; it also beclouds attempts to propose a mere three- or four-stage development of the Pentateuch’s sources. Indeed, the growth of the Pentateuch was likely far more complex and interdynamic than most source critics have imagined.

While writing eventually comes into play, since the content of the Pentateuch did become a written text, it is all too easy, with our modern literacy rates and massive print media, to focus on writing as the main process in the creation of the Pentateuch. What if orality played a far more dynamic role, one that continued until the final transcription of the Pentateuch? Susan Niditch demonstrates how, regarding the relationship between orality and the written word, the ancient Israelite world was very different from our world. [9] Even intertextuality masks this, because the interplay of oral materials prior to their being written down may have been more extensive in ancient Israel than the intertextuality we can now observe in the written texts. This oral cross-fertilization can easily have continued until the final stages of the compilation of the Pentateuch. Orality is an extremely difficult process to track, but that does not mean we can ignore it, and only speak of writers in describing the creation of the Pentateuch.

Studies in ethnicity also promise to help enrich our study of the Pentateuch. James Miller’s article “Ethnicity and the Hebrew Bible: Problems and Prospects” will appear next year. [10] In it, Miller notes, “given the problems associated with detailed historical reconstructions of ancient Israel, I have suggested reading texts in terms of their function within a more general historical setting.” As these ethnic studies look beyond kingly courts and priestly circles, how much more might we learn about the impact of larger social groups and broader social movements on the development of oral literature subsequently found in the Pentateuch?

Deconstruction, when carried to an extreme, leaves only crumbs and shards, and no focal point. Source criticism, however, has erred at the opposite end of the spectrum, devising one ingenious Gestalt after another as a means of reconstructing pentateuchal sources. A key point taught to us by deconstructionists, and ignored at our own peril, is that we should continually reexamine our constructs precisely when we believe we have things figured out. We must relentlessly seek factors that could force us to rethink our positions. A center exists only to be challenged and decentered when forced to encompass what was previously marginalized. Centers are not absolute, and meaning conveyed is relational, not essential.

Deconstructionism teaches that we grow by being challenged, especially when confronted by new issues. Therefore, a key flaw of source criticism is that, rather than reexamining its conceptual framework, and rather than probing for its methodological flaws, it continues to generate nuanced reiterations of its central construct, assuming that the best way to study the Pentateuch is to divide it into its sources, place each into its own proposed historical context, and then interpret the content in this conceptual framework. Source-critics have rarely questioned the cogency and usefulness of this approach.

Conclusion
Factors that should challenge the center of source criticism include our growing awareness of the complex interrelationships among the many parts of the Pentateuch, as well as with other ancient Israelite literature, both oral and written; the difficulty of reconstructing the particulars of historical contexts for specific periods/events in ancient Israelite history; our imperfect understanding of ancient Israelite literature, its conventions, its variety, and the ways in which creative writers played on these; and the promise of new methods that can help us better evaluate the text of the Pentateuch. Taken as a whole, these factors demonstrate the need for a thoroughgoing reassessment of the foundation on which source critical studies have been based for well over a century.

Alan J. Hauser, Appalachian State University

Notes
[1] David Clines, “Response to Rolf Rendtorff’s ‘What Happened to the Yahwist? Reflections after Thirty Years’,” SBL Forum (August 2006).

[2] Rolf Rendtorff, “Directions in Pentateuchal Studies,” Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 5 (1997) 43-65.

[3] Allen Rosengren, “Why is there a Documentary Hypothesis, and What Does It Do to You If You Use It?: A Response to David Clines,” SBL Forum (August 2006).

[4] Alan J.Hauser, “Judges 5: Parataxis in Hebrew Poetry,” Journal of Biblical Literature 99.1 (1980) 23-41.

[5] Julius Wellhausen, Prolegomena to the History of Israel (New York: Meridian Books, 1959 [1878]).

[6] John Van Seters, Prologue to History: The Yahwist as Historian in Genesis (Louisville, KY Westminster John Knox, 1992).

[7] Brevard Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1979). See also Umberto Cassuto, The Documentary Hypothesis and the Composition of the Pentateuch (trans. I. Abrahams; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961 [Hebrew 1941]); Benno Jacob, Das Erste Buch der Tora: Genesis (Berlin: Schocken Verlag, 1934).

[8] See for example, Marvin Sweeney, “The Book of Isaiah in Recent Research,” Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 1 (1993) 141-62; and “Reevaluating Isaiah 1-39 in Recent Critical Research,” Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 4 (1996): 79-113; Roy Melugin, “Isaiah 40-66 in Recent Research: The ‘Unity’ Movement,” in Recent Research in the Major Prophets (ed. Alan J. Hauser; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, forthcoming)

[9] Susan Niditch, Oral World and Written Word (Louisville, KY. Westminster John Knox, 1996).

[10] Forthcoming in Currents in Biblical Research, 6.2 (2008).

Gn 1-11 e a importância dos mitos

Acabei de ler um post de Christopher Heard em seu biblioblog Higgaion com o título de Teaching the Genesis creation stories. Ali ele relata sua experiência de trabalhar em sala de aula com Gn 1-11 e o que funciona ou não, em termos de compreensão por parte dos alunos, quando se faz uma abordagem literária destes textos.

Mas relata também um incrível caso: um outro professor norte-americano, de outra instituição que não a sua, teria sido recentemente punido por sua escola por explicar que a estória de Adão e Eva tem um sentido simbólico e que não deve ser lida literalmente.

[Bitterman said]: “I told them it was an extremely meaningful story, but you had to see it in a poetic, metaphoric or symbolic sense, that if you took it literally, that you were going to miss a whole lot of meaning there“. Traduzindo de maneira mais ou menos livre: “Eu disse [aos alunos] que esta [Gn 2-3] era uma história extremamente significativa, mas que deve ser vista em um sentido poético, metafórico ou simbólico, pois se for lida literalmente, se perde uma grande parte de seu significado”.

O caso chamou minha atenção, pois leciono Pentateuco, trabalho com estes textos, e acho complicado que alguém ainda possa ser punido por razão tão absurda. Mais absurda ainda se considerarmos os séculos de pesquisa histórico-crítica sobre tão conhecidos textos de Gênesis. E em um país que detém a hegemonia política mundial, que produz uma quantidade enorme de pesquisa exegética e científica, que possui todos os meios possíveis para debater a relação da ciência com a fé… Mas é um país plural. E estas contradições são cada vez maiores, com o crescimento de um criacionismo fundamentalista. Que, por sinal, já chegou aqui, de lá importado.

Pois é! Christopher Heard, que também considera esta situação absurda, por outro lado diz que, mesmo não vivendo esta realidade em sua Universidade, há colegas seus que chegam a evitar a palavra “mito” ao falar destes assuntos: “…even at Pepperdine, I know that my colleagues sometimes choose their words very carefully to avoid certain vocabulary (‘myth’) while communicating the same concepts“.

Leiam o caso. E considerem que estamos no Mês da Bíblia, que tem como tema Gn 1-11, e que nossas abordagens são bastantes enriquecedoras, se considerarmos o material utilizado tanto na academia quanto no meio popular. Apesar de nossos limitados recursos. Retomem a leitura dos posts que escrevi com os títulos de Gn 1-11 na Vida Pastoral e CEBI recomenda para o Mês da Bíblia.

Finalmente, quero lembrar que, ainda em 1995, escrevi um texto curtinho sobre Gn 1-11 para uma revista de divulgação de Ribeirão Preto. E expliquei, com linguagem simples, o que chamei de

Os mitos judaicos e a nossa realidade

Ainda faltavam uns 500 ou 600 anos para o nascimento de Jesus de Nazaré, quando alguns teólogos de Jerusalém recolheram histórias que as pessoas contavam e escreveram vários desses textos que hoje estão na Bíblia Hebraica, no livro do Gênesis, nos capítulos 1 a 11.

Que textos são esses?

São muito conhecidos: a história da serpente que tenta Eva no paraíso, a árvore que produz um fruto proibido, Caim que assassina seu irmão Abel, Noé e sua arca cheia de animais sobrevivendo ao dilúvio, a torre de Babel que confunde as línguas…

Será que isto aconteceu desse jeito mesmo que é contado? Ou serão só lendas, contos ou mitos?

Às vezes a gente acha que só é verdadeira aquela história que reproduz os fatos fielmente, tim-tim por tim-tim, como eles aconteceram. Será? E aqueles fatos que acontecem com todo o mundo e que também podem acontecer em qualquer época e em qualquer lugar? E o sentido que um autor quer dar a um acontecimento não determina o jeito dele contar?

Pois isto é o mito. E o mito fala de uma experiência humana universal. E Gn 1-11 é recheado de mitos, contados por aqueles autores anônimos de Jerusalém há dois mil e quinhentos anos.

O paraíso nunca existiu. Nem mesmo uma serpente falante, um fruto proibido, os irmãos Caim e Abel, um dilúvio universal, uma arca de Noé ou uma torre de Babel. Mas todos eles existem sempre, exatamente porque não estão situados em nenhum tempo e lugar.

O paraíso é uma esperança, uma utopia, não uma saudade de um tempo passado. É uma esperança de harmonia e felicidade que a humanidade deve construir. E pode construir.

A serpente representava, na época dos reis de Israel, um sistema social e político que explorava as pessoas e provocava a sua infelicidade, destruindo o projeto de uma sociedade solidária e harmoniosa.

O fruto proibido é a tentação de possuir um poder absoluto que nos permita dominar os outros e escravizá-los aos nossos interesses.

Tanto Caim quanto Abel continuam hoje a se confrontar em sangrentos conflitos, seja em nossas ruas brasileiras, seja no Oriente Médio, ou em nossas casas.

A fidelidade de Noé, um homem correto, a um projeto de sociedade solidária, o transforma em símbolo de uma humanidade que renasce de enormes catástrofes porque acredita na vida.

Na cidade e torre de Babel as pessoas são confundidas por Iahweh quando queriam construir um poder imperialista onde todos falariam uma mesma língua – na política, na economia, na cultura – e, assim se tornariam absolutos, decretando o fim da liberdade humana.

Como se vê, esses temas tão antigos, contados na linguagem do mito, continuam extremamente atuais dois mil anos depois de Jesus de Nazaré. Devem ser lidos para fazer a gente pensar e tomar uma atitude. Não para pensarmos no que aconteceu antigamente, mas para enxergarmos melhor o está acontecendo hoje e ver o que é possível fazer para melhorar o mundo.

Este texto pode ser lido também na seção de artigos da Ayrton’s Biblical Page. Clique aqui.

Gn 1-11 na Vida Pastoral

O número de setembro-outubro de 2007 – ano 48, n. 256 – da revista Vida Pastoral publicada pela Paulus tem 4 artigos sobre Gn 1-11.

Foram escritos pela equipe do Centro Bíblico Verbo, de São Paulo.

Recomendo a leitura, pois explica de maneira clara e com linguagem simples textos que usamos muito e que, com frequência, são mal compreendidos.

No editorial deste número diz o redator Pe. Claudiano Avelino dos Santos sobre os artigos de Gn 1-11:

A percepção de que a criação é obra da bondade de Deus é antiga. A Bíblia nos traz nos primeiros onze capítulos do Gênesis relatos teológicos que expressam essa convicção. Não são relatos jornalísticos ou teses científicas. São, antes disso, textos de fé que, com linguagem própria, ajudam a, não obstante as mazelas presentes no mundo, manter a esperança. E mais para o final, após apresentar os 4 artigos, diz o redator: As reflexões que o Centro Bíblico Verbo apresenta a respeito desses capítulos são oportunas para um tempo em que a preocupação com o futuro da Terra é tema urgente.
 

Os artigos são os seguintes:

. Deus viu que tudo era muito bom! Uma introdução a Gênesis 1-11 – Maria Antônia Marques – p. 3-11

. Colcha de memórias: uma leitura de Gn 1,1-2,4a – Cecília Toseli e Maria Antônia Marques – p. 12-19

. Vós sereis como deuses: uma leitura de Gênesis 2,4b-3,24 – Shigeyuki Nakanose – p. 20-28

. A maldade do homem era grande sobre a terra: uma leitura de Gênesis 6,1-9,17 – Equipe do Centro Bíblico Verbo – p. 29-35

O Dêutero-Isaías no congresso da IOSOT em 2007

A IOSOT – International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament ou Organização Internacional para o Estudo do Antigo Testamento – foi fundada em 1950 em Leiden, nos Países Baixos, com a finalidade de promover o estudo acadêmico do Antigo Testamento e áreas afins.

O XIX Congresso da IOSOT acontece em Liubliana (Ljubljana), Eslovênia, de 12 a 20 de julho de 2007. Vi os resumos (abstracts) das palestras do Congresso. Há coisas muito interessantes. Para mim, sobretudo as que tratam dos profetas. Jeremias comparece nas discussões!LEMAIRE, A. (ed.) Congress Volume Ljubljana 2007. Leiden: Brill, 2009, xvi + 640 p. - ISBN 9789004179776.

Foi publicado um volume com as principais palestras:

LEMAIRE, A. (ed.) Congress Volume Ljubljana 2007. Leiden: Brill, 2009, xvi + 640 p. – ISBN 9789004179776.

 

Interessou-me, porém, a proposta de Ulrich Berges, da Westfälische Wilhems-Universität Münster, Alemanha, sobre o Dêutero-Isaías.

O autor faz um histórico da identificação deste texto (Is 40-55) e de seu anônimo autor como um profeta do exílio babilônico (586-538 a.C.) desde Döderlein, em 1788, passando por Eichhorn, até chegar a Duhm, em 1892. Sobre isto, escrevi alguma coisa aqui. Sua proposta, contudo, é de que nada no Dêutero-Isaías nos obriga a defender um só autor para o texto, como vem sendo feito desde então. Para ele, é bem mais provável um autoria múltipla destes capítulos: It is not an individual prophet that stands behind these chapters but rather a prophetically inspired group of trained literary craftsmen probably to be linked with exiled temple-singers.

 

A seguir, o abstract de Adeus ao Dêutero-Isaías ou profecia sem um profeta.

Farewell to Deutero-Isaiah or prophecy without a prophet

Until the end of the 18th century the authorship and the authority of Isaiah ben Amoz for the whole of the book of Isaiah were nearly uncontested. The situation changed with Johann Gottfried Döderlein (1746-1792), Johann Gottfried Eichhorn (1752-1827) and especially with Bernhard Duhm (1847-1928). While the first of these reckoned with an anonymous exilic author for the chapters Is 40-66 [40-52 in the case of Eichhorn], the third one promoted and developed that idea by separating chapters 56-66 and by the invention of the artificial names Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah respectively. Whereas the idea of a personality behind Isa 56-66 never reached global acceptance, the invention of a prophetic persona behind Isa 40-55 was accepted to such an extent that it became the general opinion for the last hundred years. Despite some few critics the hypothesis obtained the status of an unchallenged certainty and the anonymous exilic prophet was considered “in persona” as the high point of Hebrew poetry and theology. But the points of criticism remained valid and were never sufficiently answered. Why didn’t the biblical tradition conserve the name of such a prominent figure? If this prophet even died in jail or was martyred (cf. Isa 53), why has that not been remembered by his disciples and followers? If a collective authorship for Isa 56-66 is widely admitted in our time, why isn’t the same acceptable for Isa 40-55? It has to be stressed that no prophetic “I” is found in these chapters. In 40,6 the massoretic text has to be followed and 48,16c is clearly a late addition. The first person singular in the second and third Ebed songs (49,1-6; 50,4-9) can’t be used either to fill this biographical vacuum. There is simply no prophetic persona present who acts by words and deeds but rather the one and only prophetic voice of Isaiah ben Amoz that reverberates in the whole book. The great variety of literary forms in these chapters ought not to be seen as a sign of an originally historical activity of the anonymous prophet, since the literary structure of the individual chapters is much stronger than normally acknowledged. From the point of view of redaction criticism the arguments and criteria for the separation of a deutero-isaianic “Grundschrift” turn out to be so disparate that not even a minor consensus has been achieved. The different proposed “Grundschriften” in fact result in quite different personalities of the anonymous exilic prophet. The alternative solution lies at hand: it is not an individual prophet that stands behind these chapters but rather a prophetically inspired group of trained literary craftsmen probably to be linked with exiled temple-singers. The allusions and connections to the traditions of the Psalms, the book of Lamentation, the priestly stratum, the word-theology of Deuteronomy among others do point in that direction.

Que nome dar a este conjunto de livros?

Claude Mariottini faz hoje, em seu blog, um apanhado (roundup), em Name Those Books, da ampla discussão gerada por seu post de 25 de maio sobre que nome usar para mencionar as Escrituras judaico-cristãs. Leia. É muito interessante.

Gostei da fala da leitora judia, Iris, que escreve seu comentário ao post de Claude Mariottini a partir da Alemanha: vale mais é a postura de respeito à crença do outro do que a terminologia usada para citar seus livros sagrados.

Cito um trecho de sua fala:

As a Jew I am very active in interreligious dialogue activities in Germany. I know this discussion and that people want to express their respect by avoiding the term “Old Testament” (…) In Christian-Jewish dialogue groups I use sometimes the term “old testament”. This is when I want to emphasize the Christian view on these texts. I don`t feel insulted by the term “old testament” as long as Christians behave respectfully.

Em tradução livre: Como judia, estou fortemente envolvida no diálogo inter-religioso na Alemanha. Eu conheço esta discussão e sei que as pessoas querem expressar seu respeito [pelos judeus] evitando o termo “Antigo Testamento” (…) Em grupos de diálogo judeu-cristão eu uso, às vezes, o termo “antigo testamento”, quando quero enfatizar a visão cristã sobre estes textos. Eu não me sinto de modo algum insultada pelo termo “antigo testamento”, desde que os cristãos ajam respeitosamente.

Old Testament/Tanakh/Jewish Scriptures?

Em Thoughts on Antiquity se lê no post de Chris Weimer What is the “Old Testament”? o seguinte:

There’s been a little discussion going on about what nomenclature to give what is commonly referred to as the “Old Testament”. Claude Mariottini started the conversation with an article, and like the author of that article, decides on Old Testament as best, partly for theological reasons. Richie at Ecclesiastical Mutt responded with the general advice of keeping things “PC”. Chris Heard responded advocating “Tanakh”. He especially notes (in the comments) that it’s only to be used when specifically referring to the Tanakh (…) Overall, I think Jewish scriptures fits it best.

Claude Mariottini responde hoje a Chris Heard com Old Testament or Tanakh: A Response to Chris Heard.

Gostaria de lembrar que no dia 31 de janeiro de 2006 escrevi: Antigo Testamento/Primeiro Testamento/Bíblia Hebraica/Tanak… que rótulo usar?

Neste post cito e recomendo Tyler F. Williams que, em Codex, escreveu: Old Testament/First Testament/Hebrew Bible/Tanak: What’s in a Name? Quite a Bit Actually!

No contexto da atual discussão, acredito que uma releitura deste post de Tyler Williams poderia ser útil.

Atualizando: 31.05.2007 – 16h00
O próprio Tyler Williams propõe novamente o mencionado post. Argumenta: My position hasn’t changed since my previous post, so I thought I would reprint it here for you all. Também Duane Smith em Abnormal Interests contribui para a discussão com Those Mostly Hebrew Writings.

Tyler Williams e as cosmogonias mesopotâmicas

Como noticiado aqui, Tyler Williams, em Codex, vinha apresentando e discutindo, em quatro partes, as cosmogonias mesopotâmicas.

Veja a última parte em Theogony, Cosmogony, and Anthropology in ANE Creation Accounts (Creation in Ancient Mesopotamia, Part 4).

This is the fourth and (probably) final post in the series “Ideas of Origins and Creation in Ancient Mesopotamia.� The first post in the series detailed some methodological issues and highlighted some bibliographical resources. The second and third posts surveyed creation texts from the Old Babylonian and the Neo-Bablylonian periods, respectively. In this post I will attempt to synthesize these findings and while I hoped to relate them to our understanding of the biblical creation texts, that will have to wait until a future post.
Theogony, Cosmogony, and Anthropology in ANE Creation Accounts

What ideas of origins and creation can be gleaned from the texts surveyed in the last two posts? Are there any dominant themes and motifs apparent? This section is subdivided into two parts: the first will examine theogony and cosmogony in the texts and the second will deal with anthropology. Theogony and cosmogony are being discussed together for reasons that will become apparent below. Note that this partition is somewhat artificial as some of the texts span both divisions (e.g., “The Epic of Creation�).

The fifteen texts surveyed in the previous posts may be summarized as follows:

[TABLE=3]

There are eight texts that touch on the topic of theogony, two early and six later (A3, A8; B1, B2, B3, B5, B6, and B7). Concerning cosmogony there are five compositions from the Old Babylonian period and four from the Neo-Babylonian era, making a total of nine texts (A1, A2, A3, A4, A5; B1, B2, B5, B7). There are ten texts that somehow discuss or mention the creation of humankind, five from each time period (A1, A2, A5, A6, A7; B1, B2, B4, B5, B6).
Theogony/Cosmogony

It should be apparent from the above texts that it would be impossible to speak of the Mesopotamian view of the creation of the cosmos without speaking of the creation of the gods: in Mesopotamia theogony and cosmogony were inextricably intertwined. Of this W. G. Lambert notes: “In ancient Mesopotamia there was comparatively little interest in cosmogony as such. Few texts deal in any detail with the process whereby the physical universe originated and attained its present form. A much greater interest was taken in the ancestries of the gods, and these frequently have cosmogonic associations” (“Kosmogonie,â€? in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie [ed. Erich Ebeling and Bruno Meisser; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1980-1983], 6:219). It should also be clear from the evidence that one cannot speak of “the Mesopotamian view of creationâ€? as a single specific tradition. Some of the texts have Apsu and Tiamat as the prime movers in creation, while others have the Plough and the Earth, while yet others have Anu the sky god.

The texts will be discussed under three headings: (1) the ancestries of the gods; (2) the creation and ordering of the cosmos; and (3) the relationship of the different conceptions of theogony/cosmogony to geography. Any recurring characteristics or themes will be highlighted.

1. The Prime Elements: Ancestries of the Gods

Much of the theogonic data in the literature takes the form of ancestries of the gods. When discussing the ancestries of the gods it is important to remember that “brief, one-sentence myths and allusions have just as much importance as lengthy epic-style narrativesâ€? (Lambert, “Kosmogonie,â€? 219). In the different texts, typically one of four elements is found at the head of the “genealogyâ€?: Earth, Water, Time, and (less often) Heaven. This reflects the tendency in Mesopotamian literature to reduce everything to one prime element at its inception. A good example of a text that has Earth as a prime element is “The Theogony of Dunnu,â€? where the first pair are the Plough (ha’in) and Earth (ersetu). More elaborate myths of this same type are ones that have the Mother Goddess as the prime element. For instance, in “Emesh and Enten,â€? Enlil and Hursag, the mountain range, cohabit and engender Emesh and Enten. An excellent text that has Water as the first element is the “Epic of Creation,â€? where the lineage of Marduk begins with the pair of water-gods, Apsu and Tiamat (grammatically masculine and feminine, respectively). The “Chaldean Cosmogonyâ€? also fits into this category. None of the texts covered above had Time or Heaven as basic components.

The actions of the prime elements would typically take two forms: either the components represented as deities would themselves bring forth further elements — and the present order of things would result; or the elements would be acted on from without, usually by another god, to produce the known universe. Both “The Theogony of Dunnu� and “The Epic of Creation� would be examples of the first kind. A couple texts that could allude to the elements being acted on from without are “Gilgamesh, Enkidu and the Netherworld,� where Anu takes heaven an Enlil takes earth; while in the “Creation of the Hoe,� Enlil separates the heaven and the earth alone.

2. Creation and Ordering of the Cosmos

Under the rubric of creation and ordering of the cosmos two things can be noted. First, Mesopotamian texts tend to emphasise the ordering of the cosmos over its creation. Once again taking “The Epic of Creationâ€? as an example, only the first twenty lines of the first tablet deals with the creation of the universe, while the bulk of tablets four through six covers its organisation. Various other texts focus solely on the ordering of the cosmos, such as “Enki and Sumerâ€? and “Emesh and Enten.â€? Second, one would be hard pressed to find a text where an item of the cosmos is created by a god. Most of the theogonic texts describe the gods as reproducing, separating, or manipulating things, which is not the same as creating something, ex nihilo, so to speak (I’m by no means implying that the biblical accounts present creation ex nihilo; that’s an issue for another post). Even in “The Epic of Creationâ€? when Marduk “createsâ€? the sky, he does so from the corpse of the vanquished Tiamat.

3. Geography and Conception of the Creation of the Cosmos

J. van Dijk, from his work with Sumerian creation myths, posited that there were two originally separate representations of creation (see his “Le motif cosmique dans la pensée sumerienne,� Acta Orientalia 28 (1964/5): 1-60). The first tradition, in which an embryo-like universe (sometimes represented by a mountain) engenders An, whose marriage to the earth leads to the creation of humankind, originated from the nomadic culture of Northern Sumer around Nippur. The second tradition derived from the region around Eridu in the South, and describes creation as starting from the waters of Nammu and Mother Earth. In this scheme humankind was fashioned from the earth. Dijk suggested that these two separate traditions were later conflated with one another.

Van Dijk’s categorization is followed by most recent works on ANE creation, including Richard Clifford (Creation Accounts in the Ancient Near East and the Bible [CBQMS 26; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association, 1994; Buy from Amazon.ca | Amazon.com]) and Kenton Sparks (Ancient Texts for the Study of the Hebrew Bible [Peabody, MS: Hendrickson, 2005; Buy from Amazon.ca | Amazon.com]). Whether or not it is entierly accurate, there does seem to be a connection between the geography of the land and the way the creation of the cosmos was conceived. Of this relationship (though in a different context) Denis Baly notes that “any form of religious belief is required by the environment is, of course, certainly false. Nevertheless, one must recognise that what men believe is unquestionably conditioned by the environment in which they find themselves� (“The Geography of Monotheism,� in Translating & Understanding the Old Testament [ed. Harry T. Frank & William L. Reed; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1970], 254). This is seen in the so-called “Chaldean Cosmology,� which clearly presupposes the environment of the lower course of the Euphrates and the Tigris.
Anthropology: The Creation of Humankind

In relation to the creation of humankind, two points will be considered: (1) the materials and methods of creation; and (2) the purpose of humanity.

1. Materials and Methods of Creation

Typically the two perspectives provided concerning the creation of humankind is that the human either sprang from the ground (a tradition from Nippur) or that the human was formed from a clay mixture, sometimes using the blood of a god (from Eridu). The one text that is in line with the first perspective is the “Creation of the Hoe.� The second type is represented by many compositions. “Enki and Ninmah� and “When Anu Had Created the Heavens� depict humankind as being made out of a clay substance, with no added blood. “The Trilingual Creation Story,� “The Epic of Creation,� and the epic of Atra-hasis all have humanity being made out of a mixture of clay and the blood of a god. In “The Trilingual Creation Story� the blood is taken from two craftsman gods (lamga), while in “The Epic of Creation� it is the blood of the rebel-god Kingu. Likewise in Atra-hasis humankind is composed of the flesh and blood of a rebel-god named Geshtu-e. A couple of variations on this theme exist though. For instance, in “Cattle and Grain,� all that is mentioned is that humankind is “given breath.�

The significance of humanity being created from the blood of a deity seems to imply that in Mesopotamian anthropology humankind shares in the divine nature. This point could be seen as being made more explicitly in Atra-hasis if Moran is correct in his interpretation of the lines:

With his flesh and his blood
Let Nintur mix the clay.
Let the god himself and man
Be mixed together in the clay.

Of the last line Moran notes: “When the goddess finishes mixing the clay, both god and man will be present, but completely fused and compenetrating each other� (W. L. Moran, “The Creation of Man in Atrahasis I 192-248,� Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 200 [1970]: 48-56). Some have also taken the reference to “giving breath� in “Cattle and Grain� to suggest some sort of divine nature in humanity. It would seem that at least in some traditions humanity was somehow understood to share in the nature of a god. Another aspect of the divine nature may be found in connection with a figure named Umul who is the first human baby, fathered by Enki — if Anne Kilmer’s interpretation of the text is correct (see Anne D. Kilmer, “Speculation on Umul, The First Baby,� Alter Orient und Altes Testament 25 [1976]: 265).

2. Purpose of Humanity

A predominant motif found in almost all the creation accounts is the fact that humankind was created for the express purpose of serving the gods. The degree or severity of this service seems to have differed between accounts. Some myths are less specific and only seem to suggest that “serving the gods,� meant to serve them food and drink. For example, “Chaldean Cosmogony,� “Trilingual Creation Story,� and “When Anu Had Created the Heavens,� would all fall into this category. Other tales indicate that the service of the gods was much harsher—that it entailed doing the hard, brute labour that the gods did not want to do for themselves anymore. The myths “Enki and Ninmah,� “The Epic of Creation,� and Atra-hasis seem to suggest this.

This notion concerning the purpose of humanity should probably not be considered to be so much a reflection of their theology or anthropology as a reflection of their society. H. W. F. Saggs notes:

In the Sumerian city-state . . . the characteristic and most significant organisation was the temple-estate, in which thousands of people co-operated in works of irrigation and agriculture in a politico-economic system centred on the temple, with all these people thought of as the servant of the god. The myth of the creation of man, therefore, was not basically a comment on the nature of man but an explanation of a particular social system, heavily dependent upon communal irrigation an agriculture, for which the gods’ estates were primary foci of administration (H. W. F. Saggs, The Encounter With the Divine in Mesopotamia and Israel [Jordan Lectures in Comparative Religion 12; London: University of London, Athlone Press, 1978], 168).

Whether the concept has a social or theological origin, it highlights an important underlying philosophy that presupposed that the gods needed people.
Conclusions

So what can be said about the ideas of origins and creation in Ancient Mesopotamia? First, while there are many differences in the specifics of the myths concerning origins, there are also many points of contact between them. Integral to all of the accounts is the central role played by the gods in the creation of the world and humankind. The creation and the ordering of the cosmos was a natural outcome of the engendering of the gods. Also, the dignity and purpose of humankind is fairly consistent among the texts: humankind was created to serve the gods. Many of the discrepancies between the different myths can easily be attributed to geographical or historical changes (for instance, the changing of the name of a god to suit a specific locality). It needs to be remembered though that while there are many parallels, there are also many differences.

Second, as far as any diachronic development in the ideas about origins and creation, it is hard to recognise any significant differences. Even if one employs Jacobsen’s matrix that older elements will be characterised by intransitivity and the newer elements by transitivity, one would be hard pressed to see any difference in the texts (besides the interplay that Jacobsen already sees in “The Epic of Creation�; see his The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976], 9ff). One difference between the materials in the two sections is that some of the Neo-Babylonian texts are longer and in better shape, but that has to do with the preservation of texts, not composition or subject matter.

Overall, it must be said that the ideas of origins and creation found in ancient Mesopotamian mythological texts are not crude and unrefined. While they might seem foreign and odd to the modern reader, if an attempt is made to cross the border of “conceptual conditioning,� within their own context and worldview they make sense out of the cosmos and humankind’s place in it.