Abstract
This article provides a survey of the last 25 years of research on Joseph and Aseneth, a Jewish Greek novel probably written between the first century
Keywords
Introduction
In Gen. 41.45, Joseph receives from Pharaoh, among other marks of honor, Aseneth (Ἀσενέθ; Hebrew: אָֽסְנַת: Asenath/Osnath; LXX: Ασεννεθ), daughter of Potiphera (LXX: Πεντεφρῆ), priest of On (LXX: Πεντεφρῆ), as his wife. She gives birth to two sons, Ephraim and Manasseh (Gen. 42.50; 46.20). The narrative Joseph and Aseneth (Jos. Asen.) expands on this scant information to create a story that reveals who Aseneth was prior to her marriage, how she and Joseph met, and how she came to be his wife. After spending eight days repenting for previous veneration of the gods of Egypt and praying to the God of Israel, she is visited by a heavenly messenger called ho anthropos, with whom she converses and shares a honeycomb. Some years later, during the famine, Aseneth meets Jacob at Goshen, befriends the prophet Levi and, with the assistance of God and Leah’s sons, thwarts the plans of Pharaoh’s son and his helpers (Dan, Gad, Naphtali, and Asher) to abduct her and make her his wife.
Scholars agree that Jos. Asen. was originally composed in Greek, in a language strongly influenced by the LXX/OG, and originated sometime in Antiquity (Chesnutt 1995: 69-71, 80-76; Humphrey 2000: 31-33; Oegema 2005: 100-101; Vogel 2009: 6, etc.). However, the precise dating ranges from the second century
1. Texts and Translations
Jos. Asen. is much better preserved than all of the other so-called Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Thanks to the restless work of Burchard we know today of 91 manuscripts in seven languages and traces of an Ethiopic version (for the Ethiopic see Burchard 1996g: 386-91; Piovanelli 1993). In recent years, our knowledge of Greek texts and versions in other ancient languages has increased tremendously. On the one hand Burchard published a critical edition of his text, the so-called longer version (see below) in 2003; his text was improved twice by Tragan (2005) and Fink (2008). On the other hand a growing number of scholars regard the shorter text, published in 1968 by Philonenko, as a more original version of the Greek text. In the following I present an overview on texts and the editions available today before I turn to current discussions on text-critical and literary-critical issues.
Although Jos. Asen. was never forgotten (see below), the history of modern research starts with Batiffol’s editio princeps in 1889-90, a reproduction of the manuscript A (C11th/C12th) with an apparatus from the Greek manuscripts B (C11th), C (C15th), D (C15th), and Oppenheim’s Latin translation of the Syriac text (1886). Today, scholars agree that manuscript A and related manuscripts (C, R, O, P, Q; C15th-C16th) present a Byzantine revision of an older text. These manuscripts represent text family a, which comes to 11,695 words. Manuscript A improves the text stylistically and clarifies the identification of Aseneth’s heavenly visitor by associating him with the archangel Michael (cf. Jos. Asen. 14-17). The text was translated into German by Riessler (1928: 497-538), who inserted verse numbers to the division into 29 chapters that Batiffol had provided. The two English translations by Pick (1913) and Brooks (1918) added in their apparatus additional text from the Syriac and Armenian versions translated by Issaverdens (1934 [1901]: 79-128). In 1898 Istrin printed the much shorter manuscript B in a synopsis with modern Greek manuscript 671 (C17th) and an apparatus from Q in a Russian publication. In 1968 Philonenko published the first eclectic text-reconstruction with a critical apparatus. Philonenko agrees with Burchard (1965) on the grouping of the manuscripts into four text families. With Istrin, however, he opts for the shortest text family d as the oldest text-form. His text comes to 8,256 words. He is of the opinion that family b emerged as a Gnostic-Christian or Jewish-mystic revision out of the text of d. Both text-forms are written in koine-Greek, a language that was later improved to a more elaborate Byzantine style by the families c and a. Unfortunately Philonenko added his own verse numbers, therefore one has to apply a double numbering system when comparing Burchard’s and Philonenko’s texts side by side. In the following I mark quotes from Philonenko’s text with ‘Ph’ and those from Burchard’s text with ‘B’.
Philonenko’s critical reconstruction of the family d, which includes the manuscripts B and D (C15th) and the two Slavonic manuscripts (551 and 552, C15th), is helpful though not totally consistent in itself, and must therefore be criticized at points where he inserted texts beyond his source (Standhartinger 1995: 42-45; Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 21-30). Furthermore, Jovanović recently questioned a Slavonic addition Philonenko included at 27.8Ph. While in the text of the manuscripts B and D Aseneth reduces the attacking swords into dust by her gaze alone, a later writer added a prayer ‘typical of the genre of Slavonic liturgical prayers composed within the Eastern Orthodox Christian community’ (2011: 86). The ‘hagiographically inspired editors, in insisting that the miracle related not to Aseneth’s powerful gaze but to her piety and the divine response, added the verse and so shifted the focus from the powerful gaze to the power of piety’ (Jovanović 2011: 95).
Burchard has dedicated more than 50 years (2005c: 85) to the reconstruction of a text that comes as close as possible to the archetype, the text that was composed by a single Jewish author (at some point between C2nd
The 16 manuscripts in ancient Greek were written between C10th until 1802 (Burchard 2003b: 2). Palimpsest M (Rehdiger 26, C11th) could only be accessed in the West after 1990 and is now described in detail by Burfeind (2001). Its text of Jos. Asen. 16.13–29.9 is edited by Fink (2008: 32-44). As the only member of text family c that contains text beyond chapter 16, this manuscript underscores the importance of that family, which is called now Mc by Burchard (2003b: 20-22). The four manuscripts in Syriac (C6th and C12th/C13th; Burchard 2003b: 3) are part of the Chronicle of Pseudo-Zacharias Rhetor (568/9
Because Jos. Asen. was included in the Armenian Bible, around 50 Armenian manuscripts form the C13th to the C19th are known today. After several years of intensive research (1996h: 103-37; 1996c: 139-59; 1999a), Burchard grouped the Armenian manuscripts into seven families and in 2010 published a Minor Edition. This edition is based on the manuscript 332 (C13th), the only one that preserved the text in Jos. Asen. 25.5B–27.11B (2010: 12-13). Burchard adds a critical apparatus of 12 (though 18 in the first chapter) other Armenian manuscripts. For 28.13B–29.9B he works from another manuscript family, Arme.
Burchard is of the opinion that all Armenian texts derived from one single Greek archetype (2010: 14-15; 1999a: 85-90). His reasoning is based on a proposed close relationship between Jos. Asen. and another retelling of the Joseph story: the Life of Joseph (LJos) today better known as Pseudo-Ephrem, In pulcherrimum Ioseph or Armenian On the Seven Vahangs of Josep, a text that belongs to the Greek Ephrem tradition. With most scholars, Burchard doubts the authenticity of Ephrem as the author and therefore dates this, in his view Christian writing, post-C4th
However, Burchard’s theory about a standard coupling of Jos. Asen. and LJos, or better In pulcherrimum Ioseph, in the history of transmission must be called into question for several reasons. First, there are 16 Armenian manuscripts which cover only T. 12 Patr. and Jos. Asen. plus three more which cover only one or two of the Testaments and Jos. Asen. In fact Burchard’s master-manuscript 332f, the only one that includes 25.5–27.11, contains only T. 12 Patr. and Jos. Asen. And Burchard admits that the translation of T. 12 Patr. and Jos. Asen. might not have happened at the same time (2010: 10). So an Armenian matrix coupling Jos. Asen with In pulcherrimum Ioseph seems questionable. Second, Pseudo-Ephrem’s In pulcherrimum Ioseph (LJos) is preserved in several Greek manuscripts including two fragmentary papyri from the C6th–C7th (Mercati 1920; Aland and Rosenbaum 1995; Teeter 2013), none of which preserves the christological hymn at the beginning (see below). It exists also in Latin, Armenian, Coptic, Georgian, Slavonic, and Arabic translations (Clavis Patrum Graecorum II 3938; Biesen 2002: 86-7; 2011: 92-3; cf. Hemmerdinger-Iliadou 1960; Poirier 1989: 107-108). The Greek text has been reprinted from Baroccianus gr. 192 (Thwaites 1709: 234-47 = Phrantzola 1998: 260-300) and edited with additions from a Vatican manuscript (Assemani II 1743: 21-41). Also available are an Armenian edition from two manuscripts (Srcouni 1973), an edition of a Georgian manuscript (Bojkovsky and Aitzetmüller IV 1988: 283-352) and a reprint from a Latin manuscript (Assemani II 1743: 21-41; Bailly 1972-73). The papyri in particular testify to extended editing on text and content (Aland and Rosenbaum 1995: 183-90; cf. Eder 1973: 224; Pächt 1954: 35 n. 2). Besides two descriptions of content (Poirier 1989; Vikan 1976: 20-26), a modern Greek translation by Phrantzola (1998), a German translation of the Georgian version by Bojkovsky and Aitzetmüller (IV 1988: 283-352), and an annotated ‘preliminary translation’ into English by Lash (2008) have become available. Only the first 500 of 820 lines of Phrantzola’s edition appear in a mixture of heptasyllabic and octosyllabic verses; the remaining 300 lines are written in Greek prose. Srcouni suggests a translation into Armenian in the fifth century. Therefore Lash concludes that it was originally written in Syriac rather than in Greek (2008: 1, cf. Hemmerdinger-Iliadou 1960: 804). The text consists of two independent parts. It starts with a sermon of 120 lines (800 words) explaining the typological links between the story of Joseph and that of Christ. This Christian sermon is followed by an extended retelling of the biblical account of Joseph in 700 lines (6,400 words), which lacks any Christian feature at all but presents some motifs and traditions also known from Midrash Rabba and the Targumim (Poirier 1989: 113-19). So what is now called In pulchrrimum Ioseph might consist of one or more Jewish retellings of the Joseph story and a later added Christian typology. While this ‘stridently anti-Jewish and Christocentric typology is probably independent of the Syriac tradition’ (Phenix 2008: 106), the narrative elements of the Joseph story in the second part appear more frequently in the Syriac Joseph tradition under discussion (Phenix 2008: 107; Heal 2008: 72-74). Given the present state of research, it is impossible to say whether the story we know of as In pulcherrimum Ioseph (LJos) or On the Seven Vahangs of Josep was in fact written by a single author or if it is a composite work. Nor do we know whether it originated as a Christian or a Jewish text or to what extent the manuscripts of In pulcherrimum Ioseph contain the same content. Before we learn more about this Joseph-apocryphon it seems wise not to base a history of the transmission of Jos. Asen. on this ‘text’ or tradition, which has until now remained almost unknown to modern scholarship.
Burchard also worked on almost all of the other versions. He published the modern Greek manuscript 661 (1996d: 35-51) with some corrections to the editio princeps of a second modern Greek manuscript 671 (Istrin 1898). He edited the Slavonic version with the corrections of Philonenko’s apparatus (1996f: 53-102). Recent research on this version has been collected by Orlov (2009: 261-62). Burchard surveyed Romanian texts which turned out to be ‘free condensation’ of their Greek Vorlage of the manuscripts F and W (2008: 543). Based on his exploratory work (2000), Fink edited the second Latin translation L2 with a detailed palaeographic description of the six preserved manuscripts, characteristics of language and style, a stemma, and consideration about provenance and means of transmission (2008: 199-253). The edition is presented as a synopsis of manuscript 436 (the only one with a full text, including Aseneth’s psalm in Jos. Asen. 21.10-21 and Jos. Asen. 22–29) and an eclectic collection of all other manuscripts with a critical apparatus (2008: 256-325). Most recently Biosca I Bas added a critical edition of the first Latin translation (L1) with an apparatus and a Spanish translation (2012: 97-179). He also includes a detailed description of manuscripts (pp. 63-74) and a stemma (p. 83). Biosca I Bas basically approves Burchard’s/Fink’s textual theory but supposes a peculiar relationship between L1 and the manuscript G (2012: 35-48). This translation is of particular interest because it originated in C12th England, contemporary to the expulsion of the Jews, and might have been used to encourage Jewish women to convert to Christianity (Nisse 2006).
In 2003 Burchard’s long-awaited critical edition of his ‘Vorläufige Text’ (VorlT) (1996a [1979]: 161-209) finally appeared (2003b). Burchard had not changed the text of his previous edition (1996a [1979]), but added a critical apparatus with extensive documentation of the textual variants of all manuscripts except the Romanian and Slavonic. He also gives account of his decisions in his now widely used ‘provisional text’ VorlT. However, he includes a list of ‘problems and improvements’ (‘Verbesserungsvorschläge und Problemanzeigen’), instances where he now doubts his previous decisions (2003b: 372-84). Contrary to the text-critical principles of the NT-Graece, Burchard based his text principally on versions, above all on Syr, Arm, and L2 because they concur most with the oldest manuscript of all, from the Syriac version (C6th). To reconstruct the Greek he refers to the manuscripts E, F, G, W (C15th-C17th), former family b, ‘which have much in common to distinguish them from a, c, and d’ (2005c: 94), but he no longer traces them back to one common ancestor, rather to a family f that consists of three independent branches: FWRom, GNgr, and L1. He also relates his text more to the now available manuscript M and the group Mc (Burfeind 2001; Fink 2008: 38-44). Since the initial publication of the VorlT Burchard’s basic principle was to provide a text that ‘includes all bits of material that are attested by at least one family, conforms in style to the undisputed passages, and fits smoothly into the “narrative integrity” of the story’ (2005c: 88), because text might be easier deleted than brought back from the apparatus to the text. This principle is helpful insofar as it presents as much text as possible. However, not all passages in Burchard’s text are equally well attested. Aseneth’s psalm (Jos. Asen. 21.10-21) is only extant in F, Syr, Arm, 436 (from the Latin family L2) and L1, and Jos. Asen. 11 is not preserved as a unit in any Greek manuscript.
Meanwhile Kraemer (1991: 234-36; 1992: 111-13; 1998: 50-88, et al.) and Standhartinger (1995) had, independently of each other, questioned Burchard’s preference for the ‘longest’ text (formerly b, now Syr, Arm, L2, f) with literary-critical considerations. We both observed that the image of Aseneth differs in the two textual reconstructions. By comparing a revised text of Philonenko’s reconstruction as the ‘short text’ (cf. Standhartinger 1995: 42-45) and Burchard’s VorlT (at the time not available in a critical edition) as the ‘long text’, I tried to demonstrate an ongoing discussion between the different versions on the representation of gender and on theological and ethical questions of Jewish identity (for short summaries in English, cf. Standhartinger 1996; 2012a). Kraemer compares both texts to show that that Burchard’s text only expands Philonenko’s version but presents itself as an intentional reworking by a more patriarchal (1991: 234-36) and probably Christian author (1998: 50-88). For some passages she can demonstrate that redaction has been influenced by biblical exegesis. For her ‘the more explicit use of biblical materials and language is a result of expansion rather than abridgment’ (2000: 131). While Inowlocki is more skeptical on such a priori arguments (2002: 15-18), she nevertheless reads the short text and defends the narrative integrity Fink calls into question.
Challenged by Standhartinger and Kraemer, Burchard revised his reconstruction of the textual history (1999b, 2003a, 2003b, 2005c) and developed further arguments to support the seniority of the longest text of Syr, Arm, L2, f. He argues in general that ‘Abbreviation, by omission or summarizing or both, in one stroke or gradually, is common when narrative texts unprotected by canonical rank or liturgical use are copied’ (2005c: 91). He also seeks to prove a close relationship of family d to family a (2003b: 24-26). Thus the date of origin for text family d is argued to lie only shortly before its earliest textual witness (B, C11th) and the tree of textual families is now b (= now: Syr, Arm, L2, f) →c→a→d. He argues further that Greek majuscules were transliterated only once, or at most twice, into minuscule texts in the C9th and C10th. This excludes the possibility that each collection of witnesses or each text family can be traced back to a particular transliteration. Burchard proposes only one textual archetype that was translated into Syriac, later coupled with In pulcherrimum Ioseph (LJos) and at this stage was transliterated twice into the minuscule M1, which became the archetype of the Armenian and L2-Latin translations, and a second minuscule M2 from which all Greek manuscripts, as well as L1 and all other versions, thus derived (2003b: 26-34).
Burchard’s student Fink seeks to substantiate Burchard’s view on the history of the text. She adds a stemma (2008: 17; 2009: 39), gives extended lists of so-called ‘contaminations’ based upon the influence of ‘defective readings’ from Mc → family a; A→B; G→SlavGr; Q-NgrGr (2008: 48-71), and a list of ca. 30 instances where she thinks the text-family d (short text) contains ‘obvious secondary readings’ (2008: 72-98; cf. 2009: 40; pace Standhartinger 1995). Her aim is to show that the most recent of all textual traditions is family d (the short text edited by Philonenko) and an abbreviation of a hypothetically assumed ancestor ad. For Fink, d is even younger than the presumably early Byzantine revised version, family a.
To establish her list of ‘secondary readings’ Fink has to provide arguments from internal logic and narrative flow which could also be reversed as well (Standhartinger 1995: passim; 2009c). However, even if a special relationship between text-family a and d can be proven, this would not automatically rule out the possibility that both preserved an ancient or even the oldest text attainable. Recently Siegert found linguistic evidence to argue that the text of Jos. Asen. 1–21 of Burchard’s/Fink’s editions is heavily influenced by Byzantine language, a ‘pseudo-classical Greek artificial language’ (‘pseudo-altgriechische Papiersprache’) (2012: 163-4). Although I doubt that there ever was such a uniform classical or koine Greek in antiquity, as he seems to presuppose, I would not rule out that all our manuscripts were influenced by the Greek of their Byzantine or medieval scribes. The weakest point in Burchard’s and Fink’s reconstructions of the history of transmission is their effort to channel the multiform textual traditions into a single line. That some manuscripts collect Joseph stories for different purposes does not point to a uniform text tradition in one or both of these writings per se, especially as long as we have only vague ideas of what In pulcherrimum Ioseph (LJos) might be in ancient manuscripts. That the manifold textual traditions of Jos. Asen. passed through the transliteration in only two minuscules is unlikely from what we know about scholarship in Byzantium. Wilson shows that the majuscule-to-minuscule process was gradual and lasted for centuries, only at the very end of which the new script became more convenient for scribes (Wilson 1983: 67). We do not know how often, and by whom, and where Jos. Asen. was read and written in the C8th-C10th.
Fink provides a revision of Burchard’s VorlT (Fink 2008: 171-97; cf. 2009: 56-129 with German translation by Reinmuth). She improved Burchard’s VorlT by including corrections of her own, as well as suggestions listed in Burchard’s ‘Verbesserungsvorschläge und Problemanzeige’ (‘problems and improvements’; Burchard 2003b: 372-84). Furthermore, Fink excluded all readings that are only supported by ad or d. So her text represents more precisely the text tradition of Syr, Arm, L2, f and is therefore less eclectic than Burchard’s VorlT. She also claims that Aseneth appears in her text less exaggeratedly pious and modelled on the image of Mary, and thus appears to a greater extent more independent, courageous, and clever than in VorlT. (Fink 2009: 42; 2008: 161-68). Unfortunately, however, she adds no critical apparatus to her edition and uses only Burchard’s/Riessler’s versification. She nonetheless gives a list of revised lemmata (2008: 102-43) and a list of questionable lemmata (2008: 143-61); it is extremely difficult to discover what she actually changed. One has to consult Fink’s list, revert to Buchard’s to see the text and its context, and double-check with Fink’s edition to discover any differences. In many places the changes are minor, but three verses are completely erased (25.8; 28.5-6). In others meaningful content is eliminated (8.1; 10.10, 12; 12.2, 6, 9; 13.1, 12, 24; 15.7; 16.17; 19.5; 20.4; 21.10; 24.7, 10, 20; 25.6; 26.6; 27.10; 28.3, 14-5; 29.9), and sometimes new text is inserted (4.7; 13.11; 16.17y; 17.4; 18.9, 11; 21.10; 25.6). In the end her text comes to 13,141 words (Burchard’s VorlT 13,403 words; Fink 2009: 41). Therefore, I’m not quite sure how far Fink’s edition improves the text-critical issue (cf. Standhartinger 2009b). On the one hand, her less eclectic text without readings that are only attested by the families a and d might be helpful, but on the other hand the abandonment of a critical apparatus is regrettable.
Fink was not the only one who has revised Burchard’s text in recent years. In his Greek–Catalan edition Tragan (2005: 94-205) adjusted Burchard’s text with the help of all but only Greek texts. He adds an apparatus that documents his readings by Greek manuscripts. For text reconstructed from the versions he refers to Burchard but deletes the brackets that mark text reconstructed from the versions. Tragan changed Burchard’s VorlT only slightly. For instance, he reads with Ms G εἰς τὰ ὅρη Ἡλιουπόλεως (to the mountain of Heliopolis) instead of εἰς τὰ ὅρια (to the boundary [or territory] …) with the rest of Greek manuscripts in 1.2B; or καὶ ἦν Πεντεφρῆς ἱερεὺς πρῶτος τῆς Ἡλιουπόλεως (and Pentephres an archpriest of Heliopolis) with ms B instead of Πεντεφρῆς ἱερεὺς Ἡλιουπόλεως (Pentephres was priest of Heliopolis; 1.3). To recognize the changes Tragan made in contrast to Burchard’s VorlT one has to scrutinize his apparatus carefully. I haven’t found more than two changes of the like of those mentioned above in a single chapter. So while it is helpful to have a text with an apparatus of all Greek readings, and indeed helpful annotations that point to parallels in Jewish and Early Christian texts, Tragan’s text edition might become a little confusing to those who cannot spend days in detailed comparisons.
Burchard and Fink attempt to reconstruct as far as possible the single authorial autograph of our text, which they call ω. Yet meanwhile some have questioned that such an autograph or archetype ever existed. Thomas (2003: 76-78) compares the multifold textual witnesses of Jos. Asen. with those of the Acts of Peter, Esther, and the Alexander Romance to counter Burchard’s thesis that, ‘the book is an author’s work, not a folk tale which has no progenitor’ (1985: 180). For Thomas, the overlap between the manuscripts suggests a similar storyline. A possible original was at least not respected by the various scribes (2003: 78). ‘In the cases of texts such as the Acts of Peter, Joseph and Aseneth, or the Alexander Romance, it may be advisable to view each manuscript of this text as a separate performance, similar to descriptions of oral tradition’ (2003: 85). Inspired by Thomas, Ahearne-Kroll detects in the manuscript tradition of Jos. Asen. a similar ‘fixed and yet fluid quality’ of the textual transmission. ‘The consistency in the transmission of the J[os]. A[sen]. tradition allows us to formulate a well-defined fabula, but the distinctions between the earliest witnesses prevent us from successful reconstruction of the original text’ (Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 73). Therefore she notes that ‘elements existed in the tradition’s earliest stage’, and these must outline the storyline of Jos. Asen. (2005: 81-87). Braginskaya and Shmaina-Velikanova seem to suppose Aseneth’s psalm in 21.10-21 as the initial core of the expanded and reworked narrative (2011). Since this psalm is preserved in only very few manuscripts and nowhere in Burchard’s reconstruction, I doubt this theory, but because it is written in Russian, I haven’t had access to the full argument.
Recent research places all ancient novels at ‘an important “transitional moment” in the trajectory from performance to reading, from oralism to textuality’ (Rimell 2007: xi). Wherever more than one manuscript is available a high degree of textual fluidity occurs even in those novels presenting an ongoing narrative (Thomas 2003: 74). I agree that one should view the existent manuscripts of Jos. Asen. not as more or less defective readings of one original work written by an individual author but as ‘open texts’, multiform textual traditions ‘that look back to a continual generation of recension rather than to a unique and authoritative original’ (Konstan 1998: 137). In analogy to oral performances, one can indeed argue that the multiform texts of Jos. Asen. document a process in which scribes profile their actual understanding of the text. ‘Si on cherche le texte “originel” de Joseph et Aséneth, on se pose une question fausse; la question essentielle est de savoir comment ce texte est devenu si populaire’ (‘If we are looking for the “original” text of Joseph and Aseneth, we are asking the wrong question; the key question is how this text has become so popular’) (Whitmarsh 2012: 239).
Yet, unlike the Alexander Romance, Apocryphal Acts, and the variants of the book of Esther, Jos. Asen. does not present (only) anecdotes organized around a biographical core. And even though certain paragraphs and chapters (e.g. Jos. Asen. 11.1x-9B; 12.2B, 8, 14-15B; 13.11-12B; 15.12x-14B; 16.13, 16-16x; 17x-yB; 17.9B; 18.3-5B; 7B, 9B-11B; 19.3B-11B; 21,10B-21B; 22.7B-8B; 22-29 or 25.5B-27.11B) do not exist in all manuscripts, all manuscripts of one language share extensive wording and identical sentences. So while I agree that a reconstruction of one ‘original’ text is impossible, it is possible to reconstruct more than a general storyline. Therefore I vote for a synoptic edition that presents not (only) eclectic textual reconstructions but real manuscripts (cf. the editions of Batiffol and Istrin) side by side. With such a synoptic edition variant readings could be perceived as early or later interpretations of the story that was read in very specific ways through its history of interpretation (see below). As long we do not have a synopsis of manuscripts I still prefer to read the two, three, or four eclectic reconstructions side by side.
All editions of our texts are available in new translations: Philoneko’s text has been translated anew by Inowlocki (2002: 159-80), and chapters 1–21 also into English by Cook (1984); Kraemer (1988a: 263-79 = 2004: 308-27). New translations of Burchard’s text have been produced by Wills into English (2002: 121-62), by Maggiorotti into Italian (2000: 423-525), and by Bolyki into Hungarian (2005b). Tragan adds a Catalan version of his text (2005: 95-205) and, thanks to Reinmuth (2009a 56-137), Fink’s revised version of Burchard’s text is now available in German. The Slavonic text has been translated into Serbian (Jovanović 2005: 320-40).
2. Purpose
What is Joseph and Aseneth about? There are several possible answers to this question. The story expands a short note in Gen. 41.45 by narrating how Aseneth and Joseph met and came to be married under the Pharaoh. It tells of an Egyptian woman who converts from the worship of idols to faith in the God of Israel. Many suppose that the story’s main purpose is to explain why Joseph married an Egyptian in opposition to what is commanded in Genesis (Gen. 24.3-4, 37-8; 27.46–28.1) and to address controversies about mixed marriages, conversion, and proselytism. Yet in Jos. Asen. the attitude towards proselytism and Jewish/Judean religious and/or ethnic identity is under debate. Barclay (1996: 204-16) limits the open attitude towards Gentiles because non-Jews ‘cannot receive an intimate welcome unless they have been changed by conversion’ (1996: 215). Therefore the narrative has ‘an evident concern to discourage exogamy’ (1996: 215-16). The author ‘is determined to retain the religious exclusivity expressed in his dismissal of “dead Gods”, whatever that may cost both converts and Jews’ (1996: 216). Quite to the contrary, Modrzejewski believes the composition of this romance documents the notion of family alliances with Egyptian celebrities and general inculturation into the Hellenistic-Egyptian world (1995 [1991]: 67-72). Alkier (2009) adds the observation that Aseneth does not lose her property or high status despite the process of self-abasement.
Nickelsburg reads Jos. Asen ‘as a religious myth that explains the origins of proselytism’ (2005: 337). For Collins the subject matter is ‘first intermarriage’, a more urgent problem in Jewish quarters than in Christian, and ‘second conversion’ (2005: 116). Joseph ‘has a representative role as the embodiment of the true (Jewish) religion’. Aseneth, who will be a city of refuge for those who turn to God through Metanoia (repentance/change of mind) in Jos. Asen. 15.7B/15.6Ph, ‘becomes a paradigm for proselytes who can take hope and reassurances from her story’ (2000: 236-37). With its acceptance of converts and intermarriage the story attests ‘an open attitude toward Gentiles’ and towards a group of mixed ethnic origins (2000: 238).
In his book-length study Chesnutt opts for a similar line. With the help of literary and sociological analysis he places Jos. Asen. in a milieu ‘in which Jews lived in dynamic tension with Gentiles and struggled to maintain a distinctive Jewish identity … and one in which there was some discord centering on the perception of the Gentile convert in the Jewish community’ (1995: 254-55; 1988: 37, cf. 1996). The story aims ‘to enhance the status of Gentile converts in the Jewish community’ (1988: 42). Central to the author’s concern is ‘the clarification of proper Jewish attitudes and conduct on two fronts: (1) in relation with Gentiles outside the Jewish community and (2) in relation with Gentile converts to Judaism’ (1995: 262; 1988: 40). That the writing is directed toward insiders and targets the acceptance of proselytes in the context of a controversy on intercultural marriages in Judaism is agreed by many (cf. inter alia Vogel 2009: 26-28; Zangenberg 2009a: 120). As a positive role model Aseneth demonstrates the welcome of proselytes, and as a female she is neither emancipated nor blamed (Burchard 2005a: 73-75).
Some have applied models from anthropology to explain Aseneth’s conversion, most prominently Van Gennep’s tripartite structure of initiatory rituals (Douglas 1988; Hubbard 1997). Hubbard identifies the honey Aseneth consumes alongside the heavenly visitor in Jos. Asen. 16, with the help of Barn. 6.8–7.2, as a symbol of her new birth (1997: 106). Following Douglas (1998), Wetz (2010b, cf. 2010a) adds to Burkert’s concept of the Mädchentragödie (‘the girls tragedy’) in order to show that there are transition and puberty rites behind the narration of Aseneth’s transformation (Burkert 1979: 7). Self-abasement, annulment of femininity and a lack of possessions, as well as submission to the heavenly visitor, symbolize a liminal stage between childhood and maturity (Wetz 2010b: 104-67). There is also the typical separation of adolescent girls, when Aseneth stays enclosed in her tower. Bees are an ancient symbol of life, and the double girdle connotes sexuality in goddesses in Neolithic times (2010b: 168-219). With all these anthropological features our text emphasizes its theological message that conversion to Israel’s God assures a life of freedom and self-determination. One can definitely ask about the gender stereotyping of many of these anthropological models, and how it might become useful to apply the interpretations of modern ethnographical fieldwork to ancient narratives (Standhartinger 2012b). Brooke (2000) uses Lévi-Strauss’s analysis of myth and its capacity to categorize experience into a system of oppositions in order to demonstrate that Aseneth’s conversion is not so much a lesson in conversion per se as a movement from death to life, impurity to purity, from Satan (cf. Jos. Asen. 12) to God, from daughter to mother, from fear to safety, from human to divine, or from nature to culture. ‘Joseph has risked an encounter with Nature, he has married out, but only so that in its very telling the story of his bride’s conversion can demonstrate that Judaism (even without the law) is the very apogee of all Culture’ (Brooke 2000: 199).
However, the prevalence of the theme of conversion may be called into question. Cohen assigns Jos. Asen. to the category ‘Venerating the god of the Jews and denying or ignoring the pagan gods’ and not to ‘Converting to Judaism and “becoming a Jew”’ (1999: 150-54), because ‘the text says nothing about her observance of Jewish laws’ (1999: 125). It is surprising to modern interpreters that most other Jewish-Hellenistic and even many rabbinic texts do not consider Aseneth’s Hamitic origin problematic (cf. Standhartinger 1995: 153 n. 389; Kraemer 1998: 228-31). While circumcision is dispensable because Aseneth is a woman, only a few sentences refer to what will become Torah. There is an extra table for Joseph (7.1B/Ph) and a warning against foreign women (8.5B/8.6Ph); however, in the end multi-ethnic feasting (21.8B/21.7-8Ph) and an explicit universalistic ethic prevail (Jos. Asen. 28.4(Ph); 29.3B/Ph). While Jos. Asen. and Gen. 43.32 differ in details, the ambivalence of participation as well non-participation at non-Jewish tables already occurs in the biblical Joseph account (Bons 2013).
So the story might not be focused on conversion but seek to expose Jewish superiority. Taverner (1999) analyzes the pejorative presentation of Egyptian religion in Jos. Asen. 7–10 to prove the author’s aim is to reinforce the superiority of Jewish identity and religious practice. Reinmuth (2009b) and Riaud (2003) agree by a more general perspective on what is called ‘strange’ in our text. Niebuhr even goes as far as to profile a narrative Torah which is marked by the (Stoic) formula οὐ προσήκει: it is not fitting to kiss a foreign woman (8.7B), nor to have sex before marriage 21.1(B/Ph), nor to repay evil with evil (23.9B et. al.; 2009: 193-203). Niebuhr concludes: ‘Joseph and Aseneth erweist sich demnach nicht als Zeugnis der Öffnung gegenüber der nichtjüdischen Umwelt oder gar als Exemplar einer frühjüdischen “Missionsliteratur”, sondern eher als Dokument der Abgrenzung und Polemik gegenüber den “anderen”’ (‘Jos. Asen. does not testify to an openness to the non-Jewish world, nor is it an example of early Jewish missionary literature, rather it documents dissociation and polemic towards all others’ [i.e. non-Jews] [2009: 201]).
There is also a debate as to how chapters 22–29, relate to chapters 1–21. Here, Aseneth’s meeting with Jacob’s family and her friendship with Levi is recounted, as is how the conspiracy of Pharaoh’s son with the sons of Bilhar and Zilpa against Joseph and Aseneth fails, so that Joseph then becomes the ruler of Egypt for 48 years. For Kraemer and Humphrey this so-called ‘second part of the story’ does not have much to add (Kraemer 1998: 40-41; Humphrey 2000: 106-11). Yet, Nickelsburg is of the opinion that the ‘second part of the story underscores this by demonstrating that God is with the new convert, protecting her in mortal danger’ (Nickelsburg 2005: 337). What is told here also concurs with most of the storyline of Greek novels (see below). Comparison of the processes of conversion in the Acts of John, Jos. Asen., and Apuleius, Metamorphosis XI, allowed Gallagher to observe that Aseneth’s recognition of Joseph in Jos. Asen. 6 is mirrored by the son of Pharaoh in Jos. Asen. 23.1B/Ph. But like Fortunatus in the Acts of John, on this occasion recognition fails and does not lead to eternal life but directly to death (1993: 7-11). Inowlocki adds that Pharaoh’s son, in mirroring Aseneth, provides a negative counter-example of her approach to Joseph and his family (2002: 83-96, cf. Charles 2011: 77-78, Standhartinger 1995: 145-52).
That a change of Aseneth’s religious affiliation forms the core of chapters 3–17 can hardly be disputed. Yet many features of the story blur the lines between different groups: Aseneth’s father Pentephres presents himself as well informed on Judaism when he recommends Joseph: ‘a man of great wisdom and knowledge, and the spirit of God is upon him, and the grace of the Lord is with him’ (4.7B/4.9Ph). Joseph also changes his mind when he refuses segregation at an extra table (Jos. Asen. 7.1B/Ph), and joins an all-inclusive universal marriage feast (Jos. Asen. 21.8B/21.6-7Ph). Goldenberg notices that ‘Aseneth became a worshiper of the true God without ceasing to be an Egyptian and without having to leave her Egyptian heritage behind’ (1997: 75-78, 78). Furthermore, as Inowlocki underlines, the story does not end with Aseneth’s acceptance into Jacob’s family (22), or with the happily reunited couple, rather with the establishment of Joseph’s reign in Egypt for 48 years (Jos. Asen. 29). Therefore she concludes that the episode with the conversion functions to define the Judaism of Joseph while the episode with Pharaoh’s son establishes the royalty of Jacob’s family (2002: 146-52). Likewise Gruen argues that the ‘superiority of the Hebrews, their character, faith, and traditions constitute a central theme of the work’, and that the 48 years of Joseph’s reign over Egypt go ‘well beyond the biblical tale and probably beyond any subsequent Hellenistic version of it’ (1998: 98). Unlike Inowlocki, Gruen also highlights various tensions in the portrait of Joseph. He appears disdainful towards hospitality in Pentephres’ house, boasts of his chastity and, at the same, appears in the guise of a god:
Joseph emerges … as the favorite of God, trusting in divine beneficence, the loyal upholder of the faith, the fierce proponent of piety and rectitude, and the wielder of extensive authority in Egypt. But the author of the romance also heightens and intensifies those characteristics, subtly (or perhaps not so subtly) transforming them into haughtiness, prudery, self-righteousness, authoritarianism, and contemptuousness. (1998: 89-99, 99)
Gruen concludes therefore that this unique remodeling of Joseph in Jewish literature ‘celebrates Jewish pride and cautions against its excess’ (p. 99). More recently Gruen showed how our text establishes the fictional kinship of Jews with other nations, here Egyptians. While Aseneth accepts Jacob’s family, Joseph’s accepts Pharaoh as his father. To be a descendent of Jacob is no guarantee of moral success (Jos. Asen. 24). The wedding ‘took place under the auspices of the Pharaoh himself, the very embodiment of the Egyptian kingdom—who had undergone no form of conversion. … Antagonism between the nations is thus softened and compromised’ (2011: 286).
There have been more proposals concerning the purpose of our story. Among them, Bohak (1994, 1996a, 1996b) reads Jos. Asen. as a typology for the founding of the Onias temple in Heliopolis, and Kraemer votes for a mystical tale probably of Christian provenance. I will introduce these proposals in the following sections.
3. Provenance
While most scholars until now have read Jos. Asen. as a Jewish text, this notion has recently been challenged. Few have noticed the 1997 article by Price, who points to Joseph’s title ‘son of God’, Aseneth’s title ‘bride of God’, and to conversion in Acts, to call Jos. Asen. a ‘Christian allegorizing’ of the genre of the ancient novel (1997: 931-35). More prominent is Kraemer’s revision of her own former position (1988, 1991; 1992: 110-113) in 1994a and 1998. Today Kraemer argues that ‘Evidence for classifying Aseneth as a work of self-conscious Jewish composition, for dating it no later than the early second century
Kraemer remains cautious and holds Christian provenance to be just as likely as Jewish or ‘theosebetic’ (1998: 274-75). In another article she gathered arguments for a Samaritan provenance (the avoidance of the term ‘Ioudaios’, the emphasis of ‘fearing God’, and a possible Samaritan provenance of the Beth Alpha mosaic crucial to her interpretation of Joseph and the heavenly anthropos as the god Helios, cf. Kraemer 1999b).
Kraft agrees with Kraemer and underlines the argument that the text was copied, as far as it is known by now, only in Christian contexts (2009 [2001]: 55). Davila (who studied with Kraft) points to Christian sermons on the Joseph story, such as John Chrysostom’s 64th sermon on Joseph and Ephrem’s commentary on Genesis, which likewise interpret the story of Joseph almost without direct Christian features (Davila 2005: 190-95). Penn adds the observation that kissing in Jos. Asen. 7, 19.10B, 21.7B/21.5Ph, as well as the allusion to kissing in the consummation of the honeycomb in Jos. Asen. 16, do not appear often in Jewish texts but form a ubiquitous feature of Christian worship and group boundary maintenance (2002; 2005: 96-98). Yet, the liturgical use of ‘kissing’ in a C4th Christian text does not rule out its use in Jewish contexts, and Paul’s letters might be the best evidence for Jewish in-group kissing. Above, Burchard noticed that Penn excludes the kisses in Jos. Asen. 22–29 from his argument (Burchard 2005b).
Nir (2009, 2012, 2013) argues that ‘Only in a Christian setting can this story be understood as an integral literary unit with all its symbols and metaphors’ (2012: 4). Her work is based on the assumption that a distinct Pharisaic or Talmudic form of Judaism existed in the C1st
Siegert (2012: 162-67) is of the opinion that our text uses a Byzantine pseudo-classical Greek, and therefore originated only in Byzantine Christianity, in which all the rituals in our text can be contextualized within monastic Christianity; only chapters 22–29 belong to a Jewish Joseph apocryphon on Genesis 47. I agree that there might have been some improvements in our texts in the C12th-14th centuries when Byzantine interest in ancient romances was substantial. But I can’t see that his short study has proven Byzantine style or origin. Instead it underlines the importance of our text in Byzantine times, something which should be studied more carefully (see below).
Only Kraemer admits that there are Jewish works that have survived that were originally composed in Greek after the early second century
Kraemer is to be applauded for re-opening a discussion that might have been settled too easily by some. But while seeking parallels in late antique contexts she overlooks biblical parallels, as well as those from other Jewish exegetical traditions (Standhartinger 2000: 488-89; cf. Brooke 2005: 172-76; Tromp 1999). Not all of the parallels in the history of religion are equally persuasive. Aseneth does not intend an adjuration of an angel in Jos. Asen. 9–13. The appearance of the heavenly double of Joseph is not at all expected (Nickelsburg 2005: 337; Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 156-58; Brooke 2005: 174). Even if Joseph in Jos. Asen. 5 might resemble the god Helios, this god is already Hellenistic and not a late antique phenomenon (Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 156-68). Finally, she cannot explain why the most important Christian feature of conversion, baptism, is surprisingly missing (Collins 2005: 121).
Because of the many exegetical traditions Jos. Asen. shares with Jewish authors like Philo, Josephus, Jubilees, Judith, Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs, and the like, most interpreters are still convinced of its Jewish providence (cf. also Humphrey 2000: 55-57; Collins 2005: 125-26, et al.). And while more retellings of Genesis 37–50 have appeared in scholarship in recent years, the intertextuality of our narrative becomes more and more evident. As in Jos. Asen. 23–28, there is a widespread tendency to distinguish the brothers of Joseph in their status as free-born and slaves (cf. the Coptic Narratio Ioseph, Dochhorn and Petersen 1999: 440-42).
But to what kind of Jewish provenance exactly does Jos. Asen. belong? Humphrey claims that our story is chiastic in structure, which points to the central scene or epiphany of the heavenly anthropos in chapters 14–17 (1995: 30-56). Here an angelus interpres reveals to Aseneth her true identity. Therefore at least this scene must be defined as apocalyptic, if one refers to Rowland’s definition of apocalypticism as ‘direct revelation of the things of God which was mediated through dream, vision or divine intermediary’ (Rowland 1982: 21). Humphrey also notes the lack of eschatology (1995: 37). As far as I know, only Inowlocki (2004) agrees with Humphrey on this point. However, Collins points to the apocalyptic parallel to the recognition scene in Jos. Asen. 6.6B/ 6.3Ph, as when the wicked realize the error of their ways when they see the Son of Man in all his glory (1 Enoch 63; Collins 2005: 120).
There is more evidence to argue that Jos. Asen. belongs to Jewish wisdom theology. Here, the righteous are called sons of God (Wis. 5; Jos. Asen. 6). Sirach 24.30 explains the symbolism of the honeycomb as a symbol of wisdom (Collins 2005: 120-21; 2000: 236). And Wisdom nourishes the wise one (Sir. 24.19, cf. Kraemer 1998: 26) and transforms her or him into a quasi-angelic being (Collins ibid. et al.; see below). Nicklas believes (2010: 96-99) that Aseneth shares with her heavenly visitor the food of angels (Wis. 16.20) which grants immortality (Wis. 19.21). Sophia herself appears in our romance in the guise of Metanoia (Standhartinger 1995: 188-204; Kraemer 1998: 26-27; 1999c: 228-29), and with his blessing of Aseneth’s maidens the heavenly anthropos reminds us of the seven pillars of the house of Wisdom (Prov. 9.1). So while Aseneth and Metanoia alias Sophia remain two figures (Portier-Young 2005: 145), some argue that the whole story narrates a transformation of the wise (Standhartinger 2001: 484-92). For Kraemer symbolism encodes a dual image of Aseneth as both the Strange Woman of Prov. 3 and 9 and Lady Wisdom (1998: 22-25; 1999a: 221-29). And Mittmann-Richert believes that here even Joseph represents Wisdom (2009).
Jewish wisdom theology, speculative mystic traits, and apocalypticism must not exclude each other (Deutsch 2011, pace Kraemer 1998). The heavenly anthropos points primarily to Dan. 10.5-6 (Standhartinger 1995: 113-14; Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 226-39), but also to similar figures in apocalyptic and mystical writings, like 2 Enoch 1.5 and Rev. 1.13-15. Aseneth’s re-clothing in chapter 14 gives her dignity in the presence of the heavenly being, like the purification of the seer in the heavenly courtroom (cf. 2 Enoch 22.8-10; Standhartinger 1995: 115-16). And even though Aseneth is not taken up to heaven, but rather stays in her room on earth, her transformation seems permanent (cf. Jos. Asen. 18; Back 2002: 38-44; Jovanović 2011).
The angelology of our text has been studied extensively. That the heavenly anthropos resembles the sun god Helios has already been proposed by Mach (1992: 265-78). Recent interest in the Dead Sea Scrolls has not only broadened our notion of ancient Judaism but also revitalized comparisons of our writing with the sectarian and non-sectarian writing preserved there. The angelomorphism of Joseph, Aseneth, Levi, and Jacob in the longer version (cf. Jos. Asen. 22.3-7B) has received attention (Fletcher-Louis 1997: 161-73; 2002: 29-31; Brooke 2005). Like the Dead Sea Scrolls, Jos. Asen. seems to formulate its ‘angelomorphic anthropology’ in ‘a strongly priestly, partly Zadokite, movement disenchanted with the current Jerusalem establishment’ (Fletcher-Louis 2002: 30-31). Brooke collected evidence from the sectarian and non-sectarian texts of Qumran that stress a communion of the community with the angels, and human angelomorphism (2005: 159-65). Whitfield (2013: 173-82) adds the motif of Levi as a priest in the divine council in the Armenian Testament of Levi and Jos. Asen. 22.13B. In Jos. Asen. 22.9Ph Levi appears as a reader of the heavenly scriptures. Jovanović places our writing in a ‘liberal Levitical tradition’ (2013: 225, 222-36). Although a sectarian provenance for our writing is almost unanimously rejected (Chesnutt 1995: 186-95; 2005a: 401-10), O’Neill (1994) reads Jos. Asen. as an allegory of apostate Israel. Sheres (1999) points to some similarities with the ‘marriage ritual’ in 4Q502. Puech parallels our writing to eschatology expressed here (1993: 169-72). And even Chesnutt is helped by the Dead Sea Scrolls in understanding the so-called meal formulas (Chesnutt 2005a: 411-24; cf. 2005b; cf. 2006 and see below). Future research on the Scrolls might help to place Jos. Asen. into exegetical and theological discussions of contemporary Judaism.
4. Date and Place
Chesnutt summarized what could be called the majority view on the provenance, date, and place of Jos. Asen.: it was composed in a Jewish community in Egypt at some point between 100
This consensus has been challenged by Kraemer’s late dating in the C3rd or C4th
Bohak (1994, 1996a, 1996b) challenged the consensus with an earlier dating in the second century
While I agree with Bohak that conversion and exogamic marriage are most likely not the only topics of our story (Bohak 1996b: 89-90) and that the rich imagery especially in chapters 2-3 and 14-17 seems to suggest an allegorical interpretation, his reading of Jos. Asen. as a roman à clef to Oniad history poses in my view more problems than it solves. Some interpretations seem rather far-fetched, such as that of the meal formula (Jos. Asen. 8.5; 15.5) as an allusion to the Jewish priesthood or Aseneth’s tower as the Jewish temple of Leontopolis (Bohak 1996b: 55-8, 67-74), a city that is hard to locate and can only speculatively be placed at Heliopolis. Most problematic, however, is the dependence of Bohak’s interpretation of the honeycomb scene on Burchard’s eclectic reconstruction of Jos. Asen. 16, and thus on a text which is not preserved entirely in any early manuscript (Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 258).
Yet Bohak’s interpretation intrigues at least some, in providing a concrete social context and background (cf. Fletcher-Louis 2002: 29-33; Hirschberger 2010; Encel 2012: 152-56; et al.). For Capponi, Jos. Asen. (alongside Test. Job, 3 Macc and 3 Sib) documents Leontopolitan Jewish scholarship (2007: 72-74). Chyutin goes even further and calls Jos. Asen. a ‘historical allegory’ that serves political goals (2011: 106-262, 209). He detects influences of Egyptian love poetry in the description of Aseneth’s beauty in 18.9B, or of Egyptian folk tales like the ‘Doomed Prince’ and ‘The Two Brothers’ in features such as Aseneth’s tower-home or mourning customs (2011: 211-15). Aseneth represents an Egyptian priestess, her home a temple of the sun god Ra, and her conversion ‘describes the purification of an Egyptian pagan temple in Heliopolis’ (2011: 261). With its Dinah account and the role of Levi and the majority of Joseph’s brothers it refers to historical events in the Ptolemaic kingdom, ‘perhaps the wars Cleopatra and Ptolemy waged against Physcon, in which Jewish mercenary forces fought for both camps’ (2011: 262).
Bohak’s approach is most appealing because it has the virtue of making sense of the puzzling episodes of adventure in Jos. Asen. 22–29. Collins agrees that it ‘is indicative of tensions between Jews and their political rivals in Egypt’ (2000: 109). Or as Hacham puts it, ‘Loyalty to the regime and reconciliation with forces hostile to the Jews are a central motif in Joseph and Aseneth’ (2012: 62).
There has, however, been criticism of Bohak’s approach. Humphrey points to many details not explained in Bohak’s typological interpretation (1999: 231). Nickelsburg asks, ‘Why would an author wishing to justify the exodus of Jewish priests from Jerusalem to Heliopolis seek to make his case by creating a story about the conversion of an Egyptian woman and her marriage to an Israelite?’ (2005: 336-37). At the very least, Jos. Asen. presumes Greek translations of most biblical books, including Daniel and Psalms Therefore a date of origin before the first century
Many agree that Jos. Asen. was written in Egypt. Bolyki (2005a) gathered arguments raised in scholarship and added parallels from the Corpus Hermeticum and the image of Egypt in Heliodorus’ Aethiopica. Taverner finds the Egyptian notion of dogs as symbols of death in Jos. Asen. 10.13B/10.14Ph but notices a surprising absence of ‘explicit animal reverence’ (1999: 79). Zangenberg believes that the 28th day of the fourth month, when Aseneth’s visit from the heavenly anthropos can be identified with the 26th of Choiak, the day when Osiris’ rebirth is celebrated (2009b: 163-65). Hirschberger adds details on the resemblance of Aseneth’s tower to an Egyptian temple (2010: 182-85; cf. Zangenberg 2009b: 176-79). Aseneth’s ‘diadem and veil’ (Jos. Asen. 3.11B/Ph) and Joseph’s radiant crown (Jos. Asen. 5) remind readers of representations of Ptolemaic kings and queens (Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 189-94; Zangenberg 2009b: 170-76; Hirschberger 2010: 183-87). So for many, Jos. Asen., like Artapanus, Philo, and the Wisdom of Solomon, expands ‘upon the ancestral history of Judaism in Egypt and especially focuses upon the characterization of Joseph as a Jewish hero in this environment. The similarity of approach suggests that Jos. Asen. was produced in a Jewish setting in Egypt’ (Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 188).
Yet the fictional nature of our story should not be overlooked. Zangenberg noticed the astonishing lack of interest in Egyptian culture (2009b: 181-186). From the beginning Aseneth remains foreign in the world of the Egyptians, both her parents and the Pharaoh are most friendly and well informed about Joseph and his god (Jos. Asen. 4), and even the son of the Pharaoh seems to have read the Bible (Jos. Asen. 25.8B/Ph = Gen. 50.15). There are some, but few, Egyptian features in our story, but also features from elsewhere, such as Aseneth’s Persian or Scythian trousers (ἀναξυρίδες 3.6B/9Ph). Jos. Asen. shows almost no interest in the Egyptian landscape: there is only one tower and one house in the polis Heliopolis and the countryside consists only of a wadi or τόπος τοῦ χειμάρρου (24.19B/16Ph; 24.20B/21Ph; 26.5B/Ph; 27.1B/2Ph, 27.4B/Ph; cf. Standhartinger 2009a: 158-64). Not only in Egypt, but everywhere in the Jewish diaspora, Jews had been interested in Joseph, ‘the politician’ (cf. Philo, De Iosepho 1), as a role model for negotiating life and politics. Therefore while a political meaning for our story can hardly be denied and comparisons to other Egyptian Jewish writings like Artapanus, 3 Maccabees, or the Letter of Aristeas (but until now not 3-5 Sibylline Oracles) has proven fruitful (Johnson 2009, et.al.), contrary to an increasing consensus I remain skeptical that an Egyptian provenance can be established. Yet neither can it be ruled out. Our story, however, withdraws from almost all historical, cultural, or geographical features and therefore defies concrete contextualization completely. Because Jos. Asen. shares exegetical traditions with datable texts like Judith 9, Philo and Josephus (Standhartinger 1994, 1995), a date of origin in late Hellenistic or early Roman times, post LXX/OB C1st
5. Genre
The main characters Aseneth, her father Pentephres, Joseph, his father Jacob, his 11 brothers and Pharaoh are taken from Genesis 37-50. The story follows the line of the biblical account. Joseph collects grain in the initial years of plenty (Jos. Asen. 5) and is reunited with his father in the following years of famine (Jos. Asen. 22). At some points our story seems to refer directly to the biblical account, as in 24.8B/Ph to Gen. 50.15 or in 7.1B/Ph where the extra table for Joseph seems to reverse Gen. 43.32. Moreover, as in most other retellings of Gen. 37-50, there is manifold reference to Potiphar’s wife from Genesis 39 (Jos. Asen. 4.9-10B/4.12-14Ph; 7.2-3B/7.3-4Ph; 23.1B/23.1-2Ph; Standhartinger 1995: 145-51; Whitmarsh 2012: 244-47). Aseneth might even mirror Joseph’s chastity and restraint in that story (Ruppert 1989: 40). Allusions go to the story of Shechem’s rape of Dinah in Gen. 34 in Jos. Asen. 23 (Standhartinger 1994; 1995: 151-69) and furthermore to a variety of biblical passages like Gen. 2 (Jos. Asen. 2), Dan. 10 (Jos. Asen. 14), 2 Kgs (Jos. Asen. 17); Ps. (Jos. Asen. 12 et passim), Prov., and Wisdom of Solomon (Jos. Asen. 15; 17 et passim), Song, Isa., Ezek., Dan. inter alia (Standhartinger 1995, passim; Kraemer 1998: 19-49; Ahearne-Kroll 2005: 225-61; et al.). Because the story is a certain mixture ‘between summary and expansion of the biblical text’, Docherty (2004) classifies Jos. Asen. within the genre of rewritten Bible. She argues that Jos. Asen. matches the characteristics of ‘rewritten Bible’ as formulated by P. Alexander: (a) ‘to deal with a part of the Genesis account which raised difficulties for later readers’; (b) ‘the presentation of the main characters is consistent with that of the Genesis narrative’; (c) there is ‘a mixture of summary and expansion’; the story is also (d) ‘influenced by another biblical passage’; and it (e) ‘shares with later commentators (especially Josephus) an interest in the inner thought and emotions of the biblical characters’ (2004: 45-46). The one characteristic Jos. Asen. does not match is to ‘treat a substantial portion of the Hebrew bible’, as it focuses only on the Joseph narrative, but here she proposes to extend Alexander’s criteria in the light of other Joseph narratives. Kugel had already attributed Jos. Asen. 7.2-5B/7.2-6Ph to a tradition in later midrash that explains the blessing of Joseph in Gen. 49.22 (1990: 86-88).
But Jos. Asen. not only retells what is known from the Bible but expands a relatively small narrative lacuna (cf. Wills 1995: 175) with a story that is most similar to that of ancient love romances: we are told of an arrogant heroine and a no less conceited hero, both impressed mostly by their own status and beauty, but love-struck when they first set eyes on each other. The chastity of both the heroine and the hero, lovesickness and a jealous rival, travel, and bandits, all fill the plot.
From the very beginning of modern research Jos. Asen. has been called ‘Romanesque’ (Batiffol 1899-90: 7). More systematically, motifs in our narrative have been compared to Greek and Roman novels (Philonenko 1968: 43-48 and passim; Burchard 1970: 59-86; 1996e [1974]: 230-42; 1996g [1987]: 422-25; and from the side of classical scholarship by West 1974). Burchard puts Jos. Asen. side by side with Amor and Psyche in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses 4.26–6.24d, Xenophon of Ephesus’ Anthia and Habrocomes, and Chariton’s Callirhoe, while Philonenko and West add the fragments of the Ninos-romance, Longus’ Daphnis and Chloe, Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe and Clitophon, and Heliodorus’ Aethiopica. While there are many features of Jos. Asen. 1–8 and 18–29 which can also be found in these Greek novels, one element seems rather unique: no other heroine turns to a new god and is visited by a heavenly messenger. The only similar story which is cited is the encounter of Lucius, the ass, with Isis, and his re-transformation into a human being through initiation into her mysteries, as recounted at the end of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (book 11; West 1974: 74; Burchard 1996e: 242-46). Furthermore, Jos. Asen. is much shorter than the so-called ‘big five’ Greek romantic novels (cf. Wills 1995: 27 for the figures), its narrative technique and literary style is less developed than the florid Greek style of Chariton (Wills 1995: 27-28) or to a lesser extent to that of Xenophon of Ephesus, that is, the two Greek novels that are currently thought to be the oldest fully preserved exemplars of this genre. Nor does our story end with a reunion of the loving couple (Johnson 2004: 114). And finally, the date of origin that the majority of scholars propose for Jos. Asen., that is, before 117
The four objections—date, less sophistication in narrative technique and style, brevity, and differences in content (for example the enlarged transformation scene and the missing reunion of the couple)—have led some to propose a special genre like ‘conversion romance’ (Burchard 1985: 186-87) or ‘a romance with a difference’ (Humphrey 2000: 44-46). Some even note a general lack of interest in eroticism (Chesnutt 1995: 88-92; Gruen 1998: 93-94; Vogel 2009: 8-9), but not many have been convinced by this. Others have approached our story from the aspect of folklore. Anderson, who had initially excluded Jos. Asen. from the genre of ‘novel’ because of its obvious religious aim (1984: 81-83), has more recently argued that the whole genre grew out of a transcultural common stock of fairytales and fairytale motifs and that Jos. Asen. remodels Cinderella (2000: 33-39).
As early as 1976 Pervo proposed the genre of ‘sapiential novel’ that ‘seems to have taken as a base one or more traditional popular stories … and enriched this core with rather substantial doses of contemporary wisdom material’ (1976: 174). Wills classified Jos. Asen. among Greek Daniel/Susanna, Tobit, Esther, and Judith as ideal Jewish novels alongside Jewish national hero romances like Artapanus’ Moses Romance and historical novels like 3 Macc. and the satire in Test. Abr. (1994; 1995; 2011: 141-43). While Jos. Asen. ‘clearly contains more substantive and structural parallels to the Greek novels’ than do these other Jewish fictions, ‘the extent to which divine sanction and revelation enter into the story also distinguishes this novel from the Greek novels’ (1995: 176). Wills detects above a ‘base story’ (namely a ‘national hero romance’ about Joseph and his brothers in Egypt) a second layer that recounts Aseneth’s conversion. ‘Like the other Jewish novels, it seems to have less interest in the love-and-adventure plot elements of the Greek novel, even though these are present in the base narrative. … The romantic interest has been spiritualized, especially in the central account of Aseneth’s seven-day ordeal’ (1995: 184). Wills points to intriguing parallels between Aseneth, Esther, and Judith, especially in the ritual of self-abasement and encounter with God (Judith 9; Esther 4.18-29 LXX) that leads all three figures to act as saviors of Israel. And a comparison with Jewish novels like Susanna, Esther, and Judith might explain the rather flat and underdeveloped hero Joseph and the extensive concentration on the heroine. But love and Eros play different roles in these Jewish fictions. Few would deny that Jos. Asen. 2–19 contains symbolic imagery, but until now the key to this symbolism has not been found. Most probably one has to scrutinize layers of symbolism in different versions, because later revisions by Jewish or Christian scribes cannot be ruled out. The most difficult task would be to reconstruct the original layer of the ‘national hero romance’ in those chapters rich in symbol and allegory.
Johnson defines our story as ‘a Jewish fiction of identity’ that is ‘based on the genre of the ancient novel’ (2004: 115). While very reminiscent of the typical introduction to a romantic novel in its opening (Jos. Asen. 1.1-6B/1.1-9Ph), its later focus on emotions and the private lives of the protagonists resembles more the national drama in the Ninos Romance. The first part of the story (chapters 1–21) is concerned with the intensely personal experience of Aseneth’s conversion, while in the second part the focus shifts from the individual to community (2004: 117-18). ‘Thus, the author of Joseph and Aseneth drew deliberately on the conventions of the ancient novel in order to explore proselytism in the Diaspora both from the perspective of the individual convert and from the perspective of the Jewish community’ (2004: 120).
While Johnson proposes a ‘unique place’ for Jos. Asen. ‘among all ancient fictions’ (2004: 120) and Wills points to a special Jewish tradition, Standhartinger (1995: 20-26; 2009a: 151-60) and Hezser (1997) reinforced the comparison with the Greek novel. We both point to the fact that Eros and Aphrodite are gods that demand self-abasement and transformation in the heroine and the hero in the Greek novel. Suffering and asceticism alongside dreams and visions all belong to its narrative repertoire (Hezser 1997: 5-10, 20-26). Recently Mirguet (2012) observed conflicting emotions in Jos. Asen. 6.1B/Ph expressed by Aseneth’s body language, something which might be paralleled in similar scenes in Greek novels. Papyri fragments of otherwise unknown novels prove the existence of the genre at least in the C1st
There is an almost unanimous consensus that Jos. Asen. most resembles the ‘romantic’ Greek novel, among all other Jewish fictional texts. And while classical scholars increasingly take notice of our narrative (Whitmarsh 2011, 2012), the question of what, if any, difference Jewish religion makes to the genre will come to the fore. Some argue that ‘a particular kind of reverence for heroes among Jews and Christians focusing on piety and asceticism pushed the reception of Jewish and Christian texts away from fiction’ (Wills 2011: 164). Montiglio maintains a different model of recognition: while lovers in the Greek novel recognize each other at first glance and again at their reunion, in Jos. Asen. they must first of all be first transformed to the same religion to be able to recognize each other at all (2013: 202-10). Indeed, upon his return to Aseneth’s home Joseph does not recognize her in Jos. Asen. 19.4B. but asks, ‘Please tell me who you are.’ This argument again works only in some manuscripts. The shorter version reads in 19.2Ph, ‘And when Joseph saw her, he said to her, “Come to me, pure virgin, for I have had good news about you from heaven … ”’ And manuscripts from both text forms conclude the scene with the remark that the lovers re-recognize each other when they are ‘re-enflamed/returned to life in through their spirit’ (ἀνεζωοπύρησαν/ἀνέζησαν τῷ πνεύματι αὐτῶν; 19.10B, 19.3Ph).
Recent research on the ancient novel has broadened the notion of the genre as a whole. Braginskaya (2012), who dates our writing to the C2nd
In recent years novels in general have come to be regarded as ‘very fruitful media for the study of race, class, and gender’ (Wills 2011: 149) and more generally processes of identity-building at the fringes of the Hellenistic Roman world (Whitmarsh 2011). It should therefore not surprise us that the status of our narrative within colonial discourse is also under debate. Some argue that Jos. Asen. is a colonizing text that establishes Joseph as a new emperor who travels through a foreign land to silence an Egyptian woman and her native religion (Charles 2009, pace Charles 2011). Others read it as ‘an artistic response to empire’ that emphasizes significant critique of the colonial center: ‘Identity in Jewish novellas is not so much made as deconstructed and re-made’ (Wills 2011: 164-65). One of the most important means of media of this narrative self-formation is the tension between love and asceticism that builds a nucleus of the heroine’s struggle in Jos. Asen., the romantic novels, and the Apocryphal Acts (Doody 1996: 77-81). One can maintain that all novels mobilize ‘complicity in desire on behalf of the social order’ (Cooper 1996: 21). Or one can argue that self-mastery, asceticism, and de-centering of the self in Jewish novels serve to overcome colonial alienation (Wills 2006, 2011). Both positions point to the ambiguities that are inscribed not only in Jos. Asen. but also for example in Heliodorus’ Ethiopian Story of the Ethiopian Queen Charicleia and the Greek Theagenes. In both writings ‘the union of alien virgins conveys a mixed message, effecting neither the false universalism of cultural transcendence nor the illusory purity of ethnic integrity, but rather slyly subverting both hegemonic claims’ (Burrus 2005: 84). Both Aseneth and Joseph must be converted from virginity and not only does Queen Aseneth have to subvert herself to become a daughter of Israel’s God, but also Joseph has to be confirmed as a true son of Pharaoh (Jos. Asen. 29). In both novels, Heliodorus Ethiopian Story and Jos. Asen.,
The purity of virginity is converted through the marriage of strangers only to reveal the hybridity—the differential construction—of all ethnic subjectivities forged in the heat of competing hegemonic ambitions. The romance is thus revealed as a field of ambivalent play, a literary ‘contact zone’ in which the interwoven discourse of empire and city, marriage and love, Greekness and nativity, are exposed as no more or less than the effects of mimicry—an exposure that calls into question any claims for ‘original’ authority. (Burrus 2005: 85)
6. Gender
Jos. Asen. is one of several Hellenistic Jewish writings that center on a female figure (cf. Esther, Judith, Susanna, Apoc. Mos. 15–31 etc.; cf. Wills 1995). Therefore gender issues have received increased attention. Doty (1989) is to be praised for presenting the first book-length feminist narrative analysis of Jos. Asen. She observes both a marginal position of the female protagonist within the text and her subversive actions.
Aseneth frees herself from confinement and control, to hear the words of the angel and assume her new identity. The conversion results in outer movement in which Aseneth overturns Joseph’s disdain, wins Pharaoh’s approval, receives equal blessing with Joseph from Jacob, and above all calls for a higher ethic in the treatment of wrong-doers (her own word as law). (1989: 197-98)
Chesnutt relates Aseneth’s revelatory experience to that of Rebekah in Jub. 25.14-23 and Job’s daughters in T. Job 46-53. For him the texts give ‘indirect evidence for at least some elevation of women’s position in the real world’ (1991: 125). Kraemer names our text as ‘one of the most intriguing portraits of Jewish women’s religious belief in the Greco-Roman world’ (1992: 100-13; cf. 1991). But while some emphasize Aseneth’s independence and the female imagery of the divine (cf. Zlotnick 2002: 92-102), others read the text as legitimating patriarchal role models and views of a woman’s place in marriage (Lefkowitz 1991: 216-18; Langford 1992). Some seem to approve of this model (Boothe 2009). Critical voices highlight that Aseneth’s significance emerges through her relation with others (Humphrey 2000: 65), or vice versa that all actions are consistent in the fact that Joseph is involved (Inowlocki 2001: 113-16). For Inowlocki (2001) Aseneth is furthermore not characterized by freedom of speech but by silence and modesty. That she nevertheless appears center stage is due to the allegorical power of female figures like Ruth or the daughter of Zion in the Hebrew Bible.
Concrete correspondence between the fictional setting and characters of our story and the social reality of author(s) and readers is difficult to determine. Gender issues have challenged research into detailed methodological reflections and scrutiny. Some have contextualized Aseneth’s negotiation of her marriage with marriage contracts from Egypt, especially Elephantine (Zlotnick 2002: 92-102). Most recently Daniel-Hughes examined the heavenly visitor’s intriguing request to Aseneth (‘Take now the veil off your head, for to-day you are a pure virgin and your head is like a young man’s’; 15,1B/Ph) in the context of the virgins of Carthage who removed their veils against Tertullian’s advice (2011: 105). MacDonald (1988: 288-90), Brooten (1988: 296), and Wire (1988: 310-11) started the discussion of this feature in the context of women in the Pauline community of Corinth.
Standhartinger (1995, 1996, 1998, 2012a) used the manifold versions of our text, provisionally through two major text reconstructions by Burchard and Philonenko to recover an ancient discourse on the representation of women and gender in narrative texts. Through the way in which the story is told and the characters described there appears each time a slightly different portrait of Aseneth, each of which finds its place in the ancient discussion on the role of women and female figures in the biblical tradition. While the Aseneth of the short text is transformed into a heavenly prophetess who expands the non-retaliation ethic into a universalistic pacifism in order to rescue the sons of the maidservants (Jos. Asen. 28.4Ph; 28.16Ph), in the long text she is transformed into a perfect bride (Jos. Asen. 18.9-11B, 19.10B). And while Metanoia is the main heavenly mediator in the shorter version, the longer version replaces her with the heavenly anthropos as a double of Joseph. There are many more differences throughout the text, and while not all of them belong to the same stage in the history of tradition, most of them can be seen in discussions on gender in Hellenistic and early Roman times. Therefore different text-forms might be useful in detecting how ancient readers and interpreters modeled the images of gender, the divine, and of Jewish ethnicity and religion.
Kraemer also noticed differences between Philonenko’s and Burchard’s reconstructions of the text and called the longer version ‘more androcentric and sexualized’ (1992: 111; 1994b: 133; 1991: 234-36). But in 1994 she changed her mind. Now Kraemer argues that ‘Both versions utilize ancient stereotypical associations of gender’ (1994a: 884 = 1998: 212). For her the choice of a woman as the one who is converted reflects ‘an idea of woman as a more natural exemplar of the Other and therefore as a better candidate for transformation’ (1998: 194 cf. 1994b: 127-33). For Kraemer Aseneth is transformed from sexual desire into a good woman through submission and suffering and only unveiled (15.1B/Ph) because she then lacks sexuality, and in the long text of 16.15-16B she even reverses Eve’s actions. She is an object of the male gaze and exchanged between her father and her later husband. Compared to the standards of the Hellenistic novel and Apocryphal Acts ‘the element of Aseneth’s erotic appeal is minimized’ (1998: 215), but its gender norms are agreed (2008: 164-66). And while Kraemer earlier argued for female (1991: 227-28) and Jewish (1994b: 127-33) authorship, she now opts for a male and more likely Christian author (1998: 215-16; 2008: 156). The issue of difference still seems unsolved in her newest approach. Kraemer states,
The longer version does consistently demonstrate more discomfort about gender than the shorter version, particularly in places where the shorter version appears to make troubling claims about Aseneth … [and] many of the differences between the two versions are to be found at precisely such points, with the longer redaction consistently depicting Aseneth as a bit closer to ancient conventions about acceptable women. (1998: 212-13)
Another way to relate our fictional narrative to social reality is by comparison to other exemplars of the same genre. Pervo (1991), Lefkowitz (1991: 212-19), Kraemer (1998: 213-14; 2008: 164-66), and Standhartinger (1995: 231-37) have already noted similarities to the representation of the heroine in the Greek novels, and Ahearne-Kroll has updated this juxtaposition. For Ahearne-Kroll, Aseneth is not a model of religious experience of actual women, nor even of actual proselytes. Instead, like other Greek novels, Jos. Asen. ‘confirms the value of marriage between nobility and enlists female and male audiences to invest in this worthy cause’ (2010: 56). And whereas in the Greek novel the god Eros leads a noble man and a noble woman into marriage in order to preserve the social structure of the polis, in Jos. Asen. God the Most High ordains this path and thus contributes to the success of a civilization.
Loader studied the notion of sexuality in Jos. Asen. extensively. Unlike in Proverbs, sexuality is not the main characteristic of Aseneth as the ‘Strange Woman’ in Jos. Asen. (2009: 222-27; 2011: 300-34). He also agrees on differences between the shorter and the longer versions of the text. Loader demonstrates a playful affirmation of sexual attraction throughout the whole story; asceticism is not at stake. ‘The affirmation of Gentile women proselytes in the context of intermarriage is at the same time a strong affirmation of marriage and sexual relations in marriage, and something willed by God in the present and apparently also for the future’ (2011: 333). With all this, ‘the author subverts hardline opposition to intermarriage with ironic skill’ (2011: 334).
Kraemer’s thesis, ‘The ideal transformation narrative … may well be one that utilizes gender as a central component of difference’ (Kraemer 1998: 19; Lipsett 2011: 5, 124), is the starting point for Lipsett’s study on the role of desire and self-restraint in Hermas, Acts of Thecla, and Jos. Asen. In Jos. Asen. as in these other stories a virgin becomes the symbol of the necessary change (Lipsett 2011: 86-122). But especially here the narrative is characterized by minimal external action and by figurative and allusive language and imagery. When she encounters Joseph and the heavenly realm, Aseneth’s eyes, hands, breasts, and neck become emphasized (cf. Jos. Asen. 3; 16B; 18B, etc.). Lipsett explains this specific narrative technique with the help of Pseudo-Longinus’ treatise On the Sublime, which teaches orators to provide literary pleasure and sublime effect to listeners by rhetorical style and tropes.
Through its intense concentrations of figures of speech, its superfluity of details, its vivid image production, its proliferation of tropes, Joseph and Aseneth offers language that exceeds and transgresses the ordinary and expected, that violates restraint in order to transport not merely the central character but the reader into a transformed and elevated reality. (2011: 121)
But as much as desire is activated by erotic language, erotic consummation is renounced by highlighting restraint as the mode of transformation. I agree on the role of eroticism and on the role of restraint in our narrative, but one must also notice that extended descriptions of Aseneth’s beauty as a city of refuge in chapter 18 or the three kisses of Joseph in chapter 19 are almost completely absent in the shorter text tradition. So different texts might reveal different forms of erotic and ascetic pleasure.
Meanwhile, gender is becoming inclusive, and some studies on masculinity in Jos. Asen. can be added. There is some discussion on the attribute ‘virgin’ (παρθένος) for Joseph in Jos. Asen. 4.7B; 4.8Ph and 8.1B/Ph. Tinklenberg deVega argues that Joseph’s sexual self-control subverts a dominant view of manliness in contrast to the rhetoric of the masculinity of Pharaoh’s son in Jos. Asen. 24.7B/Ph (2006: 57-88). On the other hand, for Stenström ‘the story basically affirms the dominant discourse of masculinity’, because through his sexual self-control he becomes a husband and a father in an active political life (2008: 214). I am more convinced by the former position. In her intersectional analysis Kartzow observes that our text presents an Egyptian lady with ethnic Hebrew beauty (Jos. Asen. 1.5B/1.7Ph) but models Jacob in 22.7B on an Ethiopian (2012: 60-69, 67). Unfortunately this is only the reading of the Syriac version and one Latin manuscript, while the Armenian tradition gives ‘Indian’ and other traditions do not include this passage.
7. Major Topics in Interpretation
It is impossible to discuss all the issues of interpretation that have been raised so far. Instead I will add a few comments on some of the most discussed topics. Chesnutt (1997), and more intensely Stemm (1999: 54-103), studied Aseneth’s prayers in the longer version Jos. Asen. 11–12B. Chapter 12 specifically has also been studied by Dschulnigg (2010a [1989]) and certain aspects by Standhartinger (1995: 180-88). De Long (2009: 105-130) argues that praise of God is an integral element in the story of Aseneth’s conversion. Giere (2009: 232-35) scrutinized the use of Gen. 1.1-5 in Jos. Asen. 12.1-2B. Hermann (1991) compared the description of Aseneth’s new appearance in Jos. Asen. 18.9B to Sarah in the Genesis Apocryphon and classified it as an ‘altorientalisches Beschreibungslied’ (ancient Near Eastern descriptive song). Lange and Weigold (2011: 233) collected biblical quotations and allusions to the Hebrew Bible.
There is still controversy concerning the meaning of the so-called meal formulas. In Burchard’s version Aseneth shall eat and has eaten the ‘blessed bread of life’, will drink and has drunk a ‘blessed cup of immorality’, and will be, or was, anointed with the ‘blessed ointment of incorruption’ (8.5B, 15.5B, 16.16B). Additionally, a similar formula consisting only of bread and wine is mentioned in 8.9B, 19.5B, and 21.21B. One problem with this formula is that it doesn’t appear in all text versions in all places, and not in a stabilized form (Standhartinger 1995: 44-45 n. 210). Some take the formula as an allusion to a ritual meal of some sort (Sandt 2005: 236-42; cf. Burchard 1996b [1987] for more references to this position). In a Coptic version of Didache 10.8 there might also be reference to ointment in a eucharistic ritual (Sandt 2005), but others translate the term in question, stinoufi, as perfume (Kurek-Chomycz 2009). Dschulnigg interprets the meal, which ultimately consists of the eating of a honeycomb, as a Manna or Passover meal in the Jewish diaspora (2010b [1989]). Burchard and Chesnutt understand this formula as a metonymy of the entire life more Judaico (Burchard 1996b; Chesnutt 1989; 1995: 128-35). Chesnutt explains the enigmatic anointment with oil as reference to the necessary purity of liquids in the Dead Sea Scrolls and rabbinic texts (Chesnutt 2005b, cf. 2005a: 411-29; 2006).
Most enigmatic remains the scene from chapter 16 in which a mysterious honeycomb appears suddenly in Aseneth’s chamber and is shared by her and her heavenly visitor. Groups of bees arise from it, dressed in colorful robes and accompanied by a queen bee. Some will later die, others proceed to paradise. As already noted above, there are different versions of this episode in the manuscripts, so an original storyline is difficult to reconstruct. There is a consensus, however, that the action and language are in some way symbolic. But how? As noted above, Bohak studied the bees in detail. For him the scene reveals ‘how a group of Jewish priests would leave the Jerusalem temple one day and build a second temple, similar to the first, in Heliopolis’, for example the temple of Onias IV (1996b: 37). Kraemer reads the scene in light of Porphyry’s allegorical interpretation of Homer in the Cave of the Nymphs: ‘the bees symbolize souls, which die and are reborn and whose ultimate home is that of paradise. … These souls, like Aseneth and Joseph, are sexually chaste, righteous (theosebeis), and ultimately mortal’ (1998: 172). Other interpreters show most interest in the honey Aseneth eats. Many identify the honey or honeycomb with manna (cf. Exod. 16.31; Ps. 77.25; Burchard 1996b; Chesnutt 1989, et al.). But the exodus motif is not prominent elsewhere in our text (Hubbard 1997: 98). Therefore Hubbard proposes that honey might be a symbol of the food of a newborn baby and the chapter representative of Aseneth’s new birth in conversion (cf. Barnabas 6.8–7.2; Hubbard 1997; 2002: 54-75). Lieber understands the scene as a sacred meal between the heavenly and human beings and compares it to similar accounts such as Philo’s interpretation of Exod. 24.9-11 or the manna episode in some rabbinic interpretations: ‘The image of the sacred meal shared among angels symbolizes the transformative nature of the divine–human encounter’ (2004: 76). In feasting with the angel Aseneth is physically transformed (2004: 78). For Portier-Young the honeycomb imparts mercy to Aseneth. She denies any correlation between Metanoia and Wisdom. The key text to her interpretation is the nurturing mother eagle of Deut. 32.10-13. As Aseneth receives mercy from God she ‘becomes like this mother eagle; she is an agent of God’s nurturing activity’ (2005: 152). Just as Jerusalem in the prophets and Psalms is a πόλις καταφυγῆς (city of refuge), ‘she models both repentance and mercy for others to imitate’ (2005: 138). Yet, as Ahearne-Kroll shows, bees and honey are strongly connected to the heavenly realm in both Jewish and Hellenistic tradition (2005: 250-62). Aseneth eats divine food (i.e. a honeycomb) provided by divine agents of God and as result she is granted access to the divine realm. Most recently Kasyan (2010, 2013) has surveyed the various functions of bees and honey in the sacred myths of various cultures of the Mediterranean. She especially stresses parallels to the Ephesian cult of Artemis. Here ‘Essenes’ (bee kings) and ‘Melissai’ (bees) appear as a group of priests, and bees decorate Artemis’ iconography. While this identification might again be too specific, Kasyan’s appeal to the bees and hives as political imagery also used in the founding of colonies leads to an interesting observation: ‘the story about Joseph and Aseneth, directed to the Jewish diaspora, uses a well-known image to demonstrate how paganism can be transformed into the righteous monotheism of a different religious society’ (2013: 260 = 2010: 14).
Besides angelology (see above), meal formulas, and the enigmatic chapter 16, other features have found special interest. Clothing and reclothing has been studied by Kim (2004: 58-69). Jovanović (2013: 222-36) identifies the short scene in which Aseneth recognizes her shining appearance in a water basin as technical lecanomancy (18.7Ph), a notion that was downplayed by some additions in the longer version (18.9B). Last but not least, the formula ‘never repay evil with evil’ has been studied extensively. Zerbe (1993: 72-97) examines the tension between the killing of 2,051 Egyptians and the ‘non-retaliation formula’: ‘Do not repay evil with evil to your neighbor’ (23.9B/23.10Ph; 28.5B, 14b, and somewhat differently 28.4(Ph) and 16Ph; 29.3B/Ph). He is of the opinion that there is use of a sword as an instrument of divine vengeance, but the role of humans in exacting vengeance is limited. There is no difference between the notions of non-retaliation in Jos. Asen. and the New Testament. Zerbe also showed that the ethic of non-retaliation in Jos. Asen. is inspired primarily by biblical texts like Prov. 20.22/20.9LXX, 24.29 and Gen. 50.15-21. Bolyki (2003) accepts that the ethic in Jos. Asen. is reminiscent of Gen. 50.20. Zerbe underlines the political dimension of clementia in the text (1993: 93-97).
There are further studies on relevant topics for New Testament studies. Some argue that angles are venerated in Jos. Asen. 14–17 (Chester 1991: 54-55) alongside humans such as Aseneth herself, yet others dispute this (Stuckenbruck 1995: 168-70). Some interpret the spirit as an agent and real substance (Yates 2008: 53-54), but others argue against this notion (Rabens 2010: 54-67). Some have argued for a Philonic and Platonic background for the πόλις καταφυγῆς (city of refuge; Grimm 2007: 248-49; Schinkel 2007: 30-39). Gerber (2009) provides an overview of what else might be relevant from the perspective of New Testament theology.
8. History of Reception (Wirkungsgeschichte)
While some propose a Christian provenance, few ask how Aseneth has been read in Christian, Jewish, or Islamic contexts. Kraemer assumes correspondence with the Hypostasis of the Archons alias the Book of Norea (1988b; cf. Losekam 2010: 294-97) and the Acts of Thomas (Kraemer 1998: 255-63). However, the Exegesis of the Soul (NHC II.6), a (Gnostic) romance on the love between the savior Christ and the fallen Soul, seems to provide the most similarities to our novel (cf. Inowlocki 2002: 55-59, 127-31). The Exegesis of the Soul draws its motifs from the biblical prophets, especially the accounts of Israel as a prostitute, as well as from Homer’s story of Helena. Scopello (1985: 67-93) is of the opinion that the Exegesis of the Soul and Jos. Asen. share a basic storyline. In both narratives a woman, originally affiliated with God (cf. Jos. Asen. 1.5B/1.7Ph), is reconverted into her original virginity by her savior, Christ/Joseph. Both women had venerated foreign gods or, in the case of the Exegesis of the Soul, prostituted herself to them, and gone through a process of repentance. Likewise, Iwersen concludes that the Gnostic myth of the soul originated in the context of proselytism (2000: 77). While agreeing that Jos. Asen. is an important source for the Exegesis of the Soul, Kulawik (2006: 302-306) rightly calls into question that there is a notion of prostitution in our text. Furthermore, virginity is not used here as a metaphor for withdrawing from the world. Beside this nuanced criticism from Kulawik, however, one can suggest that some details in the text of Jos. Asen. might indeed point to mythological readings. Jos. Asen. 10.8(B)/10.10B mentions sackcloth, which Aseneth wore when her eldest (or in other manuscripts younger) brother died. Similarly the heavenly visitor tells Aseneth to clothe herself with her ‘ancient and first wedding robe’, and the longer version adds that it was stored in her room from the very beginning (ἀπ’ ἀρχῆς: 15.10B/15.10Ph). There is also an image of paradise evoked in the description of Aseneth’s garden in Jos. Asen. 2.10-12B/2.17-20Ph. Such narrative surplus could have been added by a reader of so-called Gnostic texts, or interpreters like Moses of Angel, who likewise interprets our story as an allegory of Christ’s marriage to the soul (Chronicle of Pseudo-Zacharias Rhetor I.4-6). Mussio (2011) has collected parallels of allegorical reading in ancient and Byzantine times and compared them with Jos. Asen.
Rabbinic interpretations list Aseneth as one of the most famous proselytes, but seem to prefer an alternative story that makes her a descendent of Dinah (Standhartinger 2009c: 227-28; Junior and Burfeind 2009: 963-64). Schneider (1998) traces Aseneth in other Jewish traditions and mediaeval Judaism’s kabbalistic works. Aseneth is the name of a famous Jewish sage in C17th Kurdistan who is well known for performing miracles (Standhartinger 2009c: 228; Schwarz: 1993: 148-49). As more and more Joseph stories preserved in Syriac, Armenian, Coptic, Ethiopic, and other languages become known in the West, more traditions about Aseneth re-appear. The Ethiopic History of Joseph, translated by Isaac, contains an episode in which Aseneth reacts to Joseph’s report of a dream announcing his death (Isaac 1990: 113-14). Because she appears all of the sudden at the end of the story, this narrative of Joseph’s death might originally have been an independent story reminiscent of similar scenes in the Life of Adam and Eve or in the Testament of Abraham. Contrary to the Genesis account, Pharaoh meets Aseneth here for the first time at Joseph’s death (Isaac 1990: 115). The first part of the Ethiopic History of Joseph (Isaac 1990: 3-110) is also known in a Syriac version; Aseneth does not appear in this text, but Potiphar’s wife confesses her sins in a letter to Joseph and is forgiven by him (The Syriac History of Joseph 25-27; Heal 2013: 106-107). From the C11th onwards Yusuf and Zuleika, as Potiphar’s wife is called here, are known as one of the most famous amorous couples in the Islamic tradition. In certain poems Zuleika removes her foreign gods and spends her life in repentance before she becomes Joseph’s wife after many years (Standhartinger 2009c: 229). The possibility that some of these stories influenced each other across religious borders at various points in their history of transmission cannot be excluded.
Many of our Greek manuscripts were written between the C11th and C15th. Byzantine interest in ancient romances was substantial. Until now only a few have asked how our text might have been affected by the spiritual need of the time (Jovanović 2011). Mussio (2011: 216-24) compares the commentary on Heliodorus’ Aethiopica by the Byzantine author Philip the Philosopher to Jos. Asen. Byzantines revised ancient novels through the use of metric form and embossed them with rich descriptions of people, places, and so forth. One could ask further whether detailed ekphrasis, like the detailed descriptions of Aseneth’s and Jacob’s beauty in 16.16B, 18.9B, or 22.7B, originated as such improvements.
At some points in history actual readers of our text are known. Nisse (2006) proposes a historical setting for the manuscript 431 (C13th) from the L1 text-family, written in 1290 in a Benedictine monastery of Christchurch, Canterbury (Corpus Christi College, 288), with the expulsion of the British Jews in the C13th. It might have been written as a tool to convert Jewish women to Christianity. Christian interpreters of the T. 12 Patr. claimed that this was a Jewish text that was suppressed by the Jews in order to obscure biblical prophecies about Joseph as a prototype of Christ. Likewise Aseneth seems to be a model for female Jewish converts to Christianity. With her repentance Aseneth proposes a kind of role model for those Jewish women in England who were forced into conversion. When they abandoned their Jewish families they lost all social ties. It is noteworthy that of nine manuscripts that belong to L1 eight are still in England or Wales and seven date to the C13th (cf. Biosca I Bas 2012: 63-76).
Another context of interpretation is the translation into Middle English of the poem ‘Storie of Asneth’ in the C15th century. Noble women commissioned this verse translation that narrates the spiritual life of a married saint (Hume 2013). The Middle English verse translation highlights Aseneth’s spiritual praxis, that she does not lose her status, agrees herself to the marriage, and decides that an anniversary of her marriage is to be celebrated with an annual public holiday. So Aseneth fits the role model of a noble woman of high standing in C15th England. Other interpreters of this poem highlight Aseneth’s independence, and also her pious obedience and some Marian imagery (Peck 1991: 10-16; Reid: 2009).
In 1670 Philipp von Zesen wrote his lengthy novel Assenat, and dedicated it to a German duchess. In this retelling, special interest lies in Joseph’s management of Egypt, the preparation and celebration of Aseneth’s wedding and the wedding her seven maidens, and the couple’s lengthy educational journey through Egypt with banquets and other such duties of a C17th duchess (Standhartinger 2009c: 230-33).
Burchard (1996g), Burchard and Burfeind (1998), and Standhartinger (2009b) have collected more evidence on the history of interpretation of our story. The manifold iconography from the C6th Genesis manuscript in Vienna, and Rembrandt’s Jacob’s Blessing of the Sons of Joseph are worth mentioning here (cf. Mentre 1989; Buettner 2011; Junior and Burfeind 2009: 965-66). Yet this might be the task of another article. The manifold evidence shows different contextual interpretations. Some of them, especially those before the C15th, might have added to or shortened the text to adapt it to their needs and interests. Some readings might have been inspired by visual iconography and by similar tradition that circulated in Jewish, Islamic, or Christian circles. The more we notice the plurality of texts and interpretations the more we will recover forgotten moments of cross-cultural dialogues throughout history.
Conclusion
Scholarship has increased tremendously over the last 25 years. Fortunately we now have access to a critical edition Burchard’s text. Moreover, an astonishing amount of work has been done on the Latin, Armenian, Slavonic, and other versions. Yet, the text-critical question has not yet been solved, but rather re-opened. While some are trying to improve Buchard’s VorlT, others doubt that there ever was an ‘original’ auctorial edition. An increasing number of scholars, especially those interested in the representation of gender in our text, read more than one text side by side in order to identify controversial representations of women and men, or questions of sexuality. For such comparisons a synoptic edition or at least an improvement of the reconstruction of the shorter text version would be helpful. Jos. Asen. can be read as a Jewish writing because its interpretations of biblical accounts prove consistent with contemporary Jewish literature, and it covers Jewish wisdom theology. Most scholars still see Jos. Asen. as a key text of Jewish religious and ethnic identity, but this notion has been developed. The Jewish identity the text presupposes not only deals with controversies on mixed marriages in the context of Jewish attraction to non-Jews or Jewish self-assertion in a diaspora context. It provides a universalistic ethic and seeks a high-standing culture that serves the non-Jewish world. Today, some scholars read Jos. Asen. as a roman à clef on the founding of the temple in Leontopolis or, more likely, the later history of Jews in Ptolemaic Egypt. But against such an interpretation is the lack of interest in Egyptian features and indeed any geographical, cultural, or historical details in the text. There is an increasing consensus that Jos. Asen. belongs to the genre of the ancient novel, and scholars of the Greek novel are more and more aware of its existence. The adaptation of this genre points to a type of literature maintaining and negotiating Greek identity in a multicultural, Roman-dominated world. Self-restraint that proves paidaia and status, alongside religious and cultural sensibilities, is the key to the heroine’s and hero’s success. So Jos. Asen. might be best understood as a Jewish tribute to Greek culture in the Hellenistic Roman world. The increasing awareness of Greek and Roman tradition, for instance in the manifold symbolism of bees and honey, might explain the most enigmatic element of our text in its various forms The increasing awareness of the multiform nature of Judaism in antiquity, especially those forms that are presented in the Dead Sea Scrolls, will help to contextualize the variety of angelomorphic imagery with figures like the heavenly anthropos, Aseneth, Levi, and Jacob in some texts. Last but not least, studies on actual readers of our text in their particular contexts will help to place multiform interpretations within real-life contexts.