Bible Books

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Learning your aleph-beth

Education in Ancient Israel:Across the Deadening Silence

James L. Crenshaw
Anchor Bible Reference Library (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1998), 305 pp., $34.95

Most scholars think it is impossible to reconstruct a detailed picture of educational life in ancient Israel. There is simply not enough solid biblical or archaeological evidence to tell us how knowledge was passed from one generation to the next—a fact that James L. Crenshaw readily admits in the opening pages of his recent study. “The evidence for education in ancient Israel is largely inferential. Not until the second century B.C.E. does an extant text refer to a school,” notes Crenshaw, referring to Ben Sira 51:23: “Draw near to me you who are uneducated, and lodge in the house of instruction.” But even that reference has been dismissed by some scholars.

But that doesn’t deter Crenshaw, a professor of Old Testament at Duke University and a widely acclaimed expert on Wisdom literature. He continues: “We are left therefore to speculation largely through analogy with neighboring cultures.” To fill the “deadening silence” referred to in his subtitle, Crenshaw combines data gleaned from Israelite Wisdom literature (from Proverbs to Ben Sira)^a and inscriptions found in Israel with evidence from Egypt and Mesopotamia.

It would be relatively easy to use this comparative material if the cultural and educational patterns and institutions of the greater Near Eastern world matched those of Israel. Unfortunately, they do not. Nevertheless, because Egypt and Mesopotamia formed the wider thought-world in which Israelite ideas were born, at least in part, and because there are tantalizing parallels between material from Israel and these other regions (for example, between the Egyptian Instruction of Amenemope and Proverbs 22:17–24:22), Crenshaw’s method does work, although he is forced to steer a narrow course, drawing on extrabiblical evidence to illuminate, but not dictate, practices in Israel.^b

Crenshaw’s subtitle has a second meaning: It is only when parents or teachers communicate knowledge “across the deadening silence” to their children or pupils that education takes place. Much of Crenshaw’s book reflects, somewhat philosophically, on the nature of education—whether moral (that is, character-building) or vocational, offered by craftsmen, scribes, priests and others. In the Bible, he notes, education is seen as a means of creating order out of chaos and providing continuity with the past.

Crenshaw cuts across time spans and cultural barriers to form a broad picture of literacy in the ancient Near Eastern world. While it appears that in Greek times (third century C.E.) literacy was as high as ten percent, in earlier periods the process of learning to read and write was limited to a much smaller group of trained scribes. In Egypt, where administrators and priests guarded the mysterious and powerful art of writing, this number may have been as low as one percent. The extent to which ordinary Israelites and Judahites could write, in Crenshaw’s words, “remains a mystery.” Presumably, the daily demands of the local agricultural economy and the lack of formal schooling would have kept the numbers very low.

Were there schools in ancient Israel? Crenshaw concludes that most education 045took place in the home, although guilds of scribes probably existed, as they did for other trades. Some of these scribes would have worked in the royal service, others would have drawn up administrative documents, while still others would have copied religious texts. The Egyptian and Mesopotamian models, where scribes were trained in official schools (sometimes associated with temples), are inadequate to explain the Israelite data, notes Crenshaw, raising again the dilemma of how much one should infer from other cultures. The differences, Crenshaw claims, are clear in the texts from each culture. Egyptian and Mesopotamian writings provide ample witness to the existence of schools; Israelite texts do not. The Bible, for example, makes no references to schools whatsoever (until the passage in Ben Sira, which is not included in the Hebrew canon). As for the archaeological evidence—the abecedaries from Lachish, Kadesh-Barnea and Kuntillet ‘Ajrud; the Gezer calendar; and the other inscriptions from Israel that are frequently identified as students’ writing exercises—these may be isolated examples of teaching, not evidence of schools (contra André Lemaire of the Sorbonne, who has argued for the widespread dissemination of schools in ancient Israel). Indeed many of the inscriptions were discovered in isolated sites, where it is unlikely that schools would have been established, Crenshaw argues.

Israelite texts are also remarkably quiet about the learning process. Texts from ancient Sumer and Egypt, however, inform us about possible teaching methods, which included beating students, stimulating lively debate and using suggestive language to capture the imagination of young male students (for example, describing Wisdom as a beautiful bride). Students learned through the memorization and copying of texts. The Bible suggests there were three different modes for learning: observing nature and human behavior (as seen in Proverbs), listening to and evaluating the claims of others (Psalm 73) and encountering God (as in the Book of Job).

In Mesopotamia, students copied the great epics—Atrahasis, Gilgamesh and the Enuma Elish. In Egypt, scribes practiced on the Book of Kemit and the Instruction of Khety, among other works. In this way, students not only learned to write, but they also became well-versed in the great literature of their ancestors. But what texts did students in Israel use? Crenshaw suggests that Job and Ecclesiastes may have been copied as part of the scribal training process. I find this idea hard to swallow, with Job and Ecclesiastes being so different from educational or administrative documents. However, our knowledge is limited, and 047perhaps this was the way such texts became known and transmitted.

Crenshaw argues that scholars have overemphasized Wisdom literature’s experiential aspect, that is, its reliance on the observation of the natural world. For the biblical sages, knowledge was gained not only through personal observation and achievement, but through divine gift. In a final chapter, Crenshaw tackles that unknown aspect that lies beyond the intellect—the realm of God.

The Bible records an ever-changing understanding of the limits of human knowledge. In Job, God’s ease at penetrating the mysterious contrasts with the difficulties faced by humans (Job 28:27). In this book, writes Crenshaw, “wisdom means religious devotion, plain and simple”; it “rests in the hands of everyone who desires to please God.” In Deuteronomy (29:28), there is still tension between what is concealed by God and what is revealed to mankind, but humans need not worry about the concealed because they have the Law. For the Preacher (Qoheleth) of Ecclesiastes, however, humans are simply incapable of discovering the divine (7:23); the pursuit of wisdom will inevitably fail. And Ben Sira warns against pondering hard questions (3:17–24): Humility discourages intellectual pursuits.

Crenshaw acknowledges that he has covered “a wide spectrum of literature and diverse historical periods.” Because of the lack of information about education in ancient Israel, he has had to draw on very diverse Israelite material, much of which comes from a later, more educationally advanced period, and on comparative material, which may or may not shed light on the enterprise.

What we know about education in ancient Israel remains fairly impressionistic and piecemeal, and yet, in Crenshaw’s reconstruction, inherently plausible. Crenshaw has tackled a hard subject with great care in this highly readable, often meditative book. His work is a landmark that will help break the deadening silence surrounding this most elusive of subjects.

The Bible and the Comic Vision

J. William Whedbee
(Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1998) 327 pp., $64.95 (hardback)

Stop me if you’ve heard this one: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was formless and void, and darkness was on the face of the deep…”

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Not very funny, is it? Although the Hebrew Bible is a perennial inspiration to parodists like Bill Cosby and Woody Allen, it is not usually the first book that comes to mind when we think of the genre of comedy. And no wonder: At least in America, with its strong Puritan heritage, levity is strictly discouraged in most places where the Bible is read and studied.

This was not always the case. Churches and synagogues have a long history of staging dramatic performances that incorporate elements of comedy and farce, and Dante surely intended no sacrilege when he entitled his grand tour of heaven and hell a Comedy. We should also remember that one of the Old Testament’s central figures, the patriarch Isaac, bears a name that in Hebrew means literally “he laughs.” Evidently, the Bible possesses comic elements to which many of its readers have become desensitized.

J. William Whedbee’s mission is to reacquaint us with the Bible’s comedy, which, he asserts, may be found in such biblical books as Genesis, Exodus, Jonah, Esther, the Song of Songs and even that grim masterpiece the Book of Job. To some, this may seem a strange assertion, but it loses its strangeness if we understand that Whedbee is using the term comedy in its broadest, technical sense.

For Whedbee and other literary critics, a comedy does not necessarily make one laugh out loud. Knee-slapping humor tends to be culture specific, which is why most jokes translate poorly. As a more universally descriptive term, the word comedy may be applied to any story in which the protagonist undergoes tribulations and emerges successful in the end. (Tragedy, by contrast, involves a negative reversal of fortune for the hero and often culminates in a heavy body count.) As the plot of a comedy develops, the hero may encounter outrageous characters and sexually charged situations; he or she may also endure the sudden changes of fortune that arise from mixed messages, missed communications and temporary losses of self-control (e.g., through sleep, drunkenness or romantic infatuation). Frequently, the protagonist in a comedy is someone who stands outside the establishment—an alien, for example, or a woman or a slave. Because it is sly, comedy is often the best weapon of the dispossessed. Yet it can affirm as well as subvert the status quo. And though comedy often challenges convention and elicits uncomfortable laughter, its denouement generally provokes a relieved smile by reassuring us that all is well.

Within this inclusive definition, any entertaining tale with a happy ending is a comedy. Cynical readers may be inclined to mutter “duh” and put down Whedbee’s book before they’ve finished his introduction. But that would be a mistake. Although its main thesis may strike one as banal, the book’s greater interest lies in exposing how the Bible is comic. Throughout his analysis of specific passages, Whedbee is keenly aware of the way biblical authors employ all the standard tricks of the comedian’s trade: puns, hyperbole, ethnic stereotypes, role reversal, deception, deflation of the high and mighty (including God), unexpected plot twists and the rest. He also considers biblical comedy’s modern religious context. Why do Jews read the farcical Book of Jonah on Yom Kippur, otherwise the most solemn day of the year? How is the carnival festival of Purim, which celebrates Esther’s triumph over Haman, linked both thematically and calendrically to Passover (during which, moreover, Jews recite the quasi-pornographic Song of Songs)? The incongruities are only superficial. In Greece, religion was the cradle of both tragedy and comedy. Why shouldn’t the same be true of Israel?

Rest assured: Whedbee’s book will not make you laugh out loud in inappropriate settings. However light the scholarly treatment may be, a punch line explained invariably loses its punch. But thanks to Whedbee, the reader will learn to relish the comic aspects of the Bible and to experience the profound, regenerative and consciousness-expanding power that all great comedy possesses. Any work that bridges the gap between King David and Dave Barry cannot but enhance our appreciation of both. If Whedbee helps us take the Bible slightly less seriously, perhaps he also teaches us to take the jokes of our contemporary humorists slightly more seriously.

This is an important lesson. In any age much of the best comedy springs from anger, and men have gone to the gallows for a joke. Ultimately, argues Whedbee, humor represents our refusal to succumb to the unbearable; it affirms the unquenchable power of life. As countless others have said before, comedy is not just funny; it is also deadly serious.

Learning your aleph-beth

Education in Ancient Israel:Across the Deadening Silence