Volume 4 - Issue 1
Is there pseudonymity in the Old Testament?By Joyce Baldwin
A pseudonymous work, by definition written under a false or assumed name, is meant to conceal the identity of the writer. No more may be involved than the choice of a fictitious name, so that when it comes to light that Helen Morgan is our old friend Rhena Taylor under a pseudonym1 we dismiss the matter with a smile or a shrug, scarcely even wondering what lay behind her secrecy. If she had chosen the name Hector Morgan or had called herself H. Morgan we should have concluded that she was another George Eliot or George Sand, avoiding any prejudice on the grounds of her sex. If, however, she had taken the name Dewi Morgan or G. Campell Morgan she would have risked a court action for infringing the copyright laws.
So much for our modern presuppositions, but what bearing have they on the world of the Bible? Since the rise of historical criticism in the nineteenth century it has been asserted that there are pseudonymous works in the canonical Scriptures, that pseudonymity was common in the ancient world, and that we may reassure ourselves that nothing fraudulent was either intended or involved.
So far as the New Testament is concerned the subject has received considerable recent attention.2 Kurt Aland, as the title of his paper implies, sees the need to examine the subject in the broad perspective of Christian literature generally in the first two centuries. Guthrie’s historical approach traces the subject from the period of the Reformation. He calls in question the assumption that orthodox Christians would have used an apostolic name to authenticate their writing, and if they did that the practice would be sanctioned by the whole church. Such use of an authoritative name and not merely a fictitious one is known as pseudepigraphy and raises the question of forgery, taken up by Metzger. Collins notes that the very book which provided the term ‘apocalyptic’, the Apocalypse of John, did not share the pseudonymity which many allege to have been characteristic of that genre. Nevertheless he would not disqualify its inclusion as apocalyptic on that ground.
In the Old Testament field L. H. Brockington3 mapped the problem in a short article twenty-five years ago; since then, as this paper will show, more relevant material has come to light and interest in the subject has grown accordingly. There is a sense in which the subject of this paper is basic also to pseudonymity in the New Testament for, if the Old Testament Scriptures can be proved to have included pseudonymous writings, an important precedent would have been set for the New. We shall begin by assembling information from the world of the Old Testament on the subject of pseudonymity and then look more closely at three books which are alleged to be or to contain within them pseudonymous writings.
Pseudonymity in the world of the Old Testament
Hard evidence as opposed to theory is hard to come by, but relevant fragments from the library of the Assyrian King Ashurbanipal (669–c. 627 bc), who made a collection of texts from many archives and religious centres, have been published by Professor W. G. Lambert.4 He tells us that these provide an insight into the question of authorship as it confronted Babylonian scholars in the early first millennium bc.
A librarian in the ancient world who came to the task of compiling a catalogue had to contend with the fact that the vast majority of texts circulated anonymously. In this royal library the scribes undertook to draw up a list of authors’ names, ‘a task comparable with modern discussion on the origin of Homer or the Fourth Gospel. The big difference is that modern writers on problems of authorship expose every detail of their materials and reasoning, while the Babylonian author gives results only’.5 This catalogue is the earliest document of any civilization dealing with authorship, but Professor Lambert does not find this unexpected for ancient Mesopotamia, which had sign lists c. 3,000 bc, pronouncing dictionaries by 1800 bc and a mass of lexical texts, commentaries, analyses of the Sumerian verb, and other philological materials by 800 bc. This reminder that scholarship, like wisdom, goes back to ancient times is an important one.
The method in this catalogue is first to give the name of the author: ‘These are by …’ and then to quote the first line of his writings. The authors whose names are preserved fall into four classes: gods, legendary and other humans of great antiquity, men without indication of family origin and men described as ‘son’ of an ancestral figure. The human author was often looked on only as the intermediary while incantations, rituals and omens were attributed to a god or a number of gods. ‘The incantation is not mine, it is the incantation of Ea and …’ Such a note at the end of an incantation would hardly rank as an example of pseudonymity. Indeed Professor Lambert explains that authorship is not the point here, but rather attention is drawn to the powers which would be operative when the incantations were recited. ‘The difficulty of explaining the multiple authorship does not therefore arise.’6
Now these librarians must often have been hard pressed to find an author, and the attribution of works to gods and ancient worthies may be their last resort; but what is of special interest for our subject is the evidence that scribes profess descent from ancestors, some of whom are known from other sources as authors or editors of literary texts. But they do not profess to be those ancestors. From the evidence of these texts, therefore, the conclusion is that, so far as can be judged, anonymity rather than pseudonymity was characteristic of early first millennium Babylonian authors, a number of whom specifically avoided opportunities for pseudepigraphy.
This fact is important in the light of frequent assertions that in ancient literature the adoption of a pseudonym was one of the most familiar of literary expedients. The question has to be asked, what period is in mind and what evidence can be given? The word ‘ancient’ is used to cover millennia and needs to be defined. The earliest indisputable evidence for pseudonymity comes from the third century bc, and James S. Candlish may well have been right in his judgment that before that time book learning was not so much cultivated as to give facility and motive to literary fictions.7 That century saw the foundation of the Museum of Alexandria by Ptolemy Philadelphus (283–247 bc), to be followed in the next by that of Pergamum, founded by Eumenes II (197–159).
These centres of learning created a great demand for works by famous authors so that it became a lucrative occupation to write what appeared to be ancient works and pass them off as genuine. Bruce Metzger refers to the evidence of Galen (second century ad) that ‘literary forgeries were first multiplied in numbers when the kings of Egypt and of Pergamum sought to outdo each other in their efforts to increase the holdings in their respective libraries. Monetary rewards were offered to those who would provide a copy of some ancient author, and, in consequence, many imitations of ancient works were composed and palmed off as genuine’.8The condemnation implied by Galen, who himself suffered from fraudulent imitators, is obvious.
But deliberate forgeries of this kind are not significant for our purpose. No-one claims that the Old Testament contains this kind of material. Another kind of forgery referred to by Metzger should, however, be mentioned. Two of the earliest forgeries in Greek history, ‘perpetrated in the interests of securing greater credence for certain doctrines and claims’, date from the sixth century bc and concern interpolations into the Iliad and into the Oracles of Musaeus. Both were detected and one of the offenders was identified and banished from Athens.9 The evidence is important because it proves that to interpolate additions into an ancient text, at least with an ulterior motive, was not only not tolerated in Greece in the sixth century bc but was regarded as a serious crime.
It is significant that within the period covered by the Old Testament no example has so far come to light of a pseudepigraphon which was approved or cherished as an authoritative book, and, on the evidence just quoted, there was opposition to the interpolation of new material into a text.10
Alleged pseudonymity in the Old Testament
The earliest example of pseudonymity in the Old Testament is usually held to be the book Deuteronomy for, under the heading ‘These are the words that Moses spoke …’ (1:1) it consists in the main of speeches in the first person. A similar Mosaic origin is claimed, however, by the introductory formula ‘The Lord said to Moses’ for much of the books Exodus, Leviticus and Numbers, and since the Pentateuch would require a study all its own we shall not attempt to include these books in this article.11
The book we know as Ecclesiastes has a special claim to consideration because its writer evidently wanted to remain anonymous. In the Hebrew he calls himself Qoheleth, which means something like ‘the preacher-philosopher’, and yet he adds ‘the son of David, king in Jerusalem’ (1:1). No king of that name is known in David’s line. Taken literally ‘son of David’ suggests Solomon, though his name appears nowhere in the book and he seems to be ruled out by ‘all who were before me in Jerusalem’ (2:9). The most likely explanation of this enigma is to see in his impersonation a literary device, a dramatization of his anti-secularism. The author ‘pictures for us a super-Solomon (as he implies by the word “surpassing”, in 1:16) to demonstrate that the most gifted man conceivable, who could outstrip every king who ever occupied the throne of David, would still return empty-handed from the quest for self-fulfilment’.12
Martin Hengel, who speaks of the unique semipseudonymity of the work, points out that the pseudonymity applies only to 1:12–2:12b; ‘later the individuality of the author breaks through the pseudonymous form’.13 But it seems better to avoid the term altogether. Qoheleth is no more pretending to be Solomon than Shakespeare is pretending to be Hamlet, but he is inviting his readers to see life through the eyes of that superbly endowed king. He does not belong to the era of Solomon and he has no intention of pretending he does, but as a learned professor in the school of the wise he inherits the wisdom by which kings reign and rulers decree what is just (Pr. 8:15). Presuming that there was no longer a king in Jerusalem, and the likely date of writing in the late fourth or early third century bc14 makes this virtually certain, he claims the authority to which kings of old appealed and to which they were indebted for such wise and just administration as they achieved. There was a sense in which the Wise reigned when kings and thrones were a nostalgic memory in Israel, and Qoheleth thus claimed to be ‘king’.15
b. Prophecy: Zechariah
Composite authorship of the prophetic books is another alleged source of pseudonymous, or at least anonymous, writings in the Old Testament. The theory that the whole prophetic movement became suspect after the exile has been deduced from Zechariah 13:2–6. ‘A generation which knew Babylonian divination and accepted the law of Moses thought that the Prophets’ methods of receiving and delivering oracles was questioned. Herein lies the reason for the great output of pseudonymous literature.’16 Guillaume goes on to argue that men who had a revelation from God could not speak in their own name and consequently names like Jonah, Zechariah, Daniel, Baruch and others were attached to prophecies of which these long-deceased persons could have known nothing.
Once the custom had become established, it is argued, men like Jonah and Daniel, who were known to have been prophets in ancient times, were credited with definite written prophecies, and from that grew up a recognized literary convention. In short, pseudonymity is seen as one of the results of the suppression of prophecy. Others, on the analogy of probable additions to the works of Greek philosophers from the pen of disciples, argue that schools of prophets prophesied in the name of their master and sometimes added their words to his in writing. Whatever the rationale, the idea is widely accepted that the work of more than one prophet has been included in several of the prophetic books as we know them.
The book of Zechariah may perhaps be accepted as representative of this phenomenon of composite authorship. Without question there are distinct differences between chapters 1–8 and chapters 9–14 which to some scholars indicate a change of authorship. Some redivide the second part so as to suggest that three authors have contributed. Now it is true that the text presents new headings at 9:1 and 12:1 and that these subdivisions must feature in any analysis of the book, but to base a theory of multiple authorship on this evidence is another matter. Moreover the number of contributors is commonly reckoned to be more than three because small sections tend to be seen as independent oracles.17 In Zechariah, then, we have as good an example of alleged pseudonymity in the prophets as we should be likely to find.
In support of multiple authorship attention is drawn to the different character of chapters 9–14 as compared with 1–8: in the last six chapters no mention is made of the name Zechariah, and, moreover, it is impossible to recognize from historical allusions the period to which they belong. Indeed it is alleged that on three counts—style, vocabulary and contents—multiple authorship is indicated.18 When the various arguments are backed up by historical settings as diverse as the pre-exilic and Maccabean periods (for despite the difficulty of the task this has been the standard approach) the case for several contributors to the Zechariah collection may seem to have been clinched.
The fact is, however, that the multiplicity of different dates given to the same material brings the historical method under suspicion. If Zechariah 9–14 can be understood only with reference to its original setting in life then the honest course is to admit defeat and decline to attempt any exposition of it. There is, however, the possibility that when a section of a prophetic book is not specifically dated there is another more appropriate clue to its meaning. In Zechariah 1–8, where the time note is important, three dates are given (1:1; 1:7; 7:1), but the headings in 9:1 and 12:1 include no date. May it not be that the author intends us to see that in what follows he is no longer tied to historic time but is rather expressing theological truths related to God’s future purpose?
That this is indeed his intention is borne out by the literary shape of his whole book. The visions (1:7–6:15), the messages prompted by the questions about fasting (7:1–8:19) and the two sections in part two of the book can be shown from the way the material is arranged to belong together.19 Moreover there is progression as the book moves from the establishment of the post-exilic community, with its rebuilt temple and recommissioned leaders and its understanding of the role of God’s people among the nations (chapters 1–8) to the more eschatological perspective of chapters 9–14. Here the prophet rings the changes on the themes of jubilation, rebuke, mourning for a suffering shepherd and cataclysmic judgment, but according to the recognizable pattern which occurs in its simplest form in part one. The final note, the universal kingship of the Lord of Hosts (14:16–21), picks up the same theme from 6:15, 8:22 and 14:9, bringing it to a climax by laying stress on the removal of every obstacle to wholehearted worship of the Lord as King over all. Thus the book is a unity that progresses from historic time to end time, from the local to the universal.20
So closely knit is the fabric of the book that one mind must be responsible for its construction, and the simplest explanation is that the prophet Zechariah himself is the author of the total work that bears his name. Thus on internal evidence it can be shown that the theory of multiple authorship, together with the anonymity or pseudepigraphy that it entails, is not the only, nor even perhaps the best, explanation of the diversity within Zechariah. If this is the case here, why not in others? The fact that the prophetic books have come to us as entities provides the strongest evidence against attributing different parts to different authors, and the onus of proof lies on those who would assert that there have been pseudepigraphic additions.
The book of Daniel, however, is in a category apart, not only because it is generally acknowledged to contain full-blown apocalyptic, but also because scholars are all but unanimous in judging that chapters 7–12, in which Daniel purports to write in the first person, are pseudepigraphical. The ground of such certainty is in the last analysis the content of those chapters which seem to foretell future stages of world history, and in particular chapter 11. These disclosures of the future are regularly classified as examples of vaticinium ex eventu or history written up as if it were a prophecy, and evidence in other ancient literatures is adduced for this phenomenon. If such a ‘prophecy’ is to carry conviction it must of necessity be put into the mouth of someone known to have lived at an earlier stage in history, and therefore it is essentially pseudepigraphical.21 It follows that if this is the genre of Daniel 7–12 these chapters must be pseudonymous.
It may help to clarify the issue to spell out the difference the ex eventu theory makes to an understanding of the book of Daniel. The first two chapters claim to belong to the earliest period of Nebuchadrezzar’s campaigns (Dn. 1:1; 2:1), before 600 bc, and the last date mentioned (10:1) refers to 537 bc. The impression given, therefore, is that the whole book comes from the sixth century, and increasingly scholars are tending to concede that the stories of chapters 1–6 belong earlier than the rest, and stem from the period of the exile. The visions of chapters 7–12, however, with their outline of future epochs (chapter 7) and their special interest in the Greek period (chapter 8) which focuses in chapter 11 on the reign of Antiochus Epiphanes (11:21ff.), reveal such detailed knowledge of the future that to reckon the visions prophetic seems to many inconceivable. According to John Goldingay it is not so much that God could not but that he would not give such detailed information in advance.22
This is where the argument comes in that most of chapter 11, and by implication the other visions of future epochs, originated in the second century, and in that part of it which is dealt with in most detail in 11:21–35, namely the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes. The author had lived through the events he presented as prophecies of that reign. Previous centuries he knew from history. It follows that only a very small part of the visions relate to the future as it looked from the writer’s standpoint. In reality he was summing up 350 years of history in the form of a prophecy about 165 bc, and was making a genuine prophecy only in 11:36–45 (or 40–45). In those verses he prophesied the way in which king Antiochus would meet his end.
The author proved to be a very second-rate prophet, however, because even that very short section of prophecy was proved by history to be incorrect! Antiochus did not die in the manner predicted. Moreover the author made an even bigger mistake in implying that God would intervene in the immediate future by bringing history to an end. His third weak area was his knowledge of history. Many inaccuracies are alleged, some of them serious, but especially his conviction that there was a separate Median kingdom before that of the Persians. Now the book itself does not say that this was the author’s interpretation of the four eras of chapters 2 and 7; indeed 8:20 explicitly states that the Medo-Persian empire was a joint one. Though it is true that there is a focus on the second century in chapter 11 and that this was within the Greek period, the author was looking to a further empire under which God was going to intervene in an unprecedented way, namely the Roman empire, when the proclamation went out, ‘the kingdom of God is at hand’ (Mk. 1:15). In short, the mistakes may be the fault of the interpreter rather than of the text.23 Otherwise how did the book ever qualify for inclusion in the Canon of Scripture? Did none of the scribes who copied the manuscripts at Qumran, for example, spot the errors?24
Scholars who accept the vaticinium ex eventu theory, and some who do not explicitly mention it, go to some lengths to repudiate the idea that the pseudonymity involved is in any way fraudulent, or at least they argue that circumstances made it inevitable. Charles thought that the supremacy of the Law made the revival of prophecy in the second century bc an impossibility and Eva Osswald blamed the closure of the canon of revelation for the borrowing of the canonical name.25 She saw two extra advantages of the pseudonym: added respect for the writing and possibly a means of saving the author from political danger. H. H. Rowley was of the opinion that pseudonymity could be recognized by the reader of the time;26 Oesterley envisaged a long period of oral tradition preceding the written form of the work, which was attributed to the supposed initiator of the tradition,27 while Russell contended that the writer thought of himself as an extension of the personality of the historic personage under whose name he wrote.28
Recently Klaus Koch has stated his position: ‘association with a tradition confers legitimacy’ and ‘since what is involved is not the conscious use of an inaccurate name, the designation “pseudonymous” should be used only with reservations’.29 This reluctance to make use of the word ‘pseudonymous’ is significant. John Goldingay endeavours to show that pseudonymity is not incompatible with inspiration,30 and Richard Bauckham argues that ‘Pseudonymity is … a device expressing the apocalyptist’s consciousness that the age of prophecy has passed: not in the sense that he fraudulently wishes to pass off his work as belonging to the age of prophecy, but in the sense that he thereby acknowledges his work to be mere interpretation of the revelation given in the prophetic age.’31 The use of vaticinia ex eventu was, according to this writer, in the interests of giving his contemporaries a relevant exposition of old prophecies.
It is true that in Daniel there is a comment on the seventy-year prophecy of Jeremiah, especially in chapter 9, but it is not possible to account for the other visions in this way, unless the dream image in chapter 2 is accepted as genuine ancient prophecy. Moreover, if the apocalyptist really was rewriting prophecies of the past to show how they had been fulfilled, why did he not write in his own name? Whatever the motivation behind his pseudonymity, he certainly succeeded in deceiving his readers, despite assertions to the contrary, as we have already shown. Jesus, according to the Gospel writers, and the early Church Fathers, accepted the book as the work of Daniel, for it was not until Porphyry in the third century ad questioned the possibility of such accurate prediction that anyone doubted the genuineness of Danielic authorship.
This fact has, of course, always been put down to a pre-critical mentality, but, on the argument that the literary device of pseudonymity and vaticinia ex eventu deceived no-one the Jewish expositors and the leaders of the early church should have been well aware of the true origin and intention of the ‘prophecies’, especially in view of the development of pseudonymous literature in the period between the Testaments. If, on the other hand, the author of Daniel did intend to deceive, he was entirely successful in doing so until the time of Porphyry. Had it been otherwise the likelihood is that his work would have been excluded from the Canon.
It will be noted that pseudepigraphy is said to fulfil functions which are mutually exclusive. On the one hand we are asked to believe that this was an accepted literary convention which deceived no-one, and on the other that the adoption of a pseudonym, which presumably went undetected, increased the acceptability and authority of a work. Those who contend that Daniel was written under a pseudonym cannot have it both ways.
While there are advantages in singling out a subject like pseudonymity for consideration in its own right, other factors, particularly date of writing, are bound up with it. If Daniel is a sixth-century work the question of pseudonymity does not arise, whereas if it is a product of the second century bc a study of Hellenism and the literature in the world of that time becomes relevant. John J. Collins in just such a study32 sees the undoubted rise in the number of pseudepigrapha during the Hellenistic period as one of a number of conspicuous phenomena resulting from the demise of national monarchies, loss of meaning and alienation. In a later article, however, having pointed out that the writer of Revelation eschewed pseudonymity, he gives the explanation: ‘The lack of pseudonymity, then, reflects the heightened eschatological fervour of the early Christian community and its greater receptivity for apocalyptic revelations’.33
But if one era before Christ had to be selected as demonstrating the same kind of expectations, so far as the Jews were concerned the sixth century would take precedence over the second. Deprived of a king, deported, interned, they lost all hope to a degree that was never true of the later period. In their state of alienation Ezekiel’s visions of the great and holy Lord, who would reinstate the nation and so reveal his glory to the world, restored hope. Haggai and Zechariah ministered to the struggling community back in Judah. In that time of unrest and upheaval apocalyptic imagery flourished, and these writers, by their skilful use of symbolic language and literary forms, brought reassurance of God’s control in a chaotic world. On socio-historic grounds this is surely the period most likely to produce the book of Daniel.
As one who has endeavoured to write a commentary on Daniel I would claim that, whereas to postulate a second-century setting restricts the impact of the book’s prophecies to that century because they are regarded as fulfilled in the time of the Maccabees, a sixth-century date of writing allows a more flexible interpretation based on the book’s repeated claim to foretell the future. As Gordon Wenham points out, ‘The idea that God declares his future purposes to his servants is at the heart of the book’s theology’.34 The expositor who fails to take this seriously fails to take the book seriously. The whole of chapter 10, for example, describing the experience of Daniel as he was being prepared to receive his final vision, becomes so much local colour in support of an elaborate fiction, for almost all that was to follow in chapter 11 was a recital of history, much of it recent. Similarly the prayer of chapter 9 and descriptions such as those of 8:15–19; 12:7, 8 become so much padding to give the effect of reality.
Interpreted as history the predictions have no further claim on the reader. Any interest is on a purely academic level. So to rob a book of its impact invites eccentric interpretations such as have come to be associated at a popular level with this book.
In conclusion we contend that there is no clear proof of pseudonymity in the Old Testament and much evidence against it. When a writer made use of a literary convention, as in the case of Qoheleth, he made it abundantly plain that that was what he was doing. So far as the book of Daniel is concerned there is no hint of such a thing, nor did the Old or New Testament church which included the book in the Canon suspect it. If the historical setting provided by the text is accepted there is no reason for postulating pseudonymity, and the task of proving that the book is in any part pseudonymous must rest with those who confidently make the claim.
1 As Helen Morgan, What Price Glory? (London: IVP, 1972); as Rhena Taylor, Rough Edges (Leicester: IVP, 1978).
2 See e.g. J. C. Fenton, ‘Pseudonymity in the New Testament’, Theology 58, 1953, pp. 51–56; K. Aland, ‘The Problem of Anonymity and Pseudonymity in Christian Literature of the First Two Centuries’, JTS 12, 1961, pp. 39–49; D. Guthrie, ‘The Development of the Idea of Canonical Pseudepigrapha in New Testament Criticism’, Vox Evangelica, 1962, pp. 43–59; Bruce M. Metzger, ‘Literary Forgeries and Canonical Pseudepigrapha’, JBL91, 1972, pp. 3–24; John J. Collins, ‘Pseudonymity, Historical Reviews and the Genre of the Revelation of John’, CBQ 39, 1977, pp. 329–343. Metzger and Collins touch on the Old Testament also.
3 ‘The Problem of Pseudonymity’, JTS 4, 1953, pp. 15–22.
4 ‘A Catalogue of Texts and Authors’, Journal of Cuneiform Studies 16, 1962, pp. 59–76.
5 Ibid., p. 59.
6 Ibid., p. 73.
7 The Expositor, 4th series, 4, 1891, p. 94.
8 Bruce M. Metzger, ‘Literary Forgeries and Canonical Pseudepigrapha’, JBL, pp. 5, 6. He refers to Galen, In Hipp. de nat. hominis 1.42 (C. G. Kühn, Medicorum graecorum opera 15, 105).
9 Ibid., p. 11.
10 Vaticinia ex eventu and pseudonymity will be dealt with below in connection with Daniel.
11 For a recent commentary on Deuteronomy which argues for substantially Mosaic authorship see P. C. Craigie, The Book of Deuteronomy, New International Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1976).
12 Derek Kidner, A Time to Mourn, and a Time to Dance (Leicester: IVP, 1976), p. 22.
13 Judaism and Hellenism I (London: SCM, 1974), pp. 129, 130: Excursus 3: Koheleth and Solomon.
14 J. Muilenburg, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 135, 1954, pp. 23, 24, on the basis of fragments of the book from Qumran Cave 4.
15 Solomonic authorship has been maintained by a few scholars, one of the most recent being G. L. Archer in Bulletin of the Evangelical Theological Society, 12, 1969, pp. 167–181.
16 Alfred Guillaume, Prophecy and Divination, Bampton Lectures (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1938), p. 163.
17 See e.g. O. Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: An Introduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 1965), pp. 438–440; G. Fohrer, Introduction to the Old Testament (London: SPCK, 1970), pp. 446–448.
18 A more detailed discussion of the subject may be found in the writer’s Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi (London: IVP, 1972), pp. 60–70.
19 Ibid., pp. 85, 86.
20 Ibid., pp. 74–81.
21 A study of vaticinia ex eventu in relation to Daniel is to be included in the Tyndale Old Testament Lecture 1978, by the present writer, which is expected to be published in a future Tyndale Bulletin.
22 Themelios 2/2, January 1977, p. 49.
23 Robert J. M. Gurney, ‘The Four Kingdoms of Daniel 2 and 7’, Themelios 2/2, pp. 39–45, argues, however, that the four empires are indeed those of Babylon, Media, Persia, Greece, and that there is no historical mistake.
24 It is clear from the fragments of the book of Daniel found at Qumran and from other related texts that the book enjoyed great popularity there. See Joyce G. Baldwin, Daniel, Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries, forthcoming from IVP, introductory sections, viii and x.
25 R. H. Charles, Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha II, p. viii. Eva Osswald, ‘Zum Problem der Vaticinia Ex Eventu’, ZAW 75, 1963, pp. 27–44.
26 H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic (London: Lutterworth, 1944), p. 39.
27 W. O. E. Oesterley, The Jews and Judaism During the Greek Period (London: SPCK, 1941), p. 74.
28 D. S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic (London: SCM, 1964), pp. 127–139.
29 Article ‘Pseudonymous Writing’, Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Supplementary Vol. (Nashville: Abingdon, 1976), p. 713.
30 Themelios 2/2, January, 1977, p. 49; The Churchman 90, January–March, 1976, pp. 6–23.
31 Themelios 3/2, January, 1978, p. 18 (=p. 50 of volume 3).
32 ‘Jewish Apocalyptic against its Hellenistic Near Eastern Environment’, BASOR 220, 1975, pp. 27–36.
33 CBQ 39, 1977, p. 332.
34 Themelios 2/2, 1977, p. 51. John Goldingay, on the other hand, finds a second-century dating more glorifying to God and more pastorally helpful (p. 49).