Abstract
In Late Bronze Age diplomatic correspondence, vassals attempt to demonstrate their loyalty by declaring they would carry out any command of the king even if it is self-destructive. A critical aspect of these exchanges is that the seemingly harmful order was never meant to be fulfilled. The exaggerated offer to undergo needless suffering was sufficient proof that the subaltern was an arad kitti, or ‘faithful servant’. This rhetorical dynamic, wherein the ‘deferential gesture’ is enough to satisfy a seemingly overwrought demand, has relevance for evaluating components of the divine decree in Genesis 22, that Abraham deliver up his son ‘as a burnt offering’, his willingness to carry out its dictates, and the heavenly overlord’s ultimately setting aside its execution. The author suggests that the biblical episode was a symbolic ritual enacted between the deity and patriarch, whose intent was to exalt Abraham as the arad kitti, par excellence, and to demonstrate that God was the most trustworthy of suzerains.
I. Introduction
Henry Kissinger once related an anecdote concerning the First Secretary of the Soviet Union, Nikita Khrushchev, and his envoy, Andrei Gromyko: ‘Khrushchev once boasted to a foreign visitor that if (Gromyko) were asked to sit naked on a block of ice. . . he would do so unquestioningly until ordered to leave it . . .’
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Notwithstanding its picturesque aspects, biblical scholars would immediately recognize in this caricature the outlines of a figure known throughout the ANE by the Akk. epithet, the arad kitti, or ‘faithful servant’. The late William L. Moran in particular
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broadly defined the traits of such an individual as follows: He lives only for his master’s interests. . . Whatever is his is the king’s, for whom alone he lives. In insisting on his loyalty he in effect abases himself, for as arad kitti he is the perfect slave, the pure instrument, renouncing in his relations with his master all autonomy. . . just as his loyalty has been, so it ever shall be, firm and fast, unmoved by blandishment and temptation . . . His role is recognized, appreciated, and at times rewarded; it grounds his confidence, and he lives in hope and expectation.
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Moran suggested that this model helped elucidate Rib-Hadda’s correspondence in the Amarna Letters, especially his personal dismay that Pharaoh was slow to appreciate his sacrifices on the ruler’s behalf. 4 Moran further pointed to the similarities between the Byblian official’s self-characterization as a loyal subaltern of the Egyptian king and the scriptural descriptions of Noah, Caleb, and others, who, seemingly like Rib-Hadda, remained steadfast in contrast to the duplicities and wavering of their contemporaries. 5
Foremost among such biblical stalwarts is of course Abraham, renowned for his willingness to present his son as a ‘burnt-offering’ upon divine request. Yet features of the famous—or infamous—episode in Genesis 22 remain puzzling, not least the summons to the patriarch itself. In the following study I will build upon the observations of Edward Bridge’s examination of ‘servant-language’ in the Bible, and Clifford Geertz’s notion of ‘deep play’, examining the rhetoric of ‘self-abnegation’ between suzerains and vassals found in the Amarna Letters and other ANE sources and suggesting that the latter furnishes a prism by which to evaluate some of the dynamics of the Akedah.
II. Deadly Diplomacy
Implicit in Moran’s deft sketch, but worthy of additional comment, is that in the Amarna corpus vassals declare not only what they have already accomplished in their duty to their lord, but also offering in Gromyko-esque fashion to do anything that their suzerain might request no matter how outlandish. This is dramatically illustrated in a dispatch from a certain Adda-danu. Upon seeking advice on how to deal with a hostile neighbor, he concedes that he is prepared to give up all his property in accordance with royal order despite the attendant shame of not defending his territory: ‘If the king, my lord, says this to me, “Abandon your city, (fleeing) from before (PN)”, then of course I will abandon it . . .’ 6
Clearly related is the unusual language employed by Lab’ayu of Shechem. Suspected of treason, he counters with assertions that he will carry out the king’s wishes, even ‘if you . . . order, “Fall down beneath them (i.e. your enemies), so that they can strike you”, I will d<o> it’.
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Should Pharaoh direct Lab’ayu to surrender himself to his foes, the put-upon, yet still-loyal subject will acquiesce in what is certain destruction.
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Particularly intriguing in this connection are this same vassal’s comments in EA 254.38-46:
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Moreover, the king wrote for my son. I did not know that my son was consorting with the ‘Apiru. I herewith hand him over. . . Moreover, how, if the king wrote for my wife, how could I hold her back? How, if the king wrote to me, ‘Put a bronze dagger into your heart and die,’ how could I not execute the order of the king?
Here, Lab’ayu’s profession consists of the chieftain not only agreeing to extradite his son to the monarch as commanded, 10 he further claims that he is prepared to give up other members of his family at the superior’s hypothetical request—the outcome of which seems far from desirable. 11 Even more dramatic is another ‘suicidal’ allusion: if need be, Lab’ayu stands ready to plunge a weapon into his own breast to confirm his allegiance. Far beyond self-abasement, the arad kitti will undergo annihilation at royal bidding! 12 At a distance of three-and-a-half millennia from the creation of these documents, scholars wryly note the paradoxical nature of Lab’ayu’s protests. The charges against him, which Lab’ayu himself elsewhere cites, suggest that he was anything but the obedient subject of the king. His language is really a case of protesting overmuch! 13
While we are no longer able to assess the underlying intention of Lab’ayu’s offers nor the pharaonic court’s immediate reaction to them, it is also evident that these shocking expressions of ‘self-abnegation’ are not unique but seem to have been part and parcel of ancient diplomatic rhetoric. They are not restricted to vassals’ dispatches, but likewise occur in parity relationships, too. Note the histrionics of the Mitannian king at the news of Amenhotep III’s death: ‘[Let ev]en me [be dead], or let ten thousand be dead in my country, and ten thousand in my [brother]’s country as well, [but] let [my brother, whom I lov]e, and who loves me, be alive as long as heaven and ear[th]’ (EA 29: 58-59). 14 I would rather die and would have tens of thousands die, than have had Pharaoh perish! In this case, international gentility incorporates wishes for both ‘suicide’ and ‘genocide’.
The title arad kitti may not have always been employed, 15 but Moran suggests that the overall language of ‘loyalty’ and ‘service’ was likely ubiquitous among the courts of antiquity. 16 In support of his contention, I would cite as a convenient example the account of Thutmose III’s war-council prior to the battle of Megiddo preserved in the king’s Annals. 17 Against the advice of his officers, the Pharaoh boldly proposes a more dangerous route to his target so as to catch his enemies unawares. His subordinates accede to their superior’s risky plan with the stirring words: ‘See, we are in the service of your Majesty wherever [your Majesty] goes: for a servant always follows [his] lord!’ 18 Similar language is also found in the much earlier Egyptian text, The Story of Sinuhe. Summoned back from years as a refugee in far-off Syria to be honored for his faithful duty to the crown in that locale, a bedazzled Sinuhe describes the appearance of the king, Senusert I, in language reminiscent of a theophany: ‘I encountered his Majesty upon the Great Throne set in a recess of fine gold. As I was stretched out on my belly, I did not acknowledge myself in his presence’. 19 When the monarch generously beckons his awestruck guest to speak to him directly as a `friend’, 20 Sinuhe replies with the greatest humility—‘life belongs to you—may your Majesty do as he wishes’—and thereafter the subject maintains total silence. 21
Regardless of modern skepticism at such obsequious behavior, the sentiments were undoubtedly expressed with the utmost seriousness. Nevertheless, it is worth pondering whether they were always meant to have been taken literally. 22 Sinuhe’s overlord could have easily squashed his trusting subordinate like a bug, but one should not underestimate the dismay—if not outrage—resulting from such a callous act. Conceivably, Thutmose III’s officers’ acquiescence might have been a matter of soldierly obligation, but had his tactics proven to have been utterly disastrous, it would have raised serious questions about the king’s competence. After all, he had assured them of victory, not a ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ debacle. 23
It results then, that an important aspect of these exchanges is that the fulsome expressions of individuals such as Lab’ayu and others did not take place against a ‘blank slate’. Rather, the professions occur within the context of a shared personal history, which itself shapes the at-times-gruesome language of self-sacrifice along with expectations of how the alarming offer would be received. Crucial to the interaction is that while the ‘faithful servant’ states that he is ready to place himself or his loved ones in untoward jeopardy should his lord so bid, he also trusts that the benevolent ruler, or caring treaty-partner, would never make the kind of frightful demand given voice by the correspondent. Ideally, the signal offer to undergo exaggerated suffering is enough to attest to one’s devotion, and hopefully, is to be accepted as such. By extension, if the superior should ever demand the ominous possibility raised by the subject, there is the implied understanding that he ultimately would not require the vassal to suffer the deadly, even absurd, sanction: such is the sovereign’s generous nature as verified by past actions. 24 Consequently, it emerges that the mutual ‘prestige’ of the correspondents regarding their respective roles is a vital component in these conversations.
In a comprehensive series of articles on servant language in the Bible, Edward J. Bridge identified these elements with the concept of ‘face’, and analyzed such interactions from the perspective of ‘politeness theory’. 25 He particularly noted that ‘self-abasement’ formulae would be used to deny that the speaker was a ‘threat’ and to affirm one’s ‘loyalty’, with which I would not disagree. 26 However, I would further compare this rhetoric with Clifford Geertz’s somewhat related notion of ‘deep play’. In his pioneering study of the behavior of groups engaged in Balinese cockfights, Geertz was puzzled that betting individuals would, at times, do and say things that were against their self-interest and contrary to modern Western values and logic. 27 That the participants would engage in behaviors seemingly detrimental to their current physical and financial well-being became understandable when Geertz viewed them as a ‘performance’ upholding concepts of ‘esteem, honor, and dignity’ essential to group-identity and one’s future position within this matrix. 28 Accordingly, I would suggest that recourse to ‘deep play’ might help elucidate the more exaggerated features of vassal-exchanges as well as a superior’s anticipated response to the proposed offer.
II. Deviating from ‘Deep-Play’
Geertz elsewhere noted that religious activities, themselves reflective of ‘deep play’, are marked by ‘dispositions’, ‘motivations’, and ‘moods’. He defined these concepts as ‘liabilities to perform certain classes of act and have particular classes of feeling’. 29 As a general example, Geertz cited the Christian motivation of ‘charity’ and mood of ‘optimism’: ‘Charity becomes Christian charity when it is enclosed in a conception of God’s purposes; optimism is Christian optimism when it is grounded in a particular conception of God’s nature’. 30 Undoubtedly, ancient vassals were operating within similar sets of dynamics and assumptions. However, Julia Kindt has criticized Geertz’s analysis for his neglect of ‘power’ as a crucial element in ‘deep play’ and attendant rituals. 31
Indeed, the language of self-abnegation clearly represents the inferior’s concession to the suzerain’s ability to exercise unlimited force, and thereby reinforces hierarchical realities. But in regard to the dispositions of sovereigns, Delbert Hillers once observed that although ancient display texts might boast of a king’s might and terror, an important aspect of covenantal relationships was the stress on the superior’s character as merciful, kind, and forbearing, rather than on him simply overwhelming the vassal with assertions of raw power. 32 This trait is evident in the historical prologues of Hittite treaties, where the overlord proclaims his willingness to entrust his imperial interests to a weak and vulnerable client. 33 In related fashion, Bronze and Iron Age kings will assert the right to invade a rival’s territory, not out of self-interest, but due to the fact that the neighbor had mistreated the subjects under his care. Outside military intervention was justifiable on the ‘charitable’ grounds of replacing the former, and now derided, ‘tyrannical’ oversight with more ‘humane’ leadership. 34 Notwithstanding apologetic concerns, it says something that rulers felt obliged to highlight their benevolent impulses.
By contrast, we might note the dismayed reaction of Amarna vassals to the Pharaoh’s possible complicity in the death of his subordinate, Abdi-Ashirta of Amurru. 35 Even though his neighbors routinely denounced Abdi-Ashirta as a troublemaker and demanded his punishment, his sudden removal prompted concerns among some of these same petty-chieftains. 36 Evidently, a king’s use of violence against his own subject, however warranted, could be counterproductive if it was perceived as being employed in too arbitrary a manner. 37
The ‘negative publicity’ arising from such an action likewise needs to be considered in light of a subsequent letter of Akhenaten to Abdi-Ashirta’s son, Aziru. Castigating his vassal based on reports that he was now conspiring against royal interests, the king reminds Aziru:
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But if you perform your service to the king, your lord, what is there that the king will not do for you? But if for any reason whatsoever, you prefer to do evil, or if you plot evil, treacherous things, then you, together with your entire family, shall die by the axe of the king.
The promise that disloyalty would be met with severe punishment is typical of treaties and covenants, as well as being a prominent feature of Egyptian political instructions from the Middle Kingdom onward. 39 Despite Akhenaten’s harsh-sounding words, incredibly, he was willing to let Aziru ‘off the hook’ time after time. Donald Redford concluded that the king’s baffling leniency was prime evidence of royal naiveté. 40
Worthy of equal consideration in this case is the possibility that the Pharaoh might have been aware that a sudden, violent response against his subaltern could have been viewed as ‘unfair’. The damage to the king’s reputation as a just patron could have served as a ‘brake’ against too precipitous an action. 41 Upon further reflection, there appears to have been agreed-upon ‘lines’ of behavior to which vassals and suzerains alike were expected to adhere. Failure to do so could cause irreparable harm to the standing of either offender—both subordinate and superior—within the ‘international court of opinion’.
This aspect marks not only human interactions, but notably, there are cases where a mortal subject warns a divine overlord that even he has overstepped his bounds. This is demonstrated by Ramesses II’s outrage at the god Amun, who had apparently abandoned the Pharaoh at the Battle of Kadesh:
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What is the matter with you, my father, Amun? Has a father ever neglected his son? Have I done anything without you? Is it not so, that it is has been upon your word that I have walked and stood? I have not transgressed the order which you have commanded . . . How great would he, the Great Lord of Egypt, be who allows foreigners to draw near to him! What are these foreigners (lit. Asiatics) . . . who do not acknowledge god—upon your heart?
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. . . Might one say, ‘Calamity befell the one who trusted in your counsel?’ Act faithfully to the one who esteems you: then one will act with a loving heart!
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. . . It is because of your own word, O Amun, that I am in this situation (lit. I have reached these things): I have not transgressed your command!
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Central to the king’s plaint is a not so-veiled threat: should Amun, the divine sponsor of the campaign, allow his chosen agent to be humiliated, it is the deity’s reputation that would suffer. In his protest, Ramesses insists that he had incurred no fault that needed punishing, as some might have seen to be implied by the military debacle in Syria. In fact, a significant part of Ramesses’s address lists his excessive offerings to the god’s cult, proving that he had been a ‘dutiful son’ to his heavenly ‘father’. 46 The king’s counsel—‘act faithfully (lit. do good) to the one who esteems you: then one will act with a loving heart’—is less a statement of piety, and more a warning that the forsaking of Ramesses might result in future apostasy by others. 47 As Moran blithely commented in his study of Rib-Adda’s letters, put-upon vassals were not entirely powerless: they always had the option of going over to another lord, who would conform to their notions of benign rule. 48
The preceding observations are enough to demonstrate there was more to ancient diplomacy than just force majeure. I would concur with Mario Liverani that the respective parties involved in this enterprise were engaged in a semantic ‘game’, with its own idioms, rules, and responses, 49 the ‘playing’ of which was of a most serious and ‘deep’ nature, indeed. As Bridge aptly comments, the use of deferential language was to highlight the ‘magnanimity’ of the hearer, but it was also an ideal to which the latter was expected, if not required, to aspire. 50 Yes, Ramesses II submitted himself to ‘walk and stand’ according to his divine suzerain’s command, going so far as to travel to the ends of the earth to battle his enemies. To be hung out to dry was certainly not part of the bargain! In the same manner, it might very well have been in the purview of Pharaoh to call Lab’ayu’s bluff, ‘Plunge your dagger into your heart, to prove your loyalty to me’. Nevertheless, the trade-off could be costly. The king’s display of raw power might harm the ruler’s position among his other underlings, leading to widespread defections.
III. ‘What Will the Egyptians Say?’
The use of the language of the arad kitti is well attested in the Hebrew Scriptures. For example, the affirmation of the mercenary, Ittai the Gittite, who refused to leave David after the latter’s usurpation by Absalom, has clear affinities with the declaration of Thutmose III’s own men at the battle of Megiddo: ‘As the Lord lives, and as my lord the king lives, surely in what place my lord the king shall be, whether in death or life, even there also will your servant be’ (2 Sam. 15.21).
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But we would especially note the striking plea of Moses to Yahweh, which evokes the more disquieting features of servant-sovereign discourse. Following the Israelites’ idolatry of the Golden Calf, Yahweh announces his intention to annihilate the group. This, in turn, prompts Moses’s impassioned response:
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And Yahweh said to Moses: ‘I have seen this people, and behold, it is a people of stiff neck! Now, give me indulgence, that my wrath may burn against them and devour them. But, you, I will make a great people’. Moses sought to placate Yahweh, his god, and said: ‘Why, O Yahweh, does your anger burn against your people, whom you have brought out from the land of Egypt with great might and a strong hand? Why should the Egyptians say: “With malice he brought them forth to slay them in the mountains and wipe them from the face of the earth!” Turn from your burning wrath and reconsider this harm (lit. evil) towards your people! Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, to whom you have sworn—by your own self—and declared to them: “I will multiply your seed like the stars of the heavens, and all this land which I have declared—‘I will give it to your seed, which they shall inherit forever!’”’ And Yahweh reconsidered the harm which he declared to do to his people.
For the limited purposes of our study, 53 there are several aspects of this episode that bear mention. Without question, the Israelites are guilty of rebellion, as testified by their declaration, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!’ (Exod. 32.4, 8). 54 But the punishment for such apostasy is of the utmost severity: to bring an end to the group as currently formed and to replace it with a different clan. The echoes of the divine promise to Abraham are striking in Yahweh’s tempting offer to his interlocutor to become the eponymous founder of the new line (עשׂה לגוי גדול [‘to make (you) a great people’]). 55
Although the heavenly overlord’s verdict is well grounded legally, Moses will base his desperate counterargument to spare Israel on several interconnected points:
The prophet’s citation of terminology in reference to Yahweh’s intentions, that he should ‘remember’ (זכר) what he had ‘sworn’ (נשׁבאת) and avoid being accused of ‘murder’ (חרג), evokes the language of the Decalogue. The textual resonances intimate that the suzerain is bound to the stipulations which he had imparted to his vassals;
Yahweh’s stated adherence to his ancient vow to the patriarchs;
The effect of Yahweh’s reneging on his pledge in terms of his vilification by the Egyptians, that the deity has killed his vassals as would a bandit in the hills.
William C. Propp jauntily described the last item as an appeal to divine ‘vanity’. 56 What needs to be stressed, rather, is that the historical justification for the Exodus was that Pharaoh, through his oppression, had become an unworthy patron: his brutality and lack of charity made him illegitimate. 57 Moses suggests that Yahweh’s awesome demonstration of power would have a similarly negative impact upon a broader audience: the Israelites had simply traded one tyrant for another. The issue, then, is hardly one of superficial ‘vanity’, but its effect upon Yahweh’s international reputation for which his envoy has great concern.
Moreover, the explicit reference to the divine oath to the patriarchs as being ‘sworn by your (own) being’ (בך) blatantly evokes Yahweh’s self-imprecation in his covenant with Abraham. 58 Moses holds Yahweh accountable to the divine constraints which the latter established in his personal commitment to Israel’s ancestors, i.e. his ‘servants’. 59 For the deity to go against his promise is an ‘impossible possibility’, even as such a breach of oath, again, would itself be a blight upon Yahweh’s prestige as a trustworthy suzerain. 60 Punishment of wayward vassals is warranted, but within certain acceptable and self-regulated boundaries.
Of further interest is the hair-raising offer of the ‘faithful servant’s’ ‘suicide’, which appears in the immediate sequel. Moses seeks to present ‘atonement’ (כפר) for Israel’s idolatry, and once again pleads with Yahweh: ‘But now if you will forgive this sin—but if not, please wipe me out from your scroll (ספר) which you have written’ (Exod. 32.32). The offer of self-sacrifice, tantamount to obliteration, is declined and will ultimately lead to Yahweh’s commendation of Moses for his remarkable duty.
While duly acknowledging its broader references within the Scriptures, for our limited purposes, I would stress that the interchange in Exodus 32 fits quite well within the world of Bronze Age ‘diplomatic’ ‘deep play’, nicely illustrating its more trenchant features. 61
IV. Divine Harrowing or Honoring?
The kind of semantic ‘game’, which undergirds Exodus 32, particularly in its appeal to the Abrahamic covenant, finally leads us to the account of the Akedah in Genesis 22 in connection with our study. This is not the place to review the millennia of interpretation surrounding a—if not the—pivotal event within the Pentateuch. 62 However, the linguistic interplay between the ‘arad kitti and reasonable patron’ might have some bearing in evaluating the divine decree that Abraham deliver up his son ‘as a burnt offering’ (עלה) (Gen. 22.2), as well as providing some understanding of the patriarch’s demonstrated readiness to carry out the dictate.
The scriptural episode has been especially scandalous to modern readers, 63 but I would aver that the contents of the exchange might not have been seen this way by an ancient audience whose mentalitié had been shaped by the fulsome rhetoric attested in something like the Amarna dispatches, as well as the attendant expectations as to how it would be processed. The biblical language is neither far removed from Lab’ayu’s slavish response, ‘the king wrote for my son—I herewith hand him over’, nor from the same vassal’s blood-curdling hypothetical ‘how could I not execute the order of the king . . . if the king wrote, “put a dagger into your heart”’.
On the other hand, Abraham’s dutiful march up to Mt. Moriah with Isaac in tow, at first glance, goes far beyond Lab’ayu’s self-abasement. In the Genesis account, the patron does make the terrifying demand of his underling. 64 Yet this is hardly the first time that God has asked Abraham to do something that contemporaries would have regarded as absurd, even shameful. It is simply the last in a series of shocking ordinances to which the patriarch acquiesces: 65
1) Gen. 12.1: Abraham leaves his ‘country, kindred, and father’s house’ to go to the ‘land’ that ‘Yahweh will show him’;
2) Gen. 13. 8-14: On divine instruction, the patriarch separates himself from Lot, conceding to him ‘the well-watered Jordan Valley’ whose verdant lushness is comparable to that of Eden;
3) Gen. 14. 22-23: Abraham insists on keeping his solemn oath to the king of Sodom regarding plunder, although the latter is willing to alter the condition of the original vow and reward the patriarch for participating in the campaign against the ‘five kings’;
4) Gen. 17.23-27: Abraham submits to a divine ordinance regarding circumcision;
5) Gen. 21.12: Abraham, following a divine command, dismisses Hagar and ‘her son’, despite his personal feelings;
6) Gen. 22.15-18: Abraham’s ‘not withholding’ of his son according to divine order.
We cannot overlook that the patriarch’s willingness to carry out the initial commission results in the deity’s approbation, signified by the issuing of a ‘covenant of grant’, with the foundational promise being restated or expanded at subsequent junctures. 66 This would fairly demonstrate that Yahweh had continually regarded Abraham as a figure worthy of special commendation for his obedience. 67 It will only be in the case of the Akedah that we find the causal explanation (כי יען) for the reward, providing formal confirmation of Abraham’s ‘faithful service’ over his entire lifetime (Gen. 22.16) (see below).
What needs to be stressed, above all else, is that God’s final demand is made against the backdrop of, and forms the climax to, the long history of dealings between the correspondents. 68 In each case, the deity’s instruction was unquestionably of great personal or material cost to Abraham, but promised even greater reward. Noting this track record, Jon Levenson’s qualification of the rabbinic traditions, which asserted that Abraham, as a prophet, somehow knew that Isaac would not be sacrificed, is worth repeating: ‘The knowledge at issue here involves a not inconsequential measure of faith—faith that the prophetic message is authentic and the God who authors it, reliable’ (italics mine). 69
The notion that Abraham entrusts himself and his son to a suzerain who has unfailingly demonstrated his trustworthiness despite seemingly irrational demands has the effect of undermining the unbearable tension of the biblical account, just as it raises the crucial issue as to the nature of the exercise in the first place. 70 Rather than ascribing it to divine sadism or unfathomable mystery, the nuances of the complex and terrifying ‘dance’ between Abraham and his overlord ‘on a razor’s edge’ in Genesis 22, well suit the symbolic world of ‘suzerain-servant’ relations, wherein the ‘deferential gesture’ of an underling is enough to satisfy an overlord’s seemingly onerous ‘demand’. Again, it is the deity who makes the nightmarish request here, somewhat subverting the epistolary model we have been examining. However, the divine overlord’s aborting its fulfillment clearly upholds the required ‘diplomatic etiquette’, which hints that while always possible, the dire eventuality was never meant to occur from the very start. 71 This leads me to suggest that the episode on Mt. Moriah, while of the most serious nature, was not intended to have been taken literally. Instead, it was intended as part of a ‘ritualized performance’ between the parties—an ancient example of Geertzian ‘deep play’—the purpose of which was to advertise and affirm the respective roles of Abraham as obedient servant and God as gracious overlord. 72 The symbolic tableau was not meant to prompt ‘terror’, but to reinforce ‘status’ in the most theatrical, visceral, and compelling way possible. The goal was not to harrow Abraham but to honor him.
For whom was this intimate drama intended, then? The immediate answer would be Isaac, who increasingly becomes the focal point of the biblical narrative and who will assume the mantle of ‘servant’ in his father’s stead. 73 In broader terms, the wider audience was obviously the community of Abraham’s descendants, whose role is that of ‘observer’ of this most personal of spectacles, 74 and among whom the patriarch’s awesome faith in the gracious oversight of his divine suzerain was to be remembered and venerated. 75
I would make one final point. When viewed in light of the comparative materials examined above, the crowning pronouncement following the staying of Abraham’s blade, ‘now I know ( ידעתי) (i.e. acknowledge) that you fear God’ (Gen. 22.12), is more than just a surprised gasp of heavenly ‘relief’ over Abraham’s successfully passing his ‘test’. 76 The declaration is very much reminiscent of international juridical terminology and practice, where a grateful monarch publicly ‘acknowledges’ the unquestioning ‘loyalty’ of his `servant’, while validating his own standing as a discerning overlord. 77 William Moran earlier had contrasted Rib-Hadda’s forlorn correspondence to Pharaoh with Šuppiluliuma’s favorable treatment of Niqmandu of Ugarit, who had refused to join in a rebellion against the Hittite king. 78 The fidelity of the underling in the latter case resulted in a treaty between the parties signified by the royal affirmation: ‘And the Sun . . . has seen the loyalty (kittu) of Niqmandu and accordingly drawn up this agreement’. 79 The wording is quite comparable to the deity’s acknowledgment of his servant in Gen. 22.12, with Abraham’s ‘fear’ being synonymous with ‘loyalty’.
However, I would point to an even closer parallel to the biblical commendation of Abraham, in the gratitude of the Assyrian king Aššurbanipal toward his stalwart vassal, Nabû-ušabi:
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Fr[om the beginning until no]w, you have render[ed many] favour[s] to me, kept m[y watch] and not sinned against my treaty and oath. You have fallen and died on account of all the messages and orders I have been sending to you. And truly by these recent things that you have done you have surpassed everything. The fact that for the sake of my name you have isolated yourself, keeping on the side of the representative of Aššur and Marduk; that you have kept [my watch] and not made [common cause] with my enemy; [the fact] that . . . you sent [a messa]ge to your country men and made them conclude a (lit. this) treaty with me . . . . from these facts I have now seen (atamar) your genuine [love] and loyalty. . . For my part, I will see (lumur) your love and affection even more clearly, multiply the favours I have announced to you, pay my debt of gratitude fully back to you, and make your name great in the assembly of Babylonia [italics mine].
We should pay attention to the rhetoric. Nabû-ušabi had more than obeyed his previous orders: he had ‘fallen and died’ ‘on account of all the messages’ the king has sent to him. And at this final juncture, the (very much alive) vassal ‘has surpassed everything’. This leads Aššurbanipal to announce that in his subject’s past performance (‘from these facts’), he ‘now has seen’ his official’s ‘love and loyalty’. As in the case of Šuppiluliuma, the term used to express the king’s recognition is ‘to see’ (Akk. amāru)—i.e. ‘acknowledge’—the fidelity of the subordinate. The time designation (‘now’) refers to the moment of the overlord’s formal, public affirmation of his subaltern’s cumulative actions. 81 The missive ends with the promise that the Assyrian monarch will ‘see his servant’s devotion’ ‘even more clearly’, resulting in what amounts to a ‘covenant of grant’: in his presence, the king himself will ‘multiply favors’, ‘repay’ his debt of thanks, and ‘magnify’ Nabû-ušabi’s ‘name’ among his contemporaries in perpetuity.
V. Conclusions
The observations that I have offered are not intended to minimize the biblical episode’s literary genius, theological profundity, or its assumed contemporary polemics. 82 It is likewise impossible to answer the question of whether Abraham, left to his devices, would have executed his commission. Ironically, though, that millennia-old controversy may have been beside the point. Looking at it through the lens provided by ancient diplomacy and its rhetoric of self-abnegation, Genesis 22 is not so much a portrait of a man riven by internal turmoil, 83 but a ‘deeply played’ drama employing tropes that exalt Abraham to posterity as the arad kitti, par excellence, 84 while bearing equal witness to his god as the most reliable and trustworthy of overlords. 85 Genesis 22 should thus be ‘seen’ as reminiscent of a ‘courtly testimonial’ to, rather than a ‘test’ of, the patriarch’s loyalty.
Footnotes
1.
2.
William L. Moran, ‘Rib-Hadda: Job at Byblos’, in William L. Moran, Amarna Studies: Collected Writings, (eds.) John Huehnergard and Shlomo Izre’el (HSS 54; Winona Lake, IN.: Eisenbrauns, 2003), pp. 307-15; idem, ‘Some Reflections on Amarna Politics’, in Amarna Studies, pp. 327-41 (330-34).
3.
‘Rib-Hadda’, pp. 313-14.
4.
Ibid. See the comments of Louise M. Pryke, ‘The Many Complaints of Rib-Addi of Byblos’, JAOS 131.3 (2011), pp. 411-22 (412); Jana Mynářová, Language of Amarna-Language of Diplomacy: Perspective on the Amarna Letters (Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, 2007), p. 146.
5.
Ibid., 315, citing Jon D. Levenson, `On the Promise to the Rechabites’, CBQ 38.4 (1976), 508-14 (512).
6.
EA 294.25-35. Translations are those of William L. Moran, The Amarna Letters, Ed. and Translated by William L. Moran (AL) (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1992), pp. 336-37. Line numbers are according to the transcription of J. A. Knudtzon, Die El-Amarna-Tafeln: Mit Einleitung und Erläuterugen (Aalen: Otto Zeller, 1964).
7.
EA 252.23-27 (Moran, AL, 305-306). On Lab’ayu, see B. Halpern and J. Huehnergard, ‘El Amarna Letter 252’, Or n.s. 51 (1982), pp. 227-30, and their differing translation (‘I will protect my enemy. . .’) (228, 230). At any rate, the king is asking his vassal to do something harmful to himself.
8.
Moran, AL, p. 306, n. 1.
9.
Moran, AL, p. 307.
10.
The action might involve the NK practice of ‘hostage-taking’, cf. William J. Murnane, ‘Imperial Egypt and the Limits of Power’, in Amarna Diplomacy: The Beginnings of International Relations, (eds.) Raymond Cohen and Raymond Westbrook (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 2000), pp. 101-11 (104); Morschauser, ‘“Hospitality”, Hostiles and Hostages: On the Legal Background to Genesis 19.1-9’, JSOT 27.2 (2003), pp. 461-85 (475-76).
11.
The reference to Lab’ayu’s wife might allude to ‘bridal exchange’ in the Amarna age; see Samuel A. Mercer, ‘Diplomacy and International Marriages’, in Amarna Diplomacy, pp. 165-73. James K. Hoffmeier, ‘The Wives’ Tales of Genesis 12, 20 & 26 and the Covenants at Beer-sheba’, TynBul 43.1 (1992), pp. 81-100 (90), notes the unprecedented request; the exaggerated offer demonstrates Lab’ayu’s radical loyalty.
12.
See William L. Moran (‘Amarna Glosses’, in Amarna Studies, pp. 275-90 [278-79]) on reading Lab’ayu’s dispatches as ironic. For a less idealistic reading, cf. Nadav Na`aman, ‘The Egyptian-Canaanite Correspondence’, in Amarna Diplomacy, pp. 125-38 (129). However, Lab`ayu’s allusions recall treaty-curses. The implication is that Lab`ayu is ready to undergo divine sanction to prove his fidelity. Cf. EA 209.11-16: ‘If I have not guarded your cities, may the gods where you are smash my head’ (Moran, AL, p. 281).
13.
Na`aman, ‘Egyptian-Canaanite Correspondence’, p. 136; Anne Marie Kitz, ‘Naboth’s Vineyard after Mari and Amarna’, JBL 134.3 (2015), pp. 529-46; Ellen Fowles Morris, The Architecture of Imperialism: Military Bases and the Evolution of Foreign Policy in Egypt’s New Kingdom, Probleme der Ägyptologie 22 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), p. 227; William D. Harpine, ‘Epideictic and Ethos in the Amarna Letters: The Withholding of Argument’, Rhetoric Society Quarterly 28.1 (1998), pp. 81-98 (92-93).
14.
Moran, AL, p. 98
15.
Mynářá, Language of Amarna, p. 139.
16.
Moran, ‘Rib-Hadda’, p. 314. Levenson, ‘Promise to the Rechabites’, pp. 511-14, on the ubiquity of the theme in the so-called ‘covenant of grant’.
17.
See Donald B. Redford, The Wars in Syria and Palestine of Thutmose III, CANE 16 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), p. 17.
18.
For the text, see Kurt Sethe, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie IV.3 (Berlin: Akademie, 1961), pp. 651.16-17.
19.
Roland Koch, Die Erzȁhlung des Sinuhe, Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca 17 (Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 1990) p. 73.1, 6 (B 252-53).
20.
Koch, Sinuhe, p. 73.11 (B 253-54); p. 74.11 (B 257).
21.
Koch, Sinuhe, p. 75.13 (B 263). See R. B. Parkinson, The Tale of Sinuhe and other Ancient Egyptian Poems (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), 40.
22.
Cf. ‘prostration’ formulae, Jana Mynářová, ‘Egyptian State Correspondence of the New Kingdom: The Letters of the Levantine Client Kings in the Amarna Correspondence and Contemporary Evidence’, in State-Correspondence in the Ancient World: From New Kingdom Egypt to the Roman Empire, (ed.) Karen Radner (Oxford: Oxford, 2014), pp. 10-31, 211-15 (23-24); idem, Language of Amarna, pp. 152-63; Ellen F. Morris, ‘Bowing and Scraping in the Ancient Near East: An Investigation into Obsequiousness in the Amarna Letters’, JNES 65 (2006), pp. 179-95; Moran, AL, pp. xxiv-xxv; idem, ‘Rib-Hadda’, p. 313, n. 29. Note other language where subjects pose the absurd question ‘who is the dog that would not obey the orders of the king?’ (EA 319: 22-24 [Moran, AL, p. 350]). (On the expression, see Idan Breier, ‘“Who Is This Dog?”: The Negative Image of Canines in the Lands of the Bible’, ANES 54 [2017], pp. 47-62 [53-55]; Edward J. Bridge, ‘Self-Abasement as an Expression of Thanks in the Hebrew Bible’, Biblica 92.1 [2011], pp. 255-73 [259-60]; J. M. Galan, ‘What is He, the Dog?’ UF 25 [1993], pp. 173-80). Absolute adherence is described in terms of ‘whatever the king’ requests/commands, the servant will do, for ‘I have no other purpose, except the service of the king’ (EA 253.25-31 [Moran, AL, p. 306]; also 250: 57-60 [ibid., pp. 304-5]). To be an arad kitti is to ‘place one’s neck in a yoke and carry it’, thus serving the king with ‘complete devotion’ (EA 257.13-19 [ibid., p. 310]). Those who wait upon the king acknowledge that he can ‘keep’ us ‘alive’, or ‘can put us to death’ (EA 238.31-33 [ibid., p. 295]). Every circumstance is under the ruler’s disposition, for ‘should we go up into the sky, or should we go down into the netherworld, our head is in’ the ‘hand’ of the overlord (EA 264.15-19 [ibid., p. 313]). Concessive language is also found in ‘parity’ correspondence. Thus, the governor of Alasiya assures an Egyptian official, ‘Whatever you ask for according [to your fancy] I will give it to you’ (EA 40.21-23 [ibid., p. 113]). The king of Babylon expresses similar sentiments regarding requests for women: `My daughters, being available, I will not refuse [one] to y[ou]’ (EA 4.22-23 [ibid., p. 9]). This will be expanded to: ‘whatever my brother wants, let my brother just write to me and it can be taken from my house’ (EA 7.61-62 [ibid., p. 14]). Some declarations are offered in reproof for Pharaoh’s lack of reciprocity: ‘Forever I will do what my brother wants, and my brother shall do what I want’ (EA 20.75-76 [ibid., p. 48); or ‘what[ever he might say] to me, on that day I di[d] it’ (EA 29.14-15 [ibid., p. 92]).
23.
See Redford, Wars in Syria, pp. 20-21: ‘“. . . the role of Pharaoh in the atmosphere of the Königsnovelle exerts a hegemonic influence on the king in forcing him to conform to what is expected’. Soldiers were required at times to give up their lives, but for some worthwhile goal.
24.
Moran, ‘Rib-Hadda’, p. 313, states that the arad kitti ‘speaks de profundis, conscious of his own lowliness and uncertain of royal grace’. Rib-Adda’s consternation is that Pharaoh does not act like a ‘faithful suzerain’. The model is not ambivalent: the quixotic king seemingly does not adhere to it. Note Mario Liverani, ‘Rib-Adda, righteous sufferer’, in Myth and Politics in Ancient Near Eastern Historiography, (eds). Zainab Bahrani and Marc Van De Mieroop (Ithaca: Cornell, 2004), pp. 97-124.
25.
See Edward J. Bridge, ‘An Audacious Request: Abraham’s Dialogue with God in Genesis 18’, JSOT 40.3 (2016), pp. 281-96; idem, ‘Deferential Self-Reference in the Book of Samuel’, VT 65.4 (2015), pp. 588-605 (esp. 590-91); idem, ‘The “Slave” Is the “Master”: Jacob’s Servile Language to Esau in Genesis 33.1-17’, JSOT 38.3 (2014), pp. 263-78 (268-73); idem, ‘Self-Abasement as an Expression of Thanks in the Hebrew Bible’, Biblica 92.2 (2011), pp. 255-73; idem, ‘Polite Israel and Impolite Edom: Israel’s Request to Travel through Edom in Numbers 20.14-21’, JSOT 35.1 (2010), pp. 77-88; idem, ‘Polite Language in the Lachish Letters’, VT 60.4 (2010), pp. 518-24; idem, ‘Loyalty, Dependency and Status with YHWH: The Use of ‘bd in the Psalms’, VT 59.3 (2009), pp. 360-78.
26.
Bridge, ‘Self-Abasement’, pp. 257, 265.
27.
Clifford Geertz, ‘Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight’, in The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1973), pp. 435-73.
28.
Geertz, ‘Deep Play’, pp. 455-58.
29.
Clifford Geertz, ‘Religion as Cultural System,’ in Interpretation of Cultures, pp. 93-135 (pp. 100-105).
30.
Ibid., pp. 104-5.
31.
Julia Kindt, ‘On Tyrant Property Turned Ritual Object: Political Power and Sacred Symbols in Ancient Greece and in Social Anthropology’, Arethusa 42.3 (2009), pp. 211-50 (244).
32.
Delbert R. Hillers, Covenant: The History of a Biblical Idea (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1969), p. 31.
33.
See Amnon Altman, The Historical Prologue of the Hittite Vassal Treaties: An Inquiry into the Concepts of Hittite Interstate Law (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan, 2004), p. 327, where Aziru is characterized as a ‘run-away slave’ (CTH 49); Bentešina ‘a dead man’ ‘raised to life’ (pp. 373, 382) (CTH 92); Duppi-Teššub, ‘sick and ailing’ (pp. 363, 370) (CTH 62); Manapa-Tarhunta as having wronged Murshilish, although the king still supports him (pp. 159, 201) (CTH 67). Cf. Gary Beckman, Hittite Diplomatic Texts, ed. Harry A. Hoffner, Jr., WAW 7 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), pp. 3, 77-78.
34.
See Altman, Historical Prologue, p. 400, where the Šunaššura treaty depicts Kizzuwatna and its king as being ‘liberated’ ‘slaves’ (CTH 41.1) ; the Kupanta-Kurunta treaty (ibid., p. 461) (CTH 68) describes Mašḫuiliuwa as ‘beaten and driven out’ ‘by his brothers’, but who will be restored to the throne of Mia. See especially the ‘ruin’ of Mitanni by neighbors and inhabitants (ibid., pp. 289-96), justifying Hittite intervention, and punishing the ‘presumptuousness’ and ‘arrogance’ of Tushratta (ibid., pp. 266-88) (CTH 57.I).
35.
EA 73 (Moran, AL, pp. 141-42); 101 (ibid., pp. 174-75). See Ellen Morris, Ancient Egyptian Imperialism (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley, 2018), pp. 172-73.
36.
See William L. Moran, ‘The Death of Abdi-Aširta’, in Amarna Studies, pp. 227-36; Morris, Architecture, pp. 225-26.
37.
See the ancient Egyptian literary text, Papyrus Westcar (‘The Tales of Wonders’), where Khufu/Kheops summons the magician, Djedi, who has the power to restore the decapitated to life. The king issues the order: ‘Have a prisoner who is in jail brought to me: “Execute his sentence!” Then Djedi said: “Surely not to a human being, O Sovereign. . . my lord! Behold, it is forbidden to do such a thing to the precious flock!”’ A goose is then substituted. For the text, see A. M. Blackman, The Story of King Kheops and the Magicians: Transcribed from Papyrus Westcar (Berlin Papyrus 3033), (ed.) W. V. Davies (Reading, Berks: J. V. Books, 1988), p. 10.12-15 (8.15-8.17). For comments, cf. Parkinson, Tale of Sinuhe, pp. 114, 123-24. Herodotus, Hist. 7.133-34, 136, records how two Spartans were sent to Xerxes as sacrifices for the city-state’s killing of a royal envoy prior to the First Persian War. Upon their arrival, the king did not carry out the execution, but sent the pair home demonstrating his ‘generosity of spirit’. By contrast, Suetonius, Cal. 27.2, writes that when Caligula was deathly ill, people swore oaths to give their lives for the emperor’s recovery. Caligula ‘obliged’ them to fulfill their vows, providing evidence of his cruelty.
38.
EA 162: 33-38 (Moran, AL, p. 249); see also Kitz, ‘Naboth’s Vineyard,’ pp. 543-44.
39.
George Posener, L’Enseignement Loyaliste: Sagesse égyptienne du Moyen Empire (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1976), pp. 3-16.
40.
Donald B. Redford, Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times (Princeton: Princeton University, 1992), pp. 170-72, 176-77.
41.
Aziru was summoned to Egypt and held for a time (EA 169 [Moran, AL, p. 256]), but upon his return to Amurru, he defected to the Hittites. See, Morris, Imperialism, pp. 135-37, 173-74.
42.
For the text, see Kenneth A. Kitchen, Ramesside Inscriptions: Historical and Biographical II (KRI II) (Wallasey, U.K.: Abercromby, 2016), pp. 3-101 (§§ 1-43). For comments and bibliography, idem, Ramesside Inscriptions: Translated and Annotated-Notes and Comments (Ramesses II, Royal Inscriptions) (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), pp. 3-7. The translation is the present writer’s.
43.
KRI II, pp. 34-35 (§§ 92-97).
44.
KRI II, p. 39 (§§ 108-9).
45.
KRI II, p. 42 (§120).
46.
KRI II, pp. 36-38 (§§ 98-107). See Thomas von der Way, Die Textüberlieferung zur Qadeš-Schlacht: Analyse und Struktur, Hildesheimer Ägyptologische Beiträge 23 (Hildesheim: Gerstenberg, 1984), pp. 197-207.
47.
In the inscription (the so-called ‘Poem’) Ramesses presents himself as a ‘faithful servant’ of Amun; see Scott Morschauser, ‘Observations on the Speeches of Ramesses II in the Literary Record of the Battle of Kadesh’, in Perspectives on the Battle of Kadesh, (ed.) Hans Goedicke (Baltimore: Halgo, 1985), pp. 123-206 (137-53).
48.
Moran, ‘Rib-Hadda’, p. 312. Cf. C. Wolfgang Heimpel, Letters to the King of Mari: A New Translation with Historical Introduction, Notes and Commentary, MC (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003), p. 236 (26:156), ‘PN left his king and the gods of the city [and] seeks another “king”’.
49.
Mario Liverani, ‘Political Lexicon and Political Ideologies in the Amarna Letters’, Berytus: Archeological Studies 31 (1983), pp. 41-55; idem, ‘Pharaoh’s Letters to Rib-Addi’, in Three Amarna Essays (Malibu: Undena Press, 1979), pp. 3-13 (12-13). See also now Andrew R. Davis, ‘“Answer me Properly!”: Diplomatic Strategy and Subterfuge in the Treaty Texts from Mari’, ANES 50 (2013), pp. 243-54, who notes: ‘While they (treaty-texts) are valuable for the content of the oaths sworn between treaty-partners, their value does not lie exclusively in what was sworn; one should also consider how they were sworn’ (p. 252).
50.
Bridge, ‘Self-Abasement’, pp. 260, 271-72. Cf. the comments of Thomas M. Bolin, ‘The Role of Exchange in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and Its Implications for Reading Genesis 18-19’, JSOT 29.1 (2004), pp. 37-56 (40-42).
51.
Cf. also Ruth 1.16-17.
52.
Exod. 32.9-14. The translation is mine.
53.
On the episode, see, conveniently, William H.C. Propp Exodus 19-40: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 2A (New York: Doubleday, 2006), pp. 539-83.
54.
Propp, Exodus 19-40, pp. 551-52, notes the ambiguity as to whether אלהים indicates ‘gods’, or is the pluriform ‘(one) deity’, with the Golden Calf the theriomorphic image of Israel’s god; also Carol Meyers, Exodus, New Cambridge Bible Commentary (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2005), pp. 258-59.
55.
Exod. 32.10. See Propp, Exodus 19-40, pp. 554. Brevard S. Childs, The Book of Exodus, OTL (Louisville: Westminster, 1974), p. 567, regarded the offer as a prompt, ‘giving Moses his stringent argument by which to counter the threat’.
56.
Propp, Exodus 19-40, p. 555, writes: ‘Despite his theoretically limitless might, the anthropomorphized Yahweh still worries about his reputation among the nations’. Propp links the idea of divine ‘reputation’ here to the ‘competitive nature of kings.’ He refers to Num. 14.13-16, where after another divine threat and offer to make of Moses ‘a people greater and mightier than’ Israel (Num. 14.12), the prophet alludes to the reaction of the Egyptians to Israel’s destruction. Propp’s argument about ‘vanity’ does have merit, since Moses couches his protest in terms of the perceptions of Yahweh’s failure to carry out his stated goal: ‘Because Yahweh was not able to bring his people into the land which he swore to give to them, therefore he has slain them in the wilderness’. Propp’s other instances do not suit his characterization. The argument of Joshua at Ai (Josh. 7.9), has to do with Israel’s vulnerability based on reports that its deity had abandoned his people. The prophetic passages (Ezek. 20.13-14; 36.22-23; Joel 2.17) are about Yahweh’s upholding his own righteousness after Israel had ‘profaned’ his name.
57.
Exod. 1.8-14, 3.9-10.
58.
Gen 15.17-18. On the implied ‘self-curse’, see Anne Marie Kitz, Cursed are You! The Phenomenology of Cursing in Cuneiform and Hebrew Texts (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014), pp. 22-23, 464; Propp, Exodus 19-40, p. 556; Hillers, Covenant, p. 103.
59.
See Suzanne Boorer, ‘The Promise of the Land as Oath in Exodus 32:1-33:3’, in The Book of Exodus: Composition, Reception, and Interpretation, (eds.) Thomas B. Dozeman et al. (VTSup 164 [Leiden: Brill, 2014]), pp. 245-66 (263-64).
60.
See Reuven Kimelman, ‘Prophecy as Arguing with God and the Ideal of Justice’, Int 68.1 (2013), pp. 17-27 (24-25). Moses’s pleading recalls Abraham’s intercession on Sodom’s behalf (Gen. 18. 22-33). Also Bridge, ‘An Audacious Request’, pp. 281-96, where he analyzes the patriarch’s language by applying ‘politeness theory’.
61.
Propp, Exodus 19-40, p. 555, compares Moses’s argument to ‘the time-honored methods of courtiers cajoling their sovereigns’.
62.
The literature is enormous, but note esp. Jon D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son (New Haven: Yale, 1993), pp. 111-42, and the following commentaries: Kenneth A. Matthews, Genesis 11:27-50:26 (NAC 1B [Nashville, TN: Broadman & Holman, 2005]), pp. 283-306; John E. Hartley, Genesis (NIBCOT [Peabody, MA.: Hendrickson, 2000]), pp. 205-14; Herman Gunkel, Genesis, trans. Mark E. Biddle (Mercer Library of Biblical Studies [Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997]), pp. 233-40; J. Alberto Soggin, Das Buch Genesis: Kommentar (Darmstadt: Wissenschafliche Buchgesellschaft, 1997), pp. 306-12; Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 19-50 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmanns, 1995), pp. 97-117; Claus Westermann, Genesis 12-36, trans. John J. Scullion, S.J., CC (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), pp. 351-65; Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16-50, (WBC 2 [Dallas: Word Books, 1994]), pp. 96-118; Nahum M. Sarna, Genesis: The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989), pp. 150-54, 392-93; Walter Brueggemann, Genesis (IBC [Atlanta: John Knox]), pp. 185-94; W. H. Gispen, Genesis Vertaald en Verklaard II, (COut [Kampen: J. H. Kok, 1979]), pp. 230-47; Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary, Revised Edition (London: SCM, 1972), pp. 237-45; E. A. Speiser, Genesis: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 1 [Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964]), pp. 161-66; Martin Luther, Luther’s Commentary on Genesis II (Chapters 22-50), trans. J. Theodore Mueller (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1958), pp. 7-24; John Calvin, Commentaries on the First Book of Moses Called Genesis, trans. Rev. John King, M.A. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1948), pp. 557-74; Benno Jacob, Das Erste Buch der Tora (Berlin: Schocken, 1934), pp. 491-503; S. R. Driver, The Book of Genesis (New York: Gorham, 1907), pp. 216-24. On the interpretative history, see: Paul J. Kissling, ‘The Near-Sacrifice of Isaac: Monstrous Morality or Richly Textured Theology?’, in Wrestling with the Violence of God: Soundings in the Old Testament, (eds.) M. Daniel Carroll- R. and J. Blair Wilgus (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns 2015), pp. 15-30; Robert Crotty, `The Near Sacrifice of Isaac: Jewish and Christian Perspectives’, in Where the Wild Ox Roams: Biblical Essays in Honour of Norman C. Habel, (ed.) Alan H. Cadwallader, (Hebrew Bible Monographs 59 [Sheffield: Phoenix Press, 2013]), pp. 192-209; Die Bindung Isaaks: Stimme, Schrift, Bild (eds). Helmut Hoping et al. (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schönigh, 2009); Bruce Chilton, Abraham’s Curse: Child Sacrifice in the Legacies of the West (New York: Doubleday, 2008); Mishael M. Caspi and John T. Greene, Unbinding the Binding of Isaac (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2007); Benhard Greiner et al., Opfere deinen Sohn! Das ‘Isaak-Opfer’ in Judentum, Christentum und Islam (Tȕbingen: Franke, 2007); Johann Anselm Steiger and Ulrich Heinen (eds.), Isaaks Opferung (Gen 22) in den Konfessionen und Medien der Frȕhen Neuzeit (Arbeiten zur Kirchengeschichthe 101 [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006]); Edward Kessler, Bound by the Bible: Jews, Christians and the Sacrifice of Isaac (Cambridge: University Press, 2004); Jerome Gellmann, ‘Abraham! Abraham!’ Kierkegaard and the Hasidim on the Binding of Isaac (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003); Otto Kaiser, ‘Die Bindung Isaaks: Untersuchungen zur Eigenart und Bedeutung von Genesis 22’, in Otto Kaiser, Zwischen Athen und Jerusalem: Studien zur griechischen und biblischen Theologie, ihre Eigenart und ihrem Verhältnis (BZAW 320 [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003]), pp. 199-224; Ed Noort and Eibert Tigchelaar, The Sacrifice of Isaac: The Aqedah (Genesis 22) and Its Interpretations (TBN 4 [Leiden: Brill, 2002]); W. L. Moberly, The Bible, Theology, and Faith: A Study of Abraham and Jesus (Cambridge Studies in Christian Doctrine 5 [Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2000]); idem, Old Testament Theology: Theology of the Book of Genesis (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2009), pp. 179-99; Georg Steins, ‘Auf Sinnsuche. Abraham’s Opfer in der Exegese des 20. Jahrhunderts’, BL 72 (1999, pp. 124-34; Georg Steins, Die Bindung Isaaks im Kanon (Gen. 22): Grundlagen und Programm einer Kanonisch-Intertextuellen Lektȕre-Mit einer Spezialbibliographie zu Gen 22 (Herder Biblische Studien 20 [Freiburg: Herder, 1999)); Carol Delaney, Abraham on Trial: The Social Legacy of Biblical Myth (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998).
63.
See Kissling, ‘Monstrous Morality’, p. 20.
64.
On the difficulty of identifying sources, see the comments of Koog P. Hong, ‘Abraham, Genesis 20-22, and the Northern Elohist’, Biblica 94 (2013), pp. 321-39; Westermann, Genesis 12-36, p. 402; Speiser, Genesis, p. 166.
65.
See Shubert Spero, ‘Abraham’s Trials: Tests of Strength or Learning Experience?’, JBQ 28.2 (2000), pp. 73-79.
66.
1=Gen. 12. 2-3; 2=Gen. 13.14-17; 3=Gen. 15.1-5, 18-21; 4=Gen. 17.2-8 (17.19); 5=Gen. 21.12 (promise concerning Isaac; and 21.13 the pledge to Ishmael of a ‘nation’); 6=Gen. 22.15-18. On the nature of the promises, see Gary N. Knoppers, ‘Ancient Near Eastern Royal Grants and the Davidic Court: A Parallel?’, JAOS 116 (1996), pp. 670-97; Moshe Weinfeld, ‘The Covenant of Grant in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East’, JAOS 90 (1970), pp. 184-203.
67.
Speiser, Genesis, p. 166, downplays the ‘trauma’ of the earlier requests, but the initial call amounts to ‘exile’; the deference to Lot is Abraham’s surrender of ‘paradisiacal’ territory; Abraham’s refusal of plunder is a rejection of wealth and prestige (see Scott Morschauser, ‘Campaigning on Less Than a Shoe-String: An Ancient Egyptian Parallel to Abraham’s “Oath” in Genesis 14.22-23’, JSOT 38.2 [2013], pp. 127-44). Circumcision recalls the ‘mark’ of Cain, with a wordplay on the respective actions: Cain—‘a sign so as not (to strike)’ Cain (אות לבלתי) (Gen. 4.15) // Abraham—‘a sign of the covenant’ (אות לברית) (Gen. 17.9). The mandate for the patriarch to accede to his wife’s wishes (Gen. 21.12) ironically evokes the divine curse of Gen. 3.17 upon Adam ‘because you listened to the voice of your wife’. The expulsion of Ishmael is to delegitimize Abraham’s son.
68.
Crotty, ‘Near Sacrifice’, pp. 193-94.
69.
Levenson, Death and Resurrection, p. 130. John Calvin, Commentaries, p. 563, made a similar observation: ‘. . . the God with whom he (Abraham) knew he had to do, could not be his adversary. . .’
70.
R. W. L. Moberly, Old Testament Theology of the Book of Genesis (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), pp. 179-99, on the dangers of decontextualized interpretations.
71.
Cf. Levenson, Death and Resurrection, p. 142: ‘The divine father exercises his prerogative to decline the offering he demanded’.
72.
Abraham does fulfill the role of the inferior who makes the shocking offer, when he, unbidden, ‘takes the knife to slay his son’ (Gen. 22.10). The rhetoric of a Lab’ayu is replaced by Abraham’s gesture. Spatial considerations play a role: the Amarna vassal is distant from his suzerain; Abraham has traveled to the overlord’s ‘residence’. I would compare the scene to submission-rituals where hostages would be presented to an overlord. See Thutmoses III’s ‘Annals’, listing the receipt of children as ‘hostages’ (Urk. IV 690.2-5). The practice might be reflected in Gen. 33.1-3, where Jacob presents his family to Esau, and ‘bows to the ground seven times’; see Bridge, ‘The “Slave” is the “Master”’, p. 270. Note Mary Beard, The Roman Triumph (Cambridge-London: Belknap, 2007), pp. 140-42, on the rite de passage aspects of Roman triumphs, where prisoners supposedly destined for execution were ‘domesticated’. The choice to ‘slay’ or ‘spare’ inferiors is comparable to the Roman practice of deditio. See David Lorton, ‘Terminology Related to the Laws of Warfare in Dyn. XVIII’, JARCE 11 (1974), pp. 53-68 (54).
73.
Cf. Arie C. Leder, ‘Bound to the Altar: The Isaac of Genesis 22:1-19’, CTJ 51 (2016), pp. 283-96, who regards Isaac henceforth to be ‘a living sacrifice’, indicating spiritual death/rebirth (289-90).
74.
This raises issues of the composition, redaction, and subsequent ‘reception’ of the story, although dating issues do not affect our analysis. But one can see ironic affinities between Genesis 22 and David’s willingness to sacrifice his kingdom for the rebellious Absalom (2 Sam. 18.33-19.6), perhaps suggesting monarchic concerns. The assigning of the account in its present form to the Persian Period has gained followers, cf. Erhard Blum, ‘The Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts—The Strengths and Weaknesses of Linguistic Dating’, in The Formation of the Pentateuch Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel, and North America, eds. Jan C. Gertz, Bernard M. Levinson, Dolit Rom-Shiloni, and Konrad Schmid, FAT 111 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), pp. 303-26 (321-22). Similarly, Frank Polak, ‘Oral Platform and Language Usage in the Abraham Narrative’, in Formation of the Pentateuch, pp. 405-42, but who also detects underlying strata pointing to ‘the North West Semitic epic diction’. Echoes of Genesis 22 reverberate in Darius being entrapped by his own decree, forcing him to execute his favorite, Daniel. The latter’s miraculous deliverance culminates in the king’s command that all people should ‘tremble and fear before the God of Daniel’ (Dan. 6.26-27).
75.
Note Brueggemann, Genesis, p. 194: ‘In the end, our narrative . . . is about God being found faithful’. See also Adele Berlin, ‘A Search for a New Biblical Hermeneutic: Preliminary Observations’, in The Study of the Ancient Near East in the Twenty-First Century: The William Foxwell Albright Centennial Conference, (eds.) Jerrold S. Cooper-Glenn M. Schwartz (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996), pp. 195-207 (199-200): ‘the test is whether or not Abraham trusts God enough to believe, even in the face of such a command, that God will keep his promise’.
76.
On the expression עתה ידעתי, ‘now I know’, see T. Kronholm, ‘`ēt/`attâ’, TDOT 11, pp. 431-51 (445). On נסה, see F. J. Helfmeyer, ‘Nissāh/nissâ’, TDOT 9, pp. 443-55, esp. in reference to Genesis 22: ‘With the help of the exalted figure of Abraham he (i.e. E) seeks to show how someone who fears and obeys God related to God’ (449-50). Also Westermann, Genesis 12-36, p. 356, who notes the unique phrasing here, while elsewhere Israel is the object. This led Westermann to suggest that the ‘idea of trial or testing . . . developed out of reflection on historical experiences . . . [;] usage shows that נסה describes the testing of God as a subsequent interpretation of an event, not the event itself’. This would point to the term being a result of redaction. God’s ‘test’ of Abraham seems to be the ‘ideal’ with which to contrast the subsequent divine ‘tests’ of Israel. See Crotty, ‘Near Sacrifice’, pp. 198-99. So note Exod. 20.20, where the ‘testing’ of Israel to demonstrate proper deference (lit. ‘fear’) hearkens back to Genesis 22. However, we see נסה used to ‘demonstrate’ the worth of a party (cf. I Kgs. 10.1//2 Chron. 9.1; also Deut. 8.2, 16), to ‘examine’ a person with the intent of validating the party’s reliability (e.g. Exod. 15.25; Judg. 6:.9; Dan. 1.12, 14; Ps. 26.2), or to ‘offer up’ something as an ‘example’ (e.g. Job 4.2; 2 Chron. 9.1; 1 Kgs. 10.1). Its usage in Gen. 22.1 suggests that God is ‘demonstrating’ or ‘affirming’ Abraham’s worth. See the summary of Moberly, Bible, Theology, Faith, pp. 97-108, for theological perspectives.
77.
On the Akk. cognate, idû, ‘to know/acknowledge’, see Moran, AL, p. xxxii, and nn. 107-11.
78.
See Moran, ‘Rib-Hadda’, p. 314, citing J. Nougayrol, Palais royal d’Ugarit IV, MRS 9 (Paris: Klincksieck, 1956), 36.14-18 (Letter 17.132) (Pl. XVI), and 41.1-19 (Letter 17.227) (Pl. XXII).
79.
As Moran pointed out, the expression for acknowledging a vassal’s fidelity is ‘to see the loyalty of (PN)’. The verb ראה appears in the aiteological notice (Gen. 22.14) naming the site יראה יהוה ‘Yahweh sees’ (cf. also Gen. 22.7, 14), cf. the summary of Polak, ‘Oral Platform’, p. 417, nn. 43-44; pp. 423-28. Westermann, Genesis 12-36, termed it ‘an expression of joy at his (Abraham’s) release from the depths of anguish . . . a cry of joy’. Instead, the allusion might be to the deity formally ‘acknowledging’ (Abraham) as faithful vassal. On the legal usage, see H. F. Fuhs, ‘Rā’â’, TDOT 13, pp. 208-42 (211-12; 226). Levenson, Death and Resurrection, p. 23, suggested a possible association with a ‘vision’ in technical phraseology pertaining to substitutionary sacrifice.
80.
Simo Parpola, The Correspondence of Aššurbanipal, Part I: Letters from Assyria, Babylonia, and Vassal States (State Archives of Assyria 21 [The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project 20] [Helsinki: Foundation for Finnish Assyriological Research, 2018]), pp. 26-27 (#28) (trans. Parpola).
81.
CAD 1:2 ‘amāru’ (Chicago, Illinois: Oriental Institute, 1968), p. 13(d). Moberly, Bible, Theology, and Faith, pp. 79-118, summarizes the interpretations of ‘see’, ‘know’, and ‘fear’, without noting their juridical usages in the ANE.
82.
On the reality of child sacrifice in the ancient world, see Levenson, Death and Resurrection, pp. 18-31; dismissing the view that Genesis 22 represented the Israelite transition from human to animal sacrifice (p. 21); cf. Moberly, Bible, Theology, and Faith, p. 107, as expressing concerns of the Jerusalem Temple cult. As Levenson noted, child sacrifice seemed to have employed in extremis situations (e.g. sickness, catastrophes, warfare). This is not the case in the Abraham-Isaac incident.
83.
Cf. the dissenting view of Jonathan Jacobs, ‘Willing Obedience with Doubts: Abraham at the Binding of Isaac’, VT 65.4 (2015), pp. 588-605. Note the ‘psychoanalyzing’ of Abraham in Dorothy F. Zeligs, Psychoanalysis and the Bible: A Study in Depth of Seven Leaders (New York: Block, 1974), pp. 31-33; David Rosenberg, Abraham: The First Historical Biography (New York: Perseus, 2006), pp. 265-80, who characterizes the episode as a ‘dream’, in which ‘Abraham . . . is having tested within his own psyche the meaning of the covenant’ (p. 273).
84.
Contra Westermann, Genesis 12-36, p. 364, who dismisses Abraham as the focus: ‘It is a misunderstanding of the narrative to hear it as the song of praise of a person’. It is certainly more than that, but it is not less. John Van Seters, Abraham in History and Tradition (New Haven: Yale, 1975), p. 239, notes the stress on Abraham’s obedience as a theme of DH. Cf. Gen. 26.24, Deut. 9.27, Ps. 105.6, 42, where Abraham is denoted as ‘servant (of God)’ (עבד).
85.
The portrayal of ‘the obedient/faithful servant’ will take more complex forms in biblical traditions (including the interpretations of the Akedah in the NT and rabbinic writings), as the figure will be required to undergo trials (e.g. Jer. 1.4-8; Job 1.8-12; 2.3-6), sometimes at the cost of his life (Isa. 53.10-12; Acts 8.26-35, Acts 9.15-16), and armed only with the assurance that the heavenly suzerain is ‘with’ him in covenantal solidarity.