Spiritualität entwickeln.

It is not totally correct to claim (which can often be heard) that antiquity’s crucifixion would have been an exclusively Roman way of punishment. According to famous 1st-century-CE Jewish-Roman historian Josephus Flavius („Jewish Antiquities”, 13,14,2), Jewish king Alexander Jannaeus (103-76 BCE) once crucified 800 Jewish opponents. Deuteronomy 21,22-23 prescribes: „When someone is convicted of a crime punishable by death and is executed, and you hang him on a tree, his corpse must not remain all night upon the tree; you shall bury him that same day, for anyone hung on a tree is under God’s curse. You must not defile the land that the Lord your God is giving you for possession.” Mind that in this case the convict is first put to death, according to Torah in most concerning cases by stoning, and only afterwards is the body bound to a tree, thereby adding further effects of shame and deterrence to that punishment. The Temple Scroll of Qumran lists three cases not in Torah in which death penalty is to be applied, namely judges who accept bribes (11QTa 51,16-18), political treason (11QTa 64,7-9) and cursing one’s own people (11QTa 64,9-11). In these cases the culprit obviously is meant to be executed by hanging. The formal observation that 11QTa 64,2-6 parallels Deuteronomy 21,18-21, with the topic of the execution of a rebellious son by stoning, seems to add to the impression that the Temple Scroll’s hanging of traitors is to be seen in a close logical relation to the afore quoted passage Deuteronomy 21,22-23, „hanging” being a derivative development out of that regulation in Torah. Consequently, as Torah does not know the custom of „hanging by the neck”, also as an immediate execution mode Israelite hanging does not mean hanging by the neck but by the arms – which is the principle of crucifixion. In antiquity, the typical silhouette of a cross which we today (and since the Middle Ages) have in mind when we think of a crucifixion was not yet typical at all, and the procedure wasn’t called „crucifixion” then, but „hanging (to the tree)”.

Of course, in the time and world of Jesus only the Romans had the formal right and the political power to crucify a person. But it isn’t unimportant to ask whether a crucifixion like Jesus’ would have included an aspect of humiliation by doing something to the Jews that was culturally alien to them – and the latter aspect obviously was NOT the case. So, it is indeed imaginable even from a historical-critical perspective that Jewish bystanders of the trial of Jesus might have exclamated: „Nail him to the cross!”, or rather: „Hang him to the tree!” I think, that in itself is a valuable information.

As crucifixions, distinctly being a penalty for politically relevant crimes, always served the political purpose of deterrence, and therefore were executed in particularly busy spots at the gates of a city, a public notice going with it proclaiming the precise kind of felony committed by the delinquent logically was an inherent part of the cruel procedure. His crucifixion is on top of the list of those events in the life of Jesus from Nazareth which are most likely to be critically historical; and if so, it’s almost for sure that there would have been a plaque on the cross, too.

By theological scholars, the fact that the John-Evangelist uses the term „titlos” to denote that plaque on the cross has always been credited with quite an importance. It’s only him who does so; the three „synoptic“ evangelists use the expression „epigraphé”, „inscription” instead. All our evangelists wrote in Greek, nevertheless „titlos” is a loanword from Latin, „titulus”. Therefore it is clear that we have a deliberate use of legal language here. A „titulus” is what you are „entitled” to. The use of the term „titlos” in our gospels certainly can be regarded as indicative for the fact that the Romans were in charge of the sentencing and execution of Jesus. So, there is little doubt that Pilate’s plaque declares the reason for Jesus’ sentencing. However, the John-Evangelist seems to insinuate here that the Romans observed proper legal procedures. He couldn’t dissimulate that it were the Romans were executed Jesus; but as he is the most anti-Jewish one of our evangelists, he always tries to blame „the Jews” – and here he does so by implicitly pinning the moral guilt on the Jews precisely by pointing out the legal correctness of the Roman court system in the case of Jesus. But does the formality as such of attaching a „titlos” atop a cross support that view?

There are two passages in the popular work of Suetonius (c. 69 to after 122 CE) that are frequently quoted on occasion of the question whether it was customary to present a written display of a convict’s guilt in a pillory-like manner while at the same time punishing him in other ways, too. „At a public banquet in Rome he immediately handed a slave over to the executioners for stealing a strip of silver from the couches, with orders that his hands be cut off and hung from his neck upon his breast, and that he then be led about among the guests, preceded by a placard giving the reason for his punishment.” (Suetonius, „Life of Caligula”, 32,2) – „A householder who said that a Thracian gladiator was a match for the murmillo, but not for the giver of the games, he caused to be dragged from his seat and thrown into the arena to dogs, with this placard: ,A parmularius who spoke impiously’.” (Suetonius, „Life of Domitian”, 10,1) Although the latter scene is hard to understand in its details, the generic picture is clear enough. It’s important to notice that Suetonius reports these events on occasion of the two by far worst of the twelve Caesars whom he portrays; that’s not a coincidence. Especially in mediterranean antiquity, the „pillory effect” was regarded a veritable „capital” punishment of its own, because „honor” was of historically almost incommensurable societal importance in that distant world, and so was shame. Therefore, to casually add shame to another punishment almost by principle was an illegal way of acting – and that’s precisely why Suetonius pins such behavior on his two most evil anti-heroes. Independent of the question of Suetonius’ credibility (which is not an easy one), the transferability of these scenes to the issue of the trial and execution of Jesus is highly questionable and in my opinion regularly overestimated. In sum, we simply have no reliably applicable source telling us whether putting on public display a written announcement of a convict’s guilt while punishing him was a usual procedure in turbulent 1st-century-CE provincial Rome or not.

However, let’s assume there was a plaque atop Jesus’ cross – what exactly was actually really written on it? Mark says: „The king of the Jews” (Mk 15,26). Matthew says: „This is Jesus, the king of the Jews” (Mt 27,37). Luke says: „The king of the Jews is this” (Lk 23,38). John says: „Jesus the Nazoraios the king of the Jews” (John 19,19). Interestingly, important as this information is, there is no agreement among the evangelists about the exact wording of the plaque – not even among two of them. So, while the fact that there was a plaque on the cross is certainly and reliably historical, the tradition of the precise words on it isn’t, which tradition in written form starts only some 30 years after the event (the earliest lines of Mark probably date from around 60 CE).

What stands out is that in all four canonical versions of the inscription Jesus is labeled „king of the Jews“. This is a wording remarkably void of spiritual meaning. It is immediately clear that the corresponding formula that bears spiritual meaning would have been „king of Israel“. This observation is a real pointer to critical historicity: A spiritual text has no motive to invent a non-spiritual expression – therefore, we can be quite sure that the true reason for Jesus‘s execution was a political one. Between the death of Herod the Great (4 CE) and the end of Pontius Pilate’s term in office as procurator of Judaea (37 CE), the Romans had abolished the title „King of the Jews” because during that timespan they administered Judea directly, together with Idumea and Galilee. Josephus Flavius reports many Jewish rebellions against the Romans during that era, and it can be concluded that the leaders of these rebellions frequently called themselves „kings”.

There are a lot of reasons to regard Mark’s gospel as the oldest one. A critical rule for figuring out the chronological sequence of their emergence between two texts is the „lectio-brevior” rule, which means that texts tend to grow over time. This is matched by the fact that in the comparison between the four gospels, Mark has the shortest „epigraphé” formula, simply „king of the Jews”. In contrast to that, John has the most elaborate one – and the extant text of John usually is regarded as the youngest of the four gospels anyway (although it might of course have had precursor versions that were not younger than the „Synoptics”).

John’s „titlos” calls Jesus „Nazoraios”. John emphasizes that Pontius Pilate insisted on the specific wording of the „titlos” that he himself had conceived. This coming-about story of the „titlos” is hardly believable anyway; but there is a very simple reason how this unbelievability can be „proven”: Nazareth was a fairly unimportant small place at the time – anyway, the usual identification of a person would have been the name of his father, instead of his hometown or birthplace. Moreover, whenever they want to say that Jesus hailed from Nazareth, Mark and Luke call him „Nazarenos” (Mk 1,24; 10,47; 16,6; Lk 4,34; 24,19). In contrast to that, „Nazoraios” (Mt 2,23 – which interestingly pretends to be a prophetic quote but isn’t -; Lk 18,37; Acts 2,22; 3,36; 4,10; 6,14; 22,8; 26,9; John 18,5-7) has been suspected to be a deliberate attempt of blurring the difference between „Nazareth” and „nazīr” or „nezer”. A „nazīr”, literally „a consecrated one”, is somebody who has taken a temporary ascetic religious vow; whereas „nezer” can mean either „sprout, scion, shoot” – like in Isaiah 11,1, where the word alludes to David as the famous „nezer” of the house of his father Jesse -, or „to guard, to keep, to heed”. This is a semantic universe with a deeply spiritual meaning – but as such it is all the more unlikely to have been intended by Pontius Pilate.

In the Pre-Christian Bible, there is a number of occasions when „buildings“ are described. I assume that in all of these cases the deeper meaning has something to do with the construction of a temple. But which temple, critically-historically and archeologically?

In the Bible’s own chronology, first there is Noah’s Ark (Genesis 6, 15-16). Of course it’s clear that these verses can only distantly allude to the dimensions of a temple, because here proportions length to width are 6:1, which is pretty unlikely to have been the design of a temple. The symbolism is marvelously poetical nevertheless. There are, however, three floors, just like in the later Jerusalem temple.

Second, there is the description of the tent sanctuary, the mišqān, of Israel’s desert era, in Exodus 26-27.

Third, there is the description of Solomon’s temple, the commonly so-called „First Temple“ of Jerusalem, in 1Kings 6.

And finally, there is the description of the post-exilic Jerusalem temple, the „Second Temple“ of Serubbabel, in Ezra 3-6.

My initial question already reveals that I do not believe the biblical informations to be critically-historically and archeologically trustworthy. For me, it’s no problem to see the Bible as a deep spiritual truth that may diverge with critical-historical and archeological truth.

For religio-political reasons, the Jerusalem Temple Mount is extremely hard to explore. No trace of any pre-Persian-era temple has ever been discovered on the Zion. Since Herod the Great in an unprecedented architectural prestige project artificially enlarged the whole temple plateau not long before the time of Jesus, already for mere technical reasons access to any older stratigraphy is heavily blocked.

There is no doubt about the historicity of the temple of Herod – but any older construction activity on the site disappears in the primeval mist of a predominantly legendary history.

I reckon there is a hypothesis about how it all emerged which by present can not yet a priori be pre-qualified by any perfectly positive clues – it’s only after you „creatively“ accept it that you „inductively“ see how much it explains which up to now remained largely unexplained.

This hypothesis goes as follows: The Jewish „cult-unity“ or „one-temple“ rule was imposed on the Jews by the Persian great-king as a condition when he allowed the Jews to return to Jerusalem from Babylonian Exile. This condition obviously served an agenda of control. There hadn’t been „cult unity“ before the exile; even on the eve of deportation, still there would have been many temples around in the Israelite kingdom of Judah, in some of which YHWH would even have been still married to his Ashera. The latter assumption is indeed corroborated by archeology, by the way.

Thus, when the Israelite, now „Jewish“ theologians developed their new religious program by the late 6th century BCE, they faced a problem. As a theologian, you always hate and fear to tell people that something is new. So, there „must“ have been „cult unity“ some time before the Babylonian Exile already, in order to theologically justify it after the exile. Because „The Persians said so“ is no satisfying spiritual justification for a Jewish temple, is it. This is why the legend of the „Josianic Reform“ was invented, which was claimed to have had taken place in 622 BCE.

Prior to the political catastrophe of 597/586 BCE, certainly there would already have been some temple in Jerusalem. Another fact that archeologists can confirm to is that Judahite Jerusalem grew rapidly by a multiple after the destruction of the northern Israelite kingdom by Assyrian assault in 722 BCE. Obviously a lot of northern refugees were assigned a new home in Jerusalem by the king of Judah whom they in turn passionately helped to defend his northern border against the enemies who had invaded their former homeland – a reasonable deal. (Jerusalem becoming a melting zone between southern and northern Israelite theology after 722 BCE would decisively have contributed to the emergence of the specific spirit of our Bible, by the way – though not yet to the emergence of the actual biblical text, which is post-exilic.)

So, at the latest some decades after 700 BCE, Jerusalem certainly would have had a decent temple – but many places in Judah had one. When our Bible talks about the „temple of Solomon“, the „First Temple“, it implies an institution that came already very near to the unique status of later „Second Temple“ – but in that sense no „First Temple“ ever existed, because there would have been still many other temples in the country.

As the whole of the extant Pre-Christian Bible was written no earlier than „in the shadow of the Second Temple“, it is nothing but this temple „of Serubbabel“, the one post-exilic temple, that is reflected by all the biblical allusions to the topic in Genesis, Exodus and Kings.

The only exception potentially being Noah’s Ark: The description in Genesis 6,15-16 could also refer to another one of the pre-exilic temples, as apart from the three floors it does not stress any particular similarity with the Jerusalem temple. The Noah story is a northern-Israelite tradition, the northern-born Deuteronomists used it as their „second“ covenant (besides Sinai/Moses) in order to keep up with the two „Priestly“ covenants (with Abraham and David). Therefore, a „northern“ temple is most likely to have been the template for Noah’s Ark.

Interestingly, prominent Israeli archeologist Israel Finkelstein has recently discovered the remains of a big 8th-century-BCE temple on the hill of Kiryat Yearim, few miles northwest of Jerusalem. Kiryat Yearim makes the impression to have been the most original sanctuary related to the Ark of the Covenant. The Ark Narrative (1Sam 4-7) leads and points to Kiryat Yearim – David bringing the Ark to Jerusalem (2Sam 6) is clearly just a later appendix to it, trying to appropriate the originally northern Ark tradition to the solely surviving southern kingdom after 722 BCE. Finkelstein says he recognizes archeological evidence that 8th-century-BCE Kiryat Yearim was a northern Israelite sanctuary (the area is precisely the former border region between the two kingdoms).

In our Bible, Kiryat Yearim is „Gibeonite“, which means belonging to an ethnic group with unclear status (not an Israelite tribe, though not „pagan“ either). When Saul is said to have hailed from „Gibeah“, a Benjamite place, suspicion is that „Gibeon“ and „Gibeah“ were originally in fact identical, but some Bible redactors didn’t want king Saul to turn out a „Gibeonite“. All these observations lend support to the assumption that here southern 7th-century-BCE redactors are trying to dissimulate the fact that some of „their“ important places had still been „northern“ not too long ago.

So, it would be utterly interesting to find some link between Noah’s Ark and the Ark of the Covenant. On the one hand, we must not let ourselves be fooled by the term „Ark“, because in Hebrew Noah’s vehicle is „téva“ („box“), while the Ark of the covenant is „arōn (ha-b’rit)“ („cupboard“). On the other hand, we can observe in quite a number of cases in the Hebrew Bible that difference in wording probably doesn’t mean the authors or redactors didn’t want the things to be compared or seen in a relation of symbolic reference. To give you only one example: Clearly „harīm“ is a neutral expression for „hills“, while „bamōt“ are those evil heights where false gods are worshiped – nevertheless, when Psalm 121 famously commences: „I lift up my eyes to the hills – from where will my help come?“, reading „harīm“, it still makes a lot of sense to mentally play on „bamōt“ here, when the Psalmist continues: „My help comes from YHWH…“. So, what this wants to say is: Words have their own history, and sometimes to let the reader recognize the connection despite of different wording makes for the even richer literature as such, compared to simply using the same word in order to inelegantly „rub someone’s nose into the meaning“, so to speak. Talking about the Ark of the Covenant, for the biblical authors it was most important to compare this sacred object to traditional polytheistic processional portable shrines for „idols“ in Ancient Near East, the technical term for which was „arōn“, while they assessed it less important to stress this object’s symbolic relationship with Noah’s Ark (or with little Moses’ „life boat“ on the Nile, which is also called „téva“). So, the difference in Hebrew wording must by no means discourage the idea that there is a connection between the two „Arks“.

In Exodus 25-27, the length-width proportion of the Ark of the Covenant, 5:3, may be accepted as a practical approximation to the „Golden Ratio“. So, there is no allusion to the Ark of the Covenant in Noah’s Ark’s 6:1.

Some secondary cultic objects from the desert sanctuary in Exodus 25-27, such as certain boards or textiles, have similar ratios of measurements – but the tent sanctuary is a southern tradition, which makes its details unlikely to be connected to the Ark strand. How do I know? The post-conquest history of the mišqān is strangely separate from that of the arōn in our Bible. When the Ark was captured by the Philistines, King Saul sent the holy tent to Nob, near his home town Gibeah, but after he had massacred the priests there (1Samuel 21-22), the tabernacle was moved to Gibeon, a YHWH hill-shrine (1Chronicles 16,39, 1Chronicles 21,29, 2Chronicles 1,2-6.13). (Remember: „Gibeon“ and „Gibeah“ are possibly identical, but artificially divided in order to tell the story of Saul in a less uncomfortable way.) Before David brought the Ark from Kiryat Yearim to Jerusalem, he pitched a tent for it at Jerusalem (2Samuel 6,17, 1Chronicles 15,1), which was not the mišqān, the latter remaining at Gibeon and serving as a space for sacrificial worship there (1Chronicles 16,39, 1Chronicles 21,29, 1Kings 3,2-4). After his son Solomon got YHWH’s permission for a solid temple building, he brought the tabernacle tent to Jerusalem, too, in order to decorate the temple with it (1Kings 8,4). With so strong clues for the original independence of the arōn tradition and the mišqān tradition, it would push things too far to read something into the similarities of measurements ratios between those objects from exodus and Noah’s Ark.

Another trace may reasonably be followed, however. Archeologists inform us that a typical ancient Greek „trireme“ had an average length of 120 feet (37 metres) and a beam of 18 feet (5,5 metres). When the famous pioneering British engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel built the „Great Britain“, the largest ship of his days, im 1844, he also used exactly the 6:1 ratio. In ancient times, that ratio pushed big-boat length to its limits, in terms of tolerable transversal shear force impacting the hull by waves at sea. Thus, Noah’s Ark’s data appear to be based on true shipbuilding knowledge – which is not typical Israelite expertise, however.

The conclusion from this is: HOW the construction of the Ark is narrated clearly reminds of the typical biblical description of a temple building – the data content however makes clear that this has nothing to do with the Jerusalem temple. We have to assume that this ambivalence is intentional. Noah’s Ark alludes to a temple which is not Zion. We assume: Northern story, northern temple. It were the northerners, by the way, whose neighbors were the sea-experienced Phoenicians. As the story meant a temple, but not Jerusalem, deliberately there was no attempt to portray that other temple realistically; the responsible author or redactor rather turned to real shipbuilding information to fill in the void. Nevertheless symbolically it was about a real temple – namely the temple of the Ark of the Covenant: Kiryat Yearim.

Das neunte Kapitel des Lukasevangeliums beginnt mit folgendem Gleichnis, das Jesus erzählt:

„Ein reicher Mann hatte einen Verwalter. Diesen beschuldigte man bei ihm, er verschleudere sein Vermögen. Darauf ließ er ihn rufen und sagte zu ihm: Was höre ich über dich? Leg Rechenschaft ab über deine Verwaltung! Denn du kannst nicht länger mein Verwalter sein. Da überlegte der Verwalter: Was soll ich jetzt tun, da mein Herr mir die Verwaltung entzieht? Zu schwerer Arbeit tauge ich nicht und zu betteln schäme ich mich. Ich weiß, was ich tun werde, damit mich die Leute in ihre Häuser aufnehmen, wenn ich als Verwalter abgesetzt bin. Und er ließ die Schuldner seines Herrn, einen nach dem anderen, zu sich kommen und fragte den ersten: Wie viel bist du meinem Herrn schuldig? Er antwortete: Hundert Fass Öl. Da sagte er zu ihm: Nimm deinen Schuldschein, setz dich schnell hin und schreib fünfzig! Dann fragte er einen andern: Wie viel bist du schuldig? Der antwortete: Hundert Sack Weizen. Da sagte er zu ihm: Nimm deinen Schuldschein und schreib achtzig! Und der Herr lobte den ungerechten Verwalter, weil er klug gehandelt hatte, und sagte: Die Kinder dieser Welt sind im Umgang mit ihresgleichen klüger als die Kinder des Lichtes. Ich sage euch: Macht euch Freunde mit dem ungerechten Mammon, damit ihr in die ewigen Wohnungen aufgenommen werdet, wenn es (unklar: was? das Leben? das Geld?; Anm.) zu Ende geht! Wer in den kleinsten Dingen zuverlässig ist, der ist es auch in den großen, und wer bei den kleinsten Dingen Unrecht tut, der tut es auch bei den großen. Wenn ihr nun im Umgang mit dem ungerechten Mammon nicht zuverlässig gewesen seid, wer wird euch dann das wahre Gut anvertrauen? Und wenn ihr im Umgang mit dem fremden Gut nicht zuverlässig gewesen seid, wer wird euch dann das Eure geben? Kein Sklave kann zwei Herren dienen; er wird entweder den einen hassen und den andern lieben oder er wird zu dem einen halten und den andern verachten. Ihr könnt nicht Gott dienen und dem Mammon.“ (Lk 16,1-13)

Was ein einzelner Satz in der Bibel bedeutet, kann man nur dann sinnvoll analysieren, wenn man ihn in seinem Kontext betrachtet. Das mag, wenn ich es so sage, nicht nach einer weltbewegenden Erkenntnis klingen – aber insbesondere dann, wenn ein übersetzter Satz offenbar mit seiner ganzen Beschaffenheit die sofortige kritische Frage nach seinem Wortlaut in der Originalsprache aufzuwerfen scheint, wird diese vermeintlich triviale Weisheit doch gelegentlich nicht hinreichend beachtet. „Macht euch Freunde mit dem ungerechten Mammon“ ist so ein Satz. Was immer da auf Griechisch stehen mag – zuerst sollte man sich darüber im Klaren sein, in welchen Kontext es eingebettet ist. Deshalb habe ich diesen Kontext eingangs geduldig in seinem weiten Ganzen wiedergegeben.

Es ist höchst charakteristisch für die Gleichnisse des Jesus unserer kanonischen Evangelien, dass die (vermeintliche) Eindeutigkeit dessen, was sie aussagen wollen, umso stärker „verdunstet“, je länger und gründlicher man sie daraufhin „abklopft“. Oft bedeuten sie bei genauerem Hinsehen geradezu das diametrale Gegenteil dessen, was sie auf den ersten Blick zu meinen scheinen.

Es ist unergiebig, die genauen Prozeduren rekonstruieren zu wollen, die vor zweitausend Jahren zur Verfügung standen, um Urkunden gegen Fälschung zu sichern. Klar ist aber, dass der Verwalter seinen Betrug erst einfädelt, nachdem sein Herr ihm bereits misstraut. Damit ist sein unredliches Verhalten insgesamt überhaupt nicht klug – egal wie geschickt er es im Detail einfädeln mag. Er denkt nicht einen Augenblick lang darüber nach, wie er sich rehabilitieren kann – den Versuch dazu unternimmt er gar nicht. Im ersten Vers heißt es nur, er „werde beschuldigt“ – dort stellt der auktoriale Erzähler das Fehlverhalten des Verwalters also gar nicht als faktischen Sachverhalt dar, sondern lässt die Frage nach den Fakten mit Bedacht offen. Dadurch aber, dass er sich seinem Herrn gegenüber nicht verteidigt, belastet der Verwalter sich selbst – und trägt auf diese Weise dazu bei, dass der Herr den gefälschten Schuldscheinen schwerlich arglos auf den Leim gehen wird. Wenn es heißt, der Herr selbst habe die Klugheit des Verwalters gelobt (Vers 8), kann damit folglich nur eine Ironie gemeint sein, die an Hohn grenzt. Vor allem anderen ist dieser Verwalter also ein Vollidiot. Damit verkehrt sich der ebenso problematische wie trügerische oberflächliche erste Anschein, der Verwalter werde für sein Verhalten „auktorial-letztinstanzlich“ gelobt, am Ende der eingehenderen Analyse radikal in sein Gegenteil – typisch Jesus-Gleichnis. Entsprechend heißt es in den Versen 10-11: „Wer in den kleinsten Dingen zuverlässig ist, der ist es auch in den großen, und wer bei den kleinsten Dingen Unrecht tut, der tut es auch bei den großen. Wenn ihr nun im Umgang mit dem ungerechten Mammon nicht zuverlässig gewesen seid, wer wird euch dann das wahre Gut anvertrauen?“ Diese Verse unterstreichen, dass das Lob des Verwalters nicht ernst gemeint gewesen sein kann, denn sie würden andernfalls keinen Sinn ergeben.

In diesen Kontext eingebettet also tritt der ominöse Vers 9 auf. Er macht aus dem ganzen Text nun leider in der Tat ein Gehäcksel an Sinnbrüchen, denn er scheint dem Verwalter tatsächlich aus auktorialer Super-Perspektive zu applaudieren. Das ist der richtige zugespitzte Erkenntnis-Ausgangspunkt, von dem aus erst wahrhaft ergiebig ins philologische Mikroskopieren dieses Verses eingestiegen werden kann.

„Heautoîs poiésate phílous ek tou mamonâ tes adikías.“

Was zunächst auffällt, ist, dass der originale Wortlauf gar nicht zu einer freundschaftlichen Beziehung mit „dem ungerechten Mammon“, sondern mit der „Ungerechtigkeit, welche aus dem Mammon resultiert“ auffordert: Wir haben es hier nicht etwa mit dem Adjektiv „ungerecht“, sondern mit dem Substantiv „Ungerechtigkeit“ zu tun, und zwar ist letzteres als das eigentliche Objekt bzw. die Objekterweiterung des Satzes positioniert, als deren nähere Bestimmung „Mammon“ auf einer hypotaktisch nächstniedrigeren Stufe dient. Dass die meisten Bibelübersetzungen diesen grammatikalischen Sachverhalt einfach ignorieren und vom „ungerechten Mammon“ sprechen, mag auf den ersten Blick wie eine Bagatelle wirken – aber auch hier trügt der allzu schnelle erste Blick. „Sich mit dem Mammon Freunde machen“, nämlich mit dem potenziell ungerechten, das heißt „gerechtigkeits-blinden“, ohne sich dabei zu fragen, ob er in dem Moment, in dem ich meine materiellen Verfügungsmöglichkeiten nach Gesichtspunkten eines maximierten Mich-beliebt-Machens einsetze, objektiv betrachtet damit eine gerechtigkeitskompatible oder eine ungerechte Verwendung erfährt – das ist ein einleuchtendes Konzept, das viele von uns aus eigener gesellschaftlicher Lebenserfahrung nachvollziehen können; explizit „sich mit der Ungerechtigkeit Freunde machen“ ist hingegen ein weitaus herausfordernderer, tendenziell absurder Gedanke – zumindest eine zu steile These, um sie ohne weitere Erläuterungen einfach für sich allein stehen zu lassen. Trotzdem warten wir auf jeden Kommentar vergebens.

In dieser textlichen Befundsituation schlage ich eine interpretative Lösung vor, die ich mir, nähme ich die Position eines universitären Exegeten ein, vermutlich nicht ohne Bedenken würde leisten können, weil sie nicht durch Textvarianzen in den ältesten erhaltenen Handschriften gedeckt ist. Damit wird die Frage nach Lk 16,9 aber aus meiner Sicht zugleich zu einem Paradebeispiel dafür, dass der methodenstrenge universitär-akademische Usus gerade der Theologie bisweilen Grenzen setzt, die zu eng sind für die Erfüllung der eigentlichen Aufgabe der Theologie, welche dem Theologen eine gewisse Kreativität abfordert, die ihm jedoch vom gängigen Universitätsbetrieb mindestens latent aberzogen wird.

Der Dativ Plural wird im Altgriechischen mittels der Endung „-oîs“ angezeigt, der Akkusativ Plural mittels der Endung „-oûs“. In antiken Handschriften sind – zumal angesichts ihres interpunktionslosen Schriftbildes – Schreibfehler an der Tagesordnung. Die „-oîs/-oûs“-Verwechslung gehört dabei zu den „üblichen Verdächtigen“. Die Wahrscheinlichkeit, dass auch der Vers Lk 16,9 davon betroffen sein könnte, wird dadurch erhöht, dass sich ganz allgemein eine Reihe von Varianzen (wenn auch nicht diese) in den ältesten erhaltenen Handschriften bei unserem Vers konstatieren lässt, wie ein Blick in die Neste-Aland-Ausgabe verrät.

Hätte in der – heute freilich nicht mehr textkritisch bezeugten – ursprünglichsten Fassung dieses Verses der Satzbeginn von Lk 16,9 nicht „Heautoîs poiésate phílous…“ gelautet, sondern stattdessen „Heautoûs poiésate phílous…“, so wären durch Abweichung um eine winzige Menge Tinte sämtliche Interpretationsschwierigkeiten der gesamten Passage behoben, denn dann hieße der Satz: „Befreundet euch selbst mit der Ungerechtigkeit des Mammons, freundet euch mit ihr an!“ Will sagen: Nehmt sie hin; kämpft nicht unsinnig gegen sie an – ihr würdet eure Zeit und Kraft an etwas vergeuden, worum es nicht geht. Die mesquine Dynamik des Geldes und einer geldgesteuerten menschlichen Gesellschaft ist so, wie sie ist; das Himmelreich kommt nicht dadurch, dass man diese Gegebenheit aggressiv negiert, sondern es offenbart sich auf ganz andersartige Weise. „Gebt dem Kaiser, was des Kaisers ist“ – so lautet ein anderer berühmter Satz Jesu, mit dem Lk 16,9 dann plötzlich reibungslos auf einer Linie läge.

Sozusagen als „Umkehrprobe“ präsentiert sich in diesem Fall zudem die Unsinnigkeit der Aussage: „Freundet euch mit dem ungerechten Mammon an“. Das klingt entschieden nicht nach jener Art von moralischen Messlatten, deren Aufstellung wir ansonsten von Jesus kennen. („Freundet euch mit dem ungerechten Mammon an“ klingt eher nach „Friedrich-Merz-Theologie“.)

Der Verwalter im Gleichnis Lk 16,1-8 erscheint in diesem veränderten exegetischen Licht als einer, der sich mit der Ungerechtigkeit des Mammons eben gerade nicht auf eine spirituell sinnvolle Weise angefreundet hat – er lässt sich von ihr in eine unkluge (nur oberflächlichster weltlicher Betrachtung sehr vorübergehend klug erscheinende) „Gegen-Ungerechtigkeit“ locken, von der Jesus dringend abrät.

So rum „wird ein Schuh draus“, den man als Christ „in echt spirituellem Pragmatismus“ alltäglich tragen kann – und das ist es, worauf es in der Theologie letztlich doch stärker ankommt als auf die relativen Zufälle erhalten oder nicht erhalten gebliebener antiker Handschriften.