A MARGINAL JEW

VOLUME FIVE
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THE ANCHOR YALE BIBLE REFERENCE LIBRARY

A MARGINAL JEW
RETHINKING THE HISTORICAL JESUS

VOLUME FIVE
PROBING THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE PARABLES

JOHN P. MEIER

Yale UNIVERSITY PRESS

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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
IN MEMORIAM

FRANCIS T. GIGNAC
DANIEL J. HARRINGTON
DAVID JOHNSON
JEROME MURPHY O’ CONNOR

Daniel 12:3
Contents

Acknowledgments
INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME FIVE. THE PARABLES: HOW DO THEY
FIT INTO THE QUEST FOR THE HISTORICAL JESUS?
I. The Overall Strategy of A Marginal Jew
II. The Special Problem of the Parables
III. Methodology: A Refresher Course on the Rules of the Road
Notes to the Introduction
CHAPTER 37. THE PARABLES OF JESUS: SEVEN UNFASHIONABLE
THESES
I. Introductory Observations on the Seven Theses
II. Seven Unfashionable Theses on the Parables
A. The Number of Narrative Parables in the Synoptic Gospels
B. OT Wisdom Not the Prime Analogue of the Narrative Parable
C. The Latter Prophets and Narrative Parables
D. Jesus the Teller of Parables in the Prophetic Tradition
E. False Blanket Descriptions of Jesus’ Parables
F. The Parables of Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas
G. Few Authentic Parables
NOTES TO CHAPTER 37
EXCURSUS ON CHAPTER 37. THE PROBLEM OF ALLEGORY
NOTES TO THE EXCURSUS
CHAPTER 38. PARABLES AND THE PROBLEM OF THE COPTIC GOSPEL
OF THOMAS
I. The Place of This Chapter in the Overall Argument
II. General Observations on the Gospel of Thomas in Relation to the Synoptics
III. Thomas’ Relation to the Synoptics: Test Cases
A. Parallels in Sayings That Are Not Parables
B. Parallels Taken from the Parable Tradition
IV. Conclusion
NOTES TO CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39. SEARCHING FOR LIKELY CANDIDATES: A SURVEY OF
THE SYNOPTIC PARABLES
I. Introduction by Way of Recapitulation
II. A Survey of the Synoptic Parables by Sources
A. Marcan Narrative Parables
B. Narrative Parables in Q
C. Narrative Parables in M
D. Narrative Parables in L
III. A Test Case from Luke: The Good Samaritan
A. General Observations on the Good Samaritan as an L Parable
B. The Good Samaritan in Detail
IV. A Sober Conclusion to Our Survey
NOTES TO CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40. THE FEW, THE HAPPY FEW
I. The Mustard Seed (Mark 4:30–32 || Matt 13:31–32 || Luke 13:18–19)
II. The Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (Mark 12:1–11 || Matt 21:33–43 || Luke
20:9–18)
III. The Great Supper (Matt 22:2–14 || Luke 14:16–24)
A. The Question of Sources and Redaction in the Versions of Matthew and
Luke
B. Is the Version of This Parable in the Gospel of Thomas Independent of the
Synoptics?
IV. The Talents/Pounds (Matt 25:14–30 || Luke 19:11–27)
A. The Question of Sources and Redaction in the Versions of Matthew and
Luke
B. The Meaning of the Parable of the Talents/Minas in the Ministry of Jesus
NOTES TO CHAPTER 40
CONCLUSION TO VOLUME FIVE. FROM UNFASHIONABLE THESES TO
CONTRARIAN CONCLUSIONS: FAREWELL TO A FIRM FOUNDATION
NOTES TO THE CONCLUSION
Appendix: An Introductory Bibliography on the Parables of Jesus
Map of Palestine in the Time of Jesus
Map of the Galilee of Jesus’ Ministry
Chart of the Family of Herod the Great
Chart of the Regnal Years of the Roman Principes (Emperors)
List of Abbreviations
Scripture and Other Ancient Writings Index
Author Index
Subject Index
Acknowledgments

As I have done in each of my previous volumes, I begin these acknowledgments

with sincere thanks to my surgeons, doctors, and other medical professionals who
have enabled me to continue working on this project despite various surgeries and
other health problems. Their competence and compassion are deeply appreciated.
With equal esteem I acknowledge my colleagues at the University of Notre Dame,
whose home departments range from the Department of History to the
Department of Economics, with many departments in between. I never cease to be
amazed by the number of experts in diverse secular fields who are deeply
interested in my work. For their enthusiastic support I express heartfelt thanks.
Above all, though, I must express my gratitude to my friends and colleagues in
the Department of Theology, who have shown unfailing patience as I have called
upon their expertise again and again. In particular, I am grateful to my colleagues
in the program of Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity, notably Professors Gary
Anderson, John C. Cavadini, Brian Daley, Mary Rose D’Angelo, John Fitzgerald,
Blake Leyerle, Candida Moss, Michael (Tzvi) Novick, Eugene C. Ulrich, James
C. VanderKam, and Abraham (Avi) Winitzer, as well as Gregory E. Sterling, now
Dean of the Yale Divinity School. I owe special recognition to Professor Robert
E. Sullivan, Associate Vice President at the University of Notre Dame, for his
advice both academic and practical. My present and former graduate assistants,
especially Michael Cover, Anthony Giambrone, Justin Buol, and Joshua Noble,
have aided and counseled me in countless ways. Thanks are due as well to the
hardworking staff of the Hesburgh Library at the University of Notre Dame,
particularly to Alan Krieger, who carefully oversees acquisitions for the Theology
Department. My thanks likewise go to the staff of the library at the Graduate
Theological Union in Berkeley, California, where I customarily “camp out” each
summer. During my stays at Berkeley, I am generously hosted by the priests of
the Congregation of Holy Cross at their Holy Cross Center. Over the years, the
Center’s director, the Rev. Harry Cronin, C.S.C., has become a steadfast friend as
well as an ever-dependable host. Grateful acknowledgment must also be given to
those who have supported my research in very practical, especially financial,
ways. These include Mr. William K. Warren, Jr., along with the William K.
Warren Family Foundation, whose chair in theology I hold at Notre Dame, as
well as Mr. and Mrs. Robert McQuie. Mr. Warren’s support, in particular, has
extended far beyond the financial realm. He has repeatedly gone out of his way to
express his personal support and encouragement of my work.
I also wish to extend my sincere thanks to the Anchor Yale Bible editorial
board, especially Dr. John J. Collins, the General Editor, who is both a great
scholar and a good friend. He made many valuable suggestions as the final form
of this volume took shape. In particular, he was the one who persuaded me to
make my treatment of the parables a separate volume, as opposed to my original
hope of finishing the series with one large Volume Five. For efficiency and speed
in shepherding the manuscript through production at Yale University Press I am
most grateful to Jennifer Banks and Heather Gold.
Grateful acknowledgment is also made to those journals and books in which
preliminary sketches of some positions laid out in this volume were first
presented in other formats. These include “The Parable of the Wicked Tenants of
the Vineyard: Is the Gospel of Thomas Independent of the Synoptics?,” Unity and
Diversity in the Gospels and Paul (Frank Matera Festschrift; ed. Christopher W.
Skinner and Kelly R. Iverson; Early Christianity and Its Literature 7; Atlanta:
SBL, 2012) 129–45; “The Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds (Matthew 13:24–
30): Is Thomas’s Version (Logion 57) Independent?,” JBL 131 (2012) 715–32;
and “Is Luke’s Version of the Parable of the Rich Fool Reflected in the Coptic
Gospel of Thomas?,” CBQ 74 (2012) 528–47. In the last stages of the
composition of this volume, I was invited to present some of my ideas on the
parables to a symposium in honor of Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Emeritus Benedict
XVI), held on October 24–26, 2013, at the Lateran University in Rome and in
Vatican City under the aegis of the Joseph Ratzinger–Benedict XVI Vatican
Foundation. My lecture was subsequently printed in the collected papers of the
symposium as “The Historical Figure of Jesus: The Historical Jesus and His
Historical Parables,” The Gospels: History and Christology (Joseph Ratzinger–
Benedict XVI Festschrift; 2 vols.; ed. Bernardo Estrada et al.; Rome: Libreria
Editrice Vaticana, 2013) 1. 237–60. Thanks are due especially to the three editors
of the two volumes, Bernardo Estrada, Ermenegildo Manicardi, and Armand Puig
i Tàrrech, as well as to my host and fellow guests at the Domus Sanctae Martae in
Vatican City, where I lived during the symposium.
As I finish these acknowledgments, perhaps I should also acknowledge—and
indeed explain to any reader new to this series—the special nature of this volume
on the parables. There are endless books on the parables of Jesus, most of which
offer, pericope by pericope, a detailed critical exegesis and/or a popular
explanation of each Synoptic parable in turn. With countless volumes of that type,
stretching from past greats like Adolf Jülicher, C. H. Dodd, and Joachim Jeremias
down to contemporary scholars like Arland Hultgren and Klyne Snodgrass, there
is no need or call to simply repeat their labors with minor variations.
The purpose of this volume is quite different. It pointedly does not offer an
exegesis of every single parable attributed to Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels.
Rather, as the title of this volume indicates, it seeks to probe the authenticity of
such parables. In other words, it asks the basic question that should be asked
repeatedly by any quest for the historical Jesus. Put simply, the question is this:
some ancient text tells us that Jesus of Nazareth said this or something like this
somewhere in the 20s or 30s of the 1st century A.D. But did he? The first four
volumes of A Marginal Jew subjected many different kinds of Gospel sayings to a
critical evaluation to see whether a judgment of “historical” (or “authentic,” that
is to say, coming from the historical Jesus) is more probable than not. The
complaint, charge, and burden of Volume Five is that, all too often, the parables
have been given a free pass. They have not been subjected to the same exacting
scrutiny and criteria of historicity because “we all know that” most if not all of
the Synoptic parables come from Jesus. It is that basic—and I would claim
groundless—presumption that is weighed and found wanting in this book. Hence
this volume seeks to identify those parables that do have a solid claim to
authenticity. Those parables alone will be explained in detail, since the exegesis
of parables judged inauthentic belongs to commentaries on the Gospels as they
stand, but not to the quest for the historical Jesus.
A MARGINAL JEW
VOLUME FIVE
INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME FIVE
THE PARABLES: HOW DO THEY FIT INTO
THE QUEST FOR THE HISTORICAL JESUS?

I. THE OVERALL STRATEGY OF A MARGINAL JEW

No doubt those faithful readers who have journeyed with me down the long and
dusty road of the quest for the historical Jesus have long since grasped the basic
strategy that governs the ordering of topics in these volumes. Put simply, my
strategy mimics the approach used in all sorts of contentious negotiations, from
labor contracts to Middle East peace plans: deal with easier issues first, treat
intractable problems later. Hence, A Marginal Jew grappled early on with those
large swaths of material that enjoyed broad attestation along with a wide variety
of literary forms and religious content. Such material yielded more readily to
testing by means of various criteria of historicity. From there we moved on from
volume to volume, gradually taking up more difficult, not to say recalcitrant,
topics.1
Thus, Volume One laid out the basic principles guiding the quest as well as
some initial observations about Jesus’ social, cultural, economic, and familial
background that would provide a general historical context for the quest. Volume
Two then took up three “big questions”: John the Baptist as the immediate
religious context and mentor for Jesus, Jesus’ eschatological message of the
present-yet-future kingdom of God (both reflecting but also transforming John’s
eschatology), and the “enacting” of the kingdom’s presence within Jesus’ ministry
by his “mighty deeds” or prophetic “signs” (what we call miracles). The
abundance of varied sayings and narratives from multiple sources permitted the
use of a range of criteria of historicity, producing a fairly reliable—though still
rough—sketch of the Nazarene. The Jesus who emerged from Volume Two was
basically an eschatological, miracle-working prophet who reflected the traditions
and hopes surrounding the prophet Elijah. This was not meant to be a complete or
even adequate portrait of Jesus, but simply a secure starting point, foundation, and
framework for further investigation.
Volume Three proceeded to pull the camera of historical criticism back from
this initial narrow focus on the core message and actions of Jesus. This was done
in order to take in a “wide-angle” shot of the major Jewish groups with whom
Jesus interacted or to whom he stood in sharp contrast. On the one side stood
Jesus’ various companions or followers: the crowds, the disciples, the inner circle
of the Twelve, and some individual members of the Twelve. The increasing
difficulty of the material was signaled by the fact that only vague generalizations
could be made about the faceless and unnumbered crowds, or even some
individuals within the circle of the Twelve. (Contrast, for instance, our nescience
about figures like Bartholomew with the fair amount of information we have
about Simon Peter.) On the other side of the divide stood a range of competitors
and contrast figures. Pharisees, Sadducees, and Samaritans are well-known names
to any reader of the Gospels and Acts. Yet defining exactly who these groups
were (to say nothing of the Essenes or the Herodians) proved a daunting task,
given the paucity and biases of 1st-century sources. By the second half of Volume
Three, firm conclusions were becoming scarcer and scarcer. Despite these
obstacles, our initial portrait of Jesus was gradually being enlarged and deepened
by fairly reliable insights into his interaction with both supporters and opponents.
The detailed investigation of Jesus’ competitors, especially in matters of the
interpretation and living out of the Mosaic Law, naturally led to the all-consuming
topic of Volume Four, Jesus and the Law.
It was at this point in our quest that words like “enigma” and “riddle” became
recurring leitmotifs worthy of a Wagner opera. The emergence of “enigma”
terminology was ominous in both the usual and the etymological meaning of that
word: it was a disturbing indicator that our historical quest was journeying into
much rougher terrain. The riddling sphinxes confronting us as we neared the end
of our road were four in number: Jesus’ attitude toward the Law, his use of
parables, the way he was described both by himself and by others (i.e., self-
designations and “titles”), and finally his last days in Jerusalem culminating in his
death. I purposely left these four enigmas to the final stages of the overall project
of reconstructing the historical Jesus for a simple methodological reason: only
after a reasonably secure framework of the words and deeds of Jesus had been
assembled in the first three volumes could the final enigmas, my own Enigma
Variations, be tackled.
At the very least, this approach guaranteed that each enigma would not be
interpreted in a vacuum or in a larger context that was suddenly produced like a
rabbit out of a magician’s hat.2 Rather, the portrait of Jesus as (i) an
eschatological, miracle-working prophet like Elijah, (ii) proclaiming and initiating
the regathering of the twelve tribes of Israel in the end time (hence the outreach to
the crowds, the call of disciples, and the formation of the Twelve), (iii) while at
the same time debating or contrasting with other Jewish movements at the turn of
the era, provided some context, direction, parameters, and limits to the
innumerable hypotheses that might be formulated to explain the four final
enigmas. The basic methodological problem that this approach sought to address
was, bluntly stated, the following: as with God, so with historical exegesis, all
things are possible; only a few things are probable; and only one thing is the most
probable of all. The grid that was slowly constructed over the length of the first
three volumes was meant to serve as a delimiting framework, enabling us to
negotiate the move from possibilities through probabilities to the most probable
position regarding each of our enigmas.
Accordingly, Volume Four took up the first of these enigmas, Jesus and the
Law. Far from being an easy way to enhance our understanding of Jesus, the
“quest for the historical Law” (i.e., for its exact extent, content, and interpretation
in early 1st-century Judaism) proved to be in some ways more problematic than
the quest for the historical Jesus itself. We found ourselves involved in the tricky
business of mutual illumination, with historical knowledge of Jesus and historical
knowledge of the Law shedding light on each other—though more than a few
shadows remained. For instance, large sections of Jesus’ pronouncements on
purity (e.g., Mark 7:1–23) had to be judged creations of the early church, while
other legal material was consigned to the limbo of non liquet (not clear either
way). Still, some of Jesus’ distinctive legal pronouncements (hălākôt) did win the
prized accolade of “authentic”: e.g., his prohibition of divorce and remarriage, his
prohibition of all oaths, and his yoking of Deuteronomy’s command to love God
(Deut 6:4–5) with Leviticus’ command to love one’s neighbor (Lev 19:18b) as the
first and second commandments of the Law. Beyond such individual insights,
Volume Four offered a major gain: the picture of Jesus as eschatological, miracle-
working prophet was expanded and enriched by the picture of Jesus assuming the
role of authoritative teacher of the Law, even when this meant at times annulling
individual provisions of the Law. Yet a certain tension arises out of this widening
of the lens. Yes, the traditions about Jesus’ interpretation of the Law shed further
light on the historical Jesus, but they also make his overall portrait more
enigmatic by making it more complex. How exactly does the picture of Jesus as
authoritative teacher of the Law cohere with the picture of Jesus as eschatological
prophet and miracle worker? Indeed, do all the pieces of the mosaic portraying
him fit together, or are we left with a jumble? We find here a pattern that will
follow us in our investigation of the remaining enigmas: certain questions are
answered, the portrait of Jesus is broadened, but not all puzzles are solved.
This, then, is one result of our wrestling with the first of the four enigmas: a
chastened sense of what is doable on the final legs of our journey. Increasingly we
sense that we are dealing with fragments of a much larger body of material that
has been lost to us. Viewed in isolation, the individual pieces that have survived
could mean anything or nothing. Only when we place them within the larger
framework already constructed is there any serious chance of understanding what
they might have meant within the historical context of Jesus’ ministry.

II. THE SPECIAL PROBLEM OF THE PARABLES

This humility-inducing grasp of the limitations of our quest is particularly
relevant as we move from Jesus’ pronouncements on the Law to our second
enigma, the riddle-speech of Jesus’ parables. At least with Jesus’ legal teachings,
the range of possible meanings had natural, built-in boundaries stemming from
the very content of the pronouncements. Whatever the precise wording and intent
of Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, the divorce sayings cannot be made to say, on
any sane historical reading of the texts, that Jesus urged people to divorce. The
plain legal content of the sayings, read in the context of Jewish debates about
divorce around the turn of the era, blocks any such flight of historical fancy.
Likewise, short of some ludic sleight of hand by a postmodernist critic, Jesus’
total prohibition of oaths cannot be forced into meaning its opposite, namely, that
Jesus recommended frequent use of oaths as a means of ensuring truthfulness in
social interaction. Similarly, the various forms of the command to love cannot be
contorted into advocating unlimited bloody revenge on our enemies.
I make these self-evident observations to highlight the fact that there is no such
straightforward, self-limiting content in many of Jesus’ parables. A quick perusal
of major books on the parables from the last half-century demonstrates that, if one
is determined to impose the mad mod mood of the moment on the parables of
Jesus (be the mood existentialist, structuralist, socioeconomic, postmodern,
Marxist, or Nietzschean), these parables can be made to mean almost anything (or
nothing). When it comes to interpreting the parables as part of the quest for the
historical Jesus, the need for an overarching interpretative framework of Jesus’
ministry, as reconstructed in our previous four volumes, appears both obvious and
pressing. Without such a framework, it is difficult if not impossible to guess what
Jesus might or might not have meant by a particular parable—especially when,
read in isolation, a given parable is open to an almost endless number of
interpretations. What parable research from the last century has taught us—or
should have taught us—is that, once a given parable is detached from both its
redactional context in a Gospel and its historical context in the ministry of Jesus,
a clever and imaginative interpreter can make it mean whatever he or she wants it
to mean. Especially in the case of the parables, the old adage holds true: text
without context is pretext.
 This, however, is not the only or even the greatest methodological problem we
face in dealing with the parables of Jesus. In the case of the parables, there is a
still more basic problem that is often not confronted, a problem that every other
saying of Jesus examined in the first four volumes of A Marginal Jew has had to
face: Does this unit of tradition, presented in the Gospels as coming from Jesus,
actually go back to the historical Jesus? Or is it a creation of the early bearers of
the tradition about Jesus in the first and second generations of the church as they
expounded on and by that very process expanded the sayings and deeds of Jesus?
Or, alternately, does this particular saying or deed of Jesus so reflect the style,
vocabulary, and theological interests of a given evangelist that it may simply be
his creation? In the earlier volumes of A Marginal Jew, I purposely focused on the
sayings and deeds of Jesus that, at least upon initial inspection, gave strong
indication that their authenticity could be supported by one or more of the criteria
of historicity. Sometimes my initial hunches proved correct, sometimes not. But
in areas such as John the Baptist, eschatology, miracles, discipleship, and certain
legal pronouncements, a good fund of material remained after all the critical
winnowing. One or another of the criteria often did apply.
Here is where Volume Five marks a great divide. Throughout this volume, I
will contend that such a positive outcome is often not to be had in the case of the
parables. In most instances, no criterion of historicity can argue convincingly for
the origin of a given parable in the mouth of the historical Jesus. Needless to say,
this does not automatically prove that this or that parable does not come from
Jesus. All that is being claimed is that there are no strong positive arguments in
favor of historicity, and a default presumption that most parables are authentic is a
methodological deus ex machina. Hence, in my opinion, many of the parables
attributed to Jesus should be assigned to the frustrating no-man’s-land of non
liquet. In a few cases, though, I will contend that there are positive arguments for
claiming that some parables are actually creations of the early church or the
evangelists. At the end of our inquiry, I will identify a number of parables that
receive convincing support from one or another criterion of historicity. However,
they will prove to be few and far between.
I realize this bald statement will cause no little consternation among readers
accustomed to the much more optimistic views about the parables’ authenticity
that are common in book-long commentaries on the parables, to say nothing of
individual essays.3 The heritage of great scholars like Adolf Jülicher, C. H. Dodd,
and Joachim Jeremias understandably lives on among many scholars and still
more among the educated laity. Any attempt to overthrow this widespread
acceptance of most of the parables as authentic owes both the academy and the
public at large a detailed defense of a position that may strike many readers as
outlandish, if not incredible. Some might even suspect a ploy not unknown
among academics today: a scholar will attempt to stand out in the crowd of
endless books on Jesus or the parables by adopting some outré or sensationalistic
position, one guaranteed to garner media attention and, not incidentally, sell
books. With such negative or suspicious reactions almost a certainty, I feel
obliged to offer my readers a thorough explanation of my position on parables, as
well as a lengthy step-by-step argument for the truth of my position. The chapters
that make up Volume Five seek to do just that. Since the train of thought weaving
through this volume can become quite intricate and complicated, it may help to
preview the contents of each chapter here.
Chapter 37 (the chapters of A Marginal Jew are numbered consecutively
throughout the entire series) guides the reader through seven basic propositions
about Jesus’ parables that will lay the foundation for all my subsequent claims
about parables’ authenticity or lack thereof. These are my “seven unfashionable
theses,” beginning with the least controversial assertion and ending with the
seventh and most contentious assertion.4 This seventh and final proposition
trumpets the polemical program of the whole volume: the vast majority of
Synoptic parables lack any positive argument for their authenticity because they
cannot satisfy even one criterion of historicity, especially the criterion of multiple
attestation of independent sources.
The knowledgeable reader will almost instantly raise a serious objection to this
position, an objection dealt with at length in Chapter 38. A number of parables
found in the Synoptics also appear in some form or other in the Coptic Gospel of
Thomas (hereafter CGT).5 Hence, some scholars claim, the criterion of multiple
attestation is satisfied for these parables. Obviously, it is essential to my argument
that I show it more likely than not that these parallels in CGT evince direct or
indirect knowledge of one or more of the Synoptic Gospels and so cannot qualify
as independent witnesses.6 Since this is a highly contested position, especially in
academic circles in North America, it is vital that I give a thorough and detailed
defense of my thesis on CGT, first enunciated as Thesis Six in Chapter 37.
Chapter 38 will thus serve as a full-bodied defense of Thesis Six by examining
individual test cases taken from both the nonparabolic and the parabolic sayings
of the Synoptic Jesus paralleled in CGT.
Once CGT is put aside, we are faced with the task of an initial inspection of all
the narrative parables in the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., Mark, Matthew, and Luke),
looking for possible candidates for the coveted title of “authentic.” But how to
organize such an inspection of the whole corpus of parables in the Synoptics?
Many books on parables group these parables according to the different
theological themes to which various parables supposedly give voice. Not
surprisingly, this approach is open to the charge of being hopelessly subjective,
and the vast variety of schemes used to categorize different groups of parables
bears out the charge. Any preliminary “branding” of the parables and “herding”
them into theological corrals can easily load the dice before detailed interpretation
begins.
Chapter 39 attempts a more even-handed approach, which involves grouping
the parables according to their sources. Put simply, Chapter 39 asks a basic
question. In which stratum or stream of the Synoptic tradition does this particular
parable first appear: Mark, Q (the source of the material common to Matthew and
Luke that is not found in Mark), special Matthean material (M), or special Lucan
material (L)? Or are we dealing with the rare case of a parable attested in two
independent Synoptic traditions (an “overlap”), such as Mark and Q or M and L?
As we go about this process of sorting according to sources, certain intriguing and
instructive patterns begin to emerge. One such pattern is especially striking: far
from either Mark or Q containing the greatest number of parables that are
witnessed for the first time in either of these two early sources, the number of
full-blown narrative parables increases as we move from Mark and Q to Matthew
and then on to Luke. The parables unique to Matthew are more numerous than
those first found in either Mark or Q, and Luke’s special tradition contains the
largest number of all.
If nothing else, this pattern warns us against the uncritical assumption that any
and every parable necessarily represents the earliest and historically most assured
stratum of the Jesus-tradition. Instead, each parable must be inspected to see
whether it offers any preliminary indication of being able to satisfy at least one of
the criteria of historicity. By the end of Chapter 39, it becomes clear that most of
the parables lack such an ability—the chief reason why this volume, focused on
the historical Jesus, does not offer detailed studies of each and every Synoptic
parable. That would be a waste of time for any quest for the historical Jesus, since
only a few contenders for the accolade of “going back to Jesus” survive the initial
winnowing. Still, the preliminary promise of authenticity that these few
remaining parables offer needs to be probed at greater length.
It is to such a thorough testing that Chapter 40 is dedicated. After a detailed
analysis, the parable of the Mustard Seed, the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, the
Great Supper (alias the Marriage Feast), and the Talents (alias the Pounds) all
yield positive reasons for judging that, in substance if not in precise wording, they
derive from the historical Jesus. To repeat: this is not to say that all the other
parables are creations of the early church or the evangelists, though some are.
Rather, the large majority of parables simply do not supply sufficient evidence for
making a firm judgment either way (hence, non liquet—somewhat similar to the
Scottish verdict of “not proven”). In my view, neither the demands of a particular
portrait of the historical Jesus nor the unacknowledged impulse of Christian piety
nor the consensus of scholars can nudge these orphans of the storm of historical
criticism over the bar and into the safe harbor of “authentic.” How we come to
terms with this overthrow of a common and venerable view of the parables, what
this means for our overall reconstruction of the historical Jesus, and how in
particular this may affect our treatment of the two remaining enigmas will be
taken up in the conclusion to Volume Five.

III. METHODOLOGY: A REFRESHER COURSE ON THE RULES OF THE

ROAD
The methodology governing A Marginal Jew was laid out at some length in Part
One of Volume One (pp. 1–201). It was then briefly summarized at the beginning
of Volume Two (pp. 4–6), Volume Three (pp. 9–12), and Volume Four (pp. 11–
17). By this time, stalwart readers of the entire series may have the methodology
memorized by heart. They should feel free to skip this section and proceed
immediately to Chapter 37.
However, over two decades of conversations and correspondence with readers
of A Marginal Jew have brought me to a real-world insight that some academics
may fail to appreciate. When it comes to multivolume works, not every reader
imitates the work habits of authors, editors, and reviewers. That is to say, not
every interested reader begins A Marginal Jew from the first page of the first
volume and proceeds to march through the now-five-volumes in regimented
order. Taking seriously that A Marginal Jew belongs to a “Reference Library”
series, many readers dip in and out of various volumes as their interests prompt
them. Recently, I was talking with a bright college student who mentioned that he
had just finished reading Volume Four, Law and Love—although he had not read
any of the other three volumes. Without a hint of irony, he then asked me which
volume he should read next. He seemed somewhat bemused when I suggested
that he follow the hermeneutics of Lewis Carroll: begin at the beginning, and
when you come to the end, stop—in other words, that he go back and start with
Volume One. (I wish I were making this anecdote up, but, alas, it is true.) I
walked away from that encounter wondering how many other readers of A
Marginal Jew have taken a similar approach. For such eclectic readers in
particular, it is imperative that I offer a quick refresher course on the method and
goals of the series. As a bonus, this quick résumé will allow me to reply briefly to
some recent critiques of or alternative approaches to the criteria of historicity
employed in this volume.
 To start with what is essential to the overall project: it is vital to distinguish
between the quest for the historical Jesus on the one hand and thēology (with its
subdivision of christology) on the other. To help inquiring undergraduates grasp
this idea, I invite them to think of the distinction in spatial terms. At a university,
the quest for the historical Jesus (if we are serious about that adjective
“historical”) is properly housed in the department of history. Accordingly, the
quest is obliged to follow the methods and criteria (i.e., rules or guidelines for
making intellectual judgments) appropriate to sober academic history. In contrast,
christology (i.e., faith seeking understanding of Jesus Christ) is properly housed
in the department of theology at the same university, since it uses the methods and
criteria appropriate to the academic discipline of theology.7 To apply this
distinction to our study of the parables: it is one thing to write a book-long
commentary on all the parables attributed to Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels,
focusing on the message of faith that early Christians and especially the
evangelists intended to communicate, as well as what these parables might say to
Christians today. It is quite another thing to try to decide with fair probability
which parables actually come from the historical Jesus. This volume of A
Marginal Jew pursues the latter alternative. As the informed reader no doubt can
guess, this means that this book will not be commenting on every Synoptic
parable in great detail, intent on finding both its original meaning and its
application to modern life. We already have a superabundance of volumes that
perform that task.
If instead I insist in this volume on erecting a high wall of separation between
the historical quest and christology, there is good warrant for doing so, given the
past history of parable research. In the study of Jesus’ parables, one sees an all-
too-frequent confusion between the role parables play in Christian faith and
theology on the one hand and the role that they play—or should play—in a
serious quest for the historical Jesus on the other. In no way am I denying the vast
importance of parables for Christian life and practice, stretching from technical
exegesis and hermeneutics to preaching, catechetics, morality, and spirituality.
The large number of tomes dedicated to explaining every Synoptic parable both
on the academic and on the popular level testify to the parables’ role as a constant
resource for Christian thought and action. My objection is not to this theological
study and use of the parables. My objection is to the unnoticed slippage whereby
theological appreciation of the parables’ importance for Christian faith and
practice morphs into a historical claim about the origin of the parables in the
ministry of the historical Jesus. The practical consequence of this slippage is that
all too often, even in serious academic works, the parables get a free pass. While
other sayings of Jesus may be subjected to rigorous scrutiny according to various
criteria, the parables get a welcoming wave of the hand from the academic
doorman ushering them into the exclusive club of authentic Jesus material.
In sum, then, this book focuses on the historical parables of the historical Jesus.
As I have stressed throughout this series, the “historical Jesus” is not coterminous
with the “real Jesus.” The latter Jesus would, at least in principle, involve
everything Jesus of Nazareth said, did, and experienced in the thirty-plus years of
his life in the first half of the 1st century A.D. A good deal of that total reality of
who Jesus was is lost to us and will never be recovered. In contrast, the historical
Jesus is an abstract construct created by modern scholars by applying historical-
critical methods to ancient sources. If scholars apply these methods to the
appropriate sources with professional expertise, careful logic, and personal
integrity, we have good reason to expect that their abstract construct will
approach and partially coincide with the 1st-century Jew called Jesus of Nazareth.
Granted the severe limitations of our sources, the match between a 21st-century
historical construct and the full 1st-century historical reality will never be perfect.
At best, it will be a more or less accurate approximation of some of the things
Jesus said and did during the last few years of his life. As the reader can see from
this statement of my goal, I have never accepted the total skepticism, radical
subjectivism, or perspectivalism associated with certain approaches to history that
are vaguely labeled “postmodern.”8 Not unlike the theoretical skepticism refuted
by Aristotle, such approaches are ultimately self-contradictory and self-defeating,
especially when academics try to apply them in the arena of serious historical
research. To be sure, I fully acknowledge both the limitations of our sources and
the constant danger of bias and self-projection on the part of the historian. But
these limitations and dangers are precisely what make careful historical-critical
exegesis plus the application of clearly enunciated criteria of historicity (as
opposed, say, to personal intuition or a “relevant” social or political agenda)
indispensable as a hedge against irresponsible or ideologically driven claims
about the historical Jesus.9
If this historical Jesus is not the “real Jesus” (the total reality of everything
Jesus ever said and did during his lifetime), neither is he the “theological Jesus,”
the object of systematic reflection based on Christian faith—in other words, the
object of christology. It was, in fact, to stress the necessity of prescinding from
(not denying) what a person claims to know by faith that I concocted at the
beginning of Volume One the fantasy of an “unpapal conclave,” that is, a group of
Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, and agnostic historians engaged in writing a
consensus document, based solely on historical sources and arguments.10
 To give one concrete example of what the composition of such a document
would involve: the unpapal conclave—or just about any quester for the historical
Jesus—could agree that Jesus “was crucified under Pontius Pilate and suffered
death.” Although these words happen to be those of the so-called Nicene-
Constantinopolitan Creed, drawn up around the time of the second ecumenical
council (Constantinople I, in A.D. 381),11 they are nevertheless, when taken in
isolation, a sober statement of historical fact. As was shown in Volume One, they
are supported or intimated by Josephus and Tacitus as well as by a number of
streams of NT traditions that are independent of one another. Thus, one does not
have to be a believer to affirm this short narrative of events.
What the unpapal conclave—or any historian operating simply as a historian—
could not affirm is a slightly longer form of the quotation from the same creed:
namely, that Jesus “for us human beings and for our salvation . . . was crucified
under Pontius Pilate for our sake, [and] suffered [death].”12 The “for us human
beings,” “for our salvation,” and “for our sake” are all expressions of Christian
faith and christology, affirming the saving effect of Jesus’ life and death. Unlike
the plain affirmation of Jesus’ crucifixion and death under Pontius Pilate, this
longer statement is not open in principle to empirical investigation and
verification by any and every honest observer, believer and nonbeliever alike.
(Nor, for that matter, is the affirmation of the saving effect of Jesus’ death open to
falsification by empirical means.) Hence this affirmation is not a statement that
falls under the purview of questers for the historical Jesus in their capacity as
historians—though some questers, if they are Christians, may believe on other
grounds that the statement is true.13
To move from definitions to sources: as Volume One showed, there are very
few sources for knowledge of the historical Jesus beyond the four canonical
Gospels. Paul and Josephus offer little more than tidbits. Claims that later
apocryphal Gospels and the Nag Hammadi material supply independent and
reliable historical information about Jesus are largely fantasy.14 One is hardly
surprised, though, that especially in the United States, the Nag Hammadi material
generated not only sensationalistic novels but also sensationalistic monographs
claiming to be scholarship. Happily, in recent years one senses a more sober
approach to many (though not all) of the Coptic texts as examples of Gnostic or
gnosticizing compositions that shed light not on the historical Jesus but on the
patristic period from the 2d to the 4th century. The downside of this more critical
evaluation is that, when it comes to the quest for the historical Jesus, historians
are remanded to the difficult task of sifting through the four Gospels for historical
tradition. And the task is difficult indeed, primarily because these documents are
all products of Christian churches in the second half of the 1st century A.D.
Written some forty to seventy years after Jesus’ death, they are shot through with
Christian faith in Jesus as the risen Lord of the church. Hence, only a careful
examination of the Gospel material in the light of the criteria of historicity or
authenticity (i.e., rules for judging what comes from the historical Jesus) can hope
to yield reliable results.15
(A) The Five Primary Criteria. In the quest for the historical Jesus, five criteria
have proven themselves especially useful and are therefore employed in this
volume:
(1) The criterion of embarrassment pinpoints Gospel material that would
hardly have been invented by the early church, since such material created
embarrassment or theological difficulties for the church even during the NT
period—a prime example being the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist at the
beginning of the public ministry.16 Or to take the stark example that stands fixed
at the end of the story of Jesus: the criterion of embarrassment argues forcefully
for the historicity of the public crucifixion of Jesus as a criminal by a Roman
official. Crucifixion was the most shameful and degrading form of execution in
the Roman world; it was largely reserved for slaves, bandits, rebels, or other
persons lacking Roman citizenship and judged a threat to public order.17 Worse
still, not only was Jesus crucified, he was crucified by the supreme Roman legal
authority in Judea, the prefect Pontius Pilate, with the cooperation of the supreme
religious authority, the Jewish high priest Joseph Caiaphas. There was nothing
illegal or improper about his “trial” and execution, if one judges them simply by
the rules and procedures (or lack thereof) in force at the time. (Indeed, for all we
know, Pilate and Caiaphas acted in good faith, regarding their preemptive strike
as a necessary discharge of their obligation to maintain public order.)
Accordingly, one senses from the earliest traditions enshrined in the NT a
constant struggle on the part of Christians to explain or explain away the
scandalous, off-putting fact of Jesus’ death by legally sanctioned crucifixion.
Besides being shocking and shameful, Jesus’ crucifixion was a political event that
could not help but make Christians suspect in the eyes of Roman citizens and
their rulers. The crucifixion likewise made the proclamation of Jesus as Messiah
extremely difficult to accept even for those Jews who were awaiting a messiah or
messiahs (and not all were).
Intriguingly, within the NT, the Christian response to the problem of the cross
exhibits no one normative way of interpreting Jesus’ death. Throughout the NT
period, many different strategies were employed to cope with the embarrassment.
Early traditions preserved in Peter’s sermons in the Acts of the Apostles (e.g.,
Acts 2:23–24; 3:13–15; 4:10; 5:30–31; cf. Paul’s sermon at Pisidian Antioch in
13:27–30) sharply distinguish between the crucifixion (an evil act of evil men that
was foreseen and permitted by God) and the resurrection (the true saving act of
God, reversing the evil act of the crucifixion). In these sermons, therefore, there is
nothing good or saving in the crucifixion, taken by itself. Quite early on, though,
this view was felt insufficient. The primitive pre-Pauline formulas of faith,
reaching back probably to the 30s of the 1st century, already interpret the
crucifixion as some sort of sacrifice for sins (e.g., 1 Cor 15:3–5; Rom 3:24–26;
Rom 4:25; later on, this approach is developed at great length in the Epistle to the
Hebrews). Paul himself stresses the paradox of God putting to shame a proud and
powerful world of sinners by means of the shameful death of a weak Jesus on the
cross (1 Cor 1:18–31). For Paul, it is only by accepting this shocking yet all-
powerful instrument of salvation that a sinner, renouncing any claim to personal
merit or power, can be justified by faith in Christ. In a less complicated mode, the
Q document evokes the theme of the rejected and martyred prophets of the OT:
Jesus, the eschatological prophet, is the last in the line of the martyred prophets as
salvation history draws to its consummation. In the substratum of the Passion
Narratives in the four Gospels, some scholars detect a primitive theology of the
crucified Jesus as the suffering righteous man, a figure frequently depicted in the
OT psalms of lamentation and extolled in Wis 2:10–3:9; 5:1–5. In some passages,
the theme of the suffering righteous man is developed in a more specific
direction, as the mysterious figure of the suffering servant of Yahweh in Isa
52:13–53:12 is evoked. In a culmination that is also a radical turnabout, the
Gospel of John faces the shame of the cross head-on with a strategy of irony,
paradox, and total reversal of meaning: to the eyes of faith, the cross is actually
Jesus’ exaltation and glorification, his condemnation of and triumph over the
world that foolishly thinks it is condemning and defeating him.
In all these varied, not to say at times contradictory, strategies of apologetics,
one can sense the early Christians scrambling to come up with explanations for
the unexpected and shocking climax of the story of Jesus. Whatever one’s
expectations of a Jewish messiah or a savior of the world, a Galilean Jew
crucified by a Roman prefect in Jerusalem did not fit the job description.18 The
struggle by Christian missionaries to construct an apologetic to convince or
sustain converts, a struggle that permeates a good part of the NT, argues
eloquently that the crucifixion of Jesus was the last thing the first Christians
would have invented if left to themselves. To put the point in crass commercial
terms that American capitalists might understand: these Christians were
competing fiercely in the “free-market economy” of ancient Greco-Roman
religions. Viewed purely on pragmatic grounds, trying to merchandise a tortured,
disgraced, and crucified Jew as the savior of the world would not have struck the
first Christian Jews or their prospective clients as a winning strategy or savvy
business plan. A crucified messiah was not the product that Christians would have
spontaneously manufactured, but it was the one they were stuck with and had to
sell. Embarrassment indeed.
(2) The criterion of discontinuity focuses on words or deeds of Jesus that
cannot be derived either from the Judaism(s) of Jesus’ time or from the early
church. One example treated in Volume Two is Jesus’ rejection of voluntary
fasting.19 To take an example that we will have to examine in detail in the next
volume of A Marginal Jew: one of the most puzzling phenomena in the NT is
Jesus’ use of the phrase “the Son of Man.” It occurs in all four Gospels as a self-
designation that both (i) serves as a substitute for the pronoun “I” and yet also (ii)
intimates some special function or mission of Jesus. This usage finds no exact
precedent in the Hebrew or Aramaic of the Jewish Scriptures or other Jewish
literature prior to the time of Jesus. What is stranger still, Jesus’ characteristic use
of “the Son of Man” is widespread in the four Gospels but practically disappears
from the rest of the NT writings as well as from the rest of NT christology.20 By
the time we reach the early Church Fathers of the 2d century, “the Son of Man”
has already begun to drift away from its Semitic moorings in the Gospels and to
move in the direction of a quasi-philosophical designation of the human nature of
Christ, with the correlative title “the Son of God” supplying the complementary
designation of his divine nature.21 While some scholars have claimed that the
rabbinic use of “the Son of Man” in later Jewish literature parallels (and
somehow, by a back-to-the-future time machine, supplies the “background” for)
Jesus’ use of the phrase, closer inspection of the relevant texts reveals that the
rabbinic usage is not really parallel to that of Jesus. Thus, even if we put aside the
further question of what the historical Jesus meant by this strange self-
designation, the discontinuity of his usage from Jewish ways of speaking before
and after him as well as from christological titles and thought in the rest of the NT
and the Church Fathers argues for the historicity of the use of “the Son of Man”
by Jesus to designate himself in a striking and unparalleled way. This basic
insight, of course, does not dispense us from the arduous task of trying to
distinguish the Son of Man sayings that originate with the historical Jesus from
those that, in imitation of his usage, were created by the bearers of the Gospel
tradition or the evangelists.
In fairness, I should note that some commentators object to the idea of “double
discontinuity” or “double dissimilarity” (i.e., discontinuity from both Judaism
before Jesus and Christianity after him).22 These critics hold that only
discontinuity from early Christianity need be required; discontinuity from
contemporary Judaism is asking too much of a truly Jewish Jesus. Some even
suggest that the idea of double discontinuity betrays anti-Jewish bias or a silent
attempt to smuggle Christian dogma into a historical quest. While I agree that we
should be very suspicious of a historical Jesus who is strikingly discontinuous
from the Judaism of his time and place, there are cases where the question of
discontinuity from Jewish views of the time legitimately—indeed, even
necessarily—arises as one sifts the Jesus tradition for a historical core. For
example, when it comes to Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, it is the early Christian
church that preserves the tradition of Jesus’ prohibition and tries to implement it,
though with obvious difficulties that lead to adaptation and expansion of the core
tradition. It is rather vis-à-vis most if not all of the Judaism of his time (depending
on how one interprets the Qumran material) that Jesus seems discontinuous in his
prohibition of divorce.23 Similar observations may be made about Jesus’
prohibition of voluntary fasting and his prohibition of all oaths.24 In both cases,
the discontinuity with the Palestinian Judaism of his day is stark. A criterion of
single discontinuity (i.e., a discontinuity only vis-à-vis early Christianity) that
works so poorly in these important cases is simply unreliable. Indeed—if one
should wish to push the theoretical point still further—one may ask how any
saying or deed of Jesus can enjoy total discontinuity from early Christianity, since
knowledge of that “discontinuous” saying or deed is communicated only via some
Christian source. If “double discontinuity” (from both Judaism before Jesus and
Christianity after him) is objectionable in theory, one might argue that it is more
objectionable from the Christian than from the Jewish side. As a matter of fact,
discontinuity from early Christianity can be affirmed only in the sense that some
teaching of Jesus has been preserved in a Christian source even as it is hedged in,
mitigated, explained away, or ignored in practice—as is the case with the
prohibitions listed earlier.25
(3) The criterion of multiple attestation focuses on sayings or deeds of Jesus
witnessed (i) in more than one independent literary source (e.g., Mark, Q, Paul, or
John)26 and/or (ii) in more than one literary form or genre (e.g., sayings of Jesus
about the cost of discipleship plus narratives about his peremptory call of various
disciples). One clear example lies at the heart of Volume Five: that Jesus taught in
parables is witnessed by every Synoptic source as well as by redactional
affirmations of every Synoptic evangelist. In addition, a few parables enjoy
multiple attestation of sources (e.g., the Mustard Seed, witnessed in both Mark
and Q). Or, to take up a case already examined under the criterion of
discontinuity, that Jesus used “the Son of Man” to refer to himself and his mission
is likewise witnessed in every Synoptic source (Mark, Q, M, and L) as well as by
intriguingly similar-yet-different Son of Man sayings in the Fourth Gospel.
Finally, that Jesus was put to death specifically on a cross (or, more poetically, on
“a tree”) is affirmed by Paul, by Deutero-Pauline authors (Colossians and
Ephesians), by 1 Peter, by all four evangelists (and in particular by the pre-
Marcan and pre-Johannine Passion Narratives, plus some of the kerygmatic
speeches in Acts), and by Josephus—and perhaps implicitly by Tacitus. This is
yet another example of how the results gained by applying one criterion can be
supported and reinforced by another criterion, in this case the criterion of
embarrassment, as we saw earlier.
(4) The criterion of coherence is brought into play only after a certain amount
of historical material has been isolated by other criteria. The criterion of
coherence holds that sayings and deeds of Jesus that fit in well with the
preliminary “database” established by the other criteria have a good chance of
being historical. To take an example to be studied in detail in a later volume: that
Jesus spoke about his impending violent death, either directly or in veiled fashion,
is supported first of all by multiple attestation of sources. But, in addition, such an
expectation of a violent death coheres well both with Jesus’ view of himself as the
eschatological prophet (hence standing at the culmination of the line of the
rejected and martyred prophets of Israel) and with the fate of his mentor, John the
Baptist, an apocalyptic prophet executed by Herod Antipas.
(5) Instead of simply judging individual sayings or deeds of Jesus, the criterion
of Jesus’ rejection and execution looks primarily at the larger pattern of Jesus’
ministry and asks what words and deeds fit in with and explain his trial and
crucifixion. A Jesus whose words and deeds did not threaten or alienate people,
especially powerful people, is not the historical Jesus. In a sense, then, the whole
portrait of Jesus that emerges from these five volumes of A Marginal Jew—just
like the portrait of Jesus that is sketched by any other quester—must be evaluated
in the light of this criterion. More specifically, though, certain individual sayings
and deeds take on weighty significance in light of Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion in
Jerusalem. Notable among them are the symbolic-prophetic action of Jesus’
“triumphal entry” into Jerusalem, his prediction of the destruction of the
Jerusalem temple, and his acting out of that prophecy in his “cleansing” of the
temple.
(B) Secondary (or Dubious) Criteria. In addition to these five primary criteria
of historicity, some critics hold that various secondary criteria may also be
invoked, but usually only as “backup” or confirmation for the primary criteria.
These secondary (some would say dubious) criteria include traces of the Aramaic
language in the sayings of Jesus and echoes of the early 1st-century Palestinian
environment in which Jesus lived. Still weaker as criteria (some would say
useless) are the vivid and concrete nature of a narrative and the supposed general
tendencies of the Synoptic tradition as it develops. As we shall see in this volume,
secondary criteria offer no significant help in detecting parables that come from
Jesus.
(C) Alternate Approaches. The debate over proper criteria and their relative
usefulness has had a long history and gives no indication of coming to rest any
time soon. With an air of exhaustion, certain critics find themselves increasingly
skeptical about criteria in general. While some of these skeptics prefer to “muddle
through” as best they can with their scholarly instinct,27 others appeal to modern
studies of phenomena like communal memory, the oral transmission of traditions
in particular ethnic groups, and the broad patterns preserved in such memories
and oral traditions.28 This skepticism about criteria seems to stem at least in part
from disappointment over not being able to achieve a certitude that in reality is
not to be had. That the use of criteria has not resulted in worldwide scholarly
agreement on the historical Jesus will surprise only those who are also surprised
by the fact that more than a century of minute study of the Synoptic Gospels has
not led all scholars to adopt a single solution to the Synoptic Problem (i.e., the
question of the literary relationship, or lack thereof, among the Synoptics).
Similarly, the fact that research into the various levels of tradition and redaction in
John’s Gospel has not led to universal agreement about the various stages of
tradition and redaction in the Fourth Gospel does not seem to have caused a
cessation of study and debate in that area. Perhaps, in the end, disappointment
over the criteria’s failure to resolve all doubts may arise from some scholars’
rather confused understanding of how criteria in general are defined or how a
given criterion in particular is supposed to function.
Still other critics call not for the total abandonment of criteria but rather for a
wholesale reformulation of major criteria. One of the most prominent champions
of a refashioned set of criteria is the distinguished quester Gerd Theissen, who,
along with various colleagues, has championed in various publications his
“criterion of plausibility.”29 Theissen’s new criterion displays the basic tendency
found in many other attempts to reformulate the traditional criteria. In effect, a
number of criteria are streamlined or consolidated into one or two criteria, while
other criteria may quietly and surreptitiously function when they are useful in
individual cases.30 In the case of Theissen, he readily admits that his criterion of
plausibility is actually made up of “four subcriteria”: (1) contextual plausibility,
which subdivides into contextual appropriateness and contextual distinctiveness;
and (2) plausibility of effects, which subdivides into source coherence and
resistance to tendencies of the tradition. Actually, as one works through his
lengthy application of his criterion of plausibility to a book-length quest for the
historical Jesus (The Historical Jesus. A Comprehensive Guide), one notices that
almost every one of the traditional criteria resurfaces at some point or other, either
tacitly or under an assumed name. Even the reviled criterion of discontinuity
(alias dissimilarity) makes a cautious reappearance under the rubrics of contextual
distinctiveness and resistance to tendencies of the tradition. Effectively, single
discontinuity (from the tradition of the early church) is allowed in some cases.
For Theissen, the one non-negotiable barrier to acceptance of double
discontinuity is his insistence that “what Jesus intended and said must be
compatible with the Judaism of the first half of the first century in Galilee.”31
This is a strange preemptive strike that does not jibe and cannot come to grips
with the startlingly disjunctive teaching of the historical Jesus on voluntary
fasting, divorce, and swearing oaths—all three of which Jesus forbade and all
three of which have been solidly established as authentic material in previous
volumes of A Marginal Jew. If Theissen’s a priori veto does not work when it
comes to vital material like these three prohibitions, then his veto—and his
objections to the criterion of double discontinuity—is null and void. In fact, even
apart from the particular case of Jesus, such an a priori rejection of the very
possibility of a Jew’s discontinuity with his or her immediate Jewish surroundings
hardly squares with surprising or disconcerting aspects of the lives and/or
teachings of significant Jewish figures like Philo, Maimonides, Shabbetai Tzvi,
Baruch Spinoza, Martin Buber, or Rebbe Menachem Schneerson. (Some might
want to include in this list Jewish atheists like Karl Marx and Sigmund Freud—
both of rabbinical lineage—who arguably rethought certain Jewish traditions in a
radically secular mode.) If history teaches us anything, it teaches us the folly of
decreeing beforehand what a highly talented Jew may or may not teach, may or
may not do. To be sure, such figures belong to their particular historical context
and reflect it. But they are quite capable of negating that context or of launching
intellectual breakthroughs not reducible to or derivable from contextual influence.
As Jürgen Becker puts its, Jesus’ relationship to the Judaism of his day must be
understood in terms of “the dialectic of continuity and innovation.”32
The ill-advised rejection of the criterion of discontinuity is only one of a
number of problems that Theissen’s criterion of plausibility must face: (1)
Actually, the problems begin with the label “plausibility.”33 Every good historical
novel, not to mention every skilled liar, aims at plausibility. Most of the major
reconstructions of the historical Jesus offered in the last half-century, however
mutually contradictory, might claim to be at least plausible, but one would
hesitate to award most of them the accolade of “highly probable.” (2) Then, too,
the great emphasis Theissen puts on Jesus’ words and deeds fitting into the
Jewish-Palestinian milieu of his day suffers from the same difficulty that plagues
secondary criteria like traces of Aramaic or reflections of a 1st-century
Palestinian environment. Most, if not all, of the bearers of the Jesus tradition in
the first Christian generation were Jews, with many hailing from or acquainted
with Palestine. Sayings and stories they created about Jesus would naturally
reflect the same linguistic, cultural, social, political, and economic background
that Jesus knew and embodied.34 (3) In the end, Theissen’s attempt to create a
unified criterion of plausibility winds up conflating and confusing a number of
criteria that are best distinguished in theory, though often applied together in
practice. Having aimed at clarification, he has created a muddle.
This brief review of some alternate approaches to criteria only leads me to a
reaffirmation of the criteria listed in Volume One of A Marginal Jew—all the
more since these criteria have proven themselves over the long distance of a
project spanning four (and now five) volumes. These criteria are by no means
perfect, and I would welcome suggestions that really improve them. As I stress in
Volume One, one must not expect from the criteria more than they can deliver.
Their application remains more art than science. At best, they supply various
degrees of probability, and they are much stronger in concert than when employed
in isolation. Then, too, there is always the question of which criteria are suited for
which units of Gospel tradition. That question cannot be decided a priori by the
exegete. He or she must first plow through the individual saying or story,
analyzing it with all the tools of source, tradition, and redaction criticism. Only by
engaging in such a process can the exegete begin to get a sense of which criteria
would fit a particular type of material and so prove useful in evaluating its
authenticity. That is why, throughout the first four volumes, I first undertook a
traditional exegesis of the pericope in question before I moved to an application
of the criteria. All too often critics seem to imagine that a favorite linguistic,
sociological, or psychological model can leapfrog over the annoying business of
detailed exegesis of a text and move immediately and magically to a discussion of
historicity. Alas, neither the pet models of the moment nor indeed the criteria
themselves can dispense us from getting our hands dirty with the soil and soot of
the individual text. Only after the digging has been done can the criteria shine a
spotlight on possible candidates for the coveted judgment of “authentic.”
Despite this salutary emphasis on the limitations of the criteria, I remain
convinced that criteria are important—yes, vital and indispensable—in the quest
for the historical Jesus. They are important in particular because, when applied
methodically to the data, they can force the quester to draw conclusions he or she
has not foreseen and perhaps does not want. To take an example from Volume
Five, the last thing I expected when I began writing A Marginal Jew many years
ago was that I would one day decide that most of the Synoptic parables cannot be
shown with fair probability to go back to the historical Jesus. Not only does such
a conclusion run up against the almost unanimous view of questers from the past
century, it also leaves the present quester bereft of an otherwise valuable source
for Jesus’ teaching. Yet it was by weighing the parables on the balance of the
criteria that I was finally forced to the unwelcome conclusion that most of the
parables lacked solid arguments for authenticity. Without the stern obligation of
following clear criteria, wherever they might lead, I would probably have wound
up parroting the consensus position on the parables, a position pleasing to all and
proven by none. To anyone who would completely reject the need for criteria of
historicity when questing for the historical Jesus, I would propose a simple
definition and then a simple question. The word “criteria” means “rules for
making a judgment.” If you have no rules for making a judgment about material
claiming to come from the historical Jesus, how do you reach any judgment about
him that is not hopelessly arbitrary?35
In sum, my own experience throughout the writing of these five volumes has
convinced me that, while methodology and criteria may be tiresome topics, they
are vital in keeping the critic from seeing in the data whatever he or she has
already decided to see. The rules of the road are never exciting, but they keep us
moving in the right direction. It is now time for us to move on to the first of our
three final enigmas, the parables of Jesus.

NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION

1. John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (AYBRL; 5 vols.; New Haven: Yale
University, 1991, 1994, 2001, 2009, 2015). In the present introduction, references to secondary literature are
kept to a minimum, since fuller references to relevant literature will be supplied in the notes of subsequent
chapters and especially in the appendix at the end of this volume.
2. One problem with many books and articles on the parables of Jesus involves their attempts to discover
the supposedly original meaning of a given parable within the ministry of the historical Jesus. The often
unaddressed difficulty with this project is that such “discovering” presupposes a previously achieved, overall
understanding of Jesus’ message and ministry that can serve as the interpretive framework for the parables—
an understanding, however, that is never established by the authors of these books prior to the act of
interpreting the parables. Rather, quite often some overall portrait of Jesus is quietly imported from the work
of a noted quester (e.g., Joachim Jeremias, Günther Bornkamm, or Ernst Käsemann) in order to supply the
parables with the larger context they need for discovering their “original” meaning. This is a recurring
problem, for instance, in the learned and richly documented tome of Klyne R. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent.
A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2008).
Snodgrass’s favored quester seems to be Jeremias (see, e.g., the Index of Authors on p. 817).
3. It is hopeless to attempt at this late date in biblical research anything like a complete bibliography on the
parables. Along with single-author volumes that provide full-length commentaries on the parables (listed in
the appendix), useful bibliographies can be found in Warren S. Kissinger, The Parables of Jesus. A History of
Interpretation and Bibliography (ATLA Bibliography Series 4; Metuchen, NJ/London: Scarecrow, 1979);
Craig A. Evans, Life of Jesus Research. An Annotated Bibliography (NTS 24; rev. ed.; Leiden/New
York/Cologne: Brill, 1996) 153–63; Ruben Zimmermann et al. (eds.), Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu
(Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007); Ruben Zimmermann with Gabi Kern (eds.), Hermeneutik der
Gleichnisse Jesu (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2008). An attempt at a sort of modern-day Summa (3,652
pages!) on the historical Jesus can be found in the Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (4 vols.; ed.
Tom Holmén and Stanley E. Porter; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011); for the parables, see the essay by Arland J.
Hultgren, “The Message of Jesus II: Parables,” 3. 2549–71.
4. The philosophically minded will no doubt notice the nod to Nietzsche’s work, Unfashionable
Observations (Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen, also translated as, e.g., Untimely Meditations or Thoughts out
of Season). Whether my observations or Nietzsche’s are more disturbing is left to the reader, especially the
dedicated Wagnerian, to decide.
5. I refer here simply to the “Coptic” Gospel of Thomas because unfortunately none of the narrative
parables of the Synoptics occurs in the Greek fragments of the Gospel of Thomas contained within the
collection of Oxyrhynchus papyri.
6. As we shall see, in a few cases we may be faced with a stalemate, in the sense that there is not enough
evidence to make a decision one way or the other about dependence on or independence from the Synoptics.
In such a case, the decision must be the galling non liquet. However, this does not weaken my basic point: no
parable in CGT with a Synoptic parallel can be shown positively to be independent of the Synoptics.
7. Provided that this distinction is acknowledged and observed in practice, I have no objection to
theologians taking over the results of the quest for the historical Jesus and incorporating them into the
development of a modern-day christology; see, e.g., Phillip J. Cunningham, A Believer’s Search for the Jesus
of History (New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1999). But one must always bear in mind that such works are
examples of a historically informed christology, not of the quest for the historical Jesus. A remarkable case of
the incorporation of the results of the quest into a synthesis of christology and spirituality for the general
reader is James Martin, Jesus. A Pilgrimage (New York: HarperOne, 2014).
8. It is not my intention here to reject any and every position labeled “postmodern,” but only the radical
expression of the movement that calls into question the value of careful reasoning from reliable data that can
lead to highly probable or even certain judgments about reality, past or present. Applied to historical research
in particular, such an approach calls into question the historian’s ability to know past events and the persons
involved in those events with any kind of certitude or high probability. Indeed, at times the Nietzschean
mantra is intoned: there are no facts, only interpretations. It is this Weltanschauung that I reject. This does not
mean that all approaches that are considered postmodern are inimical to serious historical research, including
historical criticism as applied to the Bible. For instance, one should certainly take into account the ways in
which ethnicity, class, and gender may influence both the ancient writer and the modern interpreter. For an
example of the ongoing debate on the relationship between various forms of postmodernism and biblical
studies, see the “JBL Forum” published in JBL 133 (2014) 421–58; the exchanges include Ronald Hendel,
“Mind the Gap: Modern and Postmodern in Biblical Studies” (pp. 422–43); Stephen D. Moore, “Watch the
Target: A Post-Postmodernist Response to Ronald Hendel” (pp. 444–50); and Peter Miscall, George Aichele,
and Richard Walsh, “Response to Ron Hendel” (pp. 451–58). One upshot of this exchange is the insight that
there is nothing more fluid and relative than the term “postmodern” itself. Hendel wishes to distinguish
between “strong postmodernism,” which he finds deeply flawed and untenable (not unlike the type of
postmodernism I reject) and “weak postmodernism” (similar to a chastened or enlightened modernism),
which he finds acceptable. One may ask, though, whether Hendel’s weak postmodernism really escapes the
objections that he levels at strong postmodernism. In a witty response, Moore points out the incredibly wide
range of meanings under which the term “postmodern” labors. He suggests that “theory-immersed works in
biblical studies . . . that explicitly bill themselves as ‘postmodern’ are a dying species . . . [because the
authors of such works perceive] that the term has outlived its usefulness. In literary and cultural studies . . .
postmodernism has been on its deathbed for quite some time.” Moore concludes his response to Hendel by
opining that “unreconstructed historical criticism . . . seems nowhere near the point of its exhaustion.”
Miscall, Aichele, and Walsh, in stark contrast to Hendel, offer a robust defense of a postmodernism that
revels in paradox; in local, small narratives (as opposed to any metanarrative); and in “an endless play of
intertextual signification.” Theirs is a postmodernism that proclaims that “no act of knowing, no truth, is ever
fully free of a charge of injustice” and that the “I” that knows and the truth that is known are both fictions. It
is this sort of postmodernism, which in my view is hopelessly involved in self-contradiction and intellectual
suicide, that I reject. For a broader critique of postmodernism in the academy, see Camille Paglia, “Junk
Bonds and Corporate Raiders: Academe in the Hour of the Wolf,” Sex, Art, and American Culture (New
York: Vintage Books [Random House], 1992) 170–248.
9. Not unlike the configuration of hard disks in computers, which allows of various levels of formatting,
the writing of history and biography, while always interpretive to some degree, allows of various levels of
interpretation. The very gathering of data and the passing of judgment as to their historicity involve a certain
“low level” of interpretation. Beyond that unavoidable low level, A Marginal Jew attempts as much as
possible to let any overarching interpretation of Jesus and his work emerge gradually and naturally out of the
convergence of the data judged historical. In particular, A Marginal Jew does not intend to impose on the data
any predetermined interpretive grid, be it political, economic, or sociological. Such grids can be useful at a
later stage of interpretation, but in the quest for the historical Jesus they neither generate data concerning
Jesus nor solve the problem of the data’s historicity. To be sure, A Marginal Jew works with presuppositions,
but they are the presuppositions that are commonplace in historiography.
10. A blind spot in the constitution of my mythical “unpapal conclave” at the beginning of Volume One (p.
1) was the omission of a Muslim scholar within the group of learned historians locked up in the basement of
the Harvard Divinity School library and not allowed to emerge until they hammered out a consensus
document on the historical Jesus. Like the other scholars, the Muslim would be obliged, for the sake of
academic dialogue, to adhere strictly to the historical-critical method and prescind from what he or she
affirmed by faith.
11. The “Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed” does not appear to have been officially adopted by
Constantinople I, but the creed’s general acceptance at a later date led to its being attributed post factum to
this council. In popular usage, it is often referred to simply as the “Nicene Creed,” though the actual creed
adopted by Nicea I (A.D. 325) is notably shorter.
12. The key phrases (including the words affirming the soteriological effect of Jesus’ death) are in Greek
ton di’hēmas tous anthrōpous kai dia tēn hēmeteran sōtērian katelthonta ek ṭn ourann . . . staurthenta te
hyper hēmōn epi Pontiou Pilatou kai pathonta (“who for us human beings and for our salvation came down
from heaven . . . and was crucified for our sake under Pontius Pilate and suffered”). A slightly expanded
version of this creed is used at Sunday Mass in Roman Catholic churches.
13. For debates on the relation of the historical Jesus to Christian faith and christology, see Scot McKnight,
“The Parable of the Goose and the Mirror: The Historical Jesus in the Theological Discipline,” Handbook for
the Study of the Historical Jesus, 2. 919–51; Sven-Olav Back, “Jesus of Nazareth and the Christ of Faith:
Approaches to the Question in Historical Jesus Research,” ibid., 2. 1021–54; Jean-Louis Souletie, “Vérité et
méthodes. La question christologique du Jésus historique après J. P. Meier,” RSR 97 (2009) 375–96; Jean-
Noël Aletti, “Quelles biographies de Jésus pour aujourd’hui? Difficultés et propositions,” ibid., 397–413;
William P. Loewe, “From the Humanity of Christ to the Historical Jesus,” TS 61 (2000) 314–31.
14. The general arguments supporting this position are given in A Marginal Jew, 1. 112–66. Chapter 38
will argue the point at much greater length for the special case of the Coptic Gospel of Thomas. On the
dangers of retrojecting the theological views of later apocryphal Gospels back into the 1st century A.D., see
John P. Meier, “On Retrojecting Later Questions from Later Texts: A Reply to Richard Bauckham,” CBQ 59
(1997) 511–27.
15. As is customary in discussions of the historical Jesus, words like “authentic” and “historical” are used
in a technical sense to express the judgment that some saying or deed preserved in the Gospels does in fact
go back to the historical Jesus. Gospel material that is judged not historical or not authentic in this technical
sense may nevertheless be an important witness to the history and faith of the early church and may serve as
an important source of “authentic” Christian teaching in a different, theological sense. This is especially
important to remember when dealing, for instance, with the Synoptic parables and the various titles and roles
that the NT applies to Jesus.
16. See A Marginal Jew, 2. 100–105.
17. On this point, see Martin Hengel, Crucifixion (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977). For a much more detailed
treatment of crucifixion, see John Granger Cook, Crucifixion in the Mediterranean World (WUNT 327;
Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2014); on the types of crimes that were punished by crucifixion during the
Roman period, see, e.g., pp. 158–61, 216–17.
18. The off-again/on-again attempts to find a slain (or even a crucified) messiah at Qumran are
documented and refuted by Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The One Who Is to Come (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge,
UK: Eerdmans, 2007) 103–4, 109–15.
19. On the prohibition of fasting, see A Marginal Jew, 2. 439–50.
20. The single exception—the use of “the Son of Man” by Stephen in his speech while on trial (Acts 7:56)
—is probably to be explained as part of Luke’s conscious pattern of paralleling key figures and events in his
Gospel and Acts, thus binding together the two volumes as well as the various stages of salvation history. As
Joseph A. Fitzmyer notes (The Acts of the Apostles [AYB 31; New York: Doubleday, 1998] 392–93), Acts
7:56 is filled with typically Lucan vocabulary; it is Luke who puts the title Son of Man, almost always found
on the lips of Jesus in the four Gospels, on the lips of Stephen in v 56. Indeed, throughout the depiction of
Stephen’s trial and execution, Luke uses terms reminiscent of Jesus’ trial and death.—One may note as an
aside that, in contrast to this single occurrence of “the Son of Man” referring to Jesus outside the four
Gospels, the most apocalyptic work in the NT, the Book of Revelation, does not use the fixed title “the Son
of Man” for Jesus; rather, the author of Revelation reaches back to Dan 7:13 for the looser description “one
like a son of man” (i.e., a heavenly figure in human form); see, e.g., Rev 1:13.
21. This usage is already adumbrated in Ignatius of Antioch, Eph. 20.1–2; it is clearly expressed in, e.g.,
Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses 3.17.1.
22. See, e.g., Dale C. Allison, Jr., “How to Marginalize the Traditional Criteria of Authenticity,” Handbook
for the Study of the Historical Jesus, 1. 3–30, esp. 4–5, where the comments radiate more heat than light; cf.
Tom Holmén, “Doubts about Double Dissimilarity. Restructuring the Main Criterion of Jesus-of-History
Research,” Authenticating the Words of Jesus (NTS 28,1; ed. Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans; Leiden:
Brill, 1999) 47–80; idem, Jesus and Jewish Covenant Thinking (Biblical Interpretation Series 55; Leiden:
Brill, 2001) 28–32.
23. On Jesus’ prohibition of divorce, see A Marginal Jew, 4. 74–181.
24. On Jesus’ prohibition of oaths, see A Marginal Jew, 4. 182–234.
25. I will return to this argument about double discontinuity when I take up alternate proposals for criteria
at the end of this introduction.
26. As indicated throughout the first four volumes of A Marginal Jew, I hold that John’s Gospel represents
a tradition similar to but independent of the Synoptics. The treatments of the Passion tradition by C. H. Dodd
(Historical Tradition in the Fourth Gospel [Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1963] 21–151) and at much
greater length by Raymond E. Brown (The Death of the Messiah [AYBRL; 2 vols.; New York: Doubleday,
1994]) offer, in my view, convincing arguments in favor of this position, especially in regard to the Passion
tradition. The view that John is basically independent of the Synoptics has been reexamined historically and
defended exegetically by D. Moody Smith in the revised and updated version of his John among the Gospels
(2d ed.; Columbia: University of South Carolina, 2001); see esp. pp. 195–241. More to the point, John’s
independence of the Synoptics has been examined and vindicated numerous times in the various volumes of
A Marginal Jew, both in the sayings material (e.g., the Baptist’s saying about baptism by water and by spirit
[vol. 2, pp. 32–39]; Jesus’ saying about saving or losing one’s life [vol. 3, pp. 56–64]) and in the narratives
(e.g., the healing of the royal official’s son/centurion’s servant, the walking on the water, and the feeding of
the five thousand [vol. 2, pp. 718–26, pp. 905–24, and pp. 950–67 respectively]). Hence it is hardly arbitrary
to presuppose John’s independence as we begin Volume Five. This is not to deny that there are respected
authors who maintain John’s dependence on one or more of the Synoptics; it is simply to state that I am not
convinced by their arguments.
27. An example of this approach can be found in the various studies of the historical Jesus penned by Geza
Vermes. Indeed, Vermes openly proclaims his disdain for “methodology” and his preference for muddling
through in The Religion of Jesus the Jew (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993) 7. A similar approach is discernible in
his earlier works on the same topic: Jesus the Jew (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1973) and Jesus and the World of
Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983). The problem is, though, that any scholarly investigation that is not
totally erratic operates by certain rules, whether or not they are acknowledged, labeled, and thought through.
The danger of not thinking through one’s method and criteria becomes evident almost immediately in
Vermes’s portrait of Jesus in The Religion of Jesus the Jew. (1) Vermes implicitly works with the criterion of
multiple attestation of sources but does not use the criterion properly. For example, to show that Jesus was
observant of the cultic law, Vermes (The Religion of Jesus the Jew, 18) states that “all three Synoptic Gospels
report that after curing a leper, he [Jesus] enjoined him to appear before a priest for examination”; Mark 1:44
is cited as evidence. Yet, in the judgment of most commentators, the Matthean and Lucan versions of the
story are simply their theological adaptations of the Marcan story. There is, then, only one independent
source attesting to the event. The Matthean and Lucan parallels certainly attest to what Matthew and Luke
thought about Jesus, but they supply no independent evidence as to the historicity of the event. (Even if one
preferred the view that Mark depended on Matthew, there would still be only one independent source.) (2)
Vermes also uses something like a combination of the criteria of embarrassment and discontinuity (ibid., 17).
However, when using such a criterion, one must be very careful in appealing to rabbinic material.
Unfortunately, Vermes is disconcertingly free and easy in using not only the Mishna (redacted ca. A.D. 200–
220) but also the Tosepta, the various midrashim and targums, and even the Jerusalem Talmud (redacted in
the first half of 5th century) and the Babylonian Talmud (redacted in the first half of the 6th century,
achieving its final form in the 8th century). The problem of using rabbinic material to understand Judaism(s)
in the early 1st century A.D., a problem highlighted by the works of Jacob Neusner in particular, is not taken
seriously (pp. 7–10). (3) A larger, underlying problem in all of Vermes’s previously mentioned works is that
using the NT, in particular the four Gospels, as the major source for constructing the historical Jesus
presupposes a wide and deep knowledge of NT scholarship as a whole. Unfortunately, still later books by
Vermes (The Changing Faces of Jesus [New York: Penguin Putnam, 2001]; Christian Beginnings from
Nazareth to Nicaea [New Haven/London: Yale University, 2012, 2013]), reveal some surprising gaps in
Vermes’s knowledge of the contents and theology of NT books outside the four Gospels.
28. See, e.g., Dale C. Allison, Jr., Constructing Jesus. Memory, Imagination, and History (Grand Rapids:
Baker Academic, 2010), who says of the criteria (p. 10): “. . . we have good reason to be cynical about them
all.” (Cf. his objections to criteria in his essay “How to Marginalize the Traditional Criteria of Authenticity,”
3–30.) Allison seeks a different route through contemporary cognitive studies of memory, yet one cannot
help but notice how criteria like multiple attestation and coherence sneak back into the project as the
argument is developed in later chapters. Allison claims that while giving up on trying to show the
authenticity of individual sayings or deeds of Jesus, a quester can still rely on repeating patterns that, taken
together, produce more than a faint image; cf. his “How to Marginalize the Traditional Criteria of
Authenticity,” 30. In effect, the criterion of multiple attestation of sources and forms becomes the pivotal
criterion in this project. However, the multiple attestation is now focused not on individual sayings or deeds
but rather on general themes or motifs. I find this whole approach problematic. If we remain skeptical about
every individual saying and deed of Jesus (allowing therefore that any and indeed all of them might be
inventions of the early church and/or the evangelists), it is difficult to see how a number of these highly
dubious sayings and deeds, when taken together, create a pattern, overarching theme, or persistent image that
is not also highly dubious. In reconstructing a historical Jesus, the whole is the sum of the parts selected for
analysis. If each item that makes up the whole is viewed with skepticism, the whole must be viewed in the
same way. Put bluntly: seeking broad outlines, recurring patterns, or overall pictures without making any
decisions about the probable historicity of the individual sayings or deeds that form these patterns strikes me
as a kind of exegetical sleight of hand or artful dodging that in the end goes nowhere. In the last analysis, if
one remains deeply skeptical about any and all criteria as well as about the authenticity of any given
individual saying or deed of Jesus, then logic demands that one should be equally skeptical about
constructing any probable portrait of the historical Jesus. The whole project should simply be abandoned. For
other various attempts to move beyond or dispense with traditional criteria, see Chris Keith and Anthony Le
Donne (eds.), Jesus, Criteria, and the Demise of Authenticity (New York: Clark, 2012).—For doubts about
analogies taken from ethnological studies of the oral transmission of traditions, as evidenced for instance in
the Homeric epics, medieval epics, and Serbo-Croatian traditions, see Jürgen Becker, “The Search for Jesus’
Special Profile,” Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, 1. 57–89, esp. 75–77. Becker points out
important differences in the origin and early development of the Jesus tradition: (1) At the beginning of the
tradition stands one individual whose message has precise content. (2) The tradition is formulated in
relatively “taciturn” and brief expressions; it lacks an “epic breadth.” (3) The tradition is addressed to “a
milieu of small social forms.” (4) Those handing down the tradition do not form a very large group and are in
contact with one another. (5) The oral tradition is handed down for only two (or at most three) generations
before a number of large and significant written forms of the tradition are composed. (6) Both the bearers of
the tradition and the communities receiving it “regard the person at the origin of the tradition as an authority
whose normative significance is certain”; hence the tradition stemming from him orients the life of the group.
Becker concludes that these differences from Homeric, medieval, and Serbo-Croatian epics make analogies
from such oral epic traditions unhelpful when dealing with the Synoptic traditions about Jesus. I will return
to the question of these analogies when the topic of the relation of the Synoptic tradition to the Coptic Gospel
of Thomas is treated.
29. See, e.g., Gerd Theissen and Dagmar Winter, The Quest for the Plausible Jesus. The Question of
Criteria (Louisville/London: Westminster/John Knox, 2002); the original German text is entitled Die
Kriterienfrage in der Jesusforschung (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus 34; Freiburg:
Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997). The translator, M. Eugene Boring, notes (p.
xix) that the English translation incorporates “the authors’ expansions and modifications to the original
[German] text, making this English translation the definitive edition of this work.” A digest of the entire book
can be found in Gerd Theissen, “Historical Scepticism and the Criteria of Jesus Research: My Attempt to
Leap over Lessing’s Ugly Wide Ditch,” Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, 1. 549–87. A brief
summary of the criterion of plausibility is given in Gerd Theissen and Annette Merz, The Historical Jesus. A
Comprehensive Guide (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 115–21. For alternative examples of retooling (usually
by reducing and consolidating) the traditional criteria, see, e.g., Ernst Baasland, “Fourth Quest? What Did
Jesus Really Want?,” Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus, 1. 31–56.
30. I would invite the interested reader to work through the Theissen-Merz book (The Historical Jesus) as
I have and note the number of times that the traditional criteria are presupposed but not explicitly cited as the
authors reach a judgment that a particular saying or group of sayings is authentic. It is not without reason that
Allison (“How to Marginalize the Traditional Criteria of Authenticity,” 7), who champions a
“marginalization” of the traditional criteria in favor of new ways of thinking about the quest, complains that
“in the end Theissen and Winter [in their book The Quest for the Plausible Jesus] seem to offer but a revised
version of criteria already known.” On this point, at least, Allison is correct.
31. Theissen-Winter, The Quest for the Plausible Jesus, 211.
32. Becker, “The Search for Jesus’ Special Profile,” 85.
33. For Becker’s reasons for being reluctant to use the term “plausibility,” see “The Search for Jesus’
Special Profile,” 85–88.
34. See A Marginal Jew, 1. 178–79. In addition, Theissen’s talk about what is or is not in keeping with the
tendencies of the tradition must come to grips with E. P. Sanders’s observations on how the tendencies of the
developing Synoptic tradition are hardly consistent (cf. A Marginal Jew, 1. 182).
35. Cf. Becker’s dictum in “The Search for Jesus’ Special Profile,” 81: “One who dispenses with criteria is
inevitably even harder pressed to justify the positions he takes.” The last part of Becker’s article (pp. 81–89)
is a guarded acceptance and defense of a number of the traditional criteria.
CHAPTER 37
THE PARABLES OF JESUS: SEVEN
UNFASHIONABLE THESES

I. INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS ON THE SEVEN THESES

I have bundled the four final enigmas—Jesus and the Law, Jesus’ parables, the
designations of Jesus, and Jesus’ death—at the end of my quest for good reason.
Each of these Enigma Variations poses problems both numerous and enormous. It
is no wonder that each topic has generated an almost limitless flood of learned
monographs and popular works. The bibliographies in Volume Four, on Jesus and
the Law, provide abundant evidence for this claim. The parables, however,
probably enjoy the patriarchal status of first among equals when it comes to an
unending stream of publications.1 No other part of Jesus’ teaching sticks in the
Christian psyche quite as tenaciously as do his parables. Sunday school and
catechism class, the reading of Gospel parables at worship accompanied by
homilies on them—all serve to introduce the Christian mind and imagination to
this special vehicle of Jesus’ teaching at an early and impressionable age. The
regular reoccurrence of Jesus’ parables in the lectionary cycle of many churches,
references in popular culture (“Good Samaritan,” “Prodigal Son”), and the grip
that a great short story holds on a person’s memory all reinforce the importance of
the parables for the remainder of a Christian’s life.2
In addition to the pervasive influence of church, home, and general culture
(both Christian and non-Christian), academics are attracted to the parables for
various reasons. Many of the scholars involved in the quest for the historical
Jesus have been prominent as well in parable research, since they are convinced
that the parables supply the most reliable traditions about and the easiest access to
the message of Jesus. This belief that the parables represent some of the most
trustworthy nuggets of material from the historical Jesus binds together scholars
of such divergent theological views as Adolf Jülicher, C. H. Dodd, Joachim
Jeremias, and Klyne Snodgrass on the one hand and Robert Funk, John Dominic
Crossan, and Bernard Brandon Scott on the other. Yet even among academics
devoted to the quest, the parables yield remarkably different portraits of Jesus.
For example, a Dodd or a Jeremias may find in the parables a way to present a
Jesus who is critically assessed and surprisingly fresh but still stands in basic
continuity with traditional Christian doctrine. In contrast, for scholars like Funk,
the parables give access to an iconoclastic Jesus who shatters traditional Christian
faith and even traditional theism. It is in order to define my own approach in this
contentious arena of parable research that I begin this volume by enunciating
seven propositions or theses about the nature of Jesus’ parables—theses that
become increasingly controversial as we move from the first to the seventh.
As immediate preparation for these seven theses, let me briefly resume and
develop a key point I touched upon in the introduction to this volume. It is no
surprise that almost every area of Jesus research is plagued (or enlivened,
depending on one’s point of view) by diametrically opposed judgments on the
meaning of the individual words and deeds of the Nazarene, as well as of his
ministry as a whole. So little evidence is available, but so much is at stake. Yet,
even amid this diversity, the vast range of Jesus-portraits that arise from the study
of the parables is especially striking. One reason for this wide spectrum of
interpretations lies in the very nature of Jesus’ parable-speech, as distinct, for
example, from his teaching on legal matters. As we saw in Volume Four of A
Marginal Jew, Jesus’ prohibition of divorce or oath-taking is a clear,
straightforward pronouncement expressed in unambiguous language and located
within the context of Jewish legal debates of the time. Modern scholars may argue
about whether a particular legal teaching goes back to the historical Jesus. If they
judge that it does, these scholars may then opine on whether this teaching has any
binding force on Christian moral theology or on one’s personal life today. But for
historians who do not propound far-fetched interpretations simply to display their
cleverness, the “wiggle room” for interpreting Jesus’ halakic pronouncements on
divorce or oaths is relatively narrow. Legal directives, of their very nature, aim at
being clear-cut and precise, since they seek to elicit assent and compliance from a
whole group.
The parables of Jesus constitute an essentially different type of speech.
Parables create a story world that listeners are invited to enter, experience, and
even struggle with as they are confronted with challenges about how they should
see and react to God and the world. This story world, which “sucks one in,” is
conjured up by imaginative and forceful metaphors, similes, and other figures of
speech. Such allusive, “indirect” speech is meant, in the famous phrase of Dodd,
to “tease” the mind “into active thought.”3 In other words, the parables often
(though not always) have a riddle-like quality that calls upon the hearer to ponder
a puzzle, confront a surprise twist, or formulate a resolution that the parable’s
story requires but does not supply.
 Herein lies a basic difference between Jesus’ ḥălākâ and his parables. The
challenge posed to the person listening to Jesus’ halakic teaching is: Will you
assent to and act upon these concrete commands or prohibitions? Will you, for
example, obey Jesus by avoiding divorce or oath-taking in your life? The
challenge posed to the person listening to Jesus’ parables is rather: Why is Jesus
telling this parable and what does he intend by it? Does this parable speak of
human life in general or specifically of Jesus and his disciples? What, if any,
demand is Jesus making on me by telling me this parable? What different ways of
thinking, acting, or seeing reality does this parable challenge me to adopt? Or is
this parable a commentary on and a warning about Jesus’ opponents? In short, the
suggestive, metaphorical world of parables functions differently and calls forth a
different kind of response than does the clear, crisp world of halakic teaching. The
parables’ openness to multiple meanings for multiple audiences is thus a reality to
be dealt with first of all on the level of the historical Jesus, long before modern
hermeneutics gets its slippery hands on the material. Such openness is simply
endemic to this type of speech.
But this range of interpretative possibilities expands exponentially once we
decide to drop any concern about the historical Jesus or the original Sitz im Leben
of his parables in favor of one or another modern hermeneutical approach. Once
the parables are detached from the framework of an unusual 1st-century Jew
named Jesus, they become capable of bearing almost any meaning that an
ingenious interpreter manages to read into them. For those who exalt the text as
the locus of meaning, the parables are treated as autonomous pieces of literary art,
pulsating with the explosive power of the many meanings inherent in the text. For
those who emphasize the reader as the creator of meaning, the parables may be
employed as mirrors into which an interpreter can gaze à la Narcissus to ponder
his or her existence in the world. Indeed, such mirrors can be custom-designed
with a built-in existentialist, psychological, socioeconomic, or theological optic.
Hence, no matter the precise approach that modern critics adopt, the parables
become, in effect if not in theory, empty and moldable vessels into which
interpreters can pour whatever meaning or negation of meaning they consider
productive of new insights.4 Speaking personally, every time I open the latest
parable book hot off the press, I sense how weighed down the new author feels by
all the previous volumes that have already squeezed every conceivable message
out of these short stories. One sympathizes with the latest entrant into the lists as
he or she strains, against the dictum of Ecclesiastes, to say something new under
the sun about these more-than-twice-told tales.
Whatever the worth of such valiant attempts, they are not the goal of the
present work. Within the strictly historical project of A Marginal Jew, the intricate
web of structuralist analysis woven in an ahistorical vacuum or the clever word
games of postmodernism are of no interest. Our quest concerns what the historical
Jesus intended when he decided to use parables in general and to speak this or
that parable in particular. This historical purpose is one reason why I have kept
the consideration of parables until late in my overall project. Without a firm
historical framework arising out of the mission of a peculiar 1st-century Jewish
prophet, these parables are open to as many different interpretations as there are
imaginative critics. In contrast, once we locate and anchor the parables within the
portrait of the historical Jesus that has slowly emerged throughout our first four
volumes, the possible range of a given parable’s meaning is considerably reduced
—though a range still exists.
Hence, granted the contours of the historical Jesus that have gradually taken
shape over our quest, his parables obviously do not function like Zen koans or the
endlessly mutating word games with which professors bemuse and amuse their
otherwise bored students. Whatever else they are, the parables of the historical
Jesus are comparative short stories used by this Elijah-like eschatological prophet
as he seeks to regather a scattered Israel in preparation for the coming kingdom of
God. Like the OT prophets from Nathan to Ezekiel, Jesus employs memorable
stories to draw his fellow Israelites into his worldview, bring them up short, and
force them to reconsider their lives and values in the face of some crisis. For all
their puzzling nature, Jesus’ parables are therefore useful to him only insofar as
they convey in a uniquely powerful way his prophetic proclamation to Israel. As
such, they possess and communicate content and intentionality, aimed at a
specific people at a pivotal moment in their history. In fact, as symbolic “word-
events,” the parables cohere with Jesus’ symbolic healings and exorcisms as well
as with his symbolic “street theater,” such as his “triumphal entry” into Jerusalem
and his “cleansing” of the temple. All these words and deeds coalesce to confront
Israel with the definitive challenge of a Jew who sees himself as the
eschatological prophet sent to the chosen people in the last hour of their present
history. For all their playful aspects, Jesus’ parables are not idle games but
specialized tools for teaching. For all their comic or ironic undertones, they are
deadly serious in their intent.
In sum, Jesus’ overall mission and message provide his parables with their
basic frame of reference. Contained and constrained by his core eschatological
purpose, Jesus’ parables do not mean anything or everything or nothing. Jesus
does not go to the trouble of formulating and telling parables to his disciples and
to the crowds simply to dazzle them with his verbal dexterity and then let them
make of the parables whatever they will. Rather, the parables are one way in
which Jesus engagingly conveys and forcefully inculcates the message that he
also proclaims in nonparabolic speech. This is not to say that Jesus’ parables are
simply rhetorical decorations adorning a message that could just as easily be
taught without them. The parables communicate Jesus’ message and challenge by
involving the listener in a manner and with an impact that has no neat verbal
substitute. While certainly communicating Jesus’ prophetic message, the parables
have at the same time a teasing indeterminacy, an openness to more than one
meaning or application that makes them especially suited to draw people (learned
and unlearned alike) into dialogue, challenging their presuppositions and opening
up new horizons that the audience must ponder without the comfort of pat
answers supplied by the teacher.
Thus, the fact that Jesus’ parables are not susceptible of any and every meaning
imaginable does not signify that they may not conjure up a range of possible
meanings instead of one fixed moral or a single point of comparison. Indeed, this
flexibility may have been one reason why Jesus found parables especially useful
in his itinerant ministry. The parables were easily repeatable in and adaptable to
new situations and new audiences, who would be hearing the basic melodies of
the parables in different keys and with different timbres and dynamics.5 In
seeking to understand Jesus’ parables, one must hold on to both ends of a
paradox: Jesus’ parables were indeed riddle-speech, but riddles within a larger
framework of meaning, not riddles proclaiming the nihilism of no definite
meaning.
With these introductory observations behind us, let us now delve into the nature
and problem of Jesus’ parables in greater detail. Since I differ markedly from the
opinions found in many present-day parable books, I will lay out my basic
positions on the parables in terms of seven unfashionable theses. That is to say, I
will hammer out my own stand on Jesus’ parables in dialectical fashion, pointing
out in each thesis where I differ from views commonly held by parable scholars.

II. SEVEN UNFASHIONABLE THESES ON THE PARABLES

A. THE NUMBER OF NARRATIVE PARABLES IN THE SYNOPTIC
GOSPELS
Thesis One: The fact that scholars widely and wildly disagree on how many
parables of Jesus there are in the Synoptic Gospels reveals a still more
embarrassing fact: scholars in general do not agree on what constitutes a parable
of Jesus. In other words, there seems to be no consensus on what the precise
definition of a Synoptic parable is. Arland J. Hultgren notes that Adolf Jülicher
discusses 53 parables, C. H. Dodd 32, Joachim Jeremias 41, Bernard Brandon
Scott 29 (plus one found only in the Coptic Gospel of Thomas [hereafter CGT]),
Jan Lambrecht 42, and R. Alan Culpepper 49.6 Klyne Snodgrass finds an even
broader range, observing that the number proposed by various authors extends
from 37 (John Dominic Crossan) to 65 (T. W. Manson).7 Snodgrass himself treats
33 parables (counting Matthew and Luke’s versions of the Talents/Pounds and the
Great Supper separately). Actually, Snodgrass counts 38 in all, including both
narrative parables and similitudes. The compendium volume edited by Ruben
Zimmermann treats 104 Gleichnisse of Jesus, obviously taking the German term
Gleichnis in a very broad sense, while at the same time extending the database to
include John’s Gospel, CGT, and the Agrapha.8 Thus, the lines of demarcation
between parable, similitude, simile, and metaphor are blurry at best. Granted,
there will always be debates among form critics about proper definitions and
categories, but the parables of Jesus tower above other form-critical disputes in
the Gospels. Apart from arguments among modern rhetoricians and students of
linguistic theory, one fundamental reason for the disagreements about counting
the number of Synoptic parables lies at the root of the matter: the wide range of
meaning of the Hebrew noun māšāl in the OT and of the Greek noun parabolē in
the NT, as well as in ancient Greek literature in general.
Indeed, the difficulty of fixing a precise meaning for “parable” reaches all the
way back to complexities concerning the roots of Hebrew verbs.9 OT Hebrew
knows two quite different verbs, with different semantic domains, both of which
have the qal form māšal.10 One verb, which is not denominative in its origins,
means “to rule” and goes back to the Proto-Semitic root mšl. Although more
frequently used in the OT than the second verb to be examined, it has no relation
to our discussion or to the word “parable.” The second verb with the qal form
māšal is a denominative verb, that is, a verb formed from a noun, in this case,
māšāl (“saying,” “proverb”). In qal and piel, the verb accordingly has meanings
such as “to formulate a saying,” “to utter a proverb,” or “to recite derisive
verses.” Complications arise from the fact that this verb in nifal also has the
meaning of “to be like,” in hitpael the meaning “to become like,” and in hifil “to
compare.” This meaning derives from a different Proto-Semitic root mtl with the
sense of “to be like.” To muddle matters further, in piel the verb māšal can mean
“to pose a riddle.” It is from the fertile soil of these two ideas, “proverb” and
“comparison” (expressed often in figurative speech or tropes), that the richness of
the noun māšāl springs.11
In OT wisdom literature, the noun regularly has the basic meaning of “proverb”
or “wise saying.” It appears in parallel formulations with nouns like mĕlîṣâ
(“parable”), dibrê ḥăkāmîm (“words of the wise”), and ḥîdōtām (“their riddles”)
in Prov 1:6 (cf. v 2 ʾimrê bînâ [“words of intelligence”]). Indeed, the Hebrew title
of the Book of Proverbs (mišlê šělōmô [“the proverbs of Solomon”]), as well as
the titles of major subdivisions of the book (1:1; 10:1; 25:1), already understands
māšāl as a literary category summing up various types of wisdom sayings
contained in the volume. Several centuries later, Ben Sira can sum up his entire
book with the collective form of the noun māšāl, namely, mōšel (50:27).12
Beyond the basic meaning of “proverb” or “wise saying,” the OT also
witnesses to such various meanings as “comparison,” “similitude,” “an object of
mockery,” “a song of mockery” (i.e., a taunt song), and “a byword”—reminding
us that a proverb can often be used as a taunt.13 By and large, all these meanings
of māšāl may be tucked under the capacious category of “wisdom.” Proverbs,
axioms, maxims, aphorisms, riddles, bywords, and taunts—whatever the more
precise categorization, in general they are most at home in the sapiential literature
of the OT. Unfortunately, all too often, many NT commentators quickly jump
from this wisdom matrix to the use and meaning of Jesus’ parables in the
Synoptics. Therein lies a basic mistake that muddies the waters of NT parable
research. It is to dispute this leap of logic that I pose Thesis Two.

B. OT WISDOM NOT THE PRIME ANALOGUE OF THE NARRATIVE

PARABLE
Thesis Two: The OT wisdom māšāl is not the prime source or analogue of those
“parables” that are most characteristic of and particular to the Synoptic Jesus
within the NT corpus. To clarify what I mean here, I must ever so briefly make a
point that will receive fuller exposition in subsequent chapters: the parables that
are characteristic of and peculiar to the Synoptic Jesus within the NT are not
simply one- or two-line proverbs or aphorisms, genres that are found in the
Gospel of John, the Pauline epistles, and other NT books as well. The parables
peculiar to the Synoptic Jesus are comparisons (be they similes or metaphors) that
have been “stretched out” into short stories with at least an implicit beginning,
middle, and end—in other words, a mini-narrative with at least an implicit plot
line.14 By way of a brief justification of this initial definition of Synoptic parable
as narrative parable, I would simply note two facts: (1) This narrative māšāl is
the genre that is most frequently designated as parabolē in the Synoptics; other
meanings of parabolē (e.g., “proverb,” “enigmatic aphorism,” “the meaning of a
parable”) are scattered and infrequent by comparison. (2) This narrative māšāl is
the type of parabolē-speech that is most peculiar to the Synoptic Jesus within the
NT writings. In other words, while these narrative parables are widespread in all
three Synoptic Gospels, they are notably absent in the rest of the NT, including
the Gospel of John—as, with two exceptions, is the word parabolē.15
 The analogue of Jesus’ “parables” in this distinctive narrative sense is found
nowhere in the OT wisdom books. Rather, the analogue is found primarily among
the OT prophets, both those portrayed in narrative (i.e., “historical”) books like
Samuel–Kings and those whose voice is heard in the explicitly prophetic books of
the OT. Or, if one uses the traditional divisions of the Jewish Scriptures (Tanak),
the kind of parable characteristic of Jesus is found primarily in the mouths of
prophets in the Former and Latter Prophets, that is to say, in the Nĕbî’îm (the
Prophets), not the Kĕtûbîm (the Writings). I say “primarily” because, in the
Former Prophets, a few parables are spoken by individuals who are not prophets:
e.g., Jotham’s fable in Judg 9:8–15, the fictitious story told by the woman of
Tekoa to King David in 2 Sam 14:5–8, and the mocking reply of King Jehoash to
King Amaziah (another fable) in 2 Kgs 14:9–10.16 Significantly, in these and
other parables in the Former Prophets, the general context is the developing,
conflict-ridden history of Israel, and the immediate context is one of argument,
rebuke, and even condemnation, usually of a king or some other authority figures.
This, in itself, is significant for the background of Jesus’ narrative parables.
In the Former Prophets, the most famous example of a “parable” used in a
conflict situation is a parable spoken by a prophet, namely, Nathan (2 Sam 12:1–
12). His story of the poor man whose ewe lamb is seized by the rich man is used
to indict David in veiled manner for his adultery with Bathsheba and his indirect
murder of her husband Uriah. With Nathan’s parable we move from the fables of
Jotham and Amaziah, which deal with the plant and animal world, to realistic
stories of human (inter)action.17 Intriguingly, in all these parables, the speaker
supplies an interpretation or application of the story to the present circumstances
(what Jewish scholars centuries later would call a nimšāl).18 A prophet appears
again as the teller of a juridical or judgment-parable to a king in 1 Kgs 20:39–42,
where Ahab is rebuked by a prophet for sparing the life of the Syrian king Ben-
Hadad.19
In sum, narrative parables, be they fables about plants and animals or realistic
stories about humans, emerge in a context of conflict and judgment in the course
of Israel’s premonarchical and monarchical history. They are usually spoken to
kings or other authority figures, and some of the most nōtable parables are found
in the mouths of prophets. Anyone examining these parables is struck, though, by
a surprising point. These narrative parables in the Former Prophets, which any
scholar who knows Jesus’ parables would readily label mĕ ālîm, never receive the
designation māšāl in their immediate literary contexts. As so often happens in
history, a reality appears before a particular designation for it is applied.
C. THE LATTER PROPHETS AND NARRATIVE PARABLES
Thesis Three: It is in the “writing prophets” (alias the Latter Prophets) that we
see both (1) a notable expansion of the genre of comparative short story used in
argumentation about key events in Israel’s history and (2) the use of m-š-l
vocabulary to designate this type of speech.20 A relatively early and clear
example of the development of the genre of comparative narrative moving in the
direction of detailed allegory is the Song of the Vineyard in Isa 5:1–7. Here we
have a similitude stretched out into a short story of a man cultivating a vineyard.
The story reaches a strange, unexpected conclusion: when the vineyard yields
wild grapes, the owner totally destroys his vineyard. This conclusion is followed
by an application of the story to Yahweh’s relations with and judgment on
Jerusalem and Judah. However, the label Isaiah gives the story is not māšāl but
rather šîr, a “song” (or possibly even “a love song”).
The expansion of metaphorical narrative into grand allegory takes place most
spectacularly in Ezekiel.21 The story of the vine in Ezek 15:1–8 (dealing with
Israel and judgment) is relatively short, though longer than the parables we find in
the Former Prophets. But the whole of chap. 16 (sixty-three verses!) is taken up
with the metaphorical story of Yahweh’s espousal to Jerusalem, her infidelity, and
the promised restoration of the unfaithful spouse. It is a case of metaphor
stretched out into one long allegorical narrative.22 In chap. 17 we have still
another allegory of Israel’s recent history, with an explanation given in Ezekiel’s
usual manner. What is especially striking here, though, is the wording of the
introduction to the allegorical story in 17:2. Translated literally, the verse reads:
“Son of Man, riddle a riddle and ʾparable a parable to the house of Israel” (ben-
ʾdm ḥûd ḥîdâ ûmšōl māšāl ʾel bêt yiśrāʾēl). Intriguingly, the LXX translates ḥîdâ
as diēgēma (“tale,” “story,” “narrative”) and māšāl as parabolē (as is the LXX’s
habit). Thus, the Hebrew of Ezekiel emphasizes that the prophet’s allegorical
narrative of Israel’s history is a type of comparison (māšāl) that has a puzzling
message inviting attempts to unravel the meaning (ḥîdâ). The LXX both confirms
the idea of comparison (parabolē) and underlines the fact that the challenging
puzzle is presented in the form of a narrative (diēgēma).23 Thus, in this one
example, we have a prophet labeling as a māšāl (parabolē in the Greek) a
puzzling allegorical narrative of Israel’s conflicted history with Yahweh, a
narrative that announces judgment, implicitly calls for repentance, and receives a
detailed allegorical interpretation from the prophet. It is especially instructive that
precisely where we see Ezekiel applying the label māšāl to a narrative parable,
this parable evinces clear allegorical traits. This is a clear indicator that, from
early on, the category of narrative parable (a māšāl in Ezekiel’s usage) was not
necessarily opposed to allegory; rather, a parable can be a vehicle of allegorical
thought and expression.24
Nor is this a onetime event in Ezekiel. The allegory of the pot in 24:1–14
receives basically the same introduction and labels as in chap. 17: ûmšōl ʾel bêt
hammerî māšāl (“and parable to the house of rebellion a parable,” 24:3). As
usual, the LXX translates māšāl as parabolē. An additional point should not be
missed: here in Ezekiel we see māšāl, while remaining an allegorical narrative,
also bearing the meaning of a prophetic oracle foretelling Israel’s future. Actually,
the connection of the noun māšāl with the idea of a prophetic oracle of the future
is found as early (from the canonical point of view) as the Book of Numbers,
where Balaam’s symbolic oracles likewise prophesy Israel’s future, though in a
much happier vein (Num 23:7,18; 24:3,15,20–23). That Balaam’s māšāl is
equivalent to a prophetic oracle is made clear by its being yoked to the noun
nĕ’ûm, the common word for “oracle.” Thus, alongside the Former and Latter
Prophets, we have a striking example in the Pentateuch of māšāl (each time
translated as parabolē by the LXX), meaning a prophetic utterance employing
figurative speech to prophesy Israel’s history.25
The element of prophetic oracle in māšāl / parabolē undergoes further
expansion and transformation in later apocalyptic literature. “Parable” becomes a
label for eschatological instruction, often communicated within a symbolic vision
or dream, which in turn requires interpretation, usually by an angel (see, e.g., 4
Ezra 4:13–21; 5:41–53; the “Parables” or “Similitudes” of Enoch in 1 Enoch 37–
71; and in Christian literature the “Parables” or “Similitudes” [parabolai in the
Greek, similitudines in the Latin] of the Shepherd of Hermas). In this apocalyptic
development, however, the typically OT-prophetic meaning of parable as a short
story that challenges the hearers to tease out its meaning is largely lost, though
some of the comparisons used by the interpreting angel in 4 Ezra are reminiscent
of the fable-parables in the OT.26
This overview of māšāl / parabolē in the OT establishes the basis for the next
thesis.

D. JESUS THE TELLER OF PARABLES IN THE PROPHETIC TRADITION

Thesis Four: The Synoptic Jesus who tells narrative parables stands primarily
not in the sapiential but in the prophetic tradition of the Jewish Scriptures.27 In
other words, Jesus the spinner of narrative parables should be described not in
terms of Jesus the sage but rather in terms of Jesus the prophet.28 As with his
imitation of Elijah, the itinerant prophet/miracle worker of northern Israel (and
possibly of Jeremiah, the celibate prophet predicting the destruction of the
temple), Jesus seems in his parable-telling to have reached back quite consciously
to the Former and Latter Prophets of the Jewish Scriptures instead of simply
reflecting the more recent apocalyptic or sapiential literature of Israel. This
assertion admittedly contradicts a large swath of parable research from the last
century. From conservative exegetes like Ben Witherington to the far-left Jesus
Seminar, as exemplified especially by John Dominic Crossan, the parables of
Jesus have been treated as prime examples of Jesus as wisdom teacher or sage.29 I
would suggest that this is a major blunder in assigning categories. As I have
argued throughout the first four volumes of A Marginal Jew, the historical Jesus
presented himself to his fellow 1st-century Palestinian Jews first and foremost as
the miracle-working, Elijah-like prophet of the end time. To be sure, Jesus also
engaged in halakic debates over the practice of the Mosaic Law and spoke many a
sapiential bon mot. Law and wisdom were notable dimensions of his public
ministry—which is hardly surprising, since the two were closely intertwined in
the religious thought of Late Second Temple Judaism.
But the category that looms the largest and integrates the most important
aspects of his activity as well as its denouement is eschatological prophet. Jesus
was not put to death by the Roman prefect because he debated other Jews about
divorce or the sabbath. He was not executed because Pilate didn’t like some of his
wisdom sayings. One more legal debater or popular sage could be tolerated. The
eschatological Elijah-like prophet who attracted large enthusiastic crowds and
who was believed by some of his followers to be the prophesied Son of David
could not be tolerated as he formally entered the ancient Davidic capital at
Passover amid acclamations and provocative symbolic actions.30 It is into this
overarching category of Jesus as eschatological prophet, surrounded by
enthusiastic crowds eager for his teaching as well as his healings, that his use of
narrative parables fits perfectly.31 Developing the narrative māšāl out of the
traditions seen in the Former and Latter Prophets, Jesus the prophet told striking
short stories that employed figurative language meant to be puzzling enough to
tease the mind into active thought and personal decision—all within the larger
context of prophetic conflict with the ruling class at a critical moment in Israel’s
history.32
Indeed, this description may supply us with a brief, impressionistic definition
of what a narrative parable of Jesus is: a striking short story that employs
figurative language (i.e., a metaphor or simile stretched out into a narrative) and is
meant to be puzzling enough to tease the mind into active thought and personal
decision. As a chosen rhetorical tool of such an eschatological prophet, we need
not be surprised that many of Jesus’ parables carry an eschatological tone, though
the parable genre was flexible enough to serve more than one aspect of Jesus’
mission and message. To be sure, Jesus speaks his parables within the larger
context of his ministry to the people of Israel, which heralds and to some degree
makes present the kingdom of God. However, to try to make all the Synoptic
parables speak directly and primarily of the grand history of God’s dealings with
Israel or of the kingdom of God is to force them onto a Procrustean bed.33 Many
of the so-called “example stories” specific to Luke’s Gospel—notably the
parables of the Good Samaritan and the Rich Fool—do not operate on such a
grand scale. Indeed, in some of them, sapiential themes blend with the prophetic.
The parables, as they stand in the Gospels, do not reflect a Jesus-One-Note.

E. FALSE BLANKET DESCRIPTIONS OF JESUS’ PARABLES

Thesis Five: I have purposely kept my definition of a Synoptic parable as simple
(and perhaps even as vague) as possible—and that should be the rule for any
definition of Jesus’ parables. Any attempt to define Jesus’ parables in greater
detail, with a laundry list of supposedly essential characteristics, threatens to
introduce qualifications that are true of some but not of all the parables of Jesus
as found in the Synoptics. All too often this questionable procedure flows from
the logical mistake of begging the question, that is, presupposing in one’s
argument what remains to be proven. Some critics, at least implicitly, decide
beforehand which parables come from the historical Jesus and then use their
hypothetical database of “genuine” parables to define the essential characteristics
of any of Jesus’ parables. A partial list of such questionable characteristics
includes the following:
1. Jesus’ parables draw upon events of everyday peasant life or the cycle of
nature in Palestine.34 Not always. We also have parables about kings and their
dealings with their court servants over huge sums of money (Matt 18:23–35;
among the Synoptic evangelists, Matthew is notable for his love of large sums of
money), or a king who is holding a wedding banquet for his son but who in the
meantime kills all the invited citizens from a particular city that he proceeds to
burn to the ground (Matt 22:2–10), or a merchant who entrusts massive amounts
of money to his slaves while he is away on a long journey (Matt 25:14–30), or a
nobleman who entrusts smaller amounts of money to his slaves while he journeys
abroad to obtain royal power (Luke 19:11–27). Moreover, while it is conceivable
that an affluent landowner might divide up his inheritance between his two sons
simply because the younger son asks him to do so and that later on the landowner
might restore the younger son to his former status after he had wasted his entire
inheritance (Luke 15:11–32), such a drama would hardly qualify as an “everyday”
event or an ordinary experience in the cycle of peasant life or nature. Even Mark’s
parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (Mark 12:1–11), while certainly
reflecting the socioeconomic conditions and conflict of the time, hardly portrays
“everyday events” as it recounts multiple murders of slaves and a son, avenged in
turn by the killing of all the tenants by the owner.35 Even in 1st-century Palestine,
this did not happen every day—a fortiori in Antipas’ Galilee, where internal
domestic affairs were relatively peaceful during his reign.36
2. Jesus’ parables are always fictitious narratives.37 Not always. It is hardly a
fiction that, in 1st-century Palestine, sowers went out to sow seeds, that various
amounts of the seed fell in less than optimum areas and so failed to yield fruit,
while nevertheless—at least at times, in especially good years—a surprisingly
abundant harvest would result (Mark 4:3–8 parr.). Granted, in this parable, as in
many others, Jesus employs the common rhetorical technique of hyperbole,
though whether the sower’s mode of sowing is unusual or the amount of the
harvest incredibly huge continues to be disputed among scholars.38 But the basic
story is hardly fictitious. If hyperbole autǭmatically turned a whole narrative into
fiction, then most yearly reports to the faculty by university presidents and deans
would qualify as fiction.
The same can be said for the parables of the Mustard Seed (Mark 4:30–32
parr.) and the Leaven (Matt 13:33 par.). Again, hyperbole is employed (at least in
some versions: “smallest of all the seeds,” “it becomes larger than all plants and
becomes a tree,” “three measures of flour”) to underscore a major theme—the
contrast between small beginnings and large endings. But the basic story is
exactly what happened and does happen quite often. This is all the more true of
the Seed Growing by Itself (Mark 4:26–29). The streamlining of the story to
emphasize that the seed grows by its own inherent dynamism (automate)—
something the farmer can neither cause nor understand—explains the silence
about the farmer’s activity in tilling and watering. Such obvious action by the
farmer is not denied by the parable; it is simply ignored by the miniature story in
order to underline what is at stake.
That all the other stories in Jesus’ parables are fictitious may be granted for the
sake of argument. Yet we should note that, in making such a claim, scholars are
asserting something that they cannot strictly prove. Indeed, some commentators
suggest that, in the similitude of the plundering of the strong man by the stronger
man or in the parable of the Evil Tenants, Jesus is alluding to recent events known
to his audience.39 This is mere speculation, to be sure. But it does counsel caution
when making claims that all of Jesus’ narrative parables are fictitious—even apart
from those that deal with the ordinary cycles of sowing and growth. Such claims
are indeed quite probable, but not, strictly speaking, demonstrable in every case.
3. Jesus’ parables are always subversive of traditional religious beliefs,
upending them with surprise endings or, alternately, posing puzzling stories that
resist any specific interpretation.40 At times scholars seem to imagine Jesus in the
guise of a postmodern or deconstructionist critic intent on bewildering his
students in a class on theory,41 or a Zen master helping his disciples to understand
that there is nothing to understand in a given statement via discursive reasoning.
Not only is this a prime example of projecting present-day academic life or pop-
cultural trends back into ancient times and texts; more to the point, it is
demonstrably false. For example, the L parable of the Rich Fool (Luke 12:16–21)
—in which a prosperous farmer plans both future expansion and a life of ease,
only to die that very night—is Jesus’ recycling of a traditional truth inculcated by
OT sages and prophets, intertestamental literature, and Greco-Roman philosophy.
One finds variations on the theme in Proverbs, Qoheleth, and Ben Sira. Indeed,
Ben Sira makes a very similar point—though in the form of a wisdom saying
rather than a parable—in 11:18–19 (cf. 29:11; 51:3).42 The only variation on the
theme that Jesus introduces is the climax in which God directly addresses the rich
man as a fool and announces his death “this very night,” thus providing an
explicitly theological and eschatological note not present in the earliest sapiential
forms of this OT tradition. Attempts to avoid the obvious conclusion that Jesus is
simply recycling with variations a well-known Jewish sapiential and prophetic
teaching involve either importing into the parable a reference to the kingdom of
God (through the theme of the harvest, which is never explicitly mentioned) or
substituting the version of the parable in CGT, which in my opinion is dependent
on Luke’s version.43 Apart from these subterfuges, we have a clear case of a
parable of the Synoptic Jesus that, far from peddling O. Henry surprise endings to
subvert traditional religious expectations, actually affirms and enforces them. An
“attack on [the traditional religious] world” this parable is not.
Examples could be easily multiplied, but I would suggest that, if one excludes
the clever manipulations of modern critics, the parables of the Sower, the Seed
Growing by Itself, the Mustard Seed, the Leaven, Matthew’s parable of the Two
Sons, and Luke’s parables of the Barren Fig Tree, the Tower Builder, and the
Warring King all play with traditional themes in witty and engaging ways but do
not employ surprise endings that would deeply upset the expectations of fervent
Jews nourished on their Scriptures and the intertestamental traditions found in
Palestine at the turn of the era. Even the parables stressing the reversal of fortune
by God’s action before or after death (e.g., the Rich Man and Lazarus) would
encourage rather than discomfort those Jews who shared either the future
eschatology of the Pharisees or a fortiori the apocalyptic hopes of such groups as
the Qumranites. That there are parables with surprise endings—for example, the
Workers in the Vineyard (Matt 20:1–16), the Good Samaritan, and the Prodigal
Son—is not in dispute. But they do not typify all of Jesus’ parables. Indeed, I
would even question whether they represent the majority of cases, especially once
one realizes that mere hyperbole in an otherwise realistic story is not the same
thing as a surprising, paradoxical ending that reverses all expectations.

F. THE PARABLES OF JESUS IN THE GOSPEL OF THOMAS

Thesis Six: The claim that the parables in the Coptic Gospel of Thomas represent
an independent and indeed earlier and more reliable tradition of the parables of
the historical Jesus is highly questionable. The question of whether the sayings in
CGT that have Synoptic parallels are actually dependent, directly or indirectly, on
the Synoptic Gospels emerged soon after the discovery of Thomas at Nag
Hammadi in 1945.44 As anyone acquainted with books on the parables of Jesus
surely knows, the debate continues to this day.45 The independence of Thomas
has come to be championed by a nōtable group of North American scholars,
though authors differ on whether a few individual sayings in Thomas might
reflect dependence on the Synoptics. In certain quarters, Thomas’ independence is
now taken for granted to such an extent that opposite views are hardly discussed
at length.46 Instead, contrary voices tend to be quickly dismissed with little if any
detailed analysis of the arguments about a particular logion. Consequently, serious
engagement with scholars who challenge Thomas’ independence by means of a
thorough analysis of individual logia is at best sparse.47
There is no need to repeat here my general arguments for questioning the early
date and independence of CGT that I laid out in Volume One of A Marginal
Jew.48 I would simply note that every time I have tested a saying from CGT
during my research for the first four volumes of A Marginal Jew, comparison
with the Synoptics has argued in favor of Thomas being secondary—be the
dependence a direct literary one or indirect dependence by way of some Gospel
harmony, a collection of sayings extracted from the Synoptics, or simply
secondary orality (or perhaps a mix or all of these).49 But as we come to a study
of Jesus’ parables, a more detailed approach to the question of Thomas’
dependence or independence is desirable. The practical problem I face in such an
approach is that neither space nor the focus of A Marginal Jew allows for a study
of all 114 Coptic sayings in the manner of scholars like Wolfgang Schrage,
Michael Fieger, Reinhard Nordsieck, April D. DeConick, or Uwe-Karsten Plisch.
Given the limitations of this fifth volume, I think that the best way to tackle the
problem is to take a cross-section of test cases involving sayings material found in
both Thomas and the Synoptics. Lest someone object that the results of these test
cases are skewed because only certain Synoptic sources or only certain literary
genres are treated, I will select my probes from all the Synoptic sources and from
a variety of literary genres, not simply from parables.50 More specifically, to
ensure that my findings are not distorted by drawing examples from only one
stream of the Synoptic tradition, I will examine sayings from every Synoptic
source: (i) the Marcan tradition (as redacted, in most cases, by Matthew and
especially by Luke); (ii) Q; (iii) sayings found independently in both Mark and Q
(referred to as “Mark–Q overlaps”); (iv) the special Matthean material (M); and
(v) the special Lucan material (L). In addition, to ensure coverage of various
genres, I will begin the test cases with examples of literary genres that lie outside
the category of parable and then proceed to examples from Thomas’ parables that
have parallels in the Synoptics.
At this point, one practical problem arises in regard to format and mode of
presentation in this chapter. To include all the test cases within this list of seven
unfashionable theses would create a gargantuan Chapter 37, with Thesis Six
disproportionately longer and vastly more complicated than the other six theses
combined. To avoid such an unwieldy format, I will present the detailed analysis
of these test cases of Thomas and the Synoptics in the next chapter, Chapter 38.
However, for the sake of the continuity of my main argument, as well as for the
convenience of the reader, I will anticipate and summarize here the conclusions
reached at the end of Chapter 38.51
In Chapter 38, I test fifteen Thomasine logia that have parallels in the
Synoptics. The conclusion reached from testing each logion is that it is more
likely than not that Thomas’ version displays signs of some sort of dependence on
the Synoptic material. As already noted, the kind of dependence may well vary
from saying to saying. The dependence may be direct or indirect, through literary
dependence or secondary orality, through Gospel harmonies, catechetical
summaries, or mere memorization, however faulty. One corollary from this
conclusion is that Thomas is important not because it represents an early and
independent source of Jesus’ sayings. Rather, Thomas is important because it
furnishes a striking example of the reception history of the Synoptics in the 2d
century. Thomas’ importance lies in the fact that (1) it displays abundantly the
conflating tendencies seen in various patristic works of the 2d century (e.g.,
Polycarp, Justin Martyr, and the Didache), while at the same time (2) it points
forward to the culmination of these conflating and harmonizing tendencies in
Tatian’s Diatessaron.
 To be sure, this examination of fifteen logia from Thomas does not
autǭmatically resolve the problem of all the Thomasine sayings that have close
Synoptic parallels (roughly half of the 114 logia in CGT). But the results of
probing these fifteen sayings do shift the burden of proof in the debate. As a
matter of principle, anyone approaching CGT for the first time would be obliged
to remain completely open-minded about whether all of Thomas was directly or
indirectly dependent on one or more of the Synoptics, or whether it was totally
independent, or whether some logia were dependent while others were not. Thus,
if one were starting from scratch, the burden of proof would be on anyone making
any claim, one way or the other. But, after examining CGT 5, 31, 39, 14, 54, 16,
55, 47, and 99 outside the parable tradition, and sayings 20, 65, 66, 57, 72, and 63
inside the parable tradition, I reach the conclusion in Chapter 38 that each saying
displays dependence on one or more of the Synoptics. Once this has been shown
to be the case—in either the Greek fragments or the full Coptic text of Thomas—
across a broad range of Synoptic sources and genres, the burden of proof
necessarily shifts. For not only do the Thomasine logia that have been tested
depend on the Synoptics. In addition, many of these Thomasine sayings evince a
redactional hand with a clear tendency to conflate and/or abbreviate various forms
of the Synoptics to produce the version in CGT. Moreover, the studies done by
Christopher Tuckett, Charles Quarles, Jörg Frey, Simon Gathercole, Mark
Goodacre and others have shown that this tendency extends far beyond the logia I
have examined. Hence it becomes quite probable that whoever put the Gospel of
Thomas together knew and used the Synoptic Gospels in his redactional work.
This conclusion holds true even within the restricted compass of the Greek
fragments of Thomas found in the Oxyrhynchus papyri.
It remains theoretically possible that now and then the redactor received into
his composition an independent logion that he left untouched. But such a claim,
made for a specific logion, must be proved, not just asserted or taken for granted
on the basis of a supposed scholarly consensus. In the presence of a good number
of logia that can be demonstrated with fair probability to be dependent on the
Synoptics, I would maintain that the burden of proof shifts to anyone claiming
independence. The default assumption should be dependence unless the opposite
can be proved in a particular case.
To all this I would add a personal note from my experience of working for
years on this material: I have yet to come across a single commentator on CGT
who has proved convincingly that any one particular Thomasine logion with a
Synoptic parallel is truly independent of the Synoptic tradition. Granted, a
number of cases may well fall into the dreaded limbo of non liquet (not clear
either way). But even here, I would claim that the results of the probes in Chapter
38 can rightly influence our judgment on these instances of non liquet. If—as is
the case—we have a fair number of clear instances of Thomas’ dependence,
witnessed in every Synoptic source and in many different literary genres, then a
judgment of non liquet must remain just that. Such a judgment cannot be gently
nudged by default or by a presumed academic consensus into the “independence”
column. If anything, the multiple examples in Chapter 38 might incline us to
presume that unclear cases are more probably products of dependence that have
been heavily reworked by the Thomasine redactor. But if we are uncomfortable
going that far, at the very least such cases must remain non liquet.
The upshot of Thesis Six (including by way of anticipation what will be
demonstrated at length in Chapter 38) can be stated quite simply: it is highly
questionable to invoke any parable in Thomas (or any other logion, for that
matter) as an independent witness of Jesus’ sayings.52 In other words, the
Thomasine logia cannot be used to claim that a particular saying attributed to
Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels is authentic on the purported grounds that Thomas
supplies us with multiple attestation from an independent source. Not being an
independent source, Thomas offers no such multiple attestation.
It is now time to apply all that we have seen in this thesis to the larger question
of the problem of the historical Jesus and his parables, which we will examine in
Thesis Seven.

G. FEW AUTHENTIC PARABLES

Thesis Seven: Relatively few of the Synoptic parables can be attributed to the
historical Jesus with a good degree of probability. In other words, relatively few
of the parables can meet the test of the criteria of authenticity that other sayings
and deeds of Jesus are supposed to meet.53
I realize that this assertion flies in the face of a strong consensus among parable
researchers. From Adolf Jülicher through Joachim Jeremias and C. H. Dodd to
Norman Perrin, Robert Funk, and Klyne Snodgrass, scholars of various ideologies
and faith commitments (or lack thereof) have been united in one unshakable
article of faith: the parables provide the most sēcure way, the royal road, the
easiest and most reliable access to the historical Jesus—or, at the very least, to the
teaching of the historical Jesus.54 My simple and radical thesis is that this is not
so, and endless repeating of the “royal road” mantra will not make it so.
As we explore the implications of Thesis Seven, we must distinguish carefully
between two similar yet quite different claims: (1) the historical Jesus taught in
parables; (2) the historical Jesus taught this particular parable (take your choice:
the Sower in the Fields, the Good Samaritan, the Wheat and the Weeds, or
whichever).
The first assertion—that Jesus taught in parables—is easily sustained, primarily
by the criterion of multiple attestation of sources. Every Synoptic source—Mark,
Q, M, and L—contains a number of narrative parables taught by Jesus. Indeed,
every Synoptic source has one or more parables not present in any other Synoptic
source. Moreover, every Synoptic Gospel claims, in one way or another, that
Jesus regularly used parables to teach both his disciples and the crowds that
followed him. That a popular Jewish prophet and teacher should use parables as
part of his rhetorical repertoire coheres perfectly with what we know of the OT
prophets before Jesus and the rabbinic teachers after him.55 Some critics also
appeal to a type of argument from discontinuity: it is often claimed that Jesus’
parables have a distinct voice, tone, artistry, and literary genius that distinguish
them from both OT and rabbinic parables. Whether this be true or not, such a
claim rests more on individual literary (and theological) tastes and subjective
aesthetic judgments than on the historically testable claims of multiple attestation
and coherence. Personally, I prefer not to employ such an argument.
Even if we invoked no criterion beyond multiple attestation, that would be a
sufficient argument for the basic thesis that the historical Jesus used parables in
his teaching and was well known for doing so. The one caveat we should append
to this firm assertion is that parables were not the only type of teaching method or
discourse Jesus used. There is a danger of reducing Jesus simply to a poetic
teacher who always spoke in dazzling metaphors and puzzling riddles. As I have
shown at length in Volume Four of A Marginal Jew, Jesus the Jew also engaged
in halakic debates about Torah and its proper observance, debates that demanded
that he take precise positions on specific legal questions: for example, by
prohibiting divorce and remarriage as well as oaths; by championing a reasonable,
commonsense approach to sabbath observance (e.g., the legality of rescuing
animals as well as humans in danger); and by ranking love of God and love of
neighbor as first and second in the hierarchy of legal values. Reducing Jesus to a
poet with a purely metaphorical mind-set hardly does justice to the complexity of
this Jew’s teaching. If we may trust the general impression created by all the
Synoptics, parables were an important and major part of Jesus’ teaching. Whether
they were the most common form of Jesus’ teaching and what exactly was the
proportion of parable teaching to other forms of Jesus’ teaching (e.g., his
pronouncements on the Law) is something that we cannot know today, given the
highly selective nature of the material preserved by the evangelists.
The problem is, once we descend from the general assertion that Jesus taught in
parables to the particular judgment of whether this or that parable comes from
Jesus, we are in serious trouble. One is reminded of the similar problem of
dealing with Jesus’ miracles in Volume Two of A Marginal Jew. The general
assertion that Jesus did startling things, things that he and his followers took to be
miracles, was easily sustained by the criterion of multiple attestation, which
included Josephus as well as all the Gospel sources. In contrast, determining that
behind any one particular miracle story lay a startling event in the life of the
historical Jesus—an event that he and/or his followers claimed to be miraculous
—was quite a different and more difficult matter. All too often we were left with
the honest but exasperating judgment of non liquet (not clear either way). I
maintain that the same basic pattern holds when we come to examine parables.
After all, by what criterion can we establish that this or that particular parable was
spoken in some form or other by the historical Jesus?
The criterion of multiple attestation works for very few parables. As we will
see, the Mustard Seed is a Mark–Q overlap, but such cases are rare among the
parables. If one judges that the parable of the Great Supper and the parable of the
Talents (or Pounds) are not examples of Q parables heavily redacted by Matthew
and Luke, but rather examples of two parables that were preserved in the M and L
special traditions, we would have two more cases of multiple attestation. If one
counted Jesus’ saying about the strong man overcome by the stronger man (Mark
3:27 || Matt 12:29 || Luke 11:21–22) as a parable, we would have another example
of a parable that was a Mark–Q overlap. However, in Mark and Matthew this
saying takes up only a single verse, a fact that moves me to categorize it as a
similitude rather than as a narrative parable.56 That said, this short list more or
less exhausts candidates for multiple attestation.
Sometimes recent studies on memory, eyewitnesses, oral tradition, and oral
performances in the ancient world are invoked to bolster an argument for the
authenticity of the Synoptic parables.57 Such studies are welcome additions to NT
research, but one may wonder what exactly they contribute to the question of the
authenticity of a given parable. It is no doubt true that the parables in particular
were told and retold and handed down for decades in the oral tradition,
undergoing various permutations. Multiple oral performances would have been
unavoidable, exercising both a creative and a conservative influence on the basic
structure and content. Nevertheless, the hard truth is that we do not have 1st-
century DVDs or smartphone downloads that preserve the living voice of such
oral performances and transformations.58 All we have are the carefully composed
literary documents called Mark, Matthew, and Luke. Mainstream source and
redaction criticism point to Matthew and Luke’s dependence on Mark and on a
hypothetical source labeled Q, along with individual units from special M and L
traditions. To be sure, ongoing oral traditions remained available and may at times
have influenced the authors of the written Gospels. But the influence of living
oral tradition on the composition of the four canonical Gospels is something to be
demonstrated in the individual instance, not simply asserted. Then, too, the
influence of memory is not something to be restricted to oral composition and
tradition. For instance, texts that were either heard or read repeatedly by a scribe
would presumably remain in that scribe’s memory and might well exercise an
influence if at a later date the scribe either authored or copied one of the Gospels.
In my view, the proper understanding of the complexity of oral tradition and the
influence of memory on both oral and written material enriches but does not
invalidate the basic model created by form, source, tradition, and redaction
criticism, including the two-source theory of Synoptic relationships. Such a
model is sufficient, at least in most cases, for explaining the sources and
relationships of the Synoptic parables.
Hence if one wishes to claim, for instance, that a Matthean or Lucan form of a
particular Marcan parable is dependent not simply on Mark but also on some
stray oral variant, then it is up to the scholar making that claim to substantiate it in
the particular case. Vague, general appeals to folk memory and oral performances
in ancient or nonliterate cultures can hardly decide the issue in the individual
case.59 For example, a parable created in the mid-30s of the 1st century a.d. by a
person who had been a follower of Jesus in the late 20s would no doubt undergo
many oral performances and be remembered in different ways before it was
written down in the Synoptic Gospels. The multiple performances it had
undergone between the mid-30s and the mid-70s—multiple performances that we
can only surmise, not test or verify—would prove nothing about whether it
originated with the historical Jesus or with one of his disciples. To take two
specific examples of parables probably created by early Christians: in the
following chapter, we shall see that the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds is
most likely a creation either of Matthew himself or of the tradents of his M
tradition.60 Relatively few critical scholars attempt to argue that this parable (and
some would add the Matthean parable of the Ten Virgins) goes back to the
historical Jesus. In Chapter 39, I will argue that the parable of the Good Samaritan
is a pure creation of Luke the evangelist. In other words, when it comes to this
preeminently Lucan parable, it is difficult to make a case for any form of the
parable existing before the evangelist, to say nothing of tracing it back to Jesus. If
this be true of two well-known and often-cited parables, what positive arguments
can be brought forward to prove that some other parable lacking multiple
attestation is not a creation either of the early tradents of the Jesus tradition or of
one of the evangelists? Even such a staunch defender of the reliability of the Jesus
tradition in the Gospels as Birger Gerhardsson maintains that “early Christianity
felt itself entitled to formulate new narrative meshalim of the Kingdom, . . .
meshalim created in the spirit of the master and according to the same lines as his
own meshalim.”61
At this point, we can appreciate the pivotal importance of deciding that CGT
does not represent an early and independent source of Jesus’ teachings in general
and of the parables in particular. If Thomas were independent and early, we would
have multiple attestation (or greater multiple attestation) for the parables of the
Sower, the Mustard Seed, the Wheat and the Weeds, the Rich Fool, the Great
Supper, the Evil Tenants, the Pearl of Great Price, the Leaven, the Lost Sheep,
and the Treasure in the Field. But as I will argue at length in Chapter 38, this is
most likely not the case. I am in principle open to the possibility that, in an
individual instance, the version of a parable preserved in CGT represents an
independent and early form—if someone should mount a convincing argument
for that position. To be honest, though, having worked through all the Synoptic
parables in detail with CGT at my side, I have yet to find any such convincing
argument. One can understand, though, why scholars from Jeremias to Crossan,
so different in their christologies or lack thereof, should rally around the
independence of Thomas. With it, we gain multiple attestation and a good
argument for authenticity for nine parables that otherwise would lack it (the
Mustard Seed is safe as a Mark–Q overlap). Without Thomas, these nine are in
the same source-critical boat as most other parables.
Worse still, not only does the criterion of multiple attestation not apply; one
must say the same thing about the criterion of embarrassment.62 If anything, the
parables of Jesus have proven to be the most well-known and well-loved parts of
the Gospels, even for nonbelievers. Various audiences in the Gospels are at times
shocked or perturbed by what Jesus says, but almost never is a narrative parable
the cause of such shock. The stock reaction to parables (when a reaction is noted)
is puzzlement or a request for an explanation. Needless to say, an ingenious
modern critic is free to use his or her skill to interpret a parable in an
embarrassing or shocking way, but then the next critic is equally free to offer a
different and nonshocking interpretation. Thus was it ever with parables. It makes
no sense for modern interpreters to celebrate the indeterminacy, the ever-open
range of possible meanings of parables, only to turn around and insist that this
particular parable must have this particular offensive meaning. The history of
interpretation shows that people who don’t like one interpretation of a parable
will simply see another in it. But what of those relatively few cases where shock
value seems indisputably present because some unsavory character is extolled in
the parable? The problem with this type of argument is that the prime example of
such clear shock value is the parable of the Good Samaritan—precisely the
parable that, I will argue in Chapter 39, comes neither from Jesus nor from the
early tradents but from Luke himself. Jesus was hardly the only religious figure
capable of making shocking or disturbing statements in the 1st century a.d. From
Paul’s epistles to the Revelation of John, we can find many disturbing or repellent
statements in the NT canon that do not go back to the historical Jesus.
What about the criterion of discontinuity? Some commentators, like Bernard
Brandon Scott—perhaps realizing the difficulty of arguing for the authenticity of
an individual parable taken in isolation—have argued preemptively for an a priori
presumption of authenticity for the Synoptic parables in general, at least for their
originating structure if not their exact wording. Scott is to be congratulated for
recognizing the difficulty of demonstrating the authenticity of the Synoptic
parables and for facing this problem squarely. However, the first part of Scott’s
argument in favor of authenticity will surprise anyone who knows the parabolic
tradition of the Jewish Scriptures. Scott claims that “the parable genre does not
appear in the Hebrew Bible. . . .”63 He then bases this claim on a shaky
foundation: the “short, narrative fictions” in the Jewish Scriptures “do not use the
distinctive formula ‘it is like.’” But the same is true of many of Jesus’ parables:
for example, the Sower, the Evil Tenants, Matthew’s parable of the Two Sons,
Luke’s parable of the Two Debtors, the Good Samaritan, the Importunate Friend
at Midnight, the Rich Fool, the Barren Fig Tree, the Tower Builder and the
Warring King, the Lost Coin, the Prodigal Son, the Dishonest Steward, the Rich
Man and Lazarus, the Widow and the Unjust Judge, and the Pharisee and the Tax
Collector.
Indeed, this list reminds us that Luke in particular, more often than not, does
not use any introductory formula employing the language of “is like.” Sometimes,
in fact, a parable is not even labeled a parabolē. Other times, one evangelist will
use an “is like” formula while another does not; see, for instance, Matthew’s
introduction to the Great Supper (Matt 22:2: “The kingdom of heaven is like a
king . . .”), compared with Luke’s (Luke 14:16: “A man gave a great supper . . .”).
If it were not for Matthew’s penchant for using “is like” formulas to introduce
parables (see, e.g., most of the parables in his parable discourse of 13:3–52), we
might not even think that such a formula was all that typical of Jesus’ parables.
Matthew himself, though, does not use the introduction invariably, as can be seen
from the very first parable in chap. 13, the Sower (vv 3–8). To be sure, one might
argue that the “is like” formula is implicit in the very act of using a short narrative
as a comparison, but the same can be said of the various parables in the OT.
Reality and labels for reality must not be confused. Nathan’s parable of the poor
man and his ewe lamb is no less a parable for lacking the label māšāl or the
formula “is like” in its immediate context.
Are there any other ways to “finesse” the argument from discontinuity to
establish a presumption that the bulk of the Synoptic parables go back to the
historical Jesus? One might take refuge in the more subjective, esthetic, artistic,
or romantic argument that Jesus’ parables display much greater literary genius
and fresh insight than any Jewish parables before or after him. But at this point
we are into the realm of de gustibus.64 Would the ancient rabbis have agreed with
this esthetic assessment? Indeed, even today, would every Orthodox Jewish
scholar who is an expert on rabbinic parables agree with this Christian esthetic
judgment? I doubt it.65
Another approach to the argument from discontinuity is to point out that other
writings in the NT and indeed in other Christian works of the 1st and 2d centuries
do not contain parables similar to those of Jesus.66 The problem with this
argument is that it tells us nothing about the creativity of the “key players”
handing on the tradition of the Synoptic parables in the first decades after a.d. 30.
Here we should pause for a moment and ask ourselves: “What are we implying
when we claim that a particular parable in the Synoptic Gospels goes back, in
some shape or other, to the historical Jesus?” We are implying that one or more
“earwitnesses” of Jesus’ public ministry heard this parable, remembered it, and
repeated it in the circle of disciples and in the early church as part of Jesus’
teaching. This parable continued to be repeated—with no doubt various
permutations in “oral performances”—down to the time that it was written down
in one of the Synoptics (if not already in some earlier written source like Q or a
pre-Marcan collection).67
Thus, to claim the authenticity of any parable in the Synoptics is to claim that
there was a chain or group of oral tradents who preserved, repeated, and handed
down Jesus’ authentic parables for three or four decades. Are we to suppose that
the original disciples who spent two or three years listening to, absorbing, and
repeating Jesus’ parables never learned anything from him about how to construct
a striking parable? Were all the original disciples as stupid and dense as Mark
makes them out to be? Did the early Christian bearers of the tradition, who
received the parables from the “earwitnesses” and repeated them in oral
performances for decades, likewise learn nothing about composing parables in
imitation of the Master? The problem with the whole argument from
discontinuity, when applied to parables, is that we are dealing with a group of
tradition-bearers that necessarily existed—if any of the parables is authentic—but
about whom we know next to nothing. In particular, we know nothing about how
creative they were and to what degree they composed parables in imitation of the
ones they received from Jesus or Jesus’ “earwitnesses.”
Here, then, is a basic problem with the argument from discontinuity, when
applied to parables: it works quite well when we compare Jesus the Spinner of
Parables to Paul or other non-Synoptic authors of the NT—none of whom, of
course, wrote a Synoptic Gospel or a Jesus-like parable. But this argument from
discontinuity does not work with the anonymous tradents of the Synoptic oral
traditions, especially the parable traditions. Someone so adept at preserving and
passing on the tradition of Jesus’ parables may also have been quite adept in
imitating that tradition. We must keep this possibility constantly before us when
we ask: “Does this particular parable go back to Jesus?”
If, then, neither multiple attestation nor discontinuity applies to the bulk of
Jesus’ parables, what criterion does? Not many commentators would argue that
the criterion of Jesus’ death applies—though some of the more barbed parables
may have annoyed his adversaries and aggravated the tension between Jesus and
the Jerusalem authorities. Still, one can hardly imagine the legal accusation
placed above Jesus’ head on the cross reading, “Jesus of Nazareth Spinner of
Parables.” Pilate couldn’t have cared less.
As for the criterion of coherence (or continuity), this criterion can highlight the
fact that Jesus’ use of parables makes sense when placed within the grand
Israelite tradition that stretches from Nathan the prophet to the rabbis of the
Talmud and beyond. But this tells us nothing about the authenticity of any
individual Synoptic parable.
Thus, we are left with a surprising and disconcerting conclusion: apart from the
relatively few parables that enjoy multiple attestation, the historical critic is hard
pressed to demonstrate that a particular parable goes back to the historical Jesus.
Actually, a careful reading of many of the large commentaries on NT parables
will expose this embarrassing secret, papered over by vague, sweeping, and
unsubstantiated claims. The attentive reader will note how often the question of
authenticity is answered with the blanket observation that “various interpreters
across the spectrum have concluded that . . . [a particular parable] is authentic at
its core,”68 or, at the very least, that “a parable of this kind would certainly have
been possible in the ministry of Jesus of Nazareth.”69 Alternately, we are told that
“there is no really good reason to exclude the parable . . . from the tradition
coming from the proclamation of Jesus.”70 Or we are assured that “in regard to
the question of its [a particular parable’s] authenticity, there seem to be no
challenges of note.”71 Indeed, at times this curious argument from silence is
wedded to esthetic sensibility: “The authenticity of this parable is rarely
questioned, especially because of its artistry and power. . . .”72
If I keep emphasizing the importance of the judicious use of criteria rather than
grand generalizations when it comes to assessing the authenticity of individual
Synoptic parables, I ask the reader to consider, in one concrete case, the results of
waiving the consistent use of criteria. Klyne Snodgrass’s monumental tome,
Stories with Intent, is a mine of information, both of ancient languages and texts
and of modern commentators and debate. I have often profited from consulting it.
Yet something is seriously wrong with a method that, in the end, has the historical
Jesus, the early Christian tradition, and any given evangelist practically collapse
into the same person. For the ultimate upshot of Snodgrass’s approach is that not
a single parable in all three Synoptic Gospels is firmly rejected as inauthentic.
How does Snodgrass arrive at this critical cul de sac? Amid the many problems of
Snodgrass’s approach, two stand out: (1) obvious contributions of the evangelists
are played down by minimalizing the redactional traits clearly present in a
parable; and (2) the authenticity of any parable is presumed unless the opposite
can be proven (thus reviving the old burden-of-proof ploy).73 I readily admit: the
use of the criteria of authenticity can be dull and plodding, sometimes yielding
uncertain results or the annoying conclusion of non liquet. But consider the
alternative that is all too common: most books on the parables, not unlike
Snodgrass’s, arrive at the conclusions that the authors have predetermined from
the beginning of the project. And those conclusions usually include the key claim
that most if not all of the Synoptic parables go back—at least in their “core” or
“kernel”—to the historical Jesus. With parable research, as with Jesus research in
general, the wish is often father of the thought—and of the book.
In the end, I am under no illusion that my seven unfashionable theses will
suddenly reverse the course of American parable research. With parables as with
almost any other area of research in a university, a given field of expertise all too
easily develops into an echo chamber that produces a self-reinforcing consensus.
If nothing else, though, I hope that at least my unfashionable theses will
encourage the reader to step outside the echo chamber of parable research and ask
the basic question that has been the basso continuo of this chapter: How do we
know that this or that parable comes from the historical Jesus? At the end of this
chapter and of these seven theses, my reply is simple: In many cases, we don’t.
Let me emphasize once again: this is not to claim that I can often prove the
opposite, that is, that this or that parable definitely does not come from Jesus.
Rather, as was often the case with the miracle stories in Volume Two, we are left
with a galling but honest non liquet (not clear either way). All the consensus to
the contrary proves nothing.
 But are there—as has been intimated in this chapter—at least a few parables
that can claim one or more criteria of historicity and so authenticate themselves as
Jesus’ own creations? There are a precious few, but they need to be identified by a
careful examination of the full list of Synoptic narrative parables, in order to
select the relatively small number of promising candidates. Hence, after
examining at length the question of the dependence or independence of Thomas in
Chapter 38, we will turn to that list of parables in Chapter 39 in order to ferret out
the candidates “most likely to succeed” in the contest for the prize of authenticity.
Understandably, we might want to move on immediately to examining that
intriguing list of possibly authentic parables, but a major question stands in our
way. As we shall see, the criterion of multiple attestation of independent sources
will prove to be the most important of the criteria when it comes to evaluating the
historicity of any given parable. Hence, before we can move to that evaluation,
we must be clear on one vital point: do the parables in CGT provide attestation
from a source independent of the Synoptic parables? Or are they dependent on
one or more of the Synoptic Gospels, and so useless for satisfying the criterion of
multiple attestation? It is to that preliminary, difficult, but unavoidable question
that we turn in Chapter 38.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 37
1. Even an introductory bibliography that offers merely a representative sampling of major books and
articles on the parables of Jesus must go on at great length. To avoid taking up a huge amount of space at the
beginning of the endnotes of this chapter, I have placed the introductory bibliography on the parables at the
end of this volume as an appendix. The full bibliographical information about books and articles cited in this
chapter can be found there.
2. Anyone writing a book on the parables of Jesus faces a problem of labeling at the very beginning of the
project. How should one designate or title the individual parables? Some exegetes complain that the
traditional titles (e.g., “the Prodigal Son,” “the Dishonest Steward”) do not always capture what is at stake in
a given parable. Yet present-day attempts to substitute more accurate labels have not met with general
acceptance. Naturally, the new labels reflect the (sometimes idiosyncratic) interpretation of the individual
commentator, and in the end we are left with a bewildering pile of competing titles for a single parable. So as
not to confuse my audience, many of whom are not professional academics, I will as a rule abide by the
traditional titles of the parables. The style adopted in this volume will use the word “parable” in lowercase,
followed by the specific title capitalized: so, e.g., the parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, the parable
of the Good Samaritan.
3. C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet, 1935 [original edition]; London: Collins
[Fontana], 1961 [revised edition]) 16.
4. For some of the philosophical problems involved in reader-response and/or socioeconomic approaches
to the parables, see Simon Beck, “Can Parables Work?,” Philosophy & Theology 23 (2011) 149–65.
5. This point should be kept in mind especially by those commentators pursuing “reader response” or
“audience response” criticism. In the case of the parables, even a small audience gathered to hear a parable of
Jesus for the first time could react with different personal responses. Imagine, for instance, a Christian family
in a small house church at the end of the 1st century, hearing the parable of the Prodigal Son from Luke’s
Gospel for the first time. The kind but firm father might hear one message, his elder obedient son might hear
another, and his younger restless son might hear still a third. Perhaps the mother of the two sons might
wonder why there was no mother in the parable. One can easily imagine a similar diversity of reactions to the
parable when (and if) Jesus actually spoke this parable for the first time to a Palestinian crowd during his
public ministry. Nevertheless, this diversity of reactions does not mean that the parable was open to any and
every interpretation that a modern exegete might formulate. In the case of the historical Jesus, a crowd of 1st-
century Palestinian Jews would have gathered to listen to an Elijah-like prophet who claimed to work
miracles and to be the final prophet sent to Israel to herald the coming of God’s kingdom. All this would
create a firm framework and boundaries for the crowd’s diverse reactions.
6. Arland J. Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus. A Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK:
Eerdmans, 2000) 3 n. 6. One problem with any such comparison of the number of Synoptic parables
suggested by various commentators is that some authors will count a parable only once, presuming, for
example, that we are dealing with Matthean and Lucan redactions of the same Q parable, while other authors
will see two different versions of the same parable from two different sources (e.g., M and L), while still
other authors will see two different parables sharing certain common themes. Prime examples of this type of
contested parable are the parable of the Talents/Pounds and the parable of the Great Supper. But such special
cases are not numerous enough to account for the wide range of numbers found in parable commentators.
Rather, a major factor in the variant counts is that what some authors label a metaphorical statement or a
similitude other authors label a parable. Hence the root problem is not only one of source criticism but also
and more importantly one of form criticism. Then, too, some commentators include all Synoptic parallels in
their counts.—Commendable is the detailed attempt of Birger Gerhardsson (“The Narrative Meshalim in the
Synoptic Gospels. A Comparison with the Narrative Meshalim in the Old Testament,” NTS 34 [1988] 343–
44) to list all the narrative parables contained in each Gospel (Gerhardsson operates with a distinction
between “aphoristic meshalim” and “narrative meshalim”) and then to sort out the parables according to
which parables are shared by all three Gospels, which are shared by two Gospels, and which are unique to
one Gospel. He counts a total of five parables in Mark, twenty-one in Matthew, and twenty-nine in Luke,
adding up to fifty-five parables in all. Three parables appear in all three Synoptics: the Sower, the Mustard
Seed, and the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard. Matthew and Luke have another seven (or eight) parables in
common, while Mark and Luke have one (Mark 13:32–37 par., the Watchful Servant, which I consider not a
parable but a similitude surrounded by direct exhortations to the disciples listening to the eschatological
discourse). Peculiar to Mark is one parable (the Seed Growing by Itself), to Matthew 10 or 11, to Luke 17 or
18. As we shall see in Chapter 39, my count of parables that are unique to each source will differ slightly,
since Gerhardsson counts as narrative parables some texts that I consider similitudes (e.g., the Children
Playing in the Marketplace). Also, there are some curious judgments in Gerhardsson’s categorization of the
parables: e.g., he places the Defendant on His Way to the Judge in his Lucan list of parables (Luke 12:58–
59), but omits the parallel (Matt 5:25–26) from his Matthean list because he claims that the latter is “not a
narrative mashal” (p. 344 n. 2). All this reminds us that a certain element of subjectivity is inevitable in any
list of the Synoptic parables that attempts to be both comprehensive and discriminating as to sources.
7. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 22.
8. Zimmermann et al. (eds.), Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu, 28. Even the compendium’s
understanding of the German term Parabel is capacious, since it lists eighteen “parables” in the narrow sense
in John’s Gospel. Moreover, it tabulates forty-one parables in the Coptic Gospel of Thomas and fifteen in the
Agrapha. (For a brief overview of the disagreement among scholars on the number of parables in the Coptic
Gospel of Thomas, see David W. Kim, “Where Does It Fit? The Unknown Parables in the Gospel of
Thomas,” Bib 94 [2013] 585–95.) The authors of the various essays in this compendium tend to see parables
where I would see similitudes or simply statements that employ metaphors, similes, and other tropes or
figurative language.
9. For basic philological information, see Karl-Martin Beyse, “māšal I; māšāl,” TDOT 9 (1998) 64–67;
Heinrich Gross, “māšal I, etc.,” 68–71; Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic
Lexicon of the Old Testament (Study Edition; 2 vols.; London/Boston/Cologne: Brill, 2001) 1. 647; Friedrich
Hauck, “parabolē,” TDNT 5 (1967) 744–61; idem, “paroimia,” ibid., 854–56. For a list of occurrences of the
verb māšal and the noun māšāl in the MT and parabole in the LXX, see Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 570–
74.
10. So complicated is the matter that not all philologists would recognize two different verbs sharing the
consonants mšl, but the presentation in my main text represents the common view. For a brief history of the
scholarly debate, see Katrine Brix, “Erste Annäherung einer Hermeneutik des māšāl in alttestamentlichen
Schriften mit Überlegungen zur Rezeption dieses Begriffes in den neutestamentlichen Evangelien,”
Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 13 (2009) 128–29.
11. Some authors try to reduce the two ideas of “proverb” and “comparison” to one, claiming that every
proverb, at least implicitly, involves a comparison. But one need only read a few chapters of the Book of
Proverbs to see that this is not so.
12. Sir 50:27–29 forms the subscription of the author as he concludes his work, summing up the book’s
content and purpose. A transcription of the Hebrew text of 50:27–28 (MS B recto) can be found in Pancratius
C. Beentjes, The Book of Ben Sira in Hebrew (VTSup 68; Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1997) 90. The
key phrase at the beginning of v 27 is mwsr śkl wmwšl, which the LXX translates as paideian syneseōs kai
epistēmēs.
13. Hence, in the case of meanings like “an object of mockery” or “a byword,” māšāl can mean a man,
phenomenon, action, or occurrence, and not a particular rhetorical expression; see Gerhardsson, “The
Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,” 340 n. 5.
14. I owe this way of approaching Jesus’ parables to Harvey K. McArthur, who argued for this mode of
defining the parables of Jesus in a seminar presentation at the Columbia University New Testament Seminar
back in the 1970s. He (along with his coauthor Robert M. Johnston) also employs this criterion of narrativity
in his treatment of rabbinic parables; see McArthur and Johnston, They Also Taught in Parables. Rabbinic
Parables from the First Centuries of the Christian Era (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1990) 98–99; cf. Charles
W. Hedrick, “The Parables and the Synoptic Problem,” New Studies in the Synoptic Problem (Christopher M.
Tuckett Festschrift; BETL 239; ed. Paul Foster et al.; Leuven/Paris/Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2011) 322.
Admittedly, the distinction between a simple metaphor (or simile), a similitude, and a narrative parable is
clear in some situations and quite unclear in others. No one would call the parable of the Prodigal Son a mere
simile or metaphor, and no one would call Matt 6:24 (“No one can serve two masters; for he will either hate
the one and love the other, or he will be attached to the one and look down on the other. You cannot serve
God and Mammon”) a complete narrative parable. In between these two extremes, commentators will often
disagree in applying labels. For instance, Joachim Jeremias (The Parables of Jesus [London: SCM, 1963
(English translation of 6th German edition, 1962; 1st English edition, 1954)] 247) lists the Budding Fig Tree
(Mark 13:28–29) as a parable (he explicitly states that he is excluding metaphors and similes from his list);
similarly, John Dominic Crossan, In Parables. The Challenge of the Historical Jesus (San Francisco: Harper
& Row, 1973) 138. In contrast, Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 576) lists the Budding Fig Tree as a
similitude, distinguished from a parable; accordingly, he does not give it separate consideration in his
encyclopedic work. Likewise, Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus) mentions Mark 13:28–29 only in passing
(e.g., p. 425, where he calls it a “parabolic saying”) and gives it no separate commentary as a parable. (One
might observe in passing that, while Mark 13:28 uses the word parabolē, the sense here seems to be “the
lesson taught by this comparison using the fig tree.”) Obviously, I cannot presume to issue a decree
determining terminology for all future commentators on the parables, especially since there has been an
explosion of studies on and debates over the proper meaning of metaphor (see, e.g., the discussion of the
proper definition of metaphor in David E. Aune, The Westminster Dictionary of New Testament and Early
Christian Literature and Rhetoric [Louisville/London: Westminster/John Knox, 2003] 301; cf. the discussion
of various theories of metaphor in Susan E. Hylen, “Metaphor Matters: Violence and Ethics in Revelation,”
CBQ 73 [2011] 777–96, esp. 780–84). I simply note here my own method of classification. In my usage, a
metaphor involves a direct equation or identification of two realities (expressed by words, phrases, or
sentences) that are not literally the same but that are being identified for rhetorical purposes, without
comparative words such as “like” or “as”: “my love is a red, red rose.” A simile makes the element of
comparison explicit by using the word “like,” “as,” or similar vocabulary (e.g., the verbs “to liken,” “to
compare”): “my love is like a red, red rose” (with a bow to Scots songs and Robert Burns). Applying this to
the Gospels, if we take the statement of Matt 5:14a by itself (“you are the light of the world”), we have a
brief metaphorical statement. If, however, we “draw out” that simple metaphor by further elucidation or
concrete images (as in Matt 5:15, “nor do they light a lamp and place it under a measuring vessel but rather
on a lamp stand, and it shines on all in the house”), the simple metaphor has become a similitude (a
“stretched-out” metaphor or simile). The similitude can then be stretched out even further by an explicit
application (as in Matt 5:16, “so let your light shine before human beings, that they may see your good works
and glorify your Father in heaven”)—what later Jewish scholars would call a nimšāl. However, in my view,
Matt 5:14a,15–16 does not rank as a (narrative) parable because (1) the metaphor has not been stretched out
so far as to create a story with at least an implicit beginning, middle, and end; and because (2) the audience is
directly addressed not only in the nimšāl (v 16) but also in the very core of the metaphor itself (“you are the
light of the world”). In a narrative parable, the audience is rather drawn into a story world where characters
other than they themselves act or are acted upon in the framework of a (at least implicit) plot. Hence a
metaphor/simile or similitude in which the audience that Jesus is addressing is explicitly present (and
possibly acting) does not qualify as a parable, because such speech does not create a narrative universe into
which the audience is drawn to watch or experience a story involving others. All these observations make
clear what I require for a true parable of Jesus: a parable is a metaphor or simile stretched out into a whole
narrative into which the audience can be drawn, a narrative with a beginning, middle, and end (at least in
miniature). Even if this definition is granted, opinions may differ on individual passages. For example, the
Prodigal Son, the Good Samaritan, the Unforgiving Servant, and the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard all clearly
tell a story with a plot line; they are all narrative parables. I would argue that a story in miniature can be
found in the parables of the Leaven and the Mustard Seed; something happens and change takes place
between the beginning and end of the miniature narrative. Hence I classify these mini-stories as parables,
although other scholars (e.g., Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 576) list them as similitudes instead. On the
other hand, I think that the one-verse comparison of Jesus’ exorcisms to the binding of a strong man (Mark
3:27 || Matt 12:29) is a metaphor stretched out into a similitude. I do not consider it a story with a beginning,
middle, and end and hence a parable. Note how Mark 3:27d simply repeats 3:27b, leaving us with the brief
statement that “no one entering the house of the strong man can plunder his goods unless he first bind the
strong man.” In my opinion, this is not enough for a narrative parable. (One might argue that the alternate and
expanded two-verse version in Luke 11:21–22 just barely crosses the threshold into the category of parable,
though I doubt it.) Moreover, a similitude, however concrete and lively, cannot qualify as a parable if it
simply displays a static situation that does not develop and so does not create an implicit plot line. For this
reason, I would categorize the two-verse or one-verse depiction of the Children Playing in the Marketplace
(Matt 11:16–17 || Luke 7:32) as a similitude rather than a parable. Needless to say, in these borderline cases,
scholars may and do honestly disagree. I simply wish to make clear to the reader that, in what follows, I use
the word “parable” in the sense of a narrative parable, as distinct from a metaphor/simile or a similitude.
Readers of the works of Dodd will recognize that my usage is close to the one that he maps out in The
Parables of the Kingdom, 16–17. I readily admit, though, that in previous volumes of A Marginal Jew, I
often adopted the nomenclature of the scholars with whom I was interacting at the time.—Those who read
theological German will notice that my category of a metaphor or simile is roughly equivalent to the German
Bild or Bildwort, my category of similitude to the German Gleichnis, and my category of parable to the
German Parabel. However, German usage varies from author to author, and one may wonder whether every
author is completely consistent in his or her usage. In particular, while Gleichnis may serve to designate the
specific category of similitude, it is often used as well as an umbrella term for both similitudes and
(narrative) parables. In this whole question of parable terminology, one of the most influential German NT
exegetes of the 20th century was Rudolf Bultmann, Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition (FRLANT 29;
8th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970 [originally 1921]; with Ergänzungsheft edited by Gerd
Theissen and Philipp Vielhauer, 4th ed., 1971) 179–222. (By comparison, Martin Dibelius has had only
minor impact on parable research and terminology, perhaps because he gives only brief consideration to the
similitudes and parables in his famous form-critical work, Die Formgeschichte des Evangeliums[6th ed.; ed.
Günther Bornkamm, with addendum by Gerhard Iber; Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 1971] 249–58). Reflecting
and building on the heritage of Adolf Jülicher, Bultmann distinguishes Bildwort (metaphorical statement),
Gleichnis (similitude), and Parabel (narrative parable). Within his treatment of Bildwort, he also
distinguishes between Metapher (metaphor) and Vergleich (simile). Also echoing Jülicher, Bultmann
distinguishes between the category of parable and the category of Beispielerzählung (example story), though
he admits that the latter is closely related to the former. For Bultmann, an example story differs from a
parable because the element of metaphor is missing in the former. As is the case with many other exegetes,
Bultmann finds all the Synoptic example stories within the special Lucan material: the Good Samaritan, the
Rich Fool, the Rich Man and Lazarus, and the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. In my own treatment, I will
not employ the separate category of example story for a number of reasons: (1) Some commentators dispute
the existence of this category; see, e.g., Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 13–14, with the literature cited there.
(2) Various other parables might be classified as example stories as well: e.g., Matthew’s parable of the
Unforgiving Servant. As some commentators observe, the difference between a regular parable and an
example story seems to be one of degree rather than of essence. (3) As noted earlier, all four of the stories
commonly designated as example stories come from the special Lucan material and stand out because of
their strong Lucan style and/or theology (some would detect the influence of Pauline theology as well). This
raises serious suspicions among some exegetes as to the origin of the Lucan example stories. As will become
clear in my treatment, I doubt that any of these four example stories can be shown to go back to the historical
Jesus.—On the question of the prehistory of the category of example story (prior to Jülicher) and of
Jülicher’s own shift in his understanding of this category, see Jeffrey T. Tucker, Example Stories.
Perspectives on Four Parables in the Gospel of Luke (JSNTSup 162; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1998) 45–
70.
15. The noun parabole (“parable”) occurs 17x in Matthew, 13x in Mark, and 18x in Luke, for a total of
48x. In most cases, the noun refers to a narrative parable (or in some debatable instances to a similitude),
though other scattered meanings occur (e.g., “aphorism,” “proverb,” “riddle,” “instruction using an
analogy”). In my view, this preponderant use of parabolē in the Synoptics to refer to narrative parables
justifies using the English word “parable” as shorthand for “narrative parable” unless a specific context
indicates otherwise. Here I differ in my usage from that of Birger Gerhardsson, “The Narrative Meshalim in
the Old Testament Books and in the Synoptic Gospels,” To Touch the Text (Joseph A. Fitzmyer Festschrift;
ed. Maurya P. Horgan and Paul J. Kobelski; New York: Crossroad, 1989) 294. Cases where parabolē clearly
means something other than a narrative parable are in the definite minority in the Synoptics; they include
Mark 3:23 (an analogy within a riddle or rhetorical question); Mark 7:17 || Matt 15:15 (an aphorism
functioning as a halakic ruling); Mark 13:28 || Matt 24:32 || Luke 21:29 (similitude of the fig tree); Luke 4:23
(proverb); 5:36 (analogy); 6:39 (analogy in rhetorical question); 14:7 (analogy as part of practical advice,
though parabolē in 14:7 may be pointing forward to the parable that actually begins in v 16). These scattered
cases can hardly be tucked under the single rubric of “aphorism.” The only other occurrences of parabolē in
the NT are the two found in Heb 9:9 and 11:19, where the sense is “sign,” “symbol,” or “type,” in keeping
with the author’s allegorical interpretation of the OT. For a list of the occurrences of parabolē in the NT, see
Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 567–69. The noun paroimia occurs in the sense of “proverb” in 2 Pet 2:22 and
in the sense of an obscure figure of speech in John 10:6; 16:25 (bis),29.
16. On the examples in Judges, Samuel, and Kings, see Jeremy Schipper, Parables and Conflict in the
Hebrew Bible (New York: Cambridge University, 2009) 23–110. In dealing with the OT material, I follow
Schipper’s usage in classifying fables (“short stories that employ animals and plants as central characters”) as
a type of parable; see p. 14. Inevitably, scholars will disagree on how many narrative parables there are in the
Jewish Scriptures. Gerhardsson (“The Narrative Meshalim in the Old Testament Books and in the Synoptic
Gospels,” 290–91), for example, counts five clear cases: Judg 9:7–15; 2 Sam 12:1–4; 2 Kgs 14:9; Isa 5:1–6;
and Ezek 17:3–10 (all of which I accept). Gerhardsson (p. 291 n. 7) also grants that there are a number of
“borderline cases,” in which he includes 2 Sam 14:5–7; Prov 9:1–6,13–18; Isa 28:23–29; Ezek 15:1–8; 16:1–
43; 19:2–9,10–14; 23:1–19; 24:3–14. Some of these cases are debatable because the metaphors and the
reality to which the metaphors point are mixed together in the narrative (see, e.g., the cases in Ezekiel 19, 23,
and 24).
17. To be precise, the stories of Nathan and the woman of Tekoa, while actually fictional (like many
parables), are initially presented to David as real cases (though Schipper [Parables and Conflict, 42–46, 63–
66] thinks otherwise). For the lengthy debate over how and to what extent the details of Nathan’s narrative
about the poor man’s ewe map onto David’s adultery with Bathsheba and his indirect murder of Uriah, see
the review of research and the intriguing suggestion offered by Joshua Berman, “Double Meaning in the
Parable of the Poor Man’s Ewe (2 Sam 12:1–4),” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 13 (2013) Article 14, 17
pages (online).
18. The Hebrew word nimšāl is not used as a noun in this technical sense in the rabbinic literature of
Mishna and Talmud; the noun first appears in medieval Hebrew. This is noted by Daniel Boyarin (p. 127 n. 4)
in a review essay (“Midrash in Parables”) published in the Association for Jewish Studies Review 20 (1995)
123–38; the book under review is David Stern’s Parables in Midrash (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University,
1991); see p. 13. However, nimšāl as a verb form introducing an interpretation or explanation of a parable
(“it is compared to . . . ,” “it is like . . .”) is regularly found in the rabbis.—The question of nimšāl highlights
a related point. In the narrative parables of classical prophecy, for all their riddling quality, the speaker wishes
his immediate audience to understand the thrust of what he is saying, not to remain in the dark—a result that
would only frustrate a parable’s judicial dimension. The notion that parables are not understood by the
audience and indeed are not meant to be understood does not belong to the type of parable spoken by Nathan
or Isaiah. The enigmatic element within the story exists precisely to “tease the mind into active thought” so
that the meaning of the parable is at last grasped. The prophet’s goal is not obfuscation and permanent
frustration.
19. It is odd that Gerhardsson (“The Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,” 343) omits this
instance from his list of OT narrative mĕ ālîm; on the prophet’s parable in 1 Kgs 20:39–42, see Schipper,
Parables and Conflict, 74–92.
20. As indicated by my use of the traditional divisions of Tanak, I am basically following the books of the
Jewish Scriptures as they now lie in the Jewish canon. It would take us too far afield in this thesis to raise
further hypothetical questions: e.g., what the original form and length of Nathan’s parable were in the oral
tradition and whether the redactor of the Deuteronomistic History might have abbreviated an originally
longer parable.—In what follows in the main text, I will be pursuing the special meaning of māšāl as
narrative parable (often with allegorical elements) that is found in the literary prophets. This focus is by no
means intended to deny the presence of the more sapiential meanings (e.g., proverb, taunt), which the
prophets also use; see Brix, “Erste Annäherung,” 130–33. This is a healthy reminder that there is no high and
impenetrable wall of separation between sapiential and prophetic traditions.
21. On the importance of Ezekiel in this development and on the similarity of his narrative parables to
those of the Synoptic Jesus, see Brix, “Erste Annäherung,” 135–36; cf. Otto Eissfeldt, Der Maschal im Alten
Testament (BZAW 24; Giessen: Töpelmann, 1913) 14–17.
22. Note that this example from Ezekiel gives the lie to the claim that it is of the very nature of allegory to
obfuscate and mystify (so the followers of Jülicher). The initial verses (16:2–3) make clear that the allegory
refers to the sinful history of Jerusalem (representing the whole people). From the start, the entire allegory is
presented as Yahweh’s direct address to Jerusalem, with the various stages of Israel’s history quite clear to
anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of the Jewish Scriptures or the traditions standing behind them. Nor is
the allegorical mode of Ezekiel’s fiery rhetoric dispensable and disposable once the message has been
understood. No bare-bones recitation of the brute facts of Israel’s history would or could carry the rhetorical
power and convicting force of Ezekiel’s allegory. Allegory may indeed at times possess a mystifying or
riddle-like quality (so Ezek 17:1–10, prior to the allegorical explanation in 17:11–21), but such mystification
is not of the essence of allegory.
23. On the dual locution in Ezek 17:2, see Andreas Schüle, “Mashal (māšāl) and the Prophetic ‘Parables,’”
Hermeneutik der Gleichnisse Jesu (WUNT 231; ed. Ruben Zimmermann with Gabi Kern; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 2008) 205–16, esp. 210–11. Possibly diēgēma was chosen by the translator because it allowed the
Greek to imitate the play on words of the Hebrew in Ezek 17:2 by combining a Greek verb and its cognate
noun (diēgēsai diēgēma). In theory, allēgoreō and allēgoria might also have been employed for such a play
on words. In fact, though, allēgoreō and allēgoria never occur in the LXX, and we have firm attestation of
their use only from the 1st century B.C. onward. On the larger question of the Greek text of Ezekiel,
especially its homogeneity, see Leslie John McGregor, The Greek Text of Ezekiel. An Examination of Its
Homogeneity (SBLSCS 18; Atlanta: Scholars, 1985).
24. Ezekiel’s use of allegory would be an opportune place to make some observations about the complex
phenomenon called allegory (from the Greek words allos, “other,” and agoreu, “to speak in public”).
However, the phenomenon is indeed so complicated that it needs to be treated at some length. Hence, rather
than disrupt the flow of the argument at this point, I will discuss the question of allegory in a separate
Excursus at the end of this chapter.
25. Even the Book of Psalms is not without an analogous usage. In Psalm 49, the psalmist struggles with
the riddle of the prosperity of the wicked. He describes the problem he ponders as a māšāl and a ḥîdâ (v 5).
To be sure, the psalmist speaks primarily in terms of wisdom and insight (v 4), but he also seems to claim an
ability to solve the riddle in virtue of a revelation from God, a revelation that suggests that the righteous one
will in the end be taken up to God.
 26. The only time in Hermas that parabolē approaches the older scriptural type of metaphorical narrative
is in Man. 11:18 (= 43:18), but there it is a matter of simple similitudes or figurative comparisons. For the
occurrences of parabolē in the Apostolic Fathers, see Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 575. Curiously, while N.
T. Wright (Jesus and the Victory of God [Christian Origins and the Question of God 2; Minneapolis: Fortress,
1996] 174–82, esp. 177) correctly sees that Jesus’ use of parables reflects the prophetic tradition of Israel, he
unfortunately elides the classical prophetic tradition with the Jewish apocalyptic tradition around the turn of
the era. The fact of the matter is that Jesus’ parables connect form-critically with Nathan, Isaiah, and Ezekiel,
not with the allegorical visions-plus-interpretive-angel found in 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, or 2 Baruch.
27. In the phrase “the prophetic tradition of the Jewish Scriptures,” I am referring to the full range of
prophecy in Tanak, including the proto-apocalyptic of the authors behind certain parts of Ezekiel, Zechariah,
and Isaiah 24–27. I would also include in this prophetic tradition the apocalyptic Book of Daniel, even
though the later definitive ordering of the Jewish canon places it among the Writings rather than among the
Latter Prophets. (On this, see Konrad Schmid, “The Canon and the Cult: The Emergence of Book Religion in
Ancient Israel and the Gradual Sublimation of the Temple Cult,” JBL 131 [2012] 289–305, esp. 297–98.)
Jesus the eschatological prophet represents in particular the eschatological and/or apocalyptic stream of
Jewish prophetic tradition. As I have indicated in Volume Two of A Marginal Jew, I think that it is best to
classify Jesus’ eschatological utterances as eschatology tinged with apocalyptic motifs and imagery, as
distinct, e.g., from the full-blown apocalypses of 4 Ezra or 2 Baruch.
28. It is difficult to understand Bernard Brandon Scott’s claim that Jesus’ parables are unique because we
find no such narrative parables in the OT; see his Hear Then the Parable (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989) 13,
63. This claim seems to fixate on the fact that the narrative parables in the Former Prophets are not labeled
mĕ ālîm and to ignore the fact that such narrative parables are present—whatever their label or lack thereof
—and provide a real analogue to Jesus’ narrative parables. P. Kyle Mc-Carter (II Samuel [AYB 9; Garden
City, NY: Doubleday, 1984] 304) holds that we might call Nathan’s story a “juridical parable,” though he
admits that some would object to the word “parable” from a formal point of view. McCarter himself goes on
to speak of the story as “Nathan’s juridical parable” (p. 305). As for Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard (Isa 5:1–
7), Joseph Blenkinsopp (Isaiah 1–39 [AYB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000] 206) states emphatically that
Isaiah’s poem expresses itself “in a manner analogous to the parable of Nathan (2 Sam 12:1–14) and some of
the gospel parables. . . .” In light of these opinions, I think that to conclude to the absence of a reality simply
from the absence of a particular label for that reality is a strange form of nominalism. As Schipper (Parables
and Conflict, 6) emphasizes, we should not restrict the designation “parable” to those relatively few cases in
the Jewish Scriptures where the noun māšāl is explicitly used to designate a short story that functions as a
comparison: “. . . a short story does not need to carry a specific label to qualify as a parable.” Consequently,
the presence of narrative parables in the OT renders invalid the argument that we can presuppose that the
narrative parables in the Gospels do come from the historical Jesus because neither the OT nor the rest of the
NT contains narrative parables comparable to those of Jesus (criterion of discontinuity). I will come back to
this point in Thesis Seven.—In a separate article (“From Petition to Parable: The Prophet’s Use of Genre in 1
Kings 20:38–42,” CBQ 71 [2009] 264–74), Jeremy Schipper makes the intriguing observation (p. 264 n. 1)
that, within the Jewish Scriptures, “parable,” understood as a short narrative with a comparative function, can
be found in songs, fables, dreams, and taunts; hence Schipper prefers not to call narrative parables a distinct
genre. While one can appreciate this problem of categorization within the vast sweep of the Jewish Scripture,
the problem does not arise, as a practical matter, within the relatively narrow compass of the Synoptic
Gospels. There “parable,” understood as a short narrative spoken by Jesus with a comparative function, does
stand out as a distinct literary genre amid the various genres found in the Synoptics (e.g., miracle story,
dispute story, similitude, prayer, beatitude, infancy narrative, and passion narrative).
29. See, e.g., Ben Witherington I, Jesus the Sage. The Pilgrimage of Wisdom (Minneapolis: Fortress,
1994); and Robert W. Funk, Roy W. Hoover, and the Jesus Seminar (eds.), The Five Gospels (New York:
Macmillan, 1993), where, after a discussion of his parables, Jesus is laconically described (p. 32) as “the
laconic sage.” To be fair, Witherington (Jesus the Sage, 158–59) acknowledges that in the OT “narrative
meshalim were not characteristic of the sages. . . . Rather, they seem to have been a prophetic phenomenon,
perhaps one may say a prophetic modification of a Wisdom form of utterance. . . .” In the end, though,
Witherington prefers to subsume Jesus’ parables into an overall understanding of Jesus as “a Jewish
prophetic sage,” insisting that “sage” is “the most appropriate and comprehensive term for describing Jesus.”
Accordingly, when Witherington offers a book-length treatment of Jesus as prophet (Jesus the Seer [Peabody,
MA: Hendrickson, 1999]), parables play only a passing role in the portrait, mostly in debate with N. T.
Wright’s understanding of Jesus’ use of metaphorical language (see, e.g., pp. 271–75). When one considers
that narrative parables never occur in OT wisdom books, but rather in the historical and especially the
prophetic books of the OT, and when one adds to this the consideration that Jesus’ parables usually (though
not always) serve as a medium for the eschatological message of the final prophet sent to Israel, it seems
artificial to try to tuck Jesus’ parables under the ill-fitting cloak of the wisdom tradition. Yet that is precisely
what John Dominic Crossan does in his The Historical Jesus (San Francisco: Harper, 1991), notably in chap.
12, “Kingdom and Wisdom” (pp. 265–302). Doing away with all future-prophetic eschatology in Jesus’
message, Crossan necessarily places Jesus and his parables in the sapiential tradition.
30. All this presupposes a much longer treatment of the reasons for Jesus’ execution, which will be treated
in the final volume of A Marginal Jew. But to state my position ever so briefly: Jesus was put to death
because as an eschatological prophet he heralded the advent (and at the same time the mysterious presence)
of the kingdom of God, formed an inner group around himself to be a prophetic core of this coming kingdom,
attracted large crowds of followers by his miracles and his teaching, and finally enacted in symbolic-
prophetic actions the dissolution of the old order and the coming of God’s kingdom in the street theater of the
triumphal entry and the cleansing of the temple, right under the noses of Pilate and Caiaphas during a major
pilgrimage feast while Jerusalem was flooded with fervent Jews. It was such prophetic-symbolic actions of
an eschatological prophet who was also hailed by followers as the Son of David, all enacted in David’s
ancient capital at Passover, that precipitated the final crisis.
31. For a recognition of the prophetic tradition in Jesus’ parables that also wishes to affirm the sapiential
dimension, see Schüle, “Mashal (māšāl) and the Prophetic ‘Parables,’” 205–16. Let me be clear: my fourth
thesis does not mean to deny that there are sapiential motifs within Jesus’ parables; such motifs can be found
in the parables of OT prophets as well. But the primary model for understanding Jesus as speaker of parables
is prophet, not wisdom teacher.
32. The attentive reader will no doubt see in this description of Jesus’ parables the influence of the classic
definition of Dodd (The Parables of the Kingdom, 16): a parable of Jesus “is a metaphor or simile drawn
from nature or common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaving the mind in
sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.” However, certain considerations,
which I will be treating in the main text under Thesis Five, keep me from simply adopting Dodd’s definition
as my own: (1) As a matter of fact, not every Synoptic parable deals with nature or common life (think of the
parables narrating extraordinary actions of kings). (2) Not every parable is notably vivid or strange (think of
the generic, schematic parables of the Sower or the Seed Growing by Itself). (3) I prefer to restrict the term
“parable” to what Dodd (p. 17) calls a “parable proper,” i.e., a narrative parable, a metaphor or simile
elaborated into a story, rather than just a metaphor elaborated into a picture by the addition of some details,
i.e., a similitude.—It is unfortunate that we have such a limited amount of sayings of John the Baptist that
may be judged to be authentic (for evaluation of the Baptist material in the Gospels, see A Marginal Jew, 2.
27–56). John is presented in the Q material (Matt 3:7–10 || Luke 3:7–9) as freely using metaphorical speech
(“brood of vipers,” “bring forth fruit,” “raise up children unto Abraham from these rocks”). He also stretches
out metaphors into similitudes (so Matt 3:10 par., the ax laid to the root of the tree). Indeed, one might argue
that in Matt 3:12 par. the similitude is stretched out into a mini-parable: “His winnowing fan is in his hand,
and he will clean his threshing floor, and will gather his wheat into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with
inextinguishable fire.” One might like to indulge in speculation about whether the prophet Jesus learned
something about parable-spinning from the prophet John, but we lack enough material even for speculation.
33. Birger Gerhardsson (“Illuminating the Kingdom: Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,” Jesus
and the Oral Gospel Tradition [ed. Henry Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1991] 266–
309) is perhaps the most notable of those parable commentators who try to make all of the narrative parables
speak of the kingdom of God (see pp. 283–91). The problem with this approach is that the “wide umbrella-
term [p. 283] ‘The Rule/Kingdom of God/Heaven’” has to be stretched extremely far (indeed, to the bursting
point) to include all of the Synoptic parables. The unintended result of Gerhardsson’s claim is that the rubric
“kingdom of God” loses all specific meaning. Only when “kingdom of God” is generalized to the point of a
vague religious platitude can it include equally, along with the Marcan and Matthean parables, all the special
Lucan parables, especially the so-called example stories. It is perhaps telling that, when Gerhardsson claims
in his essay, “The Narrative Meshalim in the Old Testament Books and in the Synoptic Gospels,” that all the
narrative parables have the one homogeneous theme of the kingdom of God, he allows that the Good
Samaritan may be an exception (p. 299). Other critics may find other exceptions.
34. This element of a definition of “parable” is at least implied by the part of Dodd’s classic definition that
reads “a metaphor or simile drawn from nature or common life . . .” (The Parables of the Kingdom, 16,
emphasis mine).
35. It may be significant, though, that the parables that contain kings, nobles, rich merchants, and affluent
landowners, who are often portrayed as involved in extraordinary actions or events, tend to cluster in the
special M and L parables, while common events in everyday village life are found more in Marcan and Q
parables. Is this possibly an index of the stages of the parable tradition, or even an index of which parables
come from Jesus himself?
36. See A Marginal Jew, 1. 282–83.
37. The element of fiction in the definition of “parable” is emphasized by Scott, Hear Then the Parable, 8,
35–42. I readily grant that no parable presents or claims to present a report of a unique historical incident.
That is not the point at issue in the main text.
38. On the various opinions among scholars, see Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 166–67, with the literature
cited there. In the debate over whether sowing would normally precede plowing in the agricultural practice of
early 1st-century Palestine (and hence how realistic the parable of the Sower is), see in particular Joachim
Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 11–12; idem, “Palästinakundliches zum Gleichnis vom Sämann (Mark IV.3–
8 par),” NTS 13 (1966–67) 48–53; K. D. White, “The Parable of the Sower,” JTS 15 (1964) 300–307; Philip
B. Payne, “The Order of Sowing and Ploughing in the Parable of the Sower,” NTS 25 (1978–79) 123–29.—
On the larger question of hyperbole in the Synoptic parables, see David Seccombe, “Incongruity in the
Gospel Parables,” TynBul 62 (2011), 161–72.
39. Moreover, there is the special case of Luke’s version of the Talents/Pounds (Luke 19:12–27), where
many commentators see an allusion to the story of Archelaus (one of the sons of Herod the Great) attempting
in 4 b.c. to obtain the title of king from Caesar Augustus in the face of opposition from a delegation of Jews
and Samaritans. On this hypothesis, see Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 285; Snodgrass, Stories with Intent,
537. This parable, along with the question of the reference to Archelaus, will be taken up in Chapter 40.
40. An example of this approach can be found in Funk et al. (eds.), The Five Gospels, 30–32; oddly,
Wright (Jesus and the Victory of God, 179) tends to agree with his adversaries in the Jesus Seminar on this
one point. What is remarkable about the Seminar’s whole enterprise is that characteristics of Jesus’ teaching
and activity that need to be established by detailed analysis of the sources and application of criteria of
historicity are instead proclaimed a priori as criteria for judging authentic material—a parade example of
begging the question.
41. For an exposition of deconstructionism as applied to parables, see Patrick J. Hartin, “Angst in the
Household: A Deconstructive Reading of the Parable of the Supervising Servant,” Neot 22 (1988) 373–90;
idem, “Disseminating the Word: A Deconstructive Reading of Mark 4:1–9 and Mark 4:13–20,” Text and
Interpretation. New Approaches in the Criticism of the New Testament (ed. P. J. Hartin and J. H. Petzer; NTS
15; Leiden: Brill, 1991) 187–200; a similar approach can be seen in John Dominic Crossan’s Cliffs of Fall.
Paradox and Polyvalence in the Parables of Jesus (New York: Seabury, 1980).
42. Other broader parallels, pointing out the fleeting nature of life and its enjoyment, the danger of trusting
in riches, the limited satisfaction they bring, and/or the judgment God passes on the arrogance of the rich, can
be found in such disparate texts as Qoh 2:1–26; 4:8; 5:10–19 (ET: 5:10–20); 6:2; Job 31:24–32; Psalms 37;
39; 49; 73; Prov 3:9–10; Isa 22:13; Jer 9:22 (ET: 9:23); Hos 12:8–11; Sir 5:1–10; Wisd 15:7–12; 1 Enoch
97:8–10; cf. 94:7–11; Seneca, Epistulae morales 101.2–5; De consolatione ad Helviam 10.6–10. Clearly,
Jesus is using in the Rich Fool a well-known theme in the prophetic and sapiential literature of Israel as well
as other nations. Hence, the parable of the Rich Fool, along with the other parables I group with it in the main
text, does not fit Wright’s profile of Jesus’ parables as apocalyptic allegory conveying secret messages to his
followers while being cryptic to outsiders (Jesus and the Victory of God, 179–80). Wright formulates this
profile as part of his strategy to create a presumption ab initio that the Synoptic parables are all authentic
Jesus material, since the only intelligible Sitz im Leben they could have is the public ministry of Jesus.
Wright reasons that since Jesus’ parables were apocalyptic allegories conveying secret messages
unintelligible to outsiders, there was no reason why the early church should create such parables, since “the
secret was [now, in the time of the church] an open one” (p. 180). Like many other arguments for presuming
from the start that Gospel traditions are historically reliable (see, among others, Martin Hengel and Richard
Bauckham), this one cannot stand the test of a detailed examination of particular cases. As I will argue in
Chapters 38 and 39, parables like the Good Samaritan and the Wheat and the Weeds are most likely the
creations of the evangelists or of tradents of the L and M traditions respectively. Once this position is
established, a universal presumption for the authenticity of any and every parable falls. The question of the
authenticity of each parable must be judged on its own merits.
43. For the argument in favor of this position, see the detailed treatment of the parable of the Rich Fool in
Chapter 38.
44. Here I follow the date that is supported by James M. Robinson, “From the Cliff to Cairo,” Colloque
international sur les textes de Nag Hammadi (Québec, 22–25 août 1978) (Bibliothèque Copte de Nag
Hammadi, Section Etudes 1; ed. Bernard Barc; Quebec: Les presses de l’université Laval; Louvain: Peeters,
1981) 21–58, esp. 29. However, while this date still seems to be generally accepted, the precise
circumstances of the discovery remain murky. Robinson’s own telling of the story has varied over time, and
various scholars have put forward different hypotheses concerning the historical origins of the codices and
the actual manner of their discovery. For one possible scenario (along with a strong critique of some of
Robinson’s claims), see Nicola Denzey Lewis and Justine Ariel Blount, “Rethinking the Origins of the Nag
Hammadi Codices,” JBL 133 (2014) 399–419; similar criticisms are voiced by Mark Goodacre, “How
Reliable Is the Story of the Nag Hammadi Discovery?,” JSNT 35 (2013) 303–22.—As we begin our
discussion of the Gospel of Thomas, a note about terminology is in order here. I employ the phrases Gospel
of Thomas or simply Thomas as “umbrella” terms to refer to a Christian literary work of the 2d century A.D.
that has been preserved for us in two major forms: (1) the Greek fragments preserved in the Oxyrhynchus
papyri, specifically P.Oxy. 1, P.Oxy. 654, and P.Oxy. 655 (which are not all parts of the same Greek
manuscript); and (2) the Coptic Gospel of Thomas, of which only one copy is preserved, namely, in Tractate
2 of Codex I of the Nag Hammadi codices discovered in 1945. The Coptic Gospel of Thomas contains
(according to the count of the modern editors) 114 sayings, though with some lacunae. The abbreviation that
I use in Volume Five of A Marginal Jew for the phrase “the Coptic Gospel of Thomas” is CGT, often with the
number of a saying (= logion) following. Most likely, CGT is a translation of a Greek text (the original
language of composition), though the fragments preserved in the Oxyrhynchus papyri evince some
differences in wording and order from CGT. For a detailed description of the three Oxyrhynchus papyri
containing sayings of Thomas, see Larry Hurtado, “The Greek Fragments of the Gospel of Thomas as
Artefacts,” Das Thomasevangelium. Entstehung–Rezeption–Theologie (BZNW 157; ed. Jörg Frey, Enno
Edzard Popkes, and Jens Schröter; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008) 19–32; cf. Simon Gathercole, The
Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary (Texts and Editions for NT Study 11; Leiden/Boston: Brill,
2014) 4–8 (for Gathercole’s treatment of the Coptic manuscript and a comparison between the Greek and
Coptic texts, see pp. 9–24). For a brief introduction to the papyri, see A Marginal Jew, 1. 124–25, and the
literature cited there. For the minority view that the original form of Thomas was written in Syriac, see
Nicholas Perrin, Thomas and Tatian. The Relationship between the Gospel of Thomas and the Diatessaron
(Academia Biblica 5; Leiden/Boston/Cologne: Brill; Atlanta: SBL, 2002) passim; a strong defense of original
composition in Greek is given by Gathercole, ibid., 91–102. One conclusion that results from a comparison
of the Greek fragments with CGT is that one should perhaps allow for stages of tradition and redaction, as
well as for variations in different manuscripts of the work. However, barring further manuscript discoveries,
theories about such stages or the range of variants must remain mere speculation; on this point, see
Gathercole, ibid., 24–34. Citations of or passing references to the Gospel of Thomas in later Christian writers
of the patristic period can be found in “The Greek Fragments,” an appendix by Harold W. Attridge in Nag
Hammadi Codex II, 2–7 (NHS 20 and 21; 2 vols.; ed. Bentley Layton; Leiden: Brill, 1989) 1. 103–9; cf.
Gathercole, ibid., 35–90. I use the adjective “Thomasine” (i.e., “referring to the Gospel of Thomas”) to refer
to the text, content, theology, or author(s) of either of the two forms of the text. One final point: when I speak
of the Gospel of Thomas in Volume Five without further qualification, I am always referring to the work
described here. In other words, I never use the phrase “the Gospel of Thomas” or “Thomas” without further
qualification to refer to other ancient works that bear the name of Thomas, such as the apocryphal gospel
called the Greek Infancy Gospel of Thomas (on which see A Marginal Jew, 1. 115 and 145 n. 17).
 45. For a review of literature and contending positions on the Gospel of Thomas, see Nicholas Perrin,
“Recent Trends in Gospel of Thomas Research (1991–2006): Part I, The Historical Jesus and the Synoptic
Gospels,” Currents in Biblical Research 5 (2007) 183–206 (note the lengthy bibliography on pp. 199–206).
For a collection of essays presenting different approaches to the problem of Thomas and the NT, see Das
Thomasevangelium. Entstehung—Rezeption—Theologie (BZNW 157; ed. Jörg Frey, Enno Edzard Popkes,
and Jens Schröter; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008). The essay by Jörg Frey (“Die Lilien und das
Gewand: EvThom 36 und 37 als Paradigma für das Verhältnis des Thomasevangeliums zur synoptischen
Überlieferung,” pp. 122–80) offers in its first part (pp. 122–47) a helpful review of research, especially
because it considers not just selected authors’ positions but also their presuppositions and implicit
hermeneutical projects. For other surveys that also raise methodological questions, see Stephen J. Patterson,
The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1993), 1–16; Reinhard Nordsieck, Das Thomas-
Evangelium (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2004) 7–30; April D. De-Conick, The Original
Gospel of Thomas in Translation (London: Clark, 2007) 2–24; Nicholas Perrin, Thomas, the Other Gospel
(Louisville/London: Westminster/John Knox, 2007) 1–69; Uwe-Karsten Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas
(Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2008) 9–36; Michael Labahn, “The Non-Synoptic Jesus: An
Introduction to John, Paul, Thomas, and Other Outsiders of the Jesus Quest,” Handbook for the Study of the
Historical Jesus (4 vols.; ed. Tom Holmén and Stanley E. Porter; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011) 3. 1933–96,
esp. 1976–84; Edwin K. Broadhead, “The Thomas-Jesus Connection,” ibid., 3. 2059–80; Christopher W.
Skinner, What Are They Saying about the Gospel of Thomas? (New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 2012).
46. Frey (“Die Lilien und das Gewand,” 122–80) observes (p. 136) that the influence of such scholars as
Helmut Koester and James M. Robinson in championing the independence of Thomas has led in some circles
to a new “standard critical orthodoxy” (borrowing a phrase from Christopher Tuckett) that is hardly less
dogmatic than the traditional view of the priority of the canonical traditions. Perrin (“Recent Trends,” 196)
detects a certain “gridlock” on questions of dating and sources.
47. For examples of authors who question Thomas’ supposed independence of the Synoptics, see the
articles by Charles L. Quarles, “The Use of the Gospel of Thomas in the Research on the Historical Jesus of
John Dominic Crossan,” CBQ 69 (2007) 517–36; Simon Gathercole, “Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” NTS
57 (2011) 114–44. More recently, whole books have taken up the argument against Thomas’ independence of
the Synoptics; see in particular Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas (SNTSMS 151;
Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2012) 127–224; idem, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and
Commentary, 176–84; Mark Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels. The Case for Thomas’s Familiarity with
the Synoptics (Grand Rapids, MI; Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2012). The various publications of Gathercole
and Goodacre seem to have put the “independence party” on the defensive. The lively debate among major
protagonists on both sides is mirrored in a special issue of JSNT 36 (2014) 199–293 (the March fascicle).
Questions about the general approach and detailed arguments of Gathercole and Goodacre are raised by John
S. Kloppenborg, “A New Synoptic Problem: Mark Goodacre and Simon Gathercole on Thomas” (pp. 199–
239); Nicola Denzey Lewis, “A New Gnosticism: Why Simon Gathercole and Mark Goodacre on the Gospel
of Thomas Change the Field” (pp. 240–50); Stephen J. Patterson, “Twice More—Thomas and the Synoptics:
A Reply to Simon Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, and Mark Goodacre, Thomas and
the Gospels” (pp. 251–61). Replies to the questions and objections raised in these essays are given by Simon
Gathercole, “Thomas Revisited: A Rejoinder to Denzey Lewis, Kloppenborg and Patterson” (pp. 262–81);
and Mark Goodacre, “Did Thomas Know the Synoptic Gospels? A Response to Denzey Lewis, Kloppenborg
and Patterson” (pp. 282–93). Amid the many different views expressed by the first three authors in this
fascicle, one senses an ebbing of the automatic presumption in favor of the independence of the Thomasine
logia with Synoptic parallels, a presumption that was once the opinio communis among North American
scholars. A much earlier attempt to argue at length for the dependence of Thomas on the Synoptics was made
by the monograph of Michael Fieger, Das Thomasevangelium (NTAbh 22; Münster: Aschendorff, 1991).
Unfortunately, Fieger’s book suffers from a very heavy dependence on the still earlier monograph of
Wolfgang Schrage, Das Verhältnis des Thomas-Evangeliums zur synoptischen Tradition und zu den
koptischen Evangelienübersetzungen (BZNW 29; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1964). Nevertheless, to accuse Fieger
of plagiarism, as Plisch does (The Gospel of Thomas, 16 n. 19), seems unduly harsh.
48. A Marginal Jew, 1. 124–39.
 49. Christopher Tuckett (“Thomas and the Synoptics,” NovT 30 [1988] 132–57) entertains the possibility
of Thomas knowing not all three Synoptic Gospels but rather a single harmonized text (p. 157). He makes the
further intriguing suggestion that a “post-Synoptic” source might explain the order of sayings as also “post-
Synoptic.”—One must remember, amid all the many methodological problems involved in the arguments for
or against Thomas’ dependence on the Synoptics, that an a priori problem with the theory of Thomas’
independence is that “it can only ever be provisional” (Gathercole, “Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” 116).
The reason for this is that it is in principle extremely difficult, if not nigh impossible, to prove non-use of a
text in the ancient world, to say nothing of proving that an ancient author did not know an earlier text. In
contrast, an author’s use of a prior text (and hence his or her knowledge of that prior text) is in principle
verifiable, however difficult it may be in a given case. To be sure, the nature of Thomas as a collection of
free-floating logia, lacking a larger narrative context, does make verification much more difficult than, for
example, the verification of the dependence of certain Matthean pericopes on their Marcan parallels.
50. Certain monographs focus on a particular subset of Thomasine logia. For examples, a study that
restricts itself to the sayings of Thomas containing parables, aphorisms, and metaphors that deal with the
kingdom of God and that are parallel to material in Synoptic sayings can be found in Jacobus Liebenberg,
The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus. Parable, Aphorism, and Metaphor in the Sayings Material
Common to the Synoptic Tradition and the Gospel of Thomas (BZNW 102; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter,
2001).
51. Granted this solution to the problem of orderly presentation, I ask the reader to excuse a certain amount
of repetition of material in both Thesis Six (here in Chapter 37) and Chapter 38. The repetition is necessary
to ensure that each unit will be coherent and intelligible when read separately. Thus, Thesis Six in Chapter 37
summarizes the results reached at the end of Chapter 38, while the beginning of Chapter 38 will repeat some
introductory material from Thesis Six.
52. At the end of his powerful and convincing treatment of “Thomas, the New Testament and the
Historical Jesus” (Chapter 11 in his The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 176–84),
Gathercole states: “As scholarship currently stands . . . , the Gospel of Thomas can hardly be regarded as
useful in the reconstruction of a historical picture of Jesus.” Anyone wishing a brief summation of arguments
demonstrating that Thomas is neither earlier than nor independent of the Synoptic Gospels could hardly find
a better digest of decades of scholarship and debate than this chapter. Gathercole’s own work has especially
highlighted the influence of both Matthew and Luke on a significant number of Thomas’ logia; see, e.g.,
ibid., 178–80, where Gathercole concludes with typical restraint (p. 180): “As a result, a view of the
independence of Thomas from the Synoptics is difficult to entertain.”
53. For an overview of the criteria proposed in historical Jesus research, see A Marginal Jew, 1. 167–95.
54. Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 565) speaks for many: “Everyone admits that the parables are the surest
source we have of Jesus’ teaching.” Present-day examples of such confidence can easily be multiplied,
especially among exegetes of a conservative tendency; see, e.g., Greg W. Forbes, “The Parables,” The
Content and Setting of the Gospel Tradition (ed. Mark Harding and Alanna Nobbs; Grand Rapids,
MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2010) 366–68. But even more critical scholars, while exploring one or
another aspect of the ministry of the historical Jesus, will almost automatically presume the authenticity of
the parables that they employ to demonstrate their positions; see, e.g., Michael Wolter, “Jesus as a Teller of
Parables: On Jesus’ Self-Interpretation in His Parables,” Jesus Research: An International Perspective. The
First Princeton-Prague Symposium on Jesus Research, Prague 2005 (ed. James H. Charlesworth with Petr
Pokorný; Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2009) 123–39; similarly, but perhaps with a greater
sense of the problem involved, Rudolf Hoppe, “How Did Jesus Understand His Death? The Parables in
Eschatological Prospect,” ibid., 154–69, esp. 158–59. A good deal of this confidence can be traced back to
Adolf Jülicher (Die Gleichnisreden Jesu [2 vols.; Freiburg: Mohr, 1888, 1889 (reprint published by
Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1910; reprinted as one volume by Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche
Buchgesellschaft, 1963)]), who, while acknowledging the permutations introduced by the Christian tradition
and the evangelists, nevertheless held that (p. 11) “we find no basis for denying the genuineness of the
Gospel parables in general; on the contrary, we are compelled to attribute to them a relative authenticity;
almost without exception they have a genuine kernel that goes back to Jesus himself. This principle hardly
seems to need a defense . . .” (the translation of the German text is my own). Indeed, Dodd begins his classic
The Parables of the Kingdom with the ringing affirmation (p. 13), “The parables are perhaps the most
characteristic element in the teaching of Jesus Christ. . . . They have upon them, taken as a whole, the stamp
of a highly individual mind. . . . Certainly there is no part of the Gospel record which has for the reader a
clearer ring of authenticity.” Jeremias (The Parables of Jesus, 11–12) concurs: “The student of the parables
of Jesus . . . may be confident that he stands upon a particularly firm historical foundation. The parables are a
fragment of the original rock of tradition . . . in reading the parables we are dealing with a particularly
trustworthy tradition, and are brought into immediate relation with Jesus.” Although more recent authors
seek to nuance these claims with references to multiple oral performances, the authentic voice of Jesus, or the
originating structure of a parable, the parables remain the most trusted source for knowing the teaching of the
historical Jesus. For example, while admitting the lengthy process of oral and written transmission and
reinterpretation that lies between Jesus and our written Gospels, Norman Perrin (Jesus and the Language of
the Kingdom [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976] 3) maintains that “the parables of Jesus were so distinctive that in
broad structural outline they survived the subsequent process of transmission very well . . . [so that] the
original form and thrust of the parables have not proven difficult to reconstruct.” While John R. Donahue
seeks rather the meaning of the parables within their respective Gospel contexts, he begins his quest with this
comment about past parable research (The Gospel in Parable [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988] ix): “For the past
century the parables have served as the royal road to the life, teaching, and self-understanding of Jesus.”
Perhaps reflecting the many different perspectives of a large working group, the Jesus Seminar, under the
leadership of Robert W. Funk, expressed more diffidence. Yet, in the end, this highly skeptical seminar
(witness the final results of their deliberations in The Five Gospels) proved more positive about the parables
than about most Gospel material. In its separate and initial report on the parables, The Parables of Jesus. Red
Letter Edition (ed. Robert W. Funk, Bernard Brandon Scott, and James R. Butts; Sonoma, CA: Polebridge,
1988), the Jesus Seminar put five parables (six versions) in the “undoubtably Jesus said something like this”
category, eighteen parables (twenty-eight versions) in the “Jesus probably said something like this” category,
ten parables (fourteen versions) in the “ideas contained [in these parables] are close to his own” category, and
eleven parables (twelve versions—but only four of the eleven parables are found in the Synoptics; the rest
come from the NT Apocrypha or patristic writings) in the “Jesus did not say this” category.
55. For a comparison between the parables of Jesus and those of the later rabbis, see Catherine Hezser,
“Rabbinische Gleichnisse und ihre Vergleichbarkeit mit neutestamentlichen Gleichnissen,” Hermeneutik der
Gleichnisse Jesu (WUNT 231; ed. Ruben Zimmermann with Gabi Kern; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2008)
217–37. Other works that engage this topic include Clemens Thoma and Simon Lauer, Die Gleichnisse der
Rabbinen (Judaica et Christiana 10, 16, 18; Bern: Lang, 1986); Peter Dschulnigg, Rabbinische Gleichnisse
und das Neue Testament (Judaica et Christiana 12; Bern: Lang, 1988); Brad H. Young, Jesus and His Jewish
Parables (New York: Paulist Press, 1989); McArthur and Johnston, They Also Taught in Parables; Alan
Appelbaum, The Rabbis’ King-Parables. Midrash from the Third-Century Roman Empire (Judaism in
Context 7; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2010), esp. his appendix, “Jesus’ King-Parables,” 271–96. I mean no
slight to the great rabbinic tradition of parables when I do not engage in a detailed discussion of their relation
to Jesus’ parables. If one were concerned with a synchronic comparison of literary forms, traits, and motifs in
various parables across the wide sweep of Israel’s history and literary tradition, it would be necessary to
bring together OT parables, those of Jesus, and those of the Tannaitic and Amoraic rabbis (indeed, one could
continue tracing the Jewish tradition of teaching via parables far beyond the period of the Talmuds).
However, here we are concerned with the historical question of the background and contemporary context of
Jesus’ use of parables. Hence parables that are attested in documentary evidence only centuries later cannot
qualify as “background.” To the oft-repeated mantra of some scholars that the contents of the later literature
reflect much earlier oral traditions, one must reply with a question that is not repeated often enough: How
much earlier? In most cases, we cannot say. Then, too, there is the basically different Sitz im Leben of the
rabbinic parables (as compared with those of Jesus) that naturally produces a different type of parable:
formulated within the setting and needs of academies, the rabbinic parables directly address problems of
scriptural interpretation and hălākâ in a way that Jesus’ parables generally do not. However, this observation
about the real differences in Sitz im Leben, immediate audience, and intentionality (to say nothing of the
problem of dating) should not be taken as a sort of crypto-apologetics employed to exalt Jesus’ parables over
those of the rabbis. “Different” or “earlier” does not necessarily mean “better.”
56. I realize that one is drawing a fine distinction in deciding that Jesus’ saying about the Leaven (which
takes up a single verse in Matt 13:33, but two verses in Luke 13:20–21) qualifies as a parable while the
saying about the strong man does not. I would argue that, in the parable of the Leaven, there is a mini-plot or
mini-narrative with a sequence of actions leading to a denouement. Such a narrative structure and
development are lacking in the similitude of the strong man (note that “and then he pillages his house” at the
end of Mark 3:27 simply repeats by way of inclusio the idea of pillaging his house stated at the beginning of
the verse). But I readily admit that lines of division become fuzzy at this point and that therefore those critics
who categorize the saying about the strong man as a parable may be correct. This saying is especially
difficult to classify because Luke’s version (probably the Q form; see A Marginal Jew, 2. 417) takes up two
verses and expands the similitude into what one might argue does constitute a parable.
57. For varied approaches to the questions surrounding memory, oral tradition, and written sources, see,
e.g., James D. G. Dunn, Jesus Remembered (Christianity in the Making 1; Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge,
UK: Eerdmans, 2003), esp. 173–254; Terence C. Mournet, Oral Tradition and Literary Dependency.
Variability and Stability in the Synoptic Tradition and Q (WUNT 2/195; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2005);
Armin D. Baum, Der mündliche Faktor und seine Bedeutung für die synoptische Frage (Texte und Arbeiten
zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 49; Tübingen: Francke, 2008); Robert K. McIver, Memory, Jesus, and the
Synoptic Gospels (SBL Resources for Biblical Study 59; Atlanta: SBL, 2011). To take one prominent
example of this approach that emphasizes the importance of the memory and oral testimony of eyewitnesses:
in many different publications, Richard Bauckham has sought to create a presumption in favor of the
reliability of the Gospel traditions in general on the grounds that they enshrine eyewitness testimony. See,
e.g., his Jesus and the Eyewitnesses. The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony (Grand Rapids, MI; Cambridge,
UK: Eerdmans, 2006). While this is not the place for a full discussion of his views, I would briefly note the
following: (1) Bauckham’s overall project is one of theological apologetics, not a quest for the historical
Jesus. The driving engine of his whole approach is a particular theological agenda, which makes his
methodology unacceptable in a strictly historical quest for the historical Jesus. I have no objection to
christology in particular and theology in general using arguments from both historical research and the social
sciences; indeed, I think such an approach is laudable. But a theological project employing historical research
must not be confused with a strictly historical project, and the quest for the historical Jesus must be the latter.
(2) Bauckham’s use of patristic and other early Christian sources in general and of Papias in particular is
open to serious question. I dare say that the fragmentary statements of Papias about the Gospels and the early
disciples (cited by Eusebius) have yielded more diverse and clashing interpretations than many cruces
interpretum in the NT. To place so much weight on Papias for an overall argument for the reliability of the
Gospels and the eyewitness testimony supposedly contained in them is to build on sand. On the problem of
the mythical and legendary elements that predominate in the oral traditions preserved by Papias, see David E.
Aune, “Prolegomena to the Study of Oral Tradition in the Hellenistic World,” Jesus and the Oral Gospel
Tradition (JSNTSup 64; ed. Henry Wansbrough; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1991) 59–106, esp. 80–83, 98.
Noteworthy is Aune’s observation (p. 97) that, in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, oral traditions were
considered more valuable than written texts in some circles, while other circles regarded written texts as
more valuable than oral tradition. Papias’ high estimation of oral traditions was not universally shared. (3)
For a brief and convenient example of Bauckham’s questionable handling of patristic material, one need only
peruse his solution to the question of the precise relationship of “the brothers and sisters” of Jesus to the
historical Jesus (“The Brothers and Sisters of Jesus: An Epiphanian Response to John P. Meier,” CBQ 56
[1994] 686–700). In his defense of the Epiphanian view (i.e., that the brothers and sisters of Jesus were the
offspring of Joseph by a previous marriage), Bauckham employs as key witnesses the Protevangelium
Jacobi, the Greek Infancy Gospel of Thomas, and the Gospel of Peter (actually a dubious statement about the
Gospel of Peter in Origen). For a critique of his argument and his odd use of these patristic sources, see my
“On Retrojecting Later Questions from Later Texts,” 511–27. (4) Bauckham appeals to various social-
scientific studies to bolster his claim about eyewitnesses and memory. The problem is that other social-
scientific studies may be and have been invoked to question the reliability of eyewitness testimony; see, e.g.,
Judith C. S. Redman, “How Accurate Are Eyewitnesses? Bauckham and the Eyewitnesses in the Light of
Psychological Research,” JBL 129 (2010) 177–97. One is reminded of dueling lawyers at a criminal trial,
each one calling to the stand a psychiatrist to give expert witness that diametrically opposes the witness of
the other expert. (5) All too often, appeals by biblical scholars to studies of memory presume that memory
plays an important role only in the passing on of traditions in their oral stage. As I noted earlier in this
chapter, especially in the ancient world, memory of texts previously heard or read would also influence
scribes in the production or copying of texts. For some corrective comments on the use of memory studies in
debates about the oral and written sources of the Gospels, see Alan Kirk, “Orality, Writing, and Phantom
Sources: Appeals to Ancient Media in Some Recent Challenges to the Two Document Hypothesis,” NTS 58
(2012) 1–22; this article should be read in tandem with his essay, “Memory Theory and Jesus Research,”
Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (4 vols.; ed. Tom Holmén and Stanley E. Porter;
Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011) 1. 809–51.
58. On the whole question of the relation of “oral performance” to the formation and reading of NT texts,
see Larry W. Hurtado, “Oral Fixation and New Testament Studies? ‘Orality,’ ‘Performance’ and Reading
Texts in Early Christianity,” NTS 60 (2014) 321–40. While affirming the importance of the spoken word and
oral tradition in early Christianity, Hurtado stresses that this does not justify assigning written texts a minor
role. He rightly questions claims that in early Christian groups texts were not read aloud from written
documents but rather delivered from memory in a theatrical performance and that at times Christian texts
were composed in and by such oral performances. At the same time, we must remember that our own focus
in Volume Five is the passing down of individual parables by tradents of the Synoptic tradition within the
first and second generations of Christianity. Whether or not individual parables were gathered together in a
small written collection of parables before Mark and the other evangelists composed their Gospels is
something we do not and cannot know.
59. While comparisons made to the oral traditions behind the Iliad, the Odyssey, and other ancient epic
poems as well as to folk traditions and poems handed down orally in certain modern cultures (e.g., the
Balkans) are enlightening, one must at the same time bear in mind the relatively unusual nature of the
Synoptic tradition. (1) The traditions coming from Jesus were in the beginning purely oral; yet these oral
traditions were being passed down in a culture that was also scribal and had been scribal for many centuries.
(2) Between the time of Jesus’ public ministry (ca. A.D. 28–30) and the composition of the first Synoptic
Gospel stand at most forty years (if we accept the common dating of Mark ca. A.D. 70). If one were to accept
the date sometimes suggested for the composition of the Q document (ca. A.D. 50), the time of a purely oral
tradition without any written expression shrinks to twenty years. A similar conclusion would have to be
drawn if we accepted the theories of some Marcan scholars about pre-Marcan written sources containing
collections of dispute stories, parables, miracle stories, or a primitive Passion Narrative. (3) Once Q and
Mark are written down and begin to circulate in other churches (both are known independently by Matthew
and Luke, writing in different churches ca. A.D. 80–90), we must reckon with the ongoing oral tradition being
affected by secondary orality springing from these written sources. (4) That certain written sources, soon
after they appeared, were considered especially important and even authoritative (though certainly not yet
canonical) can be seen from the fact that between 80 and 90 percent of Mark was taken over and reworked by
Matthew, despite Matthew’s obvious distaste for Mark’s style and theology. On this question, see David C.
Sim, “Matthew’s Use of Mark: Did Matthew Intend to Supplement or to Replace His Primary Source?,” NTS
57 (2011) 176–92. Moreover, despite the fact that Luke most likely did not know Matthew, he likewise
adopted the ungainly Mark as the narrative backbone of his vastly expanded and more sophisticated literary
work. (5) In the whole process of the oral transmission of Jesus’ words and deeds and their eventual
incorporation into written Gospels, one must remember that we are not dealing with epic stories about heroes
from the distant past or recent reports about intriguing events within one’s social group. After the pivotal
events surrounding Jesus’ death and the reports of his resurrection, his followers (including eyewitnesses of
the public ministry) passed on traditions about him as “good news,” sacred traditions that were so important
for the salvation of the bearers and their audiences that they were willing to suffer persecution and even death
for the truth of what they proclaimed. This is not the same as a bard’s dedication to passing on and
developing Homeric poetry.
60. We will be running into the technical term “tradent” a good deal in subsequent chapters. According to
the Internet resource “Oxford Biblical Studies Online,” in academic usage “tradent” means “one who is
responsible for preserving and handing on the oral tradition, such as a teacher or preacher or missionary”;
examples of such oral traditions would be dispute stories, miracle stories, and parables.
61. Gerhardsson, “The Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,” 362. Taking Matt 13:51–52 as an
indication of such creative freedom, Gerhardsson (p. 363) concludes that “the question of the authenticity of
the individual mashal must be discussed, in the last resort, from case to case.”
 62. One might object that the criterion of embarrassment can be used for those parables that seem to extol
or hold up as a model a person of questionable moral probity. A prime example would be the parable
traditionally given the title of the Dishonest Steward (Luke 16:1–9). The problem with this line of argument,
however, is that one is presuming that one correctly understands the parable and that therefore one correctly
detects immoral activity on the part of the steward (note the preemptive strike of the traditional title, “the
Dishonest Steward,” with the presumption that this title encapsulates the main point of the parable). If instead
one takes the view that the steward in the parable, while irresponsible in squandering his master’s goods
(16:2–3) and therefore “dishonest” in that sense, does not do anything dishonest in reducing the amounts
owed by the debtors (16:5–7) but rather voluntarily renounces the part of the debt payment that would accrue
to him as his commission on the transactions (see, e.g., Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke
[AYB 28 and 28A; 2 vols.; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1981, 1985] 2. 1094–1102), the steward, at least at
the end of the story, is being cagey and prudent rather than dishonest. Faced with a crisis, he has chosen
short-term loss for the sake of long-term gain. Be that as it may, the larger point here is that before one can
appeal to the argument from embarrassment in the case of a parable, one must first establish one’s particular
interpretation of the parable (namely, that the parable is extolling a disreputable person precisely because he
is disreputable) as the correct one. Then, too, what counts as a disreputable person in 21st-century America
(e.g., a hard, demanding, punitive master) did not necessarily count as such in the ancient Near East.
63. Hear Then the Parable, 63–64. Scott is quite honest about the reason for framing his method in the
way he does. He accepts the (questionable) methodological principle espoused by Norman Perrin: “. . . the
burden of proof falls on the one who would claim the authenticity of a saying. . . .” Scott immediately
counters that the case is different when it comes to Jesus’ parables; here the burden of proof falls on the
person claiming that the “originating structure” of a parable is not from Jesus. Apart from the fact that I do
not think that Scott’s reasons for shifting the burden of proof hold, a further problem with his whole approach
is presuming the binary dilemma in which one is dealing with only two interlocutors: the defender and the
denier of the authenticity of a parable. This binary approach implicitly allows only two possible judgments at
the end of a scholarly inquiry: either the parable comes from the historical Jesus, or it does not. But as we
have seen countless times in the first four volumes of A Marginal Jew, the sober judgment at the end of an
investigation may instead be non liquet. Granted this third option, the principle of the burden of proof is
better formulated as follows: the burden of proof falls on anyone who tries to prove anything; on this, see A
Marginal Jew, 1. 194 n. 65.
64. On the problem connected with an esthetic argument for the authenticity of the Synoptic parables, see
Gerhard Sellin, “Lukas als Gleichniserzähler: die Erzählung vom barmherzigen Samariter (Lk 10:25–37),”
ZNW 65 (1974) 166–89 (Part I); ZNW 66 (1975) 19–60 (Part I), esp. 167–68.
65. See the remark of Appelbaum in his The Rabbis’ King-Parables, 271.
66. See Scott, Hear Then the Parable, 64.
67. One must allow for the fact that variations in oral performance of a parable may go back to Jesus
himself, who quite possibly spoke the same basic parable on different occasions to different audiences and
therefore modified the parable accordingly.
68. Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 361.
69. Ibid., 308.
70. Ibid., 257.
71. Ibid., 233; cf. 139, 143–44.
72. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 118; cf. 103.
73. A number of other problems might be mentioned, including (1) the refusal to adopt and stick to any
one solution of the Synoptic Problem and (2) the absence of a detailed verse-by-verse exegesis of each
parable. Instead, appeals to multiple oral performances, the nonexistence of any original version of a parable,
and similar mantras popular today mask the absence of methodological rigor. When it comes to the question
of the authenticity of the parables, Snodgrass’s whole project remains on a lofty level of generalization,
intuition, and artistic impressionism.
EXCURSUS ON CHAPTER 37
THE PROBLEM OF ALEGORY

The nature of allegory continues to be a source of debate among parable scholars

today (as it was among ancient Greek and Latin authors), in part because allegory
in itself, even apart from its relation to the category of parable, is a vast topic
resistant to neat definitions.1 The understanding of the nature and value of
allegory has changed over the centuries, and one would be hard pressed to find a
definition or description of allegory that would satisfy every critic today.2 Here I
will simply sketch in broad strokes the understanding that governs my treatment
of allegory, while avoiding the detailed technical debates in which academics
engage over allegory’s precise definition and function. In a wide sense, allegory is
a particular way of thinking, speaking, writing, and creating art, a way that
involves extensive and (when it is well done) coherent use of symbols and/or
metaphors to communicate a message via analogy. One reason why I start with
this general description of allegory is that allegory is not limited to literature;
paintings, sculpture, musical compositions (e.g., Richard Wagner’s Tristan und
Isolde), and other works of art can also be allegorical.3 When the term is applied
to literature, allegory is not to be reduced to one particular literary genre; hence it
is not to be set alongside or opposed to the literary genre of parable. Rather,
allegory is a rhetorical mode or technique of speaking and writing that can be
found in many different literary genres (e.g., narrative poetry, lyric poetry,
parables, artful and polemical retellings of history, and whole novels). Popularly,
allegory is often thought of as a symbolic story in which every significant actor,
action, name, object, or place in one sphere of reality corresponds to another
actor, action, name, object, or place in another sphere of reality. Understood in
this limited sense, allegory is not just one extended metaphor but a whole string
of metaphors. The individual metaphors may be skillfully tied together to form a
coherent whole, or they may be loosely and artificially strung together, with the
meaning that the author wishes to inculcate dictating the awkward or somewhat
unnatural relations and interactions among the metaphors. While highly artificial
and heavy-handed allegories can frequently be found in literature (e.g., John
Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress), such specimens hardly reflect the full range of
allegory, which has a remarkably elastic and flexible nature.4 One way of thinking
of a well-executed allegory is to imagine a narrative that is not simply a string of
related metaphors but more importantly one grand metaphor extending
throughout and suffusing the entire narrative. In such a case, the extent to which
individual elements in the narrative realm refer point by point to elements in the
corresponding realm of reality can vary greatly from one allegorical narrative to
another.5
To illustrate this understanding of allegory, while avoiding too narrow a
conception of allegory that might result from fixating solely on the material in the
Synoptic Gospels or even on religion in general, let us first examine a modern
secular example of an allegorical narrative. Quite different from The Pilgrim’s
Progress is George Orwell’s Animal Farm (written in 1943–44 and published in
1945), which can be viewed as one grand allegory from start to finish, a satirical
novel symbolizing and illuminating the betrayal of the ideals behind the Russian
Revolution by Stalin’s institution of a totalitarian system in the Soviet Union.
Animal Farm is especially instructive in that, technically speaking, its literary
genre is that of an animal fable.6 This underscores the point that allegory is
something other than a single literary genre or a rhetorical technique confined to a
single genre. Within Orwell’s overarching allegory there are indeed many
individual correspondences: the pig Old Major is Marx and/or Lenin; Napoleon,
the pig who seizes tyrannical power over the farm, is Stalin; Snowball, the more
vivacious and eloquent pig leader, is Trotsky; the Raven is the Russian Orthodox
Church, and so forth. But the allegory that is the whole novel is much more than a
series of clever equations between discrete metaphors and discrete realities. The
master allegory is more than the sum of its parts. All this results in a complex
hermeneutical piece of literary art, and one appreciates how the allegory can work
on different levels for different readers of different time periods.
Animal Farm is rightly considered an allegory because of (a) the express
intention of the original author, (b) an intention that is skillfully embodied in the
literary structure and content of the text, and (c) an intention that is clearly
communicated to the original audience that the author had in mind.7 As is often
the case in allegory, obfuscation and mystification were not the author’s goal. In
fact, the all-too-clear message of Orwell’s allegory made it difficult for him to
find a publisher in England just as World War II was ending.8 Clearly, then, to
recognize and interpret Animal Farm as an allegory satirizing Stalin’s Soviet
Union is not to engage in some kind of artificial or contrived allegorical exegesis;
the allegorical interpretation intended by the original author and immediately
understood by the original audience is the correct and natural (indeed, one might
even say the literal) meaning. However, like every good allegory and every great
work of art, the value of Animal Farm is not limited to the intention of the
original author, the originating situation, and the originally targeted audience.
Because of its internal dynamism and the elasticity of its metaphorical world,
well-executed allegory can transcend its original matrix and speak to new
audiences in quite different circumstances. For example, Animal Farm is still read
tōday by 21st-century Americans who fear that certain developments in their own
country could lead to either fascist or socialist totalitarianism (notice how
partisans of both right and left can read the master allegory for their own
purposes). The grand allegory still works, whether or not present-day readers
understand all the individual “equations” intended by Orwell. (How may young
American readers know or care that the pig Squealer represents Molotov?)
Animal Farm will continue to be read and valued as long as there are political
movements or systems whose ideals can be betrayed by mendacious, brutal, and
self-serving leaders at the top as well as by willfully ignorant, feckless, and
fearful followers down below. Such latter-day readers of the novel are hardly
doing violence to the allegory at the heart of Animal Farm, even though the
allegorical correspondences they would see would not necessarily be the original
ones intended by the author or understood by the original audience. Such new
allegorical interpretations evoked by problems in the 21st century cannot be
judged as artificial or contrived; they stand in living, organic continuity with the
original allegorical thrust of the text. In contrast, for both liberal and evangelical
Protestants in 21st-century America to use Animal Farm as an allegorical polemic
against the alleged theological errors of their ecclesiastical adversaries might
produce some clever displays of manipulative and imaginative interpretation of
the text; but anyone standing outside the theological boxing ring would readily
recognize such interpretation as contrived eisegesis, a case of allegorizing
interpretation at its maladroit worst. One could almost hear the atheist Orwell
groaning—though, if we may judge from various comments he made elsewhere,
he probably would not object to applying the allegory to the Pope, the Jesuits, and
the Catholic Church. In brief, allegory properly performed and grasped is a work
of art far removed from the Procrustean bed of tit-for-tat corresponding
metaphors, the popular understanding of allegory.
Applying these insights to the much narrower question of the Synoptic parables
and the place of allegory in them, we can in one respect give Adolf Jülicher his
due. He was correct in rejecting the extremely elaborate and artificial allegorizing
exegesis employed by many (though not all) patristic and medieval theologians—
a type of exegesis still found in popular works and excruciating homilies. The
famous exemplar of such ingenious if contrived interpretation is St. Augustine’s
reading of Luke 10:30–37, the parable of the Good Samaritan (Quaestiones
evangeliorum, 2.19).9 Augustine finds in the parable a summary of the whole of
salvation history from the fall of Adam to salvation by Christ and eternal life,
with, for example, Jericho symbolizing the changeable moon and therefore
signifying our human mortality. Such allegorizing, however entertaining or
amusing, is utterly foreign to the intention of the original author addressing his
original audience (be that Jesus teaching his disciples or Luke teaching his
church). The problem is that, in an extreme modern reaction to extreme patristic
distortions, Jülicher declared that the historical Jesus never used allegory in his
parables; indeed, allegory was essentially opposed to the simple parables of Jesus
with their one point of comparison (the tertium comparationis). Alas, Jülicher’s
neat dichotomy runs up against both the dynamic, elastic nature of allegory that
we have examined and the complex inventory of Jesus’ variegated parables. The
fact of the matter is that the parables ascribed to Jesus, as they stand in the
Synoptics, evince a complicated and variable relation to allegory. Let us take a
couple of different examples to examine this fluctuating relation between parable
and allegory in Jesus’ parables.
(1) A large majority of exegetes judge the allegorical interpretation of the
parable of the Sower (Mark 4:14–20 vis-à-vis 4:3–8) to be a secondary addition
of the early Christian tradition, a creation either of Mark or of some pre-Marcan
author.10 Both the vocabulary of the allegorical interpretation and some of the
problems addressed therein seem to reflect the situation of early Christian
preaching rather than that of the historical Jesus. Yet, while secondary in the
chronological and ideological sense, Mark’s allegorical interpretation is not as
foreign and artificially connected to the parable of the Sower as is Augustine’s
salvation-historical interpretation to the parable of the Good Samaritan. In the
case of Mark, it is true that his allegorical interpretation of the fourfold fate of the
seed goes beyond the original thrust of the parable by focusing on the subjective
dispositions of the various hearers of the word as they respond to diverse external
pressures. Yet the very presence in the original parable of the four different soils
that determine the four different fates of the seed, in addition to the traditional
meaning of symbols like rocks, weeds, thorns, and abundant harvests in stories
involving agriculture, creates a certain metaphorical dynamism in the basic
structure and thrust of the parable that in turn could easily call forth the type of
allegorical interpretation supplied by Mark. Admittedly, Mark’s allegorical
interpretation is a later development, neither intrinsic nor necessary to the original
text; but it is not without some organic connection to the text that helped generate
it.
(2) The case of Matthew’s parable of the Wheat and the Weeds (Matt 13:24–30,
to be treated at length in Chapter 38) is more complicated. Even apart from
Matthew’s allegorical interpretation (13:37–43), in the parable proper the series of
stock figures (the master of the estate, his slaves, sowing and harvesting, good
and bad plants, destruction by fire as a final event as opposed to the ingathering of
the harvest) constitutes a string of metaphors that were well known in Jewish
prophecy and apocalyptic. Thus, the basic allegorical thrust of the parable proper
is already intimated, even though a precise catalogue identifying the meaning of
each metaphor has not yet been supplied to the audience. Indeed, one is prompted
to ask: is Matthew’s allegorical interpretation of the parable really secondary, a
later allegorization tacked on to a text that suggested and invited but did not
specify any given allegorical interpretation? Many exegetes would answer yes.
But it is also possible that both parable and allegorical interpretation are the work
of Matthew, fashioning the two at the same time. That the allegorical
interpretation shifts the emphasis of the parable somewhat would not in itself be
an argument against such a possibility, since such shifts are seen in some OT and
rabbinic allegories. If it be the case that Matthew created both parable and
allegorical interpretation at the same time as part of one coherent composition,
then not only would the parable be a full-fledged allegory but also the allegorical
interpretation would be in no sense artificial, secondary, or distorting. In fact, we
would be close to Orwell’s Animal Farm: the full-fledged allegory would be
embedded in the narrative itself and would be the original intent of the author.
The difference, of course, is that Orwell neither supplied nor desired a separate
catalogue of equivalences.
(3) Still more intriguing is Mark’s parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard
(Mark 12:1–11, likewise treated in Chapter 38). Here, unlike our two previous
examples, there is no separate allegorical explanation or catalogue of
equivalences (in this sense, we are brought even closer to Orwell’s Animal Farm).
If there is any allegory present in Mark 12:1–11, it must be embodied in and
communicated by the parable itself. As a matter of fact, anyone knowledgeable of
the Jewish Scriptures in general and of Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard (Isa 5:1–7)
in particular—and this would include knowledgeable Jews listening to Jesus
telling the parable ca. a.d. 30—would easily recognize the vineyard as Israel, the
owner of the vineyard as God, the servants sent by the owner as the prophets, and
those who reject and kill the servants as the evil leaders of Israel (or, more
specifically, of Jerusalem). In addition, early Christian hearers of the Marcan form
of the parable would immediately recognize the only son as Jesus, his violent
death as his crucifixion, the punishment of the tenants as the destruction of
Jerusalem, and the citation of LXX Psalm 117:22–23 as the announcement of
Jesus’ vindication by way of his resurrection. One would have to be totally
ignorant of both Jewish and early Jewish-Christian traditions not to grasp most if
not all of the allegory inherent in and throughout the parable. Far from some
adventitious contrivance, this allegory lies at the very core of the parable and is
inextricably bound up with it. In the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, so much is the
parable allegory and the allegory parable that a separate allegorical interpretation
à la Mark 4:14–20 would be both superfluous and tiresome. And yet this
inextricable union does not mean that the allegory loses its dynamism and
flexibility. Precisely because of those qualities, the allegory remains open to
further interpretation and adaptation, as is witnessed in the versions of Matthew,
Luke, and Thomas. In sum, an important conclusion to be drawn from this brief
examination of allegory and parable is that one must come to each Synoptic
parable with an open mind rather than a rigid grid. The various possible
relationships between parable and allegory must be worked out and evaluated in
the exegesis of the individual case.11

NOTES TO THE EXCURSUS

1. The reader will remember that in Chapter 37, the question of allegory arose in the context of treating
Ezekiel’s use of allegorical parables. So as not to disturb the flow of the main argument, the treatment of the
problem of allegory was postponed to this Excursus.
2. On this, see the historically ordered essays in Jon Whitman (ed.), Interpretation and Allegory. Antiquity
to the Modern Period (Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 101; Leiden/Boston/Cologne: Brill, 2000); Rita
Copeland and Peter T. Struck, The Cambridge Companion to Allegory (Cambridge, UK/New York:
Cambridge University, 2010).
3. On this point, see the various essays in Marlies Kronegger and Anna-Teresa Tymieniecka (eds.),
Allegory Old and New in Literature, the Fine Arts, Music and Theatre, and Its Continuity in Culture
(Analecta Husserliana 42; Dordrecht/Boston/London: Kluwer Academic, 1994).
4. John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress (Norton Critical Edition; ed. Cynthia Wall; New York/London:
Norton, 2009; originally published in 1678). For considerations of Bunyan’s use of allegory, see the selected
observations by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (pp. 379–80) and J. Paul Hunter (pp. 407–11) in the Norton Critical
Edition; see also James F. Forrest, “Allegory as Sacred Sport: Manipulation of the Reader in Spenser and
Bunyan,” Bunyan in Our Time (ed. Robert G. Collmer; Kent, OH/London, UK: Kent State University, 1989)
93–112; Barbara A. Johnson, “Falling into Allegory: The ‘Apology’ to The Pilgrim’s Progress and Bunyan’s
Scriptural Methodology,” ibid., 113–37; Roger Pooley, “The Pilgrim’s Progress and the Line of Allegory,”
The Cambridge Companion to Bunyan (ed. Anne Dunan-Page; Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University,
2010) 80–94.
5. For further discussion on these insights, see Madeleine Boucher, The Mysterious Parable (CBQMS 6;
Washington, DC: CBA, 1977) 20–22.
6. See Laraine Fergenson, “George Orwell’s Animal Farm: A Twentieth-Century Beast Fable,” George
Orwell’s Animal Farm (Modern Critical Interpretations; ed. Harold Bloom; Philadelphia: Chelsea House,
1999) 109–18.
7. This intention is made clear in his prefaces to the novel; see Animal Farm. A Fairy Story (The Complete
Works of George Orwell 8; ed. Peter Davison; London: Secker & Warburg, 1987) 97–114.
8. On this, see Bernard Crick, “The Making of Animal Farm,” George Orwell’s Animal Farm, 29–43.
9. For the Latin text, see Sancti Aurelii Augustini. Quaestiones evangeliorum (C Series Latina 44B;
Turnhout [Belgium]: Brepols, 1980) 62–63.
10. See, e.g., Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 77–79; Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, 14–15;
Crossan, In Parables, 41–42; Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 189–90; Scott, Hear Then the Parable, 343–
62. Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 164–66) represents the relatively few scholars arguing for origin from
Jesus.
11. For further reading on the question of allegory, see Hans-Josef Klauck, Allegorie und Allegorese in
synoptischen Gleichnistexten (NTAbh 13; Münster: Aschendorff, 1978; 2d ed. with appendix, 1986) 4–147;
Hans Weder, Die Gleichnisse Jesu als Metaphern (FRLANT 120; Göttingen-Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
1978; 4th ed. 1990) 69–75; Charles E. Carlston, “Parable and Allegory Revisited: An Interpretive Review,”
CBQ 43 (1981) 228–42; Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 12–14; Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 15–17;
David E. Aune, “Allegory,” The Westminster Dictionary of New Testament and Early Christian Literature
and Rhetoric (Louisville/London: Westminster/John Knox, 2003) 30–32; Simon Brittan, Poetry, Symbol, and
Allegory. Interpreting Metaphorical Language from Plato to the Present (Charlottesville, VA/London, UK:
University of Virginia, 2003); the various essays in Part II (“Allegory”) in G. R. Boys-Stones (ed.),
Metaphor, Allegory, and the Classical Tradition (Oxford/New York: Oxford University, 2003) 151–256;
Jeremy Tambling, Allegory (The New Critical Idiom; London/New York: Routledge, 2010).
CHAPTER 38

PARABLES AND THE PROBLEM OF THE

COPTIC GOSPEL OF THOMAS

I. THE PLACE OF THIS CHAPTER IN THE OVERALL ARGUMENT

Taken as a whole, Chapter 37 shouted a loud “no” to the common view that the
Synoptic parables are among the most reliable Gospel sayings attributed to Jesus,
part of the bedrock tradition that gives us access to the historical Jesus. The
contrarian view I espoused in Chapter 37 is simple: if we go through a list of the
Synoptic parables with the criteria of historicity in mind, we will surface few
credible candidates for the coveted accolade of authentic Jesus material. If we grant
the truth of this academic “rebel yell” with which Chapter 37 ended, our natural
impulse will be to proceed in haste to a preliminary inspection of all the Synoptic
parables in order to sort out likely prospects.
However, a major roadblock stands in the way of our moving immediately to our
initial inventory of the parables with the measuring rod of the criteria in hand. As
was intimated already in Chapter 37, and as will be demonstrated at length in
Chapters 39 and 40, we face a basic methodological problem: the nature of the
evidence causes the criterion of multiple attestation by more than one independent
literary source to play an outsized role in evaluating the authenticity of the
parables.1 In other words, whether a parable occurs in more than one independent
source will often determine whether it is placed among the sheep or the goats at the
judgment seat of historical criticism. Hence, granted the pivotal role that the
criterion of multiple attestation plays in this process, it will not do to circumvent or
postpone a key question: Does the Coptic Gospel of Thomas (= CGT) supply
independent attestation for some of the parables that are also found in the
Synoptics? If it does, then a number of parables otherwise assigned to the pen of
the inauthentic goats can be transferred to the fold of the authentic sheep. If it does
not, few parables will find their way into the sheepfold on the day of critical
judgment. Therefore it is vital that, before we proceed to our initial probe of the list
of parables (Chapter 39), we first face squarely the problem posed by those
parables in CGT which parallel Synoptic material.
Hence what this present chapter seeks to do is to provide a detailed
demonstration of the position enunciated in Thesis Six of Chapter 37: the claim that
parables in CGT present an independent and indeed earlier and more reliable
tradition of the parables is highly questionable. Within Chapter 37, consideration of
space allowed for only a brief and general argument in favor of this thesis. Here in
Chapter 38, I will offer an extensive demonstration that it is more likely than not
that the parables in CGT (and, indeed, the sayings tradition in general) evince
knowledge of or influence from the Synoptics.2 Once this position is established,
the precise range of material in which the criterion of multiple attestation can
properly operate becomes clear: the criterion applies only in the case of multiple
Synoptic sources that are literarily independent of each other. The parables in CGT
offer no help because it is unlikely that they represent an independent tradition. To
lay out my argument in an orderly fashion, I will first recapitulate some general
observations about Thomas that I made in Volume One of A Marginal Jew.3 Then I
will proceed to the detailed probes of individual sayings and parables that are
witnessed by both Thomas and the Synoptics.

II. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GOSPEL OF THOMAS IN RELATION

TO THE SYNOPTICS
Individual probes of sayings in CGT (and when applicable the Greek fragments)
are not all that convincing if they are seen in complete isolation from (a) the larger
picture of the situation of the Gospel of Thomas within the context of 2d-century
Christian literature and (b) the overall relationship of Thomas to the Synoptics. It is
to sketch this broader context that the following seven observations are offered in
concise summaries. The full exposition of these observations can be found in the
relevant sections of Volume One.4
(1) The composition of the Gospel of Thomas must be placed within a wider
framework: namely, the rich and varied production of many Christian writings in
the 2d century a.d., some gnosticizing, some not. The second half of the 20th
century, especially in North American scholarship, witnessed a feverish combing of
scraps from almost every Christian work of the 2d century in the fervent hope of
discovering another supposedly early and reliable source for the historical Jesus.
No theory was considered too outré. To take but one example: Christian fantasies
like the Protevangelium Jacobi (i.e., the Infancy Gospel of James) and the hilarious
Infancy Gospel of Thomas (not to be confused with CGT) were served up as serious
sources for historical data about Jesus’ family.5 Despite this irrational exuberance
in the academic equivalent of the stock market, sober surveys indicate that most of
the texts brought forward, including Christian compositions from Nag Hammadi,
betray some kind of influence, direct or indirect, from the Synoptic Gospels as well
as from other NT works.6 The Gospel of Thomas, both in its Greek fragments and
in its fuller Coptic form, should be viewed within this larger framework instead of
being read in a historical vacuum or, worse still, in a conjectured but
unsubstantiated 1st-century matrix.
(2) Within this broader context of the use of the Synoptics in 2d-century
Christian compositions, the use of the Synoptics by those writers dubbed “the
Apostolic Fathers” and “the Apologists” (e.g., the Didache, Polycarp, Justin
Martyr) evinces an intriguing and instructive tendency. Instead of simply citing or
alluding to one version of a Synoptic saying, 2d-century Christian writers often
mesh and conflate the different forms of a saying found in more than one
Synoptic.7 The same penchant for conflating the Synoptics is found in Thomas.
Here it is vital to remember that the Synoptic Gospels are not only the product of
multiple oral traditions but also the producers of further oral traditions in a stream
of secondary orality. Sayings of Jesus heard when the Gospels were read at
Christian meetings (liturgical or catechetical) and then preached upon in homilies
were remembered and recycled, with varying degrees of freedom and theological
reformulation, by authors throughout the 2d and 3d centuries. Besides relying on
their memory, Christian writers—notably, Justin Martyr—may well have employed
harmonies and catechetical summaries of Gospel material in lieu of the laborious
task of looking up a saying in a Gospel scroll or codex.
(3) The claim that the sayings tradition in Thomas is independent of the
Synoptics is often supported by pointing to the curious order or lack thereof in
CGT, as compared to the ordered discourses found in the Synoptic Gospels. This
claim overlooks the fact that Thomas contains sayings and blocks of sayings
ordered according to catchwords and associations of allied themes. One need not
appeal to a hypothetical Syriac original text to see such links between sayings in
CGT.8 In at least once instance, we have an indication that the composer of the
Coptic version of Thomas purposely reordered the sayings (as preserved in the
Greek Oxyrhynchus papyri) in order to create a verbal connection between logia.9
One also finds in CGT purposely formed clusters of particular literary forms (e.g.,
parables in logia 63, 64, and 65), put together to underscore a favorite theological
message (e.g., ties to the material world and especially to wealth lead to death).10
There is a larger problem in the argument basing Thomas’ supposed
independence of the Synoptics on the confusing order or lack of order of the
sayings in CGT. Discerning an author’s rationale for ordering sayings material is
often a difficult endeavor, as can be seen from Luke’s ordering of the Q and L
sayings in his Great Journey narrative (Luke 9–19). Faced with Luke’s meandering
sequence of sayings, commentators on the Third Gospel sometimes resort to
contorted explanations (e.g., Luke is creating a grand chiasm or following the order
of Deuteronomy) and sometimes throw up their hands in despair. Put bluntly: at
times there is either no discernible connection in Luke’s stream-of-consciousness
presentation or at best only a tenuous thematic link. Moving outside the Synoptics,
we can find similar cases of puzzling order or disorder of presentation in NT books
like the First Epistle of John and the Epistle of James. Commentators strain to
discover the hermetic or cabalistic key to the order of each book, but I remain
unconvinced of any of the grand schemas offered. In both ancient and modern
compositions, some authors are good thinkers and bad writers—or at least bad
orderers of their material. Moreover, we cannot be sure that the author of Thomas
culled and reordered his sayings directly from texts of the Synoptics. If he instead
drew upon Gospel harmonies and catechetical digests, he was not reordering the
Synoptics themselves. He was reordering material that had already been reordered
and possibly scrambled.
(4) When wrestling with the order of sayings as well as other puzzles in Thomas,
one should remember the esoteric program that Thomas announces at the very
beginning of the work. Thomas purports to record the “hidden sayings of the living
Jesus” (Prologue). The first saying in the Gospel proceeds to promise that the
seeker who finds the (true) interpretation of these sayings will never taste death.
Logion 2 then exhorts the seeker to keep on seeking, for finding the true meaning
of Jesus’ sayings will make the seeker disturbed, astonished, and finally the king
over the All. As logion 3 warns, in this search one must reject the teaching of “your
leaders” (presumably the bishops and presbyters of “mainstream” Christianity in
the 2d century). To find the meaning of Jesus’ hidden sayings, one must pursue not
external guidance from church authorities but rather true knowledge of one’s inner
self, detached from the material world and understood to be a son of the living
Father. Given this vision of salvation (which sounds remarkably like American
New Age spirituality), the last thing the author of Thomas desires is a neat
collection of transparently clear sayings that would be immediately intelligible to
any and every outsider who happens upon his Gospel. Both the reordering and the
rewording of the Synoptic material serve the author’s intention to address a
spiritual elite who alone, by trial and error, learn to make their way through the
verbal and intellectual maze of Thomas and so reach eternal life. Given this
program, pellucid explanations or illustrations that would render the sense of
parables clear would naturally be omitted by the author of Thomas if he found them
in his source.
(5) Weighing all these considerations, one should not be surprised that Thomas
regularly presents us with shorter, streamlined forms of parables paralleled in the
Synoptics. A further consideration reinforces our insight that Thomas’ shorter
version of Jesus’ parables is hardly proof that Thomas possesses early and
independent traditions. After all, Matthew regularly abbreviates the miracle stories
of Mark that he takes over from that Gospel; Luke at times likewise radically
condenses Marcan material. As we shall see in our probes of individual parables, a
notable example of Luke’s abbreviation of Mark is found in the parable of the Evil
Tenants of the Vineyard, where Thomas simply carries forward Luke’s program of
severely pruning Mark.
A still more striking case can be found in Matthew’s abbreviation of the Marcan
form of Jesus’ prohibition of divorce in Matt 19:9 || Mark 10:11–12. As we saw in
Volume Four of A Marginal Jew, the historical Jesus’ prohibition of divorce
covered only the case of a Jewish husband divorcing his wife and marrying
another, since among ordinary Jews in the Palestine of Jesus’ day only the husband
had the power to divorce. Mark (like Paul in 1 Corinthians 7) adapts this
prohibition to a Roman legal context by extending the prohibition to the wife as
well. Reflecting the background of a Jewish-Christian church, Matthew proceeds to
abbreviate Mark’s double prohibition, restricting the prohibition to the husband—
and by sheer coincidence echoing the original form uttered by Jesus. Notice what
has happened here. Matthew abbreviates the Marcan formulation of the prohibition
not because Matthew has a videotaped replay of what Jesus said ca. a.d. 30. Rather,
Matthew shortens the saying he takes over from Mark because of Matthew’s own
theological Sitz im Leben and program. In the historical process, Matthew’s version
is actually twice removed from the original teaching of Jesus. His coinciding with
Jesus’ original teaching (apart from the exception Matthew inserts into the
prohibition) is pure coincidence, not proof of direct access to an earlier tradition
independent of Mark. Thus, we have in Matt 19:9 (rewriting Mark 10:11–12) a
prime example of how a shorter form of a saying of Jesus is not necessarily
evidence for an early and independent source.
At the same time, both Matthew and Luke on the one hand and Thomas on the
other are quite capable of adding material to a source when it suits their redactional
purposes. A prime example is Matthew’s addition of Peter walking on the water to
the story of Jesus walking on the water in Matt 14:22–33, as contrasted with Mark
6:45–52. Likewise, even as Matthew omits parts of Mark’s material in the parable
of the Evil Tenants, he adds some phrases of his own. Similarly, Luke abbreviates
certain sections of Mark’s narrative of the crucifixion and death even as he adds
sayings of Jesus that fit the theology of the Third Evangelist. In sum, shorter or
longer forms of a saying, viewed in isolation, are no sure indicators of the age or
independence of a tradition.
(6) Whether we classify the redactional theology of CGT as gnostic,
gnosticizing, encratite, or middle-Platonic, Thomas shows no interest in major
concerns that permeate the four canonical Gospels. These concerns include the
Jewish Scriptures, the history of Israel enshrined therein, and the idea of a
multistage history of salvation reaching from prophecy to fulfillment in the
climactic events of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. This fulfillment of
Scripture in Christ, which constitutes the center of salvation-history, also extends
into the life of the church, whose mission in this world lasts until the parousia. In
stark contrast, Thomas’ negative view (not to say negation) of this material world
of time and space leaves no room for the physical body, human history, the chosen
people of Israel, and an organized church as the loci and instruments of salvation.
The parables, as well as other sayings of Jesus, are methodically purged of such
elements.
(7) A final consideration that tells against Thomas as an early and independent
source of Jesus’ sayings is the broad spread of Synoptic sources reflected in
Thomas’ parallel material.11 The champions of Thomas’ independence often
compare CGT in general and its parables in particular with the hypothetical Q
document. The Q document, reconstructed from the material found in both
Matthew and Luke but absent from Mark, is a favorite analogue for proponents of
Thomas’ independence, since Q (like Thomas, it is claimed) is a very early source
that preexists all three Synoptics and may, according to some Q experts, go back to
ca. a.d. 50. Thomas, it is urged, is a similar sort of document. But this narrow focus
on Q hardly does justice to the full range of material represented in CGT. CGT (and
even to a great degree the Greek papyri fragments) contains not only Q sayings but
also special Matthean (M) and special Lucan (L) material, as well as a Mark–Q
overlap and possibly even traces of Mark’s Gospel. Such a gathering of every
known Synoptic source, crowded into roughly half of the 114 sayings of CGT,
raises serious questions about Thomas’ supposed early and independent status.
This is true not only of the Synoptic-like sayings in general but also of the
Synoptic-like parables in particular. Marcan material, a Mark–Q overlap, special M
material, and special L material all find parallels in Thomas’ parables. If, as seems
likely, the parables of the Great Supper and the Talents/Pounds are examples not of
Q parables but rather of parables preserved in both M and L,12 the number of
narrative parables in Thomas that are also found exclusively in Q comes down to
two: the Leaven and the Lost Sheep (the Mustard Seed is a Mark–Q overlap).13
Marcan material paralleled in Thomas’ parables is likewise represented by two
parables, the Sower and the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (plus, of course, the
Mustard Seed). Remarkably, it is the special M parables that have the greatest
number of parallels in CGT: the Wheat and the Weeds, the Treasure Hidden in the
Field, and the Pearl (some would add the Fish Net, alias the Wise Fisherman in
CGT, as a fourth parallel). Luke is the lonely outlier, with only one special L
parable paralleled in Thomas, the Rich Fool. The fact that the wide spread of
Synoptic parallels found in Thomasine sayings in general is paralleled by the wide
spread of Synoptic parables in particular should give pause to anyone maintaining
Thomas’ early and independent status.
 But that is not all. When one adds to this broad spectrum of Synoptic sources
some likely signs of Matthean and/or Lucan redactional traits (to be treated in the
test cases that follow), the claim that Thomas is an early collection of Jesus’
sayings independent of Synoptic influence (direct or indirect) is exposed to serious
doubt. As I have already emphasized, the nature of the dependence might well vary
from saying to saying; besides direct literary dependence, the influence of the
Synoptics on Thomas could have been exercised by way of a Gospel harmony, a
collection of sayings extracted from the Synoptics, secondary orality, or perhaps a
mix of these factors. One need not know the exact nature and mode of the
dependence in order to discern the basic fact of dependence.
While the considerations listed here were sufficient for the brief treatment of
Thomas in Volume One of A Marginal Jew, a more detailed approach to the
question of Thomas’ dependence or independence is called for as we now focus in
detail on the question of Jesus’ parables. As I noted in Thesis Six in Chapter 37, the
practical problem we face in this more detailed treatment is that neither space nor
the scope of A Marginal Jew allows for a study of all 114 Coptic sayings (or even
the roughly half that have clear Synoptic parallels), in the manner of experts like
Wolfgang Schrage, Michael Fieger, Reinhard Nordsieck, April D. DeConick, or
Uwe-Karsten Plisch.14 Instead, as I outlined in Thesis Six, I will examine sayings
selected from every Synoptic source: (i) the Marcan tradition; (ii) Q; (iii) the
special Matthean tradition (M); (iv) the special Lucan tradition (L); and (v) the
peculiar category of sayings found independently in both Mark and Q (referred to
as “Mark–Q overlaps”). At the same time, to ensure coverage of various forms of
tradition, I will begin the test cases with (A) examples of literary genres that lie
outside the category of parable and then proceed to (B) examples from Thomas’
parables that have parallels in the Synoptics. For the sake of brevity, when
reviewing texts that were examined in earlier volumes of A Marginal Jew, I will
simply summarize the arguments already offered. Cases that I have not previously
treated will be dealt with at greater length.15

III. THOMAS’ RELATION TO THE SYNOPTICS: TEST CASES

A. PARALLELS IN SAYINGS THAT ARE NOT PARABLES
1. Methodologically, it is best to start with some of the sayings that are preserved in
the Greek papyri fragments of Thomas, fragments that sometimes do and
sometimes do not agree completely with the later Coptic translation.16 To begin
with a fairly strong case: a good argument for dependence can be made for a saying
contained within CGT 5, since the saying is also partially preserved in Greek in a
3d-century Oxyrhynchus papyrus (P.Oxy. 654.27–31) that contains some sayings
from an earlier form of The Gospel of Thomas.17 The corresponding saying in
Mark 4:22a reads somewhat awkwardly: ou gar estin ti krypton ean mē hina
phanerōthę (in a woodenly literal translation: “for there is not anything hidden
unless in order that it may be revealed”). Luke 8:17 tidies this up by changing the
unwieldy ean mē hina (“unless in order that”) into a neat relative clause, while also
substituting phaneron genēsetai (“shall become revealed”) for Mark’s phanerōthę,
a verb Luke never uses in Luke–Acts, while he uses the adjective phaneros in both
volumes. The resulting Lucan rewrite reads: ou gar estin krypton ho ou phaneron
genēsetai (literally, “for there is not [anything] hidden which shall not become
revealed”).18 While P.Oxy. 654 is fragmentary, almost all critics, from Joseph A.
Fitzmyer to Marvin Meyer, Uwe-Karsten Plisch, and April D. DeConick, accept the
restoration [ou gar est]in krypton ho ou phane[ron genēsetai]—in other words, the
formulation resulting from Luke’s redaction of Mark.19 Hence, in this case, one
cannot appeal to the exegetical escape hatch of some Christian Coptic scribe
supposedly assimilating the Coptic text of Thomas to the standard Sahidic text of
Luke that he knew, since the Greek fragments are notably earlier than and
independent of the manuscript of CGT in our possession (to say nothing of the later
standard Sahidic version of the Gospels). Moreover, in this case it is precisely the
Coptic text of Thomas that veers slightly away from Luke’s reformulation of Mark
because the grammar of Coptic forbids the use of a relative clause with an
indefinite antecedent.20
Appealing to an otherwise unknown early alternate oral form of Mark 4:22 that
supposedly Luke and Thomas both knew is to create an embarrassing deus ex
machina, one that ignores Luke’s typical redactional changes in Mark.21 Luke’s
redactional change of Mark’s wording (from phanerōthę to phaneron genēsetai)
also refutes any explanation that appeals to the alternate Q version of the saying
(Matt 10:26 || Luke 12:2).22 To be sure, if this were the only time that the Greek
fragments of Thomas showed knowledge of Luke’s Gospel, we might dismiss
logion 5 as a fluke. But logion 5 is not an isolated specimen; a number of scholars
have pointed out Lucan influence elsewhere in the Greek fragments. For example,
as Jörg Frey has argued in a lengthy and detailed analysis, the influence of Luke
12:22–31 can been seen in the abbreviated version of the “do not be anxious”
exhortation that is preserved in P.Oxy. 655, cols. i. 1–17.23 Simon Gathercole has
pressed the case for Lucan influence even further by offering ten examples of
Luke’s influence on Thomas, some found in the Greek fragments and others visible
even in the Coptic version of Thomas. Needless to say, special significance attaches
to those examples that are supported by the Greek fragments since, within the
relatively brief compass of these fragments, the influence of Luke’s Gospel (the
latest Synoptic Gospel to be written) on the formulation of the sayings in Thomas is
not only clearly present but also multiply attested. We need not be surprised, then,
that when we turn to the Coptic text of Thomas not paralleled in the Oxyrhynchus
papyri, we find Luke’s influence to be frequent and sometimes dominant.24
2. A second example of Lucan influence on the Greek fragments of Thomas can
be found in the first half of a saying in P.Oxy. 1.30–35, which appears in CGT as
logion 31. We are fortunate that this famous saying (“a prophet is not without
honor except in his hometown”) is preserved, in variant forms, in Mark, Matthew,
Luke, John, and Thomas. Let us look first at the four canonical Gospels:25
Matt 13:57 Mark 6:4 Luke 4:24 John 4:44
There is not There is not No prophet A prophet
a prophet a prophet is acceptable in his homeland
without honor without honor does not have honor
except except
in [his] hometown in his hometown in his hometown

Certain points strike one immediately. Matthew repeats Mark almost word for
word and in the exact same order. The only difference is that the original Greek text
of Matthew most likely did not have the possessive “his” with “hometown,” though
obviously “his” is understood from the very meaning of patris (“hometown,”
“home country,” “homeland,” “place of origin of one’s family”). Probably to
harmonize Matthew and Mark perfectly, some later Christian scribes supplied “his”
(autou) to Matthew’s text. The word that stands out as unusual in Mark 6:4 is the
adjective atimos (literally, “honorless”); it never occurs again in the four Gospels
except for Matthew’s repetition of it in Matt 13:57. Indeed, the only other
occurrences of atimos in the whole of the NT are two appearances in 1 Corinthians
(4:10; 12:23).26 In short, Matthew’s word-for-word repetition of Mark, including
the rare (for the NT) atimos, argues strongly for Matthew’s dependence on Mark.
Luke is not as faithful to Mark in this saying as Matthew is. For example, in
order to avoid the double negative construction (“there is not . . . except”), Luke
substitutes a simple declaration in which the negative adjective “no” (oudeis)
directly modifies the noun “prophet”: “No prophet is acceptable in his hometown.”
More significantly, Luke does not take over Mark’s adjective atimos, an adjective
he never uses in Luke–Acts. Luke employs instead a different adjective,
“acceptable” (dektos). Like atimos, the adjective dektos is relatively rare in the NT,
occurring only five times: three times in Luke–Acts (Luke 4:19 + 24; Acts 10:35)
and twice in Paul (2 Cor 6:2; Phil 4:18). In other words, dektos never occurs
anywhere else in the four Gospels. Since Luke 4:16–30 is most likely Luke’s
redactional rewriting and expansion of Mark’s brief story about Jesus’ rejection in
his hometown, both occurrences of dektos in Luke 4 can, in that sense, be
considered redactional.27 Luke 4:19 is a reworked citation from LXX Isa 61:2, a
text that Luke alone places in the mouth of Jesus. And, as we have just seen, among
the variants of the Gospel saying depicting Jesus as the rejected prophet, dektos
appears only in Luke’s version of the saying. As for the lone occurrence of dektos
in Acts, Acts 10:35 is part of Peter’s kerygmatic sermon to the centurion Cornelius
(10:34–43). Whatever the sermon’s ultimate source(s), obviously in its present
Greek form it is a Lucan composition.28 In contrast to these clear indications of
Luke’s redactional hand in Luke 4:24, the final words of the Lucan saying, “in his
hometown” (en tępatridi autou), copy Mark’s wording exactly.
Turning to John’s version: as we have observed throughout the first four volumes
of A Marginal Jew, the Fourth Gospel is most likely independent of the Synoptics
in respect to literary sources. The similarities between the Synoptics and John
reflect the fact that both Synoptic and Johannine sources flow from the common
pool of oral tradition in the early church. This similarity without literary
dependence is reflected in John 4:44. Like Luke, John has the subject “prophet”
come before the verb, and like Luke John writes a simple declarative sentence with
a single negative word (oudeis in Luke, ouk in John). Like Mark and Matthew,
John’s negative (“not”) modifies the verb, not the subject. However, unlike all the
Synoptics, John’s sentence does not have the copulative “is” (estin) as its verb.
Rather, John uses the transitive verb “has” (echei) and alone uses the noun timēn
(“honor”) as the direct object. Also unique among the four Gospels, John places the
prepositional phrase “in his home country” not at the end of the sentence but
immediately after the first word in the saying, “prophet.” Hence only John’s
sentence has the grammatical structure of subject noun + prepositional phrase +
direct object + negated verb. John also varies in a fine point of meaning. All four
Gospels use the same noun patris to signify Jesus’ place of origin. But, unlike the
Synoptics, John’s use of patris probably has the wider meaning of “home country”
or “homeland,” rather than “hometown.” While the Synoptics are depicting Jesus’
return to his hometown of Nazareth, John places the saying in a context where
Jesus has just returned to Galilee from Jerusalem and Judea, having passed through
Samaria.29
The upshot of these comparisons among the four canonical Gospels is that
Luke’s version of the saying is most likely a case of his copying Mark’s text, with
the notable exception that Luke substitutes dektos (“acceptable”) for Mark’s atimos
(“without honor”).30 The impact of this conclusion becomes clear when we turn to
Thomas’ version of the saying in the first half of P.Oxy. 1.30–35: “A prophet is not
acceptable [dektos] in his hometown.” In wording and word order, the Greek of
Thomas’ saying basically follows that of Mark. Both begin with “there is not” (ouk
estin), with the noun “prophet” following and the phrase “in his hometown”
concluding the saying. The major difference is that (1) Thomas shares with Luke
the form of a simple declarative sentence with a single negative particle; and, more
important, (2) Thomas and Luke alone, among all the versions, use the adjective
“acceptable” (dektos)—which, as we have seen, is most probably due to Luke’s
redactional hand. Thus, in a simple sentence forming half of logion 31, we have
both Thomas’ tendency to mesh Synoptic versions of a saying and his tendency to
imitate some striking elements of Luke’s redaction of his sources.31
As a matter of fact, the influence of Luke’s version, as well as Thomas’ tendency
to mesh the Synoptics, may be seen as well in the second half of logion 31 in the
Greek fragment: “. . . a physician [iatros] does not do healings [poiei therapeias]
for those who know him.” Just prior to Luke 4:24, in v 23, Jesus ironically says to
the contentious audience in the Nazareth synagogue: “You will surely quote me this
proverb, ‘Physician [iatre], heal [therapeu-son] yourself.” That the Greek version
of Thomas places the saying about a physician not being able to heal right after the
saying about the rejected prophet (instead of right before, as in Luke) may reflect
Thomas’ tendency to mesh. For it is Mark (followed by Matthew) that states right
after the saying on the dishonored prophet (Mark 6:4) that Jesus could not perform
any miracle there except for the fact that he healed (etherapeusen) a few sick
people (Mark 6:5).32
3. That the Greek version of Thomas “leans” at times in the direction of Luke
does not mean that it does not know and at times use specifically Matthean
material. While we will see later on a major example of special Matthean material
(the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds) in the Coptic version of Thomas, we will
examine here a clear case of M material in the Greek fragments of Thomas. The
Greek text of Thomas is found in P.Oxy. 655 (col. ii. 11–23), which parallels the
second half of Matt 10:16, as well as the last sentence in CGT 39:
Matt 10:16b P.Oxy. 655 CGT 39
Become clever Become clever Become clever
as the snakes as snakes as the snakes
and innocent and innocent and innocent
as the doves as doves as the doves

In all three documents, we are obviously dealing with the same saying, which
each text attributes to Jesus. P.Oxy. 655 matches the Greek text of Matt 10:16b
almost word for word. The same is true of CGT 39, which in its Coptic text even
preserves the Greek words for the adjectives “clever” (phronimos) and “innocent”
(akeraios), the same Greek words that occur in Matt 10:16b and P.Oxy. 655.33
The question of the source of the saying is intriguing. Matt 10:16b is part of the
second of Matthew’s five great discourses of Jesus during the public ministry,
namely, the missionary discourse (10:5–42). Matthew creates his five large
discourses by meshing traditions from Mark, Q, and M, along with his own
redactional creations. Such is the case in the missionary discourse, where Matthew
even transfers some sayings from the Marcan eschatological discourse (Mark 13:9–
13) into his mix in chap. 10. The first part of the missionary discourse is for the
most part a conflation of the Marcan and Q traditions of a missionary discourse (an
example of a Mark–Q overlap).34 Indeed, Matt 10:16a (“Behold, I am sending you
like sheep into the midst of wolves”) is a Q saying also found, with slightly
different wording, in Luke 10:3 (from Luke’s second missionary discourse): “Go.
Behold, I am sending you like lambs into the midst of wolves.” The following
verses in Matthew (10:17–18) are Matthew’s reworking of Mark 13:9. Thus,
sandwiched between a Q saying in Matt 10:16a and Marcan sayings in Matt 10:17–
18 is a uniquely Matthean saying in 10:16b, which leads smoothly into vv 17–18.
Matt 10:16b therefore qualifies as M material. Within the discourse, it functions
as a pivot between the material specific to the mission of the Twelve and more
general, future-oriented instruction on discipleship in the face of persecution.35 But
is this “M material” M tradition (a tradition circulating in Matthew’s church that
Matthew has taken into his Gospel) or a redactional creation of Matthew himself?
Granted Matthew’s tendency to rewrite Mark and Q traditions in his own style, it is
often difficult to distinguish M tradition from Matthean redaction.36 The brevity of
10:16b makes any judgment in the matter even more problematic. However, one
may at least note that the adjective phronimos (“clever,” “shrewd,” “prudent”)
occurs more times in Matthew than in any other single book of the NT. Matthew
has seven out of the fourteen occurrences in the NT, and all but one of Matthew’s
seven instances are either M tradition or Matthean redaction.37 As for the noun
ophis (“snake”), Matthew has just a slight edge within the four Gospels (Matthew
3x, Mark 1x, Luke 2x, John 1x). The adjective akeraios (“innocent,” “simple”)
occurs only in Matt 10:16b within the four Gospels, with only two other
occurrences in the whole of the NT (Rom 16:19; Phil 2:15). While none of this
proves that the saying is a Matthean redactional creation rather than M tradition,
the vocabulary of 10:16b, taken as a whole, is certainly compatible with that
possibility. What makes it more probable than not that 10:16b is a Matthean
creation is that, while the metaphors of snakes and doves (with a wide range of
meanings) as well as the basic idea expressed in the saying are well attested in the
Greco-Roman world as well as in Jewish writings, the exact wording of the
proverb-like saying in Matt 10:16b occurs in no document that can be safely dated
before Matthew’s Gospel.38 Hence to claim that 10:16b simply represents a
widespread proverb or common Jewish māšāl that just happens to appear in both
Matthew and Thomas is not supported by the evidence.39 Granted the viable
alternatives, it seems more probable that either Matt 10:16b as a whole or at least
its precise Greek wording stems from Matthew’s redactional hand.40 If that is the
case, then logion 39 as represented in P.Oxy. 655 (and, naturally, in CGT) shows
dependence on Matthew’s Gospel.
One might pause here to reflect on a wider phenomenon that is beginning to
appear. Just in the very limited fund of Greek fragments of Thomas, we have
already found solid indications of the use of both Luke and Matthew. The
following investigation of the Coptic text of Thomas will both supply further
examples of dependence on Luke and Matthew and offer examples of dependence
on Q and even possibly Mark. Such a spread of sources behind Thomas makes any
claim that Thomas represents an early independent source of Jesus’ sayings
difficult to believe. Indeed, even apart from the question of dependence, the mere
fact that Thomas contains sayings that find parallels not simply in Q but also in the
special tradition of Matthew and the special tradition of Luke makes the claim of
an early date for the composition of Thomas highly dubious. How is it that at an
early date in the first Christian generation (a claim often made for Thomas), a
single document encompassed parallels to Q, special M, and special L? But we are
getting ahead of ourselves here. It is time to turn from the very fragmentary Greek
version of Thomas to its full (though later) Coptic form.
4. As we turn to the Coptic text of Thomas, let us begin with a fairly simple
example already analyzed in Volume Four of A Marginal Jew, namely, Mark 7:15 ||
Matt 15:11.41 Within a wider discussion of Jewish purity rules, the Marcan Jesus
states in 7:15: “There is nothing outside a man that, by entering into him, can defile
him; but those things that come out of a man are the things that defile him.” In
Volume Four, we saw how Matthew redacts Mark 7:15 in keeping with a
theological viewpoint and literary style that is characteristically Matthean. Matt
15:11 reads: “Not what enters into the mouth defiles a man, but that which comes
out of the mouth, this defiles a man.” Note the typically Matthean traits: (1)
Matthew softens Mark’s absolute tone (“there is nothing outside of a man which,
going into him, can defile him”) by dropping the forceful ouden . . . dynatai
(“nothing . . . can”). A blatant revocation of the whole Mosaic system of legal
purity in matters of food is thus avoided or at least softened. (2) At the same time,
this omission by Matthew helps create the sort of perfect balance of the two lines
that Matthew favors. (3) Matthew also creates balance by changing the indefinite
plural ta . . . ekporeuomena (“those things that come out”) in Mark 7:15 to the
singular to ekporeuomenon (“that which comes out”) in Matt 15:11b. (4) Other
Matthean touches include the introduction of the typically Matthean word “mouth”
(stoma) into both halves of the saying. (5) Finally, Matthew uses a resumptive touto
(“this”) in his final clause (“this defiles a man”).
 It is telling that all five Matthean redactional changes are replicated in CGT 14.
(1) CGT 14 contains a plain indicative statement without Mark’s emphatic cannot.
(2) The neat parallelism of the two lines created by Matthew is present. (3) There
are singular subjects in both lines (petnabōk . . . petennēy). (4) The noun “mouth”
(tapro) occurs in both lines. (5) A resumptive 3d person singular pronoun (entof) is
used just as in Matthew’s version.42 The identity with Matthew’s redactional
activity is simply too strong to be wished away by appeals to alternate oral
traditions, multiple oral performances, or scribal assimilation to the later standard
Sahidic NT.43 As G. K. Chesterton once remarked, the phenomenon of one
elephant having a trunk looks odd; the phenomenon of all elephants having trunks
looks like a plot.44
5. Let us now move on to more complicated examples, those involving
conflation. In a good number of Thomas’ parallels to the Synoptics, we find CGT
following not just one Synoptic Gospel—be that Luke or Matthew redacting Mark
—but rather meshing two or more of the Synoptics. A short but clear example of
Thomas’ tendency to conflate the Synoptics is the first beatitude in the Sermon on
the Mount/Sermon on the Plain (Matt 5:3 || Luke 6:20b, hence a Q logion, found
also in CGT 54). As is well known, while Matthew’s beatitude is formulated in the
3d person (“fortunate are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven”),
Luke has a simpler form of the beatitude, formulated (at least in its second half) in
the 2d person plural of direct address (“fortunate are the poor, for yours is the
kingdom of God”).45 Many critics think that Luke’s 2d person formulation is closer
to the original Q form; but as I argued in Volume Two of A Marginal Jew, that is
far from certain.46 In any event, almost all agree that Matthew redacts Q by adding
“in spirit” and by changing “kingdom of God” (the phrase witnessed throughout
the NT and the early Fathers) to the formulation unique to Matthew in the NT,
“kingdom of heaven” (literally: “of the heaven,” reflecting the Aramaic noun for
“the heavens,” šěmayyāʾ, which occurs only in the plural).47 Not surprisingly, CGT
54 offers a conflated form: “Fortunate are the poor for yours is the kingdom of the
heavens.”48 The 2d person plural of address and the absence of “in spirit” follows
Luke, while “kingdom of the heavens” follows Matthew.49 Thus, in just eight
Coptic words, we have an example of Thomas’ knowledge of both Matthew and
Luke as well as his tendency to conflate them.50 As already noted, this tendency to
conflate various Synoptic forms of Jesus’ sayings is found in 2d-century Christian
literature as diverse as the Didache, Polycarp of Smyrna’s Letter to the Philippians
(including the first beatitude in 2:3!), and the sayings of Jesus in Justin Martyr.51
Thomas’ tendency to conflate, then, far from being something unusual, places CGT
firmly within the harmonizing stream of mid-2d century Christian writings.
 6. One can find this same tendency to mesh Matthew and Luke in longer Q
passages as well. Note, for instance, the agreements and differences in Matthew
and Luke’s versions of Jesus’ saying on the divisions he provokes in a family
(precise agreements are printed in bold):
Matt 10:34–36 Luke 12:51–53
Do not think [nomistē] that Do you imagine [dokeite] that
I have come [ lthon] I have appeared [paregenomēn]
to cast peace upon the earth. to give peace on the earth?
I have not come to cast peace but a sword No, I say, but rather division.
For from now on there shall be
five in one house divided; three
against two and two against three
shall they be divided:
For I have come to divide man against his father, father against son and son against father,

mother against the daughter

and daughter against her mother
and daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law,
And [the] enemies of the man [are] the members of his
household.
and daughter against the mother
mother-in-law against her daughter in-law
and daughter-in-law against the mother-in-law.

When we come to the version in CGT 16, we notice elements proper to both
Matthew and Luke in Jesus’ saying.52 In my translation of CGT 16, I put in italics
wording that is unique to Matthew, while I underline wording that is unique to
Luke:
“Jesus said: ‘Perhaps men think that I have come to cast peace upon the world.
And they do not understand that I have come to cast divisions upon the earth: fire,
sword, war. For there shall be five in a house: three shall be against two and two
against three; the father against the son and the son against the father; and they
shall stand as solitary people [literally: they shall stand being solitary].’”
While scholars argue about the hypothetical reconstruction of an earlier Q form,
the usual suggestions offered do not contain either all the words in italics or all the
words underlined in my translation of CGT 16.53 In other words, some of the
wording of Matthew’s redaction of the Q saying and some of the wording of Luke’s
redaction of the same saying wind up in Thomas’ version.54 Most notably, the text
of Mic 7:6 (“For son dishonors father, daughter rises up against her mother,
daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; the enemies of a man [are] the men of
his house”) is represented almost exactly in Matt 10:36.55 In contrast, Luke 12:53
expands the clauses that describe opposition so that both sides in each clause are
equally the attackers and the attacked; at the same time, Luke omits the last clause
of Mic 7:6 (“and the enemies . . .”). This expansion-plus-omission is widely judged
to be Luke’s redactional alteration, and it is represented practically word-for-word
in CGT 16. Nevertheless, individual words that are unique to Matthew’s version
(“cast,” “upon,” “sword”) appear in Thomas’ version as well, while the Lucan word
“division” (diamerismos) is also represented.56 Unless we appeal to some other
source besides Q or to multiple oral performances and social memory (appeals that
are always convenient to make because they are untestable and unverifiable),57 the
simplest explanation of CGT 16 is Thomas’ tendency to mesh Matthew and Luke
into one saying. This conflating of Matthew and Luke—sometimes with traces of
Mark, and sometimes without a rationale that is clear to us—appears too often in
the Synoptic parallels in Thomas to be purely accidental. It is undoubtably one of
the redactional tendencies of the author/compiler of Thomas. This is not to deny
entirely the influence of multiple oral performances or social memory. It is to
underline a consistent redactional tendency that argues for conscious scribal
activity—scribal activity that has not simply assimilated CGT 16 to the Sahidic
form of either Matthew or Luke.58
7. Another Q passage that is represented in a conflated text in Thomas (logion
55) is found in Matt 10:37–38 || Luke 14:26–27, which in Matthew’s Gospel
follows immediately upon the previous example. In the Synoptic Gospels, there are
many different sayings that deal with the cost of following Jesus (or of becoming
his disciple), the need to leave or to “hate” one’s family, and the necessity of
carrying one’s cross (e.g., Mark 8:34–35; 10:29–30; Matt 16:24–25; Luke 9:23–24;
18:29–30). The Q passage reflected in Matt 10:37–38 || Luke 14:26–27 stands out
in that it brings tōgether in short compass (i) a saying on rejecting the claims of
one’s family for the sake of Jesus and (ii) a saying on carrying one’s cross. The
wording of Matthew and Luke diverges notably at certain points, most likely due to
the redaction of Matthew and perhaps the expansion of Luke.
Matt 10:37–38 Luke 14:26–27
If anyone comes to me and
The one who loves father or mother does not hate his father and mother
more than me is not worthy of me, and wife and children
and the one who loves son or daughter and brothers and sisters
more than me and even his own life,
is not worthy of me. he cannot be my disciple.
And whoever does not take his cross Whoever does not carry his cross
and follow after me, and come after me
is not worthy of me. cannot be my disciple.

The parallel saying in CGT 55 reads: “The one who will not hate his father and his
mother will not be able to be a disciple to me, and [the one who will not] hate his
brothers and his sisters and will not bear his cross like me shall not become worthy
of me.”59
Many commentators see the use of “worthy” (axios) in Matthew’s version of this
passage as the product of Matthew’s redaction.60 Only in Matthew’s version does
the threefold use of “worthy” connect these two sayings on family and the cross.
Occurring as they do toward the end of the missionary discourse in chap. 10, these
“worthy” sayings also connect the end of the discourse with sayings that also use
“worthy” (10:10,11,13 [bis]) and that occur toward the beginning of the discourse
—thus creating something of an inclusio. Moreover, Matt 10:37–38 is the only
passage in the whole of the NT that uses the phrase “is worthy of me.”61 As a
matter of fact, Matt 10:37–38 is the only passage in all four Gospels where axios is
used with the genitive of the person—the only other case in the NT being Heb
11:38. In contrast, Luke’s equivalent refrain of being a disciple of Jesus is common
and widespread in the four Gospels and may well represent the wording of Q. In
any event, the underlying Q saying used either the leitmotif of “not worthy of me”
(Matthew) or the leitmotif of “cannot be my disciple” (Luke) to tie together the two
sayings represented in Matt 10:37–38 || Luke 14:26–27—certainly not both, since
that would not have served as a verbal link. At the same time, the more radical (and
probably primitive) vocabulary of “hating” (as opposed to Matthew’s softened
“love more than”) is found in Luke 14:26.62 Likewise present in Luke’s version
alone is the mention of “brothers and sisters.”
When we turn to CGT 55, we see that it contains both the phrase “cannot
become my disciple” (as in Luke) and the phrase “will not be worthy of me” (as in
Matthew)—thus, a clear case of conflation. The presence of the Greek adjective
axios (“worthy”) in CGT 55 cannot be explained by assimilation to the Sahidic text
of Matthew, since the latter does not use the Greek adjective axios but rather the
Coptic verb for “to be worthy” (empša). The use of axios in CGT 55 therefore
betrays dependence on the Greek text of Matthew. At the same time, the presence
of the vocabulary of “hating” and “brothers and sisters” shows Thomas leaning
notably in the direction of Luke, another common phenomenon in these
conflations.
8. The same basic phenomenon of meshing can be found in those sayings that
come not from Q but from the “triple tradition,” where (presupposing the two-
source theory of Synoptic relations), Mark is the literary source of sayings that are
then redacted in various ways by Matthew and Luke. A telling example is offered
by the double metaphor of putting a patch on an old garment and pouring new wine
into old wineskins. The basic form of the two metaphorical sayings—very much in
the wisdom tradition, but used by Jesus to make a point about the radically new,
eschatological situation created by his ministry—is found in Mark 2:21–22:
 v 21 No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment;
otherwise, the added piece [literally, “the fullness”] pulls away from it,
[i.e.,] the new from the old, and a worse tear results [literally, “becomes”].
v 22 And no one pours [literally, “throws”] new wine into old wineskins;
otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost [as well as] the skins.
But new wine [must be poured] into new wineskins.63

Not surprisingly, the not entirely clear and elegant text of Mark called forth
various emendations by Matthew and Luke:
Matt 9:16–17 Luke 5:36–39
No one puts a piece of unshrunk cloth No one, tearing a piece from a new
on an old garment; cloak, puts it on an old garment;
for its added piece pulls away from the garment, otherwise, he will tear the new [garment],
and a worse tear results.
and the patch from the new [garment]
will not match the old.
Nor do they pour new wine into old wineskins; And no one pours new wine into old wineskins;
otherwise, the wineskins burst otherwise, the new wine will burst the
and the wine is poured out skins and it will be poured out
and the wine skins are lost. And the wineskins will be lost.
But they pour new wine into new wineskins, But new wine must be poured into new wineskins.
And both will be preserved.
And no one, drinking old [wine],
desires new [wine]; for he says,
“The old [wine] is better.”

The second half of CGT 47 contains the same two metaphors, but in reverse
order, that is, moving from the metaphor of wine to the metaphor of the patch. The
wording is as follows:
No one drinks old wine and immediately desires to drink new wine;
and they do not pour [literally, “throw”] new wine into old wineskins, lest they burst.
And they do not pour old wine into a new wineskin lest it destroy it.
They do not sew an old patch on a new garment, since there will be a tear.

Two points strike one immediately: (1) Luke’s statement about not desiring new
wine after drinking the older, preferable wine is most likely his own redactional
addition.64 It does not fit the rest of the metaphor about new wine and old
wineskins, but it does fit the whole problematic about the relation of the old and the
new in salvation history that Luke first sounds in his Gospel and then works out in
the early history of the church in the Acts of the Apostles. Not surprisingly, the new
material is simply tacked on to the end of the pericope, the common place for
adding new and somewhat extraneous material to a traditional unit. Since
everything else in these verses is material of the triple tradition (i.e., coming from
Mark), any attempt to invent a special L tradition simply for this last sentence looks
forced, if not desperate. What would be its theological meaning as an isolated
logion in the L tradition? And by what strange coincidence do both Luke and
Thomas locate the isolated logion in the same unit: the combined metaphors of
wine and patch? Once one grants that the final sentence in Luke 5:36–39 is a Lucan
creation, its presence in Thomas inevitably leads to the conclusion that Thomas
knew at least the Lucan form of the pericope.65 As we have seen already and shall
see again later, this is not the only time in the CGT that the author/compiler shows
a preference for Luke within the triple tradition. (2) Once we conclude that Thomas
is working with the Lucan form of the double metaphors, we see that his procedure
of taking up the metaphors in reverse order is thoroughgoing and complete: first the
saying about preferring the old wine, next the saying about not pouring new wine
into old wineskins, and finally the saying about the patch.
9. A similar case from the triple tradition can be found in the story of Jesus’
family trying to see him. It will be helpful first to compare Mark and Matthew, who
are fairly close. Then we can see the changes Luke makes, and finally we will
compare the three Synoptics with CGT 99.
Mark 3:31–35 Matt 12:46–50
And while he was speaking to the crowds,
And his mother and his brothers come, behold his mother and his brothers
and standing outside, stood outside,
they sent to him, calling him. seeking to speak to him.
And a crowd was sitting around him,
and they say to him, But someone said to him,
“Behold, your mother and your brothers66 “Behold your mother and your brothers
are seeking you outside.” are standing outside seeking to speak to you.”67
And answering them he says, But answering he said to the one speaking to him,
“Who is my mother and [my] brothers?” “Who is my mother and who are my brothers?”
And looking around at those And extending his hand to his disciples
sitting in a circle around him, he says, he said,
“Behold my mother and my brothers. “Behold my mother and my brothers.
Whoever does the will of God, For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven,
he is my brother and sister and mother.” he is my brother and sister and mother.”

While judgment on some minor points is complicated by text-critical problems, the

most likely view of the two texts is that Mark and Matthew agree on stating that
Jesus’ mother and brothers are standing outside and that some person or persons
report this fact to Jesus. Both also agree in having Jesus’ final pronouncement
diverge from the narrative by speaking of his brother, sister, and mother (creating a
sort of chiastic inclusio whereby the mother is the first significant person
mentioned at the beginning of the story and the last person mentioned at the end of
the story). Significant differences between Mark and Matthew include (1) Mark’s
Jesus looking around at those sitting in a circle around him, while Matthew has
Jesus extend his hand to his disciples; (2) Mark’s Jesus speaking of doing “the will
of God” in the climactic statement, while Matthew’s Jesus typically speaks of
doing “the will of my Father in heaven.”
Luke 8:19–21 severely abbreviates the Marcan pronouncement story, while at
the same time adding the explanation that the mother and brothers could not reach
Jesus “because of the crowd” (v 19). After the announcement of this fact to Jesus
(v 20), Luke omits Jesus’ gesture and rhetorical question and jumps immediately to
Jesus’ climactic response (v 21): “My mother and my brothers, these are the ones
who hear the word of God and do [it].” This identification of Jesus’ mother and
brothers with the ones who hear the word of God stands in sharp contrast to the
Marcan form of the story, where Jesus, upon being told that his family is seeking
him, first asks rhetorically, “Who is my mother and my brother?,” and then looks at
those sitting in a circle around him, affirming, “Whoever does the will of God, this
is my brother and sister and mother.” The Marcan structure thus sets up an
opposition between the physical and the spiritual family of Jesus. The theological
purpose of Luke’s rewriting of the climactic pronouncement in Mark seems to be
his desire to spare the mother of Jesus any apparent slight or rebuke, thus
preserving the positive picture of her presented in the Infancy Narrative (e.g., her
hearing and believing the message of Gabriel, as opposed to Zechariah, the father
of John the Baptist; cf. 2:19,51). In keeping with Luke’s laconic rendering of the
core of Mark’s story, the final saying speaks only of “my mother and my brothers,”
with no mention of sisters. The introductory verse that sets up the story and the
concluding verse commenting on the “setup” are thereby perfectly aligned: mother
and brothers, no sisters.
As happens elsewhere in Thomas, we find CGT 99 pushing Luke’s abbreviating
tendency even further: “The disciples said to him: ‘Your brothers and your mother
are standing outside.’ He said to them: ‘Those here who do the will of my Father,
these are my brothers and my mother. They are the ones who shall go into the
kingdom of my Father.’” We shall see this same proclivity to imitate and even
radicalize Luke’s abbreviating style when we come to the parable of the Evil
Tenants of the Vineyard. In fact, another Thomasine tendency observable in CGT
99 likewise mirrors what we will see in the Evil Tenants: even as CGT 99
abbreviates the Synoptic anecdote of Jesus’ mother and brothers in the Lucan
manner, it also conflates Matthew and Luke, with perhaps even a touch of Mark.
(1) Mark has “the crowd” tell (the verb is plural) Jesus about the problem: “They
say to him . . .” (3:32); Jesus’ disciples are not present anywhere in the story. With
his typical redactional focus on the disciples and their relation to Jesus, Matthew
alone among the Synoptics introduces into this story the disciples (12:49), who
function simply as a point of reference (“and extending his hand to his disciples
. . .”). Thomas conflates Mark and Matthew by having a plural group tell Jesus
about the situation; but now this group is not the crowd as in Mark, but rather
Matthew’s disciples. (2) Thomas’ wording of the report is that “your brothers and
your mother are standing outside.” The inclusion of the verb “to stand” in the
report agrees with Matthew and Luke over against Mark, while the placing of the
“brothers” before the “mother” reflects Thomas’ approach to male and female
elsewhere in his Gospel. (3) In Thomas, Jesus’ reply, “Those here who do the will
of my Father, these are my brothers and my mother,” echoes Matthew’s “he who
does the will of my Father” (12:50). (4) However, Thomas agrees with Luke in
mentioning only the mother and brothers (or vice versa) in the final
pronouncement, while in both Mark and Matthew the pronouncement includes
brother, sister, and mother. (5) Mark and Matthew also agree in using the singular
form for all three persons listed in the final pronouncement; both evangelists begin
with the singular form of the relative pronoun (“who[ever] does . . .”). Once again,
Thomas’ form of the pronouncement agrees with Luke’s in speaking in the plural of
“those who . . . do.” The pattern of conflating Matthew and Luke, seen in other
units, is thus confirmed.68
As the reader no doubt has noticed, my argument up till now has been a
cumulative one, pointing out recurring patterns across a wide spectrum of data.
Looking back we can affirm that the telltale redactional tendency of Thomas to
conflate the Synoptics can be detected in various logia of different genres apart
from the parable tradition: for example, beatitudes, proverbs, “I have come”
sayings, prophetic-eschatological warnings, sapiential metaphors used for
eschatological teaching, and pronouncement stories. As we now turn to some
examples from the parables, both short and long, we shall find not a sudden change
in phenomena but rather a continuation of the same phenomena already discovered.
Once again we will detect not only redactional traces of the Synoptics but also
Thomas’ own redactional tendency to mesh various Synoptic versions in a number
of CGT’s parables, sometimes with a notable preference for Luke. At times,
though, the hand of Matthew will also be quite clear.

B. PARALLELS TAKEN FROM THE PARABLE TRADITION

1. The parable of the Mustard Seed (Mark 4:30–32 || Matt 13:31–32 || Luke 13:18–
19 || CGT 20) stands out as a notable example of Thomas’ tendency to mesh, since
the parable most likely involves a Mark–Q “overlap.”69 In other words, Mark
provides one written form of the earlier oral tradition of the parable, and Q offers
an alternate, independent form. As often happens, Luke remains closer to the Q
form, while Matthew (the inspiration of Thomas in this case?) meshes Mark and Q.
(We find the same meshing phenomenon in the Matthean versions of the
missionary discourse and the parable discourse.)70 To get a sense of the two early
variant forms of the Mustard Seed, let us first examine the Marcan and Lucan (= Q)
versions of the parable step by step. We will then compare the results with the
versions in Matthew and then Thomas.
Step 1: Introduction. Mark introduces the parable with a double rhetorical
question posed by Jesus: “How shall we compare [homoiōsōmen] the kingdom of
God or what parable shall we propose for it?” Luke likewise begins with a double
question, though he apparently rewrites Mark (perhaps with vocabulary from Q) to
achieve parallel wording in the two halves of the question: “To what is the kingdom
of God comparable [homoia], and to what shall I compare [homoiōsō] it?”
Step 2: The Sowing of the Seed. Mark begins the answer to the rhetorical
question with a simple “like a mustard seed . . . ,” while Luke uses a full sentence:
“It is like a mustard seed. . . .” Mark continues by speaking simply of the seed
being sown upon the earth, which seed is the “smallest of all the seeds upon the
earth.” Luke instead speaks of a man (anthrōpos) taking the seed and tossing it into
his garden. He does not state that the seed is the smallest.
Step 3: Growth. In Mark, when the seed is sown, it grows up (literally, “goes up”
in the present tense), becomes greater than all the shrubs (literally, “vegetables”),
and produces (literally, “makes”) large branches. Luke states more laconically that
it grew (aorist) and became a tree.
Step 4: Result. In Mark, the result (hōste) is that the birds of heaven can dwell
under its (i.e., the tree’s) shade. In Luke, instead, without any result clause, the
birds of heaven dwelt (aorist) in its branches (mentioned for the first time in Luke).
Turning now to Matthew, we see his penchant for bringing together elements of
both the Marcan and Q versions:
Step 1. There is no introductory question. Rather, Jesus begins with the single
statement, “The kingdom of the heaven(s) is like a mustard seed” (homoia estin, as
in Luke but not in Mark).
Step 2. Likewise as in Luke, a man acts by taking the seed. However, as in Mark,
the verb used for putting the seed into the ground is “sow,” not “toss” as in Luke.
Matthew uses the aorist indicative (espeiren), while Mark uses the subjunctive
aorist passive in a temporal hotan clause. Instead of Mark’s “upon the earth” and
Luke’s “into his garden,” Matthew has the man sow the seed “in his field.” A
separate sentence affirms that the mustard seed “is the smallest of all the seeds”—
an affirmation present in Mark but absent in Luke.
Step 3. In Matthew, “when it grew” uses the same verb as Luke (ēuxēsen), but
Matthew has the verb in the aorist subjunctive (auxēthę) in a temporal hotan
clause, paralleling the grammatical construction, though not the verb, of Mark’s
hotan sparę. Matthew also follows Mark by putting the statement that the seed “is
[Mark: becomes] greater than all shrubs” in the present indicative. But then, in a
parade example of his tendency to mesh, Matthew suddenly switches to Luke in
claiming that the plant “becomes [Luke: became] a tree.”
Step 4. Matthew concludes by basically following the grammatical construction
of Mark’s result clause (hōste), while (meshing once again) taking over the content
found in Luke (= Q): “The birds of heaven come [a Matthean addition] and dwell
in its branches.” Like Luke and unlike Mark, the branches have not been mentioned
until the final words of the parable. Thus, the Matthean tendency to mesh the
Marcan and Q traditions is clear from one end of the parable to the other.
CGT’s version in logion 20 continues the meshing or harmonizing process,
though with a number of traits typical of Thomas’ redactional style.
Step 1. The parable is introduced with a single sentence (so Matthew) that speaks
of “the kingdom of the heavens,” employing the redactional Matthean locution that
is unique to Matthew within the compass of the NT and the Apostolic Fathers and
that appears a number of times in CGT. The single sentence, however, is in the
form of a question posed by the disciples: “To what is the kingdom of the heavens
comparable?” Thus, while the introduction is in the form of a single sentence (like
Matthew), it is also in the form of a question (Mark || Luke). Indeed, it corresponds
precisely to the first half of Luke’s double question (Luke 13:18a), though with the
Matthean “heavens” substituted for “God” and with the Matthean mention of the
disciples (“to them” in both Matt 13:31 and CGT 20). In addition to this meshing,
we also see a redactional technique typical of Thomas. Especially in the first half of
CGT, the redactor introduces a pericope by placing on the lips of the disciples a
question (less frequently an affirmation) that prompts a reply from Jesus.72
Step 2. In CGT, Jesus replies with a complete sentence (“it is like a mustard
seed”) that echoes the question asked, thus reflecting Luke—and, in the use of a
complete sentence, Matthew. CGT follows immediately with a separate main
clause (if we accept the usual emendation of the Coptic text), stating that “it is the
smallest of all of the seeds.” In this it agrees with Matthew and Mark in regard to
content, and with Matthew grammatically for using a main clause, though in CGT
the smallness of the seed is mentioned before the action begins.73 CGT’s “when it
falls upon the earth” uses the Greek conjunction hotan, found in both Matthew and
Mark, but more precisely hotan de, present only in Matt 13:32. The phrase “upon
the earth” (ejem pkah) is an exact translation of epi tēs gēs, found only in Mark.
Indeed, some commentators hold that the phrase is a Marcan addition to the pre-
Marcan parable.74 At first glance, CGT is unique in adding to “earth” the
qualification “which is tilled” (literally: “on which they work”). However, this
specification may well reflect Matthew’s substitution of “in his field [agrǭ]” for
Mark’s “upon the earth,” since “his field” is presumably earth that has been tilled
or cultivated.75
 Step 3. CGT’s seed then “produces [or: creates] a large branch,” which echoes
Mark’s “produces [poiei, literally: “makes”] large branches.” The Coptic verb used
by Thomas, teyo or ta(o)yo (= “send forth,” “produce”), reflects Mark’s poieō;
there is no equivalent verb in Matthew or Luke. Thomas’ use of the singular
“branch” may reflect his emphasis on the “one,” “sole,” “solitary” recipient of
knowledge (a Gnostic?) that is seen in a number of his sayings.76 The whole phrase
“a large branch” (ounočentar) reflects Mark’s kladous megalous; “branches” in
Matthew and Luke lacks the qualifying adjective megalous (“large,” “great”).
Thomas then uses the verb “becomes” (expressed in the Coptic by the conjunctive,
which, following upon a habitual form of the verb, carries the sense of a habitual
present tense); the verb may thus reflect Matthew’s ginetai, though Thomas uses
the verb in his description of the result.
Step 4. Finally, in Thomas’ denouement, the large branch becomes a “shelter
[Greek: skepē] of the birds of heaven.” In using the noun “shelter,” CGT may be
trying to conflate the meanings of both the verb “to dwell” (common to the three
Synoptics) and Mark’s noun “shade,” “shadow” (skia). This is not so unlikely when
one considers that one Coptic equivalent of the Greek skepē is the noun ha(e)ibes,
which means “shade” or “shadow” and which in certain texts has as its Greek
equivalent some form of skia, skepē, or sēknoun (“to dwell”).77
On the whole, then, allowing for Thomas’ own stylistic and theological
preferences (e.g., the introductory question by the disciples, the one large branch),
we are justified in concluding that CGT 20 is a clear example of the meshing or
harmonizing of Mark, Matthew, and Luke.78 As I noted in Chapter 37, this kind of
harmonizing of the Gospels can likewise be seen in some 2d-century patristic
writings (e.g., Polycarp, Justin Martyr), which are on the way toward the climax of
this tendency in the Diatessaron.79
2. Another, more complicated case of Thomas’ conflation of all three Synoptics
can be found in the parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (Mark 12:1–11 ||
Matt 21:33–43 || Luke 20:9–18 || CGT 65–66).80 It is a fitting commentary on the
dissension among academics that one sizable monograph on the parable argues for
Thomas’ dependence on the Synoptics, while another claims to prove just the
opposite.81 As often happens, part of the problem lies in the presuppositions that
scholars bring to a text. As Charles Quarles has pointed out,82 certain supporters of
Thomas’ independence (e.g., John Dominic Crossan) champion supposedly reliable
and tested postulates that do not in fact hold up to close scrutiny: (1) Postulate
One: the story in the parable is obviously more plausible in Thomas than in the
Synoptics. However, in the case of the Evil Tenants, Luke has already modified
Mark’s presentation in the direction of greater plausibility. Moreover, Thomas’
version is not entirely free from implausible elements. (2) Postulate Two: Thomas’
version of the parable is more primitive because it lacks the opening allusion to Isa
5:1–2. However, Luke “prunes” away most of the Isaiah text, a tendency that
Thomas simply follows further. That Thomas is taking his cue from Luke seems all
the more probable when we notice that some of Luke’s redactional rewording of
Mark is reflected in Thomas. (3) Postulate Three: Thomas’ version is more
primitive because OT allusions and allegorical features found in the Synoptics are
lacking in Thomas. However, this is hardly surprising, granted (a) CGT’s negative
attitude to Judaism and its Scriptures; and (b) Thomas’ express intention to present
esoteric sayings of Jesus with hidden meanings that the initiate must search out and
find (see CGT Prologue, followed by logia 1 and 2). A clarifying nimšāl from the
OT or the evangelist is the last thing Thomas would want. At times, though,
Thomas supplies his own allegorical applications, which are more amenable to his
encratite, antimaterialistic (and gnosticizing?) tendencies. Indeed, if one chooses to
see Thomas as a gnostic work, one can read his version of the parable of the Evil
Tenants as a “subversive” allegory of free men with knowledge (the tenants)
rightfully revolting against the evil Creator God and his slave/servants (the
archons?). Alternately—and quite in keeping with a polemic one finds elsewhere in
Thomas—one could understand the parable as an allegory warning against the
murderous results of greed and desire for material possessions.83 (4) Postulate
Four: Thomas’ priority is clear from the fact that in the Synoptic versions Jesus
claims in veiled fashion to be the son who is slain. The Synoptic versions thus
reveal themselves to be post-Easter creations of the church. However, this
presupposes that one has already solved, on other grounds, the vexed question of
what the historical Jesus explicitly or implicitly claimed about himself. This fourth
postulate is a prime example of presupposing what remains to be proved. (5)
Postulate Five: Be it a question of the parables, teachings, or narratives of the
Gospels, the shorter, more “svelte” form of the unit must be the more original.
Actually, any comparison of Matthew and Luke against Mark will show that often
the opposite is the case. Matthew’s habit of severely abbreviating the narrative in
Mark’s miracle stories is a well-known example.84
I do not bother to belabor the problem with these presuppositions since I have
already made similar observations in Volume One of A Marginal Jew.85 Granting
the dubious nature of these general presuppositions, let us turn to more specific
reasons for thinking that CGT 65–66 show dependence on the Synoptics. Space
does not allow a full exegesis of each form of the parable. I simply take Mark,
Matthew, Luke, and Thomas in turn, dividing each one’s story into five stages and
noting each time the data relevant to the question of redactional activity and
dependence.86
A. Mark 12:1–11 may be divided as follows:
1. Setup. The planting of the vineyard follows the LXX form of Isa 5:2, though
not always word for word. The new element vis-à-vis Isaiah is the letting out of the
vineyard to the (tenant-) farmers and the departure of the man who goes on a
journey (anthrōpos, the owner, who is not said to go abroad).87
2. Sending Slaves to Collect the Fruit. A slave is sent, beaten, and sent back
empty-handed. A second slave is sent, and he is wounded in the head and
dishonored. A third is sent and killed, “and many others,” some of whom are
beaten, while others are killed.
3. Sending the Son. It is important to note the order of the Greek text here: The
owner “still had one person, [namely,] a beloved son. He [the owner, now
obviously the father] sent him [as the] last one to them, saying [= thinking], ‘They
will respect my son.’”
4. The Killing of the Son. The tenants, knowing that the son is the heir, decide to
kill him in order to obtain the inheritance. They kill him and then throw him out of
the vineyard, thus denying him even decent burial.
5. Double Conclusion.
(i-a) Jesus asks rhetorically: What will “the lord [the owner/father] of the
vineyard do?”
(i-b) Jesus answers his own question: “He will come and destroy the farmers and
give the vineyard to others.”
(ii-a) Jesus asks rhetorically: “Or have you not read this Scripture [text]?”
(ii-b) Jesus quotes the Scripture text he has in mind, that is, LXX Ps 117:22–23
(“The stone that the builders rejected, this became the cornerstone . . .”).88

B. Matt 21:33–43 (44?) abbreviates the basic story, as Matthew often does with
Mark’s narratives, notably his miracle stories. Indeed, as we have seen, Matthew
even manages to abbreviate Mark’s version of the parable of the Mustard Seed,
despite the fact the he is combining the Marcan and Q forms. Matthew similarly
abbreviates Mark’s basic story of the Evil Tenants, even though he lengthens
certain individual phrases (notably the sayings material).89
1. Setup. Matthew specifies that the man planting the vineyard is the head of a
household (oikodespot, a favorite Matthean noun in parables and similitudes).90
2. Sending Slaves to Collect the Fruit. From the start, the man sends slaves (in
the plural): one is beaten, another is killed, and another is stoned. The second
sending involves more slaves than the first mission, with similar results.
3. Sending the Son. Omitting Mark’s awkward third sending of a third servant
plus “many others,” Matthew says that “last [of all], he sent to them his son,”
omitting the adjective “beloved.” At first glance, it seems strange that Matthew
would omit “beloved,” but the omission fits his general program of abbreviation.91
In fact, it is not just the one word that is omitted; rather, the whole corresponding
clause in Mark is slimmed down. Mark 12:6 reads: “He still had one person,
[namely,] a beloved son. He sent him [as the] last one to them, saying. . . .”
Matthew collapses these two clauses into one: “Last [of all], he sent to them his
son, saying. . . .”92
4. The Killing of the Son. Intensifying the allegory, Matthew reverses the order
of the crime in Mark: first the tenants cast the son out of the vineyard (now
suddenly representing Jerusalem) and then they killed him—mirroring more
closely the succession of events in Jesus’ passion and death.
5. Double Conclusion. Here Matthew lengthens the wording of Mark’s double
question and answer:
(i-a) Jesus asks rhetorically: “When then the lord of the vineyard comes
[borrowing the “coming” from Mark’s first answer], what will he do to those
farmers?”
(i-b) The Jewish leaders answer (pronouncing judgment on themselves): “He
will bring those evil men to an evil end, and will let out the vineyard to other
farmers, who will render to him the fruits at their proper time.”93
(ii-a) Jesus’ second rhetorical question (“Have you never read in the Scriptures
. . . ?”) leads into
(ii-b) not only the citation of LXX Ps 117:22–23 (v 42)94 but also Jesus’ clear
application of the whole parable to the Jewish leaders (v 43): “The kingdom of God
[= the vineyard] will be taken from you [the leaders] and will be given to a people
[ethnos = the church made up of Jews and Gentiles] bearing its fruit.”95

C. Luke 20:9–18 abbreviates the basic narrative of Mark’s parable even more than
Matthew does, both in the number of incidents and in the tōtal word count. The
basic narrative of the parable of Mark (from v 1b to the end of v 8, prior to Jesus’
double question) includes 114 Greek words. The same narrative in Luke 20:9b-15a
includes 100 Greek words, despite some additions by Luke.96 Both abbreviations
and redactional changes can be seen in most of the five stages of the parable:
1. Setup. The setup is abbreviated in the extreme, so that only “a man planted a
vineyard” is left, without the clear allusion to Isa 5:2 seen in Mark 12:1.97 At the
same time, Luke adds to the end of the setup by noting that the man went away on
a journey “for a long time,” perhaps in an attempt to make the subsequent events
more plausible.98
2. Sending Slaves to Collect the Fruit. There are three sendings of a single slave.
The first time, the slave is beaten and sent back empty-handed. The second sending
ends the same way, with the addition of the slave being treated shamefully. The
third sending results in the slave being wounded and “thrown out.”
3. Sending the Son. Engaging in a typical Lucan interior monologue introduced
by a deliberative question (“What shall I do?” cf. Luke 12:17; 16:3), the “lord of
the vineyard” decides: “I will send my son, the beloved. Perhaps [isōs] they will
respect him.”
4. The Killing of the Son. Like Matthew, Luke reverses Mark’s order of killing
and casting out the son to mirror better the order of Jesus’ passion and death.99
5. The Double Conclusion. Like Matthew, here Luke expands Jesus’ remarks:
(i-a) Jesus’ first rhetorical question and
(i-b) Jesus’ first answer, both repeating Mark almost word for word.
(ii-a) Jesus’ second rhetorical question (“What then is this that is written?”)
(ii-b) Jesus’ second rhetorical answer, made up of
(1) only v 22 of LXX Psalm 117, to which is appended
(2) a loose allusion to LXX Dan 2:34–35,44–45 and possibly Isa 8:14–15
(“Everyone who falls on that stone shall be broken. . . .”)
In sum, we see an intriguing pattern as we move from Mark to Matthew and then
to Luke. We find a progressive abbreviation of the basic narrative of the parable
(up to the killing of the son), balanced by redactional additions here and there by
both Matthew and Luke. The additions are especially notable in the expansion of
Jesus’ second answer at the end of the parable, though even here Luke abbreviates
the citation of LXX Psalm 117, citing only v 22: “The stone that the builders
rejected, this became the cornerstone.” There is also the tendency, barely visible in
Matthew but clearer in Luke, to make the story more plausible. For example, in
Luke no slave is killed before the sending of the son, and “perhaps” (isōs) is added
to the owner’s inner deliberation about sending his son.
What is telling in all this is that, as we shall soon see, the same general
tendencies are found in Thomas’ version of the parable. In CGT, the word count of
the basic narrative is reduced to sixty-six words—though the actual reduction is not
as severe as mere numbers might indicate, since Coptic is a highly “agglutinative”
language, employing a single compound word for two or more Greek words.
Despite the overall reduction of the narrative, a few clauses are added, most of
which are in line with Thomas’ redactional tendencies, including his tendency to
make the story more plausible. In other words, Thomas pushes to their logical
conclusions the redactional tendencies already present in Matthew and especially
Luke’s reworking of Mark. Let us turn now to CGT 65–66 to see how these
tendencies find literary expression.

D. Coptic Gospel of Thomas 65–66 displays the tendencies to abbreviate, to make

more plausible, and to add redactional perspectives to the story in all five stages of
the narrative:
1. Setup. The setting of the stage is brief: “A usurious [or: good?]100 man had a
vineyard and he gave it to some farmers so that they might work it and that he
might receive his fruit from them.” In many ways, this introduction reflects Luke,
who, like Thomas, omits the clear allusion to Isa 5:2. Also in keeping with his
tendency to abbreviate, Thomas moves the reference to “receiving fruit from them”
into the setup, perhaps because he omits the reference to the owner going on a
journey. Interestingly, Thomas’ wording of “in order that he might receive his fruit
from them” conflates phrases from all three Synoptics: the hina (Coptic šina)
purpose clause and reference to taking the fruit from the farmers in Mark 12:2
(repeated by Luke), the singular “fruit” (karpos) in Luke 20:10 (contrast Mark and
Matthew), and the curious possessive “his fruit,” found only in Matt 21:34.101
2. Sending the Slaves to Collect the Fruit. Here Thomas conflates Matthew and
Luke in line with his tendency to slim down the narrative and perhaps to make the
story more plausible as well. Thomas follows Luke (1) in having only one slave
sent each time and (2) in having each slave only beaten, not killed—thus increasing
the plausibility of the owner sending his son. On the other hand, following
Matthew, Thomas reduces the sending of the slaves to two instances, thus
shortening the narrative. The precise wording of Thomas’ first sending again
reflects his tendency to conflate. Only one slave is sent (as in Mark and Luke), but
the slave is qualified by the possessive pronoun (“his slave”), echoing Matthew’s
“his slaves” (21:34) in the first sending. While Thomas has moved up one type of
purpose clause into the setup (“that [šina] he might receive his fruit from them,”
conflating all three Synoptics), he retains another type of purpose clause in the first
sending: “that [jekaas] the farmers might give him the fruit of the vineyard.” This
repeats almost word for word Luke’s rewriting of Mark’s purpose clause in Luke
20:10: “so that they [the farmers] might give him [some] of the fruit of the
vineyard.” Instead of Mark’s “that he might receive [some] of the fruits of the
vineyard from the farmers” (represented in part in Thomas’ first purpose clause
[šina] in the setup), Luke writes “that they [the farmers] might give him [some] of
the fruit of the vineyard”—Luke alone writing “fruit” (karpos) in the singular,
while Mark and Matthew use the plural “fruits” (karpoi). This is a clear sign of
Thomas’ knowing and copying Luke’s redactional change to Mark; Thomas even
takes over the Greek word karpos, using the singular definite article to make clear
that the noun is to be understood in the singular. That Luke’s apo tou karpou . . .
dōsousin (“that they might give [some] of the fruit”) is indeed a unique redactional
touch of Luke’s can be seen from the fact that nowhere else in the NT does karpos
(here in the partitive construction apo tou karpou, with “some” understood) occur
as the object of the simple verb didōmi (“to give”) when human beings are the
subject.102 The only time this construction occurs is here, in Luke’s redactional
alteration of Mark in Luke 20:10, which is closely followed by Thomas:
Luke 20:10 hina apo tou karpou tou ampelōnos dōsousin autǭ
Thomas 65 jekaas enoyoeie nati naf empekarpos empma eneloole

This is not the result of stray memories or alternate oral performances.103 Along
with the other traces of Luke’s redaction (see below), it furnishes a strong argument
that Thomas knew Luke’s version of the parable.
To proceed with the sending of the slaves: the farmers “seize” the slave
(similarly Mark and Matthew). To be precise, the express mention of the slave(s) as
the object of the act of seizing follows Matthew, as does the possessive “his.” The
farmers proceed to “beat” him, as they do in all three Synoptics. Following Mark
and Luke, Thomas has no killing in the first sending of the slave. Actually, this is
necessitated by the logic of having only a single servant sent. If he were killed,
there would be no one to report to the owner the farmers’ refusal to render their
due. Having a number of servants sent on a single mission allows Matthew to have
one beaten, another killed, and still another stoned. The killing in Matthew’s
version is conflated with the mere beating in Mark and Luke by Thomas’ additional
comment that “a little more and they would have killed him.”
The return of the beaten slave poses a problem for Thomas, who seems at pains
to create a more plausible story. Luke had already coped with the problem of
plausibility by having an inner monologue in which the owner weighs possibilities
after the second sending (Luke 20:13: “Perhaps . . .”). As part of the attempt to
increase plausibility, Thomas not only takes over this inner monologue of
deliberation but anticipates it here—he will still use it again after the second
sending—to justify the sending of a second slave after the first has been beaten.
However, the owner’s deliberation at this point in Thomas is anything but clear.
From the first modern publication of CGT to the present day, commentators have
found the owner’s deliberation as he prepares to send the second slave
unintelligible. In the Coptic text as it stands, the owner thinks, “Perhaps he did not
know [= recognize] them”—the “he” referring to the first slave and the “them”
referring to the farmers. Does the owner think that the servant mistakenly went to
the wrong farmers, who vented their annoyance at what seemed an unjust demand
for a share of their crops? This seems so contrived that other commentators suggest
emending what they judge a corrupted text by writing, “Perhaps they [the farmers]
did not recognize him [as my duly sent slave].” Alternately, one might hypothesize
that Thomas is introducing in a clumsy way the gnostic theme of the ignorance of
the Creator God and/or his minions (but then shouldn’t the ignorance of the owner
be stressed?).104 In the end, one must admit that none of these solutions is
completely satisfying. In any event, what is clear is that Thomas takes Luke’s
deliberating soliloquy (“perhaps”) and moves it forward, apparently in an attempt
to make the owner’s action more plausible. Placed after the first sending, the
deliberation makes the second sending slightly more intelligible—if no less
fruitless. The two separate deliberations introduced by “perhaps” also provide an
added structural element to this schematic story.105
3. Sending the Son. Again we find conflation. Thomas follows Matthew (1) in
making the independent statement “he sent his son” the first main clause in this
section (the Greek apesteilen . . . ton huion autou corresponding exactly to the
Coptic jooy empefšēre), and (2) in omitting the adjective “beloved” (agapētos),
present in Mark and Luke. Like Luke (contrary to Mark and Matthew), Thomas
makes the master’s deliberative soliloquy a main clause. Into the “lord of the
vineyard’s” deliberation Luke pointedly inserts an adverb encountered nowhere
else in the NT: “Perhaps [isōs] they will respect him [i.e., my son].” Thomas
parallels this with his own adverb mešak (“Perhaps they will respect him, my
son”). Interestingly, mešak occurs nowhere in CGT except in logion 65, in the two
Lucan-like deliberations of the owner. In addition, besides reflecting Coptic
grammar,106 the dual object (“him”/“my son”) in the Coptic text manages to
conflate Luke’s “him” and Matthew and Mark’s “my son.”
4. The Killing of the Son. The climax is cut to the bare bones for maximum
shock value and mystery: “Those farmers, since they knew that he was the heir of
the vineyard, seized him [and] killed him.” The Coptic for “those farmers”
(noyoeie etemmay) repeats Mark’s ekeinoi de hoi geōrgoi. Only Mark and Thomas
use both the “far-demonstrative” (“those”) plus the definite article with “farmers,”
and neither (unlike Matthew and Luke) notes that the farmers see the son.
Pointedly, only Thomas uses the verb “know” of the farmers, purposely contrasting
the “knowing” (gnostic?) farmers with the “not-knowing” slave who was sent first.
Thus it may be that Thomas has intentionally redacted the Synoptic parable to turn
it into an allegory of the ignorant slaves of the owner (= the Demiurge, the blind
and tyrannical Creator God?) versus the rebellious free agents who have
knowledge. None of the three Synoptics has the theme of not-knowing/knowing at
the two points where Thomas enunciates the theme. The terse “they seized him
[and] killed him” of Thomas reflects the equally terse “seizing they killed him” of
Mark, at which point Thomas abruptly ends the parable. The sudden ending with no
further elaboration, commentary, or scriptural reference fits in perfectly with the
hidden meaning of Jesus’ words that CGT has inculcated from the Prologue and
first two logia of the work. The explanatory comments of Jesus or the evangelists
found in the Synoptics, as well as any citation of the OT, to which CGT shows
itself hostile, are systematically removed throughout CGT. So here. In keeping with
this (gnostic?) program, the Synoptic elaborations and commentary are replaced
with Thomas’ frequent refrain, calling on the possessor of true knowledge (a
Gnostic?) to seek and find (cf. logion 2) the hidden message (cf. Prologue): “Let
him who has ears hear.”107
5. The Double Conclusion. From what has just been said, it is obvious that
Thomas would omit the double conclusion. After all, the first conclusion has Jesus’
prophesying the destruction of Jerusalem, implicitly fitting the whole parable into
the larger story of Jesus’ ministry to his own people (seen as the culmination of the
multiple sending of rejected prophets to Israel), his rejection by their leaders, and
their subsequent punishment via the destruction of their ancient capital and temple.
The sweep of a collective, people-oriented salvation history, understood as a
pattern of prophecy and fulfillment and climaxing in the ministry and death of the
earthly Jesus, is not a congenial theme to Thomas, a work dedicated to secret,
saving, and timeless truths revealed only to the solitary initiate. The second
conclusion would be even more unpalatable: an explicit citation of the OT as
prophecy, proclaiming clearly the ultimate denouement of the story: the death and
resurrection of Jesus.
In the end, though, one might claim that Thomas’ suppression of the double
ending does not entirely succeed. On the one hand, the very core of this parable
already carries within itself echoes of the OT and the theme of prophecy. A Jewish-
Palestinian audience of Jesus’ time, listening to a well-known prophet and teacher
as he addressed the religious leaders in the Jerusalem temple, could hardly miss the
scriptural allusions inherent in symbols like the vineyard, the owner of the vineyard
sending his servants to make claims on those working in his vineyard, and the
rejection of those servants by the workers. One would have to be ignorant not only
of individual scriptural texts but also of the master narrative governing the Jewish
Scriptures to miss the references. For all his abbreviations, even Thomas does not
succeed in suppressing the OT allusions entirely.
On the other hand, the “ghost” of the double conclusion haunts Thomas’
reductive redaction. In a sense, we still find two endings, however much disguised.
The first conclusion, the riddling “Let him who has ears hear,” replaces the
clarifying conclusion that prophesies the destruction of Jerusalem. The second
conclusion remains hidden in clear sight, despite its transformation into a separate
saying of Jesus, a transformation that obliterates the opening rhetorical question
with its citation formula (“Or have you not read this Scripture?”).108 As is his
tendency here as elsewhere, Thomas follows Luke, who takes over from Mark only
v 22 from LXX Ps 117:22–23. Of course, for Thomas there can be no question of
the fulfillment of OT prophecy, let alone Jesus citing OT prophecy to show that it
is fulfilled in his own life and fate. Such a prophecy-fulfillment pattern is explicitly
rejected by the Thomasine Jesus in logion 52.109
Instead, Thomas creates a separate logion, introduced by the formulaic peje is
(“Jesus said”).110 The prophecy becomes a riddling challenge of Jesus: “Show me
the stone that the builders rejected; it is the cornerstone.” All sense that Jesus is
citing an OT text is lost, intentionally so.111
In sum, then, far from being an independent and primitive form of the parable of
the Evil Tenants, Thomas represents the logical conclusion of tendencies already
seen in Matthew and Luke’s redaction of Mark. On the large scale, the parable’s
core narrative is increasingly abbreviated (from Matthew to Luke to Thomas), and
yet each abbreviator adds a few redactional touches of his own along the way. On
the level of verse-by-verse redaction, Thomas shows a consistent tendency to
conflate the three Synoptic versions as he severely abbreviates the basic story.
While traces of both Matthew and Mark can be detected, it is Luke’s redactional
changes that are most clearly mirrored in Thomas. They include (1) Luke 20:9: the
abrupt beginning of the story without the clear allusion to Isa 5:2; (2) Luke 20:10:
the phrase “in order that they might give to him [some of] the fruit of the vineyard”;
(3) the omission of the killing of any slave (in keeping with the sending of only one
slave each time); (4) the inclusion of “perhaps” (Luke’s isōs, Thomas’ mešak) in
the owner’s soliloquy, expressing hope that the farmers will respect his son. This
point is especially telling since isōs never appears anywhere else in the NT, just as
Thomas never uses mešak outside of logion 65. Luke pointedly inserts the adverb
to make the owner’s decision slightly more plausible. Thomas follows Luke in both
wording and intention. To try to escape the obvious conclusion of Thomas’
dependence on Luke by conjuring up a separate primitive version of the parable
used by both Luke and Thomas is to create a deus ex machina while at the same
time cutting oneself on Ockham’s razor.112 Thomas’ overall redactional intent is
seen (1) in his abbreviations and complete omissions, thus rendering the parable’s
meaning completely “hidden” (cf. CGT’s Prologue), and (2) in his insertion of the
(gnostic?) theme of not-knowing/knowing—all to the end of inviting the (gnostic?)
reader to divine the meaning behind the story, now rendered allegorical in an
esoteric (gnostic?) rather than a Synoptic sense.
3. Up to now, in the general sayings material as well as in the parables, we have
examined examples taken from the triple tradition (based solely on Mark, but
redacted by Matthew and/or Luke), from Mark–Q overlaps, and from Q. It is now
time to supplement the catalogue of test cases with a parable that is found only in
Matthew (hence, M material),113 namely, the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds
(13:24–30). Following the pattern set by Mark’s agricultural parable of the Sower,
Matthew supplies his parable with a lengthy allegorical interpretation (Matt 13:36–
43). Indeed, many commentators hold that the interpretation of the Wheat and the
Weeds is Matthew’s own creation. A much shorter version of the parable, without a
separate interpretation, is found in CGT 57.
Matt 13:24–30114 CGT 57
The kingdom of heaven is like The kingdom of the Father is like
a man sowing good seed in his field. a man who had good seed.

While the men were sleeping,

his enemy came and sowed weeds His enemy came at night and sowed weeds
in the midst of the wheat and left. upon the good seed.
When the plants began to sprout and produce grain,
then the weeds also appeared.
Approaching, the slaves of the householder
said to him, “Sir, did you not sow good seed
in your field? How then does it have weeds?”
He said to them, “An enemy did this.”
The slaves say to him, “Do you wish us then The man did not allow them
to go out and gather them?” to pull up the weeds.
He says, “No, lest in gathering the weeds He said to them, “Lest you go in order that
you uproot the wheat with them. we pull up the weeds and you pull
up the wheat with them.
Let both grow together until the harvest,
and at the time of the harvest For on the day of the harvest,
I will say to the harvesters,
‘Gather first the weeds and tie them into the weeds will appear.
bundles in order to burn them, They pull them up and burn them.”
but gather the wheat into my barn.’”

A number of possibilities present themselves: CGT 57 may be an abbreviation of

the text in Matthew’s Gospel, an abbreviation of the M tradition that Matthew also
used, or a completely independent tradition that need not be seen as an abbreviation
and hence may be the earliest form of the parable. The following analysis will
argue that, far from being the earliest and purest form of this parable, CGT 57
shows clear signs of being a radical abbreviation of a longer, more original text, be
that text Matt 13:24–30 or the presumed M parable that was its source.115 Of these
two possibilities, the more likely one is that CGT 57 reflects knowledge of the
present text of Matthew,116 since there seem to be some echoes of Matthew’s
allegorical interpretation in Thomas’ highly abbreviated version. (One is reminded
of Thomas’ radical abbreviation of the Marcan form of the parable of the Evil
Tenants of the Vineyard.)
Let us begin by following the story line of the parable. In the narrative setup of
the parable, the brevity of CGT 57 strikes one immediately. In Thomas, the actual
sowing of the good seed is never mentioned but simply assumed. In Matt 13:25,
“his enemy” (likewise “his enemy” in Thomas) comes while the men (i.e., the
servants of the owner of the farm) are sleeping, sows the weeds, and departs.
Instead of referring to men sleeping, Thomas simply uses the time designation “at
night”; he also lacks any mention of the enemy’s departure.117
More strikingly, Thomas lacks the narrative core of the parable, that is, the whole
succession of events that make the denouement intelligible: the growth of the
plants bearing grain, the simultaneous appearance of the weeds, the servants
approaching the householder with a question about the origin of the weeds in a
field sown with good seed, the householder’s declaration that this is the work of an
enemy, and the servants’ suggestion that they gather up the weeds (Matt 13:26–28).
Thomas’ story rejoins Matthew’s at 13:29: the man does not allow them to pull up
the weeds, lest they pull up the wheat with them. However, this statement by the
man in Thomas’ version really does not make sense without all the Matthean
material that Thomas lacks. Indeed, one might theorize that the attempt to
consolidate the Matthean material into the man’s statement has resulted in a series
of incoherent clauses in Thomas: “The man did not allow them [no referent has
been introduced previously in Thomas’ narrative] to pull up the weeds. He said to
them, ‘Lest you go in order that we pull up the weeds and you pull up the wheat
with them.’” The sudden appearance of “them,” with no indication that they are the
servants of the householder, is only made more confusing by the strange movement
back and forth between “you” and “we” within a single sentence in direct
speech.118 It may be no accident that, in the very detailed allegorical interpretation
in Matt 13:37–43, the only person or persons missing from the allegory are the
servants, who play a key role in original story of 13:24–30.119 Here we begin to see
hints that the Thomasine author may have had Matthew’s allegorical interpretation
(which omits the servants) in the back of his mind when he undertook his radical
abbreviation of the parable’s story.
Intriguingly, given Thomas’ general avoidance of the kind of “communal” fiery
apocalyptic eschatology seen in the Synoptics, the denouement in CGT 57 surprises
in presupposing some sort of future eschatology, complete with fire: “For on the
day of the harvest, the weeds will appear. They pull them up and burn them.” Not
only is the reference to a future harvest that involves burning the weeds alien to
Thomas;120 the very mention of a harvest is without preparation in the context of
CGT 57, since Thomas lacks the householder’s immediately preceding command
(Matt 13:30): “Let both grow together until the harvest.” Still more curious is the
mention of the burning of the weeds without any corresponding reference to the
fate of the wheat. This absence becomes intelligible when one notices that
Matthew’s allegorical interpretation shifts the parable’s center of gravity from
patience in the present moment to the fiery punishment of the wicked at the
consummation of the age.121 Strikingly, in Matt 13:37–43, the initial catalogue of
equivalences, which equates each key term or event in the parable with its
eschatological equivalent (vv 37b–40), omits any reference whatever to the wheat
or to a barn (cf. 13:30).122 The apocalyptic narrative that follows in vv 41–43a
dwells almost entirely on the punishment of the wicked, with only v 43a referring
to the reward of the just. Even in 43a, there is no resumption of the imagery of
wheat, harvest, or barn. Rather, the apocalyptic image of shining like the sun or
other heavenly bodies is suddenly introduced (cf. Matt 17:2; Dan 12:3; Wisd 3:7),
with no connection to any imagery that has preceded.123 It is hardly an
exaggeration to say that, out of all the positive elements present in the parable
proper (13:24–30), Matt 13:41–43 takes up and interprets only the middle part of v
30. Thomas’ conclusion thus focuses intensely on what is emphasized in Matthew’s
allegorical interpretation of the parable (13:36–43) rather than on what is
emphasized in the parable itself.124
Then, too, the vocabulary of “appearing” (naoynh ebol) toward the end of CGT
57 creates a problem when compared to Matthew’s parable. In Matthew, there is a
clear progression in the steps of the narrative. At first, the weeds, which closely
resemble the wheat in the early stages of growth, do not appear different to the
naked eye of the farmers. But by the time that the wheat has grown sufficiently to
start producing wheat grain in the ears, then (Matthew’s typical tote) the weeds
also (kai) “appeared” (ephanē in 13:26)—since obviously at this point the
difference between the two types of plants and their respective grain would be
visible.125 It follows naturally that at this point in the story the slaves, seeing the
difference, ask the householder for an explanation of the weeds’ presence and then
suggest that they gather up the weeds. The householder points out why their
solution is not workable: though the weeds are now visible, and therefore
distinguishable from the wheat, their roots may have become entangled (cf. v 25:
the weeds were sown in the midst of the wheat). Uprooting the weeds would
possibly involve uprooting the immature wheat as well. At the harvest, the weeds
and the (now mature) wheat can be separated, since both will be cut down.
In contrast, in Thomas the extreme contraction of the narrative leads to an
illogical development of events. After the sowing of the weeds is narrated, we are
immediately told that the man forbade “them” (whoever they are) to pull up the
weeds lest they pull up the wheat with them. Nothing has been said about a period
of growth after which the weeds would first become visible. Logically, though, the
reader has to suppose that the weeds have in fact appeared; otherwise, the man’s
prohibition of pulling them up would make no sense. Yet in Thomas either Jesus or
the man in the parable goes on to say that the weeds will become visible on the day
of the harvest, when they can be pulled up and burned. Hence the apparent
contradiction in the story: if the weeds do not become visible before the harvest,
how can the problem have been detected, moving the man to issue his prohibition?
126 It would seem, then, that in his radical abbreviation of Matthew’s parable, the
Thomasine redactor has moved Matthew’s mention of the appearance of the weeds
from early on in the story, where it makes sense, to the end of the story, where it
destroys whatever logic might have remained in Thomas’ confusingly slimmed-
down version.
But this is not the end of the muddle. All the more puzzling is the conclusion of
Thomas’ parable, which is put in the present tense, just after the reader has been
told that the weeds “will appear.” The final sentence, with the plural subject in the
(first) present tense followed by the conjunctive (“they pull them up and burn
them”), reflects the plural command that the Matthean householder says that he
will issue to the harvesters (unmentioned in Thomas) at the harvest. The plural
form of the verbs thus makes sense in Matthew’s version, while in Thomas the best
a translator can do is to understand the plural as the Coptic way of expressing the
passive voice (which does not exist as a separate verb form in Coptic). But is this
the most likely solution when an unspecified “them” has already been introduced
into an earlier stage of the story in Thomas’ version? All in all, the most natural
explanation of the origin of this obscure narrative in CGT 57 is a maladroit attempt
to abbreviate the Matthean parable.127
In addition to this step-by-step analysis of Thomas’ parable, which suggests that
CGT 57 is a severely abbreviated and somewhat garbled version of what we find in
Matthew, individual words and phrases in CGT 57 also appear to reflect Matthew’s
text of the parable, Matthew’s interpretation of the parable, or Matthew’s
redactional style in general.128 Thomas begins his version with “the kingdom of the
Father is like. . . .” Interestingly, Matthew’s interpretation of the parable ends with
the words (to use an excruciatingly literal translation) “the kingdom of the Father
of them [i.e., the just]”—or in ordinary English, “the kingdom of their Father.” It is
telling that the earliest Synoptic sources, Mark and Q, use the phrase “the kingdom
of God,” but never employ the absolute phrase “the kingdom” or “the kingdom”
connected with a genitive construction involving the noun “Father.” The absolute
use of “the kingdom” and the connection of “kingdom” with the genitive “Father”
are later developments seen in Matthew and Luke–Acts.129 Indeed, the absolute use
of “the kingdom,” when referring to the kingdom of God/heaven without
possessive pronoun or dependent genitive construction, is almost unique to
Matthew in the four Gospels (Matthew 6x, Mark 0x, Luke 1x, John 0x).130 Yet the
absolute “the kingdom” and “the kingdom of the Father” are the two most common
forms of “kingdom talk” in Thomas. While there are a few occurrences in Thomas
of Matthew’s redactional phrase “the kingdom of heaven” (CGT 20, 54, and 114),
the phrase that is most likely original with the historical Jesus and that is the
common form in Mark and Q—“the kingdom of God”—is completely absent from
the Coptic form of Thomas.131 This phenomenon hardly supports some critics’
overall strategy of explaining the present text of CGT by appealing to regular
assimilation of the text to the standard Coptic NT by later Christian scribes. That is
certainly not the case at the beginning of CGT 57, where Thomas’ “the kingdom of
the Father” does not reflect the beginning of Matthew’s parable in either the Greek
or the Sahidic Coptic (both forms have Matthew’s typical “the kingdom of heaven”
in v 24). Rather, “the kingdom of the Father” at the beginning of CGT 57 may echo
the concluding phrase at the end of Matthew’s allegorical interpretation (v 43).
To proceed with other individual points in the parable: if we possessed only
Matthew’s parable without his allegorical interpretation or his larger story of Jesus,
the initial description of the sower of the weeds in 13:25 as “his [i.e., the
householder’s] enemy” might seem puzzling or at least unexplained. But
Matthew’s interpretation—which he no doubt already has in mind as he puts this
parable into its final form—makes clear that the sower of the good seed is the Son
of Man (= Jesus). Correspondingly, the enemy is the devil, who has appeared in
Matthew as Jesus’ enemy from the temptation narrative onward (4:1–11), where
the noun “devil” is repeated four times in the story and the noun “satan” (= Hebrew
śāṭān, “adversary,” “opponent,” “enemy”) appears at the climax. Hence, given the
wider Matthean context, in Matt 13:25 “his enemy” makes perfect sense within the
parable, which Matthew is redacting (if not simply creating) with a view to his
allegorical interpretation. The same cannot be said for the presence of the exact
same phrase (“his enemy,” pefjaje) in the Coptic version, which of course lacks the
interpretation that makes the “his” intelligible. While scholars may argue over how
realistic the basic plot of the parable’s story is, the designation of the sower of the
weeds as his enemy without any further explanation only makes the incoherent
version in Thomas still more incoherent.132 “His enemy” is explicable only from
the vantage point of Matthew’s allegorical interpretation.133
The action of sowing by “his enemy” creates a further slight, though intriguing,
connection between Matthew and Thomas. While all other references to sowing in
both Matthew’s parable and his interpretation employ the simple verb speiro (“to
sow”), the enemy’s sowing is described in Matt 13:25 with the relatively rare
compound verb epispeirō. This verb never occurs in the LXX, in other Greek
versions of the OT, anywhere else in the NT, or in the Apostolic Fathers. While the
meaning of the verb, at least in this type of agricultural context, can be construed as
“sow afterward,” the literal meaning of the compound is “sow upon” or “on top of”
(epi may take a number of cases with various meanings, but the common meaning
possible in each case is “upon”).134 It may not be totally by accident that at the
parallel point in CGT 57 “his enemy” is said to sow the weeds “upon” (Coptic ejen)
the good seed, even though a different type of preposition might have made better
sense.135 The use of ejen cannot be attributed to assimilation to the standard NT
Coptic text of Matthew, since that text uses entmēte en (“in the midst of”), which
reflects Matthew’s Greek at 13:25 and makes perfect sense in the context. Thus, in
Thomas’ use of ejen we may have another slight echo of the Matthean text,
specifically, the rare epispeirō.
The enemy is said to sow zizanion, a type of weed that can be translated into
English as “tares,” “darnel,” or “cheat.” This noun does not occur in the LXX, in
other Greek versions of the OT, in secular Greek before the Christian era, or in the
Apostolic Fathers.136 In the NT, it occurs only in this parable of Matthew and its
interpretation. Once again, its presence in Thomas’ version cannot be explained by
Christian scribes assimilating the text to the later standard Sahidic text of Matthew,
since that text uses not zizanion but rather the general Coptic word for “plant,”
“herb,” or “weed” (entēč). Nor can it be explained as some Greek loan word
especially at home in the Nag Hammadi material, since CGT 57 is the only place
that it occurs in all of the Nag Hammadi texts.137
Thomas’ “on the day of the harvest” echoes Matthew’s “at the time of the
harvest” (13:30). This phrase—along with the imagery of burning the weeds—is
perfectly at home in Matthew’s future scenario of fiery apocalyptic eschatology, but
(as we have already seen) is totally out of place in Thomas’ theology. Indeed, Jack
Dean Kingsbury, who thinks that there is some pre-Matthean material behind
Matthew’s parable, emphasizes that in 13:30 the language is “typically Matthean
and rich in eschatological imagery.”138 Thomas’ strong parallel to Matthew at this
point suggests that it may be a mistake to translate the final words in CGT 57
(literally, “they pull them up and burn them”) in the passive voice: “. . . they shall
be pulled up and burned.” The 3d person verbs may instead be a relic of the
servants/harvesters in the Matthean version of the parable (shadowy figures at best
in Thomas), who are interpreted as angels in Matthew’s allegorical explanation
(13:39). In the end, I freely grant that no one of these observations about individual
words and phrases in CGT 57 would be all that probative if taken separately, but I
think that cumulatively they do lend secondary support to the major arguments I
have laid out above.
In sum, we have seen that (1) the overall narrative in Thomas makes sense only
as a severely compressed version of Matthew’s parable or its M source, (2) certain
locutions in Thomas echo phrases that are most likely products of Matthew’s
redactional hand, and (3) Thomas’ radical abbreviation seems influenced by
Matthew’s allegorical interpretation of the parable. The most likely conclusion
from all this is not only (1) that CGT 57 is not early and independent but also (2)
that CGT 57 depends on the text found in Matthew’s Gospel rather than on some
hypothetical source. That the author of Thomas knew Matthew’s Gospel seems all
the more likely when we notice that, elsewhere in Thomas, the author shows that he
is aware of a specific disciple of Jesus named Matthew. Unlike other NT
personages to whom composition of a Gospel was in due time attributed—namely,
Mark, Luke, and John—Matthew is actually mentioned by Thomas in an unusually
long logion (CGT 13) with an untypical narrative framework. The narrative in CGT
13 seems to reflect (in a polemical “rewrite” that reverses the point) Matthew’s
version of Peter’s confession of faith at Caesarea Philippi (Matt 16:13–20).139
Thus, Klyne Snodgrass may not be exaggerating when he judges that the parable of
the Wheat and the Weeds “is one of the easiest passages to argue” for the
dependence of Thomas on the Synoptic tradition.140
4. I have purposely left for last a parable that is unique to Luke (L material)
among the Synoptics. My reason for doing this is not deference to the traditional
canonical order of the Synoptic Gospels but rather the special problems that are
involved in comparing an L parable to its parallel in CGT.
(a) To start with, we are faced with a paradox in Thomas’ use of Synoptic
sources. Frequently in the examples already examined, we have noted a certain bias
in favor of Luke’s form of a saying or pericope, be the ultimate material Marcan or
Q. Yet, curiously, when we scan the list of parables contained in both the Synoptic
tradition and Thomas, we confront a surprising phenomenon. For all the Lucan
influence traceable in Thomas, there is only one clear case of a parable found only
in Luke (i.e., an L parable) that has a parallel in Thomas.141 This is the parable of
the Rich Fool, including its introduction (Luke 12:13–15 + 16–21 || CGT 72 + 63).
Hence, as we come to treat this L parable, we are dealing with a one-of-a-kind
specimen in our Synoptics–Thomas comparisons.
(b) My insistence that we treat this L parable together with its introduction points
to a further peculiarity and difficulty. We have in the Rich Fool the only case
among the Synoptic parables where not only the parable proper (Luke 12:16–21 =
CGT 63) but also the introductory anecdote or “setup” to this Synoptic parable has
a parallel in Thomas (Luke 12:13–15 = CGT 72). Granted the regular pattern
whereby material found together in the Synoptics is found scattered in Thomas
(and occasionally vice versa), we need not be surprised that the brief pericope that
serves as an introduction in Luke occurs in Thomas nine sayings after the parable
proper. It would seem that for Thomas, the material in CGT 72 has or has been
given independent value and meaning.
(c) Compounding these problems is the uncertain origin of the Lucan material.
Are we dealing with primitive tradition (possibly from Jesus) that has been taken
over by Luke without significant redaction? Or do we have here a tradition that
Luke has heavily redacted in his own style? Or is either the introduction or the
parable (or both) wholly a creation of Luke?
(d) These questions are made all the more difficult by a further consideration.
The parable proper weaves together warnings about (i) blind trust in one’s
possessions and (ii) the uncertain and uncontrollable time of one’s death. With
many permutations and varying emphases, these themes permeate the wisdom
traditions of the OT, intertestamental literature, other parts of the NT, and later
rabbinic literature, not to mention similar admonitions in Greek and Roman
philosophy.142 Within the almost interminable list of ancient parallels to these basic
themes, a stark observation in Ben Sira (11:18–19) is so close in thought (though
not in wording) to this Lucan parable that it could almost be considered the source
of the parable in Luke and/or Thomas. The Hebrew text (partially restored) of Sir
11:18–19, as found in Manuscript A from the Cairo Geniza, may be translated as
follows:
There is a man who grows rich by leading a pinched existence . . . [and] this is his allotted reward: when he
says, “I have found rest, and now I shall eat from my bounty,” he does not know what the limited span [of
his life] will be. And he will leave it to others and die.143

Granted the all-pervasive and constantly recycled nature of wisdom traditions in

ancient Mediterranean literature, one must weigh the possibility that the parables in
Luke 12:16–21 and CGT 63 are not connected with each other either by Christian
literary sources or by common oral tradition going back to the historical Jesus.144
Rather, if we wish to entertain all possible hypotheses, it is conceivable that Luke
and Thomas represent in their parables two different receptions and reformulations
of the material found in Sir 11:18–19—without that material ever passing through
the lips of Jesus. After all, in a short wisdom saying, Ben Sira encapsulates many
of the themes found in both Luke and Thomas: a rich man speaking an inner
monologue and making plans to enjoy his prosperity, while death lurks around the
corner, ready at an unknown hour to make all the rich man’s efforts and plans
futile. Hence, independent recycling of Ben Sira’s observation by Luke and
Thomas, with no connection with each other or Jesus, is an intriguing possiblity,
especially given present-day concerns about multiple performances of fluid oral
traditions.145
Nevertheless, other considerations make this option less likely, especially in
Luke’s form of the parable. Absent from Sir 11:18–19 are key elements present in
the Lucan parable: e.g., the tearing down of barns with the intention of building
larger ones, the immediate death of the rich man “this very night,” and the unusual
direct appearance and speech of God (wisdom commonly makes observations on
human life without special epiphanies of God, the climax of the Book of Job
notwithstanding). On the other hand, present in Ben Sira but absent in Luke is the
idea that the man has (apparently slowly) become rich through penny (or shekel)-
pinching. Thomas, for his part, presents the rich man’s agricultural activity as part
of his plans, rather than an already realized fact that creates storage problems, as in
Luke. Then, too, in Thomas the sudden death “that very night” happens without
any intervention or speech by God.
I have laid out all these complications at the beginning of our treatment to
indicate why we will have to deal with Luke 12:16–21 in a somewhat different
manner and order than has been used in our previous examples. In this case, the
argument cannot help but be circuitous and multifaceted. So let us now move with
patience to a detailed comparison of Luke and Thomas’ texts, putting the anecdote
that functions as the introduction in Luke first, followed by the parable proper.
A. Introduction
Luke 12:13–15 CGT 72
Someone from the crowd said to him [Jesus]: A man said to him [Jesus]:
“Teacher, tell my brother “Tell my brothers
to divide the inheritance to divide the possessions of my father
with me.” with me.”
He [Jesus] said to him: He [Jesus] said to him:
“Man, who appointed me a judge or divider “O man, who made me a divider?”
over you [plural]?”
He said to them: He turned to his disciples and said to them:
“Watch out and guard yourselves “I am not a divider, am I?”
against all greed, for a person’s life
does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

B. Parable
Luke 12:16–21 CGT 63
He [Jesus] told them a parable, saying: Jesus said:
“A rich man had a field “There was a rich man
that produced abundantly. who had many possessions.
He thought to himself, saying, He said,
‘What shall I do, ‘I shall use my possessions
for I do not have [a place] so that I may sow and reap,
where I may gather my fruits?’ plant and fill
And he said:
‘This [is what] I shall do:
I will tear down my barns and build larger my barns with fruit.’
ones, and there I shall gather all my grain and my
goods.
And I shall say to my soul, These were his thoughts
“Soul, you have many good things on these matters in his heart.
laid up for many years.
Relax, eat, drink, make merry.”’
But God said to him:
‘Fool, this very night And that very night
 your soul is being demanded of you. he died.
The things you have prepared,
to whom will they belong?’
So [it is with] the person He who has ears, let him hear.”
who heaps up treasure for himself,
and is not rich [in the things that] concern God.”

A glance through these two traditions in their Lucan and Thomasine forms only
verifies the series of difficulties I listed earlier. A number of different scenarios are
possible, and it is hard to know how to choose among them. Clearly, Luke 12:13–
15 || CGT 72 recount the same basic exchange, while Luke 12:16–21 || CGT 63
relate the same basic parable. But is one version of the exchange and/or the parable
dependent directly or indirectly on the other? Or do both texts present independent
versions of a teaching that ultimately goes back to Jesus? Or, at least in the case of
the parable, have Luke and Thomas both received and reworked a common topos
of the wisdom tradition, as exemplified in Sir 11:18–19?
Granted all that we have already seen in our previous examples, I am inclined to
think that once again we are dealing in CGT 63 with a radical abbreviation of
Synoptic material. Thomas has taken a parable with a rather conventional story
from the wisdom tradition and condensed it into a laconic and cryptic narrative
whose meaning the reader must “seek and find” (cf. Thomas’ Prologue along with
sayings 1 and 2). It is in keeping with this overall redactional purpose that Thomas
also takes the introductory Lucan anecdote and, in CGT 72, gives it a twist in the
direction of a gnosticizing christology. This is true especially in the anecdote’s
conclusion: Luke’s moralizing observation about avoiding greed, a truth that holds
for every human being, is transmogrified into Jesus’ mysterious, unanswered
question about his own identity (“I am not a divider, am I?”). But it is one thing for
me to suggest such an explanation, based on my previous examples. It is quite
another to move from an explanation that is merely possible to one that is probable.
What signals in the two formulations of this tradition suggest that Thomas, directly
or indirectly, knew and was influenced by Luke’s composition of 12:13–15 + 16–
21?
In a nutshell, both the introduction and the parable proper have a number of traits
found only in Luke within the Synoptic Gospels—and specifically within the
Synoptic parable tradition. These traits argue for either Lucan creation or strong
Lucan redaction in 12:13–15 + 16–21. Let us proceed step by step in laying out the
argument.

1. General Considerations about Luke’s Technique of Connecting Introductory

Anecdotes with Parables
(a) Within the NT, only Luke uses a short introductory anecdote, involving Jesus
and an interlocutor outside the circle of his disciples, as a preface to a narrative
parable. This technique stands out because, in the Synoptics, most individual
parables do not have their separate “setups,” with each setup geared to introducing
the message of the parable that follows. For example, in the parable discourse
(Mark 4:1–34 || Matt 13:1–52 || Luke 8:4–18), we have a general framing of the
scene, but the individual parables do not address problems raised by individual
interlocutors.146 The same is true of the other Marcan parables: the Evil Tenants of
the Vineyard (Mark 12:1–11 parr.) and the Watchful Doorkeeper (Mark 13:34–37
parr.).147 Likewise, the parables peculiar to Matthew (M material) all lack an
immediately preceding introduction made up of an interchange between Jesus and
an “outsider,” that is, someone outside the circle of disciples. The closest we come
to such a composition is the single case in Matthew where not an outsider but the
leader of the Twelve (Peter) asks Jesus a question about forgiveness (18:21–22), a
question that directly introduces the parable of the Unforgiving Servant (18:23–35).
The overarching context of the Matthean discourse on church life and order (chap.
18) suggests that Peter represents church leaders being instructed on tempering
church discipline (18:15–20) with a readiness to forgive.
Interestingly, when we look at introductions to parables in the Q tradition, we
notice a difference between Matthew and Luke’s redaction. Matthew never supplies
a special introduction to any of his Q parables. In contrast, in Luke 12:41, Peter
(once again symbolizing church leaders) asks a question that immediately triggers
the parable of the Servant Placed over the Household (Luke 12:42–48). In Luke
14:15, “one of those reclining at table” with Jesus remarks in general on the
blessedness of anyone eating bread in the kingdom of God. This serves as a setup
for Luke’s version of the parable of the Great Supper (14:16–24). In 15:2, the
criticism of the Pharisees and the scribes moves Jesus to tell the parable of the Lost
Sheep (15:3–7). Just before Jesus tells the parable of the Ten Minas or “Pounds”
(19:12–27), Luke informs us that Jesus is aiming this parable at those who think
that the kingdom of God is about to appear because Jesus is drawing near to
Jerusalem (19:11). Hence we notice in Luke’s redaction of Q parables, as distinct
from Matthew’s, a tendency to provide parables with some sort of introduction
suited to the particular parable. In general, though, there is no give-and-take
interaction between Jesus and an “outsider” in these brief introductions.
Granted Luke’s tendency to supply some Q parables with a preface, we need not
be surprised to learn that the parables unique to Luke stand out because such a
large number of them have an introduction that raises the topic dealt with in the
parable. More strikingly, in certain cases, Luke gives his L parables introductions
that involve interaction between Jesus and an outsider. The Lucan examples
include the following:
(i) The parable of the Two Debtors (Luke 7:41–43) is part of a larger discussion
between Jesus and Simon the Pharisee.
(ii) As we saw in Volume Four of A Marginal Jew, in the parable of the Good
Samaritan (10:30–37), Luke reworks Mark’s pericope concerning the double
commandment of love (Mark 12:28–34) to create an introduction to the Good
Samaritan.148 In this Lucan introduction, a lawyer and Jesus engage in a discussion
on inheriting eternal life that culminates in a focus on love of neighbor, thus
transitioning almost seamlessly into the parable.
(iii) The parable of the Rich Fool (12:16–21), our present concern, is introduced
by a dialogue about dividing an inheritance.
(iv) The parable of the Barren Fig Tree (13:6–9) forms the climax of Jesus’
response to “some people” who inform him about certain Galileans killed by
Pontius Pilate. The parable concludes Jesus’ riposte that one should be concerned
not about the fate of others but about one’s own fate; hence one must repent while
there is still time.
(v) The parable of the Lost Coin (15:8–10) is joined by Luke to the Q parable of
the Lost Sheep as a response to criticism by the Pharisees and scribes over Jesus’
welcoming of sinners (15:2). The same can be said of the third of Luke’s trio of
parables about “lostness,” the parable of the Prodigal Son (15:11–32).149
(vi) The parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (16:19–31) may perhaps be
included in our list, though technically the hostile interchange between the
Pharisees, who are said to love money, and Jesus, who announces God’s reversal of
socioeconomic values, occurs in vv 14–15 instead of immediately before the
parable, which takes up this theme.
(vii) The parable of the Widow and the Judge (18:1–8) does not have a full
interchange, although Luke gives the parable a special introduction by stating that
Jesus told it “to them” (the disciples? the crowd?) to encourage persistent prayer in
the face of discouragement.
(viii) Likewise, the immediately following parable of the Pharisee and the Tax
Collector (18:9–14) is not introduced by a formal dialogue. But once again, Luke
introduces the parable by stating the specific audience and intention of Jesus. The
parable is a rebuke and warning “to some who trusted in themselves, thinking that
they were righteous, while despising the rest of humanity.”
Our brief survey leads to an obvious conclusion. Compared to the parables of
Mark and Matthew, and compared even to the Marcan material taken over in the
Third Gospel, Luke tends in his L parables (and even in some of his Q parables) to
provide an introduction specific to the particular parable that follows. The
introduction aims at describing the audience, purpose, and/or theme of the given
parable. In a number of cases involving L parables, these introductions are
expanded by Luke into short dialogues between Jesus and an outsider, thus creating
a mini-pronouncement story (alias apophthegm or chreia) as the parable’s
introduction. We see this technique applied in different ways in the parables of the
Two Debtors, the Good Samaritan, and the Rich Fool—and more loosely in the
parables of the Barren Fig Tree, the Lost Coin, the Prodigal Son, and the Rich Man
and Lazarus. Interestingly, the Rich Fool ranks alongside the Good Samaritan as
the clearest and neatest example of this Lucan redactional tendency. To repeat then:
within the compass of the Synoptic parables, only Luke—and only in the L
parables proper to him—prefaces a parable with an introductory exchange between
Jesus and an outsider. Our rapid review of the whole tradition of NT parables
argues strongly for this introductory mechanism being Luke’s own invention within
the Synoptic tradition.
The corollary of this conclusion is clear. If the introduction (12:13–15) to the L
parable of the Rich Fool (12:16–21) is most likely an apt apophthegm created by
Luke himself, then the appearance of this same apophthegm in CGT 72, nine
sayings after Thomas’ version of the Rich Fool (CGT 63), leads us to a further
conclusion: Luke’s introductory anecdote, not some vague shared wisdom tradition,
was known directly or indirectly by Thomas and has been taken over, with some
notable redactional changes, in CGT 72. If this be so, then a further question arises.
If Thomas has taken over CGT 72 from Luke’s Gospel, and if that apophthegm
existed in Luke’s Gospel as an anecdote created to introduce the parable of the
Rich Fool, is it at all probable that Thomas did not know Luke’s version of the Rich
Fool?
No doubt some critics would resist this line of reasoning. They would argue that
it remains theoretically possible that Luke 12:13–15 and CGT 72 represent two
independent forms of a common wisdom tradition. To be sure, we do not have the
same word-for-word identity seen, for example, in Matt 10:16b and CGT 39 (the
“clever as snakes” saying). Yet there are notable similarities in the flow of the
anecdote and even in the wording.

2. Comparison of Luke 12:13–15 and CGT 72

To begin with the obvious, both the Lucan and the Thomasine forms have the same
basic structure and content:
(a) An unidentified man requests “out of the blue” (neither text supplies further
background) that Jesus tell his brother(s) to divide an inheritance. Since in Luke the
dispute over the inheritance is between two brothers, the reader would naturally
suppose that the goods are inherited from their father. This is made explicit in CGT
72: “the possessions of my father.” This specification allows Thomas to “slip in” a
phrase (“my father”) that, for the reader initiated into the saving knowledge of the
work, resonates with the idea of the supreme, transcendent God revealed by
Jesus.150
(b) Jesus replies with a rhetorical question that begins with the vocative address
“man”151 and proceeds to ask who has appointed (Thomas: “made”) Jesus a judge
or divider (Thomas has only the noun “divider”) in this familial dispute. Jesus’
rhetorical question is obviously a refusal to accede to the man’s request.
(c) Instead of clarifying his refusal or its rationale in a direct statement to the
man, Jesus rather addresses the larger group around him (Luke: “he said to them”;
Thomas: “he turned to his disciples and said to them”). Jesus thus reinforces the
refusal implied in his rhetorical question by no longer speaking to the individual
petitioner. In Luke and Thomas, the difference in the audience now addressed is not
as great as might seem. The last audience Luke specified in chap. 12 was precisely
Jesus’ disciples (12:1 + 4), and so that is the group intended by “he said to them”
(12:15). Thomas, having no larger narrative context, necessarily has to supply “his
disciples” if that is the audience he intends.
(d) As is often the case in the Synoptics, when one writer takes over the story of
another, the two authors tend to diverge especially at the story’s conclusion (see,
e.g., Mark 5:43 || Matt 9:26; Mark 8:21 || Matt 16:12; Mark 8:31–33 || Luke 9:22).
So here: Luke has a clear moralizing conclusion in which Jesus exhorts his
audience to avoid greed, while Thomas displays his characteristic preference for a
cryptic rather than a clear conclusion by repeating Jesus’ rhetorical question.
Within this common literary structure, a certain number of similar words or
phrases suggest Luke’s hand. To take a few examples: Of the 114 sayings in
Thomas, the vast majority of the sayings are introduced by “Jesus said” or “he
[Jesus] said.” In a few cases, Jesus is simply understood to be still speaking from
the previous saying (so logion 27 after 26). Far fewer sayings are introduced with
“his [or: the] disciples.” Mary (Magdalene) introduces saying 21. In saying 60, “he
[presumably Jesus] saw” precedes the usual “he [Jesus] said.” In logion 74, an
unidentified “he” is the subject of “said”; the immediately following address (“O
Lord”) implies that the speaker is a disciple. Intriguingly, logion 79 has the saying
introduced by “a woman in the crowd” (as in Luke 11:27), who proceeds to
proclaim the beatitude contained only in Luke 11:27, with the Thomasine Jesus
replying as he does in Luke 11:28. The second half of saying 79 then switches to
Jesus’ ironic/tragic beatitude, spoken to the women on the way of the cross, in
Luke 23:29.152 (Thomas does love conflation of all sorts.) Sayings 91, 100, and 104
begin with an anonymous “they” (possibly adversaries). Last but not least, in
saying 114, which concludes the whole work, Simon Peter opens the logion by
addressing “them” (apparently Jesus and the disciples).
The point of this survey of speakers who open individual sayings in Thomas is
that the introduction “a man said” (peje ourōme, that is, finite verb with past
meaning + singular indefinite article + noun “man”) is found in CGT only in saying
72. This is not the same thing as the few other cases of a vague “they said” or “he
said” noted earlier, where the subject pronoun is simply part of the verb form. In
other words, “a man said” as the opening formula of a saying is not only untypical
of Thomas but is actually restricted to a single logion, CGT 72.
The relevance of this observation about Thomas’ style can be seen when we turn
to Luke and observe an element of his redactional style. There are a number of
cases in Luke where the Greek indefinite pronoun tis (“some” or “someone,” but in
Hellenistic Greek also used as the functional equivalent of an indefinite article)153
introduces an interlocutor who begins a dialogue with Jesus or provokes a
comment from him. The singular form of tis (“a certain person,” “a man”) serves
this function in 9:57 (“a man said to him [Jesus]”); 13:23 (“and someone said to
him”); 14:15 (“one of those reclining at table”). The plural tines (“some people”) is
found performing the same service in, for example, 11:15; 13:1; 21:5. When one
comes to appreciate (i) that the Coptic opening of logion 72, peje ourme naf (“a
man said to him [Jesus]”) is the functional equivalent of Luke’s opening (12:13),
eipen de tis . . . autǭ (“someone said . . . to him”),154 and (ii) that this opening of a
pericope to designate an interlocutor and “outsider” who begins a conversation
with Jesus is a characteristic of Luke’s redaction but is foreign to Thomas apart
from CGT 72, probability lies on the side of the Lucan form of the anecdote
influencing the Thomasine version.
The presence of a typically Lucan redactional trait in a solitary instance in
Thomas’ text is reinforced by a verbal correspondence mentioned earlier, namely,
Jesus’ direct address to his interlocutor as “man.” Indeed, in Thomas, this is the
only time that Jesus uses this vocative, “O man” (ō prōme). As we have seen, this
parallels exactly the opening vocative address of the Lucan Jesus in 12:14
(anthrōpe). The key point here is that while Thomas never has Jesus using this
vocative “man” elsewhere in his work, Luke does. And the other Lucan instance
where Jesus is the speaker is clearly redactional. In Mark 2:5, Mark (followed by
Matthew) has Jesus address the paralytic lowered through the roof with the
vocative teknon (“[my] child”). Luke changes that address to his characteristic
anthrōpe (“man”) in 5:20. That Luke tends to use anthrōpe as a vocative address
when his source has some other word is clear from the story of Peter’s denial of
Jesus during the Jewish trial. Neither in his second nor in his third denial of Jesus
does the Marcan Peter use the vocative “man” (Mark 14:69–71), though his third
denial runs, “I do not know this man [anthrōpon] of whom you speak.” Unlike
Matthew, who stays fairly close to Mark, Luke pointedly inserts the vocative
address anthrōpe (“man”) into both the second and third denials (Luke 22:58–60).
It is thus fair to say that the insertion of the vocative “man” into the beginning of
direct address is a redactional trait of Luke, and he employs it twice in his Gospel
as Jesus begins to address a man asking for his help (the paralytic and the man
disputing an inheritance). In contrast, nowhere in Thomas does Jesus address
someone with “man,” except in CGT 72, which, as we have already seen, parallels
the unique Lucan pericope 12:13–15 and reflects Lucan redactional traits witnessed
elsewhere in the Third Gospel.155
Another striking parallel between Luke and Thomas can be found in Jesus’
negative response to the man’s request by way of a rhetorical question (Luke
12:14): “Man, who has appointed [Thomas: ‘made’] me judge or divider over you
[Thomas has only the noun ‘divider,’ and no ‘over you’]?” Luke’s Greek word for
“divider” (meristēs) is a relatively rare though not undocumented word in Greek
literature prior to Luke.156 The few attested usages in the pre-Christian period refer
to some sort of public official connected with finances or the distribution of public
funds. In the 1st century a.d., the word also seems employed in the more general
sense of “divider,” in either a physical or metaphorical sense (e.g., in reference to
horoscopes). The only occurrences of the equivalent Coptic noun (refpōše) in
Thomas are in our logion, CGT 72 (bis). Thomas’ typical tendency to abbreviate
and compress the Synoptics is evidenced here in his omission of Luke’s “judge,”
which allows Thomas to focus on the idea of “divider” (hence the repetition of the
word in Thomas’ version), a function Jesus obviously rejects with his double
rhetorical question.157 Jesus’ rejection of the role of divider makes perfect sense in
Thomas’ gnosticizing theology. As Jesus indicates in sayings like 50, 61, 77, and
106, he comes from the All, the world of light, the kingdom of the Father, which is
by definition the “undivided.” The person who lacks the light of knowledge that
Jesus brings remains divided and so is filled with darkness.158 This exaltation of
the concept of not being divided coheres with Thomas’ frequent praise of “the one”
and “the solitary” (using the Greek noun monachos) as the ideal Christian.
Before we turn directly to Luke’s parable of the Rich Fool, one final point may
be made about the exact wording of Luke 12:13–15 compared with CGT 72, since
some commentators might use a difference in wording to argue against dependence
on Luke. As often in Luke, someone addresses Jesus in 12:13 as “teacher”
(didaskale), while there is no such introductory address in CGT 72.159 Actually, far
from arguing for Thomas’ independence of Luke at this point, the omission of
“teacher” in an address to Jesus is exactly what we should expect in Thomas.
Indeed, it is precisely the disciple Thomas who is depicted in CGT 13 as addressing
Jesus with the title “teacher” (in Coptic, psah). Jesus brusquely corrects Thomas,
telling him flatly, “I am not your teacher.” With this Thomasine christological
stance made clear early on in his work, the surprising thing would have been if the
author of Thomas had allowed anyone to address Jesus as teacher after that. Quite
consistent with Thomas’ rejection of the title toward the beginning of the work is
the total absence of the noun anywhere else in CGT. Hence Thomas’ omission of
the title at the beginning of the man’s request to Jesus is what we should expect.
If we bring together all these observations comparing Luke 12:13–15 with CGT
72, I would claim that there are sufficient Lucan redactional traits, both large and
small, that argue in favor of the Thomasine logion being dependent in some way on
Luke’s redactional construction.160 If this be the case, and if Luke has either
created or carefully redacted 12:13–15 to directly introduce the parable of the Rich
Fool, it is difficult to think that Thomas did not know the parable in its Lucan form
as well. This is an important general observation to bear in mind, since I readily
admit that the parable proper (Luke 12:16–21) is not as verbally close to its parallel
in CGT 63 as is its introduction (12:13–15) to CGT 72. Nevertheless, even in the
parable proper we find Lucan traits that are reflected in Thomas’ form of the
parable.

3. Comparison of Luke 12:16–21 and CGT 63

Let us begin at the very beginning of the parable. At first glance, it might seem that
Thomas’ opening of the parable is so bland that no one would look at it twice:
“There was a man [neyen ourōme]. . . .” However, this apparently nondescript
beginning of a parable bears a traceable fingerprint. Within the Synoptics, only
Luke displays a notable tendency to begin narrative parables abruptly with “a man”
or “a certain man” (either anthrōpos tis or simply tis) in the first few words of the
parable, without any introductory “the kingdom of heaven is like” or “what do you
think?” Among the parables either unique to Luke or heavily redacted by Luke,
parables introduced by some form of anthrōpos tis include the Good Samaritan
(10:30, anthrōpos tis), the Barren Fig Tree (13:6, tis), the Great Supper (Q or more
likely L, 14:16, anthrōpos tis), the Prodigal Son (anthrōpos tis, 15:11), the
Dishonest Steward (16:1, anthrōpos tis), the Rich Man and Lazarus (16:19,
anthrōpos tis), the Talents or Pounds (Q or more likely L, 19:12, anthrōpos tis). No
such general tendency is seen in Mark or Matthew, though textual variants make a
few individual cases debatable.161
More to the point, in the Synoptic Gospels, the phrase “a [certain] rich man”
(anthrōpos tis plousios) is never used to introduce a narrative parable—except in
Luke. Indeed, a quick survey of the distribution of the adjective “rich” (plousios) in
the NT is revealing in itself. In the four Gospels, Matthew employs plousios 3x,
Mark 2x, Luke 11x, and John 0. No other book in the NT comes close to Luke in
the number of occurrences. We are not too surprised, then, to learn that in the
whole of the NT, Luke alone uses the phrase “a [certain] rich man.” Moreover, all
his usages occur at the beginning of parables unique to Luke: the Rich Fool
(12:16), the Dishonest Steward (16:1), and the Rich Man and Lazarus (16:19).162
We are obviously dealing with an indication of Luke’s redactional hand.163 It is
telling, then, that the parable of the Rich Fool in CGT 63 begins with the exact
Coptic equivalent of Luke’s anthrōpou tinos plousiou. Indeed, not only does
Thomas’ version begin with ourōme emplousios (“a rich man”); even more
strikingly, this introduction uses not the Coptic adjective for “rich” but rather the
Greek adjective that is a favorite of Luke: plousios.164 As a matter of fact, this is
the only time plousios appears in CGT. Elsewhere in CGT, the standard Coptic
word for “rich” or “rich man” (remmao) is employed, occurring in sayings 81 and
110. In addition, the Coptic compound noun mentremmao (“riches”) is attested in
sayings 29 and 85. In brief, the simplest explanation of why the Greek adjective
plousios and indeed the whole Lucan phrase “a rich man” should stand at the
beginning of a Thomasine parable—and, in particular, at the beginning of Thomas’
version of the Rich Fool—is dependence, direct or indirect, on Luke’s version of
the same. One cannot appeal in this case to the theory that CGT 63 has been
assimilated to the standard Sahidic text of Luke, since that text uses the native
Coptic, not the Greek, adjective for “rich.”165
Beyond this clear verbal dependence, we also find in the Thomasine version of
the Rich Fool a characteristic trait of Luke’s composition, a trait absent in general
from the narrative of the Synoptic Gospels but exemplified in a number of Luke’s
parables: an extended inner monologue of a main character in the story.166 In fact,
in 12:16–21, this monologue takes up a good part of the parable proper. In contrast,
there is only one case of a parable in Mark that uses the inner monologue as a
literary device, and this monologue is much briefer than the Lucan examples. In the
parable of the Evil Tenants, Mark has the owner of the vineyard deliberate quite
improbably (Mark 12:6c): “They will respect my son.” There is also a single
example of a Q parable containing an inner monologue, again, quite brief. In the
parable of the Good and Bad Servants (Matt 24:45–51 || Luke 12:41–46), the bad
servant calculates: “My master delays [Luke: in coming].” These two monologues,
the only ones in the Synoptic parables outside of the L parables, contrast sharply
with the longer monologues found only in Luke’s parables.167 Besides the
deliberations of the rich man in Luke 12:16–21, these typically Lucan monologues
include those of the prodigal son (15:17–19), the dishonest steward (16:3–4), and
the unjust judge (18:4–5). We also find such a monologue in the parable of the
Servant’s Duty, but this time in the application or nimšāl (17:10). If we are willing
to stretch a point, we might also include in our count the parable of the Pharisee
and the Tax Collector. The whole problem with the Pharisee’s prayer (18:11–12) is
that, while it is ostensibly addressed to God in thanksgiving, it is actually a self-
congratulatory message addressed to the Pharisee himself (notice, as in the other
monologues, the emphasis on “I”). That a relatively long monologue is typical of a
Lucan parable can be seen even in the one case where a soliloquy occurs in a
Marcan parable, the Evil Tenants. In Mark 12:6c, as we just noted, the father’s
deliberation is quite brief: “They will respect my son.” Characteristically, Luke (but
not Matthew) expands this into a longer monologue: “What shall I do [a rhetorical
question found in a number of Lucan monologues]? I shall send my beloved son.
Perhaps they will respect him.”168
When we turn to Thomas, we note that inner monologues of the longer, Lucan
kind, are not found in the parables of CGT. Apart from the parable of the Rich
Fool, the only example of an inner monologue is in the parable of the Evil Tenants,
where the brief monologue is already present in Mark.169 Luke expands this one
monologue, while Thomas creates a second short monologue as a balancing,
structural device. The upshot of all these comparisons is clear: the only time that
Thomas exhibits a parable with a longer monologue is precisely our present case,
the only case where Thomas has a parallel with an L parable, and a case where
Luke has one of his characteristic long monologues.
The story proper concludes both in Luke and in Thomas with a brief and abrupt
announcement of the rich man’s death. Both versions of the parable specify
emphatically that the death occurs “on this [Thomas: that] very night.” The
difference between Luke and Thomas on this point is significant. In Luke, God
suddenly speaks (in a dream? in a vision?) directly to the rich man and announces
his death. Such a conclusion would be unthinkable in Thomas. The supreme,
invisible God (alias the Father) does not appear or act directly in this material
world, certainly not in order to speak to a spiritually blind person doomed to die.
As a matter of fact, CGT almost completely avoids the Coptic word for “god”
(noyte), which appears only in two sayings where “god” does not refer to the
supreme God, the Father of Jesus.170 Finally, as one would expect, the moralizing
application of Luke, making the point of the parable clear, does not fit the esoteric
“seek-and-find” program of Thomas and is therefore omitted. Instead Thomas
appends his call to “hear,” a favorite tag line of his that we have seen before.
Looking back on these various probes into the complex of Luke 12:13–15 + 16–
21 || CGT 72 + 63, I readily grant that no one observation, taken by itself, would
establish the dependence of CGT 72 on Luke 12:13–15 or CGT 63 on 12:16–21.
However, I think that the detailed comparisons we have run through, when viewed
together, do provide converging lines of probability that argue in favor of some sort
of dependence. And in such a complicated case as the parable of the Rich Fool, the
more probable position among the options available is the best we can hope for. Of
the two units, I think the Lucan apophthegm that introduces the parable provides
the stronger case for Thomas’ dependence (in CGT 72) than does the parable itself.
Yet, if Thomas shows knowledge of the introductory apophthegm, which
(i) occurs only in Luke, (ii) has the clear function of introducing the parable, and
(iii) may indeed be a Lucan creation, then I think it also more probable than not
that Thomas also knew the Lucan parable. This general suspicion is supported by
the individual Lucan redactional traits that are reflected in Thomas’ radically
abbreviated version of the parable as well.

IV. CONCLUSION
We have completed our survey of the relation of Synoptic units and their
Thomasine parallels both apart from and within the parable tradition. Outside the
parable tradition, we have inspected triple traditions that come from Mark
(sometimes with a view to Luke’s redaction of Mark), Marcan material paralleled
only by Matthew, special M material, and Q material. The literary genres and
content have ranged from proverb-like sayings with an eschatological thrust,
wisdom sayings, admonitions about guarding oneself while on mission, a
paradoxical beatitude announcing eschatological reversal of values, a christological
statement about the division that Jesus’ mission brings, a saying about the cost of
discipleship, and an apophthegm about the true mother and brothers of Jesus. Our
treatment of the Synoptic parables with Thomasine parallels likewise took care to
have every source represented: a Marcan parable of the triple tradition speaking in
veiled language of Jesus’ ultimate rejection, a Mark–Q overlap pointing to the stark
contrast between the kingdom’s small beginnings and its spectacular growth, an M
parable dealing with the mysterious presence of evil in the midst of good in this
present world, and an L parable warning of the folly of blind trust in and focus
upon one’s wealth. In every single case, both inside and outside the parable
tradition, no matter what the literary genre or content, we have found it more likely
than not that Thomas displays signs of some sort of dependence on the Synoptic
material, be that dependence direct or indirect, be it through literary dependence or
secondary orality, be it mediated through copies of the Gospel texts, Gospel
harmonies, catechetical summaries, or mere memorization, however faulty. It may
be that the nature of the dependence on the Synoptic tradition varies from one
saying to the next.
My ultimate conclusion that the sayings in CGT that are parallel to the Synoptics
are actually dependent (directly or indirectly) on the Synoptics is not meant as a
claim that CGT is an unimportant text. It is quite important, but not as a primitive
and independent source of the sayings of Jesus. Rather, as I have emphasized a
number of times, CGT is of great importance within the arc of the reception history
of the Synoptic Gospels in the 2d century. It is important because it both (1)
displays at great length the conflating tendencies also seen in various patristic
works of the 2d century (e.g., the Didache, Polycarp, and Justin Martyr) and (2)
points forward to the culmination of the conflating and harmonizing tendencies in
Tatian’s Diatessaron.
As we come to the end of Chapter 38, what general conclusion can we draw
from our investigation of these key texts in Thomas? One important two-part
conclusion stands out. On the one hand, as a matter of principle, a critic who is
studying Thomas for the first time would be obliged to remain completely open-
minded about whether this Gospel knew and used one or more of the Synoptics, or
whether Thomas was from start to finish independent of the Synoptics, or whether
Thomas displayed dependence on the Synoptics in some of the Synoptic-like logia
but not in others. Hence, if one were beginning such an investigation of Thomas for
the very first time, the burden of proof would be on anyone making any claim
about dependence or independence, one way or the other. On the other hand, at this
point in our examination of the evidence, we are no longer starting from scratch.
After examining logia 5, 31, 39, 14, 54, 16, 55, 4, and 99 outside the parable
tradition, and sayings 20, 65, 66, 57, 72, and 63 inside the parable tradition, we
have decided that each case we have probed shows dependence on one or more of
the Synoptics. We may rightly conclude, then, that the burden of proof has
necessarily shifted. Not only do some of the logia depend on the Synoptics. In
those sayings with clear Synoptic parallels, the redaction of CGT displays a fairly
consistent tendency to conflate and/or abbreviate various forms of the Synoptics to
produce the Thomasine version. Indeed, as the work of Michael Fieger and others
has shown, this consistent tendency extends far beyond the logia we have examined
to most, if not all, of the logia in CGT that have close Synoptic parallels.171 Hence,
whoever put the Gospel of Thomas together must have known and used the
Synoptic Gospels in his redactional work. We have seen that this holds true even
within the restricted compass of the Greek fragments preserved in the Oxyrhynchus
papyri. It can be tested and verified to a much greater extent in the full Coptic
version of the Gospel that we now have.172 Of course, it remains theoretically
possible that the redactor received into his composition an independent logion that
he left untouched. But such a claim, made for a specific logion, must be proved, not
just asserted or taken for granted on the basis of a supposed consensus. Granted the
number of logia that can be shown with high probability to be dependent on the
Synoptics, I would maintain that the default assumption should be dependence
unless the opposite can be demonstrated in a particular case.173
Having waded through a good number of books and articles arguing for or
against the independence of Thomas, I have yet to come across a single
commentator who has proved convincingly that any one particular Thomasine
logion with a Synoptic parallel is truly independent of the Synoptic tradition. I
admit that a number of cases fall into the limbo of non liquet (not clear either way).
It is in these instances that what we have seen in our probes and comparisons
comes to bear on our judgment. If we have a fair number of clear cases of Thomas’
dependence, witnessed in every Synoptic source and in many different literary
genres, then a judgment of non liquet should remain just that. It will not do to
nudge a dubious saying over the line into the category of “independent” simply in
order to validate a larger hermeneutical program. If anything, the multiple
examples we have seen might incline us to presume that unclear cases are most
probably products of dependence on the Synoptics. Yet we must remember that this
is only a working assumption, not a thesis we have proved in every case. At the
very least, though, granted all we have seen, and granted the presumption our
investigation creates, it would be highly questionable to invoke any parable in
Thomas (or any other logion for that matter) as an independent witness of Jesus’
sayings, with the intention of formulating an argument for the authenticity of a
saying or parable on the grounds of multiple attestation of sources.
Now that the preliminary question that stood in our way at the end of Chapter 37
—can CGT supply multiple attestation?—has been taken out of the way, we may
move on to our initial inspection and winnowing of the full list of narrative
parables in the three Synoptic Gospels. Which ones, if any, offer promise of
meeting the challenge of the criteria of historicity?

NOTES TO CHAPTER 38
1. The full formulation of this criterion speaks of multiple attestation “in more than one independent literary
source . . . and/or in more than one literary form or genre (e.g., parable, dispute story, miracle story, prophecy,
aphorism)” (A Marginal Jew, 1. 147). However, since we are concerned here with only one literary form, i.e.,
parables, attestation by multiple forms does not come into play. To be sure, we will run across multiple
attestation of a given motif or image in various parables, but that does not give us multiple attestation of an
individual parable.
2. The language of “it is more likely than not” is chosen to underline the fact that, granted the limited and
sometimes fuzzy nature of the evidence, the best we can hope for is a judgment about which position is more
probable.
3. A Marginal Jew, 1. 124–39. The patient reader who has traversed all five volumes of this work will realize
that these pages in Volume One (like much of the material in Volume One) merely outlined a position that
would have to be probed at greater length in subsequent volumes. Some critics seem to have imagined that
Volume One exhausted all I had to say on the subject of CGT.—A reminder about nomenclature may be useful
at this point: the Gospel of Thomas and Thomas serve as the umbrella terms for a 2d-century Christian work
preserved in both Greek fragments (the Oxyrhynchus papyri 1, 654, and 655) and a full Coptic translation with
some lacunae, the Coptic Gospel of Thomas (= CGT). The adjective referring to any form of this work is
“Thomasine.” At times I will interchange the terms Gospel of Thomas, Thomas, and CGT simply for stylistic
reasons, to avoid a wearisome repetition of the same term. This interchange is possible in the present
discussion because the Greek fragments do not contain an example of a full narrative parable that is also found
in the Synoptics.
4. A zealous reader of all the volumes of A Marginal Jew who remembers well the treatment of CGT in
Volume One should feel free to skip section II of this chapter and proceed immediately to the individual probes
in section III. But for all those who either have not read Volume One or retain only a vague recollection of pp.
124–39, the present section will serve to situate the individual probes within a larger context.
5. See my comments on this tendency in Meier, “On Retrojecting Later Questions from Later Texts,” 511–
27.
6. See A Marginal Jew, 1. 112–66. Especially useful are Edouard Massaux, Influence de l’évangile de saint
Matthieu sur la littérature chrétienne avant saint Irénée (Universitas catholica Lovanensis 2/42; Louvain:
Publications universitaires, 1950; reprint with supplements, Louvain: University Press, 1986); Wolf-Dietrich
Köhler, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums in der Zeit vor Irenäus (WUNT 2/24; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 1987). For the possible influence of Paul’s epistles or even the Epistle to the Hebrews on Thomas,
see Simon Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas. Original Language and Influences
(SNTSMS 151; Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University, 2012), 227–62. More in favor of seeing ongoing oral
tradition rather than the literary influence of the Gospels in early 2d-century literature is Helmut Koester,
Ancient Christian Gospels. Their History and Development (London: SCM; Philadelphia: Trinity, 1990).
7. See examples cited in A Marginal Jew, 4. 227–30 nn. 77–80; 232–33 n. 89; 598 nn. 80–81; 615–16 n. 176;
631–32 n. 263.
8. The hypothesis of a Syriac original of Thomas is championed by Nicholas Perrin in his Thomas and
Tatian; see his continued defense of Syriac as the original language of Thomas in his “The Aramaic Origins of
the Gospel of Thomas—Revisited,” Das Thomasevangelium. Entstehung—Rezeption—Theologie (BZNW 157;
ed. Jörg Frey, Enno Edzard Popkes, and Jens Schröter; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008) 50–59. In favor of
composition in Greek (the common view) is Simon Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, 19–
125. However, Gathercole (p. 125) makes a careful and salutary distinction on this point. On the one hand, “a
Greek Vorlage to the Coptic version of Thomas is a virtual certainty. . . .” On the other hand, while admitting
that certitude on the question of the original language of the work is difficult to attain, he thinks it more likely
than not that Thomas was originally composed in Greek rather than in Aramaic. In any case, instances of verbal
or conceptual links between the sayings in Thomas are by no means limited to a hypothetical original
composed in Syriac. Many such links are pointed out in CGT by Nordsieck, Das Thomas-Evangelium; see,
e.g., pp. 34, 178, 248, 253, 374, 384.
9. The phrase “split the wood” in P.Oxy. 1 at the end of a saying in lines 23–30 (the first part of this Greek
saying corresponds to CGT 30) appears in CGT as part of the second half of saying 77. The reason for this
transposition seems to be that the Coptic word pōh, which can be either the verb “to reach” or the verb “to
split,” occurs in both saying 77a and saying 77b. Moreover, while the saying at the end of lines 23–30 in P.Oxy.
1 has the word order of “Lift the stone and you will find me; split the wood and I am there,” this order is
reversed in CGT 77, probably to position the two occurrences of pōh almost next to each other, with only one
Coptic word intervening.
10. On these juxtapositions as indicators of dependence on the Synoptics, see Jean-Marie Sevrin, “Un
groupement de trois paraboles contre les richesses dans l’Evangile selon Thomas. EvTh 63, 64, 65,” Les
paraboles évangéliques. Perspectives nouvelles (ed. Jean Delorme; Paris: Cerf, 1989) 425–39; cf. Boudewijn
Dehandschutter, “L’Evangile de Thomas comme collection de paroles de Jésus,” Logia—Les Paroles de Jésus
—The Sayings of Jesus (BETL 59; ed. Joël Delobel; Leuven: Peeters/Leuven University, 1982) 507–15, esp.
511–13; idem, “Les paraboles de l’Evangile selon Thomas. La parabole du trésor caché (log. 109),” ETL 47
(1971) 199–219; idem, “La parabole de la perle (Mt 13, 45–46) et l’Evangile selon Thomas,” ETL 55 (1979)
243–65.
11. A point emphasized by Goodacre (Thomas and the Gospels, 20–25). He also rightly observes that this
general observation is not sufficient in itself, but must be followed up by detailed analysis of individual
parallels, a project he undertakes in the core of his book.
12. I will argue this position at length in Chapter 40.
13. The argument for this view will be laid out in Chapter 39.
 14. Schrage, Das Verhältnis; Fieger, Das Thomasevangelium; Nordsieck, Das Thomas-Evangelium;
DeConick, The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation; Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas.
15. I will not weigh down these endnotes with a regularly recurring litany of scholars on one or the other
side of the debate; just a few representative names and works will be cited. For a full list of differing opinions
held by various scholars in the case of each logion, see, e.g., Nordsieck, Das Thomas-Evangelium; DeConick,
The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation.
16. On this methodological point, see Frey, “Die Lilien und das Gewand,” 122–80, esp. 146–47. However, I
would not be as pessimistic as Frey when it comes to sayings where we have only the later Coptic version. In a
number of cases where we do have the ability to check, the Coptic version of a saying faithfully reproduces the
form we have in the Greek papyri fragments. We should not presume a priori that this is not the case when we
have only the Coptic text. As Frey himself emphasizes, each case must be tested and evaluated on its own
merits.
17. On this saying, see Tuckett, “Thomas and the Synoptics,” 145–46; Gathercole, The Composition of the
Gospel of Thomas, 187–88; idem, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 222.
18. By introducing phaneron in the first half of v 17, Luke creates a neat balance, since the second half of
the verse ends with eis phaneron elthę (taken over, with a slight change of word order, from the second half of
Mark 4:22).
19. As Gathercole (“Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” 114–44, esp. 125 n. 49) points out, one could
conceivably supply some other restoration. All the more significant, then, is the agreement on the restoration of
phaneron genēsetai among many different scholars, some of whom maintain Thomas’ independence of the
Synoptics, while others argue for his dependence.
20. Instead of a relative clause, the circumstantial form of the verb is employed. For all practical purposes,
though, Luke’s reformulation is witnessed by CGT 5, since the circumstantial form of the verb is the common
substitute for relative clauses when the antecedent is indefinite.—In my argument I stress the agreement
between the Greek of P.Oxy. 654.27–31 and Luke 8:17, since that is the clearest and most telling parallel. One
might press the argument further by pointing out that a parallel to the preceding clause in P.Oxy. 654.27–31 ([to
kekalymmenon] apo sou apokalyphthset[ai soi . . .]) can be found in Matt 10:26 (kekalymmenon ho ouk
apokalyphthēsetai). The future passive apokalyphthēsetai is a striking agreement, but the argument is
somewhat weakened by the fact that the participle kekalymmenon must be completely supplied in the lacuna in
P.Oxy. 654. If the Matthean parallel were to be accepted, we would have here not simply an example of the
dependence of Thomas on Luke, but also an example of Thomas’ tendency, documented in my main text, to
conflate Matthew and Luke.
21. This is nevertheless the approach taken by some; see, e.g., DeConick, The Original Gospel of Thomas in
Translation, 60–61. Remarkably, Nordsieck (Das Thomas-Evangelium, 45–47), who usually brushes aside
evidence of Thomas’ dependence on the Synoptics, allows that this logion is probably influenced by Luke’s
redaction, though perhaps via oral tradition.
22. This point is missed by Patterson, The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 21–22.
23. The length of Frey’s argument precludes its repetition here; see “Die Lilien und das Gewand,” 122–80; a
quick synopsis of his conclusions can be found on pp. 165, 169, 176–80. It is of special interest for my own
presentation that Frey detects in Thomas both a tendency to abbreviate his source (more notable in the Coptic
than in the Greek logion he examines) and traces of Lucan influence. This will be a regularly recurring
observation in the probes of Thomas that I present in the main text.
24. See Gathercole (“Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” 125–38) for the ten test cases (counting CGT 65–66 as
distinct units): CGT 5, 26, 31, 33, 47, 65–66, 99, 100, and 104 (not in that order in the article and not, as
Gathercole stresses, with equal probative force in every example). At the end of his probes, Gathercole (p. 143)
concludes that Luke’s influence on Thomas was “very probably indirect,” perhaps “via a written Gospel
harmony” and “secondary orality.” While on the whole I agree with Gathercole in this matter, some of the
examples we shall see further on might argue for scribal conflation in individual cases. (Gathercole has taken
up his article into his monograph, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, 185–208, along with a few
additional logia.) Granted the tradition-history connection between Paul and Luke, it is probably not by
happenstance that Gathercole also sees some kind of influence (direct or indirect) of Paul on Thomas; see
Simon Gathercole, “The Influence of Paul on the Gospel of Thomas (§§53.3 and 17),” Das Thomasevangelium.
Entstehung–Rezeption–Theologie (BZNW 157; ed. Jörg Frey, Enno Edzard Popkes, and Jens Schröter;
Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008) 72–94; cf. Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, 227–49.
For further arguments in favor of the dependence of CGT on Luke along with detailed bibliography on earlier
stages of the debate, see Boudewijn Dehandschutter, “L’Evangile selon Thomas: témoin d’une tradition
prélucanienne?,” L’Evangile de Luc. The Gospel of Luke (BETL 32; ed. Frans Neirynck; Leuven: Leuven
University/Peeters, 1989) 197–207.
25. Patterson, in his treatment of CGT 31 (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 31–32), never engages in a
detailed comparison of the wording and syntax of the Greek text of the four canonical Gospels plus P.Oxy.
1.30–35. Instead, his starting point is the tradition-historical theories of Rudolf Bultmann and Emil Wendling,
which are never fact-checked against all the different Greek texts available for control.
26. Neither of the two Pauline passages refers to Jesus. 1 Cor 4:10 speaks ironically of Paul and other
apostles; 1 Cor 12:23 refers to those parts of the human body that are commonly deemed less honorable (i.e.,
presentable in public).
27. On the question of Luke’s redaction of Mark 6:1–6 in order to create a programmatic scene inaugurating
Jesus’ public ministry, see A Marginal Jew, 1. 270–71 and the literature cited there. While admitting that Luke
also draws upon strands of Q and L tradition to fill out the grand salvation-historical scene that the Third
Evangelist creates in 4:16–30, Ulrich Busse (Das Nazareth-Manifest Jesu: eine Einführung in das lukanische
Jesusbild nach Lk 4,16–30 [SBS 91; Stuttgart: KBW, 1978] 40–41) judges that Luke 4:24 is simply Luke’s
taking over of Mark 6:4 with the substitution of dektos for atimos. Luke’s wording of the verse in the larger
narrative context is meant to insert Jesus into the fate of the OT prophets that is firmly established in Luke’s
view of salvation history: i.e., constant rejection of the prophets within the overarching framework of promise
and fulfillment as God directs human history to his goal of universal salvation. Various other commentators
suggest one or another type of combination of stray traditions and Luke’s redaction of Mark to explain Luke’s
composition; see, e.g., Bultmann, Die Geschichte, 31, 122; Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke 1. 526–27.
28. On various theories about tradition and redaction in Peter’s speech to Cornelius and in the whole of Acts
10, see Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (AYB 31; New York: Doubleday, 1998) 459–60; Josef
Zmijewski, Die Apostelgeschichte (RNT; Regensburg: Pustet, 1994) 408–16. That Luke is responsible for the
contents of Peter’s sermon is stressed by C. K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles (ICC; 2 vols.; Edinburgh:
Clark, 1994, 1998) 1. 497. Taking a somewhat different view, Gerhard Schneider (Die Apostelgeschichte
[HTKNT 5; 2 vols.; Freiburg/Basel/Vienna: Herder, 1980, 1982] 2. 63) maintains that Luke has taken over a
traditional missionary sermon to the Jews and has adapted it to the situation in Acts 10. For a quite detailed
consideration of the various theories about tradition and redaction in Acts 10, see Alfons Weiser, Die
Apostelgeschichte (Ökumenischer Taschenbuchkommentar zum Neuen Testament 5; 2 vols.; Gütersloh:
Gütersloher Verlagshaus [Mohn]; Würzburg: Echter, 1981, 1985) 1. 258–59. Weiser concludes that 10:35 (with
dektos) is one of the verses that in content and style is typically Lucan.
29. It should be noted that the word “Nazareth” occurs only in Luke’s introduction to the story of Jesus’
rejection after preaching in the synagogue in his patris; Nazareth is not named in the Marcan or Matthean
versions of the story. However, the larger context of Mark and Matthew argues that in their versions of the
story the word patris likewise refers to Nazareth. All three Synoptics have made it clear by this point that Jesus
either was raised in Nazareth or was known as being “from Nazareth”—or alternately as “the Nazarene” or
“the Nazorean” (see Mark 1:9,24; Matt 2:23; 4:13; Luke 2:4,39,51). That patris does not carry the more
general sense of “homeland” in the Synoptic story of his rejection is made clear from the reference to his going
into “the [or: their] synagogue” to teach; hence patris refers to a particular place that has a synagogue—a
synagogue in which those present know Jesus from his all-too-ordinary past with them and who are therefore
offended by what strikes them as his unfounded claims to be a teacher, prophet, and/or miracle worker. Within
the redactional context of all three Synoptics, this makes sense only in Nazareth. In contrast, in the context of
John 4:43–45, patris seems to refer to a general region or territory, not a specific town. Note that there is no
reference to a synagogue in the context. In the Fourth Gospel, the one great rejection of Jesus during his public
ministry in Galilee occurs not in the synagogue at Nazareth but rather in the synagogue at Capernaum (6:59), at
the end of his Bread of Life discourse (6:60–71). The climactic rejection of the Johannine Jesus, foreshadowed
in the Prologue (1:10–11), is acted out in the Passion Narrative (chaps. 18–19).
30. Even if one should prefer the view that Luke 4:24 reflects a special L form of the saying, we would still
be left in logion 31 with the same overall pattern that is found elsewhere in Thomas (and that we shall see
repeatedly in subsequent examples): a meshing of various Synoptic forms of a saying, often with a tendency to
“lean tōward” Luke. Hence it will not do simply to appeal to a supposed tradition common to L and Thomas’
source. That does not explain the meshing pattern verified both here and elsewhere in Thomas.
 31. The Coptic version of the saying, CGT 31 (first half), faithfully translates the version in Greek Thomas
(P.Oxy. 1.30–35). The only slight change is that the noun “prophet” follows immediately upon the negative
“there is not” (Coptic men) with “acceptable” (in Coptic šēp, the qualitative form of the verb šōp, “to accept”)
immediately after “prophet.” In effect, this represents the order found in the Greek of Luke 4:24; but the order
of CGT 31 is in all likelihood due simply to the natural syntactical order of the Coptic (cf. the same order of
words in the standard Sahidic version of Luke 4:24, which, however, evinces slightly different wording; hence
CGT 31 is not simply a result of harmonization with the standard Sahidic).
32. There is a slight but intriguing distinction between the wording of P.Oxy. 1 and Coptic Thomas when it
comes to the verb “to heal” in logion 31. The Greek fragment uses a verb + noun construction, saying literally
“do healings” (poiei therapeias). Just possibly, this may reflect Matthew’s rewriting of Mark in Matt 13:58:
“And he [Jesus] did not do [epoiēsen] many miracles.” The Coptic text of Thomas instead uses the verb form
(therapeuō), which agrees with the Marcan and Lucan wording. That Thomas should introduce into this saying
the idea that knowing a physician excludes being healed by him (an idea contrary to experience and common
sense) may reflect his own redactional (gnosticizing?) concerns. On the odd nature of this idea, see Gathercole,
“Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” 126 n. 52; cf. idem, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary,
344–45.
33. The slight difference in wording at the beginning of the saying is probably to be explained by the
different contexts of Matthew and Thomas. In Matt 10:16a, which is part of the Matthean missionary discourse,
Jesus speaks to his disciples about the danger into which he is knowingly sending them: “Behold, I am sending
you like sheep into the midst of wolves.” Fittingly, then, Matt 10:16b is introduced as an exhortation that
logically follows from 16a: “Therefore become clever. . . .” Since Thomas is a loose collection of sayings,
logion 39 does not have a missionary charge as its overarching context. Rather, in both the Greek and Coptic
versions of the logion, the first part of logion 39 is a critical statement about Jesus’ adversaries: “The Pharisees
and the scribes took [away] the key[s] of knowledge. They hid them. Neither did they enter nor did they allow
those trying [or: those who want] to enter to enter.” In contrast to the Pharisees and scribes, the second half of
the logion emphatically shifts to the opposite type of conduct demanded of the disciples: “But you, become
clever. . . .” Otherwise, the only notable difference in wording is in P.Oxy. 655, where the nouns “snakes” and
“doves” seem to lack the definite articles present in both Matt 10:16b and CGT 39. However, one must take
into account that the text of logion 39 in P.Oxy. 655 has many lacunae, and so any restoration must labor under
some degree of uncertainty. Some scholars do in fact read the definite article with both nouns. For the critical
text of P.Oxy. 655 (col. ii. 11–23) with notes, see Attridge, “Appendix. The Greek Fragments,” 123–24.
Fortunately, the Coptic text of logion 39 does not suffer from the same problem. In the end, though, the
presence or absence of the definite articles makes no difference in meaning, since the definite articles in Matt
10:16b carry a generic sense (note their absence in standard English translations). On Matt 10:16b and Thomas,
see also Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, 124.
34. On the missionary discourses, see A Marginal Jew, 3. 154–63 and the literature cited there. On Mark–Q
overlaps, see in particular Rudolf Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des
Markusevangeliums (B 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980).
35. Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 111) overlooks the function of 10:16b within the structure of the
missionary discourse when he claims that “it is . . . only loosely attached to its context.”
36. A parade example of this problem is Matt 28:16–20, the “Great Commission” pericope that ends
Matthew’s Gospel. For the problem of tradition and redaction in this text, see John P. Meier, “Two Disputed
Questions in Matt 28:16–20,” JBL 96 (1977) 407–24.
37. The adjective phronimos occurs in the NT in Matt 7:24; 10:16; 24:45; 25:2,4,8,9; Luke 12:42; 16:8; Rom
11:25; 12:16; 1 Cor 4:10; 10:15; 2 Cor 11:19. Since Mark and John do not use the word, and since of the two
occurrences in Luke only one is a Q tradition (Matt 24:45 || Luke 12:42), six out of the seven occurrences in
Matthew must be judged either M tradition or Matthean redaction.
38. Commentaries on Matthew regularly cite as the grand parallel a statement attributed to Rabbi Judah bar
Simeon (a rabbinic teacher from the 4th century A.D.). The statement is found in Midrash Rabbah on the Song
of Songs (2.14): “With me [God is the speaker] they [the Israelites] are innocent like doves, but with the nations
they are cunning like serpents.” (The English translation is that of Maurice Simon, Midrash Rabbah. Song of
Songs [3d ed.; London/New York: Soncino, 1983] 128). A common dating for this rabbinic midrash is ca. 6th
century A.D., which would put the collection roughly half a millennium after Matthew’s Gospel. This hardly
qualifies as proof of a widespread proverb before or around the time of Matthew, especially since the thought
content of the midrashic passage is not that of Matt 10:16b. More to the point, the rabbinic text does not
reproduce the precise wording of 10:16b, something that P.Oxy. 655 and CGT 39 both do. Another parallel
sometimes cited is from a Coptic tractate found at Nag Hammadi titled The Teaching of Silvanus, a type of
Christian wisdom literature; for an introduction, Coptic text, and French translation, see Yvonne Janssens, Les
Leçons de Silvanos (NH VI, 4) (Bibliothèque Copte de Nag Hammadi; Section Textes 13; Quebec: L’Université
Laval, 1983). In 95:7–11 (pp. 48–49), in a warning to beware of the tricks of Satan, the wisdom teacher exhorts
the student to combine the wisdom of the snake and the innocence of the dove. The Teaching of Silvanus was
probably written in the late 2d or early 3d century A.D.; once again, it does not reproduce the exact wording of
Matt 10:16b. Probably the earliest use (and recycling) of Matt 10:16b is to be found in the letters of Ignatius of
Antioch. In Pol. 2:2, Ignatius alludes to Matt 10:16b; but he both changes the verb, adjectives, and nouns to the
singular (since he is reformulating the text as a personal exhortation to Polycarp) and adds adverbial emphasis:
“Be as clever as the snake in all things and innocent always as the dove.” This is but one of a number of uses
(but never direct, word-for-word citations) of Matthew’s Gospel by Ignatius; see, e.g., Smyrn. 1:1; Phld. 3:1;
Eph. 19:1–3; cf. Köhler, Die Rezeption des Matthäusevangeliums, 72–96; John P. Meier, “Matthew and
Ignatius: A Response to William R. Schoedel,” in Social History of the Matthean Community (ed. David L.
Balch; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) 178–86.
39. Donald A. Hagner (Matthew [Word Biblical Commentary; 2 vols.; 33A and B; Dallas: Word, 1993,
1995] 1. 279) suggests guardedly that 10:16b “may well reflect a popular proverb”; Plisch (The Gospel of
Thomas, 39) states that the saying was “a probably independently circulating word of wisdom”; similarly,
Heinrich Greeven, “peristera,” TDNT 6 (1968) 70 n. 70; Nordsieck, Das Thomas-Evangelium, 166. Dieter
Zeller (Die weisheitlichen Mahnsprüche bei den Synoptikern [Forschung zur Bibel 17; Würzburg: Echter,
1977] 136) considers 10:16b to be a paradoxical expression of profane wisdom that, through the process of
early Christian tradition, became a saying of Jesus. Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 36) sees the
saying as “a common Jewish mashal,” giving as the basis for that judgment a citation from Bultmann
(Geschichte, 112), who simply repeats the reference to our old friend, the Midrash on the Song of Songs (see
earlier in this note). It is telling that none of these authors can offer an example of this precise proverb or word
of wisdom prior to or around the time of Matthew. In particular, neither Philo nor Josephus offers a strict
parallel in thought and wording. A search of the Hellenistic Commentary to the New Testament (ed. M. Eugene
Boring, Klaus Berger, and Carsten Colpe; Nashville: Abingdon, 1995) likewise comes up empty-handed. The
absence of an exact parallel prior to Matthew is especially striking in the work of DeConick (The Original
Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 160), who usually supplies abundant parallels to individual sayings. Some
commentators, perhaps in desperation, cast the net farther into the deep (e.g., T. Naph. 8:9–10, in its present
form a Christian work), but the verbal similarities (not to mention the thought content) of such texts are so
distant that they cannot be called parallels in any meaningful sense of the word.
40. For this view, see, e.g., Robert H. Gundry, Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982) 191. Indeed, the
exact reproduction of the wording of Matt 10:16b extends even to the imperative verb “become” (ginesthe),
which appears in P.Oxy. 655 (restored) and is accurately rendered in CGT 39 by the Coptic verb for “become”
(šope). As a matter of fact, W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, Jr. (The Gospel According to Saint Matthew
[ICC; 3 vols.; Edinburgh: Clark, 1988, 1991, 1997] 2. 180–81) judge the imperative verb in Matt 10:16b to be
redactional. That a person citing or translating Matt 10:16b would more naturally say or write “be” rather than
“become” is supported not only by the Latin Vulgate (estote) but also by almost every English Bible translation
of this verse from the KJV onward.—Ulrich Luz (Matthew [Hermeneia; 3 vols.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989,
2001, 2005] 2. 85) tries to argue that 10:16b most likely comes from the M tradition (perhaps already meshed
with Q) because it runs counter to Matthew’s redactional theology. Despite Luz’s attempts to deflect appeals to
other passages in Matthew, his reasoning seems odd, granted Matthew’s regular exaltation of those who act in a
prudent manner (e.g., 7:24; 10:23 [within the missionary discourse!]; 24:45; 25:2) as well as those who act with
pure intention and integrity (e.g., 5:8,13,27–30,48; 6:1; 15:10–20; 23:25–28).
41. See A Marginal Jew, 4. 384–97; cf. Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, 178–79;
idem, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 271 n. 20.
42. As Schrage notes (Das Verhältnis, 56 n. 10), the Coptic demonstrative pronoun pai (“this”) would be
more usual as the translation of the Greek demonstrative pronoun touto than the Coptic 3d person singular
masculine personal pronounentof (“he,” “it”). Yet even Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 66), who is a defender of
Thomas’ independence of the Synoptics, retroverts the Coptic entof as the Greek touto.—A stylistic note is in
order here: the transliteration of Coptic words follows the style sheet of the CBQ. This requires that the English
letters that are ordinarily used to transliterate the Greek alphabet be used as well for Coptic letters that are the
same as Greek. For the special Coptic letters of the alphabet, š is used for šai, f for fai, h for hori, j for janjia, č
for čima, and ti for the digraph ti. The supralinear stroke is represented by a raised . Semivowels, diphthongs,
and double vowels do not receive special representation in this system. Hence, for example, the Coptic word
for “father” is transliterated as eiōt, and not as yōt.
43. Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 24–25) declares that the version of Mark 7:15 || Matt 15:11
found in CGT 14 can be considered an independent saying that Thomas acquired “via a tradition-historical
stream” independent of Mark’s Gospel. Patterson notably fails to engage in a detailed comparison of the Greek
texts of Mark and Matthew and then correlate the results with the strikingly Matthew-like version of CGT 14.
On p. 25 n. 33, he briefly mentions the fact that both Matthew and CGT add “mouth” to the saying, but
dismisses this identical phrasing with an appeal to “an independent effort by both authors to clarify the saying.”
The other Matthean redactional changes to Mark that are witnessed at the end of CGT 14 are simply ignored.—
An alternate escape hatch, when signs of dependence on the Synoptics become too strong for easy dismissal, is
to appeal to the possibility that Christian scribes assimilated the text of CGT to the standard text of the Sahidic
NT. There are a number of problems with this solution; I touch upon a few here. (1) At times the argument for
assimilation threatens to become circular. Assimilation to the standard Sahidic NT is of course a possibility.
Sometimes, though, the assertion of the possibility quickly mutates into the assertion of the fact of assimilation,
with no detailed argument about the individual text being offered. Behind this jump from possibility to fact
seems to lie an unspoken and circular argument: because we already know (on what grounds?) that CGT is
independent of the Synoptic Gospels, any strong signs of dependence (e.g., Matthew or Luke’s redactional
changes to Mark or Q) must be the result of scribal assimilation. (2) As we shall soon see, a common
phenomenon in the sayings of CGT that parallel the Synoptics is the tendency to mesh or conflate the Matthean
and Lucan versions of a saying, with a slight preference for Luke. However one explains this phenomenon, it
cannot be explained simply as “scribal assimilation.” The resulting text in CGT corresponds to no one form of
the standard Sahidic NT. For example, in the detailed examination of the parable of the Evil Tenants of the
Vineyard (CGT 65–66) offered in the main text, we find traces of both Matthew and Mark, but it is Luke’s
redactional fingerprints that are most visible—as well as Luke’s tendency to abbreviate the parable, which
Thomas pushes to the extreme. The resulting text in Thomas can hardly be described as scribal assimilation to
any one Gospel text. Moreover, studies of the patristic use of the Synoptics in the pre-Nicene period indicate a
definite preference for the Matthean version of a saying and the tendency to assimilate texts to the Matthean
form. This is not what we find in general in the CGT. At the same time, there is an obvious reason why in CGT
14 we would find strong resemblances to Matthew rather than to Luke (with no conflation between Matthew
and Luke): Luke does not take over Mark 7:15. Then, too, if the resemblance of CGT 14 to the Matthean text
were simply a matter of mechanical scribal assimilation, we must ask why the assimilation is so uneven: e.g.,
the gar introducing the saying in CGT 14, a conjunction not present in Matthew; the use of the Coptic 2d
person plural pronoun as the object of the verb “defile” instead of the generic ton anthrōpon as in Matthew. (3)
More specifically, in the logion under consideration, one cannot appeal to a supposed scribal assimilation of
CGT 14 to the standard Sahidic text of Matthew. Sahidic Matt 15:11 differs in notable ways from the end of
logion 14 in CGT; see the comparison in Schrage, Das Verhältnis, 55–56. To take but one instance: the
resumptive pronoun in CGT 14 entof is not present in Sahidic Matt 15:11, and interestingly Sahidic Mark 7:15
has the plural entooy. The only plausible explanation of CGT’s resumptive 3d person singular pronoun entof is a
not entirely elegant rendering of the resumptive 3d person singular pronoun touto in Greek Matt 15:11. (4)
Broadening out the claim of scribal assimilation to encompass the whole of CGT, we notice that this claim is
not verified by certain key theological words and phrases that would be the most obvious candidates for
assimilation but that strangely do not evidence assimilation in Thomas. For example, as shall be noted later on,
Mark, Luke, and even John speak without exception of “the kingdom of God.” Matthew instead, while having
a few occurrences of “the kingdom of God,” regularly changes the phrase to “the kingdom of heaven,” which is
a usage unique to him in the NT. The supposedly assimilating Thomas has few occurrences of either phrase.
Indeed, the Coptic text of Thomas has no occurrence of “kingdom of God” whatever. Rather, it regularly
employs the absolute “the kingdom” or “the kingdom of the [or: my] Father.” If assimilation is not regularly
verified in this most central of Synoptic concepts, why should we assume it elsewhere?
 44. See G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (New York: Doubleday/Image, 2001, originally 1908) 57.
45. I would maintain that when Luke’s first beatitude is read as a whole, the second half of the beatitude
makes clear that the first half is to be understood as being in the 2d person (no verb or subject is expressed in
the Greek). Hence hoi ptōchoi in Luke 6:20b should be understood as either vocative or in apposition to the
understood subject “you.” In Matthew, in contrast, hoi ptōchoi is the subject of the understood verb.
46. See A Marginal Jew, 2. 319–21.
47. Faced with the fact that within the whole corpus of the Jewish Scriptures, the LXX, the OT
Pseudepigrapha prior to the 2d century A.D., the NT, and the Apostolic Fathers, Matthew alone uses “kingdom
of heaven(s)” and that he pointedly does so when redacting Marcan and Q material, Patterson (The Gospel of
Thomas and Jesus, 42–43) can only assert: “. . . that Thomas and Matthew independently of one another altered
an original version of the saying about ‘God’s kingdom’ is not at all unlikely. Both apparently shared the
Jewish aversion to using the divine name.” This is an odd claim for a number of reasons: (1) While the Coptic
version of Thomas never uses the phrase “kingdom of God,” the phrase does appear once or twice (depending
on emendations) in the Greek fragments of Thomas. Hence the author(s) of the Greek original Thomas did not
in principle avoid the phrase. Moreover, in CGT, the Coptic word for “god” (noyte) does occur multiple times
in logia 30 and 100. (2) It is strange to appeal to “the Jewish aversion” of the author of Thomas, in the face of
the hostility that the text often shows to Jewish observances, prophecy, and indeed the Jewish Scriptures in
general. (3) Logion 30 may suggest that the relative avoidance of the Coptic noun noyte (“god”) in CGT is due
to inner-Christian theological disputes. (4) It flies in the face of statistical fact to claim that Matthew “shared
the Jewish aversion to using the divine name” when Matthew uses the word theos (God) some 55 times
(depending on how one judges variant readings), including a few cases of “kingdom of God.”
48. Thomas likewise reads literally “kingdom of the heaven,” the Coptic word for “the heavens” being in the
plural: empēye.
49. It may be that Thomas drops “in spirit” because for him spiritual poverty means a lack of true, saving
gnōsis (cf. logion 29). As Quarles (“The Use of the Gospel of Thomas,” 517–36, esp. 522) observes, the
presence of “kingdom of heaven” in this saying cannot be attributed to Thomas’ redactional preference. As I
noted earlier, CGT prefers the absolute form “the kingdom” or (less frequently) “the kingdom of the Father.”
Matthew’s “kingdom of heaven” is found only three times in Thomas: logia 20, 54, and 114—the first two
cases being clearly derived from the Matthean parallel. Since the conclusion of the standard Sahidic text of
Luke 6:20 contains an assimilation to Matthew’s “kingdom of heaven,” one might argue that CGT 54 has been
secondarily assimilated by Christian scribes to the standard Sahidic text of Luke. However, this approach must
face the objection that the Sahidic form of Luke 6:20 has become so assimilated to the Matthean form that the
original Lucan “yours is the kingdom of God” has been replaced by the Matthean “theirs is the kingdom of
heaven.” Such a sweeping assimilation of the second half of Luke’s beatitude to Matthew, though present in the
standard Sahidic Coptic version, is not present in CGT 54. That assimilation to the standard Sahidic version of
the Gospels is not the explanation of CGT 54 is also made clear by the fact that (1) CGT 54 expresses the initial
adjective “fortunate” or “blessed” with the Greek adjective makarios, while both Matt 5:3 and Luke 6:20 in the
standard Sahidic NT use the Coptic inflected predicate adjective naiatoy; and (2) CGT 54 uses the copulative
ne in the first half of the beatitude; the standard Sahidic’s naiatoy is followed by the marker en, which is
followed in turn by the subject.
50. Quarles (“The Use of the Gospel of Thomas,” 518–24) offers a convincing refutation of John Dominic
Crossan’s attempt to explain away the conflation of Matthew and Luke in CGT 54; cf. Crossan’s Four Other
Gospels. Shadows on the Contours of Canon (Minneapolis: Winston, 1985) 37. In effect, Crossan dismisses the
possibility of conflation with a wave of the hand, declaring that it would be “simpler to suggest that Thomas
was mentally unstable.” This is a cavalier refusal to take into consideration the phenomenon of conflation in
2d-century Christian writings such as the Didache, Justin Martyr, and Polycarp (see the next note). A similar
criticism of Crossan’s argument can be found in Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels, 50–52. Gathercole (The
Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 424) observes that scholars who champion the independence
of this Thomasine logion “often work with too scribal a model of possible dependence”; secondary orality must
be considered as a possibility here.
51. On examples of conflation in the Didache and in Justin Martyr (especially with regard to love commands
and the Golden Rule), see A Marginal Jew, 4. 501; 598 n. 80; 631–32 n. 263; on Justin Martyr’s version of
Jesus’ prohibition of oaths, see 232–33 n. 89. In Polycarp’s Letter to the Philippians 2:3, the wording (makarioi
hoi ptōchoi kai hoi diōkomenoi heneken dikaiosynēs hoti autōn estin hē basileia tou theou) reflects basically a
fusing of Matt 5:3 + 10 conflated with some traits of the Lucan beatitudes (omission of “in spirit,” “kingdom of
God”).
52. On CGT 16, see Tuckett, “Thomas and the Synoptics,” 146–47. Tuckett thinks that the strong agreement
with Luke against Matthew at certain points argues against the theory of the later scribal assimilation of
Thomas to the standard Coptic NT, since Matthew, not Luke, became the most popular Synoptic Gospel in the
patristic church.
53. For a detailed treatment of Luke 12:51–53, see the survey of opinions by Albrecht Garsky and Christoph
Heil in Documenta Q. Q 12:49–59 (ed. Albrecht Garsky et al.; Leuven: Peeters, 1997) 62–157; in more
summary form, The Critical Edition of Q (ed. James M. Robinson and John S. Kloppenborg; Leuven: Peeters,
2000) 377–87. In The Critical Edition of Q, neither the Matthean nor the Lucan version is judged to be entirely
free from redactional additions. In particular, in Matt 10:34 || Luke 12:51, Matthew’s “sword” is preferred to
Luke’s “division” for the Q reconstruction; Luke 12:52 is omitted in the Q reconstruction (presumably because
it is judged to be Lucan redaction); Matt 10:35 is on the whole preferred to the more expansive Luke 12:53; but
Matt 10:36 is not included in the Q reconstruction and is presumably judged redactional. Similarly, Fitzmyer
(The Gospel According to Luke, 2. 994) judges that Luke “redactionally added v. 52 and modified v. 53.” One
may note that the hypothetical construction of the Q saying in Documenta Q, done by scholars who are hardly
intent on proving that Thomas is dependent on the Synoptics, makes Patterson’s claim (The Gospel of Thomas
and Jesus, 25–26) that Thomas simply reflects a primitive Q form of the saying appear quite weak.
54. For views widely held among commentators concerning the Matthean and Lucan redactional elements in
Matt 10:34–36 || Luke 12:51–53, see, e.g., Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, 2. 994 (Luke added v 52
and modified v 53; Matthew has preserved the Q form better than Luke; CGT 16 is a “hybrid” of the Lucan and
Matthean forms of the sayings); I. Howard Marshall, The Gospel of Luke (New International Greek Testament
Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978) 548 (Luke 12:52 may be a “secondary interpretation” of v 53);
Davies and Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 2. 218 (Luke’s “division” for Matthew’s “sword”
seems to be secondary; Matt 10:36 is probably an editorial addition).
55. More precisely, Matt 10:36 seems to be slightly closer to the text found in the MT (“for son dishonors
father, daughter rises up against her mother, daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; [the] enemies of a man
[are] the men of his house”) than to the text found in certain editions of the LXX (“for son dishonors father,
daughter shall rise up against her mother, daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; [the] enemies of a man
[are] all the men in his house”), though we must allow both for Matthean redactional touches and for the
possibility that Matthew is using a somewhat different text (be it Hebrew or Greek, especially since different
LXX manuscripts show variations in Mic 7:6). Indeed, Joseph Ziegler, in his critical edition of Micah, relegates
the “all” (pantes) printed in various LXX editions to the critical apparatus; see his Duodecim prophetae (Vetus
Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum Gottingensis editum; vol. 13; 3d ed.; Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984) 224.
56. The noun is derived from the verb diamerizo (“divide,” “separate”); of the eleven occurrences of the verb
in the NT, eight are found in Luke–Acts. Indeed, the only use in the rest of the NT (Matt 27:35 || Mk 15:24 ||
John 19:24) occurs in the allusion to or citation of LXX Ps 21:19 in reference to the dividing of Jesus’
garments at the cross. Not surprisingly, then, the only occurrence of the noun diamerismos in the NT is found
in Luke, namely in the present passage (12:51).
57. It is wise to keep in mind the caveat of Gathercole (“Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” 117), who points
out a difficulty involved in the claim that the parallels between Thomas and the Synoptics derive from common
oral tradition and that Thomas displays strong indications of oral transmission: “. . . it is by definition
impossible for us now to define the specific features of oral transmission in ancient texts from the particular
geographical, cultural and chronological context of Thomas and the Synoptics.”
58. On this, see Schrage, Das Verhältnis, 57–61.
59. On CGT 55, see Tuckett, “Thomas and the Synoptics,” 148.
60. So, e.g., Davies and Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 2. 221; Ulrich Luz, Matthew 8–20
(Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001) 108.
61. Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 139 n. 2) misses this point when he observes in too general a fashion that
“neither the expression ‘worthy of me’ nor the adjective ‘worthy’ . . . are Matthew’s favorite terms.” Of course
the phrase “worthy of me” would not make the list of “favorite terms,” since—and this is the telling point—this
Matthean phrase occurs nowhere else in the whole of the NT. Oddly, although Nordsieck (Das Thomas-
Evangelium, 220) admits that “be worthy of” is characteristic of Matthew, he once again—as is his wont—
rejects the idea of a conflation by Thomas. Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 44–45) ignores the
Matthean coloration of axios in an unlikely reconstruction of the Q version.
62. Among many commentators holding this view, see, e.g., Davies and Allison, The Gospel According to
Saint Matthew, 2. 221; Luz, Matthew 8–20, 108.
63. The last line is missing in the Codex Bezae as well as a few other witnesses (e.g., manuscripts of the Old
Latin and a manuscript of the Bohairic Coptic). In my view, though, the attestation of these words is old and
wide enough to support the end of v 22 as original to Mark. Similarly, I accept the last words of the previous
line, for which various ancient manuscripts provide different alternate readings.
64. So Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke, 1. 595; see also Heinz Schürmann, Das Lukas Evangelium.
Erster Teil (Freiburg/Basel/Vienna: Herder, 1969) 300. Fitzmyer concludes (p. 596) that CGT 47 “is basically
dependent on the Lucan form” of the bundle of sayings about the incompatibility of new and old, since Thomas
includes the equivalent of Luke’s added verse (v 39) about the person who drinks old wine and thus does not
desire new wine. I do not think that the agreement of Luke 5:39 with CGT 47 can be explained simply in terms
of an independent variant tradition (so François Bovon, Luke 1 [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002] 188).
It is just too much of a coincidence that the same stray saying (some version of Luke 5:39) should wind up in
the exact same bundle of sayings in both Luke and CGT. Fitzmyer also points out an intriguing agreement
between the Coptic version of this saying and a text-critically later form of Luke 5:39. CGT reads
“immediately” (eteynoy) just before the verb “desire,” a reading that corresponds exactly to the Greek adverb
eytheōs (“immediately”), which occurs just before the verb “desire” in the Greek text of 5:39 in later codices
like Alexandrinus, the second hand of Ephraemi Rescriptus, Coridethianus, Athous Laurensis, and in general
the so-called Majority text. This reading is generally judged secondary compared to the texts that lack eytheōs
(e.g., papyrus 4, Sinaiticus, Vaticanus, the original hand of Ephraemi Rescriptus, Regius, and Freerianus);
interestingly, the standard Sahidic of Luke 5:39 likewise lacks “immediately.” Any idea that appearance of a
form of Luke 5:39 in CGT 47 results from scribal assimilation of the Coptic logion of Thomas to the Sahidic
text of Luke is falsified by the fact that Sahidic Luke 5:39 mentions the new wine first and then the old. The
order in CGT 47 (old wine, then new wine) follows the order of the Greek text of Luke 5:39. For all these
reasons, the attempt of Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 42) to claim that Luke and Thomas are
drawing on a common oral tradition fails.
65. Some have argued for the reverse procedure, i.e., that Luke was influenced instead by Thomas; see, e.g.,
Gregory J. Riley, “Influence of Thomas Christianity on Luke 12:14 and 5:39,” HTR 88 (1995) 229–35, esp.
232–34. It is odd that Riley fails to understand the ironic thrust of Jesus’ wry comment on his adversaries that
Luke 5:39 expresses—an obvious message within the overall theological project of Luke–Acts, but a message
that Riley blithely dismisses on p. 233 n. 7. For a counterargument, see Gathercole, “Luke in the Gospel of
Thomas,” 115–16, 136–41. For further arguments in favor of Thomasine influence on Luke, notably in Luke
12:33 parr., see Steven R. Johnson, Seeking the Imperishable Treasure. Wealth, Wisdom, and a Jesus Saying
(Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2008), esp. 58–79, 124–53. Gathercole’s response to Johnson’s arguments can be found
in “Luke in the Gospel of Thomas,” 141–43 and the accompanying notes.
66. Codex Alexandrinus, Codex Bezae, and various later manuscripts, as well as part of the Old Latin and
Syriac tradition (thus, a mostly Western text-type), include at this point “and his sisters.” However, the phrase
is omitted by Sinaiticus, Vaticanus, and many other majuscules and minuscules of both the Alexandrian and
Caesarean text-types. While judgment on this point is difficult, I think it more likely that “and his sisters” was
inserted by Christian scribes under the influence of the concluding logion in v 35, which serves as the climax of
this pronouncement story: “. . . he is my brother and sister and mother.” The initial statement of the situation by
the crowd (v 32) and the final pronouncement by Jesus (v 35) are thus made to coincide, creating a more exact
inclusio. On this problem, see Bruce M. Metzger, TCGNT (2d ed., 1994), 70–71.
67. Once again there is a text-critical problem, since this sentence (Matt 12:47) is omitted by the original
hand of Sinaiticus, by Vaticanus, and by part of the Syriac and Coptic tradition. However, it is included by a
large number of diverse witnesses; and, as Metzger observes (TCGNT, 2d ed., 26–27), v 47 appears to be
necessary for the sense of the verses that follow. The omission is most likely due to homoeoteleuton (lalēsai
. . . lalēsai).
68. Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 68) seeks to refute the indications of conflation without
weighing carefully all the examples of conflation. Thomas appends at the end of logion 99 the statement: “They
are the ones who shall enter the kingdom of my Father.” Statements about entering and not entering the
kingdom are found in a number of places throughout Thomas. So obviously secondary is this conclusion that
even Patterson (ibid.) admits that it is a “secondary development.” DeConick (The Original Gospel of Thomas
in Translation, 273) calls this statement “an early development that connects the saying into the sequence of
Kingdom parables which make up the heart of the fifth speech of the Kernel”—referring to her theory that at
the heart of the present CGT lies “an old speech gospel from Jerusalem, as well as a set of late accretions” (p.
7). In any event, the present form of CGT 99 cannot be explained simply by assimilation to the Sahidic of
either Matthew or Luke: (1) Sahidic Matthew reads “the will of my Father who is in heaven” (following Greek
Matthew), while Thomas has only “the will of my Father”; (2) Sahidic Luke follows Greek Luke in reading
“my mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God,” while Thomas has in the corresponding
phrase “my brothers and my mother”—possibly meshing Luke’s formulation with the order of nouns at the end
of the Marcan and Matthean pericope (though without the noun “sister”) or (as at the beginning of CGT 99)
preferring the male over the female (cf. CGT 114). In favor of seeing indications of Lucan redaction in CGT 99
is Gathercole, The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas, 196–98; cf. Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels,
147–48.
69. The message contained in the parable of the Mustard Seed will be treated at greater length in Chapter 40.
Here we are concerned only with the question of the dependence or independence of the Thomasine version of
the parable. On CGT 20, see Tuckett, “Thomas and the Synoptics,” 148–53. Tuckett focuses on the question of
what he discerns to be Marcan redactional elements reflected in Thomas’ version. A similar focus can be found
in Franz Kogler, Das Doppelgleichnis vom Senfkorn und vom Sauerteig in seiner traditionsgeschichtlichen
Entwicklung (FB 59; Würzburg: Echter, 1988) 23–26; but here the emphasis on Mark is connected with
Kogler’s insistence on the idiosyncratic theory of a Deuteromarkus as the solution to the Synoptic Problem. I
think more can be said about the Matthean and Lucan versions vis-à-vis Thomas. One of the weaknesses of the
treatment by Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 27–28) is that he tries to refute the obvious signs of
conflation without going through all four available texts word by word and phrase by phrase.—For an
examination of the possible symbolism reflected in the mustard seed (which will be treated in Chapter 40), see
Ryan S. Schellenberg, “Kingdom as Contaminant? The Role of Repertoire in the Parables of the Mustard Seed
and the Leaven,” CBQ 71 (2009) 527–43. On the larger question of Mark–Q overlaps, see Laufen, Die
Doppelüberlieferungen; the parable of the Mustard Seed is treated on pp. 174–200.
70. Indeed, throughout his Gospel, Matthew frequently evinces his tendency to mesh various sources: e.g.,
his Sermon on the Mount (which weaves together a more primitive Q sermon [see Luke 6:20–49] with material
from Q, M, and Mark) and his missionary discourse in chap. 10 (which combines Mark’s missionary discourse
[6:7–13] and a Q version of the missionary discourse reflected in Luke 10:1–12).
71 It is difficult to say whether the Q form of the parable begins with a double question, as does Mark’s
version. In other words, does Luke get the double-question opener from Mark or from Q? It is telling that on p.
400, the editors of The Critical Edition of Q register great uncertainty in their attempt to reconstruct the
beginning of the Q parable. The agreement between Luke and Matthew against Mark in using the phrase
homoia estin hē basileia argues for that much material being in the Q introduction. But as a question or as a
statement? If a question, single or double? I incline to the view that Luke took Q’s language of homoia estin hē
basileia tou theou and used it to rewrite the double question of Mark. Others, however, think that some form of
the double question existed in Q; see, e.g., Zeba Antonin Crook, “The Synoptic Parables of the Mustard Seed
and the Leaven: A Test-Case for the Two-Document, Two-Gospel, and Farrer-Goulder Hypotheses,” JSNT 78
(2000) 23–48, especially 24–33 (along with the bibliography cited there). Yet Crook honestly admits that the
statistics concerning Matthew’s retention or omission of double questions in his sources show simply that
“Matthew is almost as likely to omit or reduce a double question as he is to keep one. . . .” This is hardly a
robust argument for claiming that Luke’s double question reflects Q when Mark has a double question and
Matthew does not. Part of the problem here may be that, from the beginning of the comparison (p. 24), Crook
is apparently committed to the thesis that Luke’s version of the parable is independent of Mark’s. Yet the author
makes the candid admission further on (p. 30): “There is considerable debate on whether Luke’s double
opening question reflects Markan influence.” More emphatically in favor of the double-question introduction in
Q is Harry T. Fleddermann, Q. A Reconstruction and Commentary (Biblical Tools and Studies 1;
Leuven/Paris/Dudley, MA: Peeters, 2005) 660–62.
72. See logia 6, 12, 18, 20, 21, 24 (a question in the form of a request), 37, 43, 51, 52 (not a question), 53, 99
(not a question), 100 (not a question). A helpful tool in this regard is the table of various introductions to Jesus’
logia in Thomas in Enno Edzard Popkes, “Parabeln im Thomasevangelium,” Kompendium der Gleichnisse
Jesu (ed. Ruben Zimmermann et al.; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007) 853–54.
73. The syntax of Mark in 4:31–32 is, to say the least, loose and meandering, even apart from hotan sparē in
v 32, which simply repeats the words found in v 31 (a case of Marcan duality or possibly chiasm?). On this, see
Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 397–98; Mark L. Bailey, “The Parable of the Mustard Seed,” BSac 155 (1998)
449–59, esp. 450.
74. See Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 397.
75. Schellenberg (“Kingdom as Contaminant?,” 534 n. 37) suggests that, since en tōagrǭseems to be a
favored Matthean expression, it is likely redactional (cf. Matt 13:24,27,31,44; 24:18,40). If, then, one judges
that “upon the earth” is Mark’s redactional addition and “in his field” is Matthew’s redactional addition, the
wording of the parable in CGT at this point is most probably to be explained as a meshing of Mark and
Matthew; cf. Gathercole, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 297 n. 2. Some commentators
also see in Thomas’ “on which they work” some sort of gnosticizing allegory.
76. A number of translations render the Coptic noun tar as “plant,” which would make more sense (at least if
one knew only Matthew or Luke’s version). But W. E. Crum (A Coptic Dictionary [Eugene, OR: Wipf and
Stock, 2005] 423–24) lists only “branch” or “point” as basic meanings of tar.—Further gnosticizing elements
in Thomas’ version of the parable are suggested by Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 395. Hultgren claims that
the mustard seed “represents the spark of light, the enlightenment that comes to the Gnostic, and the tilled
ground refers to the readiness of the Gnostic to receive it.”
77. See Crum, A Coptic Dictionary, 657–58.
78. This harmonizing tendency cannot be explained by scribal assimilation to the standard Sahidic NT, since
there the Coptic versions of Matthew, Mark, and Luke follow their original Greek texts almost exactly.
79. For the view that CGT instead shows dependence on the Diatessaron, see Perrin, Thomas and Tatian;
idem, Thomas, the Other Gospel. While I do not agree with Perrin’s grand thesis, I think that he rightly points
to (1) catchword connections as at least a partial explanation of the ordering of the logia in Thomas and (2)
indications that Thomas in some way or other knew the Synoptics. However, as various reviewers have pointed
out, the retroversion of the entire CGT into a supposedly original Syriac text is an extremely speculative, not to
say precarious, endeavor; see, e.g., the critical comments by Robert F. Shedinger in his review of Thomas and
Tatian in JBL 122 (2003) 387–91; similarly, the problems highlighted by Gathercole, The Composition of the
Gospel of Thomas, 38–42. Inevitably, Perrin’s argument becomes somewhat circular. Perrin relies in part on the
Syriac text of Tatian’s Diatessaron to create his Syriac text of Thomas, yet Thomas’ dependence on the Syriac
text of the Diatessaron is the very thesis that Perrin is trying to prove. Moreover, the Syriac text of the
Diatessaron has been lost and can be reconstructed only by a very difficult and hypothetical process from
various translations of the Diatessaron. In the end, though, as far as my project is concerned, whether Perrin’s
thesis is correct is a moot point. If it is correct, then Thomas does not represent an early and independent form
of Jesus’ sayings—which is the basic position I am arguing by another route.
80. I enumerate the verses of the Synoptic versions so as to include only the text of the parable proper,
without the reaction of the audience, which in each case is an addition by the evangelist. Since Thomas has no
audience or larger context, it naturally lacks any reaction.
81. For dependence, see Klyne Snodgrass, The Parable of the Wicked Tenants (WUNT 27; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 1983); idem, Stories with Intent, 280–81. For independence, see John S. Kloppenborg, The Tenants
in the Vineyard. Ideology, Economics, and Agrarian Conflict in Jewish Palestine (WUNT 195; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 2006).
82. Quarles, “The Use of the Gospel of Thomas,” 517–36, esp. 524–34.
83. This seems to be the view of Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 142–43): “The story has no
winners, all are ruined by the desire for the land and its produce.” But is it all that clear that, within the
confines of the Thomasine version of the parable, the tenants are ruined? One could read the parable’s
enigmatic non-ending as a tacit declaration of their success.
84. In regard to the shortening of Marcan material in Matthew and Luke, see the statistics in Quarles, “The
Use of the Gospel of Thomas,” 534 n. 58. For the general observation that there is no neat line of development
from shorter to longer or vice versa in the Jesus traditions of the first few Christian centuries, see the classic
work of E. P. Sanders, The Tendencies of the Synoptic Tradition (SNTSMS 9; London: Cambridge University,
1969).
85. See A Marginal Jew, 1. 124–38.
 86. Helpful tables comparing and contrasting the subunits of each version of the parable can be found in
Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 282) and Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus, 358). As Hultgren points out (p.
356), there are many different source theories about this parable, even apart from Thomas’ independence or
dependence: e.g., besides Mark there was supposedly a Q version, or an M version, or an L version. Along with
Hultgren (and contrary to Snodgrass), I think that the variations in Matthew and Luke (as well as the minor
agreements between the two) can be adequately explained from the redactional tendencies of each. That
Matthew and Luke are simply redacting Mark without any other source being used is argued at length by
Kloppenborg, The Tenants in the Vineyard, 173–218.
87. All the verb apodēmeō need signify is “to go on a journey,” “to depart on a journey,” or (metaphorically)
“to be absent.” Notice how Luke feels he must specify in the parable of the Prodigal Son (15:13) that the
younger son journeys into a distant country (apedēmēsen eis chōran makran); without that specification, a
knowledgeable reader would be surprised or puzzled by the reference to raising pigs (15:15–16).
88. Various commentators speculate on the primitive parable supposedly lying behind Mark’s version.
Suggested Marcan redactional elements include the allusion to Isa 5:2 in Mark 12:1, the superfluous sending of
many other slaves in 12:5cde, the qualification of the son as “beloved” in v 6, and the two-part conclusion,
each part being introduced by a rhetorical question (v 9 + vv 10–11). Perhaps the best candidate is the presence
of a double conclusion, which reflects perfectly Mark’s well-known stylistic trait of duality. However, since our
concern is with Thomas’ version of the parable in relation to the three Synoptics, such speculation about a pre-
Marcan form may be waived.
89. To be precise: Matthew abbreviates the basic story within Mark’s narrative proper by dropping whole
incidents or statements. At the same time, he expands a phrase here or there as he sees fit. The result is that the
overall word count of the core narrative of the parable is slightly less in Matthew (by “core narrative” I mean
the plot stretching from the planting of the vineyard to the death of the son).
90. Interestingly, within the NT, the noun oikodespotēs occurs only in the Synoptic Gospels, where it always
appears in Jesus’ parables or similitudes, never in the main narrative of Jesus’ ministry. It occurs in Matthew
7x, in Mark 1x, and in Luke 4x.
91. Hence I do not think that Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 283) is correct in claiming that there is no
convincing explanation for Matthew’s omission of Mark’s agapētos; see also the considerations in the
following note.
92. There may be other factors at work here: (1) Matthew’s tendency to “cross-reference” key words and
phrases in his Gospel to highlight corresponding scenes; (2) his concern with underlining the fulfillment of OT
prophecies in the events of Jesus’ public ministry; and (3) his love of threefold patterns and groupings. Thus it
may not be simply by accident that there are precisely three occurrences of the adjective agapētos (“beloved”)
in Matthew, the three being found (1) in the two theophanies of the baptism and the transfiguration of Jesus,
during which the voice of the Father from heaven announces, “This is my son, the beloved” (3:17; 17:5); and
(2) in the fulfillment citation (Matt 12:18) that lies between these two theophanies, a citation that makes clear
to the reader that the other two references to Jesus as “my beloved” fulfills the prophecy about the servant of
the Lord in Isa 42:1—according, that is, to Matthew’s reading of the text (both the MT and the LXX read “my
chōsen” rather than “my beloved”). To have another reference to Jesus as agapētos in Matt 21:37 would spoil
the pattern. For a list of other explanations for the omission of agapētos offered by various commentators, see
Kloppenborg, The Tenants in the Vineyard, 183–84.
93. Forcing the Jewish leaders to pronounce their own condemnation fits perfectly with Matthew’s sustained
polemic against the authorities. In particular, it coheres neatly with the other parables of judgment that
Matthew adds just before (21:28–32) and after (22:1–14) this parable.
94. On the Matthean form of the citation and its introduction, see Beate Kowalski, “Der Matthäische
Gebrauch des Psalters im Kontext seiner Parabelüberlieferung,” The Composition of the Book of Psalms
(BETL 238; ed. Erich Zenger; Leuven/Paris/Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2010) 593–608, esp. 606–8.
95. There is a difficult text-critical problem concerning whether Matt 21:44 (which alludes to Dan 2:34–
35,44–45, possibly along with Isa 8:14–15) is an original part of Matthew’s text. A slightly different form of
the verse certainly belongs in Luke 20:18. While the decision regarding Matt 21:44 could go either way, I think
that it is more probable that the verse has been added to Matthew’s Gospel by Christian scribes, one of whose
tendencies is to harmonize the Synoptics. The 3d edition of The Greek New Testament (ed. Kurt Aland et al.;
New York: United Bible Societies, 1975) gives v 44 a “C” rating (“a considerable degree of doubt”) and
encloses the verse in double brackets (“passages which are regarded as later additions to the text”). However, in
the 4th edition of The Greek New Testament (2d printing, 1994), v 44 is placed in single brackets (“presence or
position in the text is regarded as disputed”). Metzger (TCGNT, 2d ed., 47) explains in reference to the 4th
edition that while the editorial committee considered v 44 “an accretion to the text,” the verse was retained in
the text “because of the antiquity of the reading and its importance in the textual tradition.” Snodgrass (Stories
with Intent, 286) leans toward accepting v 44 as original in Matthew, but admits that “certainty is not possible.”
Among the considerations that incline me to see v 44 as secondary is its apparent absence in Papyrus 104
(probably from the second half of the 2d century A.D.). On this, see Peter M. Head, “Some Recently Published
NT Papyri from Oxyrhynchus: An Overview and Preliminary Assessment,” TynBul 51 (2000) 1–16, esp. 9.
96. Of course, one must make allowances for possible variations in counting due to different text-critical
decisions.
97. One might argue that ephyteusen ampelōna (“he planted a vineyard”) in Luke 20:9 still points to
ephyteusa ampelōna (“I planted a vineyard”) in LXX Isa 5:2. However, since both the act of planting and a
vineyard are common metaphors in the OT and the intertestamental literature, Isa 5:2 can hardly claim to have
a monopoly on the phrase “to plant a vineyard.” The same Greek phrase is found, e.g., in LXX Gen 9:20; Deut
28:30,39; Amos 5:11.
98. Since the man planting the vineyard represents God (the Father), and not Jesus (who is represented in the
parable by the slain son), the reference to “a long time” is not connected with Luke’s supposed concern about
the delay of the parousia.
99. This is a prime example of the type of “minor agreement” of Matthew and Luke against Mark that arises
spontaneously and coincidentally when two later evangelists, both better Greek stylists and more systematic
thinkers, rework a Christian text from one generation earlier. Such minor agreements are not so remarkable
when balanced against the far more numerous times when Matthew and Luke go their separate ways in
rewriting Mark.
100. The Coptic text is uncertain at this point because of a small lacuna within a word. The incomplete word
is certainly Greek, but it could be either chrēstos (“good,” “benevolent”) or chrēstēs (“usurious,” or simply “a
creditor”—though the Greek word can also mean “prophet” or “debtor”). While chrēstos is well attested in
Coptic texts, chrēstēs is not. However, chrēstēs may make better sense in the context of the fraught relations
between the owner and the tenants as well as in the larger context of CGT, i.e., the preceding negative
statements made about a rich man (logion 63) and merchants and traders (logion 64). Nevertheless, granted the
range of meanings of chrēstēs in Greek, it is unwise to construct a whole interpretation of Thomas’ version of
the parable on a dubious reading of a Greek adjective. On this see, Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 160–61.
Interestingly, Nordsieck (Das Thomas-Evangelium, 253) argues against chrēstēs as the original reading because
the word never occurs again either in CGT or in the rest of the Nag Hammadi codices. But this would not be
the only case of a Greek word occurring in a single logion of CGT and nowhere else in the whole of the Nag
Hammadi writings. Another example, zizanion (a Greek word with a Semitic origin), occurs in CGT 57 (four
times in the one parable) and nowhere else in the whole Nag Hammadi corpus.
101. Theoretically, one might translate the pronoun autou at the end of Matt 21:34 as “its [the vineyard’s]
fruit,” since the masculine form autou could refer to the masculine noun ampelōn (“vineyard”) in v 33 instead
of anthrōpos . . . oikodespotēs (“a man . . . householder”), also in v 33. Indeed, some form of the pronoun autos
occurs three times in v 33, each time referring to the vineyard. However, the larger context and flow of thought
in vv 33–34 argue for autou in v 34 referring to the householder, since he is the (understood) subject of every
finite verb in the parable throughout vv 33–34, with the exception of hote de ggisen ho kairos (“but when the
time drew near”). Hence, in the main clause in v 34 that clearly has the householder as the understood subject
(“he sent his slave to the farmers to receive . . . fruits”), the natural sense of autou is “his,” thus emphasizing
the right of the householder to what he demands from the farmers. Not surprisingly, therefore, “his” is the
translation used by the RSV, NRSV, and the revised NT of the NAB. Even if one took autou as referring to the
vineyard, the basic point of my argument would remain the same: this redactional intervention of Matthew is
reflected in Thomas’ version since the phrase rendering “vineyard” (ma eneloole) is likewise masculine.
102. By way of contrast, note that in Mark 4:7 (the parable of the Sower), the construction didōmi + karpon
has “the seed” as its understood subject (likewise in the Matthean form of the same parable, 13:8). In Heb
12:11, “discipline” (paideia) is the subject of the compound verb apodidōsin, which has karpon as its object.
Finally, in Rev 2:2 the tree of life is the subject of apodidoun + karpon. Thus, in the entire NT, the only time
the simple verb didōmi is used with humans (the farmers) as the subject and fruit as the object (granted, in a
partitive construction) is in Luke’s redactional change of Mark in Luke 20:10, followed closely by Thomas.
103. Not surprisingly, Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 50) tries to explain Thomas’ agreements
with Matthew and/or Luke at various points in this parable by appealing to “yet another (oral or written) source
for the parable, shared by Luke and Thomas. . . .” As the champions of Copernicus’s theory pointed out to the
defenders of the Ptolemaic system of the universe, one can always defend any explanation if one is allowed to
keep multiplying ad hoc exceptions and special entities. One of the abiding problems of defending Thomas’
independence is that one keeps bumping up against Ockham’s razor: entities are not to be multiplied without
necessity—and this includes the ever-available but never provable alternate oral or written tradition available to
Thomas and Luke (or, when convenient, Matthew). More specifically, Patterson tries to dismiss Luke’s
redactional change of Mark in Luke 20:10 (“that they might give [some] of the fruit”) by claiming that this is
not a case of Lucan redaction, since it is not Luke’s habit “to use the future indicative with hina. . . .” To be
sure, the Hellenistic use of the future indicative in a hina purpose clause (as opposed to the subjunctive or at
times optative in classical usage) occurs only occasionally in the NT; not surprisingly, some later Greek
manuscripts replace the future indicative with the subjunctive, thus producing alternate readings. Interestingly,
the future indicative after hina is witnessed most often in the less-than-elegant Greek of the Book of
Revelation, while a good number of NT authors do not use it at all. Yet it is precisely Luke who gives us two
other examples besides 20:10: in Acts 21:24 and, more important for us, in an L passage where Luke is either
freely composing or at least quite free to choose his own wording in what is a typically Lucan “symposium”
scene (Luke 14:10): “that he may say to you” (hina . . . erei). On the theory that this symposium scene is
Luke’s transposition into narrative of a logion attacking the scribes, lawyers, or Pharisees for seeking the first
place at table (cf. Mark 12:38–39 parr.), see Luke Timothy Johnson, The Gospel of Luke (Sacra Pagina 3;
Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991) 226. In sum, Luke, Paul, and John the seer are the only NT authors
who use the future indicative with hina at least three times. In my view, then, Patterson’s whole argument
against seeing Luke 20:10 as Luke’s redactional rewriting of Mark’s text falls, and with it any defense of
Thomas’ independence in this parable.
104. For the suggestion that the “slaves of the vineyard owner are either sinners or archons who keep the free
men in subjection,” see Quarles, “The Use of the Gospel of Thomas,” 530–31. He points to a possibly parallel
idea in the Coptic Gospel of Philip (see, e.g., 52:5–15).
105. In Thomas’ copying of Luke’s “perhaps” and using it twice within his narrative, Gathercole (“Luke in
the Gospel of Thomas,” 121) sees a redactional tendency of Thomas, namely, to extend further a redactional
feature he finds in Luke. For the full extent of Luke’s influence on Thomas in this parable, see ibid., 127–31.
Gathercole (pp. 129–31) also counters the various arguments of Kloppenborg (The Tenants in the Vineyard,
173–277) in favor of Thomas’ independence in this parable.
106. The Coptic grammar of the particular verb used for “to respect” (šipe) demands first the use of the
pronoun with a preposition (hētf) and then the noun as object (empašēre). It is intriguing to note that Thomas’
version of this parable contains two purpose clauses in the earlier part of the parable and two deliberations in
the middle part, as well as the (grammatically necessary) double object of the verb “respect.” The redactional
hand of a single person who favors balance and doublets seems to be at work here, rather than stray memories
and multiple oral performances.
107. Thomas’ beloved tag is found as well in logia 8, 21, 63, and 96. So intent is Thomas on a terse ending in
logion 65 that he chooses the shorter form of the tag; the longer version can be found at the end of logia 8 and
21: “Let him who has ears to hear, hear.”
108. For all of its use of Greek loan words, CGT never employs graphē (Scripture); likewise, it never has
Jesus cite an OT text explicitly and verbatim; cf. Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 32.
109. Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 133–35) grasps the import of logion 52 better than does DeConick (The
Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 184–85) or Marvin Meyer (The Gospel of Thomas. The Hidden
Sayings of Jesus [San Francisco: Harper, 1992] 103). A mere piling up of parallels from the Church Fathers
and apocryphal works does not aid understanding if careful attention is not paid to the context of the parallel
and to the intent of the individual author. Perhaps the two most relevant parallels for logion 52 are the Nag
Hammadi tractate titled the Apocryphon of James 6:22–7:1 and Origen’s Commentary on John 2.34 (Greek text
in A. E. Brooke [ed.], The Commentary of Origen on S. John’s Gospel [2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge
University, 1896] 2. 100–101); on this, see Plisch, Gospel of Thomas, 133–34. Interestingly, in the end, neither
Plisch nor DeConick thinks that logion 52 goes back to the historical Jesus.
110. On the question of whether one should translate peje as “said” or “says” in these formulaic
introductions of the logia in Thomas, see Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 24–25. I stick to the traditional
translation in the past tense, which is used by most translators. Plisch varies his translation according to
context.
111. Contrary to the suggestion of Crossan (In Parables, 93), LXX Ps 117:22 hardly represents the earliest
stage in the allegorizing of the parable of the Evil Tenants, an allegorizing that is then developed by the
Synoptics. Much more likely, the addition of LXX Ps 117:22 represents form-critically a second stage in the
parable’s expansion, in that it provides a positive conclusion to the parable via the son’s vindication, thus
balancing and overcoming the first conclusion’s negative theme of destruction.—The fact that the reworked
content of LXX Ps 117:22 appears in CGT immediately after the parable of the Evil Tenants presents problems
for Patterson’s theory of Thomas’ independence (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 50–51). We are assured,
though, that these problems “are not insurmountable.” Yet, instead of providing any one solution to the
problem of the sequence of CGT 65–66, Patterson offers two contradictory solutions: either the parable and the
psalm verse circulated together very early on, or the present position of logion 66 in CGT is a relatively late
scribal alteration.
112. Yet this is precisely what Nordsieck (Das Thomas-Evangelium, 254–60), following many others, does.
Curiously, John Horman (A Common Written Greek Source for Mark & Thomas [Studies in Christianity and
Judaism 20; Waterloo, Canada: Wilfrid Laurier University, 2011] 118–20), while preferring not to appeal to a
separate version of the parable known to both Luke and Thomas to account for the Lucan traits in the
Thomasine version, attempts instead to explain the Thomasine version of the Evil Tenants by constructing the
unlikely theory that Mark and Thomas both drew upon a common written source composed in Greek. In order
to sustain this theory not only here but elsewhere in his monograph, Horman must consistently play down the
redactional changes that Luke (and sometimes Matthew) makes to Mark, changes that are also found in the text
of Thomas. Gathercole’s highlighting of the Lucan elements found in many Thomasine sayings paralleled in
the Synoptics (see, e.g., his The Composition of the Gospel of Thomas) may serve as a sufficient refutation of
Horman’s basic theory; see also Gathercole, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 461–62.
113. I use the expression “M material” rather than “M tradition” because it is difficult in this case to decide
whether the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds represents M tradition heavily redacted by Matthew (so, e.g.,
Jack Dean Kingsbury, The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13: A Study in Redaction-Criticism [London: SPCK,
1969] 65) or a pure creation of Matthew himself (so, e.g., Gundry, Matthew, 265; M. D. Goulder, Midrash and
Lection in Matthew [London: SPCK, 1974] 367–69). Obviously, if one were to adopt the view that the parable
itself was a pure Matthean creation, the dependence of CGT 57 on Matthew’s Gospel would necessarily follow.
In any case, many commentators view the allegorical explanation of the parable to be Matthew’s redactional
creation; see the full argument in Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 81–85; cf. his supplement and corrections in
his “Die Deutung des Gleichnisses vom Unkraut unter dem Weizen (Mt. 13,36–43),” Abba (Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1966) 261–65. Hence, if elements or echoes of the allegorical interpretation could
be found in CGT 57 (which I think is the case), that too would argue for dependence on Matthew. Snodgrass
(Stories with Intent, 207–12) is one of the few recent authors to argue that the interpretation itself goes back to
Jesus; in my opinion, his argument is an example of special pleading for a decision already taken on other
grounds. One may certainly argue with this or that judgment of Jeremias on what counts as Matthean
redactional style and vocabulary; he himself revises some of his arguments in “Die Deutung.” But the massive
convergence of evidence from vocabulary and style, especially when joined to the redactional theology seen in
the allegorical interpretation, points clearly to a Matthean creation. Davies and Allison (The Gospel According
to Saint Matthew, 2. 407–15, esp. 407 n. 1) represent many commentators in claiming that the parable proper
should be assigned to the M tradition, while the interpretation is Matthean redaction; so, e.g., Petra von
Gemünden, Vegetationsmetaphorik im Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt (Novum Testamentum et Orbis
Antiquus 18; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993) 247–48. While I agree
with them about the allegorical interpretation, I remain uncertain about the parable proper. The strange features
of this parable, when compared to most other Synoptic parables (see Luz, Matthew, 2. 252–53), could point to
a creation by Matthew himself, who then purposely shifts the theological emphasis in his allegorical
interpretation. In any case, if there is an underlying M tradition, Kingsbury is correct in judging that it has been
heavily rewritten by Matthew in his own style and theology. Consequently, any attempt to reconstruct the
previous tradition is highly hypothetical; see some of the various attempts listed by Davies and Allison, ibid.,
409–10; cf. Luz, Matthew, 2. 253–54; idem, “Vom Taumellolch im Weizenfeld,” Vom Urchristentum zu Jesus
(Joachim Gnilka Festschrift; ed. Hubert Frankemölle and Karl Kertelge; Freiburg/Basel/Vienna: Herder, 1989)
154–71, esp. 154–55. Tellingly, Jülicher (Die Gleichnisreden Jesu, 2. 559) is so intent on preserving all the
parables as coming from the historical Jesus that he maintains that, in the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds,
Matthew has reworked a genuine saying of Jesus and hence that there is an authentic kernel in the parable.
However, says Jülicher, we cannot tell what was the original content of the parable’s teaching. This is having
your exegetical cake and eating it too. Somewhat more optimistic in his attempt to discern a primitive parable
that goes back to Jesus is Luca Marulli, “The Parable of the Weeds (Matthew 13:26–30): A Quest for Its
Original Formulation and Its Role in the Preaching of the Historical Jesus,” BTB 40 (2010) 69–78. While
admitting that the parable is “rich in [Matthean] redactional words and expressions,” with strong resemblances
as well to Mark’s parable of the Seed Growing by Itself (Mark 4:26–29), Marulli thinks he can reconstruct the
original parable of Jesus by using CGT 57, which he declares (rather than proves) to be independent of
Matthew’s version. At times, Marulli in effect rewrites what the Thomasine text of the parable actually says
and pointedly ignores those aspects of Thomas’ version that reflect the influence of Matthew’s allegorical
interpretation of the parable. For Marulli’s attempt to interpret the parable as it stands in the context of
Matthew’s Gospel and his evolving Jewish-Christian community, see his article, “The Parable of the Tares and
Matthew’s Strategy vis-à-vis Extreme Sectarian Impulses from within His Community,” AUS 47 (2009) 181–
202.
114. I have tried to keep my translation of the Greek and Coptic texts as literal as possible while still being
intelligible to English speakers who do not know the original languages. Hence, for instance, historical present
tenses (e.g., “the slaves say,” “he says,” when most translators use the past tense for these present-tense verbs)
are kept in the present. Some decisions will always be debatable. For example, I have left the Greek particle de
untranslated, since I think translating it as “but” is too heavy-handed when it basically serves in this story as a
connector of the narrative tissue. I have also translated the initial verb hōmoiōthē as a present tense; it may
reflect a Semitic perfect tense referring to general truths (so Matthew Black, An Aramaic Approach to the
Gospels and Acts [3d ed.; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1967] 129); alternately, it may simply reflect an
imitation of LXX Greek. However, Kingsbury (The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13, 67) takes the aorist tense
literally as indicating that “the Kingdom of Heaven . . . is a present reality and already has a certain history
behind it.” Granted that this is a possible meaning of the Greek aorist, would not the Greek perfect tense have
made the point better? In the end, though, even apart from any Semitic influence, the aorist hōmoiōthē is
intelligible simply as a general, gnomic, or perfective aorist. For an interesting parallel in classical Greek, see
Plato’s Republic 510a.
115. Even Davies and Allison, who remain uncertain about whether CGT 57 is dependent on the present
Matthean text of the parable (The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 2. 409), judge that Thomas’ brevity is
“not a sign of originality but of secondary compression” of “something like Mt 13.24–30” (p. 415). Patterson
(The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 46) allows that CGT 57 may be an abbreviation of a longer version, but this
longer version was not Matthew’s text, since the Thomasine version lacks any trace of Matthew’s redactional
hand. As we shall see, a detailed study of the Matthean parable plus its allegorical explanation leads to a
different conclusion.
116. This is the judgment of von Gemünden (Vegetationsmetaphorik, 237 n. 202 and 248 n. 271), who offers
a detailed study of the parable and its Matthean interpretation from the viewpoint of both structure and content
(pp. 234–49).
117. Davies and Allison (The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 2. 412) think that “while the men were
sleeping” is simply a general reference to the time that people sleep, namely, at night, which is precisely how
CGT 57 interprets the phrase. However, given the lengthy interaction between the householder and his slaves at
the center of Matthew’s version of the parable, I think it more likely that mention of “the men” points forward
to the servants. With the at-best-glancing reference to other actors in Thomas’ version, it makes sense that he
would reduce the phrase to a simple “at night”—which also coheres with Thomas’ overall tendency to
abbreviate the parable severely.
118. On this, see Fieger, Das Thomasevangelium, 170–71; cf. Schrage (Das Verhältnis, 124), who also points
out that CGT 57 states that the enemy sowed the weeds on top of the good seed. This presupposes that the good
seed has already been sown, something that Matt 13:24 (“a man sowing good seed in his field”) states, but
CGT 57 does not. The omission of the key midsection of this parable is, in the opinion of Goodacre (Thomas
and the Gospels, 110–11), a prime example of a striking redactional tendency in Thomas, what Goodacre terms
“The Missing Middle.” Goodacre (ibid., 111–27) sees this phenomenon verified as well in CGT 63, 100, 26,
89, and 36; it may also be seen in Justin Martyr’s citations of various Synoptic texts.
119. Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 141) states that the sentence narrating the man’s prohibition of pulling
up the weeds “is obviously corrupt,” although Plisch is not sure what exactly the corruption is. He offers two
possible emendations of the verb “to pull up,” but also suggests that one whole line may have been accidentally
omitted. One can sense here a strenuous attempt to avoid admitting that the redactor, in severely abbreviating
the Matthean parable, has made a mess of things. Indeed, in compressing the dialogue between the slaves and
the householder in Matt 13:28–29, the Thomasine redactor may have run together in incoherent fashion
apelthontes syllexōmen (v 28) and syllegontes ta zizania ekrizōsēte (v 29). Actually, we can find similar
infelicities in Matthew and Luke’s redaction of passages in Mark (e.g., Mark 5:35–40, which is garbled in Luke
8:51–53). The redactor, like Homer, sometimes nods.
120. Liebenberg (The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 222) observes that “Thomas talks about the ‘day
of judgement’ only here and nowhere else in the Gospel.” Since this embarrassing fact gets in the way of
Liebenberg’s approach, he explains away the fiery eschatological scenario as “nothing more than a rhetorical
device.” Dependence on Matthew, including Matthew’s allegorical interpretation, is a more direct and obvious
explanation. Nordsieck (Das Thomas-Evangelium, 226–28) misses the point that the theme of apocalyptic
judgment is present in CGT 57 and that it reflects the Matthean allegorical interpretation.
121. The fact that Matthew’s allegorical interpretation heavily emphasizes the negative aspect of the final
judgment in a way that the parable itself does not is underscored by Luz, “Vom Taumellolch,” 161; so too von
Gemünden, Vegetationsmetaphorik, 245 (including n. 255). Oddly, Liebenberg (The Language of the Kingdom
and Jesus, 205–6) mentions the shift in emphasis from Matthew’s parable to his interpretation, but fails to see
the relevance of this observation for the emphasis on the final part of Thomas’ version of the parable; similarly,
Nordsieck (Das Thomas-Evangelium, 228), who claims that CGT 57 reflects the historical Jesus’ emphasis on
patience instead of premature judgment and removal of evildoers. That is indeed the emphasis of Matthew’s
parable, an emphasis that in Thomas notably shifts to the threat of fiery judgment that is also inculcated in
Matthew’s allegorical interpretation.
122. I prefer to take 13:40 as the conclusion of the catalogue, while Luz (Matthew, 2. 267) and others see it
as the beginning of the apocalyptic narrative of the interpretation; so, e.g., Jeremias, “Die Deutung des
Gleichnisses vom Unkraut,” 261; von Ge-münden, Vegetationsmetaphorik, 244. To be sure, v 40 lacks the “X =
Y” structure seen in vv 37a–39. Nevertheless, v 40, like vv 37a–39, explains the real referent of an allegorical
symbol (the gathering and burning of the wheat equals the punishment by fire at the end of the age), but now in
terms of a comparison (“just as . . . so”), with the verb “to be” in the future tense (estai). Once the apocalyptic
narrative begins in v 41, the verb “to be” is no longer used as a type of equation sign, explaining how an
element in the parable represents a future reality. Seeing v 40 as a bridge or a “transitional statement” (so
Kingsbury, The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13, 94) between catalogue and narrative is another possibility.
On the literary genre of a catalogue of interpretations, see Jeremias, ibid., 263.
123. Notice that no attempt is made to equate “the just” with the wheat or “the kingdom of their Father” with
a barn. Pointedly, in 13:43a the just are not said to be gathered into the kingdom by the angels, a statement that
could easily have been made and that could have helped to forge a connection between Matt 13:30d and
13:43a. In the last analysis, v 43a almost seems like an afterthought or a foreign body in a nimšāl that is
intensely focused on the punishment of the wicked.
124. Here I strongly disagree with Koester (Ancient Christian Gospels, 103), who claims that CGT 57 is
prior to Matthew’s version, since “there is no trace of the allegorical interpretation which Matthew (13:36–43)
has appended” in Thomas’ version. As I argue in the main text, the last part of CGT 57 most likely does reflect
Matthew’s allegory. One senses Plisch’s discomfort with this fact when he states that his interpretation of CGT
57 “renders the warning of judgment almost needless” (The Gospel of Thomas, 143). All he can offer in
defense of his interpretation, which plays down the logion’s climactic emphasis on fiery judgment, is the
suggestion that “perhaps it [the fiery conclusion] was added at a later stage in the transmission history.” In
contrast to this solution, DeConick (The Original Gospel of Thomas, 193) affirms that in her hypothetical
“Kernel Gospel” (the earliest source of CGT), the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds warned the hearer that
he or she would be held accountable precisely because “there will be a judgement, a harvest.” A wrong
decision could lead to the hearer being “pulled up on the last day and burned.” De-Conick, unlike Plisch, here
does justice to the mention of final judgment under the metaphor of burning that is common to Matthew’s
parable, to CGT 57, and most notably to Matthew’s allegorical interpretation. To excise what is common to all
three articulations of the tradition simply because this inconvenient fact does not fit one’s hypothesis is not
sound methodology. In light of all this, I find Fieger’s attempt (Das Thomasevangelium, 172) to explain away
the fiery final judgment in Thomas’ version unconvincing. Even Liebenberg (The Language of the Kingdom
and Jesus, 220), despite his convoluted explanation of the parable’s finale (p. 222), admits “the impossibility of
not understanding this parable in an eschatological framework of some sort. . . .”
125. I follow Luz’s suggestion (Matthew, 2. 253 n. 12) in taking eblastēsen and epoiēsen as ingressive
aorists: “. . . when the plants began to sprout and produce grain. . . .” Luz (“Vom Taumellolch,” 156) stresses
that the difference between the weeds and the wheat would become visible while both were still growing, and
not only in the final stage of ripeness.
126. Though claiming that the hostile act of sowing the weeds by “his enemy” is neither unusual nor
improbable, even Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 143) admits that in CGT 57 the final sentence “completely
tears down the pretense of a credible narrative. The weed becoming visible only on the day of the harvest is
quite unrealistic (moreover, the discovery of the weed presupposes exactly the opposite). . . .”
127. Here I differ with DeConick (The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 194), who holds that CGT
57 is “intelligible on its own, needing no knowledge of Matthew’s version.” She maintains that CGT 57 seems
to the modern Christian reader to lack necessary elements of the story only because the modern reader knows
Matthew’s version. I think that the detailed study presented in my main text shows just the opposite. On this
question, DeConick is aligned with Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 212–24; similarly,
Nordsieck, Das Thomas-Evangelium, 228. While he rejects the views of those like Schrage who hold that CGT
57 is intelligible only against the background of the Matthean version, even Liebenberg has to admit that the
first half of Thomas’ version “contains barely enough information to make it intelligible” (p. 210 and n. 148).
Interestingly, while Liebenberg denies that one needs the Matthean version to understand Thomas’ version, he
does admit that the Thomasine version is so “elliptical” that one might argue that the present version in CGT 57
is dependent on Matthew “indirectly and probably via the oral tradition,” in other words, by way of secondary
orality (p. 224). Liebenberg himself does not adopt this position.
128. These observations on individual words or phrases should be taken as a secondary or “backup”
argument supporting the main argument that has already been laid out.
129. Interestingly, it is at the beginning of this uniquely Matthean parable within the Synoptic tradition that
Thomas uses the precise phrase “the kingdom of the Father” for the first time in his Gospel—though the two
words “kingdom” and “Father” have occurred together earlier in the logia. On this, see Liebenberg, The
Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 209 and n. 142.
130. See Jeremias, “Die Deutung des Gleichnisses vom Unkraut,” 262. Acts 20:25 most probably contains
the absolute use of “the kingdom,” though various manuscripts supply “of Jesus” or “of God.” The absolute use
found in the mouths of the somewhat confused disciples in Acts 1:6 probably refers—within the story world
depicted in chap. 1—to the (misguided) notion of a restoration of political sovereignty to Israel soon after the
resurrection. Within Luke’s larger theological program, what is intended is a warning against the expectation of
an imminent parousia.
131. On the “kingdom” language of Thomas, see Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 31–32; Goodacre, Thomas
and the Gospels, 66–69, 81. “The kingdom of God” (hē basileia tou theou) is a conjectural reading used by
some editors to fill in a lacuna in logion 3 as preserved in the Greek text of P.Oxy. 654; so Harold W. Attridge,
“Appendix: The Greek Fragments,” 1. 114. Similarly, Joseph A. Fitzmyer (“The Oxyrhynchus Logoi of Jesus
and the Coptic Gospel According to Thomas,” The Semitic Background of the New Testament [Grand Rapids,
MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 1997] 355–433 [article originally published in TS 20 (1959) 505–60]) prefers
the reading “kingdom of God” in the Greek version of logion 3 (pp. 376–77), but he allows the possibility of
“kingdom of heaven” (a reading supported by Hippolytus’ citation of what he calls the Gospel of Thomas in his
Elenchus 5, 7). By contrast, at the corresponding point in the Coptic version of logion 3 we read simply “the
kingdom.” “The kingdom of God” appears to be the correct reading in the Greek version of saying 27 in P.Oxy.
1 (again, simply “the kingdom” in CGT).
132. See Davies and Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 2. 413. Luz (Matthew, 2. 252 n. 2)
argues that autou ho echthros in 13:25 makes perfect sense in Matthew’s Greek without appealing to a
Semitism. It should be translated as “his enemy” rather than as “an enemy of his” (contra Jeremias, The
Parables of Jesus, 224). Luz likewise rejects seeing a Semitism in echthros anthrōpos in v 28.—On the
difficulties of taking the agricultural details of the story (especially the treatment of the weeds) as realistic, see
Luz, “Vom Taumellolch,” 156–57. From the detailed treatment of agricultural practices in the ancient world
offered by von Gemünden (Vegetationsmetaphorik, 238–43) one could construct an argument that, while some
of the individual actions are highly unusual and run contrary to common practice, the story cannot be dismissed
as completely impossible.
133. It is telling that, while Kingsbury (The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13, 65–66) insists that the parable
of the Wheat and the Weeds should be interpreted separately from its allegorical interpretation, he nevertheless
appeals to the interpretation (p. 69) to justify his identification of “his enemy” (13:25) as the devil (13:39).
134. See Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 184.
135. While the Coptic preposition is not entirely clear in the manuscript at this point, the critical text edited
by Bentley Layton (Nag Hammadi Codex I, 2–7, 1. 74) reads ejen. This reading of the Coptic is accepted by
Marvin Meyer, April D. DeConick, and Uwe-Karsten Plisch in their texts. However, Schrage (Das Verhältnis,
124) and Fieger (Das Thomasevangelium, 170) prefer to read men, “with.” Perhaps this reading reflects the
preliminary (and admittedly incomplete and uncritical) publication of CGT by A. Guillaumont et al., The
Gospel According to Thomas (Leiden: Brill; New York/Evanston: Harper & Row, 1959); see p. v and pp. 30–
31 (reading men).
136. Jeremias (The Parables of Jesus, 224) identifies the zizania (a Greek noun probably of Semitic origin)
as “the poisonous darnel (lolium temulentum),” a weed similar to bearded wheat; in the early stages of growth,
the former is difficult to distinguish from the latter. While Davies and Allison (The Gospel According to Saint
Matthew, 2. 412) think that the identification is uncertain, it is maintained by Michael Zohary, Plants of the
Bible (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University, 1982) 161 (cf. index of the book under lolium temulentum). In
any case, if we remain within the narrative world created by the parable, the logic of the story demands that
early on the weed should resemble the wheat but that at a certain point in the growth process the difference
should become visible. By that time, though, the roots of the weeds have become intertwined with those of the
wheat, and so uprooting the former might do damage to the latter. The only safe strategy is to wait until the
harvest, when both types of plants can be removed. Granted this scenario, one can see how Thomas’ pushing of
the theme of the visibility of the weeds to the end of the story makes the story incoherent. If the weeds do not
become visible until the harvest, no one can know that there is a problem before the harvest; cf. Gathercole,
The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 432–33.
137. See Folker Siegert, Nag–Hammadi–Register (WUNT 26; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1982) 249.
138. Kingsbury, The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13, 74 (together with his n. 181).
139. Traits of Matthean redactional material in Thomas are pointed out by Simon Gathercole (“Luke in the
Gospel of Thomas,” 121), along with other commentators such as Perrin, Thomas, the Other Gospel. Risto Uro
(Thomas. Seeking the Historical Context of the Gospel of Thomas [London: Clark, 2003] 88) remarks that only
in Matthew’s and Thomas’ versions (CGT 13) of Jesus’ question about his identity (along with his disciples’
replies) do we find (1) Jesus affirming the divine origin of one disciple’s confession (the beatitude spoken to
Peter in Matt 16:17 and the Thomasine Jesus’ affirmation that Thomas has been intoxicated with the truth Jesus
conveys) and (2) Jesus indicating that a particular disciple within the larger circle of disciples has been favored
with special knowledge not expressed by the other disciples. (At the same time, Uro does not think that the
Thomas version is directly dependent on Matthew.) With some hesitation, one might add to these observations
that in CGT 13 Jesus speaks “three words” to Thomas. It may not be purely by accident that in Matt 16:17–19
(clearly redactional vis-à-vis Mark and Luke), Jesus speaks precisely three “words” or distinct logia to Peter:
(1) the beatitude about the divine origin of Peter’s knowledge (v 17); (2) the conferral of the name Peter
(“Rock”) on Simon, with an explanation of its meaning (v 18); and (3) the conferral of the keys of the
kingdom, with an explanation of their meaning (v 19). Then, too, there is the theme of secret revelation not to
be shared; but this element is found in different ways in all three Synoptics as well as Thomas. In any event, it
is intriguing that Uro (Thomas, 135), who opts for a mixed solution of some sayings showing dependence in
one way or other on the Synoptics and other sayings being independent, finds in Thomas “some echoes of
Matthew’s redaction, which cannot easily be explained as later textual harmonizations. . . .”
140. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 200. When one considers not only all the peculiarities of Matthew’s
version of the parable that are reflected in CGT 57 but also the probable influence of Matthew’s allegorical
interpretation on Thomas’ version, claiming that saying 57 is dependent on a hypothetically and variously
reconstructed M tradition rather than on Matthew’s Gospel seems more like an escape hatch than the most
likely solution. Whether Thomas’ dependence on Matthew is a direct literary one, an indirect literary one
(through catechetical collections and digests of logia), or an indirect oral one (secondary orality) is open to
debate. The fact, for instance, that Matt 13:29 (as well as the standard Sahidic of Matt 13:29) uses the Greek
mēpote for “lest” while CGT 57 uses the Greek mēpōs may argue for secondary orality. However, granted the
radical and garbled compression of the original Greek text by CGT 57, it is difficult to make a firm judgment.
In view of the scribal irregularities scattered throughout the lone manuscript we have of CGT, one must also
allow for a copying error.
141. I use the qualifier of a “clear” case, since the case of the parable of the Great Supper (Matt 22:1–10 ||
Luke 14:16–24 || CGT 64) is quite unclear. This problem will be addressed at length in Chapter 40; for the
moment, a few comments may suffice. Some commentators judge it to be a Q parable heavily redacted by both
Matthew and Luke, while others prefer to consider the two Synoptic versions to be independent M and L forms
of the parable respectively; so Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 334–35. A more radical view would be to
decide that Matthew and Luke present two different parables that happen to share certain common themes.
Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 310), for instance, prefers to speak of “two similar stories, not two versions of
the same story.” In any case, the Great Supper does not provide us with a clear case of an “L parable” taken in
the sense of a parable present only in Luke’s Gospel. On the vexed question of the relation of the Synoptic
versions of the parable of the Great Supper to the Thomasine version, see Gregory E. Sterling, “‘Where Two or
Three are Gathered’: The Tradition History of the Parable of the Banquet (Matt 22:1–14/Luke 14:16–
24/GThom 64),” Das Thomasevangelium. Entstehung–Rezeption–Theologie (BZNW 157; ed. Jörg Frey, Enno
Edzard Popkes, and Jens Schröter; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2008) 95–121. As will become clear in
Chapter 40, I opt for the view that there were independent Matthean and Lucan forms of this parable
circulating in the early church.
142. See the lengthy list of citations in Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 390–93; cf. John Drury, The Parables
in the Gospels (New York: Crossroad, 1985) 136–37. In the view of Bernhard Heininger (Metaphorik,
Erzählstruktur und szenisch-dramatische Gestaltung in den Sondergutgleichnissen bei Lukas [NTAbh n.s. 24;
Münster: Aschendorff, 1991] 40–44) the especially striking parallels, given the presence of monologues within
them, are 1 Enoch 97:8–10 (from the division known as the Epistle of Enoch); Jas 4:13–5; Seneca, Ep. Mor.
1014–5; but most of all Sir 11:18–19. A detailed survey of key parallel texts (Qoheleth, Ben Sira, 1 Enoch, the
Testament of Abraham, Seneca’s Moral Epistles, and Lucian’s Dialogues of the Dead) is undertaken by
Matthew S. Rindge, Jesus’ Parable of the Rich Fool (Early Christianity and Its Literature 6; Atlanta: SBL,
2011). Rindge stresses the variety of ways in which the intersecting problems of possessions and death are
treated in these works. While not denying the prophetic and eschatological elements in Luke’s treatment of
these themes, he prefers to read the parable of the Rich Fool through a sapiential lens. In his brief comparison
of the Lucan and Thomasine versions of the parable (pp. 231–47), Rindge avoids taking a stand on the question
of Thomas’ dependence or independence; his agnostic approach may be connected with the lack of any detailed
consideration of Luke’s introductory anecdote.
143. For a consideration of the Hebrew text, see Patrick W. Skehan and Alexander A. Di Lella, The Wisdom
of Ben Sira (AYB 39; New York: Doubleday, 1987) 236, 239. The Hebrew participle (mēhit‘annôt) in v 18a
that I translate as “by leading a pinched existence” literally means “by afflicting himself”; Skehan and Di Lella
translate it as “through a miser’s life.” The Greek translation of Ben Sira’s grandson is on the whole quite
faithful. All the more interesting, therefore, are the same or similar Greek words found in both LXX Sir 11:18–
19 and Luke 12:17–19: plouton/ plousiou; anapausin/anapauou; phagomai/phage; tōn agathōn mou/ta agatha
mou. Alongside the common vocabulary stand the common literary techniques and themes of inner monologue,
the uncertain or surprising time of death, and the necessity of leaving one’s goods to another. On this, see
Heininger, Metaphorik, 113–16, esp. 114. For a consideration of the interplay of death and possessions in Ben
Sira, see Rindge, Jesus’ Parable of the Rich Fool, 66–85, esp. 73–80, with the bibliography cited there. For a
reading of the Rich Fool that seeks to probe four different “textures of the text” in the parable, see David B.
Gowler, “The Enthymematic Nature of Parables: A Dialogic Reading of the Parable of the Rich Fool (Luke
12:16–20),” RevExp 109 (2012) 199–217.
144. I use the phrase “wisdom tradition(s)” in this discussion in a general sense, without claiming that
wisdom constituted a tradition that separated itself from or even opposed the historical, legal, and prophetic
traditions of Israel. Ben Sira alone constitutes a clear refutation of such a view. On the problematic nature of
the phrase “wisdom tradition,” see Mark Sneed, “Is the ‘Wisdom Tradition’ a Tradition?,” CBQ 73 (2011) 50–
71.
 145. To take one example of such an approach: Heininger (Metaphorik, 107–21, esp. 118) holds that Luke
12:16–20, when stripped of what he considers Lucan redactional elements, is a creation of a Christian
community that utilizes Sir 11:18–19.
146. Note that Mark 4:10–12 parr. introduces the explanation of the parable of the Sower, not the parable
itself. Those requesting the explanation are “those around him with the Twelve” (Mark 4:10) or “the disciples”
(Matt 13:10 || Luke 8:9).
147. To be sure, both parables have as an audience a group that has been mentioned earlier in the overall
narrative: the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders back in Mark 11:27, who remain to hear the parable of
the Evil Tenants; and Peter, James, John, and Andrew in 13:3, whose questions trigger the eschatological
discourse, at whose end stands the parable of the Watchful Doorkeeper. But in neither case does the question or
challenge of an individual interlocutor immediately introduce and trigger the parable.
148. Meier, A Marginal Jew, 4. 522–27.
149. I do not include in this list the parable following the Prodigal Son, namely, the Dishonest Steward
(16:1–8), since the latter is introduced simply by “he also said to the disciples.” The audience has thus changed
from Pharisees to disciples, and the apologetic theme of finding what was lost seems to have drifted away.
150. While the Thomasine Jesus usually refers to the supreme invisible God as “the (living) Father,” at times
he speaks of him as “my Father” (so logia 61, 64, and 99).
151. That Luke uses the vocative anthrōpe (“man”) without the initial exclamatory ō while CGT 72 employs
it (ō prōme, “O man”) is not a real difference, but rather completely explainable from the grammatical
peculiarities of Hellenistic Greek and Coptic. While in classical Greek the use of ō with the vocative was the
rule and its absence the exception, the situation is reversed in ordinary Hellenistic Greek when it is not
consciously seeking to imitate classic Attic or to emphasize great emotion. Hence, the absence of ō is the
common state of affairs in NT Greek, the exceptions being scenes in which the author/speaker expresses high
emotion or (like Luke in Acts) seeks to imitate classical usage. On this, see Max Zerwick, Graecitas Biblica
(5th ed.; Rome: Biblical Institute, 1960) 11–12 (no. 35). In addition, with a masculine singular noun like
anthrōpos, there is a special vocative form in Greek (anthrōpe, so here) that cannot mean anything but the
vocative. In such cases, ō would be all the more optional. In Coptic, on the other hand, there is no separate
vocative case for nouns, which are not declined as they are in Greek and Latin. In Coptic, the vocative is
usually expressed by the noun made definite by the definite article (so here) or, e.g., a possessive adjective. But
because the Coptic noun with a definite article can have many syntactical uses and is therefore not immediately
identifiable as vocative apart from the larger context, the exclamatory ō, taken over from Greek, can be used to
make the vocative sense of the noun clear.
152. Goodacre (Thomas and the Gospels, 97–108) considers CGT 79 “so strikingly Lukan” that he dedicates
a whole chapter to it. It is indeed another parade example of Thomas’ knowledge and use of Luke’s Gospel,
probably the last of the Synoptics to be written.
153. For the use of tis with the sense of an indefinite article, see, e.g., Luke 10:25: nomikos tis is translated in
many English Bibles as “a lawyer” (so RSV, NRSV, revised NT of the NAB), though a phrase like “a certain
lawyer” is also a possible rendering. On the use of tis in ancient Greek for the indefinite article (which, strictly
speaking, ancient Greek, unlike Coptic, does not have), see William Watson Goodwin, Greek Grammar
(revised by Charles Burton Gulick; Boston: Ginn, 1958) 84 (no. 387); Herbert Weir Smyth, Greek Grammar
(Cambridge: Harvard University, 1984) 310 (no. 1267); on the similarity of tis to heis (the numeral “one”) in
this usage, see BDF, 129 (no. 247).
154. Luke’s introductory clause, unlike Thomas’, includes the phrase “from the crowd” (ek tou ochlou). This
specification is necessitated by Luke’s larger narrative context. In 12:1, Luke had emphasized that an enormous
crowd was gathering around Jesus, even though Jesus pointedly addresses his remarks to his disciples (12:1 +
4). In v 4, Jesus addresses “you my friends,” and in the subsequent verses warns his followers about
persecution for his sake and the need for fearless confession. Hence, when Luke introduces a vague “someone”
in 12:13, it is necessary to make clear that this “someone” is not one of the disciples who have been addressed
up till now, but rather an outsider from the crowd. Having no larger narrative context, Thomas needs no such
clarification.
155. It is interesting to note that the only other vocative use of prōme (“man” in direct address) in Thomas is
in CGT 61, where Salome uses it to address Jesus.
156. Contra Riley, “Influence,” 230. Basing himself on the erroneous opinion that the Greek noun meristēs
does not appear before Luke’s Gospel, Riley constructs a complicated theory about Thomas influencing Luke.
His theory is effectively demolished by the pre-Lucan citations provided by Gathercole, “Luke in the Gospel of
Thomas,” 139–41.
157. One manuscript of the standard Sahidic Coptic of Luke’s Gospel likewise omits the noun “judge,” but
other Sahidic manuscripts have it. In any case, the shorter reading does not seem to have anything to do with
the possibility of Thomas’ text being assimilated to the standard Sahidic version or vice versa. Apart from the
presence or absence of “judge,” the standard Sahidic text is a faithful translation of Luke’s Greek. Moreover, in
the Coptic manuscript of Luke that omits “judge,” even the noun “divider” is rendered by a different noun
(refpōrej) from the one found in Thomas. Also to be considered is the fact that the ancient versions in general
show notable fluctuation at this point in the Lucan text. For a detailed text-critical consideration of the
problem, see Tjitze Baarda, “Luke 12, 13–14. Text and Transmission from Marcion to Augustine,”
Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults (Morton Smith Festschrift; 4 vols.; ed. Jacob Neusner;
Leiden: Brill, 1975) 1. 107–62. At the end of his exhaustive study, Baarda (pp. 154–55) judges that CGT 72
“has all the features of a secondary development” and so “presents us with the Gnostic version of Luke 12, 13–
14. . . .” I also agree with Baarda (pp. 130–55) in discounting a version of Luke’s introductory anecdote found
in an Arabic document written in the late 10th century A.D. against Christian claims by a Muslim apologist
named ‘Abd al-Gabbār. In my view, the late date of this document, in addition to the tenuous hypotheses
needed to work back to a supposed early Jewish-Christian source, makes DeConick’s reliance on it (The
Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 229) untenable.
158. I accept here what is a common reading of the difficult Coptic text in logion 61, which some think
contains a mistranslation of the Greek; others seek to emend some of the Coptic words to make better sense of
the train of thought. For the critical edition with various suggestions for alternate readings in the apparatus, see
the Coptic text edited by Bentley Layton and the English translation by Thomas O. Lambdin in Nag Hammadi
Codex I, 2–7, 72–77. For an example of an attempt at an emended text along with a list of other interpretations,
see Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 150–53; cf. Nordsieck, Das Thomas-Evangelium, 236–41. For a somewhat
different understanding of logion 61, an understanding that moves the meaning of the saying in the direction of
Johannine theology, see DeConick, The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 201–4.
159. Interestingly, Luke uses the noun didaskalos in his Gospel more often (17x, almost always of Jesus)
than any other NT evangelist, and indeed more than any other book in the NT. In contrast, Acts uses the noun
only once.
160. Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 54–56) fails to note these Lucan redactional traits in his
treatment of CGT 72; contrast Gathercole, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 482.
161. Similar to these Lucan introductions, but with a more specific designation of the particular man or men
involved in the parable, are the parables of the Two Debtors (Luke 7:41, danistę tini, “a certain creditor”), the
Widow and the Judge (18:2, kritēs tis, “a certain judge”), and the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (18:10,
anthrōpoi dyo, “two men”). In addition, there are two Marcan parables that begin with anthrōpos, but without
the accompanying tis: the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (Mark 12:1) and the Doorkeeper (13:34). While the
Matthean parallel follows Mark in both cases, Luke probably has anthrōpos tis at the beginning of the Evil
Tenants parable (Luke 20:9). Understandably, on such a small point, the Greek manuscripts vary. While some
later Matthean manuscripts read tis in 21:33, the more likely textual reading omits it. The manuscripts of Luke
20:9 likewise vary; tis may be original, though this is not certain. The beginning of Matthew’s version of the
Lost Sheep (18:12) comes close to beginning with “a man” (anthrōpos tis), but there we are dealing with an
introductory question and then the opening of a conditional clause: “What do you think? If a man has a
hundred sheep. . . .” The Lucan parallel (15:4) makes the beginning of the parable itself a question: “What man
among you, having a hundred sheep . . . ?” On anthrōpos tis in Lucan parables, see Heininger’s concluding
remarks in Metaphorik, 220–23.
162. In the latter two cases (the Dishonest Steward and the Rich Man and Lazarus), the verb n (“there was
. . .”) separates the adjective plousios from the preceding anthrōpos tis. In the first case (the Rich Fool), the
phrase “a certain rich man” stands in the genitive case, depending on the noun chōra (“land”). All the more
interesting, then, is the fact that Luke “throws” the genitive phrase forward in the sentence to make it the
opening of the parable.
163. Hence it is surprising that Heininger (Metaphorik, 113) assigns anthrōpou tinos plousiou (“of a certain
rich man”) to a hypothetical pre-Lucan parable created by some Christian community (a parable that does not
go back to Jesus). Heininger would have done better to abide by his initial observation (p. 112) that such a
carefully constructed unit as Luke 12:16–20 resists any neat division into pre-Lucan tradition and Lucan
redaction. Theoretically, it remains possible that Luke has taken over not just some OT sapiential motifs (found
in many places besides Ben Sira) but also a particular short narrative from the oral tradition. Yet the massive
rewriting by Luke the creative literary artist (a major point of Heininger’s monograph) would make the
reconstruction of the hypothetical narrative source nigh impossible. See, in contrast, Gathercole, The Gospel of
Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 451.
164. As was noted earlier, ancient Greek sometimes uses the indefinite pronoun or adjective tis for an
indefinite article, which Coptic, unlike Greek, does have. This seems to be the case here. Hence it is correct to
see the Coptic construction of indefinite article (ou) + noun (rōme) + Greek adjective (plousios) as the exact
translation of Luke’s Greek phrase. Interestingly, the RSV, the NRSV, and the revised NT of the NAB all
translate anthrōpou tinos plousiou in Luke 12:16 simply as “a rich man.”
165. See the Sahidic Coptic text of Luke 12:16 in G. Horner, The Coptic Version of the New Testament in the
Southern Dialect (3 vols.; Osnabrück: Otto Zeller, 1969; originally, Oxford: Clarendon, 1911–24) 2. 242;
likewise Hans Quecke, Das Lukasevangelium Saïdisch (Studia et textus 6; Barcelona: Papyrologica
Castroctaviana, 1977) 193. Patterson (The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus, 47–48) completely overlooks Luke’s
redactional fingerprints in CGT 63.
166. For an overview of the use of monologues in Luke’s parables, see Philip Sellew, “Interior Monologue as
a Narrative Device in the Parables of Luke,” JBL 111 (1992) 239–53; for a fuller treatment, see Heininger,
Metaphorik. The instances that Sellew lists are (using his terminology) the Foolish Farmer (12:16–20), the
Unfaithful Servant (12:42–46), the Prodigal Son (15:11–32), the Crafty Steward (16:1–8a), the Unjust Judge
(18:2–5), and the Owner of the Vineyard (20:9–16). See also Donahue, The Gospel in Parable, 126–93, esp.
126, 176–78. Oddly, Sellew (p. 245) tries to claim that the plan of the rich man in the Thomasine parallel (CGT
63) qualifies as “ordinary external speech,” since the monologue is introduced by a stock phrase of Thomas,
pejaf (“he said”). Yet CGT 63 immediately follows up the rich man’s monologue with the resumptive
statement: “These were his thoughts on these matters in his mind.” (That the Coptic noun hēt signifies here the
“mind,” and not the affections of the “heart,” is rightly affirmed by Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 155.) This
explicit and emphatic description of the preceding quotation as thoughts in the man’s mind indicates that “he
said” is to be interpreted as “he said to himself,” i.e., in inner monologue; thus Fieger (Das Thomasevangelium,
182) is correct in referring to the rich man’s words as a Selbstgespräch. As a matter of fact, this same
combination of thinking and saying is found in Luke’s version of the parable (12:17): “And he pondered within
himself, saying. . . .” As often happens, what stands together in the Synoptic text is separated in CGT.
Apparently, Sellew’s strange claim that CGT 63 contains “ordinary external speech” rather than a true inner
monologue is influenced by his previous claim (p. 244) that the Thomasine version of the parable represents an
independent source—a position that he assumes rather than proves. This assertion of the independence of CGT
63 moves Sellew to claim that “Thomas’s version of the parable is closer to what both gospel writers received
in their tradition.” Once one realizes that Thomas’ version does contain a genuine inner monologue, the exact
opposite judgment becomes more probable: the characteristically Lucan technique of the inner monologue
provides an argument for Thomas’ dependence.
167. One might even question whether the plain statement of fact (“my master delays”) that the servant
speaks to himself in Q (Matt 24:48 || Luke 12:45) really qualifies as an inner monologue in the Lucan sense,
since the four-word observation in Greek lacks any sense of pondering or debating with oneself. In another bit
of Q material (Matt 12:44 || Luke 11:24), one finds a brief monologue spoken by a demon who has been
expelled from his human host by exorcism and can find no other resting place: “I shall return to my house
whence I went forth.” But this passage probably should not be considered part of a parable. Rather, having just
performed an exorcism, Jesus is commenting on how in fact exorcised demons act (bear in mind how real all
this was to the ancient world) and how therefore one must be on guard against their return with still greater
forces. At the end of the passage, only the Matthean Jesus, by way of comparison, applies this (in the mind of
his audience) very real state of affairs to “this evil generation.”
168. As we have seen throughout our probes of CGT, and especially in the parable of the Evil Tenants,
Thomas shows a marked tendency to move in the direction of Luke’s redaction. In a sense, this is true even
here. Luke alone among the Synoptics expands the laconic monologue of the father found in Mark 12:6c. (The
claim of Sellew [“Interior Monologue,” 248] that Mark 12:6 represents a statement spoken out loud is quite
arbitrary and runs contrary to the natural sense of the text.) CGT 65 likewise develops the literary mechanism
of the monologue of the father, but in its own way. Instead of expanding the single monologue of the father (as
Luke does), Thomas creates a second, balancing monologue in the mouth of the father as he comments on the
beating that his servant has received: “Perhaps he did not know them.” The Lucan influence in this type of
expansion can be seen in the repetition of the softening “perhaps” at the beginning of what is otherwise an
improbable calculation. In the Synoptics, only Luke inserts that qualification into the father’s monologue.
169. The parable of the Lost Sheep in CGT 107 hardly qualifies, since the parable ends with the shepherd
addressing the lost sheep, whom “I love more than the ninety-nine.” The single lost sheep, larger than all the
others and the object of the shepherd’s unique love and care, probably represents Thomas’ ideal disciple, the
solitary (or, as some would have it, the gnostic).
170. The noun noyte (“god”) is found only in CGT 30 and 100. Analyzing both sayings in detail would take
us too far afield, especially since the Coptic text of logion 30 may be corrupt, and the partially preserved Greek
text from P.Oxy. 1 differs in some notable ways from the Coptic; see DeConick, The Original Gospel of
Thomas in Translation, 135–38; Plisch, The Gospel of Thomas, 97–99. In any event, I read both sayings as
implying a denigration or “downgrading” of the term “god.”
171. Especially in popular presentations, it has not been stressed enough that only about half of the 114 logia
in CGT have solid Synoptic parallels (as distinct from parallels of individual words or motifs). As noted earlier,
both Plisch and DeConick agree that logion 52 does not go back to the historical Jesus. That judgment can be
duplicated quite easily in the case of those sayings that reflect later Christian disputes: e.g., about the Trinity
(logion 30 at least in the Coptic version), positions of leadership (logia 3, 12, 13, 114), and/or the
pantheistic/mystical/gnostic syncretism widespread in the Mediterranean world around the turn of the era (logia
7, 11, 18, 19, 22, 28, 29, 49, 50, 70, 77, 83, 84, 106, 108, 114). It is precisely this syncretistic milieu that makes
it difficult to choose among labels like “gnostic,” “gnosticizing,” “Middle-Platonic,” and “Platonic-Hellenistic”
myths.—As for the parables in CGT that lack any clear Synoptic parallels, the three parables commonly labeled
the Little Children in the Field (logion 21), the Woman with an Empty Jar (logion 97), and the Assassin (logion
98) obviously do not meet the criterion of multiple attestation. Indeed, as far as I can see, they cannot meet any
of the standard criteria of historicity. At times it is claimed that one can hear in one or another of these parables
“the authentic voice of Jesus.” Just as I have never had the privilege of a vision of the historical Jesus, so too I
have never enjoyed the privilege of hearing his voice. I seriously doubt that any other quester for the historical
Jesus has either. The whole point of employing criteria is to avoid the uncontrollable subjectivity (and
sometimes the sentimental romanticism) involved in a judgment like “it sounds like Jesus to me” or “I hear his
voice in this saying.” The Thomasine parable of the Wise Fisherman (logion 8) would enjoy multiple
attestation if it were judged to be an alternate version of the uniquely Matthean parable of the Fish Net (or
Dragnet) (Matt 13:47–50). However, I agree with Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus, 304) that CGT 8 and Matt
13:47–50 represent two different parables with similar imagery. Hence one cannot speak of multiple attestation
of the same parable. In a somewhat different vein, Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 316) thinks that both the
Matthean and the Thomasine parables “were probably built on the basis of a proverb”; he concludes that it is
impossible “to reconstruct an originating structure for a Jesus parable. . . .”
172. The Thomasine tendency to conflate and/or abbreviate various forms of the Synoptics is so pervasive
that it is reasonable to suppose that it held true of any earlier, hypothetical collections that were eventually
brought together to create the form of the Gospel of Thomas we possess. I doubt that anything more definite
can be said on this subject. The problem is that any attempt to trace the development of earlier, smaller
collections involves extremely tenuous hypotheses that lie beyond any methodological control. Hence, for all
the deep knowledge that her theory of a rolling corpus of oral traditions (originating in a primitive kernel
Gospel that grows through later accretions) displays, I do not think that April D. DeConick has succeeded in
convincing most scholars of her reconstruction of the compositional history of Thomas. For the full exposition
of her theory, see her Recovering the Original Gospel of Thomas. A History of the Gospel and Its Growth
(Library of New Testament Studies 286; London/New York: Clark, 2005); the theory is briefly summarized in
her The Original Gospel of Thomas in Translation, 2–42.
173. As an aside, one might ask: If independence of a Thomasine logion were proven in an individual case,
what difference would it make in the long run for the overall portrait of the historical Jesus? I raise this
question because of an intriguing phenomenon pointed out by Perrin (“Recent Trends,” 188–89): in a
surprisingly large number of the books and articles that have championed the independence of Thomas from
the Synoptics, the logia of CGT in the end play very little if any role in the authors’ reconstructions of the
historical Jesus. One is reminded of Horace in his Ars Poetica (line 139): parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus
mus.
CHAPTER 39
SEARCHING FOR LIKELY CANDIDATES: A
SURVEY OF THE SYNOPTIC PARABLES

I. INTRODUCTION BY WAY OF RECAPITULATION

The seven unfashionable theses in Chapter 37 and the examination of parables in
the Coptic Gospel of Thomas (= CGT) in Chapter 38 have led the patient reader
through a gauntlet of contrarian positions on the parables. It may be helpful to
pause, catch our collective breath, and ponder where we have come from and
where we are going.
The cumulative argument presented in Chapters 37 and 38 might seem to have
placed us in a difficult if not untenable position. First, the seven unfashionable
theses of Chapter 37 challenged the scholarly consensus in parable research by
maintaining that most of the parables could not meet the test of authenticity posed
by the various criteria of historicity. Second, Chapter 38 reinforced this position
by arguing that the Coptic Gospel of Thomas does not provide an early and
independent source for the sayings of Jesus in general or the parables in
particular. In test case after test case, both inside and outside the parable tradition,
CGT showed signs of dependence on the Synoptics. The probable conclusion
arising from these tests is that, when trying to satisfy the criterion of multiple
attestation of independent sources, the Synoptic parables cannot call upon CGT
for support. Faced with these negative results, we might well ask whether we can
show that any of the Synoptic parables comes from the historical Jesus. After all,
it is theoretically possible that all the parables were created by anonymous first-
generation bearers of the Jesus tradition and were then added to the authentic
words and deeds of Jesus on the way toward the composition of the Synoptic
Gospels.
In a sense, then, we seem caught between a naive Scylla and a skeptical
Charybdis. Shall we relapse into the uncritical acceptance of almost all the
parables as authentic Jesus tradition, or shall we embrace the opposite extreme of
rejecting all the parables as inauthentic? While this latter option might strike most
people as absurd, recent Scripture scholarship has created a track record of
adopting extreme positions for the sake of fostering academic debate and/or
notoriety. If some critics in the past rejected the miracle tradition of the Gospels
en masse, why cannot other critics reject the parable tradition en masse? Most of
the individual parables, like most of the individual miracle stories, lack multiple
attestation of independent sources.
I highlight these extreme options of gullible acceptance or hypercritical
rejection in order to press home the key question that any student of the parables
must keep asking: How do I know that this particular parable was spoken (in
some form or other) by the historical Jesus? The answer to this basic how-do-I-
know question, when asked in regard to a particular parable, must be the same
answer that was given when any other saying or deed of Jesus was examined in
our four previous volumes. We can accept this or that particular parable as
authentic if it can satisfy one or more of the criteria of historicity—the same
criteria that other pieces of Jesus tradition have had to satisfy. The parables get no
special exemption and no special treatment. It was the contention of Chapters 37
and 38 that, without special treatment, most of the parables cannot garner
sufficient positive support from the criteria.
One must be clear about what this claim means and does not mean. The failure
to obtain positive support from the criteria does not automatically prove that these
parables do not come from Jesus. Parables lacking positive support may instead
belong to that galling middle column in our minds, namely, non liquet (not clear
either way). The problem with many quests for the historical Jesus is that the
questers presume from the start a binary system that allows for only two options.
For the skeptic, either the material is clearly proven to be authentic, or by default
it must be rejected as inauthentic. For the believer, either the material is clearly
proven to be inauthentic, or by default it must be accepted as authentic. Yet, as
any serious historian knows, in a disputed case of historical fact a scholar can
examine all the relevant data with great care, employ all the applicable criteria for
reaching a balanced judgment on historicity, and still wind up with a question
mark—usually because the data are so sparse and/or ambiguous.
My claim is that this is the problem with most of the Synoptic parables when
examined one by one. To repeat a vital point: I am not questioning that the
historical Jesus used parables in his teaching. That assertion is supported by every
Synoptic source (Mark, Q, M, and L) as well as by the comments of each
Synoptic evangelist. The global assertion that Jesus used parables is no more in
dispute among serious scholars today than is the global assertion that Jesus
performed startling deeds that he and his followers considered miracles. Both
statements are supported by massive multiple attestation of independent sources.
But just as it is extremely difficult to descend from the global assertion about
miracles to a judgment about an individual report of a supposed miracle (i.e., does
this event, whatever its precise nature, go back to the ministry of the historical
Jesus?), so too is it difficult to descend from a global judgment that Jesus spoke in
parables to the individual judgment that he spoke this or that particular parable.
As I have already argued in Thesis Seven of Chapter 37, the basic problem is that
quite often the criteria do not apply. But it was one thing to offer a brief summary
of such an argument in Thesis Seven. It is quite another thing to flesh out this
argument by surveying all the narrative parables of the Synoptics in order to show
that only a few parables seem likely to meet any of the criteria of authenticity. It
is to that survey that we now turn, as we search among the many candidates for
any parables that might sustain a credible claim to come from the historical Jesus.

II. A SURVEY OF THE SYNOPTIC PARABLES BY SOURCES

Any survey of the Synoptic parables must begin by grappling with the question of
how one should order, categorize, or subdivide the corpus of Jesus’ parables. We
need only look at the table of contents of major books on the parables to discover
that each book organizes and labels the parables in its own way.1 In most cases,
the common element underlying these diverse approaches is a series of key
themes or topics (usually theological, though sometimes sociological) that can
serve as boxes into which individual parables can be tossed and categorized. Not
surprisingly, these key themes, even when they hew close to biblical terminology,
turn out to be notably different in different authors. Compounding the confusion,
some authors honestly admit that a given parable may fit into more than one of
the capacious themes employed as major categories.
We are left asking whether there is a more objective or even-handed way of
ordering the Synoptic parables. I would suggest a relatively neutral standard: the
division of the parables according to the earliest independent source(s) in which
each parable appears. Thus, in the following catalogue, I will order the parables
according to their Gospel sources and their location within a given source: Mark,
Q, M (material unique to Matthew’s Gospel), or L (material unique to Luke’s
Gospel). As I draw up this catalogue, I will note alongside the source text any
parallels found in the other Synoptic Gospels, as well as in CGT. The goal of this
initial inspection is simple. In each Gospel source, we will be asking one basic
question: Do any of these narrative parables give a preliminary indication of
satisfying one or more of the criteria of historicity—notably, the criterion of
multiple attestation of independent sources—thus escaping the judgment of either
“inauthentic” or non liquet?2 The emphasis here must be on the word
“preliminary.” This catalogue is meant simply to surface candidates for closer
inspection. In our next chapter, we will return to the promising specimens after
our initial winnowing is finished.
A. MARCAN NARRATIVE PARABLES
1. Sower—Mark 4:3–8 || Matt 13:3–8 || Luke 8:5–8 || CGT 9
2. Seed Growing by Itself—Mark 4:26–29 [|| fragment at the end of CGT 21?]
3. Mustard Seed—Mark 4:30–32 || Matt 13:31–32 || Luke 13:18–19 || CGT 20 [a Mark–Q overlap]
4. Evil Tenants of the Vineyard—Mark 12:1–11 || Matt 21:33–44 || Luke 20:9–18 || CGT 65
5.? Doorkeeper—Mark 13:33–37 || Luke 12:35–38 [problem of (i) whether the Marcan version qualifies as
a parable and (ii) whether this is a case of two different sources or even of two different parables]

This quick overview shows that Mark contains four or five narrative parables.
A number of initial observations will aid the winnowing process. (1) Intriguingly,
CGT contains parallels to whole Marcan parables (as opposed to possible
fragments) only in the cases where a Marcan parable is also taken over by both
Matthew and Luke. Not surprisingly, then, as we have already seen in the cases of
the Mustard Seed and the Evil Tenants in Chapter 38, CGT’s parallel to a Marcan
parable regularly presents a text conflated from the various Synoptic versions.
While the parable of the Sower is a difficult case to judge, even there I think it
more likely than not that CGT 9 evinces signs of Synoptic influence.3 It seems
unlikely, then, that CGT supplies independent attestation for any of the Marcan
parables. (2) Thus, the only clear candidate for a parable that meets the criterion
of multiple attestation of independent sources is the parable of the Mustard Seed,
since it is witnessed by both Mark and Q. In contrast, not only does the Seed
Growing by Itself lack multiple attestation, it is not even taken over by Matthew
or Luke.4 (3) The parable of the Evil Tenants occupies a unique place among the
Marcan parables. Although it does not enjoy multiple attestation (CGT 65 shows
traces of all three Synoptic versions, especially Luke), our analysis in Chapter 38
pointed to some intriguing aspects about this parable: (i) Among all the parables,
only here does the Synoptic Jesus make a clear allusion to himself and his violent
rejection by the authorities. (ii) The primitive version of the parable probably
ended either with the death of the son or with the slaying of the evil tenants. The
citation of Psalm 118, alluding to Jesus’ vindication by way of resurrection, is
generally judged to be a secondary addition. This raises the possibility that we
may be able to appeal to the criterion of discontinuity and/or embarrassment in
constructing an argument for the historicity of the primitive version of the
parable. (4) The parable of the Doorkeeper is a debatable case. Luke 12:35–38
could represent a creative rewriting of Mark 13:33–37 (hence only one source),
an independent source of the same parable, or a similar but different parable.
More to the point, though, the metaphor in Mark 13:33–37 is actually limited to v
34 and hence lacks the development of a story line to qualify as a narrative
parable. Consequently, I do not consider the Marcan logion of the Doorkeeper to
be a genuine narrative parable, let alone one that enjoys multiple attestation.5
B. NARRATIVE PARABLES IN Q (OR: PARABLES FOUND IN BOTH
MATTHEW AND LUKE BUT NOT IN MARK, LISTED IN THE LUCAN
ORDER)
1. Wise and Foolish Builders—Matt 7:24–27 || Luke 6:47–49
2. Servant Placed over a Household—Matt 24:45–51 || Luke 12:42–46
3. Mustard Seed—Matt 13:31–32 || Luke 13:18–19; cf. Mark 4:30–32 || CGT 20 [a Mark–Q overlap]
4. Leaven—Matt 13:33 || Luke 13:20–21 || CGT 96
5. Great Supper—Matt 22:1–10 || Luke 14:16–24 || CGT 64 [or different M and L versions?]
6. Lost Sheep—Matt 18:12–14 || Luke 15:4–7 || CGT 107
7. Talents (Pounds)—Matt 25:14–30 || Luke 19:12–27 [or different M and L versions?]
The Q tradition contains a few surprises. (1) Not unlike the Synoptic parables
in general, Q material is sometimes accepted uncritically as the earliest and most
assured access to the teaching of the historical Jesus. Hence Q parables enjoy an
almost automatic cachet among critics. It is curious, then, to note that even if we
count the parable of the Great Supper and the parable of the Talents, Q contains
only seven narrative parables—fewer than what we find in M and L. Indeed, if we
should judge the Great Supper and the Talents to be examples of independent M
and L traditions (as some critics do), Q would have only five parables.6 By way
of comparison: Mark has four (some would say five), M has nine, and L a
remarkable—and curiosity-pricking—thirteen parables. (2) As for the criteria, we
have already seen that only the Mustard Seed, as a Mark–Q overlap, clearly
enjoys multiple attestation. The Great Supper and the Talents would join the list
of multiply attested parables if we moved them from the category of Q parables to
the separate list of parables found in both M and L traditions. These parables
would thus enjoy a good argument for authenticity, but of course not as Q
parables. (3) Attempts to use other criteria to argue for the authenticity of some of
the Q parables are dubious, if not specious. To take a salient example, some
authors claim that in ancient literature leaven was always a symbol of corruption.
Therefore, its appearance in the parable of the Leaven as a positive symbol of the
kingdom of God is the sort of discontinuous and/or embarrassing rhetoric that one
would expect from the historical Jesus. However, closer examination of the
sources reveals that in the ancient world leaven symbolized a whole range of
ideas, some positive, some negative. There is nothing inherently embarrassing or
shocking in the use of leaven as a symbol of the kingdom, and hence the
argument from embarrassment or discontinuity fails.7

C. NARRATIVE PARABLES IN M
1. Wheat and Weeds—13:24–30 || CGT 57
2. Treasure Hidden in the Field—13:44 || CGT 109
 3. Pearl—13:45–46 || CGT 76
4. Fish Net—13:47–48 [Is CGT 8 a parallel? Or is it possibly a separate parable, “The Wise Fisherman”?]
5. Unmerciful Servant—18:23–35
6. Workers in the Vineyard—20:1–16
7. Two Sons—21:28–32
8. Guest without a Wedding Garment—22:11–14
9. Ten Virgins—25:1–13
[The Scene of the Last Judgment—25:31–46—is not properly a parable.]8

Coming from the Marcan and Q parables to the M tradition, we are struck by a
number of differences. (1) Compared to the four (or five) parables in Mark and
possibly as few as five in Q, the M source contains nine parables (eleven, if we
count the Great Supper and the Talents as M rather than Q material). We see that
Synoptic parables are by no means limited to the earliest and supposedly most
reliable sources. (2) Similarly, the parables of the M tradition remind us that
CGT’s parallels are not found solely in the early traditions of Mark and Q. At
least three and possibly four of the M parables (the Fish Net is an uncertain case)
have parallels in CGT. In other words, the parables in CGT do not always match
up with the presumably earliest strata of the Synoptic tradition. (3) There is
practically no debate over whether most of these nine Matthean candidates rank
as narrative parables rather than similitudes. Clearly, the core metaphor of some
specimens has been “stretched out” to a narrative of notable length (e.g., the
Unmerciful Servant, the Workers in the Vineyard, and the Ten Virgins). Yet even
the trio of very short M parables that concludes Matthew’s parable discourse in
chap. 13 (the Treasure Hidden in the Field [one verse], the Pearl [two verses], and
the Fish Net [four verses, counting the nimšāl]) contains in each instance a mini-
story with an implicit beginning, middle, and end. (4) Despite the large number of
M parables, it is difficult to see how any of them can meet the criteria of
historicity. If we prescind from the debatable cases of the Great Supper and the
Talents, the M parables by definition have no multiple attestation by independent
sources in the Synoptic tradition. Other criteria like discontinuity or
embarrassment do not apply. (5) To make things worse, a good number of the M
parables evince what one might call a strong Matthean redactional tone,
coloration, or theology.
The “aggravating factor” highlighted by this fifth observation needs to be
examined a little further if we are to appreciate the special difficulty involved in
attributing M parables to the historical Jesus. Commentators on Matthew’s Gospel
regularly underscore key themes that are typical of Matthew’s theology: the
definitive separation of good and evil at the last judgment, the severity of that
final judgment as a motive for good conduct in this present life, the consequent
emphasis on stringent moral activity, total commitment, and constant vigilance—
an emphasis that focuses on doing God’s will instead of paying lip service to it
(the danger of hypocrisy).9 Such typically Matthean themes are prominent in
many of the M parables (e.g., the Wheat and the Weeds, the Fish Net, the
Unmerciful Servant, the Two Sons, the Guest without a Wedding Garment, and
the Ten Virgins), making a claim of authenticity still more difficult to
demonstrate. Indeed, in a few cases I would consider an origin stemming from the
historical Jesus practically excluded. Take, for example, the conclusion (Matt
22:11–14) of Matthew’s heavily redacted version of the Great Supper (22:1–10—
Q or M tradition?). Compared with Luke’s version of the story, in Matt 22:1–10
the Great Supper has become a detailed allegory of salvation history. As we shall
see in detail in Chapter 40, Matthew’s linguistic and theological fingerprints are
already clearly present in the main part (vv 1–10) of the story. The logic of the
Matthean version of this parable, which ends in the present “time of the church,”
demands that the hall (= the church) in which the wedding feast of the son (= the
risen Jesus) is being celebrated be filled with “bad and good” alike (notice the
order of the adjectives in 22:10). Here we have Matthew’s signature theme of the
world in general and the church in particular being a “mixed bag” of good and
evil in the present period of salvation history.
However, to Matthew’s mind, things cannot be left in that messy, mixed-up
state. Matthew’s theology, though not the narrative logic of the Great Supper
taken in isolation, demands a concluding and definitive separation of the bad from
the good. To supply the desired dénouement, Matthew tacks on a separate mini-
parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment (Matt 22:11–14). The logical
connection between this add-on and the main parable is strained at best. How can
someone suddenly pulled off the street and thrust into a wedding feast be blamed
for not having the proper attire for a wedding? But for Matthew such minor
problems of continuity are beside the point. His theology demands a resolution of
the mixed-bag state of the church in the present world by a severe final judgment,
and his add-on parable of the guest who is dragged in only to be tossed out
answers his theological imperative. In my view, the most likely conclusion is that
this parable about the sartorially challenged guest, a parable that makes no sense
when detached from the Great Supper, is Matthew’s own creation.10
To be sure, this is an extreme case of Matthew’s redactional hand leaving
fingerprints all over the composition. But traces of the same prints can be found
on many of the other M parables. Granted, in themselves such traits do not prove
that the other M parables do not go back to Jesus. But they make a positive proof
that these M parables do in fact go back to him more arduous. The dreaded
judgment of non liquet looms in the near distance. In the end, given the heavy
Matthean redactional tone pervading so many of the M parables, even if we peel
away everything that comes from Matthew or his M tradition, what are we left
with? Indeed, is there anything left? How can we know what the contours and
message of the hypothetical original parable underlying the supposed M tradition
were like?

D. NARRATIVE PARABLES IN L
1.? Two Debtors—7:41–43 [parable or similitude?]
2. Good Samaritan—10:29–37
3. Friend at Midnight—11:5–8
4. Rich Fool—12:16–21 || CGT 63
5. Barren Fig Tree—13:6–9
6. Tower Builder and Warring King—14:28–32 [to be counted separately?]
7. Lost Coin—15:8–10
8. Prodigal Son—15:11–32
9. Dishonest Steward—16:1–8
10. Rich Man and Lazarus—16:19–31
11. Servant’s Duty—17:7–10
12. Widow and Unjust Judge—18:1–8
13. Pharisee and Tax Collector—18:9–14

The L parables are not without their share of surprises that need to be examined
at some length.
(1) A major surprise is the realization that the L tradition contains the largest
number of parables proper to one Synoptic source: thirteen or fourteen (if we
count the double parable of the Tower Builder and the Warring King separately)
—or even sixteen (if we count the Lucan forms of the Great Supper and the
Talents as L rather than Q material).11
(2) If nothing else, this should raise further questions about the uncritical
assumption that parables are the most assured bedrock of the Jesus tradition,
material that can almost automatically be attributed to Jesus unless sērious
objections stand in the way. In my opinion, the opposite presumption should hold
true for the L parables.
To start with: for the sake of argument, let us accept the common view that the
chronological order of the Synoptic Gospels (plus the hypothetical Q document)
is Q—Mark—Matthew—Luke (the composition of Luke sometimes being put as
late as the early 2d century). If we grant this theory, an intriguing pattern arises. In
the first Christian generation, both Q and Mark are notable for the relatively small
number of narrative parables they contain (by one count, as few as four each). In
the second Christian generation, the number of parables proper to a given Gospel
jumps to nine (or possibly eleven) in Matthew. The inflation of parables found
only in a Gospel’s special source continues in Luke (composed possibly as late as
the beginning of the third Christian generation), which contains at least thirteen
and possibly sixteen L parables. To be sure, these statistics do not prove that the
parables found only in M and L are not authentic; later literary sources may well
contain primitive traditions. Nevertheless, the increasing number of unique
parables in chronologically later Gospels should at least give one pause before
presuming that any and every Synoptic parable is to be attributed to the historical
Jesus unless serious objections intervene.
(3) In the view of some scholars, serious objections do intervene in the case of
the L parables. Not unlike the M parables, the L parables, besides lacking
multiple attestation, strongly reflect the redactional theology of the Gospel in
which they are found.12 Among the many theological themes and concerns
pervading the massive project of Luke–Acts, a basso continuo is created by the
overarching, global theme of the crossing of boundaries, be those boundaries
religious, ethnic, social, or economic. This global theme finds individualized
expression in the more specific themes of (i) concern for the poor, the oppressed,
and the marginalized (including women), (ii) the consequent excoriating of the
wealthy and the powerful who do not help the poor, (iii) the power of the
prayer/petition of the marginalized, (iv) the unearned forgiveness offered to
sinners, (v) the danger of neglecting this offer by refusing to repent, and (vi) the
encapsulation of most of these themes within the theme of the inclusion of the
Gentiles in the people of God (prefigured in the Gospel and realized in Acts). One
need only peruse the list of L parables to appreciate how much they are steeped in
and give voice to these redactional concerns of Luke.
(4) These notably Lucan theological themes in the parables unique to him are
often matched and reinforced by vocabulary, grammar, literary form, and style
that are typical of Luke. A prime example of such Lucan stylistic traits is the
developed inner monologue, unique to L parables within the Synoptic corpus.13
In a sense, then, the L parables present us with an aggravated case of the M
parables. By definition, the L parables lack multiple attestation; they are suffused
with the theological concerns of Luke; and they also bear clear marks of his
literary style. This is true even on the macro level: all but the first of the L
parables (if, indeed, we count 7:41–43 as a parable and not a similitude) are
placed by Luke in his artificially constructed Great Journey Narrative (chaps. 9–
19). When we add all these considerations to the already noted “aggravating
factor” that these L parables are found in the last Synoptic Gospel to be written,
perhaps as late as the early 2d century, we are forced to ask: By what criterion or
argument can we attribute any L parable to the historical Jesus? Even if we did
suspect that a given L parable went back to Jesus, what would it sound like and
what would it say once the characteristic vocabulary, style, redactional theology,
and redactional context of Luke were all removed?
(5) As if all this were not enough, the L parables suffer from a further handicap
above and beyond what we find in the M parables. Scholars widely acknowledge
that Luke’s Gospel, compared to Mark and Matthew, has a notable Pauline ring to
it.14 In fact, at times the ring becomes quite audible in the very wording of the
Gospel (to say nothing of Acts). The most notable example is supplied by the
eucharistic words at the Last Supper in Luke 22:19–20. The Lucan version of the
text clearly reflects Paul’s eucharistic tradition in 1 Cor 11:23–26 more than it
does Mark 14:22–24.15 Hence it may not be just the overactive imagination of
some commentators that sees in some of the L parables Pauline themes like
justification apart from the works of the Law or the inclusion of non-Jews in the
people of God. Think, for instance, of the Prodigal Son, the Pharisee and the Tax
Collector, and the Good Samaritan. Yet these are precisely the L parables that
Christian instincts, critical or not, spontaneously want to attribute to Jesus. Here,
as in Corinth, the dour Paul—or at least the echoes of his theology in Luke’s
Gospel—should check the excesses of Christian enthusiasm when it comes to
identifying Jesus as the source of any or all of the L parables.
I readily admit, though, that all this talk about specific Lucan vocabulary,
grammar, literary forms, and style—plus some theological concerns reminiscent
of Paul—can sound like vague and sweeping generalizations, especially to critics
who prefer to maintain the historical Jesus as the source of the L parables. One
way of responding to these understandable demurs, while at the same time
strengthening the conclusions we have drawn from the inventory of the L
parables, is to focus on one prime example of an L parable and to subject it to
detailed analysis. But which L parable might serve as the perfect specimen for the
experiment?

III. A TEST CASE FROM LUKE: THE GOD SAMARITAN

If we set out in search for the perfect specimen of an L parable, the quest will not
last very long. Surely no L parable is better known and loved than the Good
Samaritan. Its image, message, and very title have become part of popular thought
and speech—testimony to the psychological power that a well-crafted parable can
exert. I dare say, many non-Christians would probably be as dismayed as most
Christians by the judgment that the parable of the Good Samaritan is a creation
not of Jesus but of either the early church or Luke himself. Such a claim runs
counter to the tacit academic postulate that good things come from the historical
Jesus and bad things come from the early church. Would that Gospel criticism
were so simple.
In fact, a solid argument can be mounted for the claim that the Good Samaritan
was composed neither by Jesus nor by the early bearers of the oral tradition but
rather by the evangelist whom we call Luke. A number of critics have in fact
defended this less-than-popular view, prominent among them being Gerhard
Sellin in a lengthy two-part article.16 While I do not agree with all of Sellin’s
claims, I think that, for the most part, he constructs a credible, cumulative
argument. As I take over and retool his argument, though, I think it best to begin
with some general observations about the Good Samaritan as a typical L parable,
reflecting the traits that distinguish L parables from other Synoptic parables. Then
we can move to the details of the Good Samaritan.

A. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS ON THE GOOD SAMARITAN AS AN L

PARABLE
(1) Taken together in a broad overview, the L parables have a different “feel”
from those of Mark and Matthew.17 For example, the L parables are more focused
on (i) realistic presentations of human individuals with inner psychological lives
as well as on (ii) the practical moral applications of the stories. Moreover, unlike
the Marcan and Q parables that Luke takes over, the L parables encompass a wide
range of social and religious relations, classes, and professions: e.g., money-
lender, householder, steward, vine-dresser, priest, Levite, Samaritan, innkeeper,
judge, constable, publican (= tax collector), and Pharisee. As Birger Gerhardsson
puts it, Luke’s special parables display the “complexity” of “civilized society
more clearly” than those of Mark or Matthew.18 At the same time, they are less
concerned with allegory than, most notably, the M parables.19 It is not for nothing
that many critics from Adolf Jülicher onward have identified a special type of
parable unique to Luke among the Synoptics, the so-called example story or
exemplary narrative (Beispielerzählung). The candidates usually admitted to this
exclusive club are the Good Samaritan, the Rich Fool, the Rich Man and Lazarus,
and the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. (Some commentators also include the L
parable of the Dishonest Steward.) All four of these stories seek to inculcate
proper attitudes and behavior by offering positive examples to be imitated or
negative examples to be avoided. The message conveyed by these four stories is
fairly straightforward, without the puzzling metaphorical or allegorical thrust
found in some parables. All four likewise involve a surprising reversal of standard
expectations. Whether or not these characteristics justify placing this quartet in a
separate category or subset of parables—a point debated among commentators—
the typically Lucan “feel” found in the L parables in general is especially palpable
in this foursome, to which the Good Samaritan belongs.20
(2) But to move from a general “feel” to stylistic particulars: Luke fashions the
introductions to his L parables, including the four example stories, in a strikingly
characteristic fashion. None of the L parables begins with “the kingdom of God is
like . . . ,” or indeed with any “like” or “similar to” terminology. Rather, all the L
parables begin in one way or another with the Greek pronoun tis, in either its
interrogative sense (tis ex hymōn, “who among you?”) or its indefinite sense (“a
certain” or simply “a”). More specifically, as we saw in Chapter 38 when
studying the parable of the Rich Fool, unique to Luke among the Synoptics is the
type of parable that begins with some form of anthrōpos tis, “a [certain] man.
. . .”21 Sellin counts nine of the L parables as anthrōpos tis parables. The Good
Samaritan, of course, belongs to this type of parable, bearing the typical Lucan
beginning: “A certain man [anthrōpos tis] was going down from Jerusalem to
Jericho . . .” (Luke 10:30).22
(3) Luke connects his L parables with some larger narrative structure or with a
brief introductory situation. This literary mechanism extends from the first L
parable in the Gospel (the Two Debtors, embedded in Jesus’ dialogue with the
Pharisee who objects to the sinful woman anointing Jesus’ feet) to the last L
parable in the Gospel (the Pharisee and the Tax Collector praying in the Jerusalem
temple, introduced by the statement that Jesus, soon to arrive in the Jerusalem
temple, aimed this parable at the self-righteous). When we examined the parable
of the Rich Fool in Chapter 38, we noticed how many of the short introductory
settings to the parables probably stem from Luke’s redactional hand. That is
certainly the case with the lawyer’s question about inheriting eternal life (Luke
10:25), which is both the introduction to the parable of the Good Samaritan and a
product of Luke’s massive reworking of Mark’s pericope on the two
commandments of love (Mark 12:28–34). It is these Lucan narrative introductions
or frames that guide the interpretation of the L parables, not an introductory
phrase such as “the kingdom of God [or: heaven] is like . . . ,” the type of
introduction that is at home in Mark and Matthew.
(4) Many of the stories in the L parables—and not just in the so-called example
stories—turn on the reversal of status, expectations, or values—or, put differently,
the crossing of boundaries. This is certainly the case with the Good Samaritan,
where Jewish cultic officials fail to help a (presumably) fellow Jew in desperate
need, while a Samaritan “foreigner” (cf. Luke 17:18) is moved by compassion to
rescue him.

B. THE GOOD SAMARITAN IN DETAIL

Within this larger context of what is characteristic of or special to the L parables
in general and the Good Samaritan in particular, let us now examine the specific
reasons for suspecting that Luke himself created the parable of the Good
Samaritan:23
(1) The structure of the whole of Luke 10:25–37 (narrative introduction plus
parable) argues for a holistic composition by Luke. Luke 10:25–37 consists of
two major stages of a back-and-forth conversation between a lawyer and Jesus.
Each of the two major stages (first the introduction and then the parable) has the
exact same internal structure (in each case, a type of Streitgespräch or dispute
story). The two stages, with their two parallel structures, coalesce to create a
unified and powerful literary impact.24
Stage I Narrative Introduction:
v 25—first question of lawyer to Jesus: what shall I dō?
v 26—first reply by Jesus in form of a counterquestion: what is in the Law?
v 27—lawyer forced to answer his own question with an abbreviated form of the double command of
love
v 28—approving reply of Jesus ending in a command: do this
Stage II Parable of the Good Samaritan:
v 29—second question of lawyer to Jesus: who is my neighbor?
vv 30–36—reply by Jesus in the form of a parable, culminating in a counterquestion: who is the
neighbor in this story?
v 37—lawyer forced to answer his own question: the one who did mercy
v 37b—Jesus’ approving reply in the form of a command: do likewise

This multifaceted parallel, down to repeated key words like “do,” is too perfect
to be a mere coincidence. This is all the more true since, as we have already seen,
Luke alone among the Synoptics provides a whole series of narrative
introductions to his parables. At the very least, then, the overall structure of
10:25–37, with its elegant parallel of two main stages of narrative (anecdote +
parable), is Luke’s own composition. But can we say more about his redactional
hand in each of the two stages?
(2) The introductory narrative (a type of dispute story, apophthegm, or chreia)
is clearly a product of Luke’s redaction, as a whole series of typically Lucan
words, phrases, and grammatical constructions attests.25 But the argument for
heavy Lucan redaction rests on still firmer ground. As we saw in Volume Four of
A Marginal Jew, when we treated the double command of love, Luke 10:25–28 is
simply Luke’s reformulation of the “scholastic dialogue” about the first
commandment in Mark 12:28–34. No other source besides Mark is involved.26 It
is therefore Luke himself who created the structure of the lawyer’s question,
Jesus’ counterquestion, the lawyer’s reply to his own question, and the final
command of Jesus, all tied neatly together by the inclusio of the verb “do”
(poieō). The introductory question posed by the lawyer, “What shall I do
[poiēsas] to inherit eternal life?,”27 is carefully balanced by Luke with the
concluding command of Jesus, “Do [poiei] this and you shall live.” Luke also
tightens up the sprawling Marcan version of the double command by compressing
the two separate commandments of love into a single two-part commandment in
10:27. The verb “you shall love” (agapēseis) is used only once, with God and
“your neighbor” as the double object in one long sentence that culminates with
the key phrase, “your neighbor as yourself.” This compressed formulation of the
double command of love winds up emphasizing the theme of neighbor by the
device of end stress, thus providing a smooth transition to the lawyer’s second
question in v 29: “And who is my neighbor?” The intervening verse (v 28), which
conveys Jesus’ approval, command, and promise (“You have answered correctly;
do this, and you shall live”) has a Janus-like function. On the one hand, it
concludes the introductory anecdote (Stage I) with the inclusio of the two verbs
“do” and “live” (vv 25 + 28). On the other hand, it looks forward to the parable
(Stage II), which concludes in v 37b with precisely the same verb form in its
command as in v 28: “Do [poiei] likewise.” In sum, one need only compare Luke
10:25–28 word for word with its sole source, Mark 12:28–34, to see that the
narrative introduction to the Good Samaritan is a massive creative rewriting of
Mark’s pericope by Luke. The intricate structure and verbal patterns are Luke’s
redactional creation, and it is this redactional creation that is paralleled perfectly
in the parable that follows.
(3) Before we move on to examine the parable itself, we should note a further
redactional construction that ties together the introductory narrative and the
parable. At the pivot between the anecdote and the parable stands the lawyer’s
question, seeking a definition of “my neighbor.” In itself, this is a reasonable
enough question for a lawyer to raise. When imposing obligations, laws must
draw clear lines and boundaries: you are held so far but no farther. Hence a
carefully delimited definition of who qualifies as one’s neighbor would seem
necessary if the lawyer is to know and comply with the exact extent of his
obligation to love his neighbor.28 But this is precisely what the Lucan Jesus
refuses to provide. With the typical reversal or inversion of human perspectives,
expectations, or values seen in many L parables, Jesus proceeds in vv 30–37 to
define the category of neighbor not in terms of the person-over-there but in terms
of the lawyer himself. You are to be the neighbor to anyone (including people of a
different religion or ethnic group) whom you see in need. In the end, the category
of neighbor is not a matter of abstract concepts or laws but of concrete action
(“dō” likewise) in the face of concrete suffering. Thus, contrary to the claims of
some critics, there is no basic incoherence or disruption in the treatment of the
category of neighbor as one moves from the introductory apophthegm to the
parable.29 Rather, the two stages of the overarching pericope are carefully
composed by Luke to lead the hearer (a fictional Jewish lawyer, a real Christian
audience) through a process of the “transvaluation of all values.”30 The hearer
starts out with one understanding of neighbor (as defined by Lev 19:18b: one’s
fellow member of the cultic community of Israel) and ends up with a transformed
understanding of neighbor (as “defined” in an open-ended fashion by Jesus). The
general theological theme of reversal, emphasized by Luke from the very first
chapter of his Gospel (e.g., 1:46–55), finds memorable expression in this
transvaluation of the meaning of “neighbor.”
Indeed, once we realize that this transvaluation of the category “neighbor” is
the whole point of 10:25–37, neither Stage I nor Stage I makes complete sense by
itself. For instance, the question of the lawyer in v 29 (“And who is my
neighbor?”), which triggers the telling of the parable, would pop up out of
nowhere if Stage I were not carefully constructed precisely to introduce and
motivate the question. Likewise, the concluding exchange between Jesus and the
lawyer in vv 36–37 about the true definition of one’s neighbor would not make
sense if the lawyer’s question in v 29, prompted by the introductory anecdote, did
not in turn introduce the parable.31 The interlocking structure that holds together
the whole of vv 25–37 cannot be pulled apart without a great deal of damage to
both its literary art and its movement of thought. The two stages need each other
to create a satisfyingly complete theological message as well as a satisfyingly
complete literary composition.
(4) By the time we come to an analysis of the parable proper, we are not
surprised to learn that its vocabulary and style are thoroughly Lucan, reflecting
among other traits Luke’s penchant for imitating LXX Greek.32 Moreover, key
Lucan vocabulary correlates with key Lucan theological concerns. To take one
striking example: Luke alone among the Synoptics displays interest in the
Samaritans. The words “Samaria” and “Samaritans” are absent from both Mark
and Q, our two earliest written sources for the Synoptics. In Matthew, the word
“Samaria” never occurs. The word “Samaritan” appears only in the negative
command Jesus gives the Twelve at the beginning of the missionary discourse
(Matt 10:5b–6): “Do not go to the Gentiles and do not enter a city of Samaritans;
go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” As we saw in Volume Three of
A Marginal Jew, this M saying is probably either a formulation of the early
church or a redactional creation of Matthew himself.33
 Luke–Acts stands in stark contrast to the almost total absence of Samaritans
and Samaria in Q, Mark, and Matthew.34 To understand why this should be so, it
is best to start with the explicit statement of Luke’s intention in Acts and then
move back to his Gospel. In the speech of the risen Jesus that opens the Acts of
the Apostles, Jesus—that is to say, Luke speaking through Jesus—announces the
geographical as well as salvation-historical outline of Acts (1:8): “You will be my
witnesses in Jerusalem and all Judea and Samaria and unto the end of the earth.”35
This outline is then duly played out in the subsequent chapters of Acts. The
initially successful preaching of the gospel in Jerusalem meets with increasing
persecution by the Jewish authorities (chaps. 1–5), culminating in the martyrdom
of the Hellenist Stephen (chaps. 6–7). The persecution unleashed by Stephen’s
witness and death occasions the successful mission of the Hellenist Philip
(followed by Peter and John) among the inhabitants of Samaria (8:4–25). Philip
then evangelizes the coastal towns of Judea, ending in Caesarea (8:26–40), where
Peter will soon convert the first Gentile “community,” the centurion Cornelius
along with his household and friends (chap. 10).36 Meanwhile, some of the
Hellenists scattered by the Jerusalem persecution have reached Antioch in Syria,
where for the first time they proclaim the gospel in programmatic and widespread
fashion to Gentiles as well as Jews (11:19–25). The former persecutor of
Christians, Saul/Paul (whose conversion story has been skillfully interwoven with
all these developments in the burgeoning Christian mission), becomes associated
with the preaching at Antioch. From there he is dispatched to begin his far-flung
mission to Gentile lands, even unto the ends of the earth (which turns out to mean
Rome, the capital of the empire).37
We see, then, how Luke not only has the words of the risen Jesus in Acts 1:8
fulfilled in the precise order prophesied but also has each step in the unfolding
process prepare or trigger the next step. That this smooth developmental model
reflects Luke’s specific theological program is clear from the inclusion of Samaria
as an important step in the process, while amazingly Galilee, the starting point
and initial center of Jesus’ public ministry, practically disappears from Acts.
Galilee plays no role either in the initial prophecy of the risen Jesus or in its
fulfillment.38 Samaria’s prominent place in the early part of Acts is therefore not
just the result of historical facts; it bespeaks Luke’s redactional choice and
theological program.
In light of this clearly enunciated theological program in Acts, we can
appreciate the presence of the Samaritans in Luke’s Gospel, as opposed to their
absence in Mark and Q and their near-absence in Matthew. At the very beginning
(Luke 9:52–53) of the Great Journey Narrative (chaps. 9–19 in his Gospel), Luke
presents a scene in which some Samaritans deny Jesus entrance to their village
because he is journeying to the sanctuary of Jerusalem (the rival of the Samaritan
center of worship on Mt. Gerizim).39 The indignant disciples James and John
want to call down fire from heaven to destroy the inhospitable Samaritans, but
Jesus exercises mercy by simply going off to a different village. That Jesus’
mercy toward the Samaritans will bear fruit is intimated later on in the Great
Journey Narrative when Jesus cures ten lepers (a special L narrative in 17:11–19),
one of whom is a Samaritan.40 The fact that only the Samaritan “foreigner” (who
nevertheless is not categorized as a “Gentile”) and not the other nine lepers
(presumably Jews) comes back to thank Jesus for his healing may point forward
to the Acts narrative in which the spread of the gospel to the receptive Samaritans
stands in contrast to the persecution in Jerusalem (Acts 8:2–25). In other words,
the contrast between unbelief and belief in Acts (note the emphasis on believing
in 8:12–13) may be foreshadowed by the fact that, when only the Samaritan in
Luke 17 returns to glorify God and thank Jesus, Jesus pointedly affirms that the
Samaritan’s faith has healed-and-saved him (with the double meaning of the verb
sǭzo in Luke 17:19). The other nine lepers, neither thanking nor believing, end up
receiving only a physical healing. Indeed, one might even suggest that this Lucan
miracle story, with its implicit contrast between Samaritan belief and Jewish
unbelief, may hint at a larger pattern in Acts: in his missionary journeys, Paul
regularly meets with unbelief on the part of many Jews and then turns to the
Gentiles, who (along with some Jews), receive the gospel with faith (see, e.g.,
Acts 13:44–52; 18:1–11; 19:8–10; 28:17–28).
Only when one has grasped the overarching function of Samaritans within
Luke’s theology of salvation history and “salvation geography”—a theological
construct unique to Luke–Acts within the NT—can one fully appreciate the
Lucan character of the parable of the Good Samaritan. The key figure of the
Samaritan, acting with mercy toward a Jew in contrast to the official
representatives of the Jewish cultic community, is the perfect embodiment of
Luke’s grand theme of crossing boundaries, begun in the Gospel and completely
realized in the Gentile mission in Acts.41 Indeed, it is hardly by accident that this
parable (10:29–37) appears in Luke’s Gospel not only within the Great Journey
Narrative (chaps. 9–19) but more precisely between the initial hostile encounter
between Jesus and a village of Samaritans (9:51–55) and the healing/saving
encounter with the Samaritan leper (17:11–19). Its very positioning within the
Great Journey Narrative intimates the idea of moving from a negative to a
positive pole by crossing a boundary.
 Finally, Luke’s decision to focus on a Samaritan as the paradigm of merciful
aid extended to a natural enemy who has no claim to it (in this case, a Jew) may
be a striking example of his skill in refashioning OT stories and themes for his
Christian theological program (as seen, for instance, in his Infancy Narrative). In
2 Chr 28:8–15, we are told that some northern Israelites from the city of Samaria
(v 8) took pity on prisoners who had been carried off from Judah and Jerusalem
(v 10) by the Israelite army. They clothed the naked among them, gave them food
and drink, anointed them, put the weak on donkeys, and brought them to Jericho,
to be cared for by their fellow Judeans (v 15). After showing such extraordinary
compassion to their natural enemies, the northerners returned to Samaria.42 This
passage may well have supplied Luke the artist with the basic material for his
literary masterpiece, a type of midrash on an OT narrative that plays with and
overcomes the polarity of Samaria and Judah.43
In sum, then, the parable of the Good Samaritan, taken together with its
introduction, is thoroughly Lucan on every imaginable level: the macro-structure
of Luke–Acts, the macro-structure of the Great Journey Narrative, the
characteristically Lucan literary structure of introductory anecdote-plus-parable,
the exact parallel in the literary structure of first the introduction and then the
parable, the Lucan theology suffusing both parts of the bipartite pericope, the
typically Lucan vocabulary and grammar, and of course Luke’s unique focus on
the figure of the Samaritan, fleshed out in midrashic fashion from an OT
narrative. When one surveys all the Lucan elements that make up this literary-
theological whole, one must ask why any critic would feel an imperative to
discover some underlying, pre-redactional parable that Luke has reworked. Even
if we suspected some such substratum, how could we ever discover what it was?
If we strip away every Lucan theological, structural, literary, and philological trait
from 10:25–37, what hypothetical poltergeist are we left with? And, more to the
point for the project of A Marginal Jew, how would we move from this poltergeist
to the historical Jesus and the parable he supposedly composed? This question
becomes all the more pressing when we recall the results of our survey of Jewish
or quasi-Jewish groups in Volume Three of A Marginal Jew.44 The upshot of our
treatment of Samaritans was that most likely the historical Jesus had little direct
contact with Samaritans and rarely if ever spoke about them. This conclusion,
reached largely apart from concern about the parable of the Good Samaritan,
makes the project of reconstructing the original parable in the mouth of the
historical Jesus all the more futile—which has not prevented commentators from
embracing the project with gusto.45
 My judgment on this project of reconstruction, though severe, is not meant to
be unsympathetic. The tenacity of the desire to affirm that this parable goes back
to Jesus is readily understandable. But let us be honest about the reasons for this
tenacity. In my opinion, it is not historical-critical concerns that move people to
spontaneously rebel against the notion that the Good Samaritan—and indeed
some other L parables, like the Prodigal Son—does not stem from the historical
Jesus. In the lives of Christians and post-Christians alike, perhaps no other
parable has been so deeply embedded in one’s consciousness at so early and
pivotal an age. As can be seen from the results of the Jesus Seminar, even critics
who readily assign much of the Gospel tradition to later Christian invention often
resist the idea that Jesus did not speak the parable of the Good Samaritan (or the
Prodigal Son).46 Such a reaction is quite comprehensible on an emotional level:
the heart is strangely warmed. But if we are to form our judgments not on the
basis of warmed hearts and religious nostalgia but rather on the basis of the
historical-critical method and clear criteria of authenticity—as we ought—the
parable of the Good Samaritan is an especially vulnerable target when viewed
with the cold, skeptical eye of the historical critic. If we hold fast to the
affirmation that the Synoptic parables do not get a free pass, then that affirmation
must hold doubly true of the Good Samaritan in particular and the L parables in
general. Our hearts may be strangely warmed—but is the heat radiated by Jesus or
Luke? In the end, it seems more likely that Luke is the space heater set next to our
souls.47
I have spent so much time on the parable of the Good Samaritan because it is
for many the paradigm, the archetype, the most well-known and beloved of all the
L parables. Here, if anywhere within the corpus of special Lucan parables, critics
as well as the general public presume, if not demand, an origin in the creative
mind of the historical Jesus. My point is that, if such a claim turns out to be
wrong (or at least unprovable) in the case of the Good Samaritan—and indeed it
does—one is forced to ask: Which other L parable would provide a better or more
credible candidate? Lacking multiple attestation, appearing in the latest Synoptic
Gospel to be written, and often suffused with Lucan vocabulary and theology,
these parables almost defy any commentator to prove their origin in the preaching
of the historical Jesus, to say nothing of providing some sort of primitive
structure, wording, and message for each parable. Let me be clear: I am not
claiming that every L parable is as surely a pure product of Luke the evangelist as
is the Good Samaritan. It is certainly possible that some of the L parables go back
to special L traditions that Luke received and redacted.
Indeed such a scenario seems likely in a few cases, most notably in the parable
of the Dishonest Steward (16:1–8). This parable is so opaque in its message that
Luke has appended a number of different applications (16:9–13)—one might call
them scattered notes for possible homilies on the parable. None of these
applications really flows from the parable itself. The problem is that, while the
Dishonest Steward may well be the best candidate for some kind of pre-Lucan
tradition, it is also, by universal admission of critics, the most puzzling of all the
Synoptic parables, inviting as it does an almost limitless stream of different and
even contradictory interpretations.48 If this be true even on the level of the literary
text Luke gives us, what can be said about the form, wording, and message of a
hypothetical pre-Lucan tradition? And how do we move from that hypothetical
pre-Lucan tradition to Jesus? Here we come back to the basic question that, in my
view, makes attribution of any of the L parables to the historical Jesus nigh
impossible. To sum up, then: I do not claim that I can prove that all the L parables
are creations of Luke, as is, in my view, the Good Samaritan. Nor do I claim that I
can prove that no L parable goes back to the historical Jesus. What I do claim is
that no critic, using the criteria of authenticity with rigor, can prove that any L
parable does go back to Jesus. At best, even when we have good reason to suggest
the presence of L tradition, we are left once again with a judgment of non liquet
when it comes to the historical Jesus.

IV. A SOBER CONCLUSION TO OUR SURVEY

Modern research on the Synoptic parables, which dates roughly from the work of
Adolf Jülicher, has been marked on the whole by a sunny optimism about the
parables: most, if not all, may be presumed without further ado to come from the
historical Jesus. Any outliers, such as the Wheat and the Weeds or the Ten
Virgins, are viewed as rare aberrations from the main corpus of parables, which
surely come from Jesus because almost all critics say they do. It is that oft-
asserted but rarely probed consensus that the whole of Volume Five, but
especially this present chapter, seeks to challenge. Stripped of their unearned
presumption of historicity, most of the parables cannot mount convincing
arguments in favor of their authenticity. Creation by the early church or by the
evangelists seems a likely explanation not only for the Wheat and the Weeds and
the Ten Virgins but also, in my view, for most if not all of the L parables. Less
clear cases—in other words, most of the remaining parables—are rightly assigned
to the limbo of non liquet: no strong argument tips the scales in either direction.
What then are we left with? In truth, very little. Our survey found only one
clear case of multiple attestation: the Mark–Q overlap of the parable of the
Mustard Seed. In addition, the criterion of embarrassment suggests a solitary
candidate from the Marcan parables: the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard. To the
consternation of pious and impious alike, none of the criteria of historicity
supports any of the parables unique to Matthew or Luke, however beloved they
may be. Indeed, the remarkable increase in the number of parables found only in
Matthew or in Luke (as compared with Mark or Q), along with the strong
redactional tendencies of these M and L parables, should make any critic all the
more leery of parables specific to the two later Synoptics. Two special cases in
our survey, though, remain problematic. If the parable of the Talents (or Pounds)
and the parable of the Great Supper are simply cases of Q parables heavily
redacted by Matthew and Luke, then they lack multiple attestation and must be
consigned to the category of non liquet. If, however, they represent two instances
of parables witnessed independently in both the M and L traditions, an argument
from multiple attestation could be mounted. It is to a detailed consideration of the
historicity and interpretation of these four lonely candidates—the Mustard Seed,
the Evil Tenants, the Talents, and the Great Supper—that we now turn.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 39
1. See, e.g., Jeremias (The Parables of Jesus), who uses theological (one might almost say homiletic)
categories like “Now Is the Day of Salvation,” “The Great Assurance,” and “It May Be Too Late.”
Theological categories can also be found in Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus): e.g., “God’s Extraordinary
Forgiveness and Grace,” “God’s Extraordinary Love for the Lost,” “Parables of Life before God”; and
Snodgrass (Stories with Intent): e.g., “Grace and Responsibility,” “Parables of Lostness,” “Parables of Future
Eschatology.” In contrast, Scott (Hear Then the Parable) consciously chooses categories drawn from social
life and culture: “Family, Village, City, and Beyond”; “Masters and Servants”; and “Home and Farm.”
2. The reader is reminded that we are interested in only narrative parables as defined in Chapter 37.
Metaphors or similitudes that are not “stretched out” to create a short story with an implicit beginning,
middle, and end (in other words, a plot line) are not treated. Inevitably, there are some gray areas in the
distinction between similitudes and narrative parables. For example, in Mark, I do not consider the saying
about the budding fig tree (Mark 13:28–29 || Matt 24:32–33 || Luke 21:29–31) to be a narrative parable,
though some critics do.
3. One might argue that, in the debate on the dependence or independence of Thomas, the version of the
Sower in CGT (logion 9) belongs to the category of non liquet rather than “dependent on the Synoptics.” This
special status is the reason why I have relegated the parable of the Sower to this endnote instead of treating it
with the test cases in Chapter 38. The case of logion 9 is difficult to adjudicate for a number of reasons. In
this parable, the three Synoptics (especially Mark and Matthew) stay fairly close to each other. For the most
part, CGT 9 agrees with the text of Mark/Matthew, with a few hints of Luke. As with a number of the cases
examined in Chapter 38, Thomas presents an abbreviated form of the Synoptic story, while at the same time
adding a few touches of his own: e.g., the contrast of the seeds not sending roots “down to the earth” and not
producing ears of grain “up to the sky.” Thomas’ further addition of the worm that eats the seeds makes no
sense in the context of the historical Jesus, since worms were not usually crop-damaging pests in ancient
Palestine, and eating seeds that have already been “choked” is more than curious (so Plisch, The Gospel of
Thomas, 56). Some sort of (gnostic?) symbolism seems to lie behind these additions, but it is hard to say
what it is. The question of sources is further muddled by possible instances of the assimilation of the Coptic
text of logion 9 to the standard Sahidic text of the Gospels. On the details of the Coptic text, see Schrage,
Das Verhältnis, 42–48; Fieger, Das Thomasevangelium, 50–55. Despite these uncertainties, I think that there
are some slight indications of the dependence of CGT 9 on the Synoptics. For example, only in Mark 4:3 ||
Matt 13:3 does a Synoptic parable begin with idou (“behold”). That such should be the case makes perfect
sense, especially in Mark, the source text. Up until this point in the Gospel, the Marcan Jesus has not spoken
a single narrative parable (though he has uttered a number of similitudes in chap. 3). It therefore makes sense
that, as Mark begins both the first “sermon” or “discourse” of his Gospel and the first narrative parable to
boot, he should have Jesus start the parable of the Sower and thus the whole parable discourse with a solemn
idou. Indeed, since the parable of the Sower is placed first partly because it comments on the whole process
of speaking and hearing parables (hence its designation as a “metaparable”), the solemn opening with idou is
all the more fitting. Although Matthew has presented Jesus speaking in parables before the parable discourse
of chap. 13 (e.g., the Wise and Foolish Builders in Matt 7:24–27), it still makes sense for Matthew to take
over Mark’s idou, since the Sower begins the (much larger) parable discourse in Matthew as well. In contrast,
the presence of “behold” (eishete in the Coptic) at the beginning of the parable of the Sower in CGT 9 does
not make the same sense, since logion 9 does not signal the beginning of a parable discourse (each logion of
CGT being one or more discrete units). As a matter of fact, Thomas’ version of the Sower follows
immediately upon the first narrative parable in CGT, namely, the Wise Fisherman in logion 8. Moreover,
logion 9 is the only instance in CGT where “behold” introduces a narrative parable; hence the presence of the
word in logion 9 cannot be explained by appealing to the regular usage of CGT in introducing parables. Thus,
dependence on Mark/Matthew seems the most likely explanation of “behold” at the beginning of Thomas’
version of the Sower. Furthermore, once we enter into the story of the parable, we see in CGT 9 the same
tendency to conflate Synoptic texts that was demonstrated in Chapter 38. For example, when referring to the
seed, Thomas uses throughout the plural Coptic forms hoeine (“some”) and henkooye (“some others”). In the
Greek text of the Synoptics, the same consistent use of the plural (ha men . . . alla de) throughout the parable
is found only in Matthew. Mark uses the singular form “some . . . other” (ho men . . . allo) until the climax in
4:8, when he uses the plural alla for “others.” Luke uses the singular (ho men . . . heteron) throughout the
whole parable. To take another example: Thomas’ use of a main verb for “the birds came” (ayei) corresponds
exactly only to Mark’s ēlthen (4:4); Matthew uses a participle while Luke drops the verb entirely. Yet some
of Thomas’ peculiarities coincide with those of Luke. Among the Synoptics, only Luke, as he begins the
parable in 8:5 (and again as he begins the explanation of the parable in 8:11), uses the noun “seed” (Greek
sporos, which occurs again in the NT only in Mark 4:26–27 [the Seed Growing by Itself] and in 2 Cor 9:10
[bis]). Thomas likewise uses the noun “seed” (Coptic čroč) in this parable, when mentioning the thorns.
While Mark and Matthew use the adjective “rocky” (petrōdēs) as a substantive, Luke uses the noun “rock”
(petra) with the definite article. Here Thomas again agrees with Luke, even to the point of using the Greek
noun. Yet Thomas’ “fell upon the thorns” reproduces exactly Mark/Matthew, while Luke has “in the midst of
the thorns.” Likewise, Thomas’ “and it gave fruit” (afti karpos) renders Mark/Matthew (kai edidou karpon)
rather than Luke’s epoiēsen karpon (“made fruit”). As for the yield, Thomas’ 60 (which he then doubles to
120) is taken from the 30–60–100 yield of Mark (and Matthew, in reverse order), while Luke speaks only of
“a hundredfold”; cf. Gathercole, The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 241. Admittedly, as
noted earlier, we must allow in some instances for the possibility of scribal assimilation of CGT 9 to the
standard Sahidic Coptic; see, e.g., the use of the noun “rock” (petra) in Mark 4:5 in Sahidic Mark. On the
other hand, if one argues for a massive assimilation of CGT 9 to the standard Sahidic, then the usefulness of
logion 9 as an independent witness to the earliest available form of the parable is called into question. In the
end, I am impressed by the overall tendency of logion 9 to conflate, which fits the pattern of Thomas’ use of
the Synoptics seen in Chapter 38. Hence, while I grant that a judgment of non liquet in regard to the
dependence of CGT 9 on the Synoptics is reasonable, I incline to the view that logion 9 shows enough traces
of Synoptic influence to move it from the category of non liquet to the category of “probably dependent on
the Synoptics.” For further argument on the subject, see Tuckett, “Thomas and the Synoptics,” 153–56.
4. There is a possible parallel to the end of the Seed Growing by Itself (Mark 4:29) at the end of CGT 21,
but (i) the brevity of the statement, which comes out of nowhere and seems to have nothing to do with
anything else in logion 21, and (ii) the paucity of significant words shared by Mark 4:29 and this last part of
CGT 21 (“fruit,” “sickle”) make any firm decision about dependence or independence nigh impossible. Both
texts could be independently alluding to Joel 4:13 (3:13 in some English translations; cf. Rev 14:15–16).
5. The question is complicated by the apparent redactional reworking of the tradition undertaken by both
Mark and Luke; see, e.g., Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 53–55. Both evangelists seem to have rewritten
traditional material with a view to the Christian hope of Christ’s coming in glory (i.e., the parousia). More to
the point at issue: Mark’s version (13:33–37) should probably not be classified as a narrative parable, since
most of the logia in vv 33–37 are cast in direct address (2d person plural) and are aimed at Jesus’ disciples at
the end of the eschatological discourse. Within that larger Marcan context, phrases like “not knowing the
time” in v 33 and “not knowing when the master (or: the Lord) of the house is coming” in v 35 refer clearly
and directly to the coming of the Son of Man, as prophesied in vv 24–27. The metaphor proper—depicting a
man about to go on a journey who commands and empowers his slaves to discharge their duties properly,
notably the doorkeeper who is ordered to keep watch—is restricted to v 34. The story line within the
metaphorical world of v 34 is developed no further. Instead, mention of the coming of the master is made in v
35, after the discourse has reverted to direct address to the disciples, exhorting them to keep watch
(obviously, in the context, for the Son of Man). Thus, the disparate logia in vv 33–37 do not cohere and
coalesce into a single narrative parable, and v 34 by itself is too brief and undeveloped to qualify as such.
Then, too, whether Luke 12:35–38 should rank as a parallel to Mark 13:33–37 is itself questionable. A
number of motifs (burning lamps, waiting for a man returning from a wedding, knocking at a locked door)
are actually closer to the M parable of the Ten Virgins (Matt 25:1–13). The real parallels in Luke 12:35–38 to
Mark 13:33–37 are reducible to the themes of (i) men (presumably the master’s servants) keeping watch for
their master’s return at an unknown hour and (ii) the readiness of the men to open the door for him (a task
attributed by Luke to all the servants, not just to a special doorkeeper as in Mark). One might add the
specification of various hours of the night, though they differ in Mark and Luke. In sum, the lack of a real
narrative parable in Mark and the lack of a sufficient number of parallel words, phrases, and sentences in
Luke disqualify Mark 13:33–37 || Luke 12:35–38 as a case of one narrative parable with multiple attestation
of independent sources. Not surprisingly, Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 492) does not give the Doorkeeper
in Mark 13 separate consideration in his encyclopedic work; he classifies it simply as a short metaphorical
saying. Reflecting how fine the borderline between long similitudes and short narrative parables can be,
Birger Gerhardsson (“Illuminating the Kingdom. Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,” Jesus and the
Oral Gospel Tradition [ed. Henry Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1991] 266–309)
lists Mark 13:32–37 || Luke 12:35–38 (which he calls “the Watchful Servants”) as a “narrative mashal,” but
admits that it is among those “narrative meshalim . . . on the borderline,” a category in which he also places
the Burglar (Matt 24:43–44 || Luke 12:39–40) and the Defendant (Luke 12:58–59). Taking a different tack,
Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 212–13) detects underneath Mark 13:34–35 and Luke 12:36–38 “an
originating parabolic structure” that has been “performed” in different ways. Since Scott does not “hear” the
distinctive “voice” of Jesus in this parable, he assigns it to the early church. One sees how easily, without
clear criteria of historicity, parable research can dissolve into the personal esthetic tastes of the individual
commentator.
6. Since the Q tradition is made up almost entirely of sayings material, it is not surprising that various
metaphorical logia or similitudes are at times listed as narrative parables by some critics. In my view, though,
none of the following candidates qualifies as a full narrative parable that draws the audience into a
metaphorical story world. Q sayings often offered for consideration include (1) the Burglar—Matt 24:43–44
|| Luke 12:39–40; cf. CGT 21, 103; (2) the Children in the Marketplace—Matt 11:16–17 || Luke 7:31–32; (3)
the Return of the Unclean Spirit—Matt 12:43–45 || Luke 11:24–26; (4) the Warning about Going before the
Judge—Matt 5:25–26 || Luke 12:58–59. In my opinion, the sayings about the Burglar and the Children in the
Marketplace are not developed sufficiently to represent mini-narratives with an implicit beginning, middle,
and end. The metaphorical statement about the Burglar is a single verse made up of a contrary-to-fact
condition; the following verse applies the metaphor to the disciples. The Children in the Marketplace depicts
a frustratingly static situation rather than a developing story. The Return of the Unclean Spirit, if its original
Sitz im Leben is indeed Jesus’ arguing with his adversaries over the practice of exorcism (the larger context in
both Matthew and Luke), should probably be seen first of all not as a metaphorical narrative but rather as the
consideration of a real possibility (remember how real the idea of demons, demonic possession, exorcisms,
and the possible recurrence of possession was to the ancient audience). Only Matthew tacks on a comparison
at the end of the unit: “So it shall be with this evil generation.” Finally, in the Warning about Going before
the Judge, Jesus addresses his audience directly in the 2d person plural as he uses a series of metaphors to
urge them to settle quarrels and be reconciled with adversaries while there is still time. This rhetorical style
of direct exhortation lacks the underlying parabolic structure and dynamic whereby the audience is drawn
into a different, metaphorical story world—as in, e.g., “the kingdom of heaven is like a king who. . . .”
7. On the range of meanings of leaven as a symbol (which need not be negative), see Schellenberg,
“Kingdom as Contaminant?,” 527–43, esp. 538–41; similarly, Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 233. In contrast,
note how Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 321) claims that “only the negative sense [of leaven] is evidenced in
ancient literature” and proceeds to base his whole interpretation of the parable on this faulty premise (pp.
321–29). For similar claims about leaven, see Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 149; Seccombe,
“Incongruity,” 168–70; more cautious is Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 406.
8. Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 543) begins his treatment of Matt 25:31–46 by admitting: “. . . this is not
really a parable. At most we have a parabolic saying about the separation of sheep and goats in vv. 32–33,”
which he labels “an implied similitude.” Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus, 310) makes a similar observation.
Oddly, Snodgrass proceeds to give this nonparable an extensive exegesis (pp. 543–63) in his parable book.
He titles the passage “The Sheep and the Goats,” although the phrase refers only to “the implied similitude,”
which is dropped after vv 32–33 and never reappears in the rest of the pericope. Far from being a parable,
this grand scene of judgment is rather the concluding prophecy of the Matthean Jesus that caps both the fifth
discourse and the entire public ministry of the First Gospel. In Matt 25:31–46, Jesus the Son of Man and
eschatological prophet clearly depicts, in no uncertain terms, what will definitely happen at the final
judgment. Far from being an allusive eschatological parable, it is the reality to which all the parables and
similitudes in Matthew’s eschatological discourse point. On this, see John P. Meier, Matthew (NT Message 3;
Wilmington, DE: Glazier, 1981) 302–6. Jeremias (The Parables of Jesus, 206 n. 77) makes the intriguing
observation that Matt 25:31–46 can be called a māšāl in the sense of an apocalyptic revelation, similar to the
Ethiopic mesal found in the section of 1 Enoch (chaps. 37–71) that has been given the questionable label of
“The Similitudes” or “The Parables” of Enoch.
9. For sketches of Matthew’s redactional theology, see, e.g., Günther Bornkamm, Gerhard Barth, and
Heinz Joachim Held, Überlieferung und Auslegung im Matthäusevangelium (WMANT 1; 5th ed.;
Neukirchen: Buchhandlung des Erziehungsvereins, 1968); Robert H. Gundry, Matthew, 5–10; Daniel J.
Harrington, The Gospel of Matthew (Sacra Pagina 1; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991) 17–19; John
P. Meier, “Matthew, Gospel of,” AYBD, 4. 622–41, esp. 637–40; Ulrich Luz, The Theology of the Gospel of
Matthew (Cambridge, UK/New York: Cambridge University, 1995); Mark Allan Powell, God with Us
(Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Donald Senior, What Are They Saying about Matthew? (rev. ed.; New
York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1996); John Riches, Matthew (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997) 44–
104; Matthias Konradt, Israel, Kirche, und die Völker im Matthäusevangelium (WUNT 215; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 2007); Daniel M. Gurtner and John Nolland (eds.), Built upon the Rock. Studies in the Gospel of
Matthew (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2008) esp. 53–84, 85–107, 170–186; Mogens
Müller, “Bundesideologie im Matthäusevangelium,” NTS 58 (2012) 23–42.
10. So Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 163 n. 11), following such commentators as Eduard Schweizer and
Francis W. Beare. Other candidates for the list of parables probably created by Matthew would include, in my
view, the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds (its allegorical interpretation almost certainly stems from
Matthew’s redactional hand). For various opinions on this point, see the treatment of this parable in Chapter
38. Another likely candidate is the parable of the Ten Virgins, heavily laden as it is with Matthean theological
concerns; on this, see Karl Paul Donfried, “The Allegory of the Ten Virgins (Matt 25:1–13) as a Summary of
Matthean Theology,” JBL 93 (1974) 415–28. Donfried concludes (p. 428) that the parable of the Ten Virgins
“does not stem from the historical-Jesus level but was created by Matthew on the basis of certain traditions
which he had received.” It is perhaps not by accident that Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 68–72), who tries to
maintain that most of the parables go back in their originating structure or distinctive voice to Jesus, feels he
must make an exception for two of the M parables: The Wheat and the Weeds and the Ten Virgins. We might
well add other M parables to his list.
11. One could claim that L contains sixteen parables if the double parable (or twin parable) of the Tower
Builder and the Warring King (14:28–32) were counted separately. Here, however, I follow the approach of
many commentators in treating them together; see, e.g., Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 379–88; Jeremias,
The Parables of Jesus, 196. In contrast, Gerhardsson (“The Narrative Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,”
343–44; cf. “Illuminating the Kingdom,” 269), while admitting that the Tower Builder and the Warring King
could be counted as one double parable, prefers to count them as two separate parables; see also Hultgren,
The Parables of Jesus, 137–45.—As with the other Synoptic sources, I omit from my count of L parables
sayings that rather belong in the category of similitudes or simply sayings containing metaphors. Two
prominent cases in L are the Narrow Gate/Closed Door (Luke 13:24–25; cf. Matt 7:13–14) and Choosing
Places at Table (Luke 14:7–11). (1) As for Luke 13:24–25, the larger context presents Jesus addressing an
audience in the 2d person plural in what is really a prophecy about events that will occur at the last judgment.
The metaphor (or similitude) of struggling to enter through the narrow door takes up only a single verse. Matt
7:13–14 uses a similar (but not exactly the same) metaphor. Contrary to the opinion of some critics, I do not
consider the two texts close enough to qualify as a Q saying, nor for that matter even as two independent
sources of the same saying. Rather, all we have here is multiple attestation of a particular metaphor serving a
particular theme. (2) As for Luke 14:7–11, while Jesus’ words may have a higher symbolic meaning in
reference to the final judgment (as intimated by v 11), the sayings as situated in their immediate context are a
direct address to an audience whom Jesus urges to practice self-effacement in matters of table etiquette (a
common wisdom theme). It is in this sense of wisdom instruction about proper and prudent conduct that the
advice about table manners can be called a parabolē in 14:7. Hence Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 568)
translates parabolē in 14:7 as “analogy” or “instruction.” This passage is no more a narrative parable than is
the moral exhortation addressed in the 2d person singular to the host, which follows in vv 12–14 (likewise
ending with a reference to the final judgment). In Luke’s stream-of-consciousness composition, both sets of
exhortations serve to introduce his version of the parable of the Great Supper.
12. For sketches of Lucan theology, see, e.g., Hans Conzelmann, The Theology of St. Luke (New York:
Harper & Row, 1961); Josef Ernst, Lukas. Ein theologisches Portrait (Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1985); François
Bovon, Luc le théologien (2d ed.; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1988); Thomas E. Phillips, Reading Issues of
Wealth and Poverty in Luke–Acts (Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 48; Lewiston, NY: Mellen,
2001); Hans-Georg Gradl, Zwischen Arm und Reich (FB 107; Würzburg: Echter, 2005); Paul Borgman, The
Way According to Luke (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2006); Geir Otto Holmås, Prayer and
Vindication in Luke–Acts (Library of NT Studies 433; London/New York: Clark, 2011).
13. We have already examined the special Lucan character of the monologue or soliloquy in Luke’s
parables in Chapter 38, when treating the parable of the Rich Fool.
14. For connections between Lucan and Pauline literature, see, e.g., Walter Radl, Paulus und Jesus im
lukanischen Doppelwerk (Europäische Hochschulschriften Series 23, Theology 49; Bern: Herbert Lang;
Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1975); William O. Walker, Jr., “Acts and the Pauline Corpus Revisited: Peter’s Speech
at the Jerusalem Conference,” Literary Studies in Luke–Acts (Joseph B. Tyson Festschrift; ed. Richard P.
Thompson and Thomas E. Phillips; Macon, GA: Mercer University, 1998) 77–86.
15. I accept the common view of text critics today that, in light of the massive external evidence (including
papyrus 75), the so-called “longer” version of the Lucan eucharistic words is the original form of the Gospel
text. For arguments pro and con, see Metzger, TCGNT (2d ed.), 148–50.
16. Gerhard Sellin, “Lukas als Gleichniserzähler: die Erzählung vom barmherzigen Samariter (Lk 10:25–
37),” ZNW 65 (1974) 166–89 (Part I); ZNW 66 (1975) 19–60 (Part II). The view that Luke, as a type of
Christian midrashist, composed the parable of the Good Samaritan by using and fleshing out various OT and
early Christian motifs is maintained by M. D. Goulder, “Characteristics of the Parables in the Several
Gospels,” JTS n.s. 19 (1968) 51–69, esp. 68–69. That Luke composed the parable out of whole cloth or at
least is responsible for the parable in its present literary form is held by, among others, Vincent Henry
Stanton, The Gospels as Historical Documents (3 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1903, 1909, and
1920) 2. 300; H. F. D. Sparks, “The Semitisms of St. Luke’s Gospel,” JTS 44 (1943) 129–38.
17. For the basic ways in which the parables of Luke differ from those of Matthew and Mark, see Sellin,
“Lukas” (Part I), 175; Donahue, The Gospel in Parable, 126–28, 204–11; Drury, The Parables in the
Gospels, 111–25. For the most part, Sellin’s list of differences is taken over from the work of Goulder, who
espouses the radical position that only the Marcan parables go back to Jesus, while Matthew and Luke
constructed their own parables.
18. Gerhardsson, “Illuminating the Kingdom,” 276.
19. Goulder (“Characteristics,” 54, 57, 60–61) summarizes the specific qualities of Luke’s parables by
stating that they “are down-to-earth affairs, intended to impress by their reality, and he eschews the fanciful.
. . . In Luke all is alive. His characters are many-sided. . . .” At times, Luke actually de-allegorizes his source,
as is clear in the case of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard.
20. Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus, 4) notes that some critics, following Jülicher, consider example
stories a third type of parable (taking the designation “parable” in its broadest sense) alongside narrative
parables and similitudes. Hultgren himself prefers to see them as simply a subset of narrative parables. In
contrast, Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 13–15) entirely rejects the category of example story, placing the
usual four candidates (along with the L parable of the Dishonest Steward) into a category that he labels
“single indirect parables.” Snodgrass rightly points out that other parables offer examples of behavior to
imitate or avoid (e.g., Matthew’s parable of the Unforgiving Servant). Yet Snodgrass admits that Luke’s
quartet (plus the Dishonest Steward) “do function differently.” Instead of telling a story about persons and
events (the “vehicle”) that function metaphorically to point beyond to a different reality (the “tenor,” e.g.,
God, his kingdom, his people), the so-called example stories are actually about the persons and actions they
narrate. “No transfer is required to another arena, and therefore, we are justified in speaking of their ‘relative
peculiarity’” (pp. 14–15). Thus, even Snodgrass acknowledges a different “feel” in the case of the Lucan
“example stories” or “single indirect parables,” be they a separate category or not.
21. An interesting distinction should be noted here. Some form (or variation) of the tis ex hymōn
phraseology existed in a few Q parables and sayings (e.g., Matt 7:9–10 || Luke 11:11–12; Matt 18:12–14 ||
Luke 15:4–7). But anthrōpos tis parables are unique to Luke.
22. To be sure, both Mark and Matthew have parables that begin with a reference to an anthrōpos, but
without tis. Sellin sees a notable difference in these Marcan and Matthean parables. In them the anthrōpos is
the chief figure in the story who dominates the action with an exercise of power at the end of the parable
(e.g., the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, esp. in Mark 12:9). Sellin claims that this is not true in the same way
of the anthrōpos tis in the L parables.
23. The bibliography on the Good Samaritan is immense, though a good deal of the literature is dedicated
to homiletic, pastoral, or ethical concerns. Histories of interpretation that provide further bibliography
include Werner Monselewski, Der barmherzige Samariter (BGBE 5; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1967); Hans
Gunther Klemm, Das Gleichnis vom barmherzigen Samariter. Grundzüge der Auslegung im 16./17.
Jahrhundert (BWANT 6/3; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1973). In addition to the standard commentaries on Luke,
see the standard books on parables, including Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 202–5; Crossan, In Parables,
57–66; Drury, The Parables in the Gospels, 132–35; Donahue, The Gospel in Parable, 128–34; Scott, Hear
Then the Parable, 189–202; Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 338–62. For a series of essays applying a
structuralist approach to this parable, see John Dominic Crossan (ed.), The Good Samaritan (Semeia 2;
Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1974). For larger hermeneutical issues, see Sandra Wackman Perpich, A
Hermeneutic Critique of Structuralist Exegesis, with Specific Reference to Lk 10.29–37 (Lanham, MD:
University Press of America, 1984); Llewellyn Welile Mazamisa, Beatific Comradeship. An Exegetical-
Hermeneutical Study on Lk 10:25–37 (Kampen: Kok, 1987). Other works include Franz J. Leenhardt, “La
parabole du Samaritain,” Aux sources de la tradition chrétienne (M. Maurice Goguel Festschrift;
Bibliothèque Théologique; Neuchâtel: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1950) 132–38; Birger Gerhardsson, The Good
Samaritan—the Good Shepherd? (ConBNT 16; Lund: Gleerup, 1958); idem, “The Narrative Meshalim in the
Synoptic Gospels,” 339–63; Helmut Gollwitzer, Das Gleichnis vom barmherzigen Samariter (Neukirchen:
Neukirchener Verlag, 1962); Robert W. Funk, “The Old Testament in Parable: The Good Samaritan,”
Language, Hermeneutic, and Word of God (New York: Harper & Row, 1966) 199–223; James I. H.
McDonald, “The View from the Ditch—and Other Angles,” SJT 49 (1996) 21–37; Richard Bauckham, “The
Scrupulous Priest and the Good Samaritan: Jesus’ Parabolic Interpretation of the Law of Moses,” NTS 44
(1998) 475–89; Philip F. Esler, “Jesus and the Reduction of Intergroup Conflict: The Parable of the Good
Samaritan in the Light of Social Identity Theory,” Biblical Interpretation 8 (2000) 325–57; Riemer Roukema,
“The Good Samaritan in Ancient Christianity,” VC 58 (2004) 56–74; Michael P. Knowles, “What Was the
Victim Wearing? Literary, Economic, and Social Contexts for the Parable of the Good Samaritan,” Biblical
Interpretation 12 (2004) 145–74; Thomas Kazen, “The Good Samaritan and a Presumptive Corpse,” Svensk
Exegetisk Årsbok 21 (2006) 131–44; Preston M. Sprinkle, “The Use of Genesis 42:18 (not Leviticus 18:5) in
Luke 10:28: Joseph and the Good Samaritan,” Bulletin for Biblical Research 17 (2007) 193–205; Bruce W.
Longenecker, “The Story of the Samaritan and the Innkeeper (Luke 10:30–35). A Study in Character
Rehabilitation,” Biblical Interpretation 17 (2009) 422–47.
24. Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 190) holds that “a strong internal consistency links together the lawyer’s
question and the parable,” but he supplies a somewhat different way of understanding the parallel between
Stage I and Stage II.
25. For a list of Lucan vocabulary and stylistic traits in 10:25–28, see Sellin, “Lukas” (Part II). Sellin
includes in his list: kai idou (a Septuagintism); tis placed after a substantive (Matt 0x, Mark 1x, Luke 29x,
Acts 39x); the formulation of the lawyer’s question in v 25b, which corresponds exactly to Luke 18:18b,
where Luke is once again rewriting Mark (10:17) by introducing the participial form poiēsas; the
introduction of direct speech by ho de eipen pros auton in v 26a; and the compression of the two separate
Scripture citations found in Mark into a single sentence by kai.
26. Here is one of the points on which I would disagree with Sellin. There is no reason to posit any other
source (e.g., Q or special L material) to explain Luke’s creative redaction of Mark 12:28–34. On this, see A
Marginal Jew, 4. 484–528, esp. 522–26.
27. Translated with excruciating literalness, the lawyer’s introductory question in 10:25 reads, “[By]
having done what shall I inherit eternal life?” This circumstantial (adverbial) use of the participle poiēsas at
the beginning of the first question highlights the concept of “doing,” which helps tie together the whole of
Luke 10:25–37.
28. This is a point emphasized by Bauckham, “The Scrupulous Priest,” 475.
29. So rightly Sellin, “Lukas” (Part II), 23–24; cf. Craig A. Evans, “Luke’s Good Samaritan and the
Chronicler’s Good Samaritans,” Biblical Interpretation in Early Christian Gospels. Volume 3: The Gospel of
Luke (Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 16; Library of NT Studies 376; ed. Thomas
Hatina; London/New York: Clark, 2010) 32–42, esp. 41–42. For the view that a shift in the meaning of
“neighbor” between Stage I and Stage II “indicates that the parable and Lukan context were originally
separate,” see Scott, Hear Then the Parable, 191–92; similarly, Longenecker, “The Story of the Samaritan,”
422–27; cf. Jan Lambrecht, “Response to Garwood P. Anderson. Parables in Luke,” ETL 86 (2010) 177–83,
esp. 182. It is telling that Longenecker, while admitting that some authors have made sense of Luke 10:25–37
in its Lucan context, does not judge this “the best solution when considering the story in relation to Jesus’
ministry” (n. 3 on p. 423–24). Here we have the commonly accepted (rather than proven) presupposition that
some primitive parable lies behind Luke’s formulation, a parable that most likely goes back to the historical
Jesus. Indeed, many commentators do not even consider the possibility that, in the same act of composition,
Luke both created the parable and massively rewrote the Marcan pericope about the first commandment
(Mark 12:28–34) to provide a typically Lucan introduction.
30. It is, of course, with an ironic nod to Friedrich Nietzsche that I employ his famous phrase “the
transvaluation [or: re-evaluation, reversal] of all values” (Umwerthung aller Werthe), proclaimed at the
conclusion of his work The Antichrist. For the German text in the larger context of Der Antichrist. Fluch auf
das Christentum, see Friedrich Nietzsche, Sämtliche Werke (15 vols.; Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch;
Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1980) 6. 253. My own transvaluation or reversal of the phrase “the
transvaluation of all values” lies in the fact that I am employing it, in the context of the Good Samaritan, to
describe the exaltation of the virtue of compassion, something Nietzsche abhorred. For the transvaluation or
reversal of values as characteristic of the L parables, see Sellin, “Lukas” (Part I), 183–84.
31. Luke’s portrayal of the lawyer’s intention in posing the two questions and his reception of the parable’s
message is debated among commentators, with many evaluating the lawyer as a negative character. For the
view that the lawyer is a positive figure who “eventually understands the parable of Jesus,” see Nathan Lane,
“An Echo of Mercy. A Rereading of the Parable of the Good Samaritan,” Early Christian Literature and
Intertextuality. Volume 2: Exegetical Studies (Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 15;
Library of NT Studies 392; ed. Craig A. Evans and H. Daniel Zacharias; London/New York: Clark, 2009)
74–84. Lane bases his argument on a supposed allusion to Exod 34:6–7 in Luke 10:37. I must admit that I
have difficulty in hearing the “echo.”
32. For a list of typically Lucan words, phrases, and constructions in the parable proper, see Sellin,
“Lukas” (Part II), 35–36; Stanton, The Gospels as Historical Documents, 2. 300. Sellin lists what he
considers the most important Lucanisms: anthrōpos tis (besides the L parables, see Acts 9:33); peripiptein
(elsewhere in the NT only in Acts 27:41; Jas 1:2; present in the LXX at 2 Kgdms 1:6; Prov 11:5; Ruth 2:3;
DanLXX 2:9; 2 Macc 6:13; 9:7,21; 10:4); plēgas epithentes (elsewhere in the NT in the same sense only in
Acts 16:23, but in Rev 22:18 in a different sense); kata with the accusative for a specific place designation
(Luke 16x; Acts 53x)—with the definite article this usage occurs in the NT only in Luke (5x) and Acts (19x);
ktēnos (elsewhere only Acts 23:24; 1 Cor 15:39; Rev 18:13; frequent in the LXX, e.g., Gen 1:25,26,28; 2:20;
3:14; 6:7; 8:19; Exod 11:5), but in the NT only in Luke–Acts in the sense of “animal for riding”; agein (Luke
13x; Acts 26x; Mark 3x; Matthew 4x; in the rest of the NT, 21x); epi plus the accusative for a time
designation (Luke 3x; Acts 12x; epi tēn aurion occurs also in Acts 4:5); epanerchesthai (elsewhere in the NT
only in Luke 19:15; present in the LXX at Gen 50:5; Lev 25:13; Job 7:7; Prov 3:28; TobBA 6:17; 2 Macc
4:36). Also striking is the high concentration of unusual compound words, seventeen of them occurring in
10:30–35 alone; this is a typical trait of Lucan style. In sum, Sellin claims that, apart from the hapax
legomena that can be explained for the most part as derived from the LXX, one cannot point to clearly un-
Lucan or pre-Lucan locutions that would argue for a pre-Lucan form of the parable. In similar fashion,
Stanton argues that “the structure of the sentences and the vocabulary in this parable [i.e., the Good
Samaritan] justify us in attributing it, so far as its literary form is concerned, to our evangelist.” Stanton
agrees in effect with Sellin that the hapax legomena in the parable derive mostly from the LXX, which Luke
seeks to echo. He also points out the fine literary style of the pericope as a whole, including the use of three
participial clauses in a row in v 30. Stanton goes on to observe that the Semitisms (taken from the LXX) in
this parable are not as numerous as in some other passages of the Third Gospel. Rather, argues Stanton, what
we have in the parable of the Good Samaritan is an intriguing mix of some Semitisms (actually
Septuagintisms) interspersed with a high number of classical Greek words and phrases. As Sparks observes
(“The Semitisms of St. Luke’s Gospel,” 129–38), this same stylistic mix is seen in the latter half of Acts.
Sparks suggests that the reason is the same in both contexts: namely, “St. Luke is writing the story which he
has to tell in his own words” (p. 137), rather than finding a story already complete that he then proceeded to
rewrite to introduce into it a combination of Septuagintisms and classical Greek. Indeed, at the end of his
article (p. 138), Sparks goes so far as to suggest that Luke had no other sources for his Gospel than Mark and
Q.
33. A Marginal Jew, 3. 543–44.
34. As I indicate in A Marginal Jew, 3. 547–49, the only other writing in the NT besides Luke–Acts that
deals with Jesus’ relationship to the Samaritans is the Gospel of John.
35. On the disputed nature of the function of Acts 1:6–8 in the overall narrative of the work, see Alan Bale,
“The Ambiguous Oracle: Narrative Configuration in Acts,” NTS 57 (2011) 530–46.
36. How the conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch by the Hellenist Philip (Acts 8:26–40) fits into the overall
development of mission in this part of Acts is not entirely clear. Part of the problem is that Luke leaves us
uncertain about the status of the Ethiopian. Is he, at the start of the story, a full convert to Judaism, or is he
rather that typical Lucan figure, the Gentile “God-fearer”? The answer to that question turns in part on
whether one understands “eunuch” (eunochos) in its literal, physical sense or simply as a designation for a
court official. As far as we know, in the pre-70 period a physical eunuch could not become a full-fledged
convert to Judaism because of the restriction inscribed in Deut 23:1 (23:2 in the MT; later rabbinic literature
develops various legal distinctions on this point). However, whatever be the tradition that may lie behind the
present text of Acts 8:26–40, it has been massively redacted by Luke, so the question must be how Luke
understands “eunuch,” a point that remains unclear. For a treatment of the relevant historical-critical and
literary problems connected with these questions, see Josef Zmijewski, Die Apostelgeschichte, 359–69; C. K.
Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles 1. 420–26; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, 410–12. Fitzmyer
argues that the line of development in Luke’s story of the spread of the Christian faith requires that the
Ethiopian eunuch be understood “as a Jew, or possibly a Jewish proselyte” (p. 410). Not all commentators
would agree. For example, Ernst Haenchen (Die Apostelgeschichte [MeyerK 3; 6th ed.; Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968] 264) thinks that Luke has purposely left the religious status of the Ethiopian
unclear. Brittany E. Wilson (“‘Neither Male nor Female’: The Ethiopian Eunuch in Acts 8.26–40,” NTS 60
[2014] 403–22) takes the theme of ambiguity even further by interpreting the Ethiopian as a true physical
eunuch, a liminal figure defying neat categories, and hence a perfect representative of Luke’s theme of
boundary-breaking. For an approach that moves in a similar direction, see Scott Shauf, “Locating the
Eunuch: Characterization and Narrative Context in Acts 8:26–40,” CBQ 71 (2009) 762–75.
37. That Rome could be considered, for specific theological and literary purposes, “the end of the earth” is
supported by the description of Paul’s martyrdom at Rome in 1 Clem. 5:7: “Having come to the farthest limit
of the West . . . thus he [Paul] dēsparted the world. . . .” (Possibly, though, 1 Clement alludes here to Paul’s
plans to go to Spain, mentioned in Rom 15:24,28.) The theme of Rome as the limit of the West (using the
word dysis, literally, the “setting” of the sun) is also touched on by Ignatius of Antioch, Rom. 2:2, likewise in
a context of Christian martyrdom at Rome. On the interpretation of this geographical reference, see Barrett,
The Acts of the Apostles, 1. 79–81; Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, 206–7.
38. Apart from the two retrospective references to the Galilee of Jesus’ public ministry (Acts 10:37;
13:31), Galilee is mentioned only in passing in the global summary of the state of the church in Acts 9:31:
“Now the church throughout the whole of Judea and Galilee and Samaria was enjoying peace, being built up
and walking in the fear of the Lord; and it was being given [numerical] increase by the consolation of the
holy spirit.”
39. On this, see A Marginal Jew, 3. 545–46.
40. See A Marginal Jew, 2. 701–6; 3. 544–45. As can be seen in these overviews of the problem, the
Samaritans functioned both in the eyes of Jews and Gentiles and in the literary works of Luke and John as an
“in between” or “liminal” people, neither fully Jewish nor fully Gentile—though the historical Samaritans
considered themselves “Israel.” Hence, in John’s Gospel, where Jesus has no significant contact with
Gentiles during the public ministry (contrast the stories of the centurion’s servant and the Syrophoenician
woman in the Synoptics), the brief contact with the Samaritans in John 4 serves as a foreshadowing of the
mission to the Gentiles that will be made possible by Jesus’ death-resurrection (see John 12:20–26). Fittingly,
then, in the whole Gospel of John, only the Samaritans give Jesus a title that intimates his universal impact
and thus a universal mission in his name (4:42, “this is truly the savior of the world”). In Acts, Luke
purposely positions the mission to the Samaritans (8:4–25) after the initial mission to the Jews and before any
indication of a mission to the Gentiles. The Gentiles appear in the narrative as converts (i) possibly in the
story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch (but is the eunuch a Gentile God-fearer or a Jewish proselyte?; see
n. 36 in this chapter) in 8:26–40; (ii) certainly in the story of Peter and Cornelius, with a need for Peter to
justify this surprising démarche to the Jerusalem church in 10:1–11:18; and (iii) most certainly in the open
and widespread preaching of the gospel to the Gentiles at Antioch by the Hellenists in 11:19–26, with a
major dispute resulting in 15:1–35. Notice that, by way of comparison, the conversion of the Samaritans
creates no difficulty or dispute for Jewish Christians.
41. Paradoxically, it is perhaps the wholly positive nature of the Samaritan in this L parable that prevents
Luke from using his characteristic “interior monologue” (or soliloquy) here. Sellew (“Interior Monologue,”
242) points out that the characters in the L parables who engage in interior monologues are not especially
commendable, let alone noble, persons. As Sellew observes, “the self-satisfied, amoral, or even immoral
individuals who star in these portrayals, who are looking out for their own interests above all, sometimes
encounter unexpected divine intervention or retribution . . . but more often they seem able to use their
craftiness or amoral reasoning to escape punishment.” This description is the exact opposite of all that the
Samaritan stands for. Hence, one salient Lucan stylistic trait, the inner monologue, is necessarily missing
from the parable of the Good Samaritan.
42. It is odd that many commentaries on the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Chronicles either do not
mention or do not give detailed attention to this correspondence or to the possibility of Luke’s conscious use
of this story in his parable of the Good Samaritan. Among the few commentators who do raise the question,
some deny any connection between the parable and 2 Chr 28:8–15, at times for apparently apologetic
reasons. Still others acknowledge the connection, but only in passing. For a brief history of the treatment of
the question in scholarly literature, see Isaac Kalimi, “Robbers on the Road to Jericho. Luke’s Story of the
Good Samaritan and Its Origin in Kings/Chronicles,” ETL 85 (2009) 47–53. Kalimi notes that the Chronicler
in turn may have been influenced by an earlier story about treating enemies with kindness in 2 Kgs 6:20–23,
though Kalimi rightly maintains that the links between 2 Chronicles 28 and Luke 10 are much stronger.
Kalimi leaves open the question of whether the use of 2 Chr 28:8–15 in the parable is to be attributed to Jesus
or to Luke. Also in favor of seeing the influence of 2 Chr 28:8–15 on this parable is Evans, “Luke’s Good
Samaritan,” 32–42. Evans goes so far as to suggest (p. 32) that “the parable has indeed been ‘spun out of the
account’ in 2 Chron. 28. 1–15.” For a list of scholars who accept the influence of the story in 2 Chronicles
and of those who either deny or ignore the possibility, see his footnotes 1 and 2 on p. 32. Similar to Evans in
general approach but even more detailed in his treatment of the similarities and differences between 2 Chr
28:8–15 and the Good Samaritan is Eben Scheffler, “The Assaulted (Man) on the Jerusalem—Jericho Road:
Luke’s Creative Interpretation of 2 Chronicles 28:15,” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 69 (2013)
8 pages (online). Like Evans, Scheffler leaves open the possibility that some form of the parable or perhaps
some stimulus that gave rise to the Lucan parable can be attributed to Jesus. Scheffler suggests, for instance,
that Jesus may have recalled the incident described in 2 Chronicles 28 in order to counter Jewish hatred for
Samaritans, that his followers later recalled his use of this Scripture passage, and that Luke then created the
parable of the Good Samaritan from the OT text and the stimulus given by Jesus’ use of it. While all this may
be possible, we seem to be involved in a desperate attempt to salvage something of the parable for Jesus,
when the present form of the parable—and the only form available to us—clearly comes from Luke’s
creative hand.
43. On this, see Goulder, “Characteristics,” 68; Bultmann, Geschichte, 221–22. It is telling that Jean-Marie
Van Cangh (“Le Bon Samaritain. Une création de Jésus ou de Luc?,” Luke and His Readers [Adelbert
Denaux Festschrift; BETL 182; ed. Reimund Bieringer, Gilbert Van Belle, and Joseph Verheyden; Leuven:
Leuven University/Peeters, 2005] 239–63), in an attempt to reconstruct the original parable of Jesus that lies
behind Luke’s text, feels obliged to rewrite the basic story so that the three travelers who come upon the
wounded man turn out to be a priest, a Levite, and an Israelite layman. That Van Cangh must also rewrite
other key parts of the whole Lucan pericope to arrive at the original form of the parable (e.g., the original
parable was the direct answer to the lawyer’s question “What must I do to inherit eternal life?,” and Jesus’
final question was “Which of the three, in your opinion, has the greatest chance of inheriting eternal life?”)
does not inspire confidence. But the ultimate problem with Van Cangh’s whole approach is that, while he
emphasizes the enormous redactional creativity of Luke, he takes for granted that behind Luke’s activity lay a
parable that went all the way back to the historical Jesus. To repeat the basso continuo of this fifth volume,
why should we presuppose that scenario?
44. See my treatment in A Marginal Jew, 3. 532–49, esp. 546–47, with the relevant endnotes (esp. 602 n.
172). As I indicated on p. 546, the opinion of scholars on the origin of the parable of the Good Samaritan is
mixed. The attentive reader will notice that while in Volume Three I leaned in the direction of some pre-
Lucan tradition behind the parable of the Good Samaritan (though I did not support ultimate authorship by
the historical Jesus; see pp. 602–3 n. 173), I have since come to the conclusion that evidence for such a pre-
redactional parable circulating in the L tradition is lacking.
45. It is remarkable to observe how many commentators on the parable of the Good Samaritan take for
granted (instead of arguing) that the parable, in some form or other, derives from the historical Jesus. This is
true of exegetes so different in their approach as Jeremias (The Parables of Jesus, 202–5, where even the
initial exchange with the lawyer is apparently accepted as the historical occasion of the parable) and Scott
(Hear Then the Parable, 189–202, in a more critically nuanced presentation that distinguishes the original
meaning of the parable and Luke’s redactional intent). Many treatments admit in theory that one must
distinguish between some original form of the parable in the mouth of the historical Jesus and the text we
now have from Luke. Yet in practice the distinction is quickly waived or forgotten, and the supposedly
distinct compositions of Jesus and Luke meld in the details of the exegesis. For various examples of this
approach, see Bauckham, “The Scrupulous Priest,” 475–89; Esler, “Jesus and the Reduction of Intergroup
Conflict,” 325–57; Kazen, “The Good Samaritan,” 131–44; Sprinkle, “The Use of Genesis 42:18,” 193–205.
This (often unacknowledged) eliding of the level of Luke’s composition and the supposed level of Jesus’
creation of the parable is proclaimed with refreshing honesty by Esler (p. 325), when he states his
presumption that the parable is “either authentic or that, even if it is a Lucan creation (the view I prefer),
Luke so well understood . . . the message of Jesus that for the most relevant purposes it does not particularly
matter whether it is authentic Jesus material or not.” For anyone seriously engaged in the quest for the
historical Jesus, it does matter.
46. See, e.g., Funk et al., The Five Gospels, 323–24 (the Good Samaritan in red font), 356–57 (the Prodigal
Son in pink font). The editors note that almost 50 percent of the Fellows of the Jesus Seminar voted red for
the Prodigal Son; “a few black votes pulled the average into the pink category” (p. 357). In The Five Gospels,
red represents the judgment that “Jesus undoubtedly said this or something very like it”: pink indicates the
judgment that “Jesus probably said something like this” (p. 36). In both cases, the reasoning offered for a
judgment of authenticity is surprisingly flimsy. For example, the authenticity of the Good Samaritan as a
parable originally spoken by Jesus is supposedly demonstrated by the fact that the parable “redraws the map
of both the social and the sacred world” (p. 324)—something that is quite true of Luke–Acts, which is much
more concerned about Samaritans than apparently the historical Jesus was. (As an aside: it is telling that,
from all the L parables, the Jesus Seminar’s The Parables of Jesus. Red Letter Edition [ed. Robert W. Funk,
Bernard Brandon Scott, and James R. Butts; Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1988] lists only the Good Samaritan
and the Dishonest Steward as “red parables” [p. 74]). As for the Prodigal Son, in contrast to Funk and his
associates, Drury (The Parables in the Gospels, 139–47) marshals strong arguments for Lucan composition
of this parable. After listing all the Lucan vocabulary, grammar, syntax, theological themes, and typically
Lucan allusions to the OT in this parable, Drury asserts (p. 142): “Anyhow, enough has been said . . . to land
us in the preposterous position that if Jesus is the author of this parable [i.e., the Prodigal Son] then it must
follow that there is a case for his authorship of Luke’s Gospel.” One could easily expand this general
argument by detailed studies of aspects of the Prodigal Son that reflect the sort of grasp of Greco-Roman
literature that might be expected of a cultured cosmopolitan rather than a Jewish prophet from Galilee. For
example, Callie Callon (“Adulescentes and Meretrices: The Correlation between Squandered Patrimony and
Prostitutes in the Parable of the Prodigal Son,” CBQ 75 [2013] 259–78) highlights the stock elements of
Greco-Roman comedy that Luke employs in the parable. Luke’s theological concerns and literary style
within the context of the larger Greco-Roman world are also emphasized by Trevor J. Burke, “The Parable of
the Prodigal Father. An Interpretative Key to the Third Gospel,” TynBul 64 (2013) 217–38 (though without
engaging the question of whether the parable ultimately comes from the historical Jesus). That the Prodigal
Son expresses a theology of conversion that is characteristic of Luke (and, in this case, not of Paul) is the
contention of David Morlan, “Luke and Paul on Repentance,” Paul and the Gospels. Christologies, Conflicts
and Convergences (Library of NT Studies 411; ed. Michael F. Bird and Joel Willitts; London/New York:
Clark, 2011) 115–45, esp 123–31. In sum, the same basic set of arguments that I have employed in this
chapter to show that the Good Samaritan is a creation of Luke also applies to the Prodigal Son. Granted,
some commentators might reply that these arguments are offset by indications that the parable of the Prodigal
Son sits awkwardly in its present place in the Gospel, a sign that its literary context is secondary. Hence it is a
traditional unit that Luke took into his Gospel. Actually, such a claim about the parable’s awkward position in
its immediate context is debatable, but let us grant it for the moment for the sake of argument. Even then, it is
hardly a decisive claim. In light of the fact that Luke composed the two longest books in the NT, indeed the
only two books that are intentionally meant to function as two parts of one literary work, it is hardly a leap of
logic to suppose that Luke was a longtime teacher, preacher, and leader of one or more Christian
communities toward the end of the 1st century A.D. It could well be, then, that small masterpieces like the
parable of the Prodigal Son were first formulated by him in his oral teaching and preaching before they were
incorporated into his grand literary project. An alternate approach, which brings us more or less to the same
ultimate conclusion, is the suggestion of Marc Rastoin (“Le génie littéraire et théologique de Luc en Lc
15.11–32 éclairé par le parallèle avec Mt 21.28–32,” NTS 60 [2014] 1–19) that the parable of the Prodigal
Son is Luke’s creation in the sense that it is the result of his creative rewriting of a traditional parable that
was similar to Matt 21:28–32 (The Two Sons); according to Rastoin, this rewritten unit, whose style is totally
Lucan, reveals the literary and theological genius of Luke. If that should be the case, how would we get back
from Luke through a hypothetical source to whatever was the original parable of Jesus?
47. If, as I have argued, the parable of the Good Samaritan is a creation of Luke, the various attempts made
by scholars to use the parable to discern Jesus’ views on the Mosaic Law in general or purity laws in
particular must be judged hopelessly flawed from the start. This is especially true of the presentations of
Bauckham, “The Scrupulous Priest,” 475–89; and Kazen, “The Good Samaritan,” 131–44. Even if we were
to grant that some earlier version of Luke’s parable goes back to Jesus, we cannot draw any historical
conclusions about Jesus’ position on purity rules from the parable without knowing the wording of the
supposedly original version, since a minor change in certain key words would likewise change our
deductions about Jesus’ views. In particular, before a scholar can state how the parable informs us of Jesus’
position on purity, he or she must deal with a number of serious philological and historical problems. (1)
What is the original Aramaic that lies behind the all-important but rare Greek word hēmithanē (“half-dead”)
in Luke 10:30? A great deal of the argument about purity rests on the priest’s dilemma in possibly exposing
himself to incurring ritual impurity from a corpse (something forbidden to a priest unless the deceased was a
close relative). Complicating the problem is the fact that the Greek word for “half-dead” does at times occur
in contexts that indicate that the “half-dead” person can speak and move. See, e.g., 4 Macc 4:11, where the
impious Apollonius falls to the ground “half-dead [hēmithanēs],” yet proceeds to stretch out his hands and
beg the Hebrews to pray for him; see likewise Joseph and Aseneth 27:3 + 29:1, though the presence of
hēmithanēs in 27:3 is not textually certain. If the wounded person in Luke’s parable is “half-dead” in the
sense witnessed in 4 Macc 4:11, he would still be able to manifest by word and/or action that he was not dead
and therefore posed no immediate danger of corpse impurity to a Jewish priest. In the end, though, all of this
information brings us no closer to knowing the meaning of the pivotal Aramaic word that would supposedly
underlie the Greek hēmithanē. (2) Then, too, there is the question of whether later rabbinic texts may be
invoked to show that at least some legal experts allowed a priest to bury a corpse found abandoned in the
open country (mēt miṣwâ). The mere fact that purity was a lively subject of debate around the time of Jesus
(as witnessed, for example, by many texts from Cave 4 at Qumran, notably 4QMMT) does not in itself
resolve the question of whether it is legitimate, when commenting on the Good Samaritan, to invoke rabbinic
texts like m. Nazir 7:1—all the more so when (i) this rabbinic text concerns the relative obligation of a
Nazirite and a high priest encountering an abandoned corpse and (ii) the prevailing consensus of the sages in
this text states that the obligation to bury the neglected corpse lies with the Nazirite, not the high priest. More
to the point, on what grounds do we suppose that Luke or the historical Jesus (or the audiences of either Luke
or Jesus) knew about the subtleties of rabbinic opinions attested only one to two centuries later? (3) The
presence of the Levite in the story, who functions along with the priest as a contrast-figure to the Samaritan,
creates even greater difficulty for seeing this parable as a vehicle of Jesus’ views on purity. Nothing known
about Levites either from the OT or from Jewish literature at the time of Jesus supports the opinion that
Levites were under the same purity prohibitions as priests in the matter of coming into contact with corpses;
on this, see Amy-Jill Levine, “The Many Faces of the Good Samaritan—Most Wrong,” BARev 38/1 (2012)
24, 68, esp. 24. (4) One must remember that, on the level of Luke’s redactional composition, we are not
justified in attributing to Luke the knowledge of the Samaritans’ approach to the Mosaic Law and purity rules
that a modern historian of religion might possess. As a matter of fact, even Luke’s grasp of the geography of
Samaria vis-à-vis Galilee and Judea seems shaky at best; see, e.g., 17:11 (“and it came to pass while he
[Jesus] was traveling to Jerusalem and was passing between [literally, ‘going through the middle of’]
Samaria and Galilee . . .”), a geographical notice that occurs toward the end of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem!
In brief, Luke’s knowledge of Samaritans, as evidenced in his Gospel and Acts, can be summed up as
follows: the Samaritans count as foreigners and as a distinct religious group in the eyes of Jews (but they do
not count as Gentiles); a major point of tension between Samaritans and Jews is the status of the Jerusalem
temple as the proper goal of religious pilgrimage; the Samaritans are given to a ready belief in miracles that
leads to credulity when confronted with charlatans; yet they prove open to receiving the Christian message.
To impute to Luke or to the literary character of the “good Samaritan” that he creates in this parable a precise
knowledge of first-century Samaritan views on the Mosaic Law in general or purity rules concerning the
dead in particular is to go beyond the evidence. Indeed, even today, how much do scholars know for certain
about Samaritan purity rules concerning the dead in the period prior to A.D. 70?
48. Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 406–9) lists sixteen different approaches to the interpretation of this
sphinx of a parable. Paradoxically, he also argues that the parable originates with Jesus on the grounds that
such a “notoriously difficult” parable would hardly have been created by the early church. I suggest that
anyone who is attracted to such an argument first review Volumes One to Four of A Marginal Jew and
catalogue all the difficult, confusing, perplexing, or confounding statements that are attributed to Jesus in
Gospels but that wind up being judged creations of the early church or an evangelist. For an analysis of
different tendencies in the interpretation of the Dishonest Steward down through the ages, see Brian C.
Dennert, “A Survey of the Interpretative History of the Parable of the Dishonest Steward (Luke 16:1–9),”
From Judaism to Christianity: Tradition and Transition (Thomas H. Tobin Festschrift; NovTSup 136; ed.
Patricia Walters; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2010) 145–52. Dennert’s contribution serves as an appendix to an
essay in the same volume by Edmondo Lupieri, “Mammona iniquitatis: Can We Make Sense of the Parable
of the Dishonest Steward?,” pp. 131–43. Both Dennert and Lupieri think that the Dishonest Steward is one of
the most difficult Gospel parables to interpret; both feel that the best way forward is to focus on the meaning
of the parable within its wider Lucan context. Lupieri in particular voices his skepticism about the possibility
of identifying the original meaning of this parable in regard to Jesus; he states that he would be satisfied if he
could simply understand what the evangelist meant by it (p. 134 n. 9). For a more detailed history of the
interpretation of the Dishonest Steward in the 19th and 20th centuries, see Dennis J. Ireland, Stewardship and
the Kingdom of God (NovTSup 70; Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1992) 5–47.—I find even less
convincing as candidates for authentic parables of the historical Jesus the other “example stories” in Luke
besides the Good Samaritan and the Dishonest Steward. In this, I disagree with the reasoning process of
Timothy A. Friedrichsen (“The Temple, a Pharisee, a Tax Collector, and the Kingdom of God: Rereading a
Jesus Parable (Luke 18:10–14a),” JBL 124 [2005] 89–119), who uses the fact that the parable of the Pharisee
and the Tax Collector is an example story unique to Luke (with the unlikely model of a tax collector) as a
basis for arguing for the historicity of the parable as coming from Jesus. Friedrichsen reasons that, since the
parable is not simply a story about humility in prayer (something that is asserted rather than proven), on the
level of the historical Jesus the parable refers at least implicitly to the Kingdom of God. One is reminded of
the old dictum that what is gratuitously asserted may be gratuitously denied. In addition, Friedrichsen argues
that there is a disjunction between Luke’s introduction to the parable (v 9, warning against those who are
confident about their own righteousness while despising others) and the actual prayer of the Pharisee. But in
the parable proper, the Pharisee’s prayer (despite its formulation as a prayer of thanksgiving) is concentrated
on himself, not on God. His prayer suffers from a terrible case of the “I’s” and blithely contrasts the righteous
Pharisee both with “the rest of human beings” in general and with the tax collector nearby in particular. There
is thus no great disjuncture between the warning in the introduction and the failing presented in the parable.
Nor does the jarring nature of the reversal of expectations, with the tax collector extolled as the model to be
imitated, argue against composition by Luke. Such a reversal of expectations and/or values is common in
Luke’s theology from chap. 1 of his Gospel onward (see, e.g., Luke 1:24,51–53,59–63), and is exemplified
perfectly in the Good Samaritan. Furthermore, even if Friedrichsen’s arguments proved that the parable of the
Pharisee and the Tax Collector was not created by Luke himself, once again we would simply be transferred
to the level of a pre-Lucan tradition, not necessarily to the level of the historical Jesus. To harp on a main
theme of this chapter: one of the greatest barriers to proving that most of the parables come from Jesus is the
difficulty of moving from a possible pre-evangelist tradition to the teaching of Jesus himself. What
arguments can get us across that chasm when the criteria apply to so few parables?
CHAPTER 40
THE FEW, THE HAPPY FEW

For many readers of A Marginal Jew, the conclusion drawn from Chapter 39 was
probably not a welcome one. After all the effort expended on the narrative
parables of the Synoptics in the last three chapters, we apparently wind up with so
little: four parables that might qualify as candidates for the coveted accolade of
going back to the historical Jesus.
Actually, our sense of disappointment should be accompanied by a sense of
déjà vu. We have been here before. In Volume Four of A Marginal Jew, we spent
a great deal of time on Jesus’ relation to Jewish purity rules, only to conclude that
much of the Gospel material on the subject came from the early days of the
church. I stressed then what I stress now: such negative results are paradoxically a
positive gain. For example, in the case of the purity laws, items from the
Synoptics have all too often been blithely cited to reconstruct the historical Jesus
—either a radical Jesus rejecting purity laws root and branch or an observant
Jesus accepting the purity system while questioning individual points within the
acceptable range of debate. It is a positive gain to realize that both claims and
portraits are equally dubious. Put more broadly, it is a positive gain to wake up to
the fact that various traits of some commonly accepted portraits of Jesus are
simply bogus and should be jettisoned. Put still more broadly, our nescience in
some areas of the historical Jesus is much greater than in others, and it is vital for
any quester to know that.
At least with the purity rules, though, a fair number of my Christian readers
might well shrug their shoulders and think, “No great loss.” (Needless to say,
many Jewish readers would beg to differ.) I suspect that my Christian audience
will react with less insouciance when faced with my conclusions about the
Synoptic parables. Here we run up against a basic problem with the historical-
critical method: it is an equal-opportunity offender. Unfortunately, trying to be
just a little bit critical is like trying to be just a little bit pregnant. Throughout the
four previous volumes of A Marginal Jew, I have rigorously applied the
historical-critical method to the sayings and deeds of Jesus recounted in the
Gospels in order to discern what is or is not authentic. As much as possible, I
have let the chips fall where they may. I may not now suddenly retreat from or
discard this method simply because I don’t like the outcome in the case of the
parables. A critical method becomes critically important precisely when it runs
counter to our desires and forces us to face unpleasant truths or probabilities.
Despite the received wisdom of over a century of parable research and despite
my own personal inclinations, sober historical inquiry has led me to a wildly
unpopular conclusion: only four Synoptic parables are likely candidates when it
comes to the judgment of “authentic.” As we have seen, they are the Mustard
Seed, the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, the Great Supper, and the Talents/Pounds.
They are the sole survivors of the initial winnowing process that took up Chapter
39. But will a closer examination of each parable sustain our initial hunch about
these happy survivors? This present chapter seeks to answer that question. We
shall examine each parable in turn, first reviewing basic insights about sources,
structure, and content, and then moving to the question of whether the parable can
satisfy any of the criteria of historicity. Fortunately, when it comes to the Mustard
Seed and the Evil Tenants, we have already done a good amount of the necessary
exegetical spadework in chapter 38, when we studied these parables’ possible
relation to CGT. In these two cases, we will first recall and expand upon the
results of our previous examination and then weigh the question of each parable’s
historicity.

I. THE MUSTARD SEED (MARK 4:30–32 || MATT 13:31–32 || LUKE 13:18–

19)1
To recapitulate what we saw in Chapter 38: the version of the parable in CGT
(logion 20) is most likely a conflation of the versions found in all three Synoptic
Gospels. Different elements of the parable that are proper to Mark, Matthew, and
Luke respectively all appear in CGT 20. Especially in such a short unit of sayings
material, such a phenomenon can hardly be attributed to mere chance—all the
more so if we agree with various exegetes that some of the Synoptic material
paralleled in logion 20 reflects the redactional activity of one or more Synoptic
evangelists.
With CGT 20 put aside, the next question to consider is the relationship among
the three Synoptic versions of the parable. As our inspection of the texts of Mark,
Luke, and Matthew in Chapter 38 suggested, the most probable solution is that we
have in this parable an example of a Mark–Q overlap. In other words, a saying
attributed to Jesus was preserved in different forms in two independent streams of
early oral tradition, streams that we label Mark and Q.2 Such Mark–Q overlaps
are nothing new to readers of A Marginal Jew. We encountered a prime example
of this phenomenon early in Volume Two, namely, in the Baptist’s promise of
“one who is coming” to baptize with the holy spirit (Mark 1:7–8 || Matt 3:11–12 ||
Luke 3:15–18).3 Other examples examined in A Marginal Jew include Jesus’
saying about binding the strong one (Mark 3:27 || Matt 12:29 || Luke 11:21–22)
and his missionary discourse (Mark 6:4–13 || Matt 10:1,5–15 || Luke 9:1,2–5 ||
Luke 10:1–12).4 In this last case, Matthew shows his tendency to mesh Marcan
and Q material, while Luke keeps the two traditions separate (Luke 9:1,2–5 =
Mark; Luke 10:1–12 = Q). As in the missionary discourse, so in the parable of the
Mustard Seed, Matthew meshes Mark and Q.
Once we grant that there were two independent primitive forms of the Mustard
Seed, it is useless to ask which is the original form of the parable. It is quite
conceivable that, during his public ministry, Jesus spoke this parable more than
once, adapting it to the precise audience and purpose of the moment. In any event,
the parable clearly took on different forms in the oral tradition of the early church.
Fortunately, for all the multiple oral performances that may have taken place, the
basic structure and content of the parable remained fairly stable down to its
redaction by the three Synoptists. All three agree in having the mini-story move
through an introduction and then three stages of the narrative.5 The introduction
presents Jesus announcing a comparison of the kingdom of God/heaven with a
particular event.6 (1) The metaphorical story that follows the introduction begins
with a mustard seed being sown in the ground/field/garden; Mark and Matthew
mention that it is “the smallest of all the seeds.” (2) The mustard seed grows into
a large plant (“the largest of all shrubs” in Mark and Matthew) and indeed
becomes a tree (in Matthew and Luke). (3) The result of the growth is that the
birds of heaven dwell in its branches (or in its shade, in Mark’s version).
In this short enigmatic parable we have a good example of C. H. Dodd’s
description of a parable’s function to tease the mind into active thought.7 This
parable is not a mystical riddle that enlightens students by leading them to
understand that there is nothing to understand on the rational level. On the
contrary, some things in this parable are clear from the start.
(1) The Synoptic Jesus illumines the meaning of “the kingdom of God” by
comparing it to a simple, well-known process: the planting of a mustard seed that
in due time grows into a shrub (or tree) of remarkable height. The fact that all
three Synoptic versions of the story move from planting through growth (the verb
auxanō, “to grow,” is used by Matthew and Luke, while Mark uses anabainō, “to
go up” or “to ascend”) to the production of a large plant suggests that at least part
of the message conveyed by the comparison has to do with the theme of notable
growth or development. Thus, the kingdom of God, the subject of the comparison
in every version of the parable, is neither an abstract idea or archetype in heaven
nor an inert entity here on earth. It is a dynamic reality that, by its own inner
power, grows or develops in the world of human experience, while at the same
time not being a product of human endeavor.8
(2) But is that the whole of the comparison? The Marcan and Matthean
versions emphasize—and the Lucan version implies—a further theme: the
contrast between the small mustard seed and the plant it produces.9 Mark and
Matthew hyperbolically and inaccurately call the mustard seed the smallest of all
seeds and the plant that it germinates (again, hyperbolically and inaccurately) the
largest of all shrubs (or pot herbs, lachana).10 Heightening the contrast, Matthew
adds to his shrub designation the term found in Q: tree (dendron)—which is the
sole designation of the plant in Luke. While the explicit contrast between
“smallest” and “largest” does not appear in Luke’s version of the parable, the
opposition within a single verse of “seed” and “tree” certainly hints at the notion
of contrast. The contrast becomes more than a hint when we remember that this is
not any seed but a mustard seed. While it is not true that the smallness of the
mustard seed was proverbial throughout the ancient Mediterranean world (as is
sometimes claimed), Jewish material extending from the sayings of Jesus to the
sayings of the rabbis in Mishna and Talmud indicates that the tiny size of the seed
was a familiar metaphor among Jews.11 Hence, while the theme of contrast is
more muted in Luke (and probably Q), it is still present. The use of the word
“tree” (dendron) in Luke as the terminus of the process that begins with a seed—
as opposed to the terminus expressed by Mark’s lachana (“vegetable,” “pot
herb”)—inevitably conveys the idea of contrast.12 The upshot of all these
botanical observations is that it is wrongheaded to play off the theme of growth
against the theme of contrast, as though the parable of the Mustard Seed must
have only one point or focus (a common mistake among interpreters unduly
influenced by Adolf Jülicher).13 Not unlike a real mustard seed, this tiny parable
has the dynamic power to yield a number of related ideas, insights, or
challenges.14
(3) A third related theme may be intimated by the concluding words of the
parable, where the birds of heaven dwell in the plant’s branches (Matthew and
Luke) or under its shade (Mark). Although the adjective “all” is not used, the very
phrase “birds of heaven” conjures up the idea of a gathering of a group that
enjoys the habitation (kataskēnoo, “to dwell”) that the branches or shade of the
plant affords.15 This in turn points to the dynamic expansion of God’s kingly rule,
enveloping groups of people who find a place to dwell and rest “in” or “under”
the kingdom of God. Many exegetes push this point further: they see in the image
of the birds dwelling in the tree branches or under its shade an allusion to one or
more OT texts. The texts supposedly depict the Gentile nations finding protection
under God’s royal rule in the end time. Such an idea is appealing since it finds
expression elsewhere in Jesus’ sayings, such as his inclusion of the Gentiles in the
eschatological banquet shared by Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Matt 8:11–12 ||
Luke 13:28–29).16 In my opinion, however, claims about OT allusions go beyond
the evidence provided by the wording of the final part of the parable. It is telling
that commentators appeal to various OT passages rather than agreeing on a single
text as the source of the image of birds dwelling in or under a tree. The Greek
versions of Ezek 31:3–6; 17:3–4,22–23; Dan 4:10–12 (Theodotion); and LXX Ps
103:12 are all cited, but an inspection of these passages shows that no one text
supplies an exact parallel in wording, thought, or metaphor.17
(i) For example, the LXX of Ezek 31:3–6 speaks of Egypt as a tall cypress (a
cedar in the MT).18 In v 6, “all the birds of heaven nested [enosseusan] in its
boughs, and under its branches all the beasts of the field begat [their young]; in its
shade every multitude of nations lived [katǭ kĕsen].” Ezekiel proceeds with a
threat that the mighty Egyptian empire will be humbled by a still mightier empire:
the lofty cypress will be cut down. Needless to say, Ezekiel’s haughty cypress,
which is punished by God, hardly provides a direct analogy to the kingdom of
God in the parable of the Mustard Seed. One must engage in contorted exegesis
of the Synoptic parable, turning it into a “light-hearted burlesque” of Ezekiel’s
taunt, in order to create a connection.19 Supposedly, the parable is upending
traditional expectations about the eschatological kingdom of God. This ingenious
exegesis might be more convincing if the parable of the Mustard Seed had
directly quoted Ezek 31:6, or if it had portrayed the mustard seed growing up to
become not a generic tree (in the Q, not the Marcan version) but rather a cedar or
cypress. Alas, it does not. In Matt 13:32 || Luke 13:19, the mustard seed just
becomes “a tree,” while in Mark 4:32, the poor seed does not even make it that
far. In Mark, it just becomes “the largest of all the bushes” (literally, “all the
vegetables” or “pot herbs,” lachanōn). Apparently, this Synoptic parable is
willing to engage in hyperbole about the mustard plant, but even hyperbole has its
limits: no cedar in sight. The Ezekiel text does not have the cedar/cypress
growing out of a mustard seed, and the parable of the Mustard Seed does not have
the seed growing into a cedar or cypress. To be convincing, the claim of an
allusion to Ezek 31:3–6 would require firmer evidence than is offered.
(ii) Some exegetes refuse to be discouraged, though, since similar vocabulary
can be found elsewhere in the OT. Indeed, in the Book of Ezekiel itself, tree
symbolism reappears in another complicated māšāl. In Ezek 17:3–4, the image of
a cedar with its crest torn off by an eagle begins an extended allegory about King
Nebuchadnezzar, who in 597 b.c. deposed King Jehoiachin of Judah and took him
captive to Babylon, while placing Zedekiah on Judah’s throne instead. Zedekiah,
allied with Egypt, rebelled against Nebuchadnezzar, who once again exiled
Judah’s king to Babylon, this time destroying Jerusalem in the process (587/586
b.c.). But in 17:22–23, Ezekiel (or a later author) reworks this allegory for a more
positive message. This time around, God takes a shoot (the Davidic line of
Judah’s royal house) from the crest of the cedar and plants it on a mountain of
Israel. The shoot becomes a great cedar—obviously, a prophecy of the restoration
of the Davidic line after the Babylonian exile. This new cedar becomes a great
tree; “under it every beast shall rest [anapausetai], and every bird [pan peteinon]
shall rest under its shadow.” However intriguing the resonance of the restoration
of a Davidic king in the end time might have been to the Synoptic evangelists (at
least Matthew and Luke),20 one must admit that the LXX of Ezek 17:22–23 has
few words in common with the parable of the Mustard Seed, and the overall story
is quite different. Even with the inventive imagination of modern exegetes, one
can hardly compress the complicated, multipart allegory that takes up the whole
of Ezekiel 17 into the two or three verses of the parable of the Mustard Seed.
Then, too, one wonders how 1st-century Galilean peasants, hearing this parable
for the first time from the lips of the historical Jesus, could possibly catch the
erudite allusions to various texts in Ezekiel that have taken me a couple of
paragraphs to explain to a highly educated audience.
(iii) If one finds Ezekiel lacking, one can always turn to the Greek text of Dan
4:10–12 (in the Theodotion, not the LXX, version) for some words and symbols
also found in our parable.21 Once again we have a great tree, under which were
dwelling (kateskēnoun) the wild beasts, and in whose branches the birds of
heaven settled down (katǭkoun ta ornea tou ouranou). Besides the fact that the
Greek vocabulary is only partially similar to that of the Synoptic parable, the
sense of the imagery is totally different. Even if we ignore the fact that there is no
small seed that grows into a large tree, the mighty tree depicted by Daniel
represents Nebuchadnezzar in his powerful and arrogant reign. The tree is
suddenly cut down, a prophecy of divine judgment on Nebuchadnezzar. We are
told (without any use of a tree metaphor) that a fit of madness will reduce the king
to the condition of a wild beast for seven years, after which he will return to his
senses and acknowledge the true God. None of this has anything to do with the
tiny mustard seed growing into a shrub or tree.
(iv) As a final reminder that we are dealing with general scriptural motifs and
vocabulary that are not tied to any one context, be it prophetic or apocalyptic,22
we might turn our attention to the lyric description of nature found in LXX Ps
103:12: near the brooks winding through the mountains “the birds of heaven shall
dwell” (ta peteina tou ouranou kataskēnōsei).23 What separates this poetic
passage within a creation hymn of praise and thanksgiving from the previous
prophetic texts is that the phrase “the birds of heaven shall dwell” is simply part
of a realistic description of the beauties of nature created by God. The phrase is
not a metaphor for anything else; it is certainly not a symbol of apocalyptic
eschatology or the gathering of the Gentiles to Mt. Zion.
Two further observations cast doubt on the attempt to find one specific OT
prophecy to which the end of our parable is supposedly alluding. First, each of the
Greek OT texts we have examined mentions not only the birds of the air but also
the beasts of the field. Yet that constant motif from all four OT texts is absent
from the Synoptic parable in any of its forms. This absence supports the
suggestion that the parable of the Mustard Seed is employing a general
agricultural theme found in the OT and elsewhere, and not one particular text
from among those we have studied.24 Second, the set phrase “the birds of heaven”
(ta peteina tou ouranou) occurs in a number of other sayings of the Synoptic
Jesus (Matt 6:26; 8:20 || Luke 9:58; Luke 8:5) without triggering an Easter egg
hunt among exegetes for the particular OT passage to which this common phrase
supposedly points.
The upshot of this rapid review of OT texts cited as background for our parable
is clear: imaginative critics have pressed the final phrase of the parable of the
Mustard Seed too far by reading into it specific OT allusions that are not there.
The finale of the parable is simply employing traditional biblical language—
language found in various OT contexts—in order to express in graphic fashion a
basic affirmation: God’s royal rule in the end time may begin in a small and
apparently insignificant way, but it will expand by its own inner dynamism into a
great reality that will provide a secure dwelling for many. One need not scour the
whole of the OT to grasp that the metaphorical language of the “birds of heaven”
is pointing to some group of people enveloped by and dwelling in the kingdom.
Whether this group represents the regathered tribes of Israel, or the Gentiles who
find a home among God’s people, or even the whole of humanity recreated in the
end time is something the parable, taken by itself, does not make clear. Like many
parables, it intimates a basic message while at the same time teasing the mind
with various possibilities and further applications. This is not to deny that at times
the historical Jesus may have employed detailed allegory in a parable: the Evil
Tenants of the Vineyard is a prime candidate. But, in contrast to such allegory, the
two verses of the Mustard Seed are content with conjuring up an intimation of the
kingdom of God with a few fundamental themes: growth, contrast, and the
gathering of a group that dwells securely in the kingdom.
 Can anything further be grasped from this small cluster of themes? Read in
isolation, the parable of the Mustard Seed says relatively little. To probe the
parable’s meaning more deeply, we have to situate it in some larger context.
Indeed, the key to any broader understanding of a single parable of Jesus lies in
the answer to a basic question: what is the larger context provided by the teaching
and ministry of the historical Jesus that can place this parable within a larger yet
specific universe of meaning?25 Only this larger framework, constructed for the
most part without drawing on the parables (to avoid circular reasoning), can
provide a valid context for interpreting the parables on the historical level.
Whether they reflect critically on their method or not, questers for the historical
Jesus regularly and almost automatically interpret any given parable by situating
it within what they construe the overall message of Jesus to be.26 Thus we get
whole books interpreting the parables as, inter alia, prophetic proclamations of
future eschatology, a prophetic critique of 1st-century social, economic, and
political structures, a sage’s clever lessons on how to deal with life in this world,
or a gnosticizing call to open one’s eyes to the ever-present reign of God in one’s
life.
The problem is that all too often, especially in books dedicated to detailed
explanations of each of Jesus’ parables, the overall interpretive context is either
simply taken for granted or consciously borrowed from some noted quester (e.g.,
Joachim Jeremias, Ernst Käsemann, or E. P. Sanders) or, alternately, some noted
philosopher (e.g., Martin Heidegger or Paul Ricoeur). Either way, rarely do the
specialists on parables justify their particular choice of the larger context into
which they insert the parables. To be sure, one appreciates that no one scholar can
do everything, especially in a large book analyzing each of the parables in detail.
But such an approach cannot escape the objection of arbitrariness or circular
reasoning. At least if one is thinking in terms of the historical Jesus, by what right
does the author of a parable book place the parables within the larger framework
of a future-oriented eschatological Jesus (à la Jeremias or Sanders) rather than a
Jesus who teaches subversive wisdom about present human existence and society
(à la Crossan or Funk)? In the end, for the interpretation of a parable of Jesus to
be credible on a historical level, the interpreter of the parables must justify not
just the detailed analysis of each parable but also the overarching interpretation of
the historical Jesus that makes sense of the individual parable.27
It is this scholarly conundrum (and especially the danger of circular reasoning)
that has led me to place my treatment of Jesus’ parables so late in the overarching
project of A Marginal Jew. The first four volumes of A Marginal Jew have slowly
filled in the overall contours of Jesus’ ministry and message, starting out with his
origins and the chronology of his life (Volume One), proceeding to a treatment of
his mentor John the Baptist, which prepared the way for Jesus’ central
eschatological message and his claim to have performed various miracles
(Volume Two), his intentional gathering of various inner and outer circles of
followers, along with his conscious positioning of himself over against other
groups competing for influence in 1st-century Palestinian Judaism (Volume
Three)—all of which cleared the way for studying his key teachings on the
Mosaic Law (Volume Four). While such detailed examination of his words and
deeds inevitably involved paying attention to various metaphorical sayings and
similitudes, I carefully avoided calling on the corpus of his parables as a whole to
reconstruct the major components of this emerging portrait. Thus, as we began
Volume Five, we already had at hand a fairly detailed picture of Jesus’ ministry
and message, the prefabricated framework into which we can now place the
parables for fuller interpretation.
I cannot stress enough that this lengthy process—the long and dusty road of the
first four volumes—is essential for understanding the parables as part of the
historical message of the historical Jesus. Read in isolation, as autonomous
pieces of literary art bereft of any 1st-century author or context, the parables can
be made to mean anything a clever interpreter wants them to mean—witness
parable research from the 1960s onward. Indeed, in a modern context, a radical
hermeneutic might claim that all Gospel interpretation is nothing but
autobiography wearing the mask of historical or literary criticism. In such a
theory, what the text says or how the implied reader supposedly responds to the
text is simply what the modern critic wants the text to say, simply how he or she
responds to the text against the backdrop of his or her own life. In my opinion, the
only bulwark against such a solipsistic approach to parables—parables used as
flattering mirrors held up to the critic’s face—is first to construct a portrait of the
historical Jesus largely apart from the parables and then to situate the parables
within the portrait that has emerged. Hence my placement of the parables so late
in the overall project.
Granted this strategy, let us apply it to the parable at hand. How does the
parable of the Mustard Seed fit in with the portrait of Jesus sketched in the first
four volumes? Volume Two made the case for Jesus as an eschatological, Elijah-
like prophet who proclaimed a future kingdom of God that was to some degree
already present and active in Jesus’ ministry. The “already” aspect of the kingdom
in Jesus’ ministry no doubt seemed paltry and insignificant on the larger stage of
Palestinian or Roman power-politics. But Jesus affirmed that in his liberating
action of exorcising demoniacs, “the kingdom of God has [already] come to you”
(Matt 12:28 || Luke 11:20).28 Sending out a ragtag group of twelve disciples on a
brief preaching mission to various Israelite towns may have seemed to many an
empty symbolic gesture, but Jesus asserted that the way a town received or
rejected his envoys would determine its fate at the final judgment.29 In other
words, Jesus asserted that (1) God’s rule was already powerfully at work in his
preaching and healing; and (2) however small his mission appeared at the
moment, there was a vital organic connection between it and the vast and visible
coming of God to judge and save on the last day. It is in this context that we must
hear the message of the Mustard Seed: despite appearances, the kingdom is
present and growing—and yet what a contrast there will be between its small
beginnings and its grand dénouement, when all the tribes of Israel, prefigured in
Jesus’ formation of the circle of the Twelve, will be regathered.30 Twelve
disciples gathered around Jesus and the twelve tribes regathered at the end: what a
contrast, yet one that involves a living, integral connection. Thus, using language
found in Israel’s prophets and psalms, Jesus the eschatological prophet speaks the
parable of the Mustard Seed not as a truism about great things having small
beginnings but rather as a purposefully tiny encapsulation of the grand story of
the kingdom of God: present and “buried” in the soil of Jesus’ apparently paltry
ministry, but guaranteed to expand into a vast kingdom embracing all of
regathered Israel. The Mustard Seed is a perfect example of parable as prophecy,
of everyday reality as a symbol of an eschatology in which a contrasting
“already” and “not yet” are organically linked. Once again we see that parables
belong to Jesus primarily as prophet rather than as wisdom teacher.
At the end of this examination of the parable of the Mustard Seed, the question
of whether the parable goes back to the historical Jesus almost answers itself.
Uniquely among the parables found in all three Synoptics, the Mustard Seed
fulfills the criterion of multiple attestation of independent sources, being
witnessed in both Mark and Q. To this main argument we may now add a second,
confirmatory argument: the parable also meets the criterion of coherence. It fits
perfectly with the eschatological message and ministry of Jesus the prophet that
we have slowly reconstructed in the previous volumes of A Marginal Jew. In a
curious and somewhat comic way, then, the parable of the Mustard Seed truly
embodies as well as proclaims the triumph of the smallest. In the previous and
present chapters of Volume Five, a two-verse parable has been judged authentic,
while the lengthy and much-more-admired parable of the Good Samaritan has
been judged a creation of Luke. As the Jewish Jesus might well say, go figure.

II. THE EVIL TENANTS OF THE VINEYARD (MARK 12:1–11 || MATT

21:33–43 || LUKE 20:9–18)31
Since it is notably longer than the parable of the Mustard Seed, the parable of the
Evil Tenants of the Vineyard required more detailed treatment in Chapter 38. To
recapitulate the results of our examination: the structure of the parable as it stands
in Mark 12:1–11 comprises five stages:
1. the setup, in which a man plants a vineyard and leases it to (tenant) farmers;
2. the sending of the owner’s slaves to collect fruit from the farmers; the slaves are rejected, beaten, and in
some cases killed;
3. the sending of the owner’s son, with the owner hoping that the farmers will respect his son;
4. the killing of the son by the farmers, with the hope that they will inherit the vineyard;
5. the double conclusion, each conclusion beginning with a rhetorical question posed by Jesus and
immediately answered or explicated by Jesus:
a. Jesus asks what the owner will do and replies that the owner will destroy the farmers and lease the
vineyard to others;
b. Jesus asks, “Have you not read this Scripture text?” and then explicates his own question by quoting
LXX Ps 117:22–23, “The stone that the builders rejected, this became the cornerstone. . . .”32

In Chapter 38, we proceeded to move through the five stages of the parable in
each Synoptic Gospel as well as Thomas. The decision about sources that resulted
from our analysis did not seem to support an argument for the
historicity/authenticity of the parable (i.e., that the parable comes from the
historical Jesus). The version in CGT 65–66 proved to be a conflation and
abbreviation of the texts of all three Synoptics, with Luke’s redaction of Mark
being especially influential.33 As for Matthew and Luke, their versions of the
parable are best explained as two independent redactions of Mark’s narrative;
there is no need to appeal to a hypothetical M, L, or Q source. Hence the earliest
version of the parable available to us is Mark’s text and whatever hypothetical
source may lie behind Mark. Therefore, despite the four versions we possess, the
criterion of multiple attestation of independent sources supplies no argument for
this parable’s authenticity.
Perhaps one might be tempted instead to mount an argument from the criterion
of Palestinian environment discussed in Volume One of A Marginal Jew:34
namely, that the parable reflects the circumstances of viticulture in Jewish
Palestine around the turn of the era (in other words, an argument from “contextual
plausibility” or “local color” à la Gerd Theissen). As a matter of fact, John S.
Kloppenborg has gathered an impressive collection of fifty-eight papyri from the
first centuries B.C. and a.d. that deal with socioeconomic problems connected
with viticulture in the eastern Mediterranean.35 These papyri range over such
varied topics as the leasing of a new vineyard, disputes with tenants over wages,
complaints about taxes on a vineyard, charges that laborers have been unfairly
expelled by the owner from a vineyard they had leased, complaints about laborers
seizing a vineyard, reports of theft and violence at harvest time, and a legal suit
against previous lessees of a vineyard. The basic themes of conflict and violence
involved in leasing vineyards and enforcing the terms of the lease are thus well
documented for the period around the turn of the era. While some details in the
narrative of the Evil Tenants may strain credulity (e.g., the owner’s willingness to
send his only son after his servants have been beaten and even killed; the farmers’
presumption that they will inherit the vineyard if they kill the son),36 the overall
scenario fits in well with what we know of cultivating and leasing vineyards in
the eastern part of the ancient Mediterranean world in the first centuries B.C. and
a.d. However, that is all the testimony of the papyri can tell us. While some of the
papyri collected by Kloppenborg refer to Galilee, most deal with conditions in
Egypt from the 3d century B.C. to the 4th century a.d. The parable of the Evil
Tenants could therefore have been composed by any person knowledgeable of
viticulture in the eastern Mediterranean during this time. Nothing in the “local
color” or “plausibility” of the parable demands that the author be Jesus of
Nazareth or even a Palestinian Jew.37
If neither multiple attestation nor coherence argues for the authenticity of the
Evil Tenants, does any other criterion support it? In my view, one can argue for
the parable’s going back to Jesus from the criterion of embarrassment (or, if one
prefers, discontinuity)—though, admittedly, the argument is a long and circuitous
one. To try to clarify the line of reasoning, I will lay out the argument in three
major steps.
Step One: The Nimšal as Literarily Distinct from the Story of the Parable. Our
argument starts with a number of insights from form and tradition criticism as
applied to Synoptic parables. To begin with: as we have seen repeatedly in
previous chapters, the core of any Synoptic parable is by definition a self-
contained short story with at least an implicit beginning, middle, and end. In some
parables, the Synoptic Jesus adds to the story (which is usually, though not
always, narrated in the past tense) some sort of commentary on or application of
the parable’s message, what later rabbis will call a nimšāl. It is vital to bear in
mind that this commentary by Jesus, when it is present at the end of the parable,
is not part of the narrative proper, that is, the story made up of past events. Rather,
the nimšāl is appended after the events that make up the parable’s story have
come to a conclusion.38 This flows naturally from the function of the nimšāl,
namely, to explain or apply the completed narrative to the audience.
(1) To take a striking example: it is only after the story of the Good Samaritan
(Luke 10:30–35) is finished that Jesus asks the lawyer the key question (10:36):
Who proved to be the neighbor to the victim of the robbers? When the lawyer
answers, “The one who showed him mercy” (literally, “the one who did mercy
with him”), Jesus concludes his application or interpretation of the parable with a
command, “Go and do likewise” (10:37). One sees here not only how the nimšāl
comes after and is literarily distinct from the story within the parable but also how
Jesus’ concluding commentary can take different literary forms. At the end of the
Good Samaritan his commentary uses both question and command within a
dialogue; elsewhere his nimšāl is a simple direct statement, long or short.
(2) Interestingly, in a few cases where a parable lacks a nimšāl, a brief phrase at
the beginning of the parable can function as an elliptical interpretation of the
parable that follows. Such is the case with the Q parable of the Wise and Foolish
Builders. The two halves of the parable are introduced by “everyone who hears
these words of mine and does them shall be like . . . and everyone who hears these
words of mine and does not do them shall be like . . .” (Matt 7:24 + 26 || Luke
6:47 + 49). Similarly, the only hint of an interpretation of the Q parable of the
Servant Placed over a Household—apart from the larger eschatological context—
is contained in the opening question, “Who then is the reliable and prudent
servant whom . . .” (Matt 24:45 || Luke 12:42). In contrast, some parables found
in both Matthew and Luke lack any interpretive element at the beginning or end
of the parable itself (as distinct from the wider context or redactional framework).
Such is the case with the parables of the Mustard Seed, the Leaven, the Great
Supper, and the Talents (or Pounds).39
(3) As for the M parables, we find many parables with a nimšāl, though others
lack it. The Wheat and the Weeds is unique in that it imitates the Marcan parable
of the Sower: instead of a short application at the end of the parable, a long
allegorical explanation is placed at some distance from the parable, with other
material intervening. The parables of the Treasure Hidden in the Field and the
Pearl have no nimšāl, while the Fish Net (Matt 13:47–48) receives an allegorical
eschatological explanation that is as long as the parable itself (vv 49–50). The
Unmerciful Servant and the Workers in the Vineyard both have brief, generic
applications, while the nimšāl of the Two Sons is longer and more specific. The
Guest without a Wedding Garment returns to the brief, generic form of
commentary (“the called are many, the chosen are few”), as does the final M
parable in Matthew’s Gospel, the Ten Virgins (“watch therefore, since you know
not the day or the hour”).
(4) The L parables show a mix similar to M. The Two Debtors, the Good
Samaritan, the Friend at Midnight, and the Rich Fool all have some sort of
application or explanation immediately following the parable, while the Barren
Fig Tree does not (though the preceding pericope announces the message directly:
repent or perish). The Tower Builder, the Warring King, and the Lost Coin all
have appended explanations, while the Prodigal Son, though illuminated by
Luke’s larger context (15:1–10), has no nimšāl immediately following the
parable. The Dishonest Steward (16:1–8) is graced with a whole series of
attempted explanations (16:9–13), though none of them really fits the parable all
that well. The parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus has no nimšāl that follows the
parable proper, though the words of Abraham at the end of the parable (16:29 +
31) make the parenetic thrust of the parable clear enough. In contrast, the short
parable of the Servant’s Duty (Luke 17:7–9) receives a pointed nimšāl. The
parable of the Widow and the Unjust Judge receives both an introductory
explanation from Luke (18:1) as well as a detailed explanation from Jesus at the
end of the narrative. Intriguingly, the nimšāl is made up of two rhetorical
questions (18:6 + 7), not unlike the parable of the Evil Tenants. But in Luke 18:8,
these two rhetorical questions are then followed first by a positive, emphatic
statement of the parable’s message (v 8a) and then by a loosely connected Son of
Man saying, formulated as a rhetorical question as well (v 8b)—thus constituting
a truly complicated nimšāl. It should be noted, though, that this four-part nimšāl
does not take up and advance the story presented in the parable proper. Somewhat
simpler is the final L parable in Luke’s Gospel, the Pharisee and the Tax
Collector, which has both an introductory setting of the scene (18:9) and a brief,
generic comment at the end (18:14b).
What does this brief overview of the explanations, applications, or comments
appended to Synoptic parables teach us? First, such explanations are not essential
to the literary genre of a Synoptic parable, since some parables in each Synoptic
source (Mark, Q, M, and L) lack them. Second, the explanations that do occur
come in many shapes and sizes. Some parables have brief, generic applications or
“tags” that can be tacked on to various parables. Other parables have longer
applications that fit the particular parables they follow. Still other parables have a
series of statements and/or questions following them. This sort of “serial nimšāl”
may have only a loose connection with its parable (so, e.g., the Dishonest Steward
and, to some degree, the Widow and the Unjust Judge). Third, it is worth noting
that no Marcan parable—apart from our present case of the Evil Tenants—has a
nimšāl immediately appended to the text of the parable proper. Interestingly, the
number of appended comments increases as we move to Q parables, and they
especially proliferate in parables proper to Matthew and Luke. Here we may
notice a striking, if rough, symmetry. Just as the number of parables increases as
we move from Mark through Q to Matthew and Luke, so does the number of
explanations that follow the parables. This raises the intriguing question of
whether such appended commentaries were all that typical of the parables
actually spoken by the historical Jesus.
 Step Two: The Relation of the Double Conclusion of the Evil Tenants to the
Parable Proper. Bearing in mind these insights into the nature, function, and
frequency of the nimšāl, let us now return full circle to the parable of the Evil
Tenants of the Vineyard. Remembering that it is the nature of a nimšāl (i) to
appear after the story proper of the parable has finished and (ii) not to advance the
plot of the completed story, we will review the five stages of the Evil Tenants as
we find it in Mark, paying careful attention to the beginning, middle, and end of
the parable’s story:
(1) The setup (Mark 12:1) begins the narrative in the past by using the aorist
tense of the verb (= single past act): “A man planted [ephyteusen] a vineyard.
. . .”40 All the subsequent verbs in this setup of the story are likewise in the aorist
(“placed around . . . dug . . . built . . . leased . . . went on a journey”), and all have
“a man” as the understood subject. Clearly the man/owner/father is one of the
lead characters of the story, the one who sets the plot in motion. Note too that, at
the end of the setup, the other major (collective) actor, the tenant farmers, is
introduced. The plot will be developed by the back-and-forth action of these two
main characters, as they struggle over the main inanimate “character” of the story,
the vineyard.
(2) The sending of the slaves by the owner (vv 2–5) is also narrated completely
in the past with aorist verbs (e.g., apesteilen, “he sent”). Every finite verb,
including all the negative actions of the tenant farmers, stands in the aorist (“they
beat . . . sent away empty-handed . . . wounded in the head and dishonored . . .
killed”).41
(3) The sending of the son begins with the imperfect tense (duration in the past)
since the verb refers to an ongoing state of affairs (eichen: “he still had one
person, a beloved son . . .”).42 After this one instance of the imperfect tense, the
narrative reverts to the series of aorists as the story’s action resumes with “he
sent” the son.
(4) The killing of the son continues the chain of aorists: the farmers “said” to
one another, “Let us kill him”; so they “killed” the son and “threw him out” of the
vineyard.43
(5) It is when we come to the double conclusion of the parable, made up of two
rhetorical questions posed by Jesus, that we sense a sudden break with the series
of aorists. The first conclusion in particular signals that we are leaving the story
world made up of past events.
(i) In the first rhetorical question, Jesus abruptly asks, using the future tense of
the verb, “What will the owner of the vineyard do?” Jesus answers his own
question with three more future verbs: “He will come and will destroy the farmers
and will lease the vineyard to others.”44
(ii) Jesus then continues with a second rhetorical question, but one in which the
owner and the farmers are no longer mentioned. Instead, the second question is
addressed directly and explicitly to his audience and is formulated in the aorist:
“Or have you not read this Scripture text?” Jesus then completes his rhetorical
question (which strictly speaking is never answered, though the quotation
functions as a de facto answer) by citing LXX Ps 117:22–23: “The stone that the
builders rejected, this became the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing, and it is
wonderful in our eyes.” Thus, the second rhetorical question, unlike the first,
moves back to the aorist tense, in both Jesus’ initial question and in the OT
citation that follows, with only the final line (“it is wonderful”) using the present
tense. Despite the return to the aorist tense, the break with the parable proper is
clear from the disappearance of the owner and the farmers in vv 10–11.
Step Three: Six Questions on the Form and Content of the Parable. What are
we to make of this five-stage structure, unique within the corpus of the Synoptic
parables, with its shifting tenses and actors and its double conclusion that
continues the story of the parable? Our analysis so far prompts us to pose six key
questions about the form and content of the Evil Tenants. The answers to these six
questions will lead us to a judgment about the historicity of the parable.
(1) Where does the parable proper end? Understood as a self-contained
narrative that, in the case of the Evil Tenants, tells a “once-upon-a-time” story in
the past tense, the parable proper comes to an end when Jesus, the teller of the
story, intervenes and asks a question of his audience in his own person and voice,
a question that inquires—using a future tense—about a future event. The Marcan
Jesus then answers his own question by foretelling a future event with three future
verbs. Thus, both question and answer break with the series of past events
narrated with aorist verbs within the story world of the parable. In other words,
this sudden shift in tenses, along with Jesus’ abrupt breaking into the once-upon-
a-time story world in order to address his audience, signals that the narrative
proper of the parable has come to an end in v 8 with the death of the son and the
dishonoring of his corpse.45 Yet what a jarring, puzzling, shocking ending to the
story! The farmers kill the heir, profane his corpse by denying it decent burial,
and presumably (since the story “dead-ends” here) carry out their plan to take
possession of the vineyard. If this is where the parable originally ended—talk
about teasing the mind into active thought!—one can well understand why this
disturbing ending would have called forth attempts to add a more satisfying
conclusion, one that would allow the arc of tension in the story to come to rest.
 (2) But is that what the first conclusion actually does with its rhetorical
question and reply in v 9? To a certain extent, yes. After all, the two main actors
introduced in the setup of the parable (v 1) were the owner of the vineyard and the
farmers (notice: not the son, who is not mentioned until v 6, who is always the
object, not the initiator of action, and who is dead by the first half of v 8). Indeed,
at the end of the parable proper in v 8, only the farmers are left on the stage, and
the gross injustice of murder (which permits the seizure of the vineyard) seems to
be the last word of the story. It is this moral as well as esthetic imbalance in v 8
that the first conclusion in v 9 seeks to redress. In v 9, the owner and the farmers
are reintroduced as the main characters (as they were in v 1), with the owner
being the actor who determines the flow of events (as in v 1). As the decisive
actor, he both restores the balance of justice by destroying the murderers (eye-for-
eye justice, to be sure) and restores the original situation presented at the
beginning of the parable by leasing out the vineyard to others (presumably
farmers who will fulfill their legal obligation, as Matt 21:41 states explicitly).
(3) Still, does the first conclusion of the parable in v 9 supply a satisfying
conclusion? Only to a certain degree. The first conclusion, with the killing of the
farmers and the re-leasing of the vineyard, does resolve the shockingly unjust
state of affairs in 12:8, where the murderous farmers remain unpunished and free
to seize the vineyard. And yet . . . and yet . . . this first conclusion still leaves us
with the unresolved murder of the only beloved son, on whose corpse the corpses
of all the slaughtered farmers are now presumably piled. Neither esthetically nor
morally does this first conclusion qualify as a completely satisfying resolution of
the parable’s core narrative. This is what probably called forth the second
conclusion in vv 10–11, made up of (i) Jesus’ introductory rhetorical question,
which immediately leads into (ii) the final resolution of the narrative tension via
the citation of LXX Ps 117:22–23.46
(4) But how can the second conclusion deliver a final resolution to the tragic
story when, within the story world of the parable, the son is dead and must stay
dead in that story world? Although the tenses of the verbs in the second
conclusion move back to the aorist, we should not be deceived into thinking that
the past narrative of the parable is simply being resumed. A major shift of
perspective is signaled by the fact that the actors involved in the events referred to
in Mark 12:10–11 include, at least in v 10a, the audience listening to Jesus’
parable: “Have you [Jesus’ audience] never read . . . ?” By this question,
addressed directly to Jesus’ “real” audience (within the world of Mark’s Gospel),
we latter-day listeners, along with Jesus’ audience in the temple precincts in Mark
11–12, are forcefully yanked outside the story world Jesus created in vv 1–8 of
the parable. The audience that has been listening to Jesus in Mark 11–12, notably
the hostile temple authorities, is asked about its past act of reading (and, of
course, understanding) the Jewish Scriptures, specifically certain verses in Psalm
118 (= LXX Psalm 117). However, once the citation of LXX Ps 117:22–23
begins, two new actors, not previously mentioned in Mark 12:1–9, are introduced:
(i) the group made up of the anonymous builders, who rejected the stone, and—
moving beyond metaphor—(ii) the Lord (God of Israel), who makes the rejected
stone the cornerstone (or, alternately, the keystone) of some building, a building
that remains otherwise unidentified.47
Clearly, with this Scripture citation, we have been pulled outside the past story
world of the parable in vv 1–8—and even outside the future story world of v 9. At
least in v 9, the owner and the farmers of the parable are still the two main
characters. Now, in vv 10b–11, we move into the world outside the parable, the
world to which the parable was pointing all along. The key verbal link between
the parable world of vv 1–8 and the “real” world of vv 10b–11 is the Greek word
kyrios (“lord,” “master,” “owner”) that is used both for the owner of the vineyard
(ho kyrios tou ampelōnos) in the first conclusion (v 9) and for the Lord God (para
kyriou) in the second conclusion (v 11).48 With one of the two main characters
from the parable (the owner) now clearly identified as the Lord in v 11, the
collective character of the “builders” of v 10 must inevitably be equated with the
other main (collective) character of the parable world, the collective character
who does indeed refuse and reject throughout the parable: the farmers. This
leaves the last “character” of the psalm quotation, namely, the stone, which is the
sole passive figure in the citation. The stone is acted upon by both the builders
(negatively) and the Lord (positively). The only character within the story world
of the parable that would correspond with the solitary stone is the only son, loved
by the owner/father and killed by the farmers. Putting the three characters
together, we see how LXX Ps 117:22–23, used as the scriptural key to the
meaning of the parable, finally brings the arc of tension in the story to rest. The
farmers (= the builders) have rejected the son (= the stone), indeed with the
ultimate rejection of murder. But in a dazzling act of power that leaves us
spectators (“in our eyes”) marveling, the owner of the vineyard (= the Lord)
reverses the rejection of his son and makes him instead the triumphant key figure
to a new order of things (the otherwise unexplained cornerstone of a building).49
At this point, we realize how far beyond the story world of the parable we have
been led. In the second conclusion, the Lord God has reversed the negative action
of the builders/farmers, who rejected/murdered his son. Reversing the stone’s
rejection (i.e., the son’s dishonorable death), the Lord exalts him to the place of
honor by making him the cornerstone (or keystone) of the new structure (the new
state of affairs). Obviously, to Mark and his Christian readers, this reversal of the
rejection and death of the only beloved son by the astounding action of God can
refer only to the resurrection of Jesus the Son after his rejection (by the very
temple authorities to whom Jesus is speaking this parable) and his dishonorable
death on the cross. Hence only in the second conclusion of vv 10–11 is the shock
of the totally negative ending of v 8 (within the past story world of the parable)
overcome and all tensions resolved. The first conclusion, still operating with the
parable’s characters of the owner and the farmers, sees punitive justice done—in
the future, but nevertheless within the realm of the story’s human characters and
the realm of the humanly possible. The second conclusion sees redemptive justice
done to the son—but only by moving into a scenario that lies beyond the narrative
characters of the parable as well as beyond the realm of the humanly possible.
Beyond all human capacity and beyond the realm of human time and space, the
Lord God has reversed (past act in the aorist!) the rejection and death of his son
by raising him to life and to a pivotal position in the new order of things.50
(5) Granted all this, are we justified in referring to the first (v 9) and second (vv
10–11) conclusions of the parable of the Evil Tenants as the application,
explanation, or nimšāl of the parable in the same sense that we have used these
terms for the conclusions we have examined in other Synoptic parables? The
answer must be no. In other Synoptic parables, the application or nimšāl—when it
is present—provides either (i) an allegorical explanation of various elements and
events in the parable (e.g., “the angels will separate the evil from the just” in the
parable of the Fish Net); or (ii) assurance of God’s answer to the prayers of the
suffering (e.g., “will not God vindicate his elect?” in the parable of the Widow
and the Unjust Judge); or (iii) a brief, general truth applicable to all (e.g., “the last
will be first and the first will be last” in the Workers in the Vineyard, or “the
called are many, but the chosen are few” in the Guest without a Wedding
Garment, or “so it is with the person who stores up treasures for himself but is not
rich in his relation to God” in the Rich Fool); or (iv) a specific challenge to the
immediate audience of the parable (e.g., “go and do likewise” in the parable of
the Good Samaritan).51
Notice: all of these explanations or applications are appended only after the
parable’s story (usually told in a past tense) is finished. None of these
explanations continues and completes with a satisfying conclusion a story that is
“left hanging” in the parable proper. Taken by itself, the story in each Synoptic
parable is complete.52 The significance, applicability, or thrust of the story may,
however, be enigmatic; hence the function of the nimšāl, namely, to clarify the
reality to which the parable is pointing or to inculcate the lesson embodied in the
story. But as a narrative, each parable stands on its own; no nimšāl advances any
further the plot of the story contained within the parable. The one grand exception
to this rule in the whole of the Synoptic tradition is the parable of the Evil
Tenants, which thus “sticks out” in more than one way within the corpus of
Synoptic parables.
This lengthy analysis (via form and literary criticism) of why and how the Evil
Tenants is so different from other Synoptic parables points the way to its probable
tradition history. Most likely, what stood at the beginning of the tradition was
some version of the basic story (told in the past tense) that we find in Mark 12:1–
8.53 The shocking, jarring, puzzling ending of the story, lacking any sense of
resolution (the son murdered, his corpse dishonored, the murderous farmers in
possession of the vineyard) called forth the two different conclusions (first
punishment of the farmers, then vindication of the son).54 This development may
have occurred in either one or (more probably) two stages of expansion. One
reason for thinking that the expansion occurred in two stages is that a single two-
part expansion would have more likely followed the natural and chronological
order (for the believing Christian) of first the vindication of the son through
resurrection and then the destruction of his killers (probably a reference to the
destruction of Jerusalem).
(6) What, then, is the upshot or “payoff” of this form and tradition analysis of
the Evil Tenants for the question of the parable’s authenticity/historicity? The
hypothetical historical scenario that arises is this: confronted by his adversaries
(probably the temple authorities in Jerusalem and probably close to the final
Passover of his life), the historical Jesus tells a veiled allegorical parable of
prophetic judgment, a parable in which he recapitulates the history of Israel as the
story of a whole line of prophets sent by God to his people. The tragic
dénouement of this story is that all the prophets are rejected and some of them are
martyred by those in power. Up to a point, the sacred history that this parable
reflects is quite traditional. Jeremiah (Jer 7:24–28; cf. Bar 1:19–20), Chronicles (2
Chr 36:13–21), and Ezra-Nehemiah (Neh 9:26–37) all sum up the history of Israel
in a similar way. As modern critics would put it, it is the grand pattern of the
deuteronomistic history. Later Jewish traditions would elaborate this pattern still
further by multiplying stories about the martyrdom of the prophets.55
The new and truly audacious element that Jesus adds to this familiar way of
synopsizing Israel’s history of salvation and judgment is that Jesus claims that the
climax of this story involves God sending not just another prophet but rather his
son. In the final, shattering disaster in this history of disasters, the rulers kill the
son and throw out his corpse, denying it burial and presumably leaving it to rot in
public—the very worst fate imaginable in the ancient Mediterranean world. Thus
does Jesus intimate to his adversaries that (i) he knows full well what may await
him if he insists on pursuing his confrontation with them and that (ii) he
understands his dire destiny within the framework of Israel’s salvation history.
Indeed, having presented himself during his ministry as the Elijah-like prophet
of the end time, he is simply pushing his self-understanding to its logical
conclusion: his final fate will be that of Israel’s rejected prophets (including his
mentor, John the Baptist), with the difference that Jesus sees himself as the
culmination of this prophetic line and of Israel’s history. Put in the metaphorical
terms of the parable’s story, he is not just another slave but rather the son. That is
all that the word “son” need mean within the confines of this parable.56 What if
anything more Jesus might understand by this parabolic language of “son” will
have to be explored in Volume Six of this series. For the time being, we must be
content with restricting our understanding of the word “son” to the climactic role
that the son plays within the narrative dynamics of a story involving a
father/owner who demands the yield due him, the slaves who are the first ones
sent to voice the owner’s demand, and the tenants who refuse the owner’s demand
to the point of murdering his emissaries. In the narrative, the son has meaning
insofar as he functions within this deadly network of relationships and brings the
conflict to a climax.
If this be the sense of the original parable on the level of the historical Jesus,
then Jesus is telling a parable of prophetic judgment (the supreme example of
Jesus’ parables as a prophetic genre!) that ends with his death at the hands of the
temple authorities. That is the end, period. There is no resolution or reversal of
this tragic injustice within the story world of the parable proper; all attempts at
rectification of the injustice come from later hands and lie outside the story world
of this puzzling māšāl.
From this analysis of the Evil Tenants one can easily infer the argument for the
parable’s authenticity. It is inconceivable that the early church, creating this
parable from scratch, would have ended this metaphorical account of Israel’s
salvation history simply and solely with the tragic death of Jesus, without
recompense or reversal, with Jesus destroyed, shamed, and unburied, and with his
enemies triumphant. From the earliest days of the church, any reference to Jesus’
death in a creedal formula was regularly accompanied by a reference to its
reversal in Jesus’ vindication via exaltation, ascension, or (most commonly)
resurrection. For example, at the heart of the earliest pre-Pauline formulas of faith
lies the indissoluble union of death–hyphen–resurrection: e.g., 1 Cor 15:3–5; Rom
4:25; and Phil 2:6–11 (with Jesus “exalted” instead of “raised”). Likewise at the
heart of the kerygmatic speeches of Peter in Acts lies the reversal pattern of “you
[the Jerusalem authorities] crucified him . . . [but] God raised him from the dead”
(see, e.g., Acts 4:10; cf. 2:22–24,32–36; 3:13–15; 5:30; also 13:27–30). For all
their differences, all four Gospels, in their form and tradition history, “grew
backward” from a core Passion Narrative plus a proclamation of resurrection; a
continuous narrative of the public ministry gradually developed as a sort of
extended introduction. Moreover, the primitive Passion Narratives lying behind
our Gospels, a primitive pre-Pauline formula, and some kerygmatic speeches in
Acts all unite in affirming a particular aspect of Jesus’ death: he was buried.
Putting together the glancing statement in the laconic creed Paul cites in 1 Cor
15:4 (“he was buried”), the references to Jesus’ burial in Acts (2:29–32; 13:29),
and the stories of Jesus’ burial contained in the quite different pre-Marcan and
pre-Johannine Passion Narratives (Mark 15:42–47; John 19:38–42), we can see,
from the criterion of multiple attestation of independent sources, that, from its
earliest days, the Christian movement believed that Jesus had been buried,
whatever the precise circumstances. This common belief collides with what the
narrative of the Evil Tenants clearly indicates (Mark 12:8): after murdering the
son, the tenants simply throw his corpse out of the vineyard. In other words, the
tenants deny their victim decent burial and so dishonor him even beyond a violent
death. This scenario is discontinuous with the widespread view in the NT that
Jesus was buried.
Thus, not only the core content but also the form and tradition history of the
NT in all its various articulations make it nigh impossible that the primitive form
of the parable of the Evil Tenants (roughly Mark 12:1–8) was composed by some
believer in Christ in the early post-Easter period of the church. Whether we
appeal to the criterion of embarrassment or discontinuity, the primitive version of
the parable reflected in Mark 12:1–8, whatever its precise wording, makes sense
only in the mouth of the historical Jesus—most likely in his final clash with the
Jerusalem authorities, occurring during his last days in Jerusalem prior to his
death in the year a.d. 30, shortly before Passover.57 The two conclusions to the
parable that we find in Mark 12:9 + 10–11—punishment of the adversaries and
vindication of the son—are early additions created by the church in the light of its
Easter faith, additions meant to reverse the embarrassment of having Jesus’ story
of his own destiny end simply in death and dishonor.
This judgment is reinforced in the case of the second conclusion to the parable
by the fact that both LXX Ps 117:22–23 and other citations of OT passages
speaking of a “stone” appear scattered through the NT as christological proof
texts. These OT texts were taken by early Christians to be prophecies of Jesus’
being rejected by some in Israel, although he would be chosen and/or vindicated
by God and accepted by at least some members of God’s people. Prime examples
of such a diffused “stone-prophecy” tradition can be found in Acts 4:11; Rom
9:33; Eph 2:20; and 1 Pet 2:6–8.58 In Acts 4:11, Peter applies LXX Ps 117:22 to
the post-Easter scene in Jerusalem: the stone is Jesus, the builders who rejected
him (“you the builders”) are the hostile temple authorities whom Peter is
addressing, and the event of becoming the cornerstone (ho genomenos eis
kephalēn gōnias) is equated with Jesus’ resurrection—all just as in Mark 12:10.
Rom 9:33 conflates Isa 28:16 and Isa 8:14: Jesus is the stone rejected by the
unbelievers in Israel, who come to grief because of their lack of faith, while the
believing remnant plus the Gentiles are not put to shame for trusting in the stone
(LXX Isa 28:16 uses the adjective akrogōniaion, “[a stone] lying at the extreme
corner,” which is not taken over by Paul in Rom 9:33). 1 Pet 2:6–8 strings
together a remarkable catena of stone prophecies. In v 6, the author cites Isa
28:16, including the adjective akrogōniaion. In v 7, the author distinguishes
between believers, for whom Christ the cornerstone is precious, and unbelievers,
the builders who rejected the stone that became the cornerstone (citing LXX Ps
117:22). In v 8, the author moves to Isa 8:14: for unbelievers, Christ is “a stone
[lithos] of stumbling and a rock [petra] of scandal.” In Eph 2:20, both Jewish and
Gentile believers are “built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ
Jesus being himself the cornerstone [akrogōniaiou].” Clearly, then, there was a
widespread tradition in the early church of using OT prophecies about a stone to
refer to Jesus as rejected, accepted, and ultimately victorious. Hence, in Mark
12:10–11, the appending of the second conclusion to the parable of the Evil
Tenants is just another example of the early church’s use of stone prophecies such
as LXX Ps 117:22–23 to interpret Jesus’ resurrection as God’s reversal of the
unjust judgment of the “builders,” that is, the temple authorities.59 In sum, for the
first Christians, a parable ending in the tragic death of the son, with no
vindication for him or punishment of his enemies, was unthinkable. It was
thinkable for the historical Jesus.
In conclusion, then, the parable of the Evil Tenants can take its place alongside
the parable of the Mustard Seed as one of the few parables for which we have
positive arguments favoring authenticity. But at least in these two cases, the
question of sources (pre-Marcan tradition for the Evil Tenants, a Mark–Q overlap
for the Mustard Seed) could be answered relatively easily, opening up a path for a
clear-cut argument for authenticity. As we shall see, the question of sources is
more muddled—as is the whole argument—in the case of our next two
candidates: the parable of the Great Supper and the parable of the Talents/Pounds.

III. THE GREAT SUPER (MATT 22:2–14 || LUKE 14:16–24)60

A. THE QUESTION OF SOURCES AND REDACTION IN THE VERSIONS
OF MATTHEW AND LUKE
Notably different versions of the parable of the Great Supper are found in Matt
22:2–14, Luke 14:16–24, and CGT 64. The comparison of Thomas’ form of the
parable with the Matthean and Lucan forms is difficult for multiple reasons. Two
in particular stand out: (i) uncertainty about the source(s) that Matthew and Luke
are using and (ii) the marked differences between Matthew and Luke in the
language, narrative details, and location of the parable in the larger context of
each Gospel. Hence I think it wiser to begin by analyzing the Matthean and Lucan
versions of the parable, without complicating the investigation still further by
bringing into the mix CGT 64. To put it bluntly, Matthew and Luke’s versions
contain more than enough problems on their own. After we have clarified the
questions surrounding the sources and redaction of the two Synoptic forms of the
parable, we will be in a better position to judge whether CGT 64 represents an
independent version of the Great Supper.61
Having put aside CGT 64 for the moment, we begin with a direct comparison
of Matthew and Luke. For the purposes of A Marginal Jew (i.e., does the parable
ultimately come from Jesus?), the key question here is one of sources. If Matthew
and Luke represent redactional reformulations of the same parable that both
evangelists drew from Q, one would not be able to invoke the criterion of
multiple attestation of independent sources to argue for the authenticity of the
parable of the Great Supper. If, on the other hand, the notably different
“performances” of the parable in Matthew and Luke reflect the fact that the Great
Supper was preserved in different forms in both the M and the L traditions (an
M–L overlap on the analogy of Mark–Q overlaps), then the argument from
multiple attestation would hold. Which seems the more likely option?
To attempt to answer this difficult question, I think it advisable to move
through a four-step probe of the data. I apologize to the reader beforehand that
such a lengthy and circuitous process will require some repetition along the way.
But I think that it is the only way to arrive at a fairly secure conclusion in such a
murky matter. The process I adopt will involve the following four steps: (1) First,
we shall “X-ray” the two versions of the parable of the Great Supper to focus on
the common skeletal outline of the narrative, while noting briefly the major
differences between Matthew and Luke. In other words, we shall ask the question:
What is the bare minimum that Matthew and Luke have in common? (2) Second,
we shall examine Matthew’s text in detail to see if we can detect phrases and
ideas that reflect his redactional style and theology. (3) Third, we shall do the
same with Luke’s text. (4) In the fourth and final step, we shall correlate the
results of all three probes to see if they converge on a common explanation of the
data.
1. The bare minimum that Matthew and Luke have in common, with a brief
listing of differences. When we put the texts of Matthew and Luke side by side,
we can extract the following shared content, made up of the “least common
denominator” of the plot line of the story:
(i) The introduction: a large meal. “A man” (Matthew: a king) gives a large,
festive meal (Matthew: a marriage banquet for the king’s son; Luke: a supper to
which “many” have been invited).62
(ii) The man sends his slave(s) to summon the invited. Matthew mentions a
group of slaves, while Luke has only one slave sent at the hour of the supper. This
difference in the number of slaves is preserved throughout the parable. Only in
Luke does the slave give voice to the man’s summons in direct address: “Come,
for it [i.e., all the elements of the meal] is now ready.”63
(iii) The short statement of refusal. Both versions have a short, global statement
that the guests refused the summons. Matthew states that “they did not wish to
come.” Luke says that “they all began immediately to excuse themselves.”64
(iv) The detailed statement of refusal. Here Matthew and Luke completely
diverge as they elaborate the refusal.
(a) In Matthew, the king sends out “other slaves” on a second mission to the
guests. The renewed invitation in Matt 22:4 is expressed by direct address within
direct address: “Say to those who have been invited, ‘Behold, I have prepared my
meal.65 . . . My oxen and fatlings are slain and all is ready.66 Come to the
marriage feast.’”67 The invitation in Matthew meets with two different responses.
First, some of the invitees ignore the summons and go off, one to his field (or
farm), another to his business (as a trader or merchant). Second, the rest seize his
slaves, treat them insultingly, and kill them. Nowhere in this narrative do any of
the guests give voice to an excuse. Indeed, it is the king and his slaves who speak.
The guests say nothing to express their refusal; they only act.
(b) In Luke, there is no second delegation of a slave or slaves. Instead, the short
statement about making excuses (14:18, with paraiteisthai used without an
expressed object) is elaborated in direct address by three guests, each guest
voicing a different excuse in the first person singular. The first says: “I have
bought a field [or: farm] and must go to see it.” The second says: “I have bought
five yoke of oxen and I am going to test them.” The third says: “I have married a
wife and therefore cannot come.” The first two excuses end with the request: “I
ask that you hold me excused.” The flat affirmation of the third guest that he
simply cannot come obviates such a request.68 The slave returns to tell “his
master” what has happened. No such report is possible in Matthew, since all the
slaves have been killed. Matthew does not state how the king finds out about the
killings.
(v) The angry response of the host. In both Matthew and Luke, the man
becomes angry, but the anger finds concrete expression in radically different
ways.
(a) In Matthew, the basic story expands in a way that breaks with both the time
line and any credible plot line.69 With everything prepared for the banquet, the
king sends his troops, destroys the murderers of his slaves, and burns their city.
He then addresses his slaves (the original delegation?) with a remarkably calm
understatement: “The wedding feast is indeed ready [it was ready before the
military campaign was unleashed!], but those who had been invited were not
worthy [as indicated by their first slaughtering the slaves and then being
slaughtered themselves].” At this point, Matthew rejoins the core story: the king
retaliates against the insult of the guests’ refusal to come by extending the
invitation to the marriage feast to unlikely substitutes, namely, any and all whom
his slaves find on the roads outside the king’s city.
(b) In Luke, the man’s anger leads immediately (without the Matthean military
interlude) to the man’s retaliation: the replacement of the originally invited guests
with unlikely substitutes. Contrary to Matthew, though, the replacement is
accomplished in two stages: The master first orders the slave to go out quickly to
the broad spaces and narrow alleys of the city and to bring in the poor, the
crippled, the blind, and the lame—all the marginalized inhabitants of the city. No
Matthew-like narrative of the fulfillment of the order follows. Rather, Luke
abridges the succession of events by having the slave immediately announce that
the order has been carried out, but that there is still room in the banquet hall. The
master then orders the slave to go out to the roads and hedges outside the city and
make people come in “that my house may be filled.” Luke alone concludes the
parable with a final declaration by the frustrated host, underlining his retaliation:
“For I say to you [plural, though the master is supposedly speaking to the one
slave]70 that none of those men who had been invited will taste of my supper.”
Thus, the element of threat and/or punishment is sounded more clearly in the last
words of Luke than of Matthew. Matthew instead ends the parable of the Great
Supper on an ambiguous note: the wedding feast is filled with “both bad and
good.” In what follows, the clear note of threat and punishment is sounded by
Matthew in the distinct parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment, where,
however, it is aimed at only one of the replacements, not at all the original guests.
What, then, are we to make of this common skeletal outline, which is fleshed
out with so many noticeable differences to create the full stories of Matthew and
Luke? First of all, the pattern of identical skeletons (i.e., identical core narratives)
with contrasting details helps us sort out the three possible solutions to the
sources question, namely: (1) We are dealing with two different parables telling
two different stories, with some elements that, by pure chance, happen to be the
same. (2) We are dealing with Matthean and Lucan redactional versions of the
same Q parable. (3) We are dealing with the same basic parable, which, however,
has been transmitted to Matthew and Luke independently through two different
sources, M and L respectively. Unlike the hypothetical case where Q would be the
common source known by both, in this scenario neither evangelist would know
the version of the parable that the other evangelist knew. Faced with these
options, what conclusions should we draw from our inspection of both versions?
71
(1) The skeletal outline shows that the first option (two different parables with
some common traits) is unlikely.72 There is enough of a common story present in
both versions to conclude that we are dealing with the same basic parable that has
been developed in different ways by the two evangelists and/or their sources. By
way of contrast, think of all the Synoptic parables or similitudes in which a
master gives his slaves, servants, or sons orders that they do or do not carry out
(e.g., the Evil Tenants, the Doorkeeper, the Servant Placed over a Household, the
Talents/Pounds, the Workers in the Vineyard, the Two Sons, the Barren Fig Tree,
the Dishonest Steward, and the Servant’s Duty). As is clear from this list, the
general theme of obedience or disobedience to the master’s orders is realized in a
variety of Synoptic parables that are quite different from one another. We would
not want to claim that all these parables are all merely variations of a single
parable. In contrast, in the parable of the Great Supper, we have more than a
general theme that is played with in different ways in different narratives. In the
Great Supper, we have a common plot line and a common list of characters who
act in similar though not identical ways. If we take our “X-ray” photo of the
Matthean and Lucan versions, the narrative of the basic parable, that is, the
skeletal outline detached from the differing details of the two versions, turns out
to be composed of these five stages of action:
(i) A man gave a large festive meal.
(ii) He sent out slaves (or one slave) to summon those who had already been
invited, since everything was now ready for the feast.
(iii) Contrary to all rules of honor and courtesy, every single guest refuses to
heed the summons.
(iv) The mundane concerns of a few of the guests (farming, business) are
mentioned in order to intimate the basic problem: the personal interests of the
guests outweigh any concern they might have about insulting the honor of their
host.
(v) Angered by this insult to his honor and generosity, the man retaliates by
having his slave(s) invite the social inferiors of the original guests, indeed anyone
they can find on the roads outside the master’s city, so that his banquet hall will
be filled. The social insult now boomerangs back upon the original guests.
This common core of the story confirms that we are dealing with a single
parable preserved in two different versions rather than with two different
parables.73 Indeed, as we shall see later on, one can detect in this narrative a
recurring theme in Jesus’ teaching, be it in the form of beatitudes (Luke 6:21–23
par.), parables like the Evil Tenants (Mark 12:1–8 parr.), or sayings like “Many
will come from east and west . . .” (Luke 13:28–30 par.): the theme of
eschatological reversal. Those who presumed that they were the insiders find
themselves on the outside, while the (sometimes despised) outsiders, with no
claim of their own to stand on, are made insiders. A warning to the smug elites
and a promise to the neglected nobodies: these are twin motifs that run through
many of Jesus’ sayings.
(2) It is clear, then, that we are dealing with a single parable expanded in
different ways. But are we dealing with two highly redacted forms of a Q parable
or with separate M and L versions that came to Matthew and Luke in already
disparate forms? At this juncture it is good to remind ourselves of how we
identify certain Synoptic passages as Q material. A unit is declared to be Q
tradition if its basic content, found in both Matthew and Luke but not present in
Mark, shares a fair amount of common vocabulary in roughly the same order and
syntactical constructions. Prime examples would be the Baptist’s call to
repentance in Matt 3:7–10 || Luke 3:7–9, the “eye is the lamp of the body” saying
in Matt 6:22–23 || Luke 11:34–35, the “no man can serve two masters” saying in
Matt 6:24 || Luke 16:13, Jesus’ reply to the Baptist’s disciples in Matt 11:4–6 ||
Luke 7:22–23, and the similitude of the children playing in the marketplace in
Matt 11:16–19 || Luke 7:31–35. The requirement of exact agreement in wording
and syntax can be lessened somewhat when (i) similarity of vocabulary is
matched by similarity of structure and (ii) differences in vocabulary, syntax, or
content can be explained by the redactional style and theology of each evangelist.
Sometimes the decision is not clear-cut, a point that explains disagreements
among Q scholars as to the exact extent of Q material. The parable of the Great
Supper is a case in point. Do the Matthean and Lucan parables share enough
common vocabulary and syntax in roughly the same order to assign both of them
to Q? In my opinion, no. The amount of shared vocabulary occurring in the same
order is remarkably sparse. To list the most obvious cases:74
 (i) Both versions begin with the noun anthrōpos (“man”), who gave (literally in
the Greek, “made”: Matthew uses the aorist epoiēsen, Luke the imperfect epoiei)
some sort of feast (in Matthew a marriage feast, in Luke a supper).
(ii) The verb kaleō occurs in various places in the story with the meaning of
either “to invite” or “to summon” (e.g., kalesai in Matt 22:3 and ekalesen in Luke
14:16). Indeed in Matt 22:3, the two meanings stand side by side: kalesai tous
keklēmenous, “to summon those [already] invited”; both active and passive forms
occur in Luke 14:16 + 17 as well.
(iii) Various forms of the verb erchomai (“to come”) and its compounds appear
in both Matthew and Luke (e.g., the aorist infinitive “to come” [elthein] in Matt
22:3; the present imperative “come!” [erchesthe] in Luke 14:17).
(iv) Not surprisingly, various forms of the verb “to say” (e.g., legei, eipen)
occur in both versions.
(v) Both the verb “to prepare” (hētoimaka, Matt 22:4) and the adjective
“ready,” “prepared” (hetoima, Matt 22:4,8; Luke 14:17) occur.
(vi) Hearing of the refusal of his invitees, the host becomes angry (ōrgisthē in
Matt 22:7; orgistheis in Luke 14:21).
(vii) The noun “city” (polis) occurs in both versions, but in reference to
different cities (the city of the murderers in Matt 22:7; the householder’s city in
Luke 14:21).
(viii) The noun “way” or “road” (hodos) is used in both versions of the
command of the host to seek out new invitees (Matt 22:9–10; Luke 14:23).
(ix) Common also is the theme of the banquet hall being filled, though different
verbs are used (pimplēmi in Matt 22:10; gemizō in Luke 14:23).
(x) Finally, different compound forms of the verb agō (“to bring,” “to lead”)
are used to describe the slaves’ (or slave’s) action of bringing the replacement
guests into the festal hall (Matt 22:10: synēgagon; Luke 14:21: eisagage).
How impressive is this list? The presence of words that occur frequently or
almost constantly throughout both Gospels (e.g., “say,” “do,” “come,” “come
out,” “man,” “city,” “way,” “send”) is insignificant for an argument about
sources. Certain other words (e.g., “master,” “slave”) are common to a number of
parables. When we put aside all these common words, the shared vocabulary in
the Matthean and Lucan versions is not all that great: kaleō used in the two senses
of “to invite” and “to summon,” hetoimos used to indicate that the meal is “ready
to be eaten,” and orgizō, used at the same place in both versions to express the
host’s anger. One might well ask: Could the basic story shared by Matthew and
Luke be told at all without these key words? In the end, our list of ten common
words or themes simply confirms the fact that we are dealing with the same
narrative parable, not two different parables. But Matt 22:2–10 and Luke 14:16–
24 do not share enough identical vocabulary and syntax in the same or similar
order to qualify as two redactional retellings of the same unit of Q tradition.75
(3) Thus, by a process of elimination, we reach the conclusion that the two
versions of the parable most likely flow from distinct M and L sources.76 But this
leaves us dealing with hypothetical entities so vague that they make the Q
document look reliable by comparison. What did these M and L versions look
like when they first came into the possession of Matthew and Luke? Were they
written down or were they merely stray oral traditions? What if one version was
already in written form while the other was still oral? How do we distinguish the
traditional material that Matthew and Luke received from the material that each
evangelist added or altered? The point of piling up these difficult questions is to
make us aware of how little we know once we designate a Synoptic parable a
product of separate M and L traditions.
At best, all we can do is make certain general observations about our two
redactors, observations based on what they tend to do with Marcan and Q material
elsewhere as well as what their overall redactional theologies are. We can then
apply these insights to the two versions of the Great Supper. After we have
identified as best we can the redactional material in the Matthean and Lucan
versions and subtracted these redactional elements from the Matthean and Lucan
texts, we will correlate these hypothetical M and L versions of the parable with
the skeletal outline that we have extracted from the Matthean and Lucan versions
at the beginning of this process.
2. An analysis of Matthean redactional traits in Matt 22:1–10. Let us begin
with Matthew’s setting the stage for his story in v 2. Matthew likes to introduce
parables and similitudes with some form of “the kingdom of heaven is like” (see
13:24,31,33,44,45,47,52; 18:23; 20:1; 25:1), and he also likes to feature kings,
noblemen, and affluent people in his parables (e.g., Matt 13:24–30,45–50; 18:23–
35; 20:1–16; 25:14–30).77 Such is the case here. Most commentators see his hand
in the expansion of a relatively simple story (better reflected in Luke) into a grand
allegory of salvation history.78 The festive meal in the original parable has
become the wedding feast (= the eschatological banquet) that the king (= God the
Father) gives for his son (= the exalted Jesus).79
A number of allegorical features seem to be borrowed from the Marcan parable
of judgment spoken by Jesus during his last days in Jerusalem, namely, the Evil
Tenants of the Vineyard (Mark 12:1–8 || Matt 21:33–39).80 As in his version of
the Evil Tenants, so in his version of the Great Supper, Matthew presents more
than one delegation of slaves sent to make a request or demand (note the same
Greek phrase, apesteilen tous doulous autou, “he sent his slaves,” in Matt 21:34
and 22:3; and palin apesteilen allous doulous, “again he sent other slaves,” in
Matt 21:36 and 22:4). Matthew is clearly redacting the version of the Great
Supper he has received, assimilating it to the parable of judgment (the Evil
Tenants) that was already anchored in the setting of Jesus’ last days in Jerusalem.
This use of parallel structures and wording, employed by Matthew throughout
his Gospel to form large units of material, continues with the murder of the slaves
sent in the second delegation (22:5–6). Thus, in both the Evil Tenants and the
Great Supper, Matthew has two delegations of slaves; and in both the second
delegation faces violence, including murder.81 The murder of the slaves is
shocking enough in the parable of the Evil Tenants, though somewhat intelligible
against the cultural background of the taut and fraught relations between land
owners and tenant farmers in the ancient Mediterranean world. In contrast, the
murder of the slaves sent to summon supposed friends or acquaintances of the
host to the host’s banquet is totally without basis in the story world and destroys
the tone of plausibility with which the parable began. Even more bizarre and
beyond the world of real events is the king’s response, unleashed in the midst of a
marriage feast where the steaming hot food is ready to be eaten. The marriage
banquet is apparently put into suspended animation while the king sends his
troops to destroy the murderers and burn their city. Here Matthew’s desire to
insert a reference to the Jewish War and the destruction of Jerusalem is so
powerful that it overwhelms not only plausibility but also any coherent time line
in the narrative.82 The initial story launched in the first verses of the parable has
been completely disrupted.
Just as jarring, in its own way, is the sudden return to the world of “reality.”
Having killed all the invited guests and burned their city to the ground, the king
coolly and dispassionately remarks to his slaves: “Those who had been invited
were not worthy.” There is almost something comical in this understatement in
the midst of such an over-the-top narrative. But this understatement allows the
king to return to the realm of sane action with which the parable began. The king
now replaces those who refused to come by sending his slaves outside the city to
summon to the feast any and all they can find.83 The result is that the marriage
feast, disdained by the original guests, is now filled with their replacements,
people who were quite literally “outsiders.”
At this point Matthew adds one of his typical themes, the mixture of “bad and
good” in this present world and in the church that lives within it (cf. 13:24–
30,36–43,47–50; 24:10–13; 25:1–13,31–46). The Matthean theme of “both bad
and good”—the reversal in the natural order of the adjectives is meant to be
striking—at the end of the parable serves as a hook on which Matthew hangs his
separate M parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment (22:11–14). Having
made the original parable an allegory of salvation history in the present time of
the church, Matthew needs a dénouement at the last judgment to set things
straight. For only then, in Matthew’s theology, will there be a definitive
separation of the bad from the good, the former being punished as they deserve.
Such is the fate of the sartorially challenged guest, who is thrown out of the feast
amid a chorus of familiar themes (vv 13–14; cf. 8:12; 25:30): “the outer darkness”
and “the weeping and gnashing of teeth.”84
Putting aside the separate parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment, we
are now in a position to isolate the major redactional alterations made by Matthew
to the primitive parable, alterations that serve the evangelist’s allegory:
(i) The host has been promoted to being a king, and the festive meal has been
turned into a wedding banquet for the royal son.85 The theme of the wedding
banquet points forward to the M parable of the Ten Virgins in Matt 25:1–13, a
parable with strong Matthean redactional traits, if not a Matthean creation.86
(ii) The two separate delegations with different slaves makes no sense in the
original parable of the Great Supper, but makes perfect sense in Matthew’s
version of the parable of the Evil Tenants. There the first delegation is either
beaten, killed, or stoned, making a second delegation composed of different
slaves necessary. Such is not the case in the primitive form of the Great Supper.
(iii) The killing of all the slaves in the second delegation is wildly out of place
in a story about inviting friends to a marriage feast. It echoes the theme of the fate
of the martyred prophets, a theme that makes sense in the allegory of the Evil
Tenants. In Matthew’s version of the Great Supper, the theme of the killing of the
slaves seems to be reapplied to the killing of Christian “prophets” (i.e., early
Christian missionaries; cf. Matt 23:34), though the fit is an awkward one.
(iv) The sending of the troops and the burning of the city is obviously
allegorical and does not jibe with the basic story of the original parable.
(v) The theme of “both bad and good” at the end of the main parable is a
Matthean theological concern that introduces the appended parable of the Guest
without a Wedding Garment.
When we subtract these redactional elements from Matthew’s version of the
parable, an interesting correlation results. Matthew’s full text minus his
redactional features yields a brief story that is quite similar to the five-part
skeletal outline of the parable’s narrative that we constructed by “X-raying” both
the Matthean and Lucan versions of the parable to get at a common denominator.
In both the slimmed-down Matthean version (stripped of the redactional
elements) and in our initial skeletal outline, we have identified the same primitive
story:
(i) A man (apparently of some means) gives a festal meal.
(ii) He sends his slave(s) to summon to the meal the guests who had been
previously invited.
(iii) The guests insult the host. Indeed, all of them refuse to come to the feast,
despite the host’s insistence that everything is now ready. (Perhaps there was
some mention of various personal concerns or business affairs of the guests that
they consider more important than the meal, but this point is not clear.)
(iv) The angered host, who has been dishonored by the original guests,
retaliates by summoning to his meal all those whom his slaves happen to meet on
the various roads outside the city.
(v) Thus, the honor of the host is restored by having his banquet hall filled with
guests, while the original guests are implicitly dishonored by being replaced with
people who are of lower social status (a point merely hinted at in the original
story: the replacements are all whomever the slaves chance upon on the roads).
3. An analysis of Lucan redactional traits in Luke 14:16–24. The correlation
between our hypothetically original “skeletal outline” (extracted from both
Matthew and Luke) and the Matthean version of the parable minus Matthew’s
redactional additions offers some guidance as we now evaluate Luke’s form of the
parable. Even with this help, though, the task of discerning Lucan redaction
remains difficult.87
(i) On the one hand, Luke does not engage in the heavy allegorization and
expansion of the narrative undertaken by Matthew. Hence there is relatively little
by way of obvious blocks of Lucan redaction to be removed en masse (contrast
Matt 22:6–7,11–14). But does this mean that the parable as it now stands in
Luke’s Gospel is exactly what he received? One should not rush to such a
judgment uncritically.
(ii) For, on the other hand, certain theological themes typical of Luke are
visible, notably the themes of rich and poor, elites and the marginalized, and the
danger of becoming absorbed in the goods and concerns of this present world.88
In addition, a modicum of salvation-historical allegory may peek through toward
the end of the narrative.89 For example, the two distinct stages in the slave’s
mission to invite new guests to replace the old (Luke 14:21–23) seem
unnecessary. In the first stage of the slave’s mission, the slave is sent to the
socially and/or economically marginalized (the poor, the crippled, the blind, and
the lame) who live within the city of the host (14:21: “Go out quickly to the broad
spaces and narrow alleys of the city”).90 When this mission does not bring in
enough people to fill the banquet room in the host’s house, the slave is sent out on
a second mission but this time apparently outside the city (14:23: “Go out to the
roads and hedges”). In Luke’s mind, the two missions may represent in miniature
the story of the Christian mission in the Acts of the Apostles: first to the Jews
(mainly chaps. 1–9) and then to the Gentiles (mainly chaps. 10–23, with chaps.
10–15 acting as a transitional stage).91 More specifically, in the depiction of
Paul’s missionary journeys in Acts, we find an intriguing pattern as the Apostle
moves from city to city: while some Jews accept the Gospel, many reject it, which
leads Paul to turn to the Gentiles (see, e.g., Acts 13:42–48; 18:1–11; 19:8–10;
28:23–28). Luke’s parable of the Great Supper ends in 14:24 with a formal
statement (“for I say to you”) that underlines the theme of contrast and reversal:
not one of those originally invited will taste the meal, in contrast to the
marginalized and outsiders, summoned at the last minute.92
The presence of this configuration of Lucan themes in Luke’s version of the
parable warns us not to assume that the shorter, less heavily allegorized form
Luke presents is identical to the L tradition he received or to the still more
primitive version of the parable that stood behind the M and L traditions. Luke’s
redactional hand has molded his text, but the distinction between tradition and
redaction is less clear in Luke than in Matthew.
Nevertheless, we do have a few hints of Luke’s redactional hand. For instance,
Luke’s introduction to the parable is as plainly redactional as Matthew’s.93 As is
his wont with L parables, Luke’s introduction (14:15–16) consists of a
preliminary setting of the scene (the typically Lucan scene of a meal) and a verbal
interchange (or brief anecdote) that raises one of the themes taken up by the
parable. This introductory scene is then followed by the initial phrase “a certain
man . . .” (anthrōpos tis, v 16). As we have seen repeatedly in our investigation of
Lucan parables (notably, the Rich Fool), this pattern of an introductory anecdote
(or saying) + “a certain man [or woman]” is a reliable sign of Lucan redaction
(e.g., 10:25–37; 11:1–8; 12:13–21; 13:1–9; 14:25–33; 15:1–3,8–10,11–32; 18:1–
8,9–14).94 What might have stood at the beginning of the parable in the oral
tradition before Luke reshaped it is difficult to say. It may be that the original
opening of the parable would have been “the kingdom of God is like . . . ,” or
something similar. The reason for this surmise is that, in Luke’s introductory
anecdote, a guest at the meal that Jesus is attending piously speaks a beatitude to
Jesus: “Fortunate is the person who eats bread [i.e., shares a meal] in the kingdom
of God.” Since it is extremely rare for anyone in the Synoptic Gospels other than
Jesus to use the phrase “the kingdom of God” in his speech, it is possible that this
verse is a “back formation” by Luke.95 In other words, Luke could have taken
“kingdom of God” from the original opening of the traditional parable, used it in
his introductory anecdote, and substituted his typical “a certain man” as the
parable’s beginning. The possibility that “kingdom of God” originally stood at the
beginning of the parable could find further support in the fact that Matthew’s
version of the parable begins with “the kingdom of heaven is like a king. . . .”
Yet this suggestion remains just a possibility, since Matthew regularly supplies
his parables with an opening such as “the kingdom of heaven is like. . . .” Indeed,
the precise formulation Matthew uses here with the aorist passive form of the
verb (literally, “the kingdom of heaven was made like . . . ,” Matt 22:2) is also
found in 13:24, the beginning of the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds—a
parable that, as we saw in Chapter 38, has been strongly shaped by Matthew’s
hand (if not simply created by Matthew). Moreover, since Matthew makes the
host of the Great Supper a king celebrating his son’s wedding, the introduction
mentioning “the kingdom of heaven” fits Matthew’s redactional activity perfectly.
Since, then, both Matthew and Luke may be responsible for their respective
openings, we must remain unsure about how the M and L versions of the parable
originally began.
Luke’s single sending of a single slave to summon the original guests may be a
traditional element, reflecting the relative simplicity of the primitive version of
the parable, where a private individual and not a king is holding the banquet.96
However, since Luke, unlike Mark or Matthew, has only one slave sent out each
time in the parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (Luke 20:10–12; cf. Mark
12:2–5 || Matt 21:34–36), the use of a single slave throughout the parable of the
Great Supper (Luke 14:17,21–23) could reflect Luke’s redactional hand.
The relation between tradition and Lucan redaction in the list of the guests’
excuses (Luke 14:18–20) is likewise unclear. That all the guests excuse
themselves (14:18a) at the last minute is demanded by the plot of the core story.
But the source of the three specific excuses listed by Luke (14:18b-20) is
debatable. I think that at least the present formulation of the excuses is due to
Luke’s redactional activity.97 First, there are indications of Lucan vocabulary and
style.98 Second, some Lucan scholars have detected a Lucan redactional
technique that involves composing patterns of repetitions and specifically patterns
of repeated excuses in both the Third Gospel and Acts; Luke 14:18–20 would be
a prime example.99 Third, at least some of the excuses reflect Lucan redactional
concerns (e.g., being held captive by one’s material possessions, letting marital
ties impede the call to discipleship).100 Fourth, the structure in this part of the
parable of the Great Supper curiously reflects the structure found in the parable of
the Good Samaritan (10:29–37), which, as I have argued in Chapter 39, is a
Lucan creation from start to finish. Notice, for instance, how the “law of threes”
is employed in the center of both parables. In the Good Samaritan (10:31–33), we
have the succession of three people who are challenged to respond to the critical
situation they are suddenly faced with: the priest, the Levite, and the Samaritan.
The list of the three characters builds to a climax when the disreputable outsider
turns out to be the genuine loving neighbor. In the Great Supper, we have the
succession of three guests offering excuses when challenged to respond to the
host’s summons: the man who bought a field, the man who bought five yoke of
oxen, and the man who has married (14:18b–20). Again, there is a certain climax
in that the first two guests in Luke formally ask to be excused, while the third
instead bluntly insists that “I cannot come”—without uttering a request to be
excused.101
In both parables, this three-stage action at the center of the parable is then
followed by a two-stage resolution at the end of the parable. In the Good
Samaritan, with the emotional response of mercy mentioned as the motivation
(esplagchnisthē, 10:33), the Samaritan (i) first gives the victim immediate aid,
puts him on his donkey, and brings him to an inn where he personally cares for
him (10:34); (ii) then, the next day, he provides for his continued care by paying
the innkeeper to look after the victim until he (the Samaritan) returns (10:35).
Similarly, in the Great Supper, with the emotional response of anger mentioned as
the motivation (orgistheis, 14:21), (i) the host (= the householder) first orders his
slave to bring into the banquet the poor and handicapped living within the city
(14:21); (ii) then, when the banquet hall is still not filled, he sends the slave to
those outside the city (those on the roads and country lanes, 14:23). Anton
Vögtle, along with various other commentators, argues strongly for the second
sending of the slave to last-minute guests to be the redactional creation of
Luke.102
This pattern of three stages of action at the center of the story followed by a
two-stage resolution of the plot certainly does not prove that Luke’s parable of the
Great Supper is a pure Lucan creation. The Matthean parallel demonstrates just
the opposite. But the fact that the pattern of three stages at the center of the
parable plus two stages at the end is not paralleled in Matthew’s version of the
Great Supper but is paralleled in a parable that is a pure Lucan creation (i.e., the
Good Samaritan) favors the view that the precise structuring of events in Luke’s
version of the Great Supper (Luke 14:16–24) comes from Luke’s redactional
hand.
I think it likely, therefore, that the three excuses offered in Luke 14:18b–20 are,
at least in their present order and precise wording, Lucan formulations.103 Such a
decision is particularly significant in light of the key verb paraiteomai, which
Luke employs in a special sense in his list of excuses. In Luke 14:18, all the
guests begin “to excuse themselves [paraiteisthai].” Then in v 19, the first two
speakers both end their particular excuses with the refrain: “I ask you, hold me
[or: consider me] excused” (erōtō se, eche me parętēmenon).
To appreciate the special nuance of this use of paraiteomai, the sense of the
verb in this Lucan context needs to be placed within the spectrum of meanings
that this verb possesses in ancient Greek. Hardly among the most frequently used
verbs in Greek, this compound of the basic verb aiteō (“to ask,” “to demand”) and
the preposition para has a relatively narrow range of core meanings: “to beg of or
from another,” “to ask a favor,” “to avert by entreaty,” “to decline,” “to refuse,”
“to reject,” and “to avoid.” From here various further meanings spread out to
include “to demand exemption from,” “to ask to be excused,” “to decline an
invitation,” “to divorce or dismiss a spouse,” “to relieve by medical means,” and
“to beg off (especially from punishment).”104 Within this larger compass, the
specific sense of “to decline an invitation to a meal” represents a minor meaning,
and the still more specific Lucan sense in our immediate context, “to ask to be
excused from an invitation to a meal previously accepted,” is understandably rare.
Despite this range of meanings, the verb paraiteomai is rare in the Greek Bible,
though a variety of meanings is witnessed in the LXX and the NT.105 The LXX
contains only eight examples, with a range of meanings such as “to ask
permission (to be excused from a meal),” “to entreat,” “to excuse,” and “to ask
forgiveness (for what one has already done).” The verb is slightly more frequent
in the NT, occurring twelve times in all. Most of the NT texts use the verb in the
sense of “to entreat,” “to reject,” or “to avoid.” All the more striking, then, is the
usage unique to Luke 14:18–19 within the NT: “to excuse from a social obligation
(specifically, a meal) previously accepted.” Indeed, in the whole of the LXX and
the NT, this precise meaning occurs only in Luke 14:18–19 (three times).106 To be
sure, the idea of excusing oneself from an obligation or an invitation does occur
both in the LXX and in secular Greek, including the historians Polybius (The
Histories, 5.27.3) and Josephus (Ant. 7.8.2 §175; 12.4.7 §197).107 But neither in
Polybius nor in Josephus do we find an exact parallel to Luke’s usage in the
parable of the Great Supper, since in the two former authors the texts do not speak
of trying to get oneself excused from a social obligation that one has already
accepted.108 In addition, the wording of the phrases in Polybius and Josephus is
not exactly the same as Luke’s.
Since the exact wording and meaning of the phrase found in Luke’s version of
the parable are relatively rare, it is all the more remarkable that Luke’s full
sentence (14:18 + 19), “I ask you, hold me excused” (erōtō se eche me
parętēmenon), finds a perfect verbal parallel in a Latin epigram of Martial
(Epigrams 2.79): excusatum habeas me rogo.109 This parallel is especially
intriguing because it occurs in a context referring to a refusal of an invitation to
dinner extended by a friend or acquaintance. Granted Luke’s broad knowledge
and use of various Greek styles, as well as the number of Latinisms in his two-
volume work,110 one need not be surprised by his use of a Latinism in his version
of the parable, employing the perfect passive participle of paraiteomai (namely,
parętēmenon) to render the Latin excusatum.111 In my opinion, then, it is highly
likely that Luke, the cosmopolitan author who likes to display his command of
many different literary styles (ranging from Septuagintalisms through elegant,
formal Greek to Latinisms), is personally responsible for the use of paraiteomai
in this special sense in his version of the excuses offered by the invitees. As we
shall see, this decision about Lucan composition is of some importance when we
come to study CGT 64 in section B later. More to the point in our present
discussion, though, Luke’s special use of paraiteomai in a relatively rare meaning
supports the view that Luke is responsible for the precise wording of the excuses
in 14:18–20.112 Moreover, one can see how Luke’s wording of the excuses serves
one of his larger concerns. All three excuses intimate that the invitees are upper-
class elites focused on acquiring property and wealth (marriage in the Greco-
Roman world being an important commercial exchange).113 Thus does Luke,
well-known for his concern about the proper use of wealth and the needs of the
disadvantaged of society,114 heighten within this parable the contrast between the
initial group of invitees, made up of the well-to-do (vv 18–20), and the second
group, made up of the poor and marginalized (v 21).
In light of all this, it would be a mistake, in my opinion, to take Luke’s version
of the Great Supper as coterminous with the most primitive form of the parable or
even the particular L tradition that Luke received.115 The simple reason for this
caution is that there are hints of redactional traits in Luke’s version of the parable.
First of all, to Luke’s redactional hand belong both the introductory anecdote and
the opening phrase (“a certain man”). The use of a single slave throughout the
narrative may likewise be redactional, though this is less certain. Also redactional
is probably the precise wording of the three excuses (including the specialized
sense of paraiteomai, employed three times) and the two missions of the slave at
the end of the parable, first to those inside the city and then to those outside. The
specification of the group inside the city (14:21) as “the poor, maimed, blind and
lame” (tous ptōchous kai anapeirous kai typhlous kai chōlous) neatly repeats the
list of guests (probably a Lucan redactional composition) in Jesus’ direction not
to invite those who can reciprocate the host’s generosity (14:13).116 Indeed,
concern about the poor and the disabled is a typical redactional trait of the Third
Gospel. This concern is only reinforced by the final group of guests, those outside
the city walls, who would have been not only geographically but also socially the
farthest removed from the affluent host.117 The concluding statement of the host
in v 24 (with its odd plural “you,” hymin, though the addressee is ostensibly the
single slave) is accepted by some commentators as Luke’s addition to the end of
the parable.118
What remains as pre-Lucan in this analysis? The parable begins with an
otherwise unidentified man (but obviously an affluent person, e.g., the head of a
large household) holding a large festive meal. Having already invited the guests,
he now sends out a slave (or slaves) to notify them that all is ready and that they
should now come to the banquet. Instead, and contrary to natural expectations, all
the invited persons offer excuses for not coming. (At this point, some individual
excuses may have been mentioned, but how many or of what kind cannot be
determined.)119 Reacting with anger, the host sends his slave(s) out to gather into
his banquet hall anyone the slave(s) might happen to meet on the streets or lanes.
The result is that the festival hall is filled with many different types of people,
including the socially marginalized.
4. The correlation of all three probes. If we compare (i) the hypothetical outline
of the parable that we abstracted from the points that the Matthean and Lucan
parables have in common, (ii) the Matthean form of the parable minus the
Matthean redactional features, and (iii) the Lucan form of the parable minus its
Lucan redactional features, we wind up with roughly the same parable in each
case. This is perhaps as close as we can hope to get to the primitive form of the
parable, which was then transmitted to Matthew and Luke in the varying
formulations of the M and L traditions. To recapitulate the results of this tripartite
correlation, the primitive form of the parable consisted of the following:
(i) Setup (The Summons to the Feast). Whatever the precise introductory
phrase, the parable began with a man who is giving a festive meal for a large
number of invitees.
(ii) First Stage of Plot. The host sends out his slave(s) to summon those already
invited to come to the meal.
(iii) Second Stage of Plot (The Problem Arises). The invitees all refuse to come
to the meal. Some indication is given of the various commercial or personal
commitments that cause the invitees to reject the summons.
(iv) Third Stage of the Plot (Return of the Slave[s]). The slave(s) report the
invitees’ refusal to the master.
 (v) Fourth Stage of Plot (Reaction of the Master and Resolution of the
Problem). In anger, the master sends out his slave(s) to invite any and all whom
the slave(s) may chance to meet on the roads (inside and/or outside the city). The
explicit result is that the master’s banquet hall is filled with guests. The implicit
result is that the host gains honor and gratitude from the newly invited, who had
no claim on him, while those originally invited (probably understood to be of
high status) are shamed by being replaced by people of no notable status, people
whom the slave(s) just happened to encounter on the roads.120
It must be stressed that this bare-bones summary of the parable probably
developed and mutated in various ways during many oral performances before it
attained to the M and L formulations used by Matthew and Luke respectively. The
great differences apparent in the hypothetical versions that Matthew and Luke
received and redacted confirm our view that the two evangelists were not using
one common text (Q) but rather separate written or oral traditions that we label M
and L. Granted this conclusion, the parable of the Great Supper meets the
criterion of multiple attestation of independent sources and therefore probably
comes from the historical Jesus.
This decision naturally raises a further question: What can be said about the
parable’s meaning on the lips of Jesus, as distinct from the redactional emphases
we have detected in Matthew and Luke?121 From all we have seen so far, one
point is obvious: we cannot reconstruct the exact wording of the parable as
spoken by Jesus—all the more so because he may have spoken it in different
forms on different occasions to different audiences for different purposes. Granted
this, how can we detect the core message, thrust, or intent of the parable as it
came from Jesus? Here is where the strategy of reserving the treatment of Jesus’
parables to late in the series of A Marginal Jew proves helpful. We have already
learned a great deal about the core proclamation and detailed teaching of the
historical Jesus in the first four volumes and in the preceding chapters of Volume
Five. It is within this interpretive framework that we can place the parable of the
Great Supper. In other words, we can gain some guidance for interpreting the
parable by looking back to material already judged authentic. In this way, the
parable is not bereft of any and every larger frame of reference, leaving it open to
whatever the clever modern interpreter wants to see in it (not unlike some modern
abstract paintings). Rather, the redactional frames supplied by the evangelists may
legitimately be replaced by the interpretive frame supplied by the words and work
of the historical Jesus authenticated in the previous chapters of A Marginal Jew.
The motif of a householder who sends out slaves to issue a summons or
demand to a recalcitrant group of people is also found at the beginning of the
parable of the Evil Tenants (Mark 12:1–8 parr.). In that parable, the householder
was clearly God, the slaves were the (repeatedly rejected) prophets sent to Israel,
and the recalcitrant group was apparently the temple authorities hostile to Jesus.
The identification of the stock images of the householder and his slaves with God
and his prophets seems at first glance to hold true as well for the parable of the
Great Supper.
Yet there is a difference. In the parable of the Great Supper, it is not a question
of a relatively small number of tenant farmers tending a vineyard. Rather, many
people have been invited to a “great supper” (Luke 14:16) or to a “marriage feast
for the son” of a king (Matt 22:2). The strenuous effort exerted to fill the banquet
hall at the end of the parable (Matt 22:9–10; Luke 14:21–23) likewise underlines
the large number of people involved. In previous volumes of A Marginal Jew, we
have seen how Jesus used meal imagery to depict the eschatological banquet or
final salvation. Clear cases include the Q saying about many coming from east
and west to recline at table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of
God (Matt 8:11–12 || Luke 13:28–29) and the Marcan saying about the
bridegroom and his guests at the wedding banquet (Mark 2:19a parr.).122 If the
meal symbolizes final salvation in the kingdom of God, then it is hardly
surprising that those invited are not a relatively small group (such as the tenant
farmers would be), but rather “many” (so explicitly in Luke 14:16; implicitly in
Matt 22:7, where armed troops have to be dispatched by the king “to destroy
those murderers and burn their city”). The broad sweep of this imagery would
seem to argue against the parable being aimed solely at the temple authorities. It
would also make no sense to depict the temple authorities as the sole invitees to
the eschatological banquet.
Rather, the many invitees to whom the slaves (= the prophets) are sent seem to
be the people of Israel as a whole. As we have seen repeatedly, Jesus, the Elijah-
like prophet of the end time, is not concerned simply with a holy remnant (à la
Isaiah of Jerusalem), but rather with the regathering of all twelve tribes of Israel
in the end time.123 Hence, in the parable of the Great Supper, Jesus the
eschatological prophet is apparently warning his fellow Israelites that his message
to them is so urgent precisely because it is the final invitation issued by God to his
people. Their response to Jesus will determine whether they are admitted to the
eschatological banquet that is imminent. To neglect or reject this summons
because one is too occupied with business or family or whatever is to risk losing
salvation. There will be no second chance. Others will be invited to the banquet to
take the place of the original guests who fail to respond. Who these others are is
not clear in the primitive form of the parable. If we turn again to the Q saying (a
contrast logion) in Matt 8:11–12 || Luke 13:28–29, we may receive a hint: “Many
shall come from east and west and shall recline [at table] with Abraham and Isaac
and Jacob in the kingdom of God. But you will be thrown out.” As I argued in
Volume Two of A Marginal Jew, this logion indicates that the historical Jesus did
prophesy the inclusion of (some? many? all?) Gentiles in the eschatological
banquet, while some Israelites would find themselves excluded.124 It is possible
that the same idea may be present in the parable of the Great Supper, though any
reference to the Gentiles must be inferred from other sayings of Jesus. It remains
possible that Jesus instead is warning stringently observant Jews that their place
in the kingdom may be taken by Jews who are socially or religiously
marginalized.125
If, however, we accept the line of interpretation that sees Jesus hinting at the
inclusion of Gentiles, two important points must be kept in mind: (1) Jesus is
speaking metaphorically of the final day of salvation, not of the ongoing course of
Israel’s history in this present world. Only on the last day will some (many? all?)
Gentiles be included and some Israelites excluded. There is no idea of a mission
to the Gentiles prior to the last day—contrary to what will quickly develop in the
early church. (2) Likewise, Jesus’ warning to his fellow Israelites must not be
read as a threat that Israel as a whole might be excluded from final salvation. If
we are not to press too far the allegorical elements in the Matthean or even the
Lucan version of the parable, a fortiori we are not to do so in the rhetorical
situation of the viva voce preaching of an itinerant Jesus as he warned, cajoled,
and entertained his various audiences, be they peasants, Pharisees, rich
landowners, or temple authorities. In the concrete context of his ministry, at any
given time Jesus would have spoken this parable to this or that group of his fellow
Jews as a salutary warning not to ignore his urgent final message, lest they suffer
the consequences on the last day. Each person hearing the parable would be
challenged by the story to place himself or herself with those who accept the
invitation, not with those who reject it. Thus, if my readers will excuse language
reminiscent of Rudolf Bultmann, there is in this parable a pressing call to
existential decision. Or, to use language reminiscent of Joachim Jeremias, time is
short. Decide now, or soon it will be too late and your place will be taken by
another. It is this monitory summons to Israel that we should hear in this parable
if we are asking about the intent of the eschatological prophet called Jesus. The
Great Supper is the great and final call to Israel to accept the eschatological
prophet’s message before it is too late.

B. IS THE VERSION OF THIS PARABLE IN THE GOSPEL OF THOMAS

INDEPENDENT OF THE SYNOPTICS?
The analysis presented in section A has produced what I consider fairly reliable
conclusions about the sources and redaction of the Great Supper in both Matthew
and Luke. Yet the complexity of the relationship between the two Synoptic
versions of the parable, highlighted by our analysis, underlines why a decision
about Thomas’ relation to the Synoptics in the case of CGT 64 is so difficult. For
that reason, I think it wise to begin our treatment of logion 64 by recalling what
we have learned about the tendencies of Thomas from Chapter 38: (i) A number
of logia display Thomas’ tendency to conflate two or even three Synoptic
versions of a unit. The parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard (Mark 12:1–8;
CGT 65) is a prime example. (ii) Likewise evident in that example is Thomas’
penchant for abbreviating the main story line, while at times adding material that
will favor his hermeneutic. (iii) As the Evil Tenants also shows, in his conflations
Thomas will sometimes lean heavily in the direction of the Lucan version of a
parable. (iv) Finally, we see in Thomas’ version of the Evil Tenants, as elsewhere
in CGT, the desire to play down, eliminate, or explicitly reject connections with
the OT, salvation history, Judaism, or the early church. Hence allegorical
elaborations added by the evangelists tend to be stripped away.
Granted all these tendencies of Thomas—tendencies we have seen repeatedly
in both parables and nonparabolic sayings—it is hardly surprising that CGT 64
shares few words or phrases with Matthew’s version of the Great Supper. To
recall briefly what we have learned in section A: as almost all commentators
agree, Matthew has expanded the core parable to make it an allegory of salvation
history, with special emphasis on the time of the church. The supper has become a
wedding feast (gamous, 22:2) that a king (God the Father) has prepared for his
son (the risen and exalted Jesus). The sending out of slaves to summon the guests,
while borrowing the motif of the slaves from the parable of the Evil Tenants
(where they symbolized the OT prophets), represents in the Great Supper the
mission of early Christian preachers, who encounter rejection and martyrdom
from those who had already been invited, namely, the people of Israel (vv 3–6).
The king responds angrily—and quite improbably in the context of a meal
waiting to be eaten—by sending his troops to wipe out the murderers and burn
their city. (The idea that all those rejecting the slaves live in one city—obviously
not the king’s city—pops up out of nowhere.) The campaign of the king’s troops
is patently a symbol of the Jewish War of a.d. 66–70, and the burning of the city
represents the destruction of Jerusalem. After the destruction of the city, the new
mission of the slaves (naturally, a different group of slaves from those who have
been killed) symbolizes, in Matthew’s artificial periodization of salvation history,
the proclamation of the gospel to the Gentiles. The newly invited form a ragtag
and morally dubious group (“all those you find, both bad and good,” v 10), a
group that did not share the previous invitation (the covenant with Israel), a group
that is now suddenly summoned from all over the map (“go out to the roads
outside the city gates,” v 9).
Paradoxically, it is at this point of his salvation-historical allegory that Matthew
senses a problem he himself has created. With the gathering of bad and good
alike, Matthew’s allegory has brought us up only to the present time of the
church, which embraces a mixed bag of members produced by the Gentile
mission. To resolve this typically Matthean problematic, Matthew adds (and
probably creates) the parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment (vv 11–14)
to bring salvation history to its dénouement at the last judgment, complete with
Matthew’s beloved theme of the separation of the good and bad on the last day,
complete with weeping and gnashing of teeth in the outer darkness. Matthew is
fond of severe warnings about the final judgment.
The point of this recapitulation of Matthew’s narrative, analyzed at length in
section A, is that there is little in Matthew’s allegory of salvation history that the
author and/or compiler of Thomas would have found palatable or usable. Thus,
we need not be surprised that parallels between the Matthean and Thomasine
versions are few and far between. Nevertheless, there are a few similarities:
(i) Insofar as CGT 64 uses the verb “he prepared” (entarefsobte), Thomas is
closer to the use of the equivalent Greek verb, “I have prepared” (hētoimaka, v 4),
found only in Matthew, than he is to the related adjective “prepared” or “ready”
(hetoima), which both Matthew (22:4,8) and Luke (14:17) employ.
(ii) Matthew, not Luke, states that one of the guests who brushes aside the
invitation goes off to his business (emporian, v 5). CGT 64, while paralleling
Luke in having the guests articulate their excuses in direct discourse, parallels
Matthew in that the first guest speaks of having to arrange financial accounts with
some businessmen or merchants. Here the Coptic text uses the Greek noun
emporos (cf. Matthew’s emporian) for “businessmen” or “merchants.”
(iii) In both Matt 22:9–10 and CGT 64, we see the slave(s) sent out only once
to gather in people found on the roads. In Luke, the single slave is sent out twice.
(iv) The people the slaves find on the roads are described twice in Matthew as
“whomsoever you find” (in the direct address of the king, v 9) and as “all those
they found” (in the 3d person narrative, v 10). The same group is described as
“those whom you shall find” in the speech of the host (“the master”) in CGT 64.
Interestingly, there is no such equivalent clause in either of Luke’s two sendings
of the slave to bring in the marginalized of society to the banquet.126 In sum,
when one thinks of how antithetical the Matthean allegory of salvation history is
to Thomas’ theological tendencies, we should perhaps be surprised that there are
four points of comparison rather than none.
 However, not unlike the case of the parable of the Evil Tenants, the agreements
of CGT 64 with the Synoptics lie mostly on the side of Luke. This is not terribly
surprising, since Luke’s version has none of Matthew’s heavy-handed detailed
allegory of salvation history, though Luke’s formulation is not without some
traces of his own view of the set order of God’s plan. Complicating the
comparison between Thomas and Luke is that the agreements between Luke
14:16–24 and CGT 64 vary in weight. However, taken as a whole, the large
number of agreements is weighty enough.127
(i) Luke’s parable begins in 14:16 with his signature anthrōpos tis (“a [certain]
man”). As we saw in our treatment of the parable of the Rich Fool in Chapter 38
and the parable of the Good Samaritan in Chapter 39, the use of some form of
anthrōpos tis at the beginning of a parable is a regular sign of Lucan redaction.
Thomas’ noun + indefinite article, ourōme (“a man”), corresponds perfectly to
Luke’s wording.
(ii) The opening sentence in both Luke and Thomas speaks of the man’s
making (Luke) or preparing (Thomas) a “supper” (deipnon in Luke’s Greek,
which Thomas employs as well instead of a Coptic noun). The noun deipnon may
reflect Lucan redaction, since the word occurs only at the beginning (vv 16 + 17)
and end (v 24) of the parable, thus creating an inclusio. Indeed, deipnon is the
very last word of the entire parable in Luke. It also forms an inclusio with the
saying of Jesus that opens the whole larger sēquence leading up to the parable
(14:12): “He [Jesus] said to the person who had invited him [to dine], ‘When you
give a midday meal [ariston, literally “breakfast”] or a supper [deipnon], do not
invite your friends. . . .’” It is the deipnon in this saying that the parable then
picks up as its sole designation of the banquet within the parable. Interestingly,
these are the only occurrences of deipnon in Luke–Acts apart from a mention in a
saying that Luke takes over from Mark (Luke 20:46 || Mark 12:38–40). Thus, the
carefully positioned deipnon in Luke 14:12,16,17, and 24 may well be a
redactionally created pattern. In contrast, Matthew never uses deipnon in his
Gospel except for his reproduction of the same Marcan saying (Matt 23:6 || Mark
12:39). Throughout his version of the Great Supper, Matthew uses gamos
(“wedding feast,” “wedding banquet,” 22:2,3,4,8,9,10, as well as in vv 11–12 of
the added parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment), though he also uses
ariston (“breakfast,” “midday meal”) in v 4. This concentrated use of gamos
within a single parable may come from Matthew’s redaction, since the noun
occurs nowhere else in Matthew’s Gospel except in the M parable of the Ten
Virgins (25:10), which shows heavy signs of Matthean redaction and might even
be a redactional creation. In sum, then, Thomas’ use of deipnon clearly agrees
with Luke, not Matthew.
 (iii) Matthew has a group of slaves sent twice to those originally invited. The
first time, we are told laconically that the invitees did not wish to come. On the
second mission, the slaves deliver a detailed message from the king in direct
address. While some simply ignore the invitation and leave to take care of
agricultural or commercial concerns, the rest seize the slaves and proceed to
abuse and kill them (an echo of the parable of the Evil Tenants). In contrast, both
in Luke and in Thomas, the master sends out a single slave only once to the
invitees, none of whom abuses or harms the slave.
(iv) Luke’s description of the slave of the master in 14:17 is ton dou-lon autou
(“his slave”), which is exactly the same as Thomas’ description (pefhmhal).
(v) The invitees proceed to make a series of excuses, one excuse for each guest.
(vi) The recalcitrant guests are enumerated. In Luke, we have “the first said . . .
and another said . . . and another said,” for a total of three guests. In Thomas, the
guests are enumerated in a similar way, though the phrases “the first . . . and
another . . . and another . . . and another” are not the subjects of the verb “said”
but rather the object of the preposition in the phrase “he [the slave] went to the
first . . . to another . . . to another . . . to another.” A further difference is that
Thomas has four guests making distinct excuses, while Luke has only three. The
excuses are similar but not the same. In Luke, they involve buying a field or a
farm (agros), buying five yoke of oxen, and marrying a wife. In Thomas, the four
excuses involve settling accounts with merchants, buying a house, giving a
banquet (deipnon) for a friend getting married, and buying a village, villa, or farm
(the Greek loan word is kōmē) and receiving the rent. What remains the same is
that each enumerated guest (“the first . . . another . . . another”) gives a different
excuse to the same servant.128 The extra excuse in Thomas could be explained by
his clearly redactional polemic against preoccupation with business and money,
voiced openly in Thomas’ addition to the end of the parable: “Buyers and
merchants shall not enter the places of my Father.”
(vii) In both Luke and Thomas, each guest speaks his excuse to the slave in
direct address and in the 1st person singular.
(viii) Both Luke and Thomas employ the Greek verb paraiteomai in the special
meaning explored in section A. There is no need to repeat the results of our
survey of the word’s usage here. Rather, the point to be emphasized is that
Thomas shares Luke’s use of the verb in a relatively rare sense, though with a
notable difference. Luke’s use of the verb paraiteomai in the special sense of “I
ask that you hold me excused [from the social obligation I previously accepted]”
is perfectly intelligible in Hellenistic Greek. In contrast, the Coptic text of
Thomas, which employs paraiteomai as a Greek loan word in the list of
individual excuses, contains an awkward construction. CGT 64 uses the verb
twice in the first present tense (tierparaitei) with the Greek noun deipnon
(“supper”) as the direct object (as indicated in the Coptic by the object marker
placed before the noun). The meaning of this construction has to be something
like “I ask to be excused from the supper” or “I make my excuses for not coming
to the supper.” In the case of the fourth and final guest excusing himself, the guest
simply uses the verb tierparaitei, apparently with the direct object understood. It
is likely that the Coptic usage here is a somewhat garbled attempt to represent a
Greek text that uses paraiteomai in the special sense of “to ask to be excused
from an invitation or social obligation previously accepted.”129 In the whole of
the NT, only Luke uses paraiteomai in this specific sense, and only in this parable
(three times). As we have already seen in section A, the other nine occurrences of
the verb in the NT always reflect the ordinary meanings of “request,” “beg,”
“avoid,” or “reject.” Clearly, then, CGT 64 knows either Luke’s version of the
parable or a version very close to Luke’s. If, moreover, Luke is responsible for the
precise wording of the excuses, as I have argued previously, then necessarily
Thomas knew and used Luke’s text.
(ix) In the third excuse offered in both Luke 14:20 and in the corresponding
sentence in CGT 64, the guest says, “I cannot come” (in Luke: ou dynamai
elthein; in Thomas, tinaši an).130
(x) After all the excuses are made, the single slave returns to his master to
report the refusals. Luke has “and coming the slave reported to his master,” while
Thomas reads “the slave came to his master and said. . . .” Thomas’ use of a main
verb instead of Luke’s participle “coming” (paragenomenos) is necessitated by
the fact that most Coptic verbs have no participial forms.131
(xi) The master’s reaction is introduced by a clause that is almost exactly the
same in both works. Luke has “the master of the house [oikodespotēs] said to his
slave,” while Thomas reads “the master [pjoeis] said to his slave.”
(xii) The order that the master gives the slave (for the second time in Luke, for
the only time in Thomas) specifies: “Go out to the roads” (Luke 14:23: exelthe eis
tas hodous; Thomas: bōk epsa nbol anhiooye). In both works the purpose of the
mission is to “bring” people in (Luke 14:21: eisagage; Thomas: enioy).
In view of all these parallels, some of them word for word, one must allow that
Thomas knew either Luke’s version of the parable or something very similar,
which Thomas has redacted for his own purposes and with his own additions. But,
as we have also seen, at a few points CGT 64 veers instead in the direction of
Matthew’s version.132 Mutatis mutandis, this is the same phenomenon that we
saw when we examined Thomas’ version of the Evil Tenants. Hence, taking into
account the many similarities to Luke and a few similarities to Matthew, I think
that the most likely understanding of CGT 64 is that it reflects Thomas’ usual
meshing of Synoptic sources, with a preference for Luke’s simpler version and
with a few additions to underline Thomas’ redactional concerns (notably, his
dislike of merchants and traders conducting business). Moreover, if, as I have
argued in section A, the wording of the three excuses in Luke (with the relatively
rare use of paraiteomai in the sense of excusing oneself from an invitation
formerly accepted) is Lucan redaction, the dependence of CGT 64 on the
Synoptics becomes all but certain.
To conclude: CGT 64 supplies no independent attestation of multiple sources
for the parable of the Great Supper.133 However, its attestation is not necessary in
our quest for the historical parables of the historical Jesus. The independent M
and L versions of the parable supply the sufficient multiple attestation of
independent sources to make it more likely than not that the parable of the Great
Supper comes from the historical Jesus.134

IV. THE TALENTS/POUNDS (MATT 25:14–30 || LUKE 19:11–27)135

A. THE QUESTION OF SOURCES AND REDACTION IN THE VERSIONS
OF MATTHEW AND LUKE
Having worked through the many problems connected with the parable of the
Great Supper, we can hardly avoid a sense of déjà vu as we come to our final
specimen, the parable of the Talents/Pounds. As was the case with the Great
Supper, we have two parables, one in Matthew and one in Luke, that apparently
have the same basic story, but are told with different vocabulary and different
details. Also reminiscent of the two versions of the Great Supper is the
complication that one version of the story has a subplot that the other lacks.
However, while it was Matthew who contained the curious subplot in the case of
the Great Supper (namely, the murder of the king’s messengers and the burning of
the murderers’ city), it is Luke who has the subplot in the parable of the
Talents/Pounds (namely, the nobleman who goes abroad to acquire the status of
king). Another difference that distinguishes the Talents/Pounds from the Great
Supper is that, unlike the latter, the former has no parallel in CGT. By this point in
Volume Five, the attentive reader can probably surmise that I consider this no
great loss since, from all we have seen so far, a Thomasine version would most
likely evince dependence on Matthew and/or Luke. Naturally, though, for those
who champion the independence of most, if not all, of the Synoptic-like material
in Thomas, the absence of a parallel in CGT means the loss of a valuable tool for
reconstructing a hypothetical primitive version of the parable.
 Another, though minor, problem, likewise reminiscent of the parable of the
Great Supper, is that the parable we will now examine is known by a variety of
names. The Matthean version of the parable under review is almost universally
called the parable of the Talents. The stability of the title stems in part from the
fact that the word for the extremely large unit of money in the parable (the Greek
noun talanton, “talent”) has passed over into common English usage as a word
for an innate human skill or aptitude—though that is not the meaning of talanton
in ancient Greek or in the parable.136 Around the time of Jesus, as a unit of
money, a single talent would have been worth roughly six thousand denarii and
thus about twenty years’ worth of wages for an ordinary day laborer.137 The
designation of the Lucan form of the parable has proved more problematic and
hence variable. For the smaller monetary unit in Luke’s version, the Greek text
uses the noun mna, which designates a coin worth roughly three months’ wages
for a day laborer, in other words, about one hundred denarii—much less than a
talent. And unlike talanton, the Greek word mna never became a common
English word. The traditional translation in older English Bibles (e.g., the King
James Version, the RSV) was “pound.” Not only is that less than enlightening for
present-day Americans; it also hardly corresponds to the value of the English
pound today. Despite fluctuations, the present-day English pound never comes
near the value of three months’ wages for a day laborer.
As Tolstoy or Lenin might ask, what then is to be done? Up until now, in the
previous sections of Volume Five, I have used the traditional title, the parable of
the Talents/Pounds, so as not to confuse the reader. But now that we are plunging
into a detailed analysis of the two versions of the parable, we should be more
exact. When referring to Matthew’s version, the solution is simple: I will continue
using the well-known “parable of the Talents.” When speaking of Luke’s version,
I will use instead the label, “the parable of the Minas”—the word “mina” being
the more pronounceable, if not the more wildly popular, English transliteration
(hardly a translation) of the Greek mna.138 When speaking in a general or global
way about both versions of the parable or about the underlying story common to
both, I will use a phrase like “the parable of the slaves entrusted with money” or
“the parable of the money entrusted to the slaves.”139
With nomenclature settled, let us move on to the pivotal question, that of
sources. As with the parable of the Great Supper, any decision about the
“historicity” or “authenticity” of the parable of the money entrusted to the slaves
—that is, whether it goes back to the historical Jesus—depends largely on the
prior decision about sources. If the two versions of the parable come from two
different sources, e.g., M and L, then we have a prima facie argument for
historicity, based on the criterion of the multiple attestation of independent
sources. If instead we judge the two versions to result from Matthew and Luke
independently reworking a parable contained in Q, then the criterion of multiple
attestation does not apply. In light of all that we have learned from our study of
other parables, it is difficult to see how any other criterion could be invoked to
establish historicity.
We can now appreciate how similar our present problem is to the one we faced
when treating the Great Supper. The overall problem can be broken down into a
number of distinct questions, taken in order: Are we dealing with two versions of
a single parable or two different parables that just happen to have similar stories?
If we are indeed dealing with a single parable, does it come from Q or from two
independent sources, M and L? If we decide for M and L, and if we decide that
the parable lying behind these sources is authentic, what might have been its
message or purpose in the mouth of the historical Jesus? In an attempt to answer
these questions, we will use a step-by-step approach similar to the one we
employed when analyzing the Great Supper:
(1) We shall investigate whether we can isolate a common skeletal outline
latent in the two versions of the parable of the slaves entrusted with money, that
is, a common narrative underlying the two “performances” of the parable by
Matthew and Luke. This will help us decide whether we are dealing with two
versions of the same parable or with two different parables.
(2) If we decide that we are dealing with two versions of one basic parable, we
will try to determine whether the two performances contain enough common
words, phrases, syntax, and order in the story to justify attributing the parable to
the Q source.
(3) We will examine the Matthean version in detail in an attempt to detect
phrases and ideas that may be due to Matthew’s redactional hand.
(4) We will likewise examine Luke’s version in order to detect Luke’s
redactional additions or modifications.
(5) We will correlate the results of all our probes to see whether we can come
up with a hypothetical form of the parable that might well go back to the
historical Jesus.

1. We begin, then, with our first question. Can we isolate the bare-minimum
story that Matthew and Luke have in common (along with a quick initial glance at
some of their significant differences)?
(i) The introduction: the dominant character is introduced along with the
essential subordinate characters. A man (anthrōpos, qualified by Luke as eugenēs,
“noble”) is about to go on a journey (Luke adds, “to a distant country”); hence he
summons (kaleō) his slaves (douloi, three in Matthew, ten in Luke).
(ii) The plot is set in motion: the man commissions his slaves by giving each a
sum of money (five talents, two talents, and one talent respectively to the three
slaves in Matthew; one mina each to the ten slaves in Luke). The intent of the
man (implicit in Matthew, explicit in Luke) is clear: the slaves are to engage in
some sort of business or trade to increase the capital entrusted to them while the
man is away.140 Matthew proceeds to narrate what the three slaves did while the
man was away; this part of the narrative is lacking in Luke but presupposed by
the dénouement of his version.
(iii) The master returns and holds a reckoning with his slaves. Upon his return
the man—now referred to in both versions as the “master” (kyrios) of the slaves
—summons the slaves to settle accounts with them (so Matthew) or to find out
what profit they had made by trade (so Luke). Thus, both evangelists present us
with a scene of reckoning.
(iv) The first two (successful) slaves report. (Here, contrary to the expectations
he has created, Luke suddenly agrees with Matthew in having only three—not ten
—slaves report their activity and its results.)
(a) In Matthew, the profits are larger in absolute amounts: the first slave has
used his five talents to gain five more; the second has used his two to gain two
more. In Luke, the gains are huge proportionately. The first slave has used his one
mina to gain ten minas (a 1,000 percent profit), while the second has used his one
mina to gain five (a 500 percent profit).
(b) Both slaves are commended by their master (“well done, good slave”) and
are promised sizable rewards. In Matthew, we hear the master’s promise of
greater responsibilities (presumably over larger sums of money) and the vague
invitation, “Enter into the joy of your master.” In Luke, the reward is specific and
political: governance of ten and five cities respectively, the number of cities
mirroring the number of minas earned.
(v) The third slave reports. Both Matthew and Luke give more space to the
interaction between the master and the third slave than to the interaction with
either of the first two slaves. In addition, the scene with the third slave is more
psychologically charged and dramatic. The rule of end stress holds: here, clearly
and emphatically, we have the climax of the story of the slaves entrusted with
money. Interestingly, and perhaps not by accident, Matthew and Luke agree much
more in their vocabulary and order in this scene than in the previous parts of the
parable. What creates the dramatic conflict in this scene is the fact (revealed
beforehand by Matthew, but not by Luke) that the third slave has failed to fulfill
the commission (implicit in Matthew, explicit in Luke) given him by his master to
make money by engaging in business. The long scene develops step by step:141
(a) The slave explains his lack of activity in psychological terms: both his own
psyche (he was afraid) and that of his master (he is a severe, demanding, grasping
person).
(b) The slave expatiates on the personality trait of the master with an
agricultural metaphor: “you harvest what you did not sow.”
(c) The slave’s fear led him to protect the money by hiding it in a safe place (in
Matthew: buried in the ground; in Luke: wrapped up in a cloth).
(d) The master’s angry reaction consists of
—a condemnatory address to the slave: “wicked slave,”
—a mocking repetition of the slave’s description of the master as demanding,
—a complaint that the slave could have at least invested the money with a
banker so that the master could have gotten it back with interest.
(e) The master punishes the third slave by ordering that the slave’s money be
given to the first slave, the one with the most money.
(f) The master (or Jesus?) grounds this surprising punishment with a maxim
expressing a paradox: “To everyone who has, [more] will be given, but from the
one who does not have, even what he has will be taken away from him.” (This
verse stands out as being the only one that is almost completely the same in
vocabulary and order in both Matthew and Luke).
[(g) The parable may have ended with a still more severe punishment for the
third slave; but the editing of Matthew and Luke has so transformed their
respective conclusions that one cannot be sure.]

This rapid overview of the elements common to Matthew’s parable of the Talents
and Luke’s parable of the Minas suggests two conclusions:
(1) Our “X-ray” of the Matthean and Lucan texts brings to light a coherent
narrative—and not just some similar motifs—that underlies both parables. We are
thus justified in speaking of one parable that has come down to us in two versions
or performances, one Matthean and one Lucan. The claim that we are dealing
with two different parables with some similarities fails to deal adequately with the
common “spine” of a single narrative that runs up and down the length of both
parables, as well as the critical mass of nearly identical words and clauses found
toward the end of the parable.142
(2) The same judgment cannot be made about Luke’s additional story or
subplot, in which the master becomes a nobleman who journeys to a distant
country to obtain the status of king, is opposed by subjects who do not want him
to become king, returns triumphant with the kingship, and has his rebellious
subjects slaughtered in his presence. This story, sometimes called the parable of
the Throne Claimant, is found only in a few verses of the Lucan version, with no
trace in Matthew. Hence, given our goal of questing for the historical Jesus, the
Throne Claimant necessarily falls out of our consideration, since it has no chance
of meeting the criterion of multiple attestation. In addition, though, it may well be
that there never was a separate parable of the Throne Claimant. The sole segments
that we have of the Throne Claimant are v 12 (which also serves as the beginning
of the parable of the Minas), v 14 (which speaks of the rebellious subjects whose
opposition to the king launches a distinct story or subplot), v 15a (the return of
the king, which is also part of the main story about the slaves), and finally—after
the whole complicated story of the slaves with their minas has been told to its end
—v 27, where, almost out of the blue, the nearly forgotten story of the rebellious
subjects is reintroduced by the king’s order to slaughter them in his presence.
Even if we combine vv 12 and 15a (which also belong to the story of the slaves)
with v 14 and v 27, we hardly have a coherent parable with a discernible message.
At the very least, something must be supplied to connect v 15a and v 27, with the
beginning of v 27 also being rewritten.143 What such a parable, however
reconstructed, might have meant in the mouth of the historical Jesus is still more
difficult to say.144
How did this Throne Claimant material come to be inserted into what was
already a complete parable about slaves entrusted by their master with money?
We may be able to find a clue to the rationale for the insertion of this extraneous
material in the writings of the Jewish historian Josephus. In both his Jewish War
(J.W. 2.1.1–2.7.3 § 1–113) and his Antiquities (Ant. 17.8.1–17.13.5 §188–355),
Josephus recounts the rocky rise and precipitous fall of a son of King Herod the
Great named Archelaus.145 Before his death in 4 B.C., and after a number of
changes to his will (due in part to his unfortunate tendency to kill off members of
his family), Herod the Great had designated Archelaus as his main heir and
therefore as “king.”146 After Herod the Great’s death, and after Archelaus had
slaughtered some three thousand opponents while they offered sacrifice in the
Jerusalem temple during Passover, Archelaus, who was all too like his father in
cruelty but not in competence, journeyed to Rome to have Caesar Augustus
confirm Herod’s will and formally confer on him the title of king. From the start,
though, he was opposed by other members of his family; Antipas, his brother,
sought the throne instead. To make things worse, some time later a delegation of
Jews and Samaritans from Palestine arrived in Rome to petition Augustus not to
make Archelaus king, given the latter’s record of cruelty at the very start of his
reign. Augustus struck a compromise by making Archelaus “ethnarch” (“ruler of
the [Jewish] people”) for the time being, with power over Judea, Idumea, and
Samaria, and with a promise of future kingship if he proved a competent ruler.
(The disappointed Antipas received Galilee and Perea instead with the title of
tetrarch.) However, Archelaus’ ongoing brutality continued to cause unrest, and
so Augustus finally deposed him in a.d. 6, thus ushering in the period of direct
Roman rule in Judea under a prefect.
Most, though not all, commentators on the parable of the Minas see the
turbulent career of Archelaus as the historical source for the Throne Claimant
motif in Luke’s version of the parable. Despite the near consensus on this point,
one must admit that the reference is not certain. After all, the nobleman in the
parable does in fact acquire the kingly status he seeks; and Archelaus, who had
engaged in a bloody slaughter before he set out for Rome, did not slaughter a
large number of his enemies immediately upon returning from Rome. Moreover,
under Rome’s imperial sway, all sorts of rulers journeyed to Rome to have their
kingship conferred or confirmed. Herod the Great, Archelaus’ father, was one of
them. He traveled to Rome to be appointed king of the Jews in 40 B.C.; upon
finally capturing Jerusalem and becoming king in fact in 37 B.C., he presided
over a mass slaughter of his enemies (J.W. 1.11.3–4 §281–285; 1.18.1–2 §347–
353). Like father, like son. Still, the elements of a journey to a distant country in
order to receive the title of king, the hatred of the ruler by his subjects, an
embassy of his subjects sent after him to block his attainment of kingship, and the
theme of the ruler’s slaughter of a large group of his opponents all converge to
make Archelaus the most likely candidate—though not the absolutely certain one
—for the historical background to the Throne Claimant motif.
Even if we grant that the Throne Claimant motif in the parable derives from the
career of Archelaus, it remains baffling how or why this tidbit of Roman power-
politics in Palestine would supply a motif that the historical Jesus would use as a
subplot in a parable addressed to his Galilean followers. Given that Jesus’
experience of political rule—just like that of his mostly Galilean audience—
would have been that of the relatively peaceful reign of Archelaus’ brother, Herod
Antipas, we are hard pressed to understand why the historical Jesus would have
constructed a puzzling parable that rested on events that neither he nor many in
his audience could have remembered from personal experience or even have
known about.
Hence, along with many exegetes, I think that the narrative of the Throne
Claimant never existed as a separate parable and does not go back to the historical
Jesus.147 Rather, it was added as a subplot to the parable of the servants either by
a bearer of the pre-Lucan tradition or (more likely in my view) by Luke himself.
Throughout his two-volume work, Luke displays a keen interest in the interaction
between both Judaism and nascent Christianity on the one hand and the Roman
empire and its rulers on the other (see, e.g., Luke 2:1; 3:1–2; 13:1,31; 23:6–12;
Acts 10:1–11:18; 13:4–12; 16:19–40; 18:12–17; 22:22–30; 23:12–28:30). In
addition, Luke’s insertion into this parable of the theme of a man achieving
kingship serves his larger literary and theological project, since he places this
parable immediately before Jesus’ “triumphal entry” into Jerusalem. Indeed, Luke
alone among the Synoptics has Jesus directly hailed as king at his entry into the
ancient Davidic capital (Luke 19:38). Luke continues the theme of Jesus’
kingship and kingdom throughout his Passion Narrative (see, e.g., Luke 22:28–
30; 23:2–3,42–43; cf. Acts 1:6).148
All signs, therefore, point to a Lucan redactional insertion into the traditional
parable of the Minas that he had received. Within the overall theology and
narrative of Luke–Acts, the parable of the Minas, thanks to its subplot, marks out
various stages of salvation history: Jesus’ dealing with his disciples during the
public ministry, his going away into a far country via his death-resurrection-
ascension, his reception of kingly status at the right hand of the Father, the
successful or not-so-successful mission of his disciples during his absence, his
return at the end of this present world, and his holding a final judgment that metes
out reward and punishment. We may thus drop the Throne Claimant motif from
further consideration, since it has nothing to do with any possible tradition that
might reach back to the historical Jesus. In sum, then: behind Matthew’s parable
of the Talents and Luke’s parable of the Minas we find not two different parables
but two versions of the same parable containing the same basic story. Since we
have reached this conclusion, the next question follows logically.

2. Can we attribute the parable of the servants entrusted with money, found in
both Matthew and Luke, to Q? If one works with a vague definition of Q as any
and all material that happens to appear in both Matthew and Luke, then the
question answers itself. However, our analysis of the parable of the Great Supper
reminded us that it is possible for a particular saying or deed of Jesus to be
transmitted in variant forms via the special traditions of Matthew and Luke
respectively, apart from Q. Hence something further is required to justify our
assigning a unit of tradition to the hypothetical written document we call Q. In my
opinion, that further requirement is a certain critical mass of the same words,
phrases, and grammatical constructions in roughly the same order. Such clear
examples of Q are found, for instance, in the call of the Baptist to repentance
(Matt 3:7–10 || Luke 3:7–9) and the narrative of the triple temptation of Jesus
(Matt 4:1–11 || Luke 4:1–13).
 Thus, to answer the question of whether the parable of the servants entrusted
with the money qualifies as Q material, we need to take an inventory of the same
or similar words and phrases found in the Matthean and Lucan versions.
(i) Words or phrases that are exactly the same in dictionary form and
grammatical form, allowing for slight variations in word order, include (the first
numeral in parentheses indicates the relevant verse in Matt 25:14–30, the second
numeral the relevant verse in Luke 19:12–27): anthrōpos (14,12); doulous
(14,13); edōken (15,13); legōn kyrie (20,16); autǭ (21,17); doule agathe (21,17);
pistos (21,17); kai . . . kyrie (22,18); kai ho (24,20); kyrie (24,20); se hoti (24,21);
ei anthrōpos (24,21); ouk espeiras kai (24,21); autǭ (26,22); ponēre doule
(26,22); ędeis hoti (26,22); ouk espeira (26,22); mou + argyrion or argyria
(27,23); kai elthōn egō or kagō elthōn (27,23); an . . . syn tokǭ or syn tokǭ an
(27,23); arate . . . ap’ autou (28,24); kai dote tǭ echonti ta(s) deka (28,24); and
most of the proverb common to Luke 19:26 and Matt 25:29 (twelve words being
the same). The final verse of each version (Matt 25:30; Luke 19:27) has no
significant words in agreement with the other version and certainly does not come
from Q.149
(ii) Words and phrases that share the same dictionary form but not the same
grammatical form and that are not necessarily in the same order include:
ekalesen/kalesas (14,13); tōn doulōn/tous doulous (19,15); proselthōn/ēlthen
(22,18, of the second slave coming to his master); kai . . . ho (22,18, of the second
slave); proselthōn/ēlthen (24,20, of the third slave); therizōn/therizeis (24,21);
ou/ouk (26,21).
(iii) We need to remember that the sum total of these words and phrases that
are the same or similar in Matthew and Luke needs to be measured against the
total wordage of the Matthean and Lucan pericopes. In Matthew, the total
wordage is 302; in Luke, the total wordage is 224.150 What then is the upshot of
these word counts and comparisons? If we omit isolated definite articles and the
conjunctions “and” and “but,” the total number of words that are exactly the same
in dictionary form and grammatical form are 52 (44, if we omit the proverb cited
in both Matt 25:29 and Luke 19:26). This is not especially impressive when set
against a total wordage of 302 and 224 in Matthew and Luke respectively. Words
that have the same dictionary form but not the same grammatical form and that do
not appear already on our first list contribute just six more words to the total.
More to the point, what lessens the probative nature of these agreements is that
many of these words are extremely common terms that occur frequently
throughout the four Gospels: “man,” “slave,” “give,” “have,” “master [lord,
kyrios],” “say,” “he/him,” “good,” “bad,” “you,” “that,” “[you] are,” “I/me/my,”
“know,” “come,” “with,” “take,” “from,” “come,” “not.” When we subtract these
frequently occurring words, the shared words that stand out as specific to the two
versions of our parable are few and far between: for example, “good [and faithful]
slave,” “wicked slave,” “I did not sow,” “money,” “with interest.”
Then, too, the careful reader will notice that the exact same word forms cluster
around the confrontation between the master and the third slave. Indeed, as
already noted, the only verse that provides almost exactly the same wording in the
same order is the proverb cited by the master in Matt 25:29 || Luke 19:26. But the
consensus of commentators is that this sentence is not original to the earliest form
of the parable of the slaves entrusted with the money; rather, it is a stray saying
that has gravitated to the end of the story to provide a clear, though ill-fitting,
moral. The same proverb occurs in the parable discourse at Mark 4:25 and is
repeated with slight variations in Matt 13:12 and Luke 8:18b—as well as in
various expressions of popular ancient wisdom outside the Bible.151 Moreover,
this stray proverb does not exactly fit our story of the slaves entrusted with the
money. No one reading the parable without the concluding proverb would think
of describing the third slave as someone “who does not have [anything].” The
whole point of his pusillanimous safekeeping of the money given him by the
master is to hold on to what he has so that he can give it back to the master at the
final accounting—something he does in both Matt 25:25b (“see, you have what is
yours”) and Luke 19:20b (“behold, your mina”). From the beginning of the story,
the presumption of the third slave in both versions of the parable is that he will
not possess the money as his own, but will return it to his master—not exactly
what the proverb has in mind. Perhaps more to the point, the main thrust of the
parable is concerned with the need to take great risk for great gain, with the
refusal to take any risk resulting in complete loss—not precisely the message
inculcated by the proverb. In brief, then, the one verse that might argue strongly
for a common written source (because of the large amount of common words in
the same grammatical form and order) is instead probably secondary to the
original parable, added very early on in the oral transmission of the pericope. I
admit, though, that this last point is not certain; one cannot exclude the possibility
that the historical Jesus used a well-known proverb to bring the parable to its
conclusion, even though the proverb is not a perfect fit. In any event, in my
opinion, we are faced with a situation quite different from the Baptist’s call to
repentance and the triple temptation of Jesus. The two versions of this parable
about slaves entrusted with money lack the critical mass of the same words in the
same or similar grammatical form and order to justify an identification of the unit
as Q material.152 By default, then, the two versions must be classified as special
Matthean and special Lucan traditions.153 This leads us to our next question.
 3. Can we detect indications of Matthew’s redactional additions or
modifications to the M tradition he received? The first obvious redactional
modification of the parable by Matthew is its location within his Gospel, namely,
toward the end of his sprawling eschatological discourse (chaps. 24–25).154
Matthew has more than doubled the size of Mark’s eschatological discourse
(Mark 13), providing us with ninety-seven verses instead of Mark’s thirty-seven.
But Matthew’s redactional changes to Mark’s discourse are not evenly distributed.
The first half of Matthew’s discourse is basically a reworking of Mark 13, with
various additions and modifications. The second half is made up mostly of Q and
special Matthean material and carries a strong parenetic thrust. With his love of
triads,155 Matthew first presents us with three short similitudes exhorting disciples
to vigilance (24:37–44): the generation of Noah, two men and two women
working, and the householder and the thief. This is followed by a second triad of
three parables of increasing length: the prudent or profligate slave (24:45–51); the
prudent and foolish virgins (25:1–13); and finally, our parable, the slaves
entrusted with money (25:14–30). With this parable, all parables end. The
Matthean Jesus proceeds to conclude the eschatological discourse (the second
largest discourse in Matthew after the Sermon on the Mount) as well as the whole
of the public ministry with a direct description of the last judgment (a prophecy
that is not a parable, despite some metaphors used in the description of the
judgment, such as the sheep and the goats).
Clearly, then, Matthew has positioned the parable of the Talents ever so
carefully; it is the final and climactic parable in the whole series of his
eschatological similitudes and parables. Indeed, it is the last full-dress parable
Jesus will speak in the Gospel. Obviously, its message is of paramount concern to
Matthew, and it is therefore hardly surprising that we hear his voice more than
once coming through the traditional story. But hearing a voice and seeing precise
redactional changes in wording are two different things. Since there was
apparently no common written source (e.g., Q), detecting the exact verbal
reformulations of Matthew is not easy. Fortunately, Matthew has an absolute
mania for carefully ordered structures within a literary unit; this gives us
something of an entrée into his work.156 As with the ordering of the three small
similitudes followed by the three longer parables, as with the first half of the
Sermon on the Mount (nine beatitudes, three similitudes, six antitheses, three
pious practices), and as with the collection of miracle stories in chaps. 8–9 (three
groups of three miracle stories), Matthew shows in the internal structure of the
Talents his love of threes and multiples of threes.
 The Matthean story of the Talents can be neatly divided into three main
sections: (1) the man entrusts his possessions to three slaves (vv 14–15); (2) the
three slaves act upon their master’s commission: the first two engage in trade with
their talents, the third buries his single talent in the ground (vv 16–18); (3) the
master returns and holds an accounting with each of the three slaves, rewarding or
punishing accordingly (vv 19–30). In each of the three sections, each of the three
slaves is distinguished by the amount of talents he receives (section one), the
amount of talents gained (or not gained) in trade (section two), and the
corresponding reward or punishment each slave receives for his achievement or
failure (section three). The sections increase in length as the amount of attention
given to each slave increases. Thus, precise parallels are balanced with step-by-
step expansions. The structure of the entire parable may thus be outlined as
follows:
(1) Section One (vv 14–15): the man, summoning his slaves, entrusted his
possessions to them:
(i) to the first, five talents,
(ii) to the second, two talents,
(iii) to the third, one talent,
with the specification: “to each according to his ability”; then the man
departed.
(2) Section Two (vv 16–18): the activity of the three slaves with the results:
(i) the first worked with the five talents and gained five more,
(ii) the second similarly gained two more,
(iii) the third hid his talent in the ground.
(3) Section Three (vv 19–30): “after a long time,” v 19: the master returned and
settled accounts with the slaves:
(i-a) v 20: the first slave, approaching (proselthōn),
(a) having received five talents,
(b) brought five more,
(c) repeating in direct address the events narrated in v 16 of Section Two.
(i-b) v 21: his master replied
(a) by praising the slave (“well done, good and faithful slave”),
(b) by stating the rationale for a great reward (“you were faithful over a
few things; I will place you over many”); and
(c) by announcing the reward: “enter into the joy of your master.”
 (ii-a) v 22: the second slave, approaching (proselthōn),
(a) having received two talents,
(b) brought two more,
(c) repeating in direct address the events narrated in v 17 of Section Two.
(ii-b) v 23: his master replied [precisely as he did to the first slave]
(a) by praising the slave (“well done, good and faithful slave”),
(b) by stating the rationale for a great reward (“you were faithful over a
few things; I will place you over many”), and
(c) by announcing the reward: “enter into the joy of your master.”
(iii-a) vv 24–25: the third slave, approaching (proselthōn), having received
one talent, now breaks the pattern by bringing back only what he received,
along with a very different report in direct address:
(a) 24b: rationale for action: “I know you are a hard man, harvesting
where you did not sow and gathering where you did not winnow”;
(b) v 25a: report of past action: “in fear I buried the talent”;
(c) v 25b: return of money with no gain: “you have what is yours.”
(iii-b) vv 26–30: his master replied with [here the multiple endings to
Matthew’s version of the parable pile up, creating two groups of threes]
(a) v 26a: denunciation of slave as “wicked and lazy”;157
(b) v 26b: mocking repetition of slave’s characterization of his master
(from v 24);
(c) v 27: explanation of the epithet “lazy”: slave could at least have gotten
interest from a bank;
(d) v 28: first punishment: take away his talent and give it to first slave;
(e) v 29: rationale of this punishment by way of a proverb (“to everyone
who has [more] will be given. . . .”);
(f) v 30: second punishment: cast useless slave into outer darkness, where
there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
A number of points become clear from this outline. First, the sheer amount of
space (vv 19–30) given over to Section Three of the parable, that is, the reckoning
of the master with his slaves, shows that this is where the emphasis and climax of
the story lie.158 Second, in Section Three, the narrative of the activity of the first
two slaves and the reward given them is formulaic, recapitulating the story
already told and repeating in the case of the second slave what the master has
already told the first. Third, and in contrast, the exchange between the master and
the third slave is anything but formulaic. It is a lively give-and-take, marked by
psychological insight and emotion. The third slave speaks bluntly (and perhaps
both naively and foolishly) of his perception of his master as hard, grasping,
demanding (and possibly dishonest—but by whose standards?).159 The slave
highlights his fear as the motivating force for holding on to the one talent he had
rather than risking it to gain more. His utter cluelessness—right after describing
the demanding, driving nature of his master—is summed up by the curt
conclusion of his explanation: “Here, you have [what is] yours.” His master
replies first with a withering denunciation (“wicked and lazy slave”) that is meant
to be the exact opposite of his double praise of the first two slaves (“good and
faithful slave”).160 He mockingly repeats the unflattering personality sketch
foisted on him by his slave, without saying whether it is true or false.161 Rather,
he uses the slave’s estimation of him to ground his complaint and accusation:
armed with such knowledge, the fearful slave should have at least engaged in the
relatively safe venture of investing the talent with bankers to gain some interest,
however meager. Having pronounced judgment on the slave, the master now
proceeds to penalties. The first, relatively mild punishment that the master inflicts
(v 28), namely, the transfer of the one talent from the third slave to the first
(perhaps intended primarily as an act of shaming), is separated from the second,
much harsher and definitive punishment (v 30) by the proverb (v 29) that fits
neither the punishment nor the whole parable exactly.
This overview confirms the claim already made: (i) Section Three of the
parable is the focal point of interest; (ii) the exchange between the master and the
third slave obviously contains the grand climax and dominant message of the
whole parable. It fits perfectly with Matthew’s unrelenting drumbeat in chapter 25
(as well as throughout his Gospel, especially the five great discourses): the stern
reckoning of the last judgment awaits not just unbelievers but also, and above all,
believers who claim to be loyal servants of their Master (kyrios)—especially
church leaders (Matt 7:15–27; 10:32–39; 13:36–50; 18:6–9,23–35; 24:45–51;
25:1–13,31–46). They in particular must make sure that they do as well as say,
that they are good trees that bear good fruit, that, in short, they do the will of their
heavenly Father (23:3; 7:16–20,21). This is clearly the thrust and emphatic
message of the parable of the Talents. To strain to find some different kind of
message in it smacks of the artificially inventive approach of academics desperate
to find something new to say about an endlessly studied text.
Matthew’s redactional hand is thus abundantly clear in the overall structuring,
shaping, and aiming of the parable as a vehicle conveying his particular
theological vision. But can we discern more specific traces of Matthew’s
redactional activity in the text? Granted the evidence of such heavy contouring of
the narrative according to typically Matthean structures and themes, it is hardly
arbitrary to consider words and phrases characteristic of Matthew—especially
when they lack a Lucan parallel—as most likely coming from Matthew himself.
Let us quickly run through an inventory of words and phrases that may come
from the redactor.
Section One (vv 14–15): In v 14, the conjunction hōsper (“just as”) occurs in
Matthew 10x, Mark 0, Luke 2x, and John 2x. Moreover, hōsper occurs both
before (24:27,37) and after (25:32) this parable, thus creating a verbal link in the
second half of the eschatological discourse. This reinforces the claim that with
hōsper Matthew intends to forge a connection not simply with the immediately
preceding verse (v 13: “keep watch, then, for you do not know on what day your
master is coming”)—an exhortation that does not fit the main thrust of the story
of the Talents—but rather with the whole monitory parenesis of the eschatological
discourse, especially its second half. The verb paradidōmi (“to hand over”) is
used more by Matthew’s Gospel than by any other book of the NT. More to the
point, in this parable it serves, as so often in Matthean composition, as a key word
that, by repetition, helps structure and tie together the whole pericope (vv
14,20,22). Interestingly, this compound form of the verb is lacking in Luke’s
parable of the Minas, which uses the simple verb didōmi (“to give”) throughout
the parable. The mention of “his property” (ta hyparchonta autou) may be a
redactional link Matthew forges back to the parable of the Servant Placed over the
Household in Matt 24:45–51.162
In v 15, Matthew carefully lists the slaves and the amounts they receive with
the Greek particles ho men . . . ho de . . . ho de . . . (“the one . . . the other . . . the
other”), a stylistic trait typical of Matthew but lacking in the Lucan parallel. The
relatively enormous amounts of money expressed by five (or even two) talents is
characteristic of Matthew’s tendency to increase monetary values, compared to
his sources and parallels.163 Matthew may increase the monetary units here in
order to stress symbolically both the greatness of God’s gifts entrusted to
believers (and especially church leaders) but also the weighty responsibility that
the recipient bears and the gravity of the final reckoning. Along with the gifts
comes the fact of the variety of the gifts, with the explanation that they are given
according to each individual’s ability—thus hammering home Matthew’s
insistence on personal responsibility (cf. Matt 16:27; Mark 13:34).
Section Two (vv 16–18): Significantly, this whole section, which narrates in
detail what each slave did during the master’s absence, does not exist as such in
Luke’s version. At best it is hinted at in Luke 19:13b, the master’s explicit
command to “engage in business while I am away.” When we take into account
that (i) Section Two is superfluous to the Matthean narrative as a whole, since the
information it conveys is repeated in Section Three, that (ii) its existence
conveniently creates the three-part structure of the Matthean parable as a whole,
that (iii) it supplies the three-step subdivision that Section Three will take up and
expand upon, and that (iv) it is completely lacking as a structural component in
Luke’s version, it is more likely than not that the whole of Section Two is a
Matthean creation. Individual words and phrases typical of Matthew and not
present in the Lucan parallel reinforce this impression: e.g., the superfluous
participial form of poreuomai (“to go”), eytheōs (“immediately”), labōn
(“taking”), ergazomai (“to work”), kerdainō (“to gain”), and kryptō (“to hide”).
Hence it is likely that both the substance and the precise wording of Section Two
come from Matthew himself, who creates Section Two out of what is now Section
Three.
Section Three (vv 19–30): The third section begins with the telling phrase “after
a long time” (meta de polyn chronon), which takes up the theme of the “delay of
the parousia” that Matthew has been stressing in all three of the longer parables
(24:45–25:30) as he comes toward the end of his eschatological discourse. The
key word “time” (chronon) in 25:19 echoes “my master is delaying [chronizei]”
in 24:48 and “while the bridegroom was delaying [chronizontos]” in 25:5. The
three-stage reckoning with the three slaves that follows is reflected in Luke’s
version as well (where the presence of only three slaves does not fit the earlier
part of Luke’s story) and is essential to the way the parable reaches its climax.
The agreement of Luke with Matthew at this point shows that the three-stage
reckoning comes from the basic stock of the parable. Hence it is likely that
Matthew read the pattern of threes from Section Three back into Section Two and
perhaps even into Section One.
Typical Matthean vocabulary in Section Three includes proserchomai (“to
approach,” especially in the participial form); it occurs in Matthew 52x, in Mark
5x, and in Luke 10x. In our parable, Matthew uses the participial form three times
(vv 20,22,24), with each of the three slaves, to help structure Section Three; the
word does not occur at all in Luke’s version of the story. The verb synairo (“to
settle” an account) occurs in the NT only here and in the special M parable of the
Unforgiving Servant (18:23,24). Perhaps not by accident these two special
Matthean parables also contain the only NT occurrences of the monetary unit
called “talent”: once in 18:24 and thirteen times in our fittingly titled parable of
the Talents. The verb prosphero (“to bring,” “to offer”) in 25:20 may well come
from Matthew’s hand; it occurs in Matthew 15x, in Mark 3x, and in Luke 4x (but
not in Luke’s version of this parable). As we have already seen, kerdainō (“to
gain”) in vv 20 and 22 is likewise typically Matthean. Matthew probably added
pistos (“faithful”) to the address to the first two slaves (vv 21 and 23). Luke has
only the adjective agathos (“good”) in 19:17, and Matthew evinces a general
tendency throughout his Gospel to multiply adjectives vis-à-vis his sources. The
repetition of the whole commendation and reward, addressed to the first slave in v
21 and the second slave in v 23, is due to Matthew’s desire to create parallels and
balance. Matthew may also have introduced the repetition of a participial form of
the verb lambanō (“to take”), each time modifying a slave, in 25:16,18,20, and
24.164
Both Matthew and Luke have the proverbial agricultural metaphor (“reaping
where you did not sow”), but only Matthew continues the agricultural metaphor
with “gathering where you did not winnow.” Luke instead, taking up the financial
motif suggested by the mention of “interest” in the context, continues with
“withdrawing what you did not deposit.” On this point, it is not possible to decide
which version is more original, if indeed either is. Likewise uncertain is whether
the primitive form of the parable spoke of burying the money in the ground (so
Matthew) or putting it aside in a cloth (so Luke), though the former action was a
common way of protecting valuables and money in the ancient Near East,
especially in times of war, civil disturbance, and banditry (cf. Matt 13:44;
Josephus, J.W. 7.5.2 §115). Although commentators often cite rabbinic parallels
for both modes of protection, the rabbinic texts are centuries later and appear to
address the different legal issue of one person depositing goods with another
person for safekeeping rather than for investing and profit-taking.165 In v 25, the
third slave repeats a number of the key words from the narrative of Section Two
(v 18). The two adjectives in the master’s address “wicked and lazy slave” in v 26
both echo the two adjectives (“good and faithful”) in vv 21 and 23 and stand in
contrast to the simple “wicked slave” in Luke 19:22. Again, the balancing hand of
Matthew is visible. Likewise balancing are the two phrases “what is yours” (v 25)
and “what is mine” (v 27). That the primitive parable spoke of the first slave
winding up with ten pieces of money (as in Matt 25:28) is made likely by the fact
that Luke breaks with his own story line by incongruously describing the first
slave in 19:24 as “the one who has ten minas.” This hardly makes sense when this
slave’s distinguishing characteristic in Luke’s version is that he is now in charge
of ten cities (19:17). As we have seen, the ill-fitting proverb in Matt 25:29 || Luke
19:26 was probably added to the primitive parable early in the oral tradition
(though the possibility that it was used by the historical Jesus to conclude the
parable cannot be entirely excluded). The final verse in Matthew’s version
(25:30), “Cast the useless slave into the outer darkness, where there shall be
weeping and gnashing of teeth,” is a pastiche of phrases Matthew uses elsewhere
(cf. 8:12; 13:42,50; 22:13; 24:51).166 Here at the end of Matthew’s version, the
eschatological reality once again peeks through the metaphorical narrative, as it
did in 25:21,23 (“enter into the joy of your master”).
Our conclusion from this inventory is clear: this parable has been so carefully
structured and rewritten by Matthew in his typical vocabulary and style that it is
impossible to reconstruct word for word the M tradition Matthew used. The best
we can do is to suggest an outline of the narrative of the parable’s earlier form.
(1) Summons of the Slaves and Departure of the Master. A man summoned his
slaves (most likely, three) and gave them units of money (implicitly, to engage in
business or trade). The dénouement in both Matthew and Luke suggests that the
amounts of money given were not all the same, and the first amount may have
been five units, since the first slave winds up in Matthew and Luke with ten units
(perhaps because the master is a king in Luke, the reward is instead ten cities).
My surmise is that the second slave received two units and the third one unit, but
the amount given the second slave is not entirely clear. In the original parable,
there was probably no superfluous narrative detailing the slaves’ activities while
the master was away.
(2) Return of the Master and the Reckoning. Upon his return, the master calls
upon each slave in turn to report his results; the master reacts to each report.
(Hence the second half of the parable is naturally much longer than the first.)
(i-a) The first slave has increased his initial amount to ten units (so too in
Luke).
(i-b) The master praises him as a good slave and rewards him with further
wealth and responsibility.
(ii-a) The second slave reports that he has acquired two units more for a total of
four (five in Luke).
(ii-b) The master grants the same or similar reward as the first slave received.
(iii-a) The third slave returns the single unit that he had kept in safe hiding,
without risking it on business. He did this out of fear, knowing the demanding,
grasping nature of the master, who reaps where he did not sow.
(iii-b) The master responds to the third slave:
1. By calling him “wicked,” for the slave knew the demanding nature of his
master; therefore, at the very least he should have invested the money in a
bank so that upon the master’s return the master might have gotten his
money back with interest.
2. By punishing him by commanding that the one unit of money be taken
from him and given to the slave with the ten units.
 3. By basing the punishment on the proverb, “For to everyone who has, more
will be given. . . .” (As noted earlier, this proverb may not have been original
to the primitive form of the parable, instead being attached to it as its
rhetorical conclusion and moral by the time the parable had come
independently into the hands of both Matthew and Luke.)
[4. Both Matthew and Luke conclude their forms of the parable with a more
severe punishment, but both endings come from the respective evangelists.]
4. Let us turn now to ask the same basic question of Luke’s version. Can we
detect indications of Luke’s redactional additions or modifications to the L
tradition he received? As with Matthew, Luke’s shaping hand is seen most clearly
in the larger redactional setting. In the case of Luke, this redactional setting is the
end of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem prior to the passion. Here we encounter a
major change that Luke undertakes vis-à-vis the Marcan narrative structure that
he inherited: Luke vastly expands the journey of Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem
for his final Passover. That journey takes only one chapter (chapter 10) in Mark’s
Gospel. Luke transforms it into a grand march that takes up close to half of
Luke’s Gospel (9:51–19:28). While the Great Journey Narrative meanders widely
in regard to both physical geography and theological topics, every now and then
Luke reminds the reader of the continued journey and ascent to Jerusalem, the
city of destiny (9:51–56,57; 10:1,38; 13:22,33; 17:11; 18:31,35; 19:1,11,28). The
goal toward which Jesus is heading is not just a place but the saving event
decreed by God’s plan: the full “going up” or “being taken up” (analēmpseōs in
9:51) into heaven via passion, cross, death, resurrection, and ascension.
It is within this artificial structure of one grand journey (a useful container for
all sorts of teachings and incidents) that the introduction to Luke’s version of the
parable of the Minas makes sense. Having encountered the tax collector
Zacchaeus in Jericho—the last city on the pilgrims’ road before one begins the
physical “ascent” to Jerusalem—Jesus concludes that encounter with two saving
pronouncements (Luke 19:9–10): “Today salvation has become an event
[egeneto] in this house, since even he [i.e., the despised “sinner,” Zacchaeus] is a
son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and save what was lost.”
Two important points about salvation are made in these two sentences: (1)
Salvation has become an event (egeneto, the aorist of the verb “to become”), an
event not to be simply awaited on some apocalyptic last day, but rather an event
already experienced today. (2) The coming of salvation to Zacchaeus has de facto
come about through the coming of the Son of Man, that is, Jesus, to save the lost.
To be sure, Luke, like most NT authors, juggles the dialectic of salvation-already-
present and salvation-yet-to-come throughout his Gospel. Still, the scene in
Jericho, with Jesus proclaiming salvation as an accomplished event for Zacchaeus
simply by virtue of the fact of Jesus’ coming, could easily lead the enthusiastic
pilgrim crowd to suppose a still greater imminent “coming”: the proximate
coming of Jesus to Jerusalem as the apocalyptic event ushering in the last days
and the full coming of the kingdom of God. As a matter of fact, the pericope
immediately following the parable of the Minas is the narrative of Jesus’
“triumphal entry,” which occasions jubilant expectation. The disciples acclaim
Jesus precisely as “the King who comes” (19:38) on the Mount of Olives (the site
of the ascension in Acts 1:12).167 Among the Synoptists, Luke alone has the
throng directly proclaim Jesus as King at his triumphal entry; clearly, the long-
prophesied Davidic King (cf. Luke 1:26–33) has finally come to David’s ancient
capital.
Granted, then, Jesus’ regularly recurring teaching about the kingdom of God
throughout the Great Journey Narrative of chaps. 9–19, granted Jesus’ declaration
about salvation being present “today” because of his own coming, and granted
what is about to happen at the triumphal entry, the introduction that Luke
composes for his parable of the Minas makes perfect sense (19:11): “As they [the
crowd at Jericho] listened to these [words of Jesus about present salvation], he
[Jesus] proceeded to tell a parable because he was near Jerusalem and they [the
crowd] thought that the kingdom of God was going to appear immediately.”
Throughout our survey of special L parables, we have seen repeatedly how Luke
crafts a short anecdote or introductory sentence to set the stage for a parable—and
thus give the parable his particular theological “spin.” This is obviously the case
with 19:11, marked as it is with Lucan vocabulary and style.168
However, having studied Matthew’s parable of the Talents, we might be
puzzled by how the basic story behind the Talents could possibly be recycled by
Luke to serve the purpose of dampening the crowd’s overenthusiastic expectation
that the kingdom of God was about to appear in all its visible, palpable fullness.
Matthew’s parable of the Talents does speak of the master being away and
returning “after a long time” (Matt 25:19), but that phrase is most likely a
redactional addition by Matthew. At first glance, then, it would seem that the
primitive version of this parable about servants entrusted with money would be
quite unsuited to the redactional setting in which Luke has placed it. But that
would be to vastly underestimate Luke’s literary and theological creativity.
To adapt the primitive parable to his editorial needs, Luke introduces the
subplot of the Throne Claimant into the main story. But we must not be led astray
by this intriguing addition. Even in Luke, the story of the slaves entrusted with
money remains the overarching narrative that holds the whole parable together.
For all his changes, Luke keeps the basic framework of the master (i) going away;
(ii) entrusting money to his slaves and commissioning them to trade while he is
away; (iii) returning and settling accounts with his slaves; (iv) praising and
rewarding the first two slaves who have increased the monetary units they
received; (v) listening to the fearful excuse of the third slave, who simply put
aside the one unit he received because he knew his master was demanding; (vi)
rebuking the third slave as wicked for not at least depositing the money in a bank
to gain interest; (vii) punishing the third slave by transferring his one unit to the
first slave, who already has ten; and finally (viii) concluding with a proverb (“to
everyone who has more will be given . . .”). The whole substance of the
traditional parable stands out clearly and can well stand by itself.
But Luke has seen an opening for a further use of the main story. In the
primitive form of the parable’s narrative, no reason is given why the master goes
away, and he is apparently away long enough for the first two slaves to make
large profits. Luke, the evangelist most interested in weaving the story of Jesus
and the church into 1st-century Roman history, comes up with an explanation for
the master’s journey and absence right out of Roman and Palestinian politics. To
recapitulate what we have already seen about Roman history: any number of
times around the turn of the era—the most prominent case for Jews being
Archelaus, the son of Herod the Great—some aristocrat or ruler would journey to
Rome to receive the status of king or to have that status confirmed. Luke calls
upon this scenario to explain the master’s journey and lengthy absence in the
story world of the parable. But, as noted earlier, the special case of Archelaus
gives Luke a further opening. As Josephus relates, some Jews and Samaritans
followed Archelaus to Rome to try to block his appointment as king. They
succeeded to the extent that Caesar Augustus gave Archelaus the lesser title of
ethnarch for the time being, with the possibility of promotion to king if he proved
a competent ruler. Archelaus, cruel from the start (according to Josephus), was
not especially kind to his opponents when he returned home.
Luke inserts this less-than-edifying story of Roman-Jewish relations into the
primitive parable by way of two key verses at the beginning and the end of the
parable of the Minas. In v 14, after the master commissions his slaves and leaves,
Luke tells us: “But his subjects [or ‘citizens’; the Greek politai can mean either]
hated him and sent a delegation after him, saying ‘We do not wish this man to be
king over us.’”169 We hear nothing further of these rebellious subjects or the
effect of their intervention until the very end of the parable. After the master, now
king, has pronounced both judgment on the third slave (v 24) and a proverb
drawing out the moral of the story (v 26), we are suddenly reminded by Luke of
the subplot that was left hanging (v 27): “But as for these enemies of mine who
did not wish me to be king over them, bring them here and slaughter them in my
presence.” Clearly, these two verses at the beginning and end of the parable have
nothing intrinsic to do with the main story of the parable. They could just as
easily be omitted without the rest of the parable being disturbed in the least;
nothing else need be changed. The reference to the nobleman who becomes king
supplies to any curious reader the perfect reason for the journey and lengthy
absence. The reader is likewise not surprised by the fact that the former
nobleman, now a king, can bestow governance of ten or five cities on his
competent slaves as a reward (19:17,19).
In effect, what Luke has cleverly done, right in the opening verse of his
parable, is to provide a narrative clasp that holds the two plots together. Instead of
Matthew’s simple introduction (25:14a), “just as a man going on a journey,
summoned his slaves . . . ,” Luke begins (19:12–13a), “a certain nobleman went
into a distant country to obtain for himself the status of king and then return;
calling his ten slaves . . .” This complicated opening to the story sets in motion
both the main plot of the slaves entrusted with money (19:13,15–26) and the
admittedly skeletal subplot of rebels opposing a throne claimant and his
subsequent revenge on them (19:14,27). Simply listing these verses makes clear
that, at its core, the so-called parable of the Throne Claimant is nothing more than
two disconnected verses. These two verses make sense only because they are
complemented by two other verses that serve the main story as well: v 12, in
which a nobleman journeys into a distant country to become king; and v 15, in
which the nobleman returns, having received the kingdom.
What, then, is the upshot of this analysis? Most likely, the subplot of the
Throne Claimant is a pure creation of Luke’s as he adapted the traditional parable
of the servants entrusted with money to his own redactional setting. A number of
considerations makes this quite probable:
(1) While reflecting in general the Roman practice of installing or confirming
client kings, Luke’s story of the Throne Claimant reflects fairly closely the
particular story of Archelaus. No other NT author exhibits so great an interest in
the intersection of Roman and Jewish-Palestinian history and politics as does
Luke (whether or not he always gets his facts straight). The family of Herod
seems to hold a special fascination for him in both his Gospel and Acts.
(2) As we have seen multiple times in our survey of the parables, the
introductory anecdotes, scenes, or sentences that precede special L parables are
almost invariably composed by Luke himself. Once we appreciate that the
sentence introducing the parable of the Minas (19:11), the concluding verse of the
pericope (19:28) that acts as an inclusio to 19:11 (“and having said these things,
he proceeded ahead, ascending to Jerusalem”), and the whole overarching
structure of the Great Journey Narrative are all Luke’s creation, then the most
natural conclusion is that the Throne Claimant verses of the parable (19:14,27),
which fit awkwardly within the main plot of the parable but cohere perfectly with
the surrounding redactional composition of Luke, are most likely redactional as
well.
(3) Taken in isolation, the verses in the parable referring directly to the subplot
of the Throne Claimant (vv 14 + 27), make little or no sense. Even granted Luke’s
interest in Roman history, what is the point of his inserting these verses in a
parable dealing with a different topic? These verses make sense when they are
seen as a Lucan allegory (however partial and imperfect) of Jesus’ great “going
up” or “ascent”—physically to Jerusalem, but spiritually and soteriologically to
his kingly reign in heaven—an ascent accomplished by way of his passion, death,
resurrection, and ascension. In terms of the Throne Claimant allegory, Jesus is
going on a journey (begun physically when he left Galilee, accomplished
spiritually via his death-resurrection) into a distant country (heaven, by way of his
ascension), where he will receive his royal power as Messiah and Lord (cf. Acts
2:34–36). (Fortunately, Luke knows when not to push an allegory too far: we are
spared the image of Caesar Augustus playing God the Father.) While Jesus is
away in the distant country receiving his royal status, his servants/slaves (the
members of the church) are to use the gifts he has given them to trade for his
profit and increase (the mission of the church, with ever increasing members).
After an unspecified interval, the master will return with full power as king to
exercise judgment (Jesus’ return in glory and the universal judgment; cf. Acts
10:36–42). Upon his return, he will reward the zealous members of the church,
rebuke and chastise the less-than-zealous members, and severely punish those
who actively opposed his assumption of kingly rule. While these opponents might
be thought to include all evildoers, in light of the imminent entrance into
Jerusalem, the Jerusalem authorities are no doubt especially in view. Indeed, for
Luke, the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans, prophesied by Jesus at his
triumphal entry (19:41–44), prefigures the final judgment still to come (note the
progression from destruction of Jerusalem to the parousia in the course of Luke
21:1–36).
In sum, given this neat fit between the story of the Throne Claimant (filled out
by the main plot of the Minas) and the grand story of Jesus in Luke–Acts, the
most probable conclusion is that vv 14 + 27 (along with the connective tissue in
vv 12b + 15a) are not the remnants of a separate parable. Nor are they an alternate
form of the parable of the slaves entrusted with money, an alternate form that over
decades of oral tradition developed the additional theme of the Throne Claimant.
Rather, these verses are purely Luke’s creation, anchoring a stray parable about
slaves and money within the climax of the Great Journey Narrative and pointing
forward to what is about to be fulfilled in Jerusalem as well as at the parousia.
This excursus on Luke’s creation of the Throne Claimant verses clears the way
for us to treat the rest of the parable of the Minas as a reflection of the parable
Luke received—still, however, with various redactional modifications. What,
then, in the main story might come from Luke and what from his tradition? In v
12, “a man” (anthrōpos), who also begins Matthew’s version (25:14) has become,
in typical Lucan style, “a certain man” (anthrōpos tis), who in turn is elevated to
the status of a nobleman (eugenēs), thus preparing the way for the subplot of the
Throne Claimant. Originally, then, the parable most likely spoke simply of “a
man,” no doubt a businessman of some sort. The statement that he was going into
a distant country could be original, but the purpose, “to obtain for himself a
kingdom,” is obviously a Lucan clasp connecting the main plot to the subplot of
the Throne Claimant. In v 13, the main story begins when the man summons his
ten slaves and gives them ten minas, one for each slave, along with his command
to trade while he is away. Skipping over v 14 (the opposition from the nobleman’s
enemies), we come to the master’s return, now as king, and the summoning of his
slaves for an accounting.170 Here we find reason for suspecting that Matthew’s
three slaves were original to the parable. Despite the fact that Luke says in v 15
that the new king summoned “those slaves to whom he had given the money”
because he wished to question them about their earnings, only three slaves appear
in the dénouement of the main plot: v 16, “the first”; v 18, “the second”; and v 20,
“the other”—not “another.”171 In light of this exact counting, these three slaves
are hardly intended simply as random samples of the ten slaves, all the more so
since the story proceeds inexorably from the first, who made ten minas, to the
second, who made five, and then to the third, who simply kept safe the one mina
he had received. Luke’s story at this point is coherent and complete, not an extract
from a greater whole that told of the earnings of each of the ten slaves. Thus,
Matthew seems to have preserved the original number of slaves. Luke may have
increased the number to ten as befitting a nobleman, soon to become king.
What of the amounts and units of money? Here most commentators decide the
other way, that is, in favor of Luke. If the monetary unit of the talent had been
original to the story, it is difficult to see why Luke, while elevating the man to the
status of an aristocrat, would at the same time have reduced the princely unit of a
talent to a mere mina. Actually, the use of minas would fit somewhat better with
the idea of a merchant who owns only three slaves, à la Matthew. Granted that
Matthew has a tendency to increase monetary amounts in his Synoptic material
and that he alone in the NT uses the noun talanton (here and in the parable of the
Unmerciful Servant), the more pedestrian mina (occurring only in this Lucan
pericope in the whole of the NT) may be original.
But did the master give the three servants the equal commission of one mina
each or rather the unequal distribution of five, two, and one talent to the three
slaves respectively? At this point, not only can we not be sure; it is even difficult
to decide what seems more probable. At the settling of accounts, the Matthean
slaves have gained five, two, and no units respectively. The Lucan slaves gain ten,
five, and no units respectively. Interestingly, the absolute monetary worth of the
sums gained is greater in Matthew (a talent being the largest single unit
circulating in the ancient Mediterranean world), while the percentage of yield is
greater in Luke (ten additional minas earned with the one mina given to the slave
by the master, while the Matthean slave earns only five talents in addition to the
five talents given him by his master). If I were to guess, my surmise would be that
the amounts of money entrusted to the slaves were five, two, and one—thus
clearly distinguishing the three slaves from the start—and that the yield was five
more, two more, and none. But at this point we are dealing with a purely
subjective impression of what makes for a “tidier” and clearer story. Once again,
we must remind ourselves that if the primitive parable goes back to Jesus, he may
well have told it a number of times in a number of different ways.
What of the rewards that the master gives to the slaves? The first two slaves are
both praised with, “Well done, good servant!” Another indication that minas
rather than talents were the original units of money in the story is given by the
beginning of the master’s promise of reward: “Because you were faithful over a
few things [so Matthew; Luke has ‘over very little’].” Five talents would never be
considered “very little” or “a few things” in the ancient Mediterranean world,
especially if the speaker is a mere merchant rather than a monarch. The mina is
thus the more plausible unit in the primitive story. Whether the praise spoken to
the first slave was spoken in full to the second slave as well (as in Matthew), or in
abbreviated form (as in Luke), must remain unclear. More unclear still is the
precise reward given to the first two slaves. In Matthew, the vague promise, “I
will set you over many things [sums of money?],” is followed by the still vaguer
invitation, “enter into the joy of your master.” The ultimate reward in Luke is
much more specific and practical: the governance (and no doubt the income) of
ten and five cities respectively for the first two slaves. If, as I have argued, the
original parable spoke of a merchant (not a king) with three slaves, the reward of
ten or five cities is impossible. If there was a specific, concrete reward in the
original parable, it has been lost to us. The best we can surmise is that the parable
contained a general promise that the slaves who had proved reliable with small
sums of money would be given greater responsibilities with larger sums.
 Matthew and Luke come closer together in the climactic scene, the
confrontation of the master with the third slave. There is a slight difference in
order: in Matthew, the slave first describes the demanding nature of his master
and then the paralyzing fear that led him to hide the talent in the ground. He ends
by presenting the master with the single talent. Luke has the reverse order. First,
the slave presents the master with the single mina; then he explains that he laid it
aside in a sweat cloth (soudarion) for safekeeping; and finally he explains his
fear, based on the demanding nature of the master. We lack solid grounds for
preferring one order over the other. The reasoning common to the slave in both
Matthew and Luke is that the master harvests what he does not sow—a perfect
metaphor for a grasping, greedy businessman who pinches every penny till it
screams for mercy.172 Matthew and Luke are also close in the master’s reply. He
rebukes the slave, substituting “wicked slave” for “good slave” in his address, and
complaining about the lack of at least bank interest.
The original parable’s action ended with the master demanding some
bystanders (or slaves) to take the one unit of money away from the third slave and
to give it to the slave with the ten units. Here again, Matthew is shown to be
closer to the original. Since Luke had the master already reward the first slave
with authority over (and therefore the revenue from) ten cities, it makes no sense
to give him one more mina, or indeed even to designate him as the man with ten
minas rather than the man with ten cities. Perhaps there is a hint here that in the
original parable the first slave had been rewarded by this master by being allowed
to keep the ten minas he had made. (Notice, the first two slaves are never said to
actually hand the money back to their master.) Hence the reward of one more
mina would make some sense. Needless to say, the third slave is not allowed to
keep his mina (he did not expect to do so), but the transferral of the only mina he
has to the fellow slave who has already acquired ten through his own success is a
further rhetorical slap in the face by the master. As far as we can tell, in the
original parable, this was the only punishment mentioned. Both Matt 25:30
(throwing the third slave into the outer darkness) and Luke 19:27 (slaughtering
the rebellious subjects) are redactional additions. Whether each replaces some
earlier form of severe punishment is impossible to say.
Likewise, we have already seen that the proverb that ends the parable in both
the M and the L versions does not really fit the parable and therefore is probably
not original. The third slave has already offered his mina back to his master, and
in any case he certainly entertained no illusion that he would ever get to keep it.
So, in a sense, he can hardly be described as having anything. More to the point,
the original sense of the proverb as a piece of popular wisdom was probably a
glum “secular” observation from a world-weary sage about how life really works:
“The rich get richer and the poor get poorer”—usually in the sense that the rich
get richer no matter how little they work, and the poor get poorer no matter how
hard they work. This hardly fits our parable, where the first two slaves, by
working hard, did achieve large profits and rewards, while the third slave gained
nothing because he refused to engage in business and risk his capital. That this
stray proverb was open to multiple applications in the Synoptic tradition can be
seen from the somewhat different sense it acquired when applied to the
understanding of Jesus’ parables in general (Mark 4:25 || Matt 13:12 || Luke
8:18b). As a matter of fact, the parable of the Talents/Minas is hardly the only
parable in the Synoptics that attracted stray sayings to its conclusion as redactors
sought to supply a clear moral or application to an open-ended or ambiguous
story. The string of sayings tacked on to Luke’s parable of the Dishonest Steward
(16:1–8, followed by various applications in vv 9–13) is a prime example of the
phenomenon, just a few chapters earlier in Luke.
5. What, then, is our final conclusion about the primitive form of the parable
that arises from all this sifting and comparing? In other words, what is the earliest
version of the parable available to us? Putting aside specifically Matthean
modifications (e.g., “talents,” “after a long time,” “outer darkness”) as well as
those of Luke (the whole Throne Claimant subplot along with the nobleman
becoming a king, the rebellious subjects who are slaughtered in the end, the ten
slaves), we arrive at the following svelte outline (Greek phrases common to both
streams of the tradition are noted in parentheses):
(1) Introduction. A man (anthrōpos) was about to leave on a journey
(apodēmeō).
(2) The Commission. He summoned (kaleō) his slaves (hoi douloi heau-tou)
and gave them ([para]didōmi autois) minas: to the first five minas, to the second
two, and to the third one. (Implicit, if not explicit, in this giving of money was the
command to engage in business in order to make more money.)
(3) The Return and Reckoning. The man (henceforth referred to as kyrios,
“master”) returned ([epan]erchomai) and summoned his slaves (douloi) to render
an account of their business dealings and profits. He deals with each of the three
in order:
(i-a) The first slave came, saying [legōn], “Master [kyrie], I have made five
more minas.”
(i-b) The master said to him, “Well done [eu(ge)], good slave [doule agathe]!
Because you have been faithful over a few things, I will place you over many.
Take the ten minas.” (The nature of the reward the master gives the slave is
admittedly speculation on my part.)
 (ii-a) The second came and said, “Master [kyrie], I have made two more
minas.”
(ii-b) He said to him, “You, too, take the four minas.” (Again, speculation.)
(iii-a) The other came, saying, “Master [kyrie], here is your mina, which I hid
in the ground. For I feared you [phobeomai], since you are a demanding man;
you reap [therizō] what you did not sow [speirō].”
(iii-b) He said, “You knew that [ędeis hoti] I reap what I did not sow. Why did
you not put my money [argyrion mou] in a bank, so that when I came [elthōn
egō], I might have got it back with interest [syn tokǭ].”
(4) The Final Judgment:
(i) Depriving and shaming the third slave: “Take from him [arate ap’autou] the
mina and give it to the one has ten [kai dote tǭechonti deka].”
[(ii) Possibly some more severe punishment concluded the original story, in
place of the extremely severe punishments added by Matthew and Luke. Quite
early on in the oral transmission of the parable, a stray proverb (“to everyone
who has, [more] will be given . . .”) was added by way of a moralizing
conclusion. Alternately, but less likely, the proverb was an original part of the
parable.]
This, then, is the earliest hypothetical stage of the tradition that we can
reconstruct. But did something like this originate with the historical Jesus? And if
so, what would it have meant during his public ministry?

B. THE MEANING OF THE PARABLE OF THE TALENTS/MINAS IN THE

MINISTRY OF JESUS
By this time, the question of whether some form of the parable of the
Talents/Minas goes back to the historical Jesus practically answers itself. As in
the case of the Great Supper, so in the case of the Talents/Minas, we have an
unusual example of a parable preserved not by the Marcan and/or Q traditions,
but rather one preserved in the separate streams of the special Matthean and
special Lucan traditions. Hence the criterion of the multiple attestation of
independent sources is satisfied. We are therefore justified in judging it more
likely than not—this is as firm as a judgment about an individual parable of Jesus
can be—that the parable of the slaves entrusted with money goes back in some
form (or in multiple forms) to the historical Jesus. We might at first feel frustrated
that so much work on a single parable leads to such meager results. But, if we
glance back at the strikingly different redactional versions of the story that we
have in Matthew’s parable of the Talents and Luke’s parable of the Minas, we
should instead be grateful that we can reach the judgment of “probably
authentic,” as well as obtain a fair sense of the overall structure and content of the
primitive parable.
Does any other criterion reinforce our judgment, based as it is on the criterion
of multiple attestation? I would suggest that the criterion of coherence does offer
some secondary support. Looking back over all that we have seen about Jesus’
teaching in these five volumes of A Marginal Jew, an intriguing general pattern
emerges from many of his pronouncements, especially when taken together with
his actions. The core proclamation of Jesus focuses not primarily on human action
but on God’s action, a final, definitive action totally beyond human control. Jesus’
core proclamation is that the kingdom of God—that is, God exercising his power
to establish his full, conclusive rule over Israel and over the whole world—is
coming, indeed, is already present to some degree in Jesus’ words and deeds, and
will soon be present in all its fullness.
If the reader will excuse a Jesus-like similitude, the coming of the kingdom of
God is like Hurricane Thea approaching the Florida mainland. Humans can learn
about its approach from farsighted forecasters, and they can either wisely prepare
for its coming or foolishly ignore its imminent arrival. But they can do nothing to
stop it, alter its timetable, or change its nature. So too, despite endless homiletic
nonsense spouted from pulpits, humans can do nothing to “hasten the coming of
the kingdom of God,” let alone “build” or “form” it. Jesus does not call upon his
followers to create or form the kingdom of God. He calls upon them to respond to
its inexorable coming and partial presence in his ministry. They do so by radically
changing their lives according to Jesus’ hălākâ, his way of interpreting and
enacting God’s will in the Torah in light of the culmination of Israel’s history.
This doing of God’s will according to the eschatological prophet Jesus is
understood neither as an exercise in blind obedience for obedience’ sake nor
collaborative action that will bring about the kingdom. As with the covenant with
Abraham, the covenant at Sinai, the covenant with David, the various liturgical
renewals of the covenant in the First and Second Temples, and the hopes for a
renewed or new covenant in the last days, obedience to God’s will as expressed in
the covenant carries the promise of reward.
Here we must be careful not to read back into the preaching of the historical
Jew named Jesus a nervous concern about “reward-talk,” a concern that stems
from a dubious Christian reading of Paul’s polemic against justification by works
of the Law. Unless we ignore a regularly recurring motif in the teaching of Jesus
—including that teaching that can be reasonably judged authentic—the Jewish
Jesus saw nothing wrong with assuring a faithful Israel of the reward that God
had promised the patriarchs and their descendants if they kept his covenant and
walked in his ways. The whole idea that God’s absolute initiative and sovereign
freedom in offering salvation to his people, with the consequent obligation that
they do his will, is somehow antithetical to his promise of reward to those who
keep his commandments was as completely foreign to Jesus the Jew as it was to
the writers of the Jewish Scriptures.173
The Jesus who pronounces beatitude on the poor and hungry because God—
and God alone—can and will fill them with the good things of the kingdom on the
last day is the same Jesus who promises his disciples that whoever loses his life
will save it (Mark 8:35 || Matt 10:39 || Luke 17:33 || John 12:25).174 It is the same
Jesus who promises the Twelve who give up all things to follow him that on the
last day they will sit on twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel (Matt
19:28 || Luke 22:30).175 To be sure, Jesus rejects a Greek-style ethics of
reciprocity precisely because it expects that the good deeds done by one human
being to another will be paid back by that other human being in this life. The
follower of Jesus does good to others simply as a reflection of the goodness of
God, Creator and Father, with an assurance that God will not be outdone in
generosity in the end. In making such a promise, Jesus inculcates not a spirit of
demanding one’s rights from God or of calculating what God owes the disciples.
Rather, Jesus inculcates a radical freedom that allows one to be generous and
loving because God will more than requite the disciples’ finite good deeds with
an infinite goodness that is beyond calculation and beyond strict retributive
justice.
What is the point of this little summary of Jesus’ preaching? Put simply, there
is at the basis of Jesus’ proclamation an underlying structure, indeed, an
underlying story: (1) God the Creator has exercised his sovereign initiative by
freely choosing to make Israel his people and to lead them to salvation. (2) This
free gift of election and salvation in turn calls for obedience from the people who
have freely agreed to enter into a covenant relationship with their God. (3) This
obedience in turn leads to the fullness of eschatological blessings that God
promised his faithful people from the beginning. Gracious election leads to
faithful obedience that leads to eschatological reward.
The relevance of this brief sketch of the underpinnings of Jesus’ end-time
proclamation to Israel is that it is encapsulated in our parable of the slaves
entrusted with money. The master in the parable exercises his sovereign initiative
in giving his slaves money and responsibility. Indeed, in his complete freedom as
master over his slaves, he gives to each slave precisely as much money as he sees
fit. With the free bestowal of the money comes grave responsibility; consequently,
the “good” slaves exert themselves to the utmost to fulfill the trust placed in them.
No specific reward was promised them for carrying out their charge, but in fact
their master proves incredibly generous in lavishing rewards upon his faithful
slaves at the reckoning. Apparently, they keep the money they have made while
receiving greater responsibilities over larger sums. The slave who shrinks from
his task, however, is deprived of what was given him and is shamed in the
presence of his peers. Thus, the structure of (i) free gift that generates (ii) serious
obligation that generates (iii) overflowing reward—the structure that lies at the
heart of Jesus’ overall message—lies also at the heart of the parable of the
Talents/Minas. While our argument for authenticity rests mainly on the criterion
of multiple attestation, the criterion of coherence does lend its voice in support.
To whom, though, is Jesus speaking this parable that mimics much of his
message in miniature? Some authors, such as Joachim Jeremias and C. H. Dodd,
suggest that the audience is made up of scribes, Pharisees, or temple authorities—
in other words, religious authorities who have taken the Word of God enshrined in
the Torah and have buried it in the ground of their punctilious ritual observances,
instead of making it widely available, practicable, and fruitful for the common
people of the land (or perhaps even the Gentiles).176 Need we say, after all we
have seen in Volume Three of A Marginal Jew, that this is a hopeless caricature of
the various Jewish groups active at the time of Jesus? More to the point, two out
of the three slaves in the parable are presented in a positive light as having
fulfilled the master’s charge and as therefore receiving praise and recompense.
Who are they supposed to represent if the parable is taken purely as a polemic and
warning spoken to Jewish authorities?
More credible, instead, is a reading of the parable as an exhortation-plus-
warning spoken by Jesus to his disciples, a summons to rise to the challenge of
his demanding call to leave all and follow him. This interpretation is not
disqualified by the fact that Jesus lets the “end stress,” the emphatic conclusion of
the parable, fall on the negative picture of the slave who is so paralyzed by fear
that he refuses to take the risk that his master’s commission poses. This stern
warning is likewise part of Jesus’ proclamation, the part perhaps most glossed
over in present-day attempts to make his strange message palatable to moderns.
But Jesus is insistent: along with sovereign grace, serious demand, and
superabundant reward comes the possibility of being condemned for refusing the
demand contained in the gift.177 Indeed, one might argue that no aspect of Jesus’
teaching is more pervasive in the many different streams of Gospel tradition, and
no aspect is more passed over in silence today. All the more telling, then, is the
fact that this aspect takes up the greater part of a parable that summarizes in
miniature all that Jesus has to say to his disciples. In fact, when we consider how
this parable encapsulates the global message of the eschatological prophet to the
people of Israel, perhaps it is a mistake to restrict its audience to Jesus’ disciples
or to any one group within Israel as opposed to Israel as a whole. Jesus may well
have adapted this parable any number of times to various audiences on his
preaching tours, but always with the same underlying intent: to call Israel to
fulfill its vocation as Israel in the end time. Here we have a striking and final
example of why the dynamic, charged, tensive, metaphorical speech of Jesus’
parables cannot be reduced to one neat “point” in a Sunday school lesson.
We have exhausted the few, the precious few parables that can make a solid
claim to go back to the historical Jesus. It remains to sum up what we have
learned about parables and the historical Jesus in some concluding observations.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 40
1. Besides the standard commentaries on the Gospels and on the parables of Jesus, see Clayton R. Bowen,
“The Kingdom and the Mustard Seed,” AJT 22 (1918) 562–69; Albert J. Matthews, “The Mustard ‘Tree,’”
ExpTim 39 (1927–1928) 32–34; Kenneth W. Clark, “The Mustard Plant,” Classical Weekly 37 (1943–44) 81–
83; A. M. Hunter, “The Interpretation of the Parables,” ExpTim 69 (1957–1958) 100–104; Nils A. Dahl, “The
Parables of Growth,” ST 5 (1951) 132–66, esp. 147–48; Hans-Werner Bartsch, “Eine bisher übersehene
Zitierung der LXX in Mark. 4, 30,” TZ 15 (1959) 126–28; Otto Kuss, “Zum Sinngehalt des
Doppelgleichnisses vom Senfkorn und Sauerteig,” Bib 40 (1959) 641–53 (= “Zum Sinngehalt des
Doppelgleichnisses vom Senfkorn und Sauerteig,” Studia Biblica et Orientalia [AnBib 11; 2 vols.; Rome:
Biblical Institute, 1959] 2. 73–85); Franz Mussner, “1QHodajoth und das Gleichnis vom Senfkorn (Mk 4,30–
32 Par.),” BZ 4 (1960) 128–30; Jacques Dupont, “Les paraboles du sénevé et du levain,” NRT 89 (1967) 897–
913; idem, “Le couple parabolique du sénevé et du levain,” Jesus Christus in Historie und Theologie (Hans
Conzelmann Festschrift; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1975) 331–45; Kingsbury, The Parables of Jesus in
Matthew 13, 76–84; Klaus-Peter Hertzsch, “Jésus herméneute. Une étude de Marc 4, 30–32,”
Reconnaissance à Suzanne de Diétrich: Foi et Vie: Cahiers bibliques (ed. Simone Frutiger; Paris: Foi et Vie,
1971) 109–16; Harvey K. McArthur, “The Parable of the Mustard Seed,” CBQ 33 (1971) 198–210; John
Dominic Crossan, “The Seed Parables of Jesus,” JBL 92 (1973) 244–66, esp. 253–59; idem, In Parables, 45–
49; Robert W. Funk, “The Looking-Glass Tree Is for the Birds,” Int 27 (1973) 3–9; Alberto Casalegno, “La
parabola del granello di senape (Mc 4, 30–32),” RivB 26 (1978) 139–61; Rudolf Laufen, “BASILEIA und
EKKLESIA. Eine traditions- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung des Gleichnisses vom Senfkorn,”
Begegnung mit dem Wort (Heinrich Zimmermann Festschrift; BBB 53; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980) 105–40 (= Die
Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des Markusevangeliums [BBB 54; Bonn: Hanstein, 1980] 174–
200); Craig L. Blomberg, “When Is a Parallel Really a Parallel? A Test Case: The Lucan Parables,” WTJ 46
(1984) 78–103; Kogler, Das Doppelgleichnis; Wendy J. Cotter, “The Parables of the Mustard Seed and the
Leaven: Their Function in the Earliest Stratum of Q,” Toronto Journal of Theology 8 (1992) 38–51; Volkmar
Hirth, “Die baumgrosse Senfstaude—Bild der wahren Königsherrschaft,” BN 83 (1996) 15–16; Bailey, “The
Parable of the Mustard Seed”; Crook, “The Synoptic Parables of the Mustard Seed and the Leaven,” 23–48,
especially 24–33; Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 276–335; Timothy A. Friedrichsen,
“The Parable of the Mustard Seed: Mark 4, 30–32 and Q 13, 18–19. A Surrejoinder for Independence,” ETL
77 (2001) 297–317; Fleddermann, Q. A Reconstruction and Commentary, 658–73; Schellenberg, “Kingdom
as Contaminant?,” 527–43.
2. For a detailed study of the phenomenon of Mark–Q overlaps, see Laufen, Die Doppelüberlieferungen.
For a brief review of various Synoptic source theories as applied to the Mustard Seed, see Kogler, Das
Doppelgleichnis, 31–42. Kogler’s own presentation is harmed both by his adoption of the unlikely
Deuteromarkus hypothesis (i.e., Matthew and Luke draw upon a later, thoroughly revised form of the Mark
we have) and his presumption of (rather than any argument for) the origin of the Mustard Seed in the
teaching of the historical Jesus. The idea that the Mustard Seed was present in both Mark’s source and Q is
widely accepted among exegetes treating this parable; see, e.g., Dahl, “The Parables of Growth,” 147;
Dupont, “Le couple parabolique,” 333; Kingsbury, The Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13, 76–77; McArthur,
“The Parable of the Mustard Seed,” 198–99; Crossan, “The Seed Parables of Jesus,” 254; Friedrichsen, “The
Parable of the Mustard Seed,” in which he argues against Fleddermann’s unusual theory that Mark knew Q
(Q. A Reconstruction and Commentary, 665–66).
3. See Meier, A Marginal Jew, 2. 32–40. This particular overlap is unique within the Synoptic tradition
because the overlap has independent parallels in Acts 13:25 and John 1:26–27,33.
4. For the saying on binding the strong man, see A Marginal Jew, 2. 417–22; for the missionary discourse,
A Marginal Jew, 3. 154–63.
5. To my mind, the presence of a mini-story or simple plot (with, at least implicitly, a beginning, middle,
and end involving some sort of process or change) justifies calling the Mustard Seed a narrative parable
rather than a similitude. In this, I differ with Snodgrass and a number of other parable scholars. Snodgrass
demands a detailed plot to move a unit of tradition from the category of similitude to that of parable. For his
system of classification, see Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 9–15. He makes a point of classifying the
Mustard Seed as a similitude rather than a parable because “none of the [Synoptic] forms has a developed
plot . . .” (p. 216).
6. As is often pointed out in books on Jesus’ parables, the comparative formula “the kingdom of God is
like . . .” intends to compare the kingdom not with the individual noun that follows next in the text (e.g., a
mustard seed, a lump of leaven, a treasure, a merchant) but rather with the whole story, event, or process that
is narrated in the parable. The same point is often made with reference to the later rabbinic parables that
begin with similar formulas, either lengthy (“I will tell you a parable. To what is the matter comparable? To
. . .”) or severely abbreviated (simply a laconic “To . . .”). On the various introductory formulas, see
McArthur and Johnston, They Also Taught in Parables, 109–18 (summarizing what is laid out at much
greater length in Robert M. Johnston, Parabolic Interpretations Attributed to Tannaim [PH.D. dissertation;
Hartford, CT: Hartford Seminary Foundation, 1977] esp. 530–32). On p. 100 of his The Parables of Jesus,
Jeremias begins to explain how the introductory formula compares something to a whole state of affairs or
story, but then proceeds to muddy the waters by claiming that, in certain cases, the kingdom of God is being
compared not to one person or object in the parable but rather to another (pp. 101–2). For instance, he states
that in Matt 13:45 the kingdom is compared not to a merchant in search of fine pearls but rather to a pearl.
The more accurate observation is rather the one that he makes on pp. 100–101: as in rabbinic so in Synoptic
parables, the introductory formula “is like . . .” compares some theological reality (e.g., “the kingdom of
God”) not with the individual person or object that follows in the parable but rather with the whole state of
affairs or story that follows (“it is the case with . . . as with . . .”).
7. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, 16.
8. Some exegetes shy away from the idea of the kingdom of God growing, developing, or expanding in the
world of human experience because they identify such an idea with the old liberal Protestant presentation of
the kingdom as a social reality evolving in the world according to the laws of development immanent in
human history. This easily leads in turn to the kingdom of God being equated with enlightened social
progress, or with a Hegelian-style vision of the evolution of human consciousness, or even with the Christian
church as it unfolds in history. Needless to say, Jesus’ proclamation of the kingdom of God (examined at
length in Volume Two of A Marginal Jew) deals with God’s coming to rule over Israel and the world in the
end time. Hence it is antithetical to any equation of the kingdom of God with forces, structures, or institutions
that originate in and belong to this present world.
9. As to the question of which plant the Greek word sinapi (“mustard”) designates, see the various
possibilities in Kogler, Das Doppelgleichnis, 45–55. Along with most commentators, Kogler holds that the
most likely candidate for the mustard seed is the black mustard (brassica nigra), though the white mustard is
also a possibility. Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 220) states that “the mustard seed is one millimeter in
diameter and is so tiny it requires from 725 to 760 seeds to equal one gram (one twenty-eighth of an ounce).”
As Snodgrass notes, this seed grows quickly to a notable height, reported variously as six, twelve, or
sometimes even fifteen feet (so Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 395). Descriptions of the great height of the
mustard plant in rabbinic literature (e.g., y. Peʾa 7:4) may at times be hyperbolic, but they reveal the thought-
world of ancient inhabitants of Palestine who knew the plant firsthand.
 10. Strictly speaking, the grammatical form mikroteros is comparative and so we might translate “. . . is
smaller than all [other] seeds.” But in koine Greek, the comparative form can stand for the superlative, and so
we might translate instead “. . . is the smallest of all seeds”; see Zerwick, Graecitas Biblica, 47 §147. The
same point holds true of the comparative form meizon, “larger.” In any case, the basic sense remains the
same.
11. See, e.g., m. Nid. 5:2, where the mustard seed is used as a metaphor for a very small amount; so
likewise m. Tohar. 8:8; m. Nazir 1:5; b. Ber. 31a. Besides the parable of the Mustard Seed, the Synoptic Jesus
is presented as using the mustard seed as a metaphor for smallness in Matt 17:20 || Luke 17:6: faith like a
grain of mustard has the power to move a mountain or a mulberry tree. Noteworthy here is that this logion
does not explicitly mention the small size of the mustard seed (which is key to the force of the metaphor) but
rather presumes it as widely known. This use of the mustard seed as a symbol of smallness seems more at
home in the Jewish rather than in the pagan Greco-Roman tradition. For example, farther afield, Diodorus
Siculus (Bibliotheca historica, 1. 35, 2) speaks of the contrast of starting out very small yet becoming quite
large, but he is referring to the Egyptian crocodile in the Nile: ho men krokodeilos ex elachistou ginetai
megistos.
12. This Lucan/Q form of the contrast (employing “tree” instead of “shrub”), rather than being
outrageously hyperbolic, may be judged to remain within the realm of the real, since even the Greek botanist
Theophrastus (the successor of Aristotle) admits that the word dendron (“tree”) can be stretched to include
pot herbs (lachana), in which category he includes the mustard plant. On this, see Theophrastus’ Historia
plantarum (Enquiry into Plants = Peri phytōn historias) 1.3.2–5 and 7.1.1; and, for commentary, Clark, “The
Mustard Plant,” 81–83. Hence Liebenberg (The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 311–13) is not correct
in claiming that Luke’s use of dendron creates an unusual element in the story that is hyperbolic; for a similar
mistake, see Matthews, “The Mustard ‘Tree,’” 32.
13. For attempts to privilege one or another theme in the parable (with some authors distinguishing among
the emphases in Mark, Q, and Jesus), see, e.g., Kogler, Das Doppelgleichnis, 190 (the original message of
Jesus’ parable was not growth but contrast); Cotter, “The Parables of the Mustard Seed and the Leaven,” 47–
48 (the Q parable emphasizes the theme of growth); Claus-Hunno Hunzinger, “sinapi,” TDNT 7 (1971) 290–
91 (the focus is not on the process of growth but on the contrast between seed and plant, with special
emphasis on the small beginning); Schellenberg, “Kingdom as Contaminant?,” 542 (the implicit contrast in
the Q parable is not between the small seed and the full-grown tree but rather between the expected herb or
shrub and the surprising tree; the contrast between smallest and largest in the Marcan version is probably a
later addition); Dahl, “The Parables of Growth,” 148 (the lesson of the parable is not so much the “great
results of the work of Jesus,” but rather the “organic unity” between his apparently insignificant ministry in
Israel and the future kingdom of God); Kuss, “Zum Sinngehalt,” 651 (both contrast and development);
Mussner, “1QHodajoth,” 129–30 (emphasis on contrast, but element of growth admitted); Dupont, “Les
paraboles du sénevé et du levain,” 900–907 (Mark emphasizes opposition between beginning and end, Luke
does not emphasize contrast, and Jesus underlines the decisive meaning of the present time, its unique value
in salvation history); Hertzsch, “Jésus herméneute,” 115 (emphasis on transformation or metamorphosis: the
paradoxical affinity between the smallest and the greatest); McArthur, “The Parable of the Mustard Seed,”
207–10 (two major emphases in primitive form: the contrast between the insignificant sowing and the
significant results that follow; the fulfillment of the promised divine blessings, contained in the significant
results); Funk, “The Looking-Glass Tree,” 7 (Jesus asserts that the kingdom of God will erupt out of the
power of weakness and refuse to perpetuate itself by the weakness of power); Casalegno, “La parabola,” 155
(both contrast and the process of growth); Laufen, “BASILEIA und EKKLESIA,” 115–17 (n. 61 on p. 115
lists the opinions of various authors; Laufen thinks that the chief idea is the contrast between smallness and
largeness, but that this emphasis includes rather than excludes the idea of growth). As I indicate in the main
text, I think that any attempt to restrict the message of the parable to a single point or emphasis misses the
richness of this dense metaphorical discourse.
14. The smallness of the literary unit of the Mustard Seed nicely reflects its main image. If we include in
each form of the parable its introductory sentence, Mark’s version has fifty-five Greek words, Matthew forty-
five, and Luke forty. (One must make allowance for text-critical variations.) This phenomenon of Mark
having the longest version, Matthew the middle-length version, and Luke the shortest version is seen
elsewhere in the material common to the three Synoptics. Indeed, more generally, Luke often abbreviates the
material he takes over from Mark; the same may be true of his handling of Q.
15. Some translations (e.g., RSV, NRSV) state that the birds “make nests.” This is to read into this parable
the vocabulary of certain OT texts that are often cited to interpret the parable’s finale (see later discussion).
The fact is that our parable simply speaks of birds “dwelling”—and birds dwell in trees even when they are
not building or inhabiting nests.
16. A Marginal Jew, 2. 309–17.
17. For various theories about which, if any, of the frequently mentioned OT texts are being cited or
alluded to at the end of the parable of the Mustard Seed, see Kogler, Das Doppelgleichnis, 147–77;
Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 291–94; Dahl, “The Parables of Growth,” 147;
Dupont, “Le couple parabolique,” 343; McArthur, “The Parable of the Mustard Seed,” 202–3; Funk, “The
Looking-Glass Tree,” 4–7. Funk is paradigmatic of a whole school of thought in that he simply presupposes
that the Synoptic parable alludes to the Ezekiel texts as well as Daniel 4. No detailed analysis of the Greek
texts of the parable and the Greek versions of the OT passages is offered. In addition, key points of Funk’s
quasi-homily on the parable appear nowhere in the parable itself (e.g., the ephemeral nature of the mustard
plant, the theme of the faith of the individual believer).
18. The Hebrew text of Ezek 31:3 is difficult, and various emendations are suggested. The MT as it stands
speaks of “Assyria [ʾaššûr], a cedar [ʾerez] of Lebanon.” The LXX reads Assour for ʾaššûr and kyparissos
(“cypress”) for ʾerez. Various editors of the MT suggest that instead of ʾaššûr one should read the Hebrew
noun tēʾaššûr; this noun designates some kind of tree, quite possibly a cypress. The botanical puzzle is made
even more complicated by the fact that in some OT passages the Hebrew noun ʾerez may not mean what we
mean by “cedar.”
19. So Funk, “The Looking-Glass Tree,” 7.
20. On royal associations of tree imagery in the ancient Near East and on various early messianic
interpretations of the tree symbolism in Ezekiel 17 (apart from the NT and hence apart from our parable), see
William R. Osborne, “The Early Messianic ‘Afterlife’ of the Tree Metaphor in Ezekiel 17:22–24,” TynBul 64
(2013) 171–88.
21. The Greek Theodotion text of Dan 4:12 (the key verse) is closer to Aramaic Dan 4:9 than is the LXX
version. Likewise, the LXX version of Dan 4:10,12,11 (note the order) is not as close in wording to the
Synoptic parable; for example, instead of saying (as does Theodotion) that the birds of heaven dwelt in the
tree’s branches (en tois kladois autou), the LXX states that the birds of heaven “nested in it [i.e., the tree].”
McArthur (“The Parable of the Mustard Seed,” 203) entertains the possibility that Mark 4:32b is closer to the
LXX text of Dan 4:12, while Matthew and Luke (and presumably Q) are closer to the Theodotion text of Dan
4:21. But McArthur immediately adds that it is conceivable that the dependence is not on any one OT text. In
favor of seeing an allusion to LXX Dan 4:12,21 in Matt 13:32 is Jonathan T. Pennington, “Refractions of
Daniel in the Gospel of Matthew,” Early Christian Literature and Intertextuality. Volume 1: Thematic Studies
(Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 14; Library of NT Studies 391; ed. Craig A. Evans
and H. Daniel Zacharias; London/New York: Clark, 2009) 65–86, esp. 68, where he calls the allusion to
Daniel a “cameo appearance.” Pennington does not exclude possible references as well to LXX Ps 103:12;
Ezek 17:22–23; and Ezek 31:5–6.
22. The prophetic or apocalyptic use of the tree imagery in these OT passages may in turn be borrowing
from one of the grand myths of the ancient world: the “world tree” or perhaps even the “tree of life.” On the
persistence of the imagery of the tree of life and the garden of Eden in the literature of early Judaism and
early Christianity, see Peter T. Lanfer, “Allusion to and Expansion of the Tree of Life and Garden of Eden in
Biblical and Pseudepigraphal Literature,” Early Christian Literature and Intertextuality. Volume 1: Thematic
Studies (Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity 14; Library of NT Studies 391; ed. Craig A.
Evans and H. Daniel Zacharias; London/New York: Clark, 2009) 97–108.
23. The LXX continues the verse with “out of the midst of the rocks they will give forth [their] voice [in
song].” The MT has instead “from among the thick foliage they will give forth [their] voice” (though the rare
Hebrew word for “thick foliage” creates textual difficulties). Thus, the MT contains an indirect reference to
the trees in which the birds dwell; there is nothing about trees in the LXX version of the verse. Still, the
agreement between Matt 13:32 and LXX Ps 103:12 (ta peteina tou ouranou kataskēnōsei [kataskēnoun in
Matt 13:32]) leads Beate Kowalski (“Der Matthäische Gebrauch des Psalters im Kontext seiner
Parabelüberlieferung,” 593–608) to speak (p. 599) of a word-for-word citation of the Psalm verse in Matt
13:32 (so too, one might add, in the Marcan and Lucan versions).
24. Here I agree with Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus, 291–94; similarly, Crossan,
“The Seed Parables of Jesus,” 255. McArthur (“The Parable of the Mustard Seed,” 202–3) wavers on the
issue. Other authors argue for this or that OT text being the primary source of the allusion. Kogler (Das
Doppelgleichnis, 174–77, esp. 163–65) stands out for arguing that at the earliest stage of the tradition
(perhaps stemming from the historical Jesus), the allusion was to MT Ezek 17:23, but that the clear
connection with the Masoretic version of this OT text was lost when the parable was translated into Greek.
His position relies on a somewhat dubious reconstruction of the tradition history of the parable, based as it is
on the hypothesis of Deuteromarkus. Kogler’s thesis becomes even more questionable when he goes on to
claim that the allusion to Ezek 17:23 gives the parable a messianic character, by which Jesus intended to refer
to himself in a veiled fashion as the Messiah who inaugurates the kingdom of God.
25. We must remember that, at this point in our investigation, we are asking about the historical context of
Jesus’ own ministry ca. A.D. 28–30. Hence the literary context created by the redactional activity of each
evangelist (i.e., the relatively short parable discourse of Mark 4 early in Jesus’ ministry, the much larger and
more artfully constructed parable discourse of Matthew 13 about halfway through the public ministry, and
the loose, stream-of-consciousness context of the meandering Great Journey Narrative in Luke 9–19)
obviously cannot supply the answer to the question we are posing at this juncture.
26. The importance of the historical context of Jesus’ preaching and ministry for interpreting the parables
was one of the great contributions to parable research made by Joachim Jeremias and C. H. Dodd. In my
opinion, though, both Jeremias and Dodd (along with many others after them) took this insight too far when
they presumed that they could discern the precise situation in which and the precise audience to which the
historical Jesus addressed a given parable (as distinct from the redactional setting created by the evangelists).
With few exceptions, notably the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, the parables are too generic in their message
to allow such specificity. Jesus may well have spoken the same basic parable in different situations to
different audiences for different rhetorical purposes.
27. Granted, my objection does not hold for those who waive any concern with the historical Jesus or the
meaning of his parables within his 1st-century Jewish-Palestinian context. Scholars unconcerned about the
historical Jesus usually seek (or create) the meaning of the parables in a modern or postmodern context, be
that Christian or, e.g., Marxist socioeconomic analysis, psychological analysis from a Freudian or Jungian
point of view, an existentialist hermeneutic of human life that prescinds from God and religion, or even a
postmodern hermeneutic that revels in the indeterminacy of the parables, a hermeneutic that playfully turns
everything upside down and inside out without ever arriving at any definite message (diversity is all). While
such a literary-intellectual exercise can prove an entertaining romp, one must accept from the start that in any
such approach uncontrolled by historical criteria or context, a given parable means or can be made to mean
whatever the scholar wants it to mean. The parables become simply Rorschach inkblots for the interpreter to
play with: right you are if you think you are.
28. A Marginal Jew, 2. 404–23.
29. A Marginal Jew, 3. 154–63.
30. Ibid., 148–54.
31. There is no point repeating here the lengthy bibliographies available in monographs on this parable;
see in particular the bibliographies in Klyne Snodgrass, The Parable of the Wicked Tenants (WUNT 27;
Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1983) 119–26 (supplemented by the exegesis and notes on the parable in
Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 276–99, 677–86); Ulrich Mell, Die “anderen” Winzer (WUNT 77; Tübingen:
Mohr [Siebeck], 1994) 387–426; John S. Kloppenborg, The Tenants in the Vineyard, 587–618. My concern in
what follows in the main text is a judgment about whether the parable of the Evil Tenants, in whole or in part,
goes back to the historical Jesus. Exegetical observations are therefore limited to what is relevant to that
question, with secondary matters being relegated to the endnotes. For detailed exegesis of all aspects of this
parable, see, in addition to the previously mentioned monographs, the standard commentaries on Mark,
notably Rudolf Pesch, Das Markusevangelium (HTKNT 2; 2 vols.; Freiburg/Basel/Vienna: Herder, 1976,
1977) 2. 213–24; Robert H. Gundry, Mark (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993) 659–64, 682–91; Paul
Lamarche, Evangile de Marc (EBib 33; Paris: Gabalda, 1996) 278–81; Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20
(Word Biblical Commentary 34B; Nashville: Nelson, 2001) 210–40; Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark
(Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007) 540–49; Joel Marcus, Mark (AYB 27 and 27A; 2 vols.; New
Haven/London: Yale University, 2000, 2009) 2. 801–15. For a treatment that pointedly waives the question of
the origin of the Marcan version of the parable in Jesus’ ministry in favor of interpreting it in its Marcan
context (especially the reference to “the others” to whom the vineyard is given in Mark 12:9), see Kelly R.
Iverson, “Jews, Gentiles, and the Kingdom of God: The Parable of the Wicked Tenants in Narrative
Perspective (Mark 12:1–12),” Biblical Interpretation 20 (2012) 305–35 (taking “the others” as a reference to
the Gentiles).
32. From a grammatical point of view, the quotation of LXX Ps 117:22–23 in Mark 12:10b–11 stands in
apposition to and explains the noun graphēn (“Scripture text”), the object of the verb oude anegnōte (“have
you not read . . . ?”). Being a rhetorical question, the phrase “have you not read” presupposes that the
audience (the temple authorities) has indeed read the text. From a functional point of view, then, the
quotation in effect answers the further question that would necessarily arise in the mind of anyone hearing v
10a: “What Scripture text do you mean?”
33. In favor of the dependence of the Thomasine form of the parable on the Synoptics, especially Luke, see
Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, 217–19; cf. Jean-Marie Sevrin, “Un groupement de trois paraboles contre les
richesses dans l’Evangile selon Thomas. EvTh 63, 64, 65,” Les paraboles évangéliques. Perspectives
nouvelles (ed. Jean Delorme; Paris: Cerf, 1989) 425–39. For a defense of Thomas’ independence with regard
to the Evil Tenants, see Crossan, In Parables, 86–96; for a rebuttal, see Quarles, “The Use of the Gospel of
Thomas,” 517–36, esp. 524–34. Crossan, like many others who take CGT 65 to be the original form of the
parable, attempts a socioeconomic interpretation in the context of “the Galilean turbulence of the period”
(Crossan, ibid., 96); cf. Funk et al., The Five Gospels, 101, 510–11; also Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 74–
75 (“a realistic description of the revolutionary attitude of the Galilean peasants towards the foreign landlords
. . .”). In a similar vein, Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh (Social-Science Commentary on the
Synoptic Gospels [2d ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003] 200) suggest that the pre-Marcan parable was a
warning addressed not to the temple authorities in Jerusalem but rather to absentee landowners in Galilee
who expropriated and extorted “the produce of the land from their tenants.” One of the problems of such an
approach (besides the fact that it totally ignores the plausible context agreed upon by all three Synoptics in
order to invent a purely hypothetical context) is that it presupposes a Galilee in constant social and political
turmoil during the time of Jesus. Actually, compared with Judea, the Galilee of Herod Antipas seems to have
been relatively quiet and stable; on this see A Marginal Jew, 1. 278–85. In fact, after a detailed study of
climate, wars, and political upheavals, Morten H. Jensen (“Climate, Droughts, Wars, and Famines in Galilee
as a Background for Understanding the Historical Jesus,” JBL 131 [2012] 307–24) concludes that in Galilee
“the periods under first Antipas and then Agrippa I and finally direct Roman rule seem to have been times of
peace and stability.” In addition, one should note that nothing in Mark’s story indicates either that the tenant
farmers are oppressed and impoverished peasants or that the owner of the vineyard is a foreigner or is living
abroad, contra Pesch, Das Markusevangelium, 2. 215; see also Marcus, Mark, 2. 811. As Evans points out
(ibid., 232), the Hellenistic papyri from Egypt indicate that at times “wealthy commercial farmers” would
sign “lease agreements to supervise large, profitable farms”—a better fit for the affluent temple authorities
who, at least in all the Synoptic versions, are the target of the parable. Indeed, if one were to insist on finding
a likely socioeconomic background for this parable in the mouth of the historical Jesus (a dubious project in
any case), Judea and in particular Jerusalem, governed on a day-to-day basis by the wealthy high priestly
families and the lay nobility, would be the more probable candidate. And this is precisely the setting that all
three Synoptics give the parable.
34. A Marginal Jew, 1. 180. Some authors would refer to this argument in terms of “coherence,”
understood in a wide sense: i.e., coherence not simply with other words and actions of Jesus, but also with
the Palestinian geography, culture, and history in which he operated.
35. Kloppenborg, The Tenants in the Vineyard, 355–586. Kloppenborg also supplies a useful summary of
major approaches to the interpretation of the Evil Tenants in the 19th and 20th centuries: (i) as an allegory
developed by the early church (pp. 50–70); (ii) as an allegorical parable spoken by Jesus himself (pp. 71–
105); and (iii) as an original “realistic fiction” later overlaid with allegorical interpretations (pp. 106–48).
36. The claim by some commentators (e.g., Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 74–76) that the tenant
farmers take the arrival of the son to mean that his father is dead and that therefore the death of the son would
leave them free to inherit the vineyard (i) arbitrarily introduces into the parable a key plot mechanism that is
simply not present in the text (a common problem with the exegesis of Synoptic parables) and (ii) presumes a
legal state of affairs that did not hold true in Palestine in the early 1st century A.D. under either Roman or
Jewish law. The contorted attempts by scholars like Jeremias to show how the expectations of the tenant
farmers were realistic both misrepresent the actual political and social situation in Galilee at the time of Jesus
and ignore the fact that the cold-blooded murder of the son by the farmers would invalidate any claim they
otherwise might have in Roman or Jewish law to inherit the vineyard. On these points, see Marcus, Mark, 2.
803–4. For a sober attempt to balance the realistic elements of the parable with the fictional or highly
imaginative, see Mell, Die “anderen” Winzer, 117–31. In my opinion, the unrealistic elements in the story
begin in Mark 12:5: after the tenants have not only beaten, dishonored, and wounded a number of slaves,
they proceed to kill one of the owner’s slaves. That the owner would continue to send “many others,” with
some being beaten and others being killed, is incredible. That he would then send his son (apparently alone),
with the bizarrely unrealistic hope that the tenants would respect him, leads us into a world of pure fantasy in
v 6. Hence, by the time the tenants have killed the son with the hope of inheriting the vineyard (vv 7–8) and
the owner, after providing no armed defense for his slaves or his son, uses massive force in v 9 to “destroy
the tenants,” any pretense of a realistic narrative has long since evaporated. Here I must disagree with John S.
Kloppenborg (“The Representation of Violence in Synoptic Parables,” Mark and Matthew I. Comparative
Readings: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in their First-Century Settings [WUNT 271; ed. Eve-Marie
Becker and Anders Runesson; Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 2011] 323–51), who claims (pp. 334–35) that vv
1–8 have “at least . . . the ring of verisimilitude,” while v 9, with its deus ex machina conclusion, does not.
By the time we reach v 9, the ship of realistic narrative has long since sailed; it went over the horizon by the
end of v 5.
37. For parallels to the Evil Tenants in the parables of the later rabbis, see Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, 220–
22. Evans conflates the question of the plausibility of the characters’ actions in the parable with the question
of whether the Evil Tenants goes back to the historical Jesus; but one question does not logically depend
upon the other. In addition, Evans (pp. 224–28) uses the claims of Semitisms in the Marcan text as well as
echoes of the MT and the (much later) Targum of Isaiah (on which, see A Marginal Jew, 2. 287 n. 113) to
argue for the parable’s authenticity. A problem with Evans’s argument is that he seems to work with a binary
mind-set: the parable comes either from the historical Jesus or from the later Greek-speaking Christian
church in the Diaspora. Here as elsewhere in disputes over authenticity a third option is ignored: creation by
disciples of Jesus who heard and learned from his parables during the public ministry and who imitated his
creativity in the early days of the Aramaic-speaking church in Palestine. This third possibility has bearing on
a suggestion made by many scholars in favor of the parable’s authenticity, especially conservative exegetes
who argue for the entirety of Mark 12:1–11 (including the two conclusions) coming from the historical Jesus.
These exegetes point out that in the Semitic original of the parable there was a wordplay on the Hebrew word
for “son” (bēn) and the Hebrew word for “stone” (ʾeben). This wordplay would have tied the narrative proper
of the parable (“son” in v 6) with the second conclusion of the parable (“stone” in v 10). Hence the whole
parable would have come from Jesus, and not from the later Greek-speaking church of Mark or his forebears.
There are two problems with this approach: (1) Presumably, Jesus would have been speaking Aramaic, as
usual. While the Hebrew bēn is used as a loan word in Aramaic, the native Aramaic word for “son” is bar.
Then, too, while Aramaic does use ʾeben for “stone,” it also possesses native Aramaic words for the concept,
including the famous kêpaʾ. Since all retroversions from our Greek texts of the Gospels to a supposed
original Aramaic must remain hypothetical, we must allow for the possibility that the original Aramaic form
of the parable used bar for “son” and kêpaʾ for “stone,” eliminating the supposed wordplay. (2) Even if one
should allow that the original Aramaic of the parable used bēn and ʾeben, the presence of such a wordplay
does not prove that the whole unit of Mark 12:1–11 comes from the historical Jesus. Allowing for a creative
stage in which disciples of Jesus imitated his parable-making in the early days of the Aramaic-speaking
church in Palestine, nothing would prevent such disciples from creating the wordplay when they added
12:10–11 to provide a proclamation of God’s vindication of his son after a narrative that ended simply with
the son’s death.
38. Some might see Matt 25:29 || Luke 19:26 as an exception, but the maxim contained in these verses can
be understood as a concluding comment spoken by a character within the world of the parable. Likewise,
Luke 16:31, with the introductory eipen de autǭ (“but he said to him . . .”), is ostensibly spoken within the
world of the parable by Abraham, addressing the rich man.
39. In making this claim, I am not counting the stock and generic phrase “The kingdom of God [or:
heaven] is like . . .” as a specific interpretive element in the same sense that the phrase “Who then is the
reliable and prudent servant . . .” is. The latter phrase supplies a specific focus and interpretation to the
parable it introduces that the former phrase does not.
40. Since the focus of the analysis in the main text is the structure and movement of the story in the
parable, viewed through the prism of form, tradition, and literary criticism, I do not engage in detailed
commentary on the individual verses. Secondary observations on individual words and verses will be
confined to these endnotes. To begin at the beginning: in Mark 12:1, it is generally agreed by commentators
that Mark (though not necessarily Luke) is alluding to the beginning of Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard (Isa
5:1–7), though Mark’s wording does not agree completely with either the LXX or the MT. See, for instance,
the analysis of Mell, Die “anderen” Winzer, 78–98. In all such comparisons, though, one must remember (1)
the fluidity of text types and versions around the turn of the era and (2) the caveat that the move from
comparisons between OT texts and their NT appropriation on the one hand (especially when one is not
dealing with direct quotations) to theories about the form-critical stages of the NT text on the other can be
highly speculative. One must also realize that the OT source text (i.e., Isa 5:1–7) should not be pressed to
explain every aspect of the Marcan parable. A clear example of this is the fact that in the Song of the
Vineyard, it is the vineyard that is at fault for failing to produce fruit, and hence Yahweh wreaks his
vengeance on the vineyard itself, rendering it incapable of further fruit-bearing. In contrast, in the Marcan
parable, it is presupposed that the vineyard has yielded fruit, but that the guilty tenants refuse to hand over
the part of the harvest that belongs to the owner; on this change of focus, see Gundry, Mark, 659. In the end,
though, the tenants are destroyed not for refusing to hand over the fruit but rather for the murder of the
owner’s son. The still-existing vineyard is then leased to new tenants with presumably positive results. One
sees, then, how misleading it would be to press a point-by-point correspondence between Isaiah’s Song of the
Vineyard and Mark’s parable of the Evil Tenants.
In any event, the metaphor of the people Israel as the vine or vineyard of Yahweh is widespread enough in
the OT and intertestamental literature (see, e.g., Isa 1:8; 27:2; Ezek 19:10; Ps 80:8–16) to be immediately
recognizable in Mark 12:1. Granted this traditional imagery, the “man” in Mark 12:1 would almost
automatically be identified by a Jewish audience with God—an impression that is confirmed by Mark’s later
reference to the man as “the owner [ho kyrios] of the vineyard” in v 9; on this see Marcus, Mark, 2. 804–5. In
view of how the parable’s story develops, one should note how the OT theme of Israel as God’s vineyard is
sometimes joined by the prophets to a denunciation of Israel’s leaders for having hurt or destroyed the
vineyard (e.g., Isa 3:12–14; Jer 12:10).
41. The number of slaves sent and the number of times they are sent varies in each Synoptic account.
There is nothing inherently unlikely in Mark’s presentation of a single slave being sent, since his “receiving
some of the fruit” might well refer not to hauling off a vast basket of grapes but rather to receiving the
monetary value from the sale of some of the grapes. That violence was in fact wreaked upon such legal
emissaries in an agricultural context is attested by the Hellenistic papyri; besides the lengthy dossier
compiled by Kloppenborg, see Martin Hengel, “Das Gleichnis von den Weingärtnern Mc 12:1–12 im Lichte
der Zenonpapyri und der rabbinischen Gleichnisse,” ZNW 59 (1968) 1–39, esp. 11–31.—The curious verb
kephalioō (Mark 12:4)—used in other Greek writings in the sense of “to sum up” or “summarize” (see, e.g.,
Sir 32:8) but nowhere else in the sense of “to wound in the head”—has led to endless speculation by
commentators; given the ascending order of outrages in Mark’s version of the story and the fact that the verb
ekephaliōsan is followed immediately by ētimasan (“they dishonored [him]”), the mystery verb most likely
refers to striking or wounding a person in the head, or possibly mistreating his head in a dishonorable way
(e.g., shaving the head or beard; cf. 2 Sam 10:2–5 and its LXX version); on various suggestions, see Mell,
Die “anderen” Winzer, 102–4. The order of the two verbs argues against the ingenious suggestion of John
Dominic Crossan (“The Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen,” JBL 90 [1971] 451–65, esp. 452) that the
servant referred to in Mark 12:4 is John the Baptist. Moreover, John’s beheading in Mark 6:27 is narrated
with a different compound of the verb: apekephalisen—an odd choice if Mark intends any reader to
recognize an at best obscure cross-reference. Even more unlikely is the suggestion by some scholars (e.g.,
David Stern, “Jesus’ Parables from the Perspective of Rabbinic Literature: The Example of the Wicked
Husbandmen,” Parable and Story in Judaism and Christianity [ed. Clemens Thoma and Michael
Wyschogrod; Studies in Judaism and Christianity; New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1989] 42–80, esp.
63–68) that in the original parable (in what conceivable form?) John the Baptist was the final figure sent by
the owner of the vineyard. As Marcus points out (Mark, 2. 803), in the parable the son is murdered by a
group called “the builders” (most likely understood from the beginning as the temple authorities in
Jerusalem), while Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee, was the sole person possessing the power to kill the
Baptist—both in Mark and in Josephus.
42. The qualification in 12:6 of the one person left as “a beloved son” (huion agapēton) may serve
multiple literary and theological purposes: (1) Within Mark’s total composition, it evokes the two
descriptions of Jesus by the voice from heaven at the baptism and the transfiguration (1:11; 9:7). (2) There
may also be a reference to Isaac, Abraham’s son, whom the LXX of Gen 22:2 describes as “your beloved
son” (ton huion sou ton agapēton) precisely in the context of God ordering Abraham to sacrifice his son. The
MT of 22:2 speaks instead of “your only son.” The Hebrew adjective for “only,” yāḥîd, is often translated in
the LXX by agapētos, a translation made all the easier in this case by the fact that the MT continues in v 2
with the further description of Isaac: “. . . whom you love.”
43. There may be a number of scriptural allusions here: (1) The plot of Jezebel to fulfill King Ahab’s wish
to obtain the vineyard of the recalcitrant Naboth; Jezebel has Naboth killed so that Ahab may seize his
“inheritance” (klēronomian in LXX 3 Kgdms 20:3 = MT 1 Kgs 21:3), i.e., the vineyard; (2) the plot of
Joseph’s brothers to kill him (Gen 37:18–28), with the exact same words uttered by the would-be murderers
in LXX Gen 37:20 as in Mark 12:7: “Come, let us kill him” (deute apokteinōmen auton). Pesch (Das
Markusevangelium, 2. 219) notes that the same phrase (deute apokteinōmen) is used in the plot to kill
Joseph’s wife Aseneth and his brother Benjamin in Jos. Asen. 27:8; for a critical text with a German
translation, see Joseph und Aseneth (ed. Eckart Reinmuth; Sapere 15; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2009) 56–
137, esp. 124. Pesch also points to echoes of the Joseph story present in Mark 12:1–11 that are likewise
found in various passages of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs.
44. It is odd that Evans (Mark 8:27–16:20, 236) speculates that the answer to Jesus’ first rhetorical
question was originally given by the crowd. This is a strange suggestion on a number of grounds: (1) No text-
critical evidence and no Synoptic parallel support this idea. (2) This suggestion completely ignores Mark’s
carefully constructed literary balance of the two rhetorical questions posed by Jesus and immediately
answered (directly or indirectly) by Jesus. (3) In Mark’s composition, the immediate addressees and those
immediately reacting to the parable are the chief priests, scribes, and elders (11:27), not the crowd, which is
only mentioned as the object of the leaders’ fear (12:12). Indeed, one wonders what the crowd would mean
by “he will give the vineyard to others” (v 9). On the level of Mark’s redactional theology, the natural
opposite of the rejected temple authorities would be the leaders of the early church (see Marcus, Mark, 2.
805, 813–14, who also considers the possibility that for Mark the “others” are the increasingly Gentile
church)—a meaning impossible to attribute to the Jewish crowds in this or any other scene in Mark’s Gospel.
At the same time, it needs to be stressed that in Mark (as perhaps distinct from Matt 21:43), the reference is
to a change in leadership in Israel, not a replacement of Israel by the church.
45. Pesch (Das Markusevangelium, 2. 220–23) thinks that, while Mark 12:10–11 (the psalm citation) is an
early addition by the primitive Christian community, the whole of the parable in 12:1–11 is free of
redactional additions by Mark. Hence, for Pesch, the original parable ended with v 9. Even more
conservative is the view of Evans (Mark 8:27–16:20, 231), who restricts Mark’s redactional additions to vv
1a,5b, and 12; everything else, at least in substance if not in exact wording (he allows for assimilation of OT
texts to the LXX) comes from Jesus. More common is the view among exegetes that the pre-Marcan parable
originally ended with what I call the first conclusion (v 9), which foretells the destruction of the tenants by
the owner of the vineyard; see, e.g., Mell, Die “anderen” Winzer, 97–98; Collins, Mark, 543; Jeremias, The
Parables of Jesus, 70–77. Among these authors, views on what if anything goes back to the historical Jesus
differ. On the question of where the parable originally ended, I side with John Dominic Crossan (Four Other
Gospels [Minneapolis/Chicago/New York: Winston/Seabury, 1985] 57), who rightly sees a break occurring
first in v 9, instead of waiting for vv 10–11. While I do not agree with all of Crossan’s arguments (he accepts
the independence and primitive nature of CGT 65–66), he is right in maintaining that Jesus’ rhetorical
question in v 9a “breaks the parabolic closure . . . [as] the tense is changed from past to future.” Crossan also
notes that “the owner’s belated use of force and his decision to go on with the leasing program thereafter
does not increase the narrative plausibility.” Finally, Crossan suggests that the rhetorical question in v 9a is a
secondary allusion to Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard, where in LXX Isa 5:4 (the MT is basically the same)
God asks a rhetorical question: “What shall I do further for my vineyard that [literally in the LXX: ‘and’] I
have not done for it?” Notice how God’s question, “What shall I do . . . ?,” becomes Jesus’ question, “What
shall the lord [or owner, kyrios] of the vineyard dō?” While not every argument Crossan brings forward is of
equal validity, his basic insight about the break in v 9 is convincing. A similar (though not the same) position
is held by Klauck (Allegorie und Allegorese in synoptischen Gleichnistexten, 310), who sees v 9 as a pre-
Marcan addition to the parable. In Klauck’s view, the ending in v 9 introduces a deus ex machina in
contradistinction to the “open ending of the original parable.”
46. On the many philological, exegetical, and hermeneutical problems connected with Psalm 118 (= LXX
Psalm 117), see the standard commentaries on the psalms, e.g., Franz Delitzsch, Die Psalmen (5th ed.;
Giessen/Basel: Brunnen, 1894; reprint 1984) 703–10; Arthur Weiser, The Psalms (OTL; London: SCM,
1962) 722–30; Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60–150 (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989) 392–401; Robert G.
Bratcher and William D. Reyburn, A Translator’s Handbook on the Book of Psalms (New York: United Bible
Societies, 1991) 986–95; Konrad Schaefer, Psalms (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2001)
288–91; see also Joachim Jeremias, “Kephalē gōnias—Akrogoniaios,” ZNW 29 (1930) 264–80; Mell, Die
“anderen” Winzer, 126–27. The psalm (and especially vv 22–23) has called forth a number of monographs;
see, e.g., Michael Giesler, Christ the Rejected Stone . . . (Pamplona: Universidad de Navarra, 1974); Michel
Berder, “La pierre rejetée par les bâtisseurs”: Psaume 118,22–23 et son emploi dans les traditions juives et
dans le Nouveau Testament (EBib 31; Paris: Gabalda, 1996); Martin Mark, Meine Stärke und mein Schutz ist
der Herr. Poetologisch-theologische Studie zu Psalm 118 (FB 92; Würzburg: Echter, 1999); Michael Cahill,
“Not a Cornerstone! Translating Ps 118,22 in the Jewish and Christian Scriptures,” RB 106 (1999) 345–57.
Many problems that concern the commentators (e.g., what are the divisions of the literary structure; in which
form-critical category should the psalm be classified; whether the occasion of the psalm is a military victory,
the autumn feast of Yahweh’s enthronement, or the feast of Suk-koth; how the various voices in the psalm
should be identified, such as the chorus, the individual worshiper, the king, or the priests) would not have
concerned either Jesus or Mark and so are irrelevant to our purpose. Whether the psalm had acquired an
eschatological or messianic sense in the pre-Christian period is a more relevant question, but unfortunately
one for which there is no definite answer at present. Such eschatological or messianic tones are certainly
found in later Jewish literature. Evans (Mark 8:27–16:20, 228–30, 238) uses this later literature, especially
the Targum of the Psalms (which interprets Psalm 118 with messianic and Davidic references), to understand
the mind of the historical Jesus as he cites this psalm. However, the use of the Targum of the Psalms is
problematic, since the “date of composition . . . remains very uncertain,” according to David M. Stec, The
Targum of Psalms (The Aramaic Bible 16; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2004) 2. Stec inclines to a date
between the 4th and 6th centuries A.D., “but this is little more than guesswork.” See also Paul V. M. Flesher
and Bruce Chilton, The Targums: A Critical Introduction (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2011). Flesher and
Chilton note that the Targum of the Psalms belongs to the wider category of the Targums to the Writings (the
kĕtûbîm), most of which “were composed rather late,” usually in Late Jewish Literary Aramaic, “the latest
Aramaic dialect of the Late Aramaic period” (pp. 230–31). Flesher and Chilton go on to caution that modern
academic study of the Targum of Psalms is still in its early stages (pp. 252–54). In view of the scarce direct or
indirect evidence of the targum’s existence in the ancient period, I would favor composition in the early
medieval period, but the question remains murky. Whatever one’s estimate, one has to accept that a work like
the Targum of the Psalms doubtless went through a number of stages of tradition and redaction over a lengthy
period. In any event, the free and creative translation (if one can even call the text of v 22 in the targum of
Psalm 118 a translation) is striking: “The architects forsook the youth among the sons of Jesse [i.e., David],
but he was worthy to be appointed king and ruler” (so Stec, ibid., 210). On the wider question of targums and
Jewish messianism, see Samson H. Levey, The Messiah: An Aramiac Interpretation (Cincinnati: Hebrew
Union College, 1974).
47. The odd thing about this psalm citation is that the extratextual realities to which “the stone” and “the
builders” refer are clearer in Mark’s Gospel (Jesus and the temple authorities respectively) than they are in
the original text of the psalm. At least on the level of Mark’s redaction, the “builders” who “rejected”
(apedokima-san) the stone in 12:10 are clearly cross-referenced with the elders, high priests, and scribes (the
same group as in 11:27, who presumably are the audience of the parable in 12:1), who will cause the Son of
Man to be “rejected” (apodokimasthēnai, 8:31) in the Passion Narrative; on this, see Collins, Mark, 548. In
contrast, commentators on the Book of Psalms argue over whether the original referents of “the builders” in
MT Ps 118:22 were the Gentile nations and their rulers, who despised Israel (so Schaefer, Psalms, 291), or
the people of Israel and/or some subdivision thereof: the rulers of Israel in general, the king in particular, the
temple priests, or those who work on the temple (see, e.g., Delitzsch, Die Psalmen, 708; Giesler, Christ, 52).
The “stone” is even more difficult to interpret. Some exegetes suggest that MT Ps 118:22 is citing a popular
proverb (see, e.g., Bratcher and Reyburn, A Translator’s Handbook, 993; Cahill, “Not a Cornerstone!,” 345–
57) and applying it to, e.g., the king, the people Israel, or the individual worshiper (or, in later Judaism, to a
messiah; see Berder, “La pierre rejetée,” 204–45). Others reject the idea of a proverb (for which there is no
proof) and interpret the metaphor of the stone as a symbol chosen by the author of the psalm, who uses an
image seen in other OT passages that speak of a stone (e.g., Isa 28:16; Zech 4:7; cf. MT Neh 3:34; Ezra
3:10–12); so Martin Mark, Meine Stärke, 252. In any event, the general sense seems clear enough: some
individual or group that was previously despised and rejected has experienced a great reversal, thanks to the
help of Yahweh, and has become valued and honored for the firm stability he or they offer.
48. The para kyriou of LXX Ps 117:23 translates mēʾēt yhwh of the MT (which means, according to
Martin Mark [Meine Stärke, 254], “with the help of Yahweh”). The citation in Mark 12:10b–11 reproduces
exactly that of the LXX, which differs only slightly from the MT.
49. The problems with the cornerstone begin with the question of how the Hebrew phrase rôʾš pinnâ
(literally, “head of corner”) in MT Ps 118:22 should be translated—part of the problem being that the Hebrew
phrase is a hapax legomenon in Tanak. (A similar but not identical phrase is found in Jer 51:26a [ʾeben
lĕpinnâ, “a stone for a corner,” which is parallel to ʾeben lĕmôsādôt, “a stone for foundations” in v 26b]; the
question remains whether these two phrases in the first two lines of a tricolon are strictly synonymous or
simply similar in meaning.) The likely candidates for the proper meaning of the phrase in MT Ps 118:22
include “cornerstone” (a square stone set where two walls meet), “foundation stone” (a stone placed at the
foundation of a building, usually at a corner), “keystone” (a wedge-shaped stone set at the apex of an arch
and locking its stones into position), the vaguer “capstone” (a finishing or protective stone set at the top of
some structure or wall), or a “coping stone” (a stone that is part of the top layer or course of a masonry wall).
Exegetical confusion on this point is compounded because commentators often use some of these phrases
interchangeably, ignoring the subtle differences among them. Scholars who favor “cornerstone” and/or
“foundation stone” include Bratcher and Reyburn, A Translator’s Handbook, 993; Mark, Meine Stärke, 243–
49; Weiser, The Psalms, 728; R. J. McKelvey, “Christ the Cornerstone,” NTS 8 (1961–1962) 352–59 (though
his major concern is with Eph 2:20–22). Even if one holds this to be the original meaning of the Hebrew
phrase, one has to allow for a possible shift in meaning when the Hebrew was translated into Greek; on this,
see Delitzsch, Die Psalmen, 708. However, a number of commentators, influenced by the opinion of Jeremias
(“Kephalē gōnias,” 264–80), opt for translations like “keystone” (which is not always sufficiently
distinguished from “capstone”), the “capital” on the top of a pillar, or the “pinnacle” of a building; see, e.g.,
Marcus, Mark, 2. 808–9; Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20, 238. While admitting the inherent vagueness and
ambiguity of the term, Cahill (“Not a Cornerstone!,” 356–57) prefers the idea of a stone on the top of a
fortified wall or tower. Although I think that the thrust of the metaphor in the Marcan context favors the idea
of “foundation stone” or “cornerstone” in 12:10 (on this, see Mell, Die “anderen” Winzer, 126–27), the
question is not relevant to my purposes, since I judge the citation of LXX Psalm 117 in Mark 12:10–11 to be
a later Christian addition to the core parable that goes back to Jesus.
50. For the Marcan Jesus, speaking within the story world of Mark’s Gospel, this aorist is a “prophetic
aorist”; for the actual Christian audience listening to Mark’s Gospel, the aorist refers to an event now past.
51. This observation is made in regard to the Synoptic parables in general, irrespective of their origin in
the historical Jesus, the early church, or the evangelist. It is all the more telling that this claim applies to all
the Synoptic parables that have applications or explanations, whether or not these parables are authentic.
52. This is not to deny that some parables may leave questions in the listener’s mind “to tease it into active
thought.” For example, the main plot of the parable of the Prodigal Son is set in motion by the younger son’s
request for his share of his father’s estate and his speedy departure to a foreign country after receiving it, only
to waste the whole inheritance in short order (Luke 15:12–13). That plot line reaches a satisfying, if
surprising, conclusion in the father’s forgiveness of his son and the restoration of the son to his former
position, along with his father’s justification of his paradoxical action to his angry older son (vv 22–24,31–
32). The attentive listener may indeed wonder whether the older son will finally accept his father’s invitation
to enter the house and join in the celebration—a question not answered within the story world of the parable.
However, one should note the following: (1) No further explanation or nimšāl supplied by Jesus resolves this
question by advancing or adding to the narrative (unlike Mark 12:9 + 10–11); the whole rhetorical ploy of the
ending of the Prodigal Son aims at placing the listeners in the position of the older son and having the
listeners answer that question for themselves. (2) More to the point: as far as the main plot line of the
Prodigal Son begun in vv 12–13 is concerned, it does reach a satisfying closure.
53. Commentators differ over what exactly Mark added to the primitive version of the parable. Apart from
the introductory narrative in 12:1a, frequently mentioned candidates include the generalizing second half of v
5: “. . . and many others, some of whom they beat, others of whom they killed.” While this vague
multiplication of emissaries emphasizes the deuteronomistic theme of the large number of prophets sent to
Israel “early and late,” it disrupts the “law of threes” found in many popular folk narratives and in a number
of parables. The law of threes is reflected in the parable in the way in which the owner sends out in order
precisely three slaves, each meeting a worse fate: from beating through injury-plus-shame to death. Piling up
an unnumbered mass of further emissaries, some merely beaten, others killed, destroys the carefully
ascending line of greater crime and horror, all focused on three distinct individuals. The other main candidate
for a Marcan (or at least a post-Jesus) addition is part or all of the phrase “one . . . beloved son” in v 6.
Obviously, in Mark’s Gospel, this phrase carries the high christological sense given it by the voice of God at
the baptism (1:11) and the transfiguration (9:7). But need it have such an openly christological meaning in a
hypothetical primitive form of the parable spoken by Jesus? Here opinions differ, with some commentators
deleting “one,” others deleting “beloved,” and still others deleting both words. At the very least, the word
“son” is demanded by the core narrative of the parable, not only as a contrast-figure to the previously sent
“slaves” but also as a necessary link in the chain of the plot, since the farmers act at the climax in vv 7–8
because the one sent is the heir, whose death would clear the way for them to obtain the vineyard. This makes
sense only if the victim of their final murder is the owner’s son and, at least by implication, his only son. In
the end, my own opinion is that the overloaded second half of v 5 and perhaps the words “one” and
“beloved” were added to the parable by Mark or a pre-Marcan redactor. I doubt whether much more that is
probable can be said. Other exegetes, however, offer more detailed reconstructions with many more Marcan
or pre-Marcan additions. Mell (Die “anderen” Winzer, 97–98), for instance, reconstructs the original form of
the text as Mark 12:1b–5b,6 (without “only” or “beloved”), 7ab (omitting the reference to the son’s being the
heir), 8a,9. Inevitably, any such detailed reconstruction must remain highly speculative.
54. At this point, some might wish to reopen the question of the independent and/or primitive nature of the
version of the Evil Tenants in CGT 65. After all, the Thomasine version of the story ends with the killing of
the son—exactly what I am suggesting was the case with the primitive version of the parable that stands
behind Mark’s version. But here we have a perfect example of how a second stage of redaction can
accidentally and unknowingly replicate the hypothetical original version of a text. As we saw in Chapter 38,
specific redactional concerns of the Thomasine author (e.g., rejection of OT Scripture, prophecy, and
typology, as well as the rejection of any notion of stages of salvation history tied to the Jews; avoidance of
references to the resurrection of Jesus from the dead; and a desire to eliminate clarifying explanations of
parables, thus creating enigmas whose secret meanings must be sought) caused the author to prune the
Marcan parable severely. In this, he was following the example of Luke, who had already abbreviated the
Marcan text to a notable degree. The resulting text in CGT 65 coincides in some respects with the
hypothetically primitive version I suggest; but this is a matter of coincidence, not of Thomas having special
access to such a primitive tradition. Actually, there is nothing all that unusual in a second stage of redaction
of a NT text just happening to revert accidentally to a primitive form of the tradition. As we saw in both
Volume One (pp. 132–33) and Volume Four (pp. 102–28) of A Marginal Jew, this phenomenon occurs when
Matthew redacts Jesus’ prohibition of divorce in Mark 10:11–12. In Matt 19:9 (Matthew’s parallel to Mark
10:11–12), under the influence of the Jewish-Christian tradition of his church, Matthew removes Mark’s
ideas that a woman can divorce her husband or that an adulterous husband commits adultery against his first
wife. In omitting these views of divorce, which reflect Roman rather than Palestinian-Jewish culture,
Matthew accidentally returns the Marcan version of the prohibition of divorce to its hypothetically primitive
version. This unwitting coincidence is due not to Matthew’s superior knowledge of the most primitive form
of Jesus’ sayings but rather to his pruning of the Marcan version for his own theological purposes. The same
pattern is visible in CGT 65 vis-à-vis the Synoptic versions of the Evil Tenants.
55. For relevant texts from the OT, intertestamental literature (e.g., the Lives of the Prophets), Qumran,
Josephus, and the rabbis, see Odil Hannes Steck, Israel und das gewaltsame Geschick der Propheten
(WMANT 23; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1967). For his treatment of the parable of the Evil
Tenants, see pp. 269–73. On the wider topic, see Joachim Jeremias, Heiligengräber in Jesu Umwelt (Mt. 23,
29; Lk. 11, 47). Eine Untersuchung zur Volksreligion der Zeit Jesu (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht,
1958). On pp. 11–12, Jeremias notes that the present form of the Lives of the Prophets is the result of
Christian redaction; however, he thinks that the original basic work was of Jewish origin and was composed
prior to A.D. 70. For a similar view on dating, see Douglas R. A. Hare, “The Lives of the Prophets,” The Old
Testament Pseudepigrapha (AYBRL; ed. James H. Charlesworth; 2 vols.; New Haven/London: Yale
University, 1983, 1985) 2. 379–99, esp. 380–81.
56. As already indicated, “one” (hena) and “beloved” (agapēton) in 12:6 may be Marcan or pre-Marcan
additions to the original parable.
57. It is strange that some critics dispute this setting, which fits the thrust of the parable perfectly and is
accepted by all three Synoptics (and not all of Mark’s settings are taken over by Matthew and Luke when it
comes to the other parables), only to waive any attempt to establish an alternate setting or purpose for the
parable.
58. On “stone testimonies” and stone metaphors in general, see C. H. Dodd, According to the Scriptures
(London: Fontana/Collins, 1952, reprint 1965) 21, 24–25, 35–36, 41–43, 69; also Edward Gordon Selwyn,
The First Epistle of St. Peter (London: Macmillan, 1949) 268–77; Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter (Hermeneia;
Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996) 149–68.
59. Not surprisingly, this stone tradition continues beyond the NT into the patristic period; see, e.g., Barn.
6:2–4 (citing both Isa 28:16 and LXX Ps 117:22,24). The stone tradition is also seen in later Jewish texts
(e.g., some targums), but I am leery of retrojecting such traditions into the pre-Christian period.
60. For convenience’ sake, I use the title “parable of the Great Supper” for both the Matthean and the
Lucan forms of the parable, though strictly speaking this title fits Luke’s version much better than Matthew’s.
For a sample of various views on the parable, with references to further bibliography, see, in addition to the
standard commentaries on Matthew and Luke, Agnes Smith Lewis, “Matthew xxii. 4,” Exp-Tim 24 (1912–
13) 427; William B. Selbie, “The Parable of the Marriage Feast (Matthew xxii. 1–14),” ExpTim 37 (1925–26)
266–69; Herbert Musurillo, “Many Are Called, but Few Are Chosen,” TS 7 (1946) 583–89; Francis W.
Beare, “The Parable of the Guests at the Banquet: A Sketch of the History of Its Interpretation,” The Joy of
Study (Frederick Clifton Grant Festschrift; ed. Sherman E. Johnson; New York: Macmillan, 1951) 1–14; E.
H. Merriman, “Matthew xxii. 1–14,” ExpTim 66 (1954–55) 61; Edmond Boissard, “Many Are Called, Few
Are Chosen,” TD 3 (1955) 46–50; K. R. J. Cripps, “A Note on Matthew xxii. 12,” ExpTim 69 (1957–58) 30;
Eta Linnemann, “Überlegungen zur Parabel vom grossen Abendmahl, Lc 14,15–24/Mt 22,1–14,” ZNW 51
(1960) 246–55; Wolfgang Trilling, “Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte des Gleichnisses vom Hochzeitsmahl Mt
22,1–14,” BZ 4 (1960) 251–65; Karl H. Rengstorf, “Die Stadt der Mörder (Mt. 22,7),” Judentum,
Urchristentum, Kirche (Joachim Jeremias Festschrift; ed. Walther Eltester; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1960) 106–
29; Edmund F. Sutcliffe, “Many Are Called but Few Are Chosen,” ITQ 28 (1961) 126–31; Otto Glombitza,
“Das grosse Abendmahl: Luk. 14:12–24,” NovT 5 (1962) 10–16; Victor Hasler, “Die königliche Hochzeit,
Matth. 22,1–14,” TZ 18 (1962) 25–35; Richard J. Dillon, “Towards a Tradition-History of the Parables of the
True Israel (Matthew 21:33–22:14),” Bib 47 (1966) 1–42; Sverre Aalen, “St Luke’s Gospel and the Last
Chapters of 1 Enoch,” NTS 13 (1966–67) 1–13; Ernst Haenchen, “Das Gleichnis vom grossen Mahl,” Die
Bibel und Wir. Gesammelte Aufsätze II (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1968) 135–55; Heinrich Schlier, “The
Call of God,” The Relevance of the New Testament (New York: Herder and Herder, 1968) 249–58; J. Duncan
M. Derrett, “The Parable of the Great Supper,” Law in the New Testament (London: Darton, Longman &
Todd, 1970) 126–55; Ferdinand Hahn, “Das Gleichnis von der Einladung zum Festmahl,” Verborum Veritas
(Gustav Stählin Festschrift; ed. Otto Böcher and Klaus Haacker; Wuppertal: Brockhaus, 1970) 51–82; Anton
Vögtle, “Die Einladung zum grossen Gastmahl und zum königlichen Hochzeitsmahl. Ein Paradigma für den
Wandel des geschichtlichen Verständnishorizonts,” Das Evangelium und die Evangelien (Düsseldorf:
Patmos, 1971) 171–218; idem, Gott und seine Gäste: Das Schicksal des Gleichnisses Jesu vom grossen
Gastmahl (Lukas 14,16b-24; Matthäus 22,2–14) (Biblisch-Theologische Studien 29; Neukirchen-Vluyn:
Neukirchener Verlag, 1996); Georg Eichholz, Gleichnisse der Evangelien: Form, Überlieferung, Auslegung
(Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1971) 126–47; Alfons Weiser, Die Knechtsgleichnisse der
synoptischen Evangelien (SANT 29; Munich: Kösel, 1971) 58–71; Dan O. Via, Jr., “The Relationship of
Form to Content in the Parables: The Wedding Feast,” Int 25 (1971) 171–84; Paul H. Ballard, “Reasons for
Refusing the Great Supper,” JTS 23 (1972) 341–50; James A. Sanders, “The Ethic of Election in Luke’s
Great Banquet Parable,” Essays in Old Testament Ethics (J. Philip Hyatt Memorial Volume; ed. James L.
Crenshaw and John T. Willis; New York: Ktav, 1974) 245–71; W. Selwyn Dawson, “The Gate Crasher,”
ExpTim 85 (1973–74) 304–6; Detlev Dormeyer, “Literarische und theologische Analyse der Parabel Lk.
14,15–24,” BibLeb 15 (1974) 206–19; Humphrey Palmer, “Just Married, Cannot Come,” NovT 18 (1976)
241–57; Rudolf Pesch and Reinhard Kratz, “Gleichnis vom grossen Gastmahl,” So liest man synoptisch
(Frankfurt: Knecht, 1978) 39–60; Eugene E. Lemcio, “The Parables of the Great Supper and the Wedding
Feast: History, Redaction and Canon,” Horizons in Biblical Theology 8 (1986) 1–26; Luise Schottroff, “Das
Gleichnis vom grossen Gastmahl in der Logienquelle,” EvT 47 (1987) 192–211; eadem, “Verheissung für alle
Völker (Von der königlichen Hochzeit) Mt 22,1–14,” Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu (ed. Ruben
Zimmermann et al.; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007) 479–87; eadem, “Von der Schwierigkeit zu
teilen (Das grosse Abendmahl) Lk 14,12–24 (EvThom 64),” ibid., 593–603; Elaine Wainwright, “God Wills
to Invite All to the Banquet, Matthew 22:1–10,” International Review of Mission 77 (1988) 185–93; Ben F.
Meyer, “Many (= All) Are Called, but Few (= Not All) Are Chosen,” NTS 36 (1990) 89–97; David C. Sim,
“The Man without the Wedding Garment (Matthew 22:11–13),” HeyJ 31 (1990) 165–78; idem, “Matthew
22.13a and 1 Enoch 10.4a: A Case of Literary Dependence?,” JSNT 47 (1992) 3–19; Victor E. Vine, “Luke
14:15–24 and Anti-Semitism,” ExpTim 102 (1990–91) 262–63; Jan Lambrecht, Out of the Treasure. The
Parables in the Gospel of Matthew (Louvain Theological and Pastoral Monographs 10; Louvain: Peeters;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 127–42; Willi Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14 (SNTSMS
85; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1995); W. Gregory Carey, “Excuses, Excuses: The Parable of the
Banquet (Luke 14:15–24) within the Larger Context of Luke,” IBS 17 (1995) 177–87; Richard Bauckham,
“The Parable of the Royal Wedding Feast (Matthew 22:1–14) and the Parable of the Lame Man and the Blind
Man (Apocryphon of Ezekiel),” JBL 115 (1996) 471–88; Willard M. Swartley, “Unexpected Banquet People
(Luke 14:16–24),” Jesus and His Parables (ed. V. George Shillington; Edinburgh: Clark, 1997) 177–90;
Hans Klein, “Botschaft für viele—Nachfolge von wenigen. Überlegungen zu Lk 14,15–35,” EvT 57 (1997)
427–37; Klyne Snodgrass, “Common Life with Jesus. The Parable of the Banquet in Luke 14:16–24,”
Common Life in the Early Church (Graydon F. Snyder Festschrift; ed. Julian V. Hills; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity,
1998) 186–201; Rudolf Hoppe, “Das Gastmahlgleichnis Jesu (Mt 22,1–10/Lk 14,16–24) und seine
vorevangelische Traditionsgeschichte,” Von Jesus zum Christus. Christologische Studien (BZNW 93; Paul
Hoffmann Festschrift; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1998) 277–93; idem, “Tischgespräche und
Nachfolgebedingungen. Überlegungen zum Gleichnis vom grossen Mahl Lk 14,16–24 im Kontext von Lk
14,1–35,” “Licht zur Erleuchtung der Heiden und Herrlichkeit für dein Volk Israel.” Studien zum lukanischen
Doppelwerk (BBB 151; Josef Zmijewski Festschrift; ed. Christoph Gregor Müller: Hamburg: Philo, 2005)
115–30; John Paul Heil, The Meal Scenes in Luke–Acts (SBLMS 52; Atlanta: SBL, 1999) 106–11; Allan W.
Martens, “‘Produce Fruit Worthy of Repentance.’ Parables of Judgment against the Jewish Religious Leaders
and the Nation (Matt 21:28–22:14, par.; Luke 13:6–9),” The Challenge of Jesus’ Parables (ed. Richard N.
Longenecker; Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2000) 151–76; W. J. C. Weren, “From Q to
Matthew 22,1–14. New Light on the Transmission and Meaning of the Parable of the Guests,” Sayings
Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BETL 158; ed. Andreas Lindemann; Leuven: Leuven University/Peeters,
2001) 661–79; Warren Carter, “Resisting and Imitating the Empire. Imperial Paradigms in Two Matthean
Parables,” Int 56 (2002) 260–72; Maria Cristina Pennacchio, “La parabola del banchetto nuziale (Mt 22,1–
14) nell’esegesi origeniana,” Origeniana Octava. Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition. Papers of the 8th
International Origen Congress, Pisa, 27–31 August 2001. Volume I (BETL 164; ed. Lorenzo Perrone et al.;
Leuven: Leuven University/Peeters, 2003), 687–98; Wesley G. Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables. The
Nation, the Nations and the Reader in Matthew 21:28–22:14 (SNTSMS 127; Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University, 2003); Christian Münch, Die Gleichnisse Jesu im Matthäusevangelium. Eine Studie zu ihrer
Form und Funktion (WMANT 104; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2004) 139–40, 203–4, 255;
Miguel Pérez Fernández, “Rabbinic Texts in the Exegesis of the New Testament,” Review of Rabbinic
Judaism 7 (2004) 95–120, esp. 109–13; Daniel C. Olson, “Matthew 22:1–14 as Midrash,” CBQ 67 (2005)
435–53; Luise Schottroff, Die Gleichnisse Jesu (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2005) 69–78 = The
Parables of Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006) 49–56; Joseph Verheyden, “Evidence of 1 Enoch 10:4 in
Matthew 22:13?,” Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honor of
Florentino García Martínez (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 122; ed. Anthony Hilhorst,
Emile Puech, and Eibert Tigchelaar; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007) 449–66; J. Duncan M. Derrett, “Homer,
Hesiod, and Q,” BeO 50 (2008) 105–12, esp. 110–111; Elizabeth Dowling, “Slave Parables in the Gospel of
Luke—Gospel ‘Texts of Terror’?,” AusBR 56 (2008) 61–68, esp. 65; Peter-Ben Smit, Fellowship and Food in
the Kingdom (WUNT 2/234; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2008) 157–67; Martin Ebner, “Symposion und
Wasser-sucht, Reziprozitätsdenken und Umkehr. Sozialgeschichte und Theologie in Lk 14,1–24,” Paulus und
die antike Welt (FRLANT 222; Dietrich-Alex Koch Festschrift; ed. David C. Bienert, Joachim Jeska, and
Thomas Witulski; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008) 115–35; John J. Kilgallen, Twenty Parables of
Jesus in the Gospel of Luke (Subsidia biblica 32; Rome: Biblical Institute, 2008) 81–96; Bruce W. Longe-
necker, “A Humorous Jesus? Orality, Structure, and Characterisation in Luke 14:15–24, and Beyond,”
Biblical Interpretation 16 (2008) 179–204; Gregory E. Sterling, “‘Where Two or Three Are Gathered,’” 95–
121; J. Lyle Story, “All Is Now Ready: An Exegesis of ‘The Great Banquet’ (Luke 14:15–24) and ‘The
Marriage Feast’ (Matthew 22:1–14),” American Theological Inquiry 2 (2009) 67–79; Gary M. Burge, Jesus,
the Middle Eastern Storyteller (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009) 43–53; James Metzger, “Disability and the
Marginalisation of God in the Parable of the Snubbed Host (Luke 14.15–24),” Bible & Critical Theory 6
(2010) 23.1–23.15 (online); Guillaume Ingipay Migbisiegbe, “Loyalty to Jesus, Not to Judaism in Matthew
22,1–14,” EstBib 68 (2010) 473–90; Michael Theobald, “‘. . . und er schickte seine Heere aus’ (Mt 22,7).
Der Gott des Gekreuzigten—ein Gott auch der Gewalt?,” TQ 191 (2011) 304–14; Marianne Blickenstaff,
“Matthew’s Parable of the Wedding Feast (Matt 22:1–14),” RevExp 109 (2012) 261–68; John D. Crossan,
The Power of Parable. How Fiction by Jesus Became Fiction about Jesus (New York, HarperOne, 2012),
esp. 108, 190–91; Joseph Nalpathilchira, “Everything Is Ready: Come to the Marriage Banquet.” The
Parable of the Invitation to the Royal Marriage Banquet (Matt 22, 1–14) in the Context of Matthew’s Gospel
(AnBib 196; Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2012); Ernest van Eck, “When Patrons Are Patrons: A
Social-Scientific and Realistic Reading of the Parable of the Feast (Lk 14:16b-23),” HTS Teologiese
Studies/Theological Studies 69 (2013) 14 pages (online).
61. It was precisely this complicated and much-disputed relationship between the Matthean and Lucan
forms of the Great Supper that led me to delay the treatment of CGT 64 until Chapter 40, instead of taking it
up in Chapter 38.
62. Luke states openly what is implied in Matthew and is also known from a variety of ancient
Mediterranean sources. In the case of large festive meals, an initial invitation would be sent to the
prospective guests before the meal was prepared. Those who accepted the initial invitation would then
receive a second invitation (or summons) when the meal was ready to be eaten. The particular custom
reflected in this parable is mistaken by Lewis (“Matthew xxii. 4,” 427), who instead searches far afield in the
Slavonic version of Ahiqar. (By way of a rough analogy to the ancient custom, one might think of the
present-day courtesy of sending out to prospective wedding guests a “save the date” notice before the formal
invitation confirming the exact time and place is issued.)
63. Technically, the understood subject is a vague neuter plural noun or pronoun (e.g., panta, “all things”),
as the predicate adjective hetoima (“ready,” “prepared”) shows. As is usual in ancient Greek, a neuter plural
subject takes a singular verb (so here, estin).
64. The phrase apo mias in Luke 14:18 is of uncertain meaning. Some commentators suggest
“unanimously,” but this seems redundant when the immediately following subject is pantes (“all”). Other
commentators see here a Semitism, e.g., min ḥada with the meaning of “all at once” or “immediately”; so,
e.g., Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 176 n. 17. Aalen (“St Luke’s Gospel,” 3) thinks that Luke’s unusual
apo mias parallels epi mias in a Greek fragment of 1 Enoch 99:9, thus suggesting that there is a literary
connection between Luke’s Gospel and the Greek version of 1 Enoch. In an interesting coincidence, Sim
(“Matthew 22.13a,” 3–19) argues that Matthew’s use of the symbolism of the binding and expulsion of the
man without the wedding garment (Matt 22:13) is taken directly from the text of 1 Enoch as preserved in the
Codex Panopolitanus (1 Enoch 10:4a). However, Verheyden (“Evidence,” 458–66) considers it “highly
implausible” that Matthew or his source was citing 1 Enoch 10:4; indeed, Verheyden suggests that 1 Enoch
10:4 may show the influence of Matthew’s Gospel on the textual tradition of 1 Enoch (p. 466) in a Christian
milieu.
65. The Greek word is ariston, literally “breakfast”; but the word can also be used for the midday meal.
66. Notice how Matthew’s panta hetoima (“all things are ready”) in Matt 22:4 corresponds to Luke’s
hetoima estin (“they are ready”) in Luke 14:17.
67. Notice how Matthew’s deute (“come” in 22:4) corresponds to Luke’s erchesthe (“come” in 14:17).
68. Some commentators see in the excuses offered by the guests an allusion to the conditions listed in
Deuteronomy that excuse some individuals from taking part in a holy war; see, e.g., Vine, “Luke 14:15–24,”
263; Swartley, “Unexpected Banquet People,” 184–85. For problems with such an approach (e.g., the list of
excuses similar to the excuses in Deuteronomy is found in Luke’s version of the parable, but the reference to
military action is in Matthew’s version), see Palmer, “Just Married,” 241–57 (with a treatment of various
authors’ opinions). Derrett (“The Parable of the Great Supper,” 126–55) presents a highly imaginative and
complicated variation on the appeal to Deuteronomy by combining it with Zeph 1:1–16, as read through the
lens of much later Jewish material, including the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and the Midrash Rabbah. Derrett
blithely moves back and forth among Jewish documents compiled centuries after Jesus and the evangelists.
The assurance that they contain traditions dating to or before the time of Jesus is given without any
convincing proof. On this, see Lemcio, “The Parables of the Great Supper and the Wedding Feast,” 23 n. 7.
69. As Trilling notes (“Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte,” 251), it is generally accepted that vv 6–7 (and also
vv 11–14) are secondary additions to the original parable. We shall explore the reasons for this position at
greater length later.
70. Jesus as the speaker of the parable and especially of this concluding “lesson” may be peeking through
in this firm and final affirmation (“for I say to you”), with “you” (hymin) in the plural despite the fact that the
“slave” (doulos) has been in the singular throughout the Lucan form of the parable. This may be an indication
that v 24 is secondary in the tradition and possibly a Lucan redactional creation. Snodgrass (“Common Life,”
199) puts the point somewhat differently when he suggests that “the voice of Jesus and the host merge at this
point,” with the plural “you” referring to all those present or to all those reading or hearing the parable.
Linnemann (“Überlegungen,” 248) tries instead to understand the plural “you” as addressed to “the public”
(?) by the householder, who wishes to explain his actions; in this way, Linnemann seeks to save v 24 for the
core narrative of the parable, an exegetical move that sets up the problematic that drives her interpretation of
the parable.
71. I pass over source theories and consequent interpretations of the parable that lie outside the critical
mainstream and, in my opinion, are highly improbable. For example, Glombitza (“Das grosse Abendmahl,”
10–16, esp. 14) entertains the view that Luke knew and abbreviated the longer form of the parable seen in
Matthew; Luke’s redaction supposedly creates a literary unit that is not a parable but rather a monitory
exhortation and a narrative, in brief, a teaching. One’s confidence in Glombitza’s approach is not
strengthened by his wildly allegorical interpretation of Luke’s version (all in the name of redaction criticism):
to refuse the invitation to the feast means not to receive Jesus’ sacrifice, which brings forgiveness; one thus
falls outside the covenant that was formed apart from merit out of the Lord’s free grace of election. We seem
close at this point to a certain type of patristic exegesis.
72. So rightly Vögtle, Gott und seine Gäste, 11; Eichholz, Gleichnisse der Evangelien, 128.
73. Here I differ with Snodgrass (Stories with Intent, 299, 310), who claims that we are dealing in Matthew
and Luke with “two similar stories, not two versions of the same story” (p. 310). At times, however,
Snodgrass seems to contradict his own position. For example, on p. 304, he not only speaks of “this parable”
in the singular as occurring in different places in Matthew and Luke but also proceeds to discuss how “Luke
uses his version of this story.” On p. 305, Snodgrass states that, by his count, out of the 233 words in Matt
22:1–14 (note that he includes here the separate parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment, thus
comparing apples with oranges), only 12 are identical in Luke 14:15–24: eipen, kai apesteilen, autou, tois
keklēmenois, hetoima, agron, autou [again], and eis tas hodous. An additional seven Greek words, occurring
in different forms, are also shared: anthrōpos, poiein, doulos [twice], eipein, orgizein, and exelthein. While
all this constitutes a good argument against a common written source such as Q, it does not exclude the idea
of a single parable undergoing multiple oral and written performances in different streams of tradition (i.e.,
M and L). As often happens in Snodgrass’s Stories with Intent, the unproven presupposition that some form
of the parable goes back to the historical Jesus is the hidden engine that drives the whole project.
 74. For a comparison of the texts of Matt 22:1–10 and Luke 14:15,16–24 that underlines and highlights
common vocabulary, see John S. Kloppenborg, Q Parallels (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1988) 164. On p. 166,
Kloppenborg lists scholars who argue for or against the parable’s Q provenance. Kloppenborg summarizes
the arguments pro and con thus: (1) Those who argue against Q’s being the source point to “the minimal
verbal agreements between Matthew and Luke.” (2) Those who support Q as the source emphasize the verbal
agreements that do exist, the basic agreement in plot, and the redactional tendencies of Luke and especially
Matthew in rewriting the parables. That said, the practical difficulties involved in reconstructing a
hypothetical Q text are made plain in The Critical Edition of Q (ed. James M. Robinson, Paul Hoffmann, and
John S. Kloppenborg; Leuven: Peeters, 2000) 432–49; the suggested Q text is mostly a web of empty spaces,
words placed within brackets, and whole verses that contain nothing but question marks. There is a bracing
honesty here. Once one rejects the a priori dogma that the Q text of the parable was more or less the text of
Luke, it becomes very difficult to establish what the hypothetical Q text might have looked like.
75. Here I differ with a number of commentators, including Trilling, “Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte,” 263;
Hasler, “Die königliche Hochzeit,” 29; Vögtle, Gott und seine Gäste, 12; Martens, “‘Produce Fruit Worthy of
Repentance,’” 163; Hoppe, “Tischgespräche,” 115–17; Schottroff, “Von der Schwierigkeit,” 593; Ingipay
Migbisiegbe, “Loyalty to Jesus,” 474. Some critics simply assume that Q is the common source without
examining the problem in detail; so, e.g., Pérez Fernández, “Rabbinic Texts,” 95–120. Weren (“From Q to
Matthew 22:1–14,” 678–79) suggests that Matthew’s version of the Great Supper results from his
combination of two separate parables, the first certainly from Q and the second possibly so.
76. This is the position adopted by Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 333–35 (with a helpful chart on p.
334); similarly, Beare, “The Parable of the Guests at the Banquet,” 1 (arguing against B. W. Bacon and T. W.
Manson, who think that the parable is taken from Q); Smit, Fellowship, 159.
77. On the question of the exact meaning of the aorist passive verb hōmoiōthē (literally, “was made like”)
in Matt 22:2, see the various possibilities considered by Münch, Die Gleichnisse Jesu, 139–40: e.g., divine
passive, previous stage in the coming of the kingdom, gnomic aorist, a Semitism reflecting the Hebrew
stative perfect. The interpretation of the aorist as a “timeless descriptive aorist” is defended by
Nalpathilchira, “Everything Is Ready,” 125–27; in effect, this comes down to a gnomic aorist or a Semitic
stative perfect.
78. For this commonly held view, see, e.g., Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 63–66; Hultgren, The
Parables of Jesus, 342–49; more succinctly, Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, 90–91. For a lengthy but
unconvincing attempt to deny Matthew’s heavy allegorizing (motivated by a theological desire to have the
Matthean form go back to the historical Jesus), see Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 317–21. The usual
allegorical interpretation is also denied by Schottroff, “Verheissung,” 479–85; but the reason in this instance
is Schottroff’s desire to find a sociological message in the text.
79. This point is often missed by commentators who assimilate this parable too closely to that of the Evil
Tenants. In Matthew’s version of the Great Supper, Jesus is the son completely ready to celebrate his
wedding feast; in other words, he is presented “in his postresurrection state, with his Father inviting Jews to a
‘messianic banquet’” (so Martens, “‘Produce Fruit Worthy of Repentance,’” 164). If this is correct, then in
Matthew’s version of the parable, the slaves sent out would be the Christian missionaries of the early church,
replicating the fate of the rejected and martyred prophets of ancient Israel; cf. Münch, Die Gleichnisse Jesu,
203–5. For a comparison of Matthew’s redactional insertion of a king into the primitive parable with the
tendency of later rabbis to assimilate parables to the literary form of the king-mashal (where the main
character is a king who represents God), see Olson, “Matthew 22:1–14,” 435–36 (borrowing from the work
of David Stern, Parables in Midrash [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 1991] 4–45).
80. So rightly Trilling, “Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte,” 254–55; see also Beare, “The Parable of the
Guests at the Banquet,” 4–5. For a detailed study of the many theological and literary connections between
Matthew’s version of the Great Supper and his parables of the Two Sons (21:28–32) and the Evil Tenants
(21:33–46), see Olmstead, Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables, 98–159.
81. The difference between the two parables on this point is that violence and murder occur in response to
the first delegation as well as to the second in the parable of the Evil Tenants (Matt 21:35–36), and not all the
slaves are murdered. The murder of all the slaves in the second delegation (no violence is done to the first
delegation) is proper to the parable of the Great Supper.
 82. Rengstorf (“Die Stadt,” 106–29) tries to avoid a reference to the First Jewish War and the destruction
of Jerusalem by dismissing the theme of sending the troops and burning the city as a topos known elsewhere
in the literature of the ancient Mediterranean world. Topos or not, this sudden and illogical interruption of the
otherwise intelligible flow of the parable’s narrative totally disrupts the story line. Granted the surrounding
narratives, parables, and prophecies coming at the end of Matthew’s presentation of Jesus’ public ministry
(Matthew 21–25), the theme of a king sending an army to destroy his enemies and burn their city cannot help
but point to the Jewish War and the destruction of Jerusalem; so, rightly, Selbie, “The Parable of the Marriage
Feast,” 267; see also Haenchen, “Das Gleichnis vom grossen Mahl,” 138–39; Hahn, “Das Gleichnis,” 56;
Eichholz, Gleichnisse der Evangelien, 138–39; Theobald, “‘. . . und er schickte seine Heere aus,’” 305–9.
Theobald places Matthew’s version of the parable within the wider context of what he calls “the blood texts”
of the trilogy of parables in Matt 21:28–22:14, as well as the “blood texts” of Matt 23:29–32 and 27:25.
Schottroff (“Verheissung,” 483) leaves the question of the reference to the destruction of Jerusalem open, but
this stance seems to be dictated by the larger agenda of her sociological interpretation.
83. Obviously, the city that is implied in the king’s command (epi tas diexodous tōn hodōn refers to where
the city streets end and the roads outside a city begin) is different from the hostile city the king has destroyed.
84. That the story of the guest who lacks a proper wedding garment is not an original part of the parable of
the Great Supper is the common opinion among commentators; see, e.g., Merriman (“Matthew xxii. 1–14,”
61), who points out the difference between the presence of “slaves” (douloi) throughout Matthew’s version of
the Great Supper (22:3,4,6,8,10) and the sudden appearance of “servants” (diakonoi) in Matt 22:13. Trilling
(“Zur Überlieferungsgeschichte,” 257) thinks that Matthew created 22:11–14 as an add-on to the parable of
the Great Supper rather than combining two different parables that already existed independently in the
tradition. I consider his view the more probable position, contra Hasler, “Die königliche Hochzeit,” 28
(which betrays an uncritical use of later rabbinic parallels from the Palestinian Talmud as “sources” of the
Synoptic parable of the Great Supper; a similar problem occurs in Pérez Fernández, “Rabbinic Texts,” 95–
120; cf. Eichholz, Gleichnisse der Evangelien, 135). Via (“The Relationship,” 178–79) likewise holds that
the Guest without a Wedding Garment already existed in the tradition on the grounds that, if Matthew had
created it out of whole cloth, he would have made the connection to the Great Supper smoother. Since, at the
very least, I judge that the distinct parable of the Guest without a Wedding Garment is not an original part of
the parable of the Great Supper, I do not take up a minor problem that has exercised various exegetes (many
of whom uncritically attribute the saying to the historical Jesus), namely, the exact meaning of the famous
dictum in Matt 22:14: “Many are called, but few are chosen.” For various opinions, which often reveal the
underlying theological concerns that occupy the commentators, but which lie outside the question of the
original content and meaning of both the Great Supper and the Guest without the Wedding Garment, see, e.g.,
Musurillo, “‘Many Are Called,’” 583–89; Sutcliffe, “Many Are Called,” 131; Dawson, “The Gate Crasher,”
304–6; Meyer, “Many (= All) Are Called,” 89–97 (Meyer provides a useful summary of other authors’
opinions). Klein (“Botschaft für viele,” 427–37) has the saving grace of openly admitting that he is involved
in a hermeneutical reflection. One of the most intriguing (not to say fanciful) solutions of the problem posed
by the verse is that the man thrown out of the feast represents Judas Iscariot (so Cripps, “A Note,” 30); this
solution, while appealing to the use of the vocative hetaire in Matt 22:12 and 26:50 (addressed here to Judas),
ignores the allegorical time line that the overall Matthean composition of 22:1–14 creates. In the end, v 14
does not quite fit either vv 1–10 or vv 11–13; see Münch, Die Gleichnisse Jesu, 255, 285; cf. Story, “All Is
Now Ready,” 75; Schottroff, “Verheissung,” 481.
85. On this theme in various Jewish sources, especially the possibly pre-Matthean Apocryphon of Ezekiel,
see Bauckham, “The Parable of the Royal Wedding Feast,” 471–88.
86. See, e.g., Donfried, “The Allegory of the Ten Virgins”; Donfried favors composition by Matthew.
87. For an attempt to reconstruct the pre-Lucan story in a skeletal outline—one that takes seriously the
amount of Lucan redaction in 14:16–24—see Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 64–73. In my
opinion, his attempt at a reconstruction is marred by his supposing, without any argument beyond appealing
to previous authors, that Thomas’ version is independent of Luke (p. 67, with n. 18).
88. For a salutary reminder that Luke as well as Matthew has reworked the tradition he received, see Hahn,
“Das Gleichnis,” 60, 68, 70. It is well to keep this in mind, since exegetes tend to suppose that Luke stands
very close not only to his immediate source but also to the original parable spoken by Jesus; see, e.g., Vögtle,
Gott und seine Gäste, 13. Indeed, in his earlier essay, “Die Einladung,” Vögtle offers a reconstruction of the
original Greek text of the parable that supposedly lay behind the two Synoptic versions (p. 190). As he freely
admits, the first part of his reconstruction, reaching up to the point where the host in his anger gives orders to
his servant to go out to the roads to invite anyone found there, is almost word-for-word Luke 14:16–21a. As
shall become clear, I detect Luke’s redactional hand in this section of the parable more than does Vögtle. For
the view that Luke as well as Matthew employs allegory in his retelling of the parable, see Story, “All Is Now
Ready,” 77.
89. Gathercole (The Gospel of Thomas. Introduction and Commentary, 454) thinks that both the Lucan and
the Thomasine versions of the parable show traces of allegory; in contrast, Sterling (“‘Where Two or Three
Are Gathered,’” 106) holds that there is “an absence of an allegorical understanding of the parable” in the
Thomasine version.
90. This is not to say that every crippled or blind person in 1st-century Palestine was necessarily
marginalized in a social or economic sense. To be sure, a rich person could become blind or maimed. But
most Palestinian Jews at the time (or any other time) would not have been rich or even “well off” in any
meaningful sense. For most Palestinian Jews who maintained themselves by being farmers, artisans, traders,
or day laborers, a serious physical injury would pose a sizable threat to their economic well-being. It is not
for nothing that in his two lists of 14:13 + 21 (which create an inclusio), Luke begins each time with “the
poor” and then continues with the “crippled and blind and lame.”
91. Smit (Fellowship, 165–66) suggests a slightly different allegorical understanding of the two groups at
the end of the Lucan form of the parable: both refer to the Gentile mission, the doubling of the invitation
indicating that the mission to the Gentiles remains ongoing.
92. One can see why I speak of a “modicum of salvation-historical allegory” in Luke’s version, and not a
full-blown allegory where every point in the parable has an exact correspondence in salvation history or the
early history of the church. Neither in Luke’s nor in Matthew’s account of Jesus’ public ministry do we hear
that all Jews rejected Jesus’ message and that all were accordingly punished or excluded. That would make
nonsense of the inner circle of the Twelve, the larger circle of disciples and sedentary supporters, and even
the at-times-enthusiastic-and-at-times-fickle crowds. In addition, in Luke’s presentation in both his Gospel
and the Acts, some Pharisees, rulers, scribes, and rich people show themselves well disposed to Jesus.
Indeed, in Acts, we hear of both Pharisees and Jewish priests who join the early Christians in Jerusalem (see,
e.g., Acts 15:1,5; 6:7). Hence one must not try to make the narrative in the parable map onto salvation history
in general or the history of the early church in particular with a perfect one-to-one correspondence. This
holds true even of the more highly allegorized version of the parable in Matthew: the total rejection of the
invitation (to salvation) by all the original guests and their subsequent destruction does not reflect what is
narrated in Matthew’s Gospel and what seems to be the early history of his strongly Jewish-Christian church.
93. On this, see Vögtle, Gott und seine Gäste, 13–14. A full study of Luke’s redactional composition of the
larger context can be found in Gerhard Hotze, Jesus als Gast (FB 111; Würzburg: Echter, 2007) 214–60; cf.
Hoppe, “Tischgespräche,” 115–30; Heil, The Meal Scenes, 106–11. For emphasis on the Hellenistic cultural
background of Luke’s redactional composition in Luke 14, see the whole monograph of Braun, Feasting and
Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, especially pp. 1–21, 145–81.
94. In the addition to the treatment of Lucan parables like the Good Samaritan and the Rich Fool in
previous chapters of this volume, see Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 65 (with n. 10). As
Braun notes, anthrōpos tis is “unique to Luke’s writings in the NT,” with seven out of nine occurrences being
in parables (10:30; 12:16; 14:16; 15:11; 16:1,19; 19:12), while one occurrence is in a chreia (14:2) and one in
a miracle story (Acts 9:33). “Alternately and almost as often Luke uses anēr tis, also unique to Luke in the
NT.”
95. On the phrase “the kingdom of God” in the teaching of Jesus, see A Marginal Jew, 2. 237–506,
especially 237–43, 289–91, 398–99, and 450–54. On the function of the exclamation of the guest in Luke
14:15, see Mary Marshall, “‘Blessed Is Anyone Who Will Eat Bread in the Kingdom of God.’ A Brief Study
of Luke 14.15 in Its Context,” Feasts and Festivals (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 53; ed.
Christopher Tuckett; Leuven/Paris/Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2009) 97–106, esp. 105–6.
96. So Vögtle, Gott und seine Gäste, 14; on the different opinions concerning this point, see Beare, “The
Parable of the Guests at the Banquet,” 4 (with n. 5).
97. Beare (“The Parable of the Guests at the Banquet,” 2) thinks that Luke is “perhaps . . . responsible for
the framing of the words in which the invited guests beg off at the last moment (vv. 18–20),” though he
allows that it is equally possible that Matthew has compressed the longer excuses into his concise report.
98. It is telling that Jacques Dupont, in his analysis of Lucan redactional traits in 14:15–24, states that it is
in vv 18–20 that Luke’s redactional activity “attains its maximum density” (Les Béatitudes. Tome II. La
Bonne Nouvelle [Paris: Gabalda, 1969] 264, with detailed analysis of Lucan words and phrases on pp. 265–
66); similarly, Siegfried Schulz (Q. Die Spruchquelle der Evangelisten [Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 1972]
395) considers Luke 14:18–20 to bear a strong Lucan stamp; he lists the Lucan redactional traits in n. 139.
On Lucan redaction in vv 18–20, see also Joachim Jeremias, Die Sprache des Lukasevangeliums. Redaktion
und Tradition im Nicht-Markusstoff des dritten Evangeliums (MeyerK Sonderband; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck
& Ruprecht, 1980) 239–40 (e.g., the use of the typically Lucan heteros in vv 19–20; the careful symmetry of
the three items, seen also in Luke 20:10–12); Mauro Pesce, “Ricostruzione dell’archetipo letterario comune a
Mt. 22,1–10 e Lc. 14,15–24,” La parabola degli invitati al banchetto. Dagli evangelisti a Gesù (Testi e
ricerche di Scienze religiose 14; Brescia: Paideia, 1978) 167–236, especially 207.
99. On this, see Carey, “Excuses, Excuses,” 179–87. For similar patterns of repetitions, see, e.g., Luke
9:57–61 (three would-be followers of Jesus); 14:25–35 (the cost of being a disciple).
100. On this, see Hoppe, “Tischgespräche,” 126–27; Hoppe concludes (p. 127 n. 63 and p. 129) that these
overarching Lucan perspectives make plausible the hypothesis of a thoroughgoing redactional formulation of
the excuses in 14:18–20; cf. Hoppe, “Das Gastmahlgleichnis,” 288–90.
101. On this point, see Hahn, “Das Gleichnis,” 55; cf. Eichholz, Gleichnisse der Evangelien, 130 (in
dialogue with the opinion of Jülicher); Schottroff, “Von der Schwierigkeit,” 595.
102. See Vögtle, Gott und seine Gäste, 19–25. Vögtle (pp. 43–46) is probably also correct that the solemn
“I say to you” statement concluding Luke’s version of the parable (14:24) is likewise a Lucan creation,
serving a parenetic function similar to Matthew’s redactional addition of the Guest without a Wedding
Garment: those who are admitted late to the community of salvation (namely, the Gentiles) must not grow
complacent or smug; they are still vulnerable to the fate that befell the originally invited guests. On this point
in Matthew’s version, see Lemcio, “The Parables of the Great Supper and the Wedding Feast,” 19; cf. the
various allegorical interpretations of the Guest without the Wedding Garment listed by Sim, “The Man,” 165.
Sim’s view (pp. 167–76) that the guest without the wedding garment represents not only the wicked invitees
of 22:10 (a point generally conceded) but also those who decline the invitation in 22:3–6 (i.e., the Jewish
leaders, who in turn represent the Jewish opponents of the Matthean community) does violence to the natural
flow of the composite story formed by the two conjoined parables.
103. While he duly notes both the difficulty of deciding the issue and the variety of views among
commentators, Braun (Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 71) draws this conclusion about the excuses
of the guests in Luke: “An original narration of the excuses [in the pre-Lucan tradition] cannot be recovered.
Luke’s version hence must be considered a rather free composition, though possibly riding on traditional
motifs.” A similar view seems to be indicated by the almost blank spaces assigned to the hypothetical Q
14:18–20 in Kloppenborg et al., The Critical Edition of Q, 436–39. As we shall see later, this makes the
theory of the independence of Thomas’ version extremely difficult to maintain—a problem that Braun does
not seem to sense.
104. For a full (though obviously dated) survey of the range of meanings of paraiteomai in ancient Greek,
see Henri Estienne (Henricus Stephanus), Thesaurus Graecae Linguae (9 vols.; first published in 1572;
newly edited by Ambroise Didot in 1865; reprinted in Graz, Austria: Akademische Druck- und
Verlagsanstalt, 1954) vol. 7, cols. 265–69; more briefly in LSJ, 1310–11.
105. The examples from the LXX include 1 Kgdms 20:6 (bis),28; Esth 4:8; 7:7; 2 Macc 2:31; 3 Macc
6:27; 4 Macc 11:2. Interestingly, most of the occurrences are found in the later books of the LXX. A similar
range of meanings is found in the NT: Mark 1x (15:6, “to request”); Luke 3x (14:18 [bis]–19, in the special
sense of “to excuse from an invitation to a meal previously accepted”); Acts 1x (25:11, “to avoid”); 1 Tim 2x
(4:7, “to avoid”; 5:11, “to refuse,” “to reject”); 2 Tim 1x (2:23, “to avoid,” “to reject”); Titus 1x (3:10, “to
avoid,” “to shun”); Hebrews 3x (12:19, “to entreat”; 12:25 (bis) “to refuse,” “to disregard”). Again, most of
the attestations are in the later books of the NT.
106. Some commentators see this meaning in Acts 25:11: “I do not seek to be excused [or: excuse myself]
from the obligation of dying” (so Max Zerwick-Mary Grosvenor, Grammatical Analysis [5th rev. ed.; Rome:
Biblical Institute, 1996] 441), but Bauer, sub voce, assigns it the simple meaning of “I am not trying to
escape death,” which reflects the basic meaning of “to avoid.” The revised NT of the NAB translates the
phrase as “I do not seek to escape the death penalty”; similarly, the RSV and the NRSV.
107. In Polybius, the text refers to a king who, upon entering a city, declines an invitation from the ruling
officials of the city. As for Josephus, Ant. 7.8.2 §175 has the sense of “to decline an invitation,” but not after
one has already accepted it; Ant. 12.4.7 §197 refers to asking to be excused from the task of going to King
Ptolemy in Egypt to celebrate the birth of his son. Other examples of paraiteomai in writers from around the
turn of the era include (i) in Philo: De Migratione 14 §76 (to excuse oneself from detailed argumentation);
Flacc. 5 §26 and §31 (to be excused from taking a journey); (ii) in Josephus: J.W. 4.9.2 §496 (to be excused
from writing things already known; cf. 2 Macc 2:31); Ant. 5.8.6 §294 (to renounce a pledge to marry, or to
annul or dissolve a marriage already contracted); 7.11.4 §273 (to decline an invitation to stay with a person);
11.6.1 §191 (to refuse to come to a banquet); 16.2.5 §62 (to take leave of a person); 16.8.3 §243 (to dismiss
people from positions of rank or friendship); 16.11.6 §389 (to allow a person to escape or be released); 20.4.3
§147 (to divorce); (iii) in Plutarch, Apophthegms of Kings and Generals (Roman section, Gaius Caesar) 3,
206 A (to divorce one’s wife); (iv) in Diogenes Laertius: Lives of the Philosophers 6 §2 (to be excused from
speaking in public); (v) examples in the Oxyrhynchus papyri include similar meanings (to decline, to ask to
be excused, to put aside).
108. The case of Samson at his wedding feast with a Gentile woman in Ant. 5.8.6 §294 comes close, but
the sense of paraiteitai here seems best translated as “renounce,” “reject,” or perhaps “annul” the marriage
(cf. the attested meaning of “to divorce a spouse”), especially since Samson already counts as the woman’s
anēr .
109. Another partial parallel can be found in a letter of recommendation preserved in the Greek papyri
(P.Oxy. 292.6): parakalō se echein . . . auton synestamenon (“I entreat you to consider him recommended”).
Here, though, neither wording nor context is exactly parallel to Luke 14:19.
110. On Latinisms in Luke–Acts, see Herbert McLachlan, St. Luke. The Man and His Work (Manchester:
Manchester University; London: Longmans, Green, 1920) 47–50; Corrado Marucci, “Influssi latini sul greco
del Nuovo Testamento,” Filologia Neotestamentaria 6 (1993) 3–30, esp. 7; cf. J. S. Ward, “Roman Greek:
Latinisms in the Greek of Flavius Josephus,” Classical Quarterly 57 (2007) 632–49. Marucci lists eche me
paretēmenon in Luke 14:18–19 as one of the Greek phrases in the NT that, according to most commentators,
translates Latin phraseology; similarly, Septimus Buss, Roman Law and History in the New Testament
(London: Rivingtons, 1901) 471. As is to be expected, however, scholars who agree on the overall issue will
disagree on the individual case. For instance, McLachlan (p. 49), while admitting that some scholars see the
phrase as a Latinism, seems less sanguine himself. More confident is Marucci, who, in his list of Latin
phrases found in Greek form in the NT, counts twenty-one occurrences in Luke–Acts (including textual
variants). The only other NT author with a significant number of Latinisms is Mark. Marucci thinks that the
NT distinguishes itself from other comparable Greek corpora of literature in the Hellenistic era (e.g.,
Polybius, Philo, Josephus, Plutarch, and the Egyptian papyri) by possessing a relatively high number of loan
words and phrases from Latin. In all these comparisons, however, there is the methodological problem of
deciding what counts as Latin influence in Greek vocabulary or syntax. For example, while Marucci (pp. 25,
29) thinks that true and proper Latinisms are rare in Josephus’ works, Ward (p. 646–47) concludes that the
Greek of Josephus shows the heavy influence of Latin vocabulary and syntax.—As far as Luke’s Greek style
is concerned, the influence of the LXX is beyond dispute, not only for Luke’s style but also for his theology;
for one concrete example, see Gregory E. Sterling, “Luke as a Reader of the LXX,” Biblical Interpretation in
Early Christian Gospels. Volume 3: The Gospel of Luke (Studies in Scripture in Early Judaism and
Christianity 16; Library of NT Studies 376; ed. Thomas Hatina; London/New York: Clark, 2010) 161–79.
111. Note, by the way, Luke’s deft shift of meaning from the use of the reflexive sense of the infinitive in
14:18a (paraiteisthai, “to excuse oneself”) to the passive sense in the perfect passive participle in 14:18d–19
(parętēmenon, “excused,” i.e., by the host), which corresponds to the Latin passive participle excusatum. One
should bear in mind that the passive sense of parętēmenon in 14:18d–19 presupposes that the object of the
verb, if the verb were used in an active sense, would be the person invited, not the meal to which the person
was invited.
112. Here I differ with Linnemann (“Überlegungen,” 247–52), who holds that the first two excuses (vv 18–
19), which she claims are original to the parable, simply ask for extra time before the guests come to the
supper, while the third excuse (v 20, which obviously does not ask for a delay of a few extra hours) is a
secondary addition. Besides the fact that Linnemann must read into the first two excuses a pivotal idea (“just
give me a few more hours”) that is not there (always a bad move when interpreting the parables), she also
fails to consider (i) the unusual meaning of paraiteomai in vv 18–19, (ii) the typical “law of threes” in
parables, and (iii) the climactic nature of the statement of the third guest, who does not ask to be excused.
Behind all these problems is her basic desire to identify the original form of the parable—apart from minor
additions—with the form found in Luke. Most commentators who discuss Linnemann’s proposal point out
that she ignores the obviously definitive tone of all three refusals; so, e.g., Hahn, “Das Gleichnis,” 53–55,
esp. n. 21 on p. 55.
113. On this, see Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 73–80; he points out how the mention of
marriage, far from being out of place vis-à-vis the other two excuses that involve the buying of property (the
verb agorazo is used twice in vv 18–19), was, for Greco-Roman elites, another way to acquire property via a
dowry. In a similar vein, Ebner (“Symposion,” 123–25) points out how all three excuses in the Lucan form of
the parable emphasize the high status of the invitees, who do not work with their hands but rather buy
property and engage in business.
114. On this pervasive theme in Luke–Acts, see, e.g., Luke Timothy Johnson, The Literary Function of
Possessions in Luke–Acts (SBLDS 39; Missoula, MT: Scholars, 1977); Christopher M. Hays, Luke’s Wealth
Ethics. A Study in Their Coherence and Character (WUNT 2/275; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2010).
115. Here I disagree with the analysis of van Eck (“When Patrons Are Patrons,” p. 6 of the online text),
who considers only Luke 14:15 + 24 to be additions to a primitive version of the parable “closest to the
earliest Jesus tradition.” Van Eck needs this judgment in order to justify his particular social-science reading
of the parable, which he attributes to Jesus himself.
116. For the view that the list of socially “incorrect” guests in Luke 14:13 + 21 results from Luke’s
Christian reworking of a Cynic critique of Greco-Roman elitism and snobbery in issuing dinner invitations,
see Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 54–61, 71 (where Braun states that “Luke’s reference to
the poor, the injured, the lame and the blind [14.21] is a redactional specification of this general motif”). The
only difference between the two lists in vv 13 and 21 is that the order of chōlous and typhlous in v 13 is
reversed in v 21.
117. On this interpretation, see Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 88–97.
118. For views for and against Luke’s redactional hand in 14:24, see Braun, Feasting and Social Rhetoric
in Luke 14, 72. Braun himself leans in the direction of accepting v 24 as present in Q, but he readily admits
that the evidence is inconclusive. In my opinion, along with his acceptance of the Thomasine version as
independent, a major flaw of Braun’s overall approach is his view that Luke is using Q as the source of this
parable.
119. To be sure, both Matt 22:5 and Luke 14:18 contain the noun agron (“field” or “farm”), but the sense
of the two verses is notably different. In Matthew, some of the invitees simply ignore the invitation and go
off to their various pursuits (to one’s [already owned] farm or to one’s business), while the rest murder the
messengers. In Luke instead, all the invitees (none of whom uses violence) make specific excuses; three
concrete examples are then given. The first excuse deals with having bought a field (or farm) and having to
go to inspect it. Thus, in Matthew, the field is not involved in making excuses, while in Luke it is. This does
not get us very far when it comes to surmising the original form of the parable.
120. The sociological theme of honor and shame is emphasized by Braun in his interpretation of Luke’s
version of the parable (Feasting and Social Rhetoric in Luke 14, 128–31). However, I think Braun goes too
far when he speaks of a “conversion” on the part of the host. In addition, Braun’s dismissal of any salvation-
historical or eschatological motif in Luke’s version fails to appreciate the polyvalence of parables in general
and this parable in particular.
121. For one attempt to answer this question after carefully analyzing the texts of both Matthew and Luke,
see Hoppe, “Das Gastmahlgleichnis,” 290–92.
122. See A Marginal Jew, 2. 309–17 and 439–50.
123. On the regathering of the twelve tribes, symbolized by the circle of the twelve disciples formed by
Jesus, see A Marginal Jew, 3. 148–63.
124. A Marginal Jew, 2. 314–15.
125. The problem with seeing the people originally invited as either the religious leaders of Judaism or the
rich is that the apparent consequence of such an interpretation would be that Jesus would be turning to the
religiously marginalized or the poor only after being rejected by the first group he invited. But, as Kilgallen
suggests (Twenty Parables, 96), such an objection would be making the mistake of taking a structural
element within the fictional narrative of the parable and turning it into a detailed allegory of Jesus’ ministry
or of salvation history in general.
126. There is perhaps a further indication in this phrase of Thomas’ dependence on Matthew. The idea that
all the people found by the slaves or servant are gathered into the feast fits perfectly with Matthew’s view of
this present world and present church as a mixed bag of bad and good, a corpus permixtum as the
commentators like to say. Such an idea does not sit all that well with the gnosticizing tendency of the Gospel
of Thomas, where the emphasis is on the saving knowledge imparted to the enlightened solitary individual
(the monachos).
127. Needless to say, individual parallels between Luke and CGT 64 are open to debate. For example,
Sterling begins his list of agreements with the introductory Lucan clause, “he said to him” (14:16), which is
said to parallel Thomas’ “Jesus said.” However, this is a questionable agreement, since “Jesus said” is the
default beginning of most of the sayings in Thomas, while Matthew begins his version of the parable with
“Jesus . . . said.” If one omits the rest of Matthew’s introductory phrase, he is technically closer to Thomas
than Luke is.
128. A slight difference in the excuses is that Thomas makes clear that the servant went separately and
spoke separately to each guest, who is apparently in a different place from the other guests. One could get the
impression from Luke—though it is never said explicitly—that the guests who make their excuses are all
situated in the one place to which the servant is sent.
129. In contrast to CGT 64, the standard Sahidic Coptic of Luke 14:18–19 uses the Greek loan verb
paraiteomai in a perfectly intelligible construction, without making deipnon the direct object of the verb.
Thus, however we explain the construction in CGT 64, it is not a case of scribal assimilation of Thomas to
the standard Sahidic NT. It is perhaps telling that, in his attempt to retrovert the Coptic text of CGT 64 into its
hypothetical Greek original, Plisch (The Gospel of Thomas, 156–57) uses the construction paraitoumai peri
tou deipnou (“I offer my excuse [or: I ask to be excused] concerning the supper”). If that was the original
Greek, one wonders how the Coptic translator wound up with tierparaitei + deipnon as the direct object.
130. To be precise: Luke uses the present tense of the auxiliary verb dynamai (“to be able,” “can”) plus the
aorist infinitive of the verb erchomai (“to come”), while Thomas uses the first future tense of the main verb ei
(“to come”), into which he inserts the element š, which adds to the verb the sense of “to be able,” “can.”
131. A few Coptic verbs have a form known as the proclitic participle, but it does not occur in the case of
the verbs bōk (“go”) or ei (“come”).
132. Haenchen (“Das Gleichnis vom grossen Mahl,” 149–50) rightly draws attention to the fact that CGT
64 leans more in the direction of Luke’s version of the parable, while agreeing on a few points with
Matthew’s version; cf. Schottroff, “Von der Schwierigkeit,” 602–3. Haenchen thinks that Thomas has
purposely dropped the statement that the host was angry at the guests who refused to come (a detail common
to Matthew and Luke) because such an emotion would not befit a gnostic deity (so too Vögtle, Gott und seine
Gäste, 19 n. 17).
133. On p. 335, Hultgren (The Parables of Jesus) provides lists of scholars who either reject (n. 8) or
accept (n. 9) Thomas’ independence of the Synoptics in logion 64.
134. The irony here is that, on the basic question of whether the parable originates in the ministry of the
historical Jesus, it makes no great difference if a scholar (e.g., Sterling) prefers the opinion that CGT 64
represents an early and independent tradition. This opinion would simply bolster the position I take anyway:
namely, that the parable satisfies the criterion of multiple attestation and so most likely comes from Jesus.
135. In addition to the standard commentaries on Matthew and Luke, see Eugene Stock, “The Pounds and
the Talents,” ExpTim 22 (1910–11) 424–25; Robert Candlish, “The Pounds and the Talents,” ExpTim 23
(1911–12) 136–37; W. McCulloch, “The Pounds and the Talents,” ExpTim 23 (1911–12) 382–83; J. G.
Simpson, “The Parable of the Pounds,” ExpTim 37 (1925–26) 299–302; F. E. Brightman, “Six Notes. I. S.
Luke XIX 21: aireis ho ouk ethēkas,” JTS 29 (1927–28) 158–65, esp. 158; John Mutch, “The Man with the
One Talent,” ExpTim 42 (1930–31) 332–34; Paul Joüon, “La Parabole des Mines (Luc, 19, 13–27) et la
Parabole des Talents (Matthieu, 25, 14–30),” RSR 29 (1939) 489–94; Jean Dauvillier, “La parabole des mines
ou des talents et le §99 du Code de Hammurabi,” Mélanges dédiés à M. le Professeur Joseph Magnol (Paris:
Librairie du Recueil Sirey, 1948) 153–65; André Feuillet, “La synthèse eschatologique de Saint Matthieu
(XXIV–XXV),” RB 56 (1949) 340–65 and RB 57 (1950) 62–91, and in particular within the latter article,
“Les talentes (Mt. XXV, 14–30) et les mines (Lc. XIX, 17–27),” 80–86; Werner Foerster, “Das Gleichnis von
den anvertrauten Pfunden,” Verbum Dei Manet in Aeternum (Otto Schmitz Festschrift; ed. Werner Foerster;
Witten: Luther, 1953) 37–56; Paul Tillich, “The Riddle of Inequality,” USQR 13 (1958) 3–9; Max Zerwick,
“Die Parabel vom Thronanwärter,” Bib 40 (1959) 654–74; Heinrich Kahlefeld, Gleichnisse und Lehrstücke
im Evangelium (2 vols.; 2d ed.; Frankfurt: Knecht, 1963) 1. 149–70; J. Duncan M. Derrett, “Law in the New
Testament: The Parable of the Talents and Two Logia,” ZNW 56 (1965) 184–95; idem, “A Horrid Passage in
Luke Explained (Lk 19:27),” ExpTim 97 (1985–86) 136–38; Friedrich Hauck, “oknēros,” TDNT 5 (1967)
166–67; Marcel Didier, “La parabole des talents et des mines,” De Jésus aux Evangiles. Tradition et
Rédaction dans les Evangiles synoptiques. Volume II (BETL 25; Joseph Coppens Festschrift; ed. Ignace de la
Potterie; Gembloux: Duculot, 1967) 248–71; Erhard Kamlah, “Kritik und Interpretation der Parabel von den
anvertrauten Geldern,” KD 14 (1968) 28–38; Jacques Dupont, “La parabole des talents (Mat. 25:14–30) ou
des mines (Luc 19:12–27),” RTP 19 (1969) 376–91; Peter Fiedler, “Die übergebenen Talente,” BibLeb 11
(1970) 259–73; Weiser, Die Knechtsgleichnisse der synoptischen Evangelien, 226–72; I. T. Holdcroft, “The
Parable of the Pounds and Origen’s Doctrine of Grace,” JTS n.s. 24 (1973) 503–4; Lane C. McGaughy, “The
Fear of Yahweh and the Mission of Judaism: A Postexilic Maxim and Its Early Christian Expansion in the
Parable of the Talents,” JBL 94 (1975) 235–45; Francis D. Weinert, “The Parable of the Throne Claimant
(Luke 19:12, 14–15a, 27) Reconsidered,” CBQ 39 (1977) 505–14; J. M. Ross, “Talents,” ExpTim 89 (1977–
78) 307–9; Wilhelm Resenhöfft, “Jesu Gleichnis von den Talenten, ergänzt durch die Lukas-Fassung,” NTS
26 (1979–80) 318–31; David C. Steinmetz, “Matthew 25:14–30,” Int 34 (1980) 172–76; Jack T. Sanders,
“The Parable of the Pounds and Lucan Anti-Semitism,” TS 42 (1981) 660–68; Roland Meynet, Initiation à la
rhétorique biblique (Paris: Cerf, 1982) 85–131; Luke Timothy Johnson, “The Lukan Kingship Parable (Lk.
19:11–27),” NovT 24 (1982) 139–59; Ignace de la Potterie, “La parabole du prétendant à la royauté (Lc 19,
11–28),” A cause de l’évangile (LD 123; Jacques Dupont Festschrift; Clamency: Publications de Saint-
André/Cerf, 1985) 613–41; Armand Puig i Tàrrech, “La parabole des talents (Mt 25, 14–30) ou des mines
(Lc 19, 11–28),” A cause de l’évangile, ibid., 165–93 (a longer version of this article was published in
Revista Catalana de Teologia 10 [1985] 269–317); J. Naegele, “Translation of talanton ‘talent,’” BT 37
(1986) 441–43; Martinus C. de Boer, “Ten Thousand Talents? Matthew’s Interpretation and Redaction of the
Parable of the Unforgiving Servant (Matt 18:23–35),” CBQ 50 (1988) 214–32; Kloppenborg, Q Parallels,
196–201; Christian Dietzfelbinger, “Das Gleichnis von den anvertrauten Geldern,” Berliner theologische
Zeitschrift 6 (1989) 222–33; Daniel Lys, “Contre le salut par les oeuvres dans la prédication des talents,” ETR
64 (1989) 331–40; Jean-Noël Aletti, “Parabole des mines et/ou parabole du roi (Lc 19, 11–28). Remarques
sur l’écriture parabolique de Luc,” Les paraboles évangéliques. Perspectives nouvelles (LD 135; ed. Jean
Delorme; Paris: Cerf, 1989) 309–32; Louis Panier, “La parabole des mines. Lecture sémiotique (Lc 19, 11–
27),” Les paraboles évangéliques. Perspectives nouvelles, ibid., 333–47; David Flusser, “Aesop’s Miser and
the Parable of the Talents,” Parable and Story in Judaism and Christianity (Studies in Judaism and
Christianity; New York/Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1989) 9–25; Daniel J. Harrington, “Polemical Parables in
Matthew 24–25,” USQR 44 (1990–91) 287–98; Frédéric Manns, “La parabole des talents:
Wirkungsgeschichte et racines juives,” RevScRel 65 (1991) 343–62; Vittorio Fusco, “‘Point of View’ and
‘Implicit Reader’ in Two Eschatological Texts (Lk 19,11–28; Acts 1,6–8),” The Four Gospels 1992. Volume
II (BETL 100; Frans Neirynck Festschrift; ed. F. Van Segbroeck et al.; Leuven: Leuven University/Peeters,
1992) 1677–96; Robert T. Fortna, “Reading Jesus’ Parable of the Talents through Underclass Eyes,” Forum 8
no. 3/4 (1992) 211–28; Lambrecht, Out of the Treasure, 217–44; Richard L. Rohrbaugh, “A Peasant Reading
of the Parable of the Talents/Pounds. A Text of Terror?,” BTB 23 (1993) 32–39; William R. Herzog II,
Parables as Subversive Speech (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1994) 150–68; Joel R. Wohlgemut,
“Entrusted Money (Matthew 25:14–28),” Jesus and His Parables (ed. V. George Shillington; Edinburgh:
Clark, 1997) 103–20; François Martin, “Parabole des talents,” Sémiotique et bible 84 (1996) 14–24; Leslie
Brisman, “A Parable of Talent,” Religion and the Arts 1 (1996) 74–99; John B. Carpenter, “The Parable of
the Talents in Missionary Perspective: A Call for an Economic Spirituality,” Missiology 25 (1997) 165–81;
John Paul Heil, “Matthew 25:14–30: Parable Comparing Servants Who Are Given Talents by Their Lord,”
Warren Carter and John Paul Heil, Matthew’s Parables. Audience-Oriented Perspectives (CBQMS 30;
Washington, DC: CBA, 1998) 196–200; Jennifer A. Glancy, “Slaves and Slavery in the Matthean Parables,”
JBL 119 (2000) 67–90; Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 271–91; Richard T. France, “On Being Ready
(Matthew 25:1–46),” The Challenge of Jesus’ Parables (ed. Richard N. Longenecker; Grand Rapids,
MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2000) 177–95; John J. Pilch, “The Parable of the Talents,” The Bible Today
39 (2001) 366–70; Adelbert Denaux, “The Parable of the Talents/Pounds (Q 19, 12–27). A Reconstruction of
the Q Text,” The Sayings Source Q and the Historical Jesus (BETL 158; ed. Andreas Lindemann; Leuven:
Leuven University/Peeters, 2001) 429–60; idem, “The Parable of the King-Judge (Lk 19, 12–28) and Its
Relation to the Entry Story (Lk 19, 29–44),” ZNW 93 (2002) 35–57; Michael S. Northcott, “The Parable of
the Talents and the Economy of the Gift,” Theology 107 (2004) 241–49; Münch, Die Gleichnisse Jesu im
Matthäusevangelium, esp. 136–37 and 244–46; Hubert Frankemölle, “Das Gleichnis von den
Zentnern/Talenten (Mt 25,14–30),” Orientierung 69 (2005) 10–12; Ben Chenoweth, “Identifying the Talents.
Contextual Clues for the Interpretation of the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14–30),” TynBul 56 (2005)
61–72; idem, “The Vulnerability of the Literalist: A Critique of William R. Herzog II’s Interpretation of the
Parable of the Talents,” Pacifica 21 (2008) 175–91; Markus Locker, “Reading and Re-reading Matthew’s
Parable of the Talents in Context,” BZ 49 (2005) 161–73; Brian Schultz, “Jesus as Archelaus in the Parable
of the Pounds (Lk. 19:11–27),” NovT 49 (2007) 105–27; Elizabeth V. Dowling, Taking Away the Pound:
Women, Theology and the Parable of the Pounds in the Gospel of Luke (Library of NT Studies 324;
London/New York: Clark, 2007); Michael Fricke, “Wer ist der Held des Gleichnisses? Kontextuelle Lesarten
des Gleichnisses von den Talenten,” BK 63 (2008) 76–80; George O. Folarin, “The Parable of the Talents in
the African Context: An Inculturation Hermeneutics Approach,” Asia Journal of Theology 22 (2008) 94–106;
Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 519–43; C. I. David Joy, “Matthew 25:14–30: A Subaltern-cultural Reading,”
Bangalore Theological Forum 40 (2008) 131–42; Richard Q. Ford, “Jesus’ Parable of the Talents and the
2008 Olympics,” The Fourth R 21 (2008) 13–15, 18–19, 24; Luise Schottroff, “The Kingdom of God Is Not
Like You Were Made to Believe: Reading Parables in the Context of Germany and Western Europe,” The
Bible and the Hermeneutics of Liberation (SBL Semeia Studies 59; ed. Alejandro F. Botta and Pablo R.
Andiñach; Atlanta: SBL, 2009) 169–79; Ernest van Eck, “Do Not Question My Honour: A Social-Scientific
Reading of the Parable of the Minas (Lk 19:12b-24, 27),” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 67
(2011) 11 pages (online); Adam F. Braun, “Reframing the Parable of the Pounds in Lukan Narrative and
Economic Context: Luke 19:11–28,” CurTM 39 (2012) 442–48; Peter Yaw Oppong-Kumi, Matthean Sets of
Parables (WUNT 2/340; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2013).
136. The metaphorical use of the word “talent” to mean an aptitude or ability is attested in the English
language for the first time in the 15th century.
137. It is almost hopeless to give an exact monetary equivalent of the ancient “talent” in present-day
American dollars. To begin with, the talent was originally not a monetary unit but a measure of weight; see
Marvin A. Powell, “Weights and Measures,” AYBD, 6. 897–908, esp. 907. The exact measure varied
according to time and place in the ancient world, and scholars disagree on numerical estimates; BAGD, sub
voce, gives an estimate of roughly 58 to 80 pounds. From a unit of weight it became derivatively a unit of
money. Naturally, the value of a monetary talanton would likewise vary, but it was always very high. The
variability of the value was only increased by the fact that the metal used was at times gold, silver, or copper.
The value also varied according to place; for example, the silver talent of Athens was worth less than that of
Aegina, with the Syrian talent being worth much less than either Greek talent. By the turn of the era, the
weight value of a talent would have been somewhere around 93.7 pounds (see Hultgren, The Parables of
Jesus, 274–75 n. 8). The monetary value of one talent would have been around six thousand denarii, the
denarius in turn being the daily wage of a day laborer or an ordinary soldier. If we suppose, with Hultgren,
that a day laborer would have worked some three hundred days a year, the value of one talent would have
approached twenty years of wages. Accordingly, five talents would have equaled about thirty thousand
denarii or the wages of one hundred years; two talents, twelve thousand denarii or the wages of forty years.
While other commentators give more conservative estimates, all agree that the sums involved are immense. It
is customary to dismiss the numbers of talents both in this parable and in the parable of the Unmerciful
Servant (Matt 18:23–35) as wildly hyperbolic. For an intriguing defense of the view that the ten thousand
talents mentioned in the Unmerciful Servant (Matt 18:24) is a realistic sum within the high-stakes financial
management of the budget of a kingdom, see Laurent Larroque, La Parabole du serviteur impitoyable en son
contexte (Mt 18, 21–35) (AnBib 187; Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2010). However, a great deal must
be read into the parable to make Larroque’s interpretation work; whether, for instance, the view that the
doulos in 18:24 is a high court official who is not a slave jibes with the prathēnai of Matt 18:25 (which,
taken by itself, means simply “to be sold”—not “be sold into slavery”—and would therefore seem to indicate
that the doulos is already a slave) is doubtful.
138. One point in favor of adopting the word “mina” when speaking of Luke’s version of the parable is
that it is the word commonly used by German and French commentators.
139. While many translations and commentators use the more generic word “servants” to translate the
Greek douloi, I agree with those scholars (e.g., Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus, 473–76) who think that the
parable is speaking more precisely of slaves. On this point, Derrett’s tendency (“Law in the New Testament,”
184–95, esp. 185) to engage in sweeping generalizations that claim to cover legal situations throughout the
ancient Near East for over a millennium keeps him from commenting accurately on the legal situation under
Roman rule at the turn of the era; he is perhaps unduly influenced by the questionable claims of Dauvillier
(“La parabole,” 153–65), who engages in an uncritical exegesis of the Matthean and Lucan texts. At the same
time, one must heed Hultgren’s warnings not to equate slavery in the ancient Roman period with slavery in
the American South before the Civil War. For a careful treatment of the problem of douloi in Matthew’s
Gospel, see Glancy, “Slaves and Slavery,” 67–90, esp. 70 n. 14 and 72; cf. Mary Ann Beavis, “Ancient
Slavery as an Interpretive Context for the New Testament Servant Parables with Special Reference to the
Unjust Steward (Luke 16:1–8),” JBL 111 (1992) 37–54, esp. 37–38 and 40. Glancy thinks that the parable of
the Talents speaks of “managerial slaves,” a special subgroup “whose competent or exceptional discharge of
managerial responsibilities brings them an enlarged role in the management of the master’s household” (p.
72). Glancy (pp. 85, 88) rightly criticizes Derrett, Scott (Hear Then the Parable, 217–35), and others who
cling to the translation of douloi in this parable as “servants.”
140. Some commentators claim that the Matthean form of the parable presents the master as leaving the
three slaves in doubt about his intentions when he gives them the talents. Granted that (i) even a single talent
is a huge amount of money, (ii) the Matthean master is obviously a businessman, (iii) the third slave could
hardly be ignorant of what his two colleagues do with their talents, and (iv) the third slave openly confesses
that he knows the demanding, grasping nature of his owner, who expects financial gain when and where no
one else would, it defies logic to imagine that the third slave would not know what his master intended when
he handed him a talent as he went on a lengthy journey. As Glancy (“Slaves and Slavery,” 72) makes clear,
these slaves are presented by Matthew as “managerial slaves.” What else was a managerial slave supposed to
do with a large amount of money entrusted to him by his demanding businessman-owner?
141. I emphasize that at this point of the analysis I am simply isolating the bare minimum of the material
that Matthew and Luke share. The many questions surrounding the interchange between the third slave and
his master will be considered when the redactional contributions of Matthew and Luke are weighed.
142. That the parables of the Talents and of the Minas were originally two different parables is a theory
with a long history and one that is defended by some scholars even today; see, e.g., Candlish, “The Pounds
and the Talents,” 137; Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 523–25; Schultz, “Jesus as Archelaus,” 105–27. As can
be seen, then, Dupont’s claim (“La parabole des talents,” 377) that this opinion is basically abandoned today
is not accurate. However, the defenders of the position of two parables are not always clear as to whether
there were originally two substantially different parables or instead a single parable that Jesus taught in
different ways at different times, adapting the message of the parable to different audiences. The latter seems
to be the view of Joüon, “La Parabole des Mines,” 489–94.
143. Contrary to Johnson’s view (as expressed in “The Lukan Kingship Parable,” 139–59, and in his Luke
commentary, The Gospel of Luke, 288–95) I think that, within Luke 19:12–27, the apportioning of material
and the ordering of events toward a climax justify considering the Throne Claimant a subplot in the Lucan
version of the parable, and not the main story, which remains rather the slaves entrusted with money. Even
the departure of the nobleman to seek royal status and his return fit in with the main story since they explain
the reason for his absence (unexplained in Matthew’s version) and create the presumably lengthy interval
necessary for the slaves to trade and make tremendous profits (or fail to). The long, dramatic confrontation of
the king with the third slave—the largest single segment of the whole parable (vv 20–26)—argues
conclusively for the preponderance of the story of the slaves entrusted with money. This appreciation of the
thrust of the entire parable toward final reckoning (and especially the judgment of the third slave) helps
determine the proper interpretation of the Lucan parable taken as a whole.
144. For various views on the Throne Claimant motif (along with abundant bibliography on previous
treatments of the issue), see Zerwick, “Die Parabel vom Thronanwärter,” 654–74; Didier, “La parabole des
talents,” 248–71; Weinert, “The Parable of the Throne Claimant,” 505–14; Meynet, Initiation, 85–131;
Johnson, “The Lukan Kingship Parable,” 139–59; de la Potterie, “La parabole du prétendant,” 613–41; Puig i
Tàrrech, “La parabole des talents,” 165–93; Aletti, “Parabole des mines,” 309–32; Fusco, “‘Point of View,’”
1677–96; Denaux, “The Parable of the King-Judge,” 35–57; Schultz, “Jesus as Archelaus,” 105–27. Authors
like Meynet, Johnson, and de la Potterie deserve credit for emphasizing how the Lucan parable in its present
form must be interpreted within the larger literary and theological context of Luke’s Gospel, and indeed of
Luke–Acts. In the end, though, their emphasis on the Throne Claimant motif prevents them from seeing that,
even in the Lucan version, the substance, thrust, and dénouement of the parable focus on the story of the
slaves entrusted with money and the slaves’ relationship with their master, and not on the relationship of the
king with his rebellious subjects (which really takes up only two verses). The attempts of Johnson and de la
Potterie to understand Jesus’ parable not as a correction of people’s expectation of an imminent appearance
of the kingdom of God but rather as an affirmation and interpretation of it wind up distorting the sense of
both the parable and the larger context. In particular, de la Potterie’s desire to see Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem
(or more exactly, his approach to Jerusalem on the Mount of Olives) as his “royal enthronement” imports into
the scene terminology that is not there. To be sure, Luke alone among the Synoptists introduces the word
“king” (basileus) into the disciples’ acclamation of Jesus (Luke 19:38). Yet at the same time Luke removes
the word “kingdom” (basileia), found in his Marcan source (11:10). This is an odd move if Luke wishes to
connect Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem with the immediate appearance of “the kingdom of God” (hē basileia
tou theou), which is the object of the people’s expectation in Luke 19:11 (in reply to which Jesus speaks the
parable of the Minas). Needless to say, the word “enthronement” or anything like it is absent from Luke
19:28–40. Perhaps more to the point, though, it is difficult to see how Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem in Luke
19:28–40 can be equated with the “immediate appearance” of the kingdom of God, when the events of death
and resurrection still lie roughly a week away, to say nothing of the ascension, more than forty days away,
according at least to Acts 1. Then, too, the other events in the parable—most notably the activity of the
servants and their respective reward and punishment, placed alongside the punishment of the king’s
rebellious subjects—can be fit into the interpretation of Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem as the imminent
appearance of the kingdom only with great ingenuity. The logic of this approach would seem to demand that
the immense productive activity of the disciples (the trading with the minas) must be fit into the time
between Jesus’ going away in passion-and-death and his return at the resurrection. But that is the time of
Judas’ betrayal, Peter’s denial, and in general the disciples’ disbelief (resolved only by Jesus’ resurrection
appearances). To avoid this problem, de la Potterie claims that the parable presents Jesus’ enthronement as a
continual process of “coming” to his disciples during the time of the church. Thus, the judgment scene in the
parable likewise occurs in the time of the church, with the placing of the servants over cities representing the
disciples’ sharing in the governance of Christian communities. In my opinion, this escape hatch of an
explanation stretches one’s allegorical imagination to the breaking point; the parable speaks of a single,
definitive return of the king (19:15: kai egeneto en tǭ epanelthein auton) that triggers a single, definitive
judgment on all. If one rejects de la Potterie’s interpretation, what is a more credible approach? One must
indeed read the parable of the Minas within Luke’s overall literary and theological project, but such a project
involves a particular vision of various stages of salvation history that include Jesus’ death-resurrection-
ascension (seen as one great “being taken up”), his consequent enthronement in heaven, the time of the
church marked by the missionary activity of the apostles, the coming of the Son of Man in glory, and the
final reward and punishment of faithful disciples and recalcitrant opponents respectively. In Luke’s redaction
of the parable, the going away of the nobleman “into a distant country” and his acquisition of kingly status
symbolize Jesus’ death-resurrection-ascension as well as his session at the right hand of God (which makes
him “both Lord and Messiah,” Acts 2:36); the trading of the servants symbolizes the time of the church, with
various missionaries seeing various results (or lack thereof); and the return of the king to hold an accounting
symbolizes the final judgment. At the final judgment, Luke makes a distinction among the faithful disciples
who have labored long and successfully (reward), the lazy disciples who have proven ineffective (rebuke and
minor punishment), and those who have rejected the kingship of Christ (primarily the Jerusalem authorities,
but no doubt other opponents depicted in Acts). The horrific punishment of the king’s opponents in Luke
19:27 is not first of all the destruction of Jerusalem, which Luke sees as only a partial realization and
prophetic foreshadowing of the last day, but rather the definitive judgment on all those who have opposed
Jesus’ reign as kyrios. One should remember that, while Luke carefully distinguishes the destruction of
Jerusalem from the final judgment, he still connects the two as related stages of salvation history in Luke
21:1–36. In sum, Luke has taken the inchoate allegory of the traditional parable and developed it into a much
more detailed allegory of the stages of salvation history—though, as in all the allegorical parables of the
Synoptics, details are not to be pressed beyond the redactors’ intentions.
145. The parallel accounts in the Jewish War and the Antiquities are almost exactly the same.
146. The complicated historical question over how many wills Herod the Great drew up and which one
was in force at his death need not detain us here.
147. Here I disagree with Zerwick (“Die Parabel vom Thronanwärter,” 654–74) and Weinert (“The Parable
of the Throne Claimant,” 505–14), who hold that there was originally a separate parable of the Throne
Claimant that was actually told by the historical Jesus. Both authors agree that Jesus was consciously using
the historical figure of Archelaus as the source for the character of the king in the parable. Apart from all the
problems involved in creating a whole parable out of basically just two verses (Luke 19:14 + 27, with vv 12
+ 15a fleshing out the story, though they function perfectly well as parts of the parable of the Minas), both
authors have the burden of explaining how the Galilean crowd traveling with Jesus on pilgrimage to
Jerusalem for Passover (provided we suppose that Luke’s redactional setting of the parable of the Minas is
the historical setting of the originally separate parable of the Throne Claimant) would have known about and
therefore would have caught the reference to the details of Archelaus’ career. The difficulty here is that
Archelaus had never ruled over Galilee; he was ethnarch for some ten years (4 B.C.–A.D. 6) over Idumea,
Judea, and Samaria. Royal rule in Galilee passed directly from King Herod the Great to another son, the
tetrarch Herod Antipas (whose reign was basically peaceful). Zerwick is reduced to assuring us that, some
thirty-five years after the events alluded to in the parable, the Galilean followers of Jesus would have
recognized the reference because their fathers would have told them about these events quite often.—Even
more unlikely is the suggestion made by Schultz (“Jesus as Archelaus,” 112–27) in an article that fails to
engage in a detailed comparison and contrast with Matthew’s parable of the Talents. Indeed, Schultz’s
approach suffers from an internal self-contradiction. He paradoxically ignores an important aspect of Luke’s
redactional setting while at the same time defending that very setting as the original geographical and
historical setting of the full parable of the Minas/Throne Claimant (i.e., the parable just as it stands in Luke
19:12–27). Schultz explains Jesus’ allusion to Archelaus in the parable by appealing to various royal
structures in the neighborhood of Jericho. For instance, when Jesus and his entourage left Jericho and headed
north on the ascent to Jerusalem, they would have seen a city Archelaus built for and named after himself,
located some twelve kilometers north of Jericho. Or, if one prefers an alternate scenario, the sight of the great
palace built by Herod the Great and rebuilt by Archelaus might have served as the mental trigger for the
parable. This palace could likewise have been seen by Jesus and those with him as they exited Jericho on
their way to Jerusalem. The problem with all this speculation (and the article is filled with rhetorical
questions and phrases like “one can easily imagine . . .”) is that it insists that Jesus and his entourage had
already left Jericho and were traveling on the road from Jericho up to Jerusalem, enabling them to see a site
connected with Archelaus. This whole approach ignores the actual setting of the parable in Luke 19. In Luke
19:1–10, Jesus has summoned Zacchaeus down from the sycamore tree in which he had been perched in
order to see Jesus, Zacchaeus has pledged to give generously to the poor in reparation for his past sins, and
Jesus has responded with a double affirmation (vv 9–10): “Today salvation has become an event [egeneto] in
this house, for he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and save the lost.” Then
immediately, at the beginning of v 11, Luke states “Now while they [the crowd? the disciples? the
Pharisees?] were hearing these things [namely, what Jesus had just said], he proceeded to tell a parable. . . .”
In other words, Jesus speaks the parable of the Minas not after leaving Jericho and on the road to Jerusalem
(where he would supposedly have seen one or another set of buildings reminding him of Archelaus), but
rather right under the sycamore in Jericho or, possibly, in Zacchaeus’ house in Jericho. The whole elaborate
archaeological scenario constructed by Schultz collapses under the weight of Luke’s redactional setting—the
very thing Schultz had sought to champion as historical.
148. It is odd that some commentators (e.g., Weinert, “The Parable of the Throne Claimant,” 506–7;
Schultz, “Jesus as Archelaus,” 111–12) object to the idea that Luke or any early Christian author would have
dared to use such a disreputable and brutal figure as Archelaus to develop an allegorical story about Jesus’
kingship. But one need only consider (i) how all sorts of disturbing and violent images are applied directly to
Jesus in the NT (e.g., a thief in the night, a conquering warrior, a king who slaughters guests invited to the
wedding of his son [and in addition burns their city], a judge-king who sends the wicked into eternal hellfire)
and (ii) how in comparison the oblique reference to Archelaus is only a slight part of a larger allegory
contained within a parable to realize that this is hardly a weighty objection. On the other hand, the use of
Archelaus as a stand-in for Jesus in the Lucan parable hardly proves that such a “shocking” comparison must
go back to Jesus (contra Seccombe, “Incongruity,” 170–71); anyone who entertains the possibility that the
parable of the Good Samaritan might be a purely Lucan composition will not find shocking elements in
parables a sure sign of composition by the historical Jesus.
149. This list does not include isolated definite articles and isolated cases of the conjunctions kai and alla.
But the succession of two words in the same order is counted (e.g., kai ho). Notice how most of the word-for-
word agreement is concentrated in the master’s confrontation with the third slave.
150. In this computation of the total wordage, (1) the count includes only the parable proper, not the
introductory material (hence, not Luke 19:11 or “he therefore said” [eipen oun] at the beginning of v 12); (2)
every Greek word is counted, including abbreviated words like ar’ and ep’; (3) counts may vary among
exegetes because of differing decisions concerning text criticism; e.g., I have counted Luke 19:25 and the de
in Matt 25:22, while other critics might choose to omit them.
151. It may be indicative of the satirical tone of the secular wisdom on this subject that we find similar
sentiments expressed in pagan Latin literature by the likes of Martial, Terence, and Juvenal. For instance, in
his Epigrams, Book 5.81, Martial comments: “Semper pauper eris, si pauper es, Aemiliane; dantur opes
nullis nunc nisi divitibus [you will always be poor, if you are poor, Aemilianus; these days, riches are given
to no one except the rich].” In the same vein, see Terence, Phormio, Act I, lines 40–42; more distantly,
Juvenal, Satires, 3.21–33.
152. Here I disagree with Denaux (“The Parable of the Talents/Pounds,” 429–60), who provides one of the
best detailed, step-by-step attempts to reconstruct the hypothetical Q text of the parable. Denaux is admirable
in his honesty; he presents arguments for and against all the different sides in the debate, with the result that
one realizes how easily, when faced with Denaux’s reconstruction, one could have chosen a different reading
for almost any given verse. The grave uncertainty that attends in particular any reconstruction of the first part
of the parable makes one doubtful about the whole project—all the more so when one compares Denaux’s
reconstruction with those of other Q scholars, e.g., Robinson et al. (eds.), The Critical Edition of Q, 524–57;
Ivan Havener and Athanasius Polag, Q. The Sayings of Jesus (Good News Studies 19; Wilmington, DE:
Glazier, 1987) 146. Some commentators who espouse a Q source suggest intermediate stages of development
between Q and the final forms we have in Matthew and Luke; see, e.g., Puig i Tàrrech, “La parabole des
talents,” 172–73.
153. Here I agree with Weiser, Die Knechtsgleichnisse, 227–55; Wohlgemut, “Entrusted Money,” 105. It is
interesting to notice how many exegetes will opt for some form of the Q hypothesis but then hedge their bets;
see, e.g., McGaughy, “The Fear of Yahweh,” 235–38.
154. See Harrington, “Polemical Parables in Matthew 24–25,” 287–98; Carter and Heil, Matthew’s
Parables, esp. pp. 196–200. For a consideration of Matthew’s redactional composition of sets of parables, see
Oppong-Kumi, Matthean Sets of Parables; within his treatment of the eschatological discourse (chaps. 24–
25), he focuses on the parable of the Ten Virgins, but for the parable of the Talents, see pp. 312, 322.
155. Besides the major sets of triads in chaps. 5–7, 10, 13, 18, and 24–25, Davies and Allison supply a
lengthy list of smaller groups of threes; see The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 1. 86–88.
156. For an introductory treatment of the question of the literary structure(s) in Matthew’s Gospel, see
Davies and Allison, The Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 1. 58–72; cf. David R. Bauer, The Structure of
Matthew’s Gospel (JSNTSup 31; Sheffield, UK: Almond, 1988).
157. For convenience’ sake, I retain the traditional translation of the Greek adjective oknēros as “lazy.”
Actually, the sense is more nuanced. Hauck (“oknēros,” 166–67) says that it is used of a person who is
hesitating, anxious, negligent, or slothful, depending on his precise external situation or internal
psychological state. In any event, it describes a person “who for various reasons or difficulties does not have
the resolution to act” (p. 166). In this case, it is the slave’s fear of his master that has reduced him not to total
inactivity (he did bury and dig up the talent), but rather to lack of daring and initiative that results from a fear
of risk and possible loss. Hence he fails to meet the challenge of the situation in which he is placed.
158. As we have already seen, it is this “center of gravity” in the overarching story of the Minas that
prevents us from accepting the view that the motif of the Throne Claimant is the major or dominant narrative
within the parable.
159. The question of whether the master should be seen as a symbol of socioeconomic oppression in an
unjust society has been raised repeatedly by socially conscious interpreters since the early 1990s. Prominent
among such critics are Fortna (“Reading Jesus’ Parable,” 211–28), Rohrbaugh (“A Peasant Reading,” 32–
39), and Herzog (Parables as Subversive Speech, 150–68). Other scholars who have developed this line of
interpretation in one direction or another (e.g., postcolonial criticism, liberation theology, and/or feminist
hermeneutics) include Folarin (“The Parable of the Talents in the African Context,” 94–106), Fricke (“Wer
ist der Held,” 76–80), Pilch (“The Parable of the Talents,” 366–70), Ford (“Jesus’ Parable of the Talents,”
13–24), Schottroff (“The Kingdom of God,” 170–71), Joy (“Matthew 25:14–30,” 131–42), Braun
(“Reframing the Parable,” 442–48), and Dowling (Taking Away the Pound, 1–68, 69–96, 210–15).
Fundamental to most of these approaches (some of which are just warmed-over Rohrbaugh) is the inversion
of the presumed optic of Matthew and Luke (the master represents God or Christ at the last judgment, the
slaves are Christian disciples or leaders, the first two slaves are rightly rewarded for their zealous doing of
God’s will, and the third slave is rightly punished for his failure to carry out God’s will) to recapture what is
claimed to be the original message of Jesus (the master represents oppressive socioeconomic systems in
general and capitalism in particular, the first two slaves are quislings who cooperate with the system and
therefore in their own oppression, and the third slave is the courageous protestor, rebel, or whistle-blower
who dares to denounce and unmask the unjust system by refusing to cooperate with it, even though this
rebellion exposes him to punishment). In Fortna’s view, for instance, the present form of the parable in
Matthew or Luke is either banal or pointless. It runs counter to what we know was the true teaching of the
historical Jesus, which was concerned not with religion or morality but chiefly with economic issues
(“Reading Jesus’ Parable,” 215). Obviously, what is operative in such an approach is not only a specific
Marxist/liberationist hermeneutic of the Gospels but also a particular vision of the historical Jesus—a vision
that, in most of these articles, is presumed rather than proved.
One of the best-known proponents of this approach is Rohrbaugh, whose 1993 essay is often cited by
subsequent critics who follow this line of interpretation. Rohrbaugh appeals to what anthropologists have
taught us about peasant economics, especially within ancient Mediterranean culture, a culture that modern
Western exegetes have difficulty understanding because of the presuppositions of Western capitalism. He
admits that we cannot be sure of the original historical setting or audience of the parable. From suggesting
that the audience may have included Galilean peasants, Rohrbaugh quickly moves to focusing on this
hypothetical audience of peasants. To peasants, the rich were inherently evil; they exploited the poor peasants
by their exchange economy that multiplied wealth for the rich but siphoned off whatever surplus the peasants
might produce in their economy of limited goods. Hence, in the parable, the third “servant” (Rohrbaugh does
not translate doulos as “slave,” a translation that would have weakened his whole approach) is wicked only in
the eyes of those who share the elitist mentality of the rich master. To a peasant audience, the servant has
done the honorable thing by preserving what was entrusted to him without participating in the oppressive
capitalist system accepted by the master and the first two servants. Rohrbaugh supports his interpretation by
appealing to a passage in the 4th-century Church Father Eusebius, who offers a brief paraphrase of a different
version of the parable that he claims is found in the Jewish-Christian Gospel of the Nazoreans (or
Nazarenes). Rohrbaugh asserts that the chiastic structure in the version of the Gospel of the Nazoreans
presents the third servant, the one who kept the money intact, as the one whom the master receives with joy.
Going one step further into unlikely hypotheses, Rohrbaugh suggests that the version of the parable in the
Gospel of the Nazoreans has preserved the more original form of the parable and that the canonical traditions
adulterated the story early on. In the end, Rohrbaugh offers the possibility that Jesus may have intended the
parable to be ambiguous: the elites in Jesus’ audience would have interpreted the parable as good news for
the rich and bad news for the peasants, while the peasants in his audience would have taken the opposite tack.
It is fairly clear that Rohrbaugh considers the peasants’ interpretation to be the correct one, but he ends on a
coy note of studied uncertainty.
What is to be said of such an approach? While the intentions of its champions are admirable, good
intentions do not necessarily guarantee correct exegesis. (1) It is telling that most of the authors cited do not
engage in a detailed analysis of both the Matthean and Lucan texts by way of form, tradition, source, and
redaction criticism. Many exegetical decisions are simply announced rather than argued or demonstrated
(e.g., that Matthew’s version of the parable is more original than Luke’s). A hypothetical original version of
the parable in the mouth of Jesus is explained without any hypothetical text being produced (see, e.g., Fricke,
“Wer ist der Held,” 78–79). Appeal is sometimes made not to an original text but an “originating structure”
(so, e.g., Pilch, “The Parable of the Talents,” 367). The problem here is that frequently some details of the
Gospel narratives and even of the wording are selectively retained, more often from Matthew but sometimes
from Luke. (2) Surprisingly, in the whole process, the essentially metaphorical world of parabolic narrative is
often ignored in favor of a literalistic reading of the hypothetical original, as though the story were speaking
directly about social and economic conditions (on this, see Chenoweth, “The Vulnerability of the Literalist,”
176–77, 182–83, against Herzog). But who then would need a parable to offer such criticism? (3) Indeed,
why, amid all the nonmetaphorical, direct, and blunt criticism that he aims at certain social practices (e.g.,
divorce, oath-taking, overstrict sabbath observance) does Jesus never criticize the most glaring
socioeconomic oppression and injustice of his day, namely, slavery? The objectionable practices of
overaggressive capitalism pale when compared to the ghastly realities of slavery in the Greco-Roman world.
Yet in both parable and praxis, Jesus seems not to be troubled by the institution, which he apparently takes
for granted. It may be for this reason that some commentators prefer to translate douloi in our parable as
“servants” rather than “slaves,” despite the fact that “slaves” is by far the more likely translation (see the
articles of Beavis and Glancy cited earlier). One may question whether the whole Marxist/liberation theology
approach makes sense of the story if the douloi are understood to be the slaves of the master and not hired
servants. For example, Herzog’s explanation depends upon the third servant being a powerful “retainer” of an
aristocrat; this retainer, according to Herzog, has shared in oppressing poor peasants and now, as an honest
“whistle-blower,” risks exposing himself to the ire of the peasants he formerly oppressed as he is thrown out
of the master’s household to become a day laborer. Needless to say, this does not work when doulos is
understood as “slave.” Actually, not all peasants in Galilee were extremely and equally poor; some more
affluent peasants might have owned a slave or two and therefore would not have automatically sided with the
supposedly heroic third slave who opposes his master. (On the whole problem of using “peasant” as a
homogenized, one-size-fits-all category for NT studies, see Sharon Lea Mattila, “Jesus and the ‘Middle
Peasants’? Problematizing a Social-Scientific Concept,” CBQ 72 [2010] 291–313.) This point weakens the
approach of Fortna, who does at least recognize that douloi in this parable means “slaves.” Perhaps this is
why he suggests the highly unlikely idea that Jesus’ original parable lacked any reckoning scene (i.e., Matt
25:19–28). This is a counsel of despair. (4) That the third slave is a hero who courageously rejects the
oppressive structures of capitalism by hiding the entrusted money in the ground (or in a cloth) collides with
the clear statement that the slave hid the money out of fear (Matt 25:25 || Luke 19:21), not out of bold
opposition to his master. On this, see Wohlgemut, “Entrusted Money,” 115–16. (5) The appeal to the
supposed third version of our parable in the Gospel of the Nazoreans suffers from a number of liabilities. No
complete text of this Gospel has come down to us; basically, we are dependent on quotations and paraphrases
in early Christian authors. From what we have of the Gospel of the Nazoreans, the work seems to have been
some sort of targumlike translation of the Gospel of Matthew into Aramaic (see the comment of Philipp
Vielhauer in New Testament Apocrypha. I. Gospels and Related Writings [rev. ed.; ed. Wilhelm
Schneemelcher; English translation edited by R. McL. Wilson; Cambridge, UK: James Clarke; Louisville,
KY: Westminster/John Knox, 1991] 159; cf. A Marginal Jew, 1. 115–16). But even if we do not wish to use
the analogy of a targum, Nazoreans shows definite knowledge of and dependence on Matthew. Compounding
the problem, the version of the parable in Nazoreans seems to mesh elements from the parable of the
Talents/Minas with details of the (Lucan) parable of the Prodigal Son; cf. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to
Luke, 2. 1232. Worse still, in the case of the Talents/Minas, Eusebius does not quote the text of the Gospel of
the Nazoreans in his Theophaneia (of which we have only fragments of the original Greek, with the whole
text preserved in a slavish Syriac translation), but gives us merely a brief paraphrase (see PG 24, cols. 685,
688). In addition, it is by no means clear that there is the kind of chiastic structure in the narrative that
Rohrbaugh claims. As Wohlgemut (“Entrusted Money,” 113–14) notes, Rohrbaugh’s chiastic reading
conflates two different reactions of the master that Eusebius distinguishes: the threat uttered against one slave
and “the word spoken against” another slave. In sum, the Gospel of the Nazoreans, dependent on the
canonical Matthew, of late and uncertain provenance, paraphrased rather than quoted, is of no use in deciding
the primitive form of the parable lying behind the Matthean and Lucan versions (contra Fortna, “Reading
Jesus’ Parable,” 25–26). Indeed, even the Jesus Seminar (The Parables of Jesus. Red Letter Edition, 55)
judges that the version in the Gospel of the Nazoreans “is almost certainly secondary”; see also van Eck, “Do
Not Question My Honour,” 1–2. (6) In the end, one must distinguish between historical-critical exegesis and
various forms of advocacy hermeneutics (Marxist, liberationist, feminist) that seek to make ancient texts
speak to present-day concerns, whether or not our present-day concerns ever appeared on the mental horizons
of the ancient writers. Whatever the hermeneutical validity of such approaches for the present, they usually
wind up doing violence either to the Gospel texts or to a sober and credible reconstruction of the message of
the historical Jesus.
To be fair, in the case of the Talents/Minas, at least most critics readily admit that the evangelists intend the
parable to speak of God’s final judgment on Christian moral endeavor (or alternately, on the confrontation of
Jesus with the Jerusalem authorities, his rejection by them, and the subsequent destruction of Jerusalem).
They locate their own gospel of social consciousness in the mouth of the historical Jesus, not in the
“distorting” theology of the evangelists. By contrast, Dowling stands out as a commentator who tries to read
the canonical form of Luke’s parable as a social critique of the abuse of power exercised against the
oppressed, notably (within the larger context of the whole of Luke’s Gospel) women. What Dowling in fact
demonstrates is that, in the postmodern academy, a skillful interpreter who has adopted a particular modern
hermeneutic (e.g., liberation theology, postcolonial theory, and/or feminism) can make a text say whatever
the interpreter wants it to say. This tells us nothing about the 1st-century message of certain 1st-century
teachers, be they Matthew, Luke, or Jesus.
160. As Matthean commentators often note, Matthew has a tendency to multiply adjectives vis-à-vis his
source. This is clearly the case here, since Luke has only “good slave” (agathe doule) in 19:17, although
Luke is not averse to the use of the adjective “faithful” (pistos) elsewhere in his Gospel.
161. Those who engage in a social-science interpretation of the parable and see in the story a critique of
capitalism naturally take the third slave’s description of the master to be accurate. But do the actions of the
master in the story bear out such a judgment? In the case of the first two slaves, the master does not take back
from them the money he entrusted to them or the money they have earned; rather, he rewards them
handsomely with much greater power over his goods (see Martin, “Parabole des talents,” 19). This does not
quite square with the third slave’s portrait. Hence one might take the master’s statement in Matt 25:26 || Luke
19:22 as either an ironic question or an ironic affirmation, granting the slave’s point of view for the sake of
argument.
162. In v 14, the master is said to hand over ta hyparchonta autou (“his property” or “his possessions”),
prior to Matthew specifying the property as five, two, and one talent. Besides hyparchonta, there are a
number of word-links between the two stories. For instance, upon his return, the master in Matt 24:47 will
put (katastēsei) his faithful and prudent slave (pistos doulos kai phronimos) in charge of “all his possessions”
(pasin tois hyparchousin autou). Besides hyparchonta, notice in the parable of the Talents the use of kyrios
(in the sense of the master of a slave), doule agathe kai piste (“good and faithful slave”), and katastēsō (“I
will set in charge”), all in a single verse (25:21). Just as Matthew apparently used material from the Marcan
parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard to compose his version of the M parable of the Great Supper, so
too it seems that he used material from this Q parable to compose his version of the M parable of the slaves
entrusted with money.
163. See, e.g., Matt 10:9 (“do not acquire gold or silver or copper [coins] in your belts”) as compared to
Mark 6:8 (“he charged them not to take anything for [their] journey except a staff: neither bread nor bag nor
copper [coins] in [their] belt”) in the missionary discourse.
164. In Luke’s version, lambanō occurs twice, referring each time to the action of the king, never to the
action of a slave; the verb is typical of Matthew: 53x in Matthew, 20x in Mark, 21x in Luke.
165. Often cited texts include m. B. Mes. 3:10–12; b. B. Mes. 42a–b. These and other rabbinic texts
distinguish between (i) “wrapping up” money that a man deposits with his neighbor for safekeeping and (ii)
burying the money in the ground for safekeeping. The first method leaves the guardian legally liable if the
money is lost; the second method exempts the guardian from legal liability. Other rabbinic texts, some as late
as the 10th century and less relevant to the subject at hand, are cited by Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, 759–
60 n. 228. Unlike Snodgrass, some commentators fail to notice that many of these texts do not treat the topic
at the heart of our parable: a subordinate is entrusted with money by a superior for the precise purpose of
investing or trading with it and thus making more money. Inherent in such a scenario is consciously engaging
in an endeavor that necessarily involves risk—the very thing that the laws concerning the deposit of goods
for safekeeping seek to avoid.
 166. However, Matthew seems to have inherited “weeping and gnashing of teeth” from Q, since it occurs
once in a Lucan parallel (Luke 13:28 || Matt 8:12).
167. Quite possibly Luke intends the acclamation of Jesus as King by his disciples on the Mount of Olives
(more precisely, “at the descent [or: slope] of the Mount of Olives” in Luke 19:37) to point forward to the
story in Acts of the ascension of Jesus to heaven from the Mount of Olives (as well as his subsequent session
as royal Davidic Messiah at the right hand of God, as in Acts 2:33–36). But, contrary to the claim of de la
Potterie (“La parabole du prétendant,” 633), this hardly justifies labeling the disciples’ acclamation in Luke
19:37–38 a “royal enthronement.” Perhaps one should also note that Luke does not mention the Mount of
Olives (or Mt. Olivet) in the scene of the ascension proper (Acts 1:6–11) but rather in the following verse,
which narrates the apostles’ return to Jerusalem (1:12).
168. For arguments in favor of seeing Luke 19:11 as a redactional composition through which the
evangelist offers a key to the interpretation of the parable, see Denaux, “The Parable of the King-Judge,” 46–
49. Denaux identifies nine Lucan characteristics in this one verse; cf. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to
Luke, 2. 1233–34. In agreement with Denaux on Lucan composition of 19:11 is de la Potterie, “La parabole
du prétendant,” 622–26; de la Potterie sees in the verse an astonishing accumulation of Lucan traits.
169. Many translations render politai in Luke 19:14 as “citizens” or “fellow citizens” (so RSV, NRSV, NAB
revised NT). However, in some political contexts, politai can mean “subjects.” Granted that our story deals
with a nobleman who is about to become king, “subjects” might be the better translation in 19:14 (see 1
Clem. 55:1; possibly Ant. 12.4.2 §162).
170. Possibly the specific terms for commerce used here (pragmateuomai, “to trade”; diapragmateuomai,
“to gain by trade”; and prosergazomai, “to make more,” “to earn in addition”), all of which appear only in
Luke’s Gospel within the NT, and which are arranged in ascending order of commercial achievement, may
reflect Luke the cosmopolitan.
171. However, some Greek manuscripts (especially in the Byzantine tradition) change “the other” to
“another” by omitting the definite article; this is apparently an attempt to create an easier reading in light of
Luke’s initial reference to ten slaves. The principle of the lectio difficilior argues for “the other,” as does the
attestation of early and weighty MSS like Sinaiticus, Vaticanus, and Bezae.
172. As we have seen earlier, those who champion a Marxist/liberationist interpretation of the parable see
the master not just as a demanding and grasping businessman but as a criminal, a thief, and/or a capitalist
oppressor of the poor. This is advocacy hermeneutics, not historical-critical exegesis.
173. For the development of this idea in Matthew’s Gospel, see Nathan Eubank, Wages of Cross-Bearing
and Debt of Sin (BZNW 196; Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter, 2013).
174. On the beatitudes, see A Marginal Jew, 2. 317–36; on sayings that stress the cost of discipleship, see
A Marginal Jew, 3. 55–73.
175. On the saying about the Twelve judging the twelve tribes of Israel, see A Marginal Jew, 3. 135–39.
176. See, e.g., Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 61–62; Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom, 112.
177. German exegetes have traditionally highlighted the dialectical relationship between Gabe (gift) and
Aufgabe (assignment, duty, responsibility) that is embedded in the message of both Jesus and various NT
authors.
CONCLUSION TO VOLUME FIVE
FROM UNFASHIONABLE THESES TO
CONTRARIAN CONCLUSIONS: FAREWEL
TO A FIRM FOUNDATION

It has been a long and dusty road from the seven unfashionable theses that I
proposed at the beginning of this volume. As we come to the end of our circuitous
path through the parables, I would claim that our step-by-step analysis has both
confirmed those initial seven propositions—propositions supported by only brief
arguments in Chapter 37—and increased the number of contrarian positions that
we can now confidently affirm. Leaving behind the perfect biblical number seven,
let me review and add to those preliminary theses, now expanded to fifteen
conclusions.
(1) Confusion over what one means when one speaks of the “parables of Jesus”
(the title of endless books) is widespread in both scholarly and popular writings
on the subject. Not surprisingly, then, book-length commentaries on Jesus’
parables vary widely on the basic question of how many parables there are to be
treated. This should come as no shock to anyone who is acquainted with the
multiple etymological roots and the still more multiple meanings of the Hebrew
noun māšāl (proverb, parable, riddle, taunt-song, and much more) and, to a lesser
degree, the Greek noun usually employed to translate it in the LXX, parabolē
(whence our English word “parable”). One purpose of this volume was to shed
some light on this verbal and conceptual muddle.
(2) When it comes to the sayings of the Synoptic Jesus, some clarity can be
achieved by distinguishing various kinds of metaphorical speech according to
their length and complexity. (Let me emphasize that these definitions are tools
that I have found useful in organizing and understanding the corpus of Jesus’
figurative sayings; they do not constitute a Diktat to be imposed on all future
writers.) A single sentence containing a metaphor might well qualify as a māšāl
in Hebrew and a parabolē in Greek, but hardly as a parable in the English usage
of modern biblical scholarship. Distinct from a single metaphor is the similitude,
which is a metaphor stretched out to create a fuller, more detailed picture and
complicated comparison. Distinct from both a metaphorical sentence and a
similitude is what this volume classifies as a Synoptic parable. In the
nomenclature I adopt, what distinguishes a parable of Jesus from a similitude is
that a parable is a genuine narrative, though in some cases just a mini-story or
thumbnail sketch of a narrative—but always with at least an implicit beginning,
middle, and end. One justification for this admittedly modern exegetical
distinction is a simple fact. While the Greek word parabolē is used in various
ways in the Synoptics (as it was in the LXX), “narrative parable” is by far the
most common and consistent meaning. Hence, as a heuristic tool, this is the
meaning of “parable” employed in our inventory and exegesis of the parables
attributed to Jesus in the Synoptic Gospels. For our purposes, then, “parable”
means “narrative parable.” Simply as a matter of fact, this meaning has proved
useful in our survey of the Synoptic sayings of Jesus, but no claim is made that
“mini-story” constitutes a normative or universal definition of parable that must
be applied to other bodies of literature.
(3) Once we focus on Jesus’ use of narrative parables, a genre unique to Jesus
within the NT, we are confronted with a surprising insight. Jesus’ parables place
him more in the prophetic tradition of Israel than in its wisdom tradition. The
sapiential books of the OT do not contain narrative parables like the Evil Tenants
of the Vineyard or the Wheat and the Weeds, but the historical and prophetic
books do. They range from Nathan’s brief narrative that rebukes an adulterous
David (a parable not labeled a māšāl) to the elaborate historical allegory of the
prophet Ezekiel, which he explicitly designates a māšāl (parabolē in the LXX).
Balaam’s metaphorical prophecies of Israel’s triumphant future in the Book of
Numbers (also labeled a māšāl) spread this usage to the Pentateuch. Thus, as the
eschatological prophet who speaks narrative parables to challenge the people of
Israel and their leaders, Jesus stands in the long line of OT prophets. His short
stories, employing figurative language that “teases the mind into active thought”
(so Dodd) and calls for decision and action on the part of his hearers, place him
alongside Nathan and Ezekiel rather than the wisdom teacher Ben Sira.
(4) Hence, as in his itinerant career as an oral rather than literary prophet, as in
his widespread miracle-working activity à la Elijah, and as in his choice of the
inner circle of the Twelve as a symbol of the regathering of the twelve tribes of
Israel, so too in his use of narrative parables, Jesus seems to have consciously
reached back to the classical past of Israel rather than simply to have aligned
himself with the apocalyptic authors and visionaries of his own time, as seen in
the Enoch literature and the other apocalyptic writings preserved in the Dead Sea
Scrolls. To be sure, Jesus’ parables stand in service of his overall eschatological
message to Israel, but they are quite distant from the “parables”—that is,
symbolic, allegorical apocalyptic visions—contained in works like 1 Enoch. The
parables of Jesus thus embody his typical dialectic of reaching back to Israel’s
origins and “golden past” even as he stretches forward to the future
consummation of Israel’s history, a consummation that both restores and
transcends all that was best in that golden past. In short, Jesus the teller of
parables is not Jesus the sage but Jesus the prophet. That is not to say that Jesus
could not use sapiential motifs in his parables. The Lucan parable of the Rich
Fool—whether or not it comes from the historical Jesus—reminds us that great
prophets like Amos, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel were quite capable of using
wisdom traditions in articulating their messages of imminent condemnation and
future restoration.1 Jesus the prophet, who also forges clever proverbs and
aphorisms, reflects classical prophecy in this as well.
(5) All of this reminds us that Jesus’ parables are not a one-size-fits-all
commodity. The Synoptic parables speak of everyday agricultural activity as well
as larger-than-life dramas in eastern royal courts. They describe the real, regularly
recurring events involved in farming (the Sower, the Mustard Seed, the Seed
Growing by Itself), and they also create great fiction (the Prodigal Son, the Good
Samaritan). To speak of parables as simply and solely “fictions” betrays a typical
academic attempt to bring a sprawling, bewildering phenomenon under the
control of neat categories—as well as tacitly privileging certain parables over
others. To be fair to the postmoderns, some parables do subvert traditional views
and destabilize our supposedly ordered world (e.g., the Good Samaritan, the
Workers in the Vineyard). Yet other parables reaffirm and inculcate the received
wisdom of Israel, the Rich Fool being a notable case. While some of the parables
are meant to move the audience to ponder, puzzle, and finally choose (e.g., the
Dishonest Steward), others cannot be said to subvert the basic faith and hopes of
Israelites who knew their prophetic and sapiential traditions (e.g., the Rich Man
and Lazarus). Those who facilely equate Jesus’ parables with subversive speech
tout court should notice that the parables that tend most to overturn traditional
expectations—the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, the Workers in the Vineyard
—belong to the special L and M traditions, not to the Marcan and Q parables.
This does not mean per se that the subversive parables are Christian creations
rather than products of the historical Jesus. Yet the solid arguments that can be
mustered for the Good Samaritan being a Lucan composition from start to finish
—as well as the strong Lucan tone in parables like the Prodigal Son and the
Pharisee and the Tax Collector—should at least give one pause. To repeat: when it
comes to the parables of Jesus, one size, as well as one literary description, does
not fit all.
(6) In the past few decades, a number of North American scholars have
maintained two key propositions about the Coptic Gospel of Thomas (= CGT): (i)
CGT contains Synoptic-like sayings of Jesus that are independent of, earlier than,
and/or more authentic than the sayings of the Synoptic Gospels; (ii) consequently,
the parables in CGT that are parallel to Synoptic parables are valuable tools for
reconstructing the earliest form of Jesus’ authentic parables. These two
propositions have been repeatedly called into question by our detailed analysis of
individual sayings and parables. After testing nonparabolic sayings selected from
various literary genres and from every Synoptic source, and then doing the same
thing for various parables, we found that in every example tested, dependence on
one or more Synoptic Gospel—be it direct or indirect—was the more likely
hypothesis. CGT probably reflects the conflating and harmonizing tendencies that
we see in the use of the Synoptic material in other 2d-century Christian writings. I
do not pretend that my probes have resolved all doubts about the possible
independence of every single Synoptic-like logion in CGT. What these probes
have done is to shift the burden of proof in the debate. If a scholar wishes to claim
that a particular Synoptic-like logion in Thomas is early and independent, I am
open to listening to his or her arguments and being convinced. But, after dealing
with the literature on Thomas for some time, I have yet to hear a convincing case
made for the independence of any Synoptic-like saying in CGT. When the probes
in Chapter 38 are put together with the general preliminary considerations
presented in Volume One of A Marginal Jew, I think that the burden of proof lies
on the side of any scholar affirming CGT’s independence for a particular saying.
The relevance of this position for our study of Jesus’ parables is simply this: more
likely than not, CGT does not supply independent multiple attestation of any
Synoptic parable. This decision leads naturally to my next conclusion, the most
contrarian conclusion of all, and the one that has been substantiated by our survey
of the Synoptic parables.
(7) Only a few of the Synoptic parables can be attributed to the historical Jesus
with fair probability. Here is where the unfashionable nature of our whole project
becomes clear. Contrary to claims of generations of parable researchers, reaching
back to Jülicher, Jeremias, and Dodd, and reaching down to various members of
the Jesus Seminar, the parables do not provide the most secure road or easiest way
into the teaching of the historical Jesus. This is not to deny that Jesus taught in
parables; there is sufficient multiple attestation for that basic fact, supported as
well by the criterion of coherence. What all too often lacks the support of multiple
attestation—or any other criterion of historicity—is that Jesus taught this or that
particular parable. Let me be clear on this point: I do not claim that I can prove in
most cases that Jesus did not speak this or that parable. Proving a negative in
ancient history is usually nigh impossible. Rather, my contention is that many of
the parables necessarily lie in the literary limbo of non liquet. I would, however,
venture a still more contrarian position: at least some of the Synoptic parables can
be shown to be, most probably, the creations of early Christian bearers of the
tradition or even of the evangelists themselves. To provide a striking example, I
have laid out the case for the Good Samaritan being a pure creation of Luke. I
dare say, similar arguments could be made for parables like the Prodigal Son and
the Wheat and the Weeds being products of early Christian tradition, if not of the
evangelists. The very fact that such arguments can be mounted in all seriousness
means that the presumption that the Synoptic parables are mostly if not entirely
creations of Jesus himself must give way to the testing of individual cases. When
multiple attestation, embarrassment, or discontinuity work in only a small number
of cases, and the other criteria are totally inapplicable in many other cases, non
liquet is the only honest though frustrating conclusion that a serious researcher
can reach.
(8) This approach rejects an ever-popular escape hatch devised to get around
the fact that many parables cannot satisfy any of the criteria of historicity. Again
and again one hears appeals to the unique voice, the inimitable tone and artistry,
the supreme literary genius that demonstrate that this or that parable (or the
parables in aggregate) come from the historical Jesus. Two replies may be made
to this “esthetic” argument.
(i) This argument is hopelessly subjective, wildly romantic, and in the end
untestable. Many critics have heard the unique, artistic voice of Jesus in the
parable of the Good Samaritan. Along with a few other critics, I hear instead the
unique, artistic voice of Luke. The debate cannot be resolved by testing for
hearing impairment. Indeed, one may well ask whether behind this esthetic
argument lies a covert theological claim about the uniqueness of Jesus.
(ii) This observation leads into the second reply to the esthetic argument,
namely, that it ignores the whole process of oral and written transmission of the
parables. The assertion that in the Synoptic Gospels we possess parables that
actually come from the historical Jesus and accurately preserve his teaching
presupposes that when Jesus originally spoke parable X, there were
“earwitnesses” who not only heard but also remembered parable X, both before
and after Jesus’ crucifixion. Through multiple “performances”—with all the
variations that involved—these earwitnesses repeated this parable to other early
Christians, who in turn became bearers of this particular parable tradition until it
became a unit in a written Gospel. The question therefore arises: are we to think
that the original disciples of Jesus and their subsequent students were so dense
that they could receive from Jesus a large series of masterful parables, repeat and
develop these parables, and finally enshrine these parables in a Gospel, without
ever learning from the master teacher of parables how to compose a good
parable? To put the question ironically, was Jesus such a bad mentor and his
disciples such bad apprentices that he could spend years teaching them
memorable parables without, by that very fact, also teaching them how to
construct memorable parables? Or put another way: if we allow that the disciples
of Jesus and later on the disciples of those disciples learned, developed, and
passed on Jesus’ own parables, why do we not allow that these tradents might
have also created similar verbal works of art in imitation of their master? Are we
to think that all the disciples were indeed as stupid as Mark makes them out to
be? In truth, if Jesus of Nazareth was a powerful and effective teacher, it stands to
reason that in teaching his disciples, he would have, willy-nilly, also taught them
how to teach—including how to teach by constructing striking parables.
This, by the way, helps explain why such parables are found in the Synoptic
tradition but not, say, in the Pauline letters. The historical Jesus did have a great
talent for constructing parables, and he quite naturally passed on not only his
parables but also his skill in formulating parables to his immediate disciples and
through them to the bearers of the Synoptic tradition. Alas, Paul and his
successors lacked such a tutor. Hence we must be open in principle to the
possibility that Synoptic parables come partly from the historical Jesus and partly
from his disciples and even their disciples. To be sure, in the NT, narrative
parables are unique to the Synoptic Jesus. That does not prove that they are
therefore unique to the historical Jesus.
In addition, if the historical Jesus did at times use parables to shock and
subvert, that lesson in particular would likely have impressed itself on the
memory of the disciples when they tried their hand at parable-making. The
historical Jesus did not have a monopoly on subversive speech in the 1st century.
In sum, given this process of a creative, ongoing tradition of parables from Jesus
through the earliest disciples and later tradents down to the evangelists, the
esthetic argument that most if not all of the parables must be creations of Jesus
alone will not work. The problem is, as we have seen, neither will most of the
criteria of historicity. Allowing for the rare exception (e.g., the Evil Tenants of the
Vineyard), we are left with the criterion of multiple attestation of independent
sources. Once CGT is put aside, only a few parables can meet that criterion.
(9) It was to substantiate this last claim that we embarked on an inventory of all
the narrative parables in the Synoptic Gospels. A simple inspection of all the
parables grouped according to sources quickly made clear that the vast majority
of the parables appear in only one independent source. In other words, it is of no
use to point out that the Sower or the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard appears in
Mark, Matthew, and Luke if—as is the case—Matthew and Luke are simply
redacting Mark’s version. Given the small number of parables that our inventory
listed in more than one source, we immediately got the sinking feeling that the
number of parables that would prove viable candidates for the accolade of coming
from the historical Jesus would be few and far between. We were not
disappointed in our modest expectations. Indeed, my dealings with the Synoptic
parables have prompted me to formulate a new beatitude, one suitable for any
aspect of the quest for the historical Jesus: blessed are those with modest
expectations, for they shall not be disappointed.
(10) But the lack of multiple attestation of independent sources was not the
only result of our inventory that bade us be modest. Once we listed the parables
according to their Synoptic sources, an intriguing phenomenon appeared. Mark
contains only four or five narrative parables. Surprisingly, given that it is almost
entirely a collection of sayings of Jesus, the Q tradition contains only five
(counting the parable of the Mustard Seed, a Mark–Q overlap). This reduced
number takes into account what was only a suspicion when we first drew up our
inventory in Chapter 39, a suspicion subsequently confirmed in Chapter 40: the
parables of the Great Supper and of the Talents/Minas belong not to Q, but to
separate M and L traditions. Hence, for all the great value often attributed to Q as
the presumed earliest and most reliable source of Jesus’ sayings, Q contains just
about the same number of parables as Mark—and many fewer than the special M
and L sources.2
(11) Indeed, the M source presents us with eleven parables, if we include the
Great Supper and the Talents. Synoptic parables are thus hardly limited to or most
abundant in the “first-generation” sources of Mark and Q. As a matter of fact, the
M source contains more parables than Mark and Q combined. Moreover, some of
the M parables (e.g., the Unmerciful Servant, the Workers in the Vineyard) have
developed into stories of considerable length, with a good number of M parables
(e.g., the Wheat and the Weeds) evincing specifically Matthean vocabulary and
theology.
(12) What is true of the M source is even truer of L. Depending on how we
count (Do we accept the Two Debtors as a parable? Do we count the Tower
Builder and the Warring King separately?), we could assign sixteen parables to
the special Lucan source. Compare that to the four or five parables proper to
Mark and roughly the same number to Q. What is more, it is in the special L
tradition that we find the longest narrative parables within the Synoptic corpus:
the Prodigal Son, the Rich Man and Lazarus, and the Minas (alias the Pounds).
Similar to what we saw in the M material, the uniquely Lucan parables are
marked by characteristically Lucan vocabulary and theology. In short, we see a
noticeable development as we move from Mark and Q (first-generation sources,
most likely prior to or around a.d. 70), through Matthew (ca. a.d. 80–90), to Luke
(probably a little later than Matthew). As time goes on, the number of parables
specific to a given Gospel increases and some parables notably lengthen. In
addition, in the L source, parables are often enlivened by touches of human
psychology, drama, and interior monologue. To be sure, this striking line of
development does not prove that the special M and L parables do not come from
Jesus. But at the very least, they reinforce a healthy wariness about presupposing
without further ado that most and perhaps all the parables have their origin in
Jesus. Our detailed examination of the Good Samaritan, which led to the
conclusion that it is probably a creation of Luke from start to finish, pushed our
methodological doubt even further in the direction of Descartes, if not Hume.
(13) At first glance, the results of our inventory might have led us into
thoroughgoing skepticism about whether any Synoptic parable can be assigned, at
least in its origins, to the historical Jesus. However, a testing of the most
promising candidates gleaned from the inventory proved that such a radical
position—like most radical positions—went too far. We identified four parables
that, upon further testing, proved to be credible candidates for the critical
judgment of “coming from the historical Jesus.” In the case of the Mustard Seed
(Mark–Q overlap), the Great Supper (Matthew and Luke), and the Talents/Minas
(again, Matthew and Luke), the basic argument for historicity, as might be
expected, was the multiple attestation of independent sources. The odd man out
was the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, where a form and redaction-critical analysis
provided us with a primitive version of the parable that met the criteria of
embarrassment and/or discontinuity. In each case, after the major argument had
been made, the criterion of coherence added its supporting voice.
(14) We have, then, at least four cases where a Synoptic parable can be claimed
to come from the historical Jesus. Therefore, total skepticism about Jesus
speaking a particular parable and that parable’s preservation in the early Christian
tradition is not warranted. Granted this, we might ask: could some other parables
in our inventory have originated with the historical Jesus? Actually, I suspect that
some of the other parables listed in the inventory do come from Jesus. The
problem is, I see no way of substantiating what is simply a suspicion. I come back
to one of the basic postulates of my whole treatment of parables: they do not get a
free pass. If every other Gospel saying we have examined in the first four
volumes of A Marginal Jew had to pass the test of meeting this or that criterion of
historicity, so too must each parable. While I would be glad to admit more
parables to the happy band of the precious few that have been judged authentic, I
do not see a way to do so honestly. To cite a favorite dictum of Jacob Neusner:
what you cannot show you do not know. Either a parable can pass the test of the
criteria, or it must be assigned to the OT Sheol (not Christian hell) of non liquet.
It should be stressed: this judgment is not the same thing as being judged
inauthentic, like the Good Samaritan. If some other scholar can find a legitimate
way to move more parables over to the “authentic” column in our list, I would be
delighted. But to give up the demand of meeting criteria for the sake of warm
feelings toward the Synoptic parables is to open up the entire quest for the
historical Jesus to rampant subjectivism and wish fulfillment. This has happened
all too often in the past, and so I prefer to defend the ungainly but necessary
bulwark of the criteria, even if it leaves us with precious few parables that can be
judged authentic. In a way, criteria exercise the indispensable but annoying role of
parents: they say no to what we want.
(15) When we come to the question of what our four authentic parables meant
in the mouth of the historical Jesus, it becomes clear why our treatment of the
parables has been delayed to so late a place in the overall project of A Marginal
Jew. Those who take the optimistic view of Jeremias or Dodd that most if not all
of the parables come from Jesus would naturally prefer to place the parables early
on in the process of questing for the historical Jesus. For such critics, the parables
are “a particularly firm historical foundation” (so Jeremias), with no other part of
the Gospel record having “a clearer ring of authenticity from the highly individual
mind of Jesus” (so Dodd). Accordingly, the parables function as the privileged
path into an understanding of Jesus’ preaching, reflecting as they do “with
peculiar clarity the character of the good news” (so Jeremias).3 If instead we
decide that only a few scattered parables from different sources can be judged
authentic, the parable tradition as a whole cannot bear such a crushing burden or
play such a pivotal role.
Even when we succeed in locating the authentic parables of the historical Jesus,
these few parables, detached from their artificial redactional contexts and read in
isolation, can be made to mean almost anything—witness the endless clever
interpretations of existentialist, structuralist, Marxist/liberationist, and feminist
scholars. Only when the critic who detaches the parables from their redactional
contexts can properly place them in the larger context of the teaching and activity
of the historical Jesus can he or she hope to gain some sense of their original
message. This presumes, of course, that a fairly reliable picture of Jesus’ words
and deeds has already been put together apart from most of the parables, so that
one is not involved in a vicious circle of presupposing what is to be proved. All
too often commentators on parables will argue for a particular interpretation of a
parable on the ground that it fits into the larger framework of Jesus’ preaching—
but without first constructing that larger framework, which is simply presumed.4
A Marginal Jew has purposefully taken the opposite approach. An overall sketch
of Jesus’ teaching and actions has been slowly put together, step by step, without,
for the most part, calling upon the parables for contributions. Only when this
larger, mostly parable-free context had been put in place did A Marginal Jew then
turn to the parables. In this way, isolated metaphorical stories that in themselves
might be open to an almost limitless number of different and conflicting
interpretations could find greater determinacy and clarity within the ministry of a
1st-century Palestinian Jew whose intent had already been largely understood
apart from the parables.
The Jesus we have found throughout A Marginal Jew presented himself to his
fellow Palestinian Jews as the eschatological prophet in the mold of Elijah, sent to
Israel at the climax of its history to begin the regathering of the whole people, a
people prepared for the coming of God’s definitive kingdom by a radical doing of
his will according to the Torah as interpreted by Jesus. To be sure, this overall
portrait that supplies a stable context of interpretation still allows the
metaphorical language of the parables to operate on various levels at the same
time, opening up a range of meanings. But such a portrait of the historical Jesus
makes many interpretations of the parables launched in the last two centuries
highly unlikely or downright ludicrous: e.g., a vague humanist catechism about
the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, an existentialist analysis of
the structures of human life and death, a Nietzschean proclamation of the death of
God, a Cynic’s rejection of polite morality as lived in a hidebound community, an
ironic postmodern questioning of our ability to know truth, a gnostic revelation of
the divine within oneself, a critique of oppressive economic and political systems
in favor of some other this-worldly system, or a call to take up arms and revolt
against Herodian or Roman rulers. In some cases, at least, these hermeneutical
démarches are poignant examples of the quest not for the historical Jesus but for
acceptance or relevance within a modern university that has little time for
theology or religious studies. We are reminded once again that instant, facile
relevance is the enemy of sober history.
In contrast, being placed near the end of our long journey toward an
intellectually serious reconstruction of the historical Jesus, the parables we have
deemed authentic make perfect sense within the context of the preaching and
activity of this particular 1st-century eschatological prophet and miracle worker
from Jewish Palestine. The parable of the Mustard Seed points to the small,
unimpressive beginnings of the kingdom in Jesus’ ministry, even though it is a
kingdom already powerfully at work—for those with eyes to see—in his
preaching and healing. But the full glory and power of this kingdom will be
apparent to all only in the future, as the twelve tribes of Israel are regathered and
God’s rule is no longer partial, hidden, or apparently absent. The contrast between
beginning and end almost defies belief, but the grand climax of the kingdom is
already present and guaranteed in its small beginnings.
However, not every member of God’s chosen people is responding positively to
Jesus’ eschatological summons. In particular, the rich, the powerful, and the
professionally pious all too often prove deaf or hostile, while the socially and/or
religiously marginalized flock to the preacher who promises the kingdom to the
poor, the hungry, the rejected, and the sinful. The reconstituted Israel of the last
days will involve a great reversal, as the insiders become the outsiders and vice
versa. Implicit in this message, dramatized in the parable of the Great Supper, is a
startling claim: Jesus dares to make an individual’s response to him and his
message the determining factor as to whether he or she will be admitted to the
eschatological banquet, which is imminent.5 No excuse for ignoring or putting off
Jesus’ call will be valid on the last day. Already we hear in this parable the
element of struggle in Jesus’ ministry, his facing rejection in the present moment,
and the grave consequences that he foresees for those who heedlessly spurn his
invitation to the kingdom.
For, as the parable of the Talents/Minas inculcates, Jesus’ offer of the kingdom,
of belonging to the Israel of the end time, is a free gift, but a gift that contains
within itself a challenge and demand. Those who accept Jesus’ message must act
upon the acceptance they voice. They must change their lives by living according
to the radical hlakâ proposed by Jesus. In short, they must strenuously do God’s
will as proclaimed by Jesus, even though at the present moment the God of Israel
may seem strangely distant or absent. Soon he will bring in his kingdom in all its
fullness, and by that very act he will call every Israelite to account. How one fares
at that final accounting, whether one is admitted to membership in the Israel of
the last days, depends on how one responds to and lives out the challenge of Jesus
in the present moment. Those who receive the gift of Jesus’ good news and then
do nothing with it can expect nothing in the end.
The element of possible hostility and even violent opposition to Jesus’ mission
to Israel, detectable already in some of these parables, reaches its climax in the
parable of the Evil Tenants of the Vineyard. Most likely delivered as Jesus
confronted the Jerusalem authorities in his final Passover pilgrimage, this parable
delivers a prophetic indictment, not unlike the indictments hurled at the temple
authorities by the prophet Jeremiah, with similar results. The time of Jesus’
ministry is quickly drawing to a close. As the last prophet sent to a sinful
Jerusalem, he resolutely faces the same prospect of rejection and even death, and
thus he perhaps intentionally alludes to the fate of his mentor, John the Baptist.
Quite possibly this is the last parable Jesus spoke, at least within our small
collection of authentic parables. It serves as a final warning to the ultimate
insiders in the temple precincts: they are in dire danger of playing out the role of
their forebears, who in this holy city murdered the prophets God had sent them. If
disaster overtook the ancient rulers of Jerusalem in retribution for their bloody
deeds, what will be the fate of the authorities Jesus confronts if they choose the
same path in dealing with the eschatological prophet? What will happen to them
when the kingdom fully comes—and it will come, despite or even through the
violent end that Jesus may face as the last of Israel’s prophets, killed in Jerusalem.
The dark, disturbing intimations of this parable, suggesting that Jesus senses
the fate he may soon face during this particular journey to Jerusalem, suggesting
too that this personal fate is somehow tied up with the fate of Israel, Jerusalem,
and its rulers, and suggesting, strangely and metaphorically, that he is not just
another prophet, but that as the final prophet he is also the son sent by the owner
of the vineyard that is Israel—all these intimations, which leave so much unsaid
in the shocking, violent end of the parable, move us to ask: who or what, finally,
did Jesus take himself to be? What implicit or explicit claims about himself arise
not just from this parable but from all the converging lines of his various words
and deeds that we have traced throughout these five volumes? It is to this pivotal
question of how Jesus the Jew directly or indirectly described and defined himself
to his fellow Jews (and how some of his fellow Jews in turn may have described
him) that we will turn in Volume Six.
But for now, we must be content with the inverse insight we have attained in
Volume Five. The parables of Jesus, however large they loom in the Synoptic
Gospels taken as they stand, do not loom so large in a critical reconstruction of
the historical Jesus. This is not to deny that parables must figure in such a
reconstruction. But compared to the prominent role of eschatological prophet as
mentored by John the Baptist, compared to the central preaching of the kingdom
of God both present and future—a kingdom proclaimed in (nonparabolic) words
and enacted in deeds—compared to the activity of an Elijah-like miracle worker,
compared to the calling and formation of disciples and especially the Twelve,
compared to the startling interpretations of the Torah for the end time—compared
to all this, the authentic parables, few and far between, shrink in importance. They
have a role to play in our quest for the historical Jesus, to be sure. But it is a
secondary and modest one. There is a certain irony here. In light of the outsized
role attributed to parables by most modern questers, the results of Volume Five
have led us to experience a surprising eschatological reversal in scholarship. The
historical Jesus might well be pleased.

NOTES TO THE CONCLUSION

 1. For example, the Book of Amos does at times evince points of similarity with vocabulary and literary
forms also found in the sapiential literature of the OT, but this hardly proves heavy influence of wisdom
traditions on Amos; on this point, see John L. McLaughlin, “Is Amos (Still) among the Wise?,” JBL 133
(2014) 281–303.
2. For the sake of brevity in this short conclusion, I use the designations “M source” and “L source” in a
wide, undifferentiated sense: namely, all the material not found in Mark or Q but present in the Gospels of
Matthew and Luke respectively. Hence, at this point in our summary, no distinction is attempted between
tradition and redaction in the M or L material.
3. These citations are from Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus, 13; and Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom,
13 (both on the first page of each author’s first chapter).
4. In my view, this is one of the weaknesses of the approach of Snodgrass (Stories with Intent), who seems
to presuppose a portrait of the historical Jesus somewhat along the lines of Joachim Jeremias, perhaps with
touches of Günther Bornkamm and Ernst Käsemann. This might, of course, be a correct portrait; but, reading
Snodgrass (and many other books on the parables of Jesus), one is left asking: Where did this portrait that
serves as the touchstone of coherence or plausibility come from?
5. This statement should not be read as a an attempt to smuggle some sort of implicit christology into the
quest for the historical Jesus. Similar claims that acceptance or rejection of the prophetic message would
determine the fate of Israel were made by any number of biblical prophets, including Amos, Hosea, and
Jeremiah. Need we be surprised that a heightened form of the same claim would be made by the person who
considered himself the final prophet sent to Israel before the definitive coming of the kingdom of God?
APPENDIX
AN INTRODUCTORY BIBLIOGRAPHY ON
THE PARABLES OF JESUS

The topic of the parables of Jesus has filled whole volumes of bibliographies; see,
e.g., Warren S. Kissinger, The Parables of Jesus. A History of Interpretation and
Bibliography (ATLA Bibliography Series 4; Metuchen, NJ/London:
Scarecrow/ATLA, 1979). General bibliographies that include more recent
publications can be found in the works of Bernard Brandon Scott, Arland J.
Hultgren, Klyne R. Snodgrass, and Ruben Zimmermann (see the following). The
books and articles listed here in chronological order are meant to be just a
sampling of important works of past and present, representing a wide range of
approaches and methodologies in regard to both parables in general and specific
pericopes. The focus is placed on works of the last few decades, though older
classics are included. For ease of inspection of the material, the information is
grouped by paragraphs divided by decades:
Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu (2 vols.; Freiburg: Mohr, 1888, 1889
[reprint published by Tübingen: Mohr (Siebeck), 1910; reprinted as one volume
by Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963]).
Paul Fiebig, Altjüdische Gleichnisse und die Gleichnisse Jesu (Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 1904); idem, Die Gleichnisreden Jesu im Lichte der rabbinischen
Gleichnisse des neutestamentlichen Zeitalters (Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 1912);
Otto Eissfeldt, Der Maschal im Alten Testament (BZAW 24; Giessen: Töpelmann,
1913).
Asher Feldman, The Parables and Similes of the Rabbis: Agricultural and
Pastoral (2d ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1927).
Arthur Temple Cadoux, The Parables of Jesus. Their Art and Use (New York:
Macmillan, 1931); C. H. Dodd, The Parables of the Kingdom (London: Nisbet,
1935 [original edition]; London: Collins [Fontana], 1961 [revised edition]).
Maxime Hermaniuk, La parabole évangélique. Enquête exégétique et critique
(Louvain: Biblioteca Alfonsiana, 1947).
A. S. Herbert, “The Parable (Māšāl) in the Old Testament,” SJT 7 (1954) 180–
96; Matthew Black, “The Parables as Allegory,” BJRL 42 (1959–60) 273–87.
 A. M. Hunter, Interpreting the Parables (London: SCM, 1960); Joachim
Jeremias, The Parables of Jesus (London: SCM, 1963 [English translation of 6th
German edition, 1962; 1st English edition, 1954]); Amos N. Wilder, “The
Parable,” Early Christian Rhetoric. The Language of the Gospel (New York:
Harper & Row, 1964; reissued edition: Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1971) 79–96;
idem, Jesus’ Parables and the War of Myths (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982);
Robert W. Funk, “The Parable as Metaphor,” Language, Hermeneutic, and Word
of God (New York: Harper & Row, 1966) 132–62; idem, Parables and Presence
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982); idem, Funk on Parables. Collected Essays (Santa
Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 2006); Eta Linnemann, Parables of Jesus. Introduction
and Exposition (London: SPCK, 1966); Dan Otto Via, Jr., The Parables. Their
Literary and Existential Dimension (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967); Friedrich
Hauck, “parabolē,” TDNT 5 (1967) 744–61; Raymond Brown, “Parable and
Allegory Reconsidered,” New Testament Essays (Garden City, NY: Doubleday,
1968) 321–33; Michael D. Goulder, “Characteristics of the Parables in the Several
Gospels,” JTS n.s. 19 (1968) 51–69, esp. 58–62; Jack Dean Kingsbury, The
Parables of Jesus in Matthew 13. A Study in Redaction-Criticism (London,
SPCK, 1969).
J. Duncan M. Derrett, Law in the New Testament (London: Darton, Longman,
and Todd, 1970); Aloysius M. Ambrozic, The Hidden Kingdom. A Redaction-
Critical Study of the References to the Kingdom of God in Mark’s Gospel
(CBQMS 2; Washington, DC: CBA, 1972); William R. Schoedel, “Parables in the
Gospel of Thomas: Oral Tradition or Gnostic Exegesis?,” CTM 43 (1972) 548–
60; John Dominic Crossan, In Parables. The Challenge of the Historical Jesus
(San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1973); idem, Cliffs of Fall. Paradox and
Polyvalence in the Parables of Jesus (New York: Seabury, 1980); idem, In
Fragments (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1983); Karl Paul Donfried, “The
Allegory of the Ten Virgins (Matt 25:1–13) as a Summary of Matthean
Theology,” JBL 93 (1974) 415–28; Gerhard Sellin, “Lukas als Gleichniserzähler:
die Erzählung vom barmherzigen Samariter (Lk 10:25–37),” ZNW 65 (1974)
166–89; idem, “Lukas als Gleichniserzähler: die Erzählung vom barmherzigen
Samariter (Lk 10:25–37),” ZNW 66 (1975) 19–60; Charles Edwin Carlston, The
Parables of the Triple Tradition (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975); J. C. Little,
“Parable Research in the Twentieth Century,” ExpTim 87 (1975–76) 356–60; 88
(1977) 40–44, 71–75; Kenneth Ewing Bailey, Poet and Peasant. A Literary-
Cultural Approach to the Parables in Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976);
idem, Through Peasant Eyes. More Lucan Parables, Their Culture and Style
(Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980); idem, Finding the Lost. Cultural Keys to Luke
15 (St. Louis: Concordia, 1992); Michel Hubaut, La parabole des vignerons
homicides (CahRB 16; Paris: Gabalda, 1976); Norman Perrin, Jesus and the
Language of the Kingdom (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976); Madeleine Boucher, The
Mysterious Parable (CBQMS 6; Washington, DC: CBA, 1977); eadem, The
Parables (NT Message 7; Wilmington, DE: Glazier, 1981); Robert M. Johnston,
Parabolic Interpretations Attributed to Tannaim (Ph.D. dissertation; Hartford,
CT: Hartford Seminary Foundation, 1977); Paul Ricoeur, The Rule of Metaphor
(Toronto: University of Toronto, 1977); idem, “Listening to the Parables of
Jesus,” The Philosophy of Paul Ricoeur. An Anthology of His Work (ed. Charles E.
Reagan and David Stewart; Boston: Beacon, 1978) 239–45; Ingo Broer, “Die
Gleichnisexegese und die neuere Literaturwissenschaft. Ein Diskussionsbeitrag
zur Exegese von Mt 20,1–16,” BN 5 (1978) 13–27; Rudolf Pesch and Reinhard
Kratz, So liest man synoptisch. Anleitung und Kommentar zum Studium der
synoptischen Evangelien. 4: Gleichnisse und Bildreden aus der dreifachen
Überlieferung. 5: Gleichnisse und Bildreden aus der zweifachen Überlieferung
(Frankfurt: Knecht, 1978); Hans-Josef Klauck, Allegorie und Allegorese in
synoptischen Gleichnistexten (NTAbh 13; Münster: Aschendorff, 1978; 2d ed.
with appendix, 1986); Hans Weder, Die Gleichnisse Jesu als Metaphern
(FRLANT 120; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978; 4th ed., 1990); The
Entrevernes Group, Signs and Parables: Semiotics and Gospel Texts (Pittsburgh:
Pickwick, 1978); Warren S. Kissinger, The Parables of Jesus. A History of
Interpretation and Bibliography (ATLA Bibliography Series 4; Metuchen,
NJ/London: Scarecrow/ATLA, 1979); Mary Ann Tolbert, Perspectives on the
Parables (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979).
Philip Barton Payne, “The Authenticity of the Parable of the Sower and Its
Interpretation,” Gospel Perspectives. Volume I (ed. R. T. France and David
Wenham; Sheffield: JSOT, 1980) 163–207; idem, “The Authenticity of the
Parables of Jesus,” Gospel Perspectives. Volume II (ed. R. T. France and David
Wenham; Sheffield: JSOT, 1981) 329–44; Rudolf Laufen, Die
Doppelüberlieferungen der Logienquelle und des Markusevangeliums (BBB 54;
Bonn: Hanstein, 1980); David Flusser, Die rabbinischen Gleichnisse und der
Gleichniserzähler Jesus. 1: Das Wesen der Gleichnisse (Judaica et Christiana 4;
Bern: Lang, 1981); Pheme Perkins, Hearing the Parables of Jesus (New York:
Paulist, 1981); Jan Lambrecht, Once More Astonished: The Parables of Jesus
(New York: Crossroad, 1981); idem, Out of the Treasure: The Parables in the
Gospel of Matthew (Louvain Theological and Pastoral Monographs 10; Louvain:
Peeters; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992); Wolfgang Harnisch, Gleichnisse Jesu.
Positionen der Auslegung von Adolf Jülicher bis zur Formgeschichte (Wege der
Forschung 366; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982); idem, Die
neutestamentliche Gleichnisforschung im Horizont von Hermeneutik und
Literaturwissenschaft (Wege der Forschung 575; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche
Buchgesellschaft, 1982); idem, Die Gleichniserzählungen Jesu. Eine
hermeneutische Einführung (3d ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995);
James Breech, The Silence of Jesus. The Authentic Voice of the Historical Man
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983); Timothy Polk, “Paradigms, Parables, and Mĕ ālîm:
On Reading the Māšāl in Scripture,” CBQ 45 (1983) 564–83; Klyne R.
Snodgrass, The Parable of the Wicked Tenants (WUNT 27; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 1983); idem, “The Gospel of Thomas: A Secondary Gospel,” Second
Century 7 (1990) 19–38; idem, “Recent Research on the Parable of the Wicked
Tenants: An Assessment,” Bulletin for Biblical Research 8 (1998) 187–216; idem,
Stories with Intent. A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus (Grand
Rapids, MI; Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2008); idem, “Key Questions on the
Parables of Jesus,” RevExp 109 (2012) 173–85; D. A. Carson, “The OMOIOΣ
Word-Group as Introduction to Some Matthean Parables,” NTS 31 (1985) 277–
82; John Drury, The Parables in the Gospels (New York: Crossroad, 1985);
Bernard Brandon Scott, “Essaying the Rock. The Authenticity of the Jesus
Parable Tradition,” Foundations & Facets Forum 2/1 (1986) 3–53; idem, Hear
Then the Parable (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989); idem, Re-Imagine the World. An
Introduction to the Parables of Jesus (Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 2001); Ron
Cameron, “Parable and Interpretation in the Gospel of Thomas,” Foundations &
Facets Forum 2/2 (1986) 3–39; Herman Hendrickx, The Parables of Jesus (San
Francisco: Harper & Row, 1986); Georg Baudler, Jesus im Spiegel seiner
Gleichnisse (Stuttgart: Calwer; Munich: Kösel, 1986); Joel Marcus, The Mystery
of the Kingdom of God (SBLDS 90; Atlanta: Scholars, 1986); Clemens Thoma
and Simon Lauer, Die Gleichnisse der Rabbinen (Judaica et Christiana 10, 16, 18;
Bern: Lang, 1986); Frederick Houk Borsch, Many Things in Parables.
Extravagant Stories of New Community (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); John R.
Donahue, The Gospel in Parable (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988); Peter
Dschulnigg, Rabbinische Gleichnisse und das Neue Testament (Judaica et
Christiana 12; Bern: Lang, 1988); Kurt Erlemann, Das Bild Gottes in den
synoptischen Gleichnissen (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1988); Robert W. Funk,
Bernard Brandon Scott, and James R. Butts, The Parables of Jesus. Red Letter
Edition (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1988); Christopher M. Tuckett, “Thomas and
the Synoptics,” NovT 30 (1988) 132–57; Birger Gerhardsson, “The Narrative
Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels. A Comparison with the Narrative Meshalim
in the Old Testament,” NTS 34 (1988) 339–63; idem, “The Narrative Meshalim in
the Old Testament Books and in the Synoptic Gospels,” To Touch the Text (Joseph
A. Fitzmyer Festschrift; ed. Maurya P. Horgan and Paul J. Kobelski; New York:
Crossroad, 1989) 289–304; idem, “Illuminating the Kingdom. Narrative
Meshalim in the Synoptic Gospels,” Jesus and the Oral Gospel Tradition (ed.
Henry Wansbrough; JSNTSup 64; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1991) 266–309;
idem, “The Earthly Jesus in the Synoptic Parables,” Christology, Controversy,
and Community (David R. Catchpole Festschrift; ed. David G. Horrell and
Christopher M. Tuckett; Leiden: Brill, 2000) 49–62; Jean Delorme (ed.), Les
paraboles évangéliques. Perspectives nouvelles (LD 135; Paris: Cerf, 1989);
Clemens Thoma and Michael Wyschogrod (eds.), Parable and Story in Judaism
and Christianity (New York: Paulist, 1989); Brad H. Young, Jesus and His Jewish
Parables (New York: Paulist, 1989); idem, The Parables. Jewish Tradition and
Christian Interpretation (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998).
Mary Ann Beavis, “Parable and Fable,” CBQ 52 (1990) 473–98; eadem, “‘Like
Yeast That a Woman Took’: Feminist Interpretations of the Parables,” RevExp
109 (2012) 219–31; Harvey K. McArthur and Robert M. Johnston, They Also
Taught in Parables. Rabbinic Parables from the First Centuries of the Christian
Era (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1990); Craig L. Blomberg, Interpreting the
Parables (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1990); idem, “Interpreting the
Parables of Jesus: Where Are We and Where Do We Go from Here?,” CBQ 53
(1991) 50–78; idem, “The Parables of Jesus: Current Trends and Needs in
Research,” Studying the Historical Jesus. Evaluations of the State of the Current
Research (NTTS 19; ed. Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans; Leiden/New
York/Cologne: Brill, 1994) 231–54; Eckhard Rau, Reden in Vollmacht.
Hintergrund, Form, und Anliegen der Gleichnisse Jesu (FRLANT 149;
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990); Claus Westermann, The Parables of
Jesus in the Light of the Old Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Werner
Georg Kümmel, “Jesusforschung seit 1981: IV. Gleichnisse,” TRu 56 (1991) 27–
53; Jürgen Roloff, “Das Kirchenverständnis des Matthäus im Spiegel seiner
Gleichnisse,” NTS 38 (1992) 337–56; idem, Jesu Gleichnisse im
Matthäusevangelium (Biblisch-theologische Studien 73; Neukirchen-Vluyn:
Neukirchener Verlag, 2005); Philip Sellew, “Interior Monologue as a Narrative
Device in the Parables of Luke,” JBL 111 (1992) 239–53; Stephen J. Patterson,
“The Gospel of Thomas and the Synoptic Tradition. A Forschungsbericht and
Critique,” Foundations & Facets Forum 8/1–2 (1992) 45–97; idem, The Gospel
of Thomas and Jesus (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1993); idem, The Gospel of
Thomas and Christian Origins (Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 84;
Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013); Bruce Chilton and Craig A. Evans (eds.), Studying
the Historical Jesus. Evaluations of the State of Current Research (NTTS 19;
Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1994); William R. Herzog II, Parables as
Subversive Speech. Jesus as Pedagogue of the Oppressed (Louisville:
Westminster/John Knox, 1994); idem, “Sowing Discord: The Parable of the
Sower (Mark 4:1–9),” RevExp 109 (2012) 187–98; Charles W. Hedrick, Parables
as Poetic Fictions. The Creative Voice of Jesus (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1994);
idem, Many Things in Parables. Jesus and His Modern Critics (Louisville:
Westminster/John Knox, 2004); Stevan L. Davies, Jesus the Healer. Possession,
Trance, and the Origins of Christianity (New York: Continuum, 1995), esp.
chapter 6, “The Function of Jesus’ Parables,” 120–36; Ivor Harold Jones, The
Matthean Parables. A Literary and Historical Commentary (NovTSup 80;
Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1995); James H. Charlesworth and Walter P.
Weaver, Earthing Christologies. From Jesus’ Parables to Jesus the Parable
(Valley Forge, PA: Trinity, 1995); Anton Vögtle, Gott und seine Gäste. Das
Schicksal des Gleichnisses Jesu vom grossen Gastmahl (Biblisch-Theologische
Studien 29; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996); V. George
Shillington (ed.), Jesus and His Parables (Edinburgh: Clark, 1997); Hermann-
Josef Meurer, Die Gleichnisse Jesu als Metaphern. Paul Ricoeurs Hermeneutik
der Gleichniserzählung Jesu im Horizont des Symbols “Gottesherrschaft/Reich
Gottes” (BBB 111; Bodenheim: Philo, 1997); Karl-Martin Beyse, “māšal I;
māšāl,” TDOT 9 (1998) 64–67; Heinrich Gross, “māšal II, etc.,” TDOT 9 (1998)
68–71; Warren Carter and John Paul Heil, Matthew’s Parables. Audience
Oriented Perspectives (CBQMS 30; Washington: CBA, 1998); Jeffrey T. Tucker,
Example Stories. Perspectives on Four Parables in the Gospel of Luke (JSNTSup
162; Sheffield: Academic Press, 1998); Ulrich Mell, Die Zeit der
Gottesherrschaft. Zur Allegorie und zum Gleichnis von Markus 4:1–9 (BWANT
8/4; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1998); idem (ed.), Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–
1999. Beiträge zum Dialog mit Adolf Jülicher (BZNW 103; Berlin: de Gruyter,
1999); idem, “Die Publikationsgeschichte von Adolf Jülicher, Die Gleichnisreden
Jesu,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 1–3; idem, “Der barmherzige
Samaritaner und Gottes Gerechtigkeit. Eine Auslegung von Lk 10,30–35 in
Anknüpfung an Adolf Jülicher,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 113–48;
Karl Erlemann, “Adolf Jülicher in der Gleichnisforschung des 20. Jahrhunderts,”
Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 5–37; Stefan Alkier, “Die ‘Gleichnisreden
Jesu’ als ‘Meisterwerke volkstümlicher Beredtsamkeit.’ Beobachtungen zur
Aristoteles-Rezeption Adolf Jülichers,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 39–
74; François Vouga, “Zur form- und redaktionsgeschichtlichen Definition der
Gattungen: Gleichnis, Parabel/Fabel, Beispielerzählung,” Die Gleichnisreden
Jesu 1899–1999, 75–95; Hans Weder, “Verstehen durch Metaphern.
Überlegungen zur Erkenntnistheorie und Methodik bildhafter religiöser Sprach im
Anschluss an Adolf Jülicher,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 97–112; Silke
Petersen, “Adolf Jülicher und die Parabeln des Thomasevangeliums,” Die
Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 179–207; Ingo Baldermann, “Auf der Suche
nach der verlorenen Didaktik der Hoffnung,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–
1999, 209–21; Peter Lampe, “Die Gleichnis-verkündigung Jesu von Nazareth im
Lichte konstruktivistischer Wissens-soziologie,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–
1999, 223–36; Eckart Reinmuth, “Erzählen und Begreifen. Ein Beitrag zum
neutestamentlichen Verständnis eines theologischen Missverständnisses,” Die
Gleichnisreden Jesu 1899–1999, 237–56; Jochen-Christoph Kaiser, “Adolf
Jülicher als Zeitgenosse. Eine biographische Skizze,” Die Gleichnisreden Jesu
1899–1999, 257–86.
Greg W. Forbes, The God of Old. The Role of the Lukan Parables in the
Purpose of Luke’s Gospel (JSNTSup 198; Sheffield: Academic Press, 2000);
Stanley E. Porter, The Criteria for Authenticity in Historical-Jesus Research
(JSNTSup 191; Sheffield: Academic Press, 2000); Dieter Massa, Verstehens-
bedingungen von Gleichnissen: Prozesse und Voraussetzungen der Rezeption aus
kognitiver Sicht (Tübingen/Basel: Francke, 2000); David Buttrick, Speaking
Parables (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 2000); Richard N. Longenecker
(ed.), The Challenge of Jesus’ Parables (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000); Arland
J. Hultgren, The Parables of Jesus. A Commentary (Grand Rapids,
MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2000); idem, “The Message of Jesus II:
Parables,” Handbook for the Study of the Historical Jesus (4 vols.; ed. Tom
Holmén and Stanley E. Porter; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011) 3. 2549–71; Morna D.
Hooker, “Mark’s Parables of the Kingdom (Mark 4:1–34),” The Challenge of
Jesus’ Parables (ed. Richard N. Longenecker; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000)
79–101; David B. Gowler, What Are They Saying about the Parables? (Mahwah,
NJ: Paulist, 2000); Jacobus Liebenberg, The Language of the Kingdom and Jesus.
Parable, Aphorism, and Metaphor in the Sayings Material Common to the
Synoptic Tradition and the Gospel of Thomas (BZNW 102; Berlin/New York: de
Gruyter, 2001); Nicholas Perrin, Thomas and Tatian. The Relationship between
the Gospel of Thomas and the Diatessaron (Academia Biblica 5;
Leiden/Boston/Cologne: Brill; Atlanta: SBL, 2002); idem, Thomas, the Other
Gospel (Louisville/London: Westminster/John Knox, 2007); Wesley G. Olmstead,
Matthew’s Trilogy of Parables. The Nation, the Nations and the Reader in
Matthew 21:28–22:14 (SNTSMS 127; Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2003);
Barbara E. Reid, “Violent Endings in Matthew’s Parables and Christian
Nonviolence,” CBQ 66 (2004) 237–55; Klaus Berger, Formen und Gattungen im
Neuen Testament (Tübingen: Francke, 2005); John Kloppenborg, The Tenants in
the Vineyard. Ideology, Economics, and Agrarian Conflict in Jewish Palestine
(WUNT 195; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2006); Michael Bird, “Who Comes
from the East and the West? Luke 13.28–29/Matt 8.11–12 and the Historical
Jesus,” NTS 52 (2006) 441–57; Jeremy Schipper, “Did David Overinterpret
Nathan’s Parable in 2 Samuel 12:1–6?,” JBL 126 (2007) 383–91; idem, Parables
and Conflict in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Cambridge University, 2009);
Robert Doran, “The Pharisee and the Tax Collector,” CBQ 69 (2007) 259–70;
Charles L. Quarles, “The Use of the Gospel of Thomas in the Research on the
Historical Jesus of John Dominic Crossan,” CBQ 69 (2007) 517–36; Ruben
Zimmermann et al. (eds.), Kompendium der Gleichnisse Jesu (Gütersloh;
Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2007); Ruben Zimmermann with Gabi Kern (eds.),
Hermeneutik der Gleichnisse Jesu (WUNT 231; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck],
2008); Garwood P. Anderson, “Seeking and Saving What Might Have Been Lost:
Luke’s Restoration of an Enigmatic Parable Tradition,” CBQ 70 (2008) 729–49;
John J. Kilgallen, Twenty Parables of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke (Subsidia
Biblica 32; Rome: Biblical Institute, 2008); idem, “‘Mysteries’ in Luke 8, 10,”
Biblical Exegesis in Progress (AnBib 176; ed. Jean-Noël Aletti and Jean-Louis
Ska; Rome: Biblical Institute, 2009) 335–70; Fabian E. Udoh, “The Tale of an
Unrighteous Slave (Luke 16:1–8 [13]),” JBL 128 (2009) 311–35; Ryan S.
Schellenberg, “Kingdom as Contaminant? The Role of Repertoire in the Parables
of the Mustard Seed and the Leaven,” CBQ 71 (2009) 527–43; Roberto Di Paolo,
“Capire i misteri del regno dei cieli. Analisi retorica di Matteo 13,” Liber Annuus
59 (2009) 59–109; Rohun Park, “Revisiting the Parable of the Prodigal Son for
Decolonization: Luke’s Reconfiguration of Oikos in 15:11–32,” Biblical
Interpretation 17 (2009) 507–20; Katrine Brix, “Erste Annäherung einer
Hermeneutik des māšāl in alttestamentlichen Schriften mit Überlegungen zur
Rezeption dieses Begriffes in den neutestamentlichen Evangelien,” Zeitschrift für
Antikes Christentum 13 (2009) 127–41; Joshua Garroway, “The Invasion of a
Mustard Seed: A Reading of Mark 5.1–20,” JSNT 32 (2009) 57–75; V. George
Shillington, “Reading Jesus’ Parables in Light of His Crucifixion,” A Wandering
Galilean (Seán Freyne Festschrift; Supplements to the Journal for the Study of
Judaism 132; ed. Zuleika Rodgers et al.; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2009) 505–24;
Stephen I. Wright, “Debtors, Laborers and Virgins: The Voice of Jesus and the
Voice of Matthew in Three Parables,” Jesus and Paul (James D. G. Dunn
Festschrift; Library of NT Studies 414; ed. B. J. Oropeza, C. K. Robertson, and
Douglas C. Mohrmann; London/New York: Clark, 2009) 13–23; Ruben
Zimmermann, “Die Ethico-Ästhetik der Gleichnisse Jesu. Ethik durch literarische
Ästhetik am Beispiel der Parabeln im Matthäus-Evangelium,” Jenseits von
Indikativ und Imperativ. Band I (WUNT 238; ed. Friedrich Wilhelm Horn and
Ruben Zimmermann; Tübingen: Mohr [Siebeck], 2009) 235–65; Michael Wolter,
“Jesus as a Teller of Parables: On Jesus’ Self-Interpretation in His Parables,”
Jesus Research: An International Perspective: The First Princeton-Prague
Symposium on Jesus Research, Prague 2005 (ed. James H. Charlesworth with
Petr Pokorný; Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2009) 123–39;
Rudolf Hoppe, “How Did Jesus Understand His Death? The Parables in
Eschatological Prospect,” ibid., 154–69; J. Lyle Story, “All Is Now Ready: An
Exegesis of ‘The Great Banquet’ (Luke 14:15–24) and ‘The Marriage Feast’
(Matthew 22:1–14),” American Theological Inquiry 2 (2009) 67–79; Luise
Schottroff, “The Kingdom of God Is Not Like You Were Made to Believe:
Reading Parables in the Context of Germany and Western Europe,” The Bible and
the Hermeneutics of Liberation (SBL Semeia Studies 59; ed. Alejandro F. Botta
and Pablo R. Andiñach; Atlanta: SBL, 2009) 169–79; Miguel Pérez Fernández,
“Rabbinic Texts in the Exegesis of the New Testament,” Review of Rabbinic
Judaism 7 (2004) 95–120; Markus Lau, “Entlang des Weges gesät—doch nicht
vergebens! Eine Notiz zu Mk 4, 4 im Licht von Mk 10, 46,” BN 142 (2009) 99–
103.
Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll, “Audience Inclusion and Exclusion as Rhetorical
Technique in the Gospel of Mark,” JBL 129 (2010) 717–35; Greg W. Forbes,
“The Parables,” The Content and Setting of the Gospel Tradition (ed. Mark
Harding and Alanna Nobbs; Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans, 2010)
354–72; Laurent Larroque, La Parabole du serviteur impitoyable en son contexte
(Mt 18, 21–35) (AnBib 187; Rome: Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2010); Alan
Appelbaum, The Rabbis’ King-Parables. Midrash from the Third-Century Roman
Empire (Judaism in Context 7; Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2010); James Metzger,
“Disability and the Marginalisation of God in the Parable of the Snubbed Host
(Luke 14.15–24),” Bible and Critical Theory 6 (2010) 23 pages (online); Ulrich
Mell, “Die neutestamentliche Gleichnisforschung 100 Jahre nach Adolf Jülicher,”
TRu 76 (2011) 37–81; Claudio Gianotto, “The Lucan Parable of the Good
Samaritan and Its Interpretations in Christian Antiquity,” The Quest for a
Common Humanity (Numen Book Series 134; ed. Katell Berthelot and Matthias
Morgenstern; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2011) 125–38; Ernest van Eck, “Do Not
Question My Honour: A Social-Scientific Reading of the Parable of the Minas
(Lk 19:12b-24, 27),” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 67 (2011) 14
pages (online); Charles W. Hedrick, “The Parables and the Synoptic Problem,”
New Studies in the Synoptic Problem (Christopher M. Tuckett Festschrift; BETL
239; ed. Paul Foster et al.; Leuven/Paris/Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2011) 321–45; J.
Albert Harrill, “The Psychology of Slaves in the Gospel Parables,” BZ 55 (2011)
63–74; Sun-Jong Kim, “Lecture de la parabole du fils retrouvé à la lumière du
Jubilé,” NovT 53 (2011) 211–21; Céline Rohmer, “Aux frontières du discours en
paraboles,” Bib 92 (2011) 597–609; eadem, “L’effetvaleur dans un discours en
paraboles. Une lecture de Matthieu 13,” ETR 86 (2011) 101–11; David Seccombe,
“Incongruity in the Gospel Parables,” TynBul 62 (2011) 161–72; R. Steven Notley
and Ze’ev Safrai, Parables of the Sages. Jewish Wisdom from Jesus to Rav Ashi
(Jerusalem: Carta, 2011); John K. Goodrich, “Voluntary Debt Remission and the
Parable of the Unjust Steward (Luke 16:1–13),” JBL 131 (2012) 547–66; Peter S.
Hawkins, “A Man Had Two Sons. The Question of Forgiveness in Luke 15,”
Ancient Forgiveness. Classical, Judaic, and Christian (ed. Charles L. Griswold
and David Konstan; New York: Cambridge University, 2012) 158–75; Nissim
Amzallag and Mikhal Avriel, “The Cryptic Meaning of the Isaiah 14 Māšāl,” JBL
131 (2012) 643–62; Adam F. Braun, “Reframing the Parable of the Pounds in
Lukan Narrative and Economic Context: Luke 19:11–28,” CurTM 39 (2012) 442–
48; Jonathan A. Kruschwitz, “2 Samuel 12:1–15: How (Not) to Read a Parable,”
RevExp 109 (2012) 253–59; Joseph Nalpathilchira, “Everything Is Ready: Come
to the Marriage Banquet.” The Parable of the Invitation to the Royal Marriage
Banquet (Matt 22, 1–14) in the Context of Matthew’s Gospel (AnBib 196; Rome:
Gregorian & Biblical Press, 2012); Armand Puig i Tàrrech, “Interpreting the
Parables of Jesus. A Test Case: The Parable of the Lost Sheep,” Gospel Images of
Jesus Christ in Church Tradition and in Biblical Scholarship (WUNT 288; ed.
Christos Karakolis, Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, and Sviatoslav Rogalsky; Tübingen:
Mohr [Siebeck], 2012) 253–89; idem, “The Parable of the Tenants in the
Vineyard: The Narrative Outline and Its Socio-Historical Plausibility,” BN 158
(2013) 85–112; idem, “Metaphorics, First Context and Jesus Tradition in the
Parable of the Tenants in the Vineyard,” BN 159 (2013) 75–120; Nathan Eubank,
“What Does Matthew Say about Divine Recompense? On the Misuse of the
Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard (20.1–16),” JSNT 35 (2013) 242–62; Peter
Yaw Oppong-Kumi, Matthean Sets of Parables (WUNT 2/340; Tübingen: Mohr
[Siebeck], 2013); Elian Cuvillier, “Discerner les signa temporum ou la
‘contemporanéité’ évangélique: Mt 16,1–4 et Mt 24–25,” Théophilyon 18 (2013)
9–25, esp. 19–21; David W. Kim, “Where Does It Fit? The Unknown Parables in
the Gospel of Thomas,” Bib 94 (2013) 585–95.
THE FAMILY OF HEROD THE GREAT
Herod the Great had ten wives. Only the wives and descendants of direct interest
to students of the NT are listed here.

*Mark’s Gospel confuses Herod, the son of Mariamme II, with Philip; this has led some NT scholars to speak
(wrongly) of “Herod Philip” as Herodias’ first husband.
THE REGNAL YEARS OF THE ROMAN PRINCIPES (EMPERORS)
Compared with the dates of the Prefects/Procurators of Judea, Samaria, and
Idumea
List of Abbreviations

1. ABBREVIATIONS OF THE NAMES OF BIBLICAL BOOKS (WITH THE

APOCRYPHAL/DEUTEROCANONICAL BOOKS)

2. ABBREVIATIONS OF THE NAMES OF PSEUDEPIGRAPHICAL AND

EARLY PATRISTIC BOOKS
Adam and Eve Books of Adam and Eve
2-3 Apoc. Bar. Syriac, Greek Apocalypse of Baruch
Apoc. Mos. Apocalypse of Moses
As. Mos. Assumption of Moses
1-2-3 Enoch Ethiopic, Slavonic, Hebrew Enoch
Ep. Arist Epistle of Aristeas
Jub. Jubilees
Mart. Isa. Martyrdom of Isaiah
Odes Sol. Odes of Solomon
Pss. Sol. Psalms of Solomon
Sib. Or. Sibylline Oracles
T. 12 Patr. Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs
T. Levi Testament of Levi
T. Benj. Testament of Benjamin, etc.
Acts Pil. Acts of Pilate
Apoc. Pet. Apocalypse of Peter
Gos. Eb. Gospel of the Ebionites
Gos. Eg. Gospel of the Egyptians
Gos. Heb. Gospel of the Hebrews
Gos. Naass. Gospel of the Naassenes
Gos. Pet. Gospel of Peter
Gos. Thom. Gospel of Thomas
Prot. Jas. Protevangelium of James
Barn. Barnabas
1-2 Clem. 1-2 Clement
Did. Didache
Diogn. Diognetus
Herm. Hermas,
Man. Mandate
Sim. Similitude
Vis. Vision
Ign. Eph. Ignatius, Letter to the Ephesians
Magn. Ignatius, Letter to the Magnesians
Phld. Ignatius, Letter to the Philadelphians
Pol. Ignatius, Letter to Polycarp
Rom. Ignatius, Letter to the Romans
Smyrn. Ignatius, Letter to the Smyrneans
Trall. Ignatius, Letter to the Trallians
Mart. Pol. Martyrdom of Polycarp
Pol. Phil. Polycarp to the Philippians
Bib. Ant. Ps.-Philo, Biblical Antiquities

3. ABBREVIATIONS OF NAMES OF DEAD SEA SCROLLS AND RELATED

TEXTS
CD Cairo (Genizah text of the) Damascus (Document)
Ḥev Naḥal Ḥever texts
Mas Masada texts
Mird Khirbet Mird texts
Mur Wadi Murabbaʿat texts
p Pesher (commentary)
Q Qumran
1Q, 2Q, 3Q, etc. Numbered caves of Qumran, yielding written material; followed by abbreviation of
biblical or apocryphal book
QL Qumran literature
1QapGen Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave 1
1QH Hôdāyôt (Thanksgiving Hymns) from Qumran Cave 1
1QIsaa, b First or second copy of Isaiah from Qumran Cave 1
1QpHab Pesher on Habakkuk from Qumran Cave 1
1QM Milḥāmāh (War Scroll)
1QS Serek hayyaḥad (Rule of the Community, Manual of Discipline)
1QSa Appendix A (Rule of the Congregation) to 1QS
1QSb Appendix B (Blessings) to 1QS
3Q15 Copper Scroll from Qumran Cave 3
4QEn fragments of 1 Enoch
4QFlor Florilegium (or Eschatological Midrashim) from Qumran Cave 4
4QMess ar Aramaic “Messianic” text from Qumran Cave 4
4QMMT fragments of the so-called Halakic Letter
4QpNah Pesher on Nahum from Qumran Cave 4
4QpPs fragments of a Pesher on various Psalms
4QPrNab Prayer of Nabonidus from Qumran Cave 4
4QTestim Testimonia text from Qumran Cave 4
4QTLev ara fragments of the so-called Aramaic Testament of Levi
4QPhyl Phylacteries from Qumran Cave 4
11QMelch Melchizedek text from Qumran Cave 11
4QVisSam The Vision of Samuel
4Q246 Aramaic Apocalypse
4Q521 Messianic Apocalpyse
11QTemple The Temple Scroll
11QtgJob Targum of Job from Qumran Cave 11

4. TARGUMS
Tg. Onq. Targum Onqelos
Tg. Neb. Targum of the Prophets
Tg. Ket. Targum of the Writings
Frg. Tg. Fragmentary Targum
Sam. Tg. Samaritan Targum
Tg. Isa. Targum of Isaiah
Pal. Tgs. Palestinian Targums
Tg. Neof. Targum Neofiti
Tg. Ps.-J. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan
Tg. Yer. I Targum Yerušalmi I*
Tg. Yer. II Targum Yerušalmi II*
Yem. Tg. Yemenite Targum
Tg. Esth. I, II First or Second Targum of Esther

* optional title

5. ABBREVIATIONS OF ORDERS AND TRACTATES IN MISHNAIC AND

RELATED LITERATURE
To distinguish the same-named tractates in the Mishna, Tosepta, Babylonian Talmud, and Jerusalem Talmud,
I use italicized m., t., b., or y. before the title of the tractate. Thus m. Peʾa 8:2; b. Šabb. 31a; y. Mak. 2.31d; t.
Peʾa 1.4 (Zuck. 18 [ = page number of Zuckermandel’s edition of the Tosepta]).

ʾAbot ʾAbot
ʿArak. ʾArakin
ʿAbod. Zar. ʿAboda Zara
B. Bat. Baba Batra
Bek. Bekorot
Ber. Berakot
Beṣa Beṣa ( = Yom Ṭob)
Bik. Bikkurim
B. Meṣ. Baba Meṣiʿa
B. Qam. Baba Qamma
Dem. Demai
ʿErub. ʾErubin
ʿEd. ʾEduyyot
Giṭ. Giṭṭin
Ḥag. Ḥagiga
Ḥal. Ḥalla
Hor. Horayot
Ḥul. Ḥullin
Kelim Kelim
Ker. Keritot
Ketub. Ketubot
Kil. Kilʾayim
Maʿaś. Maʿaśerot
Mak. Makkot
Makš. Makširin ( = Mašqin)
Meg. Megilla
Meʿil. Meʿila
Menaḥ. Menaḥot
Mid. Middot
Miqw. Miqwaʾot
Moʿed Moʿed
Moʿed Qat. Mōʿed Qaṭan
Maʿaś. Š. Maʿaśer Šeni
Našim Našim
Nazir Nazir
Ned. Nedarim
Neg. Negaʿim
Nez. Neziqin
Nid. Niddah
Ohol. Oholot
ʿOr. ʿOrla
Para Para
Peʾa Peʾa
Pesaḥ. Pesaḥim
Qinnim Qinnim
Qidd. Qiddušin
Qod. Qodašin
Roš. Haš. Roš Haššana
Sanh. Sanhedrin
Šabb. Šabbat
Šeb. Šebiʿit
Šebu. Šebuʿot
Šeqal. Šeqalim
Soṭa Soṭa
Sukk. Sukka
Taʿan. Taʿanit
Tamid Tamid
Tem. Temura
Ter. Terumot
Ṭohar. Ṭoharot
Ṭ. Yom Ṭebul Yom
ʿUq. ʿUqṣin
Yad. Yadayim
Yebam. Yebamot
Yoma Yoma ( = Kippurim)
Zabim Zabim
Zebaḥ Zebaḥim
Zer. Zeraʿim

6. ABBREVIATIONS OF OTHER RABBINIC WORKS

ʾAbot R. Nat. ʿAbot de Rabbi Nathan
ʾAg. Ber. ʾAggadat Berešit
Bab. Babylonian
Bar. Baraita
Der. Er. Rab. Derek Ereṣ Rabba
Der. Er. Zuṭ. Derek Ereṣ Zuṭa
Gem. Gemara
Kalla Kalla
Mek. Mekilta
Midr. Midraš; cited with usual abbreviation for biblical book; but Midr. Qoh. = Midraš Qohelet
Pal. Palestinian
Pesiq. R. Pesiqta Rabbati
Pesiq. Rab. Kah. Pesiqta de Rab Kahana
Pirqe R. El. Pirqe Rabbi Eliezer
Rab. Rabbah (following abbreviation for biblical book: Gen. Rab. [with periods] = Genesis Rabbah)
Ṣem. Ṣemaḥot
Sipra Sipra
Sipre Sipre
Sop. Soperim
S. ʿOlam Rab. Seder ʿOlam Rabbah
Talm. Talmud
Yal. Yalquṭ

7. ABBREVIATIONS OF NAG HAMMADI TRACTATES

Acts Pet. 12 Apost. Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles
Allogenes Allogenes
Ap. Jas. Apocryphon of James
Ap. John Apocryphon of John
Apoc. Adam Apocalypse of Adam
1 Apoc. Jas. First Apocalypse of James
2 Apoc. Jas. Second Apocalypse of James
Apoc. Paul Apocalypse of Paul
Apoc. Pet. Apocalypse of Peter
Asclepius Asclepius 21–29
Auth. Teach. Authoritative Teaching
Dial. Sav. Dialogue of the Savior
Disc. 8–9 Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth
Ep. Pet. Phil. Letter of Peter to Philip
Eugnostos Eugnostos the Blessed
Exeg. Soul Exegesis on the Soul
Gos. Eg. Gospel of the Egyptians
Gos. Phil. Gospel of Philip
Gos. Thom. Gospel of Thomas
Gos. Truth Gospel of Truth
Great Pow. Concept of our Great Power
Hyp. Arch. Hypostasis of the Archons
Hypsiph. Hypsiphrone
Interp. Know. Interpretation of Knowledge
Marsanes Marsanes
Melch. Melchizedek
Norea Thought of Norea
On Bap. A On Baptism A
On Bap. B On Baptism B
On Bap. C On Baptism C
On Euch. A On the Eucharist A
On Euch. B On the Eucharist B
Orig. World On the Origin of the World
Paraph. Shem Paraphrase of Shem
Pr. Paul Prayer of the Apostle Paul
Pr. Thanks. Prayer of Thanksgiving
Sent. Sextus Sentences of Sextus
Soph. Jes. Chr. Sophia of Jesus Christ
Steles Seth Three Steles of Seth
Teach. Silv. Teachings of Silvanus
Testim. Truth Testimony of Truth
Thom. Cont. Book of Thomas the Contender
Thund. Thunder, Perfect Mind
Treat. Res. Treatise on Resurrection
Treat. Seth Second Treatise of the Great Seth
Tri. Trac. Tripartite Tractate
Trim. Prot. Trimorphic Protennoia
Val. Exp. A Valentinian Exposition
Zost. Zostrianos

8. WORKS OF JOSEPHUS
Ag. Ap. Against Apion
Ant. Jewish Antiquities
J.W. The Jewish War

9. ABBREVIATIONS OF COMMONLY USED PERIODICALS, REFERENCE

WORKS, AND SERIALS
(Titles not found in this list are written out in full. Titles of periodicals and books are italicized, but titles of
series are set in roman characters, as are acronyms of authors’ names when they are used as sigla.) Short,
one-word titles not on this list are not abbreviated.

AAS Acta apostolicae sedis

AASOR Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research
AcOr Acta orientalia
ACW Ancient Christian Writers
AfO Archiv für Orientforschung
AGJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchistentums
AH F. Rosenthal, An Aramaic Handbook
AJA American Journal of Archaeology
AJBA Australian Journal of Biblical Archaeology
AJP American Journal of Philology
AJSL American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literature
AJT American Journal of Theology
ALBO Analecta lovaniensia biblica et orientalia
ALGHJ Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte des hellenistischen Judentums
AnBib Analecta biblica
ANEP J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near East in Pictures
ANESTP J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near East Supplementary Texts and Pictures
ANET J. B. Pritchard (ed.), Ancient Near Eastern Texts
Ang Angelicum
AnOr Analecta orientalia
ANQ Andover Newton Quarterly
ANTF Arbeiten zur neutestamentlichen Textforschung
ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt
AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament
AOS American Oriental Series
AP J. Marouzeau (ed.), L’Année philologique
APOT R. H. Charles (ed.), Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament
Arch Archaeology
ARW Archiv für Religionswissenschaft
ASNU Acta seminarii neotestamentici upsaliensis
ASOR American Schools of Oriental Research
ASS Acta sanctae sedis
AsSeign Assemblées du Seigneur
ASSR Archives de sciences sociales des religions
ASTI Annual of the Swedish Theological Institute
ATAbh Alttestamentliche Abhandlungen
ATANT Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments
AtBib H. Grollenberg, Atlas of the Bible
ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch
ATR Anglican Theological Review
Aug Augustinianum
AusBR Australian Biblical Review
AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies
AYB Anchor Yale Bible
AYBD Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary
AYBRL Anchor Yale Bible Reference Library
BA Biblical Archaeologist
BAC Biblioteca de autores cristianos
BAGD W. Bauer, W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich, and F. W. Danker, Greek-English Lexicon of the NT
BAR Biblical Archaelogist Reader
BARev Biblical Archaeology Review
BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research
BBB Bonner biblische Beiträge
BBET Beiträge zur biblischen Exegese und Theologie
BCSR Bulletin of the Council on the Study of Religion
BDB F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs, Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament
BDF F. Blass, A. Debrunner, and R. W. Funk, A Greek Grammar of the NT
BDR F. Blass, A. Debrunner, and F. Rehkopf, Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Griechisch
BeO Bibbia e oriente
BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium
BEvT Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie
BFCT Beiträge zur Förderung christlicher Theologie
BGBE Beiträge zur Geschichte der biblischen Exegese
BHEAT Bulletin d’histoire et d’exégèse de l’Ancien Testament
BHH B. Reicke and L. Rost (eds.), Biblisch-Historisches Handwörterbuch
BHK R. Kittel, Biblia hebraica
BHS Biblia hebraica stuttgartensia
BHT Beiträge zur historischen Theologie
Bib Biblica
BibB Biblische Beiträge
BibBh Bible bhashyam
BibLeb Bibel und Leben
BibOr Biblica et orientalia
BibS(F) Biblische Studien (Freiburg, 1895–)
BibS(N) Biblische Studien (Neukirchen, 1951–)
BIES Bulletin of the Israel Exploration Society ( = Yediot)
BIFAO Bulletin de l’institut français d’archéologie orientale
Bijdr Bijdragen
BIOSCS Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies
BJPES Bulletin of the Jewish Palestine Exploration Society
BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester
BK Bibel und Kirche
BKAT Biblischer Kommentar: Altes Testament
BLit Bibel und Liturgie
BN Biblische Notizen
BO Bibliotheca orientalis
BR Biblical Research
BSac Bibliotheca Sacra
BSOAS Bulletin of the School of Oriental (and African) Studies
BT The Bible Translator
BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin
BTS Bible et terre sainte
BurH Buried History
BVC Bible et vie chrétienne
BWANT Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament
ByF Biblia y Fe
BZ Biblische Zeitschrift
BZAW Beihefte zur ZAW
BZNW Beihefte zur ZNW
BZRGG Beihefte zur ZRGG
CAH Cambridge Ancient History
CahEv Cahiers évangile
CahRB Cahiers de la Revue biblique
Cah Théol Cahiers théologiques
CAT Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament
CB Cultura bíblica
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CBQMS Catholic Biblical Quarterly—Monograph Series
CC Corpus christianorum
CCath Corpus catholicorum
CH Church History
CHR Catholic Historical Review
CIG Corpus inscriptionum graecarum
CII Corpus inscriptionum iudaicarum
CIL Corpus inscriptionum latinarum
CIS Corpus inscriptionum semiticarum
CJ Classical Journal
CJT Canadian Journal of Theology
CNT Commentaire du Nouveau Testament
ConB Coniectanea biblica
ConBNT Coniectanea biblica, New Testament
ConBOT Coniectanea biblica, Old Testament
ConNT Coniectanea neotestamentica
CP Classical Philology
CQ Church Quarterly
CQR Church Quarterly Review
CRAIBL Comptes rendus de l’académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres
CRINT Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum
CSCO Corpus scriptorum christianorum
CSEL Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum latinorum
CTJ Calvin Theological Journal
CTM Concordia Theological Monthly
CTQ Concordia Theological Quarterly
CurTM Currents in Theology and Mission
DACL Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie
DBSup Dictionnaire de la Bible, Supplément
DJD Discoveries in the Judaean Desert
DRev Downside Review
DS Denzinger-Schönmetzer, Enchiridion symbolorum
DTC Dictionnaire de théologie catholique
EBib Études bibliques
EDB L. F. Hartman (ed.), Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Bible
EHAT Exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament
EKKNT Evangelisch-katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
EKL Evangelisches Kirchenlexikon
EncJud Encyclopedia Judaica (1971)
EnchBib Enchiridion biblicum
ErIsr Eretz Israel
ErJb Eranos Jahrbuch
EstBib Estudios bíblicos
EstEcl Estudios eclesiásticos
EstTeol Estudios teológicos
ETL Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses
ETR Études théologiques et religieuses
EvK Evangelische Kommentare
EvQ Evangelical Quarterly
EvT Evangelische Theologie
EWNT H. Balz and G. Schneider (eds.), Exegetisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament
ExpTim Expository Times
FB Forschung zur Bibel
FBBS Facet Books, Biblical Series
FC Fathers of the Church
FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments
GAT Grundrisse zum Alten Testament
GCS Griechische christliche Schriftsteller
GKB Gesenius-Kautzsch-Bergsträsser, Hebräische Grammatik
GKC Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, ed. E. Kautzsch, tr. A. E. Cowley
GNT Grundrisse zum Neuen Testament
GRBS Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies
Greg Gregorianum
GTA Göttinger theologische Arbeiten
GTJ Grace Theological Journal
HALAT W. Baumgartner et al., Hebräisches und aramäisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament
HAT Handbuch zum Alten Testament
HDR Harvard Dissertations in Religion
HeyJ Heythrop Journal
HibJ Hibbert Journal
HKAT Handkommentar zum Alten Testament
HKNT Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament
HNT Handbuch zum Neuen Testament
HNTC Harper’s NT Commentaries
HR History of Religions
HSM Harvard Semitic Monographs
HSS Harvard Semitic Studies
HTKNT Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HTS Harvard Theological Studies
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
HUT Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie
IB Interpreter’s Bible
IBS Irish Biblical Studies
ICC International Critical Commentary
IDB G. A. Buttrick (ed.), Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible
IDBSup Supplementary volume to IDB
IEJ Israel Exploration Journal
Int Interpretation
IOS Israel Oriental Studies
ITQ Irish Theological Quarterly
JA Journal asiatique
JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion
JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum
JAL Jewish Apocryphal Literature
JANESCU Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JAS Journal of Asian Studies
JB A. Jones (ed.), Jerusalem Bible
JBC R. E. Brown et al. (eds.), The Jerome Biblical Commentary
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JBR Journal of Bible and Religion
JDS Judean Desert Studies
JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History
JEOL Jaarbericht . . . ex oriente lux
JES Journal of Ecumenical Studies
JETS Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society
JHNES Johns Hopkins Near Eastern Studies
JHS Journal of Hellenic Studies
JJS Journal of Jewish Studies
JMES Journal of Middle Eastern Studies
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JPOS Journal of the Palestine Oriental Society
JPSV Jewish Publication Society Version
JQR Jewish Quarterly Review
JQRMS Jewish Quarterly Review Monograph Series
Jr Journal of Religion
JRelS Journal of Religious Studies
JRH Journal of Religious History
JRS Journal of Roman Studies
JRT Journal of Religious Thought
JSHRZ Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit
JSJ Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman Periods
JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament
JSNTSup Journal for the Study of the New Testament—Supplement Series
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament—Supplement Series
JSS Journal of Semitic Studies
JSSR Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion
JTC Journal for Theology and the Church
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
Judaica Judaica: Beiträge zum Verständnis . . .
KAT E. Sellin (ed.), Kommentar zum A. T.
KB L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner, Lexicon in Veteris Testamenti libros
KD Kerygma und Dogma
KJV King James Version
KlT Kleine Texte
LB Linguistica biblica
LCC Library of Christian Classics
LCL Loeb Classical Library
LCQ Lutheran Church Quarterly
LD Lectio divina
LLAVT E. Vogt, Lexicon linguae aramaicae Veteris Testamenti
LPGL G. W. H. Lampe, Patristic Greek Lexicon
LQ Lutheran Quarterly
LR Lutherische Rundschau
LS Louvain Studies
LSJ Liddell-Scott-Jones, Greek-English Lexicon
LTK Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche
LTP Laval théologique et philosophique
LumVie Lumière et vie
LW Lutheran World
McCQ McCormick Quarterly
MDB Le monde de la Bible
MDOG Mitteilungen der deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft
MeyerK H. A. W. Meyer, Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament
MGWJ Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums
MM J. H. Moulton and G. Milligan, The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament
MNTC Moffatt NT Commentary
MPAIBL Mémoires présentés à l’académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres
MScRel Mélanges de science religieuse
MTZ Münchener theologische Zeitschrift
Mus Muséon
MUSJ Mélanges de l’université Saint-Joseph
NAB New American Bible
NCB New Century Bible
NCCHS R. D. Fuller et al. (eds.), New Catholic Commentary on Holy Scripture
NCE M. R. P. McGuire et al. (eds.), New Catholic Encyclopedia
NEB New English Bible
Neot Neotestamentica
NFT New Frontiers in Theology
NHS Nag Hammadi Studies
NICNT New International Commentary on the New Testament
NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament
NIV New International Version
NJBC New Jerome Biblical Commentary
NJV New Jewish Version
NKZ Neue kirchliche Zeitschrift
NovT Novum Testamentum
NovTSup Novum Testamentum, Supplements
NRT La nouvelle revue théologique
NTA New Testament Abstracts
NTAbh Neutestamentliche Abhandlungen
NTD Das Neue Testament Deutsch
NTF Neutestamentliche Forschungen
NTS New Testament Studies
NTTS New Testament Tools and Studies
Numen Numen: International Review for the History of Religions
OBO Orbis biblicus et orientalis
OIP Oriental Institute Publications
OLP Orientalia lovaniensia periodica
OLZ Orientalistische Literaturzeitung
Or Orientalia (Rome)
OrAnt Oriens antiquus
OrChr Oriens christianus
OrSyr L’Orient syrien
OTA Old Testament Abstracts
OTL Old Testament Library
OTP J. Charlesworth, The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha
PAAJR Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research
PCB M. Black and H. H. Rowley (eds.), Peake’s Commentary on the Bible
PEFQS Palestine Exploration Fund, Quarterly Statement
PEQ Palestine Exploration Quarterly
PG J. Migne, Patrologia graeca
PGM K. Preisendanz (ed.), Papyri graecae magicae
Phil Philologus
PJ Palästina-Jahrbuch
PL J. Migne, Patrologia latina
PO Patrologia orientalis
PSB Princeton Seminary Bulletin
PSTJ Perkins School of Theology Journal
PTMS Pittsburgh Theological Monograph Series
PVTG Pseudepigrapha Veteris Testamenti graece
PW Pauly-Wissowa, Real-Encyclopädie der klassichen Altertumswissenschaft
PWSup Supplements to PW
QD Quaestiones disputatae
QDAP Quarterly of the Department of Antiquities in Palestine
RAC Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum
RANE Records of the Ancient Near East
RArch Revue archéologique
RB Revue biblique
RCB Revista de cultura bíblica
RE Realencyclopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche
REA Revue des études anciennes
RechBib Recherches bibliques
REJ Revue des études juives
RelS Religious Studies
RelSoc Religion and Society
RelSRev Religious Studies Review
RES Répertoire d’épigraphie sémitique
ResQ Restoration Quarterly
RevExp Review and Expositor
RevistB Revista bíblica
RevQ Revue de Qumran
RevScRel Revue des sciences religieuses
RevSem Revue sémitique
RGG Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart
RHE Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique
RHPR Revue d’historie et de philosophie religieuses
RHR Revue de l’histoire des religions
RIDA Revue internationale des droits de l’antiquité
RivB Rivista biblica
RNT Regensburger Neues Testament
RQ Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte
RR Review of Religion
RRef La revue reformée
RSO Rivista degli studi orientali
RSPT Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques
RSR Recherches de science religieuse
RSV Revised Standard Version
RTL Revue théologique de Louvain
RTP Revue de théologie et de philosophie
RUO Revue de l’université d’Ottawa
RV Revised Version
SacEr Sacris erudiri
SANT Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testament
SB Sources bibliques
SBA Studies in Biblical Archaeology
SBAW Sitzungsberichte der bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften
SBB Stuttgarter biblische Beiträge
SBFLA Studii biblici franciscani liber annuus
SBJ La sainte bible de Jérusalem
SBLASP Society of Biblical Literature Abstracts and Seminar Papers
SBLDS SBL Dissertation Series
SBLMasS SBL Masoretic Studies
SBLMS SBL Monograph Series
SBLSBS SBL Sources for Biblical Study
SBLSCS SBL Septuagint and Cognate Studies
SBLTT SBL Texts and Translations
SBM Stuttgarter biblische Monographien
SBS Stuttgarter Bibelstudien
SBT Studies in Biblical Theology
SC Sources chrétiennes
ScEccl Sciences ecclésiastiques
ScEs Science et esprit
SCHNT Studia ad corpus hellenisticum Novi Testamenti
SCR Studies in Comparative Religion
Scr Scripture
ScrB Scripture Bulletin
ScrHier Scripta hierosolymitana
SD Studies and Documents
SE Studia Evangelica I, II, III, etc. ( = TU 73 [1959], 87 [1964], 88 [1964], 102 [1968], 103 [1968], 112
[1973])
Sem Semitica
SHT Studies in Historical Theology
SJ Studia judaica
SJLA Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity
SJT Scottish Journal of Theology
SMSR Studi e materiali di storia delle religioni
SNT Studien zum Neuen Testament
SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series
SO Symbolae osloenses
SOTSMS Society for Old Testament Study Monograph Series
SP J. Coppens et al. (eds.), Sacra pagina
SPap Studia papyrologica
SPAW Sitzungsberichte der preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften
SPB Studia postbiblica
SPC Studiorum paulinorum congressus internationalis catholicus 1961 (2 vols.)
Sr Studies in Religion/Sciences religieuses
SSS Semitic Study Series
ST Studia theologica
STANT Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testament
STDJ Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah
Str-B [H. Strack and] P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
StudNeot Studia neotestamentica
StudOr Studia orientalia
SUNT Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments
SVTP Studia in Veteris Testamenti pseudepigrapha
SymBU Symbolae biblicae upsalienses
TAPA Transactions of the American Philological Association
TBei Theologische Beiträge
TBl Theologische Blätter
TBü Theologische Bücherei
TBT The Bible Today
TCGNT B. M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament
TD Theology Digest
TDNT G. Kittel and G. Friedrich (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the New Testament
TDOT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament
TextsS Texts and Studies
TF Theologische Forschung
TGl Theologie und Glaube
THKNT Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament
ThStud Theologische Studien
TLZ Theologische Literaturzeitung
TP Theologie und Philosophie
TPQ Theologisch-Praktische Quartalschrift
TQ Theologische Quartalschrift
TRE Theologische Realenzyklopädie
TRev Theologische Revue
TRu Theologische Rundschau
TS Theological Studies
TSK Theologische Studien und Kritiken
TToday Theology Today
TTZ Trierer theologische Zeitschrift
TU Texte und Untersuchungen
TWAT G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren (eds.), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament
TWNT G. Kittel and G. Friedrich (eds.), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament
TynBul Tyndale Bulletin
TZ Theologische Zeitschrift
UBSGNT United Bible Societies Greek New Testament
UNT Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament
USQR Union Seminary Quarterly Review
VC Vigiliae christianae
VCaro Verbum caro
VD Verbum domini
VE Vox evangelica
VF Verkündigung und Forschung
VKGNT K. Aland (ed.), Vollständige Konkordanz zum griechischen Neuen Testament
VP Vivre et penser ( = RB 1941–44)
VS Verbum salutis
VSpir Vie spirituelle
VT Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Vetus Testamentum, Supplements
WDB Westminster Dictionary of the Bible
WHAB Westminster Historical Atlas of the Bible
WHJP World History of the Jewish People
WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament
WO Die Welt des Orients
WTJ Westminster Theological Journal
WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament
WVDOG Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der deutschen Orientgesellschaft
WZKM Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes
WZKSO Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde Süd- und Ostasiens
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZDMG Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft
ZDPV Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins
ZHT Zeitschrift für historische Theologie
ZKG Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte
ZKT Zeitschrift für katholische Theologie
ZMR Zeitschrift für Missionskunde und Religionswissenschaft
ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft
ZRGG Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte
ZTK Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche
ZWT Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie
10. MISCELLANEOUS ABBREVIATIONS
ET English Translation
LXX The Septuagint
MT Masoretic Text
NT New Testament
OT Old Testament
par(r). parallel(s) in the Gospels
Vg The Vulgate
VL Vetus Latina (Old Latin)
║ two pericopes (often in the Q document) that are basically parallel, though possibly with some differences
in wording
Scripture and Other Ancient Writings Index

Old Testament with the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books

Genesis
1:25, 26, 28, 221n32
2:20, 221n32
3:14, 221n32
6:7, 221n32
8:19, 221n32
9:20, 169n97
22:2, 322n42
37:18–28, 323n43
50:5, 221n32
Exodus
11:5, 221n32
Leviticus
19:18b, 3, 204
25:13, 221n32
Numbers
23:7, 18, 39
24:3, 15, 20–23, 39
Deuteronomy
6:4–5, 3
23:1, 222n36
28:30, 39, 169n97
Judges
9:7–15, 63n16
9:8–15, 37
2 Samuel
10:2–5, 322n41
12:1–4, 63n16, 63n17
12:1–12, 37
12:1–14, 66n28
14:5–7, 63n16
14:5–8, 37
1 Kings
20:38–42, 66n28
20:39–42, 38, 64n19
21:3, 323n43
2 Kings
6:20–23, 223n42
14:9, 63n16
14:9–10, 37
Isaiah
1:8, 321n40
3:12–14, 321n40
5:1–2, 115
 5:1–6, 63n16
5:1–7, 38, 66n28, 86, 321n40
5:2, 116, 118, 119, 124, 167n88, 169n97
5:4, 324n45
8:14, 252–53
8:14–15, 119, 168n95
22:13, 70n42
24–27, 66n27
27:2, 321n40
28:16, 252–53, 326n47, 329n59
28:23–29, 63n16
42:1, 168n92
52:13–53:12, 13
61:2, 98
Jeremiah
7:24–28, 250
9:22, 70n42
12:10, 321n40
51:26a, 326n49
Ezekiel
15:1–8, 38, 63n16
16:1–43, 63n16
16:2–3, 64n22
17:1–21, 64n22, 65n22
17:2, 39, 65n23
17:3–4, 22–23, 234, 235
17:3–10, 63n16
17:22–23, 315n21
17:22–24, 315n20
17:23, 316n24
19, 23, 24, 63n16
19:2–9, 10–14, 63n16
19:10, 321n40
23:1–19, 63n16
24:1–14, 39
24:3–14, 63n16
31:3, 315n18
31:3–6, 234–35
31:5–6, 315n21
31:6, 234
Hosea
12:8–11, 70n42
Joel
4:13 (3:13), 213n4
Amos
5:11, 169n97
Micah
7:6, 105, 161n55
Zephaniah
1:1–16, 333n68
Zechariah, 66n27
4:7, 326n47
Psalms
 21:19, 161n56
37, 70n42
39, 70n42, 49, 65n25, 70n42
73, 70n42
80:8–16, 321n40
103:12, 234, 236, 315n21, 316n23
117 LXX (118 MT), 193, 247, 324–25n46
117:22 LXX (118:22 MT), 118, 119, 172n111, 325n47, 326n49
117:22, 24 LXX (118:22, 24 MT), 329n59
117:22–23 LXX (118:22–23 MT), 87, 117–18, 123, 240, 245, 247–48, 252–53, 318n32
117:23 LXX (118:23 MT), 326n48
Job
7:7, 221n32
31:24–32, 70n42
Proverbs
1:1, 36
1:6, 36
3:9–10, 70n42
3:28, 221n32
9:1–6, 13–18, 63n16
10:1, 36
11:5, 220n32
25:1, 36
Ruth
2:3, 220n32
Qoheleth (Ecclesiastes)
2:1–26; 4:8; 5:10–19; 6:2, 70n42
Esther
4:8; 7:7, 341n105
Daniel
2:9 (LXX), 220–21n32
2:34–35, 119, 168n95
2:44–45, 119, 168n95
4:10, 11, 12, 21 (LXX), 315n21
4:10–12, 234, 235
4:12 (Theo), 315n21
4:12, 21 (LXX), 315n21
4:21 (Theo), 315n21
7:13, 25n20
12:3, 127
Nehemiah
3:34 (MT), 326n47
9:26–37, 250
2 Chronicles
28:8–15, 207, 223–24n42
36:13–21, 250
1 Kingdoms
20:6 (bis), 28, 341n105
2 Kingdoms
1:6, 220n32
3 Kingdoms
20:3, 323n43
Baruch
 1:19–20, 250
4 Ezra
3:10–12, 326n47
4:13–21, 39
5:41–53, 39
2 Maccabees
2:31, 341n105, 342n107
4:36, 221n32
6:13, 221n32
9:7, 21, 221n32
10:4, 221n32
3 Maccabees
6:27, 341n105
4 Maccabees
4:11, 227n47
11:2, 341n105
Sirach
5:1–10, 70n42
11:18–19, 43, 132, 133, 135, 181n142, 181n143, 182n145
29:11, 43
32:8, 322n41
50:27, 36
50:27–29, 59n12
51:3, 43
Tobit
6:17, 221n32
Wisdom
2:10–3:9, 13
3:7, 127
5:1–5, 13
15:7–12, 70n42

New Testament
Matthew
2:23, 153n29
3:7–10, 68n32, 258, 286
3:10, 68n32
3:11–12, 232
3:12, 68n32
3:17, 168n92
4:1–11, 129, 286
4:13, 153n29
5:3, 103, 159n49, 160n51
5:8, 13, 27–30, 48, 156n40
5:10, 160n51
5:10–20, 156n40
5:14a, 60–61n14
5:15, 60–61n14, 63n15
5:15–16, 61n14
5:25–26, 58n6, 214n6
6:1, 156n40
6:22–23, 258
6:24, 60n14, 258
6:26, 236
7:9–10, 218n21
7:13–14, 216n11
7:15–27, 292
7:16–20, 21, 292
7:24, 155n37, 156n40
7:24 + 26, 242
7:24–27, 193–94, 211n3
8:11–12, 234, 271–72
8:12, 262, 295, 361n166
8:20, 236
9:16–17, 107–8
9:26, 139
10:1, 5–15, 232
10:5–42, 100–101
10:5b-6, 205
10:9, 360n163
10:10, 11, 13, 106
10:16, 155n37
10:16a, 101, 154n33
10:16b, 100, 101, 138, 154n33, 154n35, 155n38, 155–56n39, 156n40
10:17–18, 101
10:23, 156n40
10:26, 97, 100, 151
10:32–39, 292
10:34, 160n53
10:34–36, 104, 160n53, 160–61n54
10:36, 105, 161n55
10:37–38, 105–6
10:39, 308
11:4–6, 258
11:16–17, 61n14, 214n6
11:16–19, 258
12:18, 168n92
12:28, 239
12:29, 50, 61n14, 232
12:43–45, 214n6
12:44, 186n167
12:46–50, 109
12:47, 163n67
12:49–50, 111
13:1–52, 135
13:3, 211n3
13:3–8, 192–93
13:8, 170n102
13:10, 182n146
13:12, 287, 305
13:24, 265
13:24, 27, 31, 44, 165n75
13:24, 31, 33, 44, 45, 47, 52, 260
13:24–30, 86, 124, 125, 126, 174n115, 194–96, 260
13:24–30, 36–43, 47–50, 261
13:25, 127, 129–30, 178n132, 178n133
13:26, 127
13:26–29, 126
13:26–30, 174n113
13:28–29, 175n119
13:29, 180n140
13:30, 127, 130–31
13:30d, 176n123
13:31, 113
13:31–32, 111, 192–94, 231–40
13:32, 114, 234, 315n21, 316n23
13:33, 42, 76n56, 193–94
13:36–43, 124
13:36–50, 292
13:37–43, 86, 126, 127
13:37a-39, 176n122
13:39, 131, 178n133
13:40, 176n122
13:42, 50, 295
13:43a, 176n123
13:44, 194–95, 294
13:45, 312n6
13:45–46, 194–96
13:45–50, 260
13:47–48, 194–96
13:47–50, 188n171, 243
13:51–52, 79n61
13:57, 97, 98
13:58, 154n32
14:22–33, 94
15:10–20, 156n40
15:11, 102, 157–58n43
16:12, 139
16:13–20, 131
16:17, 179n139
16:17–19, 180n139
16:24–25, 105
16:27, 293
17:2, 127
17:5, 168n92
17:20, 313n11
18:6–9, 23–35, 292
18:12, 185n161
18:12–14, 193–94, 218n21
18:15–20, 136
18:21–22, 136
18:23, 260
18:23–35, 42, 136, 194–96, 260, 349n137
19:9, 93, 328n54
19:28, 308
20:1, 260
20:1–16, 44, 194–96, 260
21–25, 336–37n82
21:28–22:14, 337n82
21:28–32, 168n93, 194–96, 226n46, 336n80
21:33–34, 170n101
21:33–39, 260
21:33–43, 115, 117, 185n161, 240–53
21:33–44, 192–93
21:33–46, 336n80
21:34, 120, 260
21:34–36, 265
21:35–36, 336n81
21:37, 168n92
21:41, 246
21:43, 323n44
21:44, 168n95
22:1–10, 180n141, 193–94, 195–96, 260, 335n74
22:1–14, 168n93, 334n73, 338n84
22:2, 53, 265, 271, 335n77
22:2, 3, 4, 8, 9, 10, 11–12, 276
22:2–10, 42, 259
22:2–14, 253–74
22:3, 259, 260
22:3, 4, 6, 8, 10, 337n84
22:3–6, 10, 341n102
22:4, 255, 333n66, 333n67
22:4, 8, 259, 274
22:5, 344n119
22:5–6, 261
22:6–7, 11–14, 263, 334n69
22:7, 259, 271
22:9–10, 259, 271, 275
22:11–14, 194–96, 261–62, 337n84
22:12, 337n84
22:13, 295, 333n64, 337n84
22:14, 337n84
23:6, 276
23:25–28, 156n40
23:29–32, 337n82
23:34, 262
24:10–13, 261
24:18, 40, 165n75
24:32, 63n15
24:32–33, 211n2
24:37–44, 288
24:43–44, 213n5, 214n6
24:45, 155n37, 156n40, 242
24:45–51, 144, 193–94, 288, 292, 293
24:47, 360n162
24:48, 186n167
24:51, 295
25:1, 260
25:1–13, 194–95, 213n5, 215n10, 262, 288
25:1–13, 31–46, 261, 292
25:2, 4, 8, 9, 155n37, 156n40
 25:10, 276
25:14, 301–2
25:14–30, 42, 193–94, 260, 278–306
25:14a, 299–300
25:16, 18, 20, 24, 294
25:19, 298
25:19–28, 358n159
25:21, 360n162
25:21, 23, 295
25:22, 355n150
25:25, 358n159
25:25b, 287
25:26, 360n161
25:28, 295, 296
25:29, 286, 287, 295, 320n38
25:30, 262, 286, 295, 304
25:31–46, 194–96, 214–15n8
25:45–25:30, 293–94
26:50, 337–38n84
27:25, 337n82
27:35, 161n56
28:16–20, 155n36
Mark
1:7–8, 232
1:9, 24, 153n29
1:11, 322n42, 327n53
1:44, 26n27
2:5, 140
2:19a, 271
2:21–22, 107
3:23, 63n15
3:27, 50, 61n14, 77n56, 232
3:31–35, 109
3:32, 110
4:1–9, 70n41
4:1–34, 135
4:3, 211
4:3–8, 42, 85, 192–93
4:4, 212n3
4:5, 212n3
4:7, 170n102
4:8, 212n3
4:10, 182n146
4:10–12, 182n146
4:13–20, 70n41
4:14–20, 85, 87
4:22, 96–97
4:25, 287, 305
4:26–27, 212n3
4:26–29, 43, 174n113, 192–93
4:29, 212n4
4:30–32, 42, 111, 192–94, 231–40
4:31–32, 165n73
4:32, 234
4:32b, 315n21
5:35–40, 175n119
5:43, 139
6:1–6, 152n27
6:4, 97, 98, 100
6:4–13, 232
6:5, 100
6:7–13, 164n70
6:8, 360n163
6:27, 322n41
6:45–52, 94
7:1–23, 3
7:15, 102, 157n43, 158n43
7:17, 63n15
8:21, 139
8:31–33, 139
8:34–35, 105
8:35, 308
9:7, 322n42, 327n53
10:11–12, 93, 328n54
10:29–30, 105
11–12, 247
11:10, 352n144
11:27, 182n147, 325n47
12:1, 118, 167n88, 184n161, 321n40, 325n47, 327n53
12:1, 5, 6, 9, 10–11, 167n88
12:1–8, 249, 252, 258, 260, 271, 273
12:1–9, 328n53
12:1–11, 42, 86, 115, 116–17, 136, 192–93, 240–53, 320n37, 323n43
12:1–12, 244–49
12:2, 119
12:2–5, 245, 265
12:4, 322n41
12:5, 327n53
12:5–9, 319–20n36
12:6, 117, 143, 144, 187n168, 322n42, 329n56
12:7, 323n43
12:8, 252
12:9, 318n31
12:9 + 10–11, 252, 327n52
12:10, 252, 325n47
12:10–11, 245, 247, 253, 323–24n45, 326n49
12:10b-11, 318n32, 326n48
12:28–34, 137, 201, 203, 219n26, 220n29
12:38–39, 171n103
12:38–40, 276
12:39, 276
13:9, 101
13:9–13, 100
13:24–27, 213n5
13:28, 63n15
13:28–29, 60n14, 211n2
 13:32–37, 58n6, 213n5
13:33–37, 192–93, 213n5
13:34, 184n161, 293
13:34–35, 213n5
13:34–37, 136
14:22–24, 199
14:69–71, 141
15:6, 341n105
15:24, 161n56
15:42–47, 252
Luke
1:24, 51–53, 59–63, 229n48
1:26–33, 297
2:1, 285
2:4, 39, 51, 153n29
3:1–2, 285
3:7–9, 68n32, 258, 286
3:15–18, 232
4:1–13, 286
4:16–30, 98
4:19, 98
4:23, 63n15, 100
4:24, 97, 98, 152n27, 153n30, 153n31
5:20, 140
5:36, 63n15
5:36–39, 107–8
5:39, 162n64, 163n65
6:20, 159n49, 164n70
6:20b, 103, 158n45
6:21–23, 258
6:39, 63n15
6:47 + 49, 242
6:47–49, 193–94
7:22–23, 258
7:31–32, 214n6
7:31–35, 258
7:32, 61n14
7:41, 184n161
7:41–43, 136, 196–99
8:4–18, 135
8:5, 212n3, 236
8:5–8, 192–93
8:9, 182n146
8:17, 96, 151n20
8:18b, 287, 305
8:19–21, 110
8:51–53, 175n119
9–19, 92
9:1, 2–5, 232
9:22, 139
9:23–24, 105
9:51–19:28, 297
9:51–55, 207
9:51–56, 57, 297
9:52–53, 206
9:57, 140
9:57–61, 340n99
9:58, 236
10:1, 38, 297
10:1–12, 164n70, 232
10:3, 101
10:17, 219n25
10:25, 183n153, 201
10:25–28, 203, 219n25
10:25–37, 202, 204, 207, 219n27, 220n29, 264
10:29–37, 196–99, 207, 266
10:30, 227n47, 339n94
10:30–36, 221n32
10:30–37, 85, 137, 204, 242
10:31–35, 266
11:1–8, 264
11:5–8, 197–99
11:11–12, 218n21
11:15, 140
11:20, 239
11:21–22, 50, 61n14, 232
11:24, 186n167
11:24–26, 214n6
11:27–28, 139
11:34–35, 258
12:1, 4, 139, 183n154
12:2, 97
12:13, 140, 183n154
12:13–14, 184n157
12:13–15, 133–35, 138, 141, 142, 145
12:13–21, 132, 264
12:14, 140, 163n65
12:15, 139
12:16, 143, 185n165, 339n94
12:16–20, 182n145, 185n163, 186n166
12:16–21, 43, 133, 134–35, 137–38, 142, 143, 144, 145, 197–99
12:17, 118, 186n166
12:17–19, 181n143
12:22–31, 97
12:33, 163n65
12:35–38, 192–93, 213n5
12:36–38, 213n5
12:39–40, 213n5, 214n6
12:41, 136
12:41–46, 144
12:42, 155n37, 242
12:42–46, 186n166, 193–94
12:42–48, 136
12:45, 186n167
12:51, 161n56
12:51–53, 104, 160n53, 160–61n54
12:53, 105
12:58–59, 58n6, 213n5, 214n6
13:1, 140
13:1, 31, 285
13:1–9, 264
13:3–52, 53
13:6–9, 137, 197–99
13:18–19, 111, 192–94
13:18a, 113
13:19, 234
13:20–21, 76n56, 193–94
13:22, 33, 297
13:23, 140
13:24–25, 216n11
13:28, 361n166
13:28–29, 234, 271–72
13:28–30, 258
14:2, 339n94
14:7, 63n15
14:7–11, 216n11
14:12, 275
14:12, 16, 17, 24, 276
14:13, 269
14:13 + 21, 338n90, 344n116
14:15, 136, 140, 339n95
14:15 + 24, 344n115
14:15–16, 264
14:15–24, 333n68, 333n73, 335n74, 340n98
14:16, 53, 271, 339n94, 345n127
14:16–17, 259
14:16–21a, 338n88
14:16–24, 136, 180n141, 193–94, 253–73, 275, 338n87
14:17, 259, 265, 274, 276, 333nn66–67
14:18, 255, 333n64, 344n119
14:18–19, 341n105, 343n113, 345n129
14:18–20, 340nn97–98, 343n112
14:18–21, 265–68
14:18b, 19, 343n111
14:19, 342n109
14:19–20, 340n98
14:20, 277
14:21, 259, 269, 278
14:21–23, 265–66, 271
14:23, 259, 278
14:24, 264, 340–41n102, 344n118
14:25–33, 264
14:25–35, 340n99
14:26–27, 105–6
14:28–32, 197–99, 216n11
15:1–3, 8–10, 11–32, 264
15:1–10, 243
15:2, 136, 137
15:3–7, 136
15:4–7, 193–94, 218n21
15:8–10, 137, 197–99
15:11, 339n94
15:11–32, 42, 137, 186n166, 197–99
15:12–13, 22–24, 31–32, 327n52
15:13, 15–16, 167n87
15:17–19, 144
16:1, 143
16:1, 19, 339n94
16:1–8, 186n166, 197–99, 209, 243, 305
16:1–9, 80n62, 228n48
16:3, 118
16:3–4, 144
16:8, 155n37
16:9–13, 209, 243, 305
16:13, 258
16:19, 143
16:19–31, 137, 197–99
16:29 + 31, 243
16:31, 321n38
17:6, 313n11
17:7–10, 197–99
17:10, 144
17:11, 227n47, 297
17:11–19, 206, 207
17:18, 201
17:19, 206
17:33, 308
18:1, 243
18:1–8, 137, 197–99
18:1–8, 9–14, 264
18:2, 184n161
18:2–5, 186n166
18:4–5, 144
18:6 + 7, 243
18:8, 243
18:9, 244
18:9–14, 137, 197–99
18:10, 184n161
18:10–14a, 228n48
18:11–12, 144
18:14b, 244
18:18b, 219n25
18:29–30, 105
18:31, 35, 297
19:1, 11, 28, 297
19:1–10, 11, 354n147
19:9–10, 297
19:11, 136, 298, 300, 352n144, 361n168
19:11, 12, 355n150
19:11–27, 42, 278–306
19:12, 339n94
19:12, 14, 15a, 27, 283
 19:12–13a, 300
19:12–27, 69n39, 193–94, 286, 351n143, 353n147
19:12b, 15a, 301
19:13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 20, 302
19:13, 15–26, 300
19:13b, 293
19:14, 361n169
19:14, 17, 19, 24, 26, 27, 299
19:14 + 27, 300–302, 353n147
19:15, 221n32, 352n144
19:17, 294, 295, 359n160
19:20b, 287
19:21, 358n159
19:22, 360n161
19:22, 24, 295
19:25, 355n150
19:26, 286, 287, 295, 320n38
19:27, 286, 304, 353n144
19:28, 300
19:28–40, 352n144
19:37–38, 361n167
19:38, 297, 352n144
19:41–44, 301
20:9, 124, 169n97, 185n161
20:9–16, 186n166
20:9–18, 115, 118, 192–93, 240–53
20:10, 120, 124, 170n102, 170n103
20:10–12, 265, 340n98
20:13, 121
20:18, 168n95
21:1–36, 301, 353n144
21:5, 140
21:29, 63n15
21:29–31, 211n2
22:19–20, 199
22:28–30, 285
22:30, 308
22:58–60, 141
23:2–3, 42–43, 285
23:6–12, 285
23:29, 139
John
1:26–27, 33, 311n3
4:42, 223n40
4:43–45, 153n29
4:44, 97, 99
10:6, 63n15
12:20–26, 223n40
12:25, 308
16:25 (bis), 63n15
16:29, 63n15
19:24, 161n56
19:38–42, 252
Acts
1:6, 178n130, 285
1:6–8, 221n35
1:6–11, 361n167
1:8, 205
1:12, 297, 361n167
2:22–24, 32–36, 251
2:23–24, 13
2:29–32, 251
2:33–36, 361n167
2:34–36, 301
2:36, 352n144
3:13–15, 13, 251
4:5, 221n32
4:10, 13, 251
4:11, 252
5:30, 251
5:30–31, 13
6:7, 339n92
7:56, 25n20
8:2–25, 206
8:4–25, 205, 223n40
8:12–13, 206
8:26–40, 205, 221–22n36, 223n40
9:31, 222n38
9:33, 220n32, 339n94
10, 152n28
10:1–11:18, 223n40, 285
10:34–43, 98
10:35, 98
10:36–42, 301
10:37, 222n38
11:19–25, 205
11:19–26, 223n40
13:4–12, 285
13:25, 311n3
13:27–30, 13, 251
13:29, 251
13:31, 222n38
13:42–48, 264
13:44–52, 206
15:1, 5, 339n92
15:1–35, 223n40
16:19–40, 285
16:23, 221n32
18:1–11, 206, 264
18:12–17, 285
19:8–10, 206, 264
20:25, 178n130
21:24, 171n103
22:22–30, 285
23:12–28:30, 285
23:24, 221n32
 25:11, 341n105, 341n106
27:41, 220n32
28:17–28, 206
28:23–28, 264
Romans
3:24–26, 13
4:25, 13, 251
9:33, 252–53
11:25, 155n37
12:16, 155n37
15:24, 28, 222n37
16:19, 101
1 Corinthians
1:18–31, 13
4:10, 98, 152n26, 155n37
7, 93
10:15, 155n37
11:23–26, 199
12:23, 98, 152n26
15:3–5, 13, 251
15:4, 251
15:39, 221n32
2 Corinthians
6:2, 98
9:10 (bis), 212n3
11:19, 155n37
Ephesians
2:20, 252–53
Philippians
2:6–11, 251
2:15, 101
4:18, 98
1 Timothy
4:7, 341n105
5:11, 341n105
2 Timothy
2:23, 341n105
Titus
3:10, 341n105
Hebrews
9:9, 63n15
11:19, 63n15
11:38, 106
12:11, 170n102
12:19, 341n105
12:25 (bis), 341n105
James
1:2, 220n32
4:13–5, 181n142
1 Peter
2:6–8, 252–53
2 Peter
2:22, 63n15
Revelation
1:13, 25n20
2:2, 170n102
14:15–16, 213n4
18:13, 221n32
22:18, 221n32

Pseudepigrapha
1 Enoch
10:4, 333n64
37–71, 39, 215n8
94:7–11, 70n42
97:8–10, 70n42, 181n142
99:9, 333n64

Church Fathers
1 Clement
5:7, 222n37
55:1, 361n169
Epistle of Barnabas
6:2–4, 329n59
Eusebius, Theophania,
359n159
Hermas
Mandate 11:18 (= 43:18), 65n26
Ignatius
Letter to Polycarp 2:2, 155n38
Letter to the Ephesians 19:1–3, 155n38
20.1–2, 25n21
Letter to the Philadelphians 3:1, 155n38
Letter to the Romans 2:2, 222n37
Letter to the Smyrneans 1:1, 155n38
Polycarp
Letter to the Philippians 2:3, 103, 160n51

Nag Hammadi texts

Apocryphon of James
6:22–7:1, 172n109
Coptic Gospel of Thomas
5, 151n20, 151n24
9, 192–93, 211–12n3
13, 131, 142, 179–80n139
14, 102, 157–58n43
16, 104, 105
20, 111, 113, 114, 129, 164n69, 192–94, 231
21, 192–93, 212n4, 214n6
26, 151n24
29, 143
30, 149n9, 187n170
31, 151n24, 153n31, 153–54n32
 33, 151n24
39, 100, 138, 154n33, 155n38, 156n40
47, 108, 151n24, 162n64
50, 141
54, 103, 129, 159n49, 160n50
55, 106
57, 125–31, 169n100, 173–74n113, 174n115, 175n117, 175n118, 175n120, 176n121, 176–77n124,
177n126, 177n127, 180n140
61, 141
63, 132, 133, 134–35, 138, 142–43, 145, 169n100, 186n166
64, 169n100, 180n141, 193–94, 253–54, 268, 273–75, 277–78, 345n127, 345n129, 346n132, 346n134
65, 120, 187n168, 192–93, 273, 318n33, 328n54
65–66, 115, 116, 119, 151n24, 157n43, 172n111, 240
72, 132, 133–35, 138, 140, 141, 142, 145, 182n151
77, 141, 149n9
79, 183n152
81, 143
85, 143
96, 193–94
99, 109, 110, 151n24, 163–64n68
100, 151n24, 187n170
103, 214n6
104, 151n24
106, 141
107, 187n169, 193–94
110, 143
114, 129, 164n68
Papyri, Oxyrhynchus
1, 71, 153n32
1.23–30, 149n9
1.30–35, 97, 99, 152n25, 153n31
292.6, 342n109
654, 71, 178n131
654.27–31, 96, 151n20
655, 71, 97, 100, 101, 154n33, 155n38, 156n40

Dead Sea Scrolls and related texts

4QMMT, 227n47

Rabbinic literature
Mishna
m. Nazir
1:5, 313n11
7:1, 227n47
m. Baba Meṣiʿa
3:10–12, 360n165
m. Ṭoharot
8:8, 313n11
m. Niddah
5:2, 313n11
Jerusalem Talmud
 y. Peʾa
7:4, 313n9
Babylonian Talmud
b. Berakot
31a, 313n11
b. Baba Meṣiʿa
42a-b, 360n165
Targum of Isaiah, 320n37
Targum of the Psalms, 325n46

Judeo-Hellenistic works
Joseph and Aseneth
27:3 + 29:1, 227n47
27:8, 323n43
Josephus
Jewish Antiquities
5.8.6 §294, 342n107, 342n108
7.8.2 §175, 267, 342n107
7.11.4 §273, 342n107
11.6.1 §191, 342n107
12.4.2 §162, 361n169
12.4.7 §197, 267, 342n107
16.2.5 §62, 342n107
16.8.3 §243, 342n107
16.11.6 §389, 342n107
17.8.1–17.13.5 §188–355, 283
20.4.3 §147, 342n107
Jewish War
1.11.3–4 §281–285, 284
1.18.1–2 §347–353, 284
2.1.1–2.7.3 §1–113, 283
4.9.2 §496, 342n107
7.5.2 §115, 294
Philo of Alexandria
Flaccus
5 §26, 31, 342n107
On the Migration of Abraham (De migratione Abrahami)
14 §76, 342n107
Author Index

Aalen, Sverre, 330n60, 333n64

Achtemeier, Paul J., 329n58
Ahearne-Kroll, Stephen P., 385
Aichele, George, 23n8
Aland, Kurt, 168n95
Aletti, Jean-Noël, 24n13, 347n135, 351n144
Alkier, Stefan, 382
Allison, Dale C., Jr., 25n22, 27n28, 28n30, 156n40, 161n54, 161n60, 162n62, 173n113, 174n115, 175n117,
178n132, 179n136, 355n155, 356n156
Ambrozic, Aloysius M., 378
Amzallag, Nissim, 386
Anderson, Garwood P., 384
Andiñach, Pablo R., 349n135, 385
Appelbaum, Alan, 76n55, 81n65, 385
Attridge, Harold W., 71n44, 154n33, 178n131
Aune, David E., 60n14, 77n57, 88n11
Avriel, Mikhal, 386

Baarda, Tjitze, 184n157

Baasland, Ernst, 28n29
Back, Sven-Olav, 24n13
Bacon, B. W., 335n76
Bailey, Kenneth Ewing, 378
Bailey, Mark L., 165n73, 311n1
Balch, David L., 155n38
Baldermann, Ingo, 383
Bale, Alan, 221n35
Ballard, Paul H., 330n60
Barc, Bernard, 70–71n44
Barrett, C. K., 152n28, 222n37
Barth, Gerhard, 215n9
Bartsch, Hans-Werner, 310n1
Bauckham, Richard, 70n42, 77–78n57, 219n23, 219n28, 225n45, 226n47, 331n60, 338n85
Bauer, David R., 341n106, 356n156
Baum, Armin D., 77n57
Baumgartner, Walter, 59n9
Beare, Francis W., 215n10, 329n60, 335n76, 336n80, 340n97
Beavis, Mary Ann, 350n139, 358n159, 381
Beck, Simon, 57n4
Becker, Eve-Marie, 320n36
Becker, Jürgen, 18, 28n28, 29nn32–33, 29n35
Beentjes, Pancratius C., 59n12
Berder, Michel, 324n46, 325n47
Berger, Klaus, 156n39, 384
Berman, Joshua, 63n17
Berthelot, Katell, 385
Beyse, Karl-Martin, 59n9, 382
Bienert, David C., 332n60
Bieringer, Reimund, 224n43
Bird, Michael F., 226n46, 384
Black, Matthew, 174n114, 378
Blenkinsopp, Joseph, 66n28
Blickenstaff, Marianne, 332n60
Blomberg, Craig L., 311n1
Bloom, Harold, 88n6
Blount, Justine Ariel, 71n44
Böcher, Otto, 330n60
Boissard, Edmond, 329n60
Borgman, Paul, 216n12
Boring, M. Eugene, 28n29, 156n39
Bornkamm, Günther, 21n2, 62n14, 215n9, 375n4
Borsch, Frederick Houk, 380
Botta, Alejandro F., 349n135, 385
Boucher, Madeleine, 88n5, 379
Bovon, François, 162n64, 216n12
Bowen, Clayton R., 310n1
Boyarin, Daniel, 64n18
Boys-Stones, G. R., 88n11
Bratcher, Robert G., 324n46, 325n47, 326n49
Braun, Adam F., 349n135, 356n159, 386
Braun, Willi, 331n60, 338n87, 339n93, 339n94, 341n103, 343n113, 344n116, 344n117, 344n118, 344n120
Breech, James, 380
Brightman, F. E., 346n135
Brisman, Leslie, 348n135
Brittan, Simon, 88n11
Brix, Katrine, 59n10, 64n20, 64n21, 384
Broadhead, Edwin K., 72n45
Broer, Ingo, 379
Brooke, A. E., 172n109
Brown, Raymond E., 26n26, 378
Bultmann, Rudolf, 62n14, 152n25, 152n27, 224n43, 272
Bunyan, John, 83, 87n4
Burge, Gary M., 332n60
Burke, Trevor J., 226n46
Buss, Septimus, 342n110
Busse, Ulrich, 152n27
Buttrick, David, 383
Butts, James R., 75n54, 225n46, 380

Cadoux, Arthur Temple, 377

Cahill, Michael, 324n46, 325n47, 326n49
Callon, Callie, 226n46
Cameron, Ron, 380
Candlish, Robert, 346n135, 351n142
Carey, W. Gregory, 331n60, 340n99
Carlston, Charles E., 88n11, 378
Carpenter, John B., 348n135
Carson, D. A., 380
Carter, Warren, 331n60, 348n135, 355n154, 382
Casalegno, Alberto, 310n1, 314n13
Charlesworth, James H., 75n54, 329n55, 382, 385
Chenoweth, Ben, 348n135, 358n159
Chesterton, G. K., 158n44
Chilton, Bruce, 25n22, 325n46, 381, 382
Clark, Kenneth W., 310n1, 313n12
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 87–88n4
Collins, Adela Yarbro, 317n31, 323n45, 325n47
Collmer, Robert G., 88n4
Colpe, Carsten, 156n39
Conzelmann, Hans, 216n12
Cook, John Granger, 25n17
Copeland, Rita, 87n2
Cotter, Wendy J., 311n1, 313n13
Crenshaw, James L., 330n60
Crick, Bernard, 88n8
Cripps, K. R. J., 329n60, 337n84
Crook, Zeba Antonin, 164–65n71, 311n1
Crossan, John Dominic, 31, 35, 40, 52, 60n14, 67n29, 115, 159–60n50, 172n111, 218n23, 238, 310n1,
311n2, 316n24, 318n33, 322n41, 324n45, 332n60, 378
Crum, W. E., 165n76, 166n77
Culpepper, R. Alan, 35
Cunningham, Phillip J., 22n7
Cuvillier, Elian, 386

Dahl, Nils A., 310n1, 311n2, 314n13, 314n17

Dauvillier, Jean, 346n135, 350n139
Davies, Stevan L., 382
Davies, W. D., 156n40, 161n54, 161n60, 162n62, 173n113, 174n115, 175n117, 178n132, 179n136, 355n155,
356n156
Davison, Peter, 88n7
Dawson, W. Selwyn, 330n60, 337n84
de Boer, Martinus C., 347n135
DeConick, April D., 45, 95, 96, 150n14, 150n15, 151n21, 156n39, 163n68, 171–72n109, 176–77n124,
177n127, 179n135, 184n157, 184n158, 187n170, 187n171, 188n172
Dehandschutter, Boudewijn, 152n24
de la Potterie, Ignace, 347n135, 351–52n144, 361n167, 361n168
Delitzsch, Franz, 324n46, 325n47, 326n49
Delobel, Joël, 149n10
Delorme, Jean, 149n10, 318n33, 347n135, 381
Denaux, Adelbert, 348n135, 351n144, 355n152, 361n168
Dennert, Brian C., 228n48
Derrett, J. Duncan M., 330–32n60, 333–34n68, 347n135, 350n139, 378
Dibelius, Martin, 62n14
Didier, Marcel, 347n135, 351n144
Didot, Ambroise, 341n104
Di Lella, Alexander A., 181n143
Dillon, Richard J., 330n60
Di Paolo, Roberto, 384
Dodd, C. H., 6, 26n26, 31, 32, 35, 48, 57n3, 61n14, 68n32, 69n34, 75n54, 88n10, 232, 309, 312n7, 316n26,
329n58, 336n78, 371, 375n3, 377
Donahue, John R., 75n54, 186n166, 217n17, 218n23, 380
Donfried, Karl Paul, 215n10, 338n86, 378
Doran, Robert, 384
Dormeyer, Detlev, 330n60
Dowling, Elizabeth V., 332n60, 348n135, 356n159, 359n159
Drury, John, 181n142, 217n17, 218n23, 225n46, 380
Dschulnigg, Peter, 380
Dunan-Page, Anne, 88n4
Dunn, James D. G., 77n57
Dupont, Jacques, 310n1, 311n2, 314n13, 314n17, 340n98, 347n135, 351n142

Ebner, Martin, 332n60, 343n113

Eichholz, Georg, 330n60, 334n72, 337n82, 337n84, 340n101
Eissfeldt, Otto, 64n21, 377
Erlemann, Kurt, 380, 382
Ernst, Josef, 216n12
Esler, Philip F., 219n23, 225n45
Estienne, Henri, 341n104
Eubank, Nathan, 362n173, 386
Evans, Craig A., 21n3, 25n22, 220n29, 220n31, 223–24n42, 315n21, 316n22, 317n31, 318n33, 320n37,
323n44, 323n45, 325n46, 326n49, 381, 382

Feldman, Asher, 377

Fergenson, Laraine, 88n6
Feuillet, André, 346n135
Fiebig, Paul, 377
Fiedler, Peter, 347n135
Fieger, Michael, 45, 73n47, 95, 147, 150n14, 175n118, 177n124, 179n135, 186n166
Fitzmyer, Joseph A., 25n17, 25n19, 80n62, 96, 152n27, 152n28, 160n53, 160–61n54, 162n64, 178n131,
222n36, 222n37, 359n159, 361n168
Fleddermann, Harry T., 165n71, 311n1, 311n2
Flesher, Paul V. M., 325n46
Flusser, David, 347n135, 379
Foerster, Werner, 346n135
Folarin, George O., 348n135, 356n159
Forbes, Greg W., 74n54, 383, 385
Ford, Richard Q., 348n135, 356n159
Forrest, James F., 88n4
Fortna, Robert T., 348n135, 356–59n159
Foster, Paul, 60n14, 386
France, Richard T., 348n135
Frankemölle, Hubert, 173n113, 348n135
Frey, Jörg, 47, 71n44, 72n45, 72n46, 97, 149n8, 150n16, 151n23, 151n24, 180n141
Fricke, Michael, 348n135, 356–57n159
Friedrichsen, Timothy A., 228–29n48, 311n1, 311n2
Frutiger, Simone, 310n1
Funk, Robert W., 31, 48, 67n29, 69n40, 75n54, 219n23, 225n46, 238, 310n1, 314n13, 314–15n17, 315n19,
318n33, 378, 380
Fusco, Vittorio, 347n135, 351n144

Garroway, Joshua, 384

Garsky, Albrecht, 160n53
Gathercole, Simon, 47, 71n44, 72–73n47, 73n49, 74n52, 97, 149n6, 149n8, 150n17, 150n19, 151–52n24,
154n32, 154n33, 156n41, 160n50, 161n57, 163n65, 164n68, 165n75, 166n79, 171n105, 172n112,
179n136, 179n139, 183n156, 184n160, 185n163, 212n3, 338n89
Gerhardsson, Birger, 51, 58n6, 59n13, 63nn15–16, 64n19, 68n33, 79n61, 200, 213n5, 217n18, 219n23, 380–
81
Gianotto, Claudio, 385
Giesler, Michael, 324n46
Glancy, Jennifer A., 348n135, 350n139, 350n140, 358n159
Glombitza, Otto, 330n60, 334n71
Gollwitzer, Helmut, 219n23
Goodacre, Mark, 47, 71n44, 73n47, 150n11, 164n68, 175n118, 178n131, 183n152
Goodrich, John K., 386
Goodwin, William Watson, 183n153
Goulder, Michael D., 173n113, 217n16, 217n17, 217n18, 378
Gowler, David B., 181n143, 383
Gradl, Hans-Georg, 216n12
Greeven, Heinrich, 156n39
Griswold, Charles L., 386
Gross, Heinrich, 59n9
Grosvenor, Mary, 341n106
Guillemont, A., 179n135
Gulick, Charles Burton, 183n153
Gundry, Robert H., 156n40, 173n113, 215n9, 317n31, 321n40
Gurtner, Daniel M., 215n9

Haacker, Klaus, 330n60

Haenchen, Ernst, 222n36, 330n60, 337n82, 346n132
Hagner, Donald A., 155–56n39
Hahn, Ferdinand, 330n60, 337n82, 338n88, 340n101, 343n112
Harding, Mark, 74n54, 385
Hare, Douglas R. A., 329n55
Harnisch, Wolfgang, 380
Harrill, J. Albert, 386
Harrington, Daniel J., 215n9, 347n135, 355n154
Hartin, Patrick J., 70n41
Hasler, Victor, 330n60, 335n75, 337n84
Hatina, Thomas, 220n29, 343n110
Hauck, Friedrich, 59n9, 347n135, 356n157
Havener, Ivan, 355n152
Hawkins, Peter S., 386
Hays, Christopher M., 344n114
Head, Peter M., 169n95
Hedrick, Charles W., 60n14, 382, 385–86
Heidegger, Martin, 237
Heil, Christoph, 160n53
Heil, John Paul, 331n60, 339n93, 348n135, 355n154, 382
Heininger, Bernhard, 181n142, 181n143, 182n145, 185n161, 185n163
Held, Heinz Joachim, 215n9
Hendel, Ronald, 22–23n8
Hengel, Martin, 25n17, 70n42, 322n41
Herbert, A. S., 378
Hermaniuk, Maxime, 377
Hertzsch, Klaus-Peter, 310n1, 314n13
Herzog, William R. II, 348n135, 356–58n159, 382
Hezser, Catherine, 76n55
Hilhorst, Anthony, 332n60
Hills, Julian V., 331n60
Hirth, Volkmar, 311n1
Hoffmann, Paul, 335n74
Holdcroft, I. T., 347n135
Holmås, Geir Otto, 216n12
Holmén, Tom, 21n3, 25n22, 72n45, 78n57, 383
Hooker, Morna D., 383
Hoover, Roy W., 67n29
Hoppe, Rudolf, 75n54, 331n60, 335n75, 339n93, 340n100, 344n121, 385
Horgan, Maurya P., 63n15, 381
Horman, John, 172n112
Horn, Friedrich Wilhelm, 385
Horner, G., 185n165
Horrell, David G., 381
Hotze, Gerhard, 339n93
Hubaut, Michel, 379
Hultgren, Arland J., 22n3, 35, 58n6, 60n14, 69n39, 81n68, 88n10, 88n11, 165n73, 165n74, 165n76, 167n86,
180n141, 188n171, 214n7, 214n8, 216n11, 217n20, 312–13n9, 335n76, 336n78, 346n133, 348n135,
349n137, 350n139, 377, 383
Hunter, A. M., 310n1, 378
Hunter, J. Paul, 88n4
Hunzinger, Claus-Hunno, 313n13
Hurtado, Larry, 71n44, 78n58
Hylen, Susan E., 60n14

Iber, Gerhard, 62n14

Ingipay Migbisiegbe, Guillaume, 332n60, 335n75
Ireland, Dennis J., 228n48
Iverson, Kelly R., 318n31

Janssens, Yvonne, 155n38

Jensen, Morten H., 318n33
Jeremias, Joachim, 6, 21n2, 31, 35, 48, 52, 60n14, 69n38, 75n54, 88n10, 173n113, 176n122, 178n130,
178n132, 179n136, 210n1, 213n5, 214n7, 215n8, 216n11, 218n23, 237, 272, 309, 312n6, 371, 316n26,
318n33, 319n36, 323n45, 324n46, 326n49, 328–29n55, 333n64, 336n78, 340n98, 362n176, 375n3, 375n4
Jeska, Joachim, 332n60
Johnson, Barbara A., 88n4
Johnson, Luke Timothy, 171n103, 343–44n114, 347n135, 351n143, 351n144
Johnson, Sherman E., 329n60
Johnson, Steven R., 163n65
Johnston, Robert M., 60n14, 76n55, 312n6, 379, 381
Jones, Ivor Harold, 382
Joüon, Paul, 346n135, 351n142
Joy, C. I. David, 348n135, 356n159
Jülicher, Adolf, 6, 31, 35, 48, 62n14, 64n22, 75n54, 84–85, 173n113, 200, 209, 233, 377

Kahlefeld, Heinrich, 346n135

Kaiser, Jochen-Christoph, 383
Kalimi, Isaac, 223n42
Kamlah, Erhard, 347n135
Karakolis, Christos, 386
Käsemann, Ernst, 21n2, 237, 375n4
Kazen, Thomas, 219n23, 225n45, 226n47
Keith, Chris, 27n28
Kern, Gabi, 21n3, 65n23, 76n55, 384
Kertelge, Karl, 173n113
Kilgallen, John J., 332n60, 345n125, 384
Kim, David W., 59n8, 386
Kim, Sun-Jong, 386
Kingsbury, Jack Dean, 130–31, 173n113, 176n122, 178n133, 179n138, 310n1, 311n2, 378
Kirk, Alan, 78n57
Kissinger, Warren S., 21n3, 377, 379
Klauck, Hans-Josef, 88n11, 324n45, 379
Klein, Hans, 331n60, 337n84
Klemm, Hans Gunther, 218n23
Kloppenborg, John S., 73n47, 160n53, 166n81, 167n86, 168n92, 171n105, 241, 317n31, 319n35, 319n36,
335n74, 341n103, 347n135, 384
Knowles, Michael P., 219n23
Kobelski, Paul J., 63n15, 381
Koehler, Ludwig, 59n9
Koester, Helmut, 72n46, 149n6, 176n124
Kogler, Franz, 164n69, 311n1, 311n2, 312n9, 313n13, 314n17, 316n24
Köhler, Wolf-Dietrich, 149n6, 155n38
Konradt, Matthias, 215n9
Konstan, David, 386
Kowalski, Beate, 168n94, 316n23
Kratz, Reinhard, 330n60, 379
Kraus, Hans-Joachim, 324n46
Kronegger, Marlies, 87n3
Kruschwitz, Jonathan A., 386
Kümmel, Werner Georg, 381
Kuss, Otto, 310n1, 314n13

Lamarche, Paul, 317n31

Lambdin, Thomas O., 184n158
Lambrecht, Jan, 35, 220n29, 330–31n60, 379
Lampe, Peter, 383
Lane, Nathan, 220n31
Lanfer, Peter T., 315–16n22
Larroque, Laurent, 349n137, 385
Lau, Markus, 385
Lauer, Simon, 76n55, 380
Laufen, Rudolf, 154n34, 164n69, 310n1, 311n2, 314n13, 379
Layton, Bentley, 71n44, 179n135, 184n158
Le Donne, Anthony, 27n28
Leenhardt, Franz J., 218n23
Lemcio, Eugene E., 330n60, 334n68, 341n102
Levey, Samson H., 325n46
Levine, Amy-Jill, 227n47
Lewis, Agnes Smith, 329n60, 332n62
Lewis, Nicola Denzey, 71n44, 73n47
Liebenberg, Jacobus, 74n50, 175n120, 176n121, 177n124, 177n127, 178n129, 178n134, 311n1, 313n12,
314n17, 316n24, 383
Lindemann, Andreas, 348n135
Linnemann, Eta, 329n60, 334n70, 343n112, 378
Little, J. C., 378
Locker, Markus, 348n135
Loewe, William P., 24n13
Longenecker, Bruce W., 219n23, 220n29, 331–32n60, 383
Longenecker, Richard N., 348n135
Lupieri, Edmondo, 228n48
Luz, Ulrich, 156n40, 161n60, 173n113, 175n121, 176n122, 177n125, 178n132, 215n9
Lys, Daniel, 347n135

Malina, Bruce J., 318n33

Manns, Frédéric, 347n135
Manson, T. W., 35, 335n76
Marcus, Joel, 317n31, 318n33, 319n36, 322n41, 323n44, 326n49, 380
Mark, Martin, 324n46, 326n47, 326n48, 326n49
Marshall, I. Howard, 161n54
Marshall, Mary, 339–40n95
Martens, Allan W., 331n60, 335n75, 336n79
Martin, François, 348n135, 360n161
Martin, James, 22n7
Marucci, Corrado, 342–43n110
Marulli, Luca, 174n113
Massa, Dieter, 383
Massaux, Edouard, 148–49n6
Matthews, Albert J., 310n1, 313n12
Mattila, Sharon Lea, 358n159
Mazamisa, Llewellyn Welile, 218n23
McArthur, Harvey K., 60n14, 76n55, 310n1, 311n2, 312n6, 314n13, 314n17, 315n21, 316n24, 381
McCarter, P. Kyle, 66n28
McCulloch, W., 346n135
McDonald, James I. H., 219n23
McGaughy, Lane C., 347n135, 355n153
McGregor, Leslie John, 65n23
McKelvey, R. J., 326n49
McKnight, Scot, 24n13
McLachlan, Herbert, 342n110
McLaughlin, John L., 375n1
Meier, John P., 19–20, 21n1, 23n9, 24n14, 25n16, 25n19, 25n23, 25n24, 26n26, 29n34, 31, 33, 40, 45, 49,
61–62n14, 66n27, 68n32, 148n5, 155n36, 155n38, 215n8, 215n9, 311n3
Mell, Ulrich, 317n31, 319n36, 321n40, 322n41, 323n45, 326n49, 328n53, 382, 385
Merriman, E. H., 329n60, 337n84
Merz, Annette, 28nn29–30
Metzger, Bruce M., 163n66, 163n67, 168–69n95, 217n15
Metzger, James, 332n60, 385
Meurer, Hermann-Josef, 382
Meyer, Ben F., 330n60, 337n84
Meyer, Marvin, 96, 171n109, 179n135
Meynet, Roland, 347n135, 351n144
Miscall, Peter, 23n8
Mohrmann, Douglas C., 384
Monselewski, Werner, 218n23
Moore, Stephen D., 23n8
Morlan, David, 226n46
Mournet, Terence C., 77n57
Müller, Christoph Gregor, 331n60
Münch, Christian, 331n60, 336n79, 338n84, 348n135
Mussner, Franz, 310n1, 314n13
Musurillo, Herbert, 329n60, 337n84
Mutch, John, 346n135

Naegele, J., 347n135

Nalpathilchira, Joseph, 332n60, 336n77, 386
Neusner, Jacob, 27n27, 184n157, 371
Niebuhr, Karl-Wilhelm, 386
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 220n30
Nobbs, Alanna, 74n54, 385
Nolland, John, 215n9
Nordsieck, Reinhard, 45, 95, 149n8, 150n14, 150n15, 151n21, 156n39, 162n61, 169n100, 172n112,
175n120, 176n121, 177n127, 184n158
Northcott, Michael S., 348n135
Notley, R. Steven, 386

Olmstead, Wesley G., 331n60, 336n80, 383

Olson, Daniel C., 331n60, 336n79
Oppong-Kumi, Peter Yaw, 349n135, 355n154, 386
Oropeza, B. J., 384
Orwell, George, 83–84, 86
Osborne, William R., 315n20

Paglia, Camille, 23n8

Palmer, Humphrey, 330n60, 333n68
Panier, Louis, 347n135
Park, Rohun, 384
Patterson, Stephen J., 72n45, 73n47, 151n22, 152n25, 156n39, 157n43, 159n47, 160n53, 162n61, 162n64,
163n68, 164n69, 166n83, 170–71n103, 172n111, 174n115, 184n160, 185n165, 381
Payne, Philip B., 69n38, 379
Pennacchio, Maria Cristina, 331n60
Pennington, Jonathan T., 315n21
Pérez Fernández, Miguel, 331n60, 335n75, 337n84, 385
Perkins, Pheme, 379
Perpich, Sandra Wackman, 218n23
Perrin, Nicholas, 71n44, 72n45, 72n46, 149n8, 166n79, 179n139, 188n173, 383
Perrin, Norman, 48, 75n54, 80n63, 379
Perrone, Lorenzo, 331n60
Pesce, Mauro, 340n98
Pesch, Rudolf, 317n31, 318n33, 323n43, 323n45, 330n60, 379
Petersen, Silke, 383
Petzer, J. H., 70n41
Phillips, Thomas E., 216n12, 217n14
Pilch, John J., 348n135, 356–57n159
Plato, 174n114
Plisch, Uwe-Karsten, 45, 73n47, 95, 96, 150n14, 154n35, 156n39, 157n42, 161–62n61, 169n100, 171n108,
171–72n109, 172n110, 175n119, 176n124, 177n126, 178n130, 179n135, 184n158, 186n166, 187n170,
187n171, 211n3, 345n129
Pokorný, Petr, 75n54, 385
Polag, Athanasius, 355n152
Polk, Timothy, 380
Pooley, Roger, 88n4
Popkes, Enno Edzard, 71n44, 72n45, 149n8, 151n24, 165n72, 180n141
Porter, Stanley E., 22n3, 72n45, 78n57, 383
Powell, Mark Allan, 215n9
Powell, Marvin A., 349n137
Puech, Emile, 332n60
Puig i Tàrrech, Armand, 347n135, 355n152, 386

Quarles, Charles L., 47, 72n47, 115, 159n49, 159–60n50, 166n82, 166n84, 171n104, 318n33, 384
Quecke, Hans, 185n165

Radl, Walter, 217n14

Rastoin, Marc, 226n46
Rau, Eckhard, 381
Reagan, Charles E., 379
Redman, Judith C. S., 78n57
Reid, Barbara E., 383–84
Reinmuth, Eckart, 323n43, 383
Rengstorf, Karl H., 329n60, 336n82
Resenhöfft, Wilhelm, 347n135
Reyburn, William D., 324n46, 325n47, 326n49
Riches, John, 215n9
Ricoeur, Paul, 237, 379
Riley, Gregory J., 162–63n65, 183n156
Rindge, Matthew S., 181n142, 181n143
Robertson, C. K., 384
Robinson, James M., 70–71n44, 72n46, 160n53, 335n74, 355n152
Rodgers, Zuleika, 384
Rogalsky, Sviatoslav, 386
Rohmer, Céline, 386
Rohrbaugh, Richard L., 318n33, 348n135, 356–59n159
Roloff, Jürgen, 381
Ross, J. M., 347n135
Roukema, Riemer, 219n23
Runesson, Anders, 320n36

Safrai, Ze’ev, 386

Sanders, E. P., 29n34, 167n84, 237
Sanders, Jack T., 347n135
Sanders, James A., 330n60
Schaefer, Konrad, 324n46, 325n47
Scheffler, Eben, 224n42
Schellenberg, Ryan S., 164n69, 165n75, 311n1, 313n13, 384
Schipper, Jeremy, 63n16, 63n17, 64n19, 66n28, 384
Schlier, Heinrich, 330n60
Schmid, Konrad, 66n27
Schneemelcher, Wilhelm, 358n159
Schneider, Gerhard, 152n28
Schoedel, William R., 378
Schottroff, Luise, 330n60, 331n60, 335n75, 336n78, 337n82, 338n84, 340n101, 346n132, 348–49n135,
356n159, 385
Schrage, Wolfgang, 45, 73n47, 95, 150n14, 157n42, 158n43, 161n58, 175n118, 177n127, 179n135, 211n3
Schröter, Jens, 71n44, 72n45, 149n8, 151n24, 181n141
Schüle, Andreas, 65n23, 67–68n31
Schultz, Brian, 348n135, 351n142, 351n144, 353–54n147, 354n148
Schulz, Siegfried, 340n98
Schürmann, Heinz, 162n64
Schweizer, Eduard, 215n10
Scott, Bernard Brandon, 31, 35, 52–53, 66n28, 69n37, 75n54, 80n63, 81n66, 88n10, 188n171, 210n1, 213–
14n5, 214n7, 215–16n10, 218n23, 219n24, 220n29, 225n45, 225n46, 350n139, 377, 380
Seccombe, David, 69n38, 214n7, 354n148, 386
Selbie, William B., 329n60, 337n82
Sellew, Philip, 186n166, 187n168, 223n41, 381
Sellin, Gerhard, 80n64, 200, 201, 217n16, 217n17, 218n22, 219n25, 219n26, 220n29, 220n30, 220–21n32,
378
Selwyn, Edward Gordon, 329n58
Senior, Donald, 215n9
Sevrin, Jean-Marie, 149n10, 318n33
Shauf, Scott, 222n36
Shedinger, Robert F., 166n79
Shillington, V. George, 331n60, 348n135, 384
Siegert, Folker, 179n137
Sim, David C., 79n60, 330n60, 333n64, 341n102
Simon, Maurice, 155n38
Simpson, J. G., 346n135
Skehan, Patrick W., 181n143
Skinner, Christopher W., 72n45
Smit, Peter-Ben, 332n60, 335n76, 339n91
Smith, D. Moody, 26n26
Smyth, Herbert Weir, 183n153
Sneed, Mark, 182n144
Snodgrass, Klyne R., 21n2, 31, 35, 48, 55–56, 59n7, 60–62n14, 63n15, 65n26, 69n38, 74n54, 81n72, 88n10,
131, 166n81, 167n86, 168n91, 169n95, 173n113, 180n140, 180n141, 181n142, 210n1, 213n5, 214n7,
214–15n8, 216n11, 217–18n20, 218n23, 228n48, 311n5, 312n9, 317n31, 331n60, 334n70, 334–35n73,
336n78, 351n142, 360n165, 375n3, 377, 380
Souletie, Jean-Louis, 24n13
Sparks, H. F. D., 217n16, 221n32
Sprinkle, Preston M., 219n23, 225n45
Stanton, Vincent Henry, 217n16, 220–21n32
Stec, David M., 325n46
Steck, Odil Hannes, 328n55
Steinmetz, David C., 347n135
Sterling, Gregory E., 180n140, 332n60, 338n89, 343n110, 345n127, 346n134
Stern, David, 64n18, 322n41, 336n79
Stewart, David, 379
Stock, Eugene, 346n135
Story, J. Lyle, 332n60, 338n84, 338n88, 385
Struck, Peter T., 87n2
Sutcliffe, Edmund F., 330n60, 337n84
Swartley, Willard M., 331n60, 333n68

Tambling, Jeremy, 88n11

Theissen, Gerd, 18–19, 28–29nn29–31, 29n34, 62n14, 241
Theobald, Michael, 332n60, 337n82
Theophrastus, 313n12
Thoma, Clemens, 76n55, 322n41, 380, 381
Thompson, Richard P., 217n14
Tigchelaar, Eibert, 332n60
Tillich, Paul, 346n135
Tolbert, Mary Ann, 379
Trilling, Wolfgang, 329n60, 334n69, 335n75, 336n80, 337n84
Tucker, Jeffrey T., 62n14, 161n59, 382
Tuckett, Christopher M., 47, 72n46, 73n49, 150n17, 160n52, 164n69, 212n3, 340n95, 380, 381
Tymieniecka, Anna-Teresa, 87n3

Udoh, Fabian E., 384

Uro, Risto, 179–80n139

Van Belle, Gilbert, 224n43

Van Cangh, Jean-Marie, 224n43
van Eck, Ernest, 332n60, 344n115, 349n135, 359n159, 385
Van Segbroeck, F., 347–48n135
Verheyden, Joseph, 224n43, 331n60, 333n64
Vermes, Geza, 26–27n26
Via, Dan O., Jr., 330n60, 337n84, 378
Vielhauer, Philipp, 62n14, 358n159
Vine, Victor E., 330n60
Vögtle, Anton, 266, 330n60, 334n72, 335n75, 338n88, 339n93, 340n96, 340–41n102, 346n132, 382
von Gemünden, Petra, 173n113, 174n116, 175–76n121, 176n122, 178n132
Vouga, François, 382–83

Wainwright, Elaine, 330n60

Walker, William O., Jr., 217n14
Walsh, Richard, 23n8
Walters, Patricia, 228n48
Wansbrough, Henry, 68n33, 77n57, 213n5, 381
Ward, J. S., 342–43n110
Weaver, Walter P., 382
Weder, Hans, 88n11, 379, 383
Weinert, Francis D., 347n135, 351n144, 353n147, 354n148
Weiser, Alfons, 152–53n28, 330n60, 355n153
Weiser, Arthur, 324n46, 326n49
Wendling, Emil, 152n25
Weren, W. J. C., 331n60, 335n75
Westermann, Claus, 381
White, K. D., 69n38
Whitman, Jon, 87n2
Wilder, Amos N., 378
Willis, John T., 330n60
Willitts, Joel, 226n46
Wilson, Brittany E., 222n36
Wilson, R. McL., 358n159
Winter, Dagmar, 28–29nn29–31
Witherington, Ben III, 40, 67n29
Witulski, Thomas, 332n60
Wohlgemut, Joel R., 348n135, 355n153, 358n159, 359n159
Wolter, Michael, 74–75n54, 385
Wright, N. T., 65n26, 67n29, 69n40, 70n42
Wright, Stephen I., 384
Wyschogrod, Michael, 322n41, 381
Young, Brad H., 76n55, 381

Zacharias, H. Daniel, 220n31, 315n21, 316n22

Zeller, Dieter, 156n39
Zeller, Otto, 185n165
Zerwick, Max, 182n151, 313n10, 341n106, 346n135, 351n144, 353n147
Ziegler, Joseph, 161n55
Zimmermann, Ruben, 21n3, 35, 59n8, 65n23, 76n55, 165n72, 377, 384, 385
Zmijewski, Josef, 152n28, 222n36
Zohary, Michael, 179n136
Subject Index

Abraham, 321n38, 322n42

agapētos, 122, 168nn91–92
Agrapha, 35
agricultural activity in parables, 365
Ahab (biblical king), 38, 323n43
akeraios (“innocent”), 100–101
akrogoniaion (“cornerstone”), 252–53
allegory
—artificial exegesis of, 85
—broad definition of, 82
—Ezekiel’s use of, 39
—not limited to original intention, 84
—Orwell’s Animal Farm as, 83–84
—as string of metaphors, 82–83
allegory in narrative parables, 39
—conveying secret messages to followers, 70n42
—Evil Tenants of the Vineyard parable, 86–87
—as meant to obfuscate and mystify, 64n22
—Sower parable, 85–86
—Wheat and the Weeds parable, 86
Amaziah (king), 37
Amos, 365
Animal Farm (Orwell), 83–84
anthrōpe/“man,” 140–41, 182n151
anthrōpos tis/“a certain man”
—“certain rich man,” 143, 185n162, 185n164
—parables introduced by, 142–43, 201
—as reliable sign of Lucan redaction, 264, 275, 301, 339n94
—similar phraseology in Mark, Matthew, 184–85n161, 218n22, 258
—similar phraseology in Q, 218n21
—use of tis, 183n153, 219n25
Antioch, 223n40
Antipas. See Herod Antipas
aorist tense
—in Evil Tenants of the Vineyard parable, 244–47, 249
—Great Supper parable, 258–59, 265
—in Mustard Seed parable, 112–13
—past act in, 249
—“prophetic aorist,” 326n50
—regarding Zacchaeus, 297
—“timeless descriptive aorist,” 335–36n77
—in Wheat and Weeds parable, 174n114, 177n125, 265
“aphoristic” and “narrative” meshalim, 58n6
Apologists, the, 91
Apostolic Fathers, the, 91
Aramaic language, 17, 19
—in early church, 320n37
Archelaus, 69n39, 283–84, 299–300, 353n147, 354n148
ariston (“meal”), 275–76, 333n65
Assassin parable, 187n171
assimilation, argument for, 129, 157n43, 163n68, 212n3
—circular reasoning, 157n43
assimilation by scribes theory. See Sahidic text, proposed assimilation tō
atimos, 98–99
“audience response” criticism, 57n5
Augustine of Hippo, 85
Augustus (Caesar), 284, 299, 301
axios (“worthy”), 106, 161–62n61

back formation, 264–65

Balaam, 39, 364
Barren Fig Tree parable
—in L, 197
—Lucan introduction to, 137, 243
—tis opening, 142
—variation on traditional theme, 44
“beasts of the field” imagery, 236
beatitudes, 103, 158n45, 308, 369
becoming clever as snakes saying, 100–101
begging the question in defining parables, 41–44
Beispielerzählung, 62n14
“beloved son,” 322n42
Ben Sira
—book of as mōšel, 36
—wisdom saying parallel to Rich Fool, 43, 132–33, 181nn142–143
—wisdom tradition of, 181–82n144
Bild/Bildwort, 62n14
binding of a strong man similitude, 61n14, 232
“birds of heaven” imagery, 233–36
blind people, 338–39n90
boundaries, crossing of (theme in Luke–Acts), 198, 201, 207
brothers of Jesus, 110
Buber, Martin, 18, 19
Budding Fig Tree, 60n14, 63n15, 211n2
burden of proof, shifting of, 46–47, 56, 80n63, 146, 366
Burglar saying, 213n5, 214n6
burial as part of Passion Narrative, 251–52

Caiaphas, Joseph, 12–13

Capernaum, 153n29
Carroll, Lewis, 9
categorizing the parables, 210n1
cedar symbolism in OT, 234–35, 315n18
CGT. See Coptic Gospel of Thomas (CGT)
Children in the Marketplace saying, 58n6, 61n14, 214n6
Choosing Places at Table saying, 216n11
christology
—and historical Jesus, 77n57, 375–76n5
—versus historicity quest, 9–10, 22n7
—See also theology
circular reasoning, 237–38
coherence, criterion of, 16, 55, 241, 319n34
Colossians, 16
command of love, double, 203
comparative short stories
—in Latter Prophets, 38
—by Synoptic Jesus, 37
concern for poor, oppressed, marginalized, 198
conflating tendencies in 2d-century patristic works, 46, 160nn50–51
contextual plausibility, appropriateness, and distinctiveness, 18
“contextual plausibility” argument, 241
Coptic Gospel of Thomas (CGT), 71–72n44, 148n3
—avoidance of apocalyptic eschatology, 126–27
—becoming clever as snakes saying, 100
—borrowing from Mark, Mark-Q overlap, M and L, 95, 138, 195
—burden of proof regarding independence, 46–47, 73n47, 146–47
—choice of test cases, 45–46
—claims of independence from Synoptic material, 6, 22n5, 44–48, 188n173, 341n103
—concerns of redactor, 328n54
—conflation of Synoptics in, 91, 110–11, 119–20, 139–40
—dating of, 102
—dependence on Matthew, 106–7
—discovery of, 44
—eliminates God’s speech to rich man, 144
—Evil Tenants parable step by step, 119–23
—exhibiting broad use of Synoptic sources, 94
—following Luke’s shortening of Mark, 93, 110
—following Matthew’s redactional changes, 102–3
—forms of Synoptic influence on, 95
—in framework of 2d-century compositions, 90–91
—Great Supper parable, 273–78
—Greek fragments of, 100, 148n3
—hidden sayings and meanings in, 92, 115, 122–24
—imitation of Luke’s redactions, 99–100, 268
—importance of, 46, 146
—independence of as key question, 45–46
—influence of Paul on, 151n24
—Jesus addressing the Father, 182n150
—Jesus’ rejection of “teacher” title, 141–42
—“Jesus said” introductions, 139
—“kingdom of God” phrase, 159n47, 159n49
—language(s) of, 149n8, 150n16
—leaning toward Luke, 153n30
—length of monologue in, 144
—logion 5 following Luke’s redaction of Mark, 96–97
—logion 9 (Sower), 211–12n3
—logion 31, 97–100
—logion 39, 101
—logion 63 dependence on Luke, 132, 134, 142–45
—logion 65 dependence on Luke, 120
—logion 72 dependence on Luke, 132–34, 138–42, 145
—mention of Matthew in, 131
—meshing of Mark–Q overlaps, 111–12
—meshing of Matthew and Luke, 157–58n43
—meshing of Synoptic versions, 99–100, 103–8, 114–15, 278
—Mustard Seed parable step-by-step, 113–14
—negative attitude to Judaism, 115
—old wine/new wine, order of, 162n64
—“O man” opening, 140
—ordering and clustering of sayings, 91–92
—parallels to whole Marcan parables, 192
—postulates for independence of, 115–16
—proposed influence on Luke, 162–63n65
—purging of Jewish Scripture, history of Israel, 94, 273
—redactions for plausibility, 119–21
—redactions to abbreviate, 119, 175n118
—relation to Synoptics, 90–96, 273–74
—replicating multiple Matthean redactions, 102–3
—Rich Fool parable in Luke, 131–35
—showing familiarity with Matthew’s Gospel, 131
—speakers who introduce sayings, 139–40
—See also gnostic tendencies proposed for CGT; test cases
Coptic texts
—compared to Greek papyri fragments, 150n16
—Coptic as “agglutinative” language, 119
—as information source on historical Jesus, 12
—transliteration of, 157n42
Cornelius (centurion), 98, 205
cornerstone
—Jesus as, 252–53
—murdered son as, 247–48
—original meaning in Psalms, 326n49
crippled and blind people, 338–39n90
criteria of historicity
—alternate approaches to, 17–18
—application of, 19–20, 56
—primary, 12–17
—secondary, 17
—See also discontinuity, criterion of; embarrassment, criterion of
crucifixion
—carrying one’s cross, 105–6
—and criterion of embarrassment, 12–13
—and criterion of multiple attestation, 16
Cynics, 372
cypress symbolism in OT, 234, 315n18

David (biblical king)

—cedar prophecy, 235
—Jesus as heir to, 297
—Nathan’s parable indicting, 37, 63n17, 364
“day of judgement,” 175n120
deconstructionism, attempts to interpret parables by, 43
Defendant on His Way to the Judge, 58n6
deipnon (“supper”), 275–77, 345n129
dektos (“acceptable”), 98–99
denarius compared to talent, 349n137
dendron (“tree”), 233, 313n12
Deuteromarkus, 316n24
deuteronomistic history, 250
Deutero-Pauline authors, 16
diakonoi (“servants”), 337n84
Diatessaron (Tatian), 46, 166n79
Didache, 46, 91
digma (“narrative”), 39, 65n23
disciples
—number of, 364
—as possible imitators of parables, 54, 320n37, 368
—questions that introduce parables, 113
discontinuity, criterion of, 14–16
—as argument for authenticity of parables, 48, 52–53
—claimed for Leaven parable, 194
Dishonest Steward parable
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) opening, 142
—as example story, 200
—interpretations of, 228n48
—introduction to, 182n149 in L, 197
—as possible pre-Lucan text, 209
—series of explanations following, 243–44, 305
disorder of presentation in CGT, 92
dispute stories, 203
divider, Jesus as, 134–35, 139, 141, 184n157
divorce, Jesus’ prohibition of, 15, 18, 328n54
Doorkeeper parable, 192
—criterion of multiple attestation, 193, 213n5
—not a genuine narrative, 193, 213–14n5
“do”/poieō in the Good Samaritan, 203–4, 219n27
double conclusion to Evil Tenants parable, 116–18, 123, 167n88, 240, 244–45
“double discontinuity”/“double dissimilarity,” 15–16, 18
douloi (“slaves”), 281, 305, 337n84, 350n139, 357–58n159
dubious/secondary criteria of historicity, 17
dwelling/resting of birds under tree, 112–13, 232–36, 314n15

ears, let him who has hear, 122

egeneto (“became”), 297, 354n147
Egyptian empire, 234
eishete (“behold”), 211n3
election, 308
Elijah, Jesus as prophet like, 40, 364
embarrassment, criterion of, 12–14
—claimed for Leaven parable, 194
—crucifixion and, 12–13
—and Dishonest Steward, 80n62
—for Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, 210
encratite theology, 94, 115
“end stress” rule, 203, 282, 309
Enoch literature, 365
enthronement of Jesus, 351–52n144, 361n167
Ephesians, 16
Epiphanian view of brothers of Jesus, 78n57
eschatological banquet, 234, 260, 264, 271–72, 373
eschatology
—discourses in Matthew and Mark, 288
—Jesus as Elijah-like prophet, 3, 33, 40–41, 372
—Jesus last in line of martyred prophets, 13, 16, 58n5
—and theme of reversal, 258
esthetic sensibility, argument from, 55, 80n64
esthetic tastes in parable research, 214n5
ethics of reciprocity, 308
ethnarch, 284
eucharist, 199
eunuchs, 222n36, 223n40
Eusebius, 77n57, 357n159, 359n159
“everyday events” as parable subjects, 42
Evil Tenants of the Vineyard parable, 8, 192
—allegory obvious to knowledgeable Jews, 86–87
—Aramaic-speaking disciples as possible source, 320n37
—argument for authenticity, 251–53
—argument from “contextual plausibility” or “local color,” 241
—audience for, 316–17n26, 318n33 breaks in aorist tense, 244–45, 249 in CGT, 95, 115–16, 119–33, 328n54
CGT version step by step, 119–23
—compared to other Synoptic parables, 249 conceivably referring to known events, 43 and criterion of
embarrassment/discontinuity, 242–52
—criterion of multiple attestation for, 192–93, 210, 240–41, 252, 370
—detailed allegory in, 237
—double conclusion to, 116–18, 123, 167n88, 240, 244–45
—fails criterion of coherence, 241
—fails criterion of multiple attestation, 241
—farmers equated to builders, 248
—features borrowed from in Great Supper, 260
—first conclusion, 246–47
—fives stages of, 110–11, 116–19, 240, 245–46
—future tense questions, 245, 246
—hypothetical historical scenario for, 250–51
—inner monologue in, 143, 144
—lack of nimšāl to, 244, 249
—Luke’s pruning of, 93
—Luke’s version step by step, 118–19
—in Mark and CGT, 95, 328n54
—Mark’s changes and additions to, 327–28n53
—Mark’s version step by step, 116–17
—and martyrdom of prophets, 250–51
—Matthew’s version step by step, 117–18
—meaning of “others” in, 323n44
—meaning of “son,” 250–51
—nimšāl in, 242–44
—no pretense of realistic narrative, 319–20n36
—possible allusion to John the Baptist, 374
—possibly latest of known authentic parables, 374
—primitive version may meet two criteria, 193
—probable tradition history of, 249–50
—problem of lack of burial, 251–52
—psalm citation in, 245, 247–48, 325n47
—questions about form and content of, 246–51
—relation of double conclusion to, 244–50
—second conclusion, 172n111, 247–49
—setting of, 252, 329n57
—socioeconomic interpretation of, 318–19n33
—and “stone-prophecy” tradition, 252
—a story with plot line, 61n14
example stories/exemplary narrative, 41, 62n14, 200–201, 217–18n20
—used as argument for historicity, 228–29n48
excoriating of wealthy and powerful, 198
existential decision, pressing call to, 272
existentialism, 317n27, 372
expansion-plus-omission redactions, 105
eyewitness testimony, Gospel tradition as, 77n57
Ezekiel
—allegory explicitly called a māšāl, 364
—allegory meant to be understandable, 64–65n22
—metaphorical narrative and grand allegory in, 38–39
—in wisdom tradition, 365

fables as type of parable, 63n16

false blanket descriptions, 41–44
farming activity in parables, 365
feminism, 359n159
fictitious narratives, not all parables as, 42–43
fifteen conclusions of parable research, 363–75
Fish Net parable and CGT Wise Fisherman parable, 95, 188n171
—including allegorical eschatological explanation, 243
—in M, 194
—Matthean theme(s) in, 195
—as mini-story, 195
—nimšāl to, 249
flexibility of parables, 34
form criticism complicating parable count, 58n6
Former Prophets, narrative parables in, 37–38
“free-market economy” of religions, 14
Freud, Sigmund, 18, 19, 317n27
Friend at Midnight parable
—explanation at end of, 243 in L, 197
fruit (karpos/karpoi), 120, 212n3

Galilee, 222n38
—relative stability of under Herod, 318n33
—rulers over, 353n147
generosity of God, 308
Gentiles
—“God-fearers” among, 222n36
—inclusion of, 198, 205, 234
—Gleichnis, 62n14
gnosticism
—2d to 4th century, 12, 90–91
—and historical Jesus, 372
—Jesus’ rejection of divider role, 141
—knowing/not-knowing, 122
—and syncretism, 187n171
gnostic tendencies proposed for CGT
—alternatives to, 187n171, 372
—emphasis on individual, 114, 345n126
—encratitism, 94, 115
—in Evil Tenants parable, 115, 121–22, 124
—Jesus rejecting divider role, 141, 183–84n157
—knowing a physician precluding healing, 154n32
—in Mustard Seed parable, 165n76
—omitting reference to host’s anger, 346n132
—rejection of spiritual poverty, 159n49
—in Rich Fool parable, 135
—in Sower parable, 211n3
Good and Bad Servants parable, 144
Good Samaritan parable
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) opening, 142
—defining who is a neighbor, 204
—as example story, 62n14, 200
—explanation at end of, 243
—“half-dead” corpse and impurity, 227
—interlocking structure of parts, 204
—and Jesus’ views on Mosaic Law, 226–27n47
—in L, 196, 224n44
—“law of threes” in, 266
—lawyer’s question introducing, 138, 201–2
—likely a creation of Luke, 51, 202
—and link to 2 Chronicles, 223–24n42
—Lucan introduction a rewriting of Mark, 137, 201, 203
—Luke as composer of, 217n16
—nimšāl in, 242
—Pauline theme in, 199
—reflecting structure of Great Supper, 266
—resistance to Luke’s authorship, 208
—reversal of expectations in, 201
—St. Augustine’s reading of, 85
—a story with plot line, 61n14
—surprise ending to, 44, 52
—two-stage resolution, 266
—unwarranted acceptance of authenticity, 225n45
—vocabulary and style Lucan, 204–5
Gospel of the Nazoreans, 357–58n159
Gospels
—as information source on historical Jesus, 12
—See also specific books
Great Commission, 155n36
Great Journey Narrative of Luke, 198, 206–7, 296–97, 301
Great Supper/Marriage Feast parable, 8, 180n141, 253–54
—and 1 Enoch, 333n64
—analyzing Lucan redactional traits, 263–69
—analyzing Matthean redactional traits, 260–63
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) opening, 142
—in both M and L, 95
—CGT version, 273–78
—counted as one or two parables, 58n6 criterion of multiple attestation for, 49–50, 194–95, 210, 254, 260,
270, 278, 370
—deriving skeletal outline from Matthew and Luke, 254–60, 262–63, 269–70
—deriving voice of historical Jesus, 270–73
—double invitation custom, 332–33n62
—evaluating Q as source, 193–94, 258–59, 270
—excuses indicating status of invitees, 343n113
—as final call to Israel, 272–73
—lacking a nimšāl, 243
—“law of threes” in, 266
—Matthew’s addition of Guest without a Wedding Garment subplot, 196
—proposed primitive form of, 269–73
—reflecting structure of Good Samaritan, 266
—son as postresurrection Jesus, 336n79
—“suspended animation” of banquet, 256, 261
—two-stage resolution, 266
—use of plural “you,” 334n70
grouping of parables
—by source, 7
—by theme, 7
Guest without a Wedding Garment parable
—added to Great Supper parable, 196, 256, 261–62, 337–38n84
—including generic commentary, 243
—in M, 194
—Matthean theme(s) in, 195, 274
—as Matthew’s creation, 196

halakic teaching of Jesus, 3, 31–32, 40, 49, 76n55, 307, 373

“half-dead,” 227n47
ḥîdâ (“riddle”), 39, 65n25
healing/to heal, 153–54n32
Hebrew
—as spoken by Jesus, 320n37
—verbs, 35
Hellenists, 205, 223n40
hēmithanē (“half-dead”), 227n47
Herod Antipas, 284, 285, 300, 318n33, 322n41, 353n147
Herod the Great, 284, 389, 353n147
hina/šina purpose clause, 119, 170–71n103
historical-critical method as equal-opportunity offender, 230–31
historical Jesus, 9–10
—audience for parables, 316–17n26
—coming kingdom of God as inexorable, 307
—and context for parables, 238
—different from christology, 11
—emphasis on patience, 176n121
—engaging in halakic debates, 49
—foreseeing death without vindication, 253
—likely had little contact with Samaritans, 208
—new covenant, reward, and punishment, 307–10
—sources for, 12
—summary of preaching, 308
—versus Synoptic Jesus, 368
—teaching in parables, 48–49, 190–91
—See also criteria of historicity
humanism, 372
hyperbole as rhetorical technique of Jesus, 42
hypocrisy theme in Matthew’s Gospel, 195

Ignatius of Antioch, 155n38

imitation of parables, 54
independent sources
—additions or omissions not proof of, 93–94
—CGT parables with Synoptic parallel, 22n6
indeterminacy of parables, 52
Infancy Gospel of James, 91
Infancy Gospel of Thomas, 91
Infancy Narrative, 110
inner monologue, 198
interpretation as unavoidable, 23n9
Isaiah
—parables of meant to be understood, 64n18
—song of the vineyard, 38, 324n45
—and wisdom tradition, 365
“I say to you” statement, 340n102
“is like” formula of parables, 53
isōs (“perhaps”), 124

Jehoash (king), 37
Jeremiah, Jesus’ imitation of, 40, 365
Jericho, 353–54n147
Jerusalem
—destruction of by Nebuchadnezzar, 235
—destruction of by Romans, 123, 261, 274, 301, 353n144
—Jesus’ journey and ascent to, 297, 300–301
Jesus as martyred prophet
—and criterion of coherence, 16
—in Q, 13
—rather than as sage, 40, 364
Jesus’ own view of himself, 374
Jesus-portraits, range of, 31
Jesus Seminar
—begging the question on authentic parables, 69–70n40
—categorizing of parables by confidence of authenticity, 75–76n54
—on Good Samaritan parable, 208, 225n46
—on Talents in Gospel of the Nazoreans, 359n159
Jewish apocalyptic tradition, 65n26
Jewish purity rules, 102
Jewish War, 261, 274, 336–37n82
Jezebel, 323n43
Johannine tradition (John’s Gospel)
—as independent of Synoptics, 26n26
—similarity without literary dependence on Synoptics, 98–99
John the Baptist
—call to repentance in Q, 286, 288
—and criterion of embarrassment, 12
—Jesus’ allusion to in Evil Tenants, 374
—as servant or son in Evil Tenants, 322n41
—use of metaphors and similitudes, 68n32
Joseph, 323n43
Josephus
—historical Jesus, basic facts about, 11
—as information source on historical Jesus, 11, 12, 16
—story of Archelaus, 69n39, 283–84, 299
—use of paraiteomai, 267
Jotham’s fable, 37
Judah, kings of, 235
Judah bar Simeon, 155n38
Judas Iscariot, 337–38n84
Judea
—direct Roman rule in, 284
—evangelizing in, 205
—and Pontius Pilate, 12
—See also Archelaus
justification by works, 307
Justin Martyr, 46, 91, 115, 160n51

king, Jesus as, 351–52n144, 361n167

kingdom
—absolute “the kingdom,” 129
—disciples’ interpretation of, 178n130
—entering or not entering, 163n68
“kingdom of God,” 68–69n33
—as generic stock phrase, 321n39
—in Great Supper parable, 264–65
—likened to whole story, event, or process, 312n6
—in Mark and Q, 129
—in Matthew, 158n43
—in Mustard Seed, 232–33
—not referring to present world, 312n8
—not used in CGT, 129
—“organic unity” between Jesus’ ministry and, 314n13
—timing of appearance of, 351–52n144
kingdom of God or of heaven, 158n43
“kingdom of heaven”
—and aorist tense, 174n114
—CGT’s use of, 113, 129, 159n49, 178n131
—Matthew’s use of, 53, 103, 112, 125, 129, 158n43, 159n47, 260, 265
“kingdom of the Father”
—in CGT, 125, 128–29, 141, 158n43, 159n49, 163n68, 177–78n129
—as undivided, 141
kings, parables about, 42
kyrios, 248, 281, 292, 321n40, 324n45, 353n144, 360n162

L (material unique to Luke’s Gospel), 375n2

—dating of, 198–99
—differences from Mark and Matthew, 200
—inner monologue in, 198
—Jesus teaching in parables, 16
—Pauline themes and wording in, 199
—redactional traits applied to Great Supper, 263–69
—typical Lucan redactional traits in, 264
L, parables in, 196–99
—featuring nobles, affluent, 69n35
—Good Samaritan as example of, 200–209
—introductory anecdote-plus-parable style, 201, 202, 207
—large number of, 194, 197
—nimšāl in, 243–44
—old wine in new wineskins, 108
—tis beginnings to, 201
—See also Great Supper/Marriage Feast parable
lachana (“pot herb”), 233, 313n12
“laconic sage,” Jesus as, 67n29
Last Supper, eucharistic words at, 199
Latter Prophets, narrative parables in, 38–40
“law of threes,” 327n53, 343n112
—and Good Samaritan parable, 266
—and Great Supper parable, 266, 343n112
—in Matthew, 168n92, 289, 290
—and Talents parable, 289
Leaven parable
—compared to strong man saying, 76–77n56
—hyperbole in, 42
—lacking a nimšāl, 243
—leaven as widespread symbol of corruption, 194
—in Q, 193–94
—as story in miniature, 61n14, 76n56
—variation on traditional theme, 44
length of Jesus material, 166–67n84, 167n89
liberation theology, 358–59n159, 361n172
literary genius argument, 53
Little Children in the Field parable, 187n171
loan words from Latin, 342–43n110
“local color” argument, 241
Lost Coin parable
—appended explanation, 243
—introduction to, 138
—in L, 197
Lost Sheep parable, 187n169, 193–94
Luke’s Gospel
—abbreviating tendency, 110
—abbreviations and additions to crucifixion narrative, 94
—adding introductions to parables, 135–38
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) parables, 142, 264, 275, 301, 339n94
—combining Lost Coin and Lost Sheep, 137
—connecting Jesus’ story with Roman history, 299
—de-allegorization in, 217n19
—dependence on Mark and Q, 50
—dialogues between Jesus and outsiders, 138
—Evil Tenants of the Vineyard parable, 118–19
—first Jews, then Gentiles theme, 264
—focus on Samaritans, 205–7
—global theme of boundary crossing, 198
—and Good Samaritan parable, 226n46
—Great Journey narrative, 92
—interest in poor and marginalized, 198, 256, 263–64, 268–69
—interest in Samaritans, 205
—likely authored Good Samaritan parable, 51, 217n16, 220n29
—“lostness” trio of parables, 137
—“minor agreement” with Matthew against Mark, 169n99
—monologues in parables, 186n166
—often abbreviates Marcan material, 314n14
—and Prodigal Son parable, 226n46
—proposed influence of Thomas on, 162–63n65
—repetitions, 265
—reworking of Mark’s commandments of love, 201
—speakers opening exchange with Jesus, 140
—theme of Jesus’ kingship, 285
—three-stage plot and two-stage resolution pattern, 266–67
—typical redactional concerns, 96–97, 265–66
—typical themes of, 263–64
—See also Pharisee and the Tax Collector parable
LXX. See Septuaguint (LXX)

M (material unique to Matthew’s Gospel), 375n2

—“both bad and good” theme, 261–62, 274
—CGT parallels with, 195
—nature of, 101
—nimšāl in, 243
—nine narrative parables in, 194
—parables heavily redacted, 196
—parables not meeting historicity criteria, 195
—redactional alterations to Great Supper, 260–63
Maimonides, 18, 19
Mammon, serving God and, 60n14
“man” openings, 139–41
many called, few chosen, 337n84
Mark–Q overlaps
—examples of, 232
—Mustard Seed parable, 210
Mark’s Gospel
—added allegorical interpretation of Sower parable, 85–86
—as backbone for Matthew and Luke, 79n59
—double conclusions in, 167n88
—Evil Tenants version step by step, 116–17
—four or five narrative parables in, 194
—Jesus teaching in parables, 16
—material paralleled in CGT, 95
—Mustard Seed parable step-by-step, 112
—narrative parables in, 192–93
—only one parable with nimšāl, 244
—parables featuring everyday village life, 69n35
—proposed early alternate oral form of, 97
—as source for Mustard Seed parable, 16
—two commandments of love, 201
Marriage Feast parable. See Great Supper/Marriage Feast parable
Martial, 268, 355n151
martyrdom of Stephen, 205
Marx, Karl, 18, 19, 317n27
Marxism, 358–59n159, 361n172
Mary (Magdalene), 139
māšāl/mashal, 363–64
—in Book of Psalms, 65n25
—connection with prophetic oracle, 39–41, 67n29
—in Ezekiel, 39
—as literary category, 35–36, 65n25
—multiple meanings of, 59n13, 363
—Nathan’s parable not labeled as, 364
—OT wisdom books versus Former Prophets, 36–38
—as parabolē, 37, 39
—and riddle-speech, 36
—roots of, 35–36
—special meaning of as narrative parable, 64n20
—wise as serpents passage, 156n39
—See also parabolē
Matthew’s Gospel
—abbreviation of Marcan form of divorce prohibition, 93
—addition of Peter walking on water, 94
—allegorical interpretation of Wheat and Weeds parable, 86
—avoiding revocation of Mosaic system, 102
—dependence on Mark and Q, 50, 98
—Evil Tenants of the Vineyard parable, 117–18
—frequent but not invariable use of “is like,” 53
—key themes in, 195–96
—meshing of sources, 164n70
—“minor agreement” with Luke against Mark, 169n99
—missionary discourse, 100–101
—M tradition versus redactional creation, 101
—Mustard Seed parable step-by-step, 112–13
—omissions and additions to Evil Tenants, 94
—parallel structures and wording, 261
—polemics against authorities, 168n93
—proclaiming gospel to Gentiles, 274
—redactional creations, 101
—showing distaste for Mark’s style and thēology, 79n59
—softening tone of Mark, 102
—sources for, 100
meaning of parables
—given Jesus’ purpose in using parables, 33–34
—restricted by contours of historical Jesus, 33
—through text or through reader, 32
meaning of “talent,” 349n137
meristēs (“divider”), 141, 183n156
mešak (“perhaps”), 122, 124
“metaparable,” Sower as, 211n3
Metapher, 62n14
metaphor(s)
—definition of, 60n14
—Luke’s doubling of, 108–9
—and metaphorical world of parables, 32, 35
methodology, 8–12
—importance of establishing, 26n27
—primary criteria of historicity, 12–17
—secondary criteria of historicity, 17
middle-Platonic mythology, 94, 187n171
mina/mna (unit of money), 279
Minas parable (Lucan version of Talents/Pounds)
—minas, not talents, as original, 302–3
—as part of Great Journey Narrative, 296–306
—possible reference to Archelaus, 284
—units of money in, 302–3
—wording of, 292, 295
—See also Talents/Pounds parable; Throne Claimant narrative
mini-story style
—Fish Net/Wise Fisherman parable, 195
—Mustard Seed parable, 232, 311n5
—not a normative or universal definition, 364
—Pearl parable, 195
—Treasure Hidden in the Field parable, 195
Mishna, 233
missionary discourse of Matthew, 100–101, 106, 112, 156n40, 164n70, 232
M–L overlap, 254
M material
—versus M tradition, 101
—in Oxyrhynchus papyri, 100
—parables featuring nobles, affluent, 69n35
—parables paralleled in CGT, 95
mna (unit of money), 279
money
—parables about, 42
—“wrapping up” versus burying, 360n165
monologues, interior, 143–44, 186–87nn166–168, 223n41
mother of Jesus, 110
Mount of Olives, 361n167
multiple attestation, criterion of, 16, 27n28, 241
—attestation by multiple forms, 148n1
—candidates for, 49–52
—and Choosing Places at Table saying, 216n11
—and Doorkeeper parable, 193, 213n5
—and Evil Tenants parable, 192–93, 210, 240–41, 252, 370
—and Great Supper parable, 194, 195, 210, 254, 270, 278, 370
—importance of Thomas for, 51–52, 189, 369
—for Jesus being buried, 252
—for Jesus performing startling deeds, 49, 191
—for Jesus teaching in parables, 16, 48–49, 366–67
—M and L parables, 198
—misapplication of, 26n27, 27n28, 187–88n171
—most important criterion for historicity, 56, 89–90
—and Mustard Seed parable, 49, 192, 194, 210, 239, 370
—and Narrow Gate/Closed Door metaphor, 216n11
—and Seed Growing by Itself parable, 192
—and Talents/Minas parable, 194, 195, 210, 280, 306–7, 370
—Thomas cannot support claims of, 6, 47, 147–48
—and Throne Claimant parable, 283
Mustard Seed parable, 8, 192
—birds dwelling imagery, 233–36, 314n15
—in CGT, 95, 111–15, 164n69, 231
—CGT version step-by-step, 113–14
—double-question opener, 164–65n71
—dwelling/resting of birds under (mustard) tree, 112–13, 232–36, 313n12, 313n13, 314n15
—focus on contrast, not growth, 313–14n13
—and historical Jesus, 239–40
—hyperbole in, 42–43
—lacking a nimšāl, 243
—larger context of, 237–38
—likely species referred to, 312–13n9
—Marcan version step-by-step, 112
—in Mark and CGT, 95
—in Mark and Q, 49, 95, 192
—as Mark–Q overlap, 231–32
—Matthean version step-by-step, 112–13
—meets criterion of coherence, 239–40
—as mini-story in three stages, 232
—more than one theme in, 233, 313–14n13
—multiple attestation criterion for, 49, 192, 194, 210, 239, 370
—mustard seed as metaphor for smallness, 312–13nn9–11
—as parable, not similitude, 311n5
—in Q, 193–94
—representing Jesus’ mission, 239
—reversal in, 373
—as story in miniature, 61n14
—variation on traditional theme, 44

Naboth, 323n43
Nag Hammadi materials, 12, 44, 91, 130, 155n38, 169n100, 172
“narrative” and “aphoristic” meshalim, 58n6
narrative parables
—as distinguished from metaphor or similitude, 210–11n2
—meant to be understood, 64n18
—in OT, 37–40
—role of audience in, 61n14
—survey of by source, 191–99
narrativity, criterion of, 60n14
Narrow Gate/Closed Door saying, 216n11
Nathan, parable of, 37, 53, 63n17
—as “juridical parable,” 66n28
—meant to be understood, 64n18
—not labeled as māšāl, 364
Nazareth, 153n29
Nebuchadnezzar (king), 235–36
Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed, 11, 24n11
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 22n4, 22n8, 220n30, 372
nimšāl, 38, 61n14, 64n18
—in Evil Tenants of the Vineyard parable, 242–44
—in Good Samaritan parable, 242
—in L parables, 243–44
—in M parables, 243
—parables lacking, 242–43
—Widow and the Unjust Judge parable, 249
—in Workers in the Vineyard parable, 249
non liquet verdict, 3, 8
—and burden of proof, 80n63
—and CGT dependence, 47, 147, 211–12n3
—and L parables, 209, 210
—many parables assigned status of, 5, 8, 367
—and M parables, 196, 210
noyte (“god”), 145, 159n47, 187n170

oaths, Jesus’ prohibition of, 15, 18

Ockham’s razor and hypothetical alternate traditions, 170n103
O. Henry surprise endings, 44
oikodespotēs (“head of a household”), 117, 167n90, 170n101, 278
Old Testament (OT) parables, 37–40
ophis (“snake”), 101
oral transmission of traditions, 17, 28n28
—difficulty of defining features of, 161n57
—influence of memory on, 50
—prove nothing regarding source, 51
—and Thomas, 105
—and written sources, 78n58, 79n59, 81n67
Orwell, George, 83–84
Oxyrhynchus papyri, 47, 71n44, 96, 99–102

Papias, 77n57
Parabel, 62n14
parables
—attraction of, 30–31
—contrasted with teaching on Law, 31
—discovering “original” meaning of, 21n2
—as distinct literary genre, 67n28
—as distinguished from metaphors and similes, 60n14
—few supported by criteria of authenticity, 48–57
—flexible enough for multiple purposes, 34, 41
—global acceptance that Jesus used, 190–91
—historicity of, 5, 30–31
—increasing numbers in later Gospels, 197, 210
—need for context regarding, 5
—number of, 35–36, 58n6
—organizing and labeling of, 191–92
—previous scholarship on, 6
—problem of restrictive definitions, 41–42
—requirements for true parable of Jesus, 61n14
—as specialized teaching tools, 34
—special problem of, 4–8
—“svelte” form not necessarily more original, 116
—traditional titles for, 57n2
—varying portraits of Jesus derived from, 31
—See also grouping of parables; narrative parables
parabolē, 35, 37, 363–64
—as “analogy” or “instruction,” 216n11
—Budding Fig Tree as, 60n14
—in Hermas, 65n26
—as heuristic tool, 364
—as lesson by comparison, 60n14
—not all parables labeled as, 53
—use of term in LXX, 37, 39, 363–64
—use of term in NT, 37, 62–63n15, 364
—See also māšāl/mashal
paradox, 282
—of the cross, 13, 14
—versus hyperbole, 44
—in Matthew, 156n39
—in Mustard Seed parable, 314n13
—postmodernism and, 23n8
—in Prodigal Son parable, 327n52
—riddle speech and, 34
—in Talents parable, 282
paraiteomai (“ask,” “decline”), 267–68, 277–78, 341n104, 342n107, 343n112, 345n129
paroimia as “proverb,” 63n15
parousia, 213n5
Passion Narrative plus resurrection proclamation, 251
Passion Narratives, 13–14 Jesus put to death on a cross, 16
patching old garment, 107–8
patris (“hometown”), 98, 99, 153n29
Paul and Pauline letters influence seen in Luke’s Gospel, 199
—as information source for historical Jesus, 12
—Jesus put to death on a cross, 16
—on meaning of crucifixion, 13
—no parables in, 368
—turning from Jews to Gentiles, 206
Pearl parable
—in M and CGT, 95, 194
—as mini-story, 195
—no nimšāl, 243
peasant economics, 357n159
peje (“said”), 172n110
—peje is/“Jesus said,” 124
—peje ourōme/“a man said,” 140
“perhaps,” 119, 121–22, 124, 171n105, 187n168
Peter
—Jesus’ “three words” to, 180n139
—sermon to Cornelius, 98, 205, 223n40
petra/petrōdēs, 212n3
phanerōthę (“be revealed”), 96–97
Pharisee and the Tax Collector parable, 184n161
—arguments for authenticity of, 228–29n48
—as example story, 62n14, 200
—Lucan introduction to, 137, 201
—monologue in, 144
—multi-part nimšāl to, 244
—Pauline theme in, 199
Pharisees
—future eschatology of, 44
—hiding keys of knowledge, 154n33
—hostile interchanges with Jesus, 136–37
—some joining early Christians, 339n92
Philip
—conversion of Ethiopian eunuch by, 221n36, 223n40
—mission to Samaria, 205
Philo, 19
phronimos (“clever”), 100, 101, 155n37
physicians
—heal yourself saying, 100
—knowing excludes healing by, 154n32
pigs, 167n87
Pilate, Pontius, 12–13, 137
—reason for executing Jesus, 40–41, 55, 67n30
Platonic-Hellenistic mythology, 187n171
plausibility, criterion of, 18
plausibility of effects, 18
plays on words, 65n23
plot line a requirement for parable, 61n14
poieō (“do”), in the Good Samaritan, 203–4, 219n27
Polybius, 267
Polycarp, conflating tendencies of, 46, 91, 115
Poor Man and Ewe Lamb parable, 53
possessions and death, 181n142
postmodern analysis, 10–11, 22–23n8, 33, 317n27, 359n159, 365
postmodernist, Jesus as, 43, 365, 372
“post-Synoptic” source proposed for Thomas, 73–74n49
Pounds parable. See Talents/Pounds parable
power of prayer/petition of marginalized, 198
prepared, to have or be, 259, 274, 333n63
presupposing what is to be proved, 372
proclitic participle, 346n131
Prodigal Son parable
—angry older son in, 327n52
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) opening, 142
—as creation of Luke, 226n46
—elements of Greco-Roman comedy in, 226
—imagined audience response to, 57–58n5
—introduction to, 138
—in L, 197
—no nimšāl, 243
—Pauline theme in, 199
—a story with plot line, 61n14
—surprise ending to, 44, 327n52
“prophetic aorist,” 326n50
prophetic oracles and parables, 37–40
—parables meant to be understood, 64n18
prophetic tradition
—CGT suppressing, 123
—Jesus as Elijah-like prophet, 3, 33, 40–41, 372
—Jesus foretelling final judgment, 215n8
—Jesus foretelling Jerusalem’s destruction, 301
—Jesus in mold of, 13, 364, 372–73
—martyrdom, 250
—Matthean theme of martyrdom of, 262
—meaning of, 66n27
prophet in his hometown saying, 97–99
Protevangelium Jacobi, 91
“proverb” and “comparison,” 59n11
purity laws
—and Good Samaritan parable, 227
—Jesus and, 230
—what defiles a man, 102

Q, 258
—hypothetical text of, 335n74
—Jesus as martyred prophet, 13
—Jesus teaching in parables, 16
—Lucan introductions to parables from, 136
—only seven narrative parables in, 193–94
—parables featuring everyday village life, 69n35
—possible inclusion of Gentiles, 272
—as source for Great Supper parable, 344n118
—as source for Mustard Seed parable, 16
Qumran sect and texts, 15, 25n18, 44, 227n47

rabbinic parables, 76n55

reader as creator of meaning, 32
“reader response” criticism, 57n5
“real Jesus,” 10–11
reciprocity, ethics of, 308
rejection and execution of Jesus, criterion of, 17, 54–55
resting/dwelling of birds under, 234–36, 314n15
resurrection in pre-Pauline formulas of faith, 251
retrojection of later views, 24n14
Return of the Unclean Spirit saying, 214n6
revelation from God, solving riddle through, 65n25
reversal of status, expectations, or values, 200–201, 229n48, 258, 264, 373
reward, Jesus’ promise of, 307–9
Rich Fool parable
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) beginning, 201
—as example story, 62n14, 200
—explanation at end of, 243
—inner monologue in, 143
—in L, 197
—Lucan introduction to, 137–38
—Luke and CGT comparison, 134–35
—misinterpretations of, 44
—only parable from Luke in CGT, 95, 134–35
—as test case, 132–45
—variation on traditional theme, 43–44, 70n42
Rich Man and Lazarus parable
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) opening, 142
—as example story, 62n14, 200
—in L, 197
—Lucan introduction to, 137–38
—no nimšāl, 243
—variation on traditional theme, 44
—words of Abraham at end of, 243
“rich man” openings, 143
rich supporters of Jesus, 339n92
riddle-speech of parables
—contrasted with commands and prohibitions, 32
—contrasted with halakic debates, 49
—Evil Tenants, 124
—in Ezekiel, 39, 65n22
—within larger frame of meaning, 34
—and limitations of interpretation, 4–8, 12
—and māšāl, 36, 65n25, 363
ritual impurity, 227n47
“rock”/petra, 212n3, 253
Rome as limit of the West, 222n37
Rorschach inkblots, parables as, 317n27

sage, Jesus as, 40, 67n29

Sahidic text, proposed assimilation to, 157–58n43
—CGT 9, 211–12n3
—CGT 14, 102–3, 157–58n43
—CGT 16, 105
—CGT 31, 153n31
—CGT 47, 162n64
—CGT 54, 159n49
—CGT 55, 106–7
—CGT 57, 129–30, 180n140
—CGT 63, 143
—CGT 64, 345n129
—CGT 99, 163n68
salvation as an event, 297
“salvation geography,” 206
salvation-historical allegory, 263–64
Samaritan leper, 206
Samaritans, 205–7
—accepted by Jewish Christians, 223n40, 228n47
—as liminal people, 222–23n40, 228n47
sapiential literature. See wisdom traditions
satan (adversary, enemy), 129
Scene of the Last Judgment, 194
Schneerson, Menachem, 18, 19
scholarship, Scripture, 190
scribal assimilation theory. See Sahidic text, proposed assimilation tō
scribes
—assimilation to Sahidic text of Gospels, 96, 157n43
—conflation by, 151n24
—harmonizing the Synoptics, 168n95
—influence of memory on, 50, 78n57
—proposed changes to CGT by, 96
secondary/dubious criteria of historicity, 17
secret messages, parables as, 70n42
Seed Growing by Itself parable, 43–44, 192
—appearing only in Mark, 58n6, 192
—possible CGT 21 parallel, 212–13n4
—variation on traditional theme, 44
Septuaguint (LXX)
—māšāl as parabolē, 39
—paraiteomai (“ask,” “decline”), 267
Sermon on the Mount, 103
Servant Placed over a Household, 193–94, 242
Servant’s Duty parable
—interior monologue in, 144
—in L, 197
—nimšāl to, 243
“seven unfashionable theses,” 6, 56, 189
—thesis one, 35–36
—thesis two, 36–38
—thesis three, 38–40
—thesis four, 40–41
—thesis five, 41–44
—thesis six, 44–48, 90, 95
—thesis seven, 48–57, 191
—expanded to fifteen conclusions, 363–72
Shabbetai Tzvi, 19
sheep amidst wolves, 154n33
sheep and goats passage, 214–15n8
Shepherd of Hermas, 40, 65n26
silence, argument from, 55
simile, 35, 60n14 definition of, 60–61n14
similitude, 35, 60–61n14
—differentiating between parables and, 213n5, 364
“single indirect parables,” 218n20
šîr (“song”), 38
sisters of Jesus, 111, 163n66
skepticism toward historicity quest, 10–11
slavery
—Jesus’ silence on issue of, 358n159
—meaning of in ancient Rome, 350n139
—“to be sold into,” 349n137
snakes and doves, 100, 155n38
socially “incorrect” guests, 344n116
social memory, 105
socioeconomic commentary in parables, 137, 356–59n159, 360n161
“solitary,” the, 141
Song of Songs, 156n39
“Son of Man” title, 14–15, 16, 25n20
Sower parable, 192
—allegorical interpretation of as secondary addition, 85–86
—CGT additions to, 211n3
—CGT dependence on Synoptics, 192, 211–12n3
—in Mark and CGT, 95
—not introduced by “is like,” 53
—realism of, 69n38
—variation on traditional theme, 44
sowing, terms for, 130
Spinoza, Baruch, 18, 19
“split the wood” phrase, 149n9
Stephen’s use of “Son of Man” title, 25n20
stone prophecies, 252–53
stone/rock. See cornerstone
story worlds created by parables, 31–32
“street theater” of Jesus, 33, 67n30
Streitgesprächen (dispute stories), 202
strong man overcome by stronger man saying, 50, 76–77n56
suffering righteous man theme, 13
suffering servant of Yahweh, 13
surprise endings, not all parables have, 43
survey of Synoptic parables by sources, 191–92
—Marcan narrative parables, 192–93
—narrative parables in L, 196–99
—narrative parables in M, 194–96
—narrative parables in Q, 193–94
symbolic visions or dreams, 39
Synoptic Gospels, parables in
—chronological order of, 197
—function of nimšāl, 249
—narrative parables in, 35–36, 40–41
—number of, 58n6
—secondary oral traditions, 91
—as self-contained short stories, 33, 37–41, 242, 249
—survey of parables by sources, 191–99
—Synoptic versus historical Jesus, 368
—See also individual parables

table manners, 216n11

Tacitus, 11, 16
talanton/“talent,” 279, 302, 349n137
Talents/Pounds parable, 8
—analyzing Lucan redactional traits, 296–305
—analyzing Matthean redactional traits, 288–96
—anthrōpos tis (“a certain man”) opening, 142–43
—concluding proverb, 304–5
—counted as one or two parables, 58n6
—criterion of coherence, 307, 309
—criterion of multiple attestation, 49–50, 194–95, 210, 280, 306–7, 370
—deriving skeletal outline from Matthew and Luke, 281–83, 305–6
—evaluating Q as source, 285–88
—intended audience for, 136
—and Jesus’ end-time proclamation, 308–9, 373–74
—lacking a nimšāl, 243
—M and L versions, 95, 283, 286–88
—Matthew’s placement of, 288–89
—meaning of, 306–10
—Nazoreans version, 359n159
—possible allusion to Archelaus, 69n39, 283–84
—proposed primitive form of, 295–96, 298, 301–6
—punishment of slave as focal point, 291–92, 304
—in Q, 193–94
—talents versus minas as amount, 302–3
—third servant as honorable, 357n159
Talmud, mustard seed metaphor in, 233
targums, 27n27, 325n46, 358–59n159
teacher, Jesus’ rejection of title, 141–42
Tekoa, woman of, 37, 63n17
temple, Jerusalem
—Jesus’ cleansing of, 17, 33
—Jesus’ prediction of destruction, 17
Ten Virgins parable
—concluding generic commentary, 243
—in M, 194
—Matthean theme(s) in, 195, 215n10, 262
—possible parallel in Luke, 213n5
tertium comparationis, 85
test cases, 45–48
—Evil Tenants of the Vineyard, 115–31
—Good Samaritan, 199–209
—for independence of CGT, 45–46
—Mustard Seed, 111–15
—parallels in sayings that are not parables, 96–100
—Rich Fool, 131–45
—Wheat and the Weeds, 124–31
text as locus of meaning, 32
themes in Matthew
—fate of martyred prophets, 262
—wedding banquet, 262
theology
—apologetics, 77n57
—categories for parables, 210n1
—“theological Jesus,” 11
—See also christology
Theophaneia (Eusebius), 359n159
theses. See “seven unfashionable theses”
Throne Claimant narrative
—explanations for seeming incoherence, 283, 300, 302, 351n143, 351–52n144
—and Great Journey Narrative, 301
—in Luke only, 283
—possible connection to Archelaus, 283–85, 299–300, 353n147
—See also Minas parable (Lucan version of Talents/Pounds)
Tower Builder and Warring King parable, 44, 197, 216n11, 243
tradents, 52
—defined, 79n60
translation of Greek and Coptic texts, 174n114
transvaluation of all values, 204, 220n30
Treasure Hidden in the Field parable
—in M and CGT, 95, 194
—as mini-story, 195
—no nimšāl, 243
tree imagery and symbolism, 315n20, 315n22
—ax laid to root of tree, 68n32
—Barren Fig Tree parable, 44, 137, 142, 197, 243
—Budding Fig Tree, 60n14, 63n15, 211n2
—cross as “a tree,” 16
—dwelling/resting of birds under (mustard) tree, 112–13, 232–36, 313n12, 313n13, 314n15
—good trees bearing good fruit, 292
—in Old Testament, 234–36
—See also dwelling/resting of birds under tree
triads, use of by Matthew, 288–89
triple temptation of Jesus, 286, 288
“triple tradition,” 107–9
Tristan und Isolde (Wagner), 82
“triumphal entry” into Jerusalem, 17, 33
Two Debtors parable or similitude, 184n161, 196, 201
—explanation at end of, 243
—introduction to, 136, 138
Two Sons parable
—in M, 194
—Matthean theme(s) in, 195
—nimšāl in, 243
—variation on traditional theme, 44
two-source theory of Synoptic relationships, 50

unfashionable theses. See “seven unfashionable theses”

Unforgiving Servant parable
—as example, 62n14
—a story with plot line, 61n14
Unmerciful Servant parable
—in M, 194
—Matthean theme(s) in, 195
—nimšāl in, 243
—value of talents in, 349n137
“unpapal conclave,” 11, 23–24n10

Vergleich, 62n14
viticulture in Jewish Palestine, 241
“voice” of Jesus, 187–88n171
voluntary fasting, Jesus’ prohibition of, 14, 15, 18

Wagner, Richard, 82
Warning about Going before the Judge saying, 214n6
Warring King parable
—appended explanation, 243
—in L, 197
—variation on traditional theme, 44
Watchful Doorkeeper parable, 182n147
Watchful Servant(s), 58n6, 213n5
weakness and power, 314n13
wedding banquet theme, 262
“weeping and gnashing of teeth,” 361n166
Wheat and the Weeds parable
—aorist tense in, 265
—distinguishing wheat from weeds, 127–28
—intelligibility of, 128, 177n127, 179n136
—likely created by Matthew or tradent, 51
—Matthean theme(s) in, 195, 215n10
—“M material” versus “M tradition,” 173n113
—in M/Matthew and CGT, 95, 125–26, 130, 194
—original form of, 173–74n113
—and Sower parable, 243
—story line, 126–28
“wide umbrella-term,” 68n33
Widow and Unjust Judge parable, 184n161
—in L, 197
—Lucan introduction to, 137
—multi-part nimšāl, 243–44, 249
wine, old and new, 107–8, 162n64
wisdom traditions, 181–82n144
—attempts to place parables within, 67n29, 67–68n31, 364
—books of OT, 37–38
—māšāl, 36–38
Wise and Foolish Builders, 193–94, 242
Wise Fisherman parable, 95, 188n171, 211n3
Woman with an Empty Jar parable, 187n171
word-events, 33
Workers in the Vineyard parable
—in M, 194
—nimšāl to, 249
—surprise ending to, 44
“worthy”/“worthy of me,” 106, 161–62n61
“writing prophets,” 38–40

Zacchaeus, 297, 354n147

Zedekiah (king), 235
zizanion weed, 130