SELF, SOUL AND BODY

IN RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
 STUDIES
IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS
(NUMENBOOK SERIES)

EDITED BY

H.G. KIPPENBERG • E.T. LAWSON

VOLUME LXXVIII

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 SELF, SOUL AND BODY
IN RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE

EDITED BY

A.I. BAUMGARTEN
]. ASSMANN
G.G. STROUMSA

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BRILL
LEIDEN . BOSTON· KOLN
1998
 This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Self, soul, and body in religious experience / edited by
A.I. Baumgarten, J. Assmann, G. Stroumsa.
p. cm. - (Studies in the history of religions, ISSN
0169-8834; 78)
Papers presented at a colloquium held in Israel, February 1995.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 9004109439 (hardcover: alk. paper)
1. Man (Theology)-Congresses. 2. Experience (Religious)-
--Congresses. I. Baumgarten, Albert I. 11. Assmann, Jan.
Ill. Stroumsa, Gedaliahu A.G. IV. Series.
BL256.S44 1998
29 1.2'2-dc2 I 98-21200
CIP

Die Deutsche Bibliothek - CIP-Einheitsaufnalune

Self, soul and body in religious experience I ed. by A.I.
Baumgarten ... - Leiden ; Boston ; Koln : Brill, 1998
(Studies in the history of religions; Vo!. 78)
ISBN 90-04--10943-9

ISSN 0169-8834
ISBN 90 04 10943 9

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS

A. Baumgarten, "Introduction" ................................................ . 1

P. Glotz, "About Jacob Taubes, who Crossed Frontiers" ........ 4

T. Sundermeier, "Soul, Self-Reincarnation: African Perspec-

tives" .................................................................................... 10

A. Hahn, "Narrative Identity and Auricular Confession as Bio-

graphy-Generators" ............................................................. 27

C. Colpe, "The Historico-Psychological Interpretation of

Trichotomic Anthropologies, with Special Regard to the
Conflict Theory of Georg Simmel" ................................... 53

M. Barasch, "Adam the Panphysiognomist: A Stage in Mod-

em Physiognomies" ............................................................. 67

I. Knohl, "In the Face of Death: Mortality and Religious Life

in the Bible, in Rabbinic Literature and in the Pauline
Letters" ................................................................................ 87

A. Kosman, "Breath, Kiss and Speech as the Source of the

Animation of Life: Ancient Foundations of Rabbinic
Homilies on the Giving of the Torah as the Kiss of God" 96

A. Baumgarten, "Finding Oneself in A Sectarian Context: A

Sectarian's Food and its Implications" ............................... 125

A. Agus, "The Flesh, the Person and the Other in Rabbinic

Anthropology" ..................................................................... 148

N. Rubin, "From Corpse to Corpus: The Body as a Text in

Talmudic Literature" .......................................................... 171

A. Destro and M. Pesce, "Self, Identity, and Body in Paul

and John" ............................................................................ 184
Vl TABLE OF CONTENTS

G. Stroumsa and P. Fredriksen, "The Two Souls and the

Divided Will" ..................................................................... . 198

P. Granoff, "Cures and Karma: Healing and being Healed in

'Rli'
J aln e gIous Li terature " .................................................. . 218

H. Seiwert, "Health and Salvation in Early Daoism. On the

Anthropology and Cosmology of the Taiping Jing" ........ . 256

K. Shinohara, "Illness and Self: Zhiyuan's Two Autobio-

graphical Essays" ................................................................ . 276

A. Neuwirth, "Face of God - Face of Man: The Significance

of the Direction of Prayer in Islam" ................................. . 298

S. Stroumsa, "Twelfth Century Concepts of Soul and Body:

The Maimonidean Controversy in Baghdad" .................. . 313

H. Cancik, "Persona and Self in Stoic Philosophy" ............... . 335

J. Rist, "Platonic Soul, Aristotelian Form, Christian Person" . 347

T. Abusch, "Ghost and God: Some Observations on a Babylo-

nian Understanding of Human Nature" ........................... . 363

J. Assmann, "A Dialogue Between Self and Soul: Papyrus

Berlin 3024" ....................................................................... . 384

C. Grottanelli, "Faithful Bodies: Ancient Greek Sources on

Oriental Eunuchs" ............................................................. . 404

H. Cancik-Lindemaier, "Corpus: Some Philological and An-

thropological Remarks Upon Roman Funerary Customs" 417

Index of Subjects and Names .................................................. .. 431

List of Contributors
 INTRODUCTION

This volume represents the first fruits of the formal work of the Jacob
Taubes Minerva Center for Religious Anthropology at Bar nan Uni-
versity. Founded in 1992, as a result of a successful application to the
Minerva Stiftung Gesellschaft by Professors Jan Assmann of Heidel-
berg and Aharon Agus now of the Hochschule fUr jiidische Studien
of Heidelberg, the Taubes Minerva Center is dedicated to exploring
issues concerned with the ways religious traditions understand the
place of human beings in the world. It seeks to understand concepts
of person and the individual, as well as their frames of reference.
Groups or movements within traditions, aspiring to consolidate some
view of human purpose, as well as all aspects of the dialectic between
personal and collective identity, are thus within the scope of the work
of the Taubes Center. Features of religious expression, in which no-
tions of the place of human beings in the world are articulated, such
as sacrifice, prayer or other rituals-whether visual, dramatic or ver-
bal-are equally topics to be explored. The Taubes Minerva Center
was instituted on the conviction that study of these aspects of reli-
gious faiths offered a uniquely valuable insight into religious experi-
ence as a whole. The Center's academic mandate thus includes much
of the intellectual domain investigated in Departments of Religious
Studies, but viewed from the particular perspective of Religious An-
thropology.
It was the intention of the founders of the Center to be deliberately
comparative in their exploration of religious anthropology, that is to
include consideration of the experience of diverse traditions, in the
conviction that what could be learned from one would shed light on
the others. It was also their objective to study religious phenomena
from as wide an academic disciplinary perspective as possible. One
occasion at which these goals were to be fulfilled was an annual
international colloquium, to be a regular feature of the work of the
Taubes Minerva Center. In this way they intended to concretize their
commitment to the intellectual and personal legacy ofJacob Taubes.
The papers in this volume represent the contributions made at the
2 ALBERTI. BAUMGARTEN

first such international colloquium, exploring the role of Self, Soul

and Body in Religious Experience, held in Israel in February 1995.
The range and variety of the contributions printed in the pages
which follow speak for themselves. What need be stated by way of
introduction is a fundamental conviction behind the setting of the
topic, which (to a greater or lesser extent) informs all the papers.
Around the biologically determined core of human existence, per-
haps the innermost layers of socially constructed reality concern no-
tions of self, soul and body. These constructs function as a source of
fundamental metaphors which yield a framework which allows for
the classification of experience. They thus help organize the world at
the same time as they express basic human identity.
Concepts of self, soul and body are so close to the purely physi-
ologicallayers of human life that we may sometimes imagine them to
be biological as well; but in fact, as social constructs, they vary from
culture to culture and can productively be compared and contrasted
from one setting to another. As a result of their high degree of signifi-
cance alluded to above, analysis of self, soul and body may also offer
a window into understanding larger processes at work in a specific
cultural or religious context. At other times the dialectic may be
reversed: analysis of the larger letters written over the society as a
whole may help sharpen our vision of the smaller writing on the
individual notions of self, soul or body. In whatever direction the
inquiry goes, whatever the comparisons and contrasts may be, how-
ever, conceptions of self, soul and body are not to be taken for
granted, as self evident. They merit investigation, which as we hope
the essays collected below prove, will be well rewarded.
Many of the essays in this volume explore issues concerned with
the civilizations of the ancient Mediterranean world and its continu-
ation in the Western world, elucidating transformations in notions of
Self, Soul and Body as they occurred in the experience of that cul-
tural center. In this way, these essays continue in the trail blazed over
fifty years ago by Marcel Mauss, in his seminal article, "Une
categorie de l'esprit humain: la notion de personne, celle de 'moi.'"
Other contributions cross the Mediterranean frontier to Mrica, India
and China, and are intended to serve as the basis for comparisons of
a grander sort.
All the essays in this volume explore Self, Soul and Body in Reli-
gious Experience. Ideas of the divine and that of humans are intricately
related with each other. In that sense, the discussion of self, soul and
 INTRODUCTION 3

body of humans ultimately helps provide material for clearer reflec-

tion on the nature of the conception of God and vice versa. Combin-
ing the introductory remarks on Religious Anthropology with these
reflections on the specific topic of this volume, we mean considera-
tion of the place of Self, Soul and Body in Religious Experience to be
a test case of the benefit to be gained from attention to Religious
Anthropology.

11

This conference was a Jomt undertaking of the Minerva Taubes

Center at Bar llan and the research project, entitled "Religious An-
thropology and its Transformations in the Ancient and Late Antique
Near East," directed by Professors Jan Assmann of Heidelberg and
Guy Stroumsa ofJerusalem, the latter funded by the Germany-Israel
Foundation. Professors Assmann, Stroumsa and I shared the task of
selecting scholars invited to deliver papers at the conference, as well
as editorial responsibility for the final volume.
In preparing this volume for the press, substantial assistance was
rendered by Priscilla Fishman and Judy Fattal who helped edit and
re-type the diverse contributions to achieve some level of consistency.
Professor Gabriel Motzkin of the Hebrew University translated the
German original of Professor Peter Glotz's reminiscence of Jacob
Taubes, with which this volume opens.
Since the initial conference took place there have been two more,
and a fourth is planned for February 1998. We intend these to be
regular events, resulting in a series of publications, epitomizing the
approach to the study of religious experience we would like to foster.

Albert I. Baumgarten
Jan Assmann
Guy G. Stroumsa

Jerusalem
April 30, 1997
 ABOUT JACOB TAUBES, WHO CROSSED FRONTIERS!

Peter Glotz

My life was interwoven with Jacob Taubes' for a short but intensive
period: the late 70's and early 80's, when I was responsible for the
universities in the Berlin administration, and Taubes taught
hermeneutics at the Free University's controversial Faculty of Social
Sciences, a petrified bastion of the 1968 student revolt. What devel-
oped was not the usual relationship between a politician and a pro-
fessor. Taubes was wildly interdisciplinary, jumping back and forth
between Jewish Studies and philosophy, an arch-Jew and primordial
Christian, as Professor Assmann has characterized him. He could
adopt the posture of a publicist for St. Paul, for Thomas Hobbes, or
for the Catholic antisemite Carl Schmitt. Moreover he was truly an
academic politician with a refined sense for intrigue. And I was not
only the educational administrator and main discussant for the uni-
versities, the first one who actually went to the universities in Berlin
in six years, pelted with rotten eggs, but I was also a fascinated
listener to that brilliant monologist Jacob Taubes, who constantly
sent me reprints, and who captivated me, sometimes in a tiny Yugo-
slavian pub, sometimes at the renowned Paris-Bar, and sometimes at
the apartment of a fascinated female associate. He would limn links
between WaIter Benjamin and Carl Schmitt, Nietzsche and Max
Weber, rudely cast aspersions at Hegel' whose philosophy of law he
accused of a homely and kitschy coziness. It was an intellectually
exciting time, full of argument, in a West Berlin that was closed-off,
politically petrified, and infested with wild student movements. Not
everything that one had to confront was so attractive. But when we
look at the rebirth of an intellectual right in Germany since 1989, at
the militancy of a growing right-wing terrorist milieu, albeit one re-
jected by most people, at the high priority given to economic issues as
a result both of wide-spread unemployment and of the crisis of the
European idea, then one can grow a bit nostalgic in weaker mo-
ments. The passionate struggles about appointments to the philoso-

I Lecture delivered on Sunday, June 5, 1994 at Bar Han University.

 ABOUT jACOB TAUBES, WHO CROSSED FRONTIERS 5

phy faculty or the structure of a department during the 70's would be

hard to imagine today. The great number of students attending Ger-
man universities have pushed German universities from politics into
educational economics. Current discourse at present is less about the
future of the country, European unification or the end of history than
about the speed with which students can complete a study program
in physics. The passionate protest of half the university against a
reader's letter from Jacob Taubes to the Frankfurter Rundschau
would also be hard to imagine today. Our times are more sober, but
they are also parched, and in a few years they may also be more
dangerous.
I do not wish to bore you with details of Berlin academic politics in
the 70's. But in order to delineateJacob Taubes' situation, I will have
to portray the two matters in which we were both involved. The issue
was the division of the notorious, left-leaning Department Eleven of
the Free University, which I pushed through after a tough fight, and
also the restructuring of philosophy in Berlin, the simultaneous filling
of four professorships on the basis of external evaluations, i. e. against
the will of the university in question.
The situation was the following: Jacob Taubes, the hermeneuti-
cian, sociologist and ethnologist of religion, who had completed his
examination for the rabbinate at twenty and his doctorate in philoso-
phy at 23, decided in the 60's, after having taught at Harvard,
Princeton and Columbia, to take up a professorship in Berlin. To-
gether with Wilhelm Weischedel the philosopher, Helmut Gollwitzer
the theologian, and with his wife the philosopher Margherita von
Brentano, Taubes was one of the great symbolic figures of the stu-
dent revolt. He was viewed as being on the left, indeed on the radical
left; the public did not pay attention to his discovery of Carl Schmitt.
It was then a complete surprise when this man suddenly began to
attack his friends of many years as a "left-conservative bureaucratic
intelligentsia". His tone was sharp, his blows went home, and he
could even go so far as to stigmatize a Jewish woman associate as
Anna Pauker, thus identifying her with a brutal political commissar.
When Taubes fought, he fought with all the means that he could
imagine. And he could imagine a great deal.
The Berlin left was concentrated in one far too big department at
the Free University. A mediocre social science "wearing the smock of
a positivist science", as Taubes described it, had allied itself to an
esoteric academic Marxism, and had bridled philosophy, compara-
6 PETER GLOTZ

tive religion and henneneutics. Naturally there were still pleasant

niches in some small institutes housed in attractive Dahlem villas. On
the whole, however, a rigid bureaucracy had substituted proper left-
wing sentiment for criteria of achievement. In a wild philippic,
Taubes portrayed the situation as follows: "Because only potential
yea-sayers, an in-group, are accepted for habilitations and professor-
ships, it could happen that a portion of the habilitations and entire
areas of the field of study are no longer convertible on the national
and international academic market." Taubes was right. When I said
something in this spirit, I was rewarded with vehement protest or
tired shrugs. When he said it, however, it was viewed as treason. His
colleagues wailed like dervishes.
There were few great figures left in philosophy in Berlin. The good
ones that were still left hid themselves in sabbaticals, in the study of
the fourteenth century, or in esotericism. Too many inside promo-
tions had let too many mediocre Marxists occupy tenured positions.
Colleagues no longer spoke to each other, and could no longer agree
on promotions. The reciprocal blockade could only be removed
through the offer of four first-class chairs to be decided by the best-
known Gennan philosophers, Jiirgen Habennas, Waiter Schulz,
Hans Albert and Paul Lorenzen. Jacob Taubes played an important
role in this complex game. He invented the Chinese-sounding for-
mula Mi-Theu-Tu. These were abbreviations for the philosophers
Mittelstrass, Theunissen and Tugendhat. I was actually able to ob-
tain Theunissen and Tugendhat for philosophy at Berlin, for whom I
also built a new building. Indeed, for at least a decade, they created
a new situation for philosophy at Berlin.
I shall not expand upon the theme of the two-year struggle about
the division of this famous department that had become corrupt and
the invitation of those four philosophers. These were business deals,
of the kind we know today in the Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian negotia-
tions, albeit not so bloody. In order to keep the left quiet, I appointed
to a position in political ethics, despite the furious uproar of the
conservative media all over Gennany, an enlightened and reputable
Marxist, Wolfgang Fritz Haug. In return, the university accepted
other appointments of mine such as Theunissen and Tugendhat. I
shall not forget the many trips that I made to visit Gennan professors
of philosophy so as to gain them for Berlin. I learned a great deal,
and not only about philosophy.
I wish to sketch, however, Jacob Taubes' way of working. He
 ABOUT ]ACOB TAUBES, WHO CROSSED FRONTIERS 7

mysteriously succeeded in obtaining paid trips from all kinds of im-

portant foundations and corporations all over the world, and would
then spend one week in Jerusalem, the next in New York, the third in
Paris, the fourth in Lenzkirch, and the fifth again in Berlin. When he
appeared, dressed in a greasy black suit, he would query one's asso-
ciates, whom he had won over in innumerable conversations, what
one's appointment schedule was looking like, and suddenly he would
be waiting in front of the office. Or he sent postcards from all over
the world. Basically, Jacob Taubes only published one major book
and a few essays. His real work lay in thousands of letters and post-
cards, which he wrote from an academic and a political point of
view. I guess that a future researcher of Taubes, should look around
in the private papers of Susan Sontag, Carl Schmitt, Alexandre
Kojeve, Shlomo Pines, Wolf Lepenies and some others. By the way,
one was unsure of escaping him even in the foyer of the classy Kem-
pinski Hotel. He would rush up, place in one's hand some brand-new
publication, with which one was not yet familiar, or sometimes sold-
out pamphlets from important libraries, and would explain why
Dostoevski's Grand Inquisitor must simply be right in contrast to all
the fanatical characteristics ofJesuit piety, and then would conspira-
torially slide into one's pocket a slip with three names. These would
be philosophers, marked with plus and minus-signs, who were being
discussed just then for appointments at the university. Taubes knew
how to awaken and influence people's curiosity. I know only one
other intellectual who possesses similar esoteric and yet practical ca-
pacities: Alexander Kluge, the writer, film direction, and media en-
trepreneur.
Jacob Taubes' most seductive quality was his courage, his lack of
deliberateness. Taubes went to the limit, like Walther Rathenau. His
curiosity was always greater than his fear of treading on a mine in
some border area. This is salient in his intensive relationship with
Carl Schmitt, who was one of Hitler's key jurists between 1933 and
1939. But he was also a brilliant analyst, a combatant against histori-
cism, an important stylist, and a seer of the apocalypse. If the Ger-
man right, which is now seeking to rehabilitate Schmitt, were intelli-
gent, it could appeal to Taubes. He began to evolve in this direction
already in the 70's. Heidegger and Schmitt were for him the most
important exponents of the German mind in the late 20's and early
30's. He viewed Schmitt as an apocalyptic of the counter-revolution,
and he wished to contrast this with an apocalypse of the revolution.
8 PETER GLOTZ

It did not matter to him at all that he knew that Schmitt remained an
enemy of the Jews throughout his lifetime. In 1985 Taubes wrote: "I
should like to show my respect to Carl Schmitt, an old spirit that is
still restless in extreme old age, although as a conscious Jew I belong
to those whom he has branded as the enemy." But this did not
trouble him. He did claim that he never had such quarrels in Ger-
man as he did with Carl Schmitt in Plettenberg. He then did not
simply submit to Schmitt. But his interest in the ideas of "Schmitt the
water-engineer" conquered all scruples. He would say that Carl
Schmitt thinks apocalyptically from the perspective of the authorities,
whereas "I think from below". He then permitted himself to enter
this relationship and he justified this dangerous liaison with a remark
of Hugo Ball from 1924: "It is unjust to fiddle while Rome bums, but
it is perfectly all right to study the theory of hydraulics while Rome
bums. Carl Schmitt is one of those who study the theory of hydrau-
lics. "
Jacob Taubes died in March 1987. I have then the advantage of
seven years, seven years which he, the restless and occasionally pro-
phetic spirit, could not foresee. He foresaw the media revolution,
which we helplessly seek to master with the concept of Multimedia;
he was an early and passionate advocate of interdisciplinary general
education, at a time when historicism and relativism were not as
discernible as they are in 1994. But he could not foresee the new
intellectual right in Germany. There the hydraulic engineer he so
esteemed is more dangerous than he was willing to admit. Schmitt's
geopolitics, his differentiation between friend and enemy, and the
pathos of his arrogant impenitence are making new converts. The
perpetrators of violence who set fire to the homes of foreigners, the
populists who make filthy remarks about Jews, and the more refined
philosophical spirits in the feuilletons of right-wing papers have not
yet forged a common network. There is still a good chance of win-
ning the battle. We need frontier-spirits like Taubes more urgently
than ever; but they may have to be more careful than in past dec-
ades.
I left Berlin in 1981, in order to take the position of secretary-
general of my party in the seat of government at the time, in Bonn.
I did not see him again. But at the Wissenschaftskolleg in Berlin, an
institution which I established during my time in Berlin, one tells
many stories aboutJacob Taubes' last weeks. He knew that he was at
the end, and he said it to many. He held court in his little circles and
 ABOlIT ]ACOB TAUBES, WHO CROSSED FRONTIERS 9

he wrote farewell-letters. Since one should not end such a reminis-

cence of Taubes with pathos, but rather with a witticism, I would like
to end with the story of his farewell-letter to my successor, Senator
Kewenig, a very talented, very conservative jurist who has since died.
Taubes wrote him that he was dying and wished to thank him for
their many conversations. Kewenig replied with a long letter. Im-
pressed by the dying Taubes' openness, he recounted all their con-
flicts. And all of a sudden, in the face of death, he admitted that
Taubes had almost always been right. He confessed his errors, made
u-tums, and said 'pater peccavi'. Whether he was happy, however,
when he discovered this letter some days after he had sent it printed
in a Berlin newspaper, has not been told to us. Taubes had prepared
a small celebration for himself shortly before the end. He died five
days after the publication of this letter, and it is our task now to keep
alive the memory of an audacious, provocative, imaginative, some-
times malicious and sometimes devoted intellectual who stemmed
from a family of Hasidic Ostjuden.
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN
PERSPECTIVES

Theo Sundermeier

Belief in reincarnation is gaining ground. What was fonnerly taught

as an exotic speciality of the East, and in some Western secret socie-
ties and religious communities was conveyed as esoteric knowledge, is
now growing as a common belief According to a recent opinion poll,
thirty percent of Gennans hold reincarnation to be, at least, possible.
There are now therapists specializing in this area; some call them-
selves reincarnation therapists. At the University of Heidelberg, dur-
ing the winter tenn of 1994/95, two public lectures on reincarnation
therapy were offered at the Faculty of Medicine. Reincarnation, at
the moment, is considered to be "in." It is regarded as something
positive, as an opportunity to prolong one's life, as a passage to better
opportunities, already thought to be logically necessary by Lessing in
his "Erziehung des Menschengeschlechtes" (Education of Mankind). I
Regardless of the fonn in which the teachings of reincarnation are
being adopted in our society, they seem to have eliminated their
negative, world- and life-denying aspect. Nowhere in the West is
reincarnation considered as an unescapable destiny or as a curse, but
rather as a positive opportunity to prolong life.
Where does this total reversal of the original Indian teachings, as
represented to this day in classical Hinduism and the older Bud-
dhism, come from? Is it one of the usual processes of adaptation
known to us from the intercultural exchange? Or is it an example of
that mechanism, so excellently dominated by the Western world, to
use the cultures of other countries, peoples, and religions like a self-
service shop, picking out the best of them and changing the things
considered to be good so as to make them fit into their system?
Bearing these questions in mind we turn to Mrica.
In any discussion of "Self, Soul and Body in Religious Experi-
ence," the voice of Mrica must not be absent. We want to elaborate,
first, on the basic anthropological assumptions that are present in a

1 cr. R. Hurnmel, Reinkamation (Stuttgart/Mainz: 1988).

 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 11

multitude of concepts of the soul. Only thereafter can our attention

be directed towards what Mrica has to say on reincarnation. In the
third section of this paper a comparison between the two concepts of
reincarnation can be made, and conclusions for religious studies may
be drawn.

Concepts qf the Soul

In Mrican traditional religions the human being is in the center of all

religious interest and endeavors. The formation of symbols by which
one comprehends the world and reality, refers to and is designed by
man. While in many tribal religions-particularly in nomadic socie-
ties-the worship of God is cultless and God is invoked only in
particular, exceptional situations, ancestor worship is the focus of the
everyday cultus.
In sophisticated tribal societies the scene changes, religious institu-
tions multiply, and the worship of God becomes more central-
mostly as a plural perception of reality represented as polyphonic
theism (this is how I understand Mrica's polytheism). However, the
basic pattern remains the same: Man is in the center of all religious
endeavor. Religion accompanies him through all life crises, it stands
by him during the sowing and during the harvest, in hunting and in
work. It is with him when he is born, and helps him to find a new life
beyond the earthly one when he dies.
What constitutes the human being who is so much in the center of
religion? The triad of body, soul, and spirit, which is customary in
the West, can also be found within Mrican religions. Yet, do the
indigenous peoples understand these terms as we do? For example,
when the Herero (Namibia) talk of "oruto nomuinjo," of body and
soul as written in the translation of biblical texts, both the terms and
the linguistic context show the big difference in meaning. In Bantu
the verb "to have" does not exist; i.e., the human being does not
"have" body and soul; instead, man's relation to his body and his
soul is described by "to be with."2 He "is" not body and soul, but he
is related to them. He has no claim of ownership, nor does he possess
the right of disposal of body and soul, nor do those constitute himself

2 "ri na" or "Ji na," respectively; c£ A. Kagame, Sprache und Sein. Die Ontologie der
Bantu Zentralafri/cas (Heidelberg: 1985), 108£
12 THEO SUNDERMEIER

Rather, he and his life consist in-the relation to them. To exist means
"to be related to."
Which relations are meant? Analogous to the German language,
in which the term "Leib" is only applied to the human being, in
Herero "orutu" is only applied to the body of the human being and
of the animal. The body of things is referred to differently (omuhapo,
omukaro). So, man and animal are tied to each other by the term orutu.
At the same time this highlights the difference in relation to other
things. What does that mean? The matrilinear Bavenda (South M-
rica) distinguish between what man receives from the mother and
what he receives from the father in the act of procreation and at
birth. For the Bavenda, red is the color of the mother, and white is
the color of the father. Thus, the child receives the blood and all red
organs from the mother, but the bones, the teeth, the whites of the
eyes, and the hair (which grows in the "white" skull)--from the fa-
ther. Life exists only if both come together. Accordingly, persons are
painted with white color and red ochre during the rites of initiation. 3
The body of the human being does not exist "in itself'; its "being"
refers to relations and indicates origins. Thus, diseases that are linked
to the blood require reconciliation with the maternal line of the
family in order to be healed. If diseases of the bones occur, one
should come to an understanding with the relatives of the father and
his ancestors.
What of the "soul"? Similar to Hebrew, in Herero {omuinjo) the
more comprehensive term "life," "breath" is used. This describes
what enlivens the body. ("Spirit" in Greek [ompepo] means both wind
and spirit.) Man does not "have" life, soul and spirit: nor do they
constitute his individuality; rather, this triad indicates relationships.
I want to exemplify the social consequences of this basic anthropo-

3 cr. H. A. Stayt, 1he Bavenda (London: 1968), 260r. Similar ideas also exist in the

Babylonian Talmud. A. Kosman of Bar-llan University, kindly drew my attention to

that fact. There, in TB Niddah 31a, it says: "Our Rabbis taught: There are three
partners in man, the Holy One, blessed be He, his father, and his mother. His father
supplies the semen of the white substance out of which are formed the child's bones,
sinews, nails, the brain in his head, and the white in his eye; his mother supplies the
semen of the red substance out of which is formed his skin, flesh, hair, blood, and the
black of his eye; and the Holy One, blessed be He, gives him the spirit and the
breath, beauty of features, eyesight, the power of hearing, and the ability to speak
and to walk, understanding and discernment. When his time to depart from the
world approaches, the Holy One, blessed be He, takes away His share and leaves the
shares of his father and his mother with him." 1he Babylonian Talmud. Seder Tohorot.
Ed. by I. Epstein, (London: 1959), Vo!. I, 214.
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 13

logical concept with the help of the even more sophisticated ideas of
the Ashanti, a matrilinear people on the west coast of Mrica. Accord-
ing to the Ashanti, man receives his blood (magya) through his
mother, thus becoming a member of one of the seven clans of the
Ashanti. The maternal blood makes him a citizen and a political
entity having the same rights as the other inhabitants of the country.
Through the father, the child becomes a member of a ntara (there are
about twelve of them). The members of this group are subject to a
certain etiquette, they greet each other in a special way, and empha-
size their sense of a common bond by observing particular taboos
that are valid only for themselves. In the act of procreation the father
also gives his child the spirit, the sunsum; thus the human becomes a
spiritual being. "The sunsum is his ego, his personality and his per-
sonal character," writes K. A. Busia. 4 The sunsum makes possible a
religious life for man, his natural predisposition toward God. One has
to keep the sunsum clean; if it gets stained, it has to be "washed," and
for this purpose there is a particular rite. The sunsum dies when the
human being dies; it is not divine or immortal. What does come from
God, however, is the kra. God himself takes a bit from his own kra
and blesses with it the union between a man and a woman. At the
same time this kra, which derives from God, is the permanent pres-
ence of God in every human being and returns to God when the
human being dies. The deceased himself, however, joins the mater-
nalline as an ancestor. 5 Magya, sunsum, ntara, kra, are different "souls,"
yet at the same time they relate the individual human being in his/
her relation to the lineage of the mother, to the lineage of the father,
to the civil and religious life, and to God. 6 Man lives of them and
4 K. A. Busia, The Ashanti, in D. Forde, ed., Afiican Worlds. Studies in the Cosmological

Ideals and Social Values ofAfiican Peoples (London, New York: 1963) 190ff., esp. 197.
5 The Zulu (South Africa) have very specific notions of the way this happens when
a person dies: After his death the deceased, more precisely his shadow soul (isiThon;:;t),
turns into a spirit (iThongo) and through the rite of "bringing home the dead person"
(ukubuyisa) to the native kraal he turns into an ancestor (iDlo;:;t), who feels responsible
for and is obliged to help his family. The rite reestablishes the tie interrupted by
death. Cf. E. J. Krige, The Social ~stem of the Zulus (London: 1956), 284f.
6 The fact that the kra describes a permanent tie to God, is exemplified by a
comparison with the Twi, a neigh boring people who talk of the honhon that is brought
before God: "The unborn is brought before the highest God, Nyame, with its moth-
er's blood of life and its father's ancestral soul, which has originated its individual
soul. The unborn's day watchman brings it before Nyame and bathes it in a golden
bathtub. Nyame gets up, pronounces the directions of destiny and then drops a
spark-like drop of water from an adenva leaf into the mouth of the litde child. This is
the water of life, Nkwansuo, 'the pure water that boils and yet does not hurt'. It is said
 14 1HEO SUNDERMEIER

through them, but these relations also live from gaining weight and
continuity in the individual person. The ultimate meaning of man is
to continue, strengthen, and increase his life by those relations.
No matter how simple or sophisticated the ideas of African reli-
gions on the soul are (other ethnic groups also talk of a "shadow
soul," a "soul of destiny," a "double soul")/ ultimately they always
refer to man in his manifold relationships to the world; in the words
of an old Bantu proverb, "Man is man through man." The various
ideas on the soul exemplify how large a network of relations every
human being is integrated in, a network that reaches far beyond the
family ties. The human being who is lonesome, on his/her own,
responsible only to him/herself, oriented only towards his/her well-
being and progress, is inconceivable in African religions. He or she
would be a monster, an evil spirit, and would be regarded as morally
antisocial.

Reincarnation in 4frican Religions

Ancestor veneration is part of virtually all African religions. This is

consistent with the central position of the human being and the focus
of religion on life. The transition from one life to another is ritually
accompanied by and, what is more, made possible through, the rite.
In spite of the great variety of concepts of ancestor veneration in
Africa, we get a rather homogenous picture. How does the concept of
reincarnation fit into this picture? It causes surprise and irritation.
Accordingly, in research the concept is controversial and is rejected,
especially by African scholars. As one voice among various others I
cite A. Kagame, who writes with regard to the Bantu religions: "The
fact that a spirit enters a person, the botlY (flesh) of this person, by
means of seizing hold qf him, is not tantamount to a personal identifica-
tion taking place vividly and unseparably in two different persons ....
There is no rebirth, but a kind of protecting seizure that turns the
seized person into the favourite habitation of his or her ancestor, with

that the drop has a breathing picture of Nyame in its middle, like the shape of a
human being in a mirror. Then the water enters into the body of the child, until the
latter, entirely filled with honhon (the breath of life), comes to life." J. V. Taylor, Du
findest mich, wenn Du den Stein aujhebst. Christliche Priisenz im Leben Aftikas (Munchen:
1965),53. Here, Tay10r is citing H. Debrunner, Witchcrqfi in Ghana (Kumasi: 1959),
ll.
7 Cf. E. Dammann, Die ReligWnen Aftikas (Stuttgart: 1983), 18ff.
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 15

whom he or she is connected by a narrow tie .... "8 While I myself

have previously argued in a similar way,9I now think it worthwhile to
take a closer look at the concept once more. 10
I begin with an ethnic group in which ideas on reincarnation are
particularly pronounced. In the cult of the Fon in Benin" the found-
ers of the clan, half spiritual beings, half human beings (tohwiyo), play
a special role. They are the ones who have given their tribe laws and
rules for life and who take care, indeed, have to take care, that the
clan does not die out but prospers and hands down its life from
generation to generation. While being careful that the people live
according to their commandments and rules, they are mediators with
God, with Mawu Lisa, who is believed to be dual by the Fon. The
focus of all life, which is conceived as movement and has found its
personalization, so to speak, in Da, is the human being, who has
many souls. This variety does not eliminate the unity of the soul but
indicates, as we have seen with the Bantu religions, man's relations
that constitute him. Ultimately, the soul (se) has its origin in God
(Mawu, feminine), the big soul of the world, and is part of it; selido
names the feelings, the personality, the individuality of man and his
soul, respectively; kpoli is the soul which receives destiny from the
mouth of Fa, the word of Mawu;ye is the shadow of the human being
(sometimes also called "shadow soul"), that indestructible part which
leaves the body when the human being dies and reincarnates again
into man as joto. Joto is the soul which man inherits from the forefa-
thers, and at the same time it is his protecting spirit. The soul, se,
deriving from the forefathers as joto, always returns to earth into the
same clan. Such a return guarantees both the continuity of the clan
and the connection between the living and the dead. The depth and
significance of this idea is exemplified by the royal dynasty: "The

8 A. Kagame, above n. 2, 225f.; ef. also E. B. Idowu, A.ftican Traditional Religion. A

Difinition (London: 1973), 187.
9 cr. T. Sundermeier, Nur gemeinsam kiinnen wir leben. Dos Menschenbild schwarzaftika-
nischer Religionen (Gutersloh: 1990 2), 25.
10 A doctoral thesis from Halle that has collected and examined all the material is

making this virtually necessary. Cf. M. Bergunder, Wiedergeburt der Ahnen. Eine
religionsethnographische und religionsphanomenologische Untersuchung zur Rein-
kamationsvorstellung. Muenster e.a. 1994. Undoubtedly this work is opening up new
understandings. I shall refer, with appreciation, to the material of M. Bergunder;
regarding the interpretation, though, I am going my own way.
liOn the following, see P. Mercier, "The Fon of Dahomey," in D. Forde, above
n. 4, 227.
16 THEO SUNDERMEIER

power of the ruling dynasty is pennanently renewed and reinforced

by the presence of the dead king's soul as Jaw of the ruling king";12
putting it more precisely, it is the Jaw of the grandfather, the great-
great-grandfather, and so on.
Where concepts of reincarnation exist in Africa, the rebirth in the
grandchild is the rule. But there is no automatic mechanism in the
sense that the rebirth takes place only through the grandfather. Even
among the Fon, the identity of the reincarnation has to be ascer-
tained each time anew. The resemblance of the child's features with
the granduncle or the grandfather plays an important role; what is
decisive, however, is the judgment of a diviner. It is also popular
among the Fon to turn to a Yoruba diviner, because the reincarna-
tion belief among the Yoruba and the Ibo in Nigeria is somewhat
stronger and their methods of identifYing a reincarnated person are
more sophisticated. When the identity has been ascertained, the rein-
carnation and worship of the ancestor do not cease to exist. On the
contrary, due to the fact that he has reincarnated one knows that he
has power, is good to his family, and wants to be close to it. For this
reason he will be particularly worshipped. Above all, he is supposed
to be a protector of the grandchild in whom he is reincarnated and
with whom he remains, so to speak.
The idea of such a multipresence bewilders modem European
scholars, who present this as one of the main arguments against the
concept of reincarnation. Idowu ·is very straightforward about that:
We find ourselves confronted with the paradox involved in the belief of
the Yoruba that the deceased persons do "reincarnate" in their grand-
children and great-grandchildren. In the first place, it is believed that in
spite of.their reincarnation, the deceased continue to live in their After-
Life; those who are still in the world can have communion with them,
and they are there with all ancestral qualities unimpaired; secondly it is
believed that they do "reincarnate," not only in one grandchild or
great-grandchild, but also in several contemporary grandchildren ... Yet,
in spite of these repeated "re births" ... the deceased contrive to remain
in full life and vigour in the After-Life"Y

The fact that Idowu always puts "reincarnation" in quotation marks,

shows how difficult he finds it to describe the multiple presence of the
ancestor as a concept of reincarnation. But here he is wrong. One of

12 Ibid.
13 E. B. Idowu, above ll. 8, 187f.
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 17

the most prominent results of M. Bergunder's work is the fact that he

verified with very rich material that multipresence is a central part of
the reincarnation concepts of Mrican religions. The believers them-
selves see it as something absolutely unproblematic. The Ashanti do
not find it extraordinary if the grandfather reincarnates in his grand-
son even during his lifetime and, what is more, in several persons at
the same time. 14 In such a case the grandson will praise the deeds of
his grandfather in the first person, as if he himself had done them. In
contrast to the Indian concept of reincarnation, the adolescent child
knows whose reincarnation bearer hel she is. This considerably
changes his or her position in society, because there is no reincarna-
tion of weak and inferior persons but always of highly appreciated
and loved ones. In some ethnic groups the deceased are directly
asked to reincarnate only in a particular family and not in any
other. IS
The effects of such reincarnation concepts on the education and
position of the children concerned are considerable. J. F. Thiel has
pointed out the distortions of the authority structure and nominal
family relationships of the Yansi (Zaire) that develop due to the alter-
nating reincarnation sequence in the family. E.g., the father will ad-
dress his eldest son who is a reincarnation of his father as ta = father,
just as he formerly addressed his father. The same applies to the
daughter if she is the reincarnation of his mother. Furthermore he
will refer to the children of his grandchildren-his great-grandchil-
dren-as "my children" (baanemz).
In Mrican societies the mutual relations between the generations
are marked by a hierarchical social order, by submission and obedi-
ence, by respect and dignity. The reincarnation concept, however,
breaks this system in two respects: Bypassing the authority and dig-
nity of their children, the grandparents have a direct, friendly, loving
access to their grandchildren. Inversely, the grandchildren can ap-
proach the grandparents without asking their parents. Sometimes,
they carry their names and can be addressed with their grandparents'
praise names and nicknames. A kind of 'joking relationship" devel-
ops, with all the permissive relations known from ethnology, ranging
from intimacy to rudeness and uncouthness, without being taken

14 cr. M. Bergunder, above n. 10, Ill; R. S. Rattray, L. H. D. Buxton, "Cross

Cousin Marriages," Journal of African Sociery (1924/25) 83ff.

15 E.g., among the Ewe, see M. Bergunder, 115.
18 TIlEO SUNDERMEIER

amiss by either side. 16 It is easy to conceive what a positive influence

such a 'Joking relationship" has in a hierarchically structured society.
At both the socio-emotional and the religious level it changes the
position of the reincarnation carrier. If a family is plagued by disas-
ters and the ancestors cannot be assuaged with a normal religious
ceremony, the grandchild is asked to offer a prayer of sacrifice. This
is based on the assumption that the ancestor will not reject the prayer
of the one who represents him in the living generation.
The reincarnation concept is also of importance for the education
of the child, in the sense that the child is supposed to orient itself to
the life of the grandfather or the grandmother, and endeavor to
follow that ancestor's ways. Admonitions to imitate the ancestor are
made frequently. The fact that the ancestors protect their reincarna-
tions in a special way is assumed as self-evident; their reincarnation is
protection and security for the persons concerned. Such a thought,
however, is to be understood only in the context of multipresence,
and is presupposed by it.
The answer to the question that interests us, namely, what signifi-
cance does the reincarnation have for the reincarnated himself, can
be deduced only indirectly, as the existing literature has hardly paid
any attention to this question, nor to the problem of reincarnation in
general. In addition, this question is oriented to Western, individual-
istic thinking and is influenced by the Indian reincarnation teachings,
that are known to emphasize the singularization of the human being
through doing and karma.
A little episode from Nigeria may help us to understand this ques-
tion. A woman who was suffering from a grave bronchitis was being

16 J. F. Thiel refers to this condition, Grundbegriffi deT Ethnologie (Berlin: 1983), 96ff.

This reference is crucial for the interpretation of African reincarnation concepts.

Thiel writes (99): "By the way, the joking relationships between the grandfather and
his male grandchildren are often rather one-sided. Mosdy, the grandfather has to
tolerate the boisterousness of the boys. At times they take chickens away from their
grandfather; if they meet him drinking palm wine, they take it away from him. I
have never seen that the grandfather complained about the treatment by his grand-
children." Among the Yukun in West Africa, the grandson calls his grandmother
"wife" and she calls him "husband." See Bergunder, 114.
In his autobiography, O. Awolowo (a Yoruba) reports: "In my case the oracle
declared that I was the reincarnation of grandma's own father. I was told that
grandma had had a deep admiration and affection towards her father and I cannot
but think that she was transferring this to me from the moment when I was authori-
tatively declared his reincarnation." O. Awolowo, The Autobiography qf Chief Obajcmi
Awolowo (Cambridge: 1960), 15. Cited after Bergunder, 120.
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 19

cared for intensively by her brother, whom she loved more than her
own children. When she became aware that she was going to die, she
distributed her legacy but did not leave anything to her brother. Mter
she had died, surgery was performed and the so-called "cough bag"
was taken out, so that she would not have to suffer again from this
disease in her new life. The breast was sewn up again. Several
months later, when the wife of her brother bore a child, the stitches
of the aunt's surgery appeared on the chest of the child. To every-
body in the village it was clear that the aunt had reincarnated into
her niece. Her own children always addressed the niece as Nne,
mother.17

Unusual as the report is for Mrica, it reflects aspects typical of the

reincarnation of ancestors as described so far. For the family, the
reincarnation is a gift; as such it was meant by the aunt. She distin-
guishes her brother by reincarnating into his daughter. For the rein-
carnated herself, the reincarnation is an overcoming of death; her life
goes on. Moreover, from now on she is able to live her life even closer
to her beloved brother than before, as she now lives within his family
and will be cosseted by him as a daughter. Although an enhancement
of the possibly unfinished life of the deceased person and the unsatis-
fying course it had taken is only indirectly stated, the fact that the
reincarnation includes an aspect of new self-realization-to use a
modem expression-cannot be denied. Both interpretations point to
a prolonging of life, a new beginning in a familiar environment.
However, the social ties and integration are central; the pattern of
reincarnations alternating between the generations is not preserved,
yet the intention is to break the strict hierarchical order, and the
continuity of the family is guaranteed. Furthermore, the woman in
this story was married and had children, an important fact that re-
lates to the socially valid order of the village. Without this status the
reincarnation would not have constituted a distinction of the brother
and, what is more, stage-managing the rebirth like that probably
would not have been accepted by the family! Even the possibility of
an illness had to be removed surgically, since disabled persons, crip-
ples, lepers, and childless people are able to become ancestors in only
a very small number of tribes; they are generally denied the right to
17 Mter I. C. Onyewuenyi, "A Philosophical Reappraisal of Mrican Belief in
Reincarnation," in Presence Ajricaine (paris: 1982), 63-78, esp. 67£ Cited in M.
Bergunder, above n. 10, 126.
20 THEO SUNDERMEIER

be reborn (albeit it cannot be always prevented). Although the de-

ceased person can detennine the place, the time, and the individual
of his or her rebirth, it also has to be accepted by the community,
which can prevent the reincarnation by special rites, by not recogniz-
ing the resemblance between the deceased person and the child, or
by refusing to name the child after the deceased person. IS
While the above mentioned case appears to be a full reincarna-
tion, the reincarnation of only a part of a human being, the soul or
the specific "reincarnation soul," is more common. Let me amplify
the previous remarks by referring once more to the Ashanti, because
there, too, one finds the idea of a judgment in the Hereafter. This is
all the more remarkable, as the Bantu religions totally lack the idea of
a judgment after death. E. L. R. Meyerowitz writes:
When a child is about to be born, the soul of a matrilinear ancestor,
representing Nyame, embraces it during the good-bye ceremony in
heaven, and thus gives the child his own kra. At the same time the child
is given a command, the hyebea (hye = command, commandment: hea =
type of), to be a good human being and to do good deeds during his
lifetime. The child's ancestor had failed in this and his kra, after judg-
ment had been pronounced by Nyankopon, was condemned to be rein-
carnated until one of his descendants had achieved a pure kra, that is,
has become a samanpa, a good spiritual being, which can then become
one again with Nyame's eternal kra. 19

As we can see, with the Ashanti too, reincarnation is strictly incorpo-

rated into a social structure. It qualifies the ethics and binds the
society together.
It is not necessary to present further details from other religions in

18 Among many peoples, both approaches are part of identitying the reincarna-

tion. E.g., a crying child is told the different names of deceased ancestors. If the child
stops crying when a certain name is mentioned, this is seen as an indication of which
ancestor is reincarnated. Of course, here one can easily manipulate the situation.
About this problem see L.-V. Thomas and R. Luneau, lA terre ajricaine et ses religions
(Paris: 1975), 97ff.
19 E. L. R. Meyerowitz, "Concept of the Soul among the Akan of the Gold

Coast," Afoca (1951),24-31. D. Zahan gives a unique interpretation of reincarnation

among the Bambara in the Sudan belt, pressing it into a peculiar, mystical language.
Among the Bambara the soul returns to the earth only once, until it has brought into
accord the knowledge of itself and the knowledge of God, and man becomes equal to
God. When an individual has achieved this stage God takes him in, because now his
soul has become clean. "Thus 'natural' man dies and is reincarnated a certain
number of times, until the divinity has entirely 'absorbed' him and does not agree to
give him up again," D. Zahan, The Religion, Spirituality and Thought cif Traditional Afoca
(Chicago: 1970), 136.
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 21

Africa. Disparate as the confusing features are, they nevertheless

share a basic model that can be found in several variations and has
assumed a clear shape in the more complex societies of West Africa.
At first glance, one may distinguish three basic concepts of reincar-
nation, namely, full reincarnation in the strict meaning of the word
(which, however, occurs only rarely); the partial reincarnation of the
blood, the soul (or a part of it), the shadow soul, the principle of life,
or something similar; and nominal reincarnation, e.g., on grounds of
similarities and identical names, the deceased person is memorial-
ized-a process that we find in all cultures, including our own. Thus,
it does not necessarily have to be designated as reincarnation. This
last concept of reincarnation must also be questioned with regard to
Africa, all the more as such reidentification is of importance for the
child only until puberty. After puberty, when the child has found a
new identity through his initiation, the incarnated forefather is hardly
mentioned any longer. The reincarnation becomes unimportant for
the identity of the adolescent.
Logical as this division into three is to us2°-in view of our passion
for order-it is an un-African way of thinking. We have seen that the
different notions of soul actually do not signify a division of the soul,
but a plurality aiming for unity and describing the one human being
in the variety of his relations. There is as little ground for understand-
ing different relations implicit in reincarnation ontologically, as for
comprehending the relations of different places and time. They are
reality, because they are acting on and defining the human being. 21
Full, partial, or nominal incarnations always mean the same:
1. The intrusion of death, which profoundly challenges the com-
munity, is overcome. Reincarnation ensures that life is not inter-
rupted, but goes on; this continuity is not automatic, but is estab-
lished ritually and socially. Reincarnations underscore the basic
ethical values of the community and set standards. One wishes the
reincarnation of the ancestors who are good, strong, and exemplary.
2. Belief in reincarnation creates confidence in life, because life is
repeatable. The linear-time concept of the radical uniqueness of life,
of every moment in the life of the individual, is unknown. Time and
life move on like a spiral. One should not, however, rush to introduce

20 L.-V. Thomas and R. Luneau, above n. 18,98, suggest them and add a fourth
division, but we can neglect that one here.
21 See also A. A. Adegbola, ed., Traditional Religion in West Afiica (Ibadan: 1983),
chapter Ill, The Idea of Man, 259-337 (various authors).
22 THEO SUNDERMEIER

here the idea so popular in our societies of "another chance" for the
individual, since, in Mrica, repeatability is a matter of the commu-
nity. Moreover, one must be aware of the idea of the multipresence
of the reincarnated, i.e., simultaneous presence in the Hereafter and
in the reincarnated.
3. Reincarnation stands for the renewal of life. Certainly, the alter-
nating reincarnation takes seriously the empirical knowledge learned
from nature. But, ultimately, it is a defiance of ageing and declining
vitality that is visible in old-age. Mrican comprehension of life and
time is oriented towards the past, but the idea of reincarnation directs
thought to the future. How can these two aspects be combined?
Mricans move forward-that is what this model of life and reincar-
nation tells us-like a rower with his back to where he is going. One
is oriented towards the past, but a future exists through the renewal
of life.
4. Reincarnation, however, is not the voyage of a single scull, but
rather of a team effort; there are always many in the scull who must
row together. There is no individualization through death and rein-
carnation. As the reincarnation takes place within the same clan, and
a change of sex in the new life rarely occurs, the community, too, is
renewing itself through the reincarnation. The reincarnated repeats
life with his contemporaries in the next generation but one. It is not
a matter of a never-ending repetition of the reincarnation. When the
ancestor's name is forgotten, nobody speaks of a reincarnation any
longer; only the grandfather is present in the reincarnated, at the
most his great-great-grandfather. To speculate beyond that does not
make much sense in Mrica, except perhaps in the context of royal
genealogies. Here, there is no inclination to baroque numerical mon-
sters, as in India.
5. Reincarnation strengthens the link to transcendence. Life is
unthinkable without its origin, without the always-felt presence of the
invisible. Although in many tribes God is not worshipped as part of a
cult, one is always aware of his presence-but even more of the
presence of the ancestors and spirits. Knowledge of the multipresence
of the ancestors, and the protective function of the ancestor inherent
in the reincarnation concept, makes the invisible, opaque, and fright-
ening world of transcendence dependable, understandable, and ac-
cessible. When an incarnation takes place, one knows that the ances-
tor loves the family, is thinking of it, and taking care of it-otherwise
he would not have returned; thus one may approach him in the
 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 23

child, even in most difficult times. Reincarnation creates confidence

in life, here and in the future. Thus, belief in reincarnation in Africa
refers to the continuity and renewability of life and combines its
social and transcendent dimensions. Death does not have the last
say-at least not for everyone.

Two Models if Reincarnation

The differences between the African notion of reincarnation and the
"classical" Indian concept are considerable: In the Indian religions it
is always the individual that reincarnates, and he reincarnates com-
pletely. In spite of occasional indications in Buddhism that one's last
thoughts at the moment of death influence the place and manner of
reincarnation, nobody can ultimately determine when, where, and in
which shape he will return. Reincarnation is not related to society;
everything is determined by the individual's own deeds. The ascent
to a better life, as well as the descent to the animal kingdom are real
possibilities and realities. The law of rebirth is blind and relentless;
the cycle (samsara) is unavoidable. Rebirth is not joy, even if in an
individual case it can be seen as such and, especially in Hinduism,
can be understood as a chance for a better life. All in all, the Indian
belief in reincarnation is a depressing burden that binds man to
himself and to his deeds. Reincarnation is the last, highest, and most
terrible form of singularization. Nobody has realized this so clearly as
Hinayana Buddhism, which therefore seeks exclusively to release the
human being from this cycle of rebirths. Just as "the big ocean has
only one taste, the taste of salt, this teaching and order as well has only
one taste, the taste of redemption," says Buddha. 22 Consistently, in
one of the most famous Buddhistic verses of the Tipitaka, the indi-
vidual is referred to as the bearer of a burden who must be released
from its weight, namely, from the "greed which leads to rebirth."23
Every bond with life, family, and society leads to a new rebirth, is
harmful, and constitutes an obstacle to redemption. The aim is the
release from it (vimokka, Sanskrit), redemption. Nobody can help one
to achieve this. It must be accomplished on one's own, according to
the central teaching of Hinayana Buddhism. Even though in the

22 Cited after M. Winternitz, Der altere Buddhismus, nach Texten des Tipitaka, ReI.
Lesebuch Bd. 11 (Tubingen: 1929), 106.
23 Samyutta Nikaya, 22, 51.
24 THEO SUNDERMEIER

course of its journey among many peoples, Buddhism has been influ-
enced by other religions and assimilated other ways of thought, this
crucial idea remains untouched. Individuation through deed is re-
lentless: One does the deed on one's own, one has to bear the conse-
quences of the deed on one's own, one has to relieve oneself of it on
one's own. The issue is not devotion to the world, but release from it.
This is the case in all the reincarnation concepts that emerged in
India, even though in detail what helps bring about redemption for
the individual is differently qualified. We need not deal with further
details of the reincarnation teachings here; the differences between
the Indian and African concepts are clear.
They are so different that it has rightly been questioned whether
the two concepts can be described with the same term. All attempts,
however, to introduce another term for Africa have been unsatisfac-
tory and failed; therefore we have to retain it. Despite all its diffuse-
ness and open-endedness, the reincarnation concept of African reli-
gions is self-consistent. Thus we cannot but acknowledge that this is
a second model of reincarnation that has always existed, independent
of any influence from India. The fact that in Africa there is no fixed
doctrine, that the range of variation of the concepts is great, and that
the intensity of the concepts varies, is not surprising, because there is
no space for well-formulated dogmas in primary religions. The rites
are the catechism, and they constitute a clear language for the person
who can decipher them.
The surprising result of our observations is that we are viewing two
different models of reincarnation, one that is devoted to life and is
socially oriented, and another that thinks individualistically and
wants to withdraw man from the world and from worldly life. This
opens up new comparative perspectives in terms of the history of
religion. Ancestor reincarnation is not a peculiarity solely of African
tribal religions, but can also be found among the primary religions of
Indonesia, Oceania, ancient America, and even among the original
tribal peoples of India. 24
I have demonstrated elsewhere 25 that in the history of religion we
24 This has been proved convincingly by M. Bergunder. Furthennore, in his work
he has noted especially the concept of the reincarnation of infants, and distinguished
it from ancestor reincarnation. But that is of no interest to us at the moment.
Whether it is really another model would have to be examined more thoroughly,
because it could also be an inversive ancestor reincarnation.
25 C( T. Sundermeier, "Versohnung oder Erlosung? Religionsgeschichtliche

Anstofie," in Evangelische 7heologie (1993), 124-146.

 SOUL, SELF-REINCARNATION: AFRICAN PERSPECTIVES 25

must distinguish between two types of religion, that of reconciliation

and that of redemption. The Indian reincarnation concepts fit very
precisely into the religion of redemption which, in short, thinks a-
cosmically and wants to relieve the human being from this world and
its burdens. Reincarnation is one of the preeminent means of achiev-
ing this goal of salvation. In contrast, the religions of reconciliation
are marked by a social component and devotion to the world and to
human life which must be shaped and improved. Here, the ethic of
responsibility is at home, because its focus is justice in the commu-
nity, the connective justice-a concept of Jan Assmann, not the jus-
tice of the individual and his life as such.
Does this differentiation help us to better understand and classifY
the phenomenon of the booming belief in reincarnation in our soci-
eties, as described at the beginning? Does it also make comprehensi-
ble how it was possible that the New Age reincarnation teachings
renouncing the world have emanated from the inversion of their
innermost intentions? Would it now also be possible to explain how,
in popular Hinduism and Buddhism, proof of the reincarnation
teachings is delivered by examples and means that contradict the
core of these teachings? In my view, the answer to these contradic-
tory phenomena is that this inversion is not simply a defilement of
the pure teachings of India, neither an egoistical-so to speak mer-
cantile-evolutionary turn or, at best, a pleasant reinterpretation of
Indian ideas. Instead we must assume that two totally different mod-
els of incarnation are meeting.
Such a confluence of different concepts is nothing new within the
history of religion. On its way to new areas, the world religion adopts
elements of primal religions in either a pure or adapted form. The
process of rejection and acceptance of given elements, as well as the
symbiotic exchange in the encounter of the religions, can last a long
period of time, take place in waves, or be very rapid. As phases of
rejection and delimitation alternate with those of adoption and adap-
tation, syncretism is imminent. If we view the modem, revised ver-
sion of the reincarnation concept in the context of the New Age,
against the background of such a process in the history of religion,
the acceptance of reincarnation must be understood as a process of
revitalization and restructuring, in which elements of an escapist re-
ligion of redemption are integrated into a religion devoted to the
world, where existing archaic elements are reinforced and re-estab-
lished through impulses of the Indian religions. In concrete terms,
26 THEO SUNDERMEIER

this means that current notions of reincarnation are not only an

adoption of Eastern elements but also a revitalization of pre-Chris-
tian European tribal thought-such as we can find in many tribal
religions that are to be assigned to the religions of reconciliation-a
body of thought that has received new impulses through dealing with
Eastern religions. 26
Against this background, it becomes understandable that, in terms
of the history of religion, the concept of reincarnation now serves the
acceptance of and devotion to life, the reinforcement of the I and the
sel[ As in Mrican tribal religions, reincarnation is understood as
rebirth into human society, a possibility to live one's life again, a
chance to improve one's existence. In this context, the idea of "edu-
cation by reincarnation" is gaining support. This does not corre-
spond to the intention of the Indian belief in reincarnation, but it
accords with ancestor reincarnation. Thus, the New Age belief in
reincarnation signals not so much the Hinduization of Western reli-
gious ideas, but rather a "repaganization," a revitalization of tribal
religious concepts under the influence of Indian currents.
At the beginning of this paper we raised the question of the "self'
in Mrican religions and the elements which constitute it. We have
seen that Mrica is less interested in this question than in the relations
that constitute the human being. These are reflected by the different
concepts of soul, which demonstrate that the focus of these religions
is always the acceptance of life, and the power to save and continue
this socially-determined life beyond death. Ancestor veneration, in its
specific shape as belief in reincarnation, supports this and puts it in
concrete form, saying ultimately nothing else but: "Death does not
destroy life, but preserves it in all its relations." I think it is the deep
longing for this (light and pleasant) form of overcoming death that
has made the non-Indian form of the reincarnation concept so popu-
lar in the New Age.

26 The question whether there was a concept of reincarnation, in the Germanic

religions must remain open. To my knowledge, research so far has not dealt with
this. However, it was usual among the Teutons to name grandchildren after their
grandfather. The notion of the multipresence of ancestors is known as well, but that
alone is not enough to prove the decisive element of the presence of the ancestor in
the grandchild itself
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION
AS BIOGRAPHY-GENERATORS

Alois Hahn

Biography-Generators

Since 1980 I have been interested in studying what I have called

biography-generators, that is, socially institutionalized devices that
generate special kinds of discourse, in this case confessions, where the
main topic is the biography of at least one of the participants. The
theme of these discourses is, so to speak, a narrative form of identity
or, in other words, the self as a tale told. It cannot be taken for
granted that people speak about themselves, of their lives, their emo-
tions, their intentions, their acts, etc., nor can it be taken for granted
that they find listeners to such stories. The kind of biographical iden-
tity or textual self one has depends on the historically and culturally
varying forms of biography-generators. I And if these generators are
almost totally lacking, the self cannot take the form of a narrative
identity. This kind of identity presupposes, in other words, institu-
tions of self-thematization or a social "memory function."
Naturally, people everywhere have always had a life-course, a
"Lebenslauf," but this does not necessarily mean that they have a
biography, which always constitutes a narrative selection of relevant
facts or phantasies and may start earlier or end later than the "real"
biological life-span of the concerned persons. The famous Italian
artist Cellini starts his biography with the birth ofJulius Caesar, and
Goethe has his begin with the description of the constellation of the
stars.
One of the earliest discourse generators in Christian societies was,
as I see it, the auricular confession in the Christian church that
obliged the general population to speak about themselves. This paper
will be dedicated to a sociological analysis of the historically changing
I Such institutions may be confessions before the father confessor or in the court-

room, anamneses before a doctor or psychotherapist, novels, autobiographies, dia-

ries, questionnaires, or other forms of culturally established self-disclosure. For a
general view, see Alois Hahn and Volker Kapp, eds., Selbstthematisierung und Selbst-
zeugnis. Bekenntnis und Gestiindnis (Frankfurt on Main: Suhrkamp, 1987).
28 ALOIS HAHN

forms of this institution. The main thesis is that changing structures

of society presuppose different forms of social control and various
forms of biographical identities for the constituent populations, and
that the history of the institutions obliging people to confess can be
considered as an example of this general hypothesis. One reason for
the importance of the confession of sins as a universal biography-
generator lies, of course, in its generalizibility. Everybody has sins
and can tell them-with few exceptions perhaps: I mean you and
me, and the Egyptian God-Kings-but even there I am not abso-
lutely sure ... whereas only exceptional people might tell stories
about their glory. And only literate people can write about their lives,
their moral or spiritual excellence, their extraordinary experiences,
voyages, etc., whereas confession provides access to an oral construc-
tion of the normal self, which thus becomes-sit venia verbo---a bio-
"logos" and not a bio-"graphie."
Transcendental Gods, of course, may have no biography-at least
not before incarnation, if you accept the Thomistic version that God
is "everything at once" (tota simu~; whereas poor human beings have
to live their lives, as St. Thomas says so incomparably bluntly, "one
moment after the other ("successive"). (Or, for those who prefer a so-
called radical constructionist view: In contrast to men and women,
God is not a "dissipative structure," as Niklas Luhman, following
Nobel prize-winner Prygogine, would phrase it.) The paradox is that
this would lead us to the conclusion that the historical manifestations
of a creator or redeemer cannot be read as a demonstration of God's
historicity, but only as signs of our history with him.
The identity generating function of memories is not without para-
doxical effects. First, since it consists in presenting the past, or at least
a part of it, as the essential present-what is really present is no
longer present. Second, while a biography extends over time, the
narration has to deal with the sequentially disjointed as if it were a
simultaneous totality. One might call this the "Tristram Shandy
Paradox." In all reflexive identification, the self functions at the same
time as subject and object of a discourse. The whole has to be pre-
sented by a part of the whole. At any rate, the self resulting from
biography-generators is a reflexive entity and thus, inevitably, a para-
dox.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 29

Public Corifessions if Elites

In the development of the institutionalized forms of religious confes-
sions of sins in Christian tradition one may-irresponsibly generaliz-
ing for brevity's sake-distinguish four phases. The first is character-
istic of early Christianity, when the self-definition of the Christian
church was that of a community of saints or religious "virtuosi" in the
Weberian sense. Ideally, such a community could not accept that its
members perpetrated deadly sins. A great sinner-especially one
whose sins became public-was a dramatic contradiction to the self-
image of the community. The most logical consequence was the
exclusion of such members. So there was virtually no need for confes-
sion at all. The only exception tolerated-with some reticence-was
that a sinner be given once, and only once, a second chance to
convert him/herself. S/he had to confess publicly to his or her guilt
and was only reintegrated as a full member after years of public
penitence. It is easy to see that this form of public confession and
subsequent acceptance is convenient to religious or political elites
defining themselves as absolutely pure. The resemblance between
early Christian public confessions and the always problematic reinte-
gration of totally or partially excluded members, to analogous forms
of public confessions in contemporary revolutionary groups in China
or Russia is evident, and has been analyzed as a generator of revolu-
tionary identities. 2

The Corifession if Acts

Such self-definition could not be maintained when the church be-
came a mass-organization. Sinning had to be reckoned with as an
everyday affair, because the membership could no longer be reserved
for the elite of allegedly pure saints. The church had become a com-
munity comprising a majority of ordinary sinners. The institutional
form of social control applicable to this situation was the invention of
the auricular confession to the priest. From the fifth through the
twelfth centuries what had to be confessed were deeds; the motives
did not play such an important role. The penitentials, the handbooks

2 See Klaus Georg Riegel, "OfTentliche Selbstbekenntnisse im Marxismus-

Leninismus: Die Moskauer Schauprozesse (1936-1938)," in Hahn and Kapp, ibid.,
136-148.
30 ALOIS HAHN

guiding the father-confessors, contain lists of acts and corresponding

punishments and restitutions, but do not try to find out what the
relevant motives were. The rank-and-flle member was not asked
about the inner state of his soul. This identity generating-though
questionable-privilege was reserved for the clerical elites. The iden-
tity of the normal individual as the result of narrative self-disclosure
in institutionalized contexts did not encompass motives nor constitute
a biography, as a temporalized sequence of identity-constituting
events.
The situation changed drastically in the twelfth century. The ma-
terial condition of society was rapidly evolving during this epoch, as
evident in the rise of cities, increased local mobility, supra-regionality
of trade, stronger differentiation of professions, the appearance of
important opportunities for individual initiatives, the evolution of
literacy and institutions of higher learning leading to the foundation
of the university, the first stages of a supra-local market capitalism,
and, last but not least, the foundation of the supra-regionally-organ-
ized mendicant orders. The old confessional form of social control
and understanding could no longer be restricted to exterior deeds.
The most influential intellectual reaction to these changes was a third
way of looking at guilt and confession.

The Corifession qf Motives

Central to this is Abelard's theory of sin which held that sin is not
really tied to external action; rather, its core lies in an act of inten-
tion, in the agreeing-to-sin. It is only such agreement that leads to
guilt of the soul, and it is this that deserves damnation, because one
has become guilty before God. 3 The radical relocation of sin within
man is in the strongest contrast to earlier conceptions in which a
more external definition of guilt was the norm. As Jacques Le Goff so
precisely describes, the world of the Middle Ages is an extroverted
world. External duties and failures are in the center of ethical atten-
tion:

3 Petrus Abelardus, Ethica, c. 3, V. Cousin, ed., Petri Abelardi Opera t. 11, p. 211:
"Hunc vero consensum proprie peccatum nominamus, hoc est, culpam animae qua
damnationem meretur, vel apud Deum rea statuitur. Quid est enim iste consensus,
nisi Dei contemtus, et offensa ipsius?"
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 31

C'est un monde ... qui se definit par des attitudes, des conduites, des
gestes. Les gens ne peuvent y etre juges que sur des actes, non sur des
sentiments ... Le Wehrgeld par exemple considere bien a cote des actes
des acteurs mais en fonction de leur situation objective selon une classi-
fication tres rudimentaire d'ailleurs: libres et non libres, membres de
telle ou telle communaute nationale-non de leurs intentions. 4

The church's view of sin fits this opinion: there is a correspondence

between sins viewed as external acts and repentance oriented toward
external retaliation: Confession in church is a confession that involves
a cost, since it defines the punishment-without taking into account
the motives-relative to the severity of the act. The focus of Early
Medieval church confession is therefore not the confession as such,
but rather the reparation (satisfoctio), that follows the confession. 5
The twelfth-century's new definition of sin necessitated a corre-
sponding internalized form of repentance. The sinner gains real for-
giveness by eliminating the inner reality of the sin through negation
of intention, i.e., through deep remorse. This remorse (the technical
term is contritio) is based neither on external factors nor on the fear of
eternal or finite punishment, but rather on the realization of the
shamefulness of the sin. It is based on the pain felt over having had
such intentions. Experiencing regret out of the love of God is itself a
gift of God; it eliminates the guilt, and with it the punishment. The
repentant soul no longer requires punishment. 6
Nonetheless the sinner is encouraged to confess his guilt. The
confession does not become superfluous or irrelevant through the
internalization of guilt. Rather, it now becomes a forum to which not
only external acts but also intentions are brought. This provides a
form of social control of feelings and of conscience, which was not
possible before. Thus church confession becomes an institution be-
fore which the individual must justify himself. The shift of guilt to the

• Jacques Le Goff, Pour un autre Mr!Jen Age. TI!ITlPS, travail et culture en Occident: 18 essais
(Paris: Gallimard, 1977), 167.
5 For a good overview of the confession in ancient Christianity and the Early
Middle Ages, see Bemhard Poschmann, Die Abendliindische KirchenbujJe imftiihen Mittel-
alter, Breslauer Studien zur historischen Theologie, vol. 16, ed. F. X. Seppelt et. al.
(Breslau: 1930). In addition, see Karl Rahner, Schriften zur Theologie, vol. XI: Friihe
BuBgeschichte in Einzeluntersuchungen, bearbeitet von Karl H. Neufeld (Ziirich-
Einsiedeln-K6ln: 1973).
6 "Cum hoc gemitu et contritione cordis, quam veram poenitentiam dicimus,

peccatum non pemanet, hoc est contemptus Dei, sive concensus in malum, quia
caritas Dei hunc gemitum inspirans non patitur culpam. In hoc statim gemitu Deo
reconciliamur et praecedentis peccati veniam assequimur," Ethica, c. 19, p. 628.
32 ALOIS HAHN

realm of intentions soon becomes (with a few modifications that are

not relevant here) a common component in scholastic philosophy.
More than ever before, the individual is thrown back to introspec-
tion, to the degree that the ideas in question became predominant.
The individual's inner motives are tied to his salvation and therefore
need to be explored. Illumination of one's own web of motivations is
connected to an intensification of the sense of one's own subjectivity
that provides a new way of becoming aware of one's self-history.

Institutionalization if Mandatory Church Confession

These new contents of consciousness did not remain mere intellectual

responses to a new situation. They became elements of the reality of
institutions. The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 emphasized the
duty of every Christian of both sexes to confess before the local priest
at least once a year. 7 This amounted to the founding of an institution
in which theories became effective in practice, in terms of pastoral
duties. Previously these theories were only discussed or accepted in
theologians' circles and in universities. Now, the new teachings of
guilt and responsibility began to gain influence as an instrument of
discipline and a tool that established meaning. (Initially this was
probably true especially for urban groups and the upper classes.) One
could not avoid confession easily. The church was the institution that
had the monopoly for granting access to salvation, and as such it
firmly established confession.
The already mentioned increase in individualization can be wit-
nessed in many documents in the twelfth century, and more explicitly
in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. This was not the direct
result-as far as it can be explained by the variables chosen in this
essay-of a new theory of guilt, but rather of its translation into a
societal institution that is not defined primarily by its coercive charac-
ter but is nonetheless unavoidable. Certainly there were efforts even
7 The famous twenty-fIrst canon of the Fourth Lateran Council is: "Omnis utrius-
que sexus fIdelis, postquam ad annos discretionis pervenerit, omnia sua solus peccata
confIteatur fIdeliter saltem semel in anno proprio sacerdoti et iniunctam sibi poeni-
tentiam studeat pro viribus adimplere, suscipiendo reverenter, ad minus in Pascha
eucharistiae sacramentum, nisi forte de proprii sacerdotis consilio ob aliquam ratio-
nabilem causam ad tempus ab huismodi perceptione duxerit abstinendum. Alioquin
et vivens ab ingressu ecclesiae arceatur et moriens christiana careat sepultura."
Mansii Sacrorum conciliorum ... collectio XXII, p. 1007, quoted by Emil Fischer,
;;:,ur Geschichte der Beichte, vol. I (Leipzig, 1906) p. 6.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 33

before 1215 to encourage believers to receive the sacraments regu-

larly. As a case in point, consider that in 506 the regional council of
Agde required receiving the Last Supper at least three times a year.
However, decrees of this kind remained ineffective. In addition, theo-
logians continued to debate whether oral confession was necessary
after repentance. The canon omnis utriusque, however, was strictly en-
forced; Peter Browe provides evidence of this.8 In regions of France
with a high concentration of heretics, failing to receive the sacra-
ments was taken as indication of membership in a heretical group,
because they rejected the monopoly of priests over administration of
sacraments. The rejection of the sacraments also led to the institution
of the Inquisition. 9
In this vein, the synods of Toulouse (1229) and Port Audemer
(1279), and Archbishop Philipp des Lewis (1425-1454) determined
that anyone who did not go to Easter confession was to be treated as
suspectus de haeresi. 1o The Fourth Lateran Council had ruled that those
who miss confession will be denied membership in the church during
their lifetime, and refused church burial after their death. Further-
more, since the thirteenth century, lists were kept for the systematic
control of the fulfillment of Easter duties. Mter the provincial council
of ArIes (1275), the priests were required to keep a book for this
purpose, and every year during Lent they had to enter into it the
names of those who came to confession; they had to report during
the Easter synod those who did not confess. Such a procedure was
required by most synods. In most dioceses the first absence from
confession was reported. In several others, individuals were reported
only if they stubbornly refused to receive the sacraments (as was the
case in Trier, 1310).11
When mandatory confessions were made outside the home dis-
trict, the confessor had to submit proof and often had to get permis-
sion from his or her local priest. Mter the Middle Ages it became
customary to give a receipt to each confessor. In many cases the
receipt also had to be presented to the secular authorities, as was the
case in Austria during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. De-
linquency was punished with fines or by being refused alms. But it

8 "Die Pflichtbeichte im Mittelalter," Zeitschrififiir katlwlische Theologie 57 (1933),

335-383.
9 Ibid., 369.

!O Ibid., 370.

Il Ibid., 372.
34 ALOIS HAHN

was not only external pressure that, during the Middle Ages, led to
the mass institutionalization of regular church confession. It is prob-
ably at least as important that gradually the conviction spread widely
that the sacraments concerning penitence were necessary for salva-
tion,12 and that they were a gift of God. 13 In particular, the belief
grew that all sins-certainly all deadly sins-must be confessed. The
intentional concealment of a deadly sin invalidated the entire confes-
sion and added another deadly sin to those already committed. If a
deadly sin was unintentionally forgotten, it must be confessed later.
Not only that but, according to some theologians, in addition to the
deadly sin having to be confessed the entire confession must be re-
peated. This is necessary at least in those cases where the second
confession is not performed by the same priest, or when he does not
remember the first confession. 14
As the mandatory confession spread, the theory of repentance was
modified. In Abelard only the total repentance (the contritio) played a
role, but since the thirteenth century the idea of incomplete repent-
ance (the attritio) emerged. This was repentance out of fear. The
sinner imagines that the punishment for his deeds is waiting for him
in the "beyond." Increasingly, the fear of purgatory and hell came to
be interpreted as sufficient repentance for sins, if the fear was created
in the context of a confession. With this, repentance was no longer
recognized solely in the form of which only a virtuoso of religion was
capable; it was connected to motivations that had meaning for the
normal lay person as well. In addition, as incomplete repentance
became more institutionalized, fear was used in those cases as a

12 This point of view can be found in the 1514 commentary by Gabriel Biel,
CoLlectorium circa quatuor Libros sententiarum (Lugduni 1514) XX6b: "Cum quis alicuius
mortalis peccati obliti prius et ideo non confessi recordatur, tunc tenetur ille, id
peccatum oblitum cum omnibus prius confessis iterum confiteri, nisi forte eidem
confiteretur, cui prius confessus est, qui adbuc haberet memoriam peccatorum prius
sibi confessis." But those theologians whose attitude is less strict in this matter and do
not require repeating the whole confession also insist that, if possible, one should
mention that one forgot about the sins on the previous occasion.
13 Thomas Aquinas points out that the "forma" of the confession, which consists

of forgiving the confessed sins, relies on having been instituted by Christ. Summa
7heoLogiae, 3, 84, 7: "Sed forma sacramenti et virtus ipsius, totaliter est ex institutione
Christi, ex cuius passione procedit virtus sacramentorum."
14 Because one could hardly imagine a human being who never commits a deadly

sin, but deadly sins can only be expunged through confession (besides baptism),
confession is necessary for salvation. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa 7heologiae, 3, 84, 5:
"Unde patet quod sacramentum poenitentiae est necessarium ad salutem post pecca-
turn: sicut medicatio corporalis postquam homo in morbum periculosum inciderit."
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 35

regulatory mechanism. Earlier, Thomas Aquinas was skeptical about

effectiveness of mere attritio for achieving salvation. But Duns Scotus l5
was of the opinion that a minimum of attritio is a sufficient condition
for the effective reception of the sacraments. The definitive institu-
tionalization of the role of attritio occurred during the Council of
Trent. 16
One of the most concrete results of the introspection that was
required by the duty to confess, was a new sensitivity for the unique-
ness of the individual. This uniqueness was expressed in the individu-
alization of sculptured headstones since the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Philippe Aries shows that this enhanced individualization
of identity-consciousness was also partly responsible for a changed
view of death that became increasingly strong since the twelfth cen-
tury. Earlier periods had "mastered" death and had experienced it
mostly as a group experience; now death was beginning to be expe-
rienced as an individual crisis. The archaic control of fear of death
did not need to be as strong, because the individual knew himself to
be an integral part of the surviving group that continues to live.
However, when death destroys an individual who sees himself as a
unique person, fear of death must become much more dramatic.
Aries points out that this new understanding of death, "la mort de
soi," was responsible for a new conceptualization of the belief in a
"beyond." In particular, there was general acceptance of the view
which used to exist only among the theological elite, that body and
soul will be separated immediately after death, conviction of an indi-
vidual reckoning at the moment of death, and general belief in pur-
gatory. I7
A further important corollary concerned the existence and desig-

15 See the commentary by Duns Scotus, vo!. IV, Liber IV, dist XIV quo IV:

"Attritus ... non habens talem actum, qui sufficit ad meritum de congruo, sed tantum
habens voluntatem suscipiendi sacramentum ecclesiae et sine obice peccati mortalis
actualiter sibi facto vel in voluntate inhaerentis, recipit non ex merito, sed ex pacto
divino effectum illius sacramenti, ut sic parum attritus, etiam attritione, quae non
habet rationem meriti ad remissionem peccati, volens tamen recipere sacramentum
poenitentiae, sicut dispensatur in ecclesia, et sine obice in voluntate peccati mortalis in
actu in ultimo instanti illius prolationis verborum, in quo scilicet est vis sacramenti
istius, recipiat effectum sacramenti scilicet gratiam poenitentialem." Quoted in Emil
Fischer, Die Geschichte der eD01lgelischen Beichte (Leipzig: 1902) Bd. I, p. 87.
16 The relevant texts can be found in Sess. 14 C. 4. A textbook summary can be
found in H. Noldin, Summa 7heologiae Moralis Ill, De Sacramentis (Innsbruck: 1914),
296-315.
17 See recendy, Jacques Le Goff, La Naissance du Purgatoire (Paris: 1981).
36 ALOIS HAHN

nation of rules that guide the exploration of one's own conscience.

The individual would not know where to begin his inner exploration
if he were not given a map of the landscape of his soul. It is of great
importance for the development of confession after the Fourth
Lateran Council, that a wealth of manuals to be used by the priest
were prepared. These casuistically surveyed and systematized the
world of sin, virtue, intentions, motives, and the degrees of freedom
and responsibility. Most of these texts may be subsumed under a
literary category: the so-called "Sums" for priests, the "Summae con-
fessorum" or "Summae de Casibus conscientiae."18 Raymundus of
Penaforte is generally recognized as the founder of this genre. His
Summa (the so-called "Raymundina") was written in the decades
following the Lateran Council. Others were written at the end of the
thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth centuries, e.g., the
Summa cor!fossorum by the DominicanJohannes of Freiburg, the Summa
Pisanella by Bartolomeo a Santo Concordio, and the Summa de Casibus
Conscientiae by the Fransciscan Astesanus of Asti. Other later "Sums"
that became famous during the Age of Reformation are the Summa
Angelica by Angelus of Clavasio and the Summa Summarum by the
Domenican Sylvester Prierias Mazzolini, known as the "Sylvestrina."
Some of these manuals, showing clear differences from one author to
another and from one era to another, remained in use for centuries.
Differences may appear in the evaluation of the severity of certain
sins, the intensity with which the circumstances surrounding the act
are dissected, and the web of motives. Despite these differences, how-
ever, a high degree of similarity remains. The main function of the
manuals was to provide the priest and confessor moral certitude for
the evaluation of the ethicality of acts and motivations. In times when
action and behavior were becoming more and more complex and
differentiated, increasingly detailed specifications of general moral
principles represented templates for interpretation that allowed the
individual to orient himself vis a vis the new wealth of possibilities
and to overcome the anxieties resulting from guilt. Like analysands
on the psychotherapist's couch, confessors were able to find a map

18 A summary can be found in Johannes Dietterle, "Die Summae confessorum

(Sive de casibus conscientiae) von ihren Anfangen bis zu Sylvester Prierias-unter

besonderer Beriicksichtigung ihrer Bestimmungen uber den Ablass," ZKG 24 (1903),
353-374,540-548; 25 (1904), 248-272; 26 (1905), 59-81, 350-362; 27 (1906), 70-83,
166-188,296-310,433-442; 28 (1907), 401-431. See also, recenciy, Thomas N. Tent-
ler, Sin and Confession on the Eve of Riformation (Princeton: 1977).
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 37

for the evaluation of their sins in the casuistry of the Sums, manuals,
and rule books for confession. The priest was instructed to inquire
about sins in general, but also to take into account that the prince
typically has to combat sins that are different from those of the
knight, the merchant, the burger, etc.

Biographical Corifession

The fourth phase of the development of confession was reached with

its institutionalization during the Reformation and the Counter-Ref-
ormation. One of the most consequential changes brought about by
the reformation of religious life in Europe is probably the re-design-
ing of the confession. Generally speaking, the character of confession
as a sacrament was abandoned. Also abandoned was the idea of the
priest's magical powers to forgive the repentant sinner's guilt. As soon
as salvation became based on belief or predestination, regular confes-
sion lost its relevance as a cleanser of sins. But that did not necessarily
mean that it lost its relevance totally. In any case, the Reformers did
not eliminate confession; what they did change were its forms, its
theological significance, and ethical function. In particular, two ele-
ments became autonomous: on the one hand, the searching of one's
conscience, i.e., the individual's examination of his own beliefs and
worthiness to be forgiven, and, on the other hand, the surveillance of
external that was practiced by the priest or the community.
Luther's attitude toward confession developed gradually, and to-
ward the end of 1521 he arrived at his final view regarding it. There-
after, the sacramental character of confession and its necessity for
salvation became an issue of debate. Oral confession is not docu-
mented in the Bible, therefore it is a human creation. Nonetheless,
Luther was not in favor of abolishing it. Fischer l9 summarizes
Luther's view as follows:
Despite all this, institutionalized confession remains a very wholesome
institution, and every Christian will make use of it voluntarily and grate-
fully. However, there cannot be coercion in any way. It is entirely
illegitimate to require a confession that goes into the smallest detail and
has to be given before the priest .... Confession must be put under the
will of the individual; in particular, the confession before a lay-person
must explicitly be allowed ... what is required is only the confession

19 Fischer, above ll. 15, 11, p. 82.

38 ALOIS HAHN

before God. He who performs it in the right manner will also feel the
need to confess to a brother in Christianity and will receive many
blessings from doing so. But he should confess to the priest as only a
brother-in-Christianity and not as someone who holds public office and
has special privileges. . .. In all this, the emphasis must be on the right
attitude of the heart, and on the right and true belief. Because neither
the degree of one's own remorse nor the scope of one's confessions can
guarantee in any way the effectiveness of a confession .... True belief is
therefore the only thing that is absolutely required. If it is there, all that
is needed is a general confession containing at the most the revelation of
only those sins that weigh most heavily on ones conscience. ... But
someone who does not have the right attitude of the heart and beliefs,
and the true desire for salvation, should not go to confession. The fact
that the church requires confession may not cause him to confess. On
the contrary, he should stay away from it until he comes to a better
understanding and the right attitude of the heart.2o

During Luther's absence from Wittenberg this view led to conse-

quences that the reformer had not intended at all. It was Carlstadt in
particular who had a hand in abolishing confession for several years.
As soon as Luther returned from the Wartburg toward the end of
1523, he immediately complained about this development and pre-
pared for the re-introduction of confession in a new form. Luther
thought that it was a scandal how many "undeserving" came to the
Last Supper. He introduced-besides the confession that was volun-
tary-a kind of examination of belief to which everyone who wanted
to be admitted to the Last Supper had to submit.
Mter this more catechetic and dogmatic examination, those who were
deemed to need it were subjected, if necessary, to an ethical-religious
examination. In it the priest had to pay attention to the individual's
conduct of life. If the priest found someone who did not satisfy the
requirements in that respect or had obviously committed sins, then he
ought to carefully investigate whether the person stopped committing
sins, or was at least deeply distraught about his sins and trying to break
away from them. 2!

This bisection of voluntary confession into an inner religious act, and

the policing of morality by the church, had very important conse-
quences. The inner self-direction through consciousness was com-
bined very effectively with external control by strangers. Mter all, in
a Protestant community, to be excluded from the Last Supper be-
cause of an immoral life-style was not only a religious matter, but had
20 Ibid.
21 Ibid., 11, p. 180.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 39

very serious consequences for the individual's secular status. Gener-

ally speaking, however, the examination of one's belief did not affect
everybody equally. Fischer points out that questions were asked only
once, and not at all of "persons of high intellect or morality." Thus
there were two types of social control: On the one hand, the social
control whose effectiveness was based on conscience was for those
who were experts in religious matters, and for well respected mem-
bers of the community. On the other hand, there was extemally-
based social control for the rest of the people.
The "discovery" of intentions in the twelfth century led to a new
understanding of action, but by itself was not sufficient to give rise to
a biographical perspective. While it is true that since the twelfth
century individual acts were no longer viewed in isolation from the
corresponding motivations, there was no effort to analyze an indi-
vidual's single acts in the context of all his acts. Still lacking was the
idea that there is a connection between the biographical context of
the act and the whole of the actor's life as an individualized system of
processes that are interconnected by intentions. Church confession
(at least that of the lay-person, and possibly to a lesser degree that of
the monk or other members of the church) even had a side effect:
acts that were confessed and regretted could be expunged from
memory for, after all, they are expunged from God's "memory" since
He has forgiven them. In this sense, confession tied the sinner to
single acts, emphasized the connection between motive and
behavior, and developed the idea of individual responsibility; but all
this was done without reference to the individual's life as a whole. If
confession took away the burden of one's past, it could not produce
any impulse to systematize all of life's components. This would re-
quire a new step in the understanding of behavior.
It is possible that the systematization of ascetic life among the
European monks brought with it something like a responsibility that
results from life as a whole. This form of relating life and behavior
became available only during the Reformation, and then was re-
quired oflay-persons as well. Max Weber22 has seen this most dearly.
22 Here we only treat the development of the process of civilization on the basis of
religiously founded psychogenetic processes, using Weber's essays on Protestantism,
because he was the first to describe this phenomenon precisely. Of course, this
should not replace a thorough study of the sources from this point of view. Nor
should it prevent the discussion of the relevant counter-arguments against Weber's
theses. This cannot be done in this essay, but will be undertaken in later, more
detailed work.
40 ALOIS HAHN

He said that when salvation no longer depends on single deeds, and

when the saving Grace cannot repeatedly be lost through sin and be
regained through confession, but instead becomes a "sentence" in the
form of predestination hanging over one's life as a whole, then indi-
vidual certainty of being saved (certitudo salutis) can no longer be
gained from singular acts, but must become a reflection of one's
biography as a whole. Then the question cannot be: Through which
deeds, words, and thoughts have I insulted God? Instead, it must
now be: Is my life as a whole that of someone who belongs to the
chosen? As a consequence, life must be subjected to systematic con-
trol. The merely sporadic confession would be a much too unsyste-
matic instrument of regulation. Max Weber points out that relative
to the older form of Catholicism, Calvinism is characterized prima-
rily by the enormous strengthening of systematic control of behavior
in all aspects of life. 23 Weber mentions different instruments that
work toward this regulation. First, there is the new valuation of time.
Time is sacred and must be used, no moment can be wasted. Now,
even short moments of sin represent a waste of time, hint at one's
possible damnation, and can no longer simply be expunged through
confession and remorse. Weber mentions in this connection the
ascetic principle of self-control that characterized the Puritan and
"made him the father of modem self-discipline. "24 However, the
most important principle that, according to Weber, characterizes the
Puritan is the systematic control of affects, a methodical life in inner-
worldly asceticism.
Weber is well aware that the principle of self-control was nothing
new, and developed step by step as an other-worldly principle in the
lives of monks, and even in the lives of laymen who emulated them.
In this connection, Weber mentions the members of the Third Order
and the Devotio Modema, where the religious rationalization of eve-
ryday life was already an issue. 25 What is important is the re-direction
of the monks' morality into a requirement that became the duty of
every lay-person; it changed from an other-worldly directive for life
that existed for a religious sub-group, into a general rule. The Calvin-
ist's certainty of having been chosen is not the result of "periodic
release from affective guilt" through confession,26 but rather, the' re-

23 Max Weber, Gesammelte AujSiitze zur Religionssoziologie, vo!. I, (Tiibingen: 1976).

24 Ibid., 117.
25 Ibid., 119.
26 Ibid., 97.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 41

sult of an alternative-to be chosen or condemned. It is astonishing

that this description of the Puritan's life-ideal which, when it is
secularized, clearly becomes the program for a process of civilization,
has rarely been viewed from this point of view. The question that has
generally been discussed is only whether a connection really exists
between the ideals of self-control and the creation of the spirit of
capitalism. Elias's theory of civilization continues to use descriptive
categories that are parallel to those of Weber, but he does not take
into account the religious roots of the process of civilization. Weber
had already pointed to the type of the courtly-civilized gentleman in
the Anglo-Saxon civilization who "values reserved self-control," 27
and is dependent on Puritan ideals. However, Weber scarcely
touches upon the institutionalized form in which this new systematic
self-control was being practiced.
My thesis is that we have here new forms of confession that are of
central importance. Weber, in his treatment of Franklin, has pointed
to his diary, but he looks at it only from the viewpoint of the budget-
ing of time. It seems important to me to interpret the institution of
the diary as a type of confession that makes possible self-reassurance
through biography. The connections between the Puritan diary, au-
tobiography, and the development of the bourgeois novel in England
are obvious, especially if one considers the work of Defoe or
Richardson. The successor to the church confession within Puritan-
ism was, in a sense, "self-confession," but we should not forget that
church confession does not simply disappear in Puritanism. Lewin
Schucking,28 for example, mentions that the Puritan marriage was
also a confessional-unit; religion would contribute to the couple's
salvation and tie them together totally, through giving them the op-
portunity of baring their souls completely. To this end they form yet
another communion within the communion of the family. The forms
in which this confessional-unit are manifest may seem peculiar to us
because they include not only common religious interests, reading,
and meditation, but also a kind of service called humiliation where
prayers are offered that are not only self-confessions, but also a list-
ing, with a plea for forgiveness, of sins, weaknesses, and failures com-
mitted by the spouse, who on this occasion learns of them for the first
time. To this are added prayers of gratitude for observed virtues in
27 Ibid., 117.
28 Lewin Schiicking, Die Familie im Puritanismus. Studien uber Familie. Literatur in Eng-
land im 16., 17., und 18. ]h. (Leipzig-Berlin: 1929).
42 ALOIS HAHN

the spouse. In this way the idea of confession changes in a peculiar

manner. 29
Originally, the insistence on self-exploration and self-control re-
sulted from the concern regarding the certainty of being saved. This
led to the general rationalization of the conduct of life. According to
Schucking, the connection is obvious between this incessant "labor of
introspection" and the increasingly refined psychological sensibility
that characterized English novels at the time. The new time-perspec-
tive is also clearly visible: On the one hand there is the utilization of
every moment, and on the other, the development of paying atten-
tion to one's biography as a whole, living according to a long-range
perspective, and keeping a diary. As a result, the individual develops
a heightened feeling for and consciousness of his own unique self. 30
There are other reasons why the originally religious biographical
perspective (encompassing life as a whole) appears in the bourgeois
English novel of the eighteenth century where the valuation of every-
day and un heroic phenomena seems to be part of the theme, and
these become acceptable as material for serious works. This change
has to do with the Puritan ethos, leading to emphasis on the dignity
of everyday life. It is precisely not the one-time heroic act that can
ensure salvation; rather, having been chosen is reflected in methodi-
cally fulfilling one's duty over the long run. Puritan holiness, unlike
Catholic holiness that can be interpreted as a case of withstanding
extraordinary temptation, is seen as "proving yourself with respect to
minute detail," as heroism in everyday life. In other words, Puritan
holiness is biography. This becomes especially clear in Richardson,
one of the founders of the modem novel, who held that doing one's
duty is not a single heroic act lasting for an exemplary moment, but
is, rather, enduring one's daily living. This results in the extremely
prosaic nature of the novel's content.
The serious literature of antiquity was fundamentally different. It
was exclusively interested in unique situations and characters, and
tended to present everyday life in comic distortion or distance.
Drama, of course must rely on the spectacular, and this is the reason
why the drama-theory of antiquity could take as a starting point the
29 Ibid., 55.
30 Not all life-memories or memoires are diaries or autobiographies in the sense
intended here. Hartman Leitner, Lebenslazif und ldentitiit. Die kulturelle Konstruktion von
Zeit in der Biographie (Frankfurt-New York: 1982) 113, showed that the systematic self-
thematization of one's life is a recent phenomenon. Older "autobiographies" are
more likely to emphasize the congruency between the author and his social position.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 43

rule of the three units-action, location, and time-that were seen as

wholes. In contrast, the nature of the actions and relationships that
are described in the bourgeois novel is that of long-term processes
and not of catastrophes or turning-points that could be reduced to a
moment.
The role of time in ancient, medieval, and renaissance literature is
certainly very different from that in the novel. The restriction of the
action of tragedy to twenty-four hours, for example, the celebrated
unity of time, is really a denial of the temporal dimension in human life;
for ... it implies that the truth about existence can be as fully unfolded
in the space of a day as in the space of a lifetime. 31
The connection of the novel form with the Puritan view of salvation
is obvious: Salvation cannot be attained through confession on the
death-bed; the certainty of individual salvation can only be known
through life-long ascetic behavior. Fundamentally, one's biography is
controlled as a whole. The single moment does not become irrelevant
because of this, but gains its significance in the context of a life's
course. This is also true of death. It is no longer the point that defines
all of life; rather, death gains its meaning through life, and is no
longer the meaning and the aim of life.
The perspective that comes with the modem novel implies paying
simultaneous attention to everyday affairs and to long-term proc-
esses, even entire life stories. The creation of the modem novel can
easily be placed against a backdrop of those socio-historical develop-
ments that lead to a new type of responsibility: the responsibility for
shaping one's own life. There is a massive increase in the motiva-
tional aspect of action, that goes hand-in-hand with the greater valu-
ation of everyday life and the new relevance of perspectives resulting
from looking at the whole of a life-perspectives that are typical for
life-confessions, diaries, and the modem novel. By giving a detailed
description of the internal world of the individual, even a life with no
events to speak of can be turned into an artistically attractive subject.
The details of the rather empty life of a housemaid, like that of
Richardson's Pamela, can become interesting because of their inter-
connections with motives, anxieties, and hopes. Even boredom be-
comes worth telling about when it is depicted as an inner state. In
this respect the modem novel follows the model of the life-confession,
of self-exploration, and of the diary. The presentation and dissection

31 Ian Watt, The Rise qfthe Novel (Harmondsworth: 1981), 24.

44 ALOIS HAHN

of even the most ordinary sensations and feelings objectifies and so-
cializes the self in a manner practically unknown before. It makes
accessible spheres that were previously inaccessible even to the pro-
tagonist. The diffuseness of one's own inner life is not eliminated
because "you know yourself best." Instead, the differentiations (that
can be named) of inner states, brought into relief by the modem
novel, create the subtle map of the jungle of inner emotions. It is the
map that allows an individual to find his way in himself, allows him
to communicate about his inner life, and to influence and fashion it
after some model. On the basis of these differentiated internal cat-
egories, their changes, interconnections, and laws, our inner life be-
comes a subject of our knowledge in a new way. As a consequence of
confession or any other real communication about our inner life, the
originally hardly graspable and fleeting movements of our soul be-
come objective variables.
While the English novel may initially be the heir of non-artistic
diaries-such as the famous diary of Pepys-and not in itself a means
for self-control, it nonetheless indicates to the reader how he or she
can refer to him or herself. The form of the diary, the life-confession,
or the self-baring in letters, is already incorporated in novels such as
Defoe's Robinson Crusoe and Moll Flanders, and Richardson's Pamela.
The novel becomes the model for self-exploration. Madame de Stael
saw a great danger in this: "Les romans, me me les plus purs, font du
mal; ils nous ont trop appris ce qu'il y a de plus secret dans les
sentiments. On ne peut plus rien eprouver sans se souvenir presque
de l'avoir lu, et tous les voiles du coeur ont ete dechires. Les anciens
n'auraient jamais fait ainsi de leur ame un sujet de fiction."32 What
Madame de Stael is lamenting is the loss of immediacy of one's own
feelings. The question is, however, whether we would have these
feelings at all without reading about them. Is it not the case that
certain feelings remind us of having read a novel in which they were
described? The feelings themselves, insofar as they are more than an
indescribable broth of undifferentiated movement, depend for their
formation (that is, for their separation from that broth) on the indi-
vidual paying attention to himself beforehand.
However, this typically depends on models, exemplars, and prac-
tice. In any case, new possibilities are opened for the disciplining
access to one's own behavior, or that of others as soon as there are

32 Cited in Watt, ibid., 233.

 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 45

media of communication in which feelings are objectified, differenti-

ated, and become the subject of discourse. This is especially true
when, in principle, not only singular acts or omissions, but the entire
biography, can be subjected to this kind of dissection. The objectivi-
zation and accessibility of both external and internal biography as
they are created by diaries, novels, life-confessionals, and therapeutic
or religious confessions, did more than create the possibility for in-
creased self-discipline and civilization. It also gave a new connotation
to the total biography, which no longer could derive its significance
from religious institutions, but now had to rely on individualized
sources of meaning that create for the self new opportunities for self-
exploration and communication.

Co1!fossion and Universal Confission during the French Counter-Reformation

What can be said of the development of confession in Catholic con-

texts during the same period? Sociology has hitherto mostly ne-
glected the modernizing influence of the Counter-Reformation. I
myself will only provide some hints here. One of the most striking
changes concerns the new understanding of confession, leading to
practical effects similar to those in Calvinist countries, though the
theological foundations were totally different. The starting point for
Catholic thinking was the problem of the person who had confessed
and repented his sins, and then relapsed into sinning. The new
Catholic psychology, especially of the French Counter-Reformation
was that the sinner could not have relapsed, if he or she had really
repented. Thus, presumably, the first confession was not really valid,
and the confessed sins were not forgiven. The only psychological
guarantee of sincere repentance was for a person not to relapse.
Ideally, only a permanently ethical, unreproachable life could be
accepted as a psychologically sufficient and authentic repentance in
the single confession. Thus, just as in Calvinism, only the biography
as a whole warranted salvation. The corresponding institutional de-
vice was the introduction of the so-called "general confession."
Norbert Elias argues that the methodical conduct of life and the
strict self-control of modem educated and polite people are the result
of the power of monopoly of the court. From our viewpoint, the
methodical conduct of life can be seen~at least in the Puritanical
sphere~as having a mass-base, resulting from new religious pres-
sures and procedures encouraging the search and control of one's
46 ALOIS HAHN

conscience. Sociological literature pays little attention to these phe-

nomena and, it seems to me, even less attention to the changes in
mentality that accompany them in the Catholic lands immediately
after the Counter-Reformation. This can be illustrated for France by
referring to the popular works of Franc;ois de Sales, especially his
Introduction ala vie devote (1609). Here the systematic religious penetra-
tion of every-day life is called devotion and is recommended as a gen-
eral guideline for living that is not restricted to clerics. He writes: " ...
ainsi peut une ame vigoureuse et constante vivre au monde sans
recevoir aucune humeur mondaine, trouver des sources d'une douce
piete au milieux des ondes ameres de ce siecle, et voler entre les
flammes des convoitises terrestres sans bn1ler les ailes des sacres
desirs de la vie devote."33 This presupposes, of course, a class-specific
form of piety: "La devotion doit etre differemment exercee par le
gentilhomme, par l'artisan, par le valet, par le prince, par la veuve,
par la fille, par la mariee."34
The devotion of the layman leads to a reformulation of numerous
exercises of piety. Accordingly, the pious layman should not castigate
himself through fasting, but instead demonstrate the subjugation of
his self by eating without complaining whatever is put on the table.
In this way one can humiliate oneself without affecting anyone else.
Only this kind of devotion is suited for life outside a monastery.35
However, in bourgeois life this devotion should not be learned with-
out guidance. The individual should not be left to his own devices,
but should put himself under the control of a spiritual guide, the
"directeur de l'ame." This soul-guide can but need not be the same
as the father-confessor. In either case the soul must be totally bared
to him. The member of the court described by Elias reacts to the
external control of the court, and only slowly becomes independent
of it through internalization. Similarly, the supervision of the "direc-
teur de l'ame" leads to increased self-control through permanent
external control. Therefore it is of utmost importance to choose the
right soul-guide and to have unlimited trust in him: "Voulez-vous a
bon escient vous ache miner a la devotion? Cherchez quelque homme
de bien qui vous guide et conduise; c'est ici l'avertissement des aver-
tissements. "36 How is he to be treated? With honesty and without

33 Franc;ois de Sales, Oeuvres (Paris: 1969) Bib!. P1eiade, 24.

34 Ibid., 36.
35 Ibid., 197.
36 Ibid., 38.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 47

having any secrets: "Traitez avec lui a coeur ouvert, en toute sind:rite
et fideIite, lui manifestant clairement votre bien et votre mal, sans
feintise ni dissimulation .... Ayez en lui une extreme confiance melee
d'une sacree reverence, en sorte que la reverence ne diminue point la
confiance et que la confiance n'empeche point la reverence; confiez-
vous en lui avec le respect d'une fille envers son pere, respectez-Ie
avec la confiance d'un fils avec sa mere. "37 In addition, the chosen
father-confessor should not be changed. 38
The increase in self-control, the intensification of the method, or
life-conduct as required by devotion, occur step by step. Devotion is
a slow process; it is like a career: "La purgation et guerison ordinaire,
soit des corps soit des esprits, ne se fait que petit a petit, par progres,
d'avancement en avancement, avec peine et loisir."39 Therefore it
would be careless, even dangerous, to submit too quickly to the exter-
nal control of the father-confessor: "Qu'elles sont en grand peril de
rechoir pour s'etre trop tot otees d'entre les mains du medecin!"4D
It is tempting to misinterpret the role of the "directeur de l'ame"
so that he appears to have to carry all the responsibilities. The oppo-
site is the case. The father-confessor is at the same time witness and
judge to whom the confessor has to answer. Even the most fleeting
thought and the most farfetched act become intersubjective knowl-
edge through confession; they become something real that cannot be
doubted, an element of one's own biography that cannot be denied
in its reality. In the devotion of the Counter-Reformation, the "gen-
eral confession" was the most important means for the objectivi-
zation of one's own life-course. This was a very old term, but it had
meant something different in the Middle Ages. The medieval mean-
ing is spelled out in a passage from Alain de Lille's Summa de arte
praedicatoria. From it we learn that the concept "confession" has two
meanings; it can mean either "general confession," or "special con-
fession." The general confession may be made during the daily
morning or evening mass; it refers to hidden and forgivable sins. The
special confession is the auricular confession per se, during which the
mortal sins that one knows of are confessed. 41 The general confession
37 Ibid., 40sq.
38 Ibid., 40 and 115.
39 Ibid., 41.

40 Ibid., 41.

41 Alain de Lille, Summa de arte praedicawrW, PL 210, 172-173: "Duplex est autem

peccati confessio, quaedam generalis, quaedam specialis. Generalis, quae fit indies in
sacrificio maturino et vespertino, id est in completorio pro venialibus et occultis:
48 ALOIS HAHN

of the Middle Ages was therefore not a confession of concrete sins,

but rather the admission in general that one is a sinner. One admits
to have sinned, but not to what.
Differing from this, the concept "general confession" during the
Counter-Reformation meant a special confession concerning con-
crete sins. It did not mean the periodic listing of sins, but a one-time
or rarely occurring confession, that encompasses the entire past life; it
was a biography of sins, so to speak. Here the candidate for devotion
takes inventory of his entire past, and recalls what was forgotten, in
order to make it known to himself and to the father-confessor. In a
sense the individual's biography becomes fixed. Even the forgiven,
long confessed sins and one's inclination toward them, as well as the
temptations that were overcome through the grace of God, are to
remain elements of self-consciousness: "La confession generale nous
appelle a la connaissance de nous-memes, nous provoque a une
salutaire confusion pour notre vie passee ... donne sujet a notre pere
spirituel de no us faire des avis plus convenables cl notre condition."42
This continuous conscience-control was to continue after the general
confession, if possible before the simple weekly confessions, and every
evening during the private examinations of one's conscience: "On
examine comme on s'est comporte en toutes les heures du jour; et
pour faire cela plus aisement, on considerera ou, avec qui, et en
quelle occupation on a ete. "43

VVhat Role do Confessions Play Today?

The first question we must ask is whether confessions that contain the
total biography have become dysfunctional in our society, since it is
characterized as having differentiated systems such as law, economy,
politics, religion, and private spheres isolated from spheres of public
action. It appears, in fact, that the individual develops multiple biog-
raphies that correspond to the differentiation into subsystems. These
biographies must be synchronized from time to time when incompa-
tibilities and disturbances develop. The acts and motivations that
enter these partial biographies depend on the criteria relevant to the

specialis quae fit pro mortalibus et manifestis: ad quam tenentur clerici singulis
Sabbatis, laici vero ter in anno specialiter confiteri."
42 Franc;:ois de Sales, above n. 33, 43.
43 Ibid., 95.
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 49

sphere of life to which the individual is to be coordinated. The biog-

raphy that is reconstructed from someone's medical history is based
on factors that differ from those in the dossier representing the indi-
vidual's vita before an employer or the Secret Service. This difference
in the selection of biographical data does not mean that one ought to
restrict the information given to only that one sphere. The vita that
the employer seeks does not exclude private information. On the
contrary! But in this context it is not the whole of the private life that
is of interest. To some degree, limits are established, i.e., protection
of privacy, secrecy of confession, secrecy of medical records, to pre-
vent the re-combining of the partial biographies into the whole biog-
raphy.
It is characteristic of present times that the information that I
supply about myself-when filling out a questionnaire, being inter-
viewed by the authorities, during office hours, in my curriculum vi-
tae-is not a revelation which is then forgotten. Today there are
numerous methods to store and preserve these disclosures, and to
recombine them according to criteria that I cannot control. There
are methods to analyze my disclosures for hidden patterns, in order
to derive from them insights concerning my health, reliability, or
mental capacity. The storage of confessions that has become possible
in unprecedented volume through modem electronic means, repre-
sents a change whose consequences cannot yet be evaluated. All
confessions have always been linked to an aspect of control, manipu-
lation, and surveillance; but today this has reached an entirely new
quality. The fear of such total surveillance already manifests itself in
many publications. It can be found as the vision of "Big Brother" and
similar nightmares depicted in science fiction novels and films, as well
as in serious scientific publications. 44 The utopia or nightmare of the

44 This is probably most apparent in the works ofMichel Foucault. By using many

frameworks ranging from the hospital to the prison, and from the insane asylum to
psychoanalysis, he traces the connection between the individual's being controlled by
information about himself that he provides during voluntary or forced discourse, and
a new form of social power. See M. Foucault, Surveiller et Punir. Naissance de la Prison
(Paris: 1975). Histoire de la Folie al'age classique (Paris: 1972), and Naissance de la clinique.
Une archeologie du regard medical (Paris: 1963). All these cases are about securing infor-
mation by putting individuals in institutions. But this changes when the control of
impulses occurs as a result of voluntary discourse. It is this aspect that is central to
Foucault's work on the history of sexuality (Histoire de la sexualiti, vo!. I: La Volonte de
savoir [paris: 1976]). What is said there about sexuality could be said about practi-
cally all spheres of behavior: "Police du sexe: c'est-a-dire non pas rigueur d'une
prohibition mais necessite de regler le sexe par des disc ours utiles et publics" (p. 35).
50 ALOIS HAHN

"glass person" would then represent the endpoint of a development

that began with the individual's voluntary self-revelation before the
priest who is sworn to secrecy but represents an omniscient God; the
individual must become transparent to the father-confessor as he
already is to his God. However, the father-confessor took no notes
and did not maintain electronic files. His knowledge could not be
stored or centralized. In addition, he had knowledge only about a
small group of people. The power of the father-confessor depended
primarily on the faith of the confessor. In the modem fiction of the
"glass person," the secularized father-confessors would no longer be
representatives of God; they would simply be omniscient.
There can be no doubt that the information gained through con-
fessions and disclosures is relevant even in the context of modem
differentiated institutions. But we may ask whether confessions or
other forms of self-thematization,+5 are still meaningful to the indi-
vidual. If we analyze the literature of various periods, we have the
impression that the individual used to be a unique whole who was by
and large responsible for himself, but that today he has been divided
into small pieces. It appears as if the past in its totality is no longer
significant for the identity of the individual, but that the individual
can-depending on the situation-evoke or forget certain elements.
It may be possible that social change occurs so fast, and the systems
to which one has to relate are so complicated, that the individual's
personality and character as structures with firm content can no
longer adapt over a long period of time. This was probably the
thought behind Riesman's thesis of the "other-directedness" of mod-
em individuals. 46 The multiplicity of groups we belong to makes it
impossible for us to develop a permanent and unified sel£ If the
individual belongs to only one group, "this group not only knows his
acts, it also confronts him with them and attributes them to him.
Because the group permanently attributes them to him and reflects
them, he learns to view himself as an actor with an identity and
attributes his acts to himself. It is this mirror of a tight group that

45 See Niklas Luhman, "Selbstthematisierung des Gesellschaftssystems," Zeitschrifi

for Soziologie 2 (1973): 21-46, about the theoretical implications of this concept. Here,
however, the "reflexive" element is transferred from the individual to the social
system. Remaining unanswered is the question whether the insights that are gained
during the analysis of the se1f-thematization of social systems can enhance the indi-
vidual's understanding of socially institutionalized self-thematizations.
46 Cf. David Riesman, The Lonely Crowd (New Haven: 1950).
 NARRATIVE IDENTITY AND AURICULAR CONFESSION 5I

creates a person's identity."47 Today we are far from such a situation.

We can no longer create a whole out of the stream of time that runs
through our biography, because there is no social entity confronting
us that confirms its objectivity. Therefore,
... the identity of the individual is reduced .... When the adventures of
the time we went to school, our adventures in college, on vacation,
immediately are in the past and behind us because there is nothing
tying these social realms together, and we can-so to speak-begin
again; when marriage and entertainment fall into entirely separate
groups; when we can at any time change our social group by changing
our job or moving, then our acts turn into "what is happening" or
"what has already happened." They have become something that can
be looked at from the outside. 48
On the other hand, the large number of printings of conventional
novels that include consistent biographies show not only that the end
of the novel is not there yet, but also that the idea behind it, namely
the wholeness of a life-course, has not yet totally lost its social cur-
rency. From the fact that we no longer receive from the mirror of a
social group an image of our past that cannot be reinterpreted arbi-
trarily and solipsistically, it does not follow that self-thematizations
have become meaningless. However, their character has changed
considerably. The self that is thematized in this fashion is privatized
to a previously unknown degree. This means that if it is at all bind-
ing, it is so only for its bearer, and possibly only to a degree. Within
this private frame of self-thematization there are numerous tech-
niques for identity-formation. The private character is not negated by
the fact that the agencies one might use for self-thematization are
highly organized, often commercialized, and most often professional.
Berger and Luckmann speak of "identity markets." There the classi-
cal religious techniques coexist with numerous new techniques that
range from individual therapies to self-experimental groups.
The main function of these strategies of finding oneself seems to be
not so much securing social control but, rather, creating meaning;
not so much assuming responsibility for sins but producing happiness
through overcoming trauma. The firm commitment to one's past is
less important than the selective use of the past for "explaining"
current crises. Sometimes the goal is the symbolic orgiastic re-crea-

47 F. H. Tenbruck, "Kultur im Zeitalter der Sozialwissenschaften," Saeculum 14

(1963): 34.
48 Ibid., 34.
52 ALOIS HAHN

tion of trauma; in many cases this may lead to "overcoming" one's

past. When the aim is primarily the synchronization of disparate
experiences and contents of consciousness, this overcoming of one's
past may in certain cases be achieved by forgetting certain episodes
instead of confessing them. Only rarely is it the intention to create a
desirable biography that is harmonious; what is more likely to be at
stake is the permanent redefinition of one's biography through new
confessions. Here the criterion for selecting relevant pieces of the past
is the present with its varying needs for meaning and catharsis.
Sometimes, however, the harmony of the biography may be achieved
without a reflexive technique, through direct self-experience in trance
or ecstasy, through acting out, or through immunization against the
past. If confession once was the technique for fixing the self to its
contents, the new forms of confession serve more to energize the self
in the face of externally produced adaption. It has been said of totali-
tarian regimes that they constantly re-write their history. This is also
true for the modem individual and the contents of his confessions.
Changing the definition of one's self is experienced as part of the
autonomy of the individual who can interpret his life (more correctly,
his private life) subjectively. To the degree that our self loses its
objective and firm obligations, it becomes-for us-the narcissistic
source for more, always new and interesting, novels.
 THE HISTORICO-PSYCHOLOGICAL INTERPRETATION
OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES,
WITH SPECIAL REGARD TO THE CONFLICT THEORY
OF GEORG SIMMEL

Carsten Colpe

The Task
Self, Soul and Body in Religious Experienc~this formulation of the collo-
quium's theme implicates issues which were granted to serve as
points of orientation, by explication of which actually the subject of
this paper has been developed. Who would not, hearing or reading
this formulation, recall his or her first encounter with a concept like
this, be it in a final formula of a Pauline letter I , be it in a school class
e.g. on "Gnosticism for Beginners" where he or she could learn
which type of person the Pneumatikoi, the Psychikoi and the Sarkikoi
really were? But since it is an impossible task to repeat this, or to
elaborate it again, it may be permitted to take the theme formula as
a comprehension of problems for which the contents of the formula
are just the clearest-and most known!-example.
A. The first thing which has to be done, then, is to simplifY the
Threefold of the potencies to a Twofold of them, just to demonstrate
which grade of condensation the European opinio communis actually
represents, and which predecessors it may have had.
Correspondingly, in the second place one had to enlarge the Three-
fold to the Manifold, being convinced that the essence of either cat-
egory is quite the same. But it can be useful to rely on a larger
number of designations in order to understand the anthropological
concepts better.
17zirdly, however, a difference must be taken into consideration
which is the result of an evaluation of the Manifold. A "higher"

I I.Thess. 5,23 (KingJames' Version): "And the very God of peace sanctify you

wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit (trV£vIJa) and soul (If/VX1/) and body (atoIJa) be
preserved blameless unto the coming of our LordJesus Christ." llv£vIJais, like Nov;
and others, a term for the highest spiritual essence of Man and may be rendered as
"Self".
54 CARSTEN COLPE

group within it may be the object of another simplification recogniz-

able behind the Threefold which not earlier than after the Twofold
and the Manifold could be reconsidered.
B. If there is now some clarity about the number and value of
single notions, a fourth question is opened up, namely on the combi-
nation or grouping of the anthropological notions and the relation of
this compound to the unchanged existing forth of the single other
notions.
Fifthly I had to consider whether there has been a reason that a
term serving now just for abstract division may still be chosen with its
concrete meaning "cutting", "carving", "intersecting" (-tomic, from
'tE/lVro). It seemed permissible to generalize the common insight that
decisions, self reflections, emotions, feelings, conceptualisations do
happen not on the basis of thinking and concluding, of abstraction
and theory. But on which one?
Now, in the sixth place, there seems to be no objection any more to
interpret the "religious experience" and the feeling of being cut into
pieces in the light of each other, if one keeps in mind that the latter
feeling is genuinely not religious at all.
C. Because all this demands strongly a theory but on the other
hand any theory must be rejected which at the same time pretends to
open up the empiric basis of all these matters and to demonstrate
how everything derives from it, one has, seventhly, to look for a suit-
able conflict theory.
This leads to the consequence that a type of experience has to be
inferred in a situation where it is not evident today but may have
been evident in former times. So eighthly, the method to do this should
be "historical psychology" in its crudest sense.
Hopefully, the trichotomic anthropologies can be interpreted, fi-
nally.

A. Invariances

1. Bo4J and Soul

Before we start to examine the Manifold and the Threefold of an-
thropological notions we have to analyze how they were simplified in
the European psychological tradition. It was nothing but the term
"Soul" which became the simplifier. All modem scientific languages
are using a term of old which used to be, then, a particularising
 INTERPRETATION OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES 55

designation. The English and the German 2 "Soul" and "Seele" do it

by means of a word whose earliest Germanic stem was *saiwalo-,
meaning a non-fleshy entity which (or more correct: who?) exists
before the birth and after the death of that human being. It consti-
tutes a part of it for a certain time-"at a sea". This "entity" which
(linguistically) "derived" or (factually) "descended from the sea(side)"
has become a notion in which are composed the contents and mean-
ings of a lot of words, each having its own and very specific history.
There are testimonies about dichotomic anthropologies, of course,
also already in the past. This may be due to a simplicity of experi-
ence, to a lack of interest on the part of the author who writes down
this experience, or to the incompetence of the reporter who hands
down the experience and the testimony to posterity. For this or for
that, one can quote Hebr. basar and rna~ in Gen. 2,7, Greek aWl-la
and 'l'UXTt in Plato and Aristotle, the popular view of Hellenistic
Judaism (even inJosephus!) and Early Christiantiy, etc. 3• Also if there
is further differentiation in the non-fleshy potency (see § II), it is
generally subsumed under "soul" or "mind" or "spirit".
The so called "body-and soul-problem" combines the present and
the former state of affairs insofar as it presupposes the facts that in
the substances as well as in the functions the same kind of variety is
ruling. Today, any "psychic function" differs from all the other func-
tions in quite the same grade in which formerly "the"-better: "a"-
"soul" differed from all the other substances. Although one has re-
claimed for the substance of soul also the function of a persisting
substrate of the psychic processes, it has become as such also a func-
tion of a notion which stays to remain necessary for the difference to
the body. "The substance of soul" has become in fact objectless yet as
it is acknowledged since 1866 4 •

2 I have to confine myself at the present occasion just to these two, knowing very
well that it should-and could!-be done also with termino10gies which remain
staying in a continuity, e.g. French "time" and Italian "anima" from the common
Latin, Hebrew "niiphiish" and Arabic "7I1ifS" from the common Semitic word.
3 E. von Dobschutz, Die 7hessalonicher-BrieJe, Gottingen 1909 (ND 1974), S. 230-
232, quotes in his "Exkurs: Zur Trichotomie" also the relevant dichotomic refer-
ences. He could have included several modem psychological positions, e.g. that of
Franz Brentano.
4 The year of the first appearance of Friedrich Albert Lange, Geschichte des

Materialismus, now Frankfurt/M. 1974 (ND of 1l 1921) S. 735-896.

56 CARSTEN COLPE

H. Body and Souls

To have a couple of references for the importance of a plurality of
"souls" permits us also to deal with traditions which have been an
experience but are not the same anymore. The traditions rather are
influential in history nevertheless because their terminology keeps
existing.
The contents and meanings of the simplified notion of Soul have
been conceived not only differing from one old culture to another
one, but also differently in any of them. They are expressing many
human experiences. We do not know anymore whether these experi-
ences were as numerous as their expressions are still today. But we
know at least that they historically represent more basically given
conditions of existence than can be undergone in our very presence.
The ancient given conditions, however, have in common that they
were considered to be of another quality than have the substances
and materials of which man, nature and world acutally do consist.
There are to be discerned five basic experiences out of which may
result an imagination of soul or of souls.
a) Ecstasy, or with the same meaning: trance, in which man exposes
himself-substantially understood: his Self-to the outside (enthusias-
mos can be a part of it);
b) the complementary longings for immortality, which substantially
do not belong to the abilities of the stuff which visibly is about to rot
in the grave, and the wish to continue the vivid communication with
the closely related deceased;
c) clairooyance, which must have an organon which beyond the
ability of the human eye to be active in other places and in other
times than those to which the eye is restricted;
d) the identification of vital energy and vigour also in those spheres of
existence being smaller than that which is represented in the entire
man or in the entire animal;
e) the cognition that with different kinds of feeling reality will be
reached otherwise-or: another kind of reality will be reached-than
with the thinking from which just this cognition arises, and which by
this means makes difference between his support-e.g. spirit, intel-
lect, reason-and another one which is especially capable of feeling.
Saying all this, there exists a constant right to call the immaterial,
basically given conditions of past existence "soul". But this is, under all
circumstances, correct only when the word will be used as a collective
notion, which is valid only in differentiations. But then, indeed, the
 INTERPRETATION OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES 57

notion will cover a huge number of pertinently discernible ideas in old

cultures: Aegyptian ba, ka and perhaps a/1; Babylonian napishtu; He-
brews rua/J., niiphiish, neshamah; Arabic ru~, nrifs; Iranian" armaiti, baodah,
daena, fravashi, griva-, gyan, hosh, mainyu-, urva, ushtana; Indian brahman,
atman; Greek oaijlOJv, 1rveujla, BVjlo, iota, If/Vxf}, vou;, AOrO;; Latin
animus, anima, mens, intellectus (?). Even larger is the number among
illiterate peoples, esp. those who have shamanism. Besides of these,
some peoples know of cosmic-natural powers having some resem-
blance with "soul"; they have to remain as they were e.g. at the
Siberians6 , the Chinese and the Red Indians, but could be interpreted
at the latter also as Gods. The material will not present itself in the
right proportions before we have compared our poor Western evi-
dence with the abundance of those peoples with poor technique.
None of the basic experiences which are expressed by the many
designations must have been the first one in the history of man, and
none of them can be proved to be the most archaic one. Certain
singularisations of one of the contents basically given to a soul have
led to universal theories of arising and developing, such as animism,
animatism, dynamism. Somtimes those theories have changed into
ideologies because of monisms of phenomena and causalities which
were inherent in them. Such ideologies are due to onesidednesses
which have injured more than stock-takings in the history of reli-
gions. Correct stock-takings, however, can contribute to intercultural
enlightenment and elucidation considerably.
When such notions as we have collected until now pass into a
later, intellectually more developed culture, a huge increase of them
may happen. In the dualistic constructions this may come along by
multiplication, by reflections of time which make the notions
protological, eschatological or either ones, by coercion exerted by a
system, by addition of terms translated from another culture or sys-
tem, ete.

Ill. Body, Self and Soul(s)

This is the case overwhelmingly often and manysided in Gnostic
doctrines and their predecessors. They may have provoked only in
5 Cf. C. Colpe, "Seele", in: GiJ"tter und My then der kaukasischen und iranischen Vii!ker
(Worterbuch der Mythologie, ed. by H.W. Haussig, vol. 4), Stuttgart 1986,430-432.
6 See nearly all publications of the late Ivar Paulson, esp. Die primitiven

Seelenvorstellungen der nordeurasischen Viilker. Eine religionsethnographische und religionsphiinome-

nologische Untersuchung, Stockholm 1958.
58 CARSTEN COLPE

the field of non-fleshy entities another, even stronger simplification

and unification than would have come from Christian and Neo-
platonic thinking directly. This or that way, the "European notion of
Soul" is a unified one and keeps alive the same tendency which
already has produced it, namely to tie indisentangably neoplatonic
and christian schemes of self-interpretations 7 again and again. It acts
as if the immaterial basically existing entities in their plurality, i.e. in
the past may be understood as substances, on the ground of conven-
tion, and in their minority, i.e. in our presence, must be understood
as functions.
Holding fast the substance imagination, we act as trustees to our
classical heritage for which the names of Plato and Aristotle may be
sufficient at this occasion: both of them make a first difference between
crrolla and \jfuXll, and within the latter another one between 8UIlO~,
E1tt8UIlT)'t!COV, Aoytcr'tllCOV (Plato), or between 8PE1t'tt!Cov, aicr8T)'tt !Cov,
<havoT)'tt!Cov (Aristotle). Ifwe cannot deal with them anymore, at least
the insight remains binding that the unfleshy part or dynamis is
nevertheless a collective one, consisting of how many and what mean-
ings ever. But historically seen, there is one unfleshy notion which is
something more than a mere comprehension on the basic level.
This is what we call "Self'. The word sometimes is to be used as a
translation-but there is not single term which can claim the privi-
lege to be translated by the word "Self'. The word "Self' belongs
strictly to the meta-language. The Self can represent the whole hu-
man being, or that which is not the flesh of the human being, or that
which is in the area of the latter something specific. The Self is
notionally and ethically of higher value than the other notions, souls,
powers, potencies, etc.

B. Transformations

IV. Poikilotomy and Prevalence

It is now, however, not always the same operation to bring one-and
possibly the same notion into prominence. For as a matter of fact,
7 B. Gladigow, ""Tiefe der Seele" und "inner space". Zur Geschichte eines Topos
von Heraklit bis zur Science Fiction", in J. Assmann (Ed.), Die Erfindung des inneren
Menschen. Studien ::;ur religWsen Anthropologie, Giitersloh 1993, p. 114-132, ibid. p. 116.
More on the backgrounds in the wonderful essay of Bruno SnelI, "Die Auffassung
des Menschen bei Homer", Die Entdeckung des Geistes. Studien zur Entstehung des
europiiischen Denkens bei den Griechen, Hamburg 1948, S. 15-37.
 INTERPRETATION OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES 59

there are systems and doctrines started and organized so differently

that it affects also the position of the Self. Since there is for the time
being neither space nor time to present even a minute catalogue of
these positions, we can use a statement of the case for some definitory
descriptions. 8
a) If there is spoken of pneumatikoi, psychikoi, sarkikoi-which, by the
way, are expressions of scholarship antique or modem, not self-desig-
nations-then special attention is called to that attribute and quality
which strikes most in the respective person of group as described by
an observer. This can mean that even among the observed and de-
scribed people a Self is in favour which is not pneuma but psyche or sarx
(or something similar). This does not mean that these people have at
their disposal just this one potency. All the other ones, or most of
them, are present too, though in lower rank.
b) There are groupings of notional potencies which are several in
meaning, in quality, and in number, which constitute a personality
without stressing a Self. To deal with it, we should not simply take
over this Self from C.G. Jung but develop another one by going
from self-consciousness, self-existence, self-reliance, self-sufficiency on
to a Self which needs no longer claim to be only an expression of an
experience but is permitted, too, to be a result of logical abstraction.
c) Poikilotomic, including trichotomic, are only such anthropolo-
gies in which the notional potencies in question do exist side by side
in a balance. It should be reflected why and what Christian Wolff,
David Hume and others classified with two classificators, and Moses
Mendelssohn, Immanuel Kant, Rudolf Hermann Lotze and Johann
Friedrich Herbart with three ones. 9

8 I took the liberty from a language which is able to form composites as 1tOt-

ICtMxpcoc; "of various colour(s)", 1totlCtMqlpcoV "full of various wiles", 1tOtICtA01:EXVT]C;

"skilled in various arts" etc. (cf. Liddell-Scott 1430b) and offers also the possibility to
say "trichotomy", to coin also the neologism 1tOtICtA.o'tOIl~ and derivates, if there are
more than three anthropological notions combined in language, argument, or con-
cept. Therefore I could have replaced in the tide the announced "trichotomic" by
"poikilotomic". For the essences I use "potency", "designation", "entity", "power",
"idea", "constituents", "elements" more like circumscriptions than as precise no-
tions.
9 Very instructively discussed by Franz Brentano, Psychologie vom cmpirischen

Standpunkt, vo!. 2: Von der Klassifikation der psychischen Phiinomene, 1911,21923 (=Ham-
burg 1971), 3-37.
60 CARSTEN COLPE

V. Intersection and Classifzcation

If there is truly an evidence of a prerational existence of the relevant
notions it can be taken literally that what is today just an anthropo-
logical notion has been at the beginning an expression of a thing
which has been cut out of a whole. This, however, must have caused
pain and ache. Our fifth part of the task is now to be fulfilled rela-
tively easily. We have to look for an ancient document which can
testifY to the results which came out of our analyses as much as
possible. We choose the treatise of Plutarch on the sign of Socrates.
Plutarch describes the acting persons committed to dialogues
which take place at night in Athens in a very critical situation. Athens
has just been liberated from a Spartan garrison, but there are still
persons in danger who could be suspected of preparing a rebellion.
The dialogue in which the suspected rebels take part shall prove and
demonstrate that philosophy cannot be embarrassed by any incident.
The subject of the dialogues is the Daimonion of Socrates. Simmias,
who is the owner of the house in which the discussion goes on, wants
to tell some personal reminiscences concerning Socrates, and deals
on this occasion with what had happened to another friend of Socra-
tes, Timarchus of Chaeroneia. He is acting as the central figure in a
myth where also something is said on initiation. The story presup-
poses that one knows that those who wished to consult the oracle of
Trophonius at Lebadeia in Boeotia had to descend into a cave and to
wait there for the divine message to be revealed in a dream during
the incubation which was the most important part of the healing
ritual 10.
(590A) "Timarchus, then, in his desire to learn the nature of Socrates'
sign, acted like the high-spirited young initiate in philosophy he was:
consulting no one but Cebes and me, he descended into the crypt of
Trophonius, first performing the rites that are customary at the oracle.
(590B) He remained underground two nights and a day, and most
people had already given up hope, and his family were lamenting him
for dead, when he came up in the morning with a radiant countenance.
He did obeisance to the god, and as soon as he had escaped the crowd,
began to tell us of many wonders seen and heard. He said that on
descending into the oracular crypt his first experience was of profound
darkness; next, after a prayer, he lay a long time not clearly aware
10 Moralia 590A-591A=Loeb edition vo!. VII, p. 460-467, De Lacy/Einarson. I

have made use of the explanations given by the editors, and by Konrat Ziegler
(Trans!.), PlutaTCh. ObeT Gatt und Vorwehung, Diimonen und WezSsagung, Zurich/Stuttgart
1952, s. 38-42,214-267.
 INTERPRETATION OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES 61

whether he was awake or dreaming. It did seem to him, however, that

at the same moment he heard a crash and was struck on the head, and that
the sutures parted and released his soul (psyche). As it withdrew and mingled
joyfully with air that was translucent and pure, it felt in the first place
that now, after long being cramped, (590C) it had again found relief,
and was growing larger than before, spreading out like a sail; and next
that it faintly caught the whir of something revolving overhead with a
pleasant sound.
When he lifted his eyes the earth was nowhere to be seen; but he saw
islands illuminated by one another with soft fire, taking on now one
colour, now another, like a dye, as the light kept varying with their
mutations. They appeared countless in number and huge in size, and
though not at all equal, yet all like round; and he fancied that their
circular movement made a musical whirring in the aether, for the gen-
tleness of the sound resulting from the harmony of all the separate
sounds corresponded to the evenness of their motion. (590D) In their
midst lay spread a sea or lake, through whose blue transparency the
colours passed in their migrations; and of the islands a few sailed out in
a channel and crossed the current, while many others were carried
along with it, the sea itself drifting around, as it were, smoothly and
evenly in a circle. In places it was very deep, mainly toward the south,
but elsewhere there were faint shoals and shallows; and in many parts it
overflowed and again receded, never extending very far."

The following is a veritable description of the universe, including the

planets and their spiral paths, the zodiac under the picture of the sea,
eight parts of the whole being eight sixtieths of a meridian; including
further the celestial equator surrounding the ecliptic, and the Milky
Way.
(590F) "But looking down he saw a great abyss, round, as though a
sphere had been cut away; most terrible and deep it was, and filled with
a mass of darkness that did not remain at rest, but was agitated and
often welled up. From it could be heard innumerable roars and groans
of animals, the wailing of innumerable babes, the mingled lamentations
of men and women, and noise and uproar of every kind, (591 A) coming
faintly from far down in the depths, all of which startled him not a
little."

Again the report goes on with further details: Persephone, Styx,

Hades, fixed stars, the moon, etc. Since we cannot resume the cos-
mology which is being given here in extenso, we confine ourselves to
anthropological notions which are most interesting for us.
(591B)"Four principles (archaz) there are of all things: the first is of life
(zoe), the second of motion (kinesis), the third of birth (genesis), and the last
of decay (phthora); the first is linked to the second by unity (monas) at the
invisible, the second to the third by mind (nous) at the Sun, and the third
62 CARSTEN COLPE

to the fourth by nature (Physis) at the moon. (A Fate, daughter of Neces-

sity ... Atropos ... Clotho ... Lachesis ...
(591 C) terrestrial daemons ... As the Styx draws near the souls cry out in
terror, for many slip off and are carried away by Hades ... )
(59 ID) Every soul (psyche) partakes of understanding (nous); none is irra-
tional (anous) or unintelligent (alogos). But the portion of the soul that
mingles with flesh (sarx) and passions (pathe) suffers alteration and be-
comes in the pleasures and pains it undergoes irrational. Not every soul
mingles to the same extent: some sink entirely to the body and becoming
disordered throughout, are during their life wholly distracted by pas-
sions; others mingle in part, but leave outside what is purest in them ...
(59 lE) Now the part carried submerged in the body is called the soul,
whereas the part left free from corruption is called by the multitude the
understanding (nous) ... "
There are more than one end of the myth. They run like this:
(591F) "Thus, Timarchus, the voice" pursued, in the stars that are
apparently extinguished, you must understand that you see the souls
that sink entirely to the body; in the stars that are lighted again, as it
were, and reappear from below, you must understand that you see the
souls that float back from the body after death, ... while the stars that
move about on high are the daemons of men."
(592E) "When the voice ceased Timarchus desired to turn (he said) and
see who the speaker was. But once more he filt a sharp pain in his head, as
though it had been violently compressed, and he lost all recognition and aware-
ness of what was going on about him; but he presently recovered and
saw that he was lying in the crypt of Trophonius near the entrance at
the very spot where he had first laid himself down.
Such, then, is the myth of Timarchus."
Archaic reminiscense first becoming aware of a soul has to do with
ache. It must be the same kind of pain of which we read in the last
quotation. We get the impression as if a wound has to be inflicted on
the skull or into the brain in order to produce and then to release a
piece of thought which was cut off from the Sel£ The incubation
which follows, then, does not only heal the wound but also causes to
forget the reason why it was inflicted.

VI. Experience and Religious Experience

Does this explain why we have forgotten what may be in the back-
ground when we use terms which end upon -tomic, or when we keep

11 This voice may be imaginated between an intrinsic motion of the conscience

and an audition. For anything further we can not do more tha to refer on W. Speyer,
"Himmelsstimme", in: RAC 215, Stuttgart 1991,286-303.
 INTERPRETATION OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES 63

speaking rather than of divisions of "sections" which comes from

secare--i.e. that we from either of our classical languages choose
words the meaning of which has to do with cutting? Or is it even this
which-not having lost its original character of experience-guides
us to what Mircea Eliade used to call a "rupture de niveau"? There
are instances and scholars who have proved the same in their own
way.
The spirit mind, self notions can be acknowledged as a "religious
factor".12 This can be used as a classificator, for which just the spir-
itual, mental, psychical notions are serving that were collected above
(part 11). To call these "religious factors" presupposes, of course, a
certain evaluation of what a religion is or should be. But this evalua-
tion is permissible as far as "natural religion" is concerned. It is not
absolutely valid. But it chooses and describes a sort of research mate-
rial which can by other means proved to be also a religious one, and
which offers at the same time the advantage of being related to what
theories are used to deal with.
To look for a theory does not mean, of course, that it should be
applicable completely to our set of problems. It will be sufficient if it
proves to be a good starting point and a guide for our own thinking.

c. Theories

VII. Psychology and Sociology

It might not have become quite clear from itself yet which kind of
theory we are going to try. I will give the reasons for that. Having
become aware of the importance which ache and pain have for the
rise of soul, of souls, and of parts of soul, and presupposing that all
these things are modes of socialisation-a theory is demanded which
places struggle and quarrel, which by definition are responsible for
pain and ache, on the top of all factors which cause socialisation.
This has been done in particular by the Sociology of Georg Simmel.
Simmel starts with the well known observation that the psychical
constitutents in the personality of an individual are to each other in
the same or in analogous relations as are the individual persons to
one another in a society. One has to imagine that these constituents
are psychical elements which can be combined in various ways. The
12 F.L. Parrish, The Classification of Religions. Its Relation to the History of Religions,
Scotdale/Pa. 1941.
64 CARSTEN COLPE

spirit, or the mind, can be imagined then as a relatively dense, ho-

mogenous conglomerate of elements which is about to increase or
to enlarge. But this can happen only under the condition, that every
single element finds an independence and qualitative difference that
is stronger than every other element. In so far it might be understood
as directed against it. If that be the case-and it must necessarily the
case-the psychical elements will become unsociable and incompat-
ible with each other. They gain the ability to suppress one another.
(This is, by the way, the context in which the category of repression
finds its place.) That is a sort of struggle for life, or for existence. But
even by that, a single psychical element can form in itself a variety
and multiplicity which makes it as a whole an antithetic counterpart
of the original far-reaching and all-embracing whole.
Between the special or partial character of an element, resp. of a
province of the whole, and its possible or real character as a unit
which is closed in itself, it must come to a conflict. The interests
within an individual oppose each other at innumerable times, as the
individuals themselves oppose each other. The internal experiences
of a subject form probably a scheme, which act for its external expe-
riences as an Apriori, as that form in which the material of the given
things will be taken up, and according to which it will be interpreted.
The struggle which we see going on outside of ourselves becomes-
so to say-accessible to us by the fact, that the relations of our imagi-
nations substitute it inside of ourselves. The imagination of a struggle
is quite often a struggle of imaginations.

VIII. Historical Psychology

Quite often one encounters the fundamental error, that historical
psychology is a science which investigates historical, i.e. past things.
(It may be a sign of progress that explorations as these are at least
admitted by the discipline.) Also the science of historical anthropol-
ogy may have contributed to this misunderstanding. The correct
definition must run-reserving the possibility that such a method will
never work-in my opinion like this:
"Historical psychology is a scientific instrument which understands
as historic not only its objects but also itself. The consequence of this
thesis is, that-as an object of our days can, while traced back in
time, lose so many attributes that it has no similarity any more with
what it is pretended to have been in old times-a present science can
have no similarity with a past science. The objects of historical psy-
 INTERPRETATION OF TRICHOTOMIC ANTHROPOLOGIES 65

chology look like something which have nothing to do with psychol-

ogy at all. Instead of interpreting and changing the things unto a
point where psychology can claim competence to explain them, one
should rather change the instrument of psychology unto a point
where the things themselves signalize that the instrument is now
worthy to entrust themselves to it.
The historico-psychological interpretation has to unveil, or to de-
tect, the trichotomic anthropology as a theoretical endeavour, which
is enforced by a non-euclidic number (figure?) plus didactic or
mnemotechnic regulations, which shape any experiences again and
again. When we have realized that the impetus of many theories is
working by means of repetition, we see not without disappointment,
that it thereby makes the theories pseudological."

IX. Interpretation
Simmel's articles on the Sociology of Religon l3 are relevant for our
problem only in a very narrowed sense. They must be taken into
consideration, however, to prevent the monomaniac misunderstand-
ing that the "Sociology of struggle"14 has its own prepositions and is
the key which opens everything. There stands a well elaborated
"theory of (re)cognition" in the beginning. It opens up the perspec-
tives of pragmatism, of constructivism, of interactionism, and of
interactionism. According to Simmel, already certain objects are reli-
giously significant. They are to be met with as being in the ontologi-
cal sense. Nearly forced to, the theoretical and the religious faith
move away from each other. Faith, the lower grade of knowledge, is
held to be true by means of reasons which only because of quantita-
tive strength yield to those, by means of which we avouch to know. If
a religious person says "I believe in God", then faith safeguards the
truth of his existence. Underlying the feeling of keeping true, Simmel
places the postulate of Kant's "moral proof of God". It is morality
which brings forth the religious belief in God and in immortality. A
theory like this is valid for every part of the system. It also saves the

13 Georg Simrnel, Gesammelte Schri.flen zur Religionssoziologie, edited and introduced

by Horst Jiirgen Helle, Berlin 1989; here esp. the essay p. 52-60, "Beitrage zur
Erkenntnistheorie der Religion".
14 Georg Simmel, Soziologie. Untersuchungen aber die Formen der Vergesellschafiung (1908),
Berlin 3 1983, p. 186-255: "Der Streit"; p. 565-568: "Exkurs iiber die Analogie der
individualpsycho1ogischen und der sozio1ogischen Verhaltnisse".
66 CARSTEN COLPE

sociology of struggle not only in chapters which are dedicated to it,

but also in many connections through which it shines.
Let us close, now, with three examples of future tasks.
a) An example for the change of an object, as it was just described
(part VIII), is the metal of Gold discovered in a mine and molten out
of minerals, compared with the final and desired product of an alche-
mist in antiquity. An example for a science, as it was just described,
is modem Psychology, compared with the doctrine of soul as it was
worked out in antiquity.
b) A historico-psychological interpretation has to objectivate and
to materialize the contents of sensory perception (not of
ExtraSensoryPerception=ESp l5 which leads to occult cognition), no
matter if seen in the regular way, in dreams, visions, hallucinations
etc. For example: A person dreams that (s)he descends into the
depths of the earth. Objectivation: The person does this in reality.
This helps to interpret myths of ascent and descent to the yonder
world.
c) Gnosis and Theosophy teach us, generally spoken: We need a
catalogue of the rationalistic products of dissolution which can be
stated to have been caused by gnostic and theosophic elements them-
selves, in order to release and set free religious energies.

15 In German: ASW-AuBerSinnliche Wahmehmung. Cf. Carl Albrecht, Das

mystische Erkennen. Gnoseologie und philosophische Relevanz der mystischen Relation, Bremen
1958, for the difference between mystic and occult recognition.
 ADAM THE PANPHYSIOGNOMIST:
A STAGE IN MODERN PHYSIOGNOMIeS

Moshe Barasch

Reading the face, as we know, is an old human concern. Since the

earliest stages of recorded history people have studied the faces of
their fellows, trying to figure out what kind of person the individual
they were looking at might be. In the course of time, a large and
complex body of statements accumulated, mostly composed of manu-
als informing the attentive student about the techniques of physio-
gnomies, and how they should be applied. In this literature various
cultural traditions came together, such as occasional records of oral
teachings, treatises of various kinds conceived in advance as literary
statements, and visual models produced by artists and illustrators,
usually in cheap materials and techniques. In the main, physiogno-
mics did not become a theoretical discipline; it remained, as we may
say, an art or a craft. The very aim of the art of physiognomics is the
practice. Yet notwithstanding its practical orientation, physiognomies
developed certain principles, usually in an implicit and sometimes in a
more outspoken form. It is these principles, whether hidden or more
manifest, that underlie the various practices of face reading.
In physiognomic practice as well as in reflection on it it was never
doubted that man has both a "self' or an inner being (whatever
name it may have been given) and a body. The very existence and
full reality of these two poles never seem to have posed any problem
to the practitioners of the art of physiognomics. Nor did they ever
have any doubt that the soul, or the self, and the body hang together.
The questions that they did ask, or that clearly emerge from their
practice, were: how transparent is the body so that through it we can
observe the soul? Even more specific: how should we read the indi-
vidual signs that the inner being has inscribed in the face?
In a modem study of physiognomics several questions arise. Two
are of partieular significance for the student of both art and history.
First, one wonders what the physiognomists were actually looking for
in their inquiries. Did they concentrate on discovering a specific qual-
ity of character in a certain individual, or did they rather search for
68 MOSHE BARASCH

the whole "self' of the person whose face they were observing? If, for
example, an ancient physiognomist was asked by an official to find out
whether a certain person, about to be employed, say, as a tax collec-
tor, was reliable and could be trusted, the "expert" may well have
concentrated his attention on one cluster of character features and
inclinations. But if the physiognomist was acting in a different context,
or for a broader purpose,-what did he look for? Did he look for the
whole "self," however undeclared the search might be? But if we
believe that he was looking for the whole person, the modem student
approaching the subject with some historical orientation will further
ask, whether in the course of time this inner "self' remained unaltered
in the views of the physiognomist, or whether it underwent modifica-
tion. We know, of course, that sometimes profound changes in the
views of the essence of man have occurred in the course of history. It is
natural to ask: did these changes go unnoticed by the physiognomists,
or are they in some form reflected in the literature on face reading?
The other question does not concern the subject of the physiogno-
mist's study, but rather his own mind. How are the physiognomist's
insight and knowledge formed? To put it in the simplest possible
terms: do we get to know the character of a person by analyzing the
individual features, one after the other, of a person's face and figure,
and thus reach our conclusion in what may be described as an "ana-
lytical" way? Or do we rather arrive at this knowledge intuitively, by
immediately and directly perceiving the whole configuration of the
face and figure we are looking at? It goes without saying that in the
physiognomic literature a sharp dichotomy such as here suggested is
not found, and would have been perceived as artificial. In reality
physiognomic cognition always consists of both the analysis of indi-
vidual features and an immediate, intuitive perception of the whole.
But what is the more basic and dominant approach, and which kind
of experience, analysis of separate features or intuitive perception of
the whole, comes first? It is obvious, we should repeat, that physio-
gnomists never produced something closely resembling a theory of
knowledge, that is, a critical consideration of the principles that
vouch for the truth and validity of their judgments. Yet the modem
student asks how the physiognomist himself, even without reflecting
on how he came to know what he believed he knew, perceived the
process of his own cognition. And once again the historian will ask
whether the physiognomist's view of how he himself comes to under-
stand faces has, or has not, changed in the course of time.
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 69

In the following comments I shall attempt to indicate some an-

swers to these questions by briefly analyzing two important state-
ments on physiognomies. These were made at crucial moments: one
indicates a climax, the other a turning point in the history of the
"science" of reading the face. I do not intend here to outline a con-
tinuous history; I shall thus begin at the end, as it were, with a
document composed in the late eighteenth century.

The text I shall use as the starting point for my first comment is a
work on the history of physiognomies, among the earliest (if not the
earliest) studies that explicitly appear as a history of this subject. This
book is of interest for several reasons, not the least because, in the
ideas it sets forth, it forms part of the subject whose history it at-
tempts to trace. It marks the border line between an art (or, as it was
sometimes called, a "science") practiced by those who believed in its
truth and the validity of its findings, and a historical study telling how
this practice, and the ideas informing it, developed, and what role
this whole complex played within the framework, and as an element
of, ancient culture. The book, Versuch einer Geschichte der Physiognomik
und der damit verbundenen Wissenschqften (An Essay on Physiognomies
and of the Sciences Related to It), was published in 1784 in Vienna
and Leipzig. The author hides behind a pseudonym, Orbilio Anthro-
poscopo. While the descriptive term "Anthroposcopo" seems an in-
telligible name for a student of physiognomies, the first name,
Orbilio, is ambiguous. It may in some way suggest one-eyedness, but
it may have been patterned after the name of that strict task master,
Orbilius Pupillus, of whom Horace and Suetonius tell their readers. I
Johann Georg Friedrich Franz (1737-1789), as was the author's
true name, was one of those fascinating eighteenth century figures
who cast their spell on us up to this day. It is difficult to place him
within the domain of a single discipline. 2 A professor of medicine at
the university of his native Leipzig, he devoted his energies to a large

1 The Italian formulation of the name, Orbilio, instead of the Latin Orbilius, may
perhaps speak for the first reading, one eyedness. An orbilio is a one-eyed, or even a
blind, person. For Orbilius Pupillus, see Horace, ep. 11, 1, 70, who calls him Orbilius
plagosus. See also Suetonius, De gram., 9.
2 So far as I know, there is no extensive monographic study of Franz's life and
work.
70 MOSHE BARASCH

variety of subjects, theology holding a prominent pOSitlon among

them. In many subjects, and perhaps particularly in theology, he was
not a pure scholar, detached from the great debates of his time.
Often he was drawn into the discussion of problems that agitated
thought in his country and period. One of his books, a discussion of
ecclesiastical celibacy, contained sufficient criticism of the ecclesiasti-
cal and political authorities to be put on the index by the Austrian
government. Also in studying celibacy he also seems to have taken a
position somewhere between expounding (and perhaps even justify-
ing) a doctrine, speaking from the inside, as it were; and at the same
time discussing it as a detached observer, seeing it from the outside.
Franz was not one of the great and original minds of his century.
This also holds true for his work on the history of physiognomics. His
investigations on that subject cannot be compared, in depth and
insight as well as in wide ranging influence, to the contribution of his
somewhat younger contemporary, Johann Caspar Lavater. Nor can
Franz's work be compared to the great eighteenth century studies in
other fields, such as Vico's or Gibbon's, that left an indelible mark on
European culture of succeeding generations. But Anthroposcopo's
Versuch einer Geschichte der Physiognomik offers the student other advan-
tages. It clearly mirrors some of the problems that exercised people at
the time and cannot as easily be grasped in other, perhaps more
important, literary documents. Moreover, it also illustrates, perhaps
not always intentionally, some of the problems inherent in the study
of the self and its bodily expressions in the modem world.
Before we come to a brief analysis of some passages from Anthro-
poscopo's Versuch, two more general comments should be made. The
first concerns the literary nature of the book. In both propounding a
doctrine and writing its history, Anthroposcopo follows a model that
was well known in his time. The origins of this approach are found
mainly in the sixteenth century, when Jean Bodin coined the term
philosoph-historicus. In the eighteenth century this became an accepted
model. The student of art is, of course, immediately reminded of
Winckelmann's path breaking book, the Geschichte der Kunst des Alter-
turns, that appeared in 1764, exactly twenty years before the publica-
tion of Anthroposcopo's Versuch. Winckelmann's work combines, as
we know, a history of ancient art with a systematic presentation of
the values and rules that determined the perfection and normative
position of this art. In the very first sentence of the Introduction to his
Geschichte der Kunst des Alterturns, Winckelmann explains that he em-
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 71

ploys the word "History" in its Greek sense: "not merely a story of
the sequence of times ... but an attempt to provide a Lehrgebaude."3 In
other words, his aim is twofold: on the one hand, he wants to record
the history of ancient art, its unfolding in various stages; on the other,
he wants to explain the inner structure of the great styles and works
of art, regardless of their position in the course of time. Two decades
prior to Winckelmann, to adduce yet another monumental work as
an example of the eighteenth century approach, Gianbattista Vico
published the Scienza Nova (1 774), the birth certificate of modem dis-
cussions of culture. Vico's work is not explicitly presented as a his-
tory, as Winckelmann's Geschichte is. Vico does not tell a story. Yet he
begins his work with a diachronic survey. Moreover, modem scholars
have convincingly shown that he takes historical developments as the
context for his presentation of theoretical problems, such as the law. 4
Keeping some of these examples in mind, one can better under-
stand how the eighteenth century, if I may be permitted this slight
heresy of periodization, reached a climax and came to an end in
Hegel's Phdnomenologie des Geistes (1807). It was Hegel, more than any
other, who impressed upon European thought the idea that system-
atic doctrine and historical narration are two sides of the same real-
ity. A great deal of the eighteenth century heritage survives in Hegel's
work, as is well known. Here we need only remind ourselves that
some themes characteristic of the eighteenth century are fully alive in
his philosophy. Franz, it seems to me, would have read with empathy
and understanding the chapter on "Phrenology" in Hegel's Phdnome-
nologie des Geistes. 5

3 "Die Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums, welche ich zu schreiben unternom-

men habe, ist keine blosse Erzahlung der Zeitfolge und der Veranderungen in der-
selben, sondern ich nehme das Wort Geschiehte in der weiteren Bedeutung, welche
dasselbe in der griechischen Sprache hat, und meine Absicht ist, einen Versuch eines
lehrgebaudes zu liefern."
4 The New Scie:nce qfGiambattista Vieo, translated by Th. G. Bergin and M. H. Fisch,

446. I use the revised and abridged version (Garden City, 1961), p. 108. For an
interesting discussion of gesture as an illuminating example of the eighteenth century
approach in Vico's teachings, see Jurgen Trabant, Neue Wissenschaft von a/ten Zeichen:
Vieos Sematologie (Frankfurt am Main, 1994), pp. 60 ff. See also A. Robert Caponigri,
Time and Idea: The Theory qf History in Giambattista Vieo (South Bend, 1968), pp. 36 ff.
See also Erich Auerbach's essay "Vico and Aesthetic Historicism," reprinted in the
author's Scenesftom the Drama qf European Literature (Manchester, 1984), pp. 183-198.
S G. W. F. Hegel, Die Phanomenologie des Geistes, ed. G. Lasson (Leipzig,
1928), pp. 227-254. It is the chapter tided "Physiognomik und Schadellehre."
72 MOSHE BARASCH

Each of these classic works of the eighteenth century, regardless of

how much attention the author devotes to the telling of a story, the
history of the subject, sets out to present a basic idea. The "truth"
they proclaim, the authors believe, explains a whole range of prob-
lems which are also related to the history they are telling. In this
focusing on a basic idea, these are truly "philosophical" works. Now,
what is the principal idea that Anthroposcopo presents, and wants to
teach, in his history of physiognomies? The central notion that un-
derlies the whole of his work, and even determines which texts he
culls from the vast reserves of his cultural memory, can be formulated
in two points: First, he clearly suggests, though he does not say it in
so many words, that face reading is the self cognition of man. Sec-
ondly, that it is a primary, original knowledge of mankind, an aware-
ness and understanding from which many separate sciences are de-
rived, but which is not itself derived from earlier knowledge or
experience. It results, as we shall see, from our innate ability to read
character from the face.
The first point is not a matter of great concern to Anthroposcopo.
That face reading is cognition of man, cognition of man in general
and not only of specific individuals, seems so obvious to him that he
sees no reason to devote any effort to expounding this. Suffice it to
note that towards the end of his work, where he provides a short
glossary of the technieal terms and concepts he has used (Part Ill,
chapter 2), he says of the notion "Anthropology" that it is "a term
having the same meaning as physiognomies."6
The other point, the antiquity of physiognomies and the fact that
it emerged in the original state of mankind, is more important for our
author. After all, he is writing a history, and hence the chronological
order is an issue of great concern. "Would we not expose ourselves to
justified rebuke and insulting derision," he says at the beginning of
his work, "were we to claim that at the origin of all things physiogno-
mies was the embodiment (Inbegriff) of all those insights (Kenntnisse)
that enable us to infer from external signs, that one can perceive on
the whole of the human body, the interior nature, the instincts, incli-
nations, and abilities?"7 His answer to this rhetorical question is a
clear No. To prove the truth of his thesis he sets out to show that
Adam was a physiognomist.
6 Versuch, p. 309. "Anthropologie, ist ein mit der Physiognomik gleichbedeutender
Ausdruck."
7 Versuch, p. 4.
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 73

It is not astonishing, he says in the first pages of his book, that the
ancestors of the human race should of necessity have attained this
knowledge. These ancestors, as he imagines them, were filled with
intellectual curiosity. They had "a natural desire to know." Physio-
gnomics, he intimates, is a kind of first knowledge. There is more
reason, he says, to describe Adam as a "panphysiognomist" than as a
"panphilosopher."
Here we may digress for a moment to recall that in the late eight-
eenth century, particularly in Germany, the connection between the
science of face reading and religious reflection was not altogether
unheard of. J. C. Lavater published as an introduction to his Physio-
gnomische Fragmente (Leipzig, 1772) an essay by Herder, who clearly
expresses the idea that can be traced through all of Lavater's physio-
gnomic studies. It is the idea that man is an image of God not only in
his mind and spirit, but also in his body. He is "an image and repre-
sentative of the divine in visible shape ... what a creature!" The
biblical image of man, then, is the point of departure for a philoso-
phy of face reading. It has been shown that in this attitude, Lavater
and Herder were, in fact, preceded by another religious thinker of
the eighteenth century, the eighteenth century Swedish scientist and
mystic, Emanuel Swedenborg. 8 Swedenborg's influence on late
eighteenth century thought, that even led Kant to write a short book
to refute it, is well known; it needs no further restatement.
At this stage, two cultural developments, or more generally two
trends, converged. The fusion of systematic doctrine and historical
narrative promoted, among other things, the crystallization of new
myths, or the renewed and original use of inherited mythical motifs.
Given the religious context of some current scientific and historical
thought, it is not surprising that biblical myths and figures played a
prominent part in historical constructions. One of these old myths,
now newly interpreted, was also well known in earlier periods, but in
the eighteenth century it attained particular significance for our sub-
ject. Thinkers of this period, as is well known, searched for original
knowledge, that is, an insight and understanding not taken over from
former cultures, whatever they may have been, but constituting a
pure, unconditioned beginning. People looked for a first, an absolute
origin, a knowledge that emerged altogether spontaneously from

8 Ernst Benz, "Swedenborg und Lavater: Uber die religiosen Grundlagen der
Physiognomik," Zeitschri.ftfiir Kirchengeschichte, XVII (1938), pp. 153-216.
74 MOSHE BARASCH

nothing, or from itself. And they looked for a mythical being that
could authenticate the fact that this truth, or knowledge, is the first
one. For scholars trained in Christian exegetical traditions the figure
of Adam offered itself as natural choice. The well known debate
about the language in which Adam spoke, and God spoke to him, is
a striking example. 9
In wishing to expound to his readers his reasons for assigning
physiognomic knowledge to Adam, Anthroposcopo takes up the story
of a mythical event that agitated the minds of many scholars in the
eighteenth century. It is the story of Adam giving names to the
beasts. The verses of Genesis 2: 19-20 stirred the imagination of all
students who searched for first beginnings. "And out of the ground
the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the
air; and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them .. .
And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air ... "
Naturally it was mainly philosophers of language who concerned
themselves with Adam giving names to the beasts, and, as is well
known, they deliberated on the question of the language in which the
names were given. Anthroposcopo is acquainted with these reflec-
tions. "If the Hebrew language was the original one, as seems most
likely," he says, "I shall accept that Adam gave the beasts Hebrew
names."IO
Anthroposcopo's interest, however, is focused on a different mat-
ter. On what basis, he asks, did Adam give specific names to the
various beasts? He conjures up a grand scene of how Adam con-
vened a "general imperial Diet" (Reichstag) in which all the beasts
assembled before our first ancestor. Now the reader's curiosity is
aroused: what happened at this mythical moment? To be sure, the
answer is known from the Bible, and Anthroposcopo summarizes it
in simple words. But a question remains: what determined the choice
of names that Adam gave the beasts? "Every beast got its name
according to its kind," this is our author's summary. But what is here
meant by "kind" or "species" (Art)?
We do not know what precisely Anthroposcopo meant by "kind"
or "species." It is perhaps also worth recalling that in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries it was sometimes understood that species in

9 See Aleida Assmann, "Die Weisheit Adams," A. Assmann, ed., Weirheit: Archiio-

logie der literarischen Kommunikation III (Munich, 1991), pp. 305-324.

10 Versuch, p. 6.
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 75

nature are not eternal, that they may changeY But whatever he may
have had in mind, it is obvious that it was not a merely zoological
category. This we learn mainly from Anthroposcopo's belief that
Adam named the beasts according to their specific "character." Now,
"character" (a notion that deserves more attention in the context of
both physiognomies and art than it has received so far)12 pertains
primarily, or even exclusively, to the study of human nature. When
Anthroposcopo speaks of the characters of beasts he suggests similari-
ties with human types. To prove that this is indeed what he has in
mind, our author invokes the school of phsyiognomics that, as he
puts it, "has become fashionable in later [recent] times." He is think-
ing, of course, of the school of face reading that infers a person's
nature from his or her physical similarities to a specific kind of beast.
Being a disciple of the tradition of physiognomies, he "firmly per-
sists," as he says, in defending this theory.

II

The "zoological" approach to physiognomies, that is, the attempt to

infer the character of a person from the similarities of his or her body
to a certain species of animal, is of course very old. It is already fully
stated in the very first systematie treatise of face reading that has
come down to us, the pseudo-Aristotelian De Physiognomonica. 13 Ever
since this ancient treatise, endowed with the authority of Aristotle,
the tradition of searching for similarities between man and beasts was
not interrupted. Anthroposcopo was, of course, thoroughly familiar
with both the ancient text and the later tradition. Yet what influ-
enced his views even more than Aristotle were much later formula-
tions of physiognomic lore, mainly those inherited from the Renais-
sance. The major source of his own views was the sixteenth century
author Giovanni Battista della Porta. We should now carefully, if
only briefly, look at some aspects of this scholar's work, and consider
the ideas underlying some of his views.

11 Paolo Rossi, The Dark A~ss of Time: The History of the Earth and the History of
Nationsfrom Hobbes to Vieo (Chicago and London, 1984), pp. 14 ff., 31 if. The original
Italian edition appeared in Milan in 1979.
12 See the interesting and wide ranging, though unsystematic, observations on
character in literature by J. Hillis Miller, Ariadne's Thread: Story Lines (New Haven and
London, 1992), pp. 28-141.
13 Mainly chapter V, 809 a - 810 a.
76 MOSHE BARASCH

Giovanni Battista della Porta (ca. 1545-1615), the scion of a noble

Neapolitan family, was probably exposed to both the Italian and
French traditions of the occult sciences, and particularly of face read-
ing. lf He was fascinated by, and attracted to, the marvellous and
mysterious phenomena in nature, and, as many Renaissance stu-
dents, firmly believed that they had a meaning. Though (possibly
because) he was an ambiguous figure, sometimes suspected of un-
canny activities,15 he left an imprint on the intellectual life of suc-
ceeding centuries. In his work, both in its purely speculative dimen-
sions and in those meant for application, he reflects some of the
profound, if not always manifest, concerns of his age. It was none
other than Goethe who said that when looking at della Porta's work
in general, we perceive a mirror image of the whole sixteenth cen-
tury.16 Even for a sixteenth century scholar, the range of della Porta's
interests was extremely wide. In our context it should be kept in mind
that one single problem remained central to him, that of the secret.
In 1550 he established in Naples his Academia Secretorum Naturae, the
members of which met at his house to discuss "secrets" of nature,
some of which we would describe as pertaining to magic, others
genuinely scientific. In any case, puzzling out secrets and reading
covert signs was his dominant intellectual passion. In 1556 he pub-
lished the first version of his great work, the Magia Naturalis, which
was to influence profoundly Francis Bacon and Campanella. 17 Per-
haps it was this work that led to the accusations of sorcery and magic.
He was brought before the tribunal of the Inquisition, and though he
was acquitted, Pope Paul III forbade him the study of the "prohibited
sciences." Though della Porta never again convened his Academy,

14 For physiognomic traditions in France, see Fritz Neubert, Die volkstiirnlichen

Anschauungen iiber Physiognomik in Frankreich bis zurn Ausgang des Mittelalters (Erlangen,
1910).
IS Anthroposcopo, p. 348, reports that Jean Bodin thought della Porta to be "a

sorcerer," and thinks that his books should be publicly burnt.

16 Goethe's Werke, vol. 34: Naturwissenschafiliche SchriJien, III (Berlin, 1879), pp. 70-72.
I am not aware of any detailed monographic treatment of della Porta in modem
literature.
17 Della Porta's Magia Naturalis was frequently reprinted. An anonymous English
translation appeared in 1658 (now republished in New York, 1959). For della Porta's
studies in "white magic," see the useful summary by Wayne Shumaker, The Occult
Sciences in the Renaissance: A Study in Intellectual Patterns (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London,
1972), pp. 109-120. Frances Yates has offered interesting observations on della Por-
ta's work. See, e.g., her The Art rif Memory (Harmondsworth, 1969), pp. 202-203, and
her Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition (London, 1964), pp. 380-382.
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 77

he did continue with his studies. One important result of them was
his work De Physiognomonia Libri IIII.
This work, a book that exerted a wide and profound influence, is
not what we would call an original text. It is rather a compilation, the
author borrowing his materials freely from the whole range of the
physiognomic tradition. Della Porta was familiar with the different
trends and schools of face reading, and he freely drew his materials
and insights from them. In the first part of the work he even makes
an attempt at critically discussing and evaluating his various sources.
Unlike Anthroposcopo, however, della Porta has no historical inten-
tion; he does not set out to tell the story of the studies of face reading,
and therefore he altogether disregards the sequence in which they
appeared in the course of time. His real intention was to provide a
handbook, a systematic treatise, useful for contemplation as well as
for practice. For this purpose he also summarizes the experiences and
doctrines of the teachers of physiognomics in all ages.
In spite of the fact that the sources from which he culled his
materials are so widely dispersed and the themes he treats differ so
widely, his work has an inner unity: one single approach prevails, and
it imprints its character on the whole treatise. Della Porta is best
known for the comparison of the face and frame of man and those of
the beasts. He became the most famous speaker for what we have
called "zoological" physiognomics.
To understand the origin of della Porta's zoological approach to
face reading, and perhaps also to grasp the secret of its influence, it is
not enough to study earlier texts. His physiognomics is derived from
a comprehensive world view, and this view is shaped by belief in the
existence and the profound significance of analogies in nature. He
was constantly searching for analogies between plants, animals, and
men. Plants and animals that correspond in shape have a similar
nature, and perhaps they are even interrelated. The anonymous art-
ist who made the woodcuts to the book on physiognomics gave della
Porta's ideas a visual form that was true to the author's intentions. As
we know, this form impressed itself profoundly on the European
imagination. The unknown illustrator clearly showed that a leaf
shaped like a stag horn (Fig. 1) shares the character of the deer. The
horse, a creature walking erect and holding its head high, is a noble
animal; therefore it is a sign of nobility to walk erect with the head
held high. A man who reminds us of a swine (Fig. 2) is a swine, eating
greedily and having all the other characteristics, such as rudeness,
 78 MOSHE BARASCH

Fig. 2 Affmities between man and swine

(From Giovanni Battista della Porta, Physiognomonica, Naples
1588)

Fig. 1 Affmities between the animal

world and the vegetable world (detail)
(From Giovanni Battista della Porta,
Physiognomonica, Naples, 1588)

Fig. 3 A man of bovine nature

(From Giovanni Battista della Porta, Physiognomonica, Naples 1588)
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 79

irascibility, lack of discipline, sordidness, lack of intelligence and

modesty. Men who resemble oxen (Fig. 3) are stubborn, lazy, and
irritable, as are the oxen themselves.
Giovanni Battista della Porta does not invoke the authority of
Adam to guarantee the venerable age of face reading. (Here it is
perhaps worth noting that in the physiognomic literature, also during
the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, biblical figures and images
played a surprisingly limited part. Even in the names cited, both of
authorities and of examples, physiognomics remained an overwhelm-
ingly "pagan" science.) Yet while della Porta does not adduce Adam
as an authority on face reading, and surely does not describe him as
the inventor of this art, he does believe that man was always aware of
the primordial fact that basic forms and types of face and figure
correspond to basic classes of spiritual meanings, and psychic lean-
ings. These forms that carry meaning have a timeless existence, and
awareness of them was implanted in the human mind from the "very
beginning." Della Porta represents a pre-Cartesian stage, or trend, of
reflection, in which it was held that bodily and non-bodily reality are
not firmly separated from each other. In this spiritual metaphysics, in
which della Porta strongly believed, body and soul, or even mind, are
open to each other.
As we have seen, analogies are della Porta's major theme, and
hence comparison and the presentation of similarities occupy a cen-
tral place in his thinking. Comparisons and similarities are also the
method by which he attempts to unriddle the secret of the human
face. The student will, of course, recall that in the Renaissance com-
parison and analogy were common notions, found in many fields of
study, and not limited to the occult sciences, or specifically to
physiognomics. Analogy was a basic concept of the natural sciences
at large, and especially of fields of empirical study such as anatomy
and physiology.
As an example we may mention the beginnings of comparative
anatomy by Leonardo da Vinci,18 one of the better known processes
in early modem science. Leonardo attempts to show in his drawings
the similarities, and differences, of the bone structure of a human leg,
of a beast, and of a bird (Fig. 4). But analogy is not exhausted by such
empirical similarity, measurable and actually dissectible; it could also
18 The literature on Leonardo as an anatomist is boundless. A useful survey of

earlier studies is found in the appropriate chapters of L. Heydenreich, Leonardo da

Vinci (London and Basel, 1954).
 80 MOSHE BARASCH

......... ,

i
~

"""""... -'''i
"-of"-""""
~- "r:o-'" ;'~.
. l
~v:_~ ... p'~
---.... .. ~ .

Fig. 4 Leonardo da Vinci, Anatomical drawing, about 1504 (detail)

 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 81

Fig. 5 Leonardo da Vinci, Studies for 1he Battle of Anghiari, 1503-4

82 MOSHE BARASCH

extend to relating movements of the soul and movements of the

body. Leonardo, as we know, was fascinated by the analogy of the
soul acting on the body in different kinds of creatures. Among his
best known drawings are those made in preparing his great, and lost,
cartoon of the Battle qf Anghiari. In these drawings he studied how the
external shape of the face changes, and is even deformed, under the
impact of powerful, overwhelming emotions. Moreover, he shows
that these anatomical deformations are surprisingly analogous in the
heads of men and of beasts. A man shouting in battle, a horse foam-
ing in violent attack, and a lion fearfully roaring manifest the up-
heaval in their souls in a surprisingly similar facial shape (Fig. 5).
This, too, is an application of the comparative method. I think we
would not do justice to Leonardo were we to say that these are
merely careful empirical observations. With all his attention to
minute structural details in nature, there is behind these drawings a
world view based on hidden "correspondences," to use a word that in
a similar context achieved fame in modem poetry.19
Now, Leonardo's drawings are not, of course, studies in physio-
gnomics in the sense of traditional, "scientific" physiognomics. They
show how emotions, however powerful, yet transient, act on the
body, its structure and appearance. The traditional physiognomist,
on the other hand, looks for permanent structures that disclose some-
thing about a person's temperament and the emotions he will expe-
rience. Yet what Leonardo's drawings show is that comparison and
analogy were common categories in the observation of nature during
the Renaissance. In making comparison his main method, Giovanni
Battista della Porta was not only following a trend in his own art,
physiognomics; he was also adapting an attitude of thought that was
of great significance in his age.

III

In the preceding sections I have briefly presented two documents

from the physiognomic tradition in the early modem period. They
reflect, I believe, the two basic attitudes that crystallized in this tradi-
tion to the problem of the self and of how it is grasped by the student
of at least one aspect, face reading. Both Anthroposcopo and Gio-

19 Baudelaire's poem, Co"espondences, has of course different intentions, but it also

stresses an analogy between man and nature.

 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 83

vanni Battista della Porta take it for granted that there is a "self," and
that this self is the true subject of any physiognomic knowledge; often
the self is conceived as a kind of substance that bears the signs which
the physiognomist analyzes. But there are significant differences be-
tween the two approaches as to what this subject actually is, and how
it is grasped.
Anthroposcopo, as we know, stresses that what the physiognomist
analyzes is the "character" of the person he looks at. Adam, we
remember, named the beasts according to their character. Now,
Anthroposcopo does not tell us what precisely he means by charac-
ter. But we shall probably not go wrong in assuming that with him
this notion carries a connotation that, in present-day speech, we
might call "psychological." In other words, character has subjective
and emotional overtones. What he possibly understood by "charac-
ter" is intimated in his reading of what he calls 'jacob's Testament,"
that is, chapter 49 of the Book of Genesis. It is the text of Jacob's
blessing of his sons.20 The biblical text of this chapter, as we know,
abounds in metaphors which the dying patriarch uses to describe the
nature of his sons. Anthroposcopo reads these metaphors as indica-
tions of character. Thus Reuben, described in the Bible as "unstable
like water" (Gen.49:4), is understood by Anthroposcopo as of "frivo-
lous temperament" (leichtsinniges Temperament). Simeon and Levi,
whose cruelty and anger are stressed in Genesis (49:5-7), are defined
by the physiognomist as "inclined to sudden anger" (zum Jiihzom
geneigt). Jacob, so Anthroposcopo reads the biblical text, "stepped on
the path of the physigonomist" as he compared his sons with ani-
mals: Judah, who excels among his brothers, is compared to a lion;
Issachar, compared to an ass, is characterized as of "phlegmatic tem-
perament;" Dan, compared by Jacob to a serpent (49:17), has a "sly
[or cunning] temperament;" Naphtali, "a hind let loose," is given the
traditional characteristics of the stag: because of his "swiftness in
executing important tasks [he is] compared to a fast stag."
What is important for our purpose in Anthroposcopo's reading of
the Bible is that any physical similarities of Jacob's sons and the
animals they are compared to are not as much as mentioned. All the
temperamental qualities of Jacob's sons appear under the label of
Gemiitsart. Now, we know how difficult it is to translate the German
term Gemiit into other languages, without losing some of its significant

20 Versuch, p. 19.
84 MOSHE BARASCH

connotations. Yet without attempting to offer a literal translation, we

should emphasize that this word primarily denotes an emotional in-
clination, a psychological condition, or a state of mind. It has what in
ordinary speech we would describe as a "subjective" character. This
is how, according to Anthroposcopo, Jacob knew and described his
sons.
How do della Porta's views compare to those of Anthroposcopo? It
would be a mistake were we to present Giovanni Battista della Porta
as the consistent opposite of Anthroposcopo. They were both heirs to
the same tradition. Yet we should realize that della Porta emphasizes
different aspects of reality. His physiognomics is rooted, as I have
pointed out, in his explicit and all-embracing metaphysics. Basing
himself on testimonies from nature and Antiquity, as many students
in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries understood
them, della Porta conceived of analogy and mainly of mutual attrac-
tion and repulsion as the foundation of his world view. This idea, as
is well known, is central to most types of magic, and it was particu-
larly common in late Renaissance thought. Creation, della Porta be-
lieves, is based on these principles. They formed an essential part of
the sapientia veterum, and some examples testifYing to the truth of these
principles were already known to Zoroaster. 21
A metaphysics of this kind underlies della Porta's De Physiognomonia.
To be sure, in this work he does not openly and systematically
present his metaphysics, but his treatment of the specific facial types
agrees with, in fact suggests, this magic world view, and in many
ways supports, or "proves," it. Moreover, in order to account for
some differences, or contradictions, between general principles, such
as attraction and repulsion, on the one hand, and the actual reality of
some individuals; on the other, della Porta introduces the concept of
"original nature."22 From his doctrine it follows that what we would
now call cultural and historical conditions may, to some degree at
least, change the external appearance of man's nature. What counts
for the physiognomist, however, is "original nature," that is, nature
before the impact of social conditions and the changes they may
cause. In this original nature the general principles of analogy, of
attraction and repulsion rule fully.

21 The theory is set forth mainly in his Magia naturalis. See also Kurt Seligmann,
Magic, Supematuralism and Religion (New York, 1948), pp. 224-228, useful though it is
only a general sUIvey.
22 Della Porta, De Physiognomonia, Book I, chapters 16, 17.
 ADAM THE PHYSIOGNOMIST 85

In sum, the self, or the person, that della Porta analyzes is a more
or less complex combination of analogies to phenomena in other
domains of reality. The resemblance of human types to categories of
beasts, that is, the core feature of traditional physiognomics, is only
part of an overall system of correspondences.
Here we reach the other question we have asked: how do both
della Porta and Anthroposcopo understand the physiognomist's
grasping his own cognition of the person at whose face he is looking?
What we here want to understand is how the physiognomist gets to
know the man or woman whose face he is analyzing, and what are
the principles that inform this process, and give validity to its results.
At this stage another condition must be mentioned. Face reading, as
we know, was primarily an art to be practiced, its very value was seen
in practicing it correctly. Yet physiognomic literature did not set
forth the methodology of that practice separately from the body of
the rules and descriptions of actual face reading, and these are often
confused and contradictory. The modem student looking for the
principles that guided the individual physiognomists in their work has
to extract them from an often disorderly wealth of material. There-
fore, we rarely can be fully certain of our findings, and can detect
only tendencies rather than state firmly established "facts." But dis-
cerning the tendencies can also shed some interesting light on our
knowledge of how man came to know himself.
Della Porta's method is clear, at least in principle; it follows from
his metaphysical assumptions concerning the nature of each indi-
vidual. Since, in his view, the "self' is a complex combination of
forms and features that appear in various parts of nature, his ap-
proach necessarily consists largely in the search for analogies. Even
though he does not state this principle in so many words, this is the
direction inherent in his thought.
Anthroposcopo draws from the same sources as della Porta, and
hence in his Versuch zur Geschichte der Physiognomik we have the same
themes and motifs as in della Porta's De Physiognomonia Libri IIII.
However, both in matters of method as well as of substance he em-
phasizes different dimensions, and thus points towards a different
direction. He never denies that the physiognomist should infer from
analogy, but in his mind the net of analogies is much narrower, and
the analogies themselves are fainter. Instead of tangible, almost meas-
urable parallels he seems to accept a kind of immediate, intuitive
cognition of what the bodily features he is looking at indicate. A good
86 MOSHE BARASCH

example is another piece of physiognomic exegesis of the Bible. As

soon as Adam, awakening from the sleep God had laid on him, saw
Eve, he cried out full of joy "This is now bone of my bones, and flesh
of my flesh" (Genesis 2:23).23 He identified Eve as part of himself not
by an analysis of analogies, not as mediated by comparison and
parallel; the identification followed from a direct, intuitive experi-
ence.
It is characteristic that Anthroposcopo turns the experience of
beauty, recognized by all as the prototype of physiognomic cognition,
into an intuitive reaction. Now, in the eighteenth century it was
generally accepted that beauty is an intuitive experience that cannot
be explained by analysis or analogy. Della Porta, it is worth recalling,
does not as much as mention beauty among his models of physio-
gnomic cognition. Anthroposcopo, on the other hand, has no doubt
that the experience of beauty pertains to physiognomic cognition,
and that it even shows how this cognition comes about. I will close
these comments with an example from Anthroposcopo's work. Try-
ing to show that physiognomics was known and practiced in the
earliest age, the time preceding the Deluge, he again quotes the
Bible. In Genesis 6:2 we read: "The sons of God saw the daughters of
men that they were fair. "24 Here Anthroposcopo goes on for almost
a whole page to describe the beauty of the "daughters of men." This
beauty was instantly perceived, and the cognition of beauty, he be-
lieves, is part of physiognomics.
What results from all of this is that the act of physiognomic cogni-
tion becomes an intuitive experience, a kind of Erlebnis. It goes with-
out saying that this shift of emphasis and interpretation is only adum-
brated, yet once again the direction is clear. It may well be that we
here witness, within the domain of physiognomics, the shift from a
firmly established "objective" doctrine or science to an intuitive,
"subjective" semi-aesthetic experience.

23 Versuch, p. 7.
24It is worth noting that the Vulgate has here "beautiful." ... videntes filii Dei filias
hominum quod essl!Tlt pulchrae. Luther's translation has schol!Tl.
IN THE FACE OF DEATH: MORTALITY AND RELIGIOUS
LIFE IN THE BIBLE, IN RABBINIC LITERATURE AND IN
THE PAULINE LETTERS

Israel Knohl

It is widely known that the God of the Bible is the "God of Life," who
radiates life to those who believe in Him: "... while you, who held
fast to the Lord your God, are all alive today" (Deut. 4:4). In this
paper, I wish to examine specifically the complex and problematic
relation between the God of Israel and the kingdom of death. I will
begin with a discussion of the story of the Aqedah-the Binding of
Isaac-in Genesis 22.

The story of the Binding was not the first incident in the Bible involv-
ing an offering to God. It was preceded by the offerings made by
Cain and Abel, and by Noah. These offerings were brought at the
initiative of the one bringing them, so as to draw close to God and to
appease Him. The nature of the sacrificial object was similarly deter-
mined by the individual doing the offering, and not dictated by God.
Thus, the command of the Binding deviates from the voluntary
model of sacrifice known from earliest days. For the first time in
human history, God demands a sacrifice of man and dictates to him
what to offer! In this sense, the act of the Aqedah differs, not only from
what preceded it, but also from what followed. Throughout the pe-
riod of the Patriarchs, we do not find any other divine command to
offer a sacrifice! Hence, the only sacrifice which God asks for
throughout the Book of Genesis is a human sacrifice! In demanding
that Abraham bind his son to the sacrificial pyre, Abraham is asked
to bind and to kill his deepest feelings. "Take your son, your favored
one, Isaac, whom you love ... and offer him there as a burnt offer-
ing" (Gen. 22:2). Paradoxically, what serves here as the supreme
model for adherence to the God of Life is precisely the physical death
of Isaac, accompanied by the emotional death of Abraham.
88 ISRAEL KNOHL

And yet this unique cultic command is not executed: The moment
Abraham puts forth his hand to slaughter his son, the angel of God
calls to him from heaven and commands him to forebear from that
act which he had earlier been commanded by God! This sudden
change in the divine command cries out for interpretation. I would
like to offer an exegesis based upon the use of the Divine names in
this story.
In the initial commandment to bind Isaac, the name Elohim is used
(Gen. 22: 1); in contrast, the order to refrain from carrying out the
offering is associated with the name YHWH (Gen. 22: 11). I believe
that the narrator deliberately used these two names in order to say
something about God and the manner of His revelation.
The basic distinction in the story seems to be between the
numinous, irrational and amoral dimension within God, signified
here by the name Elohim, and the rational-moral aspect, signified by
the name YHWH.l The terrible command to bind the son, a com-
mand that is beyond the realm of ethical understanding, stems from
the numinous element. Through this command, God both contra-
dicts His promises to Abraham concerning the proliferation of his
seed, and requires him to perform a deed that violates the norms of
justice and righteousness for whose observance Abraham himself had
been praised (Gen. 18:17-19). Moreover, Abraham is here called
upon to do violence to his deepest feelings and thereby negate his
own self in the face of God. Through his willingness to carry out this
command, Abraham reveals that he "fears Elohim" (see v. 12)-that
is, he is willing to totally submit to the command of the numinous
Godhead while eradicating his own personality and consigning his
paternal feelings to oblivion.
But, before Abraham can carry out this terrible act, the divine
nature symbolized by the name YHWH intervenes and prevents him
from doing so. In this story, YHWH, or the angel of YHWH, repre-
sent the rational and ethical dimension in the Godhead. It is YHWH
who prevents Abraham from offering his son and who confirms to
him the fulfilment of the promises regarding the abundance of his
seed and the inheritance of the land, which had already been given
him in the past. According to the narrator, the rational and ethical
dimensions symbolized by the name YHWH overrule the numinous
I For a general discussion of the use of the Divine names in the Pentateuch, see

S.R. Driver, An Introduction to the Literature qf the Old Testament, Edinburgh, 1913, pp.
XXVIII-XXXIII.
 MORTALITY AND RELIGIOUS LIFE 89

dimension symbolized by the name Elohim. The demand to erase the

I and to obliterate his fatherly emotions is negated; in its place come
the blessings of life and of the multiplication of seed which confirm
the status of Abraham, the living father, against the holy.

II

The story of the Binding of Isaac emphasizes the all-embracing na-

ture of the divine command, which has the power to cause man to
become estranged from his natural feelings toward those closest to
him. In the Priestly tradition of the Torah,2 we find another story in
which man is asked to ignore his natural feelings towards his sons so
as to devote himself entirely to the fulfilment of the divine will. I refer
to the account of the death of the sons of Aaron in Chapter 10 of
Leviticus.
On the eve of the ceremonies dedicating the Tabernacle, Moses
informs the children of Israel that "today the Lord will appear to
you" (Lev. 9:4). And indeed, the glory of the Lord appeared to the
entire people-but this revelation concluded in the tragic deaths of
Nadab and Abihu. Aaron is warned by Moses not to observe the
usual procedures of mourning for his two sons who were consumed
by fire, but to continue the ceremonies of dedicating the sanctuary.
"And Moses said to Aaron and to his sons Eleazar and Ithamar, 'Do
not bare your heads and do not rend your clothes .... And so do not
go outside the entrance of the Tent of Meeting" (Lev. 10:6-7). Aaron
accepts the death of his sons in stoic silence-"And Aaron was silent"
(Lev. lO:3)--and continues to perform the sacred service.
Yet despite the similarity in the demand for total devotion, which
overcomes the natural feeling of a father for his sons, there is a
profound difference between the ultimate message of the story of the
Aqedah and that of the deaths of Nadab and Abihu. The Binding
narrative ultimately gives preference to the rational and ethical di-
mension within the Divine, therefore rejecting the imperative of total
dedication to God: Isaac, the bound son, is removed from the altar,
and a ram is offered in his stead. The story culminates in the reaffir-
mation of the divine promises applying to Abraham and his seed. In
contrast, the Priestly Torah sees the peak of religious faith in total

2 For a general description of the Priesdy tradition in the Pentateuch, see Driver,
Introduction, pp. 129-159.
90 ISRAEL KNOHL

dedication to the service of God, while forgetting all human needs

and feelings. Aaron sees his sons, consumed by fire, lying before him,
yet he does not protest to Heaven, but remains silent and simply
continues to perform the divine service. According to the approach of
the Priestly Torah, the continuation of the divine service while ignor-
ing the tragic death of the sons expresses the highest level of faith.
The difference between the story of the Binding and that of the
death of Aaron's sons reflects a dispute in principle regarding the
nature and contents of the various Divine names. As mentioned ear-
lier, the story of the Aqedah associates the imperative of total dedica-
tion to God with the name Elohim, which it sees as symbolizing the
numinous dimension of the Godhead, while refraining from the of-
fering is connected with the name YHWH, which appears after the
name Elohim, and symbolizes the rational and ethical dimension. In
the Priestly Torah, too, the name YHWH is revealed after Elohim.
However, as explained in my book, The Sanctuary if Silence,3 this tradi-
tion follows a diametrically opposed approach regarding the at-
tributes connected with each ofthe divine names. The Priestly Torah
reads the name Elohim, which is used at the time of the Creation, as
specifically expressing the rational and ethical dimension within God,
while the name YHWH, which appeared to Moses, expresses the
numinous dimension of the Godhead. However, even though the
Aqedah tradition and the Priestly Torah tradition give the final word
to the name YHWH over Elohim, the implications that follow are
diametrically opposed, due to the differences regarding the nature of
the name YHWH and the qualities associated with it. The Priestly
Torah intensifies the numinous dimension of the Godhead and sees
the peak of the life of faith as manifested in total dedication to the
sacred worship entailed therein, while the tradition of the Binding
story gives preference specifically to the rational and ethical dimen-
sion, which negates the taking of human life in the name of God.

III

The question of the validity of religious obligations in the face of

death was also raised in the world of the Rabbinic Sages. The
Mishnah in Tractate Berakhot says:

3 I. Knohl, The Sanctuary qf Silence, Minneapolis, 1995, pp. 124-151.

 MORTALITY AND RELIGIOUS LIFE 91

One whose dead was before him is exempt from reading the Shema', and
from prayer, and from [donning] tefillin.
From the wording of the Mishnah, "One whose dead was before him,"
and not "one before whom there was a dead person," we infer that this
refers specifically to one whose close relative has died and is lying
before him prior to burial. The situation depicted in the Mishnah is
thus similar to that in which Aaron found himself according to Leviti-
cus 10. But, unlike the Priestly Torah, which attaches supreme reli-
gious importance to the continuation of the sacred service while ig-
noring the death of the son, our Mishnah states that the death of a
loved one frees a person of his normal religious obligations. Our
Mishnah would seem to specifically follow the conclusion of the
Binding narrative, which implies that God does not demand that
man alienate himself from his deepest feelings toward the members
of his family. He is allowed to surrender to feelings of loss and
mourning for the death of his loved ones, and this temporarily re-
lieves him of the religious obligations incumbent upon him.
In other tannaitic sources, the exemption from fulfilling the com-
mandments is applied, not only to the individual whose own dead are
before him, but to all those in the vicinity of the dead person. Thus,
a baraita4 cited in the Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot I8a, reads:
One who guards a dead person, even if it is not his own dead, is exempt
from reading the Shema', and from prayer, and from all the command-
ments written in the Torah.
In another baraita cited in the same passage, we read:
A person may not walk in a cemetery with tefillin on his head and a
Torah scroll in his arm and read; and if he did so, he violates, "He who
mocks the poor affronts his Maker" (Prov. 17:5).
One gains the impression from these sources that, according to the
Sages, there is a contradiction in principle between the presence of
death, and the observance of commandments and Torah study.
Moreover, performing commandments in the presence of the dead is
taken as an act of disrespect toward them.
This is stated explicitly in a baraita in Tractate Semahot (13.1, ed.
Higger, p. 200):
One who gathers bones and one who guards bones is exempt from
reading the Shema' and from prayer and from all the commandments

4 Baraita is a Tannaitic source which has not been included in the Mishna.
92 ISRAEL KNOHL

written in the Torah. And if he wished to be strict with himself, he may

not do so, because of the respect due to the bones.
The obvious question arises: Why does the presence of death remove
the obligation to observe mitzvot, how and why does the observance of
mitzvot harm the honor of the dead, and why did the Sages see in this
act a "mocking of the poor"? The answer to this question is rooted in
the Sages' view of the dead as being free from the yoke of the com-
mandments. The most explicit expression of this approach appears in
the words of the third-century Palestinian amora, R. YoJ:tanan:
What is that which is written, "released among the dead" (Ps. 88:6)?
Once a person dies, he becomes free of the commandments (BT
Niddah 6lb).
According to another tradition, R. YoJ:tanan based this idea upon
Job's comment on death:
"And the slave is free of his master" Gob 3: 19) ... For once a person
dies, he is made free of the commandments (Pesikta de-Rav Kahana, ed.
Mandelbaum, p. 450).
At the moment of death, a person is released of the obligation to
observe the commandments of God; for this reason, the presence of
a dead person removes the obligation of mitzvot even from a living
person. The performance of the commandments in the presence of
the dead body is thus a kind of mockery of the dead, who is free of
them.
The idea that death releases one from the commandments is here
formulated by R. YoJ:tanan who lived in the third century, but there is
evidence to indicate that this idea was already widespread in Rabbinic
circles during a much earlier period. It is related to the Sage Abba
Shaul ben Botnit, who lived in Jerusalem at the end of the Second
Temple period (first century CE), that, at the moment of his death, he
ordered his sons: "Bury me beneath the feet of father, and undo the
blue thread from my tallit' (Sema&ot 12.11, ed. Higger, p. 198). The
removal of the blue thread from the tallit signifies that the dead person
is no longer obligated to perform the commandment of ;;.i?:it (fringes).
It would appear, however, that this act had broader symbolic mean-
ing. According to the relevant passage in the Torah, the fringes are a
symbol ofthe observance of all the commandments (see Num. 15:40).
Moreover, the Sages saw in the ?:i?:it a sign of bondage, symbolizing
God's mastership over His servants (see BT Menahot 43b). Hence, the
undoing of the ?:i?:it from the tallit of the dead man symbolizes his total
 MORTALITY AND RELIGIOUS LIFE 93

freedom from the bondage of the mitzvot. One could say that the power
of God's rule does not extend to the Underworld. Death has a certain
anarchistic and antinomistic nature which upsets the obligation to
God and to His commandments.
In practice, the basis of this idea already appears in the Bible. The
Psalmist says: "What is to be gained from my death, from my descent
into the pit? Can dust praise You? Can it declare Your faithfulness?"
(Ps. 30: 10). "The dead cannot praise the Lord, nor any who go down
in silence" (Ps. 115: 17). The Rabbis gave to this outlook a ha1akhic
expression: Just as the dead cannot praise or extol God, they are not
meant to fulfil the commandments of God.
However, the nullification of the mitzvot due to the presence of the
dead, is perceived by the Rabbis as a passing moment. The mourner,
whose dead is lying before him, will return to reaccept the yoke of the
commandments after the burial of his beloved. The performance of
the commandments is perceived as the advantage of the living over
the unfortunate dead, who are deprived of this possibility. The
Midrash portrays Moses asking God to allow him to remain alive so
that he may continue to serve Him:
Moses said to Him: You have called me Moses My servant ... And you
wrote in Your Torah, saying, "But if the slave declares, 'I love my
master ... '" (Exod. 21:5)-and I have surely loved You and Your To-
rah. "I do not wish to go free" (ibid.)-I do not wish to die (Tan~uma;
ed. S. Buber, Va-et~anan, p. 10).
An exception to this is the homily of R. Simon, a contemporary of R.
YoJ:!anan, which also relates to the verse in Job 3. This homily de-
picts the moment of death as the long-awaited release from the per-
petual conflict in human life between loyalty to the Creator and the
temptations of the Urge:
Said R. Simon ... "And the slave is free of his master" Gob 3: 19). So
long as man is alive he is a servant to two urges: he is a servant to his
Maker and a servant to His Urge. If he performs the will of his Maker,
he angers his Urge, and if he does the will of his Urge, he angers his
Maker. Once he dies, he is free-"And the slave is free of his master"
(Ruth Rabbah, C. 3, beginning; ed. Lerner, p. 38).5
The figure who struggled intensely with the conflict between loyalty
to the laws of the Torah and the urges of his body was Saul of

5 See also D. Flysser and S. Safrai "The Slave of Two Masters", Immanuel6 (1976),
pp. 30-36.
94 ISRAEL KNOHL

Tarsus-later known as Paul. He had learned from his Pharisaic

teachers that a person is only subject to the Torah during his lifetime:
Do you not know, brethren-for I am speaking to those who know the
law-that the law is binding on a person only during his life? (Romans
7: 1).
For Paul, the death of Jesus constitutes a liberation from the body,
and from the Torah that rules over the body. Identification with the
death of Christ thus frees the believers from the yoke of the com-
mandments, and from struggle with temptations of the Urge:
... you have died to the law through the body of Christ ... While we
were living in the flesh, our sinful passions, aroused by the law, were at
work in our members to bear fruit for our death. But now we are
discharged from the law, dead to that which held us captive, so that
serve not under the old written code but in the new life of the Spirit
(ibid., 7:4-6).
Further on, Paul says that God sent His son as a sacrificial offering,
an offering that by its death condemns the sinfulness of the flesh
(Romans 8:3).
An approach which sees the son who has been put to death serv-
ing as an atoning sin-offering is known to us from the Hebrew Bible.
As will be remembered, the prophet Micah debates with a person
who asks, "Shall I give my first-born son for my transgression, the
fruit of my body for my sins?" (Micah 6:7). But while the father
depicted in the words of Micah wishes to offer his son in order to
atone for his own sins, in Paul, the Father sent His son as a sin-
offering that atones and redeems his other sons from sin!
Paul thus disagrees both with his Pharisaic teachers and with the
tradition of the Aqedah story. The Pharisees, and after them the Sages,
see the liberation from the mitzvot, which ensures upon death, as a
sign of spiritual impoverishment and weakness. But for Paul, who is
disgusted by the life of the body and the yoke of the commandments,
the death of the body is seen as an opening to a sublime spiritual
existence.
Paul likewise dissents from the position of the Binding narrative.
Whereas the story of the Aqedah ultimately decides against the taking
of human life even for a sublime religious purpose, for Paul it would
have been appropriate had the father set his hand upon the youth
and killed him; for by the latter's death he could have brought atone-
ment and salvation to the world.
 MORTALITY AND RELIGIOUS LIFE 95

Can one find a precedent for Paul's approach in the ancient bib-
lical works? In my opinion, the Pauline line continues the heritage of
the Priestly Torah in principle. As in the Priestly Torah, so too in
Paul the numinous element of the Godhead is very strongly empha-
sized. In his discussion of the concept of predestination in Paul,
Rudolph Qtto writes:
The true "predestination," springing direcdy from religious intuition,
has its origin beyond question in St. Paul. But in him it is easily recog-
nized as the numinous feeling in face of the mysterium tremendum ... The
numen, overpoweringly experienced, becomes the all-in-all. The crea-
ture, with his being and doing, his "willing" and "running" (Romans
9: 16), his schemes and resolves, becomes nothing. The conceptual ex-
pression to indicate such a felt submergence and annihilation over
against the numen is then-here impotence and there omnipotence;
here the futility of one's own voice, there the will that ordains all and
determines all (The Idea if the Ho(y, pp. 88-89).
Confronting the mystery of the sacred, man falls silent and words are
taken from his mouth. It seems to me that Paul's call-"But who are
you, a man, to answer back to God? Will what is moulded say to its
moulder, 'Why have you made me thus?'" (Romans 9:20)-derives
from Aaron's acceptance of divine judgment; Aaron, who, despite
the tragic death of his sons, continues in the sacred service and does
not argue with God-"And Aaron was silent." Moreover, as I have
mentioned in my book, The Sanctuary if Silence,6 the Priestly Torah
implies that there was no dialogue at all between Moses and God. In
this layer of the Torah, we find that God speaks to Moses and com-
mands him, but Moses does not utter a single word to God! A mono-
logue and not a dialogue!
The Rabbis disagree, as mentioned, with the Priestly Torah,
teaching that one whose dead lies before him is not required to
continue in the holy service, but is allowed to refrain from it and to
be alone with his private mourning. In this sense, they affirm the
view of the narrator of the Binding story that God does not demand
that man negate his personality and his private feelings, even when
standing in the presence of the holy.

6 KnoW, Sanctuary qf Silence, pp. l26-l27.

 BREATH, KISS, AND SPEECH AS THE SOURCE
OF THE ANIMATION OF LIFE:
ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES
ON THE GIVING OF THE TORAH AS THE KISS OF GOD'

Admiel Kosman

The Bible stresses the uniqueness of mankind as creatures endowed

with the faculty of speech. H. W. Wolff, in his work on anthropologi-
cal ideas in the Bible, shows that Scripture places special emphasis on
the role of the mouth in speaking, unlike its emphasis on the role of
the ear in hearing or the eye in seeing. 2 This is evident when we
consider the wealth of synonyms Scripture has in its lexicon for the
organ of speech. Aside from the mouth (i10), we also find mention of
lips (Prov 4:24), lip (Isa 6:7), tongue (2 Sam 23:2), palate (Prov 5:3),
and even throat (Ps 149:6).3 Scripture also has an astounding number
of verbs denoting various tones of speech-a rich variety not found
with respect to hearing or seeing. 4 This lexical wealth is reserved
uniquely to the faculty of speech and does not pertain equally to
hearing or seeing, since the advantage of human beings over the rest
of creation is not manifest in hearing or seeing, but only in speaking.
I I would like to thank Pro( Jacob Klein for reading the sections on Mesopota-

mian culture and offering corrections and additions to the text. I would also like to
thank Pro( Albert Baumgarten for his comments and suggestions for improving the
article.
2 HallS Walter Wolff, Anthropology qf the Old Testament (trans. M. Kohl; London:
SCM Press, 1974) 77-78.
3 I have only provided one example of the use of each term.

4 The particular sensitivities of a culture are brought out by multiple levels of

lexical distinction. For example, the Eskimos are known to make fine lexical distinc-
tions between different varieties of snow-distinctions which Hebrew does not ac-
knowledge at all. See Benjamin Lee Whorfs analysis (Language, Thought and Reality
[New York: Wiley, 1940/1956] 217) and discussion of verb declension in the Hopi
language. Also c( Leonard Broom and Philip Sleznic, Essentials qf Sociology (New
York: Harper and Row, 1975) Part 2, Chapter 2: Language and Culture.
The Bible has a rich variety of verbs pertaining to speech: i::J'=speak; i~N=say;
Nip=call; i11!l=command; '~"=teach; i1i'=instruct; ::J'i=accuse; lI::JW=swear;
1i::J=bless; ""p ,iiN=curse; i'w=sing; "'i1=praise; pi=rejoice; ""D=pray;
Pll!l ,'DO=cry, complain; to cite just a few.
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 97

This is brought out in Tg. Onq. Gen 2:7, which renders the verse
about man becoming i1'n It'!:l~. a "living soul," as ~"~~ n" or a
"speaking spirit."5
Speech is important not simply as the technical ablility of human
beings to communicate via language; it is important as the creative
force stemming from the divine use of speech-the utterance which
creates. Thus, in Scripture we find that God created the world by the
utterance of His mouth (Gen I :3£1). We also find that the creative
power which lies in speech is transferred to human beings associated
with the Deity. For example, Joshua commanded the sun to stand
still in mid-heaven for an entire day, until he and his army quashed
the Emorites:
And there was no day like that before it or after it, that the Lord
hearkened unto the voice of a man; for the Lord fought for Israel (Josh
10:14).

Although Scripture states explicitly that this was an exceptional cir-

5 Targum Onqelos seldom deviates from literal translation, therefore its rendition
here is quite surprising. Rabbi Simon Baruch Schefftel (Biure Onkelos [Theodor
Ackermann: Munich, 1888] 5) tries to account for Onqelos' rendition by explaining
that he interpreted i1'n in the sense ofi11n, which also means "saying and speaking."
But Samuel David Luzzatto (Philoxenus sive de Onkelos [Jerusalem, 1969] 9) believes
Targum Onqelos deliberately deviated from the literal sense in order to "set the matter
right as a point of honor, so that man and the animals not appear equal, since also
the animals are referred to as i1'n W!:lJ (c£ Gen 7:22: 'all in whose nostrils was the
breath of the spirit of life'). But Onqelos deliberately let the reader know that this
spirit gave human beings the faculty of speech." This theme is developed in Nah-
manides' commentary on the Pentateuch: "But Onqelos said: 'and man became a
spirit that speaks.' His opinion seems to accord with those who say that man has
various souls, and this was the soul of intelligence, inspired into his nostrils and
making him a speaking soul." Also cf. Menahem M. Kasher, Tora Shlema, on this
verse (New York: American Biblical Encyclopedia Society, 1929),2.215, par. 161,
and the collection of views cited by Shlomo Kasher in Peshuto shel Miqra (additions to
Tora Shlema on Genesis; Jerusalem, 1963) 98-99. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan elaborates
even further than Onqelos: "and He breathed into his nostrils the spirit of life, and
the spirit in the body became a talking spirit, seeing and hearing." It should be
added that the amora Rav, a leader of the Babylonian Jewish community in the late
third and early fourth centuries, saw a religious precept in this verse. The fact that
God is mentioned as inspiring the spirit of life into man leads him to conclude that
this was not a present bestowed without a price. Rather, with the bestowal of the
soul, man became the guardian of a precious item entrusted to him: "Rabbi Judah
quoted Rav, 'What is the reason for R. Yose's opinion that a person is forbidden to
fast individually in order to cancel an evil decree passed against the entire people?
Because it is written: and man became a living soul. The spirit that I have given thee,
thou must keep alive.'" (b. Ta'anit 22b)
98 ADMIEL KOSMAN

cumstance, the theme of the power of speech is developed extensively

in the mishnaic and talmudic period.
In the time of the Tannaim we find that the ability to change
nature by the power of speech is granted to many of the righteous.
The Holy One, blessed be He, told Moses: "decree it upon me, and
I shall do it."6 We even find the following surprising words in the
Babylonian Talmud, put in the mouth of God: "Who rules me? The
righteous. For I make a decree and [he] cancels it" (b. Mo'ed Qg,t.
16b).7
The notion implicit here is that human speech has the power to
create, as a continuation of the Deity's all-creating utterance. 8 Even
unintentional words issuing from the righteous are effective. Thus
Eccl 10:5, "There is an evil which I have seen under the sun, like an
error which proceedeth from a ruler," is interpreted as originally
having been said of God, and then redirected towards the righteous. 9
Moreover, in the Talmud we find evidence of the belief that the
power to change reality does not lie only in the speech of the right-
eous or the wise, but that the utterance of the layman can also pose
a danger. lo It should be noted that this faith in the power of words to
6 Sifre Numbers 135 (Horowitz 182). For additional sources, cf. Ephraim Eli-

melech Urbach, The Sages: their Concepts and Belieft (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1971) 438, n.
16 [in Hebrew).
7 The words of Eliphaz the Temanite toJob, "Thou shalt also decree a thing, and
it shall be established unto thee," (Job 22:28) are interpreted in the Jerusalem Tal-
mud as follows: "What is meant by 'unto thee'? Even if He were to decree some-
thing, and you [Honi Ha-Me ' agel, one of the tannaim known for the miracles he
wrought by means of his prayers] were to decree something, yours [that of Honi]
would be fulfilled and mine [that of the Holy One, blessed be He] would not be
fulfilled." (y. Ta'anit 67a)
B On the connection between 1::J' meaning "word" or "speech" and 1::J' in the

sense of "thing" or "tangible object" cf. E. Crawley, Oath, Curse and Blessing (London:
Thinkers Library, 1934) 3; Raphael Patai, i10'N1 C'N (Man and Earth in Hebrtw Custom,
Belief and Legend; Jerusalem: Hebrew University Publishing, 1943) 272; Johannes
Hehn, "Zum Problem des Geistses im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament," ZAW
43 (1925) 220.
9 For example, the story in b. Ketubot 62b on Judah, son of R. Hiyya; and the
conversation between Samuel's father and Samuel, b. Ketubot 23a.
10 The Talmud learns this from two incidents mentioned in Scripture. In one of

these Scripture mentions that after a plague had broken out among the people the
prophet Gad said to King David that the plague could be arrested by building an
altar to the Lord on the site of the threshing-floor of Araunah theJebusite. So David
sought to buy this threshing-floor from Araunah, and the latter blessed David with
the words, "The Lord thy God accept thee" (2 Sam 24:23). This blessing indeed
came to pass; after the altar was built and offerings made on it, the plague immedi-
ately ceased. In the second illustration, Darius, King of Persia who had been pressed
by ministers who opposed to Daniel to throw the latter into the lions den, said to
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 99

detennine reality by fiat is found in many heritages, not just the

Jewish. Various nuances of the same are found in ancient Egyptian
traditions, in Zoroastrianism, in Brahmanism, among the ancient
Greeks and Romans, and elsewhere. II

II

In Scripture we not only find the notion of creation through speech,

but also the notion of creation by the breath qf the deity. Gen 2:7 gives
the following account of God creating man: "Then the Lord God
fonned man of the dust of the earth, and blew into his nostrils the
breath of life; and man became a living soul." Ostensibly this verse
simply says that God created man from the dust of the earth,12 after
Daniel: "Thy god whom thou servest continually, He will deliver thee" (Dan 6: I 7).
Indeed, as we read there, Daniel was saved from the lions; for God sent an angel to
close the lions' mouths: "My God hath sent His angel, and hath shut the lions'
mouths" (Dan 6:23). These two incidents led R. Hanina (as reported in his name by R.
Eliezer) to conclude: "Never make light of the blessing of a layman" (b. Megilla 16a).
The converse is learned from the Bible's account of Abimelech's words to Sarah
after taking her as a wife even though she was a married woman. Having become
aware of the gravity of his misdeed, in the wake of the punishment sent him by God,
Abimelech gave Sarah "a thousand pieces of silver," telling her it is "a covering of
the eyes to all that are with thee" (Gen 20: 16), i.e. compensation to show people that
he had not taken her as a wife with contempt, but "with honor did he take her, and
against his will did he return her" (Rash barn on Gen 20: 16). But since covering of
the eyes can also mean blindness, R. Hanina concluded that also the curse of a
layman is fulfilled; for as we know, Isaac, Sarah's son, suffered from blindness in his
old age (Gen 27:1).
In a somewhat different context, in b. Berakot 55b dreams are also said to be
dangerous, since their "solution follows the mouth." In other words, the utterance of
the person who solves the dream will later cause it to be fulfilled in real life. Thus the
perplexed dreamer becomes dependent on the words that issue from the mouth of the
solver. See the story about the dream-solver bar-Hadaya in b. Berakot 56a. Likewise,
one has the Talmudic aphorism, "a covenant is made with the lips." This is learned by
the late third-century amora R. Johanan of Tiberias from the story of the binding of
Isaac: When Abraham wanted to go alone to bind his son, without the young men who
were accompanying him, he requested of them, "Abide ye here with the ass, and I and
the lad will go yonder; and we will worship, and come back to you" (Gen 22:5). But
Isaac had been destined to die and not return; hence one learns that the words a
person says even have the power to deliver from certain death (b. Mo'ed Qgt IBa).
Il For a list of studies on the subject, cf. Patai, i1r.l'N1 C'N, 2.274.
12 Many scholars say Adam, the primordial man, was so called precisely because
he was fashioned of the dust of the earth, i1r.l'N. ef. Patai, i1r.l'N1 C'N, 1.151f.; Wolff,
Anthropology, 94. In legends ascribed to the tannaim (although redacted much later) we
read: "Why was he called Adam? R. Judah says after the earth, i1r.l'N, from which he
was taken" (Midrash ha-Gaddol on Gen 2:7). Also cf. M. Kasher, Tora Shlema, 2.209,
par. 129; S. Kasher, Peshuto, 98. An ancient Egyptian view was that the god Khnum
100 ADMIEL KOSMAN

which He blew into him, i.e., inspired in this dust the spirit of life,13
and henceforth mankind, i.e., man, became a "living soul," i.e., a
creature with life.
Indeed, the verse itself does not explicitly state through which
organ this breath of life was inspired. However, since this t:l"n n~WJ or
breath of life was interpreted by the ancients as the act of breathing
which indicates life, there are only two possibilities: either the mouth
or the nose. We shall discuss this at greater length below. At this
point, however, we can say that the view which associates the pri-
mordial act of inspiring with the mouth is naturally closer to the third
interpretation which we discuss below, namely the creation of man
by the kiss of God. This takes us to an interesting, new, and more
erotic aspect of the issue. Note that in distant cultures the affinity
between kissing and breathing is even more striking, as Emest Craw-
ley writes in his book, The Mystic Rose: "The typical primitive kiss is
contact of nose and cheek; the Khoyoungtha, for instance, apply
mouth and nose to the cheek, and then inhale."14
Regarding the connection between human life and the breath of
God, we note that this biblical view is very ancient and can be traced
back to the cradles of civilization in Egypt and Mesopotamia.
Many inscriptions from ancient Babylon attest to the deity being
the source of the spirit that gives life to mankind, this spirit of life
being exhaled from the deity's mouth into other creatures in order to
give them life. An ancient Sumerian-Akkadian hymn addresses the
god Marduk with the words: "Your speech is a sweet breath, the life
of the lands."15

was a creator-god and made living beings out of clay on a potter's wheel. Cf. Henri
Frankfort, Kingship and the Gods (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press,
1978) 246 and fig. 23.
[3 The organ in the human body where this spirit was inspired is not explicidy

identified. For various views on the subject as reflected in early Rabbinic literature,
cf. W. Hirsch, Rabbinic Psychology (New York: Arno Press, 1973) 195-199.
14 Emest Crawley, The Mystic Rose (London: Spring Books, 1965) 339.

[ j Erica Reiner et al., The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the Universiry of

Chicago (Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1992; henceforth CAD) 17/11.138. This source
was cited by scholars many years back as proof of this notion. Cf. Hehn, "Zum
Problem des Geistes," 218; Paul van Imschoot, "L'esprit de ]ahve, Source de Vie
dans L'ancien Testament," Revue Biblique 44 (1935) 491. This does not necessarily
provide conclusive proof that the ancient Babylonians perceived the source of life as
coming from the deity inspiring the spirit of life, for the text at hand might be
nothing more than a metaphorical expression. Even such a metaphor, however (as
Prof.]. Klein has apprised me), would not have developed without some sort of belief
that the spirit of life comes to humans from the mouth of the deity.
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 101

Similar expressions are found in Akkadian literature: "May your

sweet breath waft hither," or "Always seek the sweet breath of the
gods," etc. 16 The closest parallel to our subject comes from the El-
Amama letters, in a phrase actually addressed to the king: "[Who
can live] when breath does not issue forth from the mouth of the
king, his lord?" 17
Similar views are also found in ancient Egypt, as J. Hehn has
shown, in praise of Isis coming with her tremendous powers, includ-
ing that of speech, which is perceived as the life-giving breath of the
deity to mankind. The words of Isis are a shield against dread dis-
ease; it is they that give life to mankind when human breath fails, i.e.,
when breathing becomes weak and is in danger, in need of renewed
strength. 18 Even more prominent in the Egyptian heritage are the
findings attributing breath to its source, the breath of the gods. In a
hymn of Akhenaten, Aten is praised in the following words:
You give life to the children among the women and among the men
who give seed, you order the child in its mother's womb, ... you give
air to bring to life all that you create ... from the moment the chick
leaves the egg ... you give it your breath to bring it to life. 19
A more striking illustration is provided by the words one of the
Egyptian kings addresses to the god Amon: "Your color is light, your
breath is life . . . your body is a breath of spirit for every nostril, we
breathe through you in order to live."20
16 CAD,138.
17 CAD,139.
18 Hehn, "Zum Problem des Geistes," 218-219; Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de

Jahve," 49l.
19 Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de Jahve," 493.

20 Hehn, "Zum Problem des Geistes," 216. The sun-god is addressed as follows:
"The spirit of life and its warmth both come from your nose"; also "Eternal life is in
you, to givelife [by] your inspiration into the nose ofliving [creatures]" (ibid., 216). Re
addresses Osiris with the words: "May the breath of Re be transferred to your nose,
and the vapor exhaled from the mouth of King Khepri be close to you, so that you be
able to live" (ibid., 217). Seti 11 is asked: "Turn to me ... 0 rising sun, who lights the
lands with your glow ... 0 Seti ... giver of breath" (ibid., 217). Another Egyptian king
similarly praises Ramses 11: "He gives breath at his will; all the earth gives thanks unto
him" (ibid., 217). In Egyptian culture even the dead address the gods and pray for
continued breath: "0 Atum, give me the spirit that is in your nose"; "0, Atum, give
me the pleasant breath that is in your nostrils" (Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de Jahve,"
493, n. 4). Similar expressions are also found among the Phoenicians, indicating that
they too viewed the breath of the gods as the source of human life. Cf. W. von
Baudissin, Adonis und Esmun (Leipzig: Hinrich, 1911) 505; Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de
Jahve," 492-493. The Phoenician notion, however, might have been derived from the
Egyptian view (Van Imschoot, "L'esprit deJahve," 492-493).
102 ADMIEL KOSMAN

Van Imschoot21 aptly sums up the research on this question: 22 the

notion of human breath being the property of the deity, bestowed
upon mankind by the breath of the god himself to give life, is found
among the ancient Egyptians, Phoenicians, Canaanites (as seen in
the EI-Amarna letters), and in eastern realms, among the Baby-
lonians and Assyrians. 23

III

The biblical notion associating breath (ilO'lt'J) and soul (ilOlt'J) is not
found in all languages today. In English, for example, these two
words are not at all related. However a glance at earlier languages
shows immediately that such an association was a natural part of the
ancients' view of the world. This has been noted by several scholars,
leaving us but to summarize their findings, adding our own insights
with respect to the language of the Bible and further evidence from
the language of the Sages, which has not yet been discussed in the
literature.
Many languages throughout the world clearly identify the spirit or
soul with breath. For example, in Greek there is a connection be-
tween psyche and pneuma. In Latin, animus and anima are fundamentally
related to spiritus in the sense of "wind." Likewise, in Sanskrit there is
an affinity between atman and prana. 24 Stephen Gaselee, who studied
many related instances, claims:
I think that almost all the European Aryan languages have roots with
the double meaning of "breath and spirit," Germanic geist, Slavonic
ducha. So among the Semitic languages: in Arabic ruh = soul is near to
rih = wind. I am told that in Chinese the character for breath = ch'i has

21 Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de Jahve," 496.

22 Also c£ Hehn, :{pm Problem des Gmtes; as well as J. Hempel, Gott und Mensch im
Alien Testament (Stuttgart, 1926) 166, n. 1.
23 A particularly interesting notion, although possibly only a folk belief, is found
among the ancient Greeks, as well. They held that upon a person's death, when the
spirit departs from the body, it goes to the wind that rules the outer domains (espe-
cially on blustery winter nights); from there it is scattered to the four winds, and thus
it is lost. Cf. Plato Phaedrus 77 e.
24 C£ Edward B. Tylor, Religion in Primitive Culture (New York: Harper & Row,
1958) 16-17; Franz Cumont, Afterlife in Roman Paganism (New York: Dover, 1959) 59.
For further reading on ideas in the Classical world concerning the soul and its parts,
see Menahem Nadel, The Bible and Cultures qf the Ancient World (Tel Aviv: Poalim,
1962).
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 103

the primitive meaning of "vital force," as has the Japanese ki, repre-
sented by the same character. 25

Of course, in Hebrew we have i1~lVJ-sou1 or spirit, and n,,-wind

or spirit, whose bearing on this issue is perfecdy clear. lV!:JJ, as the
word for soul, has the same source, as the parallel Akkadian 'na-
pishtu,' also meaning breath. 26 In Scripture a creature is said to be
"living" when it breathes. Take, for example, the case of the Zare-
phathi woman's son, whose death is described as follows: "and his
sickness was so sore, that there was no breath left in him (1 Kgs
17: 17)." Or Job 27:3, where a person is alive "All the while my
breath (i.e., mlVJ or soul) is in me, and the spirit (i.e., n" or breath) of
God is in my nostrils"-where this spirit surely comes from God, as
in Job 33:4: "The spirit of God hath made me, and the breath of the
Almighty giveth me life."27 When the divine spirit disappears from
the living creature, that which is left is dust: "for dust thou art, and
unto dust shalt thou return" (Gen 3:19).28 Thus life and death depend

25 Stephen Gaselee, "The Soul in the Kiss," Criterion 2 (1924) 359. Tylor (Religion
in Primitive Culture, 16-1 7) adds that among the aborigines of western Australian the
word "waung" was used both in the sense of "breath" and in the sense of "spirit" or
"soul." Similarly, in the language of the Netala ofCalifomia, the word "pitus" has a
similar dual meaning, as does the word "nawa" among the people ofJava. Some of
the Greenlanders, according to Tylor, use the same word to denote a person's
shadow (in the sense of soul) as to denote breathing; and the Malays say that when
a person dies the soul departs through the nostrils.
26 Cf. Ludwig Koehler, Walter Baumgartner, Hebrdische und Aramdisches Lexilron zum
Alten Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1983) 3.672; Hirsch, Rabbinic Psychology, 25. In examin-
ing the origins of the word WOJ it should be noted that other "etymological" interpre-
tations evolved later in order to explain the source of this word; for example, WOJ as
coming from the Aramaic NlU'OJ, meaning growth and expansion. cr. Lamentations
Rabbah 3.6, on the appetite of R. Judah b. Bathyra.
27 If one wishes to consider the eros-thanatos dimension, one may note that the spirit
that emanates from the deity is not only life-giving, but also destructive; its purpose
is also to punish, devastate, and rebuke. Several places in Scripture illustrate this
catastrophic potential. For example, Ps 18:16, describes the devastation of the world
"at Thy rebuke, 0 Lord, at the blast of the breath of Thy nostrils." This divine
breath which also has the power to punish is apparendy also the divine spirit that
rules jusdy, as in Job 4:8-9: "According as I have seen, they that plow iniquity, and
sow mischief, reap the same. By the breath of God they perish, and by the blast of
His anger are they consumed." The spirit that God gave human beings from His
own breath also makes God forgive the sins of mankind: "For I will not contend for
ever, neither will I be always wroth; for the spirit that enwrappeth itself is from Me,
and the souls which I have made" (Isa 57: 16).
28 Perhaps this is the reason many cultures refer to the earth as "mother": it is that
from which, according to Scripture, all creatures were created; which man works all
the days of his life to draw forth bread (Gen 3: 19 and 3:23: "Therefore the Lord God
sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was
104 ADMIEL KOSMAN

on the divine breath; if God gathers back his spirit, the person dies;
Job 34: 14: "If He set His heart upon man, if He gather unto Himself
his spirit and his breath"; Ps 104:29 on God's creatures: "Thou
hidest Thy face, they vanish; Thou withdrawest their breath, they
perish, and return to their dust." But if God sends forth His spirit
anew, they reawaken to life: "Thou sendest forth Thy spirit, they are
created; and Thou renewest the face of the earth" (Ps 104:30).29
Another etymological interpretation (albeit not an etymological
search in the modem sense), important to our discussion because of
its proximity to the Akkadian root, comes from Genesis Rabbah 30 : i1~lV~

taken"); and to which all creatures created from it shall return. cr. Wolff, Anthropology,
94, n. 10; Van Imschoot,"L'esprit de Jahve," 486-487, n. 3; and the extensive mate-
rial collected by Patai, ilt:l'N1 C'N, 65-120. Also cf. EcclI2:7: "And the dust returneth
to the earth as it was, and the spirit returneth unto God who gave it." The meaning
of this verse in relationship to the subject at hand is discussed by Van Imschoot,
"L'esprit de Jahve," 486.
29 Perhaps this is best illustrated by the imagery of Ezekiel's vision (Ezek 37:1-14).
The spirit of the Lord transports the prophet to the valley of dry bones and causes
him to pass by them round about; finally the Lord promises that these bones will live:
"Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live. And I will lay sinews
upon you, and will bring up flesh upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath
in you, and ye shall live" (Ezek 37:5-6). (Note that the spirit of the Lord is portrayed
here as if it were an autonomous entity, which the prophet is commanded to invoke
to action, as if it were not actually the breath of the Lord: "Prophesy unto the breath,
... Come from the four winds, 0 breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they
may live" [Ezek 37:9]. Compare this with the spirit of God hovering over the face of
the waters in Gen 1:2, and with n. 36 below. But this may be purely symbolic; for the
verses cited above say explicidy that the breath of the Lord that comes to the bones
of the dead to give them life stems from the initiative and will of God, and is not due
to the prophet's act.) Other Biblical imagery includes treasuries of wind located in
the heavens. In Psalms the Lord is referred to as He who "bringeth forth the wind
out of His treasuries" (Ps 135:7); in Jeremiah "He maketh lightnings with the rain,
and bringeth forth the wind out of His treasuries" (Jer 10:13); and inJob the connec-
tion of these elements with God's breath is made explicit: "Out of the chamber
cometh the storm; and cold out of the north. By the breath of God is ice given, and
the breadth of the waters is straitened" (Job 37:9-10). The distinction between physi-
cal wind and spirit in Scriptures is discussed by Van Imschoot ("L'esprit de Jahve,"
497-499). In Wolffs opinion (Anthropology, 60), the function of all these Biblical im-
ages, closely associating human breath with God's breath, is to integrally bind hu-
man existence with the existence of God-on one hand a God of mercy who gives
life, and on the other hand a God of wrath and retribution, as written in Scripture
itself (Ps 150:6). This bond causes all living creatures to be more aware of their
source of life, so that "everything that breathes praise God." On the breath/soul of
other creatures, aside from human beings, coming from the breath of God, see Wolff
(Anthropology, 60) and A. B. Davidson, The Theology qf the Old Testament (Edinburgh:
T.+T. Clark, 1904) 194-195.
30 Ch. 14 (Theodor-Albeck Uerusalem: Wahrmann, 1965] 133).
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 105

("The soul is the breath; as

~:J~ ~n'!:)'~i1 P'~~ ~n"':J' ~'i1 .i1!:)'~i1 i1T
people say, his breath is good").31
Further support for our thesis can be found in lexicon of the rabbis
of the Mishna and Talmud, in the fact that in the Land ofIsrael the
31 See the explanation given in the London manuscript, cited by Theodor (ibid.),

on Clt'1~ = C'lt'1~ = i1!:mm: "The homily explains that i1t:1lt'~, soul, in its plain sense
means the breath that a person breathes. This is the meaning ofi101Ni1 or N01i1 in the
Syrian tongue: just as people say, his breath is good." Also cf. Genesis Rabbah with
commentary by Moshe Arye Mirkin (Tel Aviv: Yavneh, 1986) 1.106, s.v. i1t:1lt'~.
Genesis Rabbah, however, tries to explain there that the soul (It'O~) is the blood, accord-
ing to Deut 12:23: "for the blood is the life" (It'O~i1 N1i1 C,i1 ':J); or according to Lev
17:11: "For the life of the flesh is in the blood" (N1i1 1lt'O~:J 1t:1' ilt':J':J It'O~ ':J). This
exegetical problem in the Bible, i.e. whether the original soul instilled by God in
human beings is the blood or the breath, is discussed by many scholars (cf. Van
Imschoot, "L'esprit de Jahve," 496, and the sources cited there in notes 5 and 6).
According to W. von Baudissin (Kyrios als Gottesname in Judentum und seine Stelle in der
Religionsgeschichte [Giessen: Topelmann, 1929] 3.487, n. I), the notion associating life
with blood is the more ancient perception, and the notion associating life with breath
a later view. Van Imschoot ("L'esprit de Jahve," 482, n. I) is inclined to think that
these ideas existed side by side. Hehn ("Zum Problem des Geistes," 216) believes the
view associating the creation of human beings and the essence of human life with
breath actually originated in ancient Egypt and spread from there to all other cul-
tures. According to this approach, the view that the blood is the essence of human
life is perhaps of Semitic origin, and both views come together in the Bible. The logic
for attributing the essence of human vitality to the breath is clear; obviously human
life depends on breathing. Likewise with the blood; the ancients were well aware that
loss of blood meant loss of corporeal life. Van Imschoot ("L'esprit deJahve," 482, n.
6) raises an interesting point: in his opinion the ancients had no difficulty reconciling
these two views, found side by side in Scripture, since they noted that as the warm
blood leaves the human body, vapor (,:Ji1), which they associated with the breath,
also rises. Perhaps, in light of this, one should re-examine the association of the name
Abel (,:li1) precisely with the first victim of murder in the Bible. The Sages viewed
this murder as man's first attempt to learn, to satisfY his curiosity, about whence a
person's life departs and leaves the body. Cf. b. Sanhedrin 37b: "R. Judah son of R.
Hiyya ... that Cain made numerous bruises and wounds in Abel, since he did not
know from where the soul departs, until he reached his neck." Another answer to the
question of how Cain knew how to kill a person is offered by Genesis Rabbah, Ch. 22
(Theodor-Albeck 214-215): "R. Azariah and R.Jonathan in the name ofR. Isaac:
Cain observed how his father slaughtered the bull [the first bull which, according to
legend, Adam sacrificed to God; cf. Theodor, m1i1' t"lnJt:I, 132, 149, 197], 'and it shall
please the Lord better than a bullock' (Ps 69:32), so he killed him there [on the neck],
where the signs [i.e., the features indicating where the knife is placed in order to
slaughter an animal] were." The relationship between these legends and the ancient
Babylonian myth about human life being created from the blood of a slaughtered
god has not yet been studied (according to Prof. J. Klein) but merits investigation.
On the origins of this Babylonian myth see the articles cited by Wolff (Anthropology of
the Old Testament, 93, notes); on Scripture's attitude towards blood in particular, see
Wolff, 60-62. Note also that the Genesis story of the creation of man bears no
resemblance to the Egyptian story, dating from the middle kingdom, that man was
created from the tears of the sun-god (W olff, Anthropology of the Old Testament, 60-62).
106 ADMIEL KOSMAN

term i1n'DJ-blowing into, or inspmng-was used as synonymous

with i1~'lVJ-breathing.32 Thus we may presume that the same pri-
mordial action of inspiring life in mankind was so deeply rooted in
the perception of the ancients as integrally related to creating respira-
tion in mankind that, in the Land of Israel, breathing was called
i1n'DJ inspiring. Perhaps, as a result, the word i1n'DJ began to be used
for movement of the spirit (and air) into as well as out of the body, so
that there even developed a curse based on this word 33: i1'n'i nD't"l
Ni:!J mi1,-"May so-and-so's spirit expire."34 This was noted by
Julius Theodor? in whose opinion "the word i1~'lVJ is foreign to the
style of the Jerusalem Talmud and Genesis Rabbah." In other words,
rabbinic sources from the Land of Israel did not distinguish between
the words i1~lVJ=soul and i1~'lVJ=breathing, but called breath = i1~'lVJ
"soul" = i1~lVJ. As proof, Theodor cites Genesis Rabbah: "R. Levi said
in the name of R. Hanina: The Holy One, blessed be He, must be
extolled for each and every breath (i1~lVJ = soul) a person breathes."36
Thus far we have presented two specific notions, but have not
shown the relationship between them. The first was the ancient no-
tion of creation by the word of the deity, and the second the idea of
the divine breath bestowing life, i.e. breathing a soul into the human
being. I believe that Scripture itself draws a connection between these
two ideas, and even brings it out explicitly. This is seen in the parallel
construction of the verse in Ps 33:6: "By the word if the Lord were the
heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath if His mouth."
32 This is noted by A. Kohut in his edition of ;~'M' PIM) 1):::li; c;!!'il11ill, Part 5,

363, s.v. MC), with respect to the ruling in b. Megilla 16b, apparendy originating from
the Land of Israel, in the name ofR. Ada ofJaffa, as follows: "The list of Haman's
ten sons must be recited in a single breath." The reason given there is that "their
souls all expired together." Therefore their names have to issue from the mouth in a
single utterance, in one breath. Similarly, in y. Megilla 3:8-8b, R. Hiyya son of R.
Ada, apparendy the son of the above-mentioned rabbi, rules: "They must be said in
a single breath (ilM'C))," and the text immediately adds that the words "the ten sons
of Haman" must also be read in the same breath. This indicates that il~'!!') in the
Babylonian Talmud is the same as ilM'C) in the Jernsalem Talmud. (Incidentally, the
Jernsalem Talmud provides the most ancient attribution of this practice. R. Hiyya son
ofR. Ada apparendy received this tradition from his father, who received it from R.
Jeremiah, who received it from R. Zeira. Thus this ruling was known at least since
the third generation of amoraim in the Land of Israel, i.e., circa 280-320, C. E.)
33 C;!!'il11ill (Kohut 5.363).

34 In the Babylonian Talmud this expression is sometimes given in abbreviated form.

Cr. b. Sanhedrin 97b: l'!l'i' ':::l!!'M~ ;!!' l~!lll MC'M ("May they expire who calculate the
end"), which Rashi fills in as: 1!!'C) MC'M ("May his soul expire").
35 Cr. his comments on Genesis Rabbah, (Theodor-Albeck 133, 1. I).

36 Genesis Rabbah (Theodor-Albeck 134).

 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 107

Some scholars even find evidence of this connection in Gen 1:2-3:

" ... and the spirit of God hovered over the face of the waters. And God
said: 'Let there be light."'37 Whoever is not convinced of such a con-
nection existing in Scripture itself, can see the point proven most
explicitly in the homilies of the Sages, which we turn to below, where
the word of God-which they perceive as the words of the Torah-
has a life-bestowing quality, giving breath.

IV

All that we have said thus far is but an introduction to the main thesis
of this paper, based on Mishnaic and Talmudic sources: the inspira-
tion by which Man was created-equated to the divine word, as in
the words of the psalmist cited above-is perceived in many sources
not simply as inspiration of living spirit, but as the ancient source of
the kiss. From this we easily deduce that the human kiss, as well, is far
more than an act of etiquette. A kiss (apparently only mouth to
mouth)38 transmits the essence of vitality and spirituality of one per-

37 Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de Jahve," 491. Some Biblical commentators draw a

connection between the words "by the breath (n1i) of His mouth" (Ps 33:6) and "the
spirit (n1i) of God hovered over the face of the waters" (Gen 1:2); although others
disagree and refuse to ascribe importance to the "spirit" that "hovered" in the
creation of the world. Cf. Van Imschoot, "L'esprit de Jahve," 491, and Charles
Augustus Briggs and Emilie Grace Briggs, TIe Book rif Psalms (1be International
Critical Commentary; Edinburgh, 1976) 1.287.
38 Also cf. n. 13 above. The sources that provide evidence on the placement of the

kiss in ancient times are few and far beteween, nevertheless we shall try to compare
what can be learned from these sources with the information obtained from Scrip-
ture. In Ugaritic literature both erotic kisses and motherly kisses are delivered on the
lips. C£ Mayer Irwin Gruber, Aspects rifNonverbal Communication in the Near East (Rome:
Biblical Institute Press, 1980) 1.322-327. Herodotus (Histories 1.134 [trans. Aubrey
De Selincourt; Classics Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1954] 69) provides infor-
mation on much later practices in 5th-century B.C.E. Persia: "When Persians meet
in the streets one can always tell by their mode of greeting whether they are of the
same rank; for they do not speak but kiss ... their equals upon the mouth, those
somewhat superior on the cheeks. A man of gready inferior rank prostrates himself in
profound reverence." As for ancient Greece, we read that when Odysseus returned
from his voyage his friends kissed him on the head, hands, and shoulders (Homer Od.
21.224). In the Bible the verb plt'), kissed, in the sense of a kiss on the lips, appears
only once, in Prov 24:26: "He kisseth the lips that giveth a right answer." Even this
verse has been understood in a variety of ways, some commentators interpreting pit')
as sealing the lips, i.e., being silent. C£ Jeffrey M. Cohen, "An Unrecognized Con-
notation ofNSQPEH, with Special Reference to Three Biblical Occurrences," Vetus
Testamentum 32 (1982) 416-424. The kiss expected from her lover, in Song of Songs,
also is not explicidy stated as being mouth to mouth: "Let him kiss me with the kisses
108 ADMIEL KOSMAN

son to another. But before we can discuss the kiss, per se, we must
return to the breath and how it was perceived, as an introduction to
the notion of the kiss in the world of the Sages.
of his mouth" (Cant 1:2), and "When I should find thee without, I would kiss thee"
(Cant 8:1). These verses give reason to believe that the kiss is an allusion to the sexual
act itself. See M. Fishbane, The Kiss of God (Seatde: University of Washington Press,
1994) 14; also see the interesting parallels in Akkadian literature, noted by Gruber,
Nonverbal Communication, 344. For later interpretations of the kisses in Song of Songs as
kisses on the mouth, see below. Even in the case of the most explicidy sexual kiss, in
Prov 7:13, from the impudent harlot to the young man-"so she caught him, and
kissed him"-the text does not spell out that it was given on the mouth. From the
manner in which Joab son ofZeruiah kissed Amasa son ofIthra (2 Sam 20:9), taking
him by the beard to kiss him, it seems that this kiss was meant to be given on the
cheek. The lack of clarity in the Scriptural text as to where these various kisses were
given led several medieval commentators to try to establish some general rules.
Rashi, for example, addresses himself to the placement of certain of the kisses. With
respect to Cant 8:1, he says, "'Would that he kiss me' ... from the kisses of his
mouth as before; for there are places where one kisses on the back of the hand or on
the shoulder (b. Berakot 8b), but I passionately yearn for him to follow the earliest
custom with me, as a groom kisses his bride, mouth to mouth." Another example
comes from Laban kissing his nephew Jacob. Gen 29: 13 says only that he "embraced
him, and kissed him"; but Rashi, following a homily of the Sages (Genesis Rabbah 70
[Theodor-Albeck 813]) also locates the kiss, explaining that the purpose of the em-
brace was first and foremost to check whether Jacob was hiding riches in his cloth-
ing, and having failed to find anything there, he then kissed him to see whether he
was hiding rubies in his mouth(!). Thus, according to Rashi's citation of the Sages,
this kiss was delivered on the mouth, and even so impudendy as for the host to feel
around with his tongue in his guest's mouth in search of imagined jewels. There may
also be a sexual allusion here. This is explicidy mentioned in a manuscript of Yalqut
Shimoni at the Jewish Theological Seminary library in New York. In this manuscript,
written by R. Jacob Manzur Albihani, we read: ",nip; [thus in the variant R.
Albihani had, lacking the letter N]-because he wished and intended to defIle him."
(M. M. Kasher, Tora Shlema, 5.764, par. 43; Kasher also refers the reader to similar
allusions elsewhere in midrashic literature.) In Kallah Rabbati, a work edited in the
time of the geonim, this kiss-or more precisely (according to the Midrash), Jacob's
reluctance to kiss Laban on the mouth-had clear sexual overtones. This is discussed
at length in my article, Ji1J~ ;It' ,'m:m:li1m ";,J;J; :o'n~i1 np'lt') ("Kissing the Dead:
Variations in the Development of a Custom") Tarbiz:. 65 (1996) 483-508. Ibn Ezra,
another great medieval commentator, went further than Rashi and tried to formu-
late a general rule indicating where exacdy the kiss was delivered, for each instance
of kissing in the Bible. His commentary on Gen 27:27 reads: "When the kiss is
mentioned with the preposition ." it means on the hand, shoulder, or neck, but
without a ; it means on the mouth." In other words, if Scripture says " ... ; pit',," we
are to conclude that the kiss was on the hand, shoulder, or mouth; but if it says
"mplt"'" or the like, we are to conclude that it was on the mouth. There is no proof,
however, that Ibn Ezra's hypothesis has any foundation. In fact his protege, R.
Solomon ha-Cohen, in his commentary entided illl '::IN, wrote on this verse: "His
[Ibn Ezra's] remarks here are based neither on grammar, nor on logic. Perhaps he
received the tradition from his ancestors. Cf. Rashi, NlI" s.v. ,; pit"" 'perhaps he
brought rubies with him and has them in his mouth.' All of Rashi's comments are
taken from the Midrash, but those of the Rabbi [Ibn Ezra] are null in comparison."
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 109

The notion of the deity breathing a soul into the human being in
the act of creation has a deeper significance than immediately per-
ceived. Many Jewish sources understand this inspiration of spirit not
as a one-time event, but as an ever-continuing act of bestowing the
spirit and breath of life. As early as the second century, the view is
ascribed to Rabbi Meir that the soul of a sleeping person rises and
"draws life from on high."39 Similarly, R. Simeon bar Abba, a third-
century sage from the Land of Israel, offered the following commen-
tary on the verse: "They are new every morning; great is Thy faith-
fulness" (Lam 3:23).
From the fact that Thou doth renew us every morning, we know that
Thou keepeth great faith to redeem us. 40
In other words, this Sage believes that the daily miracle of restoring
the soul to the body every morning is proof of God's power to re-
deem the Jewish people in the future. A similar comment is cited in
the name of R. Alexandri,41 another Sage from the same period,
active primarily in the Land of Israel: 42
From the fact that Thou doth renew us every morning, we know that
Thou keepeth great faith to revive our dead. 43
Elsewhere,44 in the name of the same rabbi, we find another interest-
ing variation:
39 Genesis Rabbah 14:9 (Theodor-Albeck 133-134). Also see the opinion of "the

Rabbis" in lines 5-6, p. 133, and Theodor's comments there. Likewise in Urbach,
Sages, 220. The comments ascribed to R. Meir in h. Horayot 13b and h. Gittin 52a,
however, indicate that he believed dreams were not important; cf. also h. Sanhedrin
30a. Moreover, there is evidence that by the Tannaitic period some rabbis consid-
ered dreams irrelevant, as shown in t. Ma'aser Sheni 4.9: "He wondered where the
second tithe of his father was; and a dreamer came and told him, 'They are as
follows, in such and such a place.' So it happened that they went and found money
there. They came to the rabbis to inquire, and they [the rabbis] said the money was
not sanctified [as a second tithe] since dreams make no difference." On this subject,
cf. Jacob Bazak, C'W1nillr.1 il?lIr.1? (Beyond the Senses; Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1968) 38, n. 9 (sic),
as well as the entire chapter (35-41).
40 Genesis Rabbah, Ch. 78 (Theodor-Albeck 915).
41 On the different names associated with these traditions, cf. Theodor's notes,

ibid.; Lamentations Rabbah 3.23 (Buber ed.; Vilna, 1899) 132; Benjamin Ze'ev 01'1.)
Bacher, ?NiW'-YiN 'Ni1r.lN n')N (Legends cif the Amoraim cif the Land cif Israel; trans. A. Z.
Rabinovic; Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1925) 199, n. 7; and the version of the Midrash on Psalms
cited below.
42 For theories on the origins of this rabbi and his unusual name, c£ Bacher,

Legends cif the Amoraim, 193, n. 1 and 194, n. 3.

43 Genesis Rabbah, Ch. 78 (Theodor-Albeck 915).
44 Midrash Tehilim known as :m~ in,w (ed. S. Buber; Vilna, 1891) 210, on Ps 25:2.
 110 ADMIEL KOSMAN

R. Alexandri said, with man of flesh and blood, when new garments are
placed in trust, the clothes remain a while in the person's possession,
then are returned old and worn; but with the Holy One, blessed be He,
the weary and worn is entrusted to Him, and he returns it new. Know
that this is His way, for a laborer toils all day, and his soul grows weary
and worn; but when he sleeps, exhausted, he restores his soul, which is
entrusted to the Holy One, blessed be He, and by morning it returns to
his body, newly created, as it is said: "They are new every morning;
great is Thy faithfulness."45

Josephus attributes an interesting description of this belief to

Eleazar: 46
In slumber, the corpse does not draw the soul after it; then is an hour of
pleasant repose for the souls, which are left to themselves; and they
enter the secret of God which is nigh unto them, and roam freely and
foresee much that is to comeY

The Talmud itself has several references to the belief that in slumber
people foresee the future. 48 In this connection, we must mention E. B.
Tylor's theory that animism, the belief in spiritual entities, stems
from primitive man's observation of being split into two domains: our
waking hours, and our sleeping hours, during which we dream. This
assumption led primitive people to distinguish the soul from the
body, the soul being able to separate from the body and wander
through distant realms while the body sleeps. 49
An even more extreme view is found in the Midrash, in homilies
that completely identify physical respiration with inspiring the soul
into the body. Inhalation and exhalation are viewed as processes
which, in addition to their overt physical dimension, also entail the
soul being removed from the body and, finally, restored to the body
upon drawing breath. As we read in Genesis Rabbah, "R. Levi said in
the name of R. Hanina: the soul ascends repeatedly, hence, with
45 Similarly in Seder Eliahu Rabba (Tanna D'be Eliahu Rabba; ed. M. Friedmann;

Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1969) 8: "Every day a person's spirit is taken from him and
entrusted with the owner of the pledge, and in the morning it is restored to him, as
it is said: 'Into Thy hand I commit my spirit' (Ps 31:6)."
46 Bell. 7.349-350.

47 This leads to the conclusion that death delivers the soul from the suffering of

this world. Ibid.

48 For example, b. Ta'anit 24a, and many other places. Hence the fear of a bad

dream. Cf. s.v. t:l1'mi1 n:lt~i1, Talmudic Encyclopedia 8 (ed. ShlomoJoseph Zevin;Jerusa-
lem: Talmud Encyclopedia Publishing, 1957) 753-758.
49 Edward B. Tylor, Primitive Culture, chs. 11-18; Emile Durkheim, the Elementary

Forms qfthe Religious Lift (trans. Joseph Ward Swain; New York: Free Press, 19151
1965) 66-67.
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES III

each and every breath (i1~lVJ = soul) that a person breathes, one must
praise the Holy One, blessed be He."50
An appropriate place to look for verification of the presence of this
belief is the Jewish prayer book, where we find an interesting devel-
opment of the notion of the soul being returned to the body. We shall
not discuss this source in depth here, since the subject merits a sepa-
rate article. Suffice it to say, that according to Jewish tradition, the
first thing a person says upon opening the eyes is: "I give thanks to
Thee, Ever-living King, for mercifully restoring me my soul~great is
Thy faithfulness."51 This formulation is based on Lam 3:23: "They
are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness," and on R.
Alexandri's homily, cited above,52 indicating that every day the Deity
restores us anew when we awaken from sleep, from which we learn
that the same will happen in time to come, when God shall reawaken
all the dead from their "sleep. "53

v
We mentioned before that there are only two apertures through
which the spirit of life from God could reasonably have been

50 Genesis Rabbah (Theodor-Albeck 134).

51 The most ancient source that 1 have found for this prayer comes from C1'il i'O
of R. Moses Ibn Makhir (i':::lr.l 'J illt'r.l), a rabbi from Ein Zeitun in the Galilee. Many
formulations originating in the Kabbalah found their way to the Jewish prayer book
via this book, as Pro£ Joseph Tabori informs me. R. Makhir's book, first printed in
Venice in 1599, was later reprinted in numerous editions~testimony to its wide
distribution. Friedberg's bibliographical lexicon (C'iCO 'i'1I n':::l) lists 14 printings, and
recently yet another printing was made. For biographical details on the author, cf.
HayyimJoseph David Azulai, C;lt'ilC';1'JilClt' (New York, 1986) 1.150. The text in
01'il i'O reads as follows: "Upon awakening, immediately recite 'I give thanks to
Thee, Ever-living King, for mercifully restoring me my soul~great is Thy faithful-
ness.' Ritual hand-washing is not necessary [before reciting the prayer], because
even if one's hands are dirty, this is no problem because one does not mention the
name of God or any epithet of God" (p. 1). Later this formulation was copied by R.
Hayyim Benbenisht (nlt'J:::lJ:::l), in his highly influential work, il;1'Jil nOJ:::l, where he
comments on the Tur, c"n ni1~ 2, who quotes extensively from C1'il i'O (cf. Azulai,
O';1'JilClt', 1.150). Then it was copied by R. Abraham Gombiner in his commentary
on the 11ill In;1lt' ,c"n ni1~ 4.28. Since Gombiner's commentary, Cili:::l~ Pr.l, was
printed in most editions of the 11ill In;1lt', the formulation in C1'il i'O eventually
spread to all Jewish communities, without exception.
52 Midrash Tehilim known as :m~ in1lt' (Buber 210), on Ps 25:2.
53 For the halakhic implications of this idea, see the discussion of the tosaphists on

h. Berakot 46a, s.v. ;:::l. For other explanations and homilies on this verse in Lamenta-
tions, cf. Dov Sadan, C'J~i' C':::lC, Sinai 90 (1985) 80-81.
112 ADMIEL KOSMAN

breathed or inspired into the man whom He created: either through

the nostrils or through the mouth. 54 Let us return, therefore, to the
biblical verse from which we started-"and He breathed into his
nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul,"55 and see
how it has been interpreted. In the Septuagint it is rendered: "And
God formed the man of dust of the earth, and breathed upon his face
the breath of life; and in the Vulgate: "Formavit . .. et inspiravit infaciem
eius spiraculum vitae." Both, we see, render '~O~:J as "in his face." Van
Imschoot56 did not discern this, and thought that the Septuagint was
lacking the word '~O~ ; since, as he understood it, the translation did
not indicate that the breathing was into the nose. In other words,
since it was clear to him that the original '~O~:J referred to "nose," he
noted that it was missing in these translations. Clearly, however, no
word is missing here; these translations simply understood '~O~:J to
mean '~~O:J = "in his face". 57 Thus, these translations are not explicit
whether the inspiration of the breath of life passed through the nose
or the mouth. 58
The Aramaic translations of Scripture are not of one mind. Targum

54 Scripture, however, gives the impression that this breath, as the ancients per-

ceived it, emanated from God's mouth as well as His nose (in time of wrath), as it is
written in Ps 18:9 (and also 2 Sam 22:9): "Smoke arose up in His nostrils, and fire
out of His mouth did devour."
ss On the difficulties of Biblical research into the source of this verse, cr. Van
Imschoot, "L'esprit deJahve," 482-483, n. 5; Wolff, Anthropology, 60, after n. 6. Only
the soul (i1~lt'J) is mentioned in Genesis, and only the spirit (n'i) in Zech 12: I ("The
saying of the Lord, who stretched forth the heavens, and laid the foundation of the
earth, and formed the spirit (n'i) of man within him"), and no distinction is made
between soul (i1~lt'J=i1~'lt'J, breath) and spirit (n'i); Isa 42:5, however, mentions both
("Thus saith God the Lord, He that created the heavens ... He that giveth breath
(i1~lt'J) unto the people upon it, and spirit (n'i) to them that walk therein"), although
the use of these two words might simply be a poetic way of referring to one and the
same thing.
56 "L'esprit de Jahve," 482-483.

57 For further notes on the fme points of translating this verse (including Philo's

rendition) see Hans Conzelmann, James W. Leitch, James W. Dunkly, and George
W. MacRae, I Corinthians: A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (Philadel-
phia: Fortress, 1969) 284, n. 33.
58 Likewise the words ofIsaiah, "Cease ye from man, in whose nostrils ('!J~:l) is a

breath; for how litde is he to be accounted," (Isa 2:22) cannot be cited as proof,
because here too the question arises whether '!J~ is used in the sense of face or in the
sense of nose. One must admit that since the word in question-'!J~-appears in
Isaiah in the singular, one is more inclined to interpret it as nose, as R. David Kimhi
does in his commentary on this verse: "It says in his nostrils because the spirit of life
is dependent on the nose," etc. Also cf. Arnos Hakham, It'i'!J~ m'lIlt" i!JO (Isaiah with
Commentary; Da'at Mikra; Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1992) 1.33.
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 113

Pseudo-Jonathan renders "ON:J as "in his nostrils" ('ini'n.l:J),59 whereas

Targum Onqelos renders it as "his face" ('i1'ON ).60 Perhaps these trans-
lations were alluding to a specific organ on the face; but more likely
Tg. Onqelos, the Septuagint and the Vulgate saw no need to distin-
guish between the different respiratory passages on the human face,
and thought that the act of blowing the spirit of life into the body
occurred through the nose and the mouth alike. As the exegete S. D.
Luzzatto notes: 61 ""ON:J does not mean nostrils, but face, as in the
Aramaic . . . for the air goes in and out via the face, i.e. via the
mouth and the nose."62

59 Another variant of Targum Onqelos gives 'mOJN::l. Cr. Alexander Sperber, The

Bible in Aramaic, vo!. 1: The Pentateuch according to Targum Onqelos (Leiden: Brill, 1959) 2.
Targum Nerifiti I, like Pseudo-Jonathan, renders the verse as: l"m [Njt:)tt>J 'm.,'nJ::l nOJ)'
60 As in Tg. Onqelos on Deut 29:5, 1'JO::l, "in his face," is translated as 'n10N::l, "in

his nose."
61 Samuel David Luzzatto, S. D. Lu::;::;atto's Commentary to the Pentateuch (Tel Aviv:

Dvir, 1965) 23.

62 cr. also Solomon Aaron Wertheimer, 1::m"1"In.,1N (The Light qfthe Targum;Jerusa-
lem: Zuckerman, 1935) 6: "'n10N::l nOJ1 ('and He blew into his nostrils')--apparently
[the Targum] interprets 1'ON::l ('in his nostrils') as 1'JO::l ('in his face'); but Jonathan
rendered it as 'm.,'nJ::l nOJ1 (blew into his nostrils), . . . " Likewise, R. Zekharya
Agmati, .,In .,00 [Book qf the Candle; Jerusalem: Tora Shlema Institute, 1958] 7),
writes: "As it is said, '10N::l 1tt>OJ ""1~' Gob 18:4), 10N::l means in his face, as it is said,
'and he breathed into his face the breath of life.'" Jonah IbnJanah (ed. W. Bacher,
Sifer haschoraschim qf Ibn Ganah [Amsterdam: Philo, 1969] 43), however, writes: " ...
for the nose is the passage of the spirit, as it is said, 'and he breathed into his nostrils
the breath of life.'" A similar view is taken by Solomon ben Abraham ibn Parhon
(Lexicon Hebraicum [pressburg: Argonesis, 1884] 5d) on the word .,N: "1'ON::l nO'1 ('and
he breathed in his nostrils') means in the nose."
This age-old controversy emerges even among modern Biblical scholars. Naphtali
Herz Tur-Sinai (Harry Torczyner; N.,pt:) ;tt> 1~1tt>0 Uerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1962]
1.11) suggests that "in the Bible .,N, and certainly the plural O'ON, does not necessarily
mean nose, but, as in the Aramaic O'ON, primarily face and sometimes a part of the
face, be it the nose, mouth, or cheeks." Elia Shmuel Hartom (tt>.,10t:) 1"J1"I [rel Aviv:
Yavneh, 1970]), however, interprets 1'ON::l nO'1 as meaning "blew a breath into his
nostrils, making him capable of breathing air." Note that 1 Cor 15:45-46 presents a
homily which seems to bear on the verse in question: "It is in this sense that Scrip-
ture says, 'The fIrst man, Adam, became an animate being,' whereas the last Adam
has become a life-giving spirit. Observe, the spiritual does not come fIrst; the animal
body comes fIrst, and then the spiritual." According to this passage the breath of life
that was instilled in Adam, the fIrst man, was only physical, whereas the breath
instilled in the "last Adam" was spiritual. Let me add that NicolasJames Perella (The
Kiss Sacred and Profone [Berkeley & Los Angeles; University of California Press, 1965]
5) believes that the 12th-century mosaic found in a church in Monreal, near Paler-
mo, shows this infusion of soul/breath coming as it were coming from the mouth of
God to the mouth of man, since a straight line is drawn there from the mouth of the
deity to the mouth of man; in short, this is a view of creation by means of the kiss.
Perella's excellent book introduced me to the full breadth and depth of the subject of
114 ADMIEL KOSMAN

The everyday speech of the Sages also refers to respiration through

the nose. 63 Indeed, if asked to identify the organ in charge of breath-
ing, we spontaneously point to the nose, not the mouth. So did the
Sages, as is evident from many of the sources dealing with issues
concerning breathing. For example, h. Yoma discusses the case of a
person who is found buried under a heap of stones on the Sabbath or
the Day of Atonement. 64 The Halakhah determines that, because of
the overriding importance of saving human life, one should clear the
stones even though such work is generally forbidden on sacred days.
However, when checking whether the person is alive or dead, one
examines only as far as the person's nose. Rashi explains, "If there is
no vitality in his nostrils-i.e., if no air comes out-then the person is
surely dead and should be left alone. "65

the kiss in the ancient world. It is largely thanks to this work that I was able to
address specifically Jewish perceptions of the kiss, which Perella does not discuss
extensively, although his references to the subject should be noted (Perella, Kiss, 272-
273, n. 12). Perella, whose great expertise in Christian sources is evident in his book,
does not point to any other Christian exegetical source, save for the above-men-
tioned mosaic, which holds that the Divine inspiration was from mouth to mouth.
Indeed, in my own study of exegesis by the Church Fathers, I too found no source
explicidy supporting this view. Quite the contrary, Tertullian (The Five Books against
Marcion: Book 11 [trans. A. Roberts and]. Donaldson; Ante-Nicene Fathers 3; Michi-
gan: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1973] 304), the only source that is explicit on the question
of where the breath was inspired, mentions in passing, "In fact, the Scripture, by
expressly saying that god 'breathed in Man's nostrils the breath of God ... "
63 For example, in the exposition in t. Shabbat 15.2 (16 in the first printed Tosefta
and in the London manuscript) of the Jewish practice for assisting an animal that is
foaling on a Festival, it says that the owners of the animal "blow into its nose."
Apparendy this means they blow wine into the mucous-plugged nose of an animal in
order to help the animal breathe, as we learn from the parallel in the Jerusalem
Talmud (end of Ch. 18, 16c, which reads: "What assistance [is permitted on the
Sabbath to an animal foaling]? One brings wine and blows it into its nose." For
further explanation, see Saul Lieberman, Tosqia Ki-Fshuta (i1~1tvO:::l Nnoc1n), part 3:
Moed (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1962) 242-243. One also finds the
phrase i10:::l nOJ ("blew in the mouth"), as in y. Ma 'aser Sheni 4.8.55c: "I saw in my
dream that they said to me as follows: let there be a blowing (of wind) in your
mouth"; but that text does not refer to an act of inspiring, of breathing in spirit via
the mouth, but rather to spirit, or wind, filling the mouth. See the commentaries on
the same.
64 85a.

65 I.e., since the person is surely dead already, one may not tend him on the

Sabbath; for the principle which permits violation of the Sabbath in order to save life
is not pertinent to the situation. There are difference of opinion in the matter. Some
authorities hold that it suffices to examine as far as the heart in order to establish
whether a person is alive or dead. The amora Rab Papa, who lived in Babylonia in
the latter half of the fourth century, further restricts the argument. He claims that the
entire discussion only pertains to the case where the examination begins from the
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 115

The aggadic sources that have come down to us differ precisely over
this question. The ancient anthology of legends, Genesis Rabbah, does
not address itself directly to the question, although it provides the
following mythical elaboration on the words "and He blew in his
nostrils" :
buried person's feet and proceeds to his head, and that everyone concurs that when
the examination begins at the head it suffices to check the nose. The Talmud tries to
draw an analogy between this discussion and another argument elsewhere in the
Talmud: the disagreement over the fIrst organ formed in a fetus. Some say it is the
head, but the second-century tanna Abba Saul claims that the fetus begins to form from
the umbilicus, whence "the fetus sends out its roots in all directions." The Talmud
points out the similarity between Abba Saul's view and the approach that vitality be
tested only as far as the heart; those rabbis who held that the formation of the fetus
begins from the head also believed that vitality should be checked as far as the nose. In
the end, however, the Talmud distinguishes between the question of fetal develop-
ment and that of vital life signs, and holds that these two questions are not necessary
related. Presumably even Abba Saul would admit that "the essence of vitality is in the
nose, as it is written, 'all in whose nostrils was the breath of the spirit of life' (Cen
7:22)." The nose was also considered the most relevant feature in identitying a
person-a fact apparendy connected with the discussion at hand. We read in m.
Yebamot 16.3 that "one does not give evidence except from the face together with the
nose." In other words, evidence that a certain person has died, thus releasing the wife
to remarry, is only accepted if the witness has seen the deceased's nose and on this
basis has identifIed the deceased. The parallel early text from the Land of Israel,
namely y. Sota 9.3.23c (and b. Sota 45b), clarifIes the connection to which we have
alluded and indicates that the controversy just reviewed in the Babylonian Talmud
may be even more ancient, dating to the beginning of the second century. (An
apparendy even older source attributes a similar debate to the School ofShammai and
School of Hillel, but the answers given there are different. er. Genesis Rabbah 14.5
[Theodor-Albeck, 129]; Leviticus Rabbah 14.9 [ed. Mordecai Margulies; Jerusalem,
1954] 314-315, cited in n. 71, below. Also compare the description offetal develop-
ment in b. Niddah 25a.) M. Sotah 9.4 discusses the case of a murdered person's body
being discovered between two cities. According to Deut 21: 1-9, the elders of the closer
city must perform a rite which begins with taking a heifer that has not yet been yoked
and breaking its neck by the side of a stream in an area that has not yet been plowed or
sown. To determine which of the two cities is closest to the corpse, the distance has to
be measured. On this point the Mishna asks from what point one should measure,
since this distance has to be fIgured very precisely. From what point on the body of the
murdered person? R. Eliezer answered from the umbilicus, and R. Akiva, from the
nose. The Mishna presents no substantiation for either of these two positions; however
a third position, taken by R. Eliezer b. Jacob, is presented with its reasoning: "From
the place at which the person became a corpse; from the neck." The Jerusalem
Talmud explains the positions taken in the Mishna as follows: R. Eliezer said from the
umbilicus, because that is where the fetus begins developing; R. Akiva said from the
nose, because that is where a person's identifIcation is established. As proof, R. Hiyya
Bar Ba recounts that in the time of Ursicinus, the Roman general who put down
unrest, or perhaps even actual revolt, by the Jews of the Land ofIsrael in the fourth
century (cf. Moshe David Herr, The History if Eretz Israel, vol. 5: 1he Roman-Byzantine
Period [ed. Yaakov Shavit; Jerusalem: Keter, 1990] 64-66), the rebels used to wear
masks over their noses so that they would not be recognized and captured.
116 ADMIEL KOSMAN

This teaches us that God set up man as a golem extending from earth
to heaven, and that he threw the soul into him.66

Further on the legend explains why the soul is not retained in the
body for all eternity:
Since, in this world the soul was bestowed by breathing, therefore man
dies; but in time to come, it shall be done by giving or putting, as it is
said in Ezekiel 37: 14: "And I will put My spirit in you, and ye shall
live. "
This leads us to understand that in the homilist's perception there
was some sort of technical flaw in introducing the spirit through
breathing. 67 Hence the soul is not retained in the body; but in time to
come this will be set right. 58
Other legends, whose redaction dates later, treat this matter more
explicitly. For example, Midrash ha-Gadol, redacted in Yemen in the
Middle Ages, although known to contain some very ancient material,
reads:
"And He breathed in his nostrils the breath of life"-when the Holy
One, blessed be He, created primordial man, he was extended before
Him as a golem. God said, where shall I breath into him a soul?
Perhaps his mouth? But he uses it to gossip. Perhaps his eyes? He leers
with them at transgression. Perhaps his ears? He hears blasphemous
insults with them. I see only one suitable place in man, and that is
through his nostrils. Just as the nose expels contamination and takes in
pleasant odors; so, too, the righteous run away from foul transgression,
and cleave to the fragrant Torah. 69
This legend, of unknown and possibly ancient origin,70 presents in no
uncertain terms the exegetical view that the first inspiration of the
breath of life into man was via the nose, not the mouth. However,
another Midrash, Song if Songs Zuta,71 takes a completely different
tack:

66 Theodor-Albeck 132. On the mythical image of Adam, the primordial man, see

Gershom Sholem, Elements cif the Kabbalah and its Symbolism (trans. Joseph ben-Shlomo;
Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1980) 384-386.
67 Cf. R. David Luria, ;"'in 'i1~':J (Commentary cif Rabbi D(J1)id Luria; Warsaw, 1852)

on Pirke de-R. Eliezer 11.39, who clarifies the term nn'DJ in the Midrash, explaining
that it is a sort of casting action and that even though God cast breath into man's
nose, the force of this act caused the breath to spread throughout the entire body.
68 Cr. Mirkin, Genesis Rabbah, s.v. '0;0.
69 Midrash ha-Gadol; Genesis (ed. Margulies;Jerusalem, 1947) 78-79.

70 As Margulies notes there, 1. 16.

7l Midrash Zuta 1[2] (Buber ed.; Tel Aviv photocopy ed., 1964) 8.
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 117

There were two kisses: one in this world, and one in the world to come.
In this world: "and he breathed into his nostrils the breath of life" (Gen
2:7); the kiss for the world to come, as it is said: "And I will put My
spirit in you, and ye shall live" (Ezek 37: 14).72

This homily immediately leads us to understand that the first inspira-

tion was believed to have been from the deity's mouth to man's mouth,
since this inspiration is called a kiss. Accordingly, this first kiss is what
inspired the breath of life in man. Such an exegetical approach ena-
bles us to identify the act of breathing, or exhaling life-giving spirit
from God's mouth to man's mouth, with kissing. 73 Thus we add the
divine kiss which gives life as a third component to our equation
identifying the word which gives life with the breath which gives life.

VI

It comes as no surprise to discover that the homilists repeat these

basic ideas on the birth of the world through a kiss in their treatment
72 cr. Solomon Schechter, Agadath Shir Hashirim (Cambridge: University Press,
1896) 11. On these two variants see Albeck's comments on Leopold Zunz, n'WiT1
n'i'~O'i1i1 In'?W'mlVi"11 ?NilV'::J (Hebrew trans. of Die gottesdienstlichen Vortriige der Juden
historisch entwickelt, ed. Hanoch Albeck;Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik, 1974) 404, n. 28. In
my opinion one cannot ignore the close resemblance between the previous homily
which we cited from Genesis Rabbah and this one. Both compare the verse in Genesis
with the verse in Ezekiel on spirit being placed in the dry bones. Chronologically, I
believe the homily in Genesis Rabbah is earlier, and the one in Song if Songs :?,uta but a
summary or interpretation by a later homilist of the homily in Genesis Rabbah. All of
these homilies seem to be nothing more than a reworking of the ancient discussion
between the schools of Hillel and Shammai comparing the inspiration of life into
primordial man and the revival of the dead in Ezekiel. Cf. Genesis Rabbah 14.5
(Theodor-Albeck 128-129): "ill'" ('And He created')---there were two acts of crea-
tion; the creation of this world, and the creation of the World to Come: the School
of Shammai and the School of Hillel differed. The School of Shammai say: His
creation of the world to come was not like His creation of this world. In this world
He began with skin and flesh and finished with sinews and bones; but in the World
to Come, He begins with sinews and bones and finishes with skin and flesh. For He
says of the dead in Ezekiel, 'And I beheld, and, 10, there were sinews upon them, and
flesh came up' (Ezek 37:8)." Also see the parallels in Leviticus Rabbah (Margulies
2.314-317); Midrash Tanhuma, Tazria 2 (Buber ed.; Vilna, 1913) 32; Tanhuma, Tazria 1.
73 An interesting comparison can be made between God inspiring life-giving

breath into the human body, and the prophet Elijah reviving the son of the woman
of Zarephat. As we understand from Scripture (I Kgs 17: 19-22), Elijah lay on the
body of the dead child, "in whom there remained no breath," i.e. life, and prayed
that his spirit return, which it ultimately did. Even more explicit is the account of the
prophet Elisha bringing the son of the Shunamite woman back to life. In 2 Kgs 4:34,
we read how he "went up, and lay upon the child, and put his mouth upon his
mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon his hands; and he stretched
himself upon him; and the flesh of the child waxed warm."
118 ADMIEL KOSMAN

of another event which, in their eyes, was on a par with creation:

namely, the giving ofthe Torah at Mount Sinai. To cite one example
out of many, in Yalqut Shimoni74 a parallel is drawn between the entire
primordial act of creation and what God did for the Israelites. In the
process, the homilist also draws a parallel between breathing a soul
into man on the sixth day and giving the Torah to IsraeU5 For the
Sages, the resurrection of the world at Mount Sinai was completely
analogous to the bestowal of life to primordial man in Creation. The
same can be seen from the homily in the Babylonian Talmud, pre-
sented in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua son of Levi, an early third-
century Sage from the Land of Israel:
Each and every of the Ten Commandments that issued from the mouth
of the Holy One, blessed be He, made the soul of Israel depart, as it is
said in Song of Songs 5:5: "My soul failed me when he spoke." But if
their soul departed with the first commandment, how did they receive
the second commandment? He caused dew to descend, destined to
resurrect the dead, and revived them. 76

The homilies cited next illustrate a complete analogy between the

breath of life, the divine word, and the kiss. The homilists refer to
revelation at Mount Sinai as a kiss. For example, in Song qfSongs Rabbah
1.12,77 Rabbi Johanan, a leading figure in the Jewish community in
the Land ofIsrael in the mid-third century, says that the kiss in Song of
Songs 1:2-"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth" -was
originally "said at Mount Sinai: May he bring forth kisses for us from
74 ralqut Shimoni (Jerusalem, 1960) 10-11, par. 17. The redaction of this work is

ascribed to R. Moses ha-Darshan, who lived in southern France in the first half of
the 11 th century.
75 'Just as I created Man-'and breathed into his face'-so, too, [I gave the

people of Israel] 'a tree of life to them who uphold it'" (a well-known metaphor for
the Pentateuch; cf., for example Mekilta de-R. Ishmael [Horowitz-Rabin 156] Beshalah
1; and other sources). On the parallelism between creation of the world and giving of
the Torah, see Urbach, Sages, 175, where he discusses the Torah as the foundation
for Creation; and Louis Ginzberg (Legends qf the Jews, vo!. 3: Moses in the Wilderness
[trans. Paul Radin; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1942] 106): "The Ten
Commandments were said as against the ten utterances by which the world was
created." Also see the sources Ginzberg lists in n. 237 (Ginzberg, Legends, 6.43).
76 b. Shabbat 88b. Also see Ginzberg's comments and the variants he lists (Legends,

3.96; 6.38-39, n. 210).

77 Song qfSongs Rabbah (ed. Dunsky;Jerusalem: Dvir, 1980) 12. For a brief overview
of this Midrash and its dating, see Joseph Heinemann (li1'n""n, n11lN [Aggadot and
Their History; Jerusalem: Keter, 1974] 206), who conjectures that this Midrash was
redacted in the 6th century. For a general introduction to obtain familiarity with the
group ofMidrashic works to which this book belongs, see the study by Hananel Mack,
i1')Ni1lt"'~ (The Aggadic Midrash Literature; Te1 Aviv: Ministry of Defense, 1989) 90ff.
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 119

his mouth." That is to say, the life-giving words of God were kisses.
The notion that these kisses, the kisses of God's Word, of the Torah,
had the function of giving life, is found in a homily attributed to Rabbi
Nehemiah: 78
When the Israelites heard "Thou shalt have no [other Gods before
me)" (Ex 20:3), their evil inclination was wrested from their hearts.
Then they came to Moses and said to him, "Moses, our Teacher, be
our intercessor," as it is said, "Speak thou with us, and we will hear;
[but let not God speak with us] lest we die" (Exod 20: 16). Immediately
their evil inclination returned. So they turned to Moses again, and said:
"Moses, our Teacher, would that He be revealed to us again; would
that he 'kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!'" Moses responded, "That
shall not be now, but in time to come, as it is said: and I will take away
the stony heart out of your flesh" (Ezek 36:26).

Thus we see that these homilists perceived the kiss as having a ca-
thartic effect, as cleansing a person of evil inclination. The kiss is the
act that connects man and the creative utterance of God; it is the
primordial kiss that inspired the soul; it is the power of God's sacred
utterance. This sacred power of speech is also transferred from the
Deity himself, from the Law-giver, to those whose calling is the Word
of God, the Sages who study the Torah. It should be mentioned that
these Sages generally studied by reading aloud; speech was a central
tool, since there were hardly any written texts of the Oral Law, which
at that time was transmitted only by mouth and retained only by
memory.79 Thus in Song if Songs Rabbah80 we have a homily which (by
punning on words in Song of Songs and Isaiah, and alluding to one
of the requisites for a ritual bath used for purification) seems to say
explicitly that the spiritual kiss has an element of catharsis, that it
bestows purity and vitality:
"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth" -that is, let Him purify
me; like a person who makes two cisterns touch (1'::J) 'JIt' i"It'~), adjoining
them,8l as it is said, "Like the lapping (i'It'~::J) of [water in] cisterns (1'::J)),
the water laps (i'i'11t') in it" (Isa 33:4).82

78 Song oJSongs Rabbal! 1.15 (Dunsky 15). The reference is apparendy to the fourth-

generation amora from the Land of Israel (early 4th century), although this is not
completely clear.
79 Cf. Saul Lieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York: Jewish Theological

Seminary, 1962) 83-99.

80 1.16 (Dunsky 17).
8l Commentary entided m1i1:l m~rn. To have a milwe or ritual bath, used for
purification, two pools of water must adjoin.
82 This homily involves a play on words from the verse in Isaiah. PlOO can mean
120 ADMIEL KOSMAN

The notion of the special power of the Divine word, bestowed upon
the Israelites by a kiss, is further elaborated by R. Johanan: 83
"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth" (Cant 1:2)-R. Johanan
said: an angel used to take the Word, or Commandment, from the Holy
One, blessed be He, Commandment by Commandment, and repeat it
to each of the Israelites, saying, "Do you accept this Commandment? It
entails the following rules, and the following punishments; it has the
following decrees 84 and the following precepts, thus many minor ones
and thus many major ones; and such and such a reward." Then the
Israelite would answer yes, and the angel would ask whether he accepts
it by oath to the Holy One, blessed be He, and he would answer him
yes indeed. Then the angel would kiss him on the mouth forthwith. 85
Similarly, the utterances, or words, of studying Torah are a sort of
kiss: '''Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth' -if you study
Torah, ultimately all will kiss you on the mouth. "86 In other words,
if you occupy yourself with the Torah, which is like the kiss of God,
then ultimately all humans, as well, will kiss you on the mouth for
love. This kiss from the mouth of the Deity, i.e. from His word, from
the spirit of His mouth, from His vitality, is not quick to depart from
the heart because of its spiritual quality, but leaves a strong and
everlasting impression, as explained in a homily of Rabbi Judah:
When the Israelites heard the words, "I am the Lord, thy God" (Ex
20:2), study of the Torah was implanted in their hearts, and they did
not forget what they had studied. They came to Moses and said, "Mo-
ses, our teacher, please act as our intercessor." Then, when they studied
they would forget. They said, 'just as man of flesh and blood is tran-
sient, so, too, is his learning." Immediately they returned to Moses,
requesting "Would He reveal Himself to us once more, would that He
kiss me with the kisses of His mouth, would that He implant learning of

the sound of wings flapping, or the lapping sound of water running together; O'::JJ can
mean locusts, as in the E. V. rendition of the verse, but also cisterns or pools of
water.
83 Song qf Songs Rabbah 1.13 (Dunsky 13).
84 Apparendy meaning nmv n1ilJ, i.e., certain rules of interpretation related to the

logical approach of the Midrash; cr. Dunsky 13.

85 This connection between the Ten Commandments and the kiss recurs in many

homilies, which differ only in their details. For example, Song qfSongs :{,uta 1 [2] (Buber
8) reads: '''Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth' (Cant 1:2)--These are the
Commandments that Moses received first." Deuteronomy Rabbah 1.11 ([Saul Lieber-
man ed.; Jerusalem, 1964] 9) reads: "He gave them two commandments from His
mouth: 'I am [the Lord .. .]' and 'Thou shalt not have,' as it is said: 'Let him kiss me
with the kisses of his mouth' (Cant 1:2). But since they sinned, He gave the remain-
ing eight via Moses."
86 Song qf Songs Rabbah 1.16 (Dunsky 16).
 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 121

the Torah in our hearts as before." Moses answered, "That is not for
now, but for time to come, as it is said: I will give my Torah in their
midst, inscribing it in their heart" (Jer 31 :33).87

Now we can readily understand the explicit Tannaitic source where

the notion we have introduced is deeply rooted. In t. Horayot 2.7 we
read: 88
Whence do we learn that whoever teaches his fellow is given credit as if
he had created him, formed him, and brought him into the world? As
it is said: "If thou bring forth the precious out of the vile, thou shalt be
as My mouth." (Jer 15: 19) As the very mouth which cast a soul into
man (CiN:::J 110WJ 1:::J piTW mm 1M1N:::J),89 thus whoever brings a single crea-
ture under the wings of Heaven is given credit as if he had created him,
formed him, and brought him into the world.

This homily ties together the first inspiration of life into man by the
mouth of God and the daily act of inspiring life by the Rabbi who
instructs his disciples in the Torah, likening the Rabbi's mouth to the
mouth of God, to wit "thou shalt be as My mouth." The kiss, the life-
giving contact between the Deity and the dust from which the body
of man was fashioned, and the Divine Word, conveyed through the
words of the Torah, engender the special vitality of the human being.
Thus far we have seen the kiss as transmitting the vitality of sanc-
tity. There is, however, another possibility, which is illustrated by the
following ancient legend, found in several midrashic renditions. It
tells us of two sisters who resembled one another:
One was wed in one city, and the other in another city. One of the
husbands suspected his wife of infidelity and wished her to undergo the
trial by ordeal of bitter water in Jerusalem. So they went to the city
where she had been wed, and there her sister asked, "What brings you
here?" She answered, "My husband wishes to try me by the ordeal of
bitter water." Her sister responded, "I will go in your stead and drink
the water, and you go hence." Dressed in her sister's clothing, she went
to drink the bitter water, and of course was found to be innocent. Then
she returned to her sister's home. The other sister came out to greet her,

87 Song qf Songs Rabbah 1.15 (Dunsky 15).

88 Tosephta (ed. Moshe Shmuel Zuckermandel, based on the Erfurt and Vienna
Codices;Jerusalem: Wahrmann, 1970; photocopy edition of the first Berlin printing,
1899) 476.
89 According to the Vienna manuscript of the Tosephta and the printed edition this
appears to be the correct version. The same version is also found in ",) Mmm iOO.
ilWlI "1'0 13, 98c (Saul Lieberman, C')'WNi noo,n 1 [Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook,
1937] 22). Also see t. Baba Metzia 2.29 (Zuckermandel 375, lines 21-25).
122 ADMIEL KOSMAN

and hugged and kissed her for joy. But the moment they kissed one
another, the second sister smelled the bitter water and fell dead, thus
fulfilling the words, "There is no man that hath power over the spirit to
retain the spirit; neither hath he power over the day of death" (Eccl
8:5).90

A similar message is found in the explanation given in Kallah Rabbati,

apparently redacted in the geonic period. The author of this work
wonders about the way Jacob related to his beloved son, Joseph, after
having been separated so many years. Scripture describes their meet-
ing in the following words: ':Joseph made ready his chariot, and went
up to meet Israel his father, to Goshen; and he presented himself
unto him, and fell on his neck, and wept on his neck a good while."91
All the verbs appear to pertain to the subject mentioned in the begin-
ning of the verse, i.e., to Joseph; thus the Bible does not say a word
about Jacob's actions throughout this moving encounter. This gave
rise to the midrashic notion that Jacob was reciting the Shema, and
according to the Halakhah could not interrupt this important recita-
tion even for such an emotional meeting. 92 Of course, it is difficult to
understand why Jacob would have decided to recite this prayer pre-
cisely at that moment. Indeed, the Scriptural text is surprising and
quite exceptional. Recall, as I mentioned in my introduction, that
biblical encounters between relatives who have not met for a long
time begin with the rite of a kiss. Indeed, the author of Kallah Rab-
batz"93 is not satisfied with the above explanation, but elaborates on it,
adding a deeper analysis of why Jacob evaded his son's kiss, as fol-
lows: 94 He says that Jacob feared that his handsome son Joseph had
fallen into the net of the Egyptian women and had been polluted by
transgressing sexual proscriptions. Therefore Jacob would not let his
son kiss him, despite his son's strong desire to do so. Later, in a
comment attributed to Rava, it is explained that Joseph "had been
excited" by the enticement of Potiphar's wife, apparently meaning
that his arousal had made him emit several drops of semen; and this
gave him a sexual imperfection, as a result of which Joseph was not
included with the special saints whose bodies would not decompose

90 The version cited here is from Tanhuma, Numbers (Buber 31). Also cf. Numbers
Rabbah Ch. 9, s.v. i1'nn~1.
91 Gen 41:29.

92 See the literature referenced by Kasher on Genesis 46, Tora Shlema, (Part 7)
8.1697-1698,par.177.
93 Kallah Rabbati 3 (M. Higger ed.; New York, 1936) 237-24l.

94 Kallah Rabbati (Higger 237-238).

 ANCIENT FOUNDATIONS OF RABBINIC HOMILIES 123

after death. 95 Jacob, who had no imperfections in this regard, was

afraid that the internal spirit of Joseph's impurity would be trans-
ferred to him by a kiss from his mouth, and therefore avoided it.
Indeed, as the author of Kallah Rabbati explains, this was why Joseph
kissed Jacob only after he had died, and precisely on the mouth, as
stressed by Scripture: "And Joseph fell on his father's face, and wept
upon him, and kissed him."96 On this Kallah Rabbati comments:
"Thirty-three years elapsed, and now he is dead; and in all that time
I never kissed my father on the mouth; but now that I must bury
him, how can I not kiss him?"97

To sum up briefly: in ancient Egypt, Mesopotamia, and among the

Semitic peoples in the region in ancient times it was an accepted
notion that the breath of human beings originated from the breath of
the gods. Similarly, in Genesis we read that God fashioned the body
of man out of dust and blew or inspired into him the breath of life.
Likewise, we find that the source of creation is through the Word,
which according to biblical sources, such as Psalms, parallels the
breath which gives life. This combination of breath-soul-word is also
related to the kiss in certain homilies of the Sages, who took the
divine act of inspiring "O~::J (which can mean "in his nostrils" but
could also mean "in his face"), to mean not in man's nose, but in his
face, or mouth. The parallel which is drawn between the divine act of
breathing life into man by means of a kiss, and the divine Word, i.e.,
the Torah, sets the necessary background for understanding the
Sages' homilies on the verse in Song of Songs, "Let him kiss me with
the kisses of his mouth." These homilies portray the words of the
Torah being given to the people of Israel in the bestowal of the
Torah by God by means of a kiss, and they are explicitly associated
with the notion of bestowing vitality, of giving life, which is the root
and foundation of the primordial mythical kiss from which, accord-
ing to this account, all human vitality began.
Let me conclude with a particularly beautiful passage from the
Book of the Zohar on the essence of the kiss:
95 For further discussion, see my article cited supra in note 37, "Kissing the Dead,"
n.42.
96 Gen 50:l.

97 See my article, "Kissing the Dead," for an analysis of the homily in Kallah

Rabbati and its later influence, as well as a more detailed discussion of this subject.
98 The Book qf the ;:phar, Exodus, Mishpatim 124b. On death with a kiss, see Fish-

bane, The Kiss qfGod, and Kosman, "Kissing the Dead," n. 12.
124 ADMIEL KOSMAN

Rabbi Isaac opened with: "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his
mouth." What is the reason for saying "Let him kiss me"? Should it not
have said let him love me? So why does it say "let him kiss me"?
Because, as we have learned kisses are the communing of one spirit with
another, mingling through a kiss on the mouth. For the mouth is the
egress and source of the spirit. Therefore, kisses on the mouth are dear,
since spirit cleaves to spirit, not to be cleft. Therefore, one whose soul
departs with a kiss, is adhered to another spirit. 98
 FINDING ONESELF IN A SECTARIAN CONTEXT:
A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS

Albert I. Baumgarten

Ancient Jewish Sectarianism

This paper originates in research done as preparation for a mono-

graph length study of sectarianism l in ancient Judaism, titled The
Flourishing if Jewish Sects in the Maccabean Era: An Interpretation. That
study seeks to answer the question of how and why groups such as
Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, and the Qumran covenanters 2 pros-

I For purposes of the larger research project, my use of the terms "sect" and

"sectarianism" follows the defmition employed by B. Wilson, Sects and Sociery (Berke-
ley, 1961),3-4. See further the discussion in B. Wilson, Religious Sects (London, 1970),
14-17. The Jewish groups which concern me are all examples of what Wilson, in a
later work (Magic and the Millennium [London, 1973], 18-26) calls "responses to the
world." Wilson would probably classifY Pharisees and Sadducees as "reformist" re-
sponses, while the Dead Sea Scrolls Covenanters would fit his category of "intro-
versionist." The difference between these classifications, as their names imply, in-
volves the extent to which a group has given up on the likelihood of convincing the
mainline institutions of society to follow their way, and turned inwards. To put the
matter in terms of the walls a group erects around itself, those of an introversionist
sect are higher, wider and less permeable, while those of a reformist group are the
opposite. For the same conclusion concerning the Pharisees, see AJ. Saldarini, Phari-
sees, Scribes and Sadducees in Palestinian Society: A Sociological Approach (Edinburgh, 1988),
286.
2 In my view Essenes and Qumran covenanters are to be distinguished, with the
sources on each group having no privileged position in attempts to understand the
other. See further A.1. Baumgarten, "The Rule of the Martian as Applied to Qum-
ran," Israel Oriental Studies 14 (1994), 121-142; "The Temple Scroll, Toilet Practices,
and the Essenes," Jewish History 10 (1996), 9-20. For a slighdy different perspective on
these issues, but reaching a conclusion I share wholeheartedly, see M. Goodman, "A
Note on the Qumran Sectarians, the Essenes andJosephus," JJS46 (1995),161-166.
In candor, the Sadducees play no role in the discussion that follows. The ways in
which they fit into the framework outlined, if at all, are beyond our knowledge.
Nevertheless, they are included at the outset, in the formulation of the question, as
they appear regularly on the lists of groups presented by Josephus.
The focus in the larger study, as in this paper, is on groups which flourished in the
second century BCE. There is another group of sects which arose and flourished in
the first century CE, such as Zealots, Fourth Philosophy, the followers of John the
Baptist, and the early Christians. As the political and geographic contexts in which
they emerged were different (in the aftermath of Roman conquest, and outside of
Jerusalem), they are less my concern here.
126 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

pered at the time they did, from the Maccabean era in the mid-
second century BCE, until the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE. 3
The study's point of departure is Josephus's excursuses describing the
Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes (War 2.117-166), or Pharisees,
Sadducees, Essenes, and the Fourth Philosophy (Ant. 18.9-25), writ-
ten in the conviction that his reader would not understand the narra-
tive adequately without a detailed introduction to the phenomenon.
Sectarianism of that degree of social importance is a relatively rare
event, one about which it is appropriate to ask what were the special
circumstances which promoted this result. 4
The quest to reveal the reasons for the flourishing of sectarianism
is neither new, nor unique to me. 5 Nevertheless, what is intended to
be distinctive about my study is the determination to be more precise
than my predecessors in attempting to explain how the known results
relate to the context in which they took place. General interpreta-
tions of the rise of ancient Jewish sectarianism, such as relative dep-
rivation, 6 or contact with a foreign culture, 7 are acceptable as far as
they go, but one should strive to do better, to propose answers as
specific as possible. 8

3 While there were forerunners of sectarianism in Jewish life before the rise of the
Maccabees (as there are forerunners of virtually every social phenomenon-includ-
ing scientific phenomena, as they too are ultimately social in nature), I would argue
that ancient Jewish sectarianism did not become full-blown until Maccabean times.
On forerunners as a social and scientific phenomenon see M. Douglas, How Institu-
tions Think (London, 1987),69-90.
4 Sectarianism, as part of human experience, may be ever-present, and as old as
human society, as argued by R. Stark and W. Bainbridge, The Future qf Religion:
Secularization, Revival and Cult Formation (Berkeley, 1985), 114. Nevertheless, as a signifi-
cant social force-capable of shaping an entire society over an extended period of
time, so much so that Josephus felt that his reader needed the excursuses on the
groups-sectarianism only rarely reaches that degree of importance. How and why
an ever-present factor becomes unusually dominant at specific moments is a legiti-
mate question for historical research, with a distinguished number of studies having
been written on that model.
5 See for example E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Beliif 63BCE-66cE (London/
Philadelphia, 1992), 13-34.
6 See further J. Duhaime, "Relative Deprivation in New Religious Movements

and the Qumran Community," RQ,16 (1993), 265-276.

7 See e.g. G. Theissen, Sociology qf Ear(y Palestinian Christianiry (Philadelphia, 1978),
86.
8 What is needed is careful specification of the kinds of movement which prolifer-
ate at times of change, of the aspects of social change which account for their
proliferation, and finally of the mechanisms by which social change affects religious
change. Why do specific results ensue in particular circumstances, but not in other,
apparendy very similar ones? These questions are drawn fromJ.A. Beckford, "Intro-
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 127

It is in this spirit that I offer an analysis of the eating regulations of

ancient Jewish sectarians, in the conviction that an aspect of sectarian
life so closely connected with the body-the physical means through
which we interact with the world, a principal intermediary between
the self and society, and the source of many of the most fundamental
analogies through which we construct our world9-will be illuminat-
ing. Things to do with the body, but particularly with what goes in or
comes out, are conveyers of significance.

The Food if a Sectarian

"Any sect," according to Mary Douglas, "tends to define itself by

purity rules."lo While the purity boundaries of ancient Jewish groups
regulated a number of realms (such as dress, commerce and worship),
food is an especially sensitive matter, because it is essential to the
most basic body functions. Processed food, handled by various people
of differing status, is imprinted with the social order. A person or
group expresses crucial aspects of their identity and of their relation-
ship to other components of society through the regulations which
govern behavior in accepting processed food from others. 11
Commensality is equally important. Eating is a potentially danger-
ous activity, a time when attention is deflected away from the world
and its hazards. Those with whom one eats are friends, and those
with whom one refuses to eat marked as foes. 12

duction," inJ.A. Beckford (Ed.), New Religious Movements and Rapid Social Change (Paris/
London, 1986), xii. Beckford's focus is on contemporary movements, but his remarks
are equally apt concerning those of the past.
9 Douglas, How Institutions Think, 49.
10 M. Douglas, "Afterword," in J. Neusner, The Idea qf Puriry in Ancient Judaism
(Leiden, 1973), 141. In Iambulus's utopia, his perfect society excluded those who did
not meet its standards. The children of members were tested as infants by a special
bird. Those that did not pass the test were exposed (D.S. 2.58.5). Members who
became ill were expected to commit suicide (D.S. 2.57.5). Iambulus and his compan-
ion were supposed to spend six hundred years in that utopia (D. S. 2.55.4), but they
were expelled after seven as malefactors, having previously been educated to an evil
way oflife whose effects could not be erased (D.S. 2.60.1). As D. Mendels, "Hellen-
istic Utopia and the Essenes," HTR 72 (1979), 217 comments, "throughout Iam-
bulus' story we find a sharp distinction between a pure world and a defIled one."
11 See e.g. M. Douglas, Puriry and Danger (London/New York, 19842); M. Dumont,

Homo Hierarchicus~ The Caste System and its Implications (Chicago/London, 1979 2); J.
Goody, Cooking, Cuisine and Class~A Study in Comparative Sociology (Cambridge, 1982).
12 See W. Burkert, "Oriental Symposia: Contrasts and Parallels," in W. Slater
(Ed.), Dining in a Classical Context (Ann Arbor, 1991), 7; H. Hazan, "Holding Time
128 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

Regulations concerning food-whether accepted from others or

shared with them-are a boundary enforced by virtually all ancient
Jewish groups as a means through which they defined their identities.
Food regulations, therefore, provide an insight into those a group
considers insiders, vs. those ranked as outsiders. Hence, they have a
crucial role in the construction of self identity. Food practices are
thus at a crucial point of juncture between two of the themes of this
volume-self and body-and can thus provide clues to illuminate
social processes, such as the connection between context and conse-
quence in the rise of ancient Jewish sectarianism.

Ancient Jewish Food Regulations

Ordinary (i.e. non-sectarian) Jews refrained from eating food forbid-

den by the Torah. Even an ancient Jew not noted for his strict
observance of the law such as Herod did not eat pigs, leading
Augustus to note that Herod's pig was guaranteed a long life. 13 When
Antiochus IV enacted his reforms, which led to the Maccabean re-
volt, those who were loyal to the old ways:
resolved in their hearts not to eat unclean food. They chose to die
rather than be defiled by food or to profane the covenant (1 Mace.
1:62-63).
But even normally permitted food can be defiled by the gentiles, for
example by contact with the vessels in which gentiles cook their foods
forbidden to Jews. 14 Accordingly, at the time of the persecutions of
Antiochus IV, the only source of permitted food was what grew wild
of itself, could be consumed uncooked, direct from nature, and with-
out any intermediaries. As explained concerning Judah and his nine
companions, when they escaped to the wilderness (the traditional
refuge of those on the lam, far from the long arm of the law), they
kept themselves alive in the mountains:

Still with Cups of Tea," in M. Douglas (Ed.), Constructive Drinking (Cambridge, 1987),
205-219.
13 See Macrobius, Satumalia 2.4.11 = M. Stem, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and

Judaism, Volume Two: From Tacitus to Simplicius (Jerusalem, 1980), #543 and the discus-
sion, 665-666.
14 According to Herodotus, Egyptians, who were par excellence a people that did not
eat cows (Hdt. 2.18, 41) would not kiss a Greek, or use a knife, spit or cauldron
belonging to a Greek, or even taste the flesh of an ox (which Egyptians did eat) that
had been cut by a Greek knife (Hdt. 2.41). This was because Greeks ate cows.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 129

as wild animals do; they continued to live on what grew wild, so that
they might not share in the defllement (2 Mace. 5:27).
This was not merely a practical necessity, but also one dictated by
purity regulations.
Information concerning the extent to which non-sectarian Jews
regularly refused to eat with gentiles is less explicit. 15 Perhaps the best
evidence is the testimony of Jubilees 22: 14-16:
Remember my words and observe the commandments of Abraham
your father. Separate yourself from the nations, and eat not with them,
and do not according to their works, and become not their associate, for
their works are unclean, and all their ways are a pollution and an
abomination and an uncleanness.
Jubilees gives the consistent impression of being a last stand in favor
of observances once widespread, but neglected at its time. This sug-
gests that restrictions on eating with gentiles were more honored in
the breach when Jubilees was written, sometime in the second cen-
tury BCE. 16 This conclusion coheres well with the behavior ofJerusa-
lem aristocrats at the Ptolemaic court in accounts such as Josephus's
"Tales of the Tobiads" (Ant. 12.160-236).17
What will be significant in the discussion to follow is that ancient
sectarian Jews applied these same principles to the food of fellow
Jews, declaring their food forbidden, and thereby classifying other
Jews as outsiders. The most extreme sectarians only ate wild food,
direct from nature. The members of less extreme groups ate wild
food, when food prepared under the auspices of the sect was unavail-
able. Their rules also controlled commensality: a non-sectarian could
not participate in their meals and eat the sect's food. The least ex-
treme groups allowed non-sectarians to eat with their members, if the
outsiders met the demands of the sect, at least temporarily. 18

15 To refer to Egyptian analogies once again, when Jacob's sons ate in Joseph's

house, Gen. 43:32, Egyptians would not eat with Hebrews.

16 For one recent summary of scholarship, including opinions on the date of

Jubilees, see the introduction by O. Wintermute in Charlesworth, OTP, 2.35-50.

17 According to Ep. Arist. 181-183 the Ptolemaic court was aware of the eating
restrictions of the different peoples in its empire, and arranged food for visiting
groups in accordance with their regulations. In that way, the translators of the law
from Jerusalem could dine with the king and his retinue. This explanation is not
offered on behalf of the Tobiads.
18 For a discussion of the place of food regulations in the medieval period see R.

Meens, "Pollution in the Early Middle Ages: The Case of the Food Regulations in
Penitentials," Early Medieval Europe 4 (1995), 3-19. In modern Jewish fundamentalist
130 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

All these were acts of protest, of separation from other Jews, whose
inadequate obselVance of the commandments of the Torah made
communal life impossible.1 9 When a sectarian marked a boundary
between himseIf2° and other Jews he was indicating thereby, in the
language of 4QMMT, that he had no choice but to separate himself
from those other Jews because of their impurity (4QMMT C:6_8).21

groups, these concerns fmd expression in their insistence on specific kashrut supervi-
sion, with the only acceptable supervision virtually unique to each group.
19 The nature of sectarianism as an act of protest against other members of the

society-in the name of values the society at large claims to hold, but which are
being trampled in the view of sectarians-has been well stressed by Stark and Bain-
bridge, Future qf ReligWn, 23. Note, however, that sects of the type I am considering
were not truly revolutionary (cf. Hill's analysis of the Ranters, in C. Hill, 1he World
Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas during the English Revolution [London, 1972], 184-230):
they did not mean to overturn the established society. Rather, these sectarians were
integrated into the social order at the same time as they were criticizing it. Their
devotion to the values of the larger society was extreme, leading them to separate
themselves from those who did not live up to the practices and beliefs which they felt
were dictated by true allegiance to the common values.
In 4QMMT, after noting some of the disputes between the author and his circle
and mainline Judaism, the author explained that it was because of these disagree-
ments that he and his group separated themselves from the multitude of the people
and from all their impurity, and from being involved with these matters and from
participating with them in these things (4QMMT C:6-8). All this was then justified
by an appeal to values which the author of 4QMMT believed that he and his
correspondent shared, such as a common commitment to the scriptures, a mutual
understanding of the Jewish past, and a shared appreciation of what was necessary to
share the blessings of the end of days (4QMMT C:IO, 17-19,23-26,28-32). It was
this faithfulness to the covenant which obligated the author and his circle to with-
draw from communal life.
20 Most ancient Jewish sectarians were male. Josephus informs us that one order
of Essenes married in order to beget children, and the graves of some women were
found in secondary cemeteries at Qvmran. A few Dead Sea Scroll documents men-
tion marriage, but female sectarians seem to have been a small minority in these
groups. Note the ratio of graves assumed to be those of males vs. those assumed to be
of females at Qumran. On the other hand, women had a much larger role in the
early Christian movement. Perhaps this is an indication of the senses in which early
Christianity was a distinct exception to the patterns of ancient Jewish sectarianism, a
point which would require much more than one footnote, or even one article to
elucidate, hence deferred for discussion elsewhere.
21 In the larger study now being completed, I designate boundary marking of this
sort as one of the defming characteristics of ancient Jewish sectarianism. Behavior of
this sort by sectarians, directed against fellow members of their group, helps explain
the resentment sects arouse in the larger society. Those marked as outsiders by the
sects-informed thereby that they do not meet the sect's standards, and that com-
mon life with members of the sect is therefore impossible--do not relish that role.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 131

Bannus and John the Baptist

I begin the detailed discussion of the eating rules of sectarians with

Josephus's account of his ex-master Bannus, whomJosephus followed
for three years, perhaps the most extreme sectarian of whom I have
found evidence. Josephus, an extremely astute observer of the behav-
ior ofJews of his day on these matters,22 reported that Bannus ate only
such things as grew of themselves. Bannus extended the concern with
the purity of processed products to his clothing, wearing only such
clothing as trees provided (Lift 11). John the Baptist, according to the
gospels, ate locusts and wild honey. His clothing consisted of a gar-
ment of camel's hair and a leather girdle (Matt. 3:4 and parallels). By
the standards set by Bannus, John the Baptist was a bit less extreme:
John was equally careful concerning his sources of food, but less so
concerning his clothing. Nevertheless,John's refusal to eat bread and
drink wine (two processed foods that occupied central roles in the diet
ofJews of his era)23 made ordinary people think he was possessed (Lk.
7:33). This comment is an explicit indication of the high significance of
John's eating patterns in the eyes of his contemporaries, confirming
the sensitivity to crucial matters displayed by Josephus in his com-
ments concerning Bannus. 24 For both Bannus and John the Baptist
their diet is a critical indication of a very high degree of tension
between themselves and the rest ofJewish society of their day.

The Essenes

Josephus's comments on the Essenes were no less perceptive. An

expelled Essene could not eat food processed by others; hence he was
limited to mere "grasses," which grew of themselves:

22 Compare his observations of the toilet practices of Essenes, War 2.147-149.

23 See M. Broshi, "The Diet of Palestine in the Roman Period, Introductory
Notes," Israel Museum Joumal 5 (1986), 41-56.
2< Josephus, one assumes, was not Bannus's only disciple, while John had numer-
ous followers. Neither Josephus nor the gospels specified whether this same level of
observance was required of the followers of these leaders. Perhaps the followers were
less restricted in their eating (and clothing). In any case, in Josephus's account of
John the Baptist, Ant. 18.116-119, he did not mention John's restricted diet. This
may indicate that John's special practice did not continue down to the generation of
his disciples whomJosephus might have known. For Christians, however, John was
conceived as a forerunner. Perhaps this would have led them to preserve more
detailed knowledge of his unusual practices.
132 ALBERT 1. BAUMGARTEN

Those who are convicted of serious crimes they expel from the order;
and the ejected individual often comes to a most miserable end. For
being bound by their oaths and usages, he is not at liberty to partake of
other men's food, and so falls to eating grass and wastes away and dies
of starvation (War 2. 143).

Essene preparations for a meal, and their behavior at meals and

afterwards, invested these events with the aura of the sacrificial cult:
Mter this purification, they assemble in a private apartment which none
of the uninitiated is permitted to enter; pure now themselves, they re-
pair to the refectory as to some sacred shrine ...When breakfast is
ended.. .laying aside their raiment as holy vestments, they again be take
themselves to their labors (War 2. 130-132).

As in the Temple, access to the meal was limited to full members of

the group, but now the distinction was not between Jew and non-
Jew, but between Jews who were Essenes, and those who were not.
Commensality with a non-Esse ne Jew, even at a meal where Essenes
provided the food, was not permissible. Josephus had to defend the
Essenes against the resentment their behavior called forth by remark-
ing that they were men of the highest character, who devoted them-
selves entirely to agriculture, hence were harmless (Ant. 18.19).
The procedure by which one entered the Essene order was organ-
ized around these food regulations. Only after three years of prepara-
tion and testing could the postulant participate in the common food
(War 2.139). Being accepted into the common meal was thus the
culmination of the process, indicating full membership, together with
acceptance of the attendant obligations and restrictions. When the
new Essene was allowed to eat the common food, he could no longer
eat other people's food, thus marking off his new identity in the
clearest manner.25
The general principle behind these restrictions is made clearer by
an internal Essene rule. Josephus writes:
They (the Essenes) are divided according to the duration of their disci-
pline into four grades; and so far are the junior members inferior to the

2S That new Essene could now enjoy fully the privileges of Essene hospitality when

traveling (Philo, Omnis Probus 85; Josephus, War 2.124-126), another marker of his
new identity. When he was received as a fellow Essene by his hosts, allowed to
participate in their meal as one of the initiated, and when he permitted himself to eat
their food, mutual recognition of a common identity had taken place. See further
A.I. Baumgarten, "He Knew that He Knew that He Knew that He was an Essene,"
]]S, 48 (1997), 53-61.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 133

seniors that a senior if but touched by a junior must take a bath as after
contact with an alien (War 2.150).26

Josephus was determined to praise the Essenes in his description in

War 2. Thus, he ended his account of their group with the comment
that their philosophy was irresistibly attractive to all those who tasted
it (War 2.158). He portrayed them as well disposed to each other,
even more so than all other Jewish groups (War 2.119), but under-
stated the means by which this result was achieved-an atmosphere
of constant admonition, in which every Essene was a permanent spy
on the activities of all others, and required to report what he knew to
the leadership (War 2.141). In Ag. Ap. 2.207 Josephus even attributed
the requirement of concealing nothing from fellow Jews to all Jews.
His account of their response to contact with members of lower
degree thus omitted one point: What would an Essene do if touched
by an ordinary Jew? In light of the response of seniors in their order
to contact with a junior, the reaction of an Essene to being touched
by an ordinary Jew can be readily guessed: that Essene would have
considered himself as defiled. To disclose this consequence, however,
would have painted the Essenes in an unfavorable light, and would
have contradicted Josephus's objectives. Hence Josephus treated this
point as one often treats uncongenial facts: he omitted itY
If I am correct in positing that Essenes purified themselves after
contact with other Jews it illuminates the case argued here. Contact
with a non-Jew was understood by ordinary Jews as polluting. This

26 J. Klawans, "Notions of Gentile Impurity in Ancient Judaism," AJS Review 20

(1995),300-301 has suggested a different understanding ofJose ph us's comments. He

proposed that Josephus's remarks be taken entirely within an Essene context: an
Essene would wash after contact with a junior just as he (an Essene, and an Essene on(y)
would wash after contact with an alien. While this is a plausible interpretation of
Josephus, I nevertheless continue to prefer the usual view. In the context in War 2,
Josephus has just made one contrast between Essene practice and that of other Jews
concerning impurity arising from defecation. It therefore seems natural to under-
stand his next comment as a further contrast between Essenes and other Jews. I
would like to thank Mr. Klawans for sharing his ideas with me prior to his article
appearing in print.
27 Not only ancient historians such asJosephus, but modern academic scholars as

well are often struck with silence when dealing with material they fmd uncongenial,
which does not agree with conclusions dear to their hearts and crucial to the ways
they propose understanding the evidence. On this point see T.S. Kuhn, The Structure
if Scientific Revolutions (Chicago, 1970 2),63-65,81-82, and L. Fleck, Genesis and Develop-
ment if a Scientific Fact (Chicago, 1979), 30. Fleck cites the example of the orbital
motion of Mercury as related to Newton's laws: "Experts in the field were aware of
it, but it was concealed from the public because it contradicted prevailing views."
134 ALBERT 1. BAUMGARTEN

impurity regulation normally stood guard along the external national

wall. Essenes, however, moved this impurity barrier and had it stand
guard over the boundary of their group. Essene refusal to eat the
food of all other Jews and their barring non-members from participa-
tion in their meals marked all other Jews as outsiders of a new sort.

The Dead Sea Sect

Much the same analysis can be offered for the rules of the Qumran
group.28 There too food regulations were employed as a means of
sharply marking off their group from others. Qumran was character-
ized as a place where people ate together, prayed together, and de-
cided together (Manual of Discipline vi, 3). Accordingly, someone
outside that group could not participate in the common meal, be-
cause he and his food were impure. For that same reason his food
was prohibited to members. Thus, those who refused to accept the
discipline of the community (Manual of Discipline v, 13-16) may not
"partake of the pure meal of the Saints." No member of the commu-
nity may "eat or drink anything of theirs." One of the means of
control extensively employed in the Manual of Discipline was reduc-
ing the food allowance of members as punishment for infractions.
This system was effective because members were restricted in their
ability to consume food not prepared under community auspices. 29
In Qumran too, the new member went through a process of accept-
ance which culminated in his being allowed to participate in the pure
28 I remind the reader, as gently as possible, that I am one of the "sons of light,"

who does not believe in the identity of the Essenes of Philo, Josephus and Pliny with
the Qumran sect. See above, n. 2.
29 The remote location of the Qumran site may have also contributed to the
effectiveness of this means of discipline. Alternate sources of food would have been
hard to obtain on the shores of the Dead Sea.
The extreme nature of Qumran purity regulations and the differences they rein-
force make it very difficult for me to conceive of the Qumran group as anything but
an introversionist sect (see above, n. 1), of the most severe sort. For this reason,
among others, I cannot accept the reinterpretation of the Dead Sea Scroll group's
history recently offered by H. Stegemann, according to which the Qumran-Essenes
were a local branch of the "main" Jewish group, much closer to the mainstream of
Second Temple times, if not in alliance with it. See H. Stegemann, "The Qumran
Essenes-Local Members of the Main Jewish Union in Late Second Temple
Times," 1he Madrid Qymrl1!l Congress: Proceedings qfthe International Congress on the Dead Sea
Scrolls, Madrid, 18-21 March 1991 (ed.]. Barrera and L. Montaner; Leiden, 1992), 1.
83-166. For a discussion and critique ofStegemann's conclusions from another per-
spective see A.1. Baumgarten, 'josephus on Essene Sacrifice," ]]S 35 (1994), 182-83.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 135

meal, signitying his status (Manual of Discipline vi, 17-23). Finally,

the expelled Qumran member of long standing was assumed to re-
main bound by his oaths to eat only food processed in the manner
prescribed by the community. Thus he was perceived as asking
friends, still members of the community, to supply him with food.
Current members were therefore warned not to comply with such
requests, lest they also be expelled (Manual of Discipline vii, 22-25).30

The Havurah

The Essenes and the Qumran sect were not the only groups to oper-
ate along these lines. The havurah= association , of which we learn
from Rabbinic sources, esp. tDemai 2:2 (Ueberman, 68), organized its
life in a similar fashion. Here too there was a process of acceptance,
which entailed observance of purity regulations that restricted the
member's ability to eat the food of other people. Here too these rules
restricted possibilities of commensality. Here too there was significant
hostility between Jews on either side of the divide that existed, and
that was reinforced by these observances. 31

The Pharisees

Whatever may have been the relationship between Pharisees and

haverim, the Mishnah informs us that Pharisees situated themselves in
a clear hierarchy of those observing purity rules, thus separating
themselves from those below them in that hierarchy, and being dif-
ferentiated from those above them:
For Pharisees the clothes of an am-haaretz count as suffering midras un-
cleanness; for them that eat heave offering the clothes of Pharisees
count as suffering midras uncleanness (mHag 2:7).

30 One is entided to wonder whether a Qumran member could give his food, as a

gift, to a needy outsider. Perhaps this would have been considered desecration of
holy food and thus been forbidden. Our sources do not allow a definite answer.
ContrastJosephus's remarks on the Essenes, War 2.134, according to which Essenes
were free to offer food to the needy as they saw fit.
3l The basic study remains that ofS. Lieberman, "The Discipline in the So-called

Dead Sea Manual of Discipline," JBL 71 (1952), 199-206. On the vexed question of
the relationship of the haverim to the Pharisees see E. Sanders, Jewish Law From Jesus
to the Mishnah (London, 1990), 131-254.
136 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

The Pharisees were in the reformist category of sect (see above, n. 1),
much less at odds with the mainstream institutions of their society, in
fact sometimes controlling them, hence their restrictions on food con-
sumption were less stringent than those of Bannus, John the Baptist,
Qumran or the Essenes. Nevertheless, Pharisaic practice concerning
the consumption of food confirmed the boundaries they drew, sepa-
rating themselves off from the rest of Jewish society. 32
An indication of this situation is contained in Mk. 7:4, a verse
which has received surprisingly little attention in studies of the Phari-
sees:
when they come from the marketplace, they do not eat unless they
purify (rantisontai; some mss. read baptisontai=immerse) themselves. 33

This practice is explicitly different from that mentioned in the previ-

ous verse in Mk., namely, the washing of hands prior to eating. Like
the former, however, it would seem to come from the Pharisaic
paradosis, the collection of laws not mentioned in the Bible observed
by the Pharisees, under attack in Mk. 7. Immersion of the self prior
to eating, has no Biblical source. As such it is an ideal candidate for
inclusion in the paradosis of the Pharisees. In fact, such immersion by
the Pharisees is not explicitly mentioned in any Rabbinic, apocry-
phal, or pseudepigraphic source. 34 The practice does appear, how-
ever, in one other place in the New Testament, in Lk. 11:38. A
Pharisee, apparently thinking that Jesus belonged to his group, or
was at least willing to conform to the host's way of life for that one

32 For this reason, among others, the Pharisees may have called themselves "sepa-

ratists," as I have argued in A.I. Baumgarten, "The Name of the Pharisees," ]BL 102
(1983),411-428.
33 I understand the verb, in middle plural, as referring to the Pharisees immersing
themselves, rather than some objects. This understanding of ean me rani baptisontai is
natural when following ean me... nipsontai. ef. the discussion and literature cited in R.
Guelich, Word Bible Commentary Mark 1:8-26 (Dallas, 1989), 365.
34 See further H. Strack and P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum neuen Testament aus Tal-

mud und Midrasch (Munich, 1928), 2.14, where the passage from Luke is discussed,
and no parallels are listed. In the elaborate description of a Jewish meal based on
Rabbinic sources, ibid., 4b. 611-639 there is also no mention of purification prior to
eating. The fact that this Pharisaic practice is mentioned in no Rabbinic, apocry-
phal, or pseudepigraphic source is inadequate reason to reject its historicity. The
nature of our evidence onJewish sects, as has recendy been stressed by Goodman,
"Note on the Qumran Sectarians," 162, is such that there is relatively litde overlap
between the information provided by various authors. We should therefore not ex-
pect them to regularly confirm each other.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 137

occasion,35 invited him to dinner. When Jesus "did not first immerse
himself (ebaptisthej before dinner,"36 his host was shocked. As the story
is told from the perspective ofthe followers ofJesus , it ends withJesus
rebuking his host. Had it been told from the point of view of the
Pharisees it might have ended with Jesus being disinvited.
The reasons Pharisees immersed themselves on returning from the
market, before eating, are not specified in these passages. I think it
fair, however, to conclude that such immersion was deemed neces-
sary because Pharisees believed that they had contracted impurity
while in the market, from "bumping into" people of indeterminate
status, Jewish and/or non-Jewish. Eating could only take place after
the elimination of this impurity, 37 and in the company of others who
were also pure (lest an impure person present reintroduce the impu-
rity that had just been removed by immersion, which would then
start the cycle going again, and prevent the Pharisee from eating). 38
Perhaps Pharisees behaved this way because, as has been argued
often by others, they were raising the level of holiness in their lives by
behaving as if they were priests (analogous to the Biblical Nazir, who
also raised the level of sanctity in his life by behaving as if he were a
priest),39 treating their ordinary food as if it were subject to some of

35 Only understanding the invitation as having been extended under a misap-

prehension will explain the astonishment of the host at Jesus's behavior.

36 Some translations, e.g. Deilitsch's into Hebrew, render this passage as if Jesus

had failed to wash his hands, notwithstanding the explicit use of ebaptisthe, and the
omission of all mention of hands in the Greek. See also J. Fitzmyer, 17ze Gospel
According to Luke (X-XX/V) (New York, 1985),947 who struggles to make this passage
refer solely to washing hands, against its explicit meaning. I take this testimony of the
gospels to reflect Pharisaic practice in the first century, whether or not it is evidence
for an incident in the life of the historical Jesus.
37 This suggestion was already made by Strack-Billerbeck, Kommentar 2.14. It does

not seem that this immersion was done as preparatory to entering a higher degree of
sanctity, such as the immersion of already pure priests before beginning service in
the Temple, or of Essenes before their meal. The passage in Mk. seems to specifY
that this immersion was necessary because the Pharisee was returning .from the market
to eat. Had he not been in the market and/or intended to eat, the immersion might
not have been necessary.
38 I have discussed a possible Rabbinic background to this practice in A.1. Baum-

garten, "Greco-Roman Voluntary Associations and Jewish Sects," in M. Goodman

(Ed.), 17ze Jews qf the Greco-Roman World, forthcoming.
39 For this interpretation of the Nazirite see further A.1. Baumgarten, "Hatta't

Sacrifices," RE 103 (1996), 337-342. The idea that the level of sanctity in one's life
can be raised by taking on all or part of the life style of those in a higher place in the
hierarchy has its equivalents in a number of other traditions. See Dumont, Homo
Hierarchicus, 192.
138 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

the restrictions on sacred food consumed by priests. 40

The purity boundary maintained by the Pharisees, as it emerges
from these New Testament passages, was less extreme than that of
the Essenes or the Dead Sea Scrolls. A Pharisee had been in the
market, presumably buying his food there, while the latter groups
were restricted to food prepared under the auspices of their group.
The Essene or Qumran sectarian could not invite a guest home (he
had no home other than the sect, and non-members were barred
from the sect's meals), while the Pharisee could invite Jesus to his
home (par' auwz). Unlike the Essene or Dead Sea Sect meal, that was
exclusively communal, the Pharisee and Jesus seem to have been
eating alone. Whether Jesus was a Pharisee or not, he could meet
their standards and join a Pharisee at dinner on an ad hoc basis by
immersion, unlike the requirements of Qumran or the Essenes,
where a long period of preparation was required before a potential
member was eligible to share fully in the food ofthe order. Neverthe-
less, even the more moderate regulations of the Pharisees demanded
a degree of stringency concerning commensality, as a matter of pu-
rity. If the conjectures above are correct, Pharisees could only eat
with other Pharisees, or with those who maintained their standards
(perhaps only temporarily). A purity barrier divided them from other
Jews. The Pharisees are another example of a sect erecting purity
barriers, albeit more modest ones, that established the boundaries of
the group, and differentiated its members from other Jews. 41 To
40 The Pharisees, as priests manquis, has been one of the ongoing themes in the

writing of Neusner on the topic. See e.g. J. Neusner, Rabbinic Traditions about the
Pharisees BifOre 70 (Leiden, 1971), 3.288. See further H. Harrington, "Did the Phari-
sees Eat Ordinary Food in a State of Ritual Purity?," JSJ 26 (1995), 42-54; M.
Hengel & R. Deines, "E.P. Sanders' 'CommonJudaism',Jesus and the Pharisees. A
Review Article," JTS 46 (1995), 41-51. Against these views see the position of Sand-
ers, Jewish lAw, 131-254; Judaism, Practice and Belief, 431-440. Note that even if there
were some aspects ofPharisaism in which its members behaved as priests manques the
correlation was not perfect: Pharisees, according to the gospels, Mt. 23:29-36 and
parallels, built the tombs of the prophets and adorned the monuments of the right-
eous. This would have been impossible for real priests, for whom all voluntary
contact with the dead was forbidden.
41 The purity barriers were not to return to the national perimeter until the eve of

the Great Revolt, when according to the view of many scholars, the eighteen decrees
separating Jews and non:Jews were enacted. On the eighteen decrees see I. Ben
Shalom, The School qf Shammai and the Zealots' Struggle Against Rome (Jerusalem, 1993),
252-272 [in Hebrew]. I know of no comprehensive work on the role of purity rules
in the Rabbinic period, after the destruction of the Temple. For the Talmudic
period, Neusner, Idea qf Purity, 72-107 abandoned the focus on practical purity rules,
which had characterized previous chapters of his study, and concentrated on ideol-
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 139

summarize, in the words of one ancient source on the Pharisees,

favorable to their group, they searched out things pure and impure
according to the law, but did so moderately, intelligently or fairly
(epieikos).42

Historical Interpretation

The examples above establish the conclusion proposed at the outset:

ancient Jewish sectarian food regulations drew a clear boundary line,
separating sect members from other Jews, and thereby designating
other Jews as outsiders. Whether the barrier was higher or lower,
more or less permeable, is less important than the existence of a
barrier of some sort in all cases considered above.
These actions of Jewish sects were unusual, as ancient Jews nor-
mally regarded each other as members of an enclave in which a high
wall separated Jews from the outside non-Jewish world, but all within
that enclave were equal. As M. Douglas comments:
In this religion persons of one class do not defIle persons of another
class by coming into contact. Many of the levitical rules of defIlement
support the moral code, but there is nothing that supports social strati-
fication. 43

She concludes this analysis by proposing that "formative Judaism

developed in an enclave."44 This result, she maintains, was particu-
larly favored by the political and social circumstances in which the
Jews of Palestine lived in the era after the return from the Babylonian
exile, under the rule of the great world empires, from Persia to the
Seleucids.
From this perspective one can argue plausibly that ancient Jewish
sects were repeating the enclave bias ofJudaism generally, but within
a new context: the excluded outsiders were now non-sectarian Jews.
Appropriately, there is substantial evidence for the egalitarian nature

ogy and theology. See the critique of Neusner's procedure by Douglas, "Afterword,"
142.
42 See A.1. Baumgarten, 'josephus and Hippolytus on the Pharisees," HUCA 55
(1984), 1-25, esp. 15-17.
43 M. Douglas, "Atonement in Leviticus," Jewish Studies Quarter(y Review I (1993/
94),113-114.
44 M. Douglas, In the Wilderness (Sheffield, 1993),49. On modem enclaves see also

E. Sivan, "The Enclave Culture," in M. Marty (Ed.), Fundamentalism Comprehended

(1995), 11-68=Aij;ayim 4 (5752), 45-98 [in Hebrew].
140 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

of at least some of the sects, such as the Essenes and Qumran. 45

While this conclusion is important as far as it goes, it begs the larger
question: what caused sectarian Jews to move the boundary line from
the national perimeter to the sectarian one? What circumstances
were responsible for the creation of sectarian enclaves, in the place of
the national one?
A change in a society's boundaries (whether the cause is internal
or external, political, religious, economic or demographic), Douglas
argues, provokes a redrawing of these boundaries, leading to the
emergence of alternate social organizations and significant social
change. 4D A survey of the history of the Jewish enclave is therefore in
order, with attention to focus on the stability and solidity of its perim-
eters.

History if the Jewish Enclave

The enclave nature ofJudaism is especially evident in the program of

NehemiahY A son of the diaspora community for whom marking

45 Egalitarianism also had its limits within those groups. Even among Qurnran

covenanters and the Essenes there were regulations which reflected the existence of
a hierarchy. Thus, members at Qurnran were listed in order, and their place de-
pended on their spot in that list. Priests, especially those "sons of Zadok," had a
preeminent role in that community. Much the same was true of the Essenes. There
too priests had privileges. Even more significant is the fact reported by Josephus that
members were divided into four groups, with purity regulations enforcing these
distinctions. A senior if touched by a junior would bathe, as if he had been touched
by an alien (War 2.150).
On the other hand, no traces of egalitarianism are known among Pharisees or
Sadducees. What is the significance of these deviations from egalitarianism? What
can they teach us concerning the groups of the second century BeE? Do these devia-
tions indicate that the groups were not really enclaves? At this stage of the discussion
I would stress one answer: social scientific ideal types are rarely adequate to cope
with the disorder and messiness of reality. In fact, the disparity between ideal types
and reality is a regular feature of social scientific inquiry. Most, if not all, actual
circumstances are "mixed" types. See further S. Talmon, "The Emergence ofJewish
Sectarianism," in King, Cult and Calendar Gerusalem, 1986), 99: "While ... typology in
essence may be upheld in theory, more attention should be given to Mischtypen which
in actual reality constitute the majority of cases." See also J. Gager, Kingdom and
Community (Englewood Cliffs, 1975),68-69.
46 See M. Douglas, Natural Symbols-Explorations in Cosmology (New York, 1982 2),

12-14.
47 In the discussion of Nehemiah which follows, my debt to the insightful analysis
of M. Smith, Palestinian Parties and Politics that Shaped the Old Testament (New York,
1971), 126-145, cannot be overstated.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 141

Jews off from their surroundings was a necessity of a special order,4B

and a loyal seIVant of the Persian king, Nehemiah came to Jerusalem
with a specific agenda. He built the wall protecting Jerusalem from
outsiders (Neh. Chapters 2-4), much to the dismay of his local aristo-
cratic opponents, such as Sanballat and Tobiah. This wall supplied
physical protection, but it was also symbolic of the way Nehemiah
wanted the Jews of Jerusalem to relate to their surroundings: a bar-
rier was to separate them from their neighbors, a barrier which they
were not to cross in taking wives (10:31; 13:1-3). When Nehemiah
expelled Tobiah's effects from the Temple he purified the room
(13:8-9), thereby asserting the chasm between Jews and people such
as Tobiah, treating the latter as non-Jewish. 49 (Other Jews considered
Tobiah Jewish: he even married into the family of the High Priest.)
Behind these walls, Nehemiah enacted an egalitarian regime: He
promoted the cancellation of debts and redistribution of land (Chap-
ter 5), and favored the Levites against the priests, making the former
guardians of proper practice in the Temple (13:29-31). A poll tax was
to pay for public sacrifices, making all equal partners in the privilege
of bearing that expense (10:33-34), while the chore of supplying wood
for the altar was assigned by lot (10:35), another means of ensuring
equality of obligation. All these are classic features of enclave cul-
tures, characterized by a high wall dividing members off from outsid-
ers, but relative egalitarianism within (high group, low grid). 50
Priests of Nehemiah's day, as one might guess, were not partisans

48 See EJ. Bickerman, "The Generation of Ezra and Nehemiah," Studies in Jewish

and Christian History, Part Three (Leiden, 1986), 299-326. On the crucial role of diaspo-
ra living in forming national identity see B. Anderson, "Exodus," Critical Inquiry 20
(1994), 314-327.
49 Compare the purification effected by the Maccabees after their victory over the

reforms of Antiochus IV. One old name for Hanukkah is the festival of purification.
See 2 Mace. 2:16.
00 Egypt of Nehemiah's day, adjacent to Judea and under the same imperial

regime, as we learn from Herodotus in particular, was characterized by a similar

hatred of foreigners. See above nn. 14 and 15. As Herodotus summarized matters,
Egyptians followed their own customs, adding no others (Hdt. 2.79), with a particu-
lar distaste for the ways of the Greeks (Hdt. 2.91). Some of these attitudes continued
down in the ancient period. For Josephus, when Apion criticized the Jews for slaugh-
tering domestic animals, he was betraying his Egyptian birth (Ag. Ap. 2.138).
For discussion and bibliography of these Egyptian matters see P. Galpaz-Feller,
"The Stela of King Piye: A Brief Consideration of 'Clean' and 'Unclean' in Ancient
Egypt and the Bible," RE 102 (1995), 506-521. I owe the idea of comparing Herodo-
tus's Egypt to Nehemiah's Palestine to a suggestion of Dr. Robert Meyer of Heidel-
berg.
142 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

of his reforms. Their behavior did not accord with the standards he
imposed; the grandson of the High Priest was married into family of
Sanballat (13:28), while the High Priest himself was related to the
Tobiads (13:4). The enclave mentality which Nehemiah was promot-
ing was uncongenial to members of a hereditary hierarchy, who saw
the local aristocrats of the neighboring peoples, rather than fellow
Jews of all ranks as their natural allies. Nehemiah's economic policies
were effected at the expense of the established upper classes. 51 We
thus should not be surprised to learn that they did not long outlive his
departure. Soon after his second term was over, the governor of
Judea was consulting with the sons of Nehemiah's arch enemy, San-
ballat of Samaria, on religious matters affecting the status of the
Jewish temple at Elephantine (P. Cowley 30).
While the exact path is uncertain, due to the lack of evidence, the
centuries after Nehemiah saw increasing acceptance of his perspec-
tive. The zenith of the enclave culture was reached at the time of the
conquest of Jerusalem by Antiochus In, ca. 200 BeE. Antiochus is-
sued a decree at the request of the priests (note that in case the decree
was violated the fine went to the priests), which highlighted the holy
character of Jerusalem and the enclave nature ofJewish life there as
a whole. A warning inscription stood outside the Temple area, cited
by Josephus:
It is unlawful for any foreigner to enter the enclosure of the temple
which is forbidden to the Jews, except to those of them who are accus-
tomed to enter after purifying themselves in accordance with the law of
the country. Nor shall anyone bring into the city the flesh of horses or
of mules or of wild or tame asses, or of leopards, foxes or hares or, in
general, of any animals forbidden to the Jews. Nor is it lawful to bring
in their skins or even to breed any of these animals in the city. But only
the sacrificial animals known to their ancestors and necessary for the
propitiation of God shall they be permitted to use. Any person who
violates any of these statutes shall pay to the priests a fine of three
thousand drachmas of silver (Ant. 12. 145-146).52

None of these provisions are explicitly mentioned in the Bible. They

were all part of an unwritten tradition imposed by priestly fiat. As

SI In 5: 14-19 Nehemiah must defend himself against the charge of having been

generous to the people only with the money of others.

52 The classic discussion of this passage remains EJ. Bickerman, "Une proclama-
tion seIeucide relative au temple de Jerusalem," Studies in Jewish and Christian History
Part Two (Leiden, 1980),86-104.
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 143

such, they are among the oldest post-Biblical halakhot known. 53

Native lay worshippers, as well as foreigners, were regularly ex-
cluded from the most sacred areas of Near Eastern temples. Impure
visitors, native as well as foreign, were not allowed to enter the sacred
space of Greek temples, but once purified all could enter. The situa-
tion at Jerusalem, however, was unique. Access by the native was
restricted, but the foreigner was permanently banned; he could do
nothing to purifY himself and join the natives permitted inside.
Hence the need for a warning inscription, informing the foreigner
that no means were available that would allow him to enter. 54 Fur-
thermore, the priests of the era of the Seleucid conquest applied the
principles of the enclave to the animal world as well. Nothing else
can explain their insistence, so puzzling in any other terms, that only
sacrificial animals be allowed into Jerusalem. 55
The national enclave culture was not to fare well in the second
century BCE, as its walls were under constant attack from different
directions. The decrees of Antiochus IV (1 Mace. 1:44-50) took dead
aim at the practices separating Jews from their neighbors. The hel-
lenizers, who collaborated with those decrees (at the very least) also
believed that regulations separating Jews from others were a source of
calamity (1 Mace. 1: 11). Perhaps these regulations were especially
vulnerable to criticism, because, as noted above, crucial aspects of
these rules were not to be found in the Bible; they could thus easily
be represented as innovations, subject to reform. Others of these
precepts had not been observed by the Patriarchs, or by Jacob's
sons,56 so their abrogation could be portrayed as a return to the
"true" religion of the fathers. 57 Whatever the case, Alcimus, who was
installed as high priest after the repeal of Antiochus's reforms (1
Mace. 9:54-56), started tearing down a wall in the Temple, that was
alleged to have been ancient and the work of the prophets. The

53 See Bickennan, "Proclamation," 92. See Sanders,]udaism: Practice and Beliif, 72-
76, and Klawans, "Notions," 297-299.
54 I pass over the extensive discussion in the literature concerning the reasons that

foreigners could not enter. See the previous note.

ss See the parallel regulations in 11 QT47, and the recent identification of a new
passage of that section of the Temple Scroll in E. Qimron, "The Chicken, The Dog
and the Temple Scroll-llQT' (Col.XLVIII)," Tarbiz 64 (5755), 473-475 [in He-
brew].
56 Who took foreign wives (e.g. Judah, Gen. 38:2), and who ate gentile food with
gentiles (Jacob's sons in Joseph's house, Gen. 43:32; on this verse see above, n. 15).
57 See EJ. Bickennan, The God of the Maccabees (Leiden, 1979), 114.
144 ALBERT 1. BAUMGARTEN

function of the wall is not specified, but at least some scholars have
concluded that it was the wall that cordoned off the area prohibited
to non-Jews. 58 The effect of Alcimus's actions, had they been com-
pleted (according to 1 Macc. he was prevented from accomplishing
his intentions by divine intervention), might thus have been to re-
move a barrier between Jews and non-Jews.
One might expect that the victory of the Maccabees in their suc-
cessful revolt and restoration of the traditional cult, would lead to a
reimposition and reinforcement of the national perimeter, the barrier
separating between Jews and non-Jews. Confirmation that these were
the expectations can be found in Maccabean propaganda, which
portrayed Simon as achieving these objectives, proclaiming that
Simon established peace and that in his time "every man sat under
his vine and his fig tree and there was none to make them afraid (1
Macc. 14: 11 )." Principal among those who might "make them
afraid," were the gentiles, and a zealous hatred of gentiles pervades 1
Macc. as a whole. 59 Furthermore, as the decree affirming Simon's
rule asserted, Simon "put the Gentiles out of the country," as well as
expelling the men in the citadel ofJerusalem, "from which they used
to sally forth and defile the environs of the sanctuary and do great
damage to its purity (1 Macc. 14:36)." Simon, in summary, according
to his supporters, "built the walls of Jerusalem higher (1 Macc.
14:37)," in every sense of the word.
In fact, however, Maccabean policy concerning the surrounding
culture was inconsistent. 60 While on some fronts they opposed prac-
tices associated too closely with the surrounding culture, the needs of
governing an independent state, playing the international game of
58 See the discussion in J. Goldstein, I Maccabees (Garden City, 1976), 391-393,

who rejects this conclusion.

59 This disdain towards non-Jews may help explain the response of the gentiles to

the decrees of Antiochus IV, which according to I Mace. I :41 and 2: 19 also required
them to desert their religions in favor of the new religion established by the king.
According to I Mace. I :43, "All the gentiles accepted the command of the king."
Non-:Jews, according to I Mace., are so far from real spirituality that they will even
give up their own religions at the slightest provocation.
60 Compare the two classic studies by EJ. Bickerman, "Genesis and Character of

Maccabean Hellenism," From Ezra to the lAst if the Maccabees (New York, 1962), 153-
165 and V. Tcherikover, Hellenirtic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia, 1959),235-
268. See also the recent summary, written from a different perspective than Tcheri-
kover or Bickerman, one that does not demand consistency of the Maccabees in all
aspects of their policy, and one less concerned with judging the Maccabean house as
a success or failure, U. Rappaport, "On the Hellenization of the Hasmoneans,"
Tarbiz 60 (5751), 447-503 [in Hebrew].
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 145

politics (in order to remain independent and flourishing), required

paying the price of adapting to the surrounding culture. 61 The ten-
sion between these objectives is already expressed in the decree con-
firming Simon's rule, quoted above, which praised him for his ac-
tions against the gentiles, but was formulated in Greek style, and was
based on the political ideology and practice of Greek democracy. 62
The double names, Hebrew and Greek, of the rulers of the Macca-
bean dynasty from the generation ofJohn Hyrcanus onward, as well
as the nickname adopted by Judah Aristobulus I-philhellen, "lover of
Greeks" -are further evidence of the forces pulling in the direction of
accommodation with the outside world. Independence was thus to
undermine the walls of the enclave at least as much as the confronta-
tion with Hellenism.
What then were those committed to the enclave culture to do?
How were they to respond to a challenge to the only way of life they
knew, one which embodied normality for them? At some point in the
second century BCE,63 the author of the Book ofJubilees restated the
61 I summarize here the argument of my essay "The Hellenization of the Has-
monean State," in H. Eshel and D. Amit (Eds.), The History qfthe Harmonean House,
(Jerusalem, 1995),77-84 [in Hebrew]. Examples of pagan practices oudawed by the
Maccabees as part of their campaign against foreign ways would have been the
"Knockers" and "Awakeners" in the Temple, mMaaser Sheni 5:15, as analyzed by S.
Iieberman, Hellenism in Jewish Palestine (New York, 1962 2), 139-143.
Perhaps the desire to defend Maccabean policy against the possible charge that
the dynasty was becoming "soft" in its opposition to the surrounding nations was
behind the role attributed to Nehemiah in the second letter at the beginning of 2
Macc., a work written in support of the Hasmoneans. Nehemiah, the builder of the
wall around the Jews, separating them off from the nations, was invoked as the
initiator of a festival commemorating the continuity of worship in the Temple, which
took place at the same time as the Maccabean holiday in honor of their restoration
of the Temple. This was an especially sensitive point: establishing a religious holiday
in honor of a human victory was imitating the ways of the Greeks (see Bickerman,
"Genesis and Character," 120-121), and thus ammunition for those who might
charge the Maccabees with having deserted the objectives for which they had origi-
nally fought. I cannot believe it accidental that it was precisely on this point that
Nehemiah was invoked as precedent, as if to say what we Hasmoneans have done is
no different, hence not problematic, but fully legitimate.
According to the letter at the beginning of 2 Macc., Nehemiah supposedly estab-
lished a library, asJudah had, a library which was a source of authoritative texts, on
which the recipients of the letter in 2 Macc. can draw, when and as needed. The
sense in which this imitation of Nehemiah was defensive is not yet clear to me.
62 Bickerman, "Genesis and Character," 157-158.
63 On the date of Jubilees, see above, n. 16. I treat Jubilees, as many scholars do,

as proto-sectarian, dating from a period in the second century BeE, just prior to the
rise of full-blown sectarianism, and sharing a number of crucial concerns with the
Qumran community, the calendar in particular.
146 ALBERT I. BAUMGARTEN

need for reinforcing the boundaries between Jews and other na-
tions. 54 His warnings, threats, and exhortations, however, went un-
heeded, with the external boundaries suffering further damage in the
course of the years. The matter was particularly acute after a success-
ful revolution had legitimated criticism of the regime and even active
resistance against it~after hopes had been raised high by Macca-
bean success, but that promise was not fulfilled, as the Maccabees
had to compromise with reality, as discussed above. 55 What options
remained? I suggest that at least some of those troubled by the situ-
ation responded by employing the "enclave repeater mechanism."
That is, due to their bias in favor of enclave culture, they coped with
the new situation by forming little enclaves, smaller and more secure,
to replace the larger national enclave threatened with disintegration.
These smaller enclaves were a means of protest against events on the
national scene, as well as a way of self-defense against what was
developing there. They are our sects. 55
The conclusion I propose finds explicit expression in one of the
images employed to express confidence and certainty in Thanksgiv-
ing Hymns, vi, 25ff. The sectarian who has found his true place felt
like "one who enters a fortified city, as one who seeks refuge behind
a high wall until deliverance comes." The community of the faithful,
in the language of Manual of Discipline viii, 7-8 is: "that tried wall,
that precious corner stone, whose foundations shall neither rock nor
sway in their place."57 Other foundations may have swayed uncom-

64 I leave full scale discussion of Jubilees as the last stand along the external,

national, perimeter for another place.

65 cr. W. Hunt, "Spectral Origins of the English Revolution: Legitimation Crisis
in Early Stuart England," in G. Eley & W. Hunt (Eds.), Reviving the English Revolu-
tion~ Riflections and Elaborations on the Work of Christopher Hill (London/N ew York,
1988),318-322,324-327. British kings, fromJames Ion, had to cope with the raised
expectations of thoroughgoing Protestant reformation, ideals which they usually
shared in part, but with which they had to compromise in order not to antagonize
conservatives and disrupt social life. When Charles I adopted an anti-Puritan strat-
egy, at a time when disasters plagued his country, it led~ultimately~to the consoli-
dation of opposition, and to the loss of political legitimacy, which brought about the
great political and religious changes of the seventeenth century. The sectarianism of
seventeenth century Britain was among the results of this sense of disappointment.
66 For application of the theoretical framework of enclave cultures to analysis of

modern Jewish, Christian and Moslem fundamentalist movements see Sivan, "The
Enclave Culture." In the examples studied by Sivan, the changes associated with
modernity are the cause of the rise of these enclaves.
67 The end of this passage is a quotation from Isa. 28: 16. On these two passages

in general see J. Licht, The Rule Scroll (Jerusalem, 1965), 175 [in Hebrew].
 A SECTARIAN'S FOOD AND ITS IMPLICATIONS 147

fortably as a result of events in the second century BCE, but this one
will not. As a result of these processes the forbidden food of the
outsider, with whom commensality was restricted, became the food
of other non-sectarian Jews.

Conclusion

The approach taken in this article, I submit, allows a clearer under-

standing of one reason68 for the formation and flourishing of Jewish
sects in the Maccabean era. It focuses on the new set of outsiders
created by the sects, who were marked as such by the rules of sectar-
ian food consumption. A comparison of boundary marking of sects
with that of non-sectarian Jews reveals a contrast, which then leads to
a set of historical circumstances which clarifY the connection between
context and consequence, helping explain why ancient Jewish sects
flourished at the time they did.
All this was possible because the inquiry began with the food of a
sectarian, strategically located at a point of intersection of self and
body. Given the role of food and commensality in these contexts, this
result should not be surprising.

68 Having begun this article with a critique of others who were not specific enough
in their explanations of the rise of ancient Jewish sectarianism, I would insist that a
complex social phenomenon of this sort must have more than one cause.
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER IN
RABBINIC ANTHROPOLOGY

Aharon R. E. Agus

Searching for a "Rabbinic anthropology," one stumbles in vain if one

follows the crudely paved path that leads through a countryside of
philologically considered landmarks-of exact words such as "body,"
"soul," or "self'; let alone if one were to follow a map of abstractions
such as "personality," "dualism," or "monism." In the first case one
is liable to find everything-for example, everything from birth to
burial, and the perception of little more than the prejudice of wordi-
ness that one was aware of at the very outset. In the case of "soul,"
for example, a critical analysis gives rise to the suspicion that one
finds very little, because even the mere use of this word for the
Hebrew neshamah or neflsh is highly questionable. More important is
the likely possibility, in my opinion, that even the Hebrew words had
often already succumbed to an opacity through cultural universaliza-
tion in the Hellenistic world before the authors of the talmudic and
midrashic texts incorporated them into carefully formulated texts
whose exactness was measured in the ability to conjure up, for the
circle of the interested, the person or persons "described," rather
than in their abstract precision.
Taking these hesitations into consideration one will not, perhaps,
be totally surprised by the methodology followed in this paper. The
texts chosen for study here constitute a genre of Rabbinic literature
wherein "legend" and "biography" do not seem to be separable. And
their connection to a "historical person" will no doubt be questioned
by some. My assumption is that when the "person" who emerges
from the working out of various sources coalesces in an organic per-
sonality, one can speak of an interrelatedness of these sources, of a
fairly single, if philologically illusive, "hermeneutic biography." (This
is the theme of a volume of mine that is to be published in the near
future.)
The "persons" whom this hermeneutic biography adumbrate-in-
terpret are "R. Eleazar, the son of R. Shimeon ben Yo}:lai, and his
wife." As historical persons they were active during the end of the
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 149

second century and the beginning of the third. While I personally

think that the henneneutics contained in the texts concerning this
pair do indeed go back to a circle centering around them as actual
people, this conviction is not the focus of this paper.
R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon was appointed to be in charge of forced
laborers. One day Elijah, remembered for the good, came to him in the
person of an old man. He (Elijah) said to him (to R. Eleazar): Prepare
an animal for me. He (R. Eleazar) said to him: And what do you have
to load (on the animal)? He (Elijah) said to him: This, my worn-out
water bag and this, my cloak, and (myself)-to ride. He (R. Eleazar)
said: Look at this old man! I (myself can) carry him and bring him to
the end of the world, and he says (to me), Prepare an animal for me!
What did he (R. Eleazar) do? He lifted him (Elijah) onto his shoulders
and began going up hills and down valleys and passing through fields of
thorns and fields of thistles. Then he (Elijah) began to make himself
heavier on him (on R. Eleazar). He (R. Eleazar) said to him: Old man,
old man, make yourself lighter, otherwise I will throw you off. He
(Elijah) said to him: And would you like to catch your breath a little bit?
He said to him: Yes. What did he (Elijah) do? He brought him into a
field and sat him down under a tree and gave him to eat and to drink.
And after he (R. Eleazar) had eaten and drunk, he (Elijah) said to him:
What does all this running-around give you, would it not be better for
you to take up your fathers' profession (to study Torah)? He (R. Elea-
zar) said to him: And can you teach me (Torah)? He (Elijah) said: Yes.
And some say that Elijah, remembered for the good, spent thirteen
years teaching him until he (R. Eleazar) could say the Pentateuch. l And
once he (R. Eleazar) was able to say the Pentateuch, so it is told, even
his cloak was too much for him to carry.
(Pesikta de-Rav Kahana, be-Shalah, ed. Mandelbaum, pp. 196-198)
This version includes, in a composite story, elements that are told
elsewhere as three stories:
1. R. Eleazar's appointment by the authorities "to be in charge of
forced laborers" seems to parallel a story found in the Bavli, the
Babylonian Talmud. (BT Bava Mezia 83b-84a)

1 Sijra, literally, "the book." B. Mandelbaum, in his edition of the Pesikta de Rav
Kahana understands this to refer to the Sijra, a tannaitic midrash to Leviticus. How-
ever, this is not necessitated by the context here. The parallel in Song of Songs
Rabba (to Song of Songs 5: 14) refers merely to "Torah" in general. The story
immediately following this one in the Pesikta (p. 198) has a similar theme and also
speaks of "the book." The context there clearly implies the meaning of "the book" as
the basics of the Torah, that is, the Pentateuch. The implication, here, then, is the
tremendous effort that was necessary for Elijah to bring R. Eleazar to the basics.
150 AHARON R.E. AGUS

R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon (ben Yo1).ai) met a certain official who was
arresting thieves .... The story (about R. Eleazar's advice to the "certain
official") came to the attention of the authorities who said: Let the
author of the idea be its executor! R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon was
(then) drafted and he proceeded to arrest thieves. R. Joshua ben Kor1).a
sent him a message: Wine-vinegar (literally, "vinegar the son of wine,"
that is, the unworthy son of an illustrious father)! How long will you go
on handing over the people of our God to execution! (R. Eleazar) sent
him in return: I am removing the thorns from the vineyard. He (R.
Joshua) sent him in return: Let the owner of the vineyard come and
remove his thorns. One day a certain launderer accosted him (R. Elea-
zar), calling him: Wine vinegar! He (R. Eleazar) said: If he (the laun-
derer) is so insolent, he must be an evil person. He (R. Eleazar) said to
them (the authorities): Arrest him. He (the launderer) was arrested.
After he (R. Eleazar) had calmed down, he followed him (the launderer)
in order to free him, but could not. He (R. Eleazar) recited, concerning
him (the launderer): "Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth
his soul from troubles" (Proverbs 21 :23). He (the launderer) was hung.
He (R. Eleazar) stood under the gallows and wept. Some people said to
him: Rabbi, do not be saddened, because he (the launderer) and his son
fornicated with a newly-married maiden on the Day of Atonement. He
(R. Eleazar) put his hands on his innards; he said: Rejoice, my innards,
rejoice! If your uncertainties are so (that is, they turn out to be "certain-
ties"), how much more so your certainty. I am assured that worms will
have no dominion over you. Nevertheless, he (R. Eleazar) was not
calmed. He was given a sleeping-potion and was taken into a marble
room where his belly was cut open. Basketsful of fat were removed from
him and were placed in the sun during the heat of the summer; and
they did not putrefy.... He recited, concerning himself, "my flesh also
dwelleth in safety" (Psalms 16:9b). And nevertheless 2 R. Eleazar ben R.
Shimeon did not rely on his judgment. 3 He accepted sufferings upon
himself. In the evening sixty pads would be placed underneath him; in

2 This refers back to the story before, in Bava Mezia 83b. However, in my opin-
ion, it does not follow the episode of cutting-out the Rabbi's fat but rather parallels
it; see my interpretation below. Accordingly, "and nevertheless" means, despite R.
Eleazar's reception of the information concerning the fornication by the launderer
and his son. See also the following note.
S Literally, his "mind" or "knowledge" or "opinion." I have translated it as 'Judg-

ment" in order to refer it back to the incident with the launderer (see the previous
note). The variant reading (see Dikdukei Sqferim [DDS]), " ... on his judgment (or, "on
himself' see DDS), saying: Perhaps, Heaven forbid, such a thing happened to him
(R. Eleazar?) (or "he did such a thing"), seems to mean that R. Eleazar is openly
entertaining the terrifYing thought that he has been responsible for the murder of an
innocent man. This would support reading the next story as paralleling the telling in
83b and following immediately upon the incident with the launderer.
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 151

the morning sixty measures of blood and pus' would be taken out from
underneath him. On the morrowS his wife would prepare for him sixty
kinds of porridge which he would eat, and he would then regain his
strength .... In the evening he would say to them (to his sufferings): My
brothers and my friends, come to me! In the morning he would say to
them (to his sufferings): Go away!-in order that he should not be kept
from studying Torah. One day his wife overheard him. She said to him:
You are bringing them (the sufferings) upon yourself] You have squan-
dered my dowry! She left him and returned to her family. . ..
In the Bavll~s story R. Joshua ben KorQa explicitly delegitimizes this
cooperation with the authorities. In the Pesikta there is also a distaste
for partnership with the authorities, although the denial of its legiti-
macy is not as sharp. Elijah indeed intervenes in the "biography" of
R. Eleazar at this particular point, but it is not certain that this
adventure in "administration" is anything more than a "final straw"
-indeed, here there is no mention of execution as there is in R.
Joshua ben KorQa's sharp statement in the Bavli.
In the Pesikta the stress is rather on the idea that such a partnership
with the authorities is totally antithetical to the "profession" of R.
Eleazar's "fathers"-the learning of Torah. This is both because the
authority of Torah is here conceived as delegitimizing that of the
persons who appointed R. Eleazar to his post with forced laborers,
and even more so because the entire dimension of strength and
power is being reevaluated here. Thus, while both the Bavlz~s story as
well as the one in the Pesikta are concerned with R. Eleazar's finally
aborted partnership with the authorities, the Bavll~S focus is on the
continuation of the Rabbi's "biography" after facing up to his pro-
found change of heart, while in the Pesikta we are concerned with
the actual confrontation of two forms of strength: In his appointment
R. Eleazar uses his prodigious physical strength both as hard labor

4 Literally, ulceration. One or two variants (see DDS) do not read this word.
However it is undoubtedly correct and is meant to conjure up a defmite sense of
repulsiveness: See Shabbat 62b on Isaiah 3:24, "And it shall come to pass, that
instead of sweet spices there shall be rottenness; And instead of a girdle, rags; And
instead of curled hair, baldness; And instead of a stomacher, a girding of sackcloth;
Branding instead of beauty." The Talmud reads: "Rava said: That is the expression
that people use, 'Ulceration (ugliness) in the very stead of beauty'." And see my
discussion below.
5 The literal translation of the printed text would be "on the next day," implying
a description of a one-time event. However, it is clear from most of the variants (see
DDS), as well as from the context, that a daily series of events is being described. I
have used, therefore, the continuous form throughout.
152 AHARON R.E. AGUS

and to feed the more enveloping strength that is the power of polity,
while under the tutelage of "Elijah" the Rabbi turns that same
strength to the study of Torah instead.
2. The descrption of R. Eleazar's physical strength is paralleled by
another story found in Pesikta de-Rav Kahana (ibid., p. 194-195):
When R. Eleazar felt insulted by the comments of some donkey-
drivers concerning his huge appetite, he retaliated by single-handedly
carrying their donkeys up onto the roof Upon hearing the com-
plaint, his father R. Shimeon ben YoJ:!ai-after scolding the drivers
for insulting his son-sent word to the young man to bring the don-
keys back down. "When he (R. Eleazar) carried the donkeys up, he
carried them one by one; but when he carried them down he carried
them two at a time." In our composite story in the Pesikta the huge
strength of the Rabbi is caricatured through the machinations of
"Elijah" who is carried around and afar as if the Rabbi himself were
a beast of burden. There is clearly a confrontation here of "before"
and "after," of physical strength before the revelation of Elijah, and
its "weakening" in the labor of studying Torah after Elijah brings
about change in the Rabbi. Thus strength is separated from its con-
nection to power-the Rabbi is no longer partner to the authorities,
and that strength undergoes a transformation; it is used for Torah
and is perceived as a physical weakening.
3. The story according to which R. Eleazar was seemingly com-
pletely ignorant of Torah as a young man is not known elsewhere.
The Bavli, in fact, tells this about R. Eleazar's son:
Rabbi (Judah ha-Nasi) happened to the place where R. Eleazar ben R.
Shimeon (had lived). He said to them (the inhabitants): Did that right-
eous man leave a son? They said to him: He left a son; and prostitutes
who themselves get paid two (coins), are willing to pay him (the son)
eight! ... (BT Bava Mezia 85a)
The Bavli goes on to tell how Rabbi Judah ha-Nasi arranged for the
son's education so that finally he too became a rabbi. Whatever the
relationship of the two stories, it seems clear that the description of
the young R. Eleazar as ignorant of Torah is, even if not influenced
by the son's career, not based on the simple facticity of his own
biography. 6
6 There are clear traditions that R. Eleazar was already considered to be a scholar

through the education he received from his father, R. Shimeon ben YoJ:!ai. See, for
example, PT Shabbat 10:5 (l2c), Sukkah 45b, and Bava Mezia 84b.
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 153

The story-teller in the Pesikta, rather, continues interpreting R.

Eleazar's life-story, constructing his "biography" within the scheme
of interpretation that we are discussing here. The meaning of Elijah's
educating the Rabbi means, then, re-education: R. Eleazar is per-
ceived as going through so deep a trauma in his turning-away from
an understanding that legitimates partnership with the authorities,
and casting his career as one who studies Torah in such a new light,
that it is as if he were veritably starting anew. In a sense then, R.
Eleazar emerges completely anew as a Torah scholar and as a right-
eous person out of the events that are interpretatively delineated in
the stories we have discussed. And the fact that it is "Elijah" who
brings this about adds to the sharpness with which this change is
perceived.
4. Both the Bavli (Shabbat 33b) and the Yerushalmi (PT Shevi'it 9:1,
38d), as well as the Pesikta de-Rav Kahana (ibid., pp. 191-193), preserve
a tradition that tells of R. Eleazar's father, R. Shimeon ben Yo}:tai,
sitting in a cave for thirteen years. While the Yerushalmi does not
mention R. Eleazar, the Pesikta-though representing the same Pales-
tinian tradition as the Yerushalmi-does, as does the Bavli. The latter
tells that throughout their stay in the cave the father and son studied
Torah. Furthermore it relates that after twelve years Elijah brought
the information that "Caesar has died and his edict (sentencing R.
Shimeon to death for speaking out against the empire's legitimacy) is
annulled." Whereupon the two leave the cave, only to be ordered
back by a "divine echo" because their view of the world was so
intolerant that "wherever they looked (with scorn) was immediately
burnt." They remain in the cave for another twelve months, and
then finally leave for good. Upon leaving, "whatever R. Eleazar
would scourge, R. Shimeon would heal. He (R. Shimeon) said to him
(R. Eleazar): My son, you and I are sufficient for the world." The
Babylonian and Palestinian versions 7 agree on the number thirteen,
connecting the story of the cave to the one in the Pesikta where Elijah
teaches R. Eleazar for thirteen years, despite the fact that the Yeru-
shalmi does not mention the son; the Bavli connects the cave to the
learning of Torah and to Elijah, strengthening the connection to our
composite story. It is not difficult to discern the mythological motif of

7 MS Munich 95 alone reads "thirteen" years for the first part of the sojourn in
the cave. This, too, would be sufficient to connect the stories, but it would seem that
this reading is late.
154 AHARON R.E. AGUS

death and rebirth in the story of emerging from a cave after thirteen
years, which connects to the perception of R. Eleazar's completely
new beginning after the events which Elijah thrusts into the past with
so much effort, in our composite story.
While it is difficult to determine, here, what in the story of the cave
is woven around an interpretation of the remembered personality of
R. Shimeon ben Yo~ai, the father, and what around that of R.
Eleazar, the son, we can at least interpret our composite story in the
Pesikta with the aid of those associations that strike us upon compar-
ing the related stories: Surely they are meant, in the story centering
around the son, to relate to his "biography" as well. This is not to say
that the composite story is composed of, or based on, the other story
or stories. I am merely taking as likely the assumption that the points
of contact in the father's stories relate (also) to the son-providing
these contacts illuminate what is actually in the stories concerning the
son himself.
Thus it would seem that the personality of R. Eleazar ben R.
Shimeon ben Yo~ai is being adumbrated in tradition as one that is
"reborn," or re-becoming, in a turning-away from the world: The
Rabbi turns his back on the partnership in polity with the authorities,
the "powers that be": his strength turns to weakness, his identity as a
Torah scholar is begun anew under the tutelage of Elijah who has led
him out of his erroneous being-in-the-world; just as in the Bavli,
Elijah announces the possibility of the father and son leaving the dark
depths of the cave-for the son, at least, a re-becoming into a seem-
ing rejection of the world. But this does not satisfactorily explain R.
Eleazar's "offering-up" his flesh in the stark sunlight that "proves" his
mettle as "not-rotting," nor his "calling upon himself' the bleeding of
the nights in order to dine splendidly on "sixty porridges" in the
daytime. We have yet to complete our "biography" ofR. Eleazar; for
this we must turn to yet more stories.
Immediately after the episode of R. Eleazar's cut-out fat, the Bavli
tells the following:
And the same thing happened to R. Ishmael ben R. Yose as well (he
was drafted by the authorities to participate in policing, like R. Eleazar
ben R. Shimeon). Elijah accosted him (R. Ishmael), saying: How long
will you go on handing-over the people of our God to execution! He (R.
Ishmael) said to him (Elijah): What should I do, this is a draft by the
authorities. He (Elijah) said to him: Your father escaped to Asia (Mi-
nor), you escape to Laodecea (in Asia Minor). When R. Ishmael ben R.
Yose and R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon would stand face to face, some
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 155

oxen could pass between them (under their bellies) without touching
them. A certain lady said to them: Your children are not your own!
They said to her: Theirs (the Rabbi's wives) is larger (or greater) than
ours. (The Talmud asks:) If so, then certainly! Some say that they (the
two Rabbis) actually said to her (the certain lady): "For as the man is, so
is his strength" Uudges 8:21). Some say that they actually said to her:
Love presses the flesh. (BT Bava Mezia 83b-84a)

Here again we are referred to the great physicality of R. Eleazar ben

R. Shimeon ben Yo}:lai. The "certain lady's" facetious comment on
the Rabbis' physique affords a definite opening-up of the erotic as-
pect of the body. The final answer attributed by some to the Rabbis,
"Love presses the flesh," leaves no room for doubt as to whether the
talmudic authors themselves recognized this aspect of the story. The
context of the verse in the book of Judges points to the manner in
which eroticism and physicality are discerned, in this "dialogue," as
an interpretative incident in the "biography" of R. Eleazar:
And he (Gideon) said unto Jether his first-born: Up, and slay them
(Zebah and Zalmunna, enemies of Israel). But the youth drew not his
sword; for he feared, because he was yet a youth. Then Zebah and
Zalmunna said: Rise thou, and fall upon us; for as the man is, so is his
strength. And Gideon arose, and slew Zebah and Zalmunna .... Uudges
8: 20-21)
Accordingly, when the Rabbis answer, "For as the man is, so is his
strength," a virility of forcefulness, even violence, is conjured up. The
key phrase for us, as we shall see, "Theirs is larger" or "greater than
ours," as the Rabbis are to have said concerning their wives, takes
on, then, a concomitant meaning. It does not mean, as the Talmud
may initially have thought (see Rashi), that the wives' bellies were
even bigger than that of the Rabbis, but rather that their sexual
virility was greater. Or, to work out the meaning of the dialogue: For
the "certain lady," the huge proportions of the Rabbis' bodies were
ungainly; she could not picture them as functioning in a manner
similar to her perception of humanity. The "certain lady's" esthetics
are those so brilliantly portrayed in the Greek statues of the era, and
in their Roman copies, where men and women are formed as the
upper-class liked to believe that they themselves should be: ideally
proportioned in an exquisite balance of shape, size, and sensual
fleshiness. As against a Greek statue, R. Eleazar and his friend R.
Ishmael must have looked grotesque. The Rabbis' answer represents
a very different conception of humanity. On the contrary: The fleshi-
ness of man, in all its imperfection, in its being antithetic to the Greek
156 AHARON R.E. AGUS

notion of the ideal, is precisely the reality in and through which the
vitality of man flows sensually and vigorously. The human flourishes,
not despite ungainly fleshiness, but precisely in it; the person is not
ungainly; rather he is this man or this woman, never a Greek statue.
We have a sense here of man embracing himself in all his humanity,
even in its most abject form. We are reminded of R. Eleazar ben R.
Shimeon ben Yol:J.ai who embraced the ugly gore and pus of the
night, saying, "My brothers and my friends, come to me!" (Bava
Mezia 84b)
However, we cannot ignore the undertone of bawdiness in this
scene of the meeting between the two Rabbis and the "certain lady";
a sense of distastefulness that is underlined in the contextual reading
of the verse in the book of Judges. The latter, as we have seen,
conjures up an eroticism of force. We may suspect that this story has
a double function: To contrast the anti-estheticism of R. Eleazar and
R. Ishmael with the estheticism represented by the "certain lady,"
and thus to be taken as a positive aspect of R. Eleazar-perhaps as a
further distancing from the authorities with whom he had previously
cooperated, and who could be assumed to be closer to the sensibili-
ties of the "certain lady" who is negatively portrayed here; but also as
inviting us to yet another contrast, whetting an appetite that is not
immediately satisfied in the straight unfolding of the text in the Bavli.
For the denouement of this particular expectation we have to skip to
the following page in the Talmud, to return to a story, or series of
stories, that we interrupted before: Mter R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon
dined on the "sixty kinds of porridge" prepared by the "sixty slaves
bearing sixty purses" sent by the "sixty seafarers," the following un-
folds:
One day, she (R. Eleazar's wife) said to her daughter: Go find out what
your father is doing today. She (the daughter) came. He (R. Eleazar)
said to her: Go say to your mother, Ours is larger (or greater) than
theirs. He read, concerning himself, "She is like the merchant-ships;
She bringeth her food from afar" (Proverbs 31: 14). (BT Bava Mezia
84b)
"Ours is larger (or greater) than theirs," in contrast to "theirs is larger
(or greater) than ours" which we read before (84a). This represents a
further development in the "biography" of R. Eleazar ben R. Shime-
on. Is this a reversal of the vector of human strength, a "victory" for
R. Eleazar as a self, or is this a new perception of the "ours" and the
"theirs"? The context of the verse in Proverbs gives, perhaps, a clue:
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 157

A woman of valor who can find?

For her price is far above rubies.
The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her,
And he hath no lack of gain.
She doeth him good and not evil
All the days of her life.
She seeketh wool and flax,
And worketh willingly with her hands.
She is like the merchant-ships;
She bringeth her food from afar.
She riseth also while it is yet night,
And giveth food to her household,
And a portion to her maidens.
(Proverbs 31: 10-15)

R. Eleazar perceives himself as in some way crossing over the line of

identity which separates him and his wife. Is this a strengthening of
himself at the expense of his wife, a sharpening of the enmity be-
tween the two, or does this perhaps presage a new sense of identity
that means their coming-together? The latter might seem unlikely at
this stage in the unfolding of our "biography," but both here in the
Bavli, as well as elsewhere, it can be discovered that the story of R.
Eleazar, the perception of his personality-by himself and by oth-
ers-in relation to an other, his wife, or others, is indeed not yet
completed (though a good deal of the material and discussion is
outside the scope of this paper). We now turn again to the Pesikta.
R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon became weakened and his arm was uncov-
ered and he saw that his wife was laughing and crying. He said to her:
By your life, I know why you smiled and I know why you cried. You
smiled, saying, How good was my lot in this world, it was good that I
cleaved to this righteous body. And you cried, saying, Woe that this
body should be going to worms. And so it is, I will die; but worms, God
forbid, they will have no dominion over me; except for one worm which
will make a hole behind my ear. Because I was once entering the
synagogue when I heard the voice of a certain man blaspheming; and it
would have been possible for me to do justice with him, yet I did not.
(Pesikta de-Rav Kahana, p. 198-199)
The "uncovering of the arm" is a Rabbinic motif that requires inter-
pretation:
Homa, Abbaye's wife, came (to court, following her husband's death)
before Rava (who sat as judge). She said to him: Fix an amount of
money for my food (to be paid to her regularly from Abbaye's estate).
Rava did so. (Homa then said:) Fix an amount of money for my wine.
He (Rava) said to her: I know that Nal,1mani (Abbaye's real name) did
158 AHARON R.E. AGUS

not drink wine (and his wife could not, therefore, claim that the stand-
ard of living to which she was acustomed with Abbaye included wine).
She (Homa) said to him: By the Rabbi's life, he (Abbaye) used to drink
in drinking horns like this. As she was gesturing in order to illustrate,
her arm was uncovered; the court-room lit up. Rava stood up, went
home, asked Rav I:Iisda's daughter (his wife) to come to bed. Rav
Hisda's daughter said to him (Rava): Who was in court today? He said
to her: Homa, Abbaye's wife. She (Rava's wife) went after her (Homa),
swinging the strap of a chest, until she had chased her out of all of
Mal:lOza, saying: You have already killed three men (Homa's previous
husbands), and now you want to kill another? (BT Ketubbot 65a)

And we find this same motif in another context as well:

R. Eleazar (ben Pedat) was weakened. R.Jo~anan came to visit him. R.
Jo~anan saw that the house in which R. Eleazar was lying was dark. He
(R. Jo~anan) uncovered his arm and the room was lit up. (BT Berakhot
5b)

R. Jo}:lanan was well-known for the beauty of his white skin. 8 In both
these stories-concerning Homa and R. Jo}:lanan-"uncovering the
arm" conjures up an intimacy of the flesh whose revelation is
marvelous. That a similar association is aimed at in the uncovering of
R. Eleazar's arm in the incident described in the Pesikta, is clear from
the continuation where the Rabbi's wife is to have recalled with joy
her having "cleaved to this righteous body." However, R. Eleazar's
"uncovering" while revealing otherwise covered fleshiness, does not
cause the "room to light up," that is, he is not described as possessing
the beautiful aura of skin that Homa and R. Jo}:lanan are said to have
had-in a later time. We have yet to complete the underlying net-
work of meanings that are the substratum of this story in the Pesikta.
It happened that Rabban Gamaliel,9 while standing on a step on the
Temple Mount, saw a pagan woman who was very beautiful. He said:

8 BT Bava Mezia 84a, and see context! While both the Babylonian Homa and the
Palestinian R. Joi.J.anan lived generations after R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon, my
assumption is that the literary traditions finally crystalizing after and around all these
personalities coalesce in similar and striking forms of description and expression. The
inter-textuality of their memories seems to indicate a shared network of associations
and meanings. My interpretation is borne out, I think, by the text in the Pesikta de-
R!J1) Kahana itself-as far as R. Eleazar is concerned. As for the incidents with Homa
and R. Joi.J.anan, this interpretation is unnecessary. In any case, my intention is at
least to underline and to amplify, to draw out the strikingness of the meager Rab-
binic texts that might go unnoticed to an ear that does not resound with its inter-
textuali ty.
9 Following the reading in the parallel in PT Berakhot 9:12 (l3b) and Avodah

Zarah 1:9 (40a); and see DDS.

 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 159

"How manifold are Thy works, 0 Lord! In wisdom hast Thou made
them all; The earth is full of Thy creatures" (Psalms 104:24). And R.
Akiva, too (had a similar experience), he saw the wife of the evil Tin-
neius Rufus. He (R. Akiva) spat, smiled, and wept. He spat because she
came from a stinking drop.1O He laughed because in the future she
would become Jewish and he would marry her. II He cried because this
beauty would be faded by the dust. (BT Avodah Zarah 20a)

This text confronts us, of course, with a reading of Psalms 104. If the
stories of R. Akiva and Rabban Gamaliel are connected through this
psalm,12 then we are perhaps, confronted with a controversy con-
cerning its meaning. But this would be possible to understand only
following the culmination of our discussion. What is manifest for us
here is the fact that the story about R. Akiva strengthens our line of
thinking which discerns in the Pesikta text concerning R. Eleazar a
reference in the "uncovering of the arm" to the revelation of beauty,
or of intimate fleshiness, that creates an expected, if unfulfilled, sense
of beauty: The story of R. Akiva connects the fear of the decay of
death-which we have in a similar, but not exact, form in the Pesikta,
to the presence of beauty, just as the "uncovering of the arm" by R.
Jo}:lanan in the BT Berakhot text has the association of uncovered
beauty. And in both the R. Akiva story as well as the one about R.
Eleazar, the "smiling"-of R. Eleazar's wife upon looking at his arm,
and of R. Akiva, upon looking at the wife of Tinneius Rufus-is
connected to marriage: In the former, R. Eleazar's wife is joyous that
she "cleaved to this righteous body," while in the latter, R. Akiva

10 Compare M Avot (3: I): "Akavyah ben Mahalalel says: Look at three things so
that you will not come to sin ... From where have you come? From a stinking drop.
And to where are you heading? To a place of dust and worms .... " If R. Akiva's
comment (see continuation) is meant to echo exacdy Akavyah's saying, then this
"drop," the "source" of the person, parallels his end of "dust," and both together
adumbrate his lowly nature in general. However, it seems more likely that R. Akiva
is referring here to this woman's "lowly birth" as a pagan. If the echo of Akavyah's
saying is then still taken into consideration, R. Akiva would be saying, as it were,
"This woman is really from a stinking drop"-thus suggesting, of course, a softening
of Akavyah's truth, as far as Jews were concerned.
II Neither PT nor BT record an actual marraige between the two; but Rashi,
Tosafot, and R. Nissim in BT Nedarim 50b, do-based, apparendy, on a midrashic
tradition.
12 See DDS for the reading (MS Yalkut), "And yet another story concerning R.
Akiva who saw the wife of the evil Tinneius Rufus," Instead of "And R. Akiva, too,
saw the wife ... " The two stories could be two separate sources, each ignorant of the
other; in which case it would be, without further proof, far-fetched to connect them
around a hermeneutics of Psalms 104.
160 AHARON R.E. AGUS

happily foresees his marriage with his enemy's wife. A pattern of as

yet undeciphered meaning seems to be coming into view. We will
now continue reading the text in Berakhot which we interrupted
before:
He (R. Jo}:lanan, after he "uncovered his arm and the room was lit up")
saw that R. Eleazar (ben Pedat), was crying. He (R. Jo}:lanan) said to
him: Why are you crying? ... He (R. Eleazar ben Pedat) said to him: I
am crying for this beauty that will fade into dust. 13 He (R. Jo}:lanan) said
to him: For this you certainly (should) cry. And they both cried. (BT
Berakhot 5b)

If we recall Homa, Abbaye's wife, we can catch a glimpse of the

fleeting intimations of this scene. Homa's sleeve dropped back, re-
vealing her arm, and a light fell upon the courtroom. Rava could not
remain indifferent to this and his wife, Rav J:Iisda's famous daughter,
chased the widow out of town for her behavior. The provocation of
the flesh, the frailty of humanity in being unwillingly moved by it,
and the energies of a suspicious wife create a picture whose bawdi-
ness cast the "uncovering of the arm" in a deprecatory light, where
fleshiness is almost, if not quite, chaos. In the Berakhot text the
"uncovering of the arm" is more convoluted; it contrasts to the dark-
ness of the room and to the plight of the sick R. Eleazar ben Pedat.
But when the latter points to the fading of the flesh, the confidence of
the Rabbi whose naked arm lit up breaks down into tears. Thus there
is an echo of the same deprecation with which we watched Homa,
but we are equally prodded to reconsider the scene in Rava's court-
room. Whatever the outcome of that story, here we are further diso-
riented by the richness of R. Eleazar's words, "I am crying for this
beauty that will fade in the dust." When R. Akiva is supposed to have
said something very similar concerning the beautiful wife of Tinneius

13 MS Munich 95 reads: "I see this beauty of yours and am crying that it will go
and fade in the dust." This reading makes R. Eleazar's answer directed toward the
tragedy of R. JoJ:!anan's flesh alone. The reading of the texts that 1 have translated
here is more subde, as it causes R. Eleazar's words to draw the two men into an
intimacy of mirrored fate. R. Eleazar weeps because of his own illness; this percep-
tion of human frailty confronts the comforting confidence of R. JoJ:!anan who asks
"Why are you crying?" and who was talked about because of the beauty of his skin,
with the irony of his own frailty; and this returns both men to the deep sadness of R.
Eleazar whose humanity is no less abject in the sense of its slipping away. R.
JoJ:!anan's following reaction is thus an awakening to the sharpness of truth that
occurs in R. Eleazar's suffering-an awakening into which he is prodded by R.
Eleazar's answer, whose object is not unambivalent, but whose accusing irony rever-
berates between the two men.
 TIfE FLESH, TIfE PERSON, AND TIfE OTIfER 161

Rufus, it was not clear whether this followed upon the Rabbi's spit-
ting, with the thought that the woman "came from a stinking drop,"
or upon his imagining that he would marry her just as the wife of R.
Eleazar ben R. Shimeon "cleaved" to her husband's body-or both.
He was, perhaps, indeed spitting and smiling and crying at one and
the same time.
The story of R. JoJ:tanan and R. Eleazar ben Pedat is thus striking
in the richness of its vibrations, especially if we listen to it with our
inter-textual sensibilities-which one canot help, if one allows oneself
to be drawn into the maelstrom of the talmudic text of associations as
it presents itself to one who knows it. Fleshiness and frailty, fleshiness
and "light," fleshiness and "beauty," fleshiness and tears, are im-
ploded together in a scene where one man bends over the bed of his
ailing student and friend in an isolation of darkness, where the two
men's physicality radiates a dialogue more of question than answer,
of wondering rather than of hope. This implosion of elements leads
our memory in the various directions of Homa, and R. Akiva and the
wife of Tinneius Rufus.
It is precisely in the story of R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon, in the
Pesikta de Rav Kahana, where his wife reacts as she does upon looking
at his naked arm, that these elements and vectors crystalize in a
structure of meaning that justifies our conviction of an infusion of a
dynamic network-even if subterranean-of associations. In this
story the moment of turning around serves as our center of under-
standing.
R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon ends his reading of his wife's thoughts
with: " ... And you cried, saying, Woe that this body should be going
to worms." And he continues immediately: "And so it is, I will die;
but worms, God forbid, they will have no dominion over me." Here
we have the essence of the pivotal energy hiding in our sources. The
person of R. Eleazar, confronted as a human being in the flesh, a
human body, is found precisely in becoming lost. Again, R. Eleazar ben
Pedat: He gives such poetic expression to a Rabbinic inability to
grasp the body in all its fleshiness, and yet a return to a final embrace
of that fleshiness. He brings R. JoJ:tanan, who at the outset cannot
understand why a sage of the Torah should weep over the fated
passing-away of all flesh, to shed tears. He brings R. JoJ:tanan to
embrace that so human "beauty," over which he, at first, could not
sorrow. He brings R. JoJ:tanan to mourn the passing of the flesh, a
fleshiness of naked arm and suffering friend and lightened dark room,
162 AHARON R.E. AGUS

precisely in the perception if its fading, the "beauty that will fade in the
dust" that is discovered as fading now in the illness of R. Eleazar ben
Pedat himself, and as the latter mirrors R. Jo}:lanan. Beauty alone
could not have risen to the surface of conversation between the two
Rabbis; and a mere fading of beauty would have been too matter-of-
fact to so deeply upset the two scholars. But when beauty is discov-
ered precisely in its slipping away, and the unbecoming that is time
caresses beauty, when bodiliness is revealed from darkness precisely
in its essence-not as moving into the future of plans and purpose
and freedom and hope, but rather in its passing into the past of
memory, in its unbecoming-then, and perhaps only then, could
these Rabbis embrace it in their mourning of its becoming lost.
The substratum of being, the stuff of living, of man, is not the
"Idea" whose shadow the person is, and it is not a future into which
man becomes; just as it is not a mere materiality whose sensuality is
an expression of the absolute power of a givenness or eternity of
matter. The stuff of being as a human is indeed a sensuality, but not
one of possession or of greed for more and into the future, but rather
a sensuality of nostalgia; not mere nostalgia of return, but rather a
sense of not being at home at the very moment of being at home, a
sense of yearning to return in the very moment of having-arrived.
Because having-arrived in the very moment of its apex itself is an
embracing of the slipping away of that which is embraced. Gain and
loss reveal each other in a sensuality that is a real being-in-the-world;
a being whose intensity is not the joy of success but the pain of
passing into losing. This is a sensuality whose very pleasure is pain,
whose pain is the very measure of its pleasure. Being is embraced not
as becoming, but as un-becoming.
If one feels uncomfortable with the richness of this phenomenol-
ogy in the story about R. Jo}:lanan and R. Eleazar ben Pedat, one is
drawn to the undeniable aspect of eroticism in the story about R.
Akiva. Again, not an eroticism which the Rabbis would have per-
ceived as wantonness and greed, but one in which R. Akiva could see
that the wife of the wicked Tinneius Rufus was beautiful and was to
be possessed by himself, by R. Akiva: A beauty that is already passing
into memory, an un-becoming, a "fading into the dust." One can
now understand how Homa and R. Jo}:lanan could both be perceived
as lighting up dark rooms with their naked arms. Homa's beauty
could be perceived in mocking it; while R. Jo}:lanan's beauty could be
seen in the embracing that mourned the plight of R. Eleazar ben
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 163

Pedat-and of R. Jol;tanan himself. Like the wife of Tinneius Rufus,

they are not beautiful in the actuality of a generous Greek Aphrodite,
or hermaphrodite, or athlete, but rather in the perception of their
being as un-becoming, of becoming into "was," of becoming into
having-been.
This is the unity of the meaning-structure in the incident where R.
Eleazar ben R. Shimeon's arm is undressed, in the Pesikta de Rav
Kahana. Let us now reread this story with new understanding.
"R. Eleazar ben Shimeon became weakened." Here we have an
aspect that clearly brings together several of the R. Eleazar cycle of
stories. In the Bavli (Bava Mezia 84b), R. Eleazar "accepted sufferings
upon himself' each night, and the loss of blood weakened him so that
each morning he would have to dine on "sixty kinds of porridge"
"and he would thus regain his strength." We might perhaps have a
parallel to this in the "basketsful of fat" that "were removed from
him" (ibid., 83b); the huge corporeality-strength of the Rabbi is
graphically taken out of him. We clearly have this motif in the story
in the Pesikta (pp. 196-198) where "Elijah" has R. Eleazar drag him
"up hills and down valleys ... ," finally making "himself heavier" on
R. Eleazar so that the latter had to stop and rest and refresh himself.
And the same story ends with, "And once he (R. Eleazar) was able to
say the Pentateuch, so it is told, even his cloak was too much for him
to carry." In all these instances this "weakening" is essentially con-
nected to the salvational experience. In the Elijah story R. Eleazar's
(new) learning of Torah is the reverse side of his losing his strength:
Not so much as a sublimation as rather an antithesis of his previous
career: The "new" R. Eleazar-the one who now has his Torah from
Elijah himself-is not the once powerful young man who amused
himself by running ahead with the "old man" (Elijah) on his back,
looking for ever more hills to climb, but rather he is a fading R.
Eleazar, who still has strength-but whose strength is rapidly drain-
ing in the acquiring of Torah from "Elijah."
Torah here does not stand instead of strength; it is precisely R.
Eleazar's huge strength that fascinates Elijah and that marks the
Rabbi as the one who is to receive the Torah from the messianic
herald. 14 Rather, learning Torah is a physical strength of a different
order-one that weakens that strength for other things. If we put this
14 For the notion that physical prowess can be the same human stuff with which

the sage studies Torah, see BT Bava Mezia 84a in the story about R. JoJ:!anan and
Resh Lakish.
164 AHARON R.E. AGUS

together with our previous discussion (and avoid reading into our
sources a Freudian idea of sublimation alone), we can say: The self-
identity of the scholar of Torah is not as a would-be muscular Her-
cules, but rather as a human of frailty; it is the perception and em-
bracing of man in his imperfection. When we contrast R. Eleazar
after the long encounter with Elijah with the previous R. Eleazar, we
enter the dynamics of time: The powerful R. Eleazar is actually a
man fading into the memory of having been physically powerful,
although his calling now as a sage of the Torah is not an other-
worldliness, is not antithetical to his physicality. On the contrary, it is
precisely R. Eleazar's embrace of his fading physicality that enables
him to learn Torah anew. In other words, there is a "sublimation"
here; but not one where burgeoning strength is the virility of an
alternative activity, as Freud would have it. Rather, this is a "subli-
mation" that embraces the human energy in its fading, in its un-
becoming. This is a "sublimation" in its real physicality; but this is
also a "sublimation" where the person embraces his weakening
rather than rejoicing in his becoming. The study of Torah, then, is
the discovery of man in his frailty: Were man to deny that frailty, says
our story, we would not have man at all, and would therefore not
have Torah at all. How very different this discovery of man is from
the Greek discovery of man!
So, we have R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon who "became weak-
ened." That this is an embrace of himself in his weakening, his fad-
ing, and not merely an account of sickness, will be come clearer in
the continuation. But we must unfold this through the unfolding of
the story in the Pesikta itself.
"R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon became weakened and his arm was
uncovered." The numinosity of the "uncovering of the arm" as we
have discussed it, and its denouement in the present story, makes this
uncovering an offering of the flesh-not as a sacrifice to the godhead,
but as a moment of efficaciousness around which the whole story
revolves. I think that we would not be at all wrong in reading in it an
echo of R. Eleazar's flesh, or fat, being placed in the shining light of
the "sun during the heat of the summer" (BT Bava Mezia 83b) as an
ordeal. The efficacy of both is similar. In the Bavli it is an ordeal
expressing the conviction that R. Eleazar's flesh will never rot, that
"worms will have no dominion" over it; and here in the Pesikta the
glimpse of the Rabbi's naked flesh by his wife becomes, as R. Eleazar
sees her, a recognition of her love for him, and it becomes, finally, for
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 165

the Rabbi, the proper moment of conviction that, though he will die,
"worms, God forbid, they will have no dominion over" him.
" . .. and his arm was uncovered and he saw that his wife was
laughing and crying." It is important that the incident here is con-
ceived as a scene where there is not only phenomenon but perception
as well; there is an exchange between a person living something and
another person perceiving and reacting to that living. The implicit
subject at hand is the "embracing of the human," and the phenom-
enology of interpersonal relationship contributes to the story's being
more than mere narcissism. Actually the story could never be a nar-
cissistic one because it is not an infatuation with one's own beauty, or
with beauty at all, but rather an obsession with one's imperfection, it
is imperfection that is embraced. Imperfection is first perceived in
others, or in oneself as over against others. The embrace of imperfec-
tion is the embrace of all men who are imperfect; it cannot be an
infatuation that is blind. One must really see imperfection in order to
embrace it; it is never a mere reflection in the fantasy of mirroring
waters. Our story would be more complete, of course, if the Rabbi
could have looked at his wife in the same way that she gazed upon
him.
If we connect this story to the one in the Bavli, where R. Eleazar's
wife has left him, we can see here not only R. Eleazar's wife gazing
upon him, but also a re-seeing, just as in the Elijah story we have a
re-becoming in the Rabbi who un-becomes. But even without this,
our story's meaning becomes manifest.
He (R. Eleazar) said to her (his wife): By your life, I know why you
smiled and I know why you cried. You smiled, saying, How good was
my lot in this world; it was good that I cleaved to this righteous body.
This is a central point in the entire R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon cycle:
Man's death does not delegitimate his having-lived. This is the real
meaning of his perception that "worms will have no dominion" over
him. R. Eleazar is not immortal; but, unlike other men whose body
finally turns out to be a stinking, rotting mass, R. Eleazar's body
never rots-his having lived and eaten and drunk, and having
cleaved to hs wife, is never revealed as anything unworthy or repul-
sive, not even in its slipping back into forgottenness, into the darkness
of being long abandoned, the abyss from which one turns one's face
in loathing. Upon seeing R. Eleazar in the wretchedness of his
"weakness" where even his nakedness is not a matter of his will-his
"arm" becomes passively "uncovered"-his wife rejoices at having
166 AHARON R.E. AGUS

"cleaved to" him. Thus, the frailty of the person never "rots," the
imperfection of the person is never loathesome. R. Eleazar's wife
embraces him in his fading, just as he called upon himself the painful
weakening in the night, which wracked his body and left him blood-
drained in the morning, saying: "My brothers and my friends, come
to me!" (BT Bava Mezia 84b). What an exquisite love of man in his
utter wretchedness! And in such love there can be no final revelation
that the person rots; there is no dominion of worms over him. R.
Eleazar embraces the abjectness of man in his fading, just as R.
Eleazar's wife rejoices in the discovery of the person in his fading into
memory. It is the frail R. Eleazar, the un-becoming R. Eleazar, the
"righteous body" that is R. Eleazar, that she has loved, so she realizes
now, not the R. Eleazar who was physically strong and a powerful
friend of the authorities and whom she saw as one who "squandered"
her "dowry" (ibid). If we return, for a moment, to Psalm 16, which
R. Eleazar quoted when he offered his flesh to the ordeal of the
midday light, we can add: The psalmist can say, "Keep me, 0 God!
for I have taken refuge in Thee," because God Himself embraces
man precisely in his wretchedness-this is the real person-just as R.
Eleazar and his wife have done.
We can understand this better by trying to grasp the model of
being that underlies the working-out by R. Eleazar of his own tortu-
ous odyssey. The starting point is man as he is, neither as a shadow
of perfection nor as a becoming-into-the-future. If one begins with
this integrated perception of man, then the sense of losing him, of
having him slip away, without any anchoring in a more manifest
fantasy of an "idea of man" or a hope of becoming, becomes urgent.
The experiencing of reality in which the hermeneutics of R.
Eleazar's personality is grounded is one of despair and thus passivity.
But this becomes, finally, neither a despair that is an inability of black
depression, nor a passivity that loses humanity. Rather, another sense
of human identity is fathomed out of the depths of suffering.
A more self-sufficient and confident experience of the person
would place the self in a more central position vis-a.-vis being. The
experience of being as a self would be virile, and time would be
experienced as a calendar of becoming into the future. Such a person
would be one who is taking the initiative of his living comparatively
into his own hands, planning and manipulating so that the expecta-
tion of the tomorrow is one of the person moving out to acomplish
his aims, rather than merely waking up to find that another unit of
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 167

time has passed. This is a comparatively self-centered view of reality,

and every "it" and "you" and "thou" are defined around the needs of
the person-moving-forward. Or, in more Platonic terms that might fit
better into a Greco-Roman world, one could say that the confidence
of living becomes a desire for the "ownership" of time itself-a fan-
tasy that it were good if one could grasp hold of time and somehow
bend it into an unending cycle where the person's sense of well-
being, and his delusion of being the best would-be master of events
and time, could remain unthreatened: A yearning for "eternity" as
one is, or as the Greeks, for example (at least the wealthy among
them) might have liked to think that they were, an inner core of
perfection and beauty untouched by the ugliness of reality, a "soul"
whose perfection could match the Greek esthetic of rhythm and
balance. Not a modem notion of "becoming," but rather one of
"eternity," of a confident sense of the self-in-the-world, phenomeno-
logically speaking, that is, nevertheless. IS This expresses a compara-
tive self-centeredness, a sense of activity versus passivity vis-a.-vis the
world-in-time.
In utter contrast to this, we have the identity of a person that
bleeds out of broken, or stunted, confidence. Here, the placing of the
self in the center turns out to be an absurdity. The biography of the
self as standing by itself would be a vanity that could only end in
disaster, where the blows of the world can only convince one of the
worthlessness of everything, especially oneself. If we express this in
terms of the "biography" of R. Eleazar we should say: R. Eleazar
attempted a career of initiative and power in his original acceptance
of partnership with the authorities. He attempted to act out a correct-
ing of the world, to be the Rabbi who would weed out the evil (BT
ibid. 83b) and thus move the world in a developing progress that
would be within the world's structure but move beyond it. A veritable
sense of power-within-the-world indeed. But this career collapsed
miserably with the suddenly dawned awareness that this power-
within-the-world meant power as the world dictated it-including

IS One must be ever so careful to distinguish between the way the person in the
ancient world may have understood himself on the level of the consciousness of
philosophizing and speaking and writing, and his actual experience of being-in-the-
world. As in all times, the ability to express one's experience is a function of lan-
guage---determined by the horizons of culture, philosophy, religion, and so on, of the
times. But the actual experience of living does not accept the tyranny that cultural
expression determines. The actuality of human experience is always infinitely deeper
and more complex than the mythographers of their civilizations like to think.
168 AHARON R.E. AGUS

violence and murder ("execution"-ibid.), the final and irreducible

hard reality of "order" and polity.
So R. Eleazar, as bursting as he may have been in talent and
strength, is catapulted, by self-knowledge and revelation of guilt, to
the non-world of the outcast: He becomes, self-consciously, a person
of despair rather than of hope, of passivity rather than of confidence.
He relates to his newfound identity as an outcast by embracing it, by
accepting upon himself sufferings. He is no longer a manipulating
"saver" of the world; he is now a sufferer of the world. He can no
longer place himself in a comparative center of the world; the world
rather beats against his suffering. For the person who does not have
the confidence of moving the world in some way, time is not a
calendar of becoming, but rather one of survival. Each passing day
reveals a remaining-alive despite the onslaughts brought by time,
rather than opening up a new morning for initiative and moving
ahead. Time is a passivity of being that is attacked, not an initiative
of becoming. Not only is this not a self-centered experience of reality,
it is one where the other, the "it," or the "you," or the "thou," loom
larger than the self. The "it" of the world and people is a constant
overpowering of the self; the "you" who is confronted in day-to-
dayness is more often than not oppressive and deeply insulting; and
the "thou" becomes a category without which there is no humanity
and living whatsoever-the self has been too enervated to supply
humanity. Precisely in the limiting of one's own becoming, one dis-
covers the "thou" of the other. Being-together with other "thous"
takes the place of sovereignty and ownership, of "individuality" and
power. And any yearning for eternalization of a beauty hiding some-
where within the hell of being-in-the-world becomes a fantasy of
horror: Breaking, shattering, apocalypse, are the messianic categories
rather than "eternity." "Resurrection" is a victory over real death
and total loss, a totally new rising up out of the grave, and not an
immortality of the soul where the seeds of eternity are already com-
fortably stored away in an untouchable treasury of the "soul"-hid-
den as they may be. Paradoxically, for the confident man, living is a
becoming, and life-after-death is a static situation; for the man of
despair, living is not even static, it is a falling backwards, while life-
after-death has to do with a new becoming, a "re-birth."
So we have R. Eleazar: The initiative of power has turned out to
be evil, the freedom of becoming is felt to be lost. The person as
"other" is discovered as looming, and the sharpness and greed of self
 THE FLESH, THE PERSON, AND THE OTHER 169

are softened: Man discovers himself as fading, as un-becoming; he

moves into an axis of time where being is a slipping out of the hands,
a passing into the past, not a becoming into the future, not a striving
for perfection. The person loved by God is discovered; that love is, as
it were, a shrinking of God Himself-God must blur Himself in
order to love this so wretched human.
Here it would be well to stress R. Eleazar's reading of Psalms 16:9
(BT Bava Mezia 83b). "Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory
rejoiceth; My flesh also dwelleth in safety." R. Eleazar discovers and
embraces himself in all his fleshiness, his imperfection, his un-becom-
ing, so that his flesh "does not putrify," so that the "worms have no
dominion" over him. But this is not merely anthropology; this is a
theological anthropology. For the next verse reads:
For Thou wilt not abandon my soul to the nether-world;
Neither wilt Thou suffer Thy godly one to see the pit.
The embracing of man in his wretchedness, in his un-becoming, is an
embracing of that person by God Himself, nothing less!
"And you cried, saying, Woe that this body should be going to
worms." As we have seen, the twofold nature of the woman's words,
of smiling and crying, encloses within it the turning point which is
the enlightenment that these stories evoke. It is precisely the percep-
tion that being is a vast pain of un-becoming, of fading, of "going to
worms"; a perception that this is living's exquisite sensuality, that this
is what real love is all about-the anguish of indeed losing. It is
precisely this revelation that, enables the woman's rejoicing that she
has "cleaved to this righteous body." The embracing of un-becoming
is here a Rabbinic salvation of sensuality; it is the discovery of a
sensuality that is undefiled by the rich Greeks' love of Aphrodite and
Adonis, of beautiful, sinuous, and voluptuous bodies that only their
well-paid sculptors could bring to such perfection, and that abandon
the naked and the hungry, the wretched and the ugly, to self-disgust.
Nietzsche would say that we have here an (attempted) undoing of the
Greek discovery of human esthetics, an (attempted) undoing of man
as he becomes "civilized," an (attempted) undoing of the man whose
(re-)discovery enabled the Rennaissance to paint people as it did.
R. Eleazar ben R. Shimeon ben yol:tai finally unfolds the moment
of his wife's perception: "And so it is, I will die; but worms, God
forbid, they will have no dominion over me." It is the very embracing
of the human as "going to worms," as the Rabbi's wife embraced
170 AHARON R.E. AGUS

him when she saw his naked arm, that saves man. Or to paraphrase
our cycle of stories-in a way that their tellers would probably have
rejected, because it blurs their truth: The person is certainly dying, he
is fading, but that need not mean a dominion of the worms; the
person is rotting, but he need not, even to the nostrils of God, stink.
That is why R. Eleazar could so luxuriously dine on his "sixty kinds
of porridge" which were finally served to him through the miraculous
(BT ibid.), without the disgusting image of devouring worms, as in
"he (Hillel the Elder)16 used to say: One who increases his flesh in-
creases worms" (M Avot 2:7).
Although we must add: " ... except for one worm which will bore
a hole behind my ear. Because I was once entering the synagogue
when I heard the voice of a certain man blaspheming; and it would
have been possible for me to do justice with him, yet I did not."
Perhaps that "certain man" was the unlucky launderer whose hang-
ing R. Eleazar caused because he could not control the rage that
burned the man's insults into his ears (BT Bava Mezia). Perhaps this
is the terrible injustice, the ')ustice" that R. Eleazar "did not,"
though it certainly "would have been possible" for him to do other-
wise. Perhaps, all of us, finally, do stink some, and when the laun-
derer called the great Rabbi, the son of another great Rabbi, "vin-
egar, the son of wine," the accusation of degeneration, of turning
sour, of rotting, really struck home very deeply to R. Eleazar's be-
ing. 17 And perhaps his entire career after that was an attempt to
escape the horror, the fantasy, of his own stinking.

[6 Despite the fact that Hillel appears here after a chronological listing of sages

ending with R. Gamaliel the son of R. Judah ha-Nasi (M Avot 2), Hillel the Elder is
meant. "Hillel says" in M Avot 2:4 is the beginning of another series which continues
in M Avot 2:8 with R. JoJ:1anan ben Zakkai, a student of Hillel the Elder. Compare
M Avot 2:6 with BT Sukkah 53a in the name of Hillel the Elder, and see Tosafot Yom-
Tov to M Avot 2:4.
[7 The parallel in BT Bava Mezia 84b tells the incident of the worm and the ear

differendy, in such a way as to make the recalling of the incident with the launderer
more unlikely. But perhaps this very fact marks the Pes/kta de-Rav Kahana version as,
in some way, more authentic. The followers of R. Eleazar might have attempted to
suppress condemnation of their Rabbi's past, even if he himself was tortured by
feelings of guilt to which he might well have given expression.
 FROM CORPSE TO CORPUS: THE BODY AS A TEXT IN
TALMUDIC LITERATURE

Nissan Rubin

Jewish society in the talmudic period tended to define clear cut be-
havioral borders for most human activity, with a minimum of transi-
tional situations (Rubin, 1987; Cooper, 1987). Purity and pollution,
sacred and profane, as well as permitted and forbidden food are
clearly defined (Douglas, 1973, 1966; Cooper, 1987; Eilberg-
Schwartz, 1990). It is reasonable to assume that the Talmud would
define clear boundaries between life and death with very limited
liminal states (Turner, 1967:94-95), or very limited periods oftransi-
tion. The Talmud is, after all, a legal text, constructed to exclude
vague and undefined states.

Both Hertz (1960 [1907]) and Huntington and Metcalf (1979) re-
mark that attitudes about death teach us about society's approach to
life. A world view about life can be studied through an analysis of
death customs. This paper focuses on the world view of Jewish sages
as it regards the nature of human life. The world view is addressed
through a discussion of the attitude of the sages toward dead human
bodies and the rules they promulgated regarding proper treatment of
the body after death. The source of these rules is the Talmud, and
midrashic literature. InJewish society, as in other societies, the fact of
death ruptures boundaries; the deceased crosses the border between
the living and the dead, and the living shift the confines of their social
status. They move from married to widowed, from parents to child-
less, from child to orphan. Van Gennep (1960 [1909]) has said that
rites of passage are mechanisms for crossing unseen social bounda-
ries; these are never natural, but are determined by society and cul-
ture. Even physiological events involving natural passage across clear
borders, from life to death, require social and cultural definition. It is
society, not nature, that creates the boundary between life and death.
172 NISSAN RUBIN

Society may treat the living as already dead, creating a state of "so-
cial death," a condition that is reported in modem society as well
(Sudnow, 1967:72-89; Mulkay, 1993). Hospital staff may treat termi-
nal patients as if they are already dead, beginning the routine for
removal of the body before actual death; or personnel of medical staff
may speak loudly in front of a patient in a coma about his/her
situation. In other cases, individuals who are biologically dead are
considered living until exhumation and reburial (Hertz, 1960 [1907];
Danforth, 1982).
Torah Law generally fixes the maximum period of defilement at
seven days. This is the case with the leper (Lev. ch.13), menstruating
women (Lev. 15: 19-30), and a person with a chronic discharge (Lev.
15:1-15). The same standard period applies to a person who touched
a dead body (Num. 19: 11). This pattern was adopted when the
seven-day mourning period was fixed (JT, Moed Katan 3:5, 82C;
BT, Moed Katan 20a). Mter the seven days are over the bereaved
are reintegrated into society.
Periods of transition are short and well defined. The rules of sepa-
ration during pollution are clear and create well-defined boundaries
between states. The following discussion of the approach to dying
will help to establish this point.

11

Dying is perceived by some as an intermediate stage between life and

death (Sudnow 1969). Where it is so perceived, dying appears to be a
liminal state between life and death. It is not yet death, yet not
completely life; it is simultaneously life and death. Yet, the sages did
not accept dying as a liminal state. Dying was a part of life. It was
recognized that most persons who appeared to approach death did
finally die (BT, Gittin 28a), nevertheless "a dying man is considered
the same as a living man in every respect" (Tractate Mourning 1: 1).
According to R. Meir it is forbidden to close the eyes of a dying man.
"Whoever closes the eyes of a dying man is considered as though he
has snuffed out his life" (ibid., 1:4).' This position reveals the sages'
view regarding human life: The fate of each person is in God's hands

1 Mishnah Shabbat 23:5 is more expressive: "It is the same as spilling blood."
Closing the eyes just before death makes the body easy to deal with after death, since
rigor mortis has not set in. See Sudnow (1967:74).
 THE BODY AS A TEXT IN TALMUDIC LITERATURE 173

and no person may intervene in any aspect of life. 2 According to

halakhah there is no process of dying, only a sharp transition between
life and death. 3 As a result of this lack of transitional period there is
no provision for social death. Thus, it is forbidden to dig a grave
and/ or to prepare shrouds, or any other action that society under-
takes for the dead. But it is not forbidden for an individual dying
person to prepare himself for his own death.
It is an attractive challenge to employ a structural theory here
attempting to connect changes in the actual treatment of the dead
body with changes in belief, and to connect both changes in belief
and treatment of the dead body with changes in social structure. In
fact, beliefs do seem to change along with social structure, but prac-
tices, at least those connected with the traditional treatment of dead
bodies among the Jews, do not (Rubin, 1997: 35-42). This may be
because practitioners and experts are a special group within the cul-
ture. Their practices are a response to technical and other require-
ments of their specific reality. Cultures take these practices and com-
bine them with their own dilemmas, rounding them off and
reforming them to suit the more general requirements of an entire
community or cultural system.
Let us put aside the question of the relationship between practice
and social structure for the moment, and address the question of how
the boundaries between life and death are reflected in the treatment
of the dead body.
The position of the sages regarding dying is parallel to their cos-
mology. That cosmology is revealed in their attitude toward the
body, which has been interpreted to symbolize their attitude toward
society (Douglas, 1973). Jewish society in the Land of Israel in tal-
mudic times was highly categorized, having a strict system of rules
that demanded loyalty and obedience. This is symbolically reflected
in the attitude toward the body, which is treated with dignity and
distance (Rubin, 1990:84-89), and is further reflected in the attitude

2 See Urbach (1975: Ch. 10) regarding the sages' position on the importance of
life. This position is reflected in the view regarding reproduction. According to R.
Eliezer, one who does not attempt to have children is "like one who sheds blood"
(BT, Yevamot 63b).
3 For example a priest who is not permitted to deflle himself by entering the house

of the dead, is permitted to enter the house of a dying person without consideration
of the possibility of pollution (Goren,1972;Jakobovitz,1954:123-125). There is, there-
fore, considerable emphasis in the law on the definition of death; see Rosenfeld
(1972/3), Levi (1972; 1971; 1969).
174 NISSAN RUBIN

toward the dying. He may not be touched, and not because of pollu-
tion; rather, the sages feared for the collective welfare because any
injury to him would symbolically affect the entire society. The indi-
vidual is subsumed into society; the collectivistic orientation of the
sages gives the individual little weight as an entity separate and dis-
tinct from society. Individuals, according to halakhah, have no rights
in their body or in the bodies of others. The ban on touching the
body and the loss of civil rights after successful suicide are means of
introducing and maintaining this view in the minds of the members
of society.
In the modem Western world view there is a strong tendency
toward privatization (Luckman, 1967); individuals demand rights
over their bodies, claiming autonomy over the routine of daily life.
This includes the right to suicide and the right to shorten another's
life by euthanasia. That means that the period of suffering of termi-
nal patients is perceived as a liminal state which may be shortened.
According to the traditional Jewish orientation, death is deter-
mined at the moment of physiological death, and dying is not a
liminal state. There is indeed a category of dying (gasses), but this is
meaningful only in a physiological and not sociological sense.
In the Western world view, the borderline between life and death
may be moved backward and placed anywhere in the liminal area,
eliminating the liminal (dying, but not yet dead) as a category. The
Western physician tries to prevent death at all costs and does not see
himself as participating in a process of dying. The physician deter-
mines the moment of death. Under certain circumstances society
may accept the right to die by eliminating the process of dying, such
as in the case of legitimate euthanasia and suicide. 4
The Jewish view of the status of the dying person as uncondition-
ally alive has halakhic consequences:
He may obligate to levirate marriage (as long as he is alive the widow of
his childless brother may marry only him), and he may release from
levirate marriage (if his father died without leaving other children, the
dying man releases his mother from the obligation to marry his uncle).
He may confer the right to eat the heave offering (if his deceased father
was a priest he confers upon his mother the right to eat of the heave
offering) .... He may inherit property and bequeath property. (Tractate
Mourning 1: 1, Zlotnik edition pp. 31 and 97). 5

4 On attitudes toward the dying in Western society, see Wong and Swazey (1981).
5 See Mishnah Ohalot 1:6 and Tosefta Eruvin 8:3.
 THE BODY AS A TEXT IN TALMUDIC LITERATURE 175

The entire system presents itself as a mechanism for eliminating

structural problems such as fuzzy categories and unclear roles. In the
case of the dying, one is alive for as long as one is not dead. The
dying person must deal with certain problems that are problems of
the living; these prevent the condition of the dying person from cre-
ating fuzzy categories and unclear roles for others. Paradoxically, a
dying man is asked to divorce his wife, rather than create a situation
in which she will have to await a decision regarding levirate mar-
riage. When liminality of the dying can be reduced it is done, but this
cannot result in leaving others in a similar state.

III

A mechanism which serves to blur liminality is the principle of conti-

nuity. The dying are expected to finish off all unfinished business,
both of a material and spiritual nature; to enter the world to come
with nothing left undone. The dying are questioned about debts and
family status; for example, if one is childless and death may require a
levirate marriage, he is asked to divorce his wife. This must be done
tactfully: "People visit him and are neither encouraging or discourag-
ing ... they speak to him about the things that must be settled." This
discussion should not take place in front of women and children "so
as not to break his heart" with their crying. Nor is it held with the
ignorant (am ha'are1z) who would not understand the possible halakhic
problems caused by his passing (Tractate Mourning, according to R.
Hiyyah 1: 1-2). Similarly, modem thinkers note that it is very impor-
tant for dying persons to complete their unfinished business so that
they can pass away with peace of mind (Kubler-Ross, 1970; Glaser
and Strauss, 1965).
Both traditional Jewish and contemporary Western approaches
blur the liminal state. They differ in that the traditional Jewish ap-
proach stresses the importance of the deceased's social obligations so
that society can maintain a clearly defined status for the living. The
Western approach stresses his right as a person to a peaceful end
without considering too much the needs of society. In Jewish tradi-
tion it is the society which is of major concern; its boundaries and
structures must be maintained. In Western society the individual is
the major concern; it is his self which must be clearly defined.
Dying is recognized as a process that exists on a biological level,
but it is rejected by Jewish tradition as a social category. The Jewish
176 NISSAN RUBIN

attitude toward confession reflects this as well. Confession of sin is a

private matter and a device by which the dying person settles his
business with the transcendental world. If the major rewards are in
the other world where the soul is destined, then confession is a nec-
essary preparation for that world, paying off any remaining spiritual
debts before death. Note that not everyone is advised to confess.
Confession is not recommended for the am ha'aret;:,. Those who are
asked to confess are told that not all those who confess necessarily
die, for "many who confessed (when they were ill) are walking (today)
in the marketplace" (Tractate Mourning, according to R. Hiyyah
1:2).6

IV

Society does not express the liminal state of dying. It has no need to
prepare itself for death. When a member of society dies the transition
for society is sharp. It is then followed by a short, intensive, liminal
state whose main feature is a gradual separation from the dead, that
modulates the abrupt transition from life to death. The strong oppo-
sition between life and death is mediated and moderated by a weaker
opposition between continuity and separation, bridging the hiatus in the
stronger opposition and enabling a smooth transition.
Treatment of the corpse reflects the gradual transition to death,
presenting both symbols of separation and symbols of continuity.
Upon death, the deceased's son or others close to him close the
deceased's eyes. This should take place immediately after death and
not a second before, for "he who closes the eyes of the corpse the
moment the soul goes forth, 10, this one sheds blood" (Mishnah,
Shabbat 23:5). Closing the eyes by a son is a symbolic act that reflects
both continuity and separation. The son declares himself the successor7
while separating the father from this world. 8 By separating himself

6 The idea of confession stems at least from the days of the Tanna R. Eliezer b.

Hyrcanus (second-generation of Tannaim, 90-115 GE) who said, "Repent one day
before you die" (Mishnah, Avot 2: 10). According to a later Tanna, R. Eliezer b.
Ya'akov (fourth-generation of Tannaim, 135-170 GE), his confession and repentance
will serve as his advocates on the day of judgment (Mishnah, Avot 4: 11).
7 On parallels in the Greek and Roman world, see Kurtz and Boardman (1971),
Toynbee (1971:41-43), and Zlotnik (1966:18).
8 It is forbidden to close the eyes of the dead on the Sabbath; they are not to be
touched (muktzeh) (Mishnah, Shabbat 23:5). Should the eyes be left open they may
remain so, due to rigor mortis. The following is the suggestion of one sage for dealing
 THE BODY AS A TEXT IN TALMUDIC LITERATURE 177

from his father the son maintains the continuity of the role of family
head.
The deceased undergoes a second series of treatments which re-
flect separation. "They tie the cheeks" (Mishnah, Shabbat 23:5) if his
mouth is open, "and they stop his bowels" (Tosefta, Shabbat 17: 18),
"in order that air should not enter" (BT, Shabbat 151b) and inflate
the corpse (Zlotnik, 1966:97-98). The corpse is completely sealed and
separated from the physical world. There can be no input from out-
side the body. The only unsealed orifice, the ear, cannot hear be-
cause it is forbidden to speak in the presence of the body (JT, Bera-
khot 3:1, 6b). Furthermore they remove the mattress from under it
on [cool] sand, so it will keep" (Mishnah, Shabbat 23:5). The body
can not be mistaken for a living person.
Other symbols and symbolic acts reflect continuiry as well. These are
treatments which, though done to the corpse, could be easily done to
living persons. "They anoint it and rinse it" (Mishnah, Shabbat 23:5;
Tractate Mourning 1:3). It was customary to anoint the corpse with
oil and then rinse with water, or vice versa. 9 (Note that this act is not
to purify the dead; neither biblical law nor the Talmud require the
purification of the dead (tahara). This obligation appears in later law.
Cisterns have been excavated in the Kings Tombs in Jerusalem
which may have been used for ritual bathing of the dead, but there is
no evidence that they were made for this purpose [Kon, 1947:34]).10
Anointment and washing are treatments done to the living. Since the
dead are indifferent to such treatment, these can not be instrumen-
tal acts. Yet another thing is done for the dead: "they cut his hair
and wash a garment for him" (BT, Mo'ed Katan 8b, cf. Dikdukei
with this problem. R. Shimeon ben Elazar said: "If one desires that a dead man's
eyes should be closed let him blow wine into his nostrils and apply oil between his
two eyelids and hold his two big toes: then they close of their own accord" (BT,
Shabbat 151 b; also see Tosefta Shabbat 17: 19 and Lieberman 1962, Part 11:295).
9 According to Krauss (1910-12: Vol. I: 234,Vol. 11: 55,427,474), they would fIrst

wash the body with water and then smear it with oil and spices as is stated in the New
Testament (Matthew 26:12; Mark 14:8; 16:1; Luke 23:56; 24:1; John 12:7; 19:11).
Biichler (1935) rejects this position, claiming that the oils were used as a detergent to
clean away fIlth. The use of oils and spices after cleansing was not aJewish custom.
The sources which speak of oiling after washing were influenced by non:Jews or were
not written in Israel. According to Rashi (BT, Shabbat 40b) "oiling precedes wash-
ing." According to Maimonides (Laws of Mourning 4: 1), washing precedes oiling.
10 Gen. Rabbah 37:4. " ... the name Shinar reflects that its inhabitants die in
anguish without a light and without a bath." This sentence is critical of Babylonia,
where the dead are not washed; as mentioned in our sources. It should not be
concluded that these sources refer to the purifIcation (taharah) of the dead.
178 NISSAN RUBIN

Sqfrim)," something altogether unnecessary for a soon-to-be-buried

body. Despite the acts of sealing the body, acts which imply separa-
tion, the dead is washed and shorn as if he were a living person.
It is clear that symbols of continuity and separation operate simul-
taneously. The body is separated from worldly contact by closing all
of its orifices and finally being removed from the bed and placed on
the ground. The body is also treated as an actual living person; it is
washed and dressed, which are acts of continuity. We are reminded
of the amoraic sages' conception of the human embryo: "R. Simlai
delivered the following discourse: What does an embryo resemble
when it is in the bowels of its mother? Folding writing tables. Its
hands rest on its two temples respectively.. .its mouth is closed and its
navel is open ... (it) produces no excrement because otherwise it might
kill its mother. When it leaves the womb the closed organ opens and
the open one closes" (BT, Niddah 30b). The treatment which the
deceased receives places him symbolically in a position similar to that
of the embryo. He is ready for rebirth into the world of souls from
which he came. 12
II The washing of clothes relates to the period during which it was customary to

bury the dead in their own clothes and not in shrouds. Burial in shrouds was intro-
duced by Rabbi Gamliel II (second-generation of Tannaim, 90-115 eEl. See To-
sefta, Niddah 9: 17; BT, Mo'ed Katan 27b; BT, Ketubbot 8b; Tractate Mourning
14:14.
I' Y.M. Tukachinsky (1960,1:94) sensed the meaning of these symbols and writes:

"When he is born he is washed and when he dies he is washed ... the body leaving
the womb and the soul leaving the body are similar to birth." There are practical
reasons for sealing the rectum and the vagina at death; both acts are performed in
modern hospitals as well (Sudnow, 1967:77), but this does not detract from the
symbolic significance.
Talmudic sources say nothing about nail cutting, though it would seem that nail
cutting has the same symbolic significance as hair cutting. Both Maimonides (Moshe
ben Maimon, 1927: Laws of Mourning, 4:1) and R. Aaron HaKohen of Lunil
(HaKohen, 190 I: Laws of Mourning, 11), who cites Maimonides, do not require nail
cutting. The Tur Oacob ben Asher [1475]: Yoreh De'ah 352), who also cites Mai-
monides, proclaims that "they have to cut the hair and the nails." The Rema (Isserlis
[1578-80]: Yoreh De'ah, 352:4) accepts this decision. In this way rabbinic decisions
generally were consistent with the complex of symbols originating in the talmudic
period.
R. Binyarnin ben Matatyah ([1539] 371b) quotes the will ofR. Eliezer Halevi: "I
request that they cleanse my body properly .... That they wash and comb my hair as
if I were alive, that the nails of my hands and feet be cut, so that I may come to rest
in the same cleanliness and purity as that in which I went to the synagogue each
Sabbath, hair washed and nails trimmed .... " The rabbis considered the departure
from this world as if it were in anticipation of a meeting in another world, something
that must be prepared for, by cutting or washing hair and cutting the nails. Some of
the rabbis substituted washing the hair for cutting it.
 THE BODY AS A TEXT IN TALMUDIC LITERATURE 179

v
Two other symbols are added to the complex of those described
above. These are the lighting of lamps and the use of spices. In the
Mishnah there is a discussion regarding the lamp and light of havdalah
(the prayer service separating the Sabbath from the week day) at the
end of the Sabbath. The Mishnah says that blessings on the light and
spices are not said "over a lamp or spices of the dead" (Berakhot 8:6),
because the lamp is not for light but in honor of the dead, and the
spices are not for people to smell but to cover the bad odor. Later on
in Palestine, R. Yosi b. I:Ianina (second generation of amoraic schol-
ars, 250-290 CE) teaches us that a lamp in honor of the dead was
"placed over [on top of] the coffin" (}T, Berakhot 8:7, l2b), while
those placed before the coffin were put there for the convenience of
the livingY
The lamp on top of the coffin is reminiscent of the embryo. Ac-
cording to R. Simlai, a second-generation amoraic scholar (250-290
CE) in Palestine, the embryo lies there "and a lamp bums over its
head ... and it looks from one end of the world to the other" (BT
Niddah 30b).14 Mter the corpse is placed in an embryonic position a
lamp is put "over his head" as it was in his mother's womb. (The
lamp is also identified with the soul: "a lamp is designated lamp and
the soul of a man is called lamp [proverbs 20:27, 'the soul of man is
the lamp of God']" [BT, Shabbat 30b]). Fire symbols are polysemic,
and it is not surprising to find the lamp flame at the borders of
passages, like the entrance and exit to the Sabbath, and the birth and
death of a human being, as a symbol of vitality and extinction, each
meaning balancing the other.
The same is the case with havdalah spices, and the spices of the
dead. Generally, in rites of passage, there are visions of fire and
lights, and sounds of voices, which may mark the borders of the
passage for the senses of sight and sound (see Huntington and Met-
calf 1979:49-55). The spices define the boundaries for the sense of
smell.
13 From the statement of Rav (first generation of amoraic scholars of Babylonia

220-250 CE), we learn that in Babylonia, in the funeral procession of an important

person, it was customary to precede the deceased with candles, even if the funeral
was during the day (BT, Berakhot 53a).
14 See a similar form in Yelinek (1938: Part I, 153-55). This is a fairly late source,

but reflects the position ofR. Y09.anan and his generation. See Urbach (1975: 245-
246) and Rubin (1990: 64-67).
180 NISSAN RUBIN

The Mishnah (above) relates that the spices of the dead are not
used for havdalah. This leads to the conclusion that spices were used
for the dead. In the name of Tanna R. Nathan (fourth-generation of
Tannaim, 135-170 CE) it is taught that if a community collected
money for the burial of the destitute, any surplus may be used to
sprinkle perfume on the coffin (TT, Shekalim 2:7, 47a). We conclude
that liquid perfume was sprayed on all coffins. Another source (TT,
Berakhot 8:7, l2b) relates that in some places in Palestine the custom
with spices was similar to that of the lamp: they placed spices "over
the coffin" for the convenience of the living. BT, Berakhot (53b)
states that the function of the spices was to cover the odor of the
dead. The above sources deal with liquid perfume.
Floral spices were also used, especially myrtle. Later amoraic
sources in Babylonia mention that myrtle branches were placed on
the coffin (BT, Bezah 6a). There is evidence that in both Palestine
and Babylonia, myrtle was used at weddings. As for weddings in
Palestine, we know that the Tanna, R. Judah b. Ilai, danced before
the bride holding myrtle branches (BT, Ketubbot l7a), as did the
Babylonian Amora, R. Samuel b. Isaac (TT, Pe'ah 1:1, l7b). In Baby-
lonia the bridal canopy was also decorated with myrtle (BT, Shabbat
150b; Eruvin 40a). There is even a case of a marriage contracted
with a branch of myrtle (BT, Kiddushin 12b)Y
The above sources confirm the use of myrtle in marriage, in both
the tannaitic and amoraic periods in Palestine and Babylonia, and in
death rituals in Babylonia, as a symbol of eternity, vitality, and re-
vival. The widespread use of the myrtle in the tannaitic period sug-
gests that it may have been placed on the coffin as well, although
there is no concrete evidence of this. The Midrash opposes the willow
to the myrtle. The willow withers shortly after being cut from the
tree, while the myrtle stays green for a long time without water (Lev.
Rabbah 30: 10). For this reason the myrtle symbolizes vitality and
success in marriage. 16 The myrtle is resistant to fire; after being
burned, it brings forth triple leaves. According to R. Judah, this is the
splendid myrtle to be used as one of the four species on the Feast of

15 The Midrash explains that the myrtle was chosen for the four species on the

Feast of Tabernacles "because it has a smell, but no taste" (Lev. Rabbah 30: 12 p.
709).
16 See, for example, "one who sees the myrde in his dream becomes successful in
property" (BT, Berakhot 57a). Shops were also decorated with myrtle as a symbol of
success; see BT, Avodah Zarah 12b.
 THE BODY AS A TEXT IN TALMUDIC LITERATURE 181

Tabernacles (BT, Sukkah 32b). The myrtle symbolizes resistance to

misfortune and fire (Hareuveni 1980:83). With all these qualities it
follows that myrtle would be an appropriate symbol for the future of
the Qead.
The symbols of lamp, spices, and myrtle reflect the principle of
continuity and gradation. Against the strong opposition between life
and death, lie symbols of moderate opposition, bridging the abrupt
gap. These are light (lamp)-darkness, vitality (spices)-putrefaction,
and revival (myrtle)-extinction. The moderate and more visible
symbols of opposition make the crisis of death more palatable.

VI

In the introductory discussion it was contended that the rituals of

death as reported in talmudic literature would present a view of the
meaning of life. Jewish culture classifies to the extreme and creates
clear boundaries between categories; it deals with the human corpse
in ways that reflect this degree of classification. The dying person is
not perceived to be in a liminal state, but remains a part of the
category of the living. The very same attitude of distance and respect
which attends the living, and reflects the approach to society as a
whole, devolves on the living who deal with those taking their last
breaths. Dying is part of living and should not be accelerated; the
dying person has all the rights and obligations of any other living
human being.
To sum up, the blurring of the liminal stage is expressed in the
principles of gradation and continuity. Attempts are made to settle
the social affairs of the dying person properly, in order to prevent any
social disfunction after death. Matters of a spiritual nature are settled
by confession. Death is an abrupt transition because of the lack of a
liminal stage of dying. The sharpness of the transition is dulled by
polysemic symbols dealing with the dead body, that carry opposed
meanings of continuity and separation. The symbols of separation
are closing the eyes, closing the body orifices, tying the cheeks, and
placing the body on the ground. The symbols of continuity are
anointing the body, washing the body, trimming the hair, and wash-
ing the clothes in which the body will be buried.
Other symbols from material culture bridge the sharp opposition.
These are the lamp, spices, and the myrtle. These create an opposi-
182 NISSAN RUBIN

tion between darkness, putrefaction, and extinction-and light, vital-

ity, and rebirth. Thus, they bridge the gap between life and death.
The corpse is treated in ways similar to the treatment of the new-
born. One is born into this world and born again into the world-to-
come. The messages are transmitted symbolically in the language of
culture, by symbols and symbolic acts which, when interpreted to-
gether, form a consistent system of meaning.

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 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN

Adriana Destro and Mauro Pesce

The letters of Paul and the Gospel ofJohn reflect various and some-
times divergent historical periods, geographical areas, and religious
tendencies. However, from the middle of the second century, thanks
to the formation of the New Testament, their conceptions were
drawn together and tended to form a common ground, at least for a
certain part of the ancient Christian churches. l
The complexity of the anthropologies of Paul and John 2 necessi-
tates an approach that singles out both the central and unifying
elements. We have chosen John's conception of man "from above,"
and Paul's "inner man." Both of these images presuppose that man
goes through a new "birth" (in John's language), or a "new creation"
(in the language of Paul), brought about through a divine force de-
fined as "Holy Spirit." We shall try to illustrate how these anthro-
pologies conceive of the formation of the "self' as a journey between
the previous self-identity and the identity created by the new birth or
the new creation.

Birth from Above

In John's Gospel, man has to be subjected to a birth "from above"

(anothen) brought about by the Holy Spirit, in order to be able to enter
into the Kingdom of God: "No one can see the Kingdom of God
unless he is begotten from above" Gohn 3:3).
"Above" is a determination of space. Spatial collocation through
binary or dual schemes (above/below, high/low, nearifar, outside/

I We do not claim that a reconstruction of the "historical" Jesus or of the life of

the early Church is not legitimate or necessary. However, only the Gospels' picture
of Jesus, and the pattern of Church that we find in Paul and the Acts, are determi-
nant for the subsequent history of Christianity.
2 It has been long discussed whether Paul's and John's theologies have to be
interpreted from a theological or an anthropological point of view. In any case a
philosophical anthropology is not an object of interest in John and Paul.
 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN 185

inside) is one of the main systems of cultural classification. It serves to

situate men, through logical opposites, within the map of ideological
and symbolic patterns in a particular culture. 3 When the main spatial
reference points are shifted or altered, an operation of cultural reor-
dering or even a new cultural construction takes place.
In John's Gospel's cultural terms, the "above" is the seat of God. 4
It recalls a cosmic order in which God is placed above the skies
which are above the earth. 5 Placing man in relation to the above
connects him to the cosmic order. The distinction between above
and below helps John construct a classification of individuals and
place them in different positions and under different perspectives: the
earth and the world on one side, and the seat of God on the other.
This opposition, however, does not aim to build up a harmonic
model in which the two sides are included in one unit. Rather, it
presupposes a model in which a clear boundary6 exists between these
two sides, to single out and mark opposing conditions. The impossi-
bility of mediation between the being from above and the being from
below is clearly expressed: "You are from below; I am from above.
You are from this world. I am not from this world" (8:23).
The overall meaning of the dual above/below pattern is explicit:
"He who comes from above is above all others; he who is from the

3 Durkheim-Mauss (1963, 7-8) think that the act of classification is not a natural

necessity: "Far, then, from man classifYing spontaneously and by sort of natural
necessity, humanity in the beginning lacks the most indispensable conditions for the
classificatory function. [... ] From another angle, to classifY is not only to form groups;
it means arranging these groups according to particular relations. We imagine them
as coordinated, or subordinate one to the other, we say that some (the species) are
included in others (the genera), that the former are subsumed under the latter. [...]
Every classification implies a hierarchical order for which neither the tangible world
nor our mind gives us the model."
4 The opposition above-below is central in John 3:13 (the Son of man came down

from Heaven); 3:14; 8:28 (the elevation of the Son of man); 3:31; 8:23 (the contrast
between the world below and that above); 12: 32-34 ("[... ] when I am lifted up from
earth"); 19: 1I (power comes from above). On the relationship between God's vertical
and horizontal action in John, see Brown 1991, cxxxix-cxli.
5 God lives above the skies. Therefore, within the concept of "above" there is an
implicit vision of skies where a multiplicity of intermediate beings live.
6 Socially, the definition of a boundary is an act "deeply cultural and social,

conventional, variable, mutable, problematic, revokable. [... ] The boundaries are

means through which it is possible to regulate contacts and avoid having excessively
intensive comunication and overly frequent exchanges which may question the social
identity" (Remotti 1993, 28-29). Boundaries are functional to the construction of
identity and spring from the need to keep exchanges between different entities under
control.
186 ADRIANA DESTRO AND MAURO PESCE

earth is from the earth and speaks from the earth. He who comes
from heaven [is above all]" (3:31).7
The anthropos is not referable only to the limits of normal psycho-
physical operations. 8 The birth "from above" in fact presupposes that
man is a relational being. He lacks autonomous or unilateral identity.
In particular he can and must have a relation with the supernatural
world, imagined as external, superior, and "other." To be himself,
man must necessarily place himself in relation to and remain within
the supernatural power from above. When he is overcome from the
above, the anthropos is not only exposed, but is also a participant. That
implies a reciprocal connection that contains the features of recipro-
cal participation. The Gospel of John defines the relation created
from above, that is, by the Spirit, as friendship (cf. 15:13-15),9 which
is the bilateral relation par excellence.
To arrive at one's own identity, it is of decisive importance that
man receive the Spirit. The conquest of one's own identity is, there-
fore, a dialectic between the self and another dimension, between the
limited self, and the superior and not limited reality, between man
and the divine. This intervention of the supernatural is imagined by
John as a radical new beginning to existence, as an experience that
invests the whole of a life. The anthropos, although able to think and to
act, does not possess enough energy to produce this birth. To arrive
at his identity, man must undergo in himself the irruption of the
supernatural, the otherness that comes "from above." 10
It is therefore understandable that only one rite, that of baptism,

7 "Is above all" is absent in some manuscripts, cf. Segalla 1990, 18!.
8 Within the vision of the Gospel ofJohn, the term anthropos indicates an autono-
mous subject able to accomplish autonomous operations concerning physical and
moral life. Nevertheless, in order to reach his identity, man must receive a new
"nature" from the Spirit. He who is born from the above does not attain a different
cultural function that may define "what" he is, but becomes what he actually is.
9 Jesus' sentences about friendship are pronounced before the gift of the Spirit
(that will take place only in Chap. 20) and describe in advance what is going to
come. Through the birth from "the above," apparently man is imagined in an
intermediate condition between above and below or included in the area of divinity.
The re-birth offers man the possibility to accomplish a vertical displacement.
10 This is confirmed by the theme of "life" (zoej, very frequent in John and central

for his anthropology (see, for instance: 1:4; 3:15; 5:24-40; 6:27-68; 17:2-3; 20:31).
What the Son of man gives to men is the "eternal life." Life is a quality without
which human identity is inconceivable. The fact, however, that this life is eternal
implies that it is not only essential for man's identity but also unreachable by human
efforts. On the meaning of life in John, see Brown 1991, 37-38: the Son re-attributes
to man the life to which he was destined before the Genesiac fall.
 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN 187

allows the supernatural power, which is inaccessible to the mere force

of man and is the pre-condition of his re-birth, to enter the indi-
vidual. We have seen that the Gospel links the Christian conception
of man to the concept of the kingdom of God. This is one of the
fundamental categories of Jewish religious culture. John modifies it
with a specific intervention, because he radically alters the conditions
of access to the kingdom. Only birth "from above" is the necessary
and sufficient condition. With that, he implicitly denies the Jewish
theory according to which "all Israelites have a share in the world-to-
come" (Mishnah Sanhedrin 10, I). Baptism and not circumcision, in
John's view, is the condition for entry into the kingdom. It is not the
"carnal" birth from Jewish parents that is necessary, but the birth by
water and spirit (3:5).11 It should be noted that birth "from above"
does not aim at placing man back into society, as social "other," but
at his uprooting and diversion toward the outside and the above. 12
The rite of baptism, then, does not belong to those rites that enable
the integration of the individual in the various social levels of the
community. It must be numbered, instead, among those that M.
Auge has defined as mediation between the self and the "other"13 or,
better, between self and otherness.

Inner Man/ Outer Man

Thirty years before John, Paul had already defined man's spatial
dimension, modifYing in this way the categories on which to con-
struct his identity. In Paul, however, the spatial opposition between
inner and outer is much more important than that between above
and below: 14 "but though our outer man (ha exo hemlIn anthropas) perish,
11 Cr. 3:6: "That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the
spirit is spirit".
12 We agree with Remotti (1993, 51) that any power usually comes from the
outside, and that it is functional to the acquisition of an internal role. In the Gospel
of John, on the contrary, the power that comes from outside serves to drag man
outside "this world."
13 Auge (1994, 50-52, 61-63) distinguishes between the rites that mediate between

the individual and the collectivity and those that mediate between the self and the
other. However, Auge takes into account only traditional societies. The center of the
early Christian rites consists of the passage from a traditional situation to one exter-
nal to the society of origin. As a consequence, we cannot apply the second category
of Auge to the early Christian rites without this substantial correction.
14 The Gospel ofJohn focuses only on the beginning of the new life. Paul, on the

contrary, often concentrates on the process that takes place after a person has ac-
188 ADRIANA DESTRO AND MAURO PESCE

our inner l5 [man] (ho eso hemt5n), on the contrary, is renewed day by
day" (2 Cor. 4: 16). We are again faced with a spatial dimension that
implies areas marked off by boundaries, and does not construct a
harmonic model of society, but a stretching apart of social spaces.
But the inner and outer spaces are here ordered in a horizontal sense,
or rather in adjacent and separate areas. Moreover, the spatial deter-
mination, which was also present in John, is accompanied in Paul by
a temporal one: the process of growth of the "inner man."
The relation between "inner man" and "outer man" sums up the
central aspect of the religious condition of the believer.16 The Holy
Spirit dwells in the baptized (Rom. 8:11; cf 7:17; Gal. 2:19-21) and
constitutes the germ of a man different from the previous one. To
"dwell" implies to enter into and remain in a stable way inside a
space. As far as the space is inhabited, it is characterized by what
inhabits it. In this sense, the inhabited space contains exclusive con-
tents and properties different from what surrounds it. The uninhab-
ited outer space is defined by the absence of somethingY In this case,
the space in which the spirit of God dwells inevitably means an
opposition to the outside space, bare and void of the presence of
God. IS
The effort of the believer is to make the inner man grow and the
outer one wither. To define this paradoxical experience, Paul not
only uses the inner/outer man opposition but also that of "new man"
(kaimos anthropos) and "old man" (palaios anthropos).19 The new man is
"inner" while the previous one is "outer." This shows that for Paul
the reality of the new man lies in his interiority and is not visible. 20
What is dwelt in by the Holy Spirit is hidden space. The essential
feature of the "inner man" is to be placed and to remain beyond the
boundaries of appearance, and to be in an inaccessible zone un-
known to those outside, and even to the self

cepted the gospel. He represents the condition of the believer. The "above" as target
of man appears in some passages (Gal. 4:26; Phil. 3: 14; Col. 3: 1-2), but always as an
aim toward which the baptized must tend, not as provenience.
15 Variae lectiones like "from inner," "from our inner," "inner" (cf. Nesde-Aland, ed.

26a) are not very relevant here.

16 This condition is amply described by Paul in Rom. 6-8.

17 On the concept of dwelling, ct Remotti 1993, 32-34.

18 The anthropological change produced by the dwelling of the Spirit inside the

man has, as a necessary consequence, a mutation in the cosmological conception.

19 It is true that the expression "new man" appears only in the Epistle to the

Ephesians, but it is already implicit in Rom. 6:6 where "old man" is spoken ot
20 Ct the opposition "visible" I"invisible" in 2 Cor. 4: 18.
 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN 189

The Pauline anthropos, insofar as he is dwelt in by the Spirit of God,

is also a relational being, substantially open to the supernatural. He
can therefore arrive at his own identity only via a dialectical relation
with otherness. Unlike John, who limits himself to an affirmation of
the existence of this relation toward the above, Paul draws an imagi-
nary geography of the various internal components of the anthropos,
which make the relation with the supernatural possible. This vision
therefore produces an analysis of the inner man, which is translated
both into introspection and into anthropological conceptions. To
clarify how the relation with the divine comes about, Paul makes use
of conceptual tools that derive sometimes from Jewish, and some-
times from Greek, anthropologies. 21

On the whole, Paul seems to have a vision of an ego deeply split into
two opposing parts. 22 Ego seems to experience a condition in which
the "inner man" adheres to the law of God, whereas his members
(rl'lile), that is, his physical being and his exterior part, are subject to
the law of sin and are engaged in continuous struggle with the law
that lies in his nous (cf. Rom. 7:22-23).23 Notwithstanding the tension,
the split is not radical. The identity of ego remains united, because ego
is architectonically superior both to the "mind" (in other words "rea-
son") and to the members of the body. The two parts of man remain
opposed because they are subject to superior powers in conflict, but
ego is not reducible either to the one or the other and embraces both
(cf. Rom. 7:25: "I myself with the mind serve the law of God, but
with the flesh the law of sin"). The main faculty of ego, that is, the
mind, is not therefore split in itself.24 With respect to ego, the nous is
the unified element.

21 Cf. Jewett 1971; E. P. Sanders 1977, 453-511.

22 On the Pauline conception of "I" cf. Farahian 1988; Theissen 1983, particu-
larly pp. 56-57; 66-79; 102-105; 192-194.
23 "For I delight in the law of God after the inward man. But I see another law in

my members (mele), warring against the law of my mind (nous), and bringing me into
captivity to the law of sin which is in my members."
24 Paul is not dealing with a radical dualism between two parts of man, soma and
no us. The "members" of the body resist the will of man, not because the soma is
negative, but because they are submitted to the law of the sin. The life of the
baptized is directed to free the soma from the "submission" to the sin, through the
strength of the Spirit. In the vision of Paul, the baptized has within himself the Spirit:
his soma is the "temple of the Holy Spirit" (1 Cor. 6: 19, cf. I Cor. 3: 16; 2 Cor. 6: 16;
cf. further Rom. 7:24-25). On the other hand, the mind of man is also exposed to the
danger of being under the negative power of Satan. "The God of this world has
190 ADRIANA DESTRO AND MAURO PESCE

The aimed at unity in man is arrived at through progress and

growth. 25 Much more than John, Paul emphasizes the gradual nature
of the daily conquest: the outer man "is on the way to perish," while
the inner man "is renewed day by day" (2 Cor. 4: 16). It is not a
question of passing from one area or space to another, or rising from
low to high, but carrying out an operation of an opposite kind in the
same space. The use of spatial categories in this context just serves to
show the opposite character of what (in the inner and outer) happens
in the process of growth.
The growing consists in a metamorphosis of the "inner man" into
the image of Christ. The cultural-historical shape of this anthropo-
logical conception must not be mistaken for models of a modem
kind. The process of attaining identity does not primarily consist in
an introspective analysis or in an ethical domination of the passions,
but, first, in a transformation operated by the Holy Spirit. In his
second letter to the Corinthians, Paul explains how the Holy Spirit
works the transformation of man. 26 The faculty of man that, in this
case, Paul labels in Jewish anthropological terminology "heart" (kar-
dia), reflects in itself the "glory" (doxa) of God. "Glory" is a quality of
God that expands itself and works a communication between the
divine and what is not divine. Ego is therefore capable of receiving an
imprint of divinity via the kardia. Since the image of God is stamped
on the heart, the Holy Spirit can begin its work of transformation. 27
The relational quality of man that characterizes the anthropologies of
John and of Paul reveals itself here in the reflection of the image 28 of
"glory" in the heart of man. The outcome of this conception is the
construction of a man who develops a capacity of critical judgment
and introspection. Paradoxically, man's essential dependence on a
supernatural illumination and integration results in an individual
both strongly autonomous and centered in himself This depends on
the fact that man has need of the supernatural to arrive at his own

blinded the minds (ta noemata) of the unbelievers lest the light of the glorious gospel of
Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them" (2 Cor. 4:4). On the
anthropological optimism of Paul, cf. Penna 1991,259-267.
25 Pesce 1994,32-34; 125-162.
26 "We all [... ] beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the
same image from glory to glory as by the Spirit of the Lord" (2 Cor. 3: 18).
27 Horn 1992, 423-431.

28 Criscuolo (1992) highlights a positive conception of the images as a means of

mediation toward God in the platonic tradition.
 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN 191

identity, but the only place where he can reach it is in his own "inner
man". Laws and external traditions are not his points of reference.
Rather it is the illumination of the "inner man" that he needs.
In Paul, various elements contribute toward constituting what we
have defined as a capacity for critical judgment and introspection.
The first is the habit of self-examination. 29 It has its roots in the
illuminating effects of preaching the Gospel, which consists in chal-
lenging and examining the spiritual and moral attitudes of man. 30
Second, the formation of an autonomous ego is the necessary conse-
quence of the fact that the revelation of the Spirit was conceded in
equal measure to all the individual members of the ekklesia. Finally,
the capacity to judge shows itself in the capacity to distinguish ethical
and religious values autonomously, and in a strongly critical attitude
towards religious traditions, whether Jewish or Roman-hellenistic.
This critical principle materializes in what Paul calls knowledge and
freedom {gnosis and eleutheria).31
In conclusion, the center of the anthropological vision in Paul and
John lies in the fact that man is able to contact divinity, welcome the
Spirit of God and also hold it within himself. In John, the divine
power descends from above, without its image being spoken of. In
Paul, on the other hand, the very image of the "glory" of God is
explicitly said to be impressed on man. In this view, the identity
between that which is emanated from God and that which remains
stamped on the "heart"32 is clearly presupposed. Man arrives at his
own identity through the mystical union with the spirit of Christ: "I
live; yet no longer I, but Christ lives in me" (Gal. 2:20).33

29 Paul frequendy underlines the necessity of examining (dokimazein) oneself (Rom.

12:2; 14:22; I Cor. 11:28; 2 Cor. 13:5; Gal. 6:4; Phi!. 1:10; I Thess. 5:21).
30 C£ I Cor. 14: 24-25, and Pesce 1994, 163-218.

31 An interesting comparison here is with the conception of "I" at Qumran. Ac-

cording to Newson 1992, 15, in the Hodayot "the self is constituted [... ] as a subject of
knowledge," but also as "an object of knowledge."
32 Consequendy, the heart is the place of the encounter between the Spirit and
the man. But elsewhere Paul calls this faculty nous (Rom. 12:2; 1 Cor. 2:16; 14:15).
Man's nous is therefore the higher and more unitary faculty of ego, where the nous of
Christ, to which man must assimilate, is present (1 Cor. 2: 16).
33 C£ Farahian 1988,234-287.
192 ADRIANA DESTRO AND MAURO PESCE

The Soma

G. Stroumsa has well illustrated the way the body plays a central role
in Christian anthropology of the second to fourth centuries, because
of some fundamental Christian theological conceptions: the unity of
God (which reflects on the unity of creation and a positive attitude
towards materiality and the body); the resurrection of the body; the
incarnation; and the Pauline idea of the body of Christ. 34 The first
two conceptions are clearly ofJewish origin, while the latter two are
typically Christian.
It seems that the main conception of the body (essential to the
anthropology of Paul and of John) may consist in the conviction,
more or less explicitly expressed, that the only place in which the
Spirit of God can manifest itself is in the body of man.
The importance of the body in John immediately brings to mind
the incarnation, according to which the logos became flesh (sarx)
(1:14).35 However, to reconstruct the anthropology ofJohn it is neces-
sary above all to fall back on conceptions that concern the common
man. According to John, the mission of Christ consists in a work of
"sanctification," that is, of communication of the holy power of God.
His task, in fact, is to baptize in the Holy Spirit (l :33). That which
primarily characterizes the Spirit is the fact of being hagios, of possess-
ing, in other words, a quality that belongs to God who is "holy" par
excellence (cf. John 17:11: pater hagie). The primary function of the
Spirit is therefore to "sanctify" (hagiazein). Jesus' aim is to sanctify his
disciples and communicate the hagion Spirit to them. 36 This aim is
realized when, resurrected, he can finally breathe the Spirit onto
their physical persons (20: 19-23). From that moment, the Holy Spirit
is in the disciples; it is actually in their bodies. This affirmation is
meant in the sense that the presence of the holiness of God is all-

34 cr.Stroumsa 1992, 199-223.

3S Other Johannine conceptions, however, are fundamental to understand his
vision of the body. First of all, the soma of Christ is the temple of God (2:21). This
means that the divinity may enter into contact with a body and reside within it. The
Gospel also says that the Spirit of God descends upon Jesus and remains on him
(1:33). This statement also implies that the Spirit of God resides inside a body.
36 The Gospel of John affirms explicidy that Jesus sanctifies himself in order to

sanctity his disciples: "For their sakes I sanctity myself, that they also might be
sanctified through the truth" Oohn 17: 19). The Gospel repeats many times that, after
his resurrection, Jesus will comunicate the Holy Spirit to the the disciples (7:39; 16:7-
IS; 17:15-19).Jesus' sanctification itself is interpreted by Schnackenburg (Ill, 213) as
self-consecration of the sacrificial victim (not through the Spirit).
 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN 193

pervasive in man, both psychically and physically. The body is the

container for this holiness, but it is also wholly penetrated by it.
The Gospel of John also insists on the fact that the cult of God
must not take place either in the Temple at Jerusalem or on Mount
Gerizim, but only in "spirit and truth" (4:20-24). This means that
there is no longer a place where God reveals Himself, or where one
can place oneself in His presence. The only place in which one is in
the presence of God is one's own baptized body.
The same idea, according to which the only place where one can
find oneself in the presence of God is one's own body (soma), also
appears in Paul. For him the human body is the temple of the Holy
Spirit, and the dwelling of the spirit in the body is made possible
through baptism. 37 This of course was a very widespread conviction
in early Christian writings. 38 At the beginning of chapter 12 of the
Letters to the Romans, Paul exhorts believers: "Offer your bodies as a
living sacrifice, holy (hagia), acceptable unto God. This is your rea-
sonable cult" (12: 1). The offer of one's body becomes the substitute
for the sacrificial animal on the altar, because the metamorphosis of
the "inner man," worked by the sanctifYing power of the Spirit,
occurs within it. It may be asked how far the body may be the point
of contact with the Spirit of God; whether the contact occurs within
the body, or in the non-bodily parts of man. The fact remains that
Paul clearly says that the body is the temple of God or the "living
sacrifice" to Him.
The consequence of the conception that the body alone is the
point of contact with God, is that the cult of God and the transfor-
mation of the self substantially coincide. Ethics, religion, and cult
coincide. This must not be understood in the typically modem sense
of the reduction of cult and religion to ethics. Rather, it must be
taken in the sense of a coexistence of these three different, but equally
persistent, dimensions. 40
37 About the relationship between baptism and Spirit in Paul, see Penna 1991,
651-654.
38 In the Acts qf the Apostles, Paul meets in Ephesus a group of people baptized in
water and not in the Spirit. He therefore lays his hand on them and they receive the
Holy Spirit and begin from that moment to manifest the two typical gifts of the
Spirit: prophecy and glossolalia (Acts 19: 1-7).
39 Paul explicidy writes, "Be transformed by the renewing of your mind" (meta-

morfousthe te anakainosei Iou nODS) (Rom. 12: 2).

4D The idea that the Spirit or the power of God is present in the body of the
baptized is also expressed in other forms in early Christianity. The body of the
aposdes is considered as a vehicle of God's power. The Acts of the Aposdes, for
194 ADRIANA DESTRO AND MAURO PESCE

To explain the possibility of the contact of the divine with man's

body it is not enough to fall back on widespread Jewish concepts
regarding the unity of man and the goodness of creation. That which
is new is the fact that man can acquire direct contact to divinity
inside the human body, without any previous form of bodily purifica-
tion being necessary, and without this meaning there is a destruction
or a weakening of the body.
It must be asked what cultural changes allowed such a conception
to develop, and made it one of the most characteristic aspects of early
Christianity. We believe that these cultural changes are to be found
in the radically non-sacrificial attitude that comes to light in the
Gospel of John but is already clearly present in Paul, and in the
abolition of every form of bodily purification as a necessary act for
the religious life. Cancellation of the idea of the materiality of the
sacred and therefore of its possible location, also eliminates the tradi-
tional distinction between pure and impure. Places that are sources of
holiness, or elements that are sources of contamination, such as
blood, sperm, or corpses, no longer exist. From this point of view it is
significant that the cult of the Pauline ekklisiai, at least as far as can be
seen from the letters, has no need of any sacred objects (whether
these be a Torah shrine, the Torah itself, or sacred vestments). The
one thing needed is the presence of the Spirit in the body of the
believers.
However, one must not think that the conception of the sacred
substance of God has been eliminated. Even in primitive Christianity
the presence of the Divine can produce an automatic destruction of
the body. According to Paul, the body of the Lord, evidently defined
as sacred matter, provokes physical weakness, illness, and even death
when eaten by morally unworthy people (1 Cor. 11 :28-30).41 But this

example, narrate that people "brought forth the sick into the streets, that at least the
shadow of Peter passing by might overshadow some of them" (Acts 5:15). The Acts
attribute a similar power to the body of Paul. In Ephesus sick people recovered after
the application on their bodies of handkerchiefs or aprons that had been in contact
with Paul's skin (Acts 19: 11-12). The miracles on the body are characteristic of early
Christianity, during Jesus' activity and primitive apostolic preaching. For Paul him-
self they belong to the "signs of the aposde" (2 Cor. 12: 12).
41 Cf. Pesce 1990. Paul maintains that at Corinth "many of you are feeble and
sick, and a number have died" (1 Cor. 11:30) because they ate the Lord's supper
while unworthy. We find a somewhat similar conception in the case of the instant
death of the husband and wife that "lie to God" and "put the spirit of the Lord to
test" (Acts 5: 5.9) where the assembly is gathered. A different idea is implicit in the
Gospel ofJohn, in the episode ofJudas during the last supper. Satan enters Judas as
 SELF, IDENTITY, AND BODY IN PAUL AND JOHN 195

happens exclusively because of moral unworthiness, and not because

the body as such has drawn near to divinity, or because the body has
not undergone ritual purification before approaching the Divine.

Conclusions

The definition of the anthropos in Paul and John is neither flexible nor
fluid because it depends on fixed and diametrically opposed catego-
ries, which create clearly defined boundaries internal or external to
man. He who is "from above" is in no way similar to he who is from
"below." The same applies to what is "inner" compared to what is
"outer."
This redefinition of spatial categories allows the conceptual elimi-
nation of the pre-existing boundaries between social groups, and also
leads to the consideration of men in general, independent of ethnic
or religious identity. Above all, it permits a new kind of separation
into two opposing groups. For this reason, the subject that has to
undergo "birth from above," or the "new creation" is defined simply
by the noun "man" (anthropos) , or else by an indefinite pronoun
"whoever" (hosoi) (cf. John 1:12-13; Gal. 3:27-28), while those that
have already gone through re-birth are defined "Sons of God" (tekna
theou) (John) or "saints" (hagioi) (Paul).
In spite of the conceptual definition being so rigid, the concrete
identity of the anthropos is evolving, via a metamorphosis. The relation
between the divine other and the human self is not purely one of
contrast. It is dynamic and participatory. We are dealing with a birth
that is not destructive, but innovative, or, in the Pauline formulation,
with a renewal of the inner man through the image of "glory." The
projected radical distinction has to be applied to concrete social affili-
ations and to the concrete mixture of inner and outer. This sets in
motion a process that will create a new cultural condition. Paul and
John represent only a moment of transition toward a conceptual and
practical formulation of new forms of resacralization and re-
socialization.
In this anthropological model, the body is a constituent of identity.
The Spirit is in contact not only with the mind, but transforms the
soon as he has eaten the "sop" given by Jesus Uohn 13: 26-27). Were it the case of
the eucharistic meal, one might hypothesize that the contact of the sacred with the
body of a morally unworthy man provokes a moral worsening of the person. In other
words, the text is describing a moral and not a physical deterioration.
196 ADRIANA DESTRO AND MAURO PESCE

body, taking over the entire man. The embodiment of the Holy
Spirit, in other words, of the "sanctity" of God, constitutes the basis
of the distinctive identity of the baptized person; the sanctification of
the body is the outcome of the transformation and hence represents
the conquest of the identity of the sel£
Compared to Judaism, the fundamental model remains whereby
humanity is divided into two categories on the basis of the fact that
only one social group has a special relation with God (the election
and the pact).42 The way of relating to God changes, however. In
Paul and John it is the sanctity of God that descends into the body of
individuals.

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42 Cf. Stem 1994, 259: "The notion of 'Israel' may represent in itself a powerful,
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 THE TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL

C. C. Stroumsa and Paula Fredriksen

I. THE MANICHEES AND THE TWO SOULS

"Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach, in meiner Brust."
Goethe, Faust 1.
Since they say that every living being has two souls, one of the race of
light, the other of the race of darkness, is it the case that the good soul
leaves at death, while the bad soul remains?1

Thus Augustine in his Contra Faustum. This is not the only reference to
this strange doctrine in his writings. On various other occasions,
Augustine polemicizes against the Manichaean belief in the two souls
and lampoons its absurd implications. 2 In the Confissions, for instance,
he says:
Let them no more say, therefore, that since they perceive two wills to be
contrary one to another in one man, that there be two contrary souls,
made of two contrary substances, one good, the other bad, contending
with one another. 3

According to this text, the serious problem which the Manichaean

doctrine of the two souls attempts to solve is that of two opposing
wills in man-a problem which, as is well known, remained a serious
preoccupation of Augustine's throughout his adult life.
But Augustine did not satisfY himself with a few references to this
Manichaean doctrine. He also devotes an entire treatise to its refuta-
tion, de duabus animabus, written in or around 391. 4 There is no such
thing as an evil soul, Augustine contends there, since all souls come
I "Deinde cum duas animas esse in uno animatis corpore adfirmant, unam bo-

nam de gente lucis, alteram malam de gente tenebrarum, numquid, cum occiditur
animal, bona anima fugit et mala remanet?" c. Faustum V1.8 (Zycha 297-98).
2 See for instance de vera religione IX.16; de haeresibus 46; opus inperJ. c. Iul. 111.172.
3 "lam ergo non dicant, cum duas voluntates in homine uno adversari sub sen-

tiunt, duas contrarias mentes, de duas contrariis sunstantiis, et de duobus contrariis

principiis contendere, unam bonam, alteram malam," Con] VIII. 10,22.
4 See]. Jolivet and M.Jourjon's introduction to the text in Six traitis anti-manichiens

(Bibliotheque augustinienne 17; Paris: Desclee de Brouwer 1961), 41; also the ex-
tended analysis in]. Wetzel, Augustine and the Limits qfVirtue (Cambridge: The Univer-
sity Press 1992), 90-98.
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 199

from God, and Manichaean doctrine thus directly goes against com-
mon sense. It is because of our will, and not the nature of our soul,
that we sin.
It is beyond dispute that Augustine knew Manichaean doctrine
well: he had been an auditor in the sect for about ten years. Yet,
puzzlingly, he is our only direct source for the existence of such a
doctrine: Manichaean documents are themselves silent on the idea of
the two souls. Hence various scholars from Ferdinand Christian Baur
to Henri-Charles Puech have often reiterated that Augustine was
mistaken when speaking of two souls. The Manichees, they maintain,
spoke only of two "natures" but, by implication, only one (good) soul.
But Isaac de Beausobre, the father of modem Manichaean studies,
asserted in the seventeenth century, followed by Mosheim in the
eighteenth and Alfaric in the twentienth, that the Manichees believed
in two souls. 5 Most unfortunately, their perspective seems to have
been ignored in more recent scholarship. Puech states: "En realite,
pour les manicheens, il n'y a pas deux ames, il y a une seule ame qui
ne peut etre que bonne en soi et par nature .... "6 For Puech, then,
Manichaean cosmological dualism is reflected in anthropology
through the radical duality of the soul, which belongs to the realm of
good, light, and Spirit, and of the body, which belongs to that of evil,
darkness, and matter. Twelve years ago, the same view was reiterated
by R. Ferwerda, in what seems to be the last treatment of the topic. 7
For Puech, and to some extent for Ferwerda in his footsteps, Au-
gustine mixed up the idea of the two souls, which does in fact exist
elsewhere in ancient thought, with similar but not identical argu-
ments in the Manichaean doctrine about the two natures. Both cite
various traditions, mainly from Greek philosophical texts, which al-
lude to the same doctrine. Following Puech, Ferwerda cites as the
first of these traditions a passage from Xenophon, according to which
; F.C. Baur, Dar manichaische Religionssystem (Gbttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht
1928) 163, quoting de Beausobre and Mosheim; cf. P. Alfaric, L'Evolution intellectuelle
de Saint Augustin I (Paris: Nourry 1918) 117 and notes 6 and 7.
6 US sources de Pwtin (Entretiens Hardt 5; Vandoeuvres: Geneve 1957) 39. Puech

pardy retracts here what he had written in 1934 in "Numenius d'Apamee et les
theologies orientales au second siecle," reprinted in H.-C. Puech, En quite de la gnose
(Paris: Gallimard, 1978) 1.25-54," where he had argued for a close parallel between
Numenius and Manichaeism. He now stated, "C'etait trop me fier aux affirmations
de Saint Augustin .... "
7 "Two Souls: Origen's and Augustine's Attitude toward the Two Souls Doctrine.
Its Place in Greek and Christian Philosophy," Vigiliae Christianae 37 (1983) 360-78. I
wish to thank Dr. Ferwerda for having first called my attention to this topic in 1982.
200 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

the Persian sage Arapas argues, in conversation with Gyrus, that man
is endowed with two souls:
... but it is obvious that there are two souls, and when the good one
prevails, what is right is done; but when the bad one gains the ascend-
ency, what is wrong is attempted. 8

This doctrine, Iranian in origin, would then have infiltrated Greek

philosophy, as this reappears not only in Plato's Laws,9 but also in
such late representatives of the Platonic tradition as the fragments of
Numenius or the Chaldean Oracles. IQ As is well known, and as was
most recently emphasized by Shaul Shaked, the concept of multiple
souls is indeed "typical of the Zoroastrian mode of thinking." 11
Shaked's study, which points out the existence of different schools of
thought on this issue in Sasanian Iran, does not refer to a duality of
the human soul in Sasanian theologyP Shaked himself, however,
has elsewhere analyzed some notions, such as axw (or akw, okh), which
appear in particular at the beginning of Denkard VI, and which
point to a division of the human soul into two camps, ruled by two
impulses, one toward the good, the other, evil. 13 Moreover, as
Garsten Golpe has suggested, Zoroastrian Magians in the Hellenistic
world possibly conceived the soul as reflecting cosmic dualism. 14
Ferwerda seeks to offer an interpretation of what he considers
(with Puech) Augustine's odd mistake. According to him, Augustine
mistook for Manichaean doctrine a teaching widespread not among
them, but among the Gnostics. Ferwerda cites in support Plotinus,
who accused the Gnostics of being "senseless" for introducing a sec-

8 "alla delon hoti duo eston psukhai, kai hotan he agathe kratei, ta kala prattetai, hotan de

ponera, ta aisxra epikheireitai," Xenophon, Cyropaedia VI. 1. 41 (11,140-143 LCL). This text
is in fact quoted already in Baur, Religionssystern, 175.
9 Laws X, 896 d-e: there are at least two souls, one doing good, and the other its

opposite.
!O Numenius, frag. 44 (91 Des Places), speaks of two souls, one rational (logiken),

the other irrational (alogon).

[[ For the latest treatment of of Zoroastrian and, in particular, Sasanian anthro-
pology, see S. Shaked, Dualism in Transformation: Varieties qf Religion in Sasanian Iran
Gordan Lectures, 1991; London: School of Oriental and African Studies, 1994) 58.
Shaked points out that this Zoroastrian concept was borrowed by Mani (p. 57). See
also Appendices B and C.
[2 See esp. ibid., 56-59.

[3 S. Shaked, "Some Terms Relating to Man," Mimorial Jean de Menasce. I thank

Professor Shaked for discussing this question with me.

[4 C. Colpe, "Geister," Reallexikonfor Antike und Chmtentum 9 (1974), 585-98, esp.

593.
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 201

ond soul. 15 Further, Ferwerda quotes a text from Clement of Alexan-

dria, according to whom Isidorus, Basilides' son, believed-as did the
Pythagoreans-in two souls,16 and the Excerpta ex Theodoto, which
refer to two souls, one irrational and one divineY Finally, Ferwerda
points to Origen's references to two souls attesting to a Gnostic back-
ground. ls
The solution is ingenious, and yet I must confess that I remain
unconvinced. Ferwerda, a student of Greek philosophy, understand-
ably relies upon Puech's opinion that there was no Manichaean doc-
trine of the two souls. It is hard, however, to accept that Augustine
was simply mistaken. While he did not have first-hand knowledge of
second-century Gnostic doctrines, he certainly had such knowledge
of Manichaean doctrines. I shall argue in what follows that the
Manichees, indeed, could have believed in the doctrine of the two
souls.
As we have seen, the Iranian tradition reported by Xenophon is
presented by the history of scholarship as at the origin of the Greek
conception about the duality of the human soul. Oddly enough, how-
ever, scholars of Manichaeism do not seem to have recalled in this
context that since the Hellenistic period, Iranian anthropological
ideas also had a strong influence upon Jewish conceptions. Indeed,
neither Bauer nor Puech seems to have taken the Jewish sources into
account, save for Philo, who represents the Platonic tradition when
he states, for instance, that "in every soul at its very birth there enter
two powers (dunameis), the salutary and the destructive."19
The Community Rule found at Qumran is probably the Jewish text
that most obviously emphasizes anthropological duality:
He has created Man to govern the world, and has appointed for him
two spirits in which to walk until the time of his visitation: the spirits of
truth and of falsehood. 20

15 P1otinus, Enneads 11.9.5.16; cf. IV.3.27.1-6.

16 Stromateis 11.20.113.3.
17 Exc. 1heo. 50.1; cf. 51.3.
18 E.g., de Principiis III.4,1.

19 Quaest. in Ex. 1.23 (32-34 LCL). Here again, the remarkable intuitions of de

Beausobre should be noted. More clearly than many scholars after him, he was able
to perceive the fundamental importance of Jewish pseudepigraphicalliterature for
understanding the background of Mani's thought (such as the Book rifGiants). On this
see J.C. Reeves, Jewish Lore in Manichaean Cosmology: Studies in the Book rif Giants Tradi-
tions (Cinncinati: Hebrew Union College 1992).
20 "Va-yasem lo shtei ruJ;ot lehithalekh bahem, rual; ha-emet ve-rual; ha-avel," Community

Rule II1.l8ff.
202 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

This well-known text remains, however, rather mysterious, as it is not

quite clear whether every man shares in both spirits, although this is
certainly a possibility.21 Indeed, the two spirits, which are engaged in
constant struggle, seem to live within every man, and not to rule each
upon a separate category of man. An Iranian influence upon such an
anthropology is more than plausible. In the careful words of Shaked,
who made a case for such influence, mainly on structural grounds,
"It may be imagined that contacts between Jews and Iranians helped
in formulating a Jewish theology which, though continuing tradi-
tionalJewish motifs, came to resemble fairly closely the Iranian view
of the world. "22
As is well known, the Testaments if the Twelve Patriarchs are in their
present form early Christian texts which reflect the dualism found in
texts from Qumran. The Testament ifJudah reads:
So understand, my children, that two spirits await an opportunity with
humanity: the spirit of truth and the spirit of error. In between is the
conscience of the mind which inclines as it will. The things of truth and
the things of error are written in the affections of man, each one of
whom the Lord knOWS. 23

In the Testament if Asher we read:

God has granted two ways to the sons of men, two mind-sets, two lives
of action, two models, and two goals ... .The two ways are good and evil;
concerning them are two dispositions within our breasts that choose
between them. 24

Although some terminological uncertainty remains, the juxtaposition

of these two texts shows clearly that the two spirits are located in
everybody. In the words of Albrecht Dihle, "Man finds himself
placed between two spirits, a good and an evil one. These are spoken
of either as faculties and inhabitants of the human soul or as cosmic
powers. They are called instinct, impulse, spirit, intention, angel and

21 See, e.g., M.-E. Boimard, O.P., "The First Episde ofJohn and the Writings of
Qumran," in J.H. Charlesworth, ed., John and the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Cross-
roads 1991) 156-65. Also, in the same volume, Charlesworth, "A Critical Compari-
son of the Dualism in IQS 3: 13-4:26 and the 'Dualism' contained in the Gospel of
John," 76-106.
22 "Qumran and Iran: Further Considerations," Israel Oriental Studies 2 (1972) 432-
446.
23 "hoti duo pneumata scholazousin en t6i anthrop6i, to tes aletheias kai tes planes." XX.I-3

(trans!. 11, 800 Charlesworth). For the texts of the Testaments, see the edition by M. de
Jonge, H.W. Hollander, and Th. Kortweg (EJ. Brill: Leiden 1978).
24 Test, Asher 1.3-9 (trans. 1.816-817 Charlesworth).
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WilL 203

the like .... The human intellect chooses-namely the object of ac-
tion-and turns itself-namely to one of the two angels or spirits."25
A similar duality of the soul is reflected in the rabbinic idea of the
two instincts, good and evil, in man's soul {yetser ha-ra and yetzer ha-
toV).26 It also reappears in various early Christian texts, which all
seem to show in some way or other a relationship to the Jewish and
Jewish-Christian conceptions. 27 The most representative of these
texts should be at least briefly reviewed here. 28
The Shepherd if Hennas offers the clearest parallel in Apostolic lit-
erature to the two spirits from Qumran: "For if you are courageous
the Holy Spirit which dwells in you will be pure, not obscured by
another evil spirit.. .. "29 The presence of both spirits in the same
person is made quite specific further: "If therefore both spirits dwell
in the same place, it is unprofitable and evil for that man in whom
they dwell."30 To be sure, this is not an ideal, or even a necessary,
state of affairs:
For when these spirits dwell in one vessel, where also the Holy Spirit
dwells, there is no room in that vessel, but it is overcrowded. Therefore,
the delicate spirit which is unaccustomed to dwell with an evil spirit, or
with hardness, departs from such a man and seeks to dwell with gentle-
ness and quietness. 31

2S A. Dihle, The Theory qf the Will in Classical Antiquity (Sather Classical Lectures 48;
Berkeley: University of California Press 1982) 77.
26 See e.g. b. roma 69b, b. Baba Bathra 16a, Gen Rabba 9.9; further discussion in

E.E. Urbach, The Sages (Jerusalem: Magnes 1967) 415-27 (Hebrew).

27 See OJ.F. Seitz, "Antecedents and Signification of the Term dipsukhos," Journal

qf Biblical Literature 66 (1947) 211-19. Seitz states that "it becomes highly probable
that the real antecedent of the notion expressed by the Greek term dipsukhos, which
James, I and 11 Clement, and Hermas appear to have derived from a single source,
is to be found in the rabbinic conception of a double heart or two hearts, which is
generically related to the idea of the two yetsarim .... " (214). This article was written, of
course, before the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
28 For a series of Jewish and early Christian texts on the two spirits in man, see

also Dihle, Theory qf Will, 100 n. 42.

29 heteron ponerou pneumatos. Mandates 5.2. On the parallels with Qumran, see e.g. P.
Luis-Font, "Sources de la doctrine d'Hermas sur les deux esprits," Revue d'Ascitique et
de Mystique 39 (1963) 83-89, who states that this doctrine comes from Essenian theol-
ogy. Referring to the (misleading) patterns of thought developed by Jean DanieJou,
he concludes on the "outillage mental surtout semitique" of early Christianity (98).
See further J. Paramelle, P. Adnes, "Hermas," Dictionnaire de Spiritualite 7 (1969) 315-
334, esp. 322, who point out the parallels with the Didache and present the angel of
iniquity as a supporter or emanation of the Devil.
30 amphotera oun ta pneumata epi to auto katoikounta, asumphoron estin kai poneron tai anthro-

poi ekeinoi, en hOi katoikousin. Mandates 5.4.

31 Ibid., 6.5-6.
204 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

The clearest testimony from Hermas, however, relates specifically

that two angels dwell within man. (Note the fluidity of the terminol-
ogy: aggeloi seem identical to pneumata): "Hear now, he said, concern-
ing the faith. There are two angels within man, one of righteousness
and one of wickedness. "32
The Epistle rif Bamabas has often been referred to in the same
context. This last text, however, presents a rather different kind of
dualism, identical to that of the Didache: the two ways of teaching
and power (of Light and of Darkness), as well as their angelic agents,
remain distinct and separate.
And there is a great difference between the two ways. For over the one
are set light-bringing angels of God (photagogoi aggeloi tou theou), but over
the other, angels of Satan (aggeloi tou satanas).33

A different conception, one which posits a hierarchy of two souls, one

above the other, rather than two opposing souls, is presented in the
second half of the second century by Tatian, the encratite Apologist
"from the land of the Assyrians."34 As we shall see, Tatian's Eastern
origin is of some significance, since similar conceptions appear later,
also of Eastern provenance. As has often been pointed out, moreover,
Tatian's thought seems to reflect early or "archaic" Jewish-Christian
conceptions. On the soul, Tatian says:
We have knowledge of two different kinds of spirits, one of which is
called the soul, but the other is greater than the soul: it is the image and
likenes of God. The first men were endowed with both, so that they
might be part of the material world, and at the same time above it. This
is how things are. 35
A view closer to the one which we have sought to trace until now,
and which speaks about two opposing powers in the soul, is preserved
by Origen in his Homilies on Luke:
Everyone is assisted by two angels, one of justice and one of iniquity. If
good thoughts dwell in our heart, and if justice brings forth many fruits
in us, there is no doubt that it is the angel of the Lord which speaks to
us. But if an evil thought agitates our heart, then it is the angel of the
devil which speaks.36

32 Aggeloi meta tou anthropou, eis tes dikaiosunes kai eis tes ponerias. Mandates 6.2, l.
33 Bam. 18.1-2.
34 Tatian, Oratio ad Graecos, 42.

35 Duo pneumaton diaphoras ismen hemeis, hon to men kaleitai psukhe, to de meizon men tes

psukhes.... Oration ad Graecos 12.1 (22-23 Whittaker. Oxford: Clarendon Press 1982).
36 "Unicuique duo assistunt angeli, alter iustitiae, alter iniquitatis. Si bonae cogi-
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 205

It should not come as a surprise that this view is quite similar to that
proposed by Hermas. Indeed, in the Peri Archon, Origen expresses his
gratitude to Hermas (PA III.2,4). The opposition of the two angels
within man reflects the stakes of the spiritual fight between darkness
and light. Therefore, discerning between the two spirits is an impor-
tant task, as Origen emphasized in the Peri Archon .. 37
This idea, which reappears in Cassian, was picked up in turn by
Gregory of Nyssa:
The Divine providence ... has placed next to each of us, in order to help
him in life, an angel, incorporeal in nature, while the "corruptor of our
race," seeking to hurt man, used the same procedure through means of
an evil and evildoing demon. 38

As mentioned above, the two souls theory is propounded also by

various dualist and gnostic texts. From our scarce evidence it seems
that the two souls mentioned by the Gnostics are not two opposite
souls, one good and one evil. Rather, they seem to be hierarchically
ordered, one higher than the other, one "more divine and heavenly
and the other inferior."39 As we have seen, such a conception, far
from being exclusive to the Gnostics, seems to have been fairly wide-
spread, since we find it also expressed by various early Christian
authors such as Tatian. It should be noted that this conception is
different from the one which posits two opposing spirits, or else two
forces, instincts, or angels fighting within the soul.
We must acknowledge that in our cursory review of the evidence,
we have encountered no clear reference to two souls in ancient Jewish
or Christian texts. Philo mentions two dunameis in the soul, Tatian
speaks of two pneumata, as does the Testament ifJudah and Hermas. All
these texts reflect a basic concept which we find most clearly ex-
pressed in the Manual if Discipline. Moreover, authors such as Bar-

tationes in corde nostro fuerint et in animo iustitia pullulaverit, haud dubium quin
nobis loquatur angelus Domini. Sed vero malae fuerint in nostro corde versatae,
loquitur nobis angelus diaboli." Horn. Luc. 12.4 (202-203 Crouzel, Fournier, Peri-
chon. SC 87 Paris: le Cerf 1962).
37 See F. Marty, "Le discernement des deux esprits dans le Peri Archon," Revue
d'Ascitique et de Mystique 34 (1958) 147ff. See further Crouzel et al., eds., Horn. Luc. 202
n. 2; Danielou, "Demon," Dictionnaire de Spiritualite, 3.163-167.
38 all'aggelon tina asomaton eilekhoton phusin ... dia ponerou tinos kakopoiou daimonos. Gregory
ofNyssa, Vita Moysis 2.45 (131-33 Danielou; SC Iter; Paris: le Cerf 1968). Cr. Cas-
sian, Coriferences 8.17 (54 SC); also Danielou's discussion, us anges et leur mission (Paris:
Desclee 1990 [1952]) 120-23.
39 See Ferwerda, "Two Souls," 362.
206 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

nabas, Origen, and Gregory of Nyssa, who mention two angels fight-
ing within the human soul, seem to adhere to the same pattern of
thought. 40
Although Augustine remains rather vague when he objects to the
Manichaean doctrine of the two souls, he seems clearly to refer to an
anthropology in which two opposing forces are contesting within
man, and not to a hierarchy of two souls. He speaks, for example, of
"duas animas, vel duas mentes, unam bonam, alteram malam." Else-
where he writes: "Duas simul animas in uno homine esse delirant,
unam malam, alteram bonam, de suis principiis emanantes."41 Titus
of Bostra expresses the same view in his adversus Manichaeos: the Mani-
chees, he states, believe that two opposite natures (duo phuseis enantias)
dwell within man, one good, one evi1. 42 No other sources, however,
speak of two opposite souls within man. Shaharastani's testimony in-
deed refers to the soul of the kingdom of light, which is "good, noble,
wise, acting the good and knowledgeable," while the soul of darkness
is "evil, low, stupid, evildoing and ignorant," but these souls are
cosmic, not human. 43 The evidence produced until now does not
allow us to show clearly the evidence of the two souls doctrine in
Manichaeism. The circumstantial evidence, however, does point to a
long tradition, from Qumran on, of a duality of opposing forces
within man. We have seen, moreover, the existence of another idea,
represented by Tatian in the East, of a hierarchy of souls.
What scholars seem not to have noticed, however, is another
Manichaean concept of the duality of the soul, one that is well at-
tested in many sources, the Cologne Mani Codex in particular. I
refer to Mani's belief that he had a heavenly double, his Twin (tauma).
A divine alter-ego of sorts, this heavenly twin, who as Mani's guard-
ian angel brought him the Revelation, also functioned as the Para-

40 For a similar conception in Syriac Christianity, see Aphrahat, DemonstratWnes,

Patrologia !iJriaca I.416.17f., 744.4ff., 848.20ff.; c( Voobus "Aphrahat (Nachtrage zum

RAC)," in Jahrbuchfiir Antike und Ghristentum 3 (1960) 152-55.
41 De haeresibus 46; opus imperJ c. Iut. III.I72 (this last text quoted by Baur, ReligWns-

~stem, 165).
42 adv. Man. 11.6 (PG 18, 1144B). On Titus's anti-Manichaean polemics, see G.
Stroumsa, Sa:voir et Salut (Paris: le Cerf 1992) 329-40.
43 Text in Shaharastani, Book of Religions and the Philosophical Sects, W. Cureton, ed.

(London 1848), 189; transl. D. Gimaret and G. Monot (Louvain: Peeters, UNESCO
1986) 656. For another fourth-century refutation of Manichaean psychology, see
Nemesius of Emesa, de natura hominis 18 (trans. W. Telfer, Gyril of Jerusalem and
Nemesius of Emesa (London: SCM Press 1955) 286-87). Nemesius speaks of a single
world soul, which can be divided up.
 lWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 207

clete, the Holy Spirit.44 Now it has been pointed out long ago, in
particular by Erik Peterson, that this concept of the Twin seems close
to that of Tatian, for whom the soul forms a couple, or suzugia, with
the Spirit, which leads her to heaven. According to Gilles Quispel,
Mani's Heavenly Twin marks a transformation of the 'jewish-Chris-
tian concepts of the Angel of the Spirit" which appears, for example,
in the Shepherd of Hermas and in the Ascension if Isaiah. 45 In a sense,
then, the Twin can be considered as identical to the heavenly, supe-
rior soul. The same conception, already known in Iran 46, clearly
reflects shamanistic patterns of thought, according to which the soul,
in certain conditions, can go out of the individual. It reappears in
some Gnostic texts, such as the Pistis Sophia: "This man is I and I am
this man. "47 Logion 108 of the Gospel if Thomas should probably also
be understood in the same light:
Jesus said: "He who will drink from my mouth will become like Me. I
myself shall become he, and the things that are hidden will be revealed
to him."48

The concept of the suzugia expressed here is rather different from that
well known from the pseudo-Clementine literature, where the mem-
bers of the pairs appear in chronological succession, a false prophet
(for example) preceding a true one. "God has appointed for this
world certain pairs; and he who comes first of the pairs is of evil; he
who comes second, of good."49 We must conclude that two different

44 See A. Henrichs and L. Koenen, "Der Kolner Mani-Kodex (P. Colon. inv. nr.

4780): pen tes games Iou siimatos autou; Edition der Seiten 1-71," Zeitschriflfor Papyrologie
undEpigraphie 19 (1975), n. 39* pp. 75-76 (on CMC 69-70). For a detailed discussion
of the Twin figure in the Mani Codex and other sources, see by the same authors, "Ein
greichischer Mani-Codex," ZPE 5 (1975), VI: Manis himmlischer Zwilling. Evodius,
too, identifies Mani's Twin as the Holy Spirit: " ... a gemino suo, hoc est spirito sancto"
(defide c. Man. CSEL 25/ 1,961). See now W. Fauth, "Manis anderes Ich: Gestalthafte
Metaphysik in Kolner Mani-Kodex," in R. Berlinger and W. Schrader, eds., Gnosis
und Philosophie (Elementa 59; Amsterdam, Adanta 1994) 75-139.
45 This is developed further, in particular, by G. Quispel, "Genius and Spirit," in

M. Krause, ed., Essqys on the Nag Hammadi Texts in Honour if Pahor Labib (NHS 6;
Leiden: Brill 1975) 155-69, esp. 166.
46 See J. Russell, "Katir and Mani: A Shamanistic Model of their Conflict,"

lranica Varia: Papers in Honor if Prqfessor Ehsan Yarshater (Acta lranica 30 (1990) 191 n. 16.
47 Pistis Sophia 11.96 (231 Schmidt, McDermot. NHS 9; Leiden: Brill 1978).

48 See discussion in H.-C. Puech, En quete de la gnose 11 (Paris: Gallimard 1978)

21Off.
49 Ps-Clement, Recognitiones 111.59; c£ Horn. 11.15, III.23. C£ the discussion ofW.

Bousset, Hauptprobleme der Gnosis (FRLANT 10. Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht
1907) 152. The first member of a pair to appear is feminine, the second masculine.
208 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

conceptions of the duality of the soul coexisted in Manichaeism from

its earliest stages, the one horizontal, as it were (a good versus and evil
soul), and the other vertical (the soul and its heavenly counterpart).
Even if the nomenclature did not always speak about "souls," it
would seem that Augustine's references to "two souls" most probably
reflect a known reality.
This is not all, however. There seems to have been another confla-
tion of terms in antiquity, this time between a Jewish and a pagan
conception. As Robert Schilling has shown, osmosis occurred at
some point between the Greek idea of daimon and the Jewish concept
of angel. 50 Schilling referred in particular to the dualist theory of a
daimon agathos and a daimon kakos (considered as well in Greek litera-
ture as a sort of guardian angePl): this idea would have conflated
with the Jewish theory of a guardian angel, a conflation already
clearly visible in Philo and reflected later in the doctrines of Origen
and Gregory of Nyssa on the two angels assisting every man.
To conclude: the belief in the two souls, which in all probability
originates in Iran, reappears in various Jewish garbs, and also in
pagan contexts as well as in Platonic teaching. From this multiple
background, two different ideas of the two souls-"horizontal" and
"vertical"-appear in early Christian literature, including Jewish
Christian and Gnostic texts. This forms the proximate channel
through which these ideas reached Manichaeism, and were reinter-
preted and radicalized in light of Manichaean dualist cosmology.
Augustine, therefore, knew what he was speaking about when he
refuted the Manichees on their two-soul anthropology. But though
he rejected their solution as unphilosophical, Augustine continued to
be preoccupied by the problem of the dividied will. Indeed, recogni-
tion of the will's conflict was not Paul's unique privilege. "Video
meliora proboque," testified Ovid, "deteriora sequor" (Metamorphoses
VII. 2 1). But no one analyzed the divided will so well as did Augus-
tine. We should now consider how he dealt with the matter.

Guy G. Stroumsa

50 R. Schilling, "Genius," RAC, 10, 52-83. I quote according to the original ver-

sion, in his Rites, cultes, dieux de Rome (Paris: Klincksieck 1979) 415-43.
51 See Andres, "Daimon," Pau(y- Wissowa Realen::;ylopadie, Suppl. Ill, 287-90 (1918).
 '!Wo SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 209

11. AUGUSTINE AND THE DIVIDED WILL

"Domine, da mihi castitatem ... sed noli modo."

Augustine, Conftssiones 8.7,17
Moral confusion and intellectual precocity had combined to lead
Augustine "into the snares of the Manichees" during his first year of
study at Carthage (Corif. 3.6,10). Decades later, reviewing this period
in Book 3 of his Co'!ftssions, Augustine claims not to have subscribed
particularly to the Manichaean myths ("manducabam, non avide
quidem"), and he chides them for their reading of Scripture ("Does
God have fingernails and hair?") and their speculative preoccupa-
tions ("Where does evil come from?"). On the basis of his mocking
review in Book 3, we would have no reason to suppose that Augus-
tine would remain an involved and publicly identified devotee of the
sect for nine years.
Their answers came to seem, to him, impious and ignorant; their
questions never left him. He and they both looked to Paul for the
premier statement of spiritual conflict in the seat of the self: "For I do
not do the good I want, but the evil that I do not want is what I do"
(Romans 7: 19).52 Augustine repeatedly dismissed the Manichaean
solution to the problem of evil, namely, that two souls, one good, one
wicked, battled within the individual, who was identified uniquely
with the good soul. Yet his own solution, as we shall see, relied
equally on an idea of spiritual doubleness: not two souls, but a di-
vided soul, split along a fault line running right through its will and,
hence, its loves. And again like his dualist opponents, he sees the
source of this spiritual two-ness lying beyond the individual: for the
Manichees, in the structure of the cosmos; for Augustine, in the
history of the species.
Augustine's emphasis on the historical dimension of the split soul,
an idea that he begins to develop in the mid-390s, echoes in turn a
new way of reading Scripture that he comes to subsequently. This,
too, was emphatically historical-and innovative for his day, when
intellectual taste ran to allegory or typology. The traditional option to

52 See the elegant reconstruction of the Paul whom the Manichee Augustine

would have known in C.P. Bammel, "Pauline Exegesis, Manichaeism, and Philoso-
phy in the Early Augustine," Christian Faith and Greek Philosophy in Late Antiquiry, ed.
Lionel R. Wickham and C.P. Bammel (Leiden 1993) 1-25.
210 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

allegory was interpretation kata sarka or secundum camem, the dismally

literal reading of the Bible that Christians polemic ally and regularly
associated with Jews. Manichees, too, read the Old Testament liter-
ally-hence God's fingernails and hair-and for this reason Augus-
tine routinely associated their hermeneutics with ':Jewish error". 53
Yet he himself pioneered a new reading both of Genesis and of Paul
that idiosyncratically blended typology with an insistently historical
hermeneutic, creating a new option: interpretatio ad litteram. 54
Historical time thus figures prominently in Augustine's formula-
tion, against the Manichees, of the psychic sources of evil and of the
correct way to interpret Scripture. His growing appreciation of the
importance of the historical dimension to human reality eventually
affected his assessment both of the soul and even, finally, of the body.
The point at which these issues and answers came together for him
for the first time was in the course of a public debate with a former
colleague on the origin and nature of evil. We have the transcript of
their encounter in the contra Fortunatum (28 and 29 August 392).
Only a separate and independent malevolent force, Fortunatus
insisted, sufficiently protected God from implication in the problem
of evil. Consequently, moral evil was best understood as a battle
between two contrary natures within man, one from God, one op-
posed. Augustine responded that only the uncoerced movement of a
single will sufficiently accounted for sin, since if sin were not volun-
tary, God would not be just in punishing sinners. Augustine argued

53 c. Faustum 12.4: The Manichees, like the Jews, read with a 'veil drawn over their

hearts,' because neither community understands how the Law prefigures and typo-
logically announces the (Catholic) Church.
54 Augustine began and abandoned his first attempt at reading Genesis ad litteram

in 393. A year and some later, at work on his commentary on Galatians, he chal-
lengedJerome's interpretation of Paul's argument with Peter in Gal. 2. Jerome had
argued that the quarrel had been staged, for the edification of the audience; Augus-
tine insisted that the episode must be read straightforwardly, as an honest report of
a genuine dispute. See, in the Augustinian corpus, epp. 28, 40, 75, and 82 (where the
argument moves from the implications oflying to the religious value-hence, histori-
cal integrity-of Jewish Law); also Sermo super verbis Apostoli ad Galatas, preached in
397, and recently edited by F. Dolbeau, Revue Benedictine 102 (1992) 52-63.
The eruption of the Origenist controversy in the West, also beginning in this
period (Rufmus translated the Peri Archon in 398), took some of the bloom off of
allegorical interpretation; see esp. E. A. C1ark, The Origenist Controversy (Princeton
1992), 159-250. Augustine doubtless would have been aware of this. But the funda-
mental reasons for his developing a hermeneutic of historical simplicity, I shall argue
here, are internal to his theology, especially as he constructs this in the 390s against
the Manichees.
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 211

deductively, from God's nature to the relation of will to merit;55

Fortunatus, through a near-continuous appeal to Scripture: John,
Matthew, and especially the letters of Paul. 56
Not until the second day of the debate, buffeted by a sudden
fusillade of Matthean and Pauline texts, did Augustine change his
tack. He again invoked human will, but this time he complicated the
concept by tying the will's operation into two earlier moments: Ad-
am's sin, and the preceding sins of the individual agent. Adam's sin
affected all subsequent humanity, and the individual's sin, through
the creation of habit, affects all subsequent action.
I say that there was the free exercise of the will in that man who was
first formed ... But after he freely sinned, we who descend from his stock
were plunged into necessity .... For today in our actions, before we are
implicated by any habit, we have free choice ... But when by that liberty
we have done something [evil] ... and the pleasure of that deed has taken
hold on the mind, the mind by its own habit is so implicated that it
cannot afterwards conquer what it has fashioned for itself. (c. Fort. 22) 57

Augustine thus linked moral choice to Adam's fall and to the indi-
vidual's psychological and moral development: these two historical
events-one distant, one proximate-necessarily impinged. How so?

" E.g.: "God gave man's rational soul free will. For merit is possible only if we do
good voluntarily, not neccessarily," c. Fort. 15, to which Fortunatus responds by
quoting Eph. 2: 1-18, Rom. 11: 1 and Rom. 1: 1-4 (C. Fort. 16 and 17).
56 Phi!. in c. Fort. 3; Eph., in 17. Fortunatus inadvertendy brought the debate to a
close when he conluded his citations with 1 Cor 15:50: "caro et sanguis regnum dei
non possidebunt, neque corruptio incorruptelam possidebit." At this point the crowd
vociferously intervened, and then broke into various small discussions (19: I think
that they objected strongly to Fortunatus' adducing Pauline support against the
possibility of both Incarnation and fleshly resurrection). When they reconvened the
following day and took up the question why man sins, Fortunatus effortlessly ad-
duced more scriptural (and esp. Pauline) support for his position: Mt 15: 13 and 3:10;
Rom 8:7; Gal 5:17; Rom 7:23-25; Gal 5:14 (c. Fort. 21).
57 Liberum voluntatis arbitrium in ilio homine fuisse dico, qui primus formatus

est.... Postquam autem ipse libera voluntate peccavit, nos in neccessitatem praeci-
pitati sumus, qui ab eius stirpe descendimus .... Hodie namque in nostris actionibus
antequam consuetudine aliqua implicemur, liberum habemus arbitrium faciendi ali-
quid, vel non faciendi .... Cum autem ista libertate fecerimus aliquid, et facti ipsius
tenuerit animam pemiciosa dulcendo et voluptas, eadem ipsa sua consuetudine sic
implicatur, ut postea vincere non possit, quod sibi ipsa peccando fabricata est.
This is an argument for diminished capacity, brought on by the freely-willed acts
of the individual agent; it is not an argument for involuntary sin: cf. M. Alflatt's two
essays, "The Development of the Idea of Involuntary Sin in St. Augustine," REAug
20 (1974) 113-34, and "The Responsibility for Involuntary Sin in St. Augustine," RA
10 (1975) 170-86; and RJ. O'Connell's recent critique, '''Involuntary Sin' in the de
libero arbitrio," REAug 37 (1991) 23-36.
212 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

Flesh is now mortal in consequence of Adam's sin: mortality is inher-

ited together with flesh itself. The soul's liaison with this sort of
flesh-labile, distracted-inclines it to habitual actions formed in the
soul: habemus necessitatem consuetudinis nostrae, habits which each indi-
vidual freely acquires for himself when and by sinning. 58 This com-
pulsive emotional memory, facilitated by the soul's bond with mortal
flesh, thus impinges on free choice, whose difficulties attest not to two
contrary natures, but to a single conflicted will. 59
Note two points here. The first is that Augustine has set up a
double historical context for moral difficulty: the sin of Adam, which
stands in causal relationship to current sinning; and the person's own
past. Secondly-and for my purposes, more importantly-through
his attention to the individual's emotional past, Augustine came to
shift the spiritual arena of faulty decision-making. Choice is less a
function of what man knows (his earlier formulation in the late
380s)60 than of how man fiels: habit-feelings with a past-exerts a
gravitational pull on moral choice. In essence, both because of his
species-history and because of his personal history, man now func-
tions, morally, with diminished volitional capacity.
In the writings on Paul in the mid-390s that follow from this
debate,61 Augustine worked out a four-fold periodization of history
and of individual spiritual development that frames and shapes his
vision of man's will. The four stages are ante legem, sub lege, sub gratia,
and in pace. They structure universal time from Adam to the Parousia
and individual time from unselfconscious sinning to eschatological
58 "This is what wars against the soul: habit, formed in the flesh," c. Fort. 22. See
also de ii animabus 14.23, written in the months before this debate, for another state-
ment vaguely linking life in the body, habit, and sin. For an analysis of Augustine's
confusions and false starts in this period, James Wetzel, Augustine and the Limits if Virtue
(Cambridge 1992), 86-98.
59 "Sed ut intelligas istas duas arbores sic esse a Domino positas, ut ibi signifi-

caretur liberum arbitrium, non naturas esse istas duas arbores, sed volutates nostras,"
c. Fort. 22; and from this perspective he reinterprets the catena of scriptural quota-
tions that Fortunatus had earlier flung at him: Eph 5:6, 1 Tim 4:4, Rom 5: 19, 1 Cor
15:21,49.
60 This association of moral progress with knowing and, thus, choosing the good is

the intellectual legacy of the the platonizing philosophy through which Augustine, in
the 380s, had been able to return to the Catholic Church in Milan. See, most
recendy, Wetzel, Augustine and the Limits if Virtue; on Augustine's early post-conversion
arguments against the Manichees in light of these new philosophical convictions,
Bammel, "Pauline Exegesis," 10-25.
61 These are the Propositions on the Epistle to the Romans, the Urifinished Commentary on

Romans, and the Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (all 394/95); questions 66-68 of
another hermeneutic melange, the 83 Qyestions, the ad Simplicianum (396) and, capping
this particular trajectory, the Confessions (397 -400?).
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 213

resurrection. 62 For both the individual life and the public history it
encompasses, this model places at dead center the crucial moment of
conversion, the movement between Stage 2 and Stage 3. How does
one move from under the Law to under grace-the moment Augus-
tine understands Paul to describe in chapter 7 of Romans?63
The more seriously Augustine attends to the emotional disso-
nance, the tale of two wills, that he hears in Romans 7, the less place
for moral autonomy he is prepared to grant in explaining the transi-
tion from Stage 2 to Stage 3. In the Romans commentaries of 3941
5, man has only enough moral freedom to appeal to Christ for aid as
he struggles sub lege. 64 Within eighteen months, even this tiny island of
autonomy is gone. Making his case exegetically, again through Ro-
mans, in the ad Simplicianum, and autobiographically, through the
story of his own past in the Confessions, Augustine comes to insist that
God chooses whom he will aid without consideration of any input,
positive or negative, from the individual. God chooses justly, but
mysteriously: his reasons are occultissima. 65
Interestingly, it is exactly through that most deranged part of the
soul, the emotions, that God works his choice. Recall for the moment
what we have seen of Augustine's interpretation of feeling. Emotions
were the site for the onset of "habit", and the means through which
the soul hewed too close to the body's appetites. In Augustine's new
formulation, they become the means for divine renewal and healing.
How so? Because God works through man's feelings. He reorients
the individual's loves by causing him to take delight in what is right: 66
62 Propp. 13-18. For more detailed analysis of this treatise, see my essay, "Beyond

the Body/Soul Dichotomy: Augustine on Paul against the Manichees and the Pela-
gians," Recherches augustiniennes 23 (1988) 87-114. Unfortunately I have not had access
to the recent critical edition and commentary on the Propp. and the unfmished
Romans commentary by Maria Grazia Mara, Agostino interprete di Paolo (Milan 1993);
eadem, "Agostino e la polemic a antimanichea: il ruolo di Paolo e del suo episto-
lario," Augustinianum 32 (1992) 341-68.
63 hopp. 45-46 (5-6), commenting on Romans 7:23-25: "For [paul] said, 'Un-

happy man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?', and he
answered, 'The grace of God through Jesus Christ our Lord.' Here he begins to
describe the man constituted under grace .... "
64 E.g., Propp. 44 (3); c( 62.

65 "Body/Soul," 93-98; see further my essay on this theme, "Excaecati Occulta

Iustitia Dei. Augustine onJews and Judaism," Journal of Early Christian Studies, 3 (1995)
299-324.
66 Augustine had considered the relation of delight and love to human motivation

in earlier writings-e.g., de moribus ecclesiae 1.21,39-22,40; defide et symbolo 9,19; sermo

159.3,3; expositio ep. ad Gal. 49, commenting on Gal. 5:22£ His discussion in the ad
Simpl., however, emphasizes the degree to which delight escapes control.
214 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

Who can believe unless he is reached by some calling, by some testi-

mony borne to the truth? .. Who can welcome in his mind something
which does not give him delight? Who has it in his power to ensure that
something that delights him will occur? If those things which delight us
serve to turn us to God, this is due not to us but to him.
ad Simplicianum 1.2,21. 67
For Augustine, it is this compulsive quality of emotional life-
whether negatively through carnal habit, or positively through de-
light in the good-that gives the true measure of the will's freedom.
No exterior evil force, representing an evil cosmic power, acts upon
the will: in this sense, Augustine stands firmly against dualistic Mani-
chaean moral determinism. But the will acts upon itself, through its
own disordered loves. Thus the single Augustinian soul, fractured
through the sin of Adam, functions much as do the two Manichaean
souls to explain the difficulty and struggle of man's moral existence.
But whereas the two Manichaean souls correspond to a cosmic strug-
gle and structure, the single Augustinian soul does not. Compulsive,
labile, conflicted, this soul's divisions are historical and psychological,
not cosmic, and therefore uniquely human.
The quality of human affection, the way that the soul adheres to
the body, also affects Augustine's assessment of human experience
both sub gratia (Stage 3) and in pace (Stage 4). Even once God has
aided man to move from Stage 2 to Stage 3, sub lege to sub gratia, says
Augustine, the flesh still remains flesh; it continues to troublingly
solicit man with the the anxieties and cares of this life, so that even
those sub gratia "groan inwardly while we await adoption, the re-
demption of our bodies," (Romans 8:23). The greatest saints are still
the children of Adam. Thus eventually, against the Pelagians, Augus-
tine came to insist that even the apostles had "groaned because of the
concupiscence of the flesh," even Peter and Paul had looked on death
with dread and fear.58 Full peace is not possible as long as man lives
in "this body of death" (Rom 7:24), the flesh as now constituted.
67 "quis potest credere, nisi aliqua vocatione, hoc est aliqua rerum testificatione

tangatur? Quis habet in potestate tali viso attingi mentem suam, quo eius voluntas
moveatur ad fidem? Quis autem animo amplectitur aliquid quod eum non delectat?
aut quis habet in potestate ut vel occurrat quod eum delectare possit, vel delectet
cum occurrerit? Cum ergo nos ea delectant qui bus proficiamus ad Deum, inspiratur
hoc et praebetur gratia Dei ... "
68 c. 2 epp. Pelagianorum 1.11,24, apostolic concupiscence; in Iohannis roangelium

123.5, Paul and Peter's fear of death. C( his assertion, when still in Italy, that when
the soul has turned from the sensible world to God it will long to be released from
the body "and even desire death," de moribus ecclesiae 1.22,40.
 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 215

But the soul's appetite for the body also provided a key idea for
Augustine's historical interpretation of Scripture, and for his depic-
tion of eschatological life in pace. Reading Genesis ad litteram in the
decade that followed his intensive work on Paul, Augustine came to
insist that God had created Adam (and Eve) both soul and fleshly
body together. 69 Such an interpretation argued that the begetting of
children had been part of God's plan for humanity from the begin-
ning, and that nothing intrinsically sinful clouded human sexual in-
tercourse. 70 But all this changed with the Fall. Whereas prior to sin,
sexual intercourse might have been effected as an act of will, after, sin
sundered the coordination between soul and body. Thereafter, pro-
creation depended on an act of lust-compulsive and, since beyond
control, shameful-to be achieved. 71 And whereas prior to the Fall
the soul and body, created together, should have remained together,
after the Fall the soul was to be wrenched, traumatized and unwill-
ing, from the body at death.72
Death traumatizes because the soul loves the body, and was cre-
ated to love the body. And this love is what triumphs at the resurrec-
tion of the flesh. Again we see the psychological emphasis of Augus-
tine's understanding, and his singular focus on the human, to the
exclusion of the cosmic, in his construction of the problem of evil and
its resolution. 73 From the 390s on, he had insisted that flesh, and not
just bodies, would be raised on the last day. This flesh would be
morally reconstituted, no longer subject to death or carnal appetite: it
would be, in this sense, "spiritual", not "carnal."74 But by the time he
wrote his great Genesis commentary, Augustine had worked out yet

69 de Gen. ad litt. 3.21,33, specifically on the divine injunction to be fruitful and

multiply.
70 As such, this reading of Genesis would oppose radical Christian asceticisms

such as jerome's (against jovinian) as well as that of the Manichees. On dating this
major revision in Augustine's thinking to thejovinian controversy, see esp. Elizabeth
A. Clark, "Heresy, Asceticism, Adam, and Eve: Interpretations of Genesis 1-3 in the
Later Latin Fathers,"Ascetic Piery and Women's Faith (Lewiston 1986) 353-73; also R.A.
Markus, The End of Ancient Christianiry (Cambridge 1990) 38-45.
71 de Genesi ad litteram 9.10,16-18, a point Augustine reinterated constantly in his
later polemic against Pelagius and julian, e.g., de nupt. et concup. 2.27,45; de gratia
Christi 2.26,41; de pecc. mer. 11.31,40-41.
72 de Gen. ad litt. 11.32,42; cf. 9.10,16-18. See toojohn Rist's remarks, Augustine.
Ancient Thought Baptised (Cambridge 1994), 139, 182.
73 Noted with disapproval by Henri Marrou, St. Augustine and his lrifluence through the

Ages (New York 1957) 72; cf. Fortunatus' protest that, "apart from our bodies, evil
things dwell in the whole world," c. Fort. 21.
74 E.g., c. Faustum 11.7; 12.22.
216 G.G. STROUMSA AND PAULA FREDERIKSEN

another reason why flesh itself must rise: God made the soul to love
the body, so that the soul could not find peace unless and until the
two were again together. Not soul, but soul and body, together define
the human being; redemption comes not to souls, but to persons: 75
The soul possesses a kind of natural appetite for managing the body. By
reason of this appetite it is somehow hindered from going on with all its
force to the highest heaven, so long as it is not joined to the body, for it
is in managing the body that this appetite is satisfied .... And when the
soul ... again receives this body [transformed]. .. it will have the perfect
measure of its being; obeying and commanding, vivified and vivifying
with such wonderful ease that what was once its burden will be its glory.
de Gen. ad lift. 12.35 54

But redemption comes solely to humans. Eschewing earlier traditions

of Christian apocalyptic hope, Augustine insisted that the Kingdom
of God would not come on a transformed earth. The heavenly Jeru-
salem, God's city, remains "above," supramundane; and it is to this
celestial and immaterial place that the saints in their raised fleshly
bodies will ascend-the dazzlingly paradoxical vision that closes the
Ciry if God. Emphatically, once for all, Augustine severed any connec-
tion between anthropology and cosmology: in terms of salvation,
man is the measure of all things.
What then, finally, of the Manichaean ideas on two souls, one type
'horizontal' (the good soul versus the bad soul), the other 'vertical'
(the mundane soul and its heavenly counterpart)? We have seen a
similar duality, mutatis mutandis, in Augustine. His 'horizontal soul',
synchronic and individual, is the Pauline introspective self of Romans
7, the soul whose will is divided. And this coexists with a vertical soul,
diachronic and, in some sense, transpersonal: not the upper soul of
Mani's guardian daimon, but the 'historical' soul through which hu-
mans share, mysteriously, in the sin of Adam, through whom we are
born a traduce mortalitatis or a tradux peccati. 77 This argument for histori-
cal and psychological doubleness in Augustine's thought both re-

75 For further discussion, with notes, "Body/Soul," 105-14.

76 " ••• quia inest ei naturalis quidam adpetitus corpus administrandi: quo adpetitu

retardatur quodammodo, ne tota intentione pergat in illud summum caeium, quam-

diu non subest corpus, cuius administratione adpetitus ille conquiescat.... Proinde,
cum hoc corpus iam non animale sed per futuram commutation em spirituale recepe-
rit angeiis adaequata, perfectum habebit naturae suae modum obediens et inperans,
vivificata et vivifcans tarn ineffabili facilitate, ut sit ei gloriae quod sarcinae fuit."
77 See esp. on man's 'double nature' and the historical dimension of the soul 'in

Adam,' Rist, Augustine, 121-47.

 TWO SOULS AND THE DIVIDED WILL 217

sponds and corresponds to the moral and cosmic duality of Mani-

chaeism. And for all their differences, both concepts point out and
similarly articulate the existential experience of the person who strug-
gles, conflicted, in the grip of the problem of evil.

Paula Fredriksen
 CURES AND KARMA:
HEALING AND BEING HEALED IN JAIN RELIGIOUS
LITERATURE
Phyllis Granqif

I. Introduction

Medieval Jains shared with Buddhists and Hindus a belief that reli-
gious rituals, hymns, and the bodies or water containing the bodily
dirt of holy men and women could heal. Belief in the healing proper-
ties of religious acts is widely attested in many different genres of
medieval Indian religious literature. Tantric texts, for example, often
describe in detail rituals that are to be carried out in order to cure
disease. I In these texts, sacred words alone or sacred words used to

1 See for example the Buddhist Mafiju~a.frfmiilakalpa, edited by P.L. Vaidya, Bud-
dhist Sanskrit Texts, no. 18, Darbhanga: Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate Studies
and Research in Sanskrit Learning, 1964, chapters 40, and Amoghapasahrdayadharal}f,
edited by R.O. Meisezahl, Monumenta Nipponica, vol. 17, 1962, " The Amoghapa-
sahrdayadharaI:J.i-dharaI:J.i, The Early Sanskrit Manuscript of the Reiunji Critically
edited and translated." See also the Bhai[yajaguruvidiiryaprabhariijasiitra, Mahqyiinasiitra-
saTJ7graha, pt. I, edited P.L. Vaidya, Buddhist Sanskrit Texts Series, no. 17, Dar-
bhanga: Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate Studies and Research in Sanskrit Learn-
ing, 1961, p. 166, where vows six and seven promise cures from illnesses and good
health for all living beings. There are also rituals in the text for curing the sick.
Stories of healing abound in the Buddhist avadiina literature, and the Milinda Panha
even discusses the mechanism of the healing of king Sibi's blindness. King Sibi gives
away his eyes to a supplicant and then has his sight restored to him through the
power of a pronunciation of truth. See the translation by T.W. Rhys Davids, New
York: Dover Publications, 1963, p. 179. I have dealt with some of these stories,
"Cures and Karma 11: Some Miraculous Healings in the Indian Buddhist Story
Tradition", forthcoming Bulletin de l'Ecole Franfaise d'Extreme Orient. Paul Demieville's
entry in the Hobogirin on healing in Buddhism has been translated into English by
Mark Tatz, Buddhism and Healing, Lanham: University Press of America, 1985. The
original article appeared in fascicle 3, 1937. On religious healing in Buddhism see
particularly pp. 46-50.
For Jain healing rituals see for example the "Stambhanaparsvajinastava" ofJineS-
varasuri, a 14th century hymn with ritual instructions, edited Sarabhai MaI:J.ilal
Nawab, Srf Piirsvaniitha Upiisanii, Ahmedabad, 1983, and the Jviiliimiilinf Kalpa, edited
Candrasekharaji Kisanadas Kapa9lya, Surat: DigambaraJaina Pustakalaya, 1966.
On the Hindu side, the Gautamrya Tantra, edited PaI:J.9lta Sri Bhagtratha ]ha,
VaraI:J.asi: Chowkhamba Sanskrit Series, 1977, chapter 18 contains rituals to get rid
of fevers. One of the most famous healing miracles in epic story literature is Kr~I:J.a's
revival of the stillborn child of Abhimanyu, Mbh 14.68.18-23, a cure he effects
 CURES AND KARMA 219

empower medicinal plants may effect the desired cure. In some cases
ritual diagrams or paintings of the deity may also play a vital role in
the ritual process.
The importance of religious ritual as a means to cure disease can
also be documented in narrative literature, didactic stories and reli-
gious biographies. A collection of miracle stories written in 1370 AD.
about a famous Jain hymn, the Bhaktiimarastotra of Manatunga, con-
tains several stories about cures said to have been effected by the
recitation of a verse of the hymn or by meditation upon a verse of the
hymn. 2 In the biography of Manatunga, the author of the Bhaktii-
marastotra, we in fact learn that the hymn was originally composed to
stop the plague in the city of Tak~asila.3 Another famous Jain hymn
was said to have been composed by a medieval monk to cure his own
sickness. This is the hymn to Parsvanatha composed by Abhayadeva,
who was suffering from leprosy in some accounts, and in others from
an imbalance in his blood that had been caused by his overzealous
fasting and studying. 4
with a truth oath. The list could easily be multiplied; rituals for healing seem to be a
major topic of concern in many medieval ritual texts, for example the Paficaratra
Ahirbudhnya Samhitll, which contains a separate chapter (38) on healing rituals for
diseases that afruct the king. Earlier, in the epic, Siva cures RamaJamadagnya by
touching him after Rama has been wounded in battle against the demons (8.24.151).
Finally it should be mentioned that recitation of particular words or mantras seems
generally to have been regarded as one of the means to cure sickness available to
physician healers as well as monks. The judgement that a particular healing by
sacred words is "miraculous" or "religious" depends on the context of that healing.
Thus when the physician Jivaka uses mantras in Buddhist avadanas, he is acting as
physician; the monk Manatunga, on the other hand, is a "religious healer"; having
no expertise in the science of medicine, he is able to heal because of his great
religious austerities. For the belief that mantras are only one type of normal medical
practice compare the verse in the Mahiibhiirata, KaT7}aparva, 8.12.70. The stories of
Jivaka are told in the MfllasarvastWiidavinay(Wastu, cfvar(Wastu, ed. P.L. Vaidya, Buddhist
Sanskrit Texts, no. 16, Darbhanga: Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate Studies and
Research in Sanskrit, 1967. On the magic spell Jivaka uses to open up a patient's
skull see p. 187.
2 Bhaktiimarastotra with the commentary of Sri Gunakara Suri, edited by Prof.
Hiralal Rasikdas Kaparna, Sheth Devchand LalbhaiJain Pustakoddhar Fund Series,
no. 79, Bombay, 1932. I translate below the story of King Sajjana's cure, from the
commentary to verse 15, and there is also a cure in the commentary to verse 41.
3 See the Prabhii:oakacarita of Prabhacandra, edited Muni Jinavijaya, Singhi Jain

Series, vol,13, Ahmedabad: SinghiJaina Pit, 1940, biography number 13, p. 118.
See also the collection of biographies published as the Puriitanaprabandhasamgraha,
edited Jinavijaya Muni, Singhi Jain Series, volume 2, Calcutta: Singhi Jaina Jfiana
PitJ:la, 1936, section 56.
• I translate below the account of Abhayadeva's illness and cure from the Prabhii-
vakacarita, no. 19, p. 165, w. 130ff.
220 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

Leprosy seems to have been of particular concern to the medieval

Jain story teller. 5 Leprosy was often regarded as a form of retribution
for past wickedness, and in one story we learn that it could be cured
by the very same austerities that were said in the normative Jain texts
to bring about a destruction of bad karma. 6 But the most colourful
stories are those in which leprosy is the result of a dramatic event, a
divine or occasionally human curse. In these stories the cure is as
striking as the onset of the disease. In the biography of the poet
Mayiira, for example, we learn that the poet had given his daughter
in marriage to a fellow poet, BaI).a. She gets angry with her husband
and returns to her father. When the father tries to convince her to
return to her contrite husband, she curses her father to become af-
flicted with leprosy. He cures himself by reciting a hymn in praise of
the sun.7 The famous Jain king Kumarapala is said to have suffered
from leprosy, also caused by a curse, though in his case, by the curse
of a goddess who felt slighted. 8 He is cured by water consecrated by
his preceptor, the Jain monk Hemacandra. This same Hemacandra
is similarly said to have suffered from leprosy as the result of an
ancient curse and to have cured himself through meditation. 9 The
examples could easily be multiplied. In a medieval chronicle we learn
of a monk who both cursed a queen with leprosy and cured her by
bathing her in the water he had bathed in himself.lo The same text

5 There is no question that it was also a concern in real life as well. This seems
clear from the fact that special rules were promulgated in the Buddhist vinaya to
regulate the behaviour of monks suffering from leprosy. They were to be kept apart
from the community of monks and were not permitted to use communal property,
bedding, urinals or latrines. See the Mulasarviistiviidavinayavastu, ed. S. Bagchi, Bud-
dhist Sanskrit Texts, no. 16, Darbhanga: The Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate
Studies and Research in Sanskrit Learning, 1967, p. 217.
6 See the account of the leper in the commentary to the Satruiijaya Kalpa, edited

Labhasagaragani, Agamoddhara Granthamala, 41, Ahmedabad V.S. 2026, p. 137.

The commentary was written in Sanskrit by Subhasllagal).i in the mid-fifteenth cen-
tury AD.
7 The biography is in the PuriitanaprabandhasaTflgraha, p. 16. The belief in the con-

nection between worship of the sun and a cure for leprosy was widespread in medi-
eval India.
8 Below I translate the account from the Kumiirapiilacaritramahiikiivya of Caritrasun-

daragal).i, edited by Caturavijaya Muni, Jaina Atmananda Grantharatnamala, no.

57, Bhavnagar, Srt Jaina Atmanandasabha, 1916, chapter six, p. 33. The text is
dated 1430 AD.
9 See the account in the Prabandhacintiimar;i of Merutunga, translated by C.H.

Tawney, Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1901, p. 150.

10 Prabandhacintiimar;i, text edited by Jinavijaya Muni, Singhi Jain Series, vol.l,

Santiniketan, 1933, p. 18; translation, p. 26.

 CURES AND KARMA 221

tells us of an angry mother who cursed her son's murderer and all of
his royal descendants with leprosy.11
We have in addition a unique autobiographical testimony of a
medieval monk who was suffering from leprosy and believed himself
to have been cured through his worship of a Jina image. 12 The belief
in the healing properties of special images of the Jina is also attested
in the biographical literature; we are told that Kumarapala when he
rebuilt the famous Kumarapala Vihara, the temple that was known
under his name, had a hole constructed in the spire, through which
streamed nectar that was exuded by the image and that cured sick-
ness for miles around. 13
Another group of stories concerns cures of self-inflicted wounds.
The king Kumarapala began his career in exile. In order to regain
his rights to the throne he performed rituals in the cemetery, cutting
off pieces of his own flesh and throwing them into the fire as offer-
ings. His ritual was successful, and his wounds were healed by the
goddess who appeared to him to grant him his wishes. 14 Stories of
cures of self-inflicted wounds are an important group of stories in the
Buddhist avadiina literature, where they are developed to a far greater
extent than in medieval Jain story literature. 15
Monks in the biographies told of them also use conventional meth-
ods to cure their own sickness. Thus we hear of the monk Vajra, who
had some disease occasioned by an excess of phlegm and who pro-
cured some medicine to cure it. 16 This more mundane example raises
the large issue of the day to day rules for the monks concerning
disease and treatment. While this paper will not deal directly with

LL Prabandhacintiimarzi, p. 19 in the text and p. 28 in the translation.

L2 This is the "Ekibhavastotra" of Vadiraja, edited by Panc;lit Durgaprasad and
Wasudev Laxman Shastri Pansikar in the Kavyamala series, number 7, reprinted
1987, Benaras: Chowkhamba Series, pp. 17-22. I return to this hymn below.
L3 Below I translate the description of this image and temple from the Prabhiiva-

kacarita biography of Hemacandra, p. 206, verses 675 ff.

L4 See the Kumiirapiilacaritra, p. 14.

L5 See my article "Mal}icuda's Sacrifice: Narrative Context as a Guide to Inter-

pretation", in V.N. ]ha, editor, Kalyii1J.amitra, Festschrifi for Hajime Nakamura, Poona:
Center for the Advanced Study of Sanskrit, 1990, pp. 225-239 for some references to
Buddhist stories and Jain parallels.
16 The story appears in the Prabhiivakacarita, section 9, p. 7 and in Hemacandra's

ParifiJtaparavan, edited HermannJacobi, Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1932, pp. 318-319.

It is interesting to note that Jain monks appear to have sought the advice of physi-
cians far less frequendy than Buddhist monks in the stories told about them. For
Buddhist monks see Demieville, p. 36.
222 PHYLLlS GRANOFF

monastic rules, it is worth noting that the earliest texts seem to agree
that monks are not to seek out nor to accept medical treatment.
Enduring disease is part of the austere life of the monk. Thus the
Dasavaiiiliya 3.4 lists medical treatment as one of many things forbid-
den to a monk. 17 Similarly, the Uttariidhyqyana, 2.32-33 and 16.75-78,
states clearly that monks may not take medicine but must suffer
through their illnesses. They are also not to give medicines to others.
The Aciiriinga, 9.4.1, supports this and states further that in his own
lifetime Mahavira, though afflicted from time to time with illnesses,
never used medicine. 18 The situation would seem to have changed at
some point, as the later handbook of monastic rules, the NiJftha CUT7}i,
of the 7th century AD. indicates. 19 This text not only permits monks
to use medicines, but gives instructions on how a monk should ap-
proach a doctor. Texts like the Bhagavatf Sutra, 15.393-394, also de-
scribe Mahavira as taking medicine, and in rules for the laymen we
hear that the lay devotee should provide the monks with all their
necessities, including medicines. 20 The medieval story literature, with
which this paper will deal, thus belongs to a period in history when
monks, like Vajra, were permitted to seek out doctors when they
were sick and to make use of appropriate remedies. The curious
ambivalence of the stories that I hope to document is all the more
striking, then, when we consider the tolerance of the monastic rules
on the subject of healing.
In some of the biographical literature we learn additionally of
monks who could use disease as a weapon against their would-be
aggressors. These monks, like the king Kumarapala mentioned
above, are attacked by someone with supernatural powers, either a
blood-thirsty goddess or an evil yogin. They strike back, causing their

17 The edition of the text by Acarya Tulasi, Ladnun:Jain Vishwa Bharati, 1974,

pp.68-70, has an infonnative discussion in Hindi of prohibitions against medical

treatment in the early texts.
18 These references are given in full by Acarya Tulasi in the Dasavaialiya, cited

above.
19 On the date see Madhu Sen, A Cultural Study cif the Ni!afftha Cii17}i, Varanasi:

SohanlalJaindharma Pracharak Samiti, 1975, p. 8. On medical treatments see pp.

181-190. The text itself is edited in four volumes from Delhi: Bharatiya Vidya Praka-
shan, 1982. Volume 1, pp. 64 and 65 in the Hindi introduction contain a useful
summary of the attitude towards medical treatment in the text. For further refer-
ences see also S. B. Deo, History cifJaina Monachism From Inscriptions and Texts, Poona:
Deccan College, 1956. I thank Dr. Klaus Bruhn for this reference.
20 Both of these texts are cited by Acarya Tulasi, p. 69.
 CURES AND KARMA 223

adversaries great physical pain. 21 They are also able to heal them-
selves of diseases caused by supernatural agents, often by converting
the offending deity to Jainism. 22
Ritual texts, biographies and didactic stories, then, would seem on
the surface to agree that one of the benefits of being religious is good
health and that seeking good health through prayer, ritual, medita-
tion and medication was both common and unproblematic. In addi-
tion, late monastic rule books allowed a monk to make use of medical
treatment. In the story literature a monk could even be depicted
primarily as a miraculous healer, who raises the dead, subdues dis-
ease-causing evil goddesses and protects devotees from such super-
natural attacks. 23 But the case is not really so simple. The Jain em-
phasis on detachment from concern for worldly things included a
strong prohibition against being overly concerned with caring for the
body, which was extended to a prohibition against seeking cure from
disease. There seems to be a fundamental ambivalence towards cures
of any type in the Jain tradition; while monks as healers may be
singled out for praise, monks as recipients of cures are less highly
regarded. There are stories in the tradition which praise precisely
those monks who rejected the means to cure their diseases that were

21 Typical of such accounts is the biography of the monk Dharmagho~asuri, who

is attacked by a yogin. Dharmagho~asuri recites spells over a pot and causes, the
yogin to fall over, writhing in pain. Dharmagho~asuri's deeds are told in various
lineage histories of the Tapagaccha. See for example p. 29 in Muni Dariana Vijaya,
Pattavalf Samuccaya, Sri Caritra Smarak Granthamala, no.22, Viragam, 1933. The
goddess Saccikadevi attacks the Jain monk Ratnaprabhasuri and his devotees with
disease, but the monk manages to subdue her. See the Upakeiagacchryti Pat.tiivali, p. 187
and 190, published in the same collection by Muni Dariana Vijaya.
22 Such is the case with Ratnaprabhasuri, cited in the note above, who cures
himself of an eye aflliction caused by the goddess Saccikadevi by subduing her and
making her submit toJainism. Early Buddhist texts tell stories of the Buddha's power
to stop plagues, merely by stepping foot into the afllicted territory, and thereby
causing the supernatural agents of the plague to flee. See for an example the plague
of the Licchavis in the Mahtwastu Avadiina, edited S. Bagchi, Buddhist Sanskrit Texts,
no. 14, Darbhanga: Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate Studies and Research in
Sanskrit Learning, 1970, pp. 203-232.
23 Ratnaprabhasuri's major act is the conversion of the Upake~asa clan toJainism.
He accomplishes this by raising from the dead the son of the clan leader. The child
had been bitten by a poisonous snake. See the Upakeiagaacchryti Pat.tiivali, p. 185. For
further information on these clan conversion stories see my paper, "Religious Biog-
raphies and Clan Histories among the Svetambara Jains of North India", East and
West, vo!. 39, nos. 1-4, December 1989, pp. 195-217.
224 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

available to them. 24 In addition, a careful examination of the lan-

guage of the biographies that talk about monks who are healed sug-
gests a profound ambivalence towards the cures the stories seem to
be praising when monks are their beneficiaries.
In this paper I should like to examine a number of accounts of
cures in medieval Jain literature in an effort to understand more
about medievalJain attitudes towards disease and health and the role
of religion in curing sicknesses. Some of the questions I shall be
asking are: what types of diseases are most often cured in these sto-
ries? Who brings about the cure and how? Are both lay devotees and
monks and nuns equally the recipient of such cures? Are there any
types of diseases that cannot be cured by religious acts, and finally
are there occasions on which cures though offered are rejected?
I begin in section II with a simple miracle story about a cure from
the commentary to the Bhaktiimarastotra. This story introduces us to
the world of the religious cure, telling of a king oppressed by some
evil goddesses, cured by the water used to wash the feet of a monk
known for his austerities. It answers several of our questions: the
diseases most often cured are those associated with the curses of evil
deities or that more simply have resulted from the malign intentions
of some evil deities. The healer is a monk, either directly through
contact with some part of his body or the leavings of his body, his dirt
or excrement, for example, or through his words. The story also
suggests that the recipient of the cure is most often a lay person,
either someone who is already a pious devotee, or who through the
cure becomes a pious Jain.
Following the story from the Bhaktiimarastotra, I continue in section
III with a discussion of cures that involve rituals and do not involve
contact with the body of a holy man or women. I translate here an
account of Kumarapala's leprosy and then look at other stories about
ritual cures from a medieval didactic collection, the ]iiiinapancamf-
kathii!5, and the account of Kumarapala's healing temple. I also trans-
late here some of the verses from the Ekfbhiivastotra, in which a monk

24 I translate below one such story of Sanatkumara from the Kathtikosa of Prabha-
candra, edited A.N. Upadhye, Mfu:1ikachandra D. Jaina Granthamala no. 55,
Varaz:1asl: BharatiyaJnana Pita, 1974. Story 3: Caritrodyotanakhyanam, pp. 8-10.
The same story also appears in Hemacandra's Yogailistra, vo!. I, p. 33, in the edition
of Muni Jambuvijaya, Bombay: Jaina Sahityavikasa Maz:19.ala, 1977.
25 Nar;aparrzcamfkaha of SIimaheSvarasuri, Singhi Jain Series no. 25, Bombay:
Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, 1949.
 CURES AND KARMA 225

celebrates his own cure from leprosy that he was able to achieve
through worship of a Jina image.
Finally, in section IV I come to a discussion of monks who are ill
and who are cured through various means. I translate here the ac-
count of Abhayadeva's leprosy and discuss Hemacandra's leprosy
and cure. I also translate here the story of Sanatkumara, who refused
to be cured, and another story of a monk who is offered a cure and
refuses it for a reason slightly different from Sanatkumara. Sanat-
kumara refuses to be cured because he is totally indifferent to his
body and because he seeks release from his body and from the cycle
of rebirths; this other learned monk rejects the cure he has won
through his ritual because he learns that his disease has been caused
by his karma, that is, by something he has done in a past birth. Given
the fact that karma must be lived out to be destroyed, the monk is
told that he may be cured now, but he will have to suffer from the
same disease in a future birth. 26 These stories also answer a number
of our questions: a monk is somehow considered to be an unsuitable
beneficiary of a cure, however accomplished, and excuses must be
made for those who are said to accept the cures offered. In addition
we now can add to our knowledge about attitudes towards disease in
medieval Jainism a belief that there are some diseases that cannot be
cured: these are diseases caused by karma.
The paper concludes in section V with some general remarks
about disease and health in medieval Jain literature.

11. Touching the Saint's Bor!J: Cures by Contact with Holy Men and Women

The story if King Sqjjana, Bhaktamarastotra, commentary to verse 15, pp.

39-40
In the city of Ayodhya reigned King Sajjana, "Good Man", quite
appropriately so called. One day the king fell afoul of some wicked
Yoginis, and he became dreadfully ill. He had pain in every part of
his body and was unable to move. His ministers and loyal retainers
saw to it that every kind of remedy for sickness was tried, but it was
all to no avail. And so the ministers begged of a Jain monk who lived
there, the Glorious Gu~asenasiiri, "Cure the king!" The monk re-
plied, "I shall see what I can do." At night, while he was meditating

26 The story is from the Puriitanaprabandhasamgraha, p. 114.

226 PBrrLLIS G~OFF

on the fifteenth verse of the Bhaktamarastotra, some goddess came to

him and told him that the only way to cure King Sajjana was with
the water that the Jain ascetic Malla had used to wash his feet. In the
morning the monk told the ministers, "If you want to cure the king,
have the lord of monks, Malla, brought from Gujarat; he practices
great austerities, staying awake in meditation all night, and he has
great powers; he is capable of warding off all kinds of temptations
and troubles."
When they heard this, the ministers set out at once. They went
there, bowed down to the feet of the monk Malla, begged him and
begged him, and succeeded in taking that monk back with them, who
was attended upon by Goddesses like CakreSvari. The king was cured
with the water that Malla had used to wash his feet. Everywhere
people praised the greatness of the monk. For it is said,
"If they did not fly in the sky and could not transmute base materials
into gold; if the water they washed their feet with couldn't cure disease;
if they had no magical powers and no mystical attainments, then what
would be so great about all their austerities?"

The monk Malla then instructed them in the Jain doctrine:

'Just as gold is tested in four ways, by rubbing it against a touchstone,
by cutting it, heating it and beating it, so is the true religion to be
known in four ways by a wise man: by the force of the doctrine it
teaches, by the conduct it recommends, by the austerities it preaches
and by the virtue of compassion.
The Jain Faith demands that one abstain from doing harm to living
beings in any shape or form whatsoever."
When he heard this, King Sajjana agreed to have compassion to-
wards all living beings and became a devoted Jain. All the ministers,
too, became firmly devoted to the Jain Faith.

The story of King Sajjana is a story about a cure that is in some ways
jointly accomplished: both the hymn and contact with the body of
the monk are required, though not in quite the same way. The hymn
allows the lesser monk, GUI).asenasuri, to learn how the king will be
cured; it is contact with the water the great monk Malla had used to
wash his feet that actually effects the cure. The belief that the contact
with the body parts of a holy man, living or dead, can cure, is clearly
stated by Hemacandra in his Yogaiastra, I, p. 33, verse 8:
"It is through the wondrous power of Yoga that an ascetic comes to
have the power to heal through his body ; his phlegm, his feces, the
 CURES AND KARMA 227

exudations from his ears, teeth, nose and tongue, his touch, all have
marvellous powers to act as healing herbs. His sense organs also operate
without limit, each organ grasping all the objects of the others."

The commentary to this verse, also by Hemacandra, goes on to

explain that this is why the yogin, the practitioner of austerities, is
considered to be the essence of all medicines. This is also why, he
adds, the bones of the jinas, the founding ascetics of the lain Faith,
are worshipped in heaven by the gods. 27
jains are not at all alone in regarding the very body of their holy
men and women as capable of wondrous healing powers. Stories
abound in Buddhism about the Buddha and his healing properties.
The MahiikarmavibhatJga, for example, contains the story of "Sarva-
u~adhi", the one who was himself the sum total of all medicinal
herbs. 28 This Sarvau~adhi, the Buddha in a past birth, cures people
all over the world who have been struck by the plague. Whatever he
gives them, whatever he touches becomes a medicine to heal the sick.
The medieval Buddhist story collection, Bodhisattvavadanakalpalatii,
by the Kashmiri author K~emendra, also contains a number of sto-
ries that deal with the Buddha's ability to heal. 29 In this collection
which tells of the past lives of the great being who will eventually
become the Buddha, the healing is often through direct contact. In
the Sattvau~adhiivadiina, story number 54, the Buddha is a young prince
named "Sarvasattvau~adha", "A medicinal herb for all living beings."
While he is alive he heals by touch, and once he is dead his corpse
has the same healing properties. In the Mar.ticil(liivadiina, the water that
has washed the marvellous jewel growing on the future Buddha's

27 It is worth noting that although both Jains and Buddhists would seem to have
shared the belief in the healing properties of the body of a saint after death, only the
Buddhists developed a cult of relics. I have argued elsewhere that the Jains regarded
images as the likeness and essence of the deceased Jina, and that therefore image
worship in some ways is in fact relic worship in the tradition. See my paper, "Wor-
ship as Commemoration: Pilgrimage, Death and Dying in Medieval Jainism", in
Bulletin d'Etudes Indiennes, no. 10, 1992, pp. 181-202.
28 Mahiikarmavibhariga, edited P.L. Vaidya, in the Mahiiyiinasuiltrasamgraha, part I,

Buddhist Sanskrit Texts, no. 17, Darbhanga: Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate

Studies and Research in Sanskrit Learning, 1961, section 15, 177-220.
29 The text is edited in two volumes by P.L. Vaidya, Buddhist Sanskrit Texts
Series, no. 23, Darbhanga: Mithila Institute of Post-Graduate Studies and Research
in Sanskrit Learning, 1959. I have discussed some of the healing miracles in this text
in my paper, "The Ambiguity of Miracles: Buddhist Understandings of Supernatural
Power", East and West, vo!. 46, 1996, pp. 79-97.
228 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

head can rid a kingdom of the plague. 30 In another story (number

11), a servant girl who is a pious devotee of the Buddha has the
power to heal by her touch, though this is an exception; it is normally
the Buddha in a past incarnation or in his birth as the Buddha who
is the agent of healing. In a revised version of the famous story of the
king Sibi, who gives his eyes away to someone who asks for them,
King Sibi is visited by a man suffering from an incurable illness. Only
the blood of a sage is said to be able to heal the sufferer and the king
then gives his own blood (story number 85). The Buddha's flesh also
heals. In one story the Buddha is reborn by his own wishes as a fish,
when he learns that only the flesh of this fish can save the people in
his kingdom from the plague (story 99). The Buddha also cures by his
glance (story 96).31
In Hinduism the belief that contact with the body of a holy man
could cure disease seems to have been sufficiently widespread to have
become the object of some off-colour joking. K~emendra, the author
of our Buddhist story collection, was not himself a Buddhist. He was
a prolific writer and among his many works are short satirical texts.
K~emendra lets us know in these works that ordinary means of heal-
ing were often suspect as were their purveyors, the greedy and lascivi-
ous doctors. But without a doubt one of his funnier stories mocks the
belief in religious healing through contact with the body of a saint. In
the Samayamilt!kii K~emendra tells us about a prostitute who ensares a
naive youth. She pretends to be suffering from heartburn or illla, and
tells her new lover that his touch has indeed cured her,
"Oh my, it really is true that the healing touch of a divine medi-
cine is in your limbs, for I have now seen that this is true with my
very own eyes.
As soon as your penis touched my private parts, ah, but I don't
know where my heartburn went. Truly you have come to me in
answer to my prayers." 58-59.
The young man has an unusual reaction. Instead of being de-
lighted with his healing abilities, he is despondent. He tells the whore
that if only he had known about his gift sooner he could have helped
to avert a terrible tragedy in his life. For, he explains, his own mother

30 For more on this story see my article cited above. One of my graduate students,

Ren Yuan, is preparing a thesis on this story.

31 For some other references see Demieville, pp. 46-50.
 CURES AND KARMA 229

had died of heartburn, and he might have been able to save her too
in the very same way!32
K~emendra's wit both mocks and documents the obviously wide-
spread belief in the healing touch. Jains, Buddhists and Hindus
shared this belief. Hemacandra's verse and commentary make it
clear that the ability to heal was a natural by-product of asceticism;
the story of King Sajjana translated here adds that it was also a
necessary outward sign to convince people of the greatness of the Jain
faith. The power of saints to heal was an important tool in inter-
group rivalry in medieval India. 33
The story has one more point to make. The story tells us that the
ministers of the king had to ask the monk again and again to come
with them to Gujarat, before he finally consented. The monk was a
reluctant healer in our miracle story. That this was not at all unusual
in the literature is suggested by the biography of Manatunga, the
author of the Bhaktamarastotra, whose story was alluded to above.
Manatunga provided the suffering residents of Tak~asila with a
hymn, but what they had really wanted was for the sage to come with
them and give them the water with which he had washed his feet,
exactly as Malla does in the story of King Sajjana. Manatunga was
an unusual monk; he had so excelled in his austerities that two god-
desses decided to protect him in his meditation. When the deputies
from Tak~asila come they see Manatunga with two beautiful ladies at
his side and make the obvious conclusion. Manatunga is so infuriated
by their false doubts of his chastity that he eventually refuses their
request to accompany them to the suffering city. He sends instead his
hymn. 34
In concluding our comments on the short tale of Sajjana, it is clear
that despite its seeming simplicity, the story of Sajjana is rich in
information about medievalJain attitudes towards sickness and heal-
32 The text is published in Minor Works of K~emendra, edited by E.V.V. Ragha-

vacharya and D.G. Padhye, Sanskrit Academy Series, no. 7, Hyderabad The San-
skrit Academy, Osmania University, 1961, p. 376. The Gar,uja:vyiiha Satra, 43, (Bud-
dhist Sanskrit Texts Series, 5, Darbhanga: Mithila Institute of Graduate Studies and
Research in Sanskrit Learning, 1960) tells of a courtesan who had the healing touch.
It is conceivable that K~emendra knew this sfltra, or that the notion had some
currency. The girl in the GaT}lja:vyiiha is unusual in many ways; she is born from a
lotus and has much religious merit, for we hear of how she dreams of the Buddha.
33 On healing and conversion see my article, "Religious Biographies and Clan

Histories Among the SvetambaraJains of North India", in East and West, vol. 39, nos.
1-4, December 1988, pp. 195-217.
34 See the biography in the Prabhiivakacarita, cited above.
230 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

ing that we will do well to keep in mind as the discussion continues.

The story tells us that the agent of the healing is a monk who has
distinguished himself for his austerities. The story also indicates that
he was somewhat reluctant in performing this function, a detail
which singles out our Jain monk/healer from the Buddha or future
Buddha as healer in the avadiina stories cited here. The Buddha or
future Buddha is eager to offer not just his body dirt but his blood
and flesh to those who are in need of the medicine that an ascetic's
body provides. I shall argue as we proceed that this difference in fact
is highly significant and reflects a basic ambiguity in the Jain attitude
towards the pan-Indian beliefs in religious healing. Finally, the type
of disease that is cured is one caused by angry goddesses and the
victim is a king, who ultimately becomes a pious Jain layman. We
shall see below that it is precisely such diseases, caused by curses or
by angry gods and goddesses, that are regarded as amenable to reli-
gious healing in Jain religious narrative literature.

Ill. Healing by ritual: How Kumiirapiila's leprosy is cured and other medieval
healings

Kumiirapiila's leprosy from the Kumarapalacaritra, chapter six, p. 33

King Kumarapala, in accordance with the instructions of his precep-
tor the Jain monk Hemacandra, prohibited all killing in all of his
territories. This was but natural; what wise man, given the power to
do so, would not stop others from committing sins? Now Kuma-
rapala had a clan Goddess, KaI).tthe§vart, who was worshipped by all
the people. She demanded worship from the Caulukya kings during
the time of the festival of Navaratrt. The custom was to slay one
hundred goats and one buffalo on the first day of festivities, all right
in front of the goddess. On the second day twice this number was to
be killed, and so on, right up to the ninth day when nine times that
number of animals were to be killed.
Now this year when the time came for the festivities, the king
thought to himself that he could not bear to do the deed, for he had
renounced the taking of life and had gained much praise in the
world. He spoke to his preceptor, "Even talking about violence gives
sin an occasion to creep in. I cannot even imagine what results from
carrying out a violent act. What person, desirous of obtaining happi-
ness, would ever abandon compassion towards living beings, which is
 CURES AND KARMA 231

like a wishing cow, granting all desires, and commit a violent act?
Once, King Yasodhara acted on the advice of his mother and sacri-
ficed a cock made of flour to his clan goddess on the occasion of
N avaratIi. Except for Yasodhara, only the Jina himself knows all the
suffering that Yasodhara had to endure as a result."
And so the best of monks used the powers of his mantras to make
the Goddess KaI).!he§vaIi appear in person to him, and he asked her
with gentle and compassionate words to give up violence and the
taking of lives. The goddess, though spoken to in this way by the
monk, found no pleasure in his words and was totally unsatisfied; for
as they say, well-meaning words of instruction are like poison to a
wicked man, as milk turns into poison when fed to a snake. Filled
with a sense of her own power and furious at the turn of events, the
Goddess would not release the buffalos that she had in her temple
and the nine hundred goats that were tethered in her courtyard. At
night her image was soiled by the urine and feces that they flung at
it, and it was cracked by their heads butting against it. When the clan
Goddess, who possesses great powers of magic, saw that outrage to
her very own image that had been committed by those buffalos, in
her arrogance she looked on everything in the world with total con-
tempt, as if it were worth nothing more than a blade of grass, and she
became furious at the king.
For his part, the king Kumarapala, garbed in a clean white gar-
ment, his body cleansed and purified, had just completed his worship
of the Jina image and recited the formula of praise to the Jinas,
Perfected beings who have attained release, the leading monks, teach-
ers and ascetics, words which subdue the inner foes of passion, lust and
greed. He had fallen asleep, there in his palace. The Goddess, ablaze,
carrying in her four arms a discus, club, lance and trident, riding on a
demon, drinking blood, and vomiting flames, garlanded with goblins,
territying to behold, her body the colour of scorching fire, causing
everything to shake with her bellowing, entered the sleeping chambers
of the king. "Hey you!", she cried. "Wicked one! Foolish one! Fool! Do
you not know the Terrible Goddess? Is that why you treat me with
contempt, and fearing nothing sleep like this as if you hadn't a care in
the world?" Saying things like this, she tried to terrorize the king,
looking like Death personified among the creatures of the night. And
then, staggering in her drunken state, she went right up to the king's
bedside. Hearing her thunderous roaring, the king woke up at once.
He realized that it was the Goddess Kan, who was the Evil Age
232 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

personified, who had come to torment him. Confused and frightened

by the awesome sight, thinking to himself, "What can this be?", the
king meditated on the great mantra in praise of the Jinas, which is
capable of chasing away all obstacles. Because of the power of that
mantra the goddess was unable to strike the king and showering upon
him sprays of verbal abuse she cursed the king, "Become a leper." At
once the body of the king was covered with sores dripping with pus, for
the words of deities in this world, like the curses of ascetics, are never in
vam.
The king, his entire body overtaken by pain, could not stay still. He
who never worshipped any other Lord, whose every pore was per-
vaded by the words of the Jina, began to think this to himself. "Tomor-
row morning, all the people, who are not sympathetic to the Jains, will
see that my body has been destroyed by leprosy and they will lay the
blame on the .lain Faith. 3s Before anyone can know what has hap-
pened I must immolate myself." Having decided upon this course of
action, he sent his own minister to summon the monk Hemacandra.
When Hemacandra got there and learned what had happened he
immediately stopped the king from carrying out his plan. That best
of monks recited some holy words over some water and gave it to the
king to drink as a cure for his sickness. Kumarapala drank the water,
which was like the drink of immortality, the nectar of the gods, and
in an instant his body was free from disease. The king, who was now
as handsome as the God of Love, on seeing the great power of his
preceptor, which was beyond imagination, felt a sense of awe and
wonder in his mind.

King Kumarapala reigned in Gujarat during the 12th century AD.

He probably assumed the throne sometime between 1143 and 1145
AD. 36 To the Jains the most important aspect of his career was his
patronage of their religion. There are numerous Jain biographies of
King Kumarapala, who is said to have renounced his family Saiva
practices and accepted Jainism under the tutelage of the monk
Hemacandra. 37 But as our story, from a late biography of the king
35 I am unsure how to translate the next phrase, malinYaTJ1 uccair bhiioitena.
36 For these dates see R.e. Majumdar, The History and Culture qf the Indian People:
The Strugglefor Empire, Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan second edition, 1966, p. 76.
37 For a list of some of these biographies and a study of the life of Hemacandra

according to traditionalJain sources see G. Biihler, The Lift qf Hemacandracarya, trans-

lated from the German by Dr. Manilal Patel, SinghiJain Series, no. 11, Santinike-
tan: Singhi Jaina Ji'ianapl!ha, 1936.
 CURES AND KARMA 233

written by the monk Caritrasundaragal}i in 1430 AD. tells us, the

king's conversion to Jainism was not without its problems. King
Kumarapala's conversion to Jainism involved his actively renouncing
his family religion, which included periodic blood sacrifices to their
clan goddess. The goddess is furious at this insult and strikes the king
with leprosy. The account translated here is one of the more colour-
ful and violent descriptions of this event in the life of the king; in
another version told in the PuriitanaprabandhasmJ1graha, the goddess
appears calmly to the king at night while he is meditating. She is
dressed as a queen, in splendid clothes and jewels. She asks the king
quietly to resume the sacrifices to her and it is only when he refuses
that she smacks him with her trident. 38
In the account translated here, the goddess is menacing from start
to finish. While the king's prayer prevents her from striking him with
one of her weapons, her curse is nonetheless effective and the ulti-
mate result is the same: the king immediately comes down with lep-
rosy. Like King Sajjana in our miracle story above, King
Kumarapala is the victim of divine wrath. But if in the story of
Sajjana it was the monk who was a reluctant participant in the heal-
ing, here it is the victim , the king, whose acceptance of a monk's
ministrations must be explained.
We hear in this and other accounts of King Kumarapala's cure
that the king was not troubled by his sickness, nor did he seek a cure
because he wanted to live longer. The king is described as being
despondent over the possibility that people who see him so diseased
will lay the blame at the door of the new faith he has adopted.
Kumarapala in response to that worry still does not seek a cure; he
decides to kill himself so that no one will know that he has contacted
leprosy and thus no one will denigrate his new religion. It is the monk
who takes the active role in the cure; Hemacandra stops the king
from immolating himself and consecrates some water with mantras.
The consecrated water cures the king. This story, too, then is some-
what ambivalent in its depiction of a religious healing: the healing
must be justified, and the justification is that not to heal the king
would bring calumny on the Jain Faith. We will see in our discussion
of monks who are healed that in every case the healing requires some
justification or has some goal in mind other than simply restoring the
sick monk to health; to be healed for a truly religious person is not

38 No. 26, pp. 41-42.

234 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

without problems. In our next section we shall also see what some of
those problems were, but first I would like to discuss other types of
ritual healing in medieval Jain narrative literature.
The }t;anapar.zcamikathii was written in Prakrit sometime during the
11 th century A.D.39 The text is a collection of stories told to celebrate
the wondrous benefits of observing the festival of Jnanapancami, on
which faithful Jains were instructed to worship the Jain texts. There
are numerous references in the collection to the fact that worship of
the texts could result in a cure from disease. The third story tells of
two young girls, Bhadda and Jaya, friends from childhood. Bhadda
becomes ill and nothing can cure her. Jaya tells her friend that this
must be the result of something she has done in the past; her sickness
is caused by her own karma. Nonetheless, Jaya petitions a demi-god,
a yakkha, to help her friend get well. She spends three nights in the
temple of the yakkha, who finally appears to her and grants her a
boon. Jaya asks the yakkha to cure her friend. The yakkha tells her
that if Bhadda performs the Jnanapancami ritual she will be cured.
The yakkha gives Jaya some special sandalwood, widely regarded in
medieval Indian literature to have curative properties, and Bhadda,
with the sandalwood and the ritual, gets better. But this is only one
part of the story. Both Bhadda and Jaya are married off, and this
time it is Jaya who becomes ill. She is married off to a prince who
already has a wife. The first wife resents the intruder and causes her
to become possessed. Bhadda is grieved to see the friend who had
saved her now ill herself, and this time she petitions the yakkha for a
cure. The yakkha cures Jaya, and both girls then go on to give birth
to sons, eventually dying the pious Jain death and being reborn as
gods.
This somewhat complicated story adds a number of important
elements to our growing picture of disease and cures in medieval
literature. Here the cure is through a Jain ritual, although the ritual
is taught by a demi-god or yakkha, in much the same way as the cure
of Sajjana in our first story was taught by a demi-goddess. The
women, both laywomen, are eager recipients of the cure, as was our
King Sajjana, suggesting that Kumarapala's scruples belong more to
the stories about monks to be treated below than to these stories
about lay devotees who are healed. The story also introduces us to
another element: karma as the cause of disease. Up until now all of
39 For a discussion of the different literary compositions on this theme, see the

GtDarati introduction to the text written by AmrtalaI Savacand Gopfu,ll.

 CURES AND KARMA 235

our victims have been oppressed by angry and bothersome gods and
goddesses and they have been relatively readily cured. This story has
one girl oppressed by a human agent, a co-wife, which is not unusual
in stories of cures, where step-mothers may also torment step-chil-
dren by causing them to come down sick.4D But the other girl,
Bhadda, is said to be sick on account of her own karma. This is more
problematic as the same text states explicitly elsewhere. In story
number seven we learn about a man named Vimala, who in a past
birth had been furious at his wife for disobeying him about the type
of food he was willing to eat. He had cut off her hands as a punish-
ment. Now in his present birth he has been reborn as a poor man,
and without hands. He observes the Jnanapancami ritual and prays
to be reborn with beautiful hands. He is granted his wish, but this is
only the beginning of his troubles. He is falsely accused of trying to
rape the queen, who in fact has been trying to seduce him. To punish
him the king has his hands cut off. Now in the meantime his wife
from the former birth has been reborn as a demi-god and she comes
to him in a dream and tells him that by the power of the Jain
doctrine his hands will be restored to him. He makes a public oath of
truth, asserting his innocence, and to everyone's amazement his
hands suddenly reappear. Vim ala then becomes a monk, as does the
king. But it is the king's turn to suffer for his own wrongdoing and he
becomes critically ill. Vimala tells the king that diseases caused by
conditions like bad food or bad digestion are amenable to treatment,
but not diseases caused by karma. Diseases caused by karma can only
come to an end with death. 41
This is a rich story, and we could discuss many of its details. For
example, the motif of someone having his or her hands or eyes cut off
and miraculously restored on a truth oath or by the Buddha or a
deity at the Buddha's command is something that is found frequently
in the Buddhist avadtinas. 42 Buddhist literature also seems to share the
general presupposition expressed here that diseases caused by karma
are not to be easily healed. Thus the Amoghap~aJah!daya makes a
special point in saying that its rituals remove diseases caused by
karma. 43 We shall see below that the Jains tend to regard such dis-
eases as not amenable to cures, despite the story of Bhadda. The

40 This is the case with the story to verse 41 of the Bhaktamarastotra.

41 See verse 115.
42 See the text of K~emendra, avadiina 11, the Virfir/hakiivad.ana; avad.anas 45,46,96.
43 See Meisezahl, cited above, pp. 291 and 293. See also Demieville, p.78.
236 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

king's case in our second story from the ]fiiinapm}camfkathii is more

typical.
Finally I should like to close this section with some comments
about another means by which healings were accomplished. We have
seen that monks heal directly through their bodies (Malla and King
Sajjana); we have seen that their words in the form of potent hymns
can heal (Manatmiga and the plague in Tak~aSila); we have also seen
that rituals and ritually treated ordinary substances may heal (the
consecrated water of Hemacandra curing King Kumarapala's lep-
rosy and the rituals of the Jfianapaficami). As the following descrip-
tion of Kumarapala's temple indicates, images could also heal. King
Kumarapala has received a magnificent Jina image from Nepal, and
has taken the image to an existing temple, which he refurbishes to
house his new image. Here is how the account of the newly recon-
structed temple concludes:
From the Prabhiivakacarita biography of the monk Hemacandra, p.
206 verses 675.
And so from that time on this temple, which was as magnificent as a
palace in heaven, became known as the Temple of the Glorious
Kumarapala. It delighted the eyes of those fortunate souls meritori-
ous enough to see it. The image of Parsvanatha had been made by
the guild of jewellers, all skilled in their art. It was as beautiful as
anything can ever be. And when the propitious moment drew near,
the minister had that image consecrated by the Great Hemacandra.
The image was greater in its powers than a magic wishing jewel, and
gave to those who desired anything of it far beyond what they
yearned for. And the king, intent on helping all living beings, had a
hole called "Granting Release" constructed in the spire of the temple.
On the night of every full moon in answer to the prayers of sick
people the hole opens up and the nectar of immortality streams out
of the image and through that hole. It cures people of diseases such
as eye diseases.

We have a remarkable autobiographical document, a hymn by a

Digambara Jain monk, which reads as if it were his prayer of thanks
for the cure he achieved through the worship of a potentJina image.
In any case it makes frequent reference to disease and healing. Little
is known about the author, Vadiraja, but the commentary to the
hymn relates that he was cured of leprosy by his worship. In several
 CURES AND KARMA 237

verses of the hymn the monk speaks of his suffering and of his relief.
I translate here some of those verses. 44
"And diseases, like snakes from an anthill, are driven out of the body
of the person who worships you with great fervour, with hymns and
mantras, tears of joy streaming from his eyes, his voice choked up, his
mind firmly fixed on you.3
Earlier, when you were descending from heaven in response to the
merit of fortunate souls, you turned the whole earth into gold with
your radiance. What wonder is it, then, that now, as I meditate upon
you and you come into the chamber of my pure heart, you turn this
body of mine into gold.4
Mter wandering for all this time in the forest of rebirths I have finally
come upon your doctrine of relativity, like a well of pure nectar.
How could it be that the fierce fire of suffering would not leave me,
as I dip deep into the coolness of that well, which is as cool as the
touch of frost.6
As you walk the mere touch of your foot purifies the earth, and a
pure fragrant lotus, the abode of all good fortune, springs up in your
footsteps.
As you now touch all of my mind with every part of your body, how
is it possible that the highest happiness would not come to me at
once?7
Your jewelled image is but a stone, similar to any other heap of
stones, and the pillar on which it sits with pride is the same: a heap
of precious stones.
Why then does it destroy the sickness of pride in men who catch a
glimpse of it?
Surely the only answer is that your presence there gives it that
power. 9
The sweet breeze that wafts from your image instantly blows away
the dust of people's diseases; 0 lord, when you have entered into the
lotus of a person's heart, summoned there by meditation, what is
there that you could not do for that person in this world?" I 0

44 For references to the text see note 12.

238 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

You know the pain that I have suffered from birth to birth, pain such
that even to remember it cuts at me like a sharp knife. I have heard
it said that you are the lord of all creatures, the one with compassion,
and so I have come to you filled with devotion. You, my lord, will
know what to do with me.ll
Devotion to you, 0 Lord, is like the river Ganges. It is born from
your doctrine, as the Ganges is from the Himalayan mountains, and
flows from an ocean of the nectar of immortality to your lotus feet.
Who can doubt that when it enters my heart, flooded with sickness,
it washes away all the stains of my sins.16

Perhaps the most telling of these verses is verse 4; to give the body a
radiance like that of gold is the standard description of the cure for
leprosy. It is in this verse that the poet most directly tells us that his
meditation on the Jina has cured his leprosy. In the other verses we
hear how the touch of a breeze that touched the image, like the water
used to wash the feet of a saint, cures diseases; internalizing that
image in meditation is also a form of intimate touch that has healing
powers. This hymn in fact seems steeped in the language of miracu-
lous cures. On the surface it would appear to display none of the
ambiguity we saw in some of our stories. It can be read as an unbri-
dled celebration of faith and deliverance, but there are clues that the
monk was aware that there is something beyond physical disease that
is the most appropriate object of a cure. In verse 9 the disease that
the image removes is the sickness of pride, and we have switched
from the externals, matters of the body, to the inner person and the
inner illnesses. We shall see below in the account of a monk who
would not be healed of physical disease that he sought instead heal-
ing from the most horrible disease of all: the entire cycle of rebirths.
The monk Vadiraja speaks both languages, the language of physical
healing and spiritual healing, and we perhaps we may sense behind
this oscillation the poet's unease at his welcome physical cure. 45
45 It is worth noting that this is not the only poem associated with a physical

healing. Perhaps the best known hymn of this type goes under the tide "Muka-
paiicasati" or five hundred verses by the mute poet. I have used the edition from
CennapUIi: Sri KamakO!1 Ma~a, 1966. Tradition has it that the author of the poem
was born mute and that he regained his powers of speech by worshipping the
goddess Kamalq;i. There are a number of verses that could be pointed out at least as
the source of this story. Verse 57 of the first section is typical:
o Kamalq;i! the person who meditates upon you even for a moment, though he may
be mute and suffering from terrible misfortune, becomes the most famous person in
 CURES AND KARMA 239

In concluding this section it seems clear that the material treated here
has both enriched and complicated our picture. The stories here
have added to the repertoire of how cures are achieved, but one of
them, the cure of Kumarapala, has cast the cure in a somewhat
dubious light. By offering a rationalization for the cure, the protec-
tion of the Jain Faith, it suggests that seeking a cure for a bodily
disease might not be altogether desirable in strictest terms. One story
from the }1}anapa1}cam'ikathii further suggested that some traditional
categories of disease, those caused by karma, are not to be cured,
although another story from the same text suggests that there are
rituals powerful enough to cure even these diseases. We will return to
this problem below. Finally, we have the hymn of a monk who is
cured by leprosy, which brings in the curative role of images, and
worship of images, and suggests that despite the normative texts that
looked askance at a monk's being cured, actual personal statements
do not always reflect that viewpoint to the same extent, although I
have tried to point to hints at an ambivalent attitude on the part of
the poet towards his physical well-being. We turn now to the stories
about monks that help us understand some of the nuances of Jain
beliefs in religious healing.

IV. Monks as healed: Abhayadeva and Sanatkumara

Abhayadeva's leprosy, from the biography of Abhayadeva, no. 19, p.

165, vv. 130ff of the Prabhii:vakacarita.
"And because of the rigors of the asceticism he practiced and because
he stayed up through the nights and overworked, the lord came down
with an imbalance in the blood that boded ill. And people, jealous of
him to begin with, began to say, "Because he falsely interpreted theJain
texts the master has been afllicted with leprosy by the protecting deities
of the Faith who are angry at him." When he heard things like this,
Abhayadeva was overcome with sorrow and began even to wish for his
own death. At night he meditated on the Lord of Snakes named Dha-
raI.1a. That monk, who was like a touchstone to measure the true gold of
virtue, beheld a dream in which DharaI.1a the Lord of Snakes was
licking his body. He thought, "My body has been licked by a black
serpent, who is in truth, The Black One, the Lord of Death. My life
must be about to end and it is fitting now that I renounce everything

the entire world." Later on the poet expresses some of his ardent wishes, and they
often center around having the ability to speak. See the "Stutipafica.sati", verses 48-
49.
240 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

right away." The next night Dharal).a spoke to him in a dream, saying,
"I have licked clean your disease." When the master heard those words
he said, "I am not pained out of fear of death nor on account of my
disease. What hurts me so is the terrible things that people are saying."
The snake told him, "Do not worry. Steadfast, you shall do something
marvellous to further the cause of the Faith by rescuing an old Jina
image. A merchant named DhaneSa from the glorious city of Kanti was
once on a sea voyage when his boat was made to stop in the middle of
the ocean by the deity that protected some Jina images. The merchant
was then instructed by that deity how to find the three images and he
rescued them from their burial place under the ground. One of them
was consecrated and is worshipped now in the village CaIiipa. Another,
an image of the Jina Ari~tanemi, was set up in a temple at the base of
a tamarind tree in the glorious city Pattana. The third lies buried in a
clump of bushes in the village of Stambhana, on the banks of the river
Setika. You must bring to light that incomparable image of Parsva-
natha. It will work wonders and draw people from far and near in
worship."
Abhayadeva then receives further instructions on how he will find the
spot where the image is buried. He is to follow an old nun and a dog.
When he finds the general area, the exact location of the image is
then revealed to him by a cowherd, who says that a cow comes and
mysteriously drops her milk over a certain plot of ground. Abhaya-
deva sinks into meditation and recites a hymn to Parsvanatha. At this
we are told, verses 156-157,
"And the image of the Glorious Lord Parsvanatha suddenly appeared,
radiant, an exact likeness. The monk Abhayadeva and the rest of the
Jain community at once bowed down to the image, and his disease
vanished. His whole body shone like gold."
Abhayadeva's cure· brings together a number of elements we have
seen above. Abhayadeva is a reluctant beneficiary of this cure; he
does not fear his disease nor does he fear death. He prays and accepts
the cure he is granted because like Kumarapala he fears what people
will say about the cause of his sudden illness. Abhayadeva was known
as the commentator on the Svetambara canonical texts. In his biog-
raphy he is said to have fallen ill because of too much study and too
much meditation.4<i But people are saying that he has become ill

46 Paul U. Unschuld, Medicine in China: A History of Ideas, Berkeley, California:

University of California Press, 1943, p. 143, notes that towards the end of the sixth
century one text listed illnesses caused by excessive meditation. Perhaps that is why
in tantric manuals like the Siidhanamiila, the practitioner is told what to do when he is
too tired to meditate anymore.
 CURES AND KARMA 241

because his commentaries misinterpreted the texts and this made the
gods and goddesses who guard the doctrine angry. Abhayadeva's
cure is accomplished by his recitation of a hymn, which is regarded
by the later Jain tradition to have curative properties itself. 47 In addi-
tion, Abhayadeva uses an image, which the hymn causes to appear.
He also has a dream in which he sees the snake god Dhara:r;tendra
licking his body. At first he misinterprets the dream, assuming wrong-
ly that it presages his death. The snake god must return again in
another dream and tell him he has licked away the disease. These
dreams may reflect widespread folk-beliefs in the ability of a deity
literally to "lick clean" the impurities of illness. Thus we hear of the
goddess Yelamma, who first causes a reluctant devotee to be afflicted
with disease, and then later sucks up the blood and pus from his
festering sores.48 The Jain story glosses over these beliefs, by eventu-
ally attributing the cure to the image and the hymn. But perhaps the
most significant element of the story in the present discussion is
Abhayadeva's reluctance to be cured and the need he is said to feel to
justify his cure by accepting it lest some harm come to the Jains on
account of his illness. Another famous monk, Hemacandra, is also
cured of leprosy and the account of his cure also adds a rationaliza-
tion. Hemacandra cures himself because he knows it is not yet time
for him to die. 49
Perhaps the prototype for the sick monk who only agrees to be
cured in order to spare the Jain community embarrassment or pain is
to be found in the biography of Mahavira, the last tirthallkara or
founder of the Jain teachings. The fully expanded biography of
Mahavira was a relatively late development in Jain story literature,
but much of it was well established by the 8th c. AD. 50 In an 11th
47 See the commentaries and discussion in Srf Parsvanatha Upiisana cited in note 1.
48 See the poems cited in Friedhelm Hardy, The Religious Culture ofIndia: Power, uJVe
and Wisdom, Cambridge Studies in Religious Traditions, 4, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1994, p. 87.
49 See the Prabandhacintama1,li, page 150 in the translation of Tawney cited above.

50 Nalini Balbir, in her exhaustive thesis on the literature of the AVaSyaka Sutra and

its commentaries, Etudes d'Exegese Jaina: Les AVaSyaka, Paris: Sorbonne, 1986, has a
detailed discussion of the biographies of the irrthailkars. See also Klaus Bruhn,
Silarilca's Caupa1,l1,lamahapurisacariya, Hamburg, 1954 and Katrin Verclas, Die AVaSyaka-
Erziihlungen iiber die Upasargas Mahiivfra im Vergleich mit den Versuchungen des Bodhisattva in
der buddhisten Literatur, Hamburg, 1976 (Dissertation). A good translation of the biog-
raphy of Mahavtra from Hemacandra's TTiffl!!iSalakiipu11l!acarita was done by Helen
Johnson, Baroda: Oriental Institute, 1962, as vo!. VI of her complete translation of
Hemacandra's work. The episode to which I refer does not seem to have formed part
of the AVaSyaka biography.
242 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

century A.D. biography written by the monk Hemacandra, the story

of whose illness and cure we have just noted, Mahavira is said to
have been struck down as a result of some hostile activity on the part
of a rival. Despite his suffering he does not take any medicine. When
a rumour begins to circulate that Mahavira is going to succumb to
his rival's machinations, one of Mahavira's disciples begs him to seek
a cure. Mahavira makes light of the rumour, stating that Urthankaras
cannot die of disease, but he is at last prevailed upon to take some
medicine in order to allay the grief of his disciples. 51 Although this
story differs from the account of Abhayadeva in that there is nothing
at all miraculous about the cure, we nonetheless can see in it a clear
reluctance on the part of the tradition to sanction a monk's seeking
or accepting a remedy for disease. Another incident in the biography
of Mahavira makes the same point, albeit indirectly: monks do not
seek cures of any kind. When Mahavira is tormented by a cowherd,
who sticks twigs in his ears, he calmly endures the pain. He comes by
chance to the home of a merchant and a doctor visiting there recog-
nizes his pain. The merchant and the doctor forcibly seize Mahavira
and extract the painful sticks from his ears. Only then does Mahavira
shout in pain. 52 In this telling episode that concludes Mahavira's
career prior to his Omniscience, the holy man is depicted as totally
indifferent to his bodily pain; the cure forced upon him causes him
more distress than the original torture.
In order to understand more fully the hesitations expressed in
these stories about cures of monks I give below yet two more stories.

A Story about the Glories if the Peifect Conduct if a Monk from the
Kathakosa if Prabhiicandra53
The story begins as follows. In the continent of Bharata, in the city
Visoka was a king Anantavirya. He had a queen Sita. Their son was
Sanatkumara, the fourth World Emperor. Sanatkumara had con-
quered the earth with its six divisions and had in his possession the

51 Tr¥aJ!iSaliikiipu~acarita, pp. 227-228.

52 For references to this see the thesis of Nalini Balbir, p. 327. D. Wujastyk in his
article, "The Spikes in the Ears of the Ascetic: an illustrated Tale in Buddhism and
Jainism, Oriental Art, N.S. Summer 1984, vo1 XXX, no. 2, pp. 189-195, has com-
pared some of the Buddhist and J ain versions of the story.
53 Thee text is edited A.N. Upadhye, Mfu:1ikachandra D. Jaina Granthamala
no. 55, Vara~aSi: BharatiyaJiiana Pi\ha, 1974. Story 3: Caritrodyotanakhyanam, pp.
8-10.
 CURES AND KARMA 243

nine treasures and the fourteen jewels that signify lordship over the
world. He reigned over his kingdom with great splendour. And while
he was reigning one day the king of the Saudharma gods was sitting
in his court and talking with his courtiers about the nature of physical
beauty among men. The gods asked him, "Lord, is there any mortal
in the continent of Bharata who has such great beauty or not?" The
king of gods replied, "The physical beauty of the World Emperor
Sanatkumara on earth is not to be found even among you gods in
heaven."
Now when they heard that, two of the gods, MaI)imalin and
Ratnaciila, decided to go and see for themselves just how handsome
this Sanatkumara was. The Emperor was in the midst of his bath and
so they could see his natural beauty that was like the beauty of the
gods; the magnificence that pervaded his every limb struck wonder in
their hearts. And when they saw his beauty they shook their heads in
astonishment and said, "Such beauty is not to be found even among
the gods."
MaI).imalin and Ratnacula then made themselves visible to mortals
at the gate to the king's palace. They spoke to the gatekeeper, "Ho!
Gatekeeper! Tell the Emperor, "Two gods have come from heaven
to see your beauty!" Now when the Emperor heard that he adorned
himself in all his regal finery and sat on his throne and called the two
gods into his presence. But when they got there and saw his beauty,
they were totally dejected. "Alas! The beauty that we beheld when
we hid ourselves in the bath chamber is no longer. Everything is
impermanent. Nothing lasts for ever!"
Now when they heard these words, the servants responsible for
decking the king out in his finery spoke out. "We don't see a mite of
difference between the king's appearance now and his appearance
earlier." At this, the two gods determined to prove to those servants
that indeed the king's beauty had faded. They had a vessel full of
water brought in and placed before the king. They showed the full
vessel to the servants and then told them to go outside. As the Em-
peror looked on, they removed one drop of water from the pot with
the tip of a blade of grass. Then they called the servants back in and
showed them the pot. They asked them, "How would you compare
the pot now to the pot you saw a moment ago?" And the servants
replied, "The pot is full of water, exactly as it was before. There is no
difference at all." When they heard this response, the two gods said,
"King! Just as these men do not notice that a drop of water has been
244 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

taken out of the pot, so they cannot perceive how your beauty has
faded ever so slightly."
The Emperor, on hearing these words, lost all of his interest in the
pleasures of the world and was seized with a desire to renounce the
world. He gave the kingdom to his son, Devakumara, and began to
practice religious austerities under the guidance of the monk Tri-
gupti. He practiced the most severe penances and carried out all the
five fold duties of a monk, renouncing doing violence to living beings,
renouncing lying, renouncing taking what is not given, renouncing
sexual desires, and renouncing attachment to all possessions. But
because he ate the wrong foods, numerous diseases, including skin
rashes, began to afllict his body. Nonetheless, he paid no mind to
what was happening to his body, for he had reached the pinnacle of
non-attachment to all things, including the body. He continued to
fulfil his vows as a monk with total single-mindedness.
Now it so happened that this time the king of the Saudharma
gods, seated in his court, was discussing the five-fold religious con-
duct ofJain monks. The god Madanaketu asked him, "Lord, is there
anyone in the continent of Bharata who practices the kind of reli-
gious life you describe?" At that the king of the gods replied, "The
World-Emperor Sanatkumara gave up lordship over the earth with
its six divisions and totally indifferent to his body practices to perfec-
tion the vows of a monk."
When he heard these words Madanaketu went to see for himself
He came upon the monk Sanatkumara practicing difficult austerities
in the deep jungle. His body was overcome by numerous diseases. In
order to test just how firm was this indifference to the body that
Sanatkumara displayed, Madanaketu took on the form of a physician
and said to the monk again and again, "I can cure each and every
one of your diseases and make you a divine body free from any taint
of illness." He walked to and fro in front of the blessed monk, saying
these words, when the monk asked him, " Who are you? And why
are you making all this ruckus here in the jungle where there is no
one to listen?" At that Madanaketu replied, "I am a physician and I
can cure all of your diseases and give you a body that is as radiant as
an ingot of gold." The monk said, "If you can cure diseases, then
cure this disease of mine, which is my repeated rebirths in the cycle
of transmigratory existence."
When he heard that request, Madanaketu said, "That is some-
thing I cannot cure. Only you can cure the disease that is transmigra-
 CURES AND KARMA 245

tory existence. I can only cure bodily ills." The monk said, "What
good would it do me to have the ills of my body cured, when my
body is by nature impure, without any merit and impermanent, des-
tined to perish? I have no need to seek out a doctor to cure my bodily
ailments. I can cure them by the mere touch of my spit." And no
sooner had he said this, than the monk spat and with that spit he
cured himself of his physical ailments. He showed to the god his arm,
which was like a golden bar. At that the god withdrew his own
disguise and bowed down to the monk, saying, "The king of the
Saudharma gods had praised your perfect religious conduct one day
in his court, singling out the way in which you are indifferent to your
body. And now, having come here for myself, I see with my own eyes
that it is exactly as the king has described. Fortunate indeed are you
to have such virtue! You have truly made your human birth worth-
while." Mter praising him in this way and bowing down to him,
Madanaketu went back to heaven. And on his part, the monk Sanat-
kumara, totally disinterested in the pleasures of this world, practiced
the five-fold vows of the monk and displaying to all the greatness of
the religious life, eventually he rid himself of his destructive karmas
that had once caused him to fail to understand the true nature of the
soul and had caused him to be subject to hatred, passion, anger,
pride, deceit and greed. With this he attained Omniscience. In time
he exhausted the rest of his karma that kept him alive and achieved
final release.

The story of Sanatkumara's quest contains an unambiguous rejection

of any type of healing. The monk is himself capable of working
wonders through his austerities. He has the power to use his body to
heal his own sickness and the illnesses of others, that we saw Hema-
candra describe in the Yogaiiistra, which in fact also includes a version
of the story in its auto-commentary. 54 Sanatkumara refuses to use
that power, however, because he has renounced all attachments to

54 The story of Sanatkumara has a long and venerable history in Jain literature.

H.C. Bhayani has traced its evolution in an essay, "The Evolution of Sanatkumara-
carita", Indological Studies: Literary and Peiforming Arts; Prakrit and Apabhrar[!.fa Studies,
Ahmedabad: Parshva Prakashan, n.d. I thank Dr. Klaus Bruhn, who told me about
this essay and kindly sent me a copy. Dr. Bruhn also sent me a copy of K~emendra's
Darpadalana, ed. Richard Schmidt, Zeitshcrifi tier Deutschen Morgenlands Gesellschaji, 69,
1915, pp. 29-35, pointing out to me the similarity of verses 32 ff with part of Sanat-
kumara's story in which the gods come to observe the king's beauty. According to
Bhayani, it is just this section that is new in the SvetambaraJain accounts.
246 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

his body. To seek a cure, even to accept a cure, would imply a flaw
in the monk's religious practices, because it would imply that the
monk cared about his body and was not indifferent to bodily pain. It
would also imply an imperfect renunciation of things of this world.
This story, then, helps to explain curious features we have observed
in many of our accounts of religious healings from the start: some
monks are reluctant to heal and most are reluctant to be healed.
The following story gives another reason why and ties in with what
we observed in the preceding section about diseases caused by
karma.

The monk who would not be cured, from the Puratanaprabandhasa11lgraha,

p. 114, paragraph 249
There was a certain monk of the rank of master who was extremely
learned. Through the force of his karma he came down with leprosy.
When he saw that his disease could not be cured by various medi-
cines, he made a pilgrimage to Srtsertsaka and having renounced all
solid food he sat down in front of the god. He did this for seven days.
When that was of no avail he next renounced drinking as well. Now
some of the superintending gods of the main deity had been away
and when they got back, the one who had remained behind asked
them, "Why did you take so long in the distant world of Maha-
videha?" They replied, "The one who was to be the wife of the
minister Tejal;tpala, the daughter of the perfume merchant Bhrma,
had reached marriageable age. She refused to be married and instead
became a nun. The Jina Srmandhara, who lives and preaches in
Mahavideha, himself initiated her into the order. Her father spent all
that he had planned to spend for her wedding on the ceremony of
her becoming a nun. We were so long there because we wanted to
see the great festivities at the time of her consecration." And then
they turned to the leprous teacher and said, "Seven births ago you
were a cloth-dyer. You killed seven baby mongeese in an orchard one
day when they fell into your vat of boiling dye. Because of that bad
deed in this birth, seven births later, you have become ill with lep-
rosy. You do not have long to live. Your karma is almost exhausted.
If you want, we can cure you. But in the next birth your karma
would reassert itself and you would have to live through its results."
When he heard this, the monk took his leave of the lay devotees and
in his leprous condition continued just as he was.
 CURES AND KARMA 247

In this short account a monk rejects a miraculous or divine cure

because the cure is really just a postponement; karma must be lived
through and a cure now means a disease later. A similar story is told
in the Prabandhacintiimm:zi, where we read of King Mularaja, in search
of an ascetic to take care of his temple to Siva. He hears about a
famous ascetic, who is particularly scrupulous in observing fasts, and
goes to find him. The ascetic has come down with a fever, which he
transfers to his blanket when he sees the king approach. The blanket
begins to shake furiously and the king asks the ascetic why he has
given his blanket the shakes. The ascetic explains that he had to get
rid of the fever at least temporarily so he could talk to the king. When
the king asks why he didn't just cure the fever for good, since he
clearly has the power to do so, the ascetic explains that the fever is
due to his karma and he wants to exhaust his karma by living it out
so he can go in peace to be with Siva. 55
These stories of Sanatkumara and the anonymous monks offer two
clear and different reasons for monks' rejecting miraculous cures. But
what they have in common is that they all make clear that there was
a deep-seated suspicion of cures, even those achieved through reli-
gious attainments. I would like to cite a further story in which a
religious aspirant accepts a cure for his leprosy that helps us to pin-
point exactly what is wrong with divine or miraculous cures for dis-
eases caused by karma and what the tradition deemed an appropriate
cure for such illnesses. In the fifteenth century A.D. Sanskrit commen-
tary to the Satrufijaya Miihiitmya, a Prakrit text written to extol the
virtues of the pilgrimage site Mt. Satruiijaya in Gttiarat, we find this
account:
In the city Visvapuri there reigned a most excellent and just king
named K~emankara. A delightful son named Yugandhara was born
to him. Now one day Yugandhara happened to witness the gods
performing a great celebration in honour of some sage who had just
achieved Omniscience. He remembered his own past births and re-
nounced the world to become an ordained monk. He stayed with
that Omniscient sage, under whose guidance he led a pure religious
life, performing perfectly all the proper austerities.
One day the king and all the townspeople went to pay their respects
to the monks. Now among them happened to be one poor beggar,
afllicted with leprosy. When the king heard the religious discourse

55 The story is to be found on p. 25 of the translation, p. 18 of the text.

248 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

delivered by the sage, he asked that Omniscient One about the previ-
ous births of that leper. The Omniscient One told the king, "In the city
called Kusuma there lived two brothers, Nanda and Nagadeva by
name. They lived together in perfect harmony. N anda, pure in his
intentions, carried out an honest trade, and he was greatly respected
by all the people around him. But Nagadeva fell prey to greed, and
though Nanda warned him not to do it, his own karma led him to steal
a small sum of the money that had been given to the temple when his
own funds were exhausted, and with that stolen money wicked
Nagadeva carried out a dishonest trade. Nanda was distressed, as he
pondered how he could not stop his very own brother from doing such
a wicked deed. And that Nanda, ever doing good deeds, in time went
to heaven. When he fell from heaven he became a prince named
Jinasagara. And in that birth too he did good deeds and accumulated
merit and went again to heaven. When he fell from that heaven he was
born as a king named Candrasena in the city Ramapura. And in that
birth as well he carried out all the duties of a lay Jain and went once
more to one of the heavens. There he enjoyed divine pleasures for a
long time, very happy indeed. When he fell from that heaven he
became the son of the king ~emarikara, namely Yugandhara. It was
this Yugandhara who remembered his own past births and became
ordained as a monk. As for Nagadeva, who had stolen and squandered
the money belonging to the temple, he too was born again and again
and is now this sickly one."
The king then asked, "How can he be cured of his illness?" The
Omniscient One replied, "If this sickly man should go to the holy
mountain Satrufijaya and should keep strict fasts, eating only once in
six days, then all the leprosy would vanish from his body."
Now that sick beggar, having heard what the Omniscient One
said, did exactly as the wise sage had instructed him. And his leprosy
vanished, along with all of his past bad karma. He achieved the state
of Omniscience, which makes known everything in the universe. And
the king, too, practiced the Jain Faith. He went to Mt. Satrufijaya,
where he worshipped R~abhanatha, the First Jina, his mind free from
sin. Yugandhara enlightened many worthy souls to the true teaching,
and he achieved release on Mt. Satrufijaya, after all of his karma had
been exhausted.

This story in its own way talks of a "religious healing", if by that we

mean a cure that comes about not through ordinary medical treat-
 CURES AND KARMA 249

ment, but through some religious practice. The cure, however, is not
through divine intervention as in our other stories, or through the
touch of the body of a holy man. It comes about through the process
of austerities that was the normal religious path in Jainism to get rid
of karma. In Jainism the goal of religious observances was to rid the
soul of all traces of karma, which were thought to sully the soul and
prevent it from enjoying its pure state. liberation comes when
through austerities all previous karma is destroyed and no further
karma is created. 56 In this story the healing is a natural concomitant
of the religious search: when the karma that had caused the leprosy is
destroyed, the disease vanishes. This cure is acceptable in a way that
the divine healings are not acceptable; the divine healings ignore
karma and the normal religious course and for that reason are sus-
pect. The practice of austerities as the path to spiritual and physical
well-being is within the range of normative religious practice.
The same text contains another closely related story of a healing
through religious ritual. In a summary retelling of the Jain version of
the Mahiibhiirata, the great Hindu epic, we learn of a radiant divine
being who has come to bow down to the image of the Jina Nemi on
Mt. Girnar. He tells two sages of his own past deeds. In a former life
he had been a wicked warrior who had oppressed pious pilgrims
coming to the holy mountain to pray to the Jina; he had stolen their
money and their clothes. As a result of his sins, or his wicked karma,
he was stricken with disease. When he could find no cure for his
illness he sought the advice of a Jain monk and asked him how he
might be healed. The monk considered that he might be of service to
the young sufferer by turning him towards performing pious acts. He
therefore instructed the young warrior to worship the Jina R~abha­
natha in the temple on Mt. Girnar that had been built by R~abha­
natha's son Bharata. The young man did as he was told, and he tells
his audience further, "The disease vanished from my body along
with the great burden of my sins."57
In this story we see that a monk instructs a sick man about a cure,
to be sure, but with a purely religious goal in mind: the means of the
cure, praying to the Jinas, is also the means to destroy bad karma and
progress on the religious path. Although this account of a cure actu-
ally belongs to the genre of miracle stories told to extol the greatness
56 See Padmanabh Jaini, The Jaina Path if Purification, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass,
1979, chapters IV and 241 for details.
57 SatrufijayakalpavJtii" p. 19.
250 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

of a holy place, here Mt. Girnar, the miracle, a cure, must still be
described in cautious terms that make it acceptable to Jainism, where
the needs of the body were denied and healings were therefore sus-
pect. The monk teaches the warrior because he feels it will serve his
spiritual ends; he acts dharmahetor, "for the sake of religious matters",
as the text puts it. And once again it is impossible to differentiate the
physical cure from the achievement of a spiritual goal: the disease
and all the sufferer's bad karma are both destroyed. It almost seems
as if the story teller wishes to channel our interest in the miraculous
powers of prayer to heal away from the physical healing itself and
towards the more generalized spiritual goal of removing bad karma.
Consideration of these diverse texts, a didactic story, pilgrimage
tales, and a medieval biography, reveals something of the complexity
of Jain attitudes towards disease and health. Even where a healing
occurs, the real emphasis is not on the bodily cure but on the reli-
gious goal: the destruction of bad karma leading to Omniscience and
ultimately to the destruction of all karma and to death, which is seen
as the state of ultimate release. Bodily health in and of itself is not
something to be sought after, and the disdain for the body and belief
in the necessity of suffering the consequences of karma, combine in a
deep-seated ambivalence to religious or miraculous healing that is
revealed in many medieval Jain stories. I give now as a final example
an excerpt from the biography of Ratnaprabhasuri, a monk who was
known in the tradition as a miracle worker, who restored a dead child
to life and converted a hostile goddess to Jainism. 58 One would ex-
pect that here if anywhere the tradition would celebrate the miracle
cure without hesitation; that such is not the case only confirms the
analysis presented thus far in this paper. I turn now to the story itself:

The master had converted the people in the city of Upakda to

Jainism. Now one day he told them, "Now you are all lay Jains. You
must stop going to the temple of the Goddess Saccikadevi, who is
without compassion. That goddess loves to hear the sound of the
breaking of the bones of the buffaloes and other animals who have
been slain as offerings to her and her temple is awash in blood; the
garlands hung in her honour are wet animal skins and the whole
temple is such a fearful sight, frequented by evil people and totally
inimical to meditation on the true religious doctrine." When they

58 From the Upakefagacchryti Pat!tiVali, p. 187.

 CURES AND KARMA 251

heard these words of the master, the lay devotees replied, "You are
right, no doubt. But the goddess is cruel and if we stop sacrificing to
her she will kill our families." The teacher then told them, "I will
protect you." At this they stopped going to the temple of the goddess.
The goddess appeared to the Jain monk in anger and told him, "If
you continue to prevent my devotees from coming to my temple I
will kill you." And with these words she disappeared. But given the
great powers of the teacher and the age in which he lived, the god-
dess could do nothing against that Jain monk, whom many gods
assisted, performing wonders in his service. Then one day the god-
dess found a flaw in the Jain monk's behaviour, for the monk was lax
in his study at one point. At this she was able to take possession of his
left eyebrow. He felt terrible pain. He pulled himself together and
carefully thought about the possible cause of his pain, when the
goddess appeared before him and told him, "I have caused your
physical distress." When the teacher screamed back at her that he
would kill her she agreed that she would never again torment sages
like the monk and that she would remove his pain if he would make
an offering to her. She also vowed that she would serve him faithfully
from that time forward. The monk was willing.

This story about the conversion of a Hindu goddess into a protecting

deity for Jainism is also a story of a monk who is healed of a disease.
But if the disease was to some degree caused by the monk's personal
karma or behaviour, in this case his momentary inattentiveness to his
studying, the story nonetheless shifts the cure from a personal drama
to a more universal contest. This is not really an account of one
individual, fallen ill, seeking to know the cause of his disease to rid
himself of his own pain. If the monk's sickness is central to the plot, his
cure is almost incidental, the by-product of his victory over the blood-
thirsty goddess. Like Kumarapala's cure, the cure ofRatnaprabhasuri
is required for the victory ofJainism over hostile forces. Like the cure
of the beggar in the story from the Satrufijaya Kalpa, it can only be
accepted as part of a larger religious quest, which is the real goal of the
monk. I would argue that it is only in some such overriding context
that our Jain stories seem to permit monks to be cured at all, and that
in requiring such an overriding concern for the Jain community and
the welfare of the Jain Faith, the stories clearly attest to an ambiva-
lence towards healing in general and religious healings in particular,
which were so widely sought in medieval India.
252 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

V. Conclusions

In this paper I have treated several different genres of literature in an

effort to understand medieval Jain attitudes towards religious perfec-
tion, sickness and health. The picture that emerges is varied, but it
seems true that we may yet make a number of generalizations. Cures
are brought about by a number of means, with monks as the prime
healers. By and large the most unproblematic beneficiaries are lay
men and women, and monks may even use cures to convert unbeliev-
ers to the Jain Faith. When it comes to monks as healed, the picture
becomes more complicated. Given the Jain emphasis on indifference
towards bodily needs and bodily pain, it does not seem unexpected to
find that a didactic story praises the religious career of the monk who
refuses to be cured. Again, with the Jain emphasis on karma it also
does not seem out of place to find that certain diseases, caused by
karma, become problematized. This raises one of many questions for
future investigation: just what kinds of diseases are caused by karma
and how are they treated in the literature. Childlessness, for example,
is one physical defect that is said to be caused by karma, and in general
in the Jain didactic story literature it cannot be cured by rituals or
other types of religious healing. Buddhists texts would seem to agree
on this point, namely that prayers cannot bring children, for as the
texts tell us, if they could everyone would have a thousand sons! The
Buddhist sources further elaborate upon the physical conditions that
are necessary in order for a child to be born. 59 Both the Jain and
Buddhist rejection of rituals as a source of fertility should no doubt be
seen in the context of Hindu belief in the ability of sages and deities to
grant a petitioner a child. 60 Indeed, Jain and Buddhist attitudes to-
59 See the Mulasarotistiviidavinaya, pp. 242-243. By contrast the Mahabhiirata, 12.

7.14, indicates a clear belief in the power of rituals to bring about conception.
60 Of the many instances in the Mahiibhiirata I cite here the well-known stories of

Nala, 3.50, If., in which we learn that Damayanti was born as a boon granted by a
sage to her father, who had been childless until that moment, and 1.155, the birth of
Draupadi and her brother from the sacrificial fire when King Drupada convinced
two sages to perform a ritual so that he might get a son to kill his adversary DroI,la.
And to these one should add, of course, the birth of Rama and his brothers in the
RiimayaT}a, and earlier kings in his lineage who are described by Kalidasa in the
Raghuvamsa. Dr. Klaus Bruhn recendy sent me two important secondary sources on
childlessness and its cure in Indian literature, Johann Jakob Meyer, Das Weib im
altindischen Epos: Ein Beitrag zur indischen und zur vergleichenden Kulturgeschichte, Leipzig:
Verlag Von Wilhelm Heims, 1915, pp. 118-121; Maurice Bloomfield, The Lift and
Stories qf the Jainia Savior Piirivaniitha, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1919, p. 203.
Bloomfield also has a short note on miraculous cures in Indian literature, p. 187.
This text also has a version of the Sanatkumara story, pp. 140-142.
 CURES AND KARMA 253

wards diseases and their cures would seem to contrast widely with
prevailing Hindu attitudes. In a text like the Mahiibhiirata, for example,
all serious diseases are regarded as the result of bad karma, whether
they befall the individual or a population at large. 51 And yet some
diseases are regarded as amenable to treatment through ritual or
medical means. Clearly a fuller study is needed of traditional Indian
attitudes towards disease and health. 52
Such a study might well begin with stories about "plagues". Jain
and Buddhists stories often mention in general "plagues" or "miiri". It
is not clear at all to what specific disease or diseases this term refers,
but it is clear that plagues were regarded as caused in a number of
different ways and as amenable to healing through religious means.
The plague in the Buddhist Mm}icurjiivadiina, for example, is said to
have been caused by the sinfulness of the king, and is removed by
water that has touched the future Buddha's crest jewel. The plague
that kills children in the Hiiritikiidamaniivadiina, number 12 in K~e­
mendra's Avadiinakalpalatikii was caused by a demonness whom the
Buddha eventually converts. 53 The Jain tradition speaks about a
plague that visited the city of Mathura; that plague was caused by a
curse and cured by Jain monks who visit the city. 54 The Mahiibhiirata,
by contrast, tends to regard pestilences as a sign of the Kali yuga, the
general degeneration of morality, or as the result of the immorality of
the ruler. Again, more work needs to be done on these accounts of
"plagues" and their remedies in medieval India.
61 Compare for instance Afoamedhika Parvan, 14.36.24-25; Ara~yaka Parvan,
3.200.14-15.
62 A. Wezler has made an important contribution to the subject in a recent article

that came to my attention after I had completed this paper. In his "Der Tod als
Mittel der Entsuhnung (gemass dem Dharmasastra), in Gerhard Oberhammer, ed.
Im Tod gewinnt der Mensch sein Selbst: Das Phdnomen des Todes in asiatischer und abend-
ldndischer Religionstradition, Wien: Verlag der Osterreichischen Akademie der Wissen-
schaften, 1995, pp. 97-141, Wezler raises the interesting point that some diseases,
particularly leprosy and tuberculosis, were regarded as the result of sin even before
the development of the karma theory (p. 103).
63 See my "Cures and Karma II" cited note I. This has further bibliography. See

also M. Weiss, "Caraka Sa7[lhitii on the Doctrine of Karma", in Wendy O'Flaherty,

Karma and Rebirth in Classical Indian Traditions, Berkeley: University of California, 1980,
pp. 90-116.
64 See the Padmapurii~a, chapter 90, edited Pannalal Jain, Jiianapiha Murtidevi

Jaina Granthamala, no. 26, Kashl: BharatiyaJiianapl!ha, 1959. For other references
to unrighteousness as the cause of plagues see my paper, "The Jina Bleeds: Threats
to the Faith and the Rescue of the Faithful in MedievalJain Stories", published in a
volume on image miracles edited by Richard Davis, Boulder, CO: Westview Press,
1988.
254 PHYLLIS GRANOFF

It seems natural to me that the question of Jain attitudes towards

disease and healing shades naturally into another very basic question:
Jain attitudes towards the sick. While it is well known the Buddhist
stories in the vinqya stress the Buddha's concern for the sick and
repeatedly enjoin upon the monks that they must care for their fellow
monks in sickness, less is known about the care for the sick in tradi-
tional Jain texts. 55 As I noted at the beginning of this paper, early
texts prohibit the use of medicines among monks and prohibit monks
from giving medicines to others, a view that is somewhat softened by
the medieval period. Much remains to be done on the subject of
monastic rules in Jainism, and the issue of medical treatment is cer-
tainly an important topic for future research.
Finally, the stories I have treated in this paper lead to yet another
important topic for discussion: Jain attitudes towards death and its
irreversibility. While there are stories in the biographies of Jain
monks that speak of the revival of the dead, these stories seem to
stand out in the vast corpus as somehow unusual; all one needs to do
is to compare them, for example, with their counterparts in another
biographical tradition, that of the Natha yogins. 56 Indeed the most
striking "healings" in the Mahiibhiirata, a text that is foundational for
much of later Hinduism, are resurrections. Krgla resurrects Abhi-
manyu's child, dead in the womb (14.68-18-23), while the demons
have the power to resurrect their dead slain in battle and Siva per-
forms the same feat for Rama Jamadagnya, healing him of his
wounds sustained in battle that might well have proved mortal (8.24).
In the Riimqya1Ja of Valmiki, Lak~maI).a also revived on the battle field
after he has been sorely wounded (6.101) and is within moments of
dying. 67 Perhaps nothing makes clearer the Jain position on life and
death as the medieval Jain version of the same incident in the
Padmapurii1Ja of Ravi~eI).a. 68 The Jain Lalq;maI).a does die and Rama is
castigated for his pitiful lament and his futile attempts to revive his

65 See S. B. Deo, History of Jama Monachism .from Inscriptions and Literature, Poona:

Deccan College, 1956 p. 437, a reference I owe to Dr. Klaus Bruhn.

66 See Ann Grodzins Gold, A Carnival of Parting, Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1992, pp. 326-327.

67 HermannJacobi, Dos Rtimiiyar;a, Geschichte und Inhalt nebst Concordanz der gedriickten

Recensionen, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1970, pp. 184,186 notes

several places in the Riimqyar;a where magic plants are used to cure or revive the
wounded. I thank Dr. Klaus Bruhn for this reference.
68 Edited Pannalal Jaina, JiUinapiJha Murtidevi Jaina Granthamala, 26, Kasi:

BharatiyaJiiana PiJha, 1959, vol.3, chapters 116-119.

 CURES AND KARMA 255

dead brother. The death of Lak~ma~a becomes the occasion for

Rama's enlightenment; painfully aware of the fragility of all life,
Rama renounces the world and becomes a monk. While the stories I
have discussed in this paper about monks refusing to be healed can
be understood in terms ofJain rules for the behaviour of monks, they
should also be seen in this larger context of Jain attitudes towards
death, disease and physical well-being.
There are many issues, no doubt, that a consideration of Jain
attitudes towards death might well raise. At present I hope that this
paper will serve to interest others in pursuing some of the suggestions
made here in future studies on attitudes towards the body, sickness,
health and death in medieval Indian religion in general.
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM.
ON THE ANTHROPOLOGY AND COSMOLOGY OF THE
TAIPING JING

Hubert Seiwert

The theme of Self, Soul, and Body reflects an elementary structure of

most religious and religio-philosophical worldviews in the West and
in India. The dichotomy of soul and body as two more or less inde-
pendent aspects of the self, and their respective significance for the
cultivation of the "true" self, are central questions in Greek, Jewish,
Christian, Muslim, and Indian thought. Even modem secular phi-
losophers regard the relationship between body and soul as the cen-
tral metaphysical problem of modem (Western) philosophy.l
In the present paper we shall see that the dichotomy of soul and
body, which seems self-evident to Western thinkers, is not the only
reasonable way to understand the human self. There are other im-
portant and historically influential anthropological theories that do
not rely on this dualist conception. The best known example prob-
ably is Theravada Buddhism, where the existence of a self and a soul
is explicitly denied. Less well-known are the anthropological theories
of Daoism, which differ significantly from the Buddhist view, but
nevertheless represent a model that cannot simply be interpreted as a
dualism of soul and body.
Daoism, which is the genuine religious tradition of China, has a
history that goes back to the first millennium BC. It will not be possi-
ble, therefore, to provide a comprehensive overview of Daoist an-
thropological thinking, which is as multifaceted as Western anthro-
pology. Instead, I shall confine this presentation to those aspects that
exemplify most clearly the dijfirences between Daoist and Western
concepts of man. Historically, the examples refer to the formative
phase of the Daoist religion, i.e., the first half of the first millennium
AD. For the sake of convenience I shall concentrate on one scripture,
the Taiping Jing, which is usually translated as the Great Peace Scripture.
I C( Karl Popper, "Bemerkungen eines Realisten uber das Leib-Seele-Problem,"

in Alles Leben ist Problemldsen. Ober Erkenntnis, Geschichte und Politik (Munchen, 1994), 93-
112, esp. 94.
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 257

Specialists in the field will feel that the Great Peace Scripture might not
be the best possible example for the present purpose, which is prob-
ably true; but it is the text that I happened to be browsing when I
had to prepare this paper. Anyway, it is a convenient starting point
for our argument.

Soul-Body Dualism and the Dichotomy if the Transcendental

and the Mundane Worlds

I have called the dichotomy of soul and body a dualist conception.

"Dualism," of course, is not to be understood here in a narrow sense,
as we know it from the Iranian religious traditions. 2 I rather refer to
the fact that in Western religious anthropology, soul and body are
regarded as belonging to two ontologically different spheres, which
we can call the transcendent and the mundane realms of existence.
In religious thinking the transcendent realm is usually regarded as
having higher value than the mundane world. Thus, to save the soul
is more important than to rescue the body. The uneven evaluation of
soul and body is reflected in the dichotomy of salvation (of the soul)
and healing (of the body). While a healthy body is certainly a high
value in most societies, religiously it is regarded as less important than
the integrity of the soul, at least in religious traditions where the soul-
body dualism is central.
It has been argued that the emergence of a basic tension between
the transcendental and mundane worlds was a crucial development
that characterized the intellectual transformations of the axial age. 3
Whereas in the so-called pagan civilizations that precede the axial
cultures the world was conceived as basically a unity, the realms of
humans and gods being "homologous," the new intellectual and reli-
gious outlook distinguished sharply between the mundane and the
transcendent spheres. Conceptual dichotomies such as those between

2 For various concepts of dualism see Ugo Bianchi, "Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte
des Dualismus in Griechenland," in Zeitschrififiir Religionswissenschafl1, no. 2 (1993),3-
12.
3 C£ Shmuel N. Eisenstadt, "Allgemeine Einleitung: Die Bedingungen flir die

Entstehung und Institutionalisierung der Kulturen der Achsenzeit," in Kulturen der

Achsenzeit. Ihre Urspriinge und iJtre Vielfalt. Teill, hrsg. von Shmuel N. Eisenstadt (Frank-
furt am Main, 1987), 10-43, esp. 11ff; id., "Dissent, Heterodoxy and Civilizational
Dynamics: some Analytical and Comparative Indications," in Orthodoxy, Heterodoxy
and Dissent in India, S.N. Eisenstadt, Reuven Kahane and David Shulman, eds. (Re-
ligion and Society 23), (The Hague, 1984), 1-10, esp. 3.
258 HUBERT SEIWERT

god and creation, soul and body, spirit and matter, the absolute and
the dependent, are reflections of this tension. Normative priority is
given to the transcendent aspect of being, functioning as the ultimate
point of reference. Against this background the mundane world is of
only relative value. The perceived tensions between the mundane
and the transcendental worlds engender the religious stimulus to re-
structure human personality and behavior and occasionally also to
reconstruct the entire socio-political and economic order as a means
to resolve the tensions. 4
If this interpretation is correct, then the conceptual dichotomy
between soul and body is just one aspect of a fundamental structure
of the post axial world-view as reflected in anthropological thinking.
And the emergence of a tension between the transcendental and the
mundane worlds should be considered a significant step in the intel-
lectual history of humankind. It may, therefore, be of some general
and theoretical interest that this interpretation does not seem to fit
some developments in China, particularly Daoist anthropology and
cosmology. Although it is not my intention to deal with this theoreti-
cal problem in detail here, I want to stress that the idea of a tension
between the transcendent and the mundane does not apply to the
Daoist world interpretation. Even if one may be inclined to regard
certain Daoist concepts, like the Dao, as referring to something tran-
scendent, there is no opposition between the transcendent and the
mundane.
As we shall see, the notions of soul and body, when applied to a
Daoist context, differ significantly from Western ideas. I must admit
that some aspects of the Daoist anthropology are difficult to grasp for
someone completely unfamiliar with Chinese thought, although I
shall try my best to avoid technical details as far as possible. On the
other hand, the fundamental approach of Daoist anthropology bears
some similarities to modem scientific anthropology, which should
allow Western readers to comprehend it. For we must not forget that
modem scientific thinking has abandoned the dichotomy of the tran-
scendent and the mundane or empirical. "Soul" is not a scientific
concept, and scientific anthropology today tries to understand hu-
mans purely in materialist terms. This is fairly similar to the Daoist
view, although the Daoists developed their theories in a distinctly
religious context.

4 Eisenstadt, "Dissent, Heterodoxy and Civilizational Dynamics," 4.

 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 259

One way to approach the different interpretations of the self in

Daoist and Western religious thought is to look more closely at what
can be called the ideal state if the self. It has been made clear that the
Western dichotomy between soul and body gives normative priority
to the soul. Religiously speaking it is more important to keep the soul
intact than the body. In a certain way the soul is the "true self."
Western readers will be surprised, therefore, to learn that in Daoism
the cultivation of the body in order to achieve health, long life, and
even physical immortality is one of the utmost religious aims.
Whereas in Western religions immortality is something relating to the
transcendental realm to which the soul belongs, Daoism does not
distinguish between the mundane and the transcendental. If there is
immortality, it must be immortality in this empirical world. And if
there is immortality of the human self, it must be immortality of man
as a whole. 5 Thus, the cultivation of the self cannot be confined to
the cultivation of the "spiritual" aspects of it but has to include culti-
vation of the body as well. Therefore the concept of "salvation,"
stressing the ideal state of the soul, is not very meaningful in Daoist
contexts. It is more appropriate to regard health as the ideal state of
the self, since "health" does not refer to a realm other than the
empirical world. Just as in modem terminology, "health" should not
be understood as referring to medical problems alone, but rather as a
general term signifying the state of affairs as it ought to be. It thus
includes not only physical health but also moral health and even
social health. In the following I shall introduce some of the religious
teachings promulgated to explain the causes of health and diseases in
early Daoism, and in this way illustrate some basic tenets of Daoist
anthropology and cosmology.

Early Daoism and the Taiping Jing ("Great Peace Scripture'')

When in the year 184 AD the sect leader Zhang Jue started the
notorious rebellion of the Yellow Turbans, he could count on a large
following that amounted to several hundred thousand people. This is
the first occasion in Chinese history where a Daoist sect had devel-
oped into a popular mass movement. Although the rebellion was
soon put down, Zhang Jue's success in gathering such a huge follow-

5 For the difference between Daoist and Western concepts of immortality see
Henri Maspero, Le Taofsme (Paris, 1967),84.
260 HUBERT SEIWERT

ing within some ten years makes one wonder how he could attract so
many people to his sect. The History if the Later Han f!ynasry, where the
rebellion is recorded, gives an explanation right at the beginning of
the story:
Zhang jue, who called himself Great Saint Teacher, exalted the
Huang-Lao teaching (i.e., Daoism). He gathered many disciples and
[taught them rituals] of prostration and confessions of sins (lit: "accept-
ance of faults"), of using charm water and incantations to heal sickness.
Since he was very successful in healing the sick the common people
believed in him. 6
The name of Zhang Jue's sect was Taiping Dao, Great Peace Sect. It
spread into several provinces, mainly in northeast China. Obviously,
the appeal of the Great Peace Sect resulted to a large degree from its
successful healing practices. The same is true for another Daoist
group, which flourished simultaneously in southwest China. This
movement was called Tianshi Dao, Sect of the Heavenly Master, and
is the origin of one of the most important Daoist traditions, which
later enjoyed imperial patronage and still exists to the present day.
The organization and historical destiny of the early Daoist sects
cannot be dealt with here. Suffice it to note that they can properly be
regarded as the beginning of Daoism as a communal religion. From
the very beginning healing rituals played a central role in the Daoist
religion. We know that these healing practices had a distinctly reli-
gious coloring since they involved not only incantations of gods but,
above all, ritual confessions of sins. These rituals of confession were
elaborated upon in the Sect of the Heavenly Master. They included
meditation on one's transgressions, prayer, the sending of written
memorials to the divinities of heaven, earth, and water, and peniten-
tial exercises. 7
The two popular sects were not the only forms of Daoism in vogue
during the second century. At about the same time Daoist teachings
exerted considerable influence at the imperial court, particularly
among the wives of the emperors. By 165 Laozi, the legendary au-
thor of the Daode Jing, had been deified and imperial sacrifices were
offered to him. 8 It seems that considerations of health, particularly
the wish to secure imperial progeny, was one of the motives to adopt

6 Hou Han Shu, j. 71, 3299 (Zhonghua Shuju edition, Beijing, 1965).
7 Cf. Dian lile cited in the commentary of the Hou Han Shu, j. 75, 2436.
8 Cf. Anna K. Seidel, La divinisation de Lao Tseu dans le Taofsme des Han (Paris, 1969)

(Publications de I'Ecole Fran<;aise d'Extreme Orient 71).

 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 261

Daoist cults at the court. One year later in 166, a certain Xiang Kai
mentioned a divine book that had earlier been presented to the em-
peror. According to later traditions this scripture was the Taiping Jing.
Xiang Kai claimed that it contained methods that could improve the
precarious condition of the state and enlarge the number of the em-
peror's offspring. 9 In other words, the application of the teachings of
the book was recommended as a means to change the current situa-
tion of disorder and to save the state and the imperial house.
The Hou Han Shu ("History of the Later Han Dynasty"), where this
story is recorded, reports that Zhang Jue, the leader of the Great
Peace Sect, later made use of this scripture. ID Because the names of
the sect and the scripture were identical, a relationship between the
two seems plausible. However, since Zhang Jue's sect turned into a
revolutionary movement, while the Taiping Jing supported the impe-
rial government, it has been doubted that they were really intimately
connected. 11 Notwithstanding the political differences, however, the
scripture and the sect shared a common interest in eliminating bale-
ful influences that disturbed the order of the society and affected the
health of men. As we shall see, a healthy society and healthy indi-
viduals are just two aspects of the ideal order designated as Taiping,
"Great Peace."
There has been much dispute among scholars whether the book
referred to by Xiang Kai is really the original version of the scripture
later known as Taiping Jing ("Great Peace Scripture"), as tradition has
it.12 Without doubt the modem edition of the Taiping Jing, which has
been reconstructed by the scholar Wang Ming from several texts
transmitted independently,13 is not identical with the versions circu-
lating during the Han dynasty. The present text has a long history
and is not wholly homogeneous in style and content. These are tech-

9 Hou Han Shu, j. 30 B, 1081.

10 Hou Han Shu,j 30 B, 1084.
II For example Xiong Deji, "Taiping Jing de zuozhe he sixiang ji qi yu Huangjin

he Tianshidao de guanxi," in Lishi yanjiu, 1962, no. 4, 8-25: 25; K.M. Schipper,
"Millenarismes et messianismes dans la Chine ancienne," in Acts of the XXVIth
Conference of Chinese Studies (Roma, 1978), 31-49, esp. 36f.
12 For critical discussions of the text history, see Xiong Deji, op. cit.; Barbara
Kandel, Taiping Jing. The Origin and Transmission of the "Scripture on General Weifi1re." The
History of an Unofficial Text (Hamburg 1979); B. J. Mansvelt Beck, "The date of the
Taiping Jing," in Toung Pao 66 (1980), 149-182; Jens 0stergard Petersen, "The Early
Traditions Relating to the Han Dynasty Transmission of the Taiping ]ing," in Acta
Orientalia 50 (1989), 133-171; 51 (1990), 173-216.
13 Wang Ming, ed., Taiping Jing he jiao (Beijing, 1960) (hereafter: TPJ).
262 HUBERT SEIWERT

nical problems, however, which do not need to prevent us from using

the Taiping Jing as a starting point for our analysis of early Daoist
anthropological views. For there is not the slightest doubt that the
ideas propagated in the Taiping Jing represent lines of thought popu-
lar in Daoist circles during the first half of the first millennium. 14
Unfortunately, the Taiping Jing is not a very concise book. Its mod-
em edition amounts to some seven hundred pages. They do not
contain a systematically elaborated teaching about human nature.
We have to collect relevant statements from various chapters and it
seems that there are some inconsistencies between them. This may
be partly due to the complicated text history, but we cannot exclude
the possibility that they represent different forms of symbolic expres-
sion referring to the same ideas. While modem Western readers may
feel that these different forms of symbolic expression are contradic-
tory, the Daoists regarded them as complementary. Mter all, the
Daoist movement was not intellectually homogeneous; it included
scholars as well as peasants. It would have been quite natural to
present teachings in different forms, depending on the audience.
Anyway, the Taiping Jing contains at least two approaches to the
problem of human and social illness and the way to heal them. The
one could be characterized as a theistic approach, because human
fate is explained as depending on more or less personal deities. The
other may be called a naturalistic approach, since the fate of indi-
viduals and society is explained with reference to rather abstract
natural forces. I shall treat each interpretation separately and then
show that they can be reconciled.

Healing and Morality

The theistic approach interprets Heaven and other gods as moral

agents supervising human behavior and reacting to it by sending
down either blessings or punishments. These teachings about the
correlation between health and morality are fully in accord with what

14 Some aspects of the teaching of the Taiping Jing are treated by Xiong Deji, op.

cit.; Max Kaltenmark, "The Ideology of the T'ai-p'ing ching," in Facets qf Taoism.
Essays in Chinese religion, Holmes Welch and Anna K. Seidel, eds. (New Haven, Lon-
don, 1979), 19-52; Zhao Jin, "Dong Han daojiao de jiushi xueshuo yu yixue," in
Shijie zongjiao yanjiu, no. I (1989), 106-118; Jens 0stergard Petersen, "The Anti-
Messianism of the Taiping Jing," in Studies in Central and East Asian Religions 3 (1990), 1-
41.
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 263

we know of the ritual practices of the early Daoist sects, particularly

the ritual confessions of sins and other healing practices. The central
message is that evil deeds generate evil results and good deeds gener-
ate good results. Sin causes all kinds of evils, including not only
sickness and premature death, but also social unrest, wars, and natu-
ral disasters. The present time is depicted as an age where evil pre-
vails, and even righteous people are struck by these calamities. To
explain this general misfortune the Taiping Jing introduces the teach-
ing of chengfo or "inheritance of sins": Usually Heaven punishes the
evildoers for their sins with sickness and death but there can be a
residue of unpunished transgressions remaining at the time of death.
This will then be transmitted to later generationsY In this way sins
are accumulated over many generations until the anger of Heaven
increases to such a degree that calamities and death are sent down
without discrimination between good and bad people. This is the
cause of general catastrophes that from time to time befall the
world. 16
Thus, the Great Peace Scripture describes the situation of the world as
a state of deficiency. It is probably not far-fetched if we assume that
this description reflects the feeling of many people experiencing the
social and political turmoil of the second century. Not only peasants
were suffering from misgovernment and calamities. As we can see
from the memorial presented by Xiang Kai mentioned above, intel-
lectuals also perceived that the world was not as it should be. The
Taiping Jing explains that the world has lost its original state of order,
and the responsibility for this lies with humankind. Humans are re-
sponsible not only for their own fate but for the state of the world.
Sins are transmitted from one generation to the other and in this way
accumulate and contribute to the general decline of the world. Sick-
ness and premature death are just one aspect of this moral decline of
humankind, others being natural disasters and social disorder.

15 The negative influence of sins is inherited by one's own descendants (TPJ,

251f). On the other hand, the effects of the sins and moral behavior of rulers and
ministers are not confined to their family but also influence their respective realms of
responsibility (TPJ, 151).
16 Cf. TPJ, 241-245. While the expression chengfo does not seem to occur in earlier

sources, the idea of an inheritance of good and bad deeds can be traced at least until
the middle of the first millennium BC It is explicidy formulated in the Zlwu ri:
"Families that have accumulated good deeds will necessarily have blessing left over
(for later generations); families that have accumulated evil deeds will necessarily have
misfortune left over." (Zhou ri, j. 1, Sibu beiyao edition, p. 6b17 a).
264 HUBERT SEIWERT

Now Heaven is distressed because humans do not know that they

cause calamities by their own actions. They think that disasters are
due to strange cosmological constellations and ignore that they them-
selves are responsible for their fate. Heaven therefore reveals a scrip-
ture to teach men this law. If humans follow this teaching, reflect on
their own sins and do good, they can stop the inheritance of sins.
They will suffer no more from the transgressions of their ancestors,
nor will they transmit sins to the later generations. In this way all
calamities will come to an end, Heaven will do away with sickness
and death, and the age of Great Peace (taiping) will be establishedY
We note that just as the moral decline of humankind has an effect
beyond the life of individual humans, salvation transcends the fate of
individuals. If men change their behavior according to the law of
Heaven, they will not only improve their own fate but the whole
world will be affected, natural disasters will cease, and society will
enjoy the ideal state of Great Peace.
It is difficult not to call this promise of Great Peace a promise of
"salvation," as I have just done. However, we must note that this idea
of salvation is completely this-worldly. What is hoped for is not salva-
tion of the spiritual self or the soul, referring to the transcendent
world of a heavenly paradise, but the elimination of disturbing influ-
ences to restore the uncorrupted state of the natural order. For this
the Daoists used the metaphor of healing-healing of the individual
and of society.
It was probably something similar to this teaching that was
preached to the followers of the Great Peace Sect and other early
Daoist sects, encouraging people to confess their sins and to follow
the moral exhortations revealed by Heaven. It is a teaching easy to
understand, without any philosophical sophistication. Things are dif-
ferent when we turn to what I have called the naturalistic interpreta-
tion of the human fate. We then are confronted with anthropological
and cosmological theories that have their roots in the rich soil of the
Chinese philosophical tradition. To present this aspect of the teach-
ing to a Western audience is a rather difficult undertaking, since most
of the central concepts have no equivalent in Western thought and
are virtually untranslatable. On the other hand some of these con-
cepts have at least a superficial similarity to the notions of self, soul,
and body.

17 TP},253-255.
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 265

Human Life and Cosmology

Chinese, and particularly Daoist, anthropology differs in one crucial

point from the idea of man that we know from Western religious
traditions. In Judaism, Christianity, and Islam man is unique among
God's creatures. Man is created in the image of God, and his immor-
tal soul is an essential aspect of this uniqueness. In Chinese thinking
man also occupies a central position in the cosmos, but it does not
derive from his unique relationship to God. Man may even be said to
be more central than God, because he is morally responsible for the
order of the world. It is man, above all the ruler or the emperor as
the representative of humankind, who through his moral or immoral
acts affects the cosmic harmony. Heaven does not send down bless-
ings and misfortune of its own accord but merely reflects the deeds of
men. It is like a mirror. 18 We have just met this kind of thinking in
the moralist teachings of the Taiping Jing.
However, this central position of man does not mean that he is
unique in a metaphysical sense. Man is part of the natural cosmos
and as such is subject to the same laws and rules that govern all other
things. This is one reason why the Western concept of soul, as some-
thing exclusively possessed by human beings, cannot be applied to
Daoist anthropology without severe distortions. Just as in modem
scientific anthropology, for the Daoists human nature is a purely
natural phenomenon.
The understanding of natural phenomena, however, is rather dif-
ferent from what we know in Western cosmology. For the fundamen-
tal factors of the cosmos are processes, not different substances that
form the material of which individual things consist. The basic as-
sumption is that everything existing is in a process of constant trans-
formation. No empirical phenomenon subsists, as the notion of "sub-
stance" implies, but rather changes and transforms from one thing
into another. One aspect of this "cosmic metabolism" or metamor-
phosis is the cycle of life and death, of growing and vanishing; an-
other aspect of this flux is the lack of absolute boundaries between
different things. When everything constantly undergoes change,
nothing is permanently the same, and one thing can appear in differ-
ent forms. In a certain way every empirical phenomenon is just a

18 TP}, 18.
266 HUBERT SEIWERT

visible manifestation of the cosmic process of continuous transforma-

tions. This also applies to human beings. 19
Change or transformation is the law that rules everything. It is
only this universal principle of change that does not change. Of
course, this principle is not "something"; it is not an empirical phe-
nomenon, but it underlies all empirical phenomena. Although it
cannot be described, since it has no attributes, it is real. The early
Daoist thinkers felt that this fundamental principle is the condition of
all that exists. To talk about it they called it Dao. 20
This is not the place to say much more about this well-known
metaphysical notion of Daoism. Suffice it to note here that Daoist
cosmology ultimately refers to the Dao as the fundamental principle
of the cosmos. It is certainly a transcendental notion in that it is the
condition of the possibility of everything. And it is transcendent in
the sense of "supernatural," since it existed before the world. 21
We can now turn to the more concrete manifestations of the cos-
mic processes, which will lead not only to cosmology but also to
anthropology. The locus classicus of what may be called the Daoist
cosmogony is chapter 42 of the famous Daode Jing, which I shall
present in a slightly paraphrased translation to make it better under-
standable:
The Dao produced the One [which is qi, original "matter"]'
The One produced the Two [complementary forces ofyin andyang].
The Two produced the Three [i.e. diversity].
And the Three produced the ten thousand things [i.e., all that exists].
[Thus:] The ten thousand things contain [the forces] of yin and yang,
and through qi ["matter"] they form a harmonious whole.

At first sight this may seem rather obscure, but here we have some
basic notions of the Daoist cosmology. To understand the fundamen-
tal unity of all empirical phenomena, including man, the concept of
qi is crucial. Its original meaning is "vapor," but in later cosmological
theories it denotes the subtle material essence shared by all things.

19 This "philosophy of change" has found its most famous literary expression in

the book of Zhuangzi. For a convenient summary, see Fung Yu-Ian, A History qfChinese
Philosophy, vo!. I (Prince ton, 1952), 221-245.
20 Cf. Daode Jing, ch. 25.
21 Ibid. It must be noted here that this interpretation of the Dao, which is derived
from the Daode Jing, cannot simply be generalized. Although the Daode Jing was
regarded as a most authoritative scripture by later Daoists, they elaborated its cos-
mology. Thus, the understanding of the Taiping Jing is slighdy different, and in its
cosmogony qi seems to be more important than dao.
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 267

The translation "matter" is somewhat misleading, for this invokes the

idea of solidity, which is not necessarily implied in the concept of qi.
Qj may be regarded as the original stuff that, under the influences of
the forces of yin and yang, transforms and takes various shapes, i.e.,
appears as empirical phenomena. We may quote a passage from
Zhuangzi to illustrate how human life is part of this cosmic process of
transformations. After the death of his wife, the Daoist philosopher
Zhuangzi (4th century BC) explains:
Amidst the muddle of the waste and dark [i.e., before individual things
exist] transformation occurs and there arises qi ("vapor," "subtle mat-
ter"); qi transforms and visible shapes (xing) occur [i.e., concrete enti-
ties]; [things of] visible shape transform and there is life; and now
(referring to the death of his wife) there was again transformation and
there is death. This process is comparable to the succession of the four
seasons. 22

Thus, both Laozi and Zhuangzi stress the unity of all natural phe-
nomena. Man, like any other thing, is just a temporary constellation
in the ongoing process of transformations. What we may call the
material base, the stuff that develops out of the nameless and formless
chaos, is qi ("subtle matter"23). Through transformation it takes vari-
ous shapes, and man is one of these manifestations. Let me again
quote the book of Zhuangzi:
Life is a companion of death and death is the beginning of [new] life.
[... ] The life of man is a condensation of qi ("subtle matter"); when [qz]
condenses there is life, when it disperses there is death. Since death and
life are [inseparable] companions, why should I regard [either of them]
with sorrow? In this sense all things are a unity.24

The basic tenet of this anthropological theory implies that human life
is to be understood above all as a natural phenomenon, subject, like
other natural phenomena, to similar laws. Consequently, anthropol-
ogy cannot be separated from cosmology. This naturalistic approach
was adopted and developed in the Daoist tradition but it influenced
most philosophical schools in ancient China. By the Later Han dy-
nasty (25-220 AD), when the popular Daoists sect flourished and the
Taiping Jing was first mentioned, the view that the cosmos is one

22 Zhuangz:.i, Zhi le, j. 18 (Zhuangz:.i jishi, Beijing, 1961), 615.

23 Since most readers are probably not familiar with Chinese terminology, I occa-
sionally provide a tentative English translation in brackets to make the text more
readable.
24 Zhuangz:.i, Zhi beiyou,): 22, 733.
268 HUBERT SEIWERT

organic whole and man is an integral part of it was widespread, if not

generally accepted. Small wonder, therefore, that we find similar
ideas in the Taiping Jing.

Anthropology and Cosmology in the Taiping Jing

The Taiping Jing takes up the idea that the whole cosmos is perme-
ated by one single essence called yuan qi, "primordial qi,"("subtle
matter") which is affected by the complementary forces of yin and
yang, i.e., everything is an aggregation of qi conditioned by the rela-
tive influence of the two forces. Now, there are two extremes, the
one, where the influence of yang (the "male" force) is at its utmost,
and the other, where the influence of yin (the "female" force) is at its
utmost. They are called "Great Yani'25 and "Great Yin. "26 Further-
more there is a third pole, called "Central Harmony" (Zhonghe),
where the influences of yang and yin are balanced. The Taiping Jing
explains that when the Great Yang assumes visible shape (xing) it is
called "Heaven," the visible shape of the Great Yin is called "Earth,"
and the visible shape of the Central Harmony is man. 27
We should note that man, although he is basically of the same
"stuff' as anything else in nature,28 holds a central position in this
system, indeed the central position. He is the "Central Harmony."
This explains why the behavior of man is crucial for the order of the
whole cosmos. For the whole cosmos communicates through the
medium of qi that permeates everything. If the equilibrium of the
Central Harmony is disturbed, then the equilibrium of the entire
cosmos will be affected. 29
Heaven, earth and man are thus not isolated entities but
aggregations of primordial qi; they are, as it were, more processes
than they are substances. They are part of a general process of mu-
tual interaction and transformation. Also, man is a process of trans-
forming qi. In this process the essential functions of human beings
occur:

25 Taiyang, in popular usage also signifYing the sun.

26 Taiyin, also used as a designation for the moon.
27 TPj, 19.
28 TPj,78.
29 TPj, 17£
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 269

Men's origin is the qi of the chaos. 3D Qj produces jing ("vital function"),

jing produces shen ("divine function"), shen produces ming ("brightness,"
i.e., "intellect"?). The ground is qi [affected by the forces] of yin and
yang: Qj turns into jing, jing turns into shen and shen turns into ming. 31
Here we meet two other important terms of Daoist anthropology,jing
and shen, which I have translated as "vital function" and "divine
function." I hesitate to give these translations of terms that cannot be
translated. But I am afraid that otherwise this paper would be too
esoteric for most readers. In Western parlance we would say that
man "consists" of jing ("vital function") and shen ("divine function").
One could even be inclined to regard them as the soul, or rather two
souls. 32
However, neither jing nor shen contain the self of a human being,
nor are they distinctive to man. This immediately becomes clear
when we read that Heaven and Earth also have jing and shen. Shen is
the essential function of the Great rang or Heaven, which is to pro-
duce. Jing is the essential function of the Great Yin 33 or Earth, which
is to nourish. These two functions must be present for everything to
exist. 34 However, to become concrete manifestations there has to be a
third function, which is xing ("visible shape"). The function of xing is
explained as "accomplishing," i.e., achieving a physical form, which
for man usually is the body.35
Thus man is a complete mirror of the universe in that he is the
outcome of different functions that are essential for everything. The
"material" on which these functions work is qi. Now, this cosmic
stuff, which permeates everything and by which all things communi-
cate, in its most refined form can be taken as "air." Through breath-

30 This statement differs somewhat from the cosmological views of the Daode Jing

and Zhuangzi quoted above. It seems that in the Taiping Jing the primordial chaos is
thought as consisting of qi or yuan qi ("primordial matter"), while for Laozi and
Zhuangzi qi emanates from the primordial unity.
31 TPJ,739.

32 In popular religionjing and shen roughly correspond to po and hun, which, after

the death of a person, exist for a limited time independendy. In this function they are
often interpreted as two "souls" in Western writings. See, for example, Werner
Eichhorn, Die Religionen Chinas (Stuttgart, 1973), 79-85.
33 The present text of the TPJ (p. 727, line 1) reads xing (shape) instead of jing

("vital function"), which is obviously a mistake as is clear from the context. Likewise
the first two occurrences of jing in line 2 have to be changed into xing ("visible
shape"). That producing and sustaining (lit. "nourishing") are the essential functions
of Heaven and Earth is unambiguously stated in TPJ, 220 et passim.
34 TPJ,699.
35 TPJ,727.
270 HUBERT SEIWERT

ing this qi enters the human body and circulates. Qi is the base on
whichjing ("vital function") and shen ("divine function") can act. Like
fish need water to live, so jing and shen need qi. Accordingly, jing and
shen disperse when the circulation of qi stops, just as fish die when
there is no more water. 36
What may at first sight seem to be a rather whimsical philosophi-
cal speculation, had important practical implications for the Daoists.
Let me only mention the prominence of breathing exercises intended
to secure the unhampered circulation of qi within the body and to
maintain the functions ofjing and shen. We cannot deal further with
these practical aspects of Daoism, however, but have to come back to
the anthropological theories and the question of health and salvation.

Health and Salvation

The attitude of the Taiping Jing toward death is ambiguous. On the

one hand we find thoughts reminiscent of Zhuangzi: All living beings
must die and man is no exception. This is the law of nature. Death is
the final annihilation of a human being; nothing is left but dust and
earth. Furthermore, there is only one life; it never occurs that some-
one is born again. 37 On the other hand, death, and particularly early
death, is regarded as a calamity. Again and again the Taiping Jing
discusses the causes of illness and premature death and how to avoid
them. We have seen above that one answer was that Heaven pun-
ishes men for their transgression, sending down calamities of all
kinds.
The naturalistic anthropology, which has been outlined in the
preceding paragraph, takes a seemingly different approach. Illness
and death are explained with reference to the elementary functions of
jing ("vital function"), shen ("divine function") and xing ("visible
shape"). As long as these three elements are kept together, there is an
individual human being. For the "self' of man, his individual exist-
ence, it is essential that the body and the more subtle forms of qi Uing

36 TP], 727.
37 TP], 340f. The explicit denial of rebirth is possibly a reaction to Buddhist ideas.
There is a seemingly contradictory statement declaring that the qi of the dead
resides in the grave and after five generations becomes a man again (p. 182). This
means that the qi again takes human form. It is not the same person, however, who
is reborn. "It never happens that one's own identity (lit. "own name") shows again.
It does not rise and live again" (p. 340).
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 271

and shen) fonn a unity. If they separate, death occurs. Jing and shen
are completely lost then, and only the visible shape of man, his
corpse, remains. Therefore, to "keep the unity" (shou yZ) of jing, shen,
and body is the key to health and long life. Someone who is able to
"keep the unity" will enjoy happiness and transcend ordinary human
conditions. 38
Thus, the body or visible shape according to the Taiping Jing is not
something accidental to the human self but is indispensable. Indeed
the body, belonging exclusively to one individual human being,
comes nearest to what may be called the "self' of a person. 39 How-
ever, a body without jing and shen is just a corpse. The body is like a
city, while jing and shen are like the senior officials. The officials con-
trol the fate of the people in the city.40 Although the body is indis-
pensable for the individual, it is in a certain respect subordinated to
jing and shen. If these two leave the body, there is no living personal-
ity. "The three cannot exist independently."41
There are various methods used to "keep the unity." Since the
functioning ofjing and shen depends on the unrestricted circulation of
life-giving qi, this has to be secured by calming the self (or "the
body"), to allow breath to flow freely. To achieve this tranquility,
impassioned emotions of anger and joy have to be avoided; in this
way a state of equanimity free of sorrow will be reached. 42 However,
the cultivation of the sel£'f3 is not confined to the regulation of the
bodily functions but requires moral cultivation as well. This means
people must know and follow the moral laws that are part of the
cosmic order. In the same way that heaven and earth, by which all
things are produced and nourished, have their proper functions, man
also has his proper functions, which are his social obligations. If men
offend these obligations, the balance of the cosmic order is affected:

38 TPj, 716. "To transcend human conditions" (du sht) is a technical term that in

later Daoism means "to attain immortality." It may have that meaning here, but I
am not sure. Cf. p. 372 where the meaning is also not explicit. On p. 438 the similar
expression du qu (lit. "transcend and leave") obviously means "to attain immortality."
39 The Chinese word shen ("body"-not to be confused with shen ["divine func-

tion''], which is a different character) in many instances can be translated as "self." It

is still so understood in modern usage. See also below, note 43.
40 TPj, 699.

41 TPj,727.

42 TPj,727.

43 TPj, 245:yang qi shen (lit. "nourishing one's self [or body]"). The context shows

that in this case shen (lit. "body") means "the self' since it deals with moral cultivation
rather than cultivation of the physical body.
272 HUBERT SEIWERT

On the one hand the order of society will decline and social turmoil
will prevail. On the other hand heaven and earth will also cease to
fulfil their functions properly and the natural order will lose its bal-
ance, resulting in disasters, illness, and death. To avoid this, man has
to cultivate his self morally and in this way secure health and long
life. 44
We now reach a point where the naturalistic and the theistic inter-
pretations of the cosmos and of human fate approach each other. In
the naturalist interpretation the interdependence of all cosmic proc-
esses is based on the all-pervading qi. Since heaven, earth, and man
partake of the same primordial qi,45 moral transgressions of man
disturb more than the smooth functioning of his own qi. For man as
the "Central Harmony" is responsible for the cosmic equilibrium.
Therefore the qi of the macrocosm will also be disturbed and lose its
equilibrium. 46 Thus, there is a close correspondence between man as
a microcosm and the processes of the natural macrocosm. Now, the
same correspondence can also be conceived as the acting of person-
alized agents. Heaven then is regarded as a deity (shen), and the
natural forces as the deities of nature. 47 The disturbance of the qi of
Heaven and the natural forces is called the wrath of Heaven that
sends down the divinities of nature to punish men for their transgres-
SIOns.
Heaven and all other divinities are thus personalized manifesta-
tions of certain functions of qi. Actually the Chinese word for "divin-
ity" is shen, which is what we have translated above as "divine func-
tion." Shen together withjing ("vital function") is present in everything
that exists, and their being united with a human body makes the self
of a man. Now, the jing and shen can appear as deities not only if they
function in the forces of nature, but also in human beings. As the
Taiping Jing states: The divinities Uing shen) of nature enter the belly of
man and act as his jing and shen. As divinities of the body they reside
in the five inner organs, and can be visualized by the adept in human
form. 48 Like officials, they observe the deeds and thoughts of man. 49
Man then is a microcosm inhabited by deities that correspond to

44 TP], 244£
45 TP],236.
46 TP],372£
47 TP], 221.
48 TP],292.
49 TP],699.
 HEALTH AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 273

the deities of the macrocosm. This is just another way to understand

the fundamental unity of the cosmic processes. We can also say that
the divinities, including Heaven, are but aggregations of qi. At one
time they appear as gods that can be depicted in human form, at
another time they appear as the forces of nature. In either case they
fulfll certain functions in the whole cosmic process. Correspondingly
the life process of man depends on the same functions, which can be
interpreted either in a naturalist way as jing and shen, or in a theistic
way as deities residing in the body. Evidently these conceptions do
not have much in common with the concept of soul that we know
from the Western traditions.
For people who are used to Western modes of thinking, the ontol-
ogy of the Taiping Jing must seem rather diffuse, if not to say abstruse.
However, if we accept its presuppositions, it can be understood quite
rationally. The key is the idea of transformation. As has been ex-
plained above, things are not substances; they have no permanent
identity but are processes of the primordial qi. The qi may appear in
different constellations or forms. Thus, there is no logical contradic-
tion if the same function of qi simultaneously assumes the form of a
deity and the form of a natural force, if in one respect it controls the
life of a human being and in another the working of the four seasons.
If anything can be transformed into something other, the boundaries
between different realms of existence disappear.
This idea is expressed most strikingly when the Taiping Jing de-
scribes the eight different levels of perfection that men can achieve in
applying the laws of the Dao. 50 If one proceeds to the highest level, he
becomes a "divine man" (shenren), who is actually not a human being
but a god residing in the Azure Palace of the Great Dipper. 51 There
is, as it were, a gradual scale of perfection that reaches from the
lowest forms of human existence to the topmost levels of the divine
hierarchy. Immortality, therefore, is the result of a transformation
through the cultivation of the self according to the laws of the Dao. It
is not something everyone may reach, but the extreme form of trans-
formation by which the mortal body is substituted by a visible shape
not exposed to deathY For practical purposes, to exhaust one's natu-

50 TP], 221 £ A slighdy different list of nine grades is described on p. 88. See also
pp. 288£
51 TP],222.
52The concept of shijie ("liberation from the corporeal body") is mentioned in the
TP] (p. 553), though the passage is somewhat obscure.
274 HUBERT SEIWERT

rallife-span or to attain one of the grades of longevity is regarded as

a more realistic aim. 53
Where the passage from ordinary man to god in heaven is a
gradual scale with many intermediary steps, it is difficult to draw a
sharp line between a mundane and a transcendental world. Also the
distinction of health and salvation is not one referring to fundamen-
tally different components of the human self, i.e., the body and the
soul. For the material and spiritual part of the human self, if we may
use this Western terminology, do not belong to ontologically different
realms of being, since both emanate from primordial qi. In fact, the
difference between the spiritual and the material is merely one of
appearance and not of substance. We cannot speak, therefore, of a
tension between a transcendental and the mundane world;54 how-
ever, there is obviously a tension between the world as it is and as it
ought to be. But this can hardly be regarded as a new intellectual
breakthrough in China, since the early philosophers like Confucius
were already dealing with this problem. The present world is not
devaluated because it is ontologically inferior to some transcendental
world, but because it has become defective.
If we understand the Taiping Jing in this way, salvation is not
something happening in another world but is a transformation of the
existing world. It is a transformation by which the prevailing ill-
nesses-individual, social and natural-are healed and the order of
the cosmos is restored. Salvation is necessary because the world has
lost its equilibrium and has fallen into turmoil. This happens because
men do not follow the laws of the heavenly Dao and so spoil the
harmony of the cosmos. Men have lost their proper way,55 which
leads to all the calamities encountered presently and engenders the
imminent threat of a final catastrophe, a complete end of the world. 56
To cure this harmful situation, the teachings of the Taiping Jing have

53 Not even one among ten thousand attains immortality, and not one in a thou-

sand reaches the "great longevity" (TP), 438). The three grades oflongevity amount
to 120, 80, and 60 years (p. 723).
54 As the distinction between a transcendental and a mundane world does not
really fit the Chinese world conceptions, Eisenstadt's interpretation of the axial age is
not applicable. In China the world of the humans and the world of the gods always
remained "homologous" (ct above, n. 3).
55 Incidendy, the original meaning of dao is "way."

56 TP}, 221. The idea of a complete and final destruction of the world is rather

unusual in China and not fully in accord with the cosmological theories. However,
the TP} clearly states that the great catastrophe would be like a sudden destruction
of heaven and earth without a new formation.
 HEALTII AND SALVATION IN EARLY DAOISM 275

been revealed by Heaven to instruct men about the heavenly Dao and
show them the way to escape from misfortune. The key to salvation
lies in man himself. If he follows the heavenly Dao and cultivates his
self morally, he will be able to "keep the unity" of the vital and divine
functions with his body and in this way obtain health and longevity.
Moreover, "If man cultivates his inner nature the outer world will
respond to it. Internally it will lead to longevity, externally it will
bring about the order [of the world]. Without using the strength of
one's muscles, the state of Taiping ("Great Peace") will come sponta-
neously."57 This is the message of the Taiping Jing.

57 TP],739.
 IlLNESS AND SELF:
ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS

Koichi Shinohara

In this paper I would like to compare two autobiographical essays

that a medieval Chinese monk Zhiyuan (976-1022) composed.
Zhiyuan suffered from a chronic illness, and in the first essay, titled
"The Biography of the Sick Man," his illness is placed prominently at
the center of his self-portrait. I In the second essay, titled "The Biog-
raphy of the Master of the Mean," Zhiyuan mentions in passing that
he was chronically ill and that he had once called himself the "sick
man" and composed the self-portrait mentioned above (56Bb8), but
the emphasis in this second essay is on unpacking the meaning of his
style, or literary name, "the Master of the Mean." The Mean
(Zhongyong) is an important and easily recognizable Confucian con-
cept. Zhiyuan, a prominent Buddhist monk of the Tiantai school, has
thus rejected the earlier self-presentation around the theme of illness
and turned to one that presents himself as an embodiment of a
Confucian virtue.
Chinese Buddhist monks often wrote extensive commentaries and
doctrinal treatises, but generally refrained from writing essays and
poetry on worldly topics. They seldom wrote autobiographies. Even
the stupa, or tomb, inscriptions of prominent monks, written often in
elegant language, were typically composed by lay patrons of these
monks. Zhiyuan produced a large body of commentarial literature,
but he was also inspired by a contemporary literary movement, dis-
tinctively Confucian in orientation, and composed literary essays and
poetry. Toward the end of his life he collected and added extensively
to these writings and produced a collection called Writings Compiled
in Retirement (XianJu bian). His autobiographies, or literary self-por-
traits, are examples of Zhiyuan's literary compositions and are pre-
served in this collection.
In composing the two autobiographical essays as a Buddhist monk,
Zhiyuan had to rely on the secular literary traditions which were
1 The entry on illness ("bya") in Habagirin (Paris, 1974) provides a brief survey of
references to this topic in Buddhist literature (3.224-265).
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 277

primarily Confucian and Taoist in orientation. He was thus attempt-

ing to do something that had no obvious precedents, and in some
ways rather illegitimate. As he proceeded further in this attempt,
from focusing on the immediate reality of chronic illness to a much
more abstract and doctrinaire self-presentation as the Master of the
Mean, the tensions and contradictions inherent in what he was doing
came more clearly to the surface.
In this paper I will examine this development first by examining
closely how Zhiyuan constructed his self-presentation around the
theme of his illness. I will then compare this self-presentation with the
second more elaborate attempt, where Zhiyuan adopts a very differ-
ent strategy for self-presentation, and examine how Zhiyuan turned
to different types of literary and philsophical resources in these two
essays.
It is possible that by the time he composed the second autobiogra-
phy, Zhiyuan was aware that he was going to die soon. Parts of this
essay in fact are written in the familiar style of stiipa, that is tomb,
inscriptions, in which biographies of medieval Chinese monks were
generally written, though Zhiyuan frequently departs from this mode
of self-presentation by suddenly referring to himself with the first-
person pronoun, and thus speaking with the voice of the subject of
the biography. Nevertheless, as Zhiyuan situates himself at the point
after the death of the subject when biographies of monks were typi-
cally written by writers other than the subject himself, the topic of his
illness may have receded as the central issue of the biographical
subject's life.
This would suggest that it may have been the very conventions of
biography writing that led Zhiyuan to abandon his earlier effort to
present his "self' with a focus on illness, which was a condition of his
"body". In this first essay Zhiyuan composed a literary self-portrait,
unusual as a work of a Buddhist monk, by drawing heavily on the
secular tradition of presenting the autobiographical subject around
such familiar themes as heavy drinking or reciting poetry in a
drunken state. In the second essay he turned to a more familiar genre
of stupa inscriptions, though here again he was doing something unu-
sual by composing his own stiipa inscription. Here Zhiyuan made a
different though even more unusual gesture by giving himself a title
that is obviously Confucian in origin. I will begin my discussion by
reviewing the larger context of Zhiyuan's life, and the circumstances
under which Zhiyuan compiled his literary collection.
278 KOICHI SHINOHARA

1. Zhiyuan's move to Mt. Gu and the collection if his literary writings

Zhiyuan is known primarily as an important participant in the pro-
tracted doctrinal controvesy in the Tiantai school. The "mountain
group" led by Zhili (960-1028) at Mt. Tiantai survived this contro-
versy and became the later Tiantai orthodoxy. The "outside-the-
mountain group," was led by Wu'en (911-986), of the Ciguangyuan
Hall in Qjantang (49Aa8) and his followers. Most notable among
these followers were Wu'en's disciple Yuanqing (dates unknown) at
the Fengxiansi temple in Qjantang, and two prominent disciples of
Yuanqing, namely Qjngshao (963-101 7) and Zhiyuan. Qjngshao
later left Yuanqing's temple in Qjantang and moved to the Fantiansi
temple in Shibi (in present Anhui province) (49AaI4-Ball, esp. b9;
T.2035: 49.204b29). After Yuanqing's death Zhiyuan also left Yuan-
qing's temple and eventually settled at Mt. Gu in the midst of the
famous Western Lake adjacent to Qjantang.
Zhiyuan moved to Mt. Gu in 1016 at the age of 41 and lived there
for six years until his death in 1022. Zhiyuan appears to have been
active in establishing his Tiantai lineage at Mt. Gu: He built a stupa
for Wu'en (49Aa, also re( 52Bab) and composed biographical in-
scriptions for prominent "outside-the-mountain group" figures such
as Wenbei (926-985) of the Ciguangsi temple, his teacher Yuaning's
fellow student under Wu'en (59Aa-Bb), and his own fellow student
Qjngshao of the Fantiansi temple (49Aa-Ba).2
A paired inscription for Tiantai patriarchs Zhiyi (539-98) and
Zhanran (711-82) was placed to the the right and left of the Buddha
Hall in Zhiyuan's temple: in these inscriptions Zhiyuan describes
himself as the 14th generation disciple of Zhiyi and the 9th genera-
tion disciple of Zhanran. Zhiyuan had understood his own place in
the Tiantai school in terms of an elaborate scheme that traced his
lineage through Yuanqing and Wu'en and further back through
Zhanran to Zhiyi.3
2 Zhiyuan's collection also includes poems that refers Qjngshao and his temple in
a variety of ways (85Ab-Ba; 86Ba; 87Ab; 90Aa, 93Ab-Ba, 97Bb, 98Bb).
3 The comprehensive lineage diagram in the Fozu tongji gives the following list of 17

Tiantai patriarchs in the "Eastern Land" (China): 1. Nagarjuna, 2. Huiwen of

Northern Qj, 3. Huisi of Nanyue, 4. Zhiyi of Tiantai, 5. Zhang'an (Guanding), 6.
Fahua Zhiwei, 7. Tiangong Huihui, 8. Zuoqi Xuaniang, 9. Jingqi Zhanran, 10.
Xingdao Daosui, 11. Zhixing Guangxiu. 12. Zhiding Wuwai, 13. Miaoshuo Yuan-
xiu, 14. Gaolun Qjngsong, 15. Jingguang Xiji, 16. Baoyun Yitong, 17. Fazhi Zhili
The lineage of Zhiyuan is given under the "fourteenth patriarch" Qjngsong, start-
ing with Ciguang Zhiyin (first generation), a fellow disciple of the "fifteenth patri-
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 279

In 1018, four years before his death, Zhiyuan resumed the debate
with the "mountain group" by publishing a new work, called
Jingguanmingjin xuanyi baowei ji. Prefaces and postscripts for other doc-
trinal works, bearing dates after Zhiyuan's move to Mt. Gu, have
been preserved. 4 Zhiyuan thus appear to have remained active in
promoting the cause of his group at Mt. Gu.
At Mt. Gu, Zhiyuan also appears to have been preoccupied with
preparing a collection of his occasional literary writings. It was here
that he produced the collection mentioned above, titled Writings
Compiled in Retirement. This collection survives, though possibly in
a reduced form. Zhiyuan's own short Author's Preface to this collec-
tion describes the collection as follows:

Monk Zhiyuan of Qiantang, courtesy name (zz) Wuwai, style (hao)

Zhongyong Zi ("Master of the Mean") lectured on Buddhist scrip-
tures, but also read the writings of Duke of Zhou, Confucius, Yang

arch" Jingguang Xiji. Zhiyin is followed by Ciguang Wu'en (second generation)

whose disciples included Lingguang Hongming, Ciguang Wenbei as well as Zhi-
yuan's immediate teacher Fengxian Yuanqing (third generation) (T.2035:49.252a).
The "fourteenth patriarch" of the Orthodox lineage is the fifth generation disciple of
Zhanran and three generations of disciples (Zhiyin, Wu'en, Yuanqing) separates
Zhiyuan from the fourteenth patriarch, making Zhiyuan the ninth generation disci-
ple of Zhanran, as claimed in Zhiyuan's inscription on Zhanran. This lineage also
would make Zhiyuan the 14th generation disciple of Zhiyi the "fourth patriarch".
This agreement with the lineage in the Foz;u tongji, compiled in the 12 year period
between 1258 and 1269, suggests that the general framework of the Tiantai lineage
given in the Foz;u tongji had existed by 1018 when Zhiyuan composed the texts of
these inscriptions.
The "orthodox" lineage gives Zhili as the 17th patriarch, designating him as the
third generation disciple of the 14th patriarch; in the Foz;u tongji the third generation
disciple of the 14th patriarch Qingsong in Zhiyuan's lineage is Yuanqing.
The tide of a poem included in fascicle 46 suggests that Zhiyuan also composed a
biography of Zhanran (95Ba).
4 For example, The Postscript for an edition of the diamond sutra (fascicle 9,
41 Bb), the Postscript for a commentary on Maiijusri's Perfection of Wisdom Scrip-
ture (fascicle 9, 40Bb) both bear the date of the first year ofTianxi (1017). A second-
ary commentary (chao) for the same scripture (fascicle 5, 36Bb) and a secondary
commentary Surarp.gama sutra (fascicle 5, 37 Aa) dated the fourth year of the same
period (1020). The preface to the secondary commentary for the Amitabha sutra
(fascicle 6, 37 AB) is dated the seventh day of the II th month of the fifth year of the
same period (1021). Zhiyuan died in the second month of the following year, and in
this preface he explains that he dictated this secondary commentary to his students,
who copied down his words. Zhiyuan had also written longer commentaries on the
Surarp.gama sutra (36BbI6) and the Amithabha sutra (37Ba3) and these secondary
commentaries appear to have been shorter summaries ("one fascicle": 37Ba4;
37BaI2).
280 KOICHI SHINOHARA

Xiong, and Mencius and frequently practised the "ancient style"

(guwen) writing and honoured the Way. I also love to chant poetry in
five and seven syllable lines and seek emotional satisfaction. Occa-
sional pieces of writings were thrown into a broken bag. I had not
made a clean copy of these writings, and since children often used
the papers on which they were written as kindling, there are many
that have been lost. In the summer of this year, as I nursed my illness
at the foot of Mt. Gu, I took advantage of the occasion and asked
younger students to copy out the remaining pieces. I also wish to add
[to this collection] other pieces that I may produce in the future. It is
not that I seek fame in the present world. I am indulging in what I
like (27Ba).

This preface is dated "the 10th day of the 5th month in the ninth
year of the Dazhong Xiangfu period (1016). Elsewhere in the collec-
tion Zhiyuan states that he moved to the Manao Hall in Mt. Gu on
the 5th day of the 4th month in this same year (45Bb). Zhiyuan
appears to have moved to Mt. Gu in the 4th month, at the beginning
of the summer, and composed this preface a little over a month later,
in the 5th month of the same year.
In this preface Zhiyuan does not give the title of this collection as
Writings Compiled in Retirement, though in the letter Zhiyuan
wrote shortly before his death in 1022, thanking the prominent offi-
cial Wu Zun1u for composing a preface for this collection, Zhiyuan
indicates that it was Zhiyuan himself who chose this title for the
collection of his literary works (60Bab). The expression xianju de-
scribes a relaxed and peaceful life withdrawn from public life. 5
The expression occurs occasionally in the biographies of Song Tiantai monks in
the Universal History of the Buddhas and Patriarchs (Fozu tongft). The expression is
sometimes used to refer to the last stage of their lives when they have retired from
serving as abbots of major centers and moved to smaller residences (for example, 49:
224a29). Sometimes the emphasis is on the literary activities (as in 233c9). Zhiyuan
may have used the term with a twist. Sometimes the character xian is used inter-
changeabley with the character jian, and jianju, with a similar meaning to xianju is
found more frequendy in early Confucian and Taoist writings than xianju. Jianju,
furthermore, is sometimes used in the sense of withdrawing from public life because
of illness, alluding to a passage in the Analeels (IX, 12), where the characterJian is used
to describe the improved condition of Confucius' grave illness (IX, 12; Lau 98). In
the text reproduced in the Xuzangjing, Zhiyuan consistendy uses the expression xianju
rather thanJianju, but xianju is also written asjianju in places that should probably be
attributed to editors. The tide of the collection is given as Jianju bian, rather than
Xianju bian in the two colophons that appear at the end of the Xuzangjing edition, one
by Liaokong, dated 1060, explaining how he produced the SI fascicle version of this
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 281

An essay, entitled Preface to the Collected Assignments in illness

(Bingkejz), is preserved in Zhiyuan's collection (44Ab). The close rela-
tionship between Zhiyuan's illness and his effort to produce a collec-
tion of his literary works is highlighted in this essay.

Toward the end of this summer (1020), the heat was excessive, and my
illness became one hundred times worse than usual. I lay in bed in my
grass hut for 40 days. Even when I got better, all I could do was to walk
slowly, clinging to my staff. Yet, even in the dizzy and mentally
sluggish state of illness, I still could not remain silent. From time to
time I composed essays or poems for relaxation. When I was ex-
hausted, I propped up my head with my arm and dictated to one of my
students. When the illness had receded for a while (shao jian) , I sat up
leaning against a table and wrote myself. Is there not joy in this? 6
When the drafts were completed, I threw them all into a bamboo
box. One day I took them out and reviewed them. There were alto-
gether seventy poems of various types. I arranged them into three
fascicles, and titled the result "Collected Works Done in Illness".
When Confucian scholars, studying for official appointments, with-
draw for further study, it is called "passing the summer" (ie., euphe-
mism for failing the offical examination); the work they then produce
is called "summer assignments". Would it not be appropriate if I call
what I have produced and copied out when my illness abated "as-
signments in illness"? Furthermore, I wish to let later generations
know how in the lonely life of poverty and illness I got control of my
selfish desires. 7

collection (108Aa6 and 8), and the other by Jie'an, dated 1248. At one point the
table of contents also gives the tide of the collection as Jianju bian (28Ball). Xianju in
the tides of poems Zhiyuan included in the collection is consistendy rewritten as jianju
in the table of contents: 85Ba3 (given as xian in 29Bb8), 86Aa3 (29BbI2), 86Aal3
(29BbI4), 90Aa9 (30Ab2), I02Bbl6 (3IBa2),I06Aal (30IBb5), 106Aa5 (3IBb6).
Thus, for the editor of the existing edition of the collection xianju andjianju appears
to have been identical, and this may have been the case with Zhiyuan himself.
As I will note below, Zhiyuan frequendy uses jian in the sense of Analeets (IX, 12)
in describing the circumstances of his literary activities. Even if Zhiyuan distin-
guished xianju fromjianju, and deliberately chose the former as the tide of his literary
collection, he must also have been aware of the close relationship between these two
similar expressions. Thus, in calling his collection as xianju bian, or Writings Com-
piled in Retirement, he may also have been suggesting that it was also ajianju bian, or
Writing Compiled While In Reprieve from Illness. Zhiyuan's collection contains
many tides that refer direcdy to his own illness (fascicles 11, 34,47, 48, 49, 50).
6 Ref., Analeets, 1,1: "Is it not a joy?," Lau, 59.
7 Ref., laD Zi, 33: "He who overcomes himself is strong", Lau, p. 92.
282 KOICHI SHINOHARA

However, the language [of my writing] is vulgar, and the content

is unfocused. Some of these pieces are based on the teachings of the
Duke of Zhou and Confucius, others cross over to the Laa Zi and the
Zhuang Zi, and still others return [to the ultimate teaching of] Bud-
dhism. My Way cannot remain pure. If gentlemen were to see their
diversity and criticize it as "loving many," I would not dare to seek
escape from this charge. But if it is possible to begin with "loving
many" and reach the state that has overcome diversity, then I am
one who waits to be recognized. 8 How wonderful would that be!
Would I be punished for my "assignments in illness", or would I be
recognized (or appreciated) for my "assignments in illness."
On the 26th day of the 4th year of the Tianxi period (1020), Binfu
("The Sick Man"), or Zhiyuan, or Wuwai wrote this preface. 9

In this preface intended for a smaller collection of verses produced in

the summer of 1020, Zhiyuan explains the origin of the collection as
something that came into being when he reviewed, almost by acci-
dent, the pieces of writings he had thown into a bamboo basket.
Though this explanation reminds us of the account of the origin of
the Writings Compiled in Retirement in the Author's Preface which
bears the date of 1016, certain themes in the Author's Preface appear
here in a more developed form. The relationship between his illness
and his literary activity is here brought to the foreground; whereas in
the Author's Preface Zhiyuan mentions his illness only to describe

8 Ref. Analects IV, 14: "Do not wony because no one appreciates your abilities.
Seek to be worthy of appreciation" (Lau, p. 74), and also I, 15 end, Lau, 62; also the
expression sidzi "wait to be recognized" echoes the phrase siming "wait for the man-
date [of Heaven]) that appears in the Confucian canon [The Doctrine qf the Mean,
shisanjing dzushu, 5, 883; Mencius, VIIB, 33, Lau, p. 201: "A gendeman merely follows
the norm and awaits his destiny."
9 Expressions such as "loving many" and "punishing me" appear in the above-
mentioned letter, in which Zhiyuan thanked Wu Zunlu for composing the preface to
the Xianju bian. Zhiyuan employs these expressions in a passage where he justifies the
decision to produce a collection of his writings (60Bab). In that passage the person
who Zhiyuan feared might punish him is described as "a sage like Confucius"
(60BaI7). This letter is dated the sixth day of second month of the Qjanxing period
(1022). Since Zhiyuan died on the 19th day of the same month, he appears to have
been preoccupied with this issue until the end of his life. As I noted elsewhere the
hermit Lin Bu, who was Zhiyuan's neighbour at Mt. Gu, refused to have his writings
collected.
The contrast between "punishing me" and "recognizing me" that appears toward
the end of this preface (44Ab 18) also appears toward the end of "The Biography of
the Master of the Mean" (56Bab).
 ZHIYUAN'S 1WO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 283

the circumstances under which he ordered his earlier writings to be

copied and compiled into a collection, in this preface to the Collected
Assignments in illness his "dizzy and mentally sluggish state of ill-
ness" is explicitly and directly connected to the composition of liter-
ary verses. In this preface to the "Collected Assignments In illness,"
Zhiyuan uses the wordjian, with obvious allusion to the Analects (IX,
12), to refer to occasional receding of his illness. IQ
The reference to his own illness in the Author's Preface and re-
peated references to illness in the Writings Compiled in Retirement
suggest that Zhiyuan withdrew to Mt. Gu in order to nurse his
chronic illness. His illness was a central preoccupation in the last
years of Zhiyuan's life that he spent at Mt. Gu, when he was also
actively putting together the Writings Compiled in Retirement."

2. Zhiyuan's Two Autobiographical Essays

The Writings Compiled in Retirement contains two essays, one enti-

tled The Biography of the Sick Man (fascicle 34) and the other enti-

ID If he deliberately intended, as I suggested above, the double meaning in the

expression xianjuljianju as life in retirement and as life with occasional receding of his
illness, the occurrence of the termjian in the Preface to the Collected Assignments in
Illness would indicate that the ultimate choice of the tide for the larger collection was
anticipated in the way Zhiyuan describes the circumstances of his literary activities
here.
We may also note, however, that while his earlier tide Collected Assignments in
Illness, intended for a smaller collection of his verses, focuses on his illness, the
ultimate tide Zhiyuan chose for the more complete collection of his writings does not
refer direcdy to his illness.
Liaokong's colophon explains that while Wu Zunlu's preface ("Account of Con-
ducts") mentions that the Writings Compiled in Retirement consisted of 60 fascicles
27Ab14, he could only reconstruct the 48 fascicle version of the collection, and that
Collected Assigments in Illness was not included in this shorter collection. Liaokong
included this smaller collection in the larger work and produced the 51 fascicle
version of the Writings Compiled in Retirement (108Aa8-11).
11 In the essay in which Zhiyuan gives more precisely the date he moved to the
Manao Hall in Mt. Gu, he states that he moved there in order to teach the Tiantai
method of Three Meditations to students (45Bb). But this statement appears in an
essay describing the establishment of Zhiyuan's temple in Mt. Gu and in another
essay that describes the expansion of the temple, dated the 13th day of the 6th
month of the 3rd year of the Tianxi period (1019), Zhiyuan states that he had
"bought a mountain to nurse his illness" on the 29th day of the 3rd month of the 9th
year of the Dazhong Xiangfu period (1016)." Here he is referring to the purchase of
the land at Mt. Gu. Thus, though Zhiyuan spoke of his move to Mt. Gu at least once
in connection with his role as a teacher of the Tiantai meditation, he more fre-
quendy spoke of it as a search for an appropriate location for nursing his illness.
284 KOICHI SHINOHARA

tled The Biography of the Master of the Mean (fascicle 19). The Sick
Man and the Master of the Mean that appear in these titles refer to
Zhiyuan himself In various essays included in this collection Zhiyuan
uses three different literary names, or styles (hao) , for himself: "The
Recluse", "The Sick Man", and "The Master of the Mean". Zhiyuan
appears to have preferred the last two of these candidates and com-
posed autobiographical essays around them. 12 In the end Zhiyuan
settled on the style, Master of the Mean. The essay, The Biography
of the Master of the Mean, appears to have been written relatively
late in his life, perhaps when the collection had taken more definite
shape, and it mentions the earlier Biography of the Sick Man in the
section where the author mentions some of the literary compositions
of the Master of the Mean. Zhiyuan must either have been dissatis-
fied with the self-portrait of the Sick Man that he had written earlier,
or else we must assume that he saw a need for a different kind of
biography or autobiography when he wrote the longer essay in which
he calls himself the Master of the Mean.
Zhiyuan's style the Sick Man and the title of his essay, The Biog-
raphy of the Sick Man would have been natural choices, if Zhiyuan,
still engaged in the doctrinal debate with the "mountain group,"
nevertheless thought of his move to Mt. Gu primarily as a search for
an appropriate cure of his illness, and of his literary works as an
avocation in which he indulged himself at moments when his illness
had abated. In this essay Zhiyuan constructed a literary self-portrait
around the theme of illness.
In composing a literary self-portrait around the style chosen by
himself, Zhiyuan was following a long literary tradition in medieval
China that reaches back to the Biography of the Gentleman of Five
Willow Trees composed by Tao Qan (365-427). Other examples
include the Biography of the Gentleman of Five Pecks of Wine by
Wang Ji (585-644), and Biography of A Drunken Poet by Bo Juyi
(772-846). In Bo Juyi's essay, which refers explicitly to Tao Qan, Liu
Ling (d. ca. 265), famous for his In Praise of the Virtue of Wine, and
Wang Ji, drunkenness is turned into a higher spiritual state of other-
worldliness. Zhiyuan was probably familiar with this essay, since he
writes about reading the collection of Bo Juyi's writings in one of the

12 Zhiyuan also composed a self-portrait around the style "The Recluse" (qiarifU)

(fasicle 49, 10 lA). Many of poems in the Writings Compiled in Retirement are also
literary self-portraits (for example, "Mocking the Portrait" in fascicle 95, "Mocking
Oneself' in fascicle 98). These poems frequently mention illness.
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 285

poems included in the Writings Compiled in Retirement (fascicle 48,

IOIBa).
Drawing from this tradition, Zhiyuan turned illness into a spiritu-
ally pregnant state.

(a) The Biography of the Siek Man (76Ba-77Aa)

He chose the style the Sick Man because he is always and endlessly
ill. His door is always closed to visitors, and he lives in the poverty of
a scholar not in government service, content with "a bowlful of rice
and ladleful of water" (Analeets, VI, 11), and without intercourse with
the world. He selects medical books carefully, and prepares medicine
in order to treat his illness himself.

When the illness is somewhat better (shao jian) , he discusses books to

entertain himself. Or he prepares a discussion of a given topic. In
producing a piece of writing, he always takes the Way as the principle
and bases himself on Benevolence, [from this point of view] critizing
the evil and promoting the good. He constantly says, "We should not
forget the greatness of the Three Teachings."

To practice the Five Virtues and to rectify the Three Cardinal Re-
lationships (ruler and subject; father and son; and husband and wife)
-this is what Confucianism teaches. To go beyond sagehood and
wisdom ("exterminate the sage, discard the wise," Lao Zi, 19; Lau, p.
75), to "keep to the role of the female" (Lao Zi, 28, Lau 85), and to
protect the weak-this is what Taoism teaches. To control the conse-
quences by its causes, to turn away from delusion and return to truth,
to let the one thousand transformations and ten thousand appear-
ances go back to the Mind-Nature-this is what Buddhism teaches.

Our mind is the disease; the Three Teachings are its medicine. Given
the disease, how can the three medicines be abandoned? Our Way is
a tripod. The Three Teachings are its three legs. If we do not wish
the tripod to fall, are we to break any of its legs? Followers of Confu-
cianism sometimes criticize [this practice] as "loving many," seeing a
sin in this and attacking it as a heterodox teaching. But the Sick Man
does not accommodate to the world and does not change his teach-
mg.
286 KOICHI SHINOHARA

Climbing the mountain or facing the water, he recites chosen phrases

and depicts the scenery. "Remaining correct but relaxed" (Analects,
VII, 4; Lau, p. 86), he does not take the illness in his body as suffer-
ing. In the quietude of self-attainment, he does not falsely adopt the
forms of the contemporary world.
Even [when he encounters] the wealthy, noble, and powerful, he
does not follow them, using illness as the excuse. Even [when he sees]
great fame and material benefits, he does not take advantage of them,
giving illness as the excuse. Even [when he hears] such beautiful tunes
as "Qjngshang" and "Liuzheng," he does not listen to them, giving
illness as the excuse. Even [when he is offered] such delicious food as
well-fattened meat and tasty grains, he does not eat them, giving illness
as the excuse. Consequently, he is not affected by power, nor enslaved
by reputation, nor deafened by [beautiful] sounds, nor led astray by
[delicious] taste. He is not ostracized by others, but does not mingle
with worldly people. The "function" of "keeping oneself alive" (Zhuang
Zi, Yangshengzhu chapter, Watson, p. 51) and the "way" to "exhibit the
unadorned" (Lao Zi, 19: Lau, p. 75) are accumulated all in illness. At
the time of illness the Truth (yz) is great[ly realized].

He once composed Verses (fo) on Illness in order to speak about the

Way.
The concern over his involvement with the three teachings is ex-
pressed here in a language that closely parallels a passage in the
Preface to the Collected Writings in Illness discussed above ("loving
many", 76Bal2 and 44AbI6-l8). The expressionjian again appears
to describe the circumstances under which he composed his literary
essays. These parallels with Zhiyuan's 1020 preface to the Collected
Assignments in Illness suggest that his literary self-portrait, the Biog-
raphy of the Sick Man, along with the Verses on Illness attached to
this essay, may in fact have had some direct relationship to that
smaller collection.
In contrast to the description in that preface, where illness is sim-
ply mentioned to describe Zhiyuan's physical and mental state when
he composed the essays included in the collection, in the Biography
of the Sick Man illness is described as an ideal state for pursuing the
spiritual path. Since illness distances one from worldly involvement,
it is the appropriate state in which to seek such Taoist spiritual ideals
as "keeping oneself alive" and "exhibiting the unadorned". One's
mind, through which the spiritual quest is carried out, is compared to
 ZHIYUAN'S 1WO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 287

illness, and the three teachings, which guide this quest, are compared
to medicine. Here Zhiyuan is drawing from a long-standing Buddhist
practice of comparing the Buddha's teaching to medicine.
Zhiyuan begins by describing his life as the simple life of a sick
man, depicted in the opening paragraph with allusions to the Confu-
cian sages Mencius and Van Yuan. When he turns to speaking as a
Buddhist monk, comparing the three teachings to medicine and our
mind to sickness, Zhiyuan has turned sickness into a metaphor. All of
us are spiritually sick and in need of these three kinds of medicine.
Illness as an excuse for renouncing worldly concerns and as the ideal
state for seeking spiritual goals, now described in distinctly Taoist
terms, combines these two levels of meanings. Zhiyuan is describing
himself as a sick man, but he has now turned sickness into that state,
comparable to drunkenness in earlier literary self-portraits, best
suited for spiritual quest. Now, Zhiyuan the sick man is at the same
time a man in serious quest of spiritual goals as described in the three
teachings.
Zhiyuan ended his self-portrait with the Verses on Illness, which
he claims to have composed earlier. These verses are then repro-
duced, accompanied by a short introductory essay. Zhiyuan begins
this introductory essay by describing his own "illness of the spleen"
(ref, T. 46.106b26): "If! speak for a long time, or overeat, I begin to
breathe heavily and sweat. My ears ring and I feel dizzy. The pain is
unbearable." He then notes that a sage, such as Confucius, and a
Taoist adept, such as Lao Zi (Boyang), were encumbered with bodies
and thus also could not escape from troubles of illness. While every-
one suffers from illness, those who, discouraged and unhappy, end up
being harassed by illness are "the most stupid"; those who, majestic
and free from torment, uphold themselves according to the Way are
"the most intelligent" (ref. Analects, XVIII, 3).
Zhiyuan then notes that having studied alchemy and the Taoist
methods for achieving perfection, he turned to the Tiantai Buddhist
teaching of the four methods of curing diseases, and concludes the
essay by choosing the highest among these methods ("The Cure of
the First Truth") that is achieved through contemplation of princi-
ples. The content of this method is described in further detail in the
last section of the Verses: "Illness arises from the mind. Illness is a
form. All forms are nothing but the mind. [For illness which is a form
to harm the form of body would be for the mind to harm itself]. How
could the mind harm itself. The substance of the mind is fundamen-
288 KOICHI SHINOHARA

tally Non-being. From where can illness materialize? .. Illness is iden-

tical with the absence of illness. Illness has nothing to do with me."
In this verse and the attached introductory essay, Zhiyuan is in
fact struggling with his own illness. Having reminded himself that
ancient sages also suffered from illness, he pictures a way of coping
with illness in a superior fashion, and then turns to the Tiantai
method of contemplation, which reduces illness to nothing.
We noted above that in the Biography of the Sick Man, Zhiyuan
turns illness into a metaphor of our spiritual condition and then into
an ideal state in which the spiritual quest is carried out. In this
account of the Biography what concerns Zhiyuan is primarily the
spiritual quest, and not physical illness. In the Verses on Illness,
Zhiyuan talks about physical illness and its cure. The ultimate cure
turns out to be a spiritual cure, in which physical illness is shown to
be unreal. Although the two approaches both end with subsuming
illness within the larger and more important context of spiritual
quest, physical illness is used in different ways: whereas Zhiyuan is
seeking to cure the illness in the Verses, in the Biography he accepts
his illness as a chronic condition, which in the end turns out to be
advantageous for his spiritual quest. This difference may not have
been deliberately intended. But if, as Zhiyuan claims, the Verses on
Illness were composed earlier and appended to the Biography which
was composed later, then this shift in orientation might reflect differ-
ent stages in Zhiyuan's struggle with his own illness. He first went to
Mt. Gu, seeking cure for his illness, but may well have come to
realize its incurability as his condition worsened, and then chose to
see it as a metaphor for his spiritual life.

(b) The Biography if the Master if the Mean

This autobiographical essay is written in three parts: the first part is
an extended defense of the choice of the style the Master of the
Mean; the second begins by reviewing Zhiyuan's life in the manner
of conventional biographies, and ends with Zhiyuan's defense of his
commentarial writings; in the third part Zhiyuan reviews several lit-
erary essays he had composed, but toward the end he returns to the
discussion of the style the Master of the Mean and again concludes
this with a defiant defense of the choice of this style.
Zhiyuan begins the first part of the essay by explaining that the
subject chose his style deliberately because he based his spiritual
cultivation on the virtue of the Mean and thought that using it as the
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 289

style would enable him not to forget it even when he encountered

unexpected events. Others followed and called him by this style. The
main body of this first part of the autobiographical essay is an ex-
tended defense of the appropriateness of this style. The defense is
written as a dialogue between a critic and Zhiyuan. The critic first
presents the basic charge: the concept of the Mean originated in
Confucianism and only later became known to Buddhists; it would
be illegitimate for a Buddhist monk to use it as his style. Zhiyuan
answers by saying that though Buddhism and Confucianism use dif-
ferent words, it is the same truth (li, "principle") that they teach.
Though Confucianism deals with external matters, such as maintain-
ing peace and harmony in family and state, and Buddhism with the
internal matter of cultivating the mind, both are necessary, and the
ideal of the Mean, which rejects unbalanced extremes, is realized
precisely in valuing both teachings.
The critic persists and argues that while the Mean is discussed in a
famous chapter on this concept in a Confucian classic, he does not
know of a Buddhist discussion of the Mean. Zhiyuan, a prominent
Buddhist scholar of the Tiantai school, replies that the Mean corre-
sponds to the Middle Way of Nagarjuna, whom this important Chi-
nese Buddhist school considered to be its first patriarch. In this school
the Middle Way is understood as the viewpoint that transcends the
negativism of the teaching of Emptiness, and the reification of the
teaching of Provisional Existence, and Zhiyuan presents this view-
point as one that embraces both the Confucian teaching of being and
the Buddhist teaching of nonbeing (56Ab14).
The legitimacy of his involvement in Confucianism and Taoism
was a persistent concern for Zhiyuan. In the Preface to the Collected
Assignments in Illness, Zhiyuan apologizes for the fact that some of
his writings are Confucian and others Taoist, and says that others
may charge him for "loving many" (44Ab15,16). In the Biography of
the Sick Man, Zhiyuan says that some Confucians may criticize his
position on the indispensability of three teachings as "loving many"
and others might accuse him of following wrong teachings (7 6Ba 12).
In his autobiographical writings Zhiyuan repeatedly turned to this
issue somewhat defensively. But in the Biography of the Sick Man
this issue is given a subordinate status in the larger discussion of
illness. In the Biography of the Master of the Mean Zhiyuan's illness
is mentioned only in passing and briefly (56Ab5,9, and Bb8). By
contrast, the issue of Zhiyuan's involvement in Confucianism is
290 KOICHI SHINOHARA

foregrounded both by the choice of the style and the opening discus-
sion of this style.
The second part of the essay begins by describing the outline of
Zhiyuan's life in the manner of a conventional biography. When he
was eight years old the Master of the Mean was ordained at the
Longxingsi temple in Qjantang. At age fifteen he composed poetry in
the Tang style and when he was twenty-one he received instruction
on Confucian scriptures and learned to write essays based on this
teaching that aimed at instructing the world. At one time when he
was ill and lay in bed, he came up with a charge against himself,
"You are a Buddhist monk. By shaving your head you have damaged
the integrity of your body [which is against the Confucian teaching],
and yet instead of studying the teaching of the Buddha, you aspire to
Confucian learning. This amounts to forgetting fundamentals and
going against morality. This is not what the Duke of Zhou and Con-
fucius intended. You should first study Buddhism and then study
Confcianism as your secondary interest. You should think about
this." At this time Dharma Master Yuanqing was providing instruc-
tion on Zhiyi's Three Contemplations at the Fegxian temple in
Qjantang.
He switches at this point to the first-person pronoun, as the ac-
count continues: I went to study under Yuanqing and stayed there
for three years. When the teacher died, [I] left the group and lived
alone. [My] clothes were often completely worn out and [I] often ran
out of food. Consequently, [I] became ill. Nevertheless, [I] studied
scriptures and treatises diligently, investigated the practice of contem-
plation, realizing its results in [my] mind. And yet, I did not display
these accomplishments. Some said that [I] was stupid and inarticu-
late. When I heard this, I said, "What is valued in studying the Way
is arriving at the root and stopping the activities of the mind. If [what
I want] is to boast of my ability and understanding, I might as well be
a merchant who walks around or sits at the store [peddling his mer-
chandise]." Zhiyuan then mentions his massive commentarial writ-
ing, without mentioning the titles of these works, and concludes this
second part of the biography with a passage that describes his atti-
tude toward critics: "If there is substance, they are my teachers. If the
criticism is groundless, then I can laugh and have a good time."
I believe that Zhiyuan is referring to his active role in the contro-
versy between the "mountain group" and the "outside-the- mountain
group" in these comments on his critics. He seems to be deliberately
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 291

avoiding the mention of specific details of the controversy, and does

not defend his own position in it. Yet, by saying over and over that
he was not troubled by the critics, Zhiyuan leaves one with the im-
pression that he was in fact greatly troubled by them, and that this
elaborate posturing is a form of defensiveness.
In this second part of the essay, the subject is clearly Zhiyuan in
his familiar guise as a Buddhist monk. Although this part begins by
calling the subject Master of the Mean, this designation never occurs
in the remainder of the part, in which the subject begins to speak in
the first-person voice around the half way point and maintains this
voice until the end. The first person subject is mired in controversies,
yet presents himself as standing above them.
Zhiyuan begins the third part of the essay by reviewing his life in
terms of an account of a dream. When he was thirteen years old he
had a dream, in which he came to a wide field and saw the Buddha
instruct beings like those painted in pictures of ghosts. He was thirty
years old when he studied the Nirva~a slitra and came upon the
passage that describes how the Buddha descended to instruct the
ghost "Wide-field." When Zhiyuan was composing the commentaries
on this sutra, he dreamt of two monks, who said they were
Nagatjuna and Avalokitdvara respectively. Zhiyuan spoke with them
for a long time. Again reverting to the first person pronoun at this
point, Zhiyuan states that he had composed an essay on dreams,
where he described the details of this experience. In that essay, also
preserved in the Writings Compiled in Retirement (fasicle 16, 50Bb-
51Ba), Zhiyuan explains how the content of what he dreamt at age
thirteen seemed to predict his future work of writing extensive com-
mentaries on the Nirva~a siitra (51A).
Zhiyuan continues his discussion speaking with the first person
pronoun. My attitude toward instruction is that only when I see a
student make a mistake do I teach him, and if some student is about
to leave, I do not utter even a word to stop him. Sometimes I get
angry and cannot restrain myself, but I immediately regret these
bursts of anger. I dislike physiognomy, divination, and the practice of
choosing auspicious days, and I have composed essays on these top-
ics, which are also preserved in the Writings Compiled in Retirement
(fascicle 18, 55Aa-Ba; fascicle 27, 67AB). I do not frequent the resi-
dences of high-ranking officials. I am often ill, and calling myself "the
sick man," I composed the Biography of the Sick Man. Even though
haggard and thin, I never tire of lecturing on the Way to instruct
292 KOICHI SHINOHARA

others, and consult a variety of Buddhist and Confucian writings. I

composed two sets of maxims and had them carved on stone (fascicle
42, 87B-88A). I live in the sunny side of the Mt. Gu in a grass hut
with a bamboo floor, and am happy and content, taking care of my
affairs in the spirit of choosing frugality over luxury.
I once told my disciples, "After I die, do not commit a sin for me
by performing an elaborate funeral; do not smear my reputation by
choosing the ground by geomancy and constructing a stupa; do not
falsely beautify my name by asking a man of rank to compose tomb
inscriptions for me. Place my remains in a covered porcelain pot and
and bury it. Mark the place with a stone, which records only my
name and the date."13 (ref. 76Ab).
At this point Zhiyuan introduces the metaphor of illness: I have
heard someone say, "To see something good in others and not to
praise it is like leaving illness not yet cured. To see something not
good in others and not to reprimand them for it is also like leaving
illness not yet cured." Zhiyuan appears to reject this practice, and
states, "If a visitor says something that is not correct, I remain silent
and do not answer." Here Zhiyuan is returning to his earlier attempts
to place himself above the bitter doctrinal controversy in which he
played an active and prominent role, and may also be suggesting that
he adopted this posture though others may see it as a way of leaving
wrong doctrinal positions uncorrected, just as he continues to live
with his illness not yet cured.
As I noted above Zhiyuan ends this third concluding part of his
essay by returning to the question of his style Master of the Mean.
When I was 41 years old, I quoted the scripture in an essay, noting
that it had been long since the virtue of the Mean had become rare
among men (Analects, XI, 29, Lau, p. 85; Zhongyung, Shisanjing zhushu,
vo!. 5, 880).14 Although I have actively taken the Mean as my style,
it is difficult to put it into practice.
13 A Testament, dated the first day of the third month of the third year of the

Tianxi period (1019) and also included in the Writings Compiled in Retirement,
contains detailed instruction that Zhiyuan left for his disciples about his funeral
(fascile 34, 76AB). According to this Testament Zhiyuan's remains contained in a
porcelain pot were to be placed within an earthen cave and its door to be sur-
rounded by fences constructed of bricks (76Ab4-7). He does mention the prohibition
against an inscription here.
14 This same statement appears in the Post Script to the Critical Edition of the

Diamond Sutra, that bears the date of the 25th day of the seventh month of the first
year of the Tianxi period (1017) (41Bb6). The statement appears in a passage where
Zhiyuan criticizes the contemporary practice of printing the scripture with charac-
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AtITOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 293

Aside from the fact that Zhiyuan probably intended to conclude

the essay by returning to the topic of his literary style, it is not clear
how we should read his reference to the quote on the Mean that
appears abruptly here. In the Postscript to the Critical Edition of the
Diamond Sutra, which may have been the essay in which he claims
to have quoted this expression when he was 41 years old, the phrase
is used to underline how far the contemporary practice has departed
from the ancient correct ways. Zhiyuan here may be simply saying
how rare those who can discuss matters correctly have become, thus
explaining why he remains silent in front of a visitor who says some-
thing that is incorrect. At the same time he also suggests that under
the present circumstances, when those who embody the virtue of the
Mean are few, it is very difficult to practise it even for him, who had
taken it as his style.
At the end of the first part of the essay Zhiyuan argued that he had
adopted the Mean as his style to maintain harmony between Confu-
cianism and Buddhism. If this is the way in which Zhiyuan under-
stood the meaning of the expression Mean, we may read his refer-
ences to controversies, that pervades this essay, though some of these
references are made only obliquely, as the background against which
he wanted to present his own life as that of the Mean, i.e., as the
attitude that placed him above the contending parties in controver-
sies. He admits openly that he finds this attitude, embodying the
virtue of the Mean, difficult to maintain. He concludes the essay by
stating that some in the world consider this falsehood, but he would
dare to take the risk of falling into falsehood in his open commitment
to this great virtue.
In the Biography of the Sick Man, Zhiyuan had centered his self-
presentation around the morally neutral fact of his chronic illness.
For Zhiyuan to call himself the sick man was not to make any unu-
sual claim, and in this essay Zhiyuan focused on turning his humanly
undesirable condition of illness into a metaphor for mind cultivation
and an advantage for someone who rejects worldly involvement in
pursuing the spiritual goal. The problematic claim that Zhiyuan
makes in this essay is the indispensability of all three teachings of
Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism.

ters in different sizes, thus departing from the ancient practice of printing a page
with 25 lines of 17 characters each. Here the quotation attributed explicidy to Con-
fucius is used to contrast the mistaken contemporary practice with the correct one
used in the past.
294 KOICHI SHINOHARA

In the Biography of the Master of the Mean Zhiyuan no longer

appears to be preoccupied with his illness. To call himself the Master
of the Mean, as Zhiyuan does in this second Biography, is to make a
large and openly problematic claim, since the Mean is a Confucian
virtue that has become rare in the contemporary world. This claim
gives the Biography of the Master of the Mean a notably defensive
and apologetic quality. Not only does Zhiyuan have to justify the use
of a Confucian concept as the style of a Buddhist monk, he is also
forced to explain the appropriateness of applying this concept to his
life, which was, after all, filled with controversy. In the reading pro-
posed here Zhiyuan presents himself as a master who transcends the
polemics of doctrinal controversy by exemplying the virtue of the
Mean, though he himself calls attention to the limitation of this claim
in ending the essay by insisting that even if it may look like a "false-
hood" to others, he is still committed to it.
Although both of the two essays use the expression "biography" in
their respective titles, the Biography of the Sick Man is in fact no
more than a literary and philsopophical self-portrait. In contrast, the
central part of the Biography of the Master of the Mean is written in
the recognizable biographical style, providing important information
about Zhiyuan's life that was not mentioned in the Biography of the
Sick Man. In traditional China biographies were typically composed
shortly after the death of the subject and preserved as tomb inscrip-
tions. Although nothing in the Biography of the Master of the Mean
indicates that Zhiyuan composed it in preparation for his death, the
prominent place that he gives to the instructions regarding his funeral
appears to reflect this general practice. Conventional biographies of
monks are based on their tomb or stfiPa inscriptions composed shortly
after their death and carefully record the circumstances of their
death. In his authobiography Zhiyuan deliberately replaced this part
of conventional biographies with a summary of the instructions he
was leaving to his disciples regarding his funeral and burial. 15
The Writings Compiled in Retirement contains several pieces
Zhiyuan wrote in preparation for his death. In addition to the Testa-
ment (dated the first day of the third month of the third year of the
Tianxi period, 10 19, fascicle 34, 76AB) in which he instructed his
discples on funeral and other related matters, Zhiyuan composed the
four-line inscription for his own tomb (fascicle 38, 80Bb-81Aa): "Pure
15 This same strategy appears in the tomb inscription that Bo Juyi composed for
himself (Bo Juyi ji [Beijing, 1975], fascicle 71, p. 104).
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 295

as he fundamentally is, without changes and transfonnation, covered

in a porcelain pot, he lies close to a quiet spring."
Some of the writings that Zhiyuan produced shortly before his
death on the 19th day of the second month of the first year of the
Qanxing period (1022) are accompanied by interlinear notes that
record the circumstances of their composition. On the 5th day of first
month Zhiyuan dictated an essay on life and death, explaining how it
is a delusion to love life and hate death (fascicle 18,54B-55A). The
essay begins by noting that "I, the Master of the Mean lie in bed,"
presumably aware that the end of life is near (54Ba3). On the 17th
day of the second month, two days before his death, Zhiyuan com-
posed the elegy for the Master of the Mean, written in the conven-
tionalliterary style of a "sacrificial text" (jiwen) (fascicle 17, 53B). Here
Zhiyuan, "with his illusory body, that suffers from illusory illness,
dictates illusory words with his mouth to illusory disciples, who take
an illusory pen and produce an illusory piece of writing". He ad-
dresses himself to the deceased Master of the Mean, who understood
that "once he had received an illusory life he was also bound to
receive an illusory death." Zhiyuan, who offers a sacrifice of "clouds,
mountains, winds, and moon" is a sick man, while the spirit of the
Master of the Mean to whom the sacrifice is offered transcends life
and death. In addition, two letters addressed to prominent officials,
one to Wang Qnruo, who had sent medicine on the previous day,
and the other to Wu Zunlu, whom Zhiyuan thanks for the preface
for the Writings Compiled in Retirement, both begin by mentioning
the date of the third and sixth days of the second month respectively
(fascicle 23, 59B-61 B). I6
In these writings produced shortly before death the focus shifts
from illness to death, and the Master of the Mean is presented as
someone who transcends both life and death. Zhiyuan is still strug-
gling with his illness, but he clearly anticipates his imminent death.
Writing about the illusory character of death may have been his way
of coping with this realization. Here the Master of the Mean is

16 Though the letters do not mention the year, I believe that they were written in

the last year of Zhiyuan's life, not long before his death later in the second month.
The three poems, entided "wange", or "dirge," namely the songs that were sung as
the coffin was pulled on a carriage in funeral, are said to have been composed on the
28th and 29th of the second month (80Bb). These poems thus appear to have been
composed after Zhiyuan's death, and perhaps were used in his funeral. If these songs
were actually used in Zhiyuan's funeral, he appears to have received a more elabo-
rate funeral that what he had prescribed before his death.
296 KOICHI SHINOHARA

Zhiyuan's idealized self Zhiyuan also uses this designation when he

places himself beyond his own death and composes his own tomb
inscription and elegy. Although in the elegy Zhiyuan distances him-
self as the person, who suffering from illusory illness, is offering sacri-
fice to the spirit of the Master of the Mean, he clearly intends to be
remembered as this Master after his death.
The Biography of the Master of the Mean does not mention the
date of its composition. Nevertheless, I suspect that Zhiyuan's treat-
ment of his illness in this autobiography reflects the complex relation-
ship between illness and death that appears in his last writings. Here
again the Master of the Mean is Zhiyuan's idealized self, and though
illness was the central preoccupation in the life of the autobiographi-
cal author, it was not a significant property of his idealized self, which
was the proper subject of this "biography". The tension between the
idealized Master of the Mean and the facts of Zhiyuan's life which
may appear to some as falling short of this ideal fills this biography,
giving it a distinctive defensive colouration. But his illness appears to
have had little to do with this tension and is pushed into the back-
ground. Illness transformed into a spiritual ideal, that we saw in his
Biography of the Sick Man, is here replaced by an entirely different
ideal of the Confucian Mean and the Buddhist Middle. Illness may
have been an appropriate subject for a literary self-portrait, but not
one suited for the idealization of the subject that occurs at the time of
his death.
Since biographies in traditional China were written typically as a
part of the funeral and preserved as tomb inscriptions, they easily
presented their subjects in an idealized form in which they were to be
remembered by later generations. Zhiyuan's autobiography, the Bi-
ography of the Master of the Mean, is modeled largely after these
conventional biographies, and shares their funerary tone. Conven-
tional biographies of monks do not designate their subject by styles,
and thus by calling his essay Biography of the Master of the Mean,
which reminds readers of other literary self-portraits with similar ti-
tles, Zhiyuan manages to write his autobiography, in which he envi-
sions his own death not too far into the future. Nonetheless, he uses
the conventions of biographies which were typically written shortly
after the subject's death, and turns them into an autobiography, writ-
ten by the subject who foresees his own death. In the writings
Zhiyuan produced in preparation for his death, Zhiyuan used the
style Master of the Mean as a way of securing a viewpoint at some
 ZHIYUAN'S TWO AlITOBIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS 297

point beyond his death and from this viewpoint he saw his own
death. The use of this style in the Biography of the Master of the
Mean may thus have been a device that enabled him to compose an
autobiography in the form of a biography. But when a more substan-
tial biography of himself was written with the use of this device, the
result was no longer a literary self-portrait centered around a care-
fully chosen style, exemplified by his earlier Biography of the Sick
Man where Zhiyuan's illness is highlighted. As in a conventional
biography, which takes the recent death of the subject for granted,
Zhiyuan's struggle with his illness, which must end with his death, is
no longer of any serious consequence. Zhiyuan's self is thus con-
structed very differently in this work.
If illness disappears into the background in Zhiyuan's autobiogra-
phy written as a biography, then the complex reasons for this phe-
nomenon, examined in some detail above, might also explain why
conventional Chinese biographies, and particularly biographies of
monks whose spiritual path is meant to lead them out of the realm of
rebirths, do not say a great deal on their subjects' illnesses. 17

17 References to English translations of the Analect, the Lw Zi, and the Zhuang Zi
were made to D.C. Lau, Confocius: the Analects (Harmondsworth, 1979); D.C. Lau, Lao
Tzu: T ao te Ching (Harmondsworth, 1963); B. Watson, The Complete Works of Chuang
Tzu (New York, 1968).
 FACE OF GOD-FACE OF MAN:
THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN
ISLAM'

Angelika Neuwirth

To understand the monotheistic religions, first and foremost as forms

of personal communication that presuppose the "Other" as a subject
of speech and a partner in dialogue, one would be hard put to find a
more apt shorthand describing man's spiritual quest than the phrase
"Seeking the Face of God." Thus it is not astonishing that this ex-
pression, even clad in identical wording, is familiar from the scrip-
tures and liturgies of the three monotheistic religions. This does not
imply, as Andrew Rippin rightly pointed out, 2 that the phrase should
necessarily mean the same in these different contexts. It is rather to
be expected that the word "face" carries particular connotations in
each of the frameworks. Turning to previous studies in Islam, Rippin
has shown that the conventional inquiries about presumable ways of
transmission of the phrase from the older scriptures to the Islamic
prophet, have produced little significant results. The same may be
said for those inquiries focusing on later Islamic exegetical works,
whose primary theological interest is apologetic and which tend to
stigmatize the imagery of the phrase as a mere anthropomorphism
that stands for "the presence" of God. Rippin has therefore pleaded
that "the overall question of the significance of wajh (i.e., face) in the
Qur'an should be pursued within a broader semantic and religious-
perhaps theological-context." Aware of the fact that "the word
'face' carries with it an entire structure of discourse, some of it mythi-
cal, some of it strictly theological," he has made the Qur'anic meta-
phor the object of a profound theological investigation which will
prove helpful for our own inquiry.
I Parts of this essay are based on a previous study: Angelika Neuwirth, "Erste

Qjbla-Femstes Masgid? Jerusalem im Horizont des historischen Muhammad," in

Zion-Ort der Begegnung. Festschrift fur Laurentius Klein zur Vollendung des 65.
Lebensjahres. F. Hahn, F.-L. Hossfeld, H. Jorissen, A. Neuwirth, eds. (Bodenheim,
1993) pp. 227-270.
2 "'Hide and Seek'-The Face of God in the Qur'an," paper read at the Seminar
of Arabic Studies, Freie Universitat, Berlin.
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 299

Since the Islamic scripture, contrary to its predecessors, has

emerged not through the canonization of earlier literary texts, but
rather as the textual basis for a liturgical recitation-a "libretto" one
might say with only slight exaggeration3-what seems to be required
in the Islamic case is a close look at the cultic context of the verbal
expression for the mutual relations between the Face of God and
Face of Man. This essay will, therefore, try to trace the significance of
the imagery in the context of Islamic ritual; it will be based on and
limited to the Qur'an text and to the image of early Islamic worship,
insofar as it emerges from Qur'anic information.

The Word Wajh in the Qyr'an

I will proceed by first summing up Rippin's survey on the frequency

and the context of the word wajh in the Qur'an and his theological
conclusions, and then-shifting the inquiry from the verbal to the
performance aspects of the imagery-will turn to some hitherto little
noticed implications of the imagery.
The word wajh and its plural wujuh appear, according to Rippin's
statistics and evaluation, 72 times in the Qur'an; in only ten instances
does it refer to the Face of God. The idea of believers "seeking, or
desiring, the face of God" is expressed seven times, this phrase is
strongly reminiscent of the Hebrew biqqesh pne Adonai. Wqjh Alliih ap-
pears in context with prayer: "Those who call upon their Lord at
morning and evening desiring His Face" (surah 18.28).4 It is some-
times even glossed as qibla, direction of prayer: "Wherever you turn
(seeking him) there is the Face of God" (2.115). It is also spoken of
with regard to charity: (the pious say) "We feed you, the needy, the
orphan, the captive, for the Face of God" (76.9). The Face of God
may be sought through patience and endurance: "patient men, desir-
ous of the Face of their Lord" (13.22). Two passages have proven

3 er. A. Neuwirth, "Vom Rezitationstext iiber die liturgie zum Kanon," in 1he

QJLr'an as Text, Stefan Wild, ed. (Leiden, 1996), pp. 69-106. The predominandy oral
function of the Qur'an has been demonstrated through an innovative, interdiscipli-
nary approach by Andreas Kellermann, "Die Miindlichkeit des Koran. Ein for-
schungsgeschichdiches Problem der Arabistik," in Beitriige .tur Geschichte der Sprach-
wissenschrift 5 (1995): 1-33.
4 I have allowed myself to rely somewhat heavily on Rippin's very diligent presen-

tation of Qur'anic testimonia for the use of "face" by adopting his selection and
translation of the Qur'anic verses.
300 ANGELIKA NEUWIRTH

significant in Muslim eschatological speculation: "his Face survives in

the end-all else has perished" (28.88), and "the Face of our Lord
will abide for eternity alone" (55.27). The significant aspect of these
verses (this is the essence of Rippin's study):
is that they speak, for the most part at least, from the human perspec-
tive. That is, it is humans who search for or who are promised the
"Face of God," that face is available and, what is more, people want to
know of its presence. "Face," it may therefore be said, is intimately
connected to an expression of the will of the individual, the need for the
human being to seek God.
Regarding the Face of Man, there is a frequent use of the word wajh
as denoting the mere physical part of the body, sometimes in the
context of prayer, such as wiping the face for prayer (5.6) or carrying
the marks of prostration on the face (48.29). This use of "face" fre-
quently implies a spiritual longing, in the context of the direction of
prayer: "We have seen thee, i.e. Muhammad, turning thy face about
in the heaven, now we will surely turn thee to a direction that shall
satisfy thee" (2.144). A related image seems to be inherent in the
frequent saying of Abraham: "I have turned my face to him who
created the heavens and the earth, and I shall never be a polytheist"
(ten times: 6.79 and elsewhere).
The use of "face" in eschatological passages is noticeable; it is the
face that bears the brunt of punishment: "On the day when some
faces will be white and some faces will be black" (3.106). Finally, the
last major use of wajh is in "submitting one's face" to God, aslama
wajhahu li-lliih, a kind of paraphrasis of the essence of Islam itself
Rippin convincingly suggests that this may be a reflection of a mythic
image, "the appearance of the humble servant before the majestic
king, hiding the face by bowing, so as not to gaze into the face of the
king."
Rippin continuing the discussion of Samuel E. Balantine, in "The
Hidden God," finally remarks, regarding the particular significance
of the phrase for Islam:
One may wish to argue that the absence of the hiddenness of God as a
motif also conveys some significant aspects of the Qur'anic understand-
ing of divine existence and divine activity. Divine sovereignty is af-
firmed by God's ability to conceal Himself: the claim is made that the
"elusive" presence of God is a key to understanding the Bible, such that
biblical faith affirms an active and sustaining hiding with emphasis on
divine freedom and sovereignty. God does not always conceal Himself
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 301

by any means, but from Isaiah's lament that "The Lord concealed His
face from the house of Israel," to modern Jewish theological reflection
on the Holocaust, the elusiveness has been felt. Now, the Christian
response to the perceived absence of God was an embodiment of God
in human form symbolized in sonship .... For Islam, the tables are
turned. God is declared present for the human who seeks Him. The
discussion does not entertain the absence of God. It is the human
presence that is demanded.

Accepting this as a convincing theological conclusion, the impression

lingers that there are further dimensions to the problem. At least one
striking aspect of the Qur'anic Face-imagery seems to have escaped
Rippin's due attention. One of the most frequent occurrences of the
word "face" as applied to man in the Qur'an is in the context of a
psychological and at the same time physical orientation in space:
Man submits (nine times: 31.22 and elsewhere), but also turns his
face towards God (four times: 10.105 and elsewhere), or explicitly
faces the direction of prayer, the qibla (twelve times: 2.144 and else-
where). It is the qibla, literally "what is in front of one's self," that
points to the direction of the Face of God. Although its geographical
setting is virtually changeable: 'To God belong the East and the
West. Wherever you turn (in search for him), there is the Face of
God' (2.115), the qibla in the end is officially oriented towards a
particular sanctuary: 2.143,145: 'Say: 'To God belong the East and
the West ... Turn thy face towards the Holy Mosque'. How is this
peculiar relationship between qibla and 'Face of God' to be
accomodated within Rippin's observation?

77ze «Face" as Metaphor, in the Complex Context

if Verbal Language and Body Communication
It is no mere accident that Rippin's otherwise pioneering inquiry did
not pay much attention to the space relation of the imagery nor to its
close association with the ritual notion of the qibla. Rippin purposely
limited his presentation to an overall view of the Qur'an as a "mono-
lithic block"; he relies on the presupposition presented by John
Wansbrough 5 that the Qur'an as we know it is not the text corpus left

5 See John Wansbrough, Qyr'anic Studies. Sources and Methods of Scriptural Interpretation
(Oxford, 1977). For the more traditional views still dominant in Qur'anic studies, see
my review in Die Welt des Islams 28/29 (1984): 539-542.
302 ANGELIKA NEUWIRTH

by Muhammad and published by the third caliph 'Uthman around

the year 653, but rather the outcome of an editorial teamwork car-
ried out by a committee some hundred years after the prophet. Thus,
two dimensions of the Qur'an which will prove important for our
present inquiry, remained outside Rippin's scope:
First, the Qur'an should be considered as a product of a very
complex communication process. The Qur'anic texts are directly ad-
dressed to one particular receiver, who is approached by the pronoun
"you." But they are at the same time destined to reach others, and it
is the first receiver who is, through Qur'anic appeals, required to
convey the message to them, and who is, according to other Qur'anic
passages, portrayed as doing so. Thus the Qur'an figures as a mes-
sage to Muhammad and as an appeal to promulgate this message; at
times it is even perceived metatextually, as a mirror of its reception
by the listeners. The implications of this unique character of the
Qur'an, still unexplored, have to be borne in mind when evaluating
Qur'anic data. Second, this process of social interaction passes
through a development which Rippin's presupposition of a genesis of
the Qur'anic texts through editorial teamwork does not accommo-
date.
Now, since the concept of the Face of God sought by the believer
with his own face is expressed in Islam not only through religious
verbal language, but is-since the very emergence of the Qur'an-
expressed first of all and in multiple daily repetitions through the
medium of the body language of the Muslim who prepares for prayer,
we have to leave the mere verbal elements aside for a while and turn
to the peifOrmance aspects of the imagery.
The central gesture of this body language is the facing of the
direction of prayer, in Arabic: tawliyat al-wajh, the turning of one's
face (to the house of God). Three contextual associations connected
with it have to be borne in mind since they point to particular expe-
riences of the early community that underlie the adoption of the
gesture, as well as the introduction of its verbal correlates: I) The
taking up of the qibla is always practised at a cosmically determined
time of the day and is closely connected not only 2) to the evocation
of a topographia sacra as the focus of divine self-manifestation, but also
3) to the ever-renewed staging of divine communication to man
through the recitation of scripture.
Since this gesture, together with its far reaching connotations, did
not emerge as a self-evident heritage from a given religious tradition,
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 303

but was adopted at a particular historical stage, let us briefly recall

the early development of Islamic worship:
1. A number of early surahs present an ever similar scenario: the
prophet recites verses in front of two groups of listeners. The God-
fearing respond to the Qur'an recitation by prostrating themselves
and displaying strong emotions; other listeners "turn their backs on,"
that is, reject, participation in the worship, or even mock it.
An example presenting the earliest testimony for the concept of
the "Face of God" is surah 92,6 a text that, as a whole, is dedicated
to the contrasting nature of the phenomenon of creation and the
ambiguity of human striving. What may appear, from the introduc-
tory oaths sworn by the divine speaker who calls upon day and night,
male and female, as mere allusions to the complexity of His creation,
merges into a dichotomy of human striving with a distinctively de-
valuating undertone. In opposition to those who are God-fearing,
there are those who think themselves to be independent and thus
arrogantly refuse the one and only guidance offered by God. The
divine wrath will dwell on him who turns away, who turns his back on
the reciter/divine speaker. But he will be spared who purifies himself
by giving alms, that is, by giving not in exchange for a favor, but with
the sole intention to be unified with the One, to attain His Face.
Surah 92: The Night

By the night enshrouding

and the day in splendour
and That which created the male and the female,
surely your striving is to diverse ends.

As for him who gives and is godfearing

and confirms the reward most fair,
We shall surely ease him to the Easing.
But as for him who is a miser, and self-sufficient,
and cries lies to the reward most fair,
We shall surely ease him to the Hardship;
his wealth shall not avail him when he perishes.

6 It belongs to a group of surahs with introductory oaths; cf. A. Neuwirth, "Im-

ages and Metaphors in the Introductory Sections of the Makkan Suras," in Approaches
to the Qyr'an, G.R. Hawting and Abdul-Kader A. Shareef, eds. (London and New
York, 1993) p. 1-36. See now Lamya Kandil, "Untersuchungen zu den Schwiiren im
Koran unter besonderer Beriicksichtung ihrer literarischen Relevanz fur die Suren-
komposition," doctoral thesis presented to the University of Bonn, 1995.
304 ANGELIKA NEUWIRTH

Surely, upon Us rests the guidance,

and to Us belong the Last and the First.

Now I have warned you of a Fire that flames,

whereat none but the most wretched shall be roasted.
he who cries lies, and turns his back;
and from which the most godfearing shall be removed,
he who gives his wealth to purify himself
and confers no favour on any man for recompense,
only seeking the Face if his Lord the most High;

and he shall surely be satisfied.

This surah not only testifies to the expectation of an imminent Day of
Judgment and thus the punishment of those averse to God's message
and who are thus deficient in their social behavior, but also reflects
the scenario of a Qur'an recitation and the feed-back it receives. Two
groups of listeners are addressed through the mediation of the one
reciting the surahs: One of them-those being blamed-have turned
away, either immediately before or, more probably, during the
Qur'an recitation. They have turned their backs-rather than their faces
to the reciter and thus to the divine speech; this is in accordance with
their inner disposition; namely, rejection of divine demands and
promises. The unique orientation and guidance is thus missed, since
the diversity of creation with its opposite elements can be grasped in
accordance with the oneness of the creator only by one who recog-
nizes his present life first and foremost as an act of communication
with his Lord, i.e., who in fulfilling his social duties seeks the Face of
God. Thus, in addition to the biblical topos of seeking the Face of the
Lord through acts of charity, these early surahs present the new
concept of an immediate representation of the divine Face by the
divine word, and thus in a sense by the reciter. It is his enunciation to
which one can turn one's face or, resenting it, turn one's back.
What kind of service was the framework for the recitation of these
surahs? We may assume that it consisted of two basic elements: The
first should have been the ritual which in pre-Islamic times already
bore the name ~aliih, an Aramaic loan word suggesting that it should
have existed in a relatively fixed form, presumably constituting a
sequence of gestures of self-humiliation in front of the divine King
similar to those of the later canonized Muslim ~aliih. In some
Qur'anic passages Muhammad himself is explicitly exhorted to par-
take in this ritual at the Ka'ba (108.2). The second element was
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 305

verbal, and Muhammad's own innovation, namely, the recitation of

the speech conveyed to him. We learn from the particulars of certain
listeners who are reprimanded in some metatextual passages because
of the negligence displayed in performing their own traditional ~aliih
(107.5) or their harassing of socially inferior worshippers (96.9,10),
and in others because of rejecting Muhammad's recitation (96.13),
that both types of worship, the ritual and the verbal, were celebrated
in close context. It may thus be surmised that this scenario took place
at the Ka'ba.

Dissociation from the Ka'ba and 'Exodus'

into the Imaginary Space if the Banil Isrii'fl

The collision between the ancient Arabian worship and Muham-

mad's innovation, which is already heralded in the metatextual parts
of the early surahs commenting upon the deficient reception of
Muhammad's recitation finally led to the emigration of the early
community from Mecca to Madina. There was, however, an impor-
tant intermediate stage which has been termed in Western scholar-
ship the "second Meccan period." The Qur'an itself reflects a new
framework for the recitation of the surahs: The earlier metatextual
references to hostile behaviour are now missing; the surah is ad-
dressed exclusively to listeners who are believers, paying attention to
unbelievers only indirectly by reflecting their positions in the frequent
polemical passages that often include stereotypical simulations of ar-
guments. And there are even more evident hints of a progressive
development in the worship: Surah 15.87 affirms that in addition to
the Qur'an recitation, there is now a common prayer, the Fiitil;a,7 in
which the believers express themselves in their autonomous form of
speech as "We," thus responding to the speech of God transmitted by
the recitation. Finally, the recitation itself has gone through changes;
the new surahs have become longer and more composite. Indeed,
they seem to reflect the type of worship familiar to the neighboring
religions, by accommodating in their center a narration from salva-

7 For the development of Islamic worship reached at the time of that Fatiha's
introduction see, Angelika Neuwirth and Karl Neuwirth, "Siirat al-Fatiha-'Eroff-
nung' des Text-Corpus Koran oder 'Introitus' der Gebetsliturgie?," in W. Gross, H.
Irsigler, Th. Seidi, eds., Text, Metlwde und Grammatik. Festschriflfor Wolfgang Richter (St.
Ottilien, 1992) pp. 332-357.
306 ANGELIKA NEUWlRTH

tion history, a kind of reading of Scripture, 8 which is absolutely novel

in Qur'anic development. This narrative nucleus of the surah is
framed by other typical elements of monotheistic worship, such as
hymns, litanies, exhortations, and polemical sermon-like passages.
The emphatic introductory section now, refers to writing or to such
instruments of writing as the pen, parchment, etc., instead of alluding
to the rites of the Ka'ba. What has happened? What was it that
replaced the Ka'ba in significance? And what consequences does the
move away from the Ka'ba have for the representation of the Face of
God? Is the mere enunciation of the word of God still sufficient to
constitute an orientation towards His Face?
The only Qur'anic verse of this period of development that still
refers to Mecca (surah 17.1), appears to be of key importance for our
question. It alludes to a personal experience of the prophet:
Glory be to Him, who carried his servant by night
from the Holy Mosque (al-masjid al-f;,aram) to the Further Mosque (al
masjid al-aq~a)
the precincts of which We have blessed,
That We might show him some of Our signs.
He is the All-hearing, the All-seeing.
This somewhat cryptic verse mentions a nocturnal "exodus" viewed
analogously to that of Moses,9 leading the prophet out of Mecca
toward "the other sanctuary" par excellence, located within the
Blessed Land; namely, the Temple Mount of Jerusalem, the m~id if
the Banu Isrii'fI. IO The simplest explanation of his verse would be to
assume the experience of a dream. While this has been upheld by
only a minority of Islamic exegetes, it was incorporated into the most
renowned tenth-century commentary on the Qur'an by at-Taban,
where a cousin of the prophet, Umm Hani', is quoted as relating the
following:
As to the nocturnal exodus-isra'-of the Messenger of God the follow-
ing took place. He had been staying in my house overnight. Mter

8 These tripartite structures are particularly frequent in the intermediate phase of

Muhammad's Meccan activities (the "second Meccan period"). An attempt at a
structural analysis of these surahs was made by Angelika Neuwirth, Studien zur Kom-
position der Mekkanischen Suren (Berlin/N ew York, 1981).
9 Not only is the term asra, used here for the cryptic locomotion otherwise re-
served for the exodus of Moses (surahs 20.77, 26.52 and 44.23, and in analogy for the
flight of Lot, surahs 11.81 and 15.65), but the entire surah 17 is devoted to a parallel
treatment of the figures of Moses and Muhammad; see A. Neuwirth, above n. I.
ID A!-Tabart, 'jami' al-bayan fi tafsir al-qur'an," Buliiq, Vo!. XV, p.3 .
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 307

performing the last evening prayer he retired to sleep and so did all of
us. At dawn the Messenger of God woke us up for morning prayer, and
when we had performed it together, he said to me: "Umm Hani," you
remember that I performed with you in this very place the evening
prayer. Thereupon, however, I was in Bayt al-Maqdis and have prayed
there. And now I have been praying again with you the morning prayer
in this place. 11

It should not detract from the convincing force of this simple and
sober account that a short time later this same Qur'anic verse was to
become the locus probans for the elevation of the prophet to the rank of
an ecstatic with the ability of performing miraculous leaps in time
and space. In later exegetic traditions the verse is usually understood
as an allusion to a unique nocturnal journey, the prophet riding a
pegasus-like beast, the Burtiq, on whose back he travels with miracu-
lous speed from Mecca to Jerusalem, passing over diverse stations of
historical significance for salvation, eventually to perform the ritual
prayer in the sanctuary. 12 At a further stage of the exegetical develop-
ment, the journey is even imagined as going beyond Jerusalem and
leading up through the seven celestial spheres to heaven itself.13 This
ascent-mi'rqj---reaches its climax in Muhammad's being given the
institution of the five Islamic prayers by God himself.
The images of the prophet underlying these two interpretations of
surah 17.1 are in sharp contrast. 14 Still, the sober descriptive version
and the fantastic mythifYing interpretation do have one trait in com-
mon, namely, the realization that the divine revelation of the "signs"
announced in the Qur'anic verse is nothing else than the unique
closeness to God granted to the prophet through prayer. In both
accounts the "exodus" out of Mecca occurs in relation to prayer, the
prophet himself performing or even leading the prayer, ~aliih, in the
midst of the other prophets-in the Jerusalem sanctuary in the one
11 The interpretation of al-masjid al-aqJii in surah 17.1 is still subject to controversy.

The opinions are dependent, in the end, on the researcher's position in the debate
about the historicity of the basic traditions regarding the prophet Muhammad. For
possible explanations of al-masjid al-aqJii in the sense of a heavenly sanctuary, see
Heribert Busse, 'Jerusalem in the Story of Muhammad's NightJourney and Ascen-
sion," in: ]SAl 14 (1991): 1-40. For its identification with the Jerusalem Temple
Mount, see A. Neuwirth, above n. 1.
12 For the accounts in detail, see H. Busse, above n. 11.
13 Ibn Hisham, As-sfra an-nabawiya, Mu~~aIa as-Saqqa' and others, eds. (Cairo,
1955) I, pp. 39ff.
14 Rudolf Sellheim has devoted a detailed study to the diversity of the images of

the prophet in the early biography; see "Prophet, Chaliph und Geschichte: Die
Muhammed-Biographie des Ibn Isl).aq," in Oriens 18/19 (1967): 33-91.
308 ANGELIKA NEUWIRTH

version, the Prophet being granted the very institution of prayer by

his divine Lord in the other version. Thus, in view of the identical
nucleus of both accounts, namely the concept of prayer as connected
to a particular distant site, one way to interpret the nocturnal exodus
to the masjid Bani Isrii'il is as a spiritual movement continuing the jour-
ney already started in the imagination of the prophet by his facing
the qibla, to the "further sanctuary" itself.

The Spiritual Dimension if the "Exodus"

How can one explain that the adoption of the qibla appeared so
significant a departure as to be conceived as an exodus into the space
of the memory of the Banii Isra'il?
It appears that the Jerusalem sanctuary in its function as the object
of ritual orientation, the focus of an imaginary space becoming acces-
sible in prayer, entered the consciousness of the Muslim community
at a crucial point of development. The process of separation from the
previous worship at the Ka'ba is clearly reflected in the evolution of
new forms of worship, concentrating more strongly on elaborate ver-
bal compositions than on the formerly dominant ritual gestures. The
new surahs include numerous complexly constructed verses and re-
flect in their central parts important episodes of biblical history. IS
This process of development has, until now, been understood simply
as a change in forms, but its full dimensions reach much deeper.
According to the most widely held hypothesis, it was in this
Meccan period of Muhammad's career that the medium of writing
was consistently integrated for the first time into the composition and
the preservation of texts. Thus it is astonishing that the interrelation
between the two novelties: the appearance of biblical narrations and
the expanded range of mnemotechnical devices, has never been per-
ceived in its full significance. What is mirrored here amounts to no
less than a radical break with the inherited tradition, caused by the
intrusion of writing into the space of memory. Even though the
wording of these later surahs may not yet be fixed for the individual
reader, but rather for a second mediator, namely, the reciter of the
15 For details, see A. Neuwirth, Komposition, above n. 8; for an attempted compari-
son between this type of surahs and the pre-Islamic qt¥uia, see A. Neuwirth, "Der
historische Muhammad im Spiegel des Koran-Prophetentypus zwischen Seher und
Dichter?," in W. Zwickel, ed. Biblische Welten. Festschrift fur Martin Metzger zu
seinem 65. Geburtstag (Fribourgl Gbttingen, 1993) pp. 83-108.
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 309

texts, one would still argue that the new practice of drawing up an
integral codification suffices to testify to the community'S crossing the
decisive border from oral to literary culture. 16
The newly reached convergence of the Qur'anic revelation with
previous scriptures, foremost among them the Torah, the scripture of
the Banu Ism'il, also implies inheriting the topographia sacra of that
group. This finds its gesticular expression in the adoption of the
direction of prayer towards Jerusalem. It stands for a new self-con-
sciousness of the young community, which is no longer based solely
on the rites inherited from the Ka'ba worship, but much more on the
awareness of being among the receivers and bearers of a scripture,
and of having a share in the memory of salvation history, which is
transmitted through the medium of writing. Nothing less than the
change in orientation described by Jan Assmann in his "Kulturelles
Gedachtnis,"17 for which he coined a technical term referring to the
transition of a society from ritual to textual coherence, seems to be at
work here. The ritual observance of the qibla towards Jerusalem
through its very gesture, points to a new close connection of the
emerging Islamic community with the older religions, and thus to its
newly attained "textual coherence."
The images now replacing the previous allusions to the Meccan
sanctuary in the beginning sections of the surahs, featuring the book
and its requisites, unequivocally point to the awareness that a stream
of tradition has come to an end and has now become accessible
through writing. The new form of remembrance soon penetrates the
daily ritual practices: The formerly strong attachment to the local
Meccan place has given way to a new situation of the Muslim wor-
shipper in a "textual" space reaching far beyond the horizons of the
inherited rites into the world and the history of the Banu Isra'il.
There is a substantial change in orientation in terms of time as well:
The new surahs no longer focus on the ritually relevant times of the
day, but display a substantially novel setting in time. They culminate
in an often repeated appeal-introduced with a simple referential "at
the time when," idh, or "remember when" udhkur idh,l8_to the exam-
16 See Aleida and Jan Assmann, "Nachwort" for A. Assmann, J. Assmann, C.
Hardtmeier, eds. Schrijt und Gedachtnis. Beitrage zur Archiiologie der literarischen Kommunika-
tion I (Ml1nchen 1983) p. 272.
17 J an Assmann, Das kulturelle Gediichtnis. Schrijt, Erinnerung und politische ldentitiit in
ftiihen Hochkulturen. Beitrage zur Archiiologie der literarischen Kommunikation I (Ml1nchen,
1983).
18 See Josef Horovitz, Koranische Untersuchungen (Berlin/Leipzig, 1926).
310 ANGELIKA NEUWIRTH

pIes of fonner prophets, reaching far back into the history of the
spiritual forebears, the Ban ii Ism'il. Jerusalem is the central sanctuary
of the space marked by their scripture and thus by history-and, on
the medial level, by writing. All prayers gravitate in the direction of
Jerusalem as their natural destination, and to Jerusalem the worship-
per turns his face seeking that of his Lord via the remembrance of
salvation history.

The New Qibla: Mecca enters Biblical History

The Muslim community at Madina, as is well known, dissociated

itself from Jerusalem some two years after the hijra in light of the
growing precariousness of their relationship to the Madinan Jews.
What is the significance of this change of the direction faced in
prayer? It may be conceived as a reverse recollection: the rediscovery
of Mecca as the essential destination of the longing of the exiles at
Madina. The new orientation is attested by a Qur'anic passage
(2.143-145):
The fools among the people will say, "What has turned them from the
direction they were facing in their prayers aforetime?" Say: "To God
belong the East and the West. He guides whomever He will to a straight
path." We have seen thee turning thy face about in the heaven, now We
will surely turn thee to a direction that shall satisfy thee. Turn thy face
towards the Holy Mosque (al-masjid al-~ariim); and wherever you are,
turn your faces towards it.
The circumstances of this change are, of course, complex. The
Qur'an reflects the fact that the memory shared with the Banii Isra'il
by the Madinan community, had been blotted out to some degree by
the novel experience of real exile, within which the central sanctuary
in Mecca had increased substantially in symbolic value. Indeed, the
ideal Mecca, as conceived in exile, was no longer the place of the
ritual Ka'ba worship alone, but had gone through a substantial trans-
fonnation. It had become integrated into that particular fonn of
memory that is transmitted by the medium of writing, which be-
stowed on it the rank of a place honored by a significant episode of
salvation history. Mecca had become the central place of the career
of a biblical hero, of Abraham himself.
Abraham's Qur'anic inauguration prayer of the Ka'ba has been
associated rightfully with Solomon's prayer at the inauguration of the
Temple. Its essential verses are:
 THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE DIRECTION OF PRAYER IN ISLAM 311

My lord, make this a secure temenos

and make us submissive to Thee,
and of our seed a nation submissive
and show us our holy rites and
turn your Face towards us, surely Thou turnest,
and art the All-compassionate.
And, our Lord, do Thou send among them
a Messenger, one of them,
who shall recite to them Thy signs
and teach them the Book
and the Wisdom and purify them, Thou art
the Almighty, the Allwise (2.126-129).
Abraham thus institutionalizes the rites, the most essential of which
are the ~aliih and the ~ajj, the ancient Arabian pilgrimage. But what is
more: Abraham's prayer culminates in his plea that the worship at
the Ka'ba include not only rites, but verbal worship and reading of
scriptures as well. He asks that a prophet arise to read the Book to
the worshippers at the Ka'ba. Abraham's prayer has reached its
fulfillment with the appearance of the prophet Muhammad, sent to
complete the complex structure of Islam as a religion whose cult is
based equally on ritual and on verbal worship.
Through this new growth in meaning, Mecca has for the second
time assumed part of the aura of Jerusalem. The change of the qibla
moved the focus of prayer from Jerusalem to Mecca; with these
Qur'anic verses about Abraham's providential care for his sanctuary,
Mecca is honored with what had been a prerogative of Jerusalem
attested by the prophet Isaiah's words (2.3): "Torah will go out from
Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem." In fulfillment of the
prayer of the first propagator of the worship of One God, Mecca has
become a place of theophany for a second time. The new theophany,
through the mediation of a prophet reading out verses, satisfies the
new expectations, which-aroused by examples from the salvation
history of other religions-demand that a genuine divine revelation
take the shape of a book, a writing.

Conclusion

If one were to name the central symbols of Islam, one would have to
list the direction of prayer towards Mecca, and the announcing of
prayer through liturgical words at relevant times of the day. Now,
although prayer demands an orientation in time and space-to the
312 ANGELIKA NEUWIRTH

center of the world which is the paramount place of divine self-

manifestation-is valid for Judaism as well, there is no comparably
conspicuous practise in Jewish worship. The particular power of the
practice in Islam seems to be due to its dramatic history where the
introduction of the qibla (more precisely, the two qiblas) marked im-
portant steps in the attaining of collective identity. The gesture of the
turning of one's face to God in the hope of finding His Face was first
oriented towards Jerusalem, the sanctuary of the Banu Isra'il.
Through this association, the new community entered the space of
those adhering to the scriptural religions. By reverting the qibla to
Mecca, they re-entered a space of their own memory. This was,
however, not a simple return, for since the emergence of the necessity
to seek God's Face not simply in an inherited place of ritual, but
essentially in an imaginary space charged with scriptural memory,
the rite of praying towards a qibla had once and for all entered into a
close relation to scripture and thus to the Qur'an and its recitation.
Rippin's conclusions, it appears, should be complemented by some
further observations: Seeking the Face if God in Islam is, it seems, not
solely a matter of moral or social responsibility, but equally and
perhaps even primarily, a spiritual, indeed a liturgical endeavor.
Looked upon as a liturgical act, the development of its realization in
time and space mirrors most significant stages in the emergence of
the community. "Seeking the Face of God," then, demands both a
spiritual and a physical activity: to make audible God's words
through one's own voice and arranging one's body in space, in order
to face the central sanctuary-God's token on earth-so as to over-
come with one's soul the vast distance between man's life-long exile
and the focus of his eternal longing.
 TWELFTH CENTURY CONCEPTS OF SOUL AND BODY:
THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD

Sarah Stroumsa

Ibn Jubayr, a Spanish Muslim traveller passing through Baghdad in

1185, was not much impressed by the City of Peace (dar al-salam).
Compared to the thriving Cairo, which he had visited less than a
year earlier, he found Baghdad to be a city that, intellectually and
economically, lived on its past glory. At the same time, Ibn Jubayr
remarked, the people of Baghdad still considered their city to be the
center of the world: "You scarce can find among them any who do
not affect humility, but who yet are vain and proud. Each conceives,
in belief and thought, that the whole world is but trivial in compari-
son with his land, and over the face of the world they find no noble
place of living save their own. I
The deterioration of the status of the city as a spiritual and cultural
center was still more perceptible in the Jewish community of Bagh-
dad. Benjamin of Tudela, a Jewish traveller who visited the city only
a few years earlier (around 1171), found 40,000 Jews in Baghdad with
ten schools. 2 By the twelfth century, the renowned Jewish academic
centers of Iraq, the yeshivot, had declined, and the incontestable politi-
cal and spiritual leadership of the community was no longer in Meso-
potamia. In particular, the personality of Moses Maimonides, who
lived in Cairo, commanded such respect that Egypt came to over-
shadow the more ancient center of Iraq.
The historical situation did not allow for a quiet shift of power.
The Gaon Shmuel ben Eli, head of the Academy in Baghdad, was a
strong personality, who regarded Baghdad and himself as natural
leaders for all Jewish communities;3 and the close connections be-
tween the Jewish communities from Spain to Yemen contributed to
I Travels of Ibn Jubayr, ed. W. Wright, rev. M. J. De Goeje (Leyden and London,

1907) 217-218; English translation in The Travels ofIbnJubayr, trans. R.J C. Broad-
hurst (London, 1952) 226 ff. C£ also A. A. Duri, "Baghdad" EP, I, 901.
2 Itinerary, ed. and trans. A. Asher (New York, 1840-2) 54-56 (text), 93-105 (trans.).
3 On the Gaon and on the rivalry between the two centers, see S. Asaf, "Qovez
shel Iggerot Shmuel ben Eli u-vnei Doro," Tarbiz 1 (1930), 102-130; 2 (1931), 43-84;
3 (1932), 15-80.
314 SARAH STROUMSA

the fact that any disagreement between him and Maimonides be-
came a major public affair. The strife was not openly a political one.
As Maimonides' authority became more firmly established and wide-
spread, and as the Gaon continually tried to reassert his own author-
ity, the discussion evolved around legallhalakhic matters, or issues of
dogma. Prime among the latter was the question of the resurrection
of the dead.
In an anonymous treatise, the "Book of the Meanings of the Soul"
(kitiib ma'iinf al-nrifS), sometimes attributed to the eleventh-century
Jewish author Ba}:lya ibn Paquda, the author emphatically says that
although people sometimes connect and confuse the two issues, the
question of the resurrection of the dead is in no way related to the
question of the soul. 4 But in the Maimonidean controversy the two
issues became tightly connected, to the extent that rather than its
usual description as a controversy over resurrection, it should more
appropriately be called a controversy over the soul and its immortal-
ity.
In the following pages I shall not go over the background and
development of the controversy, a reconstruction of which I intend to
offer elsewhere. 5 Rather, I will present a static scene, using the infor-
mation provided mainly by three interconnected short treatises. From
these treatises and from other related texts we can learn of three Jewish
personalities in the twelfth century and of their views on the soul and
the body. I shall try to present their views, show the use they make of
the various traditions from which they drew, and situate them in the
context of the Muslim intellectual world in which they lived. For it
should be said from the outset that, although the texts studied here
deal with Jewish personalities and with Jewish beliefs, they reflect,
mutatis mutandis, positions and beliefs current among Muslims (and
probably also among Christians) at the same time and place.

17ze Scene and the Players

The main sources for this study of the controversy are three treatises
on the resurrection of the dead written in Judaeo-Arabic. Until re-
cently only one of them was available to us. This text (which is
4 Kitab ma'iini al-nafi; Buck vom Wesen der Seele, ed. I. Goldziher (Berlin, 1907) 4: 12-
14.
5 See Stroumsa, "Repetition Superflue." (An appendix to this article provides
complete bibliographical information about the works frequently cited herein.)
 TIlE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 315

chronologically the last among the three) is Maimonides' Treatise on

the Resurrection of the Dead (hereafter cited as MTR).6
The second text (chronologically the first) is a Treatise on the Resur-
rection of the Dead written by the Gaon Shmuel ben Eli; Maimonides
mentions it in his own work bearing the same name. 7 From Mai-
monides' words one gets the impression that the publication of the
Gaon's treatise was the direct and immediate cause that forced him
to write and state (or re-state) his views on the matter, and it was thus
seen by practically all the scholars who studied the controversy. 8 The
Gaon's Treatise on Resurrection was subsequently presumed lost and,
indeed, its Arabic original is still not extant as a separate text. An
almost complete Hebrew translation of this Treatise, however, has
recently been discovered by Tzvi Langermann. 9
In addition to this Hebrew translation, extensive quotations from
the Arabic text of the Gaon's Treatise are preserved in a refutation of
this work. This refutation, entitled The Silencing Epistle (Risiilat al-iskiit),
was written by Maimonides' favorite student, Y osef ben Shimeon, for
whom Maimonides had written the Guide of the Perplexed. Yosef wrote
his Epistle as a retort to the Gaon's Treatise, and sent it to Mai-
monides. 1o
Of these three texts, only Maimonides' Treatise has been edited
and analyzed. 11 Since, however, it has been studied until now without
6 See J. Finkel, Ma'amar te&iyyat ha-metim: Maimonides' Treatise on Resurrection [maqala
fi te&iyyat ha-metim] (New York, 1939); I. Shilat, Iggerot ha-Rambam (Jerusalem, 1987) I,
pp. 315-376. References to MTR in the following pages are to Finkel's edition.
7 MTR, p. 324.
8 E.g., Lemer, "Maimonides' Treatise," p. 145; Hartmann, Crisis and Leadership, p.
204.
9 See Y. Tzvi Langermann, "A New Anthology of Medieval Jewish Philosophy,"

Qiryat Sifer 64 (1992); 1427-1432 (Hebrew). I wish to thank Tzvi Langermann for
drawing my attention to this manuscript. In the manuscript, the text of the Gaon's
Treatise on Resurrection (hereafter cited as GTR) is interrupted, and the manuscript
r
continues with the (acephalos) text of Maimonides' Epistle to emen. Nevertheless, a
comparison with the citations from GTR in SE (see next note) indicates that the
extant part includes almost the whole text of GTR.
IQ On the Silencing Epistle (hereafter cited as SE), see Harkavy, "Fragment";

Stroumsa, "Abil al-Barakat"; Baneth, "Yosefbn. Shimeon," pp. 16-17, n. 35; Yosef
ben Shimeon, Iggeret Ha-hashtaqa 'al odot te&iyyat ha-metim (risalat al-iskiit fi &ashr al-
amwat), ed., with an annotated Hebrew translation, S. Stroumsa, forthcoming to be
published by the Ben Zvi Institute, Jerusalem.
11 See n. 6 and n. 10 above. References to SE are to the jTSA manuscript, ENA
1732. (No. 28709 in the Institute of MicrofIlmed Hebrew Manuscripts at the Jewish
National and University Library, Jerusalem). An edition of the Gaon's Treatise r:if
Resurrection is being prepared by Tzvi Langermann. References to GTR are to the
Moscow State Library Ms. 209 (No. 52178 in the Institute of MicrofIlmed Hebrew
Manuscripts at the Jewish National and University Library, Jerusalem), fols. 63b-72b.
316 SARAH STROUMSA

the two other treatises, to which it reacts, I believe that it has not
been properly understood. I suspect that Maimonides had no knowl-
edge of the Gaon's Treatise except through the quotations in the
Silencing Epistle, and that it is because of Yosef ben Shimeon, rather
than because of the Gaon and his Treatise, that Maimonides decided
to write his Treatise on Resurrection. 12 This new identification of the
addressee of Maimonides' Treatise has bearings on the interpretation
of its content. Although I will not be able to develop this point fully
here, I hope that the following pages will provide an example of its
implications.
While all three treatises can be dated to about 1191, the Silencing
Epistle contains references to public disputations between the Gaon
and Yosef ben Shimeon that may go back a few years earlier. Mter
reporting on one such disputation, the author of The Silencing Epistle
says about the Gaon:
I left him defeated, with no appropriate answer [to my attacks], 13 after
having heard from him such answers that no person with solid knowl-
edge would present. About people presenting such answers one should
say: "May the Merciful God preserve us from such knowledge."
I then travelled from Baghdad to the West, and returned. Then I trav-
elled from Baghdad to the East and returned. This last return was a
long time after our meeting, and (upon returning) I found that he had
composed his above-mentioned treatise, and that he had written in it
the same opinions that he had expressed during the disputation. I mar-
velled at the obstinacy of this person, who holds on to his beliefs even
though their falsehood was made clear to him.14
Such references to the disputations add another dimension to the
discussion. While the tone in the treatises of both Maimonides and
the Gaon is usually restrained, the atmosphere in the disputations
was apparently much less so. The reports about the disputations also
connect the intellectual philosophical debate to the beliefs that were
probably held by wider circles of people in Baghdad.

12 For a full discussion of this point, see Stroumsa, "Repetition Superflue."

13 "Munqap'an 'an al-,jawiib." On the inqi!ii', see, for instance, Qirqisani, Anwiir, pp.
484-486; G. Vajda, "Etudes sur Qirqisani V: Les regles de la controverse dialec-
tique," Revue des Etudes Juives 122 (1963): 34-37.
14 SE, fol. lOa; Harkavi, "Fragment," p. 182.
 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 317

Positions on the Soul

In what follows I shall try to present the three positions on the soul,
in the chronological order of the three treatises.

Shmuel ben Eli's view

According to the Gaon, "The Jewish people agree on the belief in the
survival of the soul after the body's death. Both the elite and the
common people also agree that when the soul is separated from the
body, it is transferred to either happiness or misery."15 The Gaon
does not tell us what the soul is; instead, he sets out to prove that the
philosophers are in disagreement concerning the soul. Some say that
the soul is one of the body's faculties: as such, it is just an accident
that will pass away with the body in which it resides. Others say that
the soul is a mixture of the essential elements of the body. Some
physicians say that the soul is but a combination of the body's
humors that will also pass away when the body dies. Still others
regard the soul as derived from the mixing of the inhaled air with the
body's natural heat and vapors. And some say that a person's soul is
only his blood.
This list can be traced ultimately to Aristotle's list in the De
Anima,16 but in the form presented by the Gaon it is clearly derived
mainly from al-Kitiib al-Mu'tabar of the Baghdadian Jewish philoso-
pher Hibat-Allah Abu al-Barakat al-Baghdadl (d. 1164),17 with the
additional influence of Saadia's list in his Book if Beliifs and Opinions. 18
Shmuel ben Eli does not, however, mention any specific source, and
he presents these opinions simply as the opinions of "the rationalists"
(baCalei ha-sekhe0·
He then continues to cite the opinions of philosophers (~akhmei ha-

Ii GTR, fo1. 64a-64b.

16 De An. 404a-405b.
17 Mu'tabar, II 355-356. See also the Gaon's explicit reference to the passage in the

De Anima, and the somewhat veiled reference to its interpretation by Abu al-Barakat
al-Baghdadi (whom the Gaon calls "one of the philosophers") in GTR, fo1. 72b: 17 ff.
18 For example, the last opinion quoted by the Gaon (that the soul is the person's

blood) is followed by an exegetical discussion that is clearly dependent on Saadia's

list in the sixth chapter of his Kitiib al-amanat wa'l-f'tiqiidat. On the doxologies that
were the source for such lists, see H. Davidson, "Saadia's list of Theories of the
Soul," in A. Altmann, ed., Jewish Medif:lJal and Renaissance Studies (Cambridge, MA,
1967) pp. 75-94.
318 SARAH STROUMSA

filosqfim): They agree that the soul is an immaterial substance, but

they disagree concerning its origin, its cause, and its immortality. In
his exposition of these opinions, he again uses material found in Abu
al-Barakat's al-Kitiib al-Mu'tabar. Abu al-Barakat was an Aristotelian
philosopher who in many respects followed Avicenna, but also devel-
oped his own ideas. Concerning the soul, he has an interesting and
rather original theory; for him, the soul's awareness of itself is the
definitive proof that the soul is independent of the body and will not
perish with it. 19 But when Shmuel ben Eli uses material found in al-
Kitiib al-Mu'tabar, he does not reveal his source, and is in fact totally
uninterested in Abu al-Barakat or in his ideas. Al-Kitab al-Mu'tabar
enables the Gaon to summarize the ideas of the philosophers, and
provides him with formulations that will demonstrate his familiarity
with the philosophers' jargon. 20
The conclusion the Gaon draws from his presentation is that we
must not turn to the philosophers in our quest for the truth concern-
ing the soul, since they are not reliable:
Concerning the survival of the souls after their separation from the
body, we must thus turn to the consensus of the nation, the tradition
transmitted from the prophets, and the proofs found in the texts trans-
mitted by revelation from the Almighty, the Wise ... who will keep in
life whomever He wishes and annihilate whomever He wishes. We must
not turn to what the philosophers say, since they have no decisive proof
for their claims. 21
Having shown that he is well read and that the philosophical jargon
does not intimidate him, the Gaon thus rejects philosophy as a useful
way to know anything about the soul. The only trustworthy source is
the tradition.
Indeed, most of the arguments which the Gaon then produces
relate to the Jewish tradition in its widest sense, beginning with the
Bible, through the Talmud and Gaonic exegesis, to the practices of
contemporaneous Jews in Baghdad. From the host of arguments he
marshals, one can get a clear picture of his image of the soul after
death.
Like the philosophers, he agrees that beyond death the soul is not
attached to the body. Nevertheless, it is obvious that in many respects

19 C( Pines, "La conscience de soi," esp. pp. 217-218.

20 Maimonides was apparently sensitive to the Gaon's unphilosophical reading of
this philosophical book, see n. 29 below.
21 GTR, fo1. 65b.
 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 319

he pictures this separate, non-corporeal soul as a copy of the living

person. It performs similar acts, it suffers and rejoices in the same
way, it confronts similar obstacles. For example, Shmuel ben Eli
discusses at length the biblical story of the witch of Ein Dor who, at
King Saul's request, conjured up the dead prophet Samuel. The
Gaon rejects the opinion that the witch deceived Saul, and that she
did not really hear the prophet Samuel at all. He also rejects the
notion that God performed a miracle, bringing Samuel back to life.
According to him, the witch really summoned the soul of the dead
Samuel, exactly as the scriptural text says: "We say that the verse:
'Samuel said to Saul' means that Samuel's soul talked to Saul, ac-
cording to the literal meaning (?:,iihir) of the Bible, as the prophet
wrote down according to God's speech. One is not permitted to
interpret it. "22
In fact, not only does Shmuel ben Eli see no difficulty in accepting
the text literally, he also does not seem to think that there was any-
thing extraordinary in the witch's performance. In his view, it is quite
usual for souls to converse with each other or with the living. In this
context, he cites a story from Rabbinic tradition, according to which
a certain righteous person who went out one night to the graveyard
overheard the talk of two souls (shtei ru~ot or shtei neshamot).23 One soul
invited the other to join it, and the other complained that it could
not. "How can I move," it said, "when I am buried (bundled up) in
a mat made of reeds." For the Gaon, this story provides the proof
that souls can talk, even though they have no body, and thus lack the
corporeal tools of speech. 24
In the Bible, Samuel not only talks, but he is also seen by the
witch. This also presents no difficulty for the Gaon, who says that
what the witch saw was not the person Samuel, but his image, like
the reflection one sees in the mirror. When Yosef ben Shimeon ob-
jects that images reflected in a mirror appear inverted, the Gaon
remains unperturbed. The spirits of the dead, he tells his opponent,
also appear inverted, as reflections of the soul. He says:

22 GTR, fo1. 67b:17-l8.

23 Literally: "two spirits." Shmuel ben Eli does not seem to distinguish between
nifesh, ru'aI;, and neshama. On the use of these terms in Rabbinic literature, see Nisan
Rubin, "From Monism to Dualism: The Body-Soul Relationship in Rabbinic Per-
ception," Da'at 23 (1989): 38-40 (Hebrew).
24 GTR, fo1. 67b.
320 SARAH STROUMSA

The image that appears in the mandal is such a reflection 25 of the soul.
This has been repeatedly certified in our days, by people who perform
this technique. It is also established in the Talmud when the sages say:
"It [i.e., the spirit or soul] can be conjured up on weekdays, but will not
be conjured up on the Sabbath."26

The Gaon refers here to techniques of necromancy that are men-

tioned in the Talmud,27 and identifies them with mandal, a technique
practiced in the Middle East to this day. According to this technique,
the medium-usually a very young boy-is asked to look into a
smooth surface (a mirror, or some liquid in a bowl) and conjure up
the spirit of the dead, which speaks to him by signs or gestures. 28 In
the Gaon's written treatise, the mandal appears only in the cryptic
reference cited above. But in the public disputations with Maimo-
nides' student, which are recorded in The Silencing Epistle, the Gaon
discussed this technique in more detail. Yosef ben Shimeon records
the following dialogue:
I said: And whatever tells you that the mandal is a real thing, and that
images which the beholder can see do appear in it?
He said: The oft-repeated experience, and the testimony of those who
practice it.
I said: Is there anyone in our days who can do that?
He said: Yes indeed, there are such people in our place, in Baghdad. 29
I said: Well then, I will give such a person twice his price, ifhe can show
me the truth of what he claims, and prove to me what I deny.
He said: But the spirit will appear only to young boys, who have not yet
reached puberty.

25 Arabic: Namildhaj, literally "model." This term establishes a close relation be-
tween the soul and its imprint or reproduction in the mandal, and accords it an
existence that is somewhat more "real" than the word "relfection" denotes. I am
indebted to Sara Sviri for the clarification of this term.
26 GTR, fol. 67b:27-68b: I; quoted by Maimonides' student in SE, fol. 13a.
27 SE, fo!' 14a; cf. BT Sanhedrin 65b.
28 See E. W. Lane, An Account qf the Manners and Customs qf the Modem Egyptians
(London, 1876; New York, 1973 2) pp. 268-275; Alexander Fodor, "Arabic Bowl
Divination and the Greek Magical Papyri," in A. Fodor and A. Shivtiel, eds., Proceed-
ings qf the Colloquium on Popular Customs and the Monotheistic Religions in the Middle East and
North Africa, 19-25th September 1993, 1heArabist9-1O (Budapest, 1994): 73-101, esp.
89-93. I am indebted to Simon Hopkins for these references.
29 Arabic: 'indanafl Baghdad. It is probably this sentence that Maimonides mimics
sarcastically when he says that the Gaon cited the Mu'tabar, which was written
"'indahumfl Baghdad." The sarcasm does not necessarily reflect Maimonides' reserva-
tions regarding Abu al-Barakat al-Baghdadl, but rather his contempt of the provinci-
ality of the Gaon and his pretensions to read philosophy while following his supersti-
tions. On Maimonides' references to the Kitab al-Mu'tabar, see Stroumsa, "Abu
al-Barakat."
 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 321

I said: This is because of the paucity of their (i. e. the boys') understand-
ing and the weakness of their ability to conceptualize! ... What (else)
can be the reason for the fact that these images appear only to young
boys, and not to anybody else?
He said: The fact is that there are so many stories told about children
and that we have seen them informing us of things hidden and knowing
secret matters. Because of these facts we believe in what is said, that the
images do appear to litde boys, and that by signs which the images give
the children know what the souls tell them.

The dialogue ends with the exasperated Y osef ben Shimeon leaving
the scene of the debate, and it is this exchange that triggered the
exclamation cited above ("May the merciful God preserve us from
such knowledge").
Nevertheless, the Gaon was not easily shaken, certainly not by the
fact that his thinking was unacceptable to his opponent. In his view,
the immortal soul, placed in a body that perishes temporarily, must
be resurrected so that the soul of the righteous will not suffer, and the
soul of the wicked be duly punished. He identifies the retribution in
the world to come with the resurrection of the dead. 30 In this context
he cites the talmudic parable according to which the soul and body
are like the blind man who carries the lame on his shoulders when
they go out stealing. When caught, each of them denies his responsi-
bility, pointing to his inability to act individually. The wise judge
then puts the lame again on the blind man's shoulders, and punishes
them as one unit. 31 The Gaon has a clear image of the self, of the
person. The person is at first the soul and body, then, for a while, the
soul with only a memory of the body,32 and then again soul and
body. In sum, the person is that which is placed in the body (inna al-
insiin - al-mutqjassid).

30 " ••• And since [the retribution] is not in this world, it must be in the next, after

the soul separates from the body and after its future return to the body" (GTR, fo1.
66b:2-4); " ... and we affirm that [the expression] 'the world to come' indicates the
creation of a new world, when the souls that have been separated from the bodies
will return to them" (GTR, fo1. 68a:27-28).
31 GTR, fo1. 71b:27-72a:6. Cf. BT, Sanhedrin 91a; Vqyiqra Rabba 4, §5; Midrash
Tan~uma~ Vayiqra. On the use of this parable by the IlJ:wiin al-~afii', who took it from
an Indian source, see Henry Malter, "Personifications of Soul and Body: A Study in
Judaeo-Arabic Literature," 1he Jewish Q.uarterry RlJlJiew 11 (1912): 454-456.
32 ct GTR, fo1. 68a:1O-13, where the Gaon cites Job 14:21 to prove that the soul
of the wicked "watches from above the body from which it was separated, and
agonizes over the sufferings of the body and its own sufferings of the separation."
322 SARAH STROUMSA

Yosif ben Shimeon's Vzew

The genre of The Silencing Epistle dictates its presentation. As is com-

mon in refutations, The Silencing Epistle is built around the text it aims
to disprove. Yosef ben Shimeon cites a few lines from the Gaon's
Treatise, then refutes the cited argument. He is thus obliged to follow
the Gaon's argumentation, correcting him, trying to reason with him
or show him the absurdity of his view, scoffing at him or simply, as in
the dialogue cited above, slamming the door behind him. As a result,
we find Yosef pulled into discussions where, whatever the subject, he
comes out sounding pedantic and defensive. Rather than presenting
a coherent theory of the soul, he has to respond to the Gaon's argu-
ments.
Thus, since the Gaon began with Abu al-Barakat al-Baghdadi's al-
Kitiib al-Mu'tabar, Yosef ben Shimeon must first respond to the philo-
sophical argument. He identifies the text, then endeavors to demon-
strate that the Gaon did not understand it. The disagreement
between the philosophers concerning the soul, he says, occurred only
before Aristotle introduced some order into logic. There was no disa-
greement among Aristotle's followers, and even if there were, this
would not prove that none of the philosophers' opinions is correct, as
the Gaon argues. It would only show that they are not all correct at
the same time.
Yosef ben Shimeon also rejects the claim that the philosophers
have no decisive proof concerning the immortality of the soul. On
the contrary, he says: "The Philosophers have demonstrated that the
soul must be immortal, and that its annihilation is inconceivable."
Aristotle demonstrated that if there is an act that is specific to the
soul, it will not perish with the body.33 The soul is a simple, non-
composite entity. It has one specific, characteristic act, which is intel-
lection. The intellectual act of the soul is done by the soul itself,
without any intermediate tool. The soul thus intellects itself, and is
aware of its own intellection. The simplicity of the soul entails its
immortality. Only composite beings can have both actual existence
and the potentiality of their perishing. But in simple entities like the
soul, the actuality of existence precludes the potentiality of perishing.
In other instances, Yosef ben Shimeon also responds to the ex-
egetical and talmudic arguments of the Gaon, making use of either

33 Cr. De An. 403a 3-5.

 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 323

theological or linguistic arguments. For example, in the case of the

witch of Ein Dor, he argues that the witch could not possibly make
Samuel's spirit talk. Souls have no bodies and thus no bodily organs
without which speech cannot be produced.
In this context Yosef also touches upon the much-debated ques-
tion of God's speech, and whether or not it is produced by sounds
and words. The theological problem is the following: God's revela-
tion is perceived by the prophets as His speaking to them, and it is
thus described in the scriptures. In our normal usage, speech requires
a body to produce it. The individual revelations to the prophets
appeared at specific moments in history, and are thus associated with
temporality. But God, being eternal and absolutely One, can have no
temporal or corporeal attribute associated with Him. In Muslim
Kaliim this became a central theological issue. It divided the believers
between those who insisted that everything but God is created in
time, and thus claimed that "God's speech is created"; and those who
stressed the fact that the Koran is the speech of the eternal God, and
thus came eventually to the formula that "God's speech is eternal,
un-created."34 Yosef ben Shimeon does not really want to go into the
intricacies of this problem. He only responds to the argument of the
Gaon, that if God can talk without a body, so can the souls. In his
response, he offers a distinction between two possible positions. All
the theologians of our nation, he says, agree that God's speech is a
sounded speech that is created in time. Those non-Jewish theologians
who hold that God's speech is eternal, deny that it is a sounded
speech. In either opinion, he claims, the notion of a sounded speech
that is created in time but is not produced by a body, is unaccept-
able. 3s
Prior to this dry physiological analysis, Yosef adduces a more emo-
tional argument:
34 On the question of God's speech, see G. Vajda, "La parole creee de Dieu

d'apres le theologien karaite Yusuf al-Ba~ir," Studia Islamica 38 (1974); 59-76 (re-
printed in Georges Vajda, ed. and trans., Al-Kitab al-Muf:ztaw! de Yils'!! al-B£¥fr, ed.
David R. Blumenthal (Leiden, 1985), pp. 151-168); Ibn Furak, Mujarrad maqaliit al-
Ash'ari, ed. D. Gimaret (Beirut, 1986) 59-60; Al-Ash'ari, Maqaliit al-Isliimiyfn wa-igtiliif
al-m~allfn, ed. 'Abd al-I:Iamid (Cairo, 1950), I, p. 247; 11, p. 247. And see Wilferd
Madelung, "The Origins of the Controversy concerning the Creation of the Koran,"
in Orientalia Hispanica, I (Leiden, 1974) pp. 504-525.
35 cr SE, fo1. 13a: Jamf' al-mutalmllimm min millatina yaquluna inna kalam alliih ta'alii

~arf wa-~awt magluq; ... wa-'lladhfna ya'taqiduna min ghayri millatina anna al-kaliim qadfm
qa'im bi-dhat al-rabb layaj'aliihu ~arfwa-~awt ... , bal al-ijrna' qad waqa'a anna al-kaliim bi'l-
~arf wa'l-~awt la yaqumu bi-dhatihi.
324 SARAH STROUMSA

Were it possible for spirits to speak and to converse with whomever they
wish and whenever they wish, then the spirits would surely converse
with their living relatives. For many of the dead die experiencing the
utmost longing, sadness, and suffering because of their separation from
those they leave behind. Were it possible for them to converse with
them afterward, this would have offered great comfort and solace to
both the living and the dead. Then the spirits who love the suffering
living people, who grieve over the separation from the dead when they
depart, would comfort them and talk to them. But we see nothing of
this happening. 36
He also responds seriously to the story about the two souls, which the
Gaon had cited. In The Silencing Epistle Y osef first mentions that,
during the disputation itself, he had argued that the story can be
explained on the assumption that the event was only a dream ac-
corded to this particular night-wanderer because he was a righteous
person. He then adds:
Later, however, 1 found an argument that proves this interpretation,
and that had not occurred to me during the disputation. This is a proof
deduced from the story itself, [which demonstrates] that it was indeed
[only] a dream. For in the story one soul says to the other: "I cannot
come out, for 1 am buried in a mat made of reeds." Yet it is not the soul
which is buried in a mat of reeds; the one buried in a mat of reeds is the
body alone!
This interpretation, presented so triumphantly, allows Y osef to reject
the Gaon's argument without either denying the talmudic story or
questioning the relevance of such stories. Yosef takes up the Gaon's
arguments one by one, and responds to all of them with equal seri-
ousness. Only the dispute concerning the mandal drives him to leave
furiously, and even then, only after he is convinced of having won the
debate.

Maimonides'view

Maimonides' view of the soul draws on the Arabic philosophical

tradition. It is thus an admixture of various (sometimes contradictory)
elements from Plato, Aristotle, and the Neoplatonic tradition. Ac-
cording to Maimonides, " ... the body as a whole is only the tool for
the soul, by which the soul carries out all its acts. '>37 He also says that

36 SE, fol. lOb.

37 MTR, p. 7; see also p. 16: "The body is only the combination of tools for the
acts of the soul."
 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 325

the soul is the perfection of the body. It has various faculties, which
take care of the various functions of the human body. The highest
faculty of the soul is rationality which, when given the proper prior-
ity, allows the human being to reach the purpose of his existence. 38
The rational faculty's role is to contemplate, and the highest and
most fitting objects of its contemplation are the Separate Intellects.
When the human soul has contemplated, intellected, and internal-
ized the form of these highest objects, it acquires a degree of intellec-
tion that allows it to have an intellectual existence, independent of
the body. This intellectual part (called the Actual Intellect), and it
alone, conjoins with the Active Intellect, the lowest of the Separate
Intellects, and thus gains immortality.
The highest human aspiration is thus, in Maimonides' view, to
reach an intellectual, incorporeal existence. The body, the tool that
allowed the human intellect to reach this stage, perishes at death,
together with the lower faculties of the soul. But this annihilation is
meaningless: it does not cause the philosopher great sorrow, nor does
the promise of the miraculous resurrection of the body cause him
great happiness. As Maimonides already said in his youthful compo-
sition, the Commentary on the Mishnah, the person who realized this
highest intellectual stage is like the king who achieved the aspired
kingdom. To suggest to the accomplished philosopher that he should
regain the body from which he was delivered, is like proposing to the
king that he abandon his kingdom and go back to the streets to play
with the ball he had loved as a child. 39
This intellectual approach has, of course, distinct ascetic over-
tones. As Maimonides repeatedly says in the Guide, the body and all
its needs are base and at times even shameful.40 The philosopher is
compelled to make use of the body, but he does so as sparsely as he
can, and he certainly has no emotional attachment to it. His real joy
is the joy of the intellect. That which is called "soul" is thus regarded
in different ways, depending on whether what is meant are the facul-

38 In Maimonides' view, although women are not totally excluded from the con-

templative endeavor, they are by nature at a marked disadvantage in this respect.

See, for instance, his (rather typical) expressions below, ns. 51 and 57. In this con-
text, therefore, we may be pennitted to call "the human being"-"man."
39 Maimonides, Commtmtary on /jeleq, p. 204. In MTR Maimonides refers the

reader explicidy to this Commentary, as well as to other parts of his Commtmtary on the
Mishnah. See, for instance, MTR, pp. 4-5.
40 See, for instance, Guide, Ill, 8 (Daliilat al-I;.a'irin, esp. 311, 313-314); and see also

Commtmtary on Avot, 389-390.

326 SARAH STROUMSA

ties relating to the bodily functions, or the faculty that prepares the
way for pure intellection. In general, the soul is not seen as the
purest, highest part of human existence. Maimonides says:
Know, that this one soul, the description of whose faculties or parts we
have given above, is like matter, and the intellect is its form. If the soul
does not achieve its form, then the preparation which it had to receive
this form is in vain, and it is as if its existence was futile. This is why it
was said [prav. 19:2]: "A soul with no knowledge is no good," that is to
say, the existence of the soul which did not achieve its form, but which
is "a soul with no knowledge," is not "good."4!

The highest part of the soul, which may achieve immortality, is the
Intellect; that is how Maimonides describes immortality in the Guide.
In the Treatise on Resurrection, he usually speaks in the religious lan-
guage of "the immortality of the soul," but even in this treatise he
says on one occasion: "The people who have merited afterlife are
separate souls, I mean intellects. "42
In another place in the Treatise on Resurrection Maimonides says,
criticizing the Gaon:
Another amazing thing I noticed is that the Intellect is not mentioned
by this Gaon. I thus do not know whether according to his philosophy
the soul and the intellect are identical, or whether perhaps the soul is
immortal, while the intellect perishes. Or perhaps it is the intellect
which is immortal and the soul perishes, that soul which he [i.e., the
Gaon] had said the philosophers do not know, and that one of their
opinions concerning it identifies with blood. Or perhaps according to
him the intellect is an accident, as the mutakallimiin, whom he considers
to be the wise philosophers, think.43
This sarcastic remark highlights Maimonides' view concerning the
relative importance of soul and intellect. In his view, in no circum-
stances can immortality become an attribute of the body. And, to the
extent that we are entitled to speak of the immortality of the soul and
to aspire for it, we must add preliminary qualifications that will prop-
erly stress the special role of the intellect. 44

41 Commentary on Avot, p. 376.

42 MTR, p. 8: Wa-inna bnei ha-'olam ha-ba anfos mtifiiriqa a'nf 'uqillan.
43 MTR, p. 14.
44 Pines suspected that Maimonides may have been skeptical even concerning the

possibility of intellectual immortality. See below, n. 56.

 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 327

The Debate in Context

I have cited only a few examples of the arguments produced by the

three participants in the controversy. This material, however, is
enough to distinguish their positions concerning the soul and the
body. In the remaining part of this paper, I shall try to locate the
three positions in the intellectual context of their time and place.
On the contemporaneous Muslim intellectual scene, we can distin-
guish three groups whose positions appear relevant to our case: The
philosophers (or, to be more precise, the faliisifa, i.e., the Aristotelian
philosophers),45 the traditionalists, and the theologians. 46 Although
Jewish intellectuals, obviously, did not have to identify with any
Muslim school of thought, they were nonetheless closely influenced
by these schools.

1. Although Shmuel ben Eli did not regard himself as a philoso-

pher, he had aspirations to be as well versed in philosophy as they
were. He presents himself as a person who, being equally at ease in
the writings of the philosophers and in Rabbinic literature, can criti-
cize the position of the philosophers and present in its stead the
authoritative, intelligent Jewish position on the soul and its modes.
We have seen that the Gaon distinguishes between the elite (al-
tJiiJ~a), and the common people or masses (al-'iimma or al-jumhilr)Y He
undoubtedly considers himself to be part of the elite; at the same
time, he insists that his views are in accord with the wide consensus
of the Jewish people. In other words, he believes that his views would
also be acceptable to the common people.
This same distinction is used by Maimonides in his Treatise on
Resurrection, where he hints clearly that, whereas he himself belongs to
the elite, the Gaon does not. 48 In the Introduction to his Commentary
on Pereq Ijeleq, Maimonides offers a typology of readers of talmudic
45 For a detailed analysis of the foliisifo's views on this matter, see Herbert A.

Davidson, Aifarabi, Avicenna, and AVliTToes on Intellect: Their Cosmologies, Theories qf the Active
Intellect, and Theories qf Human Intellect (New York and Oxford, 1992), esp. pp. 197-278;
and see Stroumsa, "Paradise," esp. pp. 6-8.
46 For a typology of Muslim positions concerning the soul, see M.E. Maimura,
"Soul: Islamic Concepts," in M. Eliade, ed., The Encyclopedia qf Religion (New York
and London, 1987), vol. 13, 460-465. Marmura distinguishes four main types of
concepts of the soul: the three mentioned here, and the concept of the soul reflected
in mystical thought.
47 See above, n. 15.
4B MTR, p. 22.
328 SARAH STROUMSA

midrashim and, in this context, describes three categories of people.

The common people respect the Sages, and therefore they accept the
midrashim literally and believe in them wholeheartedly. The pseudo-
scientists have no respect for the Sages, they too understand the
midrashim literally, but they reject them scornfully. Only the true phi-
losophers, who respect the Sages, also know that the Sages were
careful not to divulge their knowledge to the ignorant masses. The
true philosopher alone understands that the midrashim must be inter-
preted to reveal their hidden, higher truth.
According to Maimonides, the first of these three categories, the
common people, also include "the preachers who explain to the
masses what they themselves do not understand, those who preach in
front of people about tractate Berakhot and tractate lfeleq and take
them literally, word for word. "49 We can see that Shmuel ben Eli
would clearly fall, in Maimonides' view, in this first category. Indeed,
years later, in his correspondence with Yosef ben Shimeon,
Maimonides said so explicitly:
As to the affair of the Treatise, I am amazed that you, my child, should
send it to me to show me the paucity of his [i.e., the Gaon's] knowledge.
What did you think, that he, or [even] people better than he [in this
school], know anything? At best, he is like any preacher, confused like
the others. God knows that I wonder how he can say such stupidities,
which are both ridiculous and shameful. As to the "eloquence" of this
poor person, had he been satisfied with adducing arguments from "the
hundred blessings," or from the blessing that should be said by a person
who passes by Jewish graves, it would have been better for him, than to
speak as a theologian Iyatakallamu) about the soul and the opinions of the
philosophers. 50

For Maimonides, the Gaon is a typical Jewish preacher (darshan), and

in his own Treatise on Resurrection he rebukes him scornfully for having
made literal use of talmudic stories, "like women who, in the house of
mourners, preach to each other."51
One must note, however, that when the Gaon does not cite the
original Jewish texts, he speaks in Arabic, and his terminology as well
as his arguments and his whole attitude have close parallels in the
writings of Muslim contemporaries. The insistence on the literal
meaning of the text ({:,iihir), the refusal to accept non-literal interpreta-

49 Maimonides, Commentary on lfeleq, p. 20l.

50 See I. Shilat, Iggerot ha-Rambam (Jerusalem, 1987) I, pp. 297-298.
51 MTR, p. 12.
 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 329

tions (ta'wf~ and the demand to rely on the tested tradition rather than
on flimsy reason, were developed into a coherent, firm position by
Muslim orthodoxy-both the traditionalists, and the theologians who
adopted Ash 'arite kaliim. Among Muslim orthodox theologians there
are variations and differences of shades in this matter: A I:Janbalite
theologian like Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya is more of a literalist, while
Abu I:Jamid al-Ghazali is subtler, and plays the game of the philoso-
phers before rejecting it. The Gaon sounds at times like the one, at
times like the other. When he toys with citations from al-Kitiib al-
Mu'tabar, he sounds like al-Ghazali in the Tahiifot al-Jaliisifa, but when
he moves on to the Talmud, he sounds more like Ibn Qayyim al-
Jawziyya, or perhaps like al-Ghazali in his al-IqtiJiidfl al-i'tiqiid.
The comparison of the Gaon with Muslim orthodox theologians
points to the Muslim influence on him, and also indicates that what
Maimonides regards as the confused presentation of a simpleton
may, in fact, represent a coherent stand. The literalist, the tradition-
alist, may try his hand at formulating his thought in the terms used
by contemporary philosophers. But what really determines his posi-
tion concerning such crucial issues as life, death, and the hereafter is
his own religious tradition. He applies to this tradition an intellectual
effort as serious as that of the philosophers, and seeks to build with it
a consistent, coherent system.

2. If the Gaon moves comfortably between the theologians and

literalist orthodoxy, Yosef ben Shimeon finds himself in an awkward
position between the theologians and the philosophers. Theoretically,
his position should be, and is, that of his revered teacher Maimo-
nides, i.e., that of the faliisifa. He does state this position when he gets
a chance, but more often than not he follows the course dictated by
the Gaon.
Thus, instead of disregarding the midrashim of Berakhot, or brushing
them aside as fit for women and children, as Maimonides does, Yosef
ben Shimeon gets entangled in attempts to interpret them. This is
probably first and foremost the result of his own respect for Rabbinic
tradition. Maimonides himself, as we have seen above, says that Rab-
binic midrashim include deep truth and must be interpreted accord-
ingly. But whereas Maimonides chooses the midrashim he wants to
interpret, Yosef must adhere to the choice of the Gaon in his treatise.
Plodding from one such midrash to the other, he gets drawn into the
Gaon's logic.
330 SARAH STROUMSA

Another reason for this entanglement may be the fact that Yosef
ben Shimeon's psychology is, perhaps, closer to the Gaon's than he
would have liked to admit. It is noteworthy that, like the Gaon, Yosef
ben Shimeon uses the terms "soul" and "spirit" interchangeably. As
we have seen above, in the discussion of the witch of Ein Dor, he
rejects the notion that the spirits of the dead can talk. In this context,
he mentions not only the sadness of the bereft living, but also the
sorrow of the dead. 52 It is, of course, possible that he means mainly
the sorrow of the dying, but it is more likely, to my mind, that this
phrase betrays his empathy with the departed soul. It seems that,
intuitively, Yosef ben Shimeon regards also the soul of the dead as an
individual who regrets the departure from his loved ones.
This interpretation is corroborated by Yosef ben Shimeon's re-
sponse to the Gaon's philosophical arguments. When he sets out to
prove the immortality of the soul from its simplicity, he copies it
verbatim from Avicenna's Book on the Modes if the Sou[.53 According to
Avicenna, although individuality is a corporeal quality, when a soul
enters a body it also acquires some individual character. The indi-
viduality that the soul acquired during its sojourn in the body, re-
mains with it after the annihilation of the body. Although Y osef ben
Shimeon does not discuss this question specifically, it is quite possible
that this part of Avicenna's psychology was also to his liking.
A somewhat humorous illustration of Yosef ben Shimeon's am-
biguous position can be found in the entry about him in Ibn al-Qfti's
biographical encyclopedia of physicians. Ibn al-Qfp was a close
friend of his, and the two had made an agreement: If the soul is
immortal in a way that allows it to apprehend the state of beings
exterior to itself, then the first of the two to die would communicate
with the other and tell him about his lot after death. 54 And indeed,
after Yosefs death, he appeared in Ibn al-Qfti's dream, dressed in
white, and informed him that after leaving this world, the soul joins
the universal whole, whereas the body remains attached to the

52 See above, n. 36.

53 ct: Avicenna, Us Etats de I'Ame- AJ;.wal al-nafi, Risala.fi al-nafs wa-baqa'iha wa-
shaqa'iha, ed. A\:lmad Fu'ad al-Ahwani (Cairo, 1952), pp. 127-128. See also Avicenna's
De Anima (Arabic text), Being the Psychological Part qf Kitab al-Shi/a', ed. F. Rahman
(London, 1959), pp. 216-217, and the discussion of this text in Pines, "La conscience
de soi," pp. 194-216; Stroumsa, "Paradise," pp. 8-17, esp. p. 17.
54 In kana li'l-nafi baqa' ta'qilu biM ~al al-mawjadat min barij ba'd al-mawt, Ibn al-Qfti,

Ta'rib al-~ukama', ed. J. Lippert (Leipzig, 1903), pp. 393-394.

 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 331

earth. 55 To be sure, such an agreement is a topos in medieval litera-

ture, and Y osef ben Shimeon cannot be held responsible for Ibn al-
Qfp's dreams. Nevertheless, both the agreement and the content of
the dream seem to correspond to the position of Yosef ben Shimeon
as it emerges from The Silencing Epistle. Althought his opinions are
those of the philosophers, he seems to yearn for a more personal
immortality. The soul may join the universal whole, but it still finds
a way to get in touch with its loved ones.

3. Of the three persons involved in the debate, Maimonides is the

only one who fits exactly into one of the three Muslim groups-
philosophers, traditionalists, and theologians. He cares little for the
body, whose only reason for existing is to provide a tool for the soul.
He also cares little for the soul as the vital principle of the body.
Although he repeatedly uses the term "the immortality of the soul"
(baqa' al-naft), his aspirations focus on the immortality of the intellect.
In the philosophers' language, this is referred to as the conjunction
(itt~a~ of the human being with the Active Intellect. The individual,
the person as a combination of body and soul, has no place in this
blissful existence, for the conjunction annihilates the individuality of
those who reach it. Maimonides here shares the views of Muslim
philosophers, such as al-Farabi.
There are indications that, at times, al-Farabl and Maimonides
doubted that it was possibile for human beings to achieve this con-
junction. 56 In this context, it is interesting to note Maimonides' refer-
ence to the "old wives tales" (buriifat al-<aja'iz) that fill the heads of
people who have pretensions to be the wise of Israel (a clear reference
to the Gaon).57 This is the exact expression that, according to Ibn
Tufayl, was used by al-Farabl in his lost commentary on the
Nichomachean Ethics, where he denied the immortality of the soups
Nevertheless, even if Maimonides and al-Farabl doubted at times the
possibility of intellectual conjunction, they still regarded this stage as
the goal to which the philosopher must aspire.

ss Al-kullf laiJiqa bi'l-kull wa-baqiya al-juz'f jl'l-Juz', ibid., p. 394.

S6 Sh. Pines, "The Limitations of Human Knowledge According to Al-Farabi, Ibn

Bajja, and Maimonides," in Isadore Twersky, ed., Studies in MedievalJewish History and
Literature (Cambridge, MA, 1979), pp. 82-109; but see Stroumsa, "Paradise," pp. 24-
25.
S7 MTR, p. 3.
S8 Ibn Tufayl, Ijayy ibn Yaq?:tin, ed. Faruq Sa'd (Beirut, Dtir al-iifaq al-Jadfda, 1980),
p. 112.
332 SARAH STROUMSA

As to his disciple's use of Avicenna, Maimonides clearly did not

appreciate it. In his Treatise on Resurrection Maimonides counts
Avicenna's risalat al-ma'iid as one of the two supposedly philosophical
books cited by the Gaon. Maimonides remarks that this is not a
purely philosophical book. 59 By this, he probably means to stress that
the book was written with an eye to the needs of the masses, and not
only for the trained philosopher. Although Maimonides attacks the
Gaon, it seems that here, as in many other instances in the treatise,
his remark is meant for his disciple.
The same may be said about Maimonides' sour remark concern-
ing the Gaon's confusion of soul and intellect, and his sarcastic refer-
ence to the mutakallimun. 50 Not only the Gaon, but Maimonides' own
disciple as well, speaks too much of the soul and too little of the
intellect. More than once in The Silencing Epistle, as Yosef ben
Shimeon was trying to navigate his way between tradition and phi-
losophy, he was getting dangerously close to the kalam. Maimonides'
Guide, addressed explicitly to Yosef ben Shimeon, was written for
exactly this kind of person: one who is perplexed because of the
seemingly contradictory messages ofJewish tradition and philosophy,
a person who is unsure as to the value of the kalam's arguments. 51 The
Silencing Epistle shows us that several years after the completion of the
Guide, Yosef ben Shimeon was still perplexed, at least concerning the
soul and its states. Maimonides' Treatise on Resurrection testifies to his
awareness of this continuing perplexity, as well as to his bitter disap-
pointment. 52
It has been argued that Maimonides' bitter tone in the Treatise on
Resurrection results from his resentment at having to retract his opin-
ions. 53 On closer examination, however, it becomes obvious that he
retracts nothing. Whereas, at first sight, Y osef ben Shimeon seems to
present a more "philosophic" and less traditional position than the
Treatise on Resurrection, in fact the oposite is true. Ben Shimeon's Silenc-
ing Epistle is written in an emotional outburst, and is a one-dimen-
sional composition; it says exactly what it purports to be saying.
Maimonides' Treatise on Resurrection, on the other hand, reiterates the

59 MTR, p. 13.
60 Above, n. 43.
61 C£ Guide, Dedicatory Episde and Introduction (Dalalat al-IJii'inn, pp. 1-11).
62 The uncommonly frustrated and bitter tone ofMTR has already been noted by

scholars. See, for instance, Hartmann, "Crisis and Leadership," pp. 248 and 263.
63 Ibid., pp. 246-247.
 THE MAIMONIDEAN CONTROVERSY IN BAGHDAD 333

opinions of the Guide and is written in the same esoteric manner. Leo
Strauss has argued that the Treatise on Resurrection is "the most authen-
tic commentary on the Guide,"64 and, indeed, there are many parallels
between the two works. 65 It is in this sense that one must understand
Maimonides' remark that the Treatise on Resurrection is only a superflu-
ous repetition. Only a careful reading, that takes into account
Maimonides' other writings as well as the other components of the
debate, allows us to see his real intentions. While seeming to defend
himself against the communal uproar orchestrated by the Gaon,
Maimonides continues his preferred role: that of the teacher who,
while watching over the well-being of the multitudes, caters for the
few. His Treatise on Resurrection, which poses as a discussion of the
body's fate, endeavors in fact to restate the surpremacy of the soul,
i.e, the intellect. 66

Works Cited

Baneth, ''Yosef bn. Shimeon" = D. Z. Baneth, "Yosef bn. Shimeon, Maimonides'

favorite student, and Yosef bn. Aqnin," O;.ar Yehudei Sifarad 7 (1964): 11-20
(Hebrew).
Harkavi, "Fragment" = A. Harkavy, "Fragment einer Apo1ogie des Maimonidischen
ma'amar te~iyyat ha-metim," Zeitschriji for hebriiische Biblwgraphie I (1897): 125-128,
181-188.
Hartmann, Crisis and Leadership = A. Halkin and D. Hartmann, Crisis and Leadership:
Epistles rif Maimonides (Philadelphia, N ew York, and Jerusalem, 1985).
Lerner, "Maimonides' Treatise" = R. Lerner, "Maimonides' Treatise on
Ressurection," History rif Religions 23 (1984): 140-155.
Maimonides, Commentary on Ijeleq = Introduction to the Commentary on Pereq Ijeleq,
in Mishnah 'im Perush Rabeinu Moshe ben Maimon, ed. J. QafIh Gerusalem, 1965),
Seder Neziqin, I, 195-217.
- , Commentary on Avot = Introduction to the Commentary on Pirqei Avot, in Mishnah
'im Perush Rabeinu Moshe ben Maimon, ed.J. QafIh Gerusalem, 1965), Seder Neziqin,
372-407.
-, Dalalat al-~'irfn = Datalat al-~'irfn, ed. S. Munk-Y. Joel Gerusalem, 1931).
MTR = Maimonides' Treatise on Resurrection, ed. J. Finkel, Proceedings rif the American
Academy for Jewish Research 9 (1938-39) (New York, 1939).
-, Guide = The Guidefor the Perplexed, trans. Sh. Pines (Chicago, 1964).
Mu'tabar = Abu al-Barakat al-Baghdadl, al-Kitab al-mu'tabar (Hayderabad, 1358 H).

64 Leo Strauss, Persecution and the Art rif Writing (Chicago and London: 1952 [rep.

1988]), p. 73.
65 Both works treat similar subjects (such as the historical analysis concerning the

Sabeans, and the didactic intentions of God as expressed in history) and use similar
techniques, in particular, the combination of exegetical and philosophical material.
66 I wish to express my gratitude to Moshe Halbertal and Guy Stroumsa, who

read a draft of this paper and offered many valuable remarks.

334 SARAH STROUMSA

Pines, "La conscience de soi" = Shlomo Pines, "La conception de la conscience de

soi chez Avicenne et chez Abu'I-Barakat al-Baghdadi," Archives d'Histoire Doctri-
nale et Litteraire du Moyen Age, XXI (annee 29, 1954), pp. 21-98; Ipr. in Studies in
Abu'l-Baraldit al-Baghdiidf: Physics and Metaphysics (The Collected Works qf Shlomo
Pines) I (Jerusalem, 1979), pp. 181-258.
Stroumsa, "Abu al-Barakat" = Sarah Stroumsa, "On the Maimonidean Controversy
in the East: The Role of Abu al-Barakat al-Baghdadi," in H. Ben-Shammai,
ed., Hebrew and Arabic Studies in Honour qf Joshua Blau, Presented by Friends and
Students on the Occasion qf his Seventieth Birthday (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 415-422
(Hebrew).
"Repetition Superflue" = '''Repetition Superflue:' Pourquoi MaYmonide a-t-il
ecrit I' Epftre sur la Resurrection?" in P. Fenton, ed., Proceedings qf the Seventh Interna-
tional Coriference on Judaeo-Arabic (Strasbourg, 1995) (forthcoming).
"Paradise" = ""True Felicity:" "Paradise in the Thought of Avicenna and
Maimonides," Medieval Encounters 4 (1998), pp. 1-27.
J. Finkel, "Maimonides' Treatise on Resurrection: a comparative study," in S. W.
Baron, ed. Essays on Maimonides (New York, 1941), pp. 93-121.
Fred Rosner, Moses Maimonides' Treatise on Ressurection, (New York, 1982).
 PERSONA AND SELF IN STOIC PHILOSOPHY*

Hubert Cancik

Limiting the Field

Persona and self, 1tpocromov and ea:u'to, are not established, basic
terms in Stoic philosophy. The persona, the mask or role, and the self
(suum, se, ipse) do not emerge from religious experience, but rather
grow out of biology and psychology, with borrowings from theatre
and jurisprudence. I shall concentrate solely upon Stoic philosophy,
and, even more specifically, on Roman Stoicism. My focus is ancient
"anthropology." I would like to explore the borderline between reli-
gion and philosophy in Roman antiquity, and find the check-points
where one may safely pass from one to the other.
Body and soul are main actors in Greek and Roman religion. The
bodies of the gods, shaped like men and women but having special
blood, eating and drinking special food, are certainly an intriguing
topic. At religious festivals, dancing and gymnastics were on the pro-
gram. The cults of images, or of the dead, or practices of divine foror
(SEta Ilavia) produced rich experiences of body and soul.
In Greece and Rome, however, religion was but one segment of
culture. Body, soul, and self therefore became topics in medicine as
well as in biology, law, philosophy, and even grammar. These terms
and concepts were not designated as central themes and developed as
such within religion in the strict sense. Nor were they elaborated in a
(non-philosophical) theology. For instance, theatre and masks were,
to a limited degree, connected with cult, and with performances dur-
ing religious festivals. Discourse about personae, masks, however, was
not held in religion, but in the context of Stoic ethic.
Let us turn, then, to our first text .

• I should like to thank Ms. Barbel Walter (Tubingen) for helping me with biblio-
graphical problems.
336 HUBERT CANCIK

Text and Context;

The Four Personae (masks, roles) if man (Panaitios - Cicero)
(Cicero, De qfficiis 1,107. 115)

Human life is like theatre: the world is the stage, men are the actors,
marionettes, and playthings in the hands of the gods. l "Remember,"
says Epictetus, "that you are an actor in a drama, as the director
wants you to be."2 In Cicero, Nature herself appears, puts masks
upon men, and makes them play the roles of their lives. Thus, in a
restrained allegory, a picture-a quasi-technical metaphor-is intro-
duced, which was to become a central concept for the essence of
man: persona, the mask, 'person'. Cicero says:3
We should know that Nature has dressed us, so to say, with two masks.
The first of them is universal, because all of us partake of reason and of
this superiority by which we excel over the beasts, namely the capacity
for moral goodness ... The second mask, however, is specifically attrib-
uted to each individual ... To these two is added a third mask, which
some event or time lay upon us, and a fourth one which we ourselves
put on us according to our own judgment. For kingdoms, military
commands, nobility, honors, wealth, influence, and all that is opposite
to them, are governed by chance and time. But the mask which we
ourselves want to wear originates out of our (own) will.
The Romans had difficulty with the conception that one individual
should wear several masks. The helmsman, says Seneca,4 has two
masks (duas personas habet): one as a mate, the other as a passenger in
the ship he himself steers. With Kantorowicz in mind, you may im-
agine the helmsman's two bodies. 5 Cicero, as a lawyer, played three
roles, though being only one person: 6 his own, the one of his oppo-
nent, the one of the judge. A slave who belonged to different owners
had the masks of several slaves. 7
In Cicero's allegory, both semantic layers, the histrionic and the

I Plato Philebos 50b 3; Leg. 1,644d-e; 7,B03c 4ff.; Seneca Epist. BO,7; Epictetus Diss.

1,29,41fI; 2,1O,7(B); 4,2,10; Ench. 37; Muson., ep. 1,9 (Hense); Dio Chrysost. 13,19f.;
Maximos v. Tyros, Dialexis 1,lff.; 13,9; 15,l.
2 Epictetus Encheiridion 17.
3 Cicero De qfficiis 1,107; 1,115; cf. 1,97: Sed poetae quid quemque deceat ex persona

iudicabunt, nobis autem personam imposuit ipsa natura magna cum excellentia.
4 Seneca Epist. B5,35.

5 Emst H. Kantorowicz, The King's Two Bodies. A Study in Mediaeval Political Theory
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957).•
6 Cicero De oratore 2,24,102: Tres personas unus sustineo ... meam adversarii iudicis.

7 Digest. 45,3,1,4; cf. 2B,5,16.

 PERSONA AND SELF IN STOIC PHILOSOPHY 337

juridic, coincide. The tenus "own will" and "own judgment" (the
fourth mask) point clearly to juridical language.

The arrangement
Cicero numbered the series of masks, and by this procedure he in-
vites us to check the list: Is it complete? What could be added? Is the
arrangement coherent? Obviously the series proceeds from the most
general to the concrete. Nature detenuines the first two masks, for-
tune and history the third, man himself the fourth. The first persona
is universal, defining the rationality and morality of all human be-
ings. The second persona represents what is special in the body and
the mind of every single human; "dissimilarity" and "variety"
(dissimilitudo, varietas) are the keywords. The pairing of universal/indi-
vidual (KOtvOV!{owv) is a frequent pattern in Stoic argumentation,s
the "special quality" (iOt(O~ 1tOtO~, iOta 1tOto'tll~) constituting a well
defined category in the Stoic concept of quality.9
The following two personae of Cicero proceed, again, from the
more general conditions of fortune and time to the deliberate choice
made by an individual; or, from outside conditions lO that are not
under our control, to the decisions of one's own will. Chance, time,
and history shape the third mask. II With regard to some modem
conceptions of human personality, Cicero's statement carries some
weight. Still more important is the fourth mask. It is shaped by our
own judgment and our will, iudicium nostrum, nostra voluntas; one might
even say our "free will." Libera voluntas,12 assensio voluntaria,13 sua volun-
8 C£ Cicero Off. 1,31,110; Fin. 5,9,24 fT. (Stoic).
9 C£ M.E. Reesor, "The Stoic Concept of Quality," American Journal if Philology 75
(1954),40-58; id., "The Stoic Categories," ibid. 78 (1957) 63-82; c£ e.g. SVF 11 nr.
376-398, 449, 451. Names point to general qualities (e.g., horse); the proper name
(e.g., Socrates) points to a ioia 7tol6'tT]~; H. Diels, Doxographi Graeei, 463,5 (Mne-
sarchos, Stoic school leader, about 110/100 BeE), Chrysippos used the category ioia
7tol6'tT]~ to characterize the gifts of the human mind: SVF 11 nr. 1000.
!O C£ Cicero Pro Sulla 8: istam ipsam personam vehernerttem et acrern quam mihi tum tempus et
respublica imposuit iam voluntas et natura ipsa detraxit. The metaphor is almost proverbial.
II Cf. Chrysippos, in Gellius, Noet. Att. 7,2,7 (= SVF 11 nr. 1000): ingertia tamert ipsa

merttium nostrarum proinde sunt foto obnoxia, ut proprietas eorum est ipsa et qualitas.
12 Lucretius 2,251fT.; cf. Ch. H. Kahn, "Discovering the Will. From Aristotle to
Augustine," inJohn M. Dillon, A. A. Long, eds., The Qyestion if "Eclecticism." Studies in
Later Greek Philosophy (Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988),
252ff.; Don Fowler, "Lucretius on the Clinamen and Free Will," Syzetesis I (1983),
334fT.
13 Cicero Aeadernica 1,11,40: assensionern ... animorum, quam esse vult in nobis positam et
voluntariam.
338 HUBERT CANCIK

will, assent by free will are clear tenns used by

tas l4-free will, own
Roman philosophers (Lucretius, Cicero, Seneca).

Acceptance if Personaliry
Who wears these four masks? Cicero does not tell us. He does not call
the wearer of the masks a "person." He does not explain how the
four masks interact to fonn one subject. He avoids the traditional
pattern of defining man as composed of soul and body. Nor are sex
and age mentioned. In any case, the wearer of the masks is a rational
and moral being, with its own will and judgment, with mental and
physical peculiarities. This brings us very close to modem concepts of
"personality. " 15
On the other hand, the context of Cicero's allegory of masks is
practical morals, style of life. The masks should be in hannony with
each other: one's occupation should fit one's faculties, physical ap-
pearance should be appropriate to the situation. These are duties
that arise from the idea of decorum-that means, what is fitting-in a
given situation. But we must also find out which way of life we are to
choose, in order to bring our different personae to unity and hannony
in our whole life. 16
To stress this practical, educational point, Cicero adds another
allegory, the well-known story of Hercules, sitting at the crossroads
and deliberating whether he should follow the way of Virtue or that of
Pleasure. This then, practical morals and education, is the context of
Cicero's picture of the four masks-not psychology or anthropology.
Cicero presents a dense text-a detailed theory, a rich and precise
tenninology, valuable fonnulas about the "dignity of man," many
historical examples, impressive pictures, the allegory of Nature, and
the story of Hercules at the crossroads, which illustrate the fourth
mask. This is why he is considered a classic author and a pedagogue
having far-reaching influence on European education and Bildung.
Cicero's supposed Greek source, Panaitios of Rhodos, has not come

14 Seneca De benificiis 6,23,1: Sua illis (se. deis) in lege aetema voluntas est; statuerunt quae

non mutarent. C( Seneca Naturales quaestiones 2,24,2; 7,27,6.

15 John M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 187(:

"a much closer approximation to a modem concept of personality."

16 This is traditional Stoic doctrine, cf. Panaitios frg.96 and 109 (van Straaten); cf.

Forschner, Stoische Ethik, 59f. 'to cr'\)~<p'\)il~ 1tPO~ aAMAa~ Evrocrt~; Rist, above n. 15,
186( "Unity" and "harmony" were already high values for Plato, see Republic
4,443d-e; 9,588c-589b.
 PERSONA AND SELF IN STOIC PHILOSOPHY 339

down to US,17 but his treatise "On Duties" was often praised and
sometimes used-from Ovid and Seneca to Ambrosius in Milano. 18
However, I do not know any adaptation of the allegory of the four
masks; nor do I know a comparable text in ancient Christian authors.

The Self-Sense if Self

sensus Sut

The first philosopher whom I know to have speculated about the

"ego," was Chrysippos from Soloi (Cilicia, ca. 280-205 B.C.).19 In the
first book of his treatise "On the soul" he attempted to prove that the
central guiding principle of the soul Cto lwoj.tOVtKov) is not located in
the head, but in the heart. Chrysippos demonstrated this by many
proofs, and even by etymology. When, he writes, we-that is the
Greeks-say "ego," we point with a gesture to our heart, and not to
the head. And if we do not point with our fingers, the very form of
the word EYOO points to the heart. For when pronouncing EYOO, our
lower lip and the chin will point to the heart. The gesture of our
mouth saying EYOO proves that the ego and the central part of the soul
reside in the heart, not in the head. 20
It is, however, not with grammar, but with biology, that the Stoic
philosophers take their starting point when construing a principle
called "self," which is different from soul, mind, or spirit. Chrysippos,
in the first book of his treatise "On Ends," determined the basic
principle for every living system as follows: 21
17 ].M. van Straaten did not include Cic. Off. 1,107 and 115 in his collection of
Panaitios' fragments. Most scholars, however, attribute Cicero's fIrst two books as a
whole, including this special argumentation, to Panaitios; cf. Rist, above n. 15,
173ff.: "The innovations ofPanaetius." CJ. de Vogel, "The Concept of Personality
in Greek and Christian Thought," Studies in Philosophy and the History qf Philosophy 2
(1963), 20-60, esp. 30 f.
18 C£ the list of borrowings which Carl Atzert compiled in the preface of his editio

Teubneriana of Cic. Off.

19 If the wording offrg. 101 DK (= 246 Kirk-Raven) is authentic, Heraclitus was
earlier. Plutarch, adv. Coloten 20, 1118c attributes to him the formula EOtl;llcra~llv
E~aU't6v ("I inquired myself'); Plutarch understands this as a parallel to the Delphic
oracle: "Know thyself."
20 Chrysippos, De anima I in Galen, De Hippocratis et Platonis placitis Il 2 (SVF Il m.
895; cf. ms. 883, 884, 892).
21 Chrysippos, SVF III m.178. For the history and structure of the doctrine of
prima conciliatio, see S. G. Pembroke, "Oikeiosis," in A.A. Long, ed., Problems in Stoi-
cism (London: The Athlone Press, 1971), 114-149; Forschner, above n. 16,142-159;
Engberg-Pedersen, Theory qf Oikeiosis (Aarhus: 1990).
340 HUBERT CANCIK

The first impulse that a living being has is to preserve itself; nature
endears it to itself from the beginning. The first inclination for every
animal is its own constitution ("system") and the sense (or, conscious-
ness) thereof. It is not probable that an animal is alienated from itself.

In several places Cicero recapitulates the doctrine: 22 "As soon as an

animal is born ... it is endeared to itself and inclined to preserve itself
... they have sense of themselves and therefore love themselves."
Nature, says Cicero,23 has, from the beginning, endowed every
kind of living being with the impulse "to protect itself, its life and
body." "To preserve itself' ('tTlpelv £0:\)'t6, se conseroare), and "to pro-
tect itself' (se tuen)-theoretically distinguished from life and body-
means to preserve the identity of the living system by regulation. The
Stoic philosophers recognized that self-preservation presupposes self-
perception, the consciousness of the required standard, and an im-
pulse to produce this optimal status for the system. All the expres-
sions that I use in order to describe reflexivity, were invented by the
Ancients: sensus SUi,24 (r\)vdoTl<H~ or cruvaicreTlcrl~,25 constitutionis suae
sensus. 26 One should add amor sul~CP1A.-aU'tia-"love of oneself,"
which means the general tendency of living systems to seek their best
possible status and to maintain it. 27
Some elements of these observations and theories later found a
place in Christian writers. Tertullian, who, like the Stoics, affinns the
corporeality of the soul, asserts that the soul has "from the beginning
a sense of itsel£"28 For Augustine, self-love, which tends to preserve
one's life and wellbeing, is a natural impulse that is morally good. 29

unus idem--suum se (Seneca)

In a sennon "On the Endurance of the Wise Man" (De constantia
sapientis, ca. 41/56 CE) L. Annaeus Seneca, a Stoic philosopher in
22 Cieero Definibus 3,5,16; ef. 4,7,16: omnis natura vult esse conservatrix sui.
23 Cieero Off. 1,4,11 f.
24 Cieero Fin. 3,5,16.
25 Chrysippos, SVF III nr.178; cf. Forsehner, above n. 16, 146 n. 28; de Vogel,
above n. 17, 24.
26 Seneea Epist. 121,5.

27 Cf. Taurus in Gellius, Noctes Atticae 12,5,7: Natura omnium rerum quae nos genuit,

induit nobis inolevitque... amorem nostri. Similar phrases are used in Plato (e.g., Rep.
lO,621e) and Aristode (e.g., Nichomachean Ethics 9,8). Cf. Kajetan Gantar, "Zur Ver-
innerliehung der Reflexivpronomina in der grieehisehen philosophisehen Spraehe,"
Wiener Stud. 15 (1980), 40-55, 51ff.
28 Tertullian De came Christi 12 (SVF 11 nr. 845): sensum sui ab initio; notitiam sui.

29 Augustine De doctrina christian a 1,23,22; 1,26,27; De trinitate 14,14,18; De civitate dei

lO,3.
 PERSONA AND SELF IN STOIC PHILOSOPHY 341

Rome and a contemporary of Paul of Tarsus, tries to convert his

Epicurean friend Serenus to Stoicism. 30 According to the conventions
of literary genre, Seneca combines instruction with polemics and
admonition, theory with examples from myth and history. He calls a
notorious scene to mind-the destruction of Megara by Demetrios
Poliorcetes (307 BCE). Stilpon, a philosopher in Megara and a precur-
sor of Stoicism, lost his children, his home, and his fortune in the
ruins. To the triumphant victor, who asked him whether he had lost
anything, Stilpon answered, with what was to become a proverb: 31
"omnia mea mecum sunt, all mine is with me." Seneca interprets the
story in great detail, but compresses and generalizes the proverb to
an abstract formula: 32 "There is no reason to doubt, (a) that some-
body who is born as a man can ascend over human turmoil... (b) and
that he can remain one and the same in diverse events: (c) a man
who does not believe that anything belongs to him except he him-
self." In Latin: unus idemque inter diversa (est) neque quicquam suum nisi se
(putat) esse.
Formulas like this abound in Seneca's works. They aim at an
abstract center of unity, identity, even singularity. The formula
"suum esse" is juridical language; it evokes personal property, which
is inviolable and permits free disposal according to the owner's will
and power (voluntas, potestas).33
These formulas are more abstract, general, and empty than other
expressions which try to determine a center of personality beyond
body and soul. They are not pictures or metaphors like "inner man"
or "inner space," but denote relations. In this respect, personal pro-
nouns are especially suited for being philosophically charged.
The metaphor of space was used by Heraclitus to denote the depth
of the soul. 34 It grew into a huge labyrinthic underground world, to
harbor the recollections of Aurelius Augustinus. 35 The inner man (0
£v'tOC; (iv9po)1toc;) appears in Plato's Republic. 36 Pronominal expressions
30 This interpretation was proposed by R. Waltz, La vie politique de Seneque (Paris:

1909), 101 ff.; cf. id., Introductory notes to Seneca, De constantia sapientis, De tran-
quillitate animi, De otio, in Waltz's edition ("Les belles Lettres," Paris 1959).
31 Diogenes Laertios 2,115; Seneca Const. sap. 5,6.

32 Seneca Const. sap. 6,3.-Supra humana: cf. 16,l.

33 Property: see Seneca De benificiis 7,4,1-5; 7,5,1; 7,6,2: Sic sapiens animo universa

possidet, iure ac dominio sua; cf. 6,6,lf.; 6,11,3 (voluntas).

34 Heraclitus frg. 45 DK.

35 Augustine Confissions l.X.

36 Some references for "inner man" and "self' in Plato: Apologia 36c; Charmides

162bff.; 164d; 166b; Laches 179d; Leg. 1,626e; Rep. 4,443d-e; 9,588c-589b; 1O,621c;
1heait. 168a. For Stoic examples before Seneca, see SVF 11 nr.458; nr.901; nr.903.
342 HUBERT CANCIK

denoting the "ego" are also to be found much earlier, in Seneca they
assume some prominence. "Know thyself," pronounced the Delphic
Apollo; "Become who you are," wrote Pindar;37 Heraclitus gave the
oracle: "I made an inquiry into myself."38
In Seneca, however, all these metaphors and formulas occur in-
creasingly often, the reflexive pattern being the peak of this develop-
ment. A few examples:
(a) in animo, in ipsa mente, intra se,39 extemalintema;4D deus intemus;4l
(b) animo possidere;42 alienuml suum;43
(c) in te ipse secede;44 tecumfugis;45 te tibi amicum redde; gaudium ex te tibi;46
sibi ipse animus haereat -"the mind of the wise man should stick to
itself';47
(d) se habere,48 suum.fieri,49 suum ess~O-to have oneself, to be oneself,
to become oneself, to be one's own; and finally:
(e) persona,5l unus, idem 52-mask/role, one and the same in diverse
situations.
These examples, the frequency of which nobody has ever counted,
certainly point to an increasing interiorization of morals. The interpre-
tation of this tendency, however, is uncertain to me. Is it a matter of
style, of paraenetic language? Or does this linguistic tendency point to
a philosophical insight into the structure of the human mind? Does the
frequent use of "we, self, own" point to a new and deeper center of
human personality? Does Seneca, by using reflexive formulas, stress
self-reference as a basic principle of human life and mind? And finally:
Are these reflexive, autopoietic patterns the consequence of, or the
reaction to, Platonic influence in later Stoicism? Is the disappearance

37 Pindar Pyth. 2,72: YEV01' oto<; ecrcrt Ilcx6rov ..

38 Herael. frg. 101 DK (= 246 Kirk-Raven).
39 Seneea Epist. 74,1.
40 Seneea, passim.
41 Seneea Epist. 41,1f.; ef. Cieero Tusc. 1,30,74: ille in nobis deus.
42 Id., De beniftciis 7,6,2; ef. Epist. 74,16; 81,5.
43 Id., Epist. 8.
H Ibid., 25,6 (following Epieurus).
45 Ibid., 28,2.
46 Ibid., 124,24.
47 Id., Tranq. animi I,ll; ef. Cieero Tusc. 1,31,75: animum ad se ipsum advocamus.
48 Seneea Epist. 42,10; 98,2; 124,24.
49 Ibid., 75,18.
50 Seneea, passim.
SI Seneea Epist. 85,35; 120,22.
52 Id. Const. sap. 6,3: unus idemque inter diversa.
 PERSONA AND SELF IN STOIC PHILOSOPHY 343

and devaluation of body and flesh that we can observe in Seneca to a

certain degree correlated to the growth of the self?53
The reflexive patterns in Seneca's writings did not condense into a
new term that could have been seitudo or ipsitas. But there is a well-
known term describing reflexivity in the realm of morals, a Latin
word borrowed from the Greek, which found its way into all Euro-
pean languages, and even, once, into the Christian Bible: consciential
(JuvEiOll<HC;, conscience, Gewissen. Seneca explains: 54 "Their con-
science accuses them and shows themselves to them" coarguit illos
conscientia et ipsos sibi ostendit.
Conscientia mirrors the positive and the negative qualities and deeds
of a person. 55 The word implies the nuance of consciousness-a ne-
ologism of the seventeenth century. 56 Should one go into the solitude
and enjoy the conscientia to have all goods inside oneself?57 Conscience
is our witness (testis), always watching US,58 we cannot escape it: 59
"There is no advantage for you in having no accessory (conscium),
since you have your conscience."
Seneca conceived his idea of conscience from philosophical
schools, from the tradition of self-observation established in Rome,60
and from public morals into which the term had already been ab-
sorbed. 61 As far as I can see, he did not connect the Stoic doctrine of
natural self-perception and self-love in the beginnings of every living
being, the sensus constitution is suae, with the moral self-control by con-
science. 62
Seneca's work is imbued with the tendency toward a more "spir-

53 See Cicero Tusc. 1,30,74£: Tota ...philosophorum vita... commentatio mortis est... nam haec

quidem vita mors est....

04 Seneca Epist. 97,16; cf. De vita beata 2,2; 20,4 e.a.-The first reference of the

adjective is in Plautus Mostellaria 544; of the noun in Rhetor. ad Herenn. 2,5,8.

'5 Seneca Epist. 59,16: ex virtutum conscientia; 81,20f.: conscientiam grati; cf. Benif.
3,17,3; 4,21,5.
56 See H. Cancik-Iindemaier, "Gewissen," in Handbuch religionswissenschafllicher

GrundbegrijJe, vol. 3 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1993), 17-31: John Locke, An Essqy on

Human Understanding, 1690.
'7 Seneca Epist. 7,12 (last sentence of the episde) and 8,1 (first sentence): Introrsus
bona tua spectent and ... secedere et conscientia esse contentum.
'8 Ibid., 11,8-10: testis and custos.
'9 Seneca frg. 14: quid tibi prodest non habere conscium habenti conscientiam? C£ De ira
1,14,3: respiciens.
60 See Seneca Tranq. an. 2,7-12.

61 One example only: Cicero, Pro Cluentio 159: conscientiam mentis suae quam a dis

immortalibus accepimus, quae a nobis divelli non patest; ....

62 See Seneca Epist. 124.
344 HUBERT CANCIK

itual," "internal," "voluntaristic" concept of morals and religion. 63

The reflexive patterns are part of this tendency, for instance: 64 "Only
he who is in possession of himself has lost nothing: but who has ever
succeeded in having himself?" His most important work, the Letters
to Lucilius, starts with a breathless, hurried pronouncement: 65 "Do
so, my friend, free yourself for you," followed by the strange conse-
quence, "and collect and keep the time .... " This introductory letter
deals with self and freedom with regard to time, since "all things are
someone else's, only time is ours."
The last letter of the whole work (nr. 124) ends in a well-known
reflexive formula: 66 "Know that you will be happy (blessed, beatum)
when all joy comes to you out of yourself..you will be perfect then,
when you have yourself"
From this philosophy emerges the criticism of religion, of the ex-
ternal rites, of image worship and, of course, mythology. One of
Seneca's mottoes is: "He worships God who knows him-By know-
ing him, he worships"-deum colit qui novit. On the other hand, this
"perfect man" may be canonized;67 he rises above human affairs, he
imitates God and, by this, becomes "himself' and "perfect. "68

Conclusion
In conclusion, I would like to present three endnotes: a note on
grammar, a short story, and, since we are in the Jacob Taubes
Center, a note on contemporary politics.
1. Grammar first: The Stoic treatises that I presented-Cicero, On
Duties; Seneca's Letters to Lucilius-were read by Christian authors,
copied, excerpted, and also read in the Middle Ages. Guilleaume de
Conches (twelfth century) inserted 165 quotations from Cicero's De

63 Rist, above n. 15, chap. 12: Knowing and Willing. Cf. Seneca Epist. 80,4: OJiid

tibi opus est, ut sis bonus? Velle; 81,13: scientia illi (the fool) potius quam voluntas desit: velle non
discitur-"willing need not be learned"; 95,57: actio--voluntas.
64 Seneca Epist. 42,10: OJii se habet nihil perdidit: sed quoto cuique habere se contingit.

63 Ibid., 1,1: ltaJac, mi Lucili: vindica le tibi, et tempus ... collige et serva ... (3) Omnia aliena

sunt, tempus tantum nostrum est.

66 Ibid., 124,24.

67 Ibid., 124,21, 23f. Note that the themes "time" and "progress" link this epistle

to the first one.

68 See Hubert Cancik/Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier, "Senecas Konstruktion des

Weisen. Zur Sakralisierung der Rolle des Weisen im l.]h. n.Chr.," in Aleida Ass-
mann, ed., Weisheit. Archiiologie der literarischen Kommunikation (M unchen: Fink, 1991),
205-222.
 PERSONA AND SELF IN STOIC PHILOSOPHY 345

qificiis in his "Moralium Dogma Philosophorum."69 One could add

several other authors to demonstrate the permanence of Stoicism in
Latin-speaking Europe, and therein the reception of Stoic ideas of
the self, the body, the soul, and persona. 70
More impressive, I hope, than a fairly long catalogue, is the recol-
lection of the deep, internal influence of ancient concepts by means
of grammar. When our grandchildren learn at school to conjugate
"the first person, the second person" they learn the ancient concepts
of 1tpocrO)1tOV / persona. Greek and Latin grammarians distinguished
between transitive and intransitive verbs, personal and reflexive pro-
nouns, and they recognized these differences and gave them the
names we use up to the present day:7l "persona transitiva-persona
reciproca-persona intransitiva/ai)'to1t(X.eE'i~-tiAA01taeE'i~; hoc est in alias
passionem facientes nominaverunt; aiytoltlxena-the reflexivity of action
to the acting person."
2. Now the story: Some years before the Trojan War (1194-1184
BCE according to ancient chronology), Narkissos, son of Kephisos and
Leiriope, went to a pool near Thespiai in Boiotia. 72 N arkissos gazed
into the pool, saw himself and-thus we are told by avid-recog-
nized himself. What did he see? In any case, he became the first
philosopher and, in a sense, the inventor, of the self. The story, as is
known, ends with the boy's metamorphosis into a flower. Before that,
however, he had been warned by an oracle of the Delphic Apollo:
"He should not know himself'-se non noverit. Who then, is self?
Cicero found a different, classical, answer. Apollo, he says,73 gives
the advice to know yourself; that means, to look with one's own mind
upon one's mind: animo ipso animum videre. If you recognize your mind,
you will know yourself.
The story shows how, in mythology, the paradoxical aspects of the
problems of "self'-reflexivity, "self-reference,"-were meditated on.
69 John Holmberg, ed., Das Moralium Dogma Philosophorum des Guilleaume de Conches.

Lateinisch, al!fran::,bsisch und mittelnieder.frankisch (Uppsala, 1929). Cf. N.E. Nelson, Essays
and Studies in English and Comparative Literature, 11. "Cicero's de qjJiciis in Christian Thought":
300-1300 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 1933), 59-160; Ph. Delhaye,
"L'enseignement de la philosophie morale au XII' siecle," Med. Studies II (1949), 77-
99. The doctrine of the four personae (Cicero, De qfJ. 1,107 and 115) is not quoted by
Guilleaume. I do not know a special work on the influence of Cicero's "On duties"
in the history of European ethics and anthropology.
70 See M. Spanneut, Permanence du stoicisme (Gembloux: Duculot, 1973).

71 Apollonios Dyskolos, De syntaxi (ed. Uhlig-Becker, 11 2, 1910), 203£, 402f.; id.,

De pronominibus (ibid., 11 1), 44ff.; Priscianus 13,23.
72 Pausanias 9,31,7; avid Met. 3,339-510.

73 Cicero Tusc. 1,22,52.

346 HUBERT CANCIK

3. And finally, a note on politics, remembering with reverence the

passionate enthusiasm of Jacob Taubes, who programmatically
merged political theology with the analysis of religion ("Religionstheorie
und Politische Theologie").
While I was preparing this paper, meditating quietly upon the
principle of life, the autonomous self, the discovery of personality, the
archeology of conscience, Iwmo internus, and several more flowers of
this kind, some committees of the European Union at Brussels, pre-
tending to develop a modem 'bio-ethic', proposed to legalize medical
experiments with human embryos, zygotes, and foetuses, and with
mentally-handicapped persons. 74 It was decided that these persons
need not be informed about the experiments; in many cases, for
obvious reasons, they could not be informed. All parties in the na-
tional parliament at Bonn protested. The Brussels' committees made
some cosmetic alterations and are again trying to legalize the so-
called bio-ethical concepts; the debate will go on.
I shall not go into details; but, having once been a member of the
working group called by Jacob Taubes, "Religionstheorie und
Politische Theologie," I cannot refrain from mentioning an acute
problem that must overshadow every consideration of persona and self
in Stoic philosophy.

Select Bibliography
Daring, Klaus and Theodor Ebert, eds., Dialektiker und Stoiker. :(,ur liigik der Stoa und
ihrer Vorliizifer (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1993)
Engberg-Pedersen, Troels, The Stoic Theory qfOikeiosis (Aarhus: University Press, 1990)
Erskine, Andrew, The Hellenistic Stoa. Political Thought and Action (London: Duckworth,
1990)
Forschner, Maximilian, Die stoische Ethik (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981)
Inwood, Brad, Ethics and Human Action in Early Stoicism (Oxford: University Press,
1985)
Rist, John M., Stoic Philosophy (Cambridge: University Press, 1969)
Tsekourakis, Damianos, Studies in the Terminology qf Early Stoic Ethics (Wiesbaden:
Steiner, 1974)
Vemant, Jean-Pierre, L'indwidu, la mort, l'amour. Soi-meme et l'autre en Grece ancienne
(Paris: 1989)
Voelke, Andre-:Jean, L'idie de volonte dans le stoicisme (paris: Presses universitaires de
France, 1973)
Voge1, CJ. de, "The Concept of Personality in Greek and Christian Thought,"
Studies in Philosophy and the History qf Philosophy 2 (1963), 20-60
74 See FranlifUrter Rundschau, 7 October 1994; 24 February 1995; 2 March 1995. To

the same context belong the theses of Prof. Singer, whose "Praktische Ethik" was
published in German translation in 1984; see FranlifUrter Rundschau, 2 November 1994
(interview with P. Singer).
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM,
CHRISTIAN PERSON

John M. Rist

This is a paper about the earlier history of a set of ideas which later
came to form a specific tradition. The later tradition is the Christian
tradition from Augustine to Aquinas which I view as a particular
continuation, though not the only, let alone the only possible con-
tinuation of the earlier tradition which is my present subject and
which ran in Greco-Roman antiquity from Plato to Plotinus.
This is also a paper about how philosophers talk past one another
in such a way as to appear effective against their predecessors both to
themselves and to others, including those others who in later times-
hopefully as a guide and source for further progress-attempt to
chronicle and tabulate their achievements. It is not difficult to think
of cases where a philosopher believes himself to be refuting an incon-
venient theory when in fact he is discussing something else. One of
the more effective ways of giving the impression that a philosophical
thesis has been refuted, or shown to imply some sort of unintelligible
premiss, is to ignore it and redescribe the subject matter. Hobbes and
Moore were good at this.
The thesis with which I am now concerned, originally though
indirectly offered by Plato, and designed to solve some fundamental
puzzles, is that the best sort of answer to the question "What is man"
is that he is some kind of animal capable of moral decision making.
The philosopher who sometimes ignored an answer of this sort and
substituted a different one was Aristotle. I It was Plotinus who par-
tially reinstated the original question and developed his answer more
explicitly as something now more or less recognizable as a theory
about personal identity, while Augustine, in appropriating Plotinus to
the service of Christianity, added a new and radical dimension to the
claims of Plato and Plotinus while still failing to do justice, and per-
haps believing that it is impossible to do justice, to the alternative
lOne of the few contemporary writers to pursue similar questions, though not
always to similar conclusions, is M.M. McCabe in her Plato's IndividUflfs (Princeton
University Press, I 994) 263-300.
348 JOHN M. RIST

Aristotelian description of man as a soul viewed as the inseparable

form of a living body possessed of organs.
I could argue further-though I cannot do so here-that in at-
tempting to add a greater dose of Aristotelianism to Augustine's ac-
count, Aquinas in turn failed to do justice to Augustine's theological
thesis, which he held to make philosophical sense, that a strict ac-
count of personal identity, and therefore of the nature of each indi-
vidual man, cannot yet be given, indeed that it can only be given in
hope by the philosopher and in faith by the theologian.
Two further preliminary points, one historical, the other theoreti-
cal, should be added. The first is that I am making no special claims
about the uniqueness of the tradition I am discussing; the develop-
ments that I can chronicle, and to which I shall refer in this tradition,
could, I suppose, appear elsewhere in historical time; maybe they
have actually done so. That is not my concern. My theoretical point
is of more interest. It is probably the case that in philosophy and
indeed in human thought more generally one can ask more questions
than one can answer. By that I do not want to suggest that unanswer-
able questions are always non-questions, reflecting conceptual mud-
dles in the mind of the questioner, as though he were to ask "Why is
red green?", or "What was God doing before he created the world?",
or "How many angels can stand on the head of a pin?". I mean
rather that we have no reason to assume a priori that the human
mind is capable of understanding the answer to every real question: it
is not unreasonable to suppose that there are questions which the
unassisted human mind is incapable of proposing to itself and that
there are kinds of truth of which the unassisted human mind cannot
attain certainty or understanding.
The latter possibility is the more immediately important, since it
was the view of Augustine, as of many early Christian writers, that
good philosophers often reach an impasse because they have no
means of acquiring the sort of information required to complete their
enquiries. Origen thought that Stoics had reached an impasse over
the problem of evil because they had no access to the theological fact
of the fall of the angels (Contra Celsum 4.62-70). Augustine thought
that what we would call problems about personal identity could not
be solved without the knowledge that we are somehow "one in
Adam" and therefore potentially "one in Christ". This latter case
relates to the present discussion.
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 349

Plato proposed his so-called theory of Forms in the hope and expec-
tation of solving a whole range of philosophical problems, though
perhaps above all the problem of the slipperiness of moral and politi-
callanguage. He worried that a political thug, ordering the killing of
an unarmed prisoner, might reproach his soldiers with cowardice if
through some qualm of conscience they hesitated over an invitation
to murder; or with lack of manliness if they shrank at rape. Despite
the urgency of such problems in Plato's mind (and in the minds of
many of his contemporaries), however, it is easy to see why an
American scholar in the thirties praised Plato for what he called the
"philosophical economy" of the theory of Forms, 2 an economy
which many of us would now think of as Procrustean.
I am not immediately concerned with questions of an ontological
order about Platonic Forms, that is with whether there are, in the
first instance, non-mind-dependent objects "in the world" which
serve as fixed points of reference for those who wish to make proper
moral (and aesthetic) judgments. Those who challenge such stand-
ards (whether they be Forms or other supposedly existent metaphysi-
cal entities, such as, for example, the non-natural qualities of G.E.
Moore 3 ) have two kinds of attack at their disposal: they can ask what
kind of objects such standards could be (Aristotle was the first to
direct his fire in this way), or they can raise problems about the
faculty (however proposed) by which we claim to be able to recognize
such standards. It is Plato's response to the second challenge,
whether implicit or explicit, with which I am now concerned.
Our problem then concerns the powers of the Platonic soul, and
therefore more basically Plato's account of its nature. His account is
never monolithic, and it seems also to develop over time, not least
from the apparent soul-body dualism of the Phaedo to the so-called
tripartition of the Republic4 • During that development, however, some
of the original themes of the Phaedo are retained, and above all the
distinction which the Platonic Socrates draws in the Phaedo (98D-
99C), and which he would never repudiate, between the necessary

2 H.F. Chemiss, "The Philosophical Economy of the Theory of Ideas", AJP

57(1936) 44-56.
3 See for example J.L. Mackie, Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong (Harmondsworth:

Penguin, 1977) chapter 1.

4 For the account of tripartition which follows see J.M. Rist, "Plato says we have

tripartite souls. If he is right, what can we do about it?", in Sophies Maietores (Chercheurs
de Sagesse: Hommage a Jean Pepin (edited by M.-O. Goulet-Caze, G. Madec, D.
O'Brien, Paris: LE.A, 1992) 103-124.
350 JOHN M. RIST

conditions of his choice to remain in his Athenian prison rather than

run off to exile in Megara or Boeotia, and the "real causes" of his
decision and consequent action. What makes it possible for him to
choose between going and staying is the possession of a body with
which to walk; but the reason he stays is that he decides to do so, in
obedience to the command of his fellow-citizens.
But who or what is the "he" who makes that decision? Socrates
says that it is "1" who so decided; what he often seems (perhaps
wrongly) to imply (but not to state) in the Phaedo is that the word "1"
refers to what he calls his soul-in line with his earlier insistence in
the Gorgias that it is the soul which commands the body (465C). (Note
that this may not be quite the same position as that of the pseudo-
Platonic dialogue Alcibiades Maior (130C) where Socrates and Alci-
biades come to agree that a man is just his soul, and that his soul uses
his body".)
Leave aside the possible differences between the view that "1"
refers to my soul and that a man is simply to be identified as and with
his soul; in the tradition that we are considering it was assumed, for
better or worse, that the Alcibiades is a genuinely Platonic dialogue
and that for all practical purposes the two positions that 1 have,
though with some hesitation, attempted to distinguish, are in fact
identical. Yet even if 1 am my soul, the identification becomes more
problematic when it seems that my soul is some sort of triple entity;
that it is, whatever the non-Platonic phrase means, tripartite. At this
point 1 shall assume the approximate correctness of an argument 1
made in the Festschrift for Jean Pepin that we must take the language
of Plato's Republic seriously and note that he normally tells us not that
the soul, like the city, has three parts, but that there are three "kinds"
(eide; of souls. The word "parts" (mere; only occurs twice in the sec-
tions of book 4 of the Republic (442C5 and 444B3) where the topic is
introduced at length. What this all points to-again 1 refer to my
previous discussion-is that Plato thinks we can and perhaps nor-
mally do live (at least) three different life-styles, and that our identity
is not fixed in anyone of them. The most basic "choices" or alterna-
tives before us are the life in which reason (to be construed in the
Greek, not merely the Cartesian sense, as "understanding") deter-
mines what we shall love and hate, enjoy and find repellent, desire
5 For the inauthenticity of the Alcibiades Maior, see E. de Strycker, "L'authenticite
du Premier Alcibiade", EC 11 (1942) 135-151 and CJ. de Vogel, Rethinking Plato and
Platonism (Leiden: Brill, 1986) 185.
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 351

and shun. Remember that such a life is not without its emotions and
intense loves, but that such loves promote rather than impede our
recognition of what is genuinely and inspiringly beautiful, and which
exists "beyond" any power of mental construction, whether the mind
be ours, or, in Plato's language, that of the gods. (For the Platonic
gods are somewhat hyperbolically to be identified as human souls
which have not fallen, and somehow cannot fall, into matter, but
which retain their immortality, as the Phaedrus would have it, in virtue
of their unbroken recognition of the eternal and unchanging Forms.)
The principal alternative to such a godly life, according to Plato, is
what I would dub the Humean option, in which, roughly speaking,
reason is (and ought only to be) the slave of the passions. Those who
live such lives will vary in their specific behaviour. They will become
law-abiding entrepreneurs and hommes moyens sensuels in a well-
ordered community controlled by philosopher-kings; and ruthless
and uncontrolled money-makers, perhaps doubling as womanizers or
less mainline sexual freebooters if the state gradually drifts into such
uncontrolled licence as logically, if not actually, will find its perverse
completion and "unity", after some sort of Hobbesian war of all
against all, in the unabashed and uncontrolled tyranny of the even-
tual victor.
We, Plato thinks, have these two extreme possibilities (as well as
various intermediate options) within our own psyche; as presently
constituted, we are a set of conflicting selves, a sort of Humean
bundle. But our condition, or at least the condition of some of us-
which raises an interesting point which I cannot now pursue-may
not be irretrievable. At least in the Republic (and perhaps to a lesser
extent in the Phaedrus) there is the possibility that given radical
enough changes in social structures (such as the destruction of the
traditional family and the abolition of private property for the noblest
natures), then a type of human can be developed who will possess not
a variety of kinds of soul, that is, a set of possible selves, but a single
and invariable excellence of character governed, like the gods, by
experience and understanding of the moral dimensions of the uni-
verse. To these, and only to these, can the governance of society be
entrusted.
Later on Plato became convinced that such educational successes
could not be achieved; by the end of his life, when he was writing the
Statesman and the Laws, the philosopher kings have receded to the
world of wishful thinking. Plato no longer expects to develop a guard-
352 JOHN M. RIST

ian immune to the temptations of supreme power. More seriously and

troublingly there are indications in the Republic itself, and in the
Phaedrus, that his own theory of human nature, if developed with care,
should have already ruled out the philosopher-king. Once Plato has
introduced the notion that we are a bundle of possible life-styles, he is
committed to the belief, explicit in the Phaedrus, that dereliction from
goodness is possible for every human being. We can see the problem
looming in Republic 10 (611-612) where Plato leaves it as an open
question whether the "true nature", or "original nature" of our soul is
ultimately pluriform or uniform. His apparent uncertainty perhaps
originated from more rigorous thinking about the position set out in
the Phaedo, for if we are our souls and our souls are "uniform"
(monoeides), then how do they ever become so entangled, say, in the
body that in this life we always have the possibility of selecting the
"Humean" or consumerist life-style? Plato, recall, does not merely
think that we are tempted to go for such a life, but that such a life-style is
already, in more than mere potentiality, within us. The point may be
made clearer by an example: one is not in fact tempted by vodka if one
has no weakness for vodka. In the Phaedrus (253C-256A) we read of the
brutal "education" of the "black horse"; he is to be savagely reined in,
humbled by violence and governed by fear. Yet though subdued he
can never be eliminated or wholly transformed. Plato probably
thought that his continuing evil nature is caused by our present exist-
ence as physical objects among physical objects. If so, he has confused
the occasion of wrongdoing, namely the bottle of vodka, with the
weakness for vodka which is a weakness of the soul. Here at least lies
one of the differences between "our" souls and those of the gods, for
the souls of the gods, though still "tripartite" are somehow also unified
in goodness. (Similar confusions can often be identified in North
American arguments about gun-control: gun-lobbyists regularly use
the tendentious slogan, "It's criminals, not guns, that kill people".)
There are many interesting further lines of enquiry at this point,
but I want to concentrate on two theses about human nature which
I take to be fundamentally Platonic, and then to compare them with
Aristotle's mature account (or rather accounts) of what it is to be a
man. The first thesis, which underlies all that we have previously
said, is that it is curiously human, and therefore an identifying mark
of humanity,6 that we are living creatures capable (to varying de-
6 For identifying marks, rather than definitions, in Platonic dialogues, see origi-
nally R. Robinson, Plato's Earlier Dialectic2 (Oxford: University Press, 1953).
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 353

grees) of making moral decisions-a moral decision being roughly a

decision about what is good which involves reasoned action not de-
termined by immediate concern with pleasure or pain (Socrates
shows how to deal with the one in the Symposium, the other in the
Phaedo, the reverse of the coin.). The second thesis is that although it
is satisfactory to see that we are our souls in the sense that each of us
is to be identified primarily as a decision-maker, the fact that we have
to make moral decisions at all, and that we cannot merely assume the
infallibility of such decisions, is to be explained by a theory that we
are insufficiently at one or harmonized with ourselves; or that we are
still to some however little degree not merely playing different roles
(our home life, public life, sex life, etc.) but that we are different
possible persons, though a single possible person may be more or less
dominant; or again that we are more or less fully integrated bundles
of characters, while the gods are "all of a piece".
Any reader of Aristotle should immediately recognize that none of
this much resembles what Aristotle, when he treats the matter more
formally, especially in the De Anima, holds us to be. 7 Yet there are
several different accounts of human beings to be gleaned from Aris-
totle. At the biological level one can recognize that this animal is a
human being by discovering whether its parents are both human
beings, just as Athenians determined who was an Athenian by check-
ing that his or her parents were both Athenians. But this does not
take us very far. If Socrates is a human being since his parents were
both human beings, one can go on to ask (or to assume) that he will
be in possession of precisely those features of his parents which en-
able us to identify them as human beings as well as more generally as
animals. That is what Aristotle does, and he determines that the
common faculty that must be present in any human being is some
sort of thinking capacity (to dianoetikon, nous, etc.). If there are, and
there are, animals which are born from human beings and look like
human beings but do not possess, or possess inadequately, this capac-
ity or capacities, they will not be human beings in this second, more
restrictive sense; they will be what I have called elsewhere "mani-
mals". 8 In the Politics and the biological writings Aristotle seems to
think of this specially human capacity as the power to deliberate (HA

7 Note McCabe's comment (see note 1) (p.269): Aristode has missed the point of
Plato's analysis.
8 On manimals see ].M. Rist, The Mind rif Aristotle (Toronto: Toronto University
Press, 1989) 249-250.
354 JOHN M. RIST

1, 488B24, c( Pol.l,1260AI3), and that power is presumably to be

identified, as in the Ethics, with the ability to determine the best
means towards a determined end. Since in the Ethics Aristotle often
talks rather platonically about doing things heneka kalou (for the sake of
what is properly inspiring),9 we can see that man is beginning to look
quite platonic too: he is a being capable of deliberating, like Socrates
in prison, about the right immediate steps towards what he believes
to be the best active state of his moral self, that is towards eudaimonia.
Notice that virtually nothing is left in Aristotle of the Platonic
problems about whether we are one or many, whether we are a
bundle of roles or characteristics or just one person, which is qf course
what we physically appear to be. That would suggest that anything like the
Platonic claim that we are somehow disintegrated divine beings has
more or less disappeared-which at least frees Aristotle from the
need to account for how we came to be in our disintegrated state. Yet
the price for that freedom may be too high: Aristotle, for all his
fascinating treatment of acrasia in the Ethics, has lost the poignancy of
that sense of division and incompleteness in the self of which Plato is
aware, and in which he seems to many of us, perhaps to all of us in
so far as we do not delude ourselves, to be speaking the truth.
In line with this limitation we notice in the De Anima that Aristotle
largely approaches the question of our nature not in terms of our
moral nature, which I have argued is fundamental for Plato and
which resurfaces in Aristotle's biological treatises and sometimes in
the ethical and political writings, but in terms of his general meta-
physics of form and matter-which cannot but have the effect of
playing down the distinction between a human individual and an
individual of any other living species (not to speak of inorganic sub-
stances). For using "soul" to refer to the form of a living material
body, Aristotle is able to identify it as a substance and as the "first
actuality of a natural body possessed of organs" (De An. 2.412B5-6).
That tells us that we are one, that we are a substance and that we
function or operate in different ways in accordance with the different
organs (whether for nutrition, reproduction, sensation, thought, etc.)
which we possess. It is purely descriptive and ontological; it places no
emphasis on the value of the activities we pursue, in particular it has
nothing immediate to say about the importance of the fact so con-
9 For discussion see J. Owens, "The kalon in the Aristotelian Ethics", in Studies in

Aristotle, ed. D. O'Meara, Studies in Philosophy and the History of Philosophy 9

(Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 1981) 261-277.
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 355

stantly emphasized by Plato, that we are moral decision makers. It is,

in Nagel's terminologylO, a description "from nowhere", or "from the
point of view of the universe".
Nevertheless, with the admittedly important caveat that he has
nothing to say about our unity in the Platonic or psychological sense,
but concentrates entirely on our unity as physical individuals, there is
surprisingly little in what Aristotle says in these sections of the De
Anima (though there is plenty elsewhere) whichformalry coriflicts either
with what Plato says about the incarnate soul, the soul we now recog-
nize empirically in the body, or with Aristotle's more platonic line in
the biological, ethical and political texts. More broadly however, Ar-
istotle has pushed the soul into closer unity with the body, even
inviting us to raise the question which Plato can raise only to dismiss:
Am I my body? On the other hand he has made it more difficult to
raise questions about the relationship between "me" and my soul-
unless I want to solve those questions by saying that I (my soul) am
just an epiphenomenon of my body (which he does not want to say).
While many of us might be happy enough with the antiplatonic
attitude that one cannot distinguish (or that one must distinguish
much less radically) between my empirical self and what I might
become (or even in some sense be already), we may be less happy to
notice that most of the De Anima gives little guidance as to how the
soul seen as a form could (as for Aristotle it must) not only explain the
operations of the body and the bodily parts, but give them com-
mands. In the Nicomachean Ethics (6. 1143A8ff.), however, Aristotle
insists that the practical reason does give commands (cf. NE
7.1147 A); that is what differentiates it from sunesis, the mere capacity
for judgement in ethics. It is true, of course, that the Aristotelian soul
is a self-mover, which thus conveys its own movement to the body,
but Aristotle has nothing to say as to how this motion accounts for
deliberated moves as such rather than the mere capacity to move in
general. The conclusion of the practical syllogism is an action, and
that action is "moved" by a belief, and since the belief is in the soul,
the assumption must be that to hold certain beliefs is to have the
power to move the body (De Motu 434A20). Perhaps Aristotle held
that possessing this power is just part of what it is to be a soul as
form, but he certainly does not explain himself.
By pushing the unity between soul and body even closer than

10 T. Nagel, The View From Nowhere (Oxford: University Press, 1986).

356 JOHN M. RIST

Aristotle had done, and by dropping Aristotle's transcendent version

of a "mind from outside" in their explication of a pantheistic cosmos,
the Stoics brought the possibility that I can say, in a stronger sense, "I
am my body" closer, though the later members of the school, for
whatever reason, seem to have retreated somewhat from the thesis of
soul-body identity to which the earlier Stoics were more closely at-
tached. But it is only a restricted version of their ideas about the soul-
body relationship which, chiefly via Augustine, got into the Christian
tradition with which I shall end this present paper, along with a
transmuted version of the thesis that the chief part of the soul is what
they explicitly called its "ruling element" (hegemonikon). Instead of dis-
cussing such questions now, however, I shall turn to Plotinus' recon-
ciliation of Plato and Aristotle, or rather to that platonizing critique
of Aristotle by which he showed himself willing to accept into the
Platonic tradition much more of Aristotle than many of his predeces-
sors had done-and more importantly on better philosophical
grounds.
One of the principal merits of Uoyd Gerson's new book on Ploti-
nus is that he demonstrates with a wealth of examples and greater
rigour than has hitherto been achieved how Plotinus responded to
Aristotelian criticisms of the Platonic tradition, whether by Aristotle
himself or by such followers as Alexander of Aphrodisias. 11 Plotinus'
aim was not simply to refute, but to assimilate where possible and to
offer arguments hostile to Aristotle where necessary. Only a small
section of this Plotinian programme is of immediate concern, and
most of that small section is to be found in the lengthy refutations
both of Aristotelian and of Stoic treatments of the soul-body prob-
lem. In fact, the Stoic objections are, to us, though not necessarily to
Plotinus, the harder to answer; they turn on the problem of how, if
the soul is an immaterial substance while the body is material, any
genuine union between the two can occur. 12
As for Aristotle, Plotinus focusses on the notion that the soul is the
form of the body, and, as we should now expect, one of his argu-
ments relates to the problem of how an Aristotelian soul can give
commands. Notice that this is not an immediate defence of the Pla-
tonic position; it is an attempt in a longstanding Greek tradition to
offer to refute all would-be demolitions of the theory on the table. If
II L.P. Gerson, Plotinus (London: Roudedge, 1994).
12 For an introduction to the problem see ].M. Rist, "Pseudo-Ammonius and the
Soul/Body Problem in Late Antiquity", AJP 109 (1988) esp. 402-403.
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 357

the objection is defused, the thesis stands. Truth is what survives the
elenchos.1 3 Augustine regularly used this technique in his replies to
sceptics (which is why he would never wish, like Descartes, to estab-
lish a philosophical structure on the basis on truths that are known
for certain.).
Plotinus likes to quote Phaedrus 246B6: "All soul cares for the soul-
less" (4.3.1.33-34; 4.3.7.13) and to affirm that each soul directs parts
of the cosmos (4.3.6.7-8). He will say outright that by its essential
power soul is in charge of bodies and that they cannot resist its will
(4.3.10.20-22), and again that it is the function of the soul to direct
and rule (4.8.3.27). But for our present purposes what matters most
are texts like 4.7.8 5 .11-14, where Plotinus specifically argues against
what he at least took as the typically Aristotelian position in the De
Anima, that if the soul is indeed an actuality, then the opposition
between reason and desire, on which the whole Aristotelian theory of
action and practical syllogism depends, is out of the question. The
soul, if an actuality, would be a single and unbroken unity. In reject-
ing Aristotle precisely at this point, Plotinus is allowing room for the
Platonic account of man as not primarily the form of a body but the
soul of a moral agent to survive the comparative Aristotelian neglect.
And from the point of view of the Christian tradition towards which
our present discussion is directed, we know that Augustine was suffi-
ciently (and unfortunately) impressed by Plotinus' attack on the Aris-
totelian account of the soul that he was always prepared to dismiss it.
Indeed Augustine is inclined to assume a debased version of the
Plotinian polemic and to treat Aristotle's soul as though it were a
mere harmony of the bodily parts (Imm. An. 10.17).
With Aristotle's view of the soul, not to speak of that of the Stoics,
rejected, Plotinus was free to develop Plato's ideas about the soul, or
at least what Plotinus now wants to call the empirical soul, the "us",
as distinct from the real soul which always remains above, contem-
plating the Forms in the intelligible world. The most substantive
discussion is in 1.1, but the theme comes up elsewhere as well. Ac-
cepting from Plato that we cannot fully unifY ourselves, except in rare
moments, in this life, but in fact making rather little use of the so-
called "tripartite" theory of Plato himself, Plotinus resolves Plato's
dilemmas of the last book of the Republic by holding that we are both
13 For the origins of the procedure see DJ. Furiey, "Truth as What Survives the

Elenclws", in Cosmic Problems: Essays on Greek and Roman Philosophy ifNature (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1989) 38-46.
358 JOHN M. RIST

multiform and unified. The empirical "we", as Plato had also con-
cluded, is pluriform, but Plotinus, putting excessive weight on the
image of the sea-god Glaucus (He is pure good underneath but cov-
ered with the debris and detritus of the waves), is able to by-pass
Plato's hesitation about whether the soul is fundamentally uniform or
multiform. (The souls of the gods, we recall, are both.) For Plotinus
realizes that the heart-of-gold theory of mankind, the notion that
there is within us something which is divine, but not god, and which
cannot sin, is an essential feature of any genuine reconstruction of
Plato's ethics-and perhaps he knew too that is an impossible feature
for any orthodox Christian rival. 14
But Plotinus' success is bought at a Platonic price. The pearl in the
oyster (or sea-god in the grime) is in a sense a reversion to the Phaedo
-we have already noted the scant attention paid by Plotinus to the
notion of "tripartition"-and, it should be added, the even scantier
attention to the more subtle features of Plato's position. Plotinus
merely extracts that we are a bundle of lives, if that. He may even
have succumbed to the popular misreading still current in our day
that, somehow, the parts should be read much more literally. That
would leave the highest part (nous) devoid of the eros which Plato
(Republic 9, 58IB-E) so specifically insists that it needs; it would also
pave the way, at least in theory, to a belief that it is only the logistikon
which matters, which would make nonsense of Plato's tripartite gods
and suggest more strongly even than the Phaedo that our real self is
totally unhistorical: a position which Augustine was to repudiate and
which ultimately makes philosophical nonsense of the descent of the
souls to look after bodies. Unless it is part of their nature to do that,
why should they do it, unless the whole Plotinian process of descent
from the One is morally corrupt-a view Plotinus himself would
certainly not want to profess?
Plotinus sees his distinction between the empirical and the real self
as an attempt to clarifY and explain Plato's position. It has at least
two distinct philosophical advantages: it enables us to view ourselves
(again as Nagel would have it) both from our own present point of
view, and from the point of view of the universe where, as it turns
out, I am not at all what I seem now: I am really a one and many-

14 For discussion of this aspect of the clash between Platonic and Christian ethics

see J.M. Rist,"Ps-Dionysius, Neoplatonism and the Weakness of the Soul" in From
Athens to Chartres: Neoplatonic and Medieval Thought: Studies in Honour qf Edouard Jeauneau
(ed. HJ. Westra, Leiden: Brill, 1992) esp. 140-141.
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 359

though this viewpoint suggests no fleshing out of how a "one and

many" should be understood in psychological as well as merely onto-
logical terms. And it seems as if Plotinus has missed a significant
unclarity in the Phaedo itself (and elsewhere), a matter of great impor-
tance if we were to wish to develop the notion of a person as distinct
from that of a mere soul, a mere form or a mere body.
The first argument for immortality in the Phaedo (the so-called
"cyclical argument") concludes that it is impossible for all life to die
out and that therefore the souls of the dead still exist, and will return
to life in some form. The second argument (that from "recollection"),
though introducing some important new epistemological ideas, con-
cludes in an essentially similar way: our souls did exist before birth-
that is when we knew the Forms-and (by the application of argu-
ment 1 again) our souls will therefore continue to exist after death.
The difficulty with these conclusions, if they were valid, would be
that it is not clear what relationship the soul which survives has to us.
To put it in another way, is "I" merely a name for the soul-body
complex, so that even if the soul survives the dissolution of that
complex, as the Phaedo would have it, "I" would not survive. Espe-
cially parts of the third argument, from the affinity of souls with
Forms, would seem to suggest that. For it is not Socrates but his soul
which is separated from the impurities of the body (81) and lives with
the gods. Hackforth once claimed that in the first argument because
"the souls of us" are said to exist in Hades (71 E), Plato "intends his
argument to prove personal immortality". Hackforth is right that the
argument does not prove personal immortality, though apparently
wrong to think that it was intended to do SO.15
Philosophically the issue is whether all pure souls are alike, that is,
different only numerically, not qualitatively. Can we infer from the
arguments of the Phaedo that one of two "impersonal" options is
possible: either all pure souls are one, or all souls are identical. Plato
seems to prefer, in general, the second alternative. Pure souls, like
gods, are a plurality, but as the Phaedrus would have it, they are one
in goodness, though by distinguishing the "choirs" of different gods
and goddesses from one another Plato seems to suggest that there can

15 R. Hackforth, Plato's Phaedo (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955) 65;

cf. 76, where Hackforth seems to attribute to Plato the false inference that because it
is my soul which now recalls what it once knew, therefore I was then in existence.
Plato seems to be guildess of the fallacy. McCabe (see note 1) seems entangled in the
same problem as Hackforth (p. 264).
360 JOHN M. RIST

be at least a limited number of good types. But it is important that

there is no argument for that. Note that the doctrine of eternal punish-
ment does not imply a personal survival, except, and that curiously,
for the vicious. When talking of divine punishments, whether in the
Gorgias, Phaedo or Republic, Plato seems to assume that if there are such
punishments, we should be worried at the prospect. But if I am not
my soul, why should I be concerned with what happens to that? We
seem to have the strange result that evil souls (as in Phaedo 8IC8ff.)
are in some way personal, because they are still attached to the body,
and therefore can be punished through the body, but that fear of
post-mortem punishment is relieved only at the price of losing all
individual characteristics. The alternative for "me" is either non-
existence, though my soul will persist, or a most unpleasant afterlife.
Thus the only "religious" motive for living a good life will be fear; it
cannot be hope. One can see from this how no simple answer can be
given to the question: Does Plato argue for personal or impersonal
survival?
Let me put a few Platonic positions together to try to see what
Plotinus' situation in the Platonic tradition might have been. Plato,
somewhere or other, seems to advocate the following:
l. My real self (I don't like "self', but leave that aside) is something
that I cannot get in this life; it is something to strive for.
2. Since (1), then I have now no fixed identity.
But (3), I cannot have a fixed identity; only my soul (or part of it: the
pearl in the oyster) can have that, and presumably had it once when
I knew the Forms.
And (4) In so far as I am a man, it is in so far as I can make moral
choices.
Aristotle, as we have seen, certainly abandons (1) and (3) and
probably abandons (2). He retains a somewhat emaciated version of
(4) but is also concerned with a quite different idea whereby my
identity and unity are closely tied to the particular body I have,
regardless of the moral attitudes I may have to that body or the uses
to which I may put it. Plotinus then rejects Aristotle's attitude to the
body, thus compromising or denying the ontological account of our
individual unity which is the strength of Aristotle's position. That
leaves him with little room to manoeuvre.
His solution, Procrustean in terms of the range and disorder of
Plato's original insights, is to retain the separate soul, which he re-
casts as the soul above, while attempting to secure at least my reality
 PLATONIC SOUL, ARISTOTELIAN FORM, CHRISTIAN PERSON 361

as an individual, though not as a qualitatively distinct individual, by

proposing that there are Forms of individual people, such as the
Form of Socrates. 16 In doing that, he will ultimately agree with Plato
that my moral agency-which makes me an empirical man-has no
ultimate but only provisional significance, since such agency is tied to
historical change and contingency. It may help me to escape history
(though individual moral acts will not immediately be undertaken for
that reason, but because they are good in themselves), but Plotinus
will reaffirm Plato's view that personal individuality, as Aristotle had
seen in a more enthusiastic way, only occurs when my soul, or better
"I", am somehow (but how?) in a body.
It is not difficult to identify at least one good reason why Plotinus
must have found this solution almost irresistable. If I am more than
my soul, namely my soul when somehow attached to a body (which
I need to be as an active moral agent) but what is more than my soul
perishes at death, then I must perish at death whatever happens to
what I now call "my" soul. Thus if I am to survive, then my body
must survive; I have at least intimated that Aristotle would have
subscribed to that too.
But why is it not enough if just the soul survives? We have already
identified at least two reasons: (1) in that case personal identity is not
only not yet achieved, as we have seen Plato at times suggest; it does
not exist and does not matter. Only our soul, with which if we are
good we shall lose touch, will survive. (Oddly enough this looks a bit
like Parfit's solution to problems of personal identity. 17); (2) since our
individual moral lives, like our bodies in which they are lived out, are
mere means to the benefit not of us but of our souls, they have no
intrinsic merit. No liberated and pure soul would want to know or
hear of perfectly virtuous behaviour, for such behaviour would be of
concern only in the world of bodies and history.
In concluding with a few words about what Augustine made of all
this, I have to start by saying that if we are really pearls in the oyster,
or if we have the Pelagian capacity to drive and torment ourselves to
heaven in virtue of a pure and untainted inner core of substance,
then, as Plotinus held, history is of no ultimate significance, for how-
ever we came by our historical state we are finally independent of

16 The extended debate about Forms of individuals is best approached through

A.H. Armstrong, "Form, Individual and Person in P1otinus", Dionysius 1 (1977) 49-
68.
17 D. Parfit, Reasons and Persons (Oxford: University Press, 1984).
362 JOHN M. RIST

historical change, and finally independent of a body. If, however, we

are, as Augustine held, like men not legless, for then we could not
walk at all, but seriously lamed and in need of support, then our
future depends on the nature of our life in historical, and therefore
bodily, time. As Plato had seen, we would be no nearer (yet) to
knowing fully who we are, for in the language of the tradition, we are
still to some degree many potential people, with many potential des-
tinies. But if it is to be our destiny, that is, if the only (unplotinian)
destiny is that of the soul-body mix, then the survival of the body,
and not merely of the soul, is as much a necessity for personal sur-
vival as it is for the very existence of persona itself, the soul-body mix
that "we" are. Note that the claim is not, as with Plotinus, that this
mix is what we are now, but that it is all that we could be. To make
sense of personal identity is only possible, that is, if the survival of the
body, as well as that of the soul, is possible. Naturally those philoso-
phers, like Parfit, who deny any kind of survival, are now coming
round to seeing that traditional "solutions" of problems of personal
identity are not possible; as they put it, "personal identity is not what
matters".18 And how could it matter, except to a self-deceiver, if it
does not and cannot exist?
I began by saying that Christian theologians like Origen and Au-
gustine claim that philosophers often come up against brick walls
because they have insufficient data with which to work. That may be
because the human mind is not capable, on its own, of demonstrating
premisses which are necessary if the truth is to be discovered. It was
two such non-demonstrable premisses, that of the Incarnation and
the Resurrection of the body, which enabled Augustine, as he be-
lieved, to make sense of the Platonic insights about the fact that we
do not yet have personal identity, though such identity is possible, in a
series of proposals beyond the range of the Platonic tradition, but,
Augustine would have held, intelligible to Platonists once expounded.
In his own incomplete account of the persona (I'll translate that as
person), Augustine thinks he can resolve Plato's dilemmas and incor-
porate his insights, by claiming that we are not souls, let alone forms,
but persons. What is a person? We do not entirely know yet, but it
must be such as to enable us to assert, unless Augustine is wrong and
the alternative Parfittian position is right, that there is a sense in
which I can say both "I am my soul" and "I am my body".

18 D. Parfit (note 17), especially pp. 245-280.

 GHOST AND GOD: SOME OBSERVATIONS ON A
BABYLONIAN UNDERSTANDING OF HUMAN NATURE l

T:;.vi Abusch

In the present essay, I shall take up some questions associated with

the understanding of body, soul, and self in ancient Mesopotamia. I
shall do so first by examining a specific formulation of the Babylo-
nian understanding of the nature of man, and then by exploring
some relevant issues according to categories suggested by the text
itsel£ The text that I propose to start from is a mythological passage
that deals with the creation and composition of man. The passage
will be seen to focus on two components: flesh and intellect; these
constitute, respectively, the ghost and god of the individual human
being. I shall then take up each one of the components in turn: I)
Having noticed that in the aforementioned text, man's ghost derives
from the flesh of the god, we will turn our attention to rituals that
treat the end of human life and comment on the nature of the ghost
and the treatment of the corpse. It should come as no surprise that
we will notice some relationship between birth and death, between
myths of creation and rituals of death. 2) And having observed,
moreover, that the god from whom man is created possessed intelli-
gence, we will suggest a connection between this intelligence and
everyman's personal god and thereby try to understand something
about Mesopotamian psychology.
Some of what I will say has already been noticed by others, but I
hope here and there to have added something new to the mix. Still I

I Some of the ideas in this paper were worked out, and a draft for the conference

written, while I was a Fellow of the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Study in the
Humanities and Social Sciences, during the academic year 1994-95. I should like to
thank Shaul Shaked, Karel van der Toom, and especially Frans Wiggermann for
discussing the topic with me while I was preparing that draft, and the whole NIAS
research theme group 'Magic and Religion in the Ancient Near East' for discussing
the draft subsequent to its presentation in Israel. I wish also to thank R. Abusch, S.A.
Geller, 1. Pearce, and especially K. Kravitz for critiquing drafts of this paper. I am
grateful to the Conference organizers for the opportunity to take up the problem,
and to the staff of NIAS for the wonderful working conditions that allowed me to
write this essay.
364 TZVI ABUSCR

must emphasize that some of my observations are speculative and

provisional and that the treatment as a whole should be regarded as
a work in progress, a work stimulated by the challenge of the confer-
ence theme: Body, Soul, and Self in Religious Experience.

Part 1· Mythological Formulation

We turn now to the account of the creation of human beings found

in the mythological story of Atrau.asis, the Babylonian N oah. The
Atrau.asis composition was probably composed during the Old Baby-
Ionian period (ca. 2000-1600 BCE). In any case, the oldest version of
the text is preserved in a copy that dates to that period; more pre-
cisely, it was found at Sippar and is dated to the reign of Ammi~a­
duqa, a seventeenth-century monarch of Babylon. 2
The Atrau.asis myth deals with the human order, with problems of
human reproduction and death. It tells of the creation of humans,
but it also recounts how the Flood came about because the newly
created human population had increased without limits because
death due to illness and old age did not yet exist; subsequent to the
Flood, the gods deal with the problem in a more permanent manner:
they curtail human reproduction and mark a normal limit to the days
of human life. This myth preserves ancient traditions while also pre-
senting an individual articulation of Mesopotamian theology and
anthropology.
The myth recounts that before the creation of man, the gods were
men; more precisely, they possessed human and divine characteristics
and functions. The mass of gods served as workers for and servants to
the few. The mass of gods dug and maintained the irrigation canals
that, on the human plane, made Mesopotamia a wealthy country
and the cradle of civilization. The very tasks that the gods performed
were those that human beings actually performed in order to main-

2 For editions of Atrabasls, see W.G. Lambert and A.R. Millard, Atra-basfs: The
Babylonian Story rif the Flood (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969) and W. von Soden, "Die erste
Tafel des altbabylonischen Atrarnbasls-Mythus. 'Haupttext' und Parallelversionen,"
ZA 68 (1978) 50-94. For translations, see also S. Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia
(Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1989) 1-38; B.R. Foster, Before the
Muses: An Anthology rifAkkadian Literature (2 vols.; Bethesda: CDL, 1993) 1.158-201, and
bibliography there, pp. 198-199; and W. von Soden, "Der altbabylonische Atram-
chasis-Mythos," in K. Hecker, et al., My then und Epen II (0. Kaiser, ed., Texte aus
der Umwelt des Alten Testaments III/4; Gutersloh: Gutersloher Verlagshaus, 1994)
612-645.
 GHOST AND GOD 365

tain the human community and to uphold the temple regime. The
work was onerous and the mass of gods, the workers, rebelled, re-
fused to continue working, and went out on strike. The social and
natural order was threatened. Finally, a solution was worked out,
namely, to kill the god who had led the rebellion and to create
humanity from his body in order to provide a source of labor that
would free the gods from their toil.
Let us now examine portions (I 192-226) ofthe passage that tells of
the killing of the god and the creation of humanity. 3
They summoned and asked the goddess,
The midwife of the gods, wise Mami:
'You are the womb-goddess, (to be the) creator of mankind!
Create a human being that he may bear the yoke! (195)
Let him bear the yoke, the work of Enlil,
Let man assume the load of the god!'
Nintu made her voice heard
And spoke to the great gods:
'By me alone he cannot be fashioned. (200)
Only together with Enki can the the task be done;
He alone makes everything pure!
Let him give me the clay that I may do the task.'
Enki made his voice heard
And spoke to the great gods: (205)
,

Let the leader-god4 be slaughtered,

With his flesh and his blood (2lO)

Let Nintu mix clay
That both the god himself and man
May be mixed together in the clay.
For all days to come let us hear the drum [= heart(beat)], (214)
From5 the god's flesh let there be a ghost, 6 (215)
To the living creature, let it make known its sign, (216)
That there be no forgetting let there be a ghost.' (217)
(They) answered 'yes' in the assembly

3 For the text, see Lambert/Millard, Atra-oasfs, pp. 56-59; for recent translations,

see Foster, BifOre the Muses, 1.165-166 and S.A. Geller, "Some Sound and Word Plays
in the First Tablet of the Old Babylonian Atrabasfs Epic," in B. Walfish, ed., The Frank
Talmage Memorial Volume (2 vols.; Haifa: Haifa University Press, 1993) 1.62-63. I omit
several lines which might confuse the issue and divert our attention.
4 With W.L. Moran, "The Creation of Man in Atrahasis I 192-248," BASOR 200
(1970) 50: "the leader-god."
5 Or, "in."
6 Or, perhaps better, "let a ghost come into being."
366 TZVI ABUSeR

The great Anunnaki, who assign the fates. (219-220)

dWe-ila (or We, the god) who has intelligence

They slaughtered in their assembly.
With his flesh and his blood (225)
Nintu mixed the clay
<So that both the god himself and man
Were mixed together in the clay>.

From) the god's flesh there was a ghost,8 (228)

To the living creature, it made known its sign, (229)
The ghost existed so that there be no forgetting. (230)
The Atrabasls text is one of the main sources of the biblical account
of Creation and of the Flood and, like the biblical account, tells about
the creation of humanity and the origin of human knowledge and
mortality. But in this text, mankind is created by the mixing of divine
flesh and blood with/in clay. Thus, our Babylonian text is also quite
different from the biblical one. For unlike the Yahwistic account
where man is created from earth enlivened by the divine breath (see
Genesis 2:7), in Atrabasls, man is created from the mixing in clay of
the blood and flesh of a slain god.
The god is slain and his flesh is the source of the human ghost, a
derivation that remains true whether the etemmu, 'ghost' was origi-
nally the god's own ghost or, rather, a human ghost that came into
existence only after the god's flesh (ffrn) was used to form the human
being.9 Here, then, I should comment that the creation of the human
7 Or, "in."
8 Or, "a ghost came into existence."
9 Lines 214-217 (I I 227-230) pose some serious problems. I cannot take up all of
them here. I would note, however, that in my opinion, line 215 does not continue
line 214, and line 217 does not continue line 216; rather, 216 develops the thought
of 214, and 217 that of 215. I arrived at this conclusion recendy while struggling over
the passage; I am therefore all the more pleased to note that I.M. Kikawada already
arrived at a similar conclusion many years ago, for he "points out that the uppu line,
Atrahasis I 214 (and 227) belongs to a quatrain of the ABAB pattern." (Kikawada,
apud A.D. Kilmer, "Notes on Akkadian uppu," in M. de Jong Ellis, ed. Essays on the
Ancient Near East in MmLOry qfJacob Joel Finkelstein [Memoirs of the Connecticut Acad-
emy of Arts and Sciences 19; Hamden: Archon Books, 1977] 130, n. 4, and earlier,
A.D. Kilmer, "The Mesopotamian Concept of Overpopulation and Its Solution as
Reflected in the Mythology," Or NS 41 [1972] 163, where Kilmer sets out the
interpretive context for that observation.) I accept the suggestion that uppu is the
heart(beat) ('drum' = 'beating heart'}-see Kilmer, "Mesopotamian Concept of
Overpopulation," 163, and "Notes on Akkadian uppu," and cr. Th. Jacobsen, apud
Moran,"Creation of Man," 56. (The form here-AI + BI; A2 + B2-may be
 GHOST AND GOD 367

being from a slain god imparts not only immortality or divinity to

man but also mortality. Mortality is inherited with the flesh itself. But
in this strain of Mesopotamian mythology (in contrast perhaps to that
earlier one that deals with fertility), gods do not age and die in the
natural course of events; they die only as a result of violence. And
thus, originally, human mortality is a mortality derived from a slain
god. Initially, human death, then, comes only from violence, though
subsequently, at the end of Atrabasls and in related Flood accounts,
natural death is introduced and, thereby, the human mortality that
initially derived from the slaying of a god is redefined.
There are some interesting concepts here that deserve our atten-
tion. As noted, mankind is created from a mixture of the flesh and
blood of a slain god. But creation in this text is achieved not only by
means of action. Also language, more precisely, linguistic plays as-
sume and produce a form of reality. Let us begin, then, with the
linguistic plays, some of which have already been noticed by others,
but especially by Jean Bottero and Stephen Geller, ID for they consti-
explained as either a conflation, a mistake, or [since these lines differ in form from
the surrounding ones, which are organized either in consecutive narration and/or
the poetic form AI / / A2: Br / / B2] a change of form due to the incorporation of a
traditional utterance from another context. Further support for this position may
perhaps be found in the omission of line 228 in one of the manuscripts, see Lambert/
Millard, Atra-/Jasfs, 58, variant to line 228.) Thus, I understand lines 214 and 216 as
developing the issue of heart-blood and lines 215 and 217 as developing that offlesh.
10 See, e.g., J. Bottero, "La creation de l'homme et son nature dans le poeme

d'Atrabasis," in M.A. Dandamayev, et al., eds., Societies and Languoges of the Ancient Near
East, Studies in Honour of l.M. Diakonqff(Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1982) 24-32, and
for a summary statement, idem, Mesopotamia: Writing, Reasoning, and the Gods (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1992) 241; Geller, "Some Sound and Word Plays";
Kilmer, "Mesopotamian Concept of Overpopulation," 163-165; Lambert/Millard,
Atra-oasfs, 21-22 and 153; K. Oberhuber, "Ein Versuch zum Verstandnis von Atra-
Hasls I 223 und I 1," in G. van Driel, et al., eds., Zikir Sumim: Asvriological Studies
Presented to F.R. Kraus on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1982)
279-281.
It is apparent that I do not follow W. von Soden's reading Widimmu/Edimmu for
e!emmu, for which see his "Der Mensch bescheidet sich nicht: Uberlegungen zu
Schopfungserzahlungen in Babylonien und Israel," in M.A. Beek, et al., eds., Symbo-
lac Biblicac et Mesopotamicac Francisco Mario 1heodoro de Liagre Banl Dedicatae (Leiden: EJ.
Brill, 1973) 350-353, and his more recent "Der Urmensch im Atraml].asls-Mythos,"
in L. de Meyer and H. Gasche, eds., Mesopotamie et Elam: Actes de la XXXVIerne
Rencontre Asvriologique Internationale (Mesopotamian History and Environment, Series
4: Occasional Publications 1; 1991) 47 -51, "Die 19i9u-Gotter in altbabylonischer Zeit
und Edimmu im Atram\}.asls-Mythos," in L. Cagni and H.-P. Miiller, eds., Aus
Sprache, Geschichte und Religion Babyloniens; Gesammelte Auftatze (Series Minor 32; Naples:
Istituto Universitario Orientale, Dipartimento di Studi Asiatici, 1989) 339-349, and
"Altbabylonische Atramchasis-Mythos," 614-615 and 623-624. Regarding von So-
368 TZVI ABUSeR

tute an important form of thought and, in any case, point clearly to

the fundamental ideas and expressive power of the composition. Re-
call that the common nouns in Akkadian for 'god' and 'man', respec-
tively, are ilu and aWflu; the name of the god who is killed so that man
might be created is We-ila, and he is characterized as the god sa ifu
!lma, "the god who possesses !lmu" (that is, 'understanding', 'intelli-
gence', 'deliberation'); and, finally, the word for 'blood' is damu, for
'intelligence' temu, for 'ghost' etemmu.
Note, then, the similarity in sound and the punning between aWllu,
'man', and the god's name we(-)ila. Thus, when alive, mankind re-
ceives both its life and its name awflu, 'man' from this god ((a)we-ilu ).
One scholar has gone so far as to claim that "the god We(ila) was
chosen to be slaughtered because his name contained the phoneme
/w/ through which the new creature, man (awllum), was to be distin-
guished from divinity (ilum). In the first line of the epic the phrase ilu
-awllum is to be regarded as a compound term .... It reflects an original
unity of humanity and divinity that was sundered by slaughter of the
god and the resulting differentiation of ilum and awllum.""
Note further the similarity in sound between !lmu, 'intelligence',
and damu, 'blood', a word-play that seems not to have been previ-
ously noticed. 12 What does this homophony accomplish? In this crea-
tion myth, man's composition includes divine blood. The homo-
phony of damu/ !lmu highlights the source of human intelligence:
intelligence has been imparted to mankind through the god's blood.
By the homophony, the slaughtered god characterized as possessing
!lmu imparts his intellectual quality to human beings.
But the linguistic play or punning goes beyond this. Man lives on
after death, and this, too, is signaled by the name. Note, then, also
the similarity in sound between the god's name and characterization
den's objection to the use of <we> in the writing we-!e-em-mu in Ms E ("Erstens ist
e.temmu aus sum. gidim entlehnt. Ein w-Anlaut ist daher undenkbar, weil das Su-
merische kein w-Phonem kennt." ["Urmensch," 48]), note that the writing is in-
tended as a way of combining the name of the god and {imu, and therefore objections
based upon the absence of the Iwl phoneme in Sumerian are irrelevant (see below).
For a recent discussion of scholarly opinion on Atrabasis 1214-217 II 227-230
and an understanding of these lines that is different from the one suggested in this
paper, see J. Tropper, Nekromantie. Totenbifragung im Alten Orient und im Alten Testament
(AOAT 223; Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Butzon & Bercker and Neukirchener
Verlag, 1989) 49-55.
II I quote from Geller's Summary of his "Some Sound and Word Plays" (The

Frank Talmage Memorial Volume, vol. 1, 41).

12 Note that emphatic It I and Idl were probably even more alike in pronuncia-
tion than It I and Id/.
 GHOST AND GOD 369

"we-e ila who possesses !lma," on the one side, and the Babylonian
word efemmu, 'ghost', on the other. The text, thus, implicitly treats
efemmu, 'ghost', as having been formed from (or in some way related
to) the combination of the We of the god's name and his !lmu. Thus,
because of man's origin from a particular divinity and the nature of
the god from whom he derives, mankind possesses not only intelli-
gence but also a ghost and survives after death in the form of that
ghost. And it is the !lmu, 'intelligence', that unites the two periods of
human existence, for it is exercised during life in daily actions and is
present after death phonetically as part of e!emmu.
It is possible that one manuscript (Lambert/Millard, Ms. E, lines
215 and 217) even renders the combination of the We of the god's
name and his !lmu explicit by representing the beginning of the word
efemmu by means of the <we> sign instead of the normal <e> of the
other manuscripts. Moreover, I should notice that although the god's
name and the mention of the efemmu are several lines apart, support
for the correctness of treating we-e .... !lma as an exegesis or etymol-
ogy of efemmu is provided by a late commentary text, where in the
course of explicating a magical text and explaining and providing
etymologies for efemmu, the commentary states:
36 ... e-[teJm-me : qa-bu-u te-e-me
37 E : qa-bu-u : K[Ne.e 1m4 malj:i : te-e-meY
o

There is more to be learned from Atragasis, and several additional

features of this text may serve to advance the argument of this paper.
Let us take a closer look at the creation of both man's life force and
his ghost. In Mesopotamia, there is a tradition reflected in such other
creation accounts as E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiiJ"sen Inhalts
(Leipzig, 1915-23), no. 4 and Enuma Elis that man is created from
the remains of a slain god and thus, for better and for worse, contains
divine elements. 14 On the face of it, then, it is not terribly surprising
13 H. Hunger, Spiitbabylonische Texte aus Uruk, Teil 1 (Ausgrabungen der deutschen
Forschungsgemeinschaft in Uruk-Warka, vo!. 9; Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1976)
no. 49, rev. 36b-37; transliterated and translated, pp. 58-60. (I owe this reference to
Frans Wiggermann.) Hunger, ibid., p. 59, translates these lines: "etmzmu (= Toten-
geist) heisst 'der Befehl gibt', denn e heisst sagen, und demma heisst Befehl," and
comments, p. 60, "ein weiteres Beispeil fUr Erklarung durch Wortzerlegung: etmzmu
wird in e-tmzmu zerteilt und dadurch als qtibu ttmi verstanden."
14 For discussions of these texts and the tradition, see, e.g., G. Pettinato, Das

altorientalische Menschenbild und die sumerischen und akkadischen Schiipfongsmythen (Heidel-

berg: Carl Winter, 1971), especially, pp. 39-46, and, more recently, M. Dietrich,
"Die Totung einer Gottheit in der Eridu-Babylon-Mythologie," in D.R. Daniels, U.
370 TZVI ABUSeR

that also in our AtraIJasis text, man is created from the flesh and
blood of a god. Divine and human are thus joined up in what we call
the human beingY
But our text is clear that mankind is created not only from a
mixture of the flesh and blood of the slain god, but also from the
mixture of these with clay. And with this observation we are immedi-
ately sensitized to an apparent discrepancy in the account, one which
accentuates or highlights our text's understanding of aspects of the
human constitution or condition that might otherwise have gone
unremarked. I note that either the flesh or the clay, one or the other,
would seem to be superfluous, a point that is made abundantly clear
by a further comparison with the related early Sumerian text Enki
and NinmaIJ, on the one side, and the later Babylonian text Enuma
Elis, on the other. In the former, man is created from clay and water,
in the latter from the blood of a slain god who had incited a war
against Marduk's lineage ("he created mankind from his blood").
Properly speaking, then, it would have sufficed if there had been
no mention of the flesh and if the blood of the god had simply been
mixed with the clay, for the blood and clay are like the breath of God
and the clods of earth in Genesis, with the blood surely representing
the life principle, see, e.g., Genesis 9:4-5, Leviticus 17: II and 14, and
Deuteronomy 12:23, where 'the life is in the blood'.
We thus see how very special the particular articulation of our
passage is. (Here I underscore especially the fact that according to this
text the god's flesh serves as the source of the human ghost. Others
have already noted this derivation; one of the goals of this paper is to
explore further the significance of the fact that the ghost adheres to the
human body and the paradox that the apparently insubstantial ghost
derives from flesh-even divine flesh.) Our passage represents a con-
flation of, or an overlay upon, an earlier craftsman story which told of
the creation of man by the mixing of clay and water. But the conflation
is more than just an historical vestige and accidental overlay; rather it
serves a pronounced purpose, for it formulates and presents a particu-

Glessmer, and M. Rose!, eds., Emten, was man siit: Festschrififor Klaus Koch zu seinem 65.
Geburtstag (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Veriag, 1991) 49-73, and W.G. Lam-
bert, "Myth and Mythmaking in Sumer and Akkad," in J.M. Sasson, et. al., ed.,
Civilizations qf the Ancient Near East (4 vols; New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1995)
3.1832-1834.
15 Of course, a usage such as the Akkadian idiom ffru u damu, which literally means

"flesh and blood" and conveys as in English a sense of kinship or family, may well
have even contributed to the formulation of our text.
 GHOST AND GOD 371

lar understanding of man. For while the clay retains the older function
of matter, the god's blood and flesh represent the divine sources from
which, respectively, the life force and nature of man, on the one side,
and the body and ghost, on the other, are created. 16
The passage expresses the notion that the mind and body derive
from the god. As noted above, I understand lines 214 and 216 as
developing the theme of heart-blood and lines 215 and 217 as devel-
oping that of flesh. Assuming, then, that uppu refers to the heartbeat,
the ABAB structure of lines 214-217 (11 227-230f allows us to
expand the damu-s'iru pair into the following structure:
Mind: inner l8: heart (uppul libbu): blood (damu): intelligence (fimu)
Body: outer: body (zumru): flesh (s'iru): ghost (e!emmu)
The blood is the dynamic quality of intelligence, and the flesh is the
form of the body that is imposed on the clay. The !lmu reflects the
blood, the e!emmu the body. The human being combines the qualities
of intelligence and physical form derived from the god. And now
damu transmits human life and intelligence (!emu), and s'iru provides
bodily form, a form which is preserved and continued by the e!emmu.
With death the blood is gone, but the form remains and continues
into the hereafter.
Thus, while the clay represents the material form of man and
serves as a base, the blood and flesh transmit respectively the life and
kinship of the god. That is to say, the blood serves as the force which
preserves and imparts to the living the characteristic quality 'god who
had a plan' and thereby provides the life principle and intelligence,
while the flesh brings forth both the mortal and immortal ghost, the
ghost of man and the memorial to the god who had been slain. 19
From the god's blood comes the person, the self;20 from the god's
body, the ghost.
16 See Lambert/Millard, Atra-gasis, 22, for a discussion of the blood and flesh.
17 I translate line 216 as follows: To the living creature (or, While alive), let it (=
the heart/blood) make known to him (= the human being) his (= the human being's)
sign (= the personal god) for his (= the god's) sign (= !£mu = personal god). For a
discussion of the blood/intelligence/personal god, see below, Part 3.
18 I owe the category inner/outer to an observation by Julia Asher-Greve.

19 I regret that I cannot accept W.L. Moran's argument, "Creation of Man," 54,

that the etemmu belongs to the god alone, though I do concede many of his objec-
tions. The ghost may belong to both the god and the human.
20 For the notion of person or self, see especially M. Mauss, "A Category of the
Human Mind: The Notion of Person, The Notion of 'Self'," Sociology and Psychology.
Essays (trans. B. Brewster; London: Roudedge & Kegan Paul, 1979) 57-94.
372 TZVI ABUSeR

And one is thus tempted to equate the flesh and ghost with the
physical image of God (of Genesis) and the blood and intelligence
with the soul. But, in any case, it would be remiss of me to pass on to
the next part of my exposition without relating our discussion, if only
cursorily, to a different approach to, or perhaps just a different termi-
nology for, the concept of the soul(s) in some primitive and early
societies. We might say that the god in Atrabasls serves, first of all, as
the source of that soul which elsewhere has been described as the
body soul, a soul which is often divided into such parts as the life soul
and the ego soul; in a Semitic context, it is perhaps best treated as a
soul that imbues the individual with life and consciousness, or, in
modem terminology, with 'ego' or the 'self. But the god is also the
source of the other soul, the death soul, the soul of the individual
after death, a soul that gradually loses individuality until it becomes
part of the collectivity of the ancestors. 21

Part IL 1he significance ifflesh as the source if the ghost

We have seen in the Atrag.asls creation account, firstly, that the god
who has ftmu serves as the source of the human life force or identity.
This point, namely that the aforementioned god imparts and defines
human life, will eventually be our jumping off point for a discussion
of the self and of the personal god. But we have also seen that the
flesh of the god who has !imu is the source of the human ghost. And
here we shall start with this latter point and elaborate, if only briefly,
on the 'ghost', epemmu,22 in order to notice some of the implications of
the creation account's contention that the god's flesh is the source of
the human ghost.

21 For a recent discussion of some of these concepts and especially their applica-
tion to ancient Greek understanding, see J.N. Bremmer, The EarlY Greek Concept cif the
Soul (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983) and idem, "the Soul, Death and
the Mterlife in Early and Classical Greece," inJ.M. Bremer, Th.P J. van den Hout,
and R. Peters, eds., Hidden Futures: Death and Immortality in Ancient Egypt, Anatolia, the
Classical, Biblical and Arabic-Islamic World (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press,
1994) 77-106. The limits of this paper do not allow a discussion of the conceptually
related terms napiftu (Hebrew nephesh) / zaqzqu / ill = breath, wind. Thus, I have also
not discussed the relationship of the free or dream soul to the death soul.
22 For the Mesopotamian conception of etemmu, 'ghost' and the care of the dead,
see my "Etemmu," in K. van der Toom, B. Becking, and P.W. van der Horst, eds.,
Dictionary cifDeities and Demons in the Bible (DDD) (Leiden: EJ. Brill, 1995) 588-594 and
bibliography there, 593-594 (to the bibliography, add Trapper, Nekromantie, 47-109).
 GHOST AND GOD 373

The Atrabasls text recounts that human beings derive from an

admixture of the divine with clay; it not only informs us that the live
human derives from the divine, but also explains how it is that while
the human being is mortal, having been created from a slain god,
part of him is also immortal and exists or appears in the form of an
etenzmu, a ghost which exists apparently during life as well as after
death.
E!emmu, the term used in our own text, is the main term for 'ghost'
in Akkadian. It is the primary Akkadian equivalent or translation of
Sumerian Gidim, from which word it probably derives. Moreover, I
accept the recent suggestion (Frans Wiggermann, orally) that the
Sumerian term itself derives in turn from the Semitic qiidfm, 'ances-
tor'. Ghosts are also designated by or associated with 'divinity'.23
In Mesopotamian thought, what remains after death is the lifeless
body and some form of intangible, but visible and audible etenzmu.
The body must be buried; otherwise, the ghost will have no rest and
will not find its place in the community of the dead, usually associ-
ated with the netherworld. In addition, burial is crucial for future
care, for the dead are to be the recipients of ongoing mortuary rites,
which include invocations of the name of the deceased, presentation
of food, and libation of water. In this way, the dead are cared for and
kept (alive) in memory. The dead may be remembered as individuals
for up to several generations and then become part of the ancestral
family.
Here burial constitutes a rite of passage, both integrating the dead
into the cosmic order and maintaining connections between the liv-
ing and the dead. The living and dead maintain a permanent rela-
tionship and form an ongoing community and thus burial was crucial
because it allowed for the preservation and maintenance of the de-
ceased's identity after death and for his continued connection with
both the living and dead members of the family. Thus, whatever
other purposes it served, burial of the body preserved the identity of
the deceased and provided a focus and locus for the ghost's contin-

23 Note also that wind imagery is associated with the ghost-cf. simply the use of
!il, wind, for 'ghost'. The association of ghost and wind in Mesopotamia may be
reminiscent of the association of nephesh and breath in the Hebrew Bible especially if
we accept the view that West Semitic nephesh may sometimes be the equivalent of
etemmu, ghost (seeJ.C. Greenfield, "Un rite religieux arameen et ses paralleJes," Rroue
Biblique 80 [1973] 46-50). And we may wonder whether like the nephesh in the live
human, the etemmu may not also exist during life. I note here only that it is certainly
possible to interpret Atrabasis, I, 215-216//228-229 in this manner.
374 TZVI ABUSCH

ued existence, for its relationship and place, that is, among the living
and the dead.
Thus, when one wishes to deprive the recent dead of the possibility
of retaining their individual and/or social identity, one must destroy
their body/corpse. In light of our discussion of Sfru, 'flesh', in
Atrabasis and our recognition that the e!emmu is in the flesh of the
dead, it comes as no surprise that the destruction of the dead is
sometimes described in terms of the destruction of their flesh: the
flesh is fed to animals and, thereby, both the individuality and even
the very humanity of the dead are destroyed. There are many exam-
ples of this kind of treatment in historical texts,24 but one of the most
evocative examples that I know comes from the world of ritual. The
concluding section of the anti-witchcraft ritual Maqlfl25 indicates that
the witch's body is not to be buried; rather her corpse is to be de-
voured by animals. The penultimate incantation and ritual in Maqlfl
(VIII 81-89 / / IX 183-187) describe how the witch is fed to eagles,
vultures, and dogs. Note the reference there, in line 88, to the de-
struction of the witch's flesh, her Sfru. A portion of the incantation
(VIII 85-88) reads:
May eagle and vulture prey on your corpse,
May silence and shivering fall upon you,
May dog and bitch tear you apart,
May dog and bitch tear apart your flesh. (szriK[z])

In ritual practice, images made of dough embedded in bread are fed

to dogs (IX 184-187). By feeding the witch to animals, she is ex-
ecuted, her corpse is destroyed, and she herself is deprived of any
possibility of burial. Thereby, the ritual achieves its purpose of de-
stroying the body and ghost of the witch.

24 See, e.g., A. Westenholz, "beriitum, damtum, and Old Akkadian KI.GAL: Burial
of Dead Enemies in Ancient Mesopotamia," AfiJ 23 (1970) 29-30; R. Borger, Die
Inschri.flen Asarhaddons Kiinigs von As~en (AID, Beiheft 9; Graz, 1956) 57-58: Episode
18, V 6; S. Parpola, "The Murder of Sennacherib," in B. Alster, ed., Death in
Mesopotamia (Mesopotamia 8; Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1980) 175. C£ E.
Cassin, "Le mort: valeur et representation en Mesopotamie ancienne," in G. Gnoli
and J.-P. Vemant, eds., La mort, les morts dans les sociitis anciennes (Cambridge/Paris:
Cambridge University Press/Maison des Sciences de l'homme, 1982) 355-372.
25 For a general overview of Maqlu, see T. Abusch, "Maqlu," in D.O. Edzard, ed.,
Reallexikon der Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archiiologie VII/5-6 (Berlin/New York:
Walter de Gruyter, 1989) 346-351. For the text of Maqlu, see provisionally, G. Meier,
Die assyrische Beschwiirungssammlung MaqlU (AID Beiheft 2; Berlin, 1937), and idem,
"Studien zur Beschworungssammlung Maqlu," AfiJ 21 (1966) 71-81.
 GHOST AND GOD 375

Moreover, the body may also be burnt, for burning the body
makes it impossible to give it proper burial rites, and its ghost will not
be found in the nethelWorld: thus, fittingly, in Gilgamesh, Enkidu,
and the NethelWorld, Gilgamesh asks, "Did you see him who was set
on fire?" And Enkidu answers, "I did not see him. His smoke went
up to the sky and his ghost does not live in the nethelWorld."26
Normally, then, the dead body was buried. But when a corpse was
left unburied and/or was destroyed by animals, fire, or the like, the
dead person would lose his human identity and human community.
He could no longer be integrated into the structured community of
the dead and thereby into the ongoing and continuous community of
the living and the dead. In some cases, the remains are so totally
transformed and disintegrated that the dead lose all vestiges of hu-
man identity. Some texts suggest that those dead who were left
unburied and had their corpses destroyed are relegated to the form-
less and chaotic world sometimes associated with steppe and winds,
may even become part of the demonic world that is neither human
nor god, male nor female, and/or may even lose all semblance of
existence and be transformed into formlessness and even nothing-
ness. Put differently, even the actual ghost thus loses its human iden-
tity and existenceY
26 See A. Shaffer, "Sumerian Sources of Tablet XII of the Epic of GilgameS"

(Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1963) 121: 3-4 (variant from Ur); cf. p. 119:
302-3: "'Did you see him who was set on fire?' 'I saw.' 'How does he fare?' 'His spirit
is not about. His smoke went up to the sky'." Similarly, in Maqlu, the witch is
addressed and told: "Dissolve, melt, drip ever away! / May your smoke rise ever
heavenward, / May the sun extinguish your embers, / May the son of Ea (Asallubi),
the exorcist, cut off your emanations" (I 140-143 / / V 152-155). Especially in the
first part of Maqli1-see especially I 73-IV 95-emphasis is placed upon and impor-
tance accorded to burning the witch and destroying her body. In the Maqlu passage
just quoted, the witch's being rises up as smoke into the sky and is there scattered;
now her ghost cannot enter the netherworld. Thus, by burning her body or feeding
it to animals, the witch is deprived of burial and is annihilated; her body is destroyed,
and her ghost is no more.
27 Such is the fate not only of those who do not receive burial immediately after

death. The same awaits the dead who are disinterred and whose skeletal remains are
destroyed. See my "The Socio-Religious Framework of the Babylonian Witchcraft
Ceremony Maqlu: Some Observations on the Introductory Section of the Text, Part
I" (in press), and Cassin, "Le mort," 358-359 and 362, as well as J-P. Vernant,
"India, Mesopotamia, Greece: Three Ideologies of Death," in F. Zeitlin, ed., Mortals
and Immortals: Collected Essays (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991) 78 (Ver-
nant's article originally formed the introduction to the conference volume in which
Cassin's essay appeared).
Some historical and magical texts go so far as to suggest that a transgressor may
never escape retribution and can be punished even if he has already died. Thus, the
376 TZVI ABUSeR

To be sure, Atrabasis is a unique creation text insofar as it infonns

us about the origin of the ghost and therefore about the creation of
an afterlife. One might have thought that the flesh was chosen simply
because the author needed to provide for the creation of the ghost
and narrative logic presented the flesh as a convenient vehicle for this
purpose. Perhaps, but it now seems to me that the flesh is more than
just an author's fanciful "excuse" for, or explanation of, the creation
of the ghost. First and foremost, the choice of flesh reflected the belief
that the human ghost and human flesh are closely linked, at least
prior to burial. Just as in Genesis 1:27 the physical image of God
gives fonn to the human being/body, so in Atrabasis the outward
physical body, the flesh, gives fonn to the human being in life, to the
corpse in death, and to the ghost that inheres in that body. Hence,
destruction of the body rather than its inhumation constitutes, in
effect, the destruction of the ghost.
Whether or not the text constitutes an aetiology, one may reason-
ably sunnise that the origin of the ghost in the god's flesh reflects the
Semitic practice of burial and provides one particular understanding
of the importance accorded to burial of the body. Thus, if the flesh is
the source of the ghost, this belief would provide one explanation~
perhaps an historically valid one, perhaps just an aetiology~why in
contrast to some Indo-Europeans, the Semites, and the Mesopota-
mians among them, abhorred cremation. Whereas among the
Greeks cremation rendered the body hagnos, 'pure', and freed the
ghost or, rather, allowed the psyche to enter the nether world, among
the Semites cremation destroyed the ghost, for the ghost attached
itself in some peculiar way to the body.28
criminal who had died prior to being punished for his crimes may be deprived of
mortuary rites; moreover, his burial may be reversed by exhumation and, occasion-
ally, his remains destroyed. His ghost, too, is thus excluded from the community of
the dead. Even the actual ghost, then, does not escape punishment and may even
lose its human identity.
28 To be sure, the flesh rots after burial. At that point, the identity of the indi-

vidual is associated with his skeleton or bones. The destruction of the bones, then,
constitutes the complete destruction of the individual (see, e.g., Cassin, "Le mort"
and Vernant "India, Mesopotamia, Greece," 77-79). Here, therefore, we may won-
der how the Babylonians understood or construed the relationship of the flesh and
bones of the dead. Perhaps immediately after death, the flesh or fresh corpse repre-
sented the individual but, at a later stage in the process of disintegration, it was the
bones that came to represent the individual. Returning to our AtralJ.asis text, we may
expand the question and suggest the following scheme, one which is rather obvious
and is made up of three stages-blood represents the life force of the live individual,
flesh (and bodily shape) the individual at death, and bones the permanent dead
 GHOST AND GOD 377

I note, somewhat ironically, that some of what I have said regard-

ing the burial of the body as a transfer or translation of the living to
the dead is not all that dissimilar from what has been said on the
Greek side about the burning of the body. Thus, for example, Jean-
Pierre Vernant:
What does it mean to enter into the furthest reaches of death? The fatal
blow that strikes the hero liberates his psuche, which flees the limbs,
leaving behind its strength and youth. Yet for all that, it has not passed
through the gates of death. Death is not a simple demise, a privation of
life; it is a transformation of which the corpse is both the instrument
and the object, a transmutation of the subject that functions in and
through the body. Funerary rites actualize this change of condition; at
their conclusion, the individual has left the realm of the living, in the
same way as his cremated body has vanished into the hereafter, and as
his psuche has reached the shores of Hades, never to return. .... [There]
he continues to exist ... in a form of being that is released from the
attrition of time and destruction. 29
And a bit later in the same essay:
The fire of the funerary pyre, by contrast, consumes and sends into the
realm of the invisible, along with the perishable flesh and blood, a
person's entire physical appearance and the attributes that can be seen
on the body .... The visible form of the body, such as is displayed when
it is laid out for viewing at the beginning of the funeral rites, can only be
saved from corruption by disappearing into the invisible. 30
But the ghost retains the visible form of the body.31 And we would
conclude this section by emphasizing again that for the Mesopo-
tamians (as sometimes for ourselves) the body itself gives form to the
perception of the self and of the other and provides the image under
which the deceased and his ghost remain in the mind of the living: a

individual. The significance of the skeleton or bones as the permanent repository of

the human soul may well attain mythological formulation in Enuma Elis VI 5-6,
when Marduk says (translation: Foster, Bifore the Muses, 1.384): "I shall compact
blood, I shall cause bones to be, I shall make stand a human being, let 'man' be its
name," and then used the blood of the slain leader of the rebel gods.
29 "A 'Beautiful Death' and the Disfigured Corpse in Homeric Epic," Mortals and

Immortals, 68.
30 Ibid., 70.

31 Cf., e.g., Vemant again, but this time in the essay "Psuche: Simulacrum of the

Body or Image of the Divine?": "The psuche is like a body; as shown on works of art,
on vases, it is represented like a miniature body, a corpusculum; it is the double of the
living body, a replica that can be taken for the body itself that has the same appear-
ance, clothing, gestures, and voice." (Mortals and Immortals, 189.)
378 TZVI ABUSeR

human form or body. The etenzmu derives from the body and pre-
serves the body image.

Part Ill· God, temu and personal god

We noticed that the ghost is of divine origin and derives from the
god's flesh; accordingly, we discussed the flesh, the corpse, and the
ghost. We noticed, in addition, that also the life force is divine or of
divine origin. Thus, we should now turn to a consideration of the
human being during his lifetime.
The god's blood is the source of man's life force; it is the channel
through which certain divine qualities enter into man. As noted ear-
lier, it is of particular interest that the god to be slain is characterized
as one who possesses fimu and that his blood (damu) is the channel
through which intelligence (tfmu) is imparted to humanity. Therefore,
we should here pay some attention to the intellectual quality of the
slain god. The possession of fimu is crucial for this god and for hu-
manity. So before even exploring any further the concepts about this
god that define the human (or, rather, the reverse, the concepts about
the human that define the god), we should say a word or two about
fimu. fimu is plan, inspiration, or intelligence as well as the verbal
formulation that conveys or expresses these. In the context of
Atrau.asis, the use of fimu is the act of deliberation about the slave
condition of the worker gods in an irrigation economy, the formula-
tion of a plan of rebellion, and its execution. 32 The god who hit upon
and developed the idea of the rebellion and who worked out the plan
of execution serves as the progenitor of humanity.
The early Mesopotamian is an organizer, an innovator, who strug-
gles to understand and control his environment and must put his
mind to the future in order to create and maintain a system of in-
tense irrigation. The concept of tfmu is an important component in
that civilization's understanding of man and in the Mesopotamian
concept of the personal god, who is, I believe, a personification of the
self.
Mesopotamian tfmu is strikingly similar to John Dewey's under-
standing of mind (which influenced American Interactionism and,
particularly, the thought of George Herbert Mead and thereby the
concept of the 'self in the social sciences):
32 Cf., e.g., Moran, "Creation of Man," 52.
 GHOST AND GOD 379

What is unique to humans, Dewey argued, is their capacity for think-

ing. Mind is not a structure but a process that emerges out of efforts by
humans to adjust to their environment. Moreover, mind is the unique
capacity that allows humans to deal with conditions around them .
.... Mind for Dewey is the process of denoting objects in the environ-
ment, ascertaining potential lines of conduct, imagining the conse-
quences of pursuing each line, inhibiting inappropriate responses, and
then selecting a line of conduct that will facilitate adjustment. Mind is
thus the process of thinking, and thinking involves deliberation. 33

Dewey's understanding seems very much in line with our under-

standing of the Mesopotamian definition of man and represents a set
of notions that the Babylonians would have associated with {fmu.
These concepts of human life and mind coincide to some extent with
the concept of the personal god, and thus we may now take up some
further implications of the Atrabasls passage for an understanding of
man. For it is possible that the Atrabasls passage even intends to
provide an aetiology for the existence of the personal god and for his
acquisition by man. 34 The personal god, to quote the late Thorkild
Jacobsen, is "clearly a power for effective thinking, planning, and
inspiration, and this is the central element in the concept. "35 The
significance of the Atrabasls passage thus seems clear. Man's life
force derives directly from a god who possessed and is characterized
in terms of the powers of intelligence and deliberation. Thus, just as
the slain god possessed the power of deliberation, so man who incor-
porated the god's blood now possesses that power. And with that
power, man also possesses a personal god or rather the potential to
acquire a personal god. For the personal god is a projection or per-
sonification of the human power of deliberation, decision, and plan-
ning. When man exercises his powers of deliberation, he acquires its
personification in the form of his personal god. As the Mesopotamian
bilingual proverb states, "when you plan ahead your god is yours,
when you do not plan ahead your god is not yours."36
33 J.H. Turner, The Structure qf Sociological Theory (Homewood: Dorsey, 1978, rev.

edit.) 314.
34 Perhaps indirectly it also provides an aetiology for the relationship of man to his

personal god.
3S Th. Jacobsen, The Treasures qf Darkness: A History qf Mesopotamian Religion (New

Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1976) 156. For Jacobsen's understanding of

the personal god, see his "Mesopotamia," in H. Frankfort, et al., The Intellectual
Adventure qf Ancient Man. An Essay on Speculative Thought in the Ancient Near East (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1946) 202-208, as well as Treasures qf Darkness, 152-164.
36 For the text of the proverb, see W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature

(Oxford: Clarendon, 1960) 227: 23-26; for its interpretation, seeJacobsen, "Mesopo-
tamia," 204, and idem, Treasures qf Darkness, 156.
380 TZVI ABUSeR

Later parts of Atrabasis lend support to my contention that,

among other things, the creation account at the beginning of the
work dealt with the personal god and provided for his acquisition by
man. That our Atrabasis passage recounts how humans first acquired
a personal god may find confirmation in the fact that, and explain
why, the existence of service to personal gods is already taken for
granted as a basic fact of religious life later in the myth, when, as
each catastrophe took place, Enki advised Atrabasis to command
that the people cease providing service to their personal gods and
instead serve the god responsible for the destruction:
Do not reverence your gods.
Do not pray to your goddess(es).
Namtar (Adad, resp.), seek his gate,
Bring a baked-loaf before it,
Let the meal-offering please him,
So that, embarrassed at the gifts,
He will raise his hand. 37

Here, I should perhaps place the concept of the personal god into a
clearer Mesopotamian context. The Mesopotamian did not formu-
late his own personal psychology primarily in the form of internal
categories; rather he objectified and externalized major aspects of
self He could thus be surrounded by a series of divine beings 38 who
represented aspects of self or perhaps even different Iife- or body-
souls. 39 Among these divine beings are the ilu and iJtaru, the personal
god and goddess. 40 One may surmise that this god and goddess are
no more than psychologically internalized father and mother figures
that find expression among the Babylonians in the form of external-
ized, divinized figures. 41 Here, I limit myself to the ilu. It is possible
37 Namtar: I 378-383 I I I 393-398, cf. 1405-410 (Lambert/Millard, Alra-basfs, 68-

71); Adad: Il, col. ii. (Lambert/Millard, Atra-basfs, 74-77). Translation: W. L. Moran,
"Atrahasis: The Babylonian Story of the flood," Biblica 52 (1971) 54. That the gods
to be neglected were the personal gods, and not simply gods and goddesses, was
argued convincingly by Moran, ibid., 55.
38 Such as ilu, iflam, utukku, lamassu, {Mu, biiftu, diltu.

39 Cf. AL. Oppenheim, Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait qf a Dead Civilization (Chicago:

University of Chicago Press, 1977, rev. edit.) 198-206.

40 By the second millennium, individuals seem to have had both a personal god

and a personal goddess (iftaru).

41 If for the Mesopotamians, the father is a force for action or doing and the

mother a force for socialization, it is perhaps not a coincidence that a late commen-
tary text (A.T. Clay, Epics, Hymns, Omens, and Other Texts [Babylonian Records in the
Library of]. Pierpont Morgan, vol. 4 ; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1923] no.
32, obv. 2-3, translation: M. Stol, Epilepsy in Babylonia [Cuneiform Monographs 2;
 GHOST AND GOD 381

that the god (ilu) originally represented the family or clan, but per-
haps because of the individual's close connection to his group, the
god also became the personal god of the individual, especially as that
individual related to the world, to the present, and to the future.
Most of all, the god was evident in social success and in the ability to
have children. 42
It should now be recalled that god and ghost serve many of the
same functions. First of all, the personal god and the ghosts of the
family belong together in the sense that they both represent parents:
the one represents and preserves the norms of the family among the
living; the other represents and preserves the norms of the family
among and from the dead. Human beings attain their identity in no
small measure from their social contexts; these connections extend
over both space and time, i.e., over the here-and-now and through
time. Identity is derived from the contemporary living context but
also from ancestors and progeny. In both dimensions, the Meso-
potamians encounter the numinous other, the divine. The ghost rep-
resents the ancestral kinship group, while the god who inhabits the
living body-the personal god-represents the living family and the
actual or daily social world. Ghost and personal god represent aspects
of both individual and group ego and superego.
The ancestral ghost requires continued honor and care and may
become a hostile presence if disregarded. Not only the ghost but also
the personal god may make demands of the living person and punish
or reward him, accordingly, so that this god is undoubtedly an aspect

Groningen: Styx, 1993] 25) explains the illness 'hand of the god' as "he curses the
gods, he speaks insolence, he hits whom(ever) he sees," and the illness 'hand of the
goddess' as "he has ... of heart-break, time and again, and forgets his (own) words,
time and again." For the illness 'hand of the god' seems to be the transformation of
energy that cannot be turned to constructive purposes into anger and aggression
against others, while the illness 'hand of the goddess' seems to represent the turning
of a feeling of not belonging, or of not being cared for, into anger against the self and
thereby into a state of anxiety and depression. The loss of the father is the loss of a
sense of constructive action in society, the loss of the mother is the loss of a social
sense of belonging and feeling that others care for one.
42 Again to quote Jacobsen: "In a sense, and probably this is the original aspect,
the personal god appears as the personification of a man's luck and success. Success
is interpreted as an outside power which infuses itself into a man's doings and makes
them produce results." ("Mesopotamia," 203) "As a divine power dwelling in the
man and causing him to succeed, the god would naturally be present and active in
the most decisive and necessary achievement of fulfIlment for the ancient Mesopota-
mian, that of engendering a son." (Treasures qf Darkness, 158)
382 TZVI ABUSeR

of superego or conscience. 43 But the personal god is also certainly an

aspect of ego. He belongs to the clan but through the corporate
identity of individuals as well as the identification of the god with the
power of procreation, the personal god became the personification of
the luck and fortune, the well being, the effectiveness, accomplish-
ment, and success of the individual member of the group. Perhaps
the personal god even amounts to a sense of self, for he is the power
for thought, the ability of the individual to plan and deliberate so that
he may act effectively and achieve success. The personal god is some-
thing like an externalized ego, if by ego we understand that which
"brings into being the conscious sense of self. The ego engages in
secondary process thinking, or the remembering, planning, and
weighing of circumstances that permit us to mediate between the
fantasies of the id and the realities of the outer world."44 For it is
through the sense of identification with the personal god that man
acquires a sense of self as an intelligent and effective being.
Just as the ftmu, 'intelligence', of the god imparts to collective
mankind the ability to work as a society and serve the gods of the
state, so ftmu also imparts to the single man the ability to work as an
individual and thereby serve his personal god. 45
Just as the early Mesopotamians regarded the human city as cre-
ated by and belonging to the gods, human society as existing for the
sake of the gods, and human actions as deeds in the service of the
gods, in part in order to allay the anxieties aroused by their own
collective daring and the precarious nature of their existence,46 so
perhaps also their own individual attempts at imposing control over

43 This is exemplified nicely by a reference to ilu in an Old Assyrian letter: "Your

god (and mine) would want you to act in such a way."

44 S.A. Rathus and J.S. Nevid, Abnormal Psychology (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice

Hall, 1991 [Instructor's Edition]) 37.

45 The fact that !lmu, 'intelligence' derives from a 'rebel' god does not disqualify

the claim that the aforementioned power or quality allows the individual human to
be successful and to possess a personal god. Put differently, the fact that !lmu allows
humans to be effective and serve the god in no way requires or even suggests that the
.temu must derive from an 'innocent' god. Rather than detracting from human ability
to provide service to the god(s), if anything, the origin of human intelligence in the
'rebel' god enhances it. For just as the human community in Atra1J.asis makes use of
the .temu of the leader of the striking gods to assume the work of the gods and to serve
the divine community, so the individual human makes use of this !lmu to serve his
personal god.
46 See H. Frankfort, The Birth rif Civilizaton in the Near East (Garden City, NY:

Doubleday, 1951), chapter 3, especially pp. 52-54 and 63-64.

 GHOST AND GOD 383

their environment led them to project their own rationality and

achievements onto a divine other, the personal god.

In Atrabasls the flesh defines physical identity, the body, and there-
with the ghost, and places the human being in relationship to the
past, while the blood, and therewith the intelligence, defines the per-
sonality or living identity and continues into the future through the
blood (seed). Thus, the personal god and ghost may be drawn to-
gether for purposes of understanding a Mesopotamian construction
of human natureY

47 For a recent treatment of the creation of man in Enki and Ninma1J, which

escaped my attention during the writing of this essay, see now W.G. Lambert, "The
Relationship of Sumerian and Babylonian Myth as Seen in Accounts of Creation,"
in D. Charpin and F. Joannes, eds., La circulation des biens, des personnes et des idles dans
le Proche-Orient ancien, XXXVIII' R.AJ. (Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations,
1992) 129-135. Basing himself upon a bilingual version, Lambert argues that Enki
created man by mixing clay and blood (Lambert leaves open the question whether it
is Enki's blood or his mother's). If correct, this contention (which differs in its con-
struction of the text from previous translations) would require that the statement
(above, p. 370) that man was created from clay and water in Enki and Ninma1J be
modified; but it in no way disqualifies the argument (above, p. 370) that the mention
of flesh alongside clay in Atra1Jasis was significant, for that argument depends not on
the absence of blood in Enki and Ninma1J, but rather on the presence of flesh and
clay in Atra1Jasis and the absence of the former in Enki and Ninma1J.
 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SELF AND SOUL:
PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024

Jan Assmann

The ancient Egyptian speaks of "his djet-body," "his ha'u-body,"

"his belly," "his heart," "his Ba-soul," "his Ka-soul," "his shadow,"
"his name" as a multiplicity of constituents or aspects of his person.
The possessive "his" refers to the "self' that owns, governs, and
controls this multiplicity. In normal life, the unity or unanimous co-
operation of these different components is no problem. Death, how-
ever, dissolves this interior community. Yet there are ritual means to
overcome this critical situation and to achieve a new and even more
powerful state of personality where the different constituents or as-
pects of the person are brought into new forms of interaction and
cooperation. The Egyptian concepts of death and immortality are
based on this idea of the person as a community that is threatened
with dissolution but is capable of reintegration. This explains why the
Egyptians were as concerned with preserving the body by mummifi-
cation as with equipping the soul with knowledge about the hereafter
and building a tomb in order to keep the name remembered in the
world of the living. Also life after death was believed to succeed only
in a "constellative" way (see below).

Integration and Dissociation if Self

There are, however, extreme situations during an individual's life-
time where the unifying and centralizing control which the "self'
exerts over its multiple constituents is severely threatened. Such a
situation is characteristic of the malady of love or other strong de-
sires, of extreme terror, and of old age.
The malady of love is described in terms of dissociation of heart
and self and the ensuing disintegration of personal identity:
My heart quickly scurries away
when I think of your love (=my love of you).
It lets me not act sensibly,
it leaps from its place.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 385

It lets me not put on a dress,

nor wrap my scarf around me;
I put no paint upon my eyes,
I'm even not anointed. 1
The same motif of a dissociation of heart and self occurs in a text
where it describes the longing of a man for his home-town, Memphis:
I am awake but my heart sleeps.
My heart is not in my body.
Evil has caught all my limbs:
my eyes are weary of seeing,
my ear does not hear,
my voice is hoarse,
all my words are perverted. 2

Incidentally, "I am awake but my heart is sleeping" (wrfjjwjbj nm'w) is

the exact inversion of a famous verse in the Song of Songs: "I slept but
my heart was awake" (3njjsnh w-lbbj 'd 5.2). Common to both texts is
the idea of a dissociation of heart and self, the speaking "I." In the
Egyptian text, this is expressed by the motifs of sleeping or weariness,
and of spatial removal: "My heart is not in my body." The same
expression occurs in the story of Sinuhe. There it refers to a fit of
extreme fear, when Sinuhe finds himself in the presence of Pharaoh:
Stretched out on my belly I did not know myself before him,
while this god greeted me pleasantly.
I was like a man seized by darkness.
My Ba was gone, my limbs trembled,
my heart was not in my body,
I did not know life from death. 3
Thus the coherence of the person during life-time is problematic
because of the heart's unsteadiness, its susceptibility to leap from its
place, to flutter, to scurry away under the influence of strong emo-
tions and passions like fear, terror, erotic desire, and yearning. In
cases of extreme terror, even the Ba abandons the self.

1 Chester Beatty C 2,9 C 3,1; See M.V. Fox, The Song of Songs and the Ancient
Egyptian Love Songs (Madison, 1985) pp. 20f., 53 Nr. 34.
2 Anastasi IV, 4.11-5.5; H.A. Gardiner, Late Egyptian Miscellanies, Bibl. Aeg. VII
(Brussels, 1937) p. 39; R.A. Caminos, Late Egyptian Miscellanies (Oxford, 1952) pp.
150-152; S. Schott, Altagyptische Liebeslieder (Zurich, 1950) 116 Nr. 57; J. Assmann,
Agyptische Hymnen und Gebete (Zurich, 1975) Nr. 184.
3 Sinuhe B 252-56. ed. A.M. Blackman, Middle Egyptian Stories, Bibl. Aeg. 11 (Brus-

sels, 1932) p. 37; R. Koch, Die Er::.iihlung des Sinuhe, Bibl. Aeg. XVII (Brussels, 1990)
p. 74; transl. M. Lichtheim, loco cit., 231.
386 JAN ASSMANN

Social isolation is also included among the extreme situations

where a person is threatened with disintegration. The Egyptian per-
son is not only conceived of as an "interior community or constella-
tion" composed of members that are equally referred to as "his": his
dresses, ornaments, insignia, staff, scepter, weapons, house, tomb
and, above all, social relations-husband or wife, father and mother,
children and children's children, servants, clients, admirers, enemies,
etc.
A person comes into being, lives, grows, and exists by building up
such a sphere of social and bodily "constellations," and is annihilated
if this sphere is destroyed. Therefore, I propose to call this concept of
person "constellative." A constellative anthropology stresses the ties,
roles, and functions that bind the constituent parts together. It abhors
the ideas of isolation, solitude, self-sufficiency, and independence,
and considers them symptoms of death, dissolution, and destruction.
Life is interdependence, interconnection, and communication within
those webs of interaction and interlocution that constitute reality.
One lives only with and by others or, as the Egyptian proverb puts it:
"One lives if one is led by another" ('nh w' ssm sw fdJ).4
In cases of solitude and isolation when the exterior constellations
of the person have vanished, a self is threatened by death if it cannot
find a partner within its interior community. Thus, in a tale about a
sailor who is the sole survivor of a shipwreck and finds himself
stranded on a desolate island, we read: "I was cast on an island by a
wave of the sea. I spent three days alone, with my heart as compan-
ion."5 This is the type of a literary form that we may term "interior
dialogue." It is characteristic of situations of distress and solitude.
Only in situations of extreme despair and isolation, does a "self' turn
to speaking to his "heart" or his "Ba."
A well known example of such an interior dialogue is Complaints if
Khakheperre-sonb. 6 The speaking self is bewailing the desperate state of
4 Metternichstele M 50, C.E. Sander-Hansen, Die Texte der Mettemichstele, Analecta

Aegyptiaca VII (Kopenhagen, 1956) pp. 35f., 41; A. Klasens, A Magical Statue Base
(Socle Behague) in the Museum qf Antiquities at l.eiden, Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit
het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden te Leiden N.R. XXXIII (Leiden, 1952) pp. 10, 52;
H. Sternberg, "Die Metternichstele," in O. Kaiser (Hrsg.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten
Testaments (!VAT) Bd.lI.3, Rituale und Beschworungen 11 (Gutersloh, 1988) p. 376.
5 Pap. St. Petersburg 1115, 39-44; trans. M. Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature I
(Berkeley, 1973) p. 212.
6 Writing Board British Museum No. 5645, ed. A.H. Gardiner, The Admonitions qf
an Egyptian Sage (Leipzig, 1909) pp. 95-110; trans. M. Lichtheim, op. cit., pp. 145-
149.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 387

the world. "The land," it says, "breaks up, is destroyed, becomes a

wasteland. Order is cast out, chaos is in the council hall. The ways of
the gods are violated, their offerings neglected. The land is in tur-
moil, there is grieving everywhere." Another heart would bend," the
self continues, "but a heart strong in distress: it is a comrade to its
lord." Thus, the self addresses his heart and breaks into an interior
dialogue:
Come my heart, I speak to you,
answer me my sayings!
Unravel for me what goes on in the land,
Why those who shone are overthrown.

The Coriflict if Self and Soul

The most important example of such an interior dialogue is the text
on Berlin Papyrus 3024, known as the "Tired of Life" ("Der Lebens-
mude") or the Dialogue if a Man and his Ba. In this text, the "self' is not
only addressing its Ba, but is answered by it in a true rhetorical
combat. This rather unique setting differs widely from those cases
where a lonely person addresses his "heart"; still, we would miss an
important point if we did not consider this text as an extreme case of
interior dialogue. In normal life, a dialogue between the "I" and his
"Ba" does not occur; the setting as such refers to an exceptional
situation.
The Dialogue if a Man and his Ba is certainly the most frequently
cited Egyptian text outside the field of Egyptology. Alfred Weber and
Karl Jaspers mention it as the one great exception in an otherwise
dull or unapproachable literature. Erik Voegelin devoted an article to
this text. 7 The favor this text enjoys outside the narrow circle of
Egyptologists is the more striking, as among that group it is held to be
extremely difficult and problematic, and many questions remain
open. 8 Some of the difficulties are created by the loss of the begin-
7 "Immortality: Experience and Symbol" (The Ingersoll Lecture 1965. HaIVard
University), in The Harvard Theological Rl!Diew 60 (1967): 235-279.
8 The "Lebensmiide" has been the subject of innumerable studies. The editio
princeps is that of Adolph Erman, Das Gespriich eines Lebensmiiden mit snner Seele (Berlin,
1896). A major breakthrough in understanding the text was achieved by R.O. Faulk-
ner, "The Man who was Tired of Life," JEA 42 (1956): 21-40; Winfried Barta, Das
Gespriich eines Manne mit Seinem Ba (MAs 18, 1969) and Hans Goedicke, The Report
about the Dispute qf a Man with his Ba (Baltimore, 1970) devoted entire monographs to
the text without improving either its reading or its interpretation in any decisive way.
388 JAN ASSMANN

ning. We do not know whom the two partners of the dialogue are
addressing, apart from each other; there seem to be others present to
whom they are appealing.
The two partners consist of an "I" who appears as the speaker
reporting the dispute, and his "Ba"; I will be referring to them in the
course of this paper as "Self' and "Soul." In the first part of the
dialogue, the "Self' and its "Soul" dispute the question of the right
way of death and burial. The fragment starts somewhere in a speech
of the Soul, which is mostly lost. The only intelligible words are
"their tongue is not partial." It is just a tiny trace of the soul's speech,
but it provides a precious hint as to the general setting of the dia-
logue, because these words can only refer to the judges passing a
verdict on the dead. 9 The text reverts to them later on. We are to
understand that the Soul tells the Self that it is going to bring their
case before the judges of the dead because they will pass an impartial
sentence.
There are texts where a similar motif occurs. In a text known as
the "Eloquent Peasant," a plaintiff has long been trying to receive
justice, but in vain. Eventually he threatens the magistrate to bring
the case before Anubis:
I have been pleading to you,
and you have not listened to it.
I shall go and plead about you to Anubis!1O

The speaker does not threaten to visit a temple of Anubis and suppli-
cate the god by way of prayer and sacrifice. This is not a possible
form of communicating with a god in the Middle Kingdom Egypt. 11
The gods are to be confronted only by priests, indirectly in a statue
ritual or directly after death. Anubis belongs to the realm of the dead:
Barta's book, however, has the merit of containing an important collection of pas-
sages concerning the Ba, and a comprehensive bibliography up to 1969. An interest-
ing and brilliantly written booklet by Odette Renaud, Le Dialogue du Desepere avec son
lime. Une Interpretation littiraire (Geneve, 1991) focuses on the literary qualities of the
text and discovers a convincing structure. See also V.A. Tobin, "A Re-assessment of
the Lebensmiide," BiOr (1991): 341-363.
9 For the Egyptian idea of judgment after death, see John Gwyn Griffiths, The

DWine Verdict. A Study qfDivine Judgement in the Ancient Religions. Studies in the History of
Religions (Supplements to NUMEN ill [Leiden, 1991]).
10 Eloquent Peasant B2 113-115, ed. R. B. Parkinson, The Tale qf the Eloquent

Peasant (Oxford, 1991) p. 47.

11 Cf. the different conceptions of appealing to divine justice in Psalm 7, and in
Egyptian texts of the later New Kingdom, such as "the prayers of a defendant"
(AHG) or Bata's plea to the sun god in the Tale of the Two Brothers.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 389

He leads the deceased across the threshold between this world and
the other world, the kingdom of Osiris; he assists the dead in the post
mortem judgment. The plaintiff is threatening to commit suicide and
to present himself before the last judgment, where his plea will be
listened to and decided according to justice. From the course of the
plot, it becomes clear that something like this is meant. These words
are sufficient to immediately stir up the lethargy of the magistrate. An
Egyptian judge must always take into account the possibility that the
defendant has a Ba and might~in the form of his Ba~appeal to the
court of Osiris for justice. Thus, in the instruction for king Merikare,
the king is severely advised not to use the death penalty except in the
case of rebellion:
Do not kill, it does not serve you,
punish with beatings, with detention,
thus will the land be well ordered.
Except for the rebel whose plans are found out,
for God knows the treason plotters,
God smites the rebels in blood.
(... )
Do not kill a man whose virtues you know,
with whom you once chanted the writings,
who was brought up ... before god,
who strode freely in the secret place.
The Ba comes to the place it knows,
it does not miss its former path.
No kind of magic holds it back,
it comes to those who give it waterY
The Ba is the freely moving part of the person; it is able to commute
between different worlds such as heaven, earth, and netherworld. It is
not the person himself, but his representative. Thus, when one says,
"I will go and plead to Anubis," he means that his Ba will go. In our
case, the Ba is making a similar threat when alluding to the imparti-
ality of the judges in the last tribunal. But it does not intend to
represent the person; instead, it is willing to go on his own behalf and
to leave the person behind.
The dialogue thus takes place in this world, and the Ba is threaten-
ing to cross the threshold of death and to bring the case before the
court of Osiris. The Self confirms this interpretation in its answer:
"My Ba will not converse with me." Obviously the Soul has warned
the Self that it will break off the conversation with the partial Self and
12 Merikare, after Lichtheim, pp. 100f.
390 ]AN ASSMANN

address the impartial judges in the netheIWorld who are only to be

reached by dying or "parting" (srnj, the Egyptian word for "going
away," often has the meaning "to die"). The Self is using precisely
this key-word: "My Soul shall not go! It shall attend to me in this!"
and "It shall not happen to him that he flees on the day of afIlic-
tion!"13 "Look," the Self continues, and now seems to address the
judges:
My Soul resists me but I do not listen to it.
It drags me toward death before I come to it,
Casts me on fire as to bum me!
The Self wants that the soul
should be near me on the day of affliction,
It shall stand on yonder side as does the "Nehepu"
Because such is one who goes out, that he will bring himself back.
We do not know what "Nehepu" means and, therefore, cannot fully
grasp the meaning of these sentences. But I think it is clear that the
intention of the Ba to "go away" is rejected. The issue seems to be the
separation of Self and Soul in death, which is the aim of the Soul and
which the Self is trying to prevent. One should keep in mind that the
Egyptian problem is not the immortality of the soul, but the establish-
ment of a connection and cooperation between the surviving compo-
nents of the person, such as body, heart, and soul. The Self continues:
My Ba is foolish to sully the care for life.
Keep me from death until I come to it!
Sweeten the West for me!
Is it a disaster, after all?
Life is but a limited time-span;
even trees fall.
Tread on the lie, while my misery endures!

The Self pleads for waiting and patience. Life has an end and then
there will be time for separation and reunion under different condi-
tions. The Self is referring to the same judges of the dead whose
impartiality the Ba had praised:
May Thoth judge me, he who appeases the gods!
May Khonsu defend me, he who writes truly!
May Re hear my speech, he who calms the sun barque!
May Isdes defend me in the sacred hallP4

13 The same expression recurs in line 15: "He attacks me on the day of aflliction."

It refers probably to the day of death and the judgment of the dead.
14 Berlin 3024, 23-27, Barta 13, 21.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 391

The Soul responds:

You are not a man. Are you not still living?
What is it that you want to bring to an end,
caring about life as a possessor of treasures?

The word km "to finish, to bring to an end" resumes the theme of

"time" which the Self had introduced with the sentence "life is but a
limited time-span." The Self pleads for time, delay, waiting, patience;
the Soul pleads for the "now," the actual moment. To this, the Self
answers by pointing out what "treasures" or values it cares about,
and what it understands by "life":
I said: I will not go as long as this is neglected.
Surely, you are running away without caring.
Every criminal says: "I shall seize you!"
Though you are dead, your name lives.
The "hereafter" is a place of rest,
a place where the heart is leading to.
The west is a haven,
if the voyage is difficult [... ]
If my Soul listens to me without malice,
its heart in accord with me, it will be happy.
I shall make it reach the west like one who is in his tomb,
after his survivor had appeared at his burial.
I shall make a cooling over your corpse,
so that you will make envious another Soul in weariness.
I shall make a cooling but it shall not be freezing,
so that you will make envious another soul which is hot.
I shall drink water at the pond over which I made shade,
so that you will make envious another soul that hungers.
But if you are keeping me from a death like this,
you will not find a place on which to rest in the west.
Be patient, my soul, my brother,
until my heir comes, one who will make offerings,
who will stand at the tomb on the day of burial,
having prepared the bier of the graveyard.

Now it becomes clear that both the Self and the Soul long for death.
Only the form and concept of death are controversial. The Self per-
ceives death in the traditional way, as a continuation of the commu-
nity of Self, Body, and Soul, but under different conditions. To the
Self, death means the termination of this community. The death
which the Self wants needs preparation and, therefore, time; thus the
Self pleads for delay and waiting. To the Soul, this caring for afterlife
and continuation seems illusory and superfluous. It answers the Self
in the most brutal way by negating any hopes for a life after death:
392 JAN ASSMANN

If you think of burial, it is heartbreak.

It is the bringing of tears by aggrieving a man.
It is taking a man from his house, casting (him) on high ground.
You will not go forth to see the sun.
We must realize that "to go forth" and "to see the sun" is the very
center of Egyptian hopes and ideas about life after death. "Going
Forth by Day" is the Egyptian title of the Book if the Dead. What the
soul is denying constitutes the most sacred beliefs of the Egyptians; a
more radically heretical voice is hardly imaginable. The Soul contin-
ues by striking up the tune of vanity that is a favorite topic of Egyp-
tian banquet songs,15 but in such a brutal way as would never be
permitted in entertainment poetry:
Those who built in granite,
who erected halls in excellent tombs of excellent construction-
when the builders have become gods,
their offering stones are desolate,
like those who died on the river bank
for lack of a survivor.
The flood takes its toll, the sun also.
The fishes at the water's edge talk to them.
Listen to me! It is good for people to listen.
Follow the feast day, forget worry!
It is the same song that the goddess Siduri sings to Gilgamesh in the
Babylonian epic, in order to avert him from his futile quest for im-
mortality:16 "Follow the happy days! Forget sorrow." Death is the
15 Cf. "Song from the Tomb of King Intef," Lichtheim, AEL I, 194-197:

Those who built tombs, their places are gone.

What has become of them?
I have heard the words of Imhotep and Hardedef,
whose sayings are recited whole-
what of their places?
Their walls have crumbled, their places are gone,
as though they had never been.
None comes from there, to tell of their state,
to tell of their needs, to calm our hearts,
until we go where they have gone.
Hence rejoice in your heart!
Forgetfulness profits you.
Follow your heart as long as you live!
16 C( Tzvi Abush, "Gilgamesh's Request and Siduri's Denial," Part I: The Mean-

ing of the Dialogue and its Implications for the History of the Epic," in M.E. Cohen
et al., eds., The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor cif W. W. Hallo
(Maryland, 1993) 1.14; id., Part 11: "An Analysis and Interpretation of an Old
Babylonian Fragment about Mourning and Celebration," in Comparative Studies in
Honor of Yochanan Muffs, JANES 22 (1993): 3-17.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 393

end, there is no return. The tombs fall into ruin, their possessors, as
well as the poor who collapse on the road, are forgotten. The hereaf-
ter which the Self is dreaming of is pure illusion.
The Soul then goes on to illustrate this point by two parables
dealing with a man and his wife. In both, the man shows an attitude
typical of the Ba. The first parable is about a man who, after having
plowed his plot, loads his harvest in a boat and embarks with his
family for home. Mter sunset there is a storm. The boat founders,
and his wife and children fall victim to the crocodiles. The man sits
on the shore and breaks out crying:
I do not weep for her who was born,
and that for her there is no return from the west for another being on
earth.
I grieve for her children broken in the egg,
who have seen the face of death before they have even lived.
The meaning of the parable can be summarized as follows: "What is
worse than death? Never to have lived at all." This sentence is the
exact negation of that tragic wisdom of the Greeks and of
Ecclesiastes: "It is better for men never to have been bornY
So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that are done under
the sun: and behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had
no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but
they had no comforter.
Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the
living which are yet alive.
Yea, better then they both is he who hath not yet been, who hath not
seen the evil work that is done under the sun. (Eccl. 4: 1-3)
This motif also occurs in Egyptian texts, for example, the text known
as Admonitions which belongs to the same genre as our Dialogue and
shares the same topics and general attitudes:
Lo, great and small say: "I wish I were dead!"
Little children say: "He should not have made me live!" 18

The Soul opposes this view by the paradoxical claim that to have
never been born is the greatest misfortune.
The second parable deals with the topic of time and delay. A man
asks for supper at the wrong time of day. His wife puts him off until
the evening. He leaves the house in fury but comes back in the
17 Qoh 4.1-3.
18 Admonitions, after Lichtheim, p. 153.
394 JAN ASSMANN

evening "like another person." His wife knows him. He does not
listen to anybody reproaching him and is "empty-hearted"-stub-
born-to the message. The wife seems to play the role of the Self and
the man that of the Soul. The Soul is the one who is impatient, does
not want to wait, whereas the Self is preparing for the right moment.
The theme of waiting versus impatient desire for "now" fits the over-
all course of the argumentation perfectly. However, if the "man" in
the parable is really meant to play the part of the Soul, it is strange
that the Soul portraits its own attitude in such a critical way. It is
obviously the wife who is right in this story. Is there a confusion in
the speakers? Is this parable to be put in the mouth of the Self,
answering the parable of the Soul?
The next speaker in the dialogue of a man and his wife is, how-
ever, doubtlessly the Self: "I opened my mouth to my Soul to answer
what it had said." What follows are four lyrical cantos. The first has
eight short stanzas, all of them starting with the line "Lo, my name
reeks because of you." Since the words "Lo" and "because of you"
are homographs in Egyptian, a rendering such as "10, my name
reeks, 10 ... " is equally possible:
Lo, my name reeks,
10, more than carrion smell
On summer days of burning sky.
But I think that this interpretation is less probable. In this canto, the
Soul is not speaking of a general situation of social disgrace; that is
the topic of the second canto. The issue here is what becomes of the
"name" after a death such as the Soul has in mind. Even before, the
Self had reminded the Soul of the fact that the name survives after
death and that for this reason man is responsible for his life and his
preparation for death. If this preparation is neglected, the surviving
name will be "reeking," it will be an abomination for posterity.

Isolation, Solitude, and Personal Disintegration

The second canto deals with the theme of solitude. The text is now
obviously approaching the crucial experience that has caused the
crisis of the person. It is the experience of total isolation, of an indi-
vidual who cannot find anyone to speak to among his contemporar-
ies, and who despairs at the impossibility of communication and
community.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 395

To whom shall I speak today?

Brothers are mean,
The friends of today do not love.

To whom shall I speak today?

Hearts are greedy,
Everyone robs his comrade's goods.

To whom shall I speak today?

Kindness has perished,
Insolence assaults everyone.

(... )
To whom shall I speak today?
The criminal is one's intimate,
the brother with whom one dealt, is a foe.

To whom shall I speak today?

Yesterday is not remembered,
No one acts for him who has acted, nowadays.

(... )
To whom shall I speak today?
Faces are blank,
Everyone turns his face from his brothers.

To whom shall I speak today?

Hearts are greedy,
No man's heart can be relied on.

To whom shall I speak today?

None are righteous,
The land is left to evildoers.

To whom shall I speak today?

One lacks an intimate,
One resorts to an unknown to complain.

(... )
To whom shall I speak today?
Wrong roams the earth,
And there is no end of it.

The Egyptian idea of "Maat" or justice means precisely the spirit of

mutual understanding, solidarity, and community that is the indis-
pensable foundation of civil society. But here we have sixteen differ-
ent images (we have omitted a few) that evoke the catastrophe of
396 JAN ASSMANN

destroyed community, driving the speaker into an isolation he has

not brought about by himself: lack of love, predominance of greed
and avarice, disappearance of kindness, increase of violence, con-
tempt of the just and the contention with evil, the transformation of
friends into foes, the disappearance of memory, gratitude, and re-
compensation, the averted eyes and lack of unspoken understanding,
loss of confidence, a lack of righteous people who allow others to live
with them in good company, and general dissolution of society. This
is a striking diagnosis of social disintegration, and the most impressive
symptom, to my mind, is the one that occurs in the center of the long
stanza:
To whom shall I speak today?
The past is not remembered,
No one acts for him who has acted, nowadays.
The decay of memory is here considered as one of the symptoms of
social disintegration. To the Egyptian mind, memory is the social
sense par excellence. If the past is forgotten, people no longer relate
to each other, no longer repay good with good and evil with evil. In
those times, the world will be "out of joint." This is a common
complaint in literary texts of the Middle Kingdom. If the past is not
remembered, social coherence disintegrates, and the world turns into
an arena of general fighting, a bellum omnium contra omnes.
Lo people fight in the arena, for the past is forgotten. Success eludes
him who no longer knows him whom he has known. 19
In a text of the same time period we read: "a sluggard has no yester-
day,"20 that is, no past, no memory, no conscience, no responsibility.
A person without memory is a "sluggard," a socially irresponsible
individual such as the Self is complaining of. The opposite is the
ideal, the responsible person who is able to remember:
A good character returns to his place of yesterday, for it is said: Do to
the doer to make him do. It is thanking a man for what he does. 21

19 Instruction of Amenemhet I pMillingen 1Of.; Abschnitt V d-e in Wolfgang

Helck, Die Lehre des Amencmhet (Wiesbaden, 1969) S. 35-37. ef. Wolfhart Westendorf,
in Giittinger Miszellen 46 (1981), S. 33-42, and Elke Blumenthal, in Zeitschrfag.Sprache
III (1984), S. 88.
20 Bauer B 2, 109f., Verf., a.a.D., S. 60.
21 Bauer B I, 109-110; Friedrich Vogelsang, Kommentar zu den Klagen des Bauem,
Unters. z. Gesch. u. Altertumsk. Ag. 6 (Leipzig, 1913) S. 100.
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 397

It is, of course, Nietzsche who, in our days, found the most impres-
sive formulations to describe the social importance of memory. There
is no society without memory, and vice-versa. Memory, according to
Nietzsche, is a social institution, an "invention." He distinguishes a
natural form of memory that cooperates with forgetting and regener-
ates through forgetting, from what he calls "the memory of the will"
that he believes to be not only a human phenomenon but a human
invention, a civilizational acquisition. This kind of memory is the
exclusive property of man who is "the animal that is allowed to make
promises."
Eben dieses notwendig vergessliche Tier, an dem das Vergessen eine Krafl, eine Form
der starken Gesundheit darstellt, hat sich nun ein Gegenvermijgen ange;:;iichtet, ein
Gediichtnis, mit Hilft dessenfor gewisse Fiille die Vergesslichkeit ausgehiingt wird-
for die Fiille niimlich, dass versprochen werden solt: somit keineswegs bloss als ein
passivisches Nicht-wieder-los-werden-kijnnen des einmal eingerit;:;ten Eindrucks, ...
sondern ein aktives Nicht-wieder-los-werden-wollen, einfort-undjOrt-wollen des ein-
mal Gewoltten, ein eigentliches Gediichtnis des Willens.
(Precisely this necessarily forgetful animal in which forgetting is a
power, a form of strong health, has cultivated within himself a counter-
capability, a memory, that enables him in certain cases to suspend
("unhinge") forgetting, viz. in those cases where a promise is to be
made: it is therefore not only a passive not-being-able-to-get-rid-of the
engraved impression ... but an active not-being-willing-to-Iet-Ioose, a
permanent willing of what had once been willed, a veritable memory of
the will. 22
This, Nietzsche says, is the long history of the origin of responsibility
and accountability, the process by which man became "calculable."
This is the social function of memory. Memory conveys calculability,
responsibility, accountability; in short, identity, the capability of be-
ing tomorrow the same as today and yesterday.
"Memory" and "love" are the two socially important faculties that
enable man to live in company. I would propose to call them "con-
nective virtues." We remember that the Egyptians conceived of a
person as a plurality which during life is always threatened by disin-
tegration but which, after the physical death, may be reintegrated by
means of ritual, recitation, and also memory-that is, the connective
virtues of others. A person can contribute during life to his or her
reintegration and continuation after death in two ways: by leading
such a life that will pass the judgment of the dead, and by developing

22 Friedrich Nietzsche, Werke in drei Biinden, ed. K. Schlechta (Miinchen, 1960)

Bd.II, S. 799f.
398 JAN ASSMANN

and using connective virtues, such as memory and love, in order to

be remembered by others. But woe to one who lives in a time when
he is alone with his connective virtues and when there is nobody who
responds to his love and memory! Social isolation threatens the per-
sonal system and leads eventually to personal disintegration.

Death and the Other- World

The third canto is that famous poem with the recurrent line "death is
before me today":
Death is before me today
Like a sick man's recovery,
Like going outdoors after confinement.

Death is before me today

Like the fragrance of myrrh,
Like sitting under a sail on a day of breeze.

Death is before me today

Like the fragrance of lotus,
like sitting on the shore of drunkenness.

Death is before me today

Like a well-trodden way,
Like a man's coming home from warfare.

Death is before me today

Like the clearing of the sky,
As when a man learns what he ignored.

Death is before me today

Like a man's longing to see his home
When he has spent many years in captivity.

These verses do not seem to need any commentary. They sound only
too familiar. But this, precisely, is our problem. They seem to express
the Christian (and Jewish?) idea of dying as a return to God, the
originally gnostic feeling of being a stranger in this world, of belong-
ing to another world, and of returning home to that other world in
death. This poem has entered the pious repertoire of Protestant and
Catholic sermons.
Nothing, however, could be more opposite to Egyptian thought
than this reading of the text. The Egyptian normally does not feel a
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 399

stranger in this world; on the contrary, he feels strongly attached to

it. All of Egyptian religion confirms this basic feeling of being at
home in the world. The feelings that the Self expresses in its second
and third songs rise from a fatal crisis, a catastrophic situation, an
experience of estrangement from a world turned upside down, or
"out of joint," as Hamlet says. It is absolutely scandalous for one to
long for death, to see in it a liberation from confinement, a convales-
cence from sickness, a reunion after separation. These verses, instead
of evoking a feeling of pious edification and consolation, should
alarm and shock the reader. They are meant as paradoxes. "Death"
(mwt) has an unequivocally negative and shocking ring in Egyptian.
In normal language, this term is avoided; when people speak of dy-
ing, they use a word meaning "to land." Death (mwt) is what men
hate; life is what they love. This is the normal state of affairs in
Egyptian semantics. "As sure as you love life and as you hate death"
is the usual formula in the tombs, invoking the visitor to say a prayer
for the deceased. The Egyptian does not belong to the other world,
but to this world, and if the bonds of belonging are broken and the
individual falls into isolation, there is nothing to receive him into
another worldly network of belonging.
Yet this seems to be the rather exceptional, even revolutionary, mes-
sage of our text. The last and shortest canto of the Self continues:
Truly, he who is yonder will be a living god,
punishing the evildoer's crime.

Truly, he who is yonder will stand in the sun-barque,

Making its bounty flow to the temples.

Truly, he who is yonder will be a wise man,

Not barred from appealing to Re when he speaks. 23
These verses describe the forms of belonging that await the person in
the other world. He is performing three exemplary actions of connec-
tivity: punishing the crime, providing the temples, speaking (and be-
ing listened to) as a wise man (because in a world where nobody
listens, wisdom is of no avail). This is the kind of behavior that flows
from connective virtues and that helps to build and maintain a commu-
nity. The Self knows itself to possess these virtues, but despairs of this

23 Berlin 3024,142-147; Barta, a.a.O., 18,28,47; Goedicke, a.a.O., 178-182. Cf.

with the last couplet a Coffin Text from Kom el Hisn, quoted after A. Loprieno, in
Topos und Mimesis 97: "May you sit beside Re, may he listen to your speech."
400 JAN ASSMANN

world as a place to bring them to fruition. The community that he

longs for is no longer possible "here" and only to be hoped for
"there. "
This, however, is not the normal state of affairs. Like the biblical
book of Job, the text constructs an extreme situation, a Grenzsituation
(frontier situation) as Karl Jaspers puts it, and offers a last resort in
extreme states of hopelessness and desperation. It is a text that proc-
esses extreme experiences of isolation and provides a kind of relief in
being read aloud to a person. In much the same way as the book of
Job, it speaks the language of despair and thus gives voice to those
who feel themselves reduced to speechlessness in similar situations.
The principal difference between the Egyptian text and the book
ofJob is the concept of a hereafter, a question that Spinoza brought
up in the seventeenth century and caused considerable scandal in the
Jewish and Christian world. Spinoza discovered that the Hebrew
Bible does not know of the immortality of the soul, of a hereafter and
a future state of reward and punishment. Reward and punishment
have to happen in this world alone, and if an individual does not live
to receive it, it will be received by his posterity up to the third and
fourth generation. This is the Mosaic conception, and for Spinoza it
was proof enough that such a belief could not come from God. The
Christian bishop William Warburton wrote a nine-volume work to
prove Spinoza's observation true, but also to refute his conclusion. 24
Ancient Egypt played an important role in this discourse as the ex-
emplary religion of immortality and of a future life depending on
reward and punishment.
It is true that Egypt had an idea of post-mortem recompensation
that is lacking in Israel; Job will receive the reward for his virtue in his
old age, whereas the Self in the Egyptian text expects the fulfillment of
the longing to belong in the future life. But there is another important
difference between Egypt and Israel, which points in the opposite
direction. The biblical construct of belonging or connectivity is two-
fold; the Egyptian one is simple. The Jew belongs to God and to his
people. He is responsible to both, and he constantly lives in the
presence of both. Job, in conversing with his friends, is simultaneously
addressing God. The Egyptian is alone with his Soul. He does not
accuse the gods for his misfortune, nor does he perceive his sufferings
as unjust punishments for crimes he did not commit. He knows that

24 William Warburton, The Divine Legation qfMoses, in nine Books (London, 1737-42).
 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 401

the gods do not interfere in human affairs, and that a human being is
exposed to all kinds of misfortunes that have nothing to do with the
gods and have no religious significance whatsoever. They just occur.
The only way to address the gods and to enter into forms of belonging
and connectivity that bind him to the gods is to die and to present
himself to the judgment of the dead. The Egyptian does not conceive
of himself as living simultaneously in two different worlds or systems of
connectivity, one connecting him with his people, the other with god
or the gods. He cannot find any consolation in the thought that when
he is not loved and remembered by his fellows there is always a god
who loves and remembers him. He lives in only one coherent sphere of
connectivity that extends over his earthly and his future life; and the
borderline between the two is marked by the judgment of the dead.

Personal and Social Coherence

The Egyptian individual is dependent on social coherence in order to

be able to maintain his personal coherence. The Egyptian ideal is
constellative integratedness, which depends on both the person's con-
nective virtues and the social conditions. It is strange that our text
says so little about the causes that have brought about this total
disintegration of society. However, other texts are so explicit about
this, that the text may have assumed this to be common knowledge,
unnecessary to be made explicit. It also seems that there are some
very basic semantic presuppositions that are so characteristic of a
specific genre that they too are implicitly understood. Our text be-
longs to the genre of lamentations, most of which are cast in the form
of an interior dialogue or monologue. Usually, these texts are more
explicit as to the causes that brought about the lamentable state of
affairs. The Lamentations if Khakheperresenb, from which we cited a pas-
sage, state that "Maat is cast out, Isfet reigns in the council hall."25
This text attributes the catastrophic situation of the land (that is,
society) to the expulsion of Maat and the rule of Isfet. Maat is the
principle that creates society, makes people live together in harmony,
and brings about mutual love and memory. It is the principle of
social and cosmic connectivity. The Egyptian term is usually trans-
lated as truth, justice, order; however, I have proposed to render the
term as connective justice. It is the principle that creates (a) social space by
25 Khakheperresenb, after Lichtbeim I, p. 147.
402 JAN ASSMANN

binding people together, (b) social time by tying yesterday to today and
tomorrow, and (c) meaning by tying rewards to good actions and pun-
ishments to crimes.
But Maat is not a divine substance that simply is there and works
its effects in some mysterious way, nor is it an inbuilt mechanism,
such as the laws of nature, that functions automatically. It is some-
thing that people must practice by doing it and saying it. Without the
active cooperation of men and women, Maat cannot subsist in the
world and Isfet will take over.
Maat is both a social and a political category. Men and woman
can only practice Maat if there is a state. The Egyptian terminology
is that the king is responsible for the creation of Maat (sbpr, to bring
into being, to realize), and the people are responsible for practicing
Maat in words and deeds (to say Maat, to do Maat). Another text of
the same genre makes it clear that it is the collapse of the state and
the lack of kingship that is the ultimate cause of the catastrophe:
See now, things are done that never went before,
the king has been robbed by beggars.
See one buried as a hawk is [cast on the desert]
What the pyramid hid is empty.
See now, the land is deprived of kingship
By a few people who ignore custom.
See now, men rebel against the Serpent,
[stolen] is the Crown of Re, who pacifies the two lands.
See, the secret of the lands, its limits are unknown,
if the residence is stripped, it will collapse in a moment.
(... )
The secrets of Egypt's kings are bared,
See, the residence is fearful from want. 26
Another example comes from a lamentation that is overtly political,
the prophecy of Neferty. Here, a sage prophesies future calamities,
addressing his heart in the usual form:
Stir, my heart, bewail this land, from which you have sprung!
When there is silence before evil,
And when what should be chided is feared,
Then the great man is overthrown in the land of your birth.
Tire not while this is before you,
Rise against what is before you!
Lo, the great no longer rule the land,

26 Admonitions, after Lichtheim I, pp. 155f.

 PAPYRUS BERLIN 3024 403

what was made has been unmade,

Re should begin the creation again. 27
From the very start it is clear that the description refers to a state of
interregnum. But at the end, a savior-king is announced:
Then a king will come from the South,
Ameny the justified is his name,

Rejoice, 0 son of a woman of Ta-Seti, child of Upper Egypt.

He will take the white crown,
he will wear the red crown
people of his time,
The son of man will make his name for all eternity!
The evil-minded, the treason-plotters,
they suppress their speech in fear of him;

Then Maat will return to her seat

while Isfet is driven away. 28

These texts are explicit about the causes of the general situation, that
the dialogue keeps in the dark or silently presupposes. Generally
speaking, the genre of lamentations is a socio-political discourse re-
flecting on the conditions of civic society and social harmony. In the
context of this genre, our text holds a rather exceptional position in
that it excludes every social, political, and historical condition and
focuses solely on the interior bonds of love and memory. A predomi-
nantly social and political discourse is turned into an anthropological
one. Its theme is not society or the state, but the person. The prob-
lem to be solved is not the legitimation of kingship and social order,
but the question of death, and how Self and Soul can survive and the
Person persist in such a crisis.
The basic problem is what an individual does with his or her own
solitariness in the context of a culture that constructs the person in
terms of plurality. How can a person built on communication and
constellation persist when communication fails and constellations
break? It is the same question that underlies Whitehead's famous
definition: "Religion is what an individual does with his own solitari-
ness. "29 The answer that the Dialogue of Self and Soul provides is the
answer of religion. It is not the only one. Five hundred years from
now, the answer will be radically different; but that is another story.
27 Neferty, Lichtheim, pp. 140f.
28 Neferty, Lichtheim, p. 143.
29 A.N. Whitehead, The Making of Religion (Cambridge, 1927) p. 6.
 FAITHFUL BODIES.
ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS

Cristiano Grottanelli

From the time of Herodotus to the Roman imperial age, Greek and
Latin texts described and discussed Oriental eunuchs. Scholars of the
Ancient Near East have debated about eunuchs and still do so, I but
their sources were mainly cuneiform and biblical texts. They rarely
made use of the Greek and Latin evidence, and even when they
availed themselves of such sources, their treatment of those texts was
often random. 2 I shall reverse the usual procedure: I shall consider
what some Greek sources tell us about Near Eastern eunuchs, and,
with one possible exception, I shall use the Near Eastern evidence
only when it helps to understand the Greek. Of course, the pitfalls of
this procedure are obvious to me. I admit that the resulting picture
will be at best a Greek one, though this does not mean that my Greek
authors invented their Oriental eunuchs, but only that they inter-
preted them. Moreover, this picture drastically simplifies a complex
situation that includes different types of eunuchs and extends over
many centuries. To this one should add that there are less explicit
Greek views of the Oriental eunuchs that differ from the ones I will
present here. In spite of these caveats, there is something to be
gained, I think, from an examination of the Greek picture of Near
Eastern eunuchs, because some of the authors reflected upon the
topic and achieved coherent descriptions that are not found in Near
Eastern sources.

I The main problem is the interpretation of the technical term sa resi, taken as

referring to real eunuchs by some scholars, and as referring to officials who may, but
need not, be eunuchs, by others. The latter position was held by L. Oppenheim in
his important article "A Note on sa rdi," The Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Sociery
of Columbia Unwersiry 5 (1973) (Gaster FestschriftJ, 325-334; the opposite position is
defended by].-M. Durand, in his article in Dossiers d'Archiologie 171 (1992), 6, and by
S. Parpola, both in his book, Letters from As.ryrian Scholars 11 (Alter Orient und Altes
Testament 5-2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1983), 20-21, and in his recent paper "The
Assyrian Cabinet," in Festschrifi von Soden (Alter Orient und Altes Testament 240,
1994) 379-401. For further bibliography on the subject, one should see these works
and those cited here in notes 7-10, 13.
2 This is the case in Parpola's 1983 book, above, n. I.
 ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS 405

Greek and Latin sources depict two very different types of Oriental
eunuchs. One type is the servant of a powerful person, most often of
a king and more especially of the Persian king, who lives in his
master's palace and has a special relationship with his lord. 3 This
special relationship is expressed by the etymology of the Greek term
eunoukhos, that means "the one who is in charge of the bed." The
other type, not referred to by the term eunoukhos, and that appears in
later texts, is the votary of a goddess who has cultic functions in the
deity's sanctuary, or roams about the countryside and makes a living
by begging and/or divining for a fee. 4 While the first type is often
presented as having been castrated, sometimes in order to be sold on
the slave market or in order to be given as tribute to a king, the
second type is described as having effected self-castration. In some
accounts, as in the treatise De Dea ~a attributed to Lucian of Samo-
sata, the operation is said to take place while the devotees are over-
taken by a fit of frenzy, often interpreted as divine possession.
In dealing with the concepts of Self, Soul, and Body as they appear
in religious experience, it would seem appropriate to concentrate on
the second type of Oriental eunuchs; and indeed I discuss them
towards the end of my argument and in connection with the first
type. But to explore an important case of evaluation and self-evalua-
tion centered upon the body, and some Greek ideas about the con-
nections between soma and psukhe, it seems to me more useful to deal
with the first type, i.e., the court eunuch.

Faitliful Bodies

That the Near Eastern neighbors of the Greeks considered eunuchs

most trustworthy is established by Herodotus. In his Eighth Book

3 There were eunuchs in the administration of the late Roman Empire: K. Hop-

kins, "Eunuchs in Politics in the Later Roman Empire," Proceedings if the Cambridge
Philological Society 189 (New Series 9, 1963), 62-80. (I thank Hubert Cancik for point-
ing out this important article to me.)
4 An intelligent discussion of this type of eunuch is found in W. Burkert, Structure

and History in Greek Mythology and Ritual (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of
California Press, 1979) 105, 120 (text) and 191, 203 (notes). See also, C. Giammarco
Razzano, "I 'Galli di Cibele' nel culto di eta ellenistica," in Ottava Miscellanea Greca e
Romana (Roma: Studi pubblicati dall'Istituto Italiano per la Storia Antica, 13, 1982),
227-266. A. D. Nock, "Eunuchs in Ancient Religion" (1925), in Essays on Religion and
the Ancient World 1 (Oxford 1972), 7-15, is still useful, though the interpretation sug-
gested is not convincing.
406 CRISTIANO GROTTANELLI

(105-106), the "Father of History" tells the story of the eunuch Her-
motimos of Pedasa, who "had achieved a fuller vengeance for wrong
done to him than any man within my knowledge." Hermotimos,
Herodotus continues, "being taken captive by enemies and exposed
for sale, was bought by a certain Panionios of Chios." Now this
Panionios, Herodotus says, "had set himself to earn a livelihood out
of most wicked practices; he would procure beautiful boys and cas-
trate them, and take them to Sardis and Ephesos, where he sold them
for a great price; for those foreigners value eunuchs more than men
with testicles, because of their trustworthiness." The term used for
trustworthiness is pistis (the expression being pistios eineka), the Greek
term for credit, credence, faithfulness, and faith.
Herodotus was very explicit, but he did not explain why castrated
slaves were considered more faithful than slaves with testicles. In the
following century, however, an answer to this question was provided
by Xenophon, who offered what may well be defined as a theory of
the eunuch. 5 This was presented in the context of that author's Cyro-
paedia, a narrative work depicting Cyrus the Great, the first king of
Persia, as an ideal ruler and as the founder of the Achaemenid mon-
archy and all of its institutions. Among these, the function and role of
court eunuchs were described as important, and attributed to that
monarch's wise decision. In the Seventh Book of the Cyropaedia, the
reasons for Cyrus's choice are given as follows.
When he began to organize his court, Xenophon says, Cyrus real-
ized first of all that he needed protection for his own body (phulake peri
to soma).
And as he realized that men are nowhere an easier prey to violence
than when at meals or at wine, in the bath, or in bed and asleep, he
looked around to see who were the most faithful persons that he could
have around him at such times; and he held that no person was ever
faithful who loved anyone else better than the one who needed his
protection.

5 Xenophon's theory is usefully placed in the context of a sociological reflection

on court eunuchs by L.A. Coser, Gree4J Institutions. Patterns qf Undivided Commitment
(New York and London: Macmillan, 1974) 21-31, in a chapter called "The Political
Functions of Eunuchism," that owes much to K.M. Wittfoge!'s reflections on Orien-
tal despotism, and refers to the eunuchs of "China and Byzantium, as well as (oD the
Arab, Mesopotamian and Persian empires." I am grateful to AI Baumgarten for
pointing out this important book to me and for sending me a copy. On eunuchs in
the Cyropaedia: J. Tatum, Xenophon's Imperial Fiction. On the Education qf Cyrus (Prince ton:
Princeton University Press, 1989),93-96, 196-204.
 ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS 407

This general observation led to the choice of eunuchs, who seemed

preferable for two reasons. First, Gyrus considered that those who
had children, or congenial wives or boys, were by nature constrained
to love them best. But as eunuchs were not susceptible to any such
affection, he thought that they would esteem most highly those who
were in the best position to make them rich, to stand by them if ever
they were wronged, and to place them in offices of honor. No one,
Gyrus thought, could surpass him in bestowing favors of that kind.
This first consideration is followed immediately by a second one,
similar but not identical to the first, and far less simple.
As eunuchs are the object of contempt to the rest of mankind (adoxoi
ontes hoi eunoukhoi para tois allois anthropois), they need a master who will be
their patron; for there is no male (aner) who would not think that he had
a right to take advantage of a eunuch at every opportunity unless there
were some higher power to prevent him from doing so. But there is no
reason why a eunuch faithful to his master (despote(i) piston) should not be
placed above all others.

Mter having thus explained the two reasons why eunuchs are most
faithful, Xenophon immediately adds that the eunuchs' plight does
not depend on an objective weakness or inferiority in their character.
Gyrus, he explains, "did not admit what many might easily be in-
clined to suppose, that eunuchs are weaklings (analkidas)." The young
king drew this conclusion from observing what happens to animals
such as horses and bulls when they are castrated. Human beings, too,
become more gentle when deprived of their desire to mate, but not less
careful of that which is entrusted to them; and [they] are not made any
less efficient horsemen, or any less skillful lancers, or less ambitious
men. On the contrary, they showed both in times of war and in hunting
that they still preserved in their souls a spirit of ambition (to philonikon en
tais psukhais); and of their fidelity (tou de pistoi einal) they gave the best
proof upon the fall of their masters, for no one ever performed acts of
greater fidelity (pistotera erga) in his master's misfortune than eunuchs do
.... Recognizing these facts [Cyrus] selected eunuchs for every post of
personal service (lit. "of the care of his body," tous (ton thuroron) pantas peri
to heautou soma therapeuteras).

Not Men

On the subject of the eunuch's physical strength, Xenophon is not

totally consistent, for he does admit the possibility of a partial weak-
ness when he writes that "if it is thought with some justice that
408 CRISTIANO GROTTANELLI

eunuchs are inferior in bodily strength (ana lis tou sifmatos iskhuos), yet
on the field of battle steel makes the weak equal to the strong."
Despite this, the paradox of the eunuchs remains, because their fidel-
ity and moral strength are not only in contrast with the contempt the
rest of humankind feels for them, but also a consequence of that con-
tempt. For the same reason, their status as adoxoi is the cause of their
success, i.e., of the fact that their masters "make them rich" (plouti-
zein), and place them in offices of honor (timas periaptein autois).
The same paradox governs Herodotus's narrative about the eu-
nuch Hermotimos of Pedasa, cited above. When Hermotimos invited
to his home Panionios of Chios, who had bought him, castrated him,
and sold him at a higher price, he pretended to be grateful. He thus
lured Panionios and his family into his home, where he took his
revenge by forcing Panionios's sons to castrate their father and Pa-
nionios to emasculate his own sons. In order to fool his enemy,
Hermotimos expressed his feigned gratitude with the following
words: "It is to you that I owe all this prosperity of mine; and if you
will bring your household and dwell here, I will make you prosperous
in return." But as soon as Panionios and his household were in Her-
motimos's power, the eunuch's description of what his guest had
done to him changed totally: "Tell me, you who have made a liveli-
hood of the wickedest trade on earth! What harm had I or any of my
forefathers (progonifn) done to you or to your forefathers that you made
me a nothing instead of the man (=male) I was (hoti me ant'andros
epoiesas to meden einaz)?" Both versions of what had happened were
true, for the fact that Hermotimos was a nothing (meden) as well as his
prosperity (agatha) resulted from his castration. Indeed, Herodotus
presents Hermotimos's prosperity as a positive outcome deriving
from his quality as a eunuch:
Among the many whom Panionios had castrated in the way of trade
was Hermotimos, who was not in all things unfortunate; for he was
brought from Sardis [where he had been sold] among other gifts to the
[persian] king [Xerxes], and as time went on he stood higher in Xerxes'
favor than any other eunuch (panton ton eunoukhon etimethe malista para
Xerxe(i)).
Just as the eunuchs discussed by Xenophon were despised (adoxoz) by
all other human beings, but (or, and therefore) received honors (timas)
from their master the Persian king, Hermotimos was honored
(etimethej by the Persian king, even though he was aware of not being
a man (male), but a nothing (ant'andros ... meden). Herodotus adds fur-
 ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS 409

ther information on this paradox, for he tells us of the market value

of eunuch slaves in Ephesos and Sardis, where they were "sold for a
great price." Obviously the price was determined by the buyers, be-
cause Orientals "value eunuchs more than men with testicles, be-
cause of their trustworthiness."
There is scholarly consensus regarding the derivation of the
Achaemenid system of palace eunuchs from the Mesopotamian tradi-
tions, notably from those of Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian times
(Herodotus Ill. 92).6 Cuneiform sources on eunuchs are numerous;
and though it is not within the scope of this paper to examine them
in any detail, it is important in the present context to note that a
"double" evaluation of eunuchs is attested by those sources. G. Meier
writes in his article "Eunuch" in the Reallexicon der Assyriologie,7 "The
evaluation of eunuchs [in cuneiform texts] differed according to con-
texts," for "the fact that they could reach high positions at court
shows that their condition was not necessarily considered dishonor-
able in that milieu"; while popular attitudes followed more "natural"
lines (Naturlicher dachte das Volk), as reflected, according to Meier, in the
idea that a eunuch is "not a man," or even that a eunuch is "half a
man," as attested in cuneiform literature. 8
The ascription of these negative evaluations of eunuchs to a
"popular" attitude, or at least to the emerging of a voice differing
6 Herodotus lists "a thousand talents of silver and five hundred boys to be eunuchs

(paides ektomiat)" as the tribute "Babylon and the rest of Assyria" rendered to Darius.
This seems to point to the Mesopotamian tradition of palace eunuchs that we know
from cuneiform sources, even though the relationship between the Babylonian trib-
ute and the Persian custom is not as mechanical as implied by W.W. How and J.
Wells, A Commentary on Herodotus (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press,
1991,1912 1),11,270.
7 As in the case of eunuchs discussed in Greek texts, the Mesopotamian eunuchs

mentioned by Meier must be divided into types: court eunuchs (Meier: Beamte des
Kiinigl. Hqfts), and cultic eunuchs (Meier: Bestandteil des Kultpersonals).
8 Both these statements refer to cultic eunuchs. The first is found in the letter of

Ninurta-nadin-sumati to Mutakkil-Nusku, written in the time of the Assyrian king

Ninurta-tukul-ASsur, and discussed by E.F. Weidner, "Aus den Tagen eines assy-
rischen Schattenkonigs," Archiv for OrienifOrschung 10 (1952), 2-9. The second is found
in a popular saying on an Assyrian cuneiform tablet (in which a male prostitute
makes a witty remark about the unsatisfactory arrangement with his "promoter"):
W. G. Lambert, Babylonian Wisdom Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), 212-221
(IV 3-5). Various classifications of eunuchs according to gender, both in Near East-
ern and in Greek and Latin texts, are discussed in W. Burkert, Structure and History in
Greek Mythology and Ritual, above note 4, 105 and 192 n. 32. Eunuchs are shown to be
classified by some Greek and Latin texts as neither male nor female; but cultic
eunuchs and male prostitutes rank as women in some Mesopotamian texts. Catullus
63 uses the feminine for Attis after his castration.
410 CRISTIANO GROTTANELLI

from that of the official palace bureaucracy, is also found in Mario

Liverani's9 treatment of a Sumerian proverb from a Nippur collec-
tion that may be dated around 1900 BCE, published in E.1. Gordon's
volume Sumerian Proverbs. ID The proverb reads: dub-sar an-ta-me-en lu ki-
ta-nu-me-en; the editor's translation is: "You may be a scribe [when
viewed] from above; [but] you are not [even] a man [when viewed]
from below." Gordon observes that this is "perhaps a taunt directed
to a scribe who, although he possesses the confidence of his superiors,
does not have the respect of his subordinates and his colleagues."
Liverani, however, thinks the proverb refers to a eunuch and ex-
presses the popular contempt of eunuchs together with the peasants'
hate of palace scribes and of the palace administration in general.
Since this text, like the more "popular" texts quoted by Meier, was
produced by a palace bureaucracy, in order to use it as a sample of
popular wisdom opposed to the ideology of the palace elite, Liverani
had to imagine that "the scribes had become absent-minded for a
moment, that a mesh had been broken in the thick net of ideological
control woven by the scribal elite, and that something alien had
seeped through." If one accepts the interpretation of the proverb as
referring to a eunuch, it would be preferable to think that those who
despised him were not, as Meier suggested, das Volk, but, as Xeno-
phon rightly stated, " [all] other human beings (alloi anthropot)." These
would include the scribal elite as well, and even the eunuch himself,
as in the case of Hermotimos of Pedasa who considered himself a
nothing. Thus, precisely because he is despised by all, the eunuch is
faithful to, and thus highly valued by, the king.
With this slight alteration, Liverani's interpretation of the Sume-
rian proverb seems both convincing and meaningful. Liverani sees in
the proverb a double entendre and the presence of two different
systems of reference, one social, and the other personal or, better,
anatomical. According to the first reference system, "[when viewed]
from above" means-I would suggest-from the point of view of the
king (Liverani writes: "from the point of view of the administration"),
while "[when viewed] from below" means-I think-from the point
of view of other humans (Liverani writes: "from the point of view of
us peasants"). Things are simpler in the second reference system, and

9 M. Liverani, "Le tradizioni orali delle [onti scritte nell'antico Oriente," in B.

Bemardi, C. Poni, A. Triulzi, eds., Fonti orali-Oral Sources-Sources Grales (Milano: Fran-
co Angeli Editore, 1978), 398-399.
10 E.!. Gordon, Sumerian Proverbs (Philadelphia: 1959), 204 (11. 44).
 ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS 411

probably "[when viewed] from above" means "in the head," while
"[when viewed] from below" means "in the sexual parts," as Liverani
suggests. In both possible contexts of reference, the two points of
view, from above and from below, are presented as contradictory as
well as co-existing. If the proverb is indeed about a eunuch, their
apparently oxymoric contrast and co-existence may be viewed as
another form of what I have called the paradox of the eunuch. Be-
cause he is not a man "when viewed from below," the person in
question is a scribe "when viewed from above." If we treat this prob-
lem as a riddle, the solution could well be a eunuch.
In the last pages I have moved away from the Greek sources, and
have ventured into the dangerous field of Assyriology. The result of
my expedition into this field is surely too meager to justify the risk I
have run for, after all, the reference to a eunuch in the Sumerian
proverb discussed by Liverani, though likely, remains hypothetical.
And yet it is precisely by comparing that proverb to a short Greek
text featuring a eunuch that its hypothetical connection to the prob-
lem of Oriental eunuchs can be strengthened.
The Greek text I am referring to is an Aesopic fable, n. 113 in
Chambry's edition." Its Oate) title is The Eunuch and the Priest, and the
translation I would like to offer is the following:
A eunuch went to see a priest, and asked him to offer a sacrifice for
him, so that he could become the father of children (thusian huper autou
poiesai eis to genesthai paidon patera). The priest said: When I consider the
sacrifice (hote men pros ten thusian apidO), I pray (parakaloj that you may
become the father of children; but when I see what you look like (hote de
ten sin opsin idO), you do not even look like a man (male) (oud'aner
phaine(i))" .
The priest's words in the Aesopic fable share two main features with
the Sumerian proverb. First, they have a similar structure, for they
contrast two different views of the same person or problem. In the
proverb the person is considered [as viewed] from above and [as
viewed] from below; in the fable the eunuch's request is envisaged
from the point of view of the sacrifice and from the point of view of
the eunuch's appearance. Second, though the pair of perspectives
contrasted in the Greek text differs from the pair contrasted in the
Sumerian proverb, in both cases the second point of view denies

11 See the text and a French translation in E. Chambry, Esape, Fables (Paris: Les
Belles Lettres, 1985, 1927 1), 52.
412 CRISTIANO GROTTANELLI

male status to the person in question: lit ki-ta-nu-me-en in the Sume-

rian text, oud'aner phaint(i) in the Greek. Note that in both cases the
perspective that offers a negative judgment on the person or problem
in question is given superiority by its position at the end both of the
pair of viewpoints and of the text, in which it functions as a punch-
line.
Before I deduce anything from this comparison, I should state
most emphatically that there is no way of knowing whether the two
texts are historically connected, even though Near Eastern connec-
tions, and in some cases even the Near Eastern origin, of much
Aesopic lore have been stressed by many.12 I will only add that the
appearance of a eunuch in the Greek fable points to the possibility of
an Oriental origin. In any case, the comparison shows that what was
said of a eunuch in Greek, could be said in similar ways of a scribe in
Sumerian, more than a millennium earlier. The interpretation of the
cuneiform proverb as referring to a eunuch is thus indirectly
strengthened by this comparison with the Aesopic fable.

Memorials

An important clue is offered by the Aesopic fable just discussed for

understanding what Orientals and Greeks meant when they stated
that a eunuch was not a man. In the fable, not being a man means
not being able to beget children. Two meaningful Near Eastern texts
dealing explicitly with the barrenness of eunuchs have been discussed
by Hayim Tadmorl3 in a short but important article on Assyrian high
officials who were also eunuchs. The first text is an Akkadian curse
found in a cuneiform tablet in the British Museum, and the second is
a well-known passage in the Book of Isaiah (56:3-5), where the eu-
nuch says: "I am a withered tree." It is important to point out the
implications of the eunuch's barrenness; in ancient world views, the
absence of offspring led to the future lack of funerary rituals, and thus
of survival in the social memory and of reasonable expectations of an

12 See, recendy, C. Grottanelli, "The Ancient Novel and Biblical Narrative," Q,ua-
demi urbinati di Cultura Classica 56 (1987), 7-34. More in S. Jedrkiewicz, Sapere e para-
dosso nell'antichita: Esopo e la fa:oola (Roma: Edizioni dell'Ateneo, 1989), 118-135, with
bibliography, 446-472.
13 H. Tadmor, "Rab-Saris and Rab-shakeh in 2 Kings 18," in Studies in Honor ofD.

N. Freedman (Philadelphia: 1983) 280-285.

 ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS 413

afterlife. This is common knowledge, of course,14 and this logic

shaped many aspects of ancient cultures that are not usually envis-
aged in this perspective, among these the evaluation of eunuchs.
If we turn once more to Herodotus's story of Hermotimos of
Pedasa, we shall see easily that the form of the latter's revenge on
Panionios of Chios who had castrated him is probably shaped by the
logic in question. We have seen that Hermotimos invited Panionios
with his wife and children, including four sons, to his own wealthy
home because, he said, he owed all his fortune to Panionios. How-
ever, as soon as the whole household was in his power, he accused his
guest of having made him a nothing, adding that this foul deed was
not justified by any harm done to Panionios or to his forefathers by
Hermotimos or by his ancestors.
"You thought," Hermotimos added, still addressing Panionios, "that
the gods would have no knowledge of your old crimes; but their just law
has brought you, due to your own wicked deeds, into my hands, and
now you shall be well content with the fullness of that justice which I
will execute on you (ten ap'emeo toi esomenin diken)." With these words of
reproach, he brought Panionios' sons before him and compelled him to
castrate all four of them, his own children; this Panionios was com-
pelled to do; which done, the sons were compelled to castrate their
father in turn. Thus was Panionios overtaken by [divine] vengeance
and by Hermotimos.
Hermotimos was faced with the wife and progeny of the man who
was responsible for his own lack of progeny; and it seems quite plau-
sible that by compelling the father to castrate his own sons and then
the sons to castrate their own father he re-established justice because
he deprived Panionios of all expectations of continuity through
sexual reproduction along the male line, just as he himself had been
deprived in toto of such expectations. This is, of course, only hypo-
thetical, because, though there is no mention of a second generation
of the slave-trader's descendants, this silence is not necessarily mean-
ingful; moreover, the terminology used provides no information
about the age of his male children. We may not be sure that, by
causing the emasculation of Panionios and of his four sons, Hermo-
timos was effectively destroying his enemy's potential of sexual repro-
14 For the Greek world this picture is already found in H. Fustel de Coulanges'

famous La cite antique (1864). The best treatment of this complex outside Greece is H.
Canan Brichto, "Kin, Cult and Afterlife: A Biblical Complex," Hebrew Union College
Annual 44 (1973), 1-54, with its important insights on Absalom and on eunuchs. For
Mesopotamia, see Abusch's paper in this volume.
414 CRISTlANO GROTTANELLI

duction and continuity; but it can be sunnised that the emasculation

of five males in return for the castration of one boy is perceived by
Herodotus as a re-establishment of justice sanctioned by the gods,
because it is envisaged in the light of an ideology of survival through
male progeny.
If we understand lack of progeny and its post mortem consequences
to be the central aspect of the eunuch's paradoxical situation, we are
able to identify a further complexity of the portrayal of Oriental
eunuchs presented by Greek sources. I refer to what I would like to
call the "memorial" theme: narratives recounting how the master
who profited most from the eunuchs' lack of offspring granted them
the remembrance they would have been deprived of by their sterility.
I shall quote only two examples. First, Xenophon's account of the
way in which Cyrus honored three faithful eunuchs by having three
inscribed steles erected on their burial mound (Cyropaedia VIII. 3.15),
and, second, a passage in the second century CE treatise De Dea ~a
(26) recounting how king Seleukos the First ordered that a statue of
his faithful friend, the eunuch Combabos, be set up in a famous
sanctuary of the goddess Atargatis. 15 In both texts eunuchs are of-
fered a memorial by a king who intends to preserve their memory
because of their admirable faithfulness to their mistress or master; in
the first case the eunuchs had offered up their lives, while in the
second, the hero's fidelity had cost him his sexual organs. Both texts
emphasize that the monument (a mound and three steles in the first
case, a statue in the second) is still standing while the text is being
written.
Two biblical texts help us to understand the Greek narratives. The
first is 2 Samuel 18:18, where Absalom, David's rebellious son, erects
his own memorial, saying: "I have no seed to cause my name to be
remembered." "And he called the stele by his own name (fem); and it
is called Absalom's memorial (literally: Absalom's hand, yad AbSalom)
until this very day." Absalom is, of course, not a eunuch, but rather
the opposite: he is unfaithful to his father the king and even sleeps
with David's concubines, so that his lack of offspring in 2 Samuel
18: 18 is best understood as a symmetrical retribution for his attack

15 Though the Iranian hypothesis presented in that article is not convincing, the

best treatment of the story of Combabos in the De Dea Syra is still E. Benveniste, "La
Legende de Kombabos," in Melanges Syriens qffirts cl M. Rene Dussaud, I (Paris: Librairie
Orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1939), 249-258.
 ANCIENT GREEK SOURCES ON ORIENTAL EUNUCHS 415

upon the correct dynastic continuity.16 In any case, Absalom's memo-

rial (yad) should be compared to the memorial (yad) promised by
Yahweh to the faithful eunuch in Isaiah 56: 3-5: "Do not let the
eunuch say: 'Behold, I am a withered tree,' for so speaks Yahweh:
'The eunuchs who keep My Sabbath and choose things I am pleased
with, and take hold of My covenant, I will give them in My house
and in My walls a memorial (a "hand") and a name (yad wafem) better
than sons and daughters, I will give them an everlasting name which
shall not be cut off." In this biblical text a memorial is explicitly said
to replace the continuity of a name granted by progeny~but the
memorial in question is given to a eunuch because of his fidelity, by
God, not by a king. In Isaiah 56: 3-5 the Lord declares that the
memorial is actually better than offspring, for the name of the eu-
nuch will last forever; in 2 Samuel 18 Absalom's memorial, like the
memorials granted to eunuchs in the two Greek texts just quoted, is
presented as still standing while its description is being written. In the
two biblical texts as well as in the Greek of Xenophon and of the De
Dea ~a, the memory granted by monuments to persons without
progeny is indeed a lasting remembrance.

Conclusions

In their Commentary to Herodotus, W.W. How and J. Wells l7 estab-

lished an indirect connection between the eunuch slaves exemplified
by Hermotimos of Pedasa and the castrated devotees of goddesses, by
noting that the two cities where castrated slaves are sold in Hero-
dotus's story, Ephesos and Sardis, were the starting-points of the
Royal Road to Susa and contained sanctuaries served by eunuch
priests. "At Sardis," they write, "there was a temple of Cybele (v.
102), 'the great mother' served by eunuch priests called galloi (Juv.
VIII. 176), and at Ephesus the eunuch-priests of Artemis, called mega-
byzoi, were held in honor (Strabo 641)." This connection is a very
weak one, not only because eunuch slaves are not eunuch priests, but
also because the sources for eunuchs serving the goddesses of Sardis

16 The contradictions of the story of Absalom in 2 Samuel 13-20 are discussed in

C. Conroy, Absalom Absalom! Narrative and Language in II Sarn. 13-20 (Rome: Biblical
Institute Press, 1978); note that Absalom has three sons and one daughter according
to 2 Samuel 14:27. But I see no reason to conclude with Conroy that 2 Samuel 18: 18
is a "later addition" (see pp. 51,64-65 in his book).
17 How and Wells, above n. 6, I, 270.
416 CRISTIANO GROTTANELLI

and Ephesos are much later than Herodotus. On the other hand, the
connection between the court eunuch Combabos in the De Dea Syra
and the self-castrated galloi of Atargatis is direct, because Combabos
is at the same time a prototype of the later galloi, and his name is
probably derived from that of the goddess Kubebe/Kubaba. ls
It is precisely by concentrating on Combabos as a mediating figure
between the two different types of eunuchs I have presented here,
that the religious dimensions of both types can be understood. To
make this clear, I shall compare Combabos, the mythical first gallos
who is also a court eunuch, to the historical castrated votaries of
Atargatis, by contrasting the ways in which the treatise De Dea Syra
describes the respective outcomes in regard to a memorial after
death. As I have stated above, Combabos's statue is described in the
treatise as still standing because, according to what I have called the
memorial theme, it was erected by order of a grateful king. A logic of
compensation governs the erection of that memorial. No such fate
awaits the galloi, for in the same De Dea Syra (52-53) we read that the
dead bodies of the castrated votaries are simply taken out of the
goddess's holy city, Hierapolis, by their colleagues, and that the coffin
containing the bodies is "set down" (tithiml) somewhere on the out-
skirts of the town, after which the galloi cast stones upon it and go
back. The contrast could not be stronger. While it is only logical that
the court eunuch should be offered a vicarious continuity by his king,
the devotees have renounced continuity. In their case, the total dedi-
cation to the goddess expressed by sterility and by the loss of male
status is a consequence of their possession by the deity. No compen-
sation is necessary.19

18 As righdy stated by Burkert, above n. 4, 104.

19 I must quote at least three important contributons on my topic that were
published after I wrote this paper: On palace eunuchs: P. Briant, Histoire de I'Empire
Perse. De Gyrus a Alexandre (paris 1996), 279-288. On votaries: W. Roscoe, "Priests of
the Goddess: Gender Transgression in Ancient Religion": History of Religions 35
(1996), 195-230; Ph. Borgeaud, La Mere des Dieux: De CybNe a la Vierge Marie (paris
1996),61-71,119-140.
 CORPUS:
SOME PHILOLOGICAL AND ANTHROPOLOGICAL
REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS

Hildegard Cancik-Lindemaier

To Pascale

The starting point of this paper is the very point where ancient
philosophers, when talking about death, stop; or where they take off
in order to jump immediately into immortality or into nothing. It is
the moment when life has gone and left the dead body that-and this
is the problem~has to be removed.
Philosophers may criticize what happens from this moment on-
ward: funeral practices and religious beliefs about death and afterlife.
But there is, beyond school differences, a striking concordance: they
do not care about what is in the very center of funerary practice, that
is, the corpse. They are simply not concerned with the corpse,
whether they hold that the soul is immortal, or that there is nothing
beyond death, or they leave the question undecided insofar as life is
the field of good and evil, and virtue is to be chosen for itself, not for
hope or fear. Remember Seneca's generous indifference: mors est aut
finis aut transitus death is either the end or a transition-it is of no
regard to us; or Cicero making his Scipio affirm: sic habeto non esse te
mortalem sed corpus hoc, hold this to be true, not you are mortal but this
body.l
Lucretius, the Epicurean, holding that fear of death is the very
origin of religion and therefore the crucial point in philosophical
enlightenment, goes beyond this, attacking the principles of funerary
practice in order to demonstrate their absurdity, as the last point of
his argument. 2 There is no reason to take care of the corpse, he says,
since there is no sensory perception in it; so it does not matter
I Seneca, epistulae morales 65, 24; Cicero, de re publica 6, 26.
2 Lucretius, de rerum natura III 870-887, 888-893; c( e.g. Epicurus, Kyriai Doxai 11:
"Death is nothing to us. For the body, when it has been resolved into its elements,
has no feeling, and that which has no feeling is nothing to us." (Diog. Laert. X 139,
in: Diogenes Laertius, vol.lI, The Loeb Classics Library, London 1950; trans!' by
R.D. Hicks). Cf. further the arguments gathered by Pliny, naturalis historia 7, 56, 188-
190.
418 HILDEGARD CANCIK-LINDEMAlER

whether it is buried or not. 3 And vice versa, were there some kind of
consciousness left in the corpse, so that it might feel pain when tom
into pieces by an animal, it would certainly not feel better when
roasted on the funeral pyre, suffocated by embalming procedures, or
crushed by heavy loads of earth. In this powerful demolition of what
he calls superstition, however, Lucretius definitely misses the practi-
cal problem which the Roman jurist Papinianus dryly calls publicam
utilitatem ne insepulta cadavera iacerent, "the public interest that corpses
should not lie there unburied." And he misses yet another point,
namely, that in Roman civilization, there exists cooperation of fu-
neral customs and civil law. There is indeed cooperation, for the
same jurist Papinianus adds that it is a general practice where religio is
involved in some way, in ambiguis religionum quaestionibus, that the high-
est principle of law is "in favor of religio."4

Roman Funerary Rites

The Ritual Sequence

Let me give a short survey of the ritual sequence in a Roman funeral.
I shall not repeat the famous description by Polybius of an aristo-
cratic funeral,5 nor shall I interpret the report Tacitus gave on the
burial of Iunia, the wife of Caesar's murderer C. Cassius, which, as
he puts it, was the funeral of the Roman--republic. 6
My picture, then, describing an "average" funeraF is a composite
one; its main sources are inscriptions, laws, research by ancient anti-
quarians and historians, scholarly discussions about the significance
of words and customs that have come down to us in commentaries
and dictionaries, and, of course, archeology; literary texts can only be

3 The argument is found in Augustine, too: de civitate dei I, 12. - ct Lucian,

Demonax, §66: Demonax does not care about his own burial; when feeding birds or
dogs, he adds, his corpse would even be useful.
4 Digesta 7, 10, 43.

s Polybius 6, 52-54.
6 Tacitus, Annates 3, 76.

7 "Average" as far as possible. Our evidence, both texts and monuments, mosdy
refer to the well-to-do classes of Roman society. With regard to gender, we have no
evidence that funeral rites were different for men and women; Plutarchus (de virtute
mulierum 242 F) appreciates the Roman custom of making a funeral oration, laudatio
fonebris, for both men and women. Caesar, for instance, spoke in honor of his aunt
Iulia (Suetonius, DWus Iulius 6,1). There was, however, a considerable difference with
regard to hereditary laws and testaments.
 SOME REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS 419

used with great caution. So, for instance, I would not follow the epic
narrative of the famous burial of Misenus in Vergil's Aeneid, but
rather sift out material of the commentary given by Servius, who tries
to correlate in different ways Vergil's text with what the public knew
or ought to know about Roman funerary customs. Servius, for in-
stance, gives a summary of Roman funeral terminology which runs
as follows: fUnus enim est iam ardens cadaver: quod dum portatur
exsequias dicimus: crematum iam reliquias: conditum iam sepulcrwn.
"Funus is the corpse when it is already burning; while it is carried, we
call it exsequias; when it is already burnt, reliquias; when it is already
buried, sepulchrum."8
In Rome as well as elsewhere, the customs, rites, and symbols
concerning death, funeral, and cult of the dead belong to the oldest
and most stable activities, regularly performed and widespread. The
first task a society has to accomplish in the event of death is to
remove the corpse in an adequate way and to offer to the surviving
dependants forms and limits for channelling their grief and their fear
of death. 9 In Roman religion both goals are attained by exalting the
deceased to the rank of the Di Manes (the "Good Gods"). This is
achieved through the act of cremation or inhumation. The conse-
quence of this procedure is the establishment of a special cult of the
dead. The grave in the earth, the urn containing the remains of the
cremation, the sarcophagus, become altars; it is there that the com-
munication with the living continues. Among the living who cel-
ebrate the anniversary of a relative's death or the birthday of the
deceased with a meal at the tomb, a new emotional and social center
comes into being. 10
In order to establish this new cultic center a series of more or less
obligatory acts was required. I I When the dying person had drawn his

8 Summary given by Servius explaining Vergil, Aeneid 2, 539; Servius' commen-

tary on Vergil's Aeneid, compiled at about 400 CE, follows the epic verse by verse.
9 Prescriptions about burying-prohibited inside the city-appear in the oldest

Roman codification, the twelve Tablets; they also prohibit excessive mourning and
lamentation and luxury in funerals. These passages are quoted and interpreted by
Cicero in the commentary he adds to his own "law" concerning the cult of the dead:
de legibus 2,9,22 and 2, 22, 55 - 27, 68 with reference to Greek funerary customs and
the laws given by Solon.
10 I do not study, in this context, the psychological aspects of mourning. For an

attempt, see Hopkins, Death and RenlWal, ch. IV.

11 The reader will find more details, in the field of archeology above all, inJocelyn
M.C. Toynbee, Death and Burial in the Roman World. The following description is much
indebted to this valuable and comprehensive work.
420 HILDEGARD CANCIK-LINDEMAIER

or her last breath-a close relative might have caught it in a kiss-

the relatives closed his or her eyes; they called the dead by his or her
name (conclamare) and started the lamentation (ululatio, lamentatio).
Then the corpse was washed with warm water, anointed with oil, and
dressed,12 sometimes also made up and placed to lie in state, the feet
pointing towards the door. 13 A coin was placed in the deceased's
mouth as a fare for Charon,14 and a wreath on his head. The death
had to be announced and, if it had occurred in Rome, registered at
the temple of Libitina. 15 Through the death the house community
had become "unclean" lfamilia fonesta); it remained in this state until
a final purification rite (purgatio, lustratio) was performed at the end of
the funeral. 16 In the city of Rome wealthy people had the funeral
ceremonies organized by undertakers (locator foneris 17 or libitinarius I8 ),
who employed specialists for the different tasks (curatores, pollinctores,
ustores, flssores); they arranged the funeral procession (pompa fonebris)
and provided wailing women (praejica), singers, and musicians, who
accompanied the deceased on his way out of the world of the living.
The corpse, lying on a funeral coach, was carried out of the town
to the place of cremation (bustum, ustrina)19 or burial. The Romans
practiced, as is known, both inhumation and cremation. Cicero held
that inhumation was the older form, but in the Republic and until
the second century CE cremation prevailed. Even in the case of
cremation, however, some earth was put on the corpse and a small
part was cut off to be buried (os resectum).20
Finally the corpse was placed upon the funeral pyre (rogus, pyra), a
pile of wood more or less richly decorated. 21 The relatives opened the
deceased's eyes again, called him by his name for a last time, and
then the pyre was kindled with torches. During the cremation people
stood around the pyre responding to the wailer's lamentation. 22

12 Men had to wear the toga (cf. Iuvenal 3, 171 f.), but there was a restriction that
not more than three precious garments might be burnt on the funeral pile.
13 Persius, Satires 3, 103ff.
14 There is archeological evidence for this custom from tombs; c£ Iuvenal 3, 267.

15 As a result of Nero's reign, the deaths of thirty thousand people had to be

registered in the temple of Libitina: Suetonius, Nero 39, l.

16 Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 6, 229.

17 Pliny, naturalis historia 7, 53, 176.

18 Digesta 14, 3, 5, 8.

19 Paulus ex Festo p. 29 (Lindsay).

20 Cicero, de legjbus 2, 22, 55; c£ Paulus ex Festo p. 135 (Lindsay).

21 Prohibition of luxury: s. XlI tab. in Cicero, de legjbus 2, 23, 58 - 24,60.
22 Serv. ad Verg. Aen. 6, 216.
 SOME REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS 421

When the pyre had burnt down, the relatives poured water and wine
upon the ashes and bones,23 collected them (ossilegium),24 and put
them into an urn 25 to be buried in tombs, grave altars, in niches of
columbaria, or directly in the earth.
The cult of the dead appears to have started immediately. A pig
was sacrificed in order to make the place of burial a legal grave and
a "holy" place. 26 People ate a meal at the tomb (silicemium).27 Return-
ing from the funeral, they performed a purification rite (sujJitiO).28 The
mourning period lferiae denicales) began on the day of the funeral; on
the ninth day it came to an end, again with a meal at the tomb (cena
novemdialis). Finally the Lar, that is the special divine center, focus,
symbol, and protector of the house, received a sacrifice of a wether. 29

The Order if Symbolic Actions

We need not give a lengthy interpretation of the symbolical actions
performed in this ritual sequence. Let me briefly point out two gen-
eral characteristics.
The first one is, in the nature of things, emphasized in every single
rite: the dead body is demonstrated to have become an object; all
activities are taken over by the family. During the intimate farewell
scene inside the house, the simple actions of everyday personal hy-
giene-washing and dressing-are performed for the last time, and
they are performed by others, as in nursing or child care.
Second: From the beginning, there is a spatial orientation in the
ritual sequence; it moves outward, out of the house, out of the town.
The idea of a journey is mythologically emphasized by the coin in the
mouth. Moving outward in its last phase means that the corpse is
taken out of view, hidden in the earth, either immediately, or after it
has been consumed by the flames.

23 Serv. ad Verg. Am. 6, 226.

24 Serv. ad Verg. Am. 6, 228.
23 E.g., Propertius 2, 13, 32.
26 Cicero, de legibus 2, 22, 57.
27 Serv. ad Verg. Am. 5, 92.
28 Festus p. 3, 3ff. (Lindsay).
29 Cicero, de legibus 2, 22, 55.
422 HILDEGARD CANCIK-LINDEMAIER

TranifOrmations

The Transformation qf the Deceased

When the series of symbolical actions has been accomplished, things
have changed. There is no longer a corpse and even the remains
have disappeared; they are hidden in the earth.30 The deceased now
belongs to the Di Manes.
The burial (sepelire) changes the quality of the place where it is
performed. In Roman law there are three categories of places that
are not subject to public or private use (in nullius bonis), these are
called loca sacra, loca sancta, loca religiosa. 31 Temples, for instance, are
loca sacra; graves and cemeteries belong to the third category, loca
religiosa. 32 Roman jurists insist that the very fact of burying, if it is not
illegal in itself, makes a place religiosus: "It seems that by nature the
place where he is buried belongs to the dead person."33 All arrange-
ments and expenses in connection with the burial are considered as
having been ordered by the dead person,34 even if they are not ex-
plicitly mentioned in the will.
There is a neat distinction between expenses for the burial [foneris
sumptus or impensa), that is, for the dead body (corporis causa), and
expenses for the tomb as a monument, even if the deceased had
provided for it in the will. 35 Further, by taking care of the burial,
persons appointed to be heirs do not automatically accept the inher-
itance,36 it is the deceased who is still imagined to be responsible for
what happens to his or her dead body until it is buried. Whatever
happens to the tomb later on, for instance a possible defilement,
relates to the heirs.
Apparently there is in Roman law no general definition of what a
corpse is. As far as I can see, it is not explicitly included in the

30 cr. Cicero about the primacy of inhumation: de legibus 2, 22, 55-57; Pliny, Nat.

hist. 7, 55, 187. Cr. Robert Turcan, "Origines et sens de I'inhumation a l'epoque
imperiale," Rev: Etudes Anciennes 60 (1958): 323-347.
31 Digesta 1, 8, 6 § 2f.

32 Digesta 1, 8, 6 § 4 (Marcianus). This is a private act, whereas loca sacra must be

officially consecrated.
33 Digesta 11, 7, 2 (Ulpianus); the quotation is from Digesta 11, 4. From the religious

point of view, the sacrifice of a pig is necessary to make a sepulcrum correct: Cic., de
legibus 2, 22, 57.
34 Digesta 11, 7, 1 (Ulpianus).

35 Digesta 11, 7, 37 (Macer).

36 Digesta 11, 7, 4 (Ulpianus).

 SOME REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS 423

fundamental division of "persons, things, actions" (vel personae, vel res,

vel actiones),37 nor does it enter into the definition of status such as "all
humans are either free or slaves."38 The deceased is definitely not a
"person"; he or she, however, is not a thing either. There is a real
ambiguity, which points to a liminal status.
As the legal prescriptions show, in Rome, law as well as religion
allow for a transformation of the deceased. There are legal guaran-
tees for the dead's rest and the Deorum Manium iura-the "rights of the
Di Manes," as Cicero puts it. 39 The transformation is effected on the
dead body by means of the symbolic actions in the course of the
funeral; the consequences are to be discerned in both the religious as
well as the legal sphere. As a result of this transformation, the indi-
vidual self has won a new existence-the manifestation of which
Romans would encounter regularly, on their roads lined with tombs.
There were funerary statues and reliefs of the well-to-do, and inscrip-
tions which often include special rites to be performed at the place,4D
and there were the most modest of all monuments-simple names
written on an urn or engraved on a stone slab. There is evidence in
numerous inscriptions that the deceased self (ego) paradoxically goes
on speaking to the passer-by, saying "I" although affirming at the
same time that there is no "I" and that it does not matter: "I was not,
1 was, 1 am not, 1 do not care." Non foi, foi, non sum, non curo. 41

The Traniformation if the Living

The living, as already mentioned, undergo transformation as well.
The social group the deceased has left assumes new cultic tasks on
behalf of the family's or the clan's dead. A new cult community
comes into being. There are banquets at the tomb on individual
commemoration days-larger tombs were equipped with dining-
rooms and kitchens;42 archeologists have discovered libation tubes

37 Digesta 1, 5, 1 (Gaius, institutiones 1, 8).

38 Digesta 1, 5, 3 (Gaius institutiones 1, 9). Chapter (titu1us) 5 in Dig. 1 de statu hominum
deals also with the status of the unborn child, but not with the deceased.
39 Cicero, de legibus 2, 9, 22.

40 CIL XIII 5708; ILS 8366. Legacy of money for the cult: CIL V 4488; cf. 2090.

2315. 4015. 4017. Further evidence in Toynbee, p. 62ff.

41 This is the most simple structure of these inscriptions; cf. non foi,foi, non sum, non

desidero (CIL VIII 3463); non foi, foi, memini, non sum, non CUrD. The type occurs, with
slight variations, so frequendy that it is often abbreviated: N F F N S N C: CIL V
1813.2893; cf. CLE nr. 420 and nr.1495.
42 Cf. Festus p. 171 (Lindsay).
424 HILDEGARD CANCIK-LINDEMAIER

leading into sarcophaguses or ums;43 and there is a common festival,

called Parentalia, celebrated during nine days from the 13th to the
21st of February, in commemoration of the deceased-and that
means divinized-parents and relatives (divi parentes). People bring
offerings to the graves: wreaths, fruit, violets, roses, bread, and wine. 44
The last of these nine days, called Feralia, is recorded in the official
calendarY
The group of the living have to reorganize themselves in the civil
sphere, too.4{j There are legal successors, the heirs, to assume the
tasks and functions and take over the property of the deadY There is
an enormous discussion in Roman law about the interpretation of the
testator's will, the legal succession, the inheritance, and the rights and
duties of the heirs. As in modem law, persons appointed as heirs are
free to refuse or to accept the inheritance. Before this decision is
made, the inheritance48 is considered as a legally independent estate;
thus, for instance, legacies can be transferred, "the inheritance func-
tioning in place of the deceased person" (Hereditas personae difUncti, qui
earn reliquit, vice fongitur).49 Roman jurists make a careful distinction
between the rights and privileges that belonged to the deceased, and
to him as an individual alone, and those which pass to the legal

43 References in Toynbee, pp. 51f.

44 Ovid, Fasti 2,533-542: ... animas placate patemas ... There is a tendency in recent
studies, which claim to introduce socio-political aspects into the research on Roman
conceptions of death and the hereafter, to interpret the world of the dead as the
absolute alterity to the world of the living. In this view funeral rites are primarily
concerned to exclude that sphere, conceived of as hostile to the living. The negative
aspects of the dead, lemures, larvae, which clearly exist in Roman religion, are overem-
phasized; ritual practice is reduced to the issue of appeasing envious ghosts. This
poor and simplified structuralism seems to perpetuate an outdated and polemical
conception of cult as "magic"; it neither realizes its character as symbolic action, nor
does it interpret it in the context of other areas of Roman civilization. See, for
instance: Bruno Zannini Quirini, "L'aldili nelle religioni del mondo classico," in
Paolo Xella, ed., Archeologia dell'infimo, (Verona 1987) pp. 263-307, particularly pp.
263-305: "L'ideologia oltremondana di Roma."
45 Ovid, Fasti 2, 570.

46 With regard to the legal status, it would, of course, be crucial to analyze gender

differences, which for reasons of space I cannot do in this paper; but see Van
Thomas who tends to minimize the rights of women, "Die Teilung der Geschlechter
im romischen Recht" in: Geschichte der Frauen, I Antike, ed. Schmitt Pantel, (Frankfurt
am Main 1993) pp. 105-171.
47 Cf. Digesta 50, 16, 24.

48 The technical term is hereditas iacens.

49 Digesta 46, 1, 22; 30, 116, 3; 41, 1, 34; 41, 1, 33, 2; c£ Institutiones 2, 14, 2; 3, 17

preface. C£ P.W. Duff, Personality in Roman Private Law (1938) 19£ Ch. IV: hereditas as
legal personality.
 SOME REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS 425

successor. 50 Once the inheritance has been accepted, the heir is re-
sponsible for the testator's tomb; it is he who is entitled to sue in case
of defilement (actio sepulchri violatz), or to bring an action for slander
(actio iniuriarump' Strong efforts are made in Roman law to safeguard
the testator's will, to respect his individual decisions beyond his
death. 52

Interpretations

Funerary Rites in the Framework if Roman Religion

Roman funerary customs, as we have seen, can be read as effecting
on the dead body a transfonnation of the individual. He or she leaves
or loses the status as a member of civil society, and is led to a new
fonn of divinized existence in the collective entity of the Di Manes.
How are we to describe this transfonnation in tenns of religious
science? The living person had been, among other things, a per-
fonner, or at least a participant in perfonnances, of religious rites;
from the moment the funeral rites have been accomplished, the "re-
mains" (reliquiae) themselves become the object of a cult. However,
what type of cult do the funerary rites, that are in-between, repre-
sent? What "is" the corpse, what is its anthropological status in reli-
gious experience?
Funerary rites are certainly not conceived of as a sacrifice, nor as
a human sacrifice; the corpse is not the equivalent of a hostia or
victima, it is not, for instance, sacrificed to the gods of the nether-
world. There is at least one sacrifice in the course of the funerary
rites,53 but the receiver is not the deceased. 54

50 Digesta 7, 4, 3, 3; cr. 34, 3, S, 3.

SI Digesta 47, 12, 3 § Sff. Cf. the distinction between expenses for the burial and
expenses for the tombs, in Digesta 11, 7, 37.
52 See Hopkins, Death and Renewal, pp. 250ff. for the instituion ofjideicommissa and

other measures. Hopkins's hypothesis linking the "inheritance without the sacral
obligations" with a growing faith in individual salvation (p. 253) does not seem
convincing to me.
53 Cic. de legibus 2, 22, 57; cf. Festus p. 296, 37ff. (Lindsay).
54 Caution is needed with regard to ritual killing at the pyre, as narrated in the

epics; the heroic tradition is evoked by Tacitus's report of soldiers killing themselves
at the funeral pyre of Otho (hist. 2, 49, 4). There is an enigmatic defInition in Paulus
ex Festo p. 91, 24 (Lindsay): humanum sacri.ficium dicebant quod mortui causa.fiebat, which
deserves closer examination.
426 HILDEGARD CANCIK-LINDEMAIER

The closest analogy to some funerary rites is to be found in image

worship, where images, statues, or symbols of the gods are washed,
clothed, and decorated, carried in a procession, and placed on chairs
or beds to watch spectacles or circus performances, or to have a
solemn dinner (lectistemia; in Greek, eeo~EVta). Here too, we may ask,
what "are" these images? Whereas the rites are performed on the
images, the worship is addressed to the gods. 55 Very few Romans, to
be sure, would have believed what Christian polemics pretended they
believed-that these images "were" the gods. Are we to consider the
images of gods or divine rulers as a kind of ritual embodiment, and
classify the corpse in this special category of cult objects?

An Approach Toward an Anthropological Interpretation

It seems plausible to apply Victor Turner's theory of liminality to
these transformations. 56 With regard to the conception-current in
Greek and Roman antiquity-that the world, the kosmos, is the com-
mon house of humans and gods, we can say that in Roman funerary
rites the passage moves from the society of mankind (societas generis
humanae) to the community of the Di Manes. The fact that barring a
corpse from being buried is punished as a crime or an instance of
barbarism-although not as severely punished as crimes such as pat-
ricide 57-seems to corroborate this view. The unburied dead are then
detained in a liminal state; they do not find rest, and threaten, as
ghosts, the society they cannot finally leave. 58 It remains, however,
questionable whether we are entitled to interpret the "natural" pas-

55 During the Empire, images or busts of the emperors play the same role in the

ruler cult.
56 Victor Turner, The Ritual Process. Structure and Anti-Structure (London: Roudedge

and Kegan Paul, 1969); id., Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human
Society (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press 1974). For a discussion in the
field of religious studies, see Transition Rites. Cosmic, Social, and Indwidual Order. Proceed-
ings if the Finnish-Swedish-ltalian Seminar held at the Unwersity if Rome "La Sapien::.a" 24th-
28th March 1984, ed. by Ugo Bianchi (Roma, 1986), 1-12: a short history of the
theory of "transition rites" by J.Y. Pentikiiinen. Cf. also Prof. Rubin's article in this
volume.
57 According to Eusebius, hist. eccl. 5,1, 62f.: the ashes of the martyrs of Lyon (177

CE) were thrown into the Rhone.

58 Cf. the celebration of Lemuria in Rome, and the Greek Anthesteria. There
seems to be a preference in religious studies to attribute a liminal status to the "dead
without status" (Pentikainen, in Bianchi, Transition Rites, p.ll).
 SOME REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS 427

sivity of the corpse as a deprivation phenomenon which is the basic

requirement for the liminal status. 59
In the moment of bereavement, the departed's family also seems
to enter a liminal status. They are unclean until the burial is accom-
plished and a final sacrifice of purification has been made.

The Civil Sphere if Roman Law and Religion

Roman law respects and protects these religious procedures, and thus
indirectly affirms that what had been a "person" does not become a
"thing."50 If my analysis is correct, we may state that Roman culture
has developed means in different areas-law and religion-by which
to protect the rights and the dignity of the deceased person, de facto,
not by definition or theory.51 With regard to the deceased, Roman
law protects the grave, that is the cult place of the Di Manes. With
regard to the living, there is in Roman law an abundant discussion
on methods and measures intended to guarantee that the testator's
will be executed. The laws of inheritance do not only manage the
transactions of estates, money, and power; they also guarantee the
deceased person a certain social continuity in his or her will (testamen-
tum) and in the legal successors, who also assume the religious duties
(sacra) of the family or clan of the departed. After the final purifica-
tion the family, which had been for a certain time familia jUnesta,

59 One of the three questions Sally s. Humphreys raises in her article "Death and

Time" (Humphreys and King, Mortality and Immortality, pp.261-283) is: "What is the
temporal structure of death as a rite de passage by which a person is transformed from
being one of the living to being one of the dead?" Most of her evidence, based on
pottery, fimerary inscriptions, and literature is from Greek culture; she does not,
however, examine funeral rites as such. As to Roman culture, she points to Polybius
6, 53ff., but generalizes as usual.
60 A thing would, for instance, be subject to usufruct, etc.

61 We would not, I suppose, overestimate the achievements of Roman law by

referring to an analogous concern in modem German law, namely the famous deci-
sion of the Constitutional Court (Bundesverfassungsgericht) of February 24, 1971
(Entscheidungen des BundesverJassungsgerichts vol. 30, 173-200 - Mephisto). The publisher
of the novel "Mephisto" by Klaus Mann had complained at the Constitutional Court
against the FRG, arguing that artistic liberty had been infringed by former court
decisions prohibiting the novel to be published, because the book offended the dig-
nity of the actor Gustav Griindgens. The Constitutional Court dismissed the appeal,
arguing (p. 194, 6) that the state has to protect human dignity, the inviolability of
which is confirmed by the constitution (art. 1.1 Grundgesetz), even after a person's
death. (See: Entscheidungen des Bundesverfassungsgerichts. Studienauswahl 1, ed. by D.
Grimm and P. Kirchhof, Tiibingen 1993 (UTB 1708), p. 253.) I am indebted for this
information and further critical advice to Pascale Cancik.
428 HIWEGARD CANCIK-LINDEMAIER

returns to civil life. The social group is reorganized once the legal
succession is settled.

A Dialectical Relationship between Roman Funerary Customs and the Conception

if Personality
Roman funerary customs are an attempt to explore a borderline of
the human existence. By transforming and protecting the remains of
a human being, Roman culture emphasizes its value. We should not,
however, be too much delighted by the anthropological beauty of
Roman funerary customs, and by Roman law as a means of guaran-
teeing human dignity. Many a living body, it is known, was less
respected than a corpse, and human dignity first of all meant Roman
dignity and the majesty of the state.
Roman jurists in fact greatly respect religious issues; but they do so
in the frame of Roman society: funeral laws clearly belong to "civil"
law, that is, in the Roman definition, not ius gentium, not universally
valid. Paulus says: "The enemies' graves are for us not religiosa." This
means that people who remove stones from those tombs for building
houses are not guilty of defiling graves. 62 On the other hand, the
Romans do not oblige their enemies to respect Roman graves, for
loca religiosa lose this quality when occupied by the enemies; they
regain it, when they are recaptured. 63 We have to admit that in
Rome even death did not make all humans equal. On the other
hand, Roman jurists did not claim that their civil laws, including
those concerning religion, were universally valid as such. And they
were well aware of the difference and the dialectical relationship
between the civil sphere and religion. The so-called unity of state and
religion is, like other archaizing conceptions, a modem construction.

A Methodological Premise in the Study if Religion

To conclude, I should like to formulate a methodological premise
which I hope to have proved fruitful in this disquisition. In compara-
tive religious studies we should not confine ourselves to what we call
religion. Roman religion is to be considered as one of many elements
in Roman civilization. We would not grasp the meaning of funerary
rites and the cult of the dead if we did not include Roman civil law
in our investigation. From this perspective, ritual appears to be em-
62 Digesta 47, 12, 4.
63 Digesta 11, 7, 36 (Pomponius).
 SOME REMARKS UPON ROMAN FUNERARY CUSTOMS 429

bedded in a civil conception; it is not an isolated or closed area of

magic or animism or primitivism at all.

SOURCES

ClL Corpus lnscriptionum Latinarum

CLE Carmina Latina Epigraphica collegit F. Buecheler
lLS lnscriptiones Latinae Selectae
Hesberg, Henner von, and Paul Zanker, eds., Rijmische GriiberstrajJen:
Selbstdarstellun5Status~Standard (Mtinchen: Verlag der Bayri-
schen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1985).
Hesberg, Henner von, Rijmische Grabbauten (Darmstadt: Wissenschaft-
liche Buchgesellschaft, 1992).
Hopkins, Keith, Death and Renewal (Sociological Studies in Roman History
2; Cambridge: University Press, 1983).
Humphreys, Sally C. and Helen King, eds., Mortaliry and Immortaliry:
the Anthropology and Archeology qf Death (London: Academic Press,
1981 ).
Humphreys, Sally C., The Family, Women and Death (London: Rout-
ledge and Kegan Paul, 1983).
Toynbee, Jocelyn M.C., Death and Burial in the Roman World (London
and Southampton: Thames and Watson, 1971).
Vemant, Jean Pierre and Gherardo Gnoli, eds., La Mort, les morts dans
les societis anciennes (Cambridge: University Press; Paris: Edition de
la Maison des sciences de l'homme, 1982).
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Aaron 89-90,91,95 Arabian Religion 304-305

Abba Shaul ben Botnit 92 Arapas 200
Abbaye 157, 160 Aries, P. 35
Abel 87 Aristode 58, 75, 317, 322, 324, 327,
Abelard 30, 34 340, n. 27, 347-348, 349, 352, 353-
Abhayadeva 225, 239-242 362
Abimelech 99, n. 10 Definition of Humanity 353-356, 357
Above/Below 184-187, 188, n. 14, Ascension of Isaiah 207
190-191,195,216,410-412 Ashanti 13, 17, 20
Abraham 87-90, 99, n. 10, 300, 310- Art 70-71
311 Assmann, J. 4, 25, 309
Absalom 413, n. 14,414-415 Atargatis 414, 416
Abu al-Barakat 317-318, 320, n. 29, Athens/Athenians 60, 350, 353
322 Atr~asts 364-383
Adam 72-75, 79, 83, 86, 99, n. 12, Attritio 34-35
113, n. 62, 116, n. 66, 118,211-212, Aug€:, M. 187
214,215,216,348 Augustine 198-201,206,209-217,340,
Admonition 18, 133,341 347-348, 356, 357, 358, 361-362
Aesop, Fables 411-412 Austerities 220, 222, 224, 226, 227,
Africa 10-26 229, 239, 244, 247, 249
Traditional Religions 11 Austria 33-34
Air 269 Autobiography 18, n. 16, 27-52, 276-
Akan 20, n. 19 297
Akavyah b. Mehalalel 159, n. 10 Avicenna 318, 330-332
Akhenaton 101 Awflu 368
al-Farabi 331 Axial Age 257-258, 274, n. 54
Alain de Lille 47
Albert, H. 6 Ba 384-403
Alchemy 287 Baptism/Baptized 186-187, 188, 189,
Alexander of Aphrodisias 356 n. 24, 192, 193, 196
Alcimus 143-144 Bacon, F. 76
Ambrose 339 Baghdad 313-334
America 24 Ba~yaibn Paquda 314
Amon 101 Balantine, S. 300
Analogy 79-82, 84-85, 86 Bambara 20, n. 19
Anatomy 79 BaI.la 220
Ancestor Worship 11-26, 419-429 Bannus 131, 136
Angels 88, 202-208, 348 Bantu 11,14,15,20
Anthropomorphism 298 Banu Isra'il 306-310, 312
Antiochus III 142-143 Baur, F.e. 199
Antiochus IV 128, 141, n. 49, 143, Bavenda 12
144, n. 59 Beauty 86, 151, n. 4, 155-156, 159-
Anubis 388-389 162, 165,243, 351
Appetite 151-152,213,215-216 Believers/Non-Believers 38-39, 188, n.
Aqedah 87-91,94,99, n. 10 14,194,303-305
Aquinas 28, 35, 34, n. 13, 34, n. 14, Belly 384, 385
347, 348 Benin 15
432 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Benjamin, W. 4 Chastity 229

Berger, P. 51 Childlessness (See also Eunuchs) 252
Bergunder, M. 15, n. 10, 17 China 29,256-275, 276-297
Bhaktamarastotra 219 Choice 337, 360
Bible (See also individual books) 11, Christianity 27-52, 58, 74, 125, n. 2,
37,96, 209, 366, 370, 372, 400, 404 130, n. 20,131, n. 24, 184-196, 198-
Biography 27-52, 213, 219-255, 277, 217, 256, 339, 340, 348, 356, 358,
284, 288, 292, 294, 296 362, 398, 426
Multiple 48-50 Chrysippos 339, 340, n. 25
Rabbinic 148-170 Church 191,194
Re-definition 50-52 Cicero 336-346, 417, 419, n. 9, 420,
Biology 323, 335, 339, 353, 356 422, n. 30, 423
Birth 26,148,178-179,182,184-187, Circumcision 187
195, 363 City 271, 382
Blood 12, 13,21, 105, n. 31, 151, 154, City of God 216
163, 194, 219, 228, 230, 239, 241, Classification 185
317, 336, 365-383 Clay 365, 366, 370-371, 373
Bodin,j. 70, 76, n. 15 Clement of Alexandria 201
Book of the Dead 392 Clothing (See also Nakedness) 131,
Book of the Meanings of the Soul 314 177
Bottero, j. 367 Cologne Mani Codex 206
Boundary Marking (See also Colpe, C. 200
Liminality) 125-147, 171-183, 185, Combabos 414,416
188, 195 Commensality 127, 129, 132, 135m
Brahmanism 99 138, 147
Breath of God 99-102 Community 20, 21, 22, 29, 130, 134-
Breath of Life 12, 96-124 135, 138, 146, 175, 260, 373, 391,
Breath-Soul 102-106, 109-111, 113, n. 394-397, 395, 399, 400, 403, 423
62, 123 Destruction 396, 401
Browe, P. 33 Complaints of Khakeperre-sonb 386-38
Buddhism 10, 23, 24, 25, 218, 221, Confession 9, 27-52, 176, 181
223, n. 22, 227-229, 230, 235, 252, Contemporary 48-52
253, 254, 256, 276-297 Counter-Reformation 45-48
Hinyana 23 Daoism 257,260,263,264
Tiantai School 276, 278-279, 283, Early Christianity 29
n. 11,287,288,289 Early Middle Ages 29-30
General 45-48
Cain 87 Institutionalization 32-37
Cairo 313 Reformation 37-45
Calvinism 40, 45 Revolutionary 29
Canonization 299, 302 Twelfth Century 30-37
Carthage 209 Conflict Theory 53-66
Cassian 205 Confucius/Confucianism 274, 276,
Catholicism 40,42,45-48, 212, n. 60 277, 279, 280, n. 5, 281, 282, 285,
Cave 60, 153-154 287, 289, 290, 292, 293, 294, 296
Celibacy 70 Conjunction (itti!iil) 331
Cellini 27 Conscience 31, 36, 37, 38, 46, 48, 343,
Chaldean Oracles 200 346, 349, 381-382, 396
Chaos (See also Isfet) 269 Continuity 23, 175-177, 181
Character 75, 83-84 Contritio 31, 34
Charity 299, 303, 304 Control, Social 27-52
Charon 420
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 433

Conversion 29, 159, 212, n. 60, 213, Hair Cutting 177-178, 181
223-224, 226, 229, 233, 250-252, 253, Judgement of 20,388,390,397,401
340 Lamentation 420
1 Corinthians 194 Lighting Lamps 179, 180, 181
2 Corinthians 188, 190 Mummification 384,418
Corpse 110, 171-183, 194, 227, 271, Myrtle 180, 181
363,373-375,377,378,391,417-429 Nail Cutting 178, n. 12
Cosmology 61,77,173,185,199,202, Perfume 180
208, 209, 216, 256-275 Shrouds 173, 178, n. 11,420,421
Council of Trent 35 Spices 179, 180, 181
Counter-Reformation 45-48 Stopping Bowels 177
Crawley, E. 100 Transformation 171-183, 422-423,
Creation 84, 96-124, 184, 192, 194, 425,428
258, 303, 304, 363-383 Washingof 177-178,181,420,421
On-going 109-111 Death 13-26,33,35,43,56-62,87-95,
Cremation 375, 376-377, 418, 419, 101, n. 20, 103, 105, n. 313, 110, n.
420 47,111,114,122-123,154,157,159,
Curse 10, 106, 220, 224, 230, 232- 161, 164-166, 168-170, 171-183, 194,
233,253,381, n. 41,412 198, 212-215, 239, 241, 253, n. 62,
Cybele 415,416 254-255, 263, 265, 267, 269, n. 32,
Cyrus 200,406-407,414 270-272,277,292,295-297,317-321,
324,325,330-331,359-362,363-383,
Da Vinci, L. 79-82 384,386,388,390-393,397,398-401,
Daimon 208,216 403,414,416,417-429
Dan 83 As Release from Commandments 91-
Daniel 98-99, n. 10 94
Dao 258, 266, 273, 274 Egyptian Conceptions 384, 400-401
Daoism 256-275, 277, 280, n. 5, 285, Of Gods 375-367,371
286,287,289, 293 Preparation for 391-393, 394
Social Composition 262 Social 172, 173
Darius 409, n. 6 Violent (See also Murder) 365, 367
Daughter 17, 19 Decorum 338
David 414 Defoe, D. 41,44
Day of Atonement 150 Della Porta, G. 75-86
De Beausobre, I. 199, 201, n. 19 Demetrios Poliorcetes 341
De Dea ~ra 405,414-416 Detachment 24, 223-224, 233, 242,
Dead 244, 245, 250, 252, 341
Anointment of 177-178, 181,420 Deuteronomy 370
Bones of 421 Dewey,j. 378-379
Burial 33, 148, 373, 374-376, 388, DharaI).a 239-240
391-392,416,417,418,419,420, Di Manes 419-429
421,426 Diary 27, n. 1,41-45
Calling by Name 420 Diaspora 140, 141, n. 48
Closing Eyes 172, 176, 181,420 Didache 203, n. 29, 204
Coffin 179, 180, 292, 319, 324 Dirt 218, 224, 230
Cult of 11-26, 419-429 Disciples 192,242,237
Funeral 179, n. 13, 292, 294, 295, Disputations (See also Polemics) 131,
n. 16,296,377,412,417-429 n. 24, 316, 320-321, 324
Funeral Meal 421 Divination 16, 291
Funeral Oration 418, n. 7 Divine Names
Gender Differences 418, n. 7, 424, Elohim 88-90
n. 46 YHWH 88,90
434 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Divine Speech 96-124, 323 Eras 100, 155-156, 162, 358

Divorce 175 Error 202
Dogs 374 Eskimos 96, n. 4
Douglas, M. 127, 139, 140 Essenes 125-126, 130, n. 20, 131-134,
Dream 60-62, 99, n. 10, 109, n. 39, 135,136, 137,n. 37, 138, 140,203,n.
110, 114, n. 63, 291, 306, 330-331, 29
372, n. 21 Internal Division 132-134, 140, n.
Drunkenness 231,277,284,287,406 45
Dualism 148, 189, n. 24, 198-217, Etemmu 368-369,371,372,373
256-259, 303, 349-362 Eternity 167-168, 186, n. 10
Dying 172-183 Eucharist 38, 194-195, n. 41
Eunuch and the Priest 411-412
Ear 177,27, 242 Eunuchs 404-416
Earth 61, 103, n. 28, 185-186, 216, Contempt for 407-412
237,260,268-269,271-272, 366, 370, Court Eunuch 405-416
395 Cult Eunuch 405, 409, n. 7, 409, n.
Easter 33 8,415-416
Ecclesiastes 98, 393 Memorial 414-415
Eclecticism 282, 285, 287, 289, 293- Self-Evaluation 408, 410, 416
294 Euthanasia 174
Ecstasy 56 Eve 86, 215
Eden 103, n. 28 Exclusion 29,33,38-39,125-147,195-
Education 18, 26, 30, 121, 149, 151- 196, 220, n. 5
153, 163-164,219, 351, 352 Execution (Death Penalty) 150, 154,
Egalitarianism 141-142 168, 170, 389
Egypt 99, 100-102, 105, n. 31, 122,
123, 128, n. 14, 129, n. 15, 141, n.
50,384-403
Exile 310
Exodus 305-307, 308-31 °
Ezekiel 104, n. 29, 117, n. 72
Middle Kingdom 388-396
Eighteen Decrees 138, n. 41 Face of God 298-312
Eighteenth Century 69-74, 86 Face of Man 67-86,298-312
Elephantine 142 Falasifa 327,329,331
Eliade, M. 63 Fall 215, 348, 351
Elias, N. 41,45,46 Family 12-26, 122, 177, 263, n. 16,
Elijah 149, 151-152, 153-154, 163, 351, 373, 381, 420-421, 423-425,
164, 165 427-428
Elites/Masses 29, 32, 35, 39, 40, 45- Fasting (See also Austerities) 46,97, n.
48,98,224,234,317,327-328,332- 5, 219, 246, 248
333, 408-409 Fat 150, 154, 163, 164
Eloquent Peasant 388-389 Father 12, 13, 17, 87-90, 94, 176, 380
Embryo 178, 179 Fati!:ta 305
Emotions (See also Love) 82, 83-84, Fear 384-385
212-213,271,303,384-385 Feralia 424
Enclave 139-147 Ferwerda, F. 199-201
Enclave Repeater Mechanism 146 Festivals 181,234-235,335,424
End of Days 130, n. 19, 168,215-216, Fish 228, 270
274, 300, Enki and Ninmah 370 Flesh 55, 58, 94, 148-170, 187, n. 11,
Enuma Elish 369, 370 211, n. 56, 212, 214, 215-217, 230,
Ephesos 406, 409, 415-416 342, 363-383
Epictetus 336 Flood 364, 366-367
Epicurus/Epicureanism 340, 417 Fon 15, 16
Epistle of Bamabas 204, 205
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 435

Food 46, 127-147, 149, 151-152, 163, Gods, Platonic 351-353, 358-359
165, 170, 171, 244, 246, 285-286, Goethe 27, 76, 198
335, 373, 406 Gold 226, 237, 238, 240, 245
Food Allowance 134 Golem 116
Forerunners 126, n. 3 Gollwitzer, H. 5
Fortunatus 210-212,215, n. 73 Good/Evil 167, 168, 198-200, 202-
Foucault, M. 49, n. 44 205, 206, 207, 208, 209-217, 224,
4QMMT 130 250, 263, 348, 352, 360, 395, 402,
Fourth Lateran Council 32-33, 36 417
Fourth Philosophy 125, n. 2, 126 Gospel of Thomas 207
France 33, 45-48, 76, n. 14 Government 351, 402
Franc;ois de Sales 46-48 Gradation 181
Franklin, B. 41 Grammar 335, 339, 344-345
Franz,].G.F. 69-73 Grandchild 16, 17, 18, n. 16, 26, n. 26
Freedom 191,213-214 Grandfather 16, 17, 18, 22, 26, n. 26
Freud, S. 164 Grandmother 18
Friendship 186 Great Revolt 138, n. 41
Fundamentalism 129, n. 18, 146, n. 66 Greece/Greek 99, 102, 107, n. 38,
128, n. 14, 141, n. 50,143,145,155-
Gallos 415-416 156, 164, 167, 169, 176, n. 7, 208,
Ganges 238 256, 335-346, 371, n. 21, 376-377,
Gaselee, S. 102 393, 404-416
Galatians 188,191,195,210, n. 54 Gregory of Nyssa 205-206, 208
Geller, S. 367 Guilt (See also Conscience, Sin) 30-31,
Genesis 74, 83, 86, 88-89, 97, 99, 103, 37
107, 112-113, 123, 210, n. 54, 215, Gujarat 229, 232, 247
366, 370, 372, 376 GUl.lasenasuri 225-226
Genesis Rabbah 106, 110, 115-116
Gentiles 128, 132, 133, 138, n. 41, Habermas, ]. 6
139,141,142-144,158 Habit 211-213
Germany 10, 26, n. 26, 346, 427, n. Hackforth, R. 359
61 Hajj 311
Gerson, L. 356 Haman 106, n. 32
Ghost 363-383, 424, n. 44, 426 Hamlet 399
Gibbon, E. 70 Han Dynasty 259-262, 267
Gideon 155 Hannukah 141, n. 49, 145, n. 61
Gilgamesh 375,392 Haug, W. 6
Glaucus 358 Ha:odalah 179-180
Glory 190, 191, 195 Ha:ourah 135
Glossolalia 193, n. 38 Healing (See also Illness) 194, n. 40,
Gnosis 191 213,218-255,256-275
Gnostics/Gnosticism 53, 57-58, 200- Buddhist vs. Jain 230, 252
201,205,207, 398 By Austerities 220, 229-230, 245,
God, Individual 363-383 249
God/Gods 87-95, 96-124, 185-186, By Contact 194, n. 40, 218, 219, n.
189, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195-196, 1, 220, 224, 225-230, 236, 238,
210, 213, 215, 222, 230-233, 235, 249
239, 241, 243, 246, 247, 250-251, By Images 219,221,25,227, n. 27,
258,262-263,265,272,274,298-312, 236-239, 241, 153, n. 54
323, 335, 336, 363-383, 400-401,414, By Licking Clean 241
415, 419-429 By Meditation 219, 220, 226, 238
God-fearing 303-305
436 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

By Monks 219, 221-224, 229-230, 211-216,305-306,308,310,323,337,

233, 252, 254 341, 361-362
By Oath 219, n. 1 Hobbes, T. 4,347,351
By Prayer 225, 249 Homa 157-158, 160, 161, 162
By Relics 226-227 Horace 69
By Ritual 218-219, 224, 230-239, Humanity, Uniqueness 96-124, 265,
241,249 267
By Sacred Words 218-220, 224, Hume, D. 351-352
226,232,236, 240-241, 260
By Self-Inflicted Wounds 221 Iambu1us 127, n. 10
Naturalistic Approach 272, 273 Ibn al Qjfli 330-331
Of Lay People 224,234,252 Ibn Ezra 108, n. 38
Of Monks 219,221,222,223,225, Ibn Tufay1 331
233, 239-251, 252 Ibo 16
Reluctance 222-224, 229-230, 233- Identity
234, 238, 241, 242, 245-248, 250 Constellative 384, 386-387, 401,
Self-Cure 219-220, 223, 225, 245, 403
285 Disintegration 384-386, 397-398,
Spiritual 288 401
Theistic Approach 262-265, 272, Divisions 62-63,198-217,347-366
273 Personal 16-20,347-362,384-403
Health 257,259, 260, 270, 274, 275 Reflexive Nature 28
Hearing 96, 116 Reintegration 384, 397
Heart 190, 191, 339, 371, 384-387, Relational Nature 14, 26, 186, 189,
395,402 190,375,381,386,397,401
Heaven 186, 207, 160, 262-265, 268- Idowu, E. 16
269,271-272,275 Ignorance 152, 175
Hebrew 74 flu 368, 380
Hege1, C.W.F. 4, 71 Illness 18-19, 164, 194, 218-255, 59,
Hehn,J. 101 262, 263, 270, 272, 276-297, 364,
Heiddiger, M. 7 381, n. 41
Hellenism 144-145,148 As Spiritual Metaphor 287-288,
Hemacandra 220, 221, n. 13, 225, 293, 296
226-227, 229, 230, 232, 233, 236, Image 219,221,225,227, n. 27, 236-
241,242 239,241,253, n. 64, 344,426
Heraclitus 339, n. 19, 341 Immersion 133, 136-139, 140, n. 45
Hercules 338 Immortality 156,236,259,271, n. 38,
Herder 73 273,314,318,322,325-326,330-331,
Herero 11, 12 359-362, 367, 368, 376, 384, 390,
Heresy/Heretics 33, 285, 392 391-393,397,400,413,417
Hermotimus of Pedasa 406, 408, 410, Incarnation 192, 211,n. 56, 355, 362
413-414,415 Incubation 60-62
Herod 128 India 10, 17, 18, 22, 23, 24, 24, 26,
Herodotus 107, n. 38, 128, n. 14,141, 218-255, 256
n. 50, 404, 405-406, 408, 409, 413- Individualization 22, 23, 24, 25, 32,
414,415-416 35-36,39,42,45,48, 174, 190-191,
Hierapolis 416 330, 337, 363-383
Hijra 310 Indonesia 24
Hille1 170 Inheritance 174, 422, 424-425
Hinduism 10, 23, 25, 26, 218, 228- Initiation 12,132,134,135,138
229, 249, 250-251, 252-253, 254 Inner/Outer 185, 187-191, 193, 195,
History 28, 52, 56, 64-66, 67-72, 209, 341,371
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 437

Inquisition 33, 76 Ka 384-403

Insiders/Outsiders 128, 129, 132, 134, Ka'ba 305, 306, 308, 309, 310-311
135, 138, n. 41, 139-147 Kajane, A. 14
Intellection 322, 325-326, 331, 332, Kalam 323, 329, 332
333, 353-354, 358, 363-383 Kali 231-232
Interior Dialogue 386-387 Kallah Rabbati 122-123
Introspection 190-191 Kant, I. 65, 73
Intuition 68, 85-86 Kantorowicz, E. 336
Iran 200, 202-202, 207, 208, 257 Kal.l!theSvari 230-231
Isaac 87-90, 99, n. 10 Karma 18,218-255
Isaum 301,311,412,415 Bad 220, 245, 246, 248, 249-250,
Isfet 401, 402 252, 253
Isidorus 201 Khnum 99, n. 12
Islam 256, 265, 298-312, 314, 323, King 15, 16, 22, 28, 101, 141, 225-
327, 328-329, 331 226, 229, 230-233, 235, 242-244, 247,
Issachar 83 253, 263, n. 15, 325, 385, 402, 403,
403,410,414,415
Jacob 83, 108, n. 38, 122-123, 129, n. Kingdom of God 184, 187,216
15, 143 Kiss 96-124,420
Jacobsen, T. 379 Kluge, A. 7
Jains/Jainism 218-255 Knowledge 68, 72-74, 85
Jaspers, K. 387, 400 Kojeve, A. 7
Jerome 210, n. 54, 215, n. 70 Kra 13, 20
Jerusalem 121, 132, 141, 142-143, Kf~l.la 254
144, 193, 216, 306-307, 309, 310, K~emendra 227, 228
311-312 Kumarapala 220, 221, 222, 224, 230-
Jesus Christ 94, 136-138, 184, n. 1, 239, 251
186, n. 9,192,207,348
Jing 269-271, 272 L~mal.la 254-255
Jnanapancarrn 234, 235 Lamentations 109, III
Job 103,104,213, n. 32,400 Language 96-124, 167, n. 15
John 184-196, 211 Lao Zi 260,267,269, n. 30,282,285,
John Hyrcanus 145 287
John the Baptist 125, n. 2, 131, 136 Lares 421
Jokes 17-18, 155-156,228 Latin 102
Joseph 122-123,129, n. 15, 143, n. 56 Launderer 150, 170
Josephus 110, 125, n. 2, 126, 129, 130, Lavater, lC. 70, 73
n. 20,131-134,140, n. 45,141, n. 50, Law 45, 71, 171-183, 189-191, 212-
142 214, 273, 274, 335, 337, 341, 418,
Joshua 97 419, n. 19,420, n. 21,422,424,427-
Jubilees 129,145-146 429
Judah 83, 143, n. 56 Le Goff, l 30-31
Judah Aristobulus I 145 Lent 33
Judah Maccabee 128 Lepenies, W. 7
Judaism 87-95,96-124, 125-147, 148- Leprosy 172,219-221,224,225,230-
170, 171-183, 187, 189, 192, 194, 239,241,246,247,248,249,253,n.
201-203,210,256,265,301,312,334 62
Babylonian 177, n. 10, 179, n. 13, Lessing, G.E. 10
180 Levi 83
Julius Caesar 27 Levites 141
Jung, C.G. 59 Leviticus 89, 370
Libitina 420
438 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Life (See also Death) 21, 23, 43, 87, Marriage 41,130, n. 20,141-142,143,
171-172, 181-182, 186,259,265,267, n. 56,148-170,180,220,234,407
295, 386, 390-391, 399 Levirate 174,175
Life Cycle 11 Matthew 211
Light/Darkness 181, 198, 199, 204- Mayiira 220
205, 206 Mead, G.H. 378
Liminality 171-183,423,426-429 Mean 276-297
Lineage, Scholastic 278-279, 298 Mecca 305-308, 310, 311, 312
Lips 96, 107, n. 38 Medicine 221-223,242,246,254,285,
Literacy/Writing 28, 30, 306, 308-311 287, 295, 335
Liturgy 299 Medina 305, 310
wgos 192 Meditation 220, 223, 225, 226, 229,
Lorenzen, P. 6 233, 238
Lot 306, n. 9 Megara 341,350
Love 155, 169, 209, 213-216, 351, Memory 27-52, 162, 308, 310, 312,
384, 396, 397-398, 401, 403 373, 396-398, 401, 403, 412
Luckmann, P. 51 Memphis 385
Lucretius 338, 417-418 Mencius 280, 282, n. 8, 287
Luhman, N. 28, 50, n. 45 Menstruation 172
Luke 136-137 Merikare 389
Luther 37-38 Mesopotamia 100-101, 105, n. 31,
Luzzatto, S. 113 123, 363-383, 409, 411
Metamorphosis 190, 193, 195, 265
Mailt 395-396, 399, 401, 402, 403 Meyerowitz, E. 20
Maccabees 126, 128, 141, n. 49, 144- Micah 94
146 ' Microcosm/Macrocosm 268,272-273
1 Maccabees 128,143-144 Mind (See also Intellection) 64, 287-
2 Maccabees 129 288,290, 345, 371, 378-379
Madame de Stael 44 Ming 269
Magi 200 Miracles 194, n. 40, 219, 223, 225-
Magic 37,76,84,369, 389,424,n. 44 230, 235, 238
Mahabharata 253, 254 Mishnah 90-91, 135, 180
Mahavira 222,241-242 Mit;:;vot 92-94
Maimonides 313-334 Monism 148, 194
Commentary on Mishnah 325, 327-328 Monks/Monasticism 39, 40, 46, 219-
Guide to the Perplexed 315, 325, 332- 255, 276-297
333 Moore, G.E. 347,349
Treatise on Resurrection 315-334 Morality (See also Sin) 262, 271, 338,
Male/Female 130, n. 20, 268, 285, 342-343,349,352-354,355,361-361,
303, 375, 394, 407-412, 414 395,402
Malla 226, 229, 236 Mortality (See also Death) 165, 212,
Man, Definition of 347-362, 363-383 366-367, 373
Manatu~ga 219, 229, 236 Moses 89, 93, 95, 98, 119, 120, 306,
Mandal 320, 324 400
Mani 201, n. 19, 206-207, 216 Mother 12,13,17,19,103, n. 28, 221,
Manichees 198-217 228-229, 380
Mantra 232-233, 237 Mourning 162, 172
Manual qf Discipline/ Communiry Rule 134- Mouth 96-124,177,181,339
135, 146,201-202,205 Mt. Gerizim 193
Maqlu 374 Mt. Girnar 249-250
Marduk 100, 370, 377, n. 28 Mt. Gu 278-280, 283, 284, 288, 292
Mark 136-137 Mt. Sinai 118
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 439

Muhammad 300, 302, 303-305, 306- Panionios of Chios 406, 408, 413-414
308, 311 Pantheism 356
Mularaja 247 Paraclete 206-207
Multipresence 16, 17, 18, 22, 26, n. 26 Paradosis 136
Murder 221 Parentalia 424
Music 286 Parfit, D. 361-362
Mutakallimfin 326, 332 Parousia 212
Myrde 180-181 Paternity 155,411-415
Mythology 298, 307, 341, 344, 345, Pauker, A. 5
363-383 Paul 4, 53, 93-94, 184, 187-196, 209-
217
Nakedness 157-161, 164-165 Pelagians 214
Names 74 Penitentials 29-30, 129, n. 18
Naphtali 183 Perfection 273
Napishtu 103-105, 372, n. 21 Persia (See also Iran) 107, n. 38, 139,
Narcissism 165 141,405,406,408,409
Narrative Identity 27-52 Persona 335-346, 362
Nature (See also Cosmology) 86, 98, Personality 148, 338, 341-342, 346
199, 265, 270, 336-337, 340 Pesikta de Rw Kahana 149-170
Nazir 137 Peter 194, n. 40, 210, n. 54, 214
Necromancy 320 Petersom, E. 207
Neferty 402 Pharisees 94, 125-126, 135-139, 140,
Neherniah 140-142, 145, n. 61 n.45
Neo-Platonism (See also Plotinus) 58, Philo of Alexandria 112, n. 57, 201,
59, 324 205, 208
Nepal 236 Philosoph-historicus 70
New Age 25, 26 Philosopher-kings 351-352
New Man/Old Man 188 Philosophers, Disagreement 317-318,
New Testament 184-197 322
Nietzsche 4, 169, 397 Philosophy 199, 201, 208, 317-334,
Nigeria 16, 18 335-346,347-362,418
Noah 87,364 Phoenicians 101, n. 20, 102
Nose/Nostrils 99, 100, 101, 103, 112, Physician 174, 221, n. 16, 222, 228,
114-117,227 242, 244-245, 317, 330
Nous 189, 353, 358 Physiognomy 67-86,291
Novel 27, n. 1,42-45, 51, 52 History 69-70
Numenius of Apamea 200 Principles of 67-68
Zoological Approach 75-82, 85
Oaths 135 Pilgrims 249-250
Occult 76, 79 Pindar 341
Oceania 24 Pines, S. 7
Old Age 384 Pistis Sophia 207
Orality 28,67,119 Plague 219, 223, n. 22, 227, 228, 236,
Orbilio Anthroposcopo 69-86 253
Origen 201, 204-205, 208, 348, 362 Plato 58, 167, 190, n. 28, 200, 201,
Osiris 389 208, 212,n. 60, 324, 340,n. 27, 341,
Otto, R. 95 342, 347-353, 355, 356-362
avid 208, 339, 345 Definition of Humanity 352-353,
354,355
P. Berlin 3024 387-403 Philosopher-King 351-352
Paintings 219 Theory of Forms 349,351,359,361
Panaitios of Rhodes 338-339 Pleasure/Pain 162
440 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Plotinus 200, 347, 356-359, 360-362 Quispel, G. 207

Definition of Humanity 357-359, Qumran 125, 130, 134-135, 136, 138,
361 140, 146-147, 191, n. 31, 201-203,
Plutarch 60-62, 339, n. 19 206
Pneumatikoi 53, 59 Qur'an 298-312
Poet/Poetry 277, 280, 281, 284, 290
Polemics 278-279,290,291,292,293, R. AJciva 159, 162
294, 305, 316-334, 341 R. Alexandri 109-111
Policing 150-154, 156, 166-167 R. David Kimhi 112, n. 38
Polybius 418 R. Elazar b. Pedat 158, 160, 161, 162
Polytheism 11, 300 R. Eleazar b. R. Shimon b. Yohai
Potiphar 122 148-170
Power 151-152, 154, 155, 167, 168, R. Eliezer b. Hyrcanus 176, n. 6
193, n. 40, 187, n. 12,341 R. Gamliel 158-159
Practical Syllogism 357 R. Hanina 99, n. 10, 110
Prayer 18, 41, Ill, 223, 233, 298-312, R. Hisda 158, 160
399 R. Ishmael b. R. Yose 154-155
Direction 298-312 R.Joshua b. Korha 150-151
Pre-destination 37,40,95 R. Joshua b. Levi 118
Preaching 191 R.Judah 97, n. 5, 120
Pride 238 R. Judah b. Dai 180
Priest 29-54,137-138,140, n. 45,141- R. Levi 110
143, 173, n. 3, 174, 388, 411 R. Meir 172
Procreation 12, 13, 173, n. 2, 215, R. Nathan 180
260-261,364,381-382,407,411-415 R. Nehemiah 119
Prayers 190 R. Samuel b. Isaac 180
Property 341, 351 R. Simlai 178, 179
Prophecy 110, 193, n. 38, 323 R. Simon 93
Prostitute 152,228,229, n. 32,409, n. R. Simon b. Abba 109
8 R. Simon b. Yohai 152, n.6, 153-154
Proverbs 326 R. Yohanan 92, 93, 99, n. 10, 118,
Psalms 92, 104, 106, 123, 166, 169 120, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162
Pseudo-Clementines 207 R. Yosi b. Hanina 179
Pseudonym 69 Rabbis 90-95, 96-124, 135, 148-170,
Psychikoi 53, 59 171-183, 203, 327, 328
Psychology 45, 54, 64-66, 83, 211, Rfuna 254-255
216, 301, 330, 336, 338, 355, 363, Rashi 106, n. 34, 108, n. 38, 114
380 Rationalists 31 7
Ptolemies 129 Rationality 383
Puberty 21,320-321 Ratnaprabhasiiri 250-251
Puech, H.-C. 199 Rava 157, 160
Puritan 40-43, 146, n. 65 Raymundus of Penaforte 36
Purity/Impurity 29, Ill, n. 51, 119, Rebellion 60, 365, 378, 389, 414
122-123, 127, 128, 129, 130, 132-139, Rebirth 154, 168, 178
141, 142-144, 171, 173, n. 5, 174, Reconciliation 12, 25, 26
177, 194-195, 203, 220, n. 5, 241, Redemption 23, 25
420, 421, 427 Reformation 37-45, 146, n. 65
Pythagoreans 201 Refutation 322, 329
Reincarnation 10-26, 270
Qi 266-275 India 23-25, 225, 244
Qibla 298-312 Relics 227, n. 27
Queen 235
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 441

Religions Samsara 23
Germanic 26, n. 26 Samuel 319, 323
Primary 24-25 Sanatkumara 225, 242-249
Tribal 11, 26 Sanballat 141, 142
World 25 Sanskrit 102
Relative Deprivation 126 Sarah 99, n. 10
Remorse 31, 168 Sardis 406,408,409,415-416
Repentance 29-52 Sarkikoi 53, 59
Resurrection 168,178,187,192,211, Sarvau~adhi 227
n. 56, 213, 215-216, 254, 314-334, Satan 190, n. 24, 194, n. 41, 204
362 Saul 319
Reuben 83 Schilling, R. 208
Revelation 88,118-124,191,193,206, Schmitt, C. 4, 5, 7-8
264,275, 311, 318, 323 Schucking, L. 41
Rewards/Punishments 34, 210, 222- Schulz, W. 6
223,262-264,265-270,321,360,381, Scotus 35
400,402,412-414 Scribe 410-411
Richardson, S. 41,42,43,44 Scripture 299, 309, 311
Riesman, D. 50 Allegorical Interpretation 209
Righteous 88, 98, 153, 321, 324 Historical Interpretation 209-210,
Rippin, A. 298-312 215
Rites of Passage 171-183, 373, 377, literalist Interpretation 210, 318-
427, n. 59 322, 329
Rituals 12,14,20,24, 186, 187, n. 13,
218-219,221,224,230-239,298-312,
335, 363, 373, 374, 388, 397, 418
Recitation 299, 302-305, 311, 312
Typological Interpretation 209-21
Secrets 76, 188
°
Performance 299, 302, 306, 308, Sects 125-147,259-261,264
309 Egalitarianism 139-140
Romans 94, 188, 189, 193, 209, 213, Reforrnist/lntroversionist 125, n. 1,
214,216 129, 134, n. 29, 136, 138-139
Rome 99, 125, n. 2, 176, n. 9, 335- Seleukos I 414
346, 404, 405, n. 3, 417-429 Seleucids 139
Russia 29 Self, Empirical and real 358-359
Self-Control 46-47, 343-344
Saadia Gaon 31 7 Self-Examination 191,343
Sabbath 114, 176, n. 8, 178, n. 12, Self-Perception 28, 72, 340, 342, 343,
179, 320, 415 358
Sacred/Profane 42, 95, 171, 192-193, Self-Presentation 28, 339-340, 343,
194, 196 344
Sacrifice 18, 87-95, 105, n. 31, 132, Self-Realization 19
141, 142-143, 164, 193, 194, 221, Seneca 336,338,339,340-344,417
230-231, 233, 250, 260, 295, 411, Separation 125-147,176-177, 181
421,422, n. 33,425,427 Septuagint 112-113
Human 87,425 Servius 419,420, n. 22
Saducees 125-126, 140, n. 45 Sexuality 49, n. 44, 155, 162, 215,
Saints 29,34,195,214,216,218-219, 351,353
220, 224, 225-230 Shaharastani 206
Saivism 232 Shaked, S. 200, 202
Sa]ana 225-230, 233, 234, 236 Shamanism 207
$alah 304-305, 307, 311 Shema 91, 122
Salvation 32, 34, 37, 40, 42-43, 94, Shen 269-271,272
256-275,307 Shepherd qf Hermas 203-205, 207
442 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES

Shmuel ben Eli 313-334 Strength 151-152, 154-156, 163, 166,

Sibi 228 275
Siduri 392-393 Stroumsa, G. 192
Sight 96, 116 Structure, Social 139-147, 171-173,
Silence 90, 95, 133, n. 27 175
Silencing Epistle 315-334 Stiipa 276, 277, 278, 292, 294, 296
Simmel, G. 63-66 Suetonius 69
Simon 83 Suffering 150-151, 163, 164, 168,223,
Simon Maccabee 144-145 401
Sin 27-52, 189, 199, 210-212, 214, Suicide 174, 233, 389
215, 216, 230, 249, 253, 263, 271, Sumer 411-412
285, 358 Sums 36-37
Inheritance of 263, 264 Sun 220
Intentional 30-31 Sunesis 355
Motives 30-32, 34, 36, 39 Sunsum 13
Sinuhe 385 Susa 415
SiTU 366,370, n. 15,371,374 Su;:;ugia 207
Siva 247, 254 Swedenborg, E. 73
Skeleton 12, 375, n. 27, 376 Synagogue 157,170,178, n. 12
Slave 336, 364, 378, 406, 408, 409, Syncretism 25, 57
413,415,423
Sleep 109-111, 385, 406 Tabernacle 89
Snake 223, n. 23, 231, 239, 241 Tabernacles 181
Socrates 60, 349-350, 353, 354, 359, Taboos 13
361 Tacitus 418, 425, n. 54
Solitude 386, 394, 396, 399, 400, 403 Tadmor, H. 412
Solomon 310 Taiping Jing 256-275
Son 17,87-90,94, 176 Talmud 12, n. 3,91,97-124,148-170,
Song if Songs 118, 123, 385 171-183,318-322,329
Song if Songs Rabbah 118-120 Tantric Texts 218-219
Sontag, S. 7 TargumOnqelos 97,113
Soul Targum Ps. Jonathan 97, n. 3, 113
Etymology 54-55, 102-103 Tatian 204-206, 207
Hierarchy 205-206 Taubes,J. 4-9, 345-346
Independence of Body 318-321, ta'wil 329
322-324, 324-327, 330-331, 347- Temple 126,132,192, n. 35, 142-143,
362 193, 224, 236, 248, 278, 301, 310,
Multiple 15, 20, 21, 56-57, 97, n. 3, 365, 399, 422
102, n. 24, 198-217, 269, n. 32, .tlmu 368-369, 371, 372, 378-383
350-362, 372 Ten Commandments 118, 120-121
Space 184-188, 190-191, 195, 208, Tertullian 340
301, 308, 310, 311, 312, 341, 381, Testament if Asher 202
401-402,421 Testament if]udah 202, 205
Speech 96-124,319,323,330 Textual Coherence 309
Spinoza, B. 400 Theatre 335-336
Spirit 12 Theophany 311
Divine 103, n. 27, 104, n. 29, 184, Theology 70
186, 188, 190-196, 203, 207 Thiel,J.F. 17,18, n. 16
Spiritual 274 Three Teachings 285-287, 289, 293
Stilpon 341 Throat 96
Stoicism 335-346, 348, 356, 357 Timarchus of Chaeroneia 60-62
Strauss, 1. 333 Time (See also History) 22, 28, 40, 41,
 INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 443

42, 43, 51, 164, 166-169, 188, 210, Water 220, 226, 227, 229, 232-233,
212, 302, 309, 311, 323, 337, 344, 236, 238, 243, 260, 285, 370, 373,
362,377,381,391,393,401-402 389
Tineius Rufus 159, 160, 161, 162 We-ita 366, 368-369
Tipitaka 23 Weakness 152, 154, 157, 158, 163,
Titus of Bostra 206 164,166,168,194,352,407-412
Tobiads 129,142 Wealth 407
Tobiah 141 Weber, A. 387
Tomb (See also Stiipa) 138, n. 40, 173, Weber, M. 4,29,39-41
384, 386, 391, 392, 399, 414-416, Weddings 180, 246
422, 423, 425, 428 Weischedel, W. 5
Tongue 96, 108, n. 38, 116, 227, 388 Whitehead, A.N. 403
Torah 107, 116, 117-123, 128, 149, Will
151-153,163,164,194,309 Divided 209-217
Priesdy 89-90,91,94-95 Individual 337-344
Tranquility 271 Willow 180
Transcendence 22, 257-259, 264, 266, Wills, Multiple 198-217
274 Winckelman, JJ. 70
Transformation 265-267, 268, 273- Wind 11,102,103,104, n. 29, 372, n.
274, 377, 422-425 21,373, n. 23, 375
Transition 171-183,418-429 Wine 131,421
Transmigration 244 Wisdom 399
Trojan War 345 Witch of Ein Dor 319, 323, 330
Trophonius 60-62 Witchcraft 374,375, n. 26
Truth 72, 357 Wolff, H.w. 96
Turner, V. 426 Women 122, 325, n. 38, 329, 331,
Twi 13, n. 6 424, n. 46
Twin 206-207 Word of God 107,120
Worm 157,164,169,170
University 30, 32 Worship 231, 232, 236, 299, 303-305,
Utopia 127, n. 10 309,426
Wounds, Self-inflicted 221
Vadiraja 236-238 Wu Zunlu 280, 283, n. 10, 295
Vajra 221, 222
Van Gennep 171 Xenophon 199-201, 406-408, 414-415
Van Imschoot 102, 112 Xerxes 408
Vergil 419 Xiang Kai 261, 263
Vico, G. 70, 71 Xing 269, n. 33, 270
Vimala 235
Violence 155, 168, 365, 367 Yakkha 234
Virtue 36, 361-362 Yansi 17
Virtues, Connective 251, 397-398, Yasodhara 231
399, 400, 401 Yelamma 241
Visible/Invisible 188, n. 20 Yellow Turbans 259
Voegelin, E. 387 Yin/Yang 266-269
Von Brentano, M. 5 Yo~n 222,223,n.21,225,227,254
Vulgate 112-113 Yoruba 16,18, n. 16
Yosefben Shimon 315-334
Wajh 298-312 ruang qi 268, 269, n. 30
Warburton, W. 400 Yuanqing 278, 290
War 407-408 Yuqandhara 246-248
Warrior 249-250 Yukun 18, n. 16
444 INDEX OF SUBjECTS AND NAMES

Ziihir 319,328 Zhuangzi 267, 269, n. 30, 270, 282

Zealots 125, n. 2 Zoroaster 84, 99, 200
ZhangJue 259-261 :(phar 123-124
Zhiyuan 276-297 Zulus 13, n. 5
Zhonghe 268, 272
 LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Tzvi Abusch
Department of Near Eastern & Jewish Studies, Brandeis University, Walt-
ham, U.S.A.

Aharon Agus
Hochschule fUr Jiidische Studien, Friedrichstrasse 9, Heidelberg, Germany

Jan Assmann
Aegyptologisches Institut, Ruprecht-Karls-Universitat Heidelberg, Marstal-
hof 4, Heidelberg, Germany

Moshe Barasch
10 Rabbi Binyamin, Jerusalem, Israel

Albert Baumgarten
Department of Jewish History, Bar Ilan University, Ramat Gan, Israel

Hildegard Gancik-Lindemaier
Hauserstrasse 89, Tiibingen, Germany

Hubert Gancik
Hauserstrasse 89, Tiibingen, Germany

Garsten Golpe
Schiitzallee 112, Berlin, Germany

Adriana Destro
Istituto di Glottologia, University of Bologna, Via Zamboni 16, Bologna,
Italy

Paula Fredriksen
Department of Religious Studies, Boston University, Boston, U.S.A.

Peter Glotz
University of Erfurt, Erfurt, Germany

Phyllis Granrdf
Department of Religious Studies, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario,
Canada

Ghristiano Grottanelli
Largo Arenula 26, Roma, Italy
 LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Alois Hahn
FB IV- Soziologie, Universitat Trier, Trier, Germany

Israel Knohl
Department of Bible, The Hebrew University, Jerusalem, Israel

Admiel Kosman
Department of Talmud, Bar Ilan University, Ramat Gan, Israel

Angelika Neuwirth
Orient-Institut, Deutschen Morgenlandischen Gesellschaft, Rue Hussein
Beyhum, Zokak el Blat, Beirut, Lebanon

Mauro Pesce
CISEC, Strada Maggiore 45, Bologna, Italy

John Rist
50, Roseford Road, Cambridge, England

Nissan Rubin
Department of Sociology and Anthropology, Bar Ilan University, Ramat
Gan, Israel

Hubert Seiwert
Religionswissenschaftliches Institut, Augustusplatz 9, Leipzig, Germany

Koichi Shinohara
Department of Religious Studies, Mc Master University, Hamilton, Ontario,
Canada

Guy Stroumsa
Department of Comparative Religion, The Hebrew University, Jerusalem,
Israel

Sarah Stroumsa
Institute of Asian and African Studies, The Hebrew University, Jerusalem,
Israel

TIeo Sundermeier
Wissenschaftlich-Theologisches Seminar, Kisselgasse I, Heidelberg, Ger-
many
 STUDIES IN THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS
NUMEN BOOK SERIES

4 The Sacral Kingship/ La Regalita Sacra. Contributions to the Central Theme

of the v I I I th International Congress for the History of Religions, Rome
1955.1959. ISBN 9004016090
8 K. W. Bolle. The Persistence of Religion. An Essay on Tantrism and Sri Auro-
bindo's Philosophy. Repr. 1971. ISBN 9004033076
11 E. 0. James. The Tree of Lye. An Archaeological Study. 1966.
ISBN 9004016120
12 U. Bianchi (ed.). The Origins of Gnosticism. Colloquium Messina 13-18 April
1966. Texts and Discussions. Reprint of the first (1967) ed. 1970.
ISBN 9004016139
14 J. Neusner (ed.). Religions in Antiquity. Essays in Memory of Erwin Ramsdell
Goodenough. Reprint of the first (1968) ed. 1970. ISBN 9004016155
16 E.o.James. Creation and Cosmology. A Historical and Comparative Inquiry.
1969. ISBN 9004016171
17 Liber Amicorum. Studies in honour of Professor Dr. C. J. Bleeker. Published
on the occasion of his retirement from the Chair of the History of Religions
and the Phenomenology of Religion at the University of Amsterdam. 1969.
ISBN 9004030921
18 R.J. Z.Werblowsky & c.J. Bleeker (eds.). Types ofRedemption. Contributions
to the Theme of the Study-Conference held at Jerusalem, 14th to 19thJuly
1968.1970. ISBN 9004016198
19 U. Bianchi, C. J. Bleeker & A. Bausani (eds.). Problems and Methods of the His-
tory of Religions. Proceedings of the Study Conference organized by the
Italian Society for the History of Religions on the Occasion of the Tenth
Anniversary of the Death of Ratfaele Pettazzoni, Rome 6 th to 8 th Decem-
berI969. Papers and discussions. 1972. ISBN 9004026401
20 K. Kert!nyi. Zeus und Hera. Urbild des Vaters, des Gatten und der Frau. 1972.
ISBN 9004034285
21 Ex Orbe Religionum. Studia G.Widengren. Pars prior. 1972.
ISBN 9004034986
22 Ex Orbe Religionum. Studia G.Widengren. Pars altera. 1972.
ISBN 9004034994
23 J.A. Ramsaran. English and Hindi Religious Poetry. An Analogical Study. 1973.
ISBN 9004036482
25 L. Sabourin. Priesthood. A Comparative Study. 1973. ISBN 9004036563
26 c.]. Bleeker. Hathor and Thoth. Two Key Figures of the Ancient Egyptian
Religion. 1973· ISBN 9004037349
27 J.w. Boyd. Satan and Miira. Christian and Buddhist Symbols of Evil. 1975.
ISBN 9004041737
28 R.A.Johnson. The Origins ofDemythologizing. Philosophy and Historiogra-
phyin the Theology ofR.Bultmann. 1974. ISBN 9004039031
29 E. Berggren. The Psychology of Confession. 1975. IS B N 9004042121
30 C.J. Bleeker. The Rainbow. A Collection of Studies in the Science of Reli-
gion. 1975. ISBN 9004042229
31 C.J.Bleeker, G.Widengren &E.J. Sharpe (eds.). Proceedings of the 12 th Interna-
tional Congress, Stockholm 1970.1975. ISBN 9004043187
32 A.-Th. Khoury (ed.), M. Wiegels. Weg in die Zukunft. Festschrift fur
Pro£ Dr. Anton Antweiler zu seinem 75. Geburtstag. 1975. I SB N 9004 05069 ~
33 B. L. Smith (ed.). Hinduism. New Essays in the History of Religions. Repr.
1982. ISBN 9004067884
34 V. L. Oliver, Caodai Spiritism. A Study of Religion in Vietnamese Society.
With a preface by P.Rondot. 1976. ISBN 9004045473
35 G. R.Thursby. Hindu-Muslim Relations in British India. A Study of Contro-
versy, Conflict and Communal Movements in Northern India, 1923-1928.
1975. ISBN 9004043802
36 A. Schimmel. Pain and Grace. A Study of Two Mystical Writers of Eigh-
teenth-century Muslim India. 1976. ISBN 9004047719
37 J.T. Ergardt. Faith and Knowledge in Early Buddhism. An Analysis of the Con-
textual Structures of an Arahant-formula in the Majjhima-Nikaya. 1977.
ISBN 9004048413
38 U. Bianchi. Selected Essays on Gnosticism, Dualism, and Mysteriosophy. 1978.
ISBN 9004054324
39 EE.Reynolds &Th.M.Ludwig (eds.). Transitions and Transformations in the
History of Religions. Essays in Honor of Joseph M.Kitagawa. 1980.
ISBN 900406II26
40 J.G.Griffiths. The Origins ofOsiris and his Cult. 1980. ISBN 9004060960
41 B. Lay ton (ed.). The Rediscovery of Gnosticism. Proceedings of the Interna-
tional Conference on Gnosticism at Yale, New Haven, Conn., March 28-31,
1978. Two vols.
I. The School ofValentinus. 1980. ISBN 9004061770
2. Sethian Gnosticism. 1981. ISBN 9004061789
42 H. Lazarus-Yafeh. Some Religious Aspects of Islam. A Collection of Articles.
1980. ISBN 9004063293
43 M. Heerma van Voss, D.]. Hoens, G. Mussies, D. van der Plas & H. te Velde
(eds.). Studies in Egyptian Religion, dedicated to Professor Jan Zandee.
1982. ISBN 9004067280
44 P.].Awn. Satan's Tragedy and Redemption. Iblis in Sufi Psychology. With a
foreword by A.Schimmel. 1983. ISBN 9004069062
45 R Kloppenborg (ed.). Selected Studies on Ritual in the Indian Religions. Essays
to D.J.Hoens. 1983. ISBN 9004071296
46 D.J. Davies. Meaning and Salvation in Religious Studies. 1984.
ISBN 9004070532
47 J. H. Grayson. Early Buddhism and Christianity in Korea. A Study in the Im-
plantation of Religion. 1985. ISBN 900407482 I
48 J.M. S.Baljon. Religion and Thought of Shah Waif Allah Dihlawf, 1703-1762.
1986. ISBN 9004076840
50 S. Shaked, D. Shulman & G. G. Stroumsa (eds.). Gilgul. Essays on Transforma-
tion, Revolution and Permanence in the History of Religions, dedicated to
RJ.Zwi WerblowskY.1987. ISBN 9004085092
51 D. van der Plas (ed.). Effigies Dei. Essays on the History of Religions. 1987.
ISBN 9004086552
52 J. G. Griffiths. The Divine Verdict. A Study of Divine Judgement in the An-
cientReligions. 1991. ISBN 9004092315
53 K.Rudolph. Geschichte und Probleme der Religionswissenschaft. 1992.
ISBN 9004095039
54 A. N. Balslev & J. N.Mohanty (eds.). Religion and Time. 1993.
ISBN 9004095837
55 E.Jacobson. The Deer Goddess ofAncient Siberia. A Study in the Ecology of
Belief. 1993. IS.BN 9004096280
56 B. Saler. Conceptualizing Religion. Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent
Natives, and Unbounded Categories. 1993. IS B N 9004095853
57 C. Knox. Changing Christian Paradigms. And their Implications for Modern
Thought. 1993. ISBN 9004096701
58 J. Cohen. The Origins and Evolution of the Moses Nativity Story. 1993.
ISBN 9004096523
59 S. Benko. The Virgin Goddess. Studies in the Pagan and Christian Roots of
Mariology. 1993. ISBN 9004097473
60 Z. P. Thundy. Buddha and Christ. Nativity Stories and Indian Traditions. 1993.
ISBN 9004097414
61 S. Hjelde. Die Religionswissenschaft und das Christentum. Eine historische Un-
tersuchung iiber das Verhaltnis von Religionswissenschaft und Theologie.
1994. ISBN 9004099220
62 Th.A. Idinopulos & E.A.Yonan (eds.). Religion and Reductionism. Essays on
Eliade, Segal, and the Challenge of the Social Sciences for the Study of Reli-
gion. 1994. IS B N 90 04 09870 4
63 S. Khalil Samir & J. S. Nielsen (eds.). Christian Arabic Apologetics during the Ab-
basid Period (750-1258). 1994. ISBN 9004095683
64 S. N. Balagangadhara. 'The Heathen in His Blindness...' Asia, the West and the
Dynamic of Religion. 1994. ISBN 9004099433
65 H. G. Kippenberg & G. G. Stroumsa (eds.). Secrecy and Concealment. Studies in
the History of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Religions. 1995.
ISBN 9004102353
66 R. Kloppenborg & W. J. Hanegraaff (eds.). Female Stereotypes in Religious Tra-
ditions. 1995. ISBN 9004102906
67]. Platvoet & K. van der Toorn (eds.). Pluralism and Identity. Studies on Ritual
Behaviour. 1995.ISBN 9004103732
68 G.Jonker. The Topography of Remembrance. The Dead, Tradition and Col-
lective Memory in Mesopotamia. 1995. ISBN 9004101624
69 S.Biderman. Scripture and Knowledge. An Essay on Religious Epistemology.
1995· ISBN 9004101543
70 G. G. Stroumsa. Hidden Wisdom. Esoteric Traditions and the Roots of Chris-
tian Mysticism. 1996. ISBN 9004105042
71]. G.Katz. Dreams, Sufism and Sainthood. The Visionary Career of Muham-
madal-Zawawl. 1996. ISBN 9004105999
72 W.]. Hanegraaff. New Age Religion and Western Culture. Esotericism in the
Mirror of Secular Thought. 1996. ISBN 9004106952
73 T.A. Idinopulos &E.A.Yonan (eds.). The Sacred and its Scholars. Comparative
Methodologies for the Study of Primary Religious Data. 1996.
ISBN 9004106235
74 K.Evans. Epic Narratives in the HoysaJa Temples. The RamayaQa, Mahabharata
and Bhagavata PuraQa in Halebid, Belur and Amrtapura. 1997.
ISBN 9004105751
75 P. Schafer & H. G.Kippenberg (eds.). Envisioning Magic. A Princeton Seminar
and Symposium. 1997. ISBN 9004107770
77 P. Schafer & M. R. Cohen (eds.). Toward the Millennium. Messianic Expecta-
tions from the Bible to Waco. 1998. ISBN 9004110372
78 A. I. Baumgarten, with J. Assmann & G. G. Stroumsa (eds.). Self, Soul and Body
in Religious Experience. 1998. ISBN 9004109439

ISSN 0169-8834