Book Reviews

1. Problematic Parenting: Donald Winnicott and the Yhwh–Israel Relationship

Guest uses Winnicott’s object-relations theory to analyse the father–child relationship of Yhwh–Israel as described by the scribe, reminding readers that they have access only to what the scribe intends to convey. Five key themes are deployed to aid understanding of this reading:

The Capacity to Be Alone, created by the reliably available support of a dedicated but not always present caregiver;

The True and False Self, the true being that part of self that must be preserved inviolate, the false self making accommodations with others;

The Holding Environment, created inside the person and developed from the close relationship with the mother (most probably) which later tails off;

The Good Enough Mother, or substitute, vital for creating the Holding Environment;

The Recitative Gesture, developed when the infant distinguishes the object–mother (provider of necessary food and care) and the environment mother, the mother who interacts in the relationship.

Guest sees the Child–Israel portrayed as Guilty Innocents (p. 27) and their crying out to Yhwh as their Recitative Gesture and Yhwh’s Holding Environment as providing Israel’s continuity of being while enforcing the Capacity to Be Alone. Yhwh is not, however, portrayed as a “Good Enough Mother” in Judges.

2. Judges Cyclical Framework and Trauma Theory

Here, Guest analyses the cyclical repetitions of sin/betrayal by Israel, or a representative thereof, physical punishments (various), cries to Yahweh for help, the rise of a leader, success and reconciliation with Yahweh, using Trauma Theory. Furthermore, the intrusion of black humor into certain stories (e.g. Ehud, Samson) supports their identification as coping strategies for post-traumatic stress. Literary and historical aspects are, thereafter, discussed in depth.

3. Yahweh and Israel in the “Strange Situation” Attachment Theory

Guest now turns to applications of Attachment Theory, using works by Ainsworth et al (the “strange situation”), Bowlby (attachment and loss, secure/anxious attachment, independent exploration) and Winnicott to identify the Yahweh character’s attachment needs as portrayed in the scribe’s “God-talk” in Judges 2:11–23, 10:6–16 and also 1 Samuel 12:7–25 (which provides something of a retrospect on the period of the judges). Each passage is analysed showing three clear aspects: Attachment and Abandonment—both abandon the other; Attachment and Affect—every sin meets blazing anger, grief and self-pity, all delivered in response to Israel’s pleas; Attachment and Game Play—like Job, Israel is tested but sometimes reverses that “game” Throughout, the relationship is in danger of “boiling over” (p. 137).

4. Israel’s Masochistic Defence Mechanism

Guest discourses on the lack of anger voiced by Israel in Judges, seeing the picture thus to explain the Masochistic Defence Mechanism, characterised by Fairbairn as ‘Better to be a Sinner in a World Ruled by God than to Live in a World Ruled by the Devil‘ (p. 142). Hence, in Judges, Yahweh remains the ‘good disciplinarian’, not a capricious deity, and Israel’s False Self welcomes the punishments in order to be a compliant child—albeit with repressed rage. ‘There is certainly game play here’ (p.170).

5. Conclusion: Psychological Theory and Biblical Hermeneutics

Guest muses that each reader will draw different ideas and understandings from this, largely psychological, reading of Judges but earnestly desires the encounter with each one.

The book closes with a Bibliography and an Index (of Authors and Subjects combined).

Victor H. Matthews starts with the premise that historians “should carefully make use of all available data” which in “the case of ancient Israel … includes extrabiblical texts, manuscripts of the biblical texts, and current archeological data.” He then notes that there are different approaches followed by biblical scholars. He writes of maximalists and minimal-ists. The former are those who “rely on a faith commitment to guide their interpretations of the biblical materials and see the biblical account as a fully accurate account of Israel’s history.” In contrast, the minimalists “take the view that the Bible is basically a fictionalized account of events created in the Hellenistic period (third to second centuries bce) by scribes and priests, who wished to create a foundation story for their community” (p. 2). Neither cluster is going to be happy with this book. That said, the large middle group that is open to seeing what light the various texts, biblical and extrabiblical, as well as archeological finds, can and cannot show us will be impressed with Matthews’s conclusions. The audience for this book are scholars as well as upper level-college students, clergy, and laity alike. Matthews, a highly regarded scholar who publishes extensively in this field, is Dean of the College of Humanities and Public Affairs and Professor of Religious Studies at Missouri State University.

This easily-readable, well-researched, and frequently annotated work begins with a broad overview of the geo-political world of the Bible. It then places ancient Israel within its wider Near-Eastern context. The book deals first with the Exodus from Egypt, and then secondly at greater length with the settlement and historical life in ancient Israel. Turning to the Exodus Event, Matthews asks, is this history or collective memory? Either through reading the biblical text or evaluating “extrabiblical and archeological data” can this “be verified as a facet of ancient Israel’s history”? (pp. 47–48). A few pages on he explains, at “this point, quite simply, there is no definitive solution or consensus” (p. 51). Furthermore, at “this point using current data, it seems unlikely that the exodus occurred in precisely the way that the story has been crafted in the received text” (p. 55). Nonetheless, there are several “literary parallels and story elements found in Near Eastern legends and royal inscriptions that also are incorporated into the Moses story” (p. 60). Matthews lists these items, dividing them into the Precedent, the Ancient Near Eastern Parallel, and its Significance in Table 2.2 (p. 61). Still, given “current information, it cannot be said that the ancestral narratives and the exodus story are based on historical events.” Nonetheless, their “real value is found in how they contribute to the Israelite foundational story” (p. 62). What then can we know? The answer is quite a lot.

The rest of the book offers three major chapters wherein the author traces archeological, political, and social perspectives which move from the previous Bronze Age to the Iron Ages in the area of ancient Israel and its wider environs. Chapter 3 addresses Settlement and Competition in Iron Age I Canaan. This takes us from about the thirteenth to the eleventh centuries bce. Subsections here include but are not limited to Thirteenth-Century bce Geopolitics: Egypt vs. the Hittite Empire; Egypt’s Retrenchment; the Sea Peoples’ [the ancestors of the Philistines] Invasion of the Levant; Reshaping of Canaan: Philistines; Reshaping of Canaan: Proto-Israelites; Biblical References to the Philistines; Village-Based Religious Practices; and Geography: Place Names and Significance of Places. Chapter 4 considers the Transition from Iron I to Iron II: the Early Monarchy, which considers life in the 10^th century bce. Beginning with Extrabiblical Sources of Information, he touches on the early monarchy, Matthews offers his Characterization of the First Kings, and he describes such concepts as the “Lord’s Anointed,” and the Ark of the Covenant, as well as describing various architectural structures such as “city walls, temples, and palaces—representative of the power of the state and the people as a whole” (p. 124). This chapter includes a helpful Table comparing the political situations in the settlement period and contrasting them with the situation during the monarchy (p. 114).

The final chapter, “Super-Power Politics in Iron II and the Role of Vassal States: From Jeroboam to Josiah” covers the period from the tenth to the seventh centuries and a bit beyond. The author deals with the Division of the Kingdom, spending some time with Jeroboam’s Israel and Jeroboam’s (i.e. the northern kingdom’s) rivalry with Judah (the southern kingdom); the powerful Omride dynasty in the northern kingdom, beginning in the early 9^th century bce; the eventual collapse of the northern kingdom in 722, and Judah after the fall of Israel. The Assyrian domination falls to that of the Babylonians and eventually Judah is overrun in the early years of the sixth century, culminating in the destruction of Jerusalem in 586 bce. Still, “out of the ashes of destroyed Jerusalem, Israel’s people and its history live on in a new form” (p. 164). The book is enhanced by endnotes, an extensive bibliography, plus both a Scripture Index and a Subject Index.

In the forward to this volume (pp. x–xi), Alicia J. Batten observes that “dress studies” are now part of research for historians, anthropologists, sociologists, and art historians. Hence, we see its introduction now to biblical studies. This collection of eight chapters is the result of a three-year project conducted by the Pacific Northwest region of the Society of Biblical Literature (Antonios Finitis, “Introduction: For All Her Household Are Clothed in Crimson” pp. 1–9). The subject of dress eventually included in their investigations not only garments but jewelry, body piercings, colored skin, and hairstyles.

In Chapter 1 (“Yhwh’s Clothing, Kingship, and Power: Origins and Vestiges in Comparative Ancient Near Eastern Contexts,” pp. 11–28), Shawn W. Flynn established three points:

Connecting words either in the Hebrew Bible (HB) or in other Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) literature to specific garments—in light of a survey of Akkadian and Hebrew literature—is difficult. One cannot be quite sure what the words are meant to picture for us.

Garments were used to tangibly estab lish divine power, as the mīs pî (“mouth washing”) ritual (in which statues of gods are clothed) and the literary text, the Descent of Ishtar, show.

Isaiah 6 and select Psalms (93:1, 96:6, 97:1, 97:11) in the context of Marduk’s radiance (in the Enūma eliš) suggest that Yhwh’s garments are more than descriptive. They connect Yhwh to divine power. I thought it informative to compare this excellent chapter with Chapter 8. See below.

Carmen Joy Imes, in Chapter 2 (“Between Two Worlds: The Functional and Symbolic Significance of the High Priestly Regalia,” pp. 29–62), has helpfully compared ANE art (she includes sketches) depicting kings from Egypt and Mesopotamia with Aaron’s garments as described in Exodus 28, 29, and in Leviticus 8. She thereby is able to picture for us Aaron’s ephod, breastpiece, robe, sash, and so forth. Her goal is to establish that Aaron’s official garments authorized him to act as Yhwh’s representative to the people and the people’s representative to Yhwh. Since Aaron functioned as the “bridge between two worlds,” his garments not only symbolized his role but were “constitutive of that role” (p. 62).

In Chapter 3 (“Apotropaic Accessories: The People’s Tassels and the High Priest’s Rosette,” pp. 63–86) Joshua Joel Spoelstra maintains that the High Priest’s rosette (Exod 28:36, 39:30, Lev 8:9) is the apotropaic equivalent to the people’s tassels (Num 15:37–41). Their counterparts are found in Levantine culture, religion, clothing design, and accoutrements. In the art of the ANE, kings and gods wear rosettes on their head-dresses. This apotropaic function was appropriated by the High Priest in Late Persian–Early Hellenistic Israel. But common Israelites shared in this function as well through wearing tassels. This is a richly nuanced chapter. The author’s appeal, however, to homonyms, (șûș), while interesting, might not convince everyone.

Sara M. Koenig compares the two women named Tamar (Genesis 38 and 2 Samuel 13) in Chapter 4 (“Tamar and Tamar: Clothing as Deception and Defiance,” pp. 87–108). For both, dress was a tool to “express and expose what happened to them” (p. 89). The Tamar of Genesis dressed herself as a prostitute to seduce her father-inlaw, exposing the unrighteousness of the family in refusing levirate marriage. The Tamar of 2 Samuel tore her expensive, royal garment in protest of being raped. Koenig offers modern examples of women using clothing as empowerment and status. I would also like to have seen ethnographically appropriate examples.

Sean E. Cook argues (Chapter 5: “Is Saul Among the Philistines? A Portrayal of Israel’s First and Flawed King,” pp. 109–124) that Yhwh rejected Saul in 1 Samuel because Saul became increasingly pagan, that is, Philistine, as seen by his clothing metaphors. Saul’s slow slide away from Israel and toward paganism is symbolized in the narrative by the dress references. Both Saul’s clothing and his armor show him becoming more and more a foreigner and less an Israelite. By his dress “he is symbolically Othered” (p. 124). He becomes, in this way, the “anti-elect” (p. 112).

Ian Wilson (Chapter 6: “The Emperor and His Clothing: David Robed and Unrobed Before the Ark and Michal,” pp. 125–41) wants to answer questions about David’s dancing before YHWH, a story told in both 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 15. In the former text, it says he was practically naked (wearing only a linen ephod) and drew, therefore, the contempt of his wife, Michal. In 1 Chronicles, Michal condemns David not for his lack of clothing—indeed 1 Chronicles emphasizes that David wore a fine robe—but for his dancing. After a survey of Mesopotamian, Persian, and Hittite art, Wilson concludes that the 2 Samuel narrative describes unusual behavior in a king while David’s behavior in 1 Chronicles is more typical. Cognitive psychology teaches Wilson that the ancient Judeans agreed with Michal (and implicitly with 1 Chronicles) that David’s nakedness was inappropriate. They attempted to bracket it out and thus encourage its being forgotten.

Scott R.A. Starbuck (“Disrobing an Isaianic Metaphor הִקָדָ צְ ליעִ מְ [MĚ‘ÎL ṢĚḎĀQ—“Robe of Righteousness”] as Power Transfer in Isaiah 61:10,” pp. 143–59) in Chapter 7, points out that dress in the ANE can indicate transference of power, legitimacy, divine approval, and social authority. He then looks at one text in particular, Isaiah 61:10, and its symbolic designation of the post-exilic community’s “reversal of social status” (p. 145). The phrase would have been recognized as “a locus of social dispute, political resistance, covenant election, and the concomitant power investiture” (p. 159).

Finally, in Chapter 8 (“Were Yhwh’s Clothes Worth Remembering and Thinking about Among the Literati of Late Persian/Early Hellenistic Judah/Yehud? Observations and Considerations,” pp. 162–82) Ehud Ben Zvi tries to answer why the HB gives so little attention to YHWH’s dress since (a) the HB wants readers to imagine YHWH anthropomorphically and b) elsewhere in the ANE the deities wear fine clothing. In the end, Ben Zvi does not offer a definitive answer to his query but does give a few considerations. Perhaps the literati wanted to quash a tendency to deify the king or the divine clothing itself since the king in the ANE often dressed similarly to the gods.

This is a thought-provoking collection of excellent essays on a newer area of research. The topic certainly deserves further exploration and reflection. We can only hope for at least a companion volume on New Testament dress.

Euichang Kim, Assistant Professor of New Testament at Torch Trinity Graduate University, South Korea, draws attention to the central role of the fear of God in Paul’s exhortation to the Corinthians in this published version of his doctoral dissertation under Scott Hafemann at the University of St. Andrews.

In chapter one Kim discusses the problem being addressed and the methodology. The problem consists in the way that most studies of fear in the standard lexicons tend to distinguish between two types of fear: a positive fear of God (awe, reverence) experienced by God’s people and a negative fear of God (terror, dread) associated with God’s judgment. Kim argues that this dual understanding of the fear of God is not able to explain how Paul uses the fear of God in 2 Corinthians 7:1 to motivate the Corinthians toward holy conduct. He argues instead that “the fear of God … does not denote two kinds of fear, but only one: that is, one’s feeling of alarm or trepidation in regard to God that is brought about by the realization of the reality of God’s eschatological judgment” (p. 9). The distinction between positive and negative fear often noted in the lexicons is “better explained not by positing two types of fear, but by recognizing that this single fear functions differently in relationship to two types of persons and times in which this fear is experienced” (10). Those who fear God in the present will be motivated to pursue holiness and experience eschatological salvation while those who do not fear God now will fear him in the future judgment.

In chapter two, Kim studies 2 Corinthians 7:1 in its context in 2 Corinthians with particular attention to the literary structure of 2 Corinthians 6:14–7:1, the semantic relationship between 2 Corinthians 7:1 and the catena of Scripture in 2 Corinthians 6:16c–18, the fear of the Lord in 2 Corinthians 5:11, the judgment seat of Christ in 2 Corinthians 5:10, and the Isaianic context of 2 Corinthians 4–6.

In chapter three, Kim explores the Old Testament contexts of the passages included in the catena of Scripture in 2 Corinthians 16c-18. These primarily include Isaiah 52:11 and Leviticus 26:11–12 with attention also given to Ezekiel 20:34; 37:27 and Jeremiah 31:31–34; 32:36–40. Kim argues that “in these OT passages the fear of God both derives from the expectation of God’s coming judgment and motivates the righteous in anticipation of that day” (57).

In chapter four, Kim considers select Second Temple Jewish texts which draw a connection between the fear of God and motivation for the righteous. These include the Psalms of Solomon, the Book of Jubilees, 4 Ezra and 6 Ezra, and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs. This evidence provides a history of tradition context into which Paul’s exhortations fit.

In chapter five, Kim returns to 2 Corinthians 6:14–7:1 to explain Paul’s exhortation in 2 Corinthians 7:1 and the broader argument of 2 Corinthians. Kim argues that

the fear of God derived from the realization of the reality of God’s eschatological judgment that is reinforced by the dangerous possibility of failing to inherit God’s promises (cf. 6:1), motivates believers to continue the process of completing holiness as a result of acting to cleanse themselves [151].

Paul’s focus on eschatological judgment is not applied to outsiders but to believers (155). Kim argues that the salvation of the Corinthian Christians was at stake in how they responded to Paul’s admonitions (159). Chapter six concludes the volume and discusses the implications of this study for reading the other references to the fear of God in 2 Corinthians.

This monograph makes some significant contributions to ongoing research:

It offers a compelling challenge to common lexical discussions of the fear of God, and

It offers a much better understanding of the logic of Paul’s rhetorical argumentation than accounts that seek to minimize or downplay the active and ongoing motivational role of fear in moral exhortation in early Christianity.

The study could have been strengthened by more attention to the definition of fear. The definition noted above on page nine is relatively sufficient but it is still ambiguous (“a feeling of alarm or trepidation”) and could be better shaped by interaction with broader definitions of fear in recent work on emotions. This weakness relates to a general lack of interaction with emotions research in the social sciences. The cognitive turn in psychological studies of emotions would support and sharpen Kim’s claims. In addition, more attention could have been given to how this constant feeling of alarm and trepidation should be understood in relation to confidence, hope, and peace.

Despite these concerns, Kim’s careful exegetical engagement with 2 Corithians 6:14–7:1, exploration of the Old Testament passages shaping Paul’s argument, and discussion of the fear of God in Second Temple Jewish texts will make a lasting contribution not only to understanding 2 Corithians. 7:1 but also to a clearer understanding of the role of fear in Paul’s broader theology and rhetorical practice. Highly recommended for doctoral students and researchers.

Craig S. Keener is Professor of New Testament at Asbury Theological Seminary in Kentucky. Six of his many books have won national awards, and his books together have sold more than one million copies.

The thesis of this work is deceptively simple. The Gospels, and primarily the Synoptics, are a fairly reliable biography of Jesus’ life. As Keener points out, most “Gospel scholars today view the Gospels as belonging to the genre of ancient biography” (27). The book then backs up this statement by placing the Gospels in the context of their time. It shows that the Gospels are part of a genre well known in the Roman Empire of that day, the writing of biographies by people who either knew the subject first hand, or who lived close enough in time to be aware of stories addressing the subject. He explains that ancient biographers depended heavily on prior information when they were constructing their works, and that that is true also of the Gospels. Considering the Gospels as a form of ancient biography, as Keener notes, “We know more about Jesus than we think” (16); yet at the same time “We know less about Jesus than we want” (18). Nonetheless, for “any even partly full picture of Jesus, the Gospels are our best available source” (11).

As he points out early on, “producing synoptic charts of such biographies similar to those used for the Synoptic Gospels suggests that the sort of adaptations found in the Gospels were standard expectations for this kind of writing” (2). In chapter ten of this book (261–302), Keener offers multiple examples in well over a dozen pages of instances of the many parallels and some differences found in the writing of three Roman historians who flourished in the latter decades of the first century ce to the opening decades of the second century ce. Each wrote about Caesars who lived in the first century ce. More specifically Keener compares their historic biographies of the short-lived rulership of the Roman emperor Otho (three months, mid-January to mid-April 69). Otho died forty to fifty years before these three produced their works; so there are great parallels with the writings of Mark, Matthew and Luke, who all lived several decades after Jesus. Specifically Keener addresses the writings of Suetonius (The Life of the Caesars, the Life of Otho), Tacitus (Histories), and Plutarch (Life of Galba, Life of Otho).

Biographies in the early empire attempted to preserve important information about their subjects, especially those who lived in the century preceding them. Oftentimes they had trustworthy sources for their narratives. At the same time, understandably, individual biographers wrote from different perspectives, and they emphasized different issues in order to tell their specific story. Synopses of the Gospels shows that a similar range of consistency and flexibility are also applicable to those works (24).

For over five hundred pages Keener makes his case. Consistently—indeed zealously – he provides footnotes backing up the wide reach and reading of his scholarship. Chapters with literally hundreds of notes are not uncommon. The book divides into five parts following the Introduction. The sections are: Biographies About Jesus; Biographies and History; Testing the Range of Deviation; Two Objections to Gospels as Historical Biographies; and Memories About Jesus: Memories Before Memoirs.

The scholarship in this work is formidable. The Bibliography of Secondary Sources Cited is over 125 pages. In addition there are over 50 pages devoted to Indices of Authors, Subjects, Scriptural References, and Ancient Sources.

Not only does Keener make a compelling case for his thesis, his wit also shines through in the conscious wording of the titles of various chapters or subsections. For example there is The Fabled Aesop, Bragging or Ragging on Biographees: Balancing Biases, More Morals and Less Lessons, Speaking of Rhetoric …, Buying into Bias?, Wits about Witnesses, Minimizing Minimalism?, Except for Exceptions, Experiments and Experiences, Rere-re-repeating, Taking Note of Note-Taking, and Just the Gist.

This volume represents some of the fruits of the proceedings of the Matthew section of the 2015 Society of Biblical Literature, among whose objectives that year was to react and respond to Francis Watson’s acclaimed Gospel Writing (2013) monograph. In addition to the revised papers from that SBL session (R.A. Bur-ridge, M. Goodacre, J.T. Pennington, J. Schröter), R. Bauckham, and M. Bockmuehl contribute revised versions of their reviews of Watson’s book. Five more scholars join the project (M. M. Mitchell, J.W. Jipp, E. Radner, F. S. Mulder, and C.S. Hamilton), while Watson’s own contribution responds to the entire volume. The collection thus comprises twelve essays, along with an introduction, by some of the prominent specialists in New Testament studies. All of the essays, including the revised seminar papers and book reviews, take into account Watson’s follow-up monograph The Fourfold Gospel (2016). The end result is another excellent LNTS collected volume, a successful and up-to-date cross-section of Watson’s scholarship, and a worthy celebration of his generational impact. As such, it is highly recommended to all students of the synoptic tradition, the canonical Gospels, the Gospel of Thomas, and early Christian literature.

One of a number of reasons why Gospel Writing belongs to the current century’s most important New Testament studies lies in the monograph’s ability to touch on many different subjects in kaleidoscopic fashion while never feeling remotely disjointed. The book spans 619 pages before the bibliography and indexes, which means that the reaction in Writing the Gospels is necessarily selective. Arguably, however, all of the main topics receive attention.

Watson’s view of the four-gospel canon as a construction that disrupts the organic gospel writing project is subjected to scrutiny in light of certain second-century developments. The demolition of the Q hypothesis in its current form of a reconstructed document is mostly echoed, on a scale that ranges from sympathy to assent. The surprising endorsement of Thomas’s partial preservation of pre-synoptic materials generates substantial discussion, as does Watson’s concomitant substitution of primitive sayings collections for Q. Finally, Watson’s binary reading of Origen as eventually coming to repudiate empirical pursuit of historical truth receives further nuancing. Every great book is a catalyst for further conversation, and the legacy of Gospel Writing is on full display in the lively discussion that permeates Writing the Gospels.

The synoptic problem is broached quite frequently. Given Watson’s own opposition to Q, it is not surprising to find the Sayings Source under attack in a number of contributions. Somewhat ironically, Watson’s endorsement of Thomas’s semi-autonomy from the synoptics meets with similar criticism (although given the current position of British scholarship on this question, this is scarcely surprising). Allies on the resistance front against Q, Watson and Goodacre part ways sharply here, with a number of other contributors expressing their bemusement over Watson’s treatment of Thomas as well. The name of Helmut Koester surfaces often, with Goodacre even suggesting that “Watson does not refute Koester; he out-Koesters Koester” (84). But the genius of Watson’s contribution to New Testament scholarship in Gospel Writing has as much to do with the author’s repudiation of the quest of the counter-canonical historical Jesus as it does with his aversion to simplistic source-critical decisions. Consequently, when it comes to the Farrer-Goulder hypothesis Watson and Goodacre are only accidental allies, and the philosophical differences separating the two are captured brilliantly by the present volume.

At the heart of the discussion, then, lies Watson’s refusal to minimize the complexity of the early Christian tradition’s ongoing search for Jesus’s significance, even as that process culminates in the fourfold canonical gospel. He does not see the ideological problem with Thomas because for him Thomas is an interpretation, one of many, similar to the canonical Gospels (cue Bauckham, 19: “does anyone still seriously believe [Q] gives us Jesus uninterpreted”?—author’s emphasis). Rather than out-Koestering Koester, Watson therefore moves beyond him to a more organically connected reception framework which looks forward to the eventual triumph and spiritual insight of the canonical construction, without sacrificing the process it takes to get there. This creates a rich and multilayered map for responders to navigate, with issues both literary and theological, and the essays in Writing the Gospels span the full spectrum. They fall into three categories: methodological reaction to Watson’s various arguments (Bauckham, Bockmuehl, Burridge, Good-acre, Schröter), reflection on Watson’s theses in the context of the fourfold canonical gospel (Pennington, Jipp, Hamilton, Radner), and evaluation of the patristic side of the discussion (Mulder, Mitchell). In his reply to “My Critics” Watson does not exactly mince words; many of the contributors are said to misunderstand his arguments. Whether he or they are correct is debatable. All the same, for future readers of Watson’s Gospel Writing and The Fourfold Gospel this volume will be a required companion.

If the ultimate objective of a scholar is to generate meaningful discussion, then, even though Writing the Gospels does not designate itself a Festschrift, this fine book gets the job done.

Callie Callon’s revised dissertation ought to be required reading for those interested in the cultural backdrop of early Christianity. In this volume, Callon details early Christian authors’ physiognomic consciousness and their utilization of physiognomy to develop boundaries between insiders and outsiders and identify martyrs. The whole volume illustrates Callon’s clear thought and insight. Reading Bodies astutely contributes to the scholarly community, all while remaining accessible for multiple audiences, an accomplishment that is rare in doctoral dissertations.

To orient her readers to physiognomic thought, Callon offers a brief précis of the contours of physiognomy’s prevalence and utility in rhetorical encounters from the physiognomic handbooks and physiognomy’s employment in rhetorical contests. Ancient proponents promulgate physiognomy as an objective indication of character (pp. 5, 10), even though the interpretation ultimately depended on the context of its use (p. 20). Though physiognomy was suspect in some circles (pp. 27–28), it was nevertheless upheld—in some cases by those who sought to subvert it. Callon asserts two reasons physiognomy was effective in rhetorical sparring. First, physiognomy required close analysis and interpretive skills, carrying with it “implications for the expertise and intelligence of the practitioner” (p. 39). Second, it was able to ascribe objective truth to subjective observations (p. 39). The physical descriptions were evident to the audience through their observation of the individual(s) in question. Given the popularity of physiognomy in rhetorical sparring in the third through first centuries bce, the second century ce, and its renaissance in the fourth century ce, Callon notes the peculiarity that this area of research has not received more attention. Chapters two through five provide an initial foray into attending to the physiognomic consciousness that was present in early Christian literature, especially in the second and fourth centuries ce.

Callon illustrates the role physiognomy had for early Christian authors as they attempted to define the boundaries between insider and outsider. This entailed a “process of negotiation for power and status” (p. 43). Physiognomy, in this case, provided a stable—at least in the authors’ views—means of denigrating early Christian opponents. To illustrate her claims, Callon investigates the physical descriptions of Simon Magus, followers of Valentinus, Arius, Pelagius, Jovinianus, apostate members of Ambrose’s clerical community, and Julian “the apostate” according to their voice, gait, and deportment. The characteristics provide key insights for physiognomic thought, and serve as indicators of masculinity and moderation, traits the early Christians found lacking in their opponents, whom they viewed as heretics.

Conversely, one of the ways the early Christian authors identify pious individuals is through physiognomy. Callon demonstrates the identification of pious Christians by the early Christian authors’ descriptions of grooming, gait, voice, gesture, countenance, and emotion. These descriptions enabled early Christian authors, such as Clement, to demonstrate that Christian men were ideal men (p. 88). With respect to clergy and ascetics, a denigrated body indicates a commitment to a self-restrained lifestyle (p. 41). Attributes such as not bathing, dirty hair, emaciated limbs, and pale complexion may indicate a pious or holy person (p. 93). Physiognomy therefore can determine not only outsiders, but insiders as well.

One of the strongest parts of Callon’s argument is her discussion of female monastics and martyrs. Callon demonstrates that the physiognomic depictions of these female figures are grounded in the concerns of males, given that physiognomy was “a discourse by men, and for men” (p. 101). How women behaved around those outside the Christian community was important in the negotiation for male status. The ideal Christian woman was to hide attractiveness but not be lazy about their appearance (pp. 109–10), walk softly, speak minimally, and be bashful, symbolized by her downcast gaze. That is, unless she was called to martyrdom.

In her description of Perpetua, Callon demonstrates her “gender hybridity.” Perpetua is—physiognomically speaking—both the ideal Christian woman and man (p. 123). Rather than lowering her eyes, Perpetua’s gaze is bold and intense. Callon intensifies her argument through attentive reading of Perpetua’s narrative, which assigns terms to her that are typically masculine, such as falling on her “loins,” advancing the argument of Perpetua’s gender hybridity. In martyrdom, women were powerful, beautiful, and commanding—much like their male counterparts.

In her penultimate chapter, Callon offers a tentative suggestion to explain the portrayal of Jesus as ugly via the “Suffering Servant” (Isa 52:13–53). The expectation that gods would be beautiful led others to challenge Jesus’s deity. After attending to the various arguments to explain this occurrence, Callon offers her own. She argues that the early Christians portrayed Jesus as ugly to differentiate him from Anti-nous, Hadrian’s beloved, whom Hadrian deified, and because Antinous’s cult “bore uncomfortable resemblances to the cult of Jesus” (152). “Ugly Jesus” therefore presents a stark contrast to the “beautiful Antinous.” Callon offers a plausible explanation for why physiognomically-inclined early Christian authors would accept the portrait of an “ugly Jesus.”

While academics might comprise the largest audience for this book, it is accessible for upper-division undergraduate courses and lay audiences. Students of rhetoric, the New Testament, and early Christianity would do well to attend to Callon’s argument. Reading Bodies makes a significant contribution in her discussions of female Christians, monastics, and martyrs, along with the tentative explanation of the “ugly Jesus.” While the reader might desire more examples from authors outside the handful represented in this volume, Callon’s argument makes a sufficient case for physiognomic consciousness, a largely overlooked aspect of the early Christian’s rhetorical acumen.