Mark’s Argumentative Jesus: How Jesus Debated His Opponents Using Greek Forms of Argumentation

Mark’s Argumentative Jesus

How Jesus Debated His Opponents Using Greek Forms of Argumentation

Caurie Beaver

Mark’s Argumentative Jesus

How Jesus Debated His Opponents Using Greek Forms of Argumentation

Copyright © 2018 Caurie Beaver. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter I: The Beginning

Chapter II: Arché

Chapter III: What difference does it make?

Chapter IV: Mark’s Simple Rhetorical Arguments

Chapter V: Complex Rhetorical Arguments

Chapter VI: The Enthymeme or Rhetorical Syllogism that Generated Mark’s Persuasive Speech

Chapter VII: Elijah Must Come First

Chapter VIII: The Logos Must Come First

Chapter IX: Conclusion

Once again, I gladly dedicate this book to my wife Sandra, who has dedicated, not a book, but her life to me, our daughter Kristen, and our two wonderful grandkids, Angelo and Mya.

Preface

After I wrote my book, Mark: A Twice-Told Tale, I added Appendix I, The Messiah: God’s Son, Not David’s, which dealt with Mark’s use of a Hellenistic form of rhetorical argument frequently found in speeches at the time. Then I discovered that the first word of Mark, arché, was mistranslated as beginning, instead of guiding principle. This led to my writing Appendix II, The Guiding Principle of Mark’s Gospel: Elijah Must Come First, in which I argued that Mark was not primarily a story but a persuasive, argumentative discourse or speech, which could be expected to utilize a wide range of Hellenistic rhetorical devices.

Of course, Mark contained stories, but they were not told for their own sake, but for the sake of argument. However, when Mark told a story, we can analyze it as a story, but when he made an argument, or had Jesus make one, we must analyze it as one taking into account his reasoning and noting his conclusion. As light can be viewed as both particle and wave, the Gospel of Mark can be analyzed as both story and argumentative discourse. In Mark: A Twice-Told Tale, I explained how Mark told the story of Jesus; in the present book, I explain how Mark constructed an argument for Jesus’ Messiahship, and also provided arguments for the argumentative Jesus.

Aristotle defined rhetoric as . . . an ability, in each particular case, to see the available means of persuasion.¹ Whether a speech was convincing or not depended on three things: the ethos or character of the speaker (can the audience trust him or her), the pathos or receptivity of the audience (can the audience relate to the speaker), and finally, the logos or logic of the speaker’s reasoning (does the audience find the speaker’s arguments reasonable and convincing). As George Kennedy put it, the persuasiveness of a speech

depends on three things: the truth and logical validity of what is being argued; the speaker’s success in conveying to the audience the perception that he or she can be trusted; and the emotions that a speaker is able to awaken in an audience to accept the views advanced and act in accordance with them.²

Aristotle, the heir to early Greek rationalism, considered the logos or logical argument the most important means of persuasion.³

We know nothing about Mark’s character (ethos) except what we can infer from the gospel itself, and the same is true of the probable response of his audience (pathos). However, we do have direct access to his argument (logos) and the variety of rhetorical forms in which he presented his case. All the talk about his fast paced narrative that would appeal to the practical Roman character must be balanced by a veritable profusion of Greek forms of rhetorical argumentation with which Mark appealed to the Hellenistic temper.

1. Aristotle: A Theory of Civic Discourse on Rhetoric, Newly Translated, with Introduction, Notes, and Appendices by George A. Kennedy, (New York, Oxford University Press,

1991

), p.

14

.

2. Ibid., p. ix.

3. John Herman Randall Jr., Aristotle (New York: Columbia University Press,

1960

), p.

12

. See also Albert Schweitzer’s Out of My Life and Thought, translated by C. T. Campion, (New York: Henry Holt and Company, Twelfth Printing,

1959

), p.

118

.

Acknowledgments

I wish to express my gratitude to the following persons:

Gerlof Homan, who taught me historical method at Central State College (now the University of Central Oklahoma) in Edmond, Oklahoma.

James M. Robinson, past Director of the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity in Claremont California, whose influence on my work is undeniable and acknowledged by him. He read my first book, Mark: A Twice-Told Tale in manuscript and praised it highly. He even said that his own work supported mine importantly.

Althea Spencer-Miller of Scripps College in Claremont, California and her friend, who typed the manuscript to my first book, and said they stayed up all night reading it. Althea now teaches at Drew University.

Rev. Ann Schranz, minister of the Unitarian Universalist Congregation in Montclair, California, who read my book and understood the direction it was taking in Appendix II. Her generosity extended to interviewing me before her congregation after I had made two presentations to an adult group there led by Harry Ragland, whose lively members challenged me and made me feel welcome.

Norman Goldberg, my last supervisor at L.A. County Adult Protective Services, and his wife, Roberta, for their tireless efforts in acquiring books for me from the Internet.

Tom DeDobay, Music Professor at Chaffey College in Cucamonga, California, John Hendricks and Spencer Crump, L.A. Co. Social Workers, whose friendly criticisms and occasional proddings were a continual source of inspiration to me, also merit special mention.

John Wipf, owner of Archives Bookstore in Pasadena, CA, and co-owner of Wipf and Stock Publishing Company in Eugene, OR, and to Jon Stock, his partner. Special thanks is due to Kristen Bareman Brack, John Wipf’s niece, whose illustration of my first book showed she understood its two-fold theme and expressed it in a way that was truly brilliant. Nor can I fail to mention James Stock who informed me that Wipf and Stock would not only publish my book, but also include Appendix II, which has led to the present book.

Joanne Green of the Monclair Unitarian church who typed part of the manuscript and made some helpful suggestions.

My wife, Sandra, whose patient indulgence through many years of research created a deeply personal debt that I could never fully repay.

There are many others, whose relevance to the present work is more remote. I happily recognize the assistance of all of these teachers and friends without implicating them in its shortcomings.

Finally, Jana Wipf for her exceptional work of typing and arranging the manuscript for submission. Her efforts far exceeded my expectations, and I owe her an immense debt of gratitude.

Introduction

The Stories in Arguments

If according to psychologist, Pierre Janet, normal human memory takes the form of a story, which includes beliefs and feelings as well as facts, it would seem to follow that the remembered events were also originally experienced as a story as well.¹ In their book, Arguments and Arguing, Thomas A. Hollihan and Kevin T. Baaske held, that all argument is story.² The philosophical basis of this viewpoint was worked out by Walter R. Fisher in his book Human Communication as Narration: Toward a Philosophy of Reason, Value, and Action. Concerning argument as story, he wrote,

No matter how strictly a case is argued—scientifically, philosophically, or legally—it will always be a story, an interpretation of some aspect of the world that is historically and culturally grounded and shaped by human personality. Even the most well-argued case will be informed by other individuated forms besides argument, especially metaphor.³

In Fisher’s narrative paradigm, argumentation appears as a form of storytelling. For example, we call that most argumentative setting imaginable, a trial, courtroom drama, in which a prosecutor tells a defendant’s story to prove that he or she is guilty, and the defense attorney tells his client’s story to show he is not guilty. In a political campaign, an equally argumentative context, newsmen and candidates both talk about establishing or changing a narrative or story. To use a story as an argument is not just an accommodation to the multitude that is deemed incapable of following a complex argument using formal logic. Ultimately, we all evaluate arguments as stories and estimate their probability and consistency with our own experience.

These observations are also borne out by a popular maxim that asserts that every story has two sides, for a two-sided story is an argument. By referring to a story as two-sided instead of two stories, folk wisdom recognizes the common ground in stories that forms the basis for argumentation.⁴ If a story were demonstrated to an irrefutable certainty, it would have had only one side, leaving no room for argument. If, on the other hand, there were two entirely different stories, no common ground would exist to form the basis for argumentation. The two storytellers would simply be talking past one another with no possibility of a real engagement.

The Common Story: A Basis for Argumentation

In what follows, I will often concentrate on the differences between Jesus and his opponents; but first I will focus on their commonalities that permit them to engage in argumentation in the first place—in other words, their common story. Before Rome destroyed Jerusalem in 70 CE, the Temple State held the various sects or factions together. On some things they agreed, on others disagreed, but the Torah and other shared traditions formed the common ground for their disputes as they shaped and directed the way(s) of life for the Jewish people. Of course, each sect claimed to possess the authentic traditions or represent the true Israel, but they defended their claims by appealing to the same Law of Moses and the prophets, which together was the law of the land.

Jesus and his opponents agreed on enough things to sustain an ongoing argument. This underlying agreement is best illustrated by the question as to which is the first commandment. A scribe overheard Jesus arguing with the Sadducees about the resurrection:

And seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, Which commandment is the first of all? Jesus answered, The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ (Deut.

6

:

45

, Mk.

12

:

29

–

31

).

The scribe approved of Jesus’ answer, and even repeated it almost word-for-word. Then he directed a jibe at the Sadducees, whom Jesus had just bested in the preceding debate, this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices (Mk. 12:33). These particular religious activities were, of course, the sacred occupation of the Sadducees, the priests of the Temple. Jesus, who was closer to the Pharisees on this issue, said to the scribe, you are not far from the Kingdom of God (Mk. 42:34).

Although the scribe with Jesus’ silent consent pitted the love commandment against the sacrifices of the Temple, Jesus did not completely reject the latter. When he healed the leper, he enjoined him to make the offering that Moses commanded. It was in the area of belief about the resurrection that he parted company with the Sadducees. Even here, both appealed to the law of Moses as the foundation of their argument: the Sadducees to the Levirate marriage law (Gen. 38:8–11) and Jesus to the Burning Bush story (Deut. 25:5–10).

However, in the argument about divorce Jesus rejected Moses’s provision for granting a bill of divorcement saying that Moses had only permitted not commanded it due to the hardness of the people’s hearts. Here, Jesus appealed from Moses to the principle of creation saying that in the beginning (arché) it was not so.

The controversy about the resurrection resulted from the influx of beliefs about the afterlife, probably of Iranian Zoroastrian origin later modified by Greek notions. The Old Testament does not contain a definite belief in the resurrection, so its eschatological benefits were only for the final generation.⁵ Along with the belief in the resurrection came belief in angels and demons. The books of Enoch and Daniel are witnesses to the beginnings of this infusion of ideas that later became a torrent. The Pharisees, who presumably originated among the pious Hasidim during the Maccabean revolt, accepted these new ideas while the Sadducees rejected them.⁶

On the question of whose son the Messiah would be, Mark/Jesus also parted company with the Pharisees, who held to the notion that the ruler of the End time would be a descendant of the royal house of David. However, the Davidic dynasty came to an end during or shortly after the Exile. For some groups, represented by the books of Daniel and Mark, the search for a replacement came to focus on a mysterious figure originating in the new eschatology, the Son of Man. For other groups, the power vacuum came to be filled by priests: the Maccabean revolt was initiated by priests, the Dead Sea Sect looked for a Messiah of both royal and priestly descent,⁷ and finally the book of Hebrews called Jesus a High Priest (Heb. 4:14). Under the impact of Greek ideas, the Messiah was also considered the Son of God. True, it has not gone unnoticed that some Israeli rulers were called God’s son, which may in some cases only serve to date the source in question to Hellenistic times (Ps. 2:7).

Whatever their origin, these several titles available for the Messiah made for controversy as to whose son the Messiah was at the time of Jesus and Mark. According to Paul, a Pharisee, the Messiah was both a descendant of David and the Son of God:

Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, set apart for . . . the gospel concerning his Son, who was descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be the Son of God with power according to the spirit of holiness by resurrection from the dead (Rom.

1

:

1

–

4

).

The common basis for argumentation here is a Psalm of David, in which David supposedly called the Messiah his Lord (Ps. 110:1, Mk. 12:35–37), to which Jesus appealed to make his case that the messiah was not David’s son, but David’s Lord.

In the story about Satan casting out Satan, it is obvious that Jesus and his opponents shared a belief in Satan and demons, which provided common ground for argumentation. The only question was whose power Jesus used—Satan’s or God’s. Like Jesus’ opponents, Jesus’ own disciples questioned whose power a freelance exorcist used to cast out demons:

John said to him [Jesus], "Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name,