INRI

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.

Some remarks concerning the status of Christians in the Roman-Jewish wars

Concerning the third and last Roman-Jewish war, caused by the Bar-Kokhba Revolt (132-136 CE), repeatedly one can read: „The Christians sided with the Romans.“

That sentence makes hardly sense, because the Christians were an illicit religion in the Roman Empire at that time. So, such a gesture would have been as bizarre as a felon standing up and saying: „I’m siding with the state!“ Maybe one should grumpily add: Very big felons might meaningfully do so – but the Christian movement was still way to small to play any such role in early second century CE Rome.

„Siding with the Romans“ would not have been totally absurd for that era’s Christians, admittedly, because the mode of persecution of Christians applied by the Roman state was very peculiar at that time: As long as you didn’t cause any irritation, authorities were not interested – but if you were reported and then didn’t revoke, you were executed. We recognize this policy from a correspondence between Pliny the Younger and Emperor Trajan dating to about 110 CE. In that strange sort of situation, clearly some personal or group advantage could still have been won by collaboration with government.

There is no doubt, however, that the Christians could impossibly cooperate with Bar Kokhba, because he declared himself Messiah, whereas the Christians were defined by having their Messiah already.

It is important to understand that the situation during the first Roman-Jewish war, which commenced in 66 CE, was significantly different inasfar as the Christians were not yet an illicit religion at that time. After the catastrophe of 70 CE, the „Tannaīm“, those surviving Pharisees who became the founder Rabbis of Rabbinical Judaism, drove the Christians out of the synagogues because they were resolute to reinvent Judaism on a heavily disciplined basis. They clearly saw that the Christians would disturb that plan. As they perceived the situation to be a struggle for the bare survival of Judaism, the „Tannaīm“ were unwilling to make any compromises.

The prudent Jews had earned the gratitude of Caesar and Octavian during the Roman Civil War, and as these men happened to be the winners of this war (inasfar as a civil war can have winners at all), afterwards the gratitude turned into practical benevolence – hence the Jews’ status as „allowed religion“ in the Roman Empire.

Now this status was sort of a single ticket. Understandably the Romans didn’t regard schisms of religions which they once allowed as a phenomenon making the governance of their empire easier. Thus, they harshly confronted crisis-like diversifying 1st-century-CE Judaism with the demand to decide who was to get the ticket – you know what happens if you tear a ticket, it doesn’t make it two tickets.

Because in ancient Rome „unallowed religion“ wasn’t a nice status to be in, the fight for the ticket wasn’t amicable. The „Proto-Rabbis“ were the ones who won it. The trophy was the right to pay the new Roman „Fiscus Iudaicus“, which was invented after 70 CE. While Domitian, according to Suetonius, was still taking everything he could get from this tax, his successor Nerva during his short reign had hardly anything more important to do than to mint a coin saying „fisci iudaici calumnia sublata“. Although it sounds nice if you „end a calumny“, the true meaning was that from now on the emperor wanted to get a clearer picture as to who a Jew was and who not – in order to more precisely target with persecution those who were not.

In the inner-Jewish fight that arose after 70 CE, the „Proto-Rabbis“ spread the story that in the war the Christians had collaborated with the Romans. „Technically“ this would have been much more believable in the 60ies CE, when the Christians were still Jews legally speaking, compared to the 130ies CE; nevertheless, it stands out that the first Roman-Jewish war was followed by an internal Jewish propaganda battle far more intense than in the 130ies CE.

Consequently, the claim that „the Christians sided with the Romans“ is very doubtful as to the first Roman-Jewish war, and highly implausible as to the third and last one.

Temples, Ships and Cupboards

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.

„Macht Euch Freunde mit dem ungerechten Mammon“?

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.

Kleine Hirtenkunde

Wenn wir, wie jedes Jahr, die Krippen herausholen und schauen, ob noch alle Arme und Hufe an allen Figuren dran sind, wird mir immer sehr deutlich, dass die mit dem niedrigsten gesellschaftlichen Status, die Hirten und ihre Tiere, für die Weihnachtsszene genauso unverzichtbar sind wie alle anderen Teilnehmer. Um ganz ehrlich zu sein, könnte ich mir unterm Christbaum am ehesten noch die kluge Elite wegdenken, die mittels Stern-Navi aus der Ferne zu Besuch angereist kommt, jene „Weisen aus dem Morgenland“, die bezeichnenderweise ja auch aus einem anderen Evangelium stammen (aus Matthäus, während der gesamte Rest der traditionellen Szene von Lukas ist – und die bei Matthäus übrigens auch weder Könige noch drei sind, sondern bloß drei Geschenke bringen; aber das ist eigentlich schon wieder ein anderes, eigenes Thema).

Jedenfalls, ohne die Hirten geht bei der Geburt des Heilands gar nichts. Um darüber angemessen zu staunen, um zu ermessen, wie wenig so ein Hirt gesellschaftlich eigentlich wert war, kann man sich beispielsweise klar machen, dass den Hirten ihre Tiere nicht gehörten. Das kann man mit Sicherheit sagen, weil alle Stellen im Alten Testament, die von Hirten handeln, darauf sehr deutlich hinweisen.

„So entstand Streit zwischen den Hirten der Herde Abrams und den Hirten der Herde Lots…“ (Gen 13,7).

Die ganze Beziehung zwischen Jakob und seinem Schwiegervater Laban, beginnend mit der Szene in Genesis 29,1-10, in der eine ausgeklügelte Regelung gegen Missbrauch und Diebstahl von Wasser (der schwere Stein auf der Quelle, den immer nur mehrere Hirten gemeinsam bewegen können), zeigt, dass die Hirten nicht die Eigentümer der Herde sind, um die sie sich kümmern.

Der Pharao sagt zu Josef: „Das Land Ägypten steht dir offen. Im besten Teil des Landes lass deinen Vater und deine Brüder wohnen! Sie sollen sich im Land Goschen niederlassen. Wenn du aber unter ihnen tüchtige Leute kennst, dann setze sie als Aufseher über meine Herden ein!“ (Gen 47,6)

Der Prophet Jeremia donnert: „Wo ist die Herde, die dir anvertraut war, wo sind die Schafe deines Ruhms?“ (Jer 13,20) – „Weh den Hirten, die die Schafe meiner Weide zugrunde richten und zerstreuen – Spruch des HERRN. Darum – so spricht der HERR, der Gott Israels, über die Hirten, die mein Volk weiden: Ihr habt meine Schafe zerstreut und sie versprengt und habt euch nicht um sie gekümmert. Jetzt kümmere ich mich bei euch um die Bosheit eurer Taten – Spruch des HERRN. Ich selbst aber sammle den Rest meiner Schafe aus allen Ländern, wohin ich sie versprengt habe. Ich bringe sie zurück auf ihre Weide und sie werden fruchtbar sein und sich vermehren. Ich werde für sie Hirten erwecken, die sie weiden, und sie werden sich nicht mehr fürchten und ängstigen und nicht mehr verloren gehen – Spruch des HERRN.“ (Jer 23,1-4) – „Klagt, ihr Hirten, und schreit; wälzt euch im Staub, ihr Herren der Herde! Denn die Zeit ist gekommen, dass ihr geschlachtet werdet; ich zerschmettere euch, dass ihr berstet wie ein Prunkgefäß. Es gibt keine Flucht mehr für die Hirten, kein Entrinnen für die Herren der Herde. Horcht, wie die Hirten aufschreien und die Herren der Herde wehklagen, weil der HERR ihre Weide verwüstet.“ (Jer 25,34-36) (Gerade die letzten Verse können einen freilich durchaus in mehrfacher Hinsicht sehr nachdenklich machen: Unsere Bibel ist nicht immer so „nett“ wie in der Krippenszene des Lukas.)

Nicht zuletzt verdient im Neuen Testament der gleichnishafte „verlorene Sohn“ sich seinen Lebensunterhalt auf der Höhe seiner Not als Hirt, was offensichtlich ein Bild für eine prekäre Existenz ist. Lk 15,15 sagt freilich ausdrücklich, dass der junge Mann zu den Schweinen geschickt wird, was vermutlich noch einmal eine Hierarchie innerhalb des Hirtenstandes ausdrückt, da Schweine ihrer Anspruchslosigkeit wegen in der Nähe des Hauses gehalten werden und ihren Hütern daher vergleichsweise weniger Kompetenzen abverlangen. Andererseits betont das „unjüdische“ Motiv der für Juden kultisch unreinen Schweine in dem lukanischen Gleichnis zweifellos in erster Linie das Kolorit der Fremde, in die der verlorene Sohn sich begeben hat, was seine Vergleichbarkeit mit anderen biblischen Hirtengestalten wieder reduziert.

Geringfügig bessergestellt sind in der Hirtenfunktion freilich gegebenenfalls die Söhne des Herdenbesitzers. Aufgrund der kulturgeschichtlich einzigartig starken Rolle des Erstgeburtsrechts im alten Israel ist hierbei jedoch noch einmal ein Unterschied zu erkennen zwischen Erstgeborenen und jüngeren Söhnen. Der jüngste Sohn wird zwar jeweils nur wenig erben und Schwierigkeiten haben, den Status seines Vaters einzuholen; dennoch steht auch er in der gesellschaftlichen Hierarchie immer noch ein kleines Stück über den angestellten Hirten. Dies kommt in der Erzählung von den Söhnen Jakobs, als sie ihren zweitjüngsten (Halb-)Bruder Josef in die Sklaverei verkaufen (Gen 37), ebenso zum Ausdruck wie in der Erzählung von der Königssalbung Davids als des Jüngsten unter seinen Brüdern, der zwecks dieser Salbung direkt von der durch ihn soeben noch beaufsichtigten Schafherde seines Vaters weggeholt wird (1Sam 16,1-13).

Der 23. Psalm mit seinem Leitmotiv „Der Herr ist mein Hirte“ muss vor diesem Hintergrund innerhalb des Gesamthorizonts der biblischen Theologie als untypisch bezeichnet werden. Hier wird die „Übergebühr“ des hirtlichen Handelns rühmend herausgestellt, indem sie als eine Eigenschaft Gottes erscheint – theologisch ist diese Volte unkonventionell und kühn, denn ansonsten ist es in der Bibel nie Gott, der mit einem Hirten verglichen wird, sondern die Könige Israels sind es zumeist – wie beim zitierten Jeremia -, auf die ein solcher Vergleich zielt, während Gott dann jeweils dem die Könige beauftragenden Eigentümer der Herde entspricht.

Der Gesamteindruck, den alle diese Stellen gemeinsam formen, zeigt sehr klar: Als das Alte Testament geschrieben wurde, geschah dies zu einer Zeit, in der es längst gesellschaftlicher Standard in Israel geworden war, dass Herden nicht von ihren Eigentümern geweidet wurden, sondern von Hirten mit dem Status von „Angestellten“. Herdenbesitz machte einen Mann reich. (Von Frauen reden wir hier tatsächlich nicht; Frauen hatten keinen Besitz, sie waren Besitz – grässlich, aber wahr.) Auf dem Feld der Viehzucht begann die „Kapitalisierung“ historisch früher als beim Ackerbau. Und entsprechende gut situierte „Tierunternehmer“ führten nicht mehr selbst ihr Vieh auf die Weide, sondern dafür hatten sie ihre Leute, die in jener hierarchischen Gesellschaft nur geringfügig angesehener waren als Tagelöhner, die die unterste Packung der Statuspyramide bildeten.

Für mich wirft diese biblisch-historische Beobachtung im Zusammenhang mit der Weihnachtsgeschichte folgende Frage auf: Für uns heute ist ein Angestellter zumeist und in erster Linie jemand, der die ihm übertragene, arbeitsvertraglich genau definierte und geregelte Tätigkeit verrichtet und an der Grenze dieser Definition angekommen sich nicht automatisch dafür zuständig fühlt sicherzustellen, dass seine Leistung tatsächlich zum Erreichen eines höheren Gesamtziels beiträgt – für letzteres wird nämlich der Lohnherr, der Arbeitgeber, der Vorgesetzte als zuständig und verantwortlich angesehen. Wenn er mit seinem Unternehmen nicht zu seinem letztendlichen und eigentlichen Erfolgsziel gelangt, muss er die partikuläre Arbeit seiner Mitarbeiter, die bloße „Arbeitnehmer“-Stellung innehaben, eben anders definieren – und sie anders entlohnen.

Nun haben es die biblischen Arbeitnehmer in der Weidewirtschaft aber mit Lebewesen zu tun. „Unternehmensziel nicht erreicht“ bedeutet hier: ein Lebewesen, das leben will, das fühlen, leiden und Angst haben kann, ist tot. Natürlich sind die Nutztiere auch dazu da, geschlachtet zu werden; aber solche Tötung wird gerade in der Bibel keineswegs als eine Bagatelle angesehen: Ursprünglich will die Bibel Schlachtung überhaupt nur im direkten Zusammenhang mit dem Kultopfer an den einen, wahren Gott Israels zulassen. („Später“ muss sie das freilich wieder relativieren, weil diese Regel angesichts nur noch eines einzigen Tempels praktisch nicht mehr organisierbar erscheint – einer meiner theologischen Lehrer formulierte die dahintersteckende Problemfrage anschaulich so: „Für jede Scheibe Schinken auf dem Bagel eigens nach Jerusalem pilgern?“) Dieses ideelle Arrangement verrät jedoch beträchtliche Gewissenhaftigkeit im Umgang mit dem Leben von Tieren. Mindestens zwei explizite Tierschutzregeln im Deuteronomium unterstreichen diese israelitische Grundhaltung (Dtn 22,6-7 und Dtn 25,4).

Der antike Hirt ist bei der Ausübung seines Erwerbs auf sich allein gestellt. Es gibt keine Handys und keine Wettervorhersage – dafür eine Menge tierische und menschliche Räuber außerhalb der dichten Siedlungen, die nur einen sehr kleinen Teil des unübersichtlichen Landes bedecken. Außerdem gewinnt der Hirt die ihm anvertrauten Lebewesen lieb. In eine typische heutige „Angestellten-Mentalität“ kann er sich unter diesen Bedingungen und Umständen nicht zurückziehen. Von ihm wird sozusagen kategorisch mehr verlangt als das, wofür er bezahlt wird. Er muss ständig „mehr tun als seine Pflicht“.

Wenn die Berufsgruppe, die sich heute „Pastoren“ nennt, das, was die Hirten tierischer Herden – damals in der Antike und heute, auch wenn sie inzwischen eine weitaus seltenere Erscheinung geworden sind, immer noch – leisten müssen, in vergleichbarer Weise, unter den gleichen Arbeitszeitbedingungen und auf demselben Entlohnungsniveau leisten müsste, würde das bei ihnen wohl manche Perspektiven stark zurechtrücken. Einer der wenigen in Deutschland heute noch aktiven echten Hirten hat diese aufschlussreiche Bemerkung letztes Jahr einmal im Interview mit einem theologischen Podcast fallen gelassen.

Plötzlich erkennen wir an den Hirten, die im Lukasevangelium an der Krippe Jesu stehen und knien, einige zuvor nicht so merklich gewesene Charakteristika: Weil sie einen Daseinszweck repräsentieren, der grundsätzlich jede Ausdrückbarkeit und Honorierbarkeit in Geld, also in materiellem oder sonstigem vordergründigem weltlichem Lohn übersteigt, darum schlummert in jedem von ihnen bei aller irdisch-äußerlichen Niedrigkeit gewissermaßen das Potenzial zu etwas Königlichem. Mittels zweier sehr widersprüchlicher erzählerischer Konstrukte lassen die beiden Evangelisten Matthäus und Lukas (Markus und Johannes tun es nicht) den zweifellos aus Nazareth in Galiläa stammenden Jesus jeweils in Bethlehem in Judäa zur Welt kommen; sie dichten ihm diesen Geburtsort an, weil sie Jesus als den Messias verkünden, der traditionell aus dem Königsgeschlecht Davids erwartet wird. Indem es sich bei ihnen um Hirten aus der Umgebung Bethlehems handelt, erscheinen die ersten Besucher an der Krippe Jesu also nur umso mehr als Anspielung auf David. David war jedoch ein Sohn des Eigentümers der Herde, die er hütete – nur der jüngste zwar, aber dennoch immerhin mehr als ein bloßer Lohnknecht. Die Hirten in der Erzählung des zweiten Lukas-Kapitels haben keinen erwähnenswerten irdischen Vater – aber der, zu dessen Geburtstag sie eilen, ist jener, welcher allen Menschen klar machen wird, dass sie alle Kinder des einen Vaters im Himmel sind, und nicht bloß seine Knechte.

Biblical religions and animal use – a critical biblical-theological and church-history approach to assessing the idea of vegan diet

(by Joachim Elschner-Sedivy, Lic.Theol., Munich, Germany, October 16, 2020)

As to the topic of human nutrition, Torah, the Jewish law (the „Pentateuch“ or „Five Books of Moses“), is characterized by three steps of argumentation. First step: In Genesis 1,29, humans are clearly assigned plant-based nutrition.

Second step: In Genesis 4,1-16, the children of the first human couple are portrayed in a competition concerning right sacrifice. Cain has become a farmer, while his brother Abel has become a herdsman. This reflects a primordial cultural tension which was constitutive for the come-about of „Israel“. YHWH refuses Cain’s offering of grain (which resembles most pagan cult customs in early Israel’s vicinity), but accepts Abel’s offering of meat instead. Reason: Looked at critically-historically (and meanwhile even archeologically), the worship of the godhead called YHWH originated from a nomadic culture in north-western Arabia („Midian“). After the Cain-and-Abel affair, to include meat into human nutrition becomes the consequence of Israel’s sacrificial practice and theory. The first action Noah performs after the flood is an animal sacrifice (Genesis 8,20-22); so, the direct and narrow connection between cult sacrifice and meat diet in the culture of ancient Israel is obvious. But this doesn’t work without restrictions. Even for a nomad, meat is a luxury food, and boundless pleasurable consumption most obviously has always been perceived as something at least vaguely opposed to the religious spirit. This is why religious food laws come in, the first one of which is the Noahite prohibition of the consumption of blood (Genesis 9,1-17). Reason: In ancient „physiology“, the blood was regarded the „seat of life“; consequently, to consume another being’s blood resembles a magical practice. In consequent monotheism, however, magic must be totally forbidden; every act of magic, even of „benevolent“ magic, is a heresy, because magic structurally always implies that some area of life is deprived of the supreme control of the One God. Magic is completely anti-biblical. – Today, of course, we know scientifically that the blood is not the „seat of life“. Scientifically we don’t know what the „seat of life“ is, but we know that the blood is just a bodily organ like the other bodily organs. And there is no convincing religious reason whatsoever to stick to an outdated understanding of physiology. So, either we may eat meat or we may not, but theologically further specifications about this certainly do not need to be made any longer.

The fact in itself is certainly amazing – and one should not miss to meditate on it – that the Israelites obviously assessed it necessary to develop a very special and very strong legitimation for the consumption of meat by strictly linking it to cult sacrifice. That fact alone reveals a very strong vegetarian-inclined trait in fundamental consciousness, I’d say. And the cult link caused severe practical life problems which give us solid proof that this need for moral legitimation was not just a lofty theory. After the Israelites’ return from Babylonian Exile, following 538 BCE, decision was made – either by the new Israelite authorities or by their new suzerain, the Persian Great King, that for all future there should be but one single Israelite temple, in Jerusalem, and nowhere else. Even for a majority of the Jews (from that time on the Israelites are called Jews) who lived in the land of Palestine this new situation caused problems with the reachability of the temple. But in addition to this, in critical-historical reality a majority of the descendants of the exiled continued to live in the places of their exile (which had not necessarily been bad places, for the exiled ones had been the „Upper Ten Thousand“ and had predominantly been treated as noble hostages), thus from now on turning the lands of „exile“ into the lands of „diaspora“, and these diaspora Jews even represented an absolute majority of all Jews for all coming Jewish history, and probably even already from 538 BCE onwards so. All these diaspora Jews had virtually no chance to come to the temple more frequently than at best for the three annual pilgrimage festivals of Passover, Shavuot and Sukkoth, which subsequently became instituted for that reason. So, think: What about a slice of roast beef on your bagel, if you happen to be a diaspora Jew? Catch the plane to Tel Aviv early in the morning in order to be back with the kosher meat for dinner? This is why the Deuteronomists felt pushed to expressly solve the problem pretty quickly after the commencement of their law code like this: „Yet whenever you desire you may slaughter and eat meat within any of your towns…“ (Deuteronomy 12,15) The fact that they felt such urgency and priority to settle this issue shows that this was not a minor or purely academic squabbling.

And this problem continues well into the New Testament. In the communities he founded, Paul the Apostle was confronted with the practical problem that the liberalism in table fellowship, which Pauline Christians were called to practice as a typical element of following the example of Christ, led to situations in which Christians were invited into the houses of their pagan friends, and whenever meat was served there, the Christian guest uncomfortably had to suspect that the one who had sold it on the market might have had obtained it from some pagan temple. Paul solved the problem in a „don’t-ask-don’t-tell“ manner: „‚All things are lawful‘, but not all things are beneficial. ‚All things are lawful‘, but not all things build up. Do not seek your own advantage, but that of the other. Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience, for ‚the earth and its fullness are the LORD’s‘. If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience. But if someone says to you, ‚This has been offered in sacrifice‘, then do not eat it, out of consideration for the one who informed you, and for the sake of conscience – I mean the other’s conscience, not your own. For why should my liberty be subject to the judgment of someone else’s conscience? If I partake with thankfulness, why should I be denounced because of that for which I give thanks? So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God. Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God.“ (1Corinthians 10,23-32) This also gives some valuable general clue as for how to handle the vegan question as a Christian – independent from whether you personally feel drawn to veganism or not.

A bit of a foray: Looking at „step 1“ and „step 2“ being presented in the same book of the Bible – the canonically first one -, there is certainly some need to discuss this odd argumentative strategy in Genesis. It’s probably important to understand, that, despite having been placed first in the canonical order of biblical books, Genesis is not a particularly old book compared to other biblical books; rather the opposite is the case. As usual in the history of historiography, all the still firmly pre-modern chronicler-like historians started from arguments drawn from an epoch which was still pretty much recent history for them, and then subsequently worked their way back to the beginning of the world. This is why the redaction of Genesis was already confronted with a multitude of different and contradicting traditions and was left with the task to make sense and concordance of a colorful picture of diverse sources. Clues hinting to this are plenty of anachronistic features in the book of Genesis (can’t go into the details here). End of foray.

Third step (not in Genesis): Through the mouths of the Deuteronomistic (i.e. „non-priestly“) prophets, YHWH finally opts against gory sacrifices and declares that he wants the spiritual sacrifice of the faithful’s own heart instead (Hoseah 6,6; Isaiah 1,11-13; Jeremiah 6,20; Psalm 40,7; Psalm 51,18-19). Especially with regard to the vegan question, this move is particularly wide open to interpretation.

The historical Jesus of Nazareth, as far as we can reconstruct his authentic personality at all, was a radical Deuteronomist. Nevertheless, he clearly did not advise his followers to illustrate their theological standpoint via any practice of vegetarianism or veganism; rather he clearly regarded it as more important to demonstrate the worldly freedom of the true faithful. This is shown by many passages in the gospels, some of which I will mention in a moment. But the idea of this freedom is already prepared in the Pre-Christian Bible. In Book of Numbers 11, the penultimate book of the Pentateuch (the Torah), two tales are strangely interwoven with one another: On the one hand, the chapter tells how for His people, who are hungry while wandering in the desert, YHWH lets quail come down from the sky to feed them; and on the other hand we are told how Moses leads a company of seventy elders of Israel to the sacred revelatory tent which stands some distance outside the people’s desert camp, in order to have them divinely initiated there into some fraction of Moses’ own wisdom in order to enable them to share some of the burden of leading the people with Moses. Two of the chosen ones stay behind in the camp, but when the divine spirit comes down on the ones in the tent, at the same time it comes down on the two in the camp also. While his assistant Joshua gets angry hearing the news, Moses keeps cool about this and says: „If only all the LORD’s people were prophets, and that the LORD would put his spirit on them!“ (Numbers 11,29) The reason why this is interwoven with the quail story is because quail are certainly not ritually pure food according to the law that Israel in the situation described by Book of Numbers has already received; but if God Himself clearly signalizes you so, everything can safely be eaten. That God at any time may bypass his own general rules is the theological joint motive behind quail from sky and „irregular“ prophesy as depicted in Numbers 11. This is what gives the Israelites their „Deuteronomistic“ freedom from „Priestly“ rigidness.

Standing in this heritage, Jesus certainly never commanded his disciples „not to eat meat“. Jesus was fervently against asceticism: „For John (the Baptist) came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‚He has a demon‘; the Son of Man (Jesus) came eating and drinking, and they say, ‚Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!‘ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.“ (Matthew 11,18-19; Luke 7,33-35) In Mark 7, Jesus declares all foods clean: „Listen to me, all of you, and understand: There is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.“ (Mark 7,14-15) This is clear enough, isn’t it? Luke narrates the scene in which the resurrected one appears to his disciples like this: „While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‚Have you anything here to eat?‘ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.“ (Luke 24,41-43) As if a slice of bread would not have been impressive enough. After Easter, Jesus’ anti-asceticism even turns into full-blown „anti-spiritualism“, it seems here in Luke.

The Exorcism of the Gerasene Demoniac (Mark 5,1-20; Matthew 8,28-34; Luke 8,26-39), also known as the Miracle of the (Gadarene) Swine or the Exorcism of Legion (the name the demon is identified with in Mark and Luke), narrates how Jesus forces a demon to leave a man and drive into a large herd of swine instead, causing the animals to run downhill into the Sea of Galilee and drown themselves. „A Jesus, killing two thousand pigs?“ This tale has become a particular major point of contention in discussions about the relationship between Christianity and the animal-rights idea. The story was explicitly interpreted by the two most influential theologians of western Christianity, Saint Augustine and, consequently, Thomas Aquinas, to mean that Christians have no duties towards animals. Augustine writes: „Christ himself shows that to refrain from the killing of animals and the destroying of plants is the height of superstition: He judged that there is no common right between us and the beasts and trees, therefore he sent the demons into a herd of swine and withered with a curse the tree on which he found no fruit; of course, neither the pigs nor the tree had sinned.“ (Augustine, „The Catholic and the Manichean Ways of Life (De moribus ecclesiae catholicae et de moribus Manichaeorum)“, Book 2 (De moribus Manichaeorum), chapter 17, paragraph 54, Migne PL 32 p. 1368) Two observations are important in order to understand what is really going on here. First: Mark and Luke say that the demon confessed his name to be „Legion (for we are many)“. It’s precisely „legiòn“ in the original Greek – but „legio“ is a Latin word, not a Greek one, and you know what it means. Matthew took that out because he was anxious about provoking the Roman occupiers of the Near East so drastically. To drown all those Roman soldiers like a herd of demonized pigs – what a „splatter“ fantasy! So, the author hardly reflected on animal rights when he wrote this (probably shortly after 70 CE, the gory destruction of the Jerusalem temple through the troops of Titus) – his brain was under adrenaline.

Second: If you cast a very philosophical glance on Augustine’s position, you might find that in the context his overall theology and philosophy, to eat animals reminds you that you are a „structural“ sinner, which is even more important than not to eat animals – unless you have become able to remember your sinfulness without butchery. But if you prefer to harbor a healthy mistrust against the solitaire motivational force of lofty philosophy, you might rather turn your eyes to the following aspect. Look to the title of the text in which Augustine propagates his opinion on steaks: „About the customs of the Manichaeans, compared to the customs of the Catholics“. The author was still relatively young when he wrote this. Not too long ago from this, he had been a Manichaean himself for a couple of years. So here very likely we observe the typical zeal of a convert. The Manicheans were heavily influenced by thought patterns of Gnosis, and they seem to have been consequent vegetarians or even vegans. Fighting the Manichean heretics, Augustine condemns „their“ vegetarianism. Now you start to recognize that in theology – pardon, of course I mean: in the HISTORY of theology! – very often things strive to make the impression of being all about sublime truths, while in reality it’s almost all about who is your friend and ally and who is your enemy and „contrast supplier“. And Augustine squinted into both directions here: He was not exclusively focused on the Manichaeans as his opponents, rather he also tried to actively please the ones he needed for his personal career as well as for the historical career which he imagined for the church as a whole. When Augustine was born, „Constantinian Turn“ did not yet lie so far back in time. Mainly during the second decade of the fourth century CE, the church abruptly emerged out of an era of persecution and all of a sudden found itself promoted to a super-important imperial Roman institution. The reason for this was that emperor Constantine recognized the fruitlessness of his predecessor Diocletian’s attempt to stabilize the ailing Roman Empire by suppressing rising Christanity and performed a 180-degree political turn, now aiming at fully integrating church into proper Roman-ness instead of fighting the Christians any longer. This whole process was still very much in the doing when Augustine was a young man. When he wanted to become a bishop (hagiographic tradition claims he didn’t want, but who knows), what he aimed at would have been a newly established sort of imperial-Roman high-ranking public office of universal societal significance. Meat was a traditional status symbol of the Roman upper class, the milieu a Christian bishop since about 320 CE was supposed to be part of, and this influential societal class would not have been amused to hear meat-eating prohibited. Moreover, if you look more closely to the Gerasa/Gadara scene in particular: If butchery would not be the central theme in this story, alternatively then its focus would clearly have to be anti-Roman – which possibility had to be thoroughly rejected because young Augustine was an imperial-Roman careerist. Ergo, the Gerasa/Gadara scene had to be about the topic „don’t care too much about animals“.

The core of authentic Jesus’ program doubtlessly included a radicalized idea of nonviolence. While the „Ten Commandments“ in fact only demand to abstain from „murder“, Jesus really turns against any form of violence in one’s way of living. It’s very natural to assume that Jesus, who as a radical Deuteronomist didn’t assign priority to temple sacrifice anyway, would have reacted to the topic of animal slaughtering by asking whether this is really necessary for human nutrition or other needs. In his societal environment there clearly was a strong and long-standing cultural consensus that meat-eating was not „necessary“. A lot of highly revered saintly ascetics renounced it. Of course Jesus might already have had his own version of „Augustine’s problem“, in the sense that precisely some of his theological opponents were ideological vegetarians or vegans, especially the sect of the Essenes. In his work „Peri tou pánta spoudaîon einai eleútheron (Quod omnis probus liber sit)“ (12,75), important ancient Hellenistic-Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria, an approximate contemporary of Jesus, says that the Jewish sect of the Essenes does not sacrifice living beings (ou zôa katathýontes); obviously they maintained that the sacrifices „polluted“ the temple. But Jesus would probably (hopefully) have handled such a challenge in a little bit more spiritually really mature a manner than Augustine did: The mere fact that the Essenes strongly promoted veganism would not have led him to reactively condemn it.

Another interesting point for our topic refers to the role of shepherds in the Bibel. The remark Genesis 13,7, the whole relationship between Jacob and his father-in-law Laban, starting with the scene in Genesis 29,1-10, where a sophisticated regulation against abuse and theft of water reveals that the herdsmen are not the owner of the livestock, the word of Pharaoh to Joseph in Genesis 47,6, and also Jeremiah’s verses 13,20, 23,1-4 and 25,34-36 attest to the circumstance that the Pre-Christian Bible was written in a time when it had already become standard that the herdsmen were but subordinate employees of the herd-owner; to own a herd made a man rich, which means he would never have led his animals on the pasture himself, but had a number of servants for that task. This is why the kings of Israel are compared to shepherds (e.g. in 2Sam 5,2) in order to demonstrate their responsibility towards YHWH. So, when in the New Testament the shepherd appears as a Christ-given paradigm for Christian life on earth, for example in Mark 6,34 / Matthew 9,36, Mark 14,27 / Matthew 26,31, Luke 2,8-20 (the famous Christmas scene) and John 10,2-16, this seems in fact to contradict any assumption of immediate evidence that human responsibility for creation is compatible with making a sort of use of it which does not abstain from killing or exploiting animals, and therefore mistreating them – because from a Christian perspective human beings are never in an ultimate sense the owners of their flocks who can do with them whatever they want in order to draw pleasure from their possessions. The New Testament does in fact seem to say that the latter would be a grave misunderstanding of the famous (or, in the ears of some, rather infamous) commissioning articulated in Genesis 1,28: „Fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion…“ Once again we should look back to the fact that Genesis is a relatively young book. One could go as far as to imply that already the Deuteronomists themselves had the clear understanding that their theology was the older one, compared to Priestly theology – with the old book of Deuteronomy making at least one theological point that does not seem to smoothly match Genesis 1,28 (with Genesis being a theologically pretty much „mixed“ book and Genesis 1 being the Deuteronomist creation account, however overformed by a Priestly final redaction of the whole book as we have it today). The peculiar point of Deuteronomy I talk about here is its animal welfare option. „If you come on a bird’s nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs, with the mother sitting on the fledglings or on the eggs, you shall not take the mother with the young. Let the mother go, taking only the young for yourself, in order that it may go well with you and you may live long.“ (Deuteronomy 22,6-7) „You shall not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain.“ (Deuteronomy 25,4) For my taste, one can virtually feel how the Deuteronomists loved to irritate the „butchering“ Priests with regulations like these.

Other Bible portions often quoted in discussions about vegetarianism and veganism in the Bible are Simon Cephas-Peter’s vision of being allowed to eat „unclean“ animals in Acts of the Apostles 10,9-16, or 1Timothy 4,1-5: „Now the Spirit expressly says that in later times some will renounce the faith by paying attention to deceitful spirits and teachings of demons, through the hypocrisy of liars whose consciences are seared with a hot iron. They forbid marriage and demand abstinence from foods, which God created to be received with thanksgiving by those who believe and know the truth. For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected, provided it is received with thanksgiving; for it is sanctified by God’s word and by prayer“; but all who are really theologically and biblically experienced know that these passages are but of subordinate importance. However, they underpin that the most important aspect in true Christian mindset is always to stay firmly non- and anti-ideological.

So far as to the Bible – but what did early Christians, and all Christians of older epochs, do in practice? The „semi-orthodox“, yet important Christian philosopher Origen (185-254 CE) in his work „Contra Celsum“ quotes Celsus commenting on vegetarian practices among Christians he had contact with. And Augustine admits that those Christians who „abstain from both meat and wine“ are „without number“ („On the Morals of the Catholic Church“, 33)

Vegetarianism has always continued to be a characteristic of many Christian monastic rules, particularly of the very strictly secluded Carthusians, the nearly as strictly encloistered Cistercians (high-medieval reform branch of the Benedictines, including the even later secession of the Trappists), and the over one century younger mendicant orders of the Carmelites and the Franciscans. In all these cases, however, the regular (non-fasting) diet included the full range of dairy products, eggs and egg products and even fish, because fish was defined as something essentially different from meat – and all these elements of nutrition were also regarded as health-relevant now. By the High Middle Ages, theology had developed to a point to include health issues, because the human body as something given by the divine creator had to be faithfully preserved and kept in good condition. This is a whole class of arguments which you basically don’t find prior to the twelfth century CE as part of the basic motivation for doing or avoiding anything. The most radical Rome-supervised order with regard to the practice of veganism were probably the Franciscan-inspired „Minims“ (Ordo Minimorum, abbreviated O.M.), founded by Saint Francis of Paola in the fifteenth century. In addition to the standard three religious vows of chastity, poverty and obedience, the rule of the Minims includes the unique vow that „our food, for all our life’s time, shall be lenten-like (Latin: quadragesimalis)“, which means perpetual abstinence from all meat (here logically including fish), all dairy products and eggs – except in case of grave illness and by order of a physician (Rule, chapter 5, paragraph 9).

Overall, however, the most interesting church-historical point concerning our topic certainly is that we see our „Augustine’s pattern“ continue and repeat: Religious vegetarianism again and again turns out to be a distinctive feature of some of the opponents of the victorious Roman church and theology – and for that reason becomes largely downplayed; although this does not entail always the same degree of branding the „dissenters“ with the label of being downright „heretics“. The Manichaeans were certainly Gnostic „heretics“; while the corresponding „baddies“ in our next example were not. The most dramatic return of what I have named „Augustine’s pattern“ can be pinned down to the Synod of Whitby (664 CE). After the end of antiquity’s Roman Empire, European Christianity for about one century largely survived in Ireland, thus constituting the then influential Celtic Church. Again this is a topic of its own which does not allow us to go into all of its interesting details here. However, after about one century of utter cultural and civilizational crisis the church of Rome’s influence over all of continental Europe slowly regained strength. When the multitude of predominantly small Anglo-Saxon kingdoms on the isle of Great Britain were about to be converted to Christianity, this mission turned out to become a race between the Celtic church, advancing from the northwest, and the Roman church, arriving from the south. The Synod of Whitby became the showdown. When king Oswiu of Northumbria declared that he would „no longer dare to oppose Saint Peter“, that was the Celtic Church’s ultimate disaster. We don’t know whether the pope’s men had just more money with them, but that was the beginning of a ruthless Roman campaign against all distinctive features of the Celtic Church – among which was the fact that the celtic monks’ monastic rule, the Rule of Saint Columban, obliged the monks to veganism – „vegetables, beans, flour mixed with water, together with the small bread of a loaf, lest the stomach be burdened and the mind confused“, to be taken in the evening (chapter 5) -, while the „Roman“ monastic Rule of Saint Benedict is somewhat more flexible with regard to all merely external features of being a monk: „We believe it to be sufficient for the daily meal (refectio), whether it takes place at the sixth or at the ninth hour (high noon or three p.m.), at all months, that there are two cooked dishes (pulmentaria cocta), because of the weaknesses (infirmitates) of the different individuals, so that he who can not eat of the one may be nurtured by the other. (…) If any fruit or fresh vegetables are available, a third part may be added. Let a good pound (libra propensa) of bread suffice for the day, whether there may be only one meal or breakfast (prandium) and supper (cena) also. If they are going to have supper, the cellarer (cellerarius) shall reserve a third of that pound, to be given to them at supper. If heavy work was done, it will be in the assessment (arbitrium) and power of the abbot, if it is expedient, to add something, but prior to any overindulgence (crapula) it must be removed, so that the monk will never be caught by indigestion; because nothing is so opposed to the Christian character as overindulgence, as our Lord says: ‚See to it that your hearts be not burdened with overindulgence‘ (Luke 21,34). Boys of minor age shall not be served the same quantity, rather less than the older ones, and served in all simplicity (parcitas). All must always and totally abstain from eating meat of four-footed (quadrupedis) animals, except the sick who are very weak.“ (RB chapter 39) So, here we learn that for meat-eating a potential medical indication was seen, mainly because of its caloric density. The latter assumption, of course, has fallen into obsolescence by virtue of a more recent and more truly scientific physiology and pathology. –

I come to conclusions. Jesus’ very fundamental radical-Deuteronomistic theological strategy of universal emancipation does clearly not match with replacing the compulsory sacrificial slaughter of Priestly theology by any structurally likewise mandatory veganism. This is why it is categorically impossible to demand that „a true Christian should have to be vegan“. Nevertheless, there is very good reason for a Christian to be vegan. There are three basic classes of arguments in favor of veganism: animal ethics, ecology, and individual health. Animal ethics is already anchored in Deuteronomy, and it is all the more supported by Jesus’ radical nonviolence. The ecological issue – which I do not have to elaborate on here, as I believe – is to be regarded as the iconic post-modern twist of the biblical responsibility for creation as mandated to humanity by Genesis. And the inclination to care about the relevant health benefits of a wisely implemented veganism, for which meanwhile there is perfectly objective evidence too, is also supported by a strong traditional theological argument, namely that the individual’s physical human body in a sense is the sacred possession of its divine creator and therefore to be maintained accurately.

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