^{page 75 note 1} Mark, xiv. 12, xv. 16, 42Google Scholar. Cf. Mark, v. 9, 41Google Scholar; vi. 17, 19, 45; vii. 31, 34; viii. 3; x. 1; xiv. 1; xv. 7; xvi. 1; per contra, xv. 22.

^{page 75 note 2} He may have been motivated by an awareness that the description is wrong. On hand-washing, see Branscomb, B. H., Jesus and the Law of Moses (New York, 1930), pp. 156–60Google Scholar; Montefiore, C. G., The Synoptic Gospels (2 vols., London, 1927 ²), I, 133fGoogle Scholar.; Strack-Billerbeck, (hereafter: Bill.), I, 695–704Google Scholar. The parallel cited on pots and pans in Bill. II, 14Google Scholar is not persuasive; cf. Montefiore, op. cit. I, 145Google Scholar.

^{page 75 note 3} So, e.g., Hummel, Reinhard, Die Auseinandersetzung zwischen Kirche und Judentum im Matthäusevangelium (Beiträge zur evang. Theol. 33; Munich, 1963), p. 56Google Scholar and passim; Bornkamm, in Günther Bornkamm, Gerhard Barth, and Heinz-Joachim Held, Tradition and Interpretation in Matthew (E.T.: Philadelphia, 1963), pp. 20ff., 26, 39Google Scholar, and passim. (Hereafter the latter work will be cited as Tradition.)

^{page 76 note 1} The passages and a very careful discussion are given in Strecker, Georg, Der Weg der Gerechtigkeit (F.R.L.A.N.T. 82; Göttingen, 1962), pp. 137–43Google Scholar and Hummel, , op. cit. pp. 12–17Google Scholar. Hummel's general conclusion that the emphasis on the Pharisees in Matthew is redactional is correct, and so is his judgement that they appear as often as possible as the enemies of Jesus, especially in the Streitgespräche and in the events of the crucifixion. But is Pharisaism merely the designation of a group? Is it not rather, in Strecker's phrase, an Antitypus? In xxi. 45, which immediately follows the parables of the Two Sons (xxi. 28–32, M) and the Wicked Tenants (xxi. 33–46 = Mark, xii. 1–12)Google Scholar they are not merely the leaders of the Jews but also representatives of those from whom the kingdom of God was to be taken, in order that it might be given to another nation (xxi. 43), which must mean from the Jewish people as a whole to the Christian church. So also viii. 11f., where the ‘sons of the Kingdom’ are, in context, the Jews, not merely a temporary group of Jewish leaders.

^{page 77 note 1} So most commentators. Conversely, Branscomb argues that this whole section, far from insisting on the Law, actually reflects Matthew's emancipation from it, ‘because the material is scarcely modified from its form in his source’ (op. cit. p. 97)Google Scholar. This is surely wrong.

^{page 77 note 2} So Hummel, , op. cit. pp. 46–9Google Scholar. Hummel notes that Matthew has changed Mark's ‘the tradition of men’ to read ‘your tradition’, but he still insists that basically Matthew accepts the scribal tradition, rejecting it only on this point and a few others (on the Sabbath, see pp. 44f.; on divorce, pp. 49ff.). But the modification seems to me clearly to point to a more radical rejection of the scribal tradition than Hummel envisages.

^{page 77 note 3} Gerhard Barth suggests that Matthew could have interpreted the saying along the same lines as the often-cited comment by Rabbi Johanan ben Zakkai, ‘In your life, the corpse does not defile, nor does water make pure, but it is an ordinance of the King of Kings. God spoke: ‘I have made a law, I have established an ordinance; no man is justified in transgressing my ordinance’ (cited, Tradition, 90 n. 3)Google Scholar. But the last part of Rabbi Johanan's statement is crucially different from Matthew's intention in our passage, and so the parallel breaks down. If, as Barth admits (Ibid. pp. 94f.) Matthew, in v. 38ffGoogle Scholar. interprets the Law (vs. the Rabbinate) so as to contradict the O.T. commandments concerning oaths, there is no reason to deny that for Matthew the food laws might simply be unimportant (as they surely were not to Rabbi Johanan). Curiously, at the very end of his essay (op. cit. p. 163)Google Scholar, Barth seems to move much closer to the attitude taken in this paper on two counts: (I) Matthew's use of Mark, vii. 15Google Scholar shows that he was not concerned about the question of food laws, and (2) it must be inferred from this verse that Matthew himself no longer belongs to the strict Jewish Christian wing of the church.

^{page 77 note 4} See Dupont, Jacques, Les Béatitudes I: Le problème littéraire (nouv. éd., Brussels/Louvain, 1958), pp. 130–45 and the bibliog. cited in n. I on p. 144Google Scholar; Branscomb, , op. cit. pp. 223–31Google Scholar; Schweizer, Eduard, ‘Matth. v. 17–20: Anmerkungen zum Gesetzesverständnis des Matthäus’, Th. Lit. LXXVII (1952), 479–84Google Scholar (= Neotestamentica [Zürich/Stuttgart, 1963], pp. 399–406)Google Scholar; Barth, G. in Tradition, pp. 64–71Google Scholar; Strecker, , op. cit. pp. 143–7Google Scholar; Trilling, Wolfgang, Das Wahre Israel (Münich, 1964 ³), pp. 167–87Google Scholar; Ljungmann, Henrik, Das Gesetz erfüllen: Matth. 5, 17ff. und 9, 15 untersucht (Lund, 1954)Google ScholarDavies, W. D., ‘Matthew 5, 17–18’, Mélanges Bibliques rédigds en l' honneur de A. Robert (Paris, 1957), pp. 428–56Google Scholar; Braun, Herbert, Spätjüdisch-häretischer und frühchristlicher Radikalismus (Beiträge zur hist. Theol. 24; 2 Bände, Tübingen, 1957), II, 7–11Google Scholar; Bonnard, Pierre, Lˇ Évangile selon Saint Matthieu (Neuchâtel/Paris, 1963), pp. 60 ffGoogle Scholar.; Gaechter, Paul S. J., Das Matthäusevangelium (Innsbruck, 1963), pp. 161–8Google Scholar.

^{page 78 note 1} Without the introductory ἀμὴν γὰρ λέγω ὑμῑν and the concluding ἕως ἂν πάντα γένηται.

^{page 78 note 2} Some kind of ‘Satz heiligen Rechts’ (see below, p. 79 n. 7) probably lies behind v. 19, as its form shows. The reference then would be to the commandments of the Law, not of the Sermon on the Mount, and we should have to infer a more primitive form reading ‘the commandments’ for ‘these commandments’ or (less probably) understand ‘these’ as an Aramaic pleonasm (see Jeremias, J., The Parables of Jesus [New York, 1963 ²], p. 39 n. 61)Google Scholar. But its meaning in Matthew cannot be deduced from its literary form alone; in context, it points toward the Antitheses that immediately follow.

^{page 78 note 3} For an analysis, see Branscomb, , op. cit. pp. 213–18Google Scholar. Some see v. 18 as known to Matthew through both Q and his special tradition or through his special tradition alone; for bibliography, see Schürmann, Heinz, ‴Wer daher eines dieser geringsten Gebote auflöst…”’, Bib. Zeit. n.F. IV (1960), 238–50, esp. 239 n. 6Google Scholar. But the reasons given are not persuasive.

^{page 78 note 4} Luke's understanding of history and of the Law need not concern us here. But (contra Barth in Tradition, pp. 63 fGoogle Scholar. and Branscomb, , op. cit. p. 206)Google Scholar I find it hard to believe that Luke, xvi. 16Google Scholar a rests on a source which implied that the Law and the prophets were invalid after John, since then its presence in Q would be inexplicable. The next verse in Q (Luke, xvi. 17) seems to imply the permanent validity of the Law. On the other hand, Matthew's phrase (xi. 13), is clearly secondary, no matter what the Q reading was, and it is perhaps just to infer that he feared just some such redactionist interpretation of the saying as Barth and Branscomb find in Luke's sourceGoogle Scholar.

^{page 78 note 5} This phrase in v. 18 seems, in the light of xxiv. 34f., to exclude the view (Dupont, op. cit. p. 116 n. 2Google Scholar; Trilling, op. cit. p. 169Google Scholar; Strecker, , op. cit. pp. 143fGoogle Scholar.; Schmid, J., Das Evangelium nach Matthäus [Regensburg, 1959], p. 87Google Scholar; McNeile, A. H., The Gospel according to St Matthew [London, 1915], pp. 58f.)Google Scholar that is the equivalent of and implies the perpetuity of the Law. If this is correct, there is a fundamental difference between the original Q saying that the Law abides forever (so also late-Judaism and the rabbis: see the passages cited in Kümmel, W. G., ‘Jesus und der jüdische Traditionsgedanke’, Z.N.W. XXXIII (1934), 105–30, esp. 109 n. 14Google Scholar; Branscomb, , op. cit. pp. 25fGoogle Scholar.; Bill, . I, 244–9Google Scholar; and the bibliography noted in Trilling, op. cit. p. 168 n. 5Google Scholar and Matthew's revision of it. But the point should not be stressed.

What is quite clear, however, is that it is wrong to deduce from the ‘fulfilment’ theme in v. 17 an interpretation of v. 18 which removes all futuristic reference entirely, as if all things, all scriptural prophecy, etc., came to an end in Jesus' historical ministry. (On this, see Dupont, op. cit. I, 134 n. 4Google Scholar and the bibliography cited there.) In spite of all that one can learn, therefore, from Ljungmann's Dos Gesetz erfüllen, one must reject as arbitrary his persistently repeated scheme of Christological fulfilment. (See also Käsemann, E. in Th. Lit. LXXXI [1956], 547f.)Google Scholar While Matthew, like the rabbis, may use for the Law as = the Scriptures, especially scriptural prophecy, he does not, as the context shows, eliminate the original reference to the Law as a code.

Similarly, neither Jesus nor the tradition nor Matthew can have meant by v. 18 to distinguish the pre-resurrection period (when the Law was still in force) from the post-resurrection period (when it was fulfilled). (Vs. Davies, , op. cit. pp. 451–4.)Google Scholar This introduces a completely extraneous element into the context, viz., the resurrection.

^{page 79 note 1} Tradition, p. 70Google Scholar.

^{page 79 note 2} Barth in Ibid. p. 65; Bultmann, R., The History of the Synoptic Tradition (E.T.: Oxford, 1963), p. 138Google Scholar; Kümmel, , N.Z.W. XXXIII (1934), 127Google Scholar; Schweizer, ‘Matth. 5, 17–20’, col. 481 (= Neot. p.401)Google Scholar.

^{page 79 note 3} On the meaning of ‘fulfil’here and in Matthew's theology, see Ibid. cols. 479 ff. (= Neot. pp. 399f.)Google Scholar; Barth, , Tradition, pp. 67ffGoogle Scholar.; and Trilling, op. cit. pp. 174–9Google Scholar. Historical surveys are given in Ljungmann, , op. cit. pp. 19–36Google Scholar and Dupont, op. cit. p. 138 n. 3 and 141 n. 3Google Scholar.

^{page 79 note 4} ‘The Law’ and ‘the Law and the prophets’ may be used interchangeably for the whole O.T. economy; see Gutbrod, in Th.W.B. IV, 1051Google Scholar and Kümmel, , Z.N.W. XXXIII (1934), III n. 23Google Scholar. The v.l. καί τῶν προφητῶν in v. 18 is poorly attested (θ ϕ al Ir^lat) and doubtless secondary.

^{page 79 note 5} To distinguish sharply between the ‘normative’ and the ‘heilsgeschichtlich’ significance of the O.T. (so e.g. Trilling, op. cit. pp. 178fGoogle Scholar. and Schmid, , op. cit. pp. 86f.)Google Scholar introduces a distinction which Matthew probably would not have admitted. Yet the other Matthean occurrences of the phrase ‘the law and the prophets’ (vii. 12; xxii. 40—the broken parallel in xi. 13 is from Q) clearly relate to conduct, and the ‘normative’ aspect here is the evangelist's primary concern. (Vs. Schweizer, ‘Matth. 5. 17–20‘, cols. 479ff. [= Neot, . pp. 399ff.].)Google Scholar

^{page 79 note 6} So, rightly, Trilling, op. cit. p. 170 n. 15Google Scholar. Davies's, W. D. attempt to ground both v. 17 and v 18Google Scholar. in the teaching of Jesus (‘Matth. 5, 17–18’, passim) is completely unconvincing, both because he minimizes the extent to which both verses reflect early Christian controversy and because he does not do justice to the tension between the two sayings.

^{page 79 note 7} It is apparent that the saying contains pre-Matthean elements: while μίαν…τῶνἐλαχίστων cannot refer to the following Antitheses, ‘these’ commandments cannot, in Greek, refer to anything else. We must, therefore, postulate an earlier form.

The best suggestion for such a form comes from what Käsemann, E. calls ‘Sätze heiligen Rechts im NT’ (N.T.S. I [1954/1955], 248–60)Google Scholar. It might have contained a pleonastic Aramaism, ‘these commandments’, or it might have read simply ‘the commandments’, or it might conceivably (but very improbably, since the prophet did not speak in his own name) have referred to ‘these commandments (which I am now giving)’. But in any case it would be a legal pronouncement and would, to judge from similar sayings of this type, have implied exclusion from the kingdom; ‘least in the kingdom’ is simply the exact literary counterpart of ‘least of the(se) commandments’. (For the same parallelism, see Mark, viii. 38Google Scholar; xiii. 13b; xvi. 16; Luke, ix. 26Google Scholar; xii. 8ff.; Matt, . vii. 2Google Scholar; xxiii. 12; I Cor. iii. 17; xiv. 38; Rev. xxii. 18f.; etc.) But, as Käsemann points out (‘Die Anfänge christlicher Theologie’, Z. Th.K. LVII [1960], 162–85, esp. 166)Google Scholar these statements are ordinarily severe and solemn warnings of judgement, while here the Christian profession of the opponents is clearly recognized and complete exclusion from the Kingdom is therefore not insisted upon. On the basis of the form of such statements among the rabbis, as well as elsewhere in the N.T., it is probable that at some point it really did imply exclusion from the Kingdom, while the more lenient interpretation is that of Matthew (or his immediate tradition). Since Matthew shares with his tradition a stress on the jus talionis but departs from the apocalyptic and enthusiastic presuppositions which originally coined these sacral pronouncements (Käsemann, Ibid. p. 172) some such cclesiastical modification of them seems inevitable. For further analysis of the text, see Schurmann, ‘Wer daher…’.

^{page 80 note 1} In Matthew's interpretation. See the preceding note and Schmid, , op. cit. p. 89Google Scholar.

^{page 80 note 2} Moore, G. F., Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era (3 vols., Cambridge, Mass., 1927), I, 235Google Scholar. Note, e.g. Sanh. 99 a: ‘Even if… (a man) admits that the whole Torah is from Heaven, excepting a single point…, he is still included in… (the condemnation implied in Numb. xv. 31).’

^{page 80 note 3} The parallelism in this verse (λύσŋ…καί δıδάξŋ/ποıήσŋ καί δıδάξŋ) shows that λύσŋ (R.S.V.: relax) is an act of doing, not an act of teaching. Unfortunately, however, the disparate origins of vv. 17 and 19 make this an inconclusive argument for interpreting πληρόω in v. 17 in the same way. (See above, p. 79 n. 3.)

The Sitz im Leben of v. 19Google Scholar is elusive (for bibliography, see Trilling, op. cit. p. 181 n. 80)Google Scholar, though it is surely very primitive; a dispute between a strict Jewish-Christian outlook and a group of Hellenists (Schmid, , op. cit. p. 89Google Scholar; Käsemann, , ‘Anfänge’, p. 166Google Scholar: the Stephen circle) seems most probable, a dispute between strict Jewish-Christians and a somewhat lax Jewish.Christian practice (Schürmann, , ‘Wer daher…’, p. 249)Google Scholar somewhat less so. But in Matthew's theology the key problem is the insistence of some that Jesus has brought the old economy to an end; Matthew insists that this, among other things, leads to moral laxity or indifference. Hence the ethical emphasis in the wording.

^{page 80 note 4} ‘Righteousness’ in Matthew is primarily ethical, not forensic, man's responsibility, not God's gift. (Vs. Barth, in Tradition, pp. 123fGoogle Scholar.; see Strecker, , op. cit. pp. 149–58Google Scholar; Trilling, op. cit. p. 202 n. 83; below, p. 81 n. 2Google Scholar and p. 84 n. 1).

^{page 80 note 5} This well-known Jewish expository method is also followed in chap. vi, where the general principle (vi. 1) introduces the concrete examples (vi. 2ff., 5f., 16ff.). Barth's argument that since v. 20 is created as an introduction to the Antitheses, vv. 17–19 must go with what precedes them, viz., vv. 3–16 (Tradition, p. 73)Google Scholar ignores the unity which vv. 17–20 have for Matthew.

^{page 80 note 6} The question of whether what is rejected in the Antitheses is the Torah itself or merely the rabbinic tradition (for bibliography, see Hummel, , op. cit. p. 71 nn. 23–8)Google Scholar is not settled by Hummel's observation that for Matthew the two cannot be separated, that what Matthew rejects is the Torah in the form in which the rabbis teach it. This is what rejecting rabbinic tradition involves. The real question, which is obscured by Hummel's formulation, is whether for Matthew Jesus' teaching is thought of essentially as exegesis of the Torah or whether he so ‘fulfils’ it that some of its prescriptions may be Set aside as no longer applicable for Christians. Since in their Matthean form the third, fifth, and sixth Antitheses really do set aside the Torah (Hummel grants this and then explains it away, pp. 72f.), Jesus' teaching cannot have been for Matthew simply the elaboration of the love-commandment within a basically halachic framework. Nor can Matthew be said to hold to the identity of the will of God ‘nicht mit der Tora als solcher, wohl aber mit der recht verstandenen, d.h. von Jesus ausgelegten Tora…’ Ibid. p. 50) because ‘die Tora als solche’ is a mere abstraction. The Antitheses are, of course, innerkirchlich in intent (Ibid. p. 74). But they are also, like chap. vi, anti- Pharisaic in content; they reject not only pharisaic exegesis but also the attitude toward the Torah on which such exegesis is based. It is thus more significant than Hummel grants (Ibid. p. 73) that there are no convincing rabbinic parallels for some of the material in vv. 21–48.

Bornkamm, (Tradition, p. 25)Google Scholar grants that the third, fifth, and sixth Antitheses really abolish the validity of the Law, but because he accepts v. 18 as characteristic of Matthew's theology, he sees only an unresolved tension in Matthew's mind between the author's allegiance to Jesus' own words and the Judaistic Jewish-Christian understanding of the Law. Barth (Ibid. pp. 70f.) notes that the author intends to show a connexion between Jesus' teaching, the will of God and the Law, and he insists (Ibid. n. 3) that Matthew's understanding of v. 18 is figurative, against its literal wording. But this means that we must insist on a real difference between Matthew and that Jewish-Christian tradition which originally created v. 18 and avoid simply identifying Matthew with the ‘conservative congregation’ in its struggle against the antinomians, as Barth does.

^{page 81 note 1} Strecker, (op. cit. p. 137 n. 4)Google Scholar denies that the antinomians are a specific group. This fits, of course, his one-sided insistence on anti-Jewish polemic in Matthew, since it would be fatal to his theory of Gentile provenance if Matthew were shown to be concerned about a radical disregard for the Law. But the errors opposed in the text are much too concrete to be merely potential dangers.

^{page 81 note 2} άνομία is Matthean (four times, nowhere else in the gospels). It is used of scribes and Pharisees once (xxiii. 28), of false Christians three times (vii. 23; xiii. 41; xxiv. 11f.). It is opposed to δίκαιοςin the case of both false Christians (xiii. 41) and scribes and Pharisees (xxiii. 28). This twofold reference shows that in Matthew it is, like δικαιοσύνη, primarily ethical, not forensic. It is pure assumption that Matthew would assert flatly ‘Ohne Tora gibt es überhaupt keine Gerechtigkeit…’ and a petitio principii to insist that he leaves this thought unspoken because it was self-evident (Hummel, , op. cit. p. 69)Google Scholar. Similarly, one must not understand (v. 20) as implying that true righteousness is merely something added on to the (inadequate) keeping of the whole body of scribal precepts.

^{page 81 note 3} It is true that in the balanced statements of the synoptics the emphasis lies on the second of the contrasting ideas. (See, e.g., Matt, . x. 34Google Scholar; Mark, ii. 17Google Scholar = Matt, . ix. 13Google ScholarMark, x. 45Google Scholar = Matt, . xx. 28.)Google Scholar But this does not render the first member of the clause unimportant. Hence it is a mistake to deny, as Trilling does (op. cit. p. 172)Google Scholar, the presence of polemic against the antinomians in v. 17 on the grounds that what is expressed by the μή νομìσητε clause is merely a rhetorical device to point up the theme of fulfilment.

^{page 81 note 4} ix. 13; xii. 7. On his use of the Hosea passage, see Hummel, , op. cit. pp. 97ffGoogle Scholar.

^{page 82 note 1} The Markan summary of the commandments in x. 19 includes commandments 6–10 (assuming, with Kiostermann, , ad locGoogle Scholar., that ; refers to the tenth) plus 5; Matthew (xix. 18f.) keeps them in the same order (omitting the problematic ‘do not defraud’) but adds Lev. xix. 18 as one of ‘the commandments’. Mark's subordination of the love-commandment (‘the second is this…’, xii. 31) has become in Matthew an equality (‘and a second is like it…’, xxii. 39).

^{page 82 note 2} Matthew's greatly abbreviated form of Mark, xii. 28–34Google Scholar (the Great Commandment, Matt, . xxii. 34–40Google Scholar; see below, p. 85 n. 2) omits, amongother things, the anti-cultic saying about burnt offerings and sacrifices in Mark, xii. 33bGoogle Scholar. But even though the Markan passage reflects hellenistic tendencies in various ways (see Bornkamm, , ‘Das Doppelgebot der Liebe’, Neutest. Stud. für R. Bultmann [Beih. zur Z.N.W. 21; Berlin, 1954], pp. 85–93, esp 88ff.)Google Scholar this need not indicate a theological reservation to its use on Matthew's part (vs. Hummel, , op. cit. p. 52)Google Scholar; the saying is, after all, a clear allusion to I Sam. xv. 22. The most striking difference between Mark and the O.T. passage is that Mark subordinates the cult to the love of God and neighbour, I Samuel to obedience, In this instance, Matthew clearly sides with Mark, not I Samuel—but so (though perhaps more ambiguously) do the rabbis. (See Bill. I, 499f.; on‘obedience’, I, 908.) Hence the omission is not necessarily significant. In its present strongly polemic context, however, xii. 40 exalts the love-commandment above the law and the prophets (so, rightly, Barth, in Tradition, p. 78Google Scholar; Bornkamm, Ibid., pp. 31 f. and ‘Doppelgebot’, p. 93), which means that Matthew's primary concern here is with Jews, not with antinomian Christians.

^{page 82 note 3} All of these, when compared with rabbinic parallels, reveal significant differences from ‘halachic’ interpretation. The rabbis, for example, also summarize the Law in terms of the love of God and neighbour. (See Bill, . I, 907f., 356ff., 460)Google Scholar. Hummel suggests that the difference between Matthew and the rabbis ‘liegt in der Entschlossenheit, mit der Matthäus diese Erkenntnis für die Halacha fruchtbar gemacht hat, während die Rabbinen an dieser Frage mehr aus pädogogischen Gründen interessiert waren’ (op. cit. p. 52Google Scholar; so also Bornkamm, , ‘Doppelgebot’, p. 86)Google Scholar. But surely the difference between these two uses is fundamental: in what sense would the rabbis have recognized as ‘halachoth’ what Matthew actually does with this (to them) reduction and subordination of the Law?

^{page 82 note 4} So, rightly, Schweizer, ‘Matth. 5, 17–20’, passim and Trilling, op. cit. pp. 174–9Google Scholar. Hummel is correct (op. cit. p. 75)Google Scholar that the term ‘nova lex’ is to be rejected for Matthew, since Jesus points his hearers not to a new Law but to the true meaning of the Old. But the real question is whether Matthew thinks of the will of God as inseparably bound up with legal prescriptions to which one adheres rigidly, in short, whether it is a ‘law’ at all. In any case, ‘fulfil’ implies thatJesus supplants not merely corrects, the chain of rabbinic tradition (Trilling, op. cit. p. 179Google Scholar; Kümmel, , Z.N.W. XXXIII [1934], 129f.)Google Scholar.

^{page 82 note 5} Not in the sense that the old requirements have been brought to an end, for which Matthew would use τελέω, but rather that they have found their intended fulfilment (πληρòω). (On the distinctionin Matthew's language between πελέω and πληρòω, see Trilling, op. cit. p. 175)Google Scholar. Note especially the phrase πληροῦν πᾶσαν δικαιοσύνην in iii. 15, where the thought of ‘bringing to an end’ is clearly inadmissible. Nor can we appeal to an Aramaic original, as Davies does (‘Matth. 5, 17–18’, p. 439) to minimize this distinction; the argument is unconvincing for Jesus, irrelevant for Matthew. It is Marcion, not Matthew, who simply substitutes τῶν λÌγων μου for τοῦ νόμου in the Q saying preserved at Luke, xvi. 17Google Scholar. (See Aland, Synopsis Quattuor Evangeliorum, p. 309.)Google Scholar

^{page 83 note 1} Methodologically: Hummel interprets Matthew's intention in vv. 17, 19, and 20. in terms of the Q saying in v. 18 (op. cit. pp. 66–71Google Scholar; So also Bornkamm, , Tradition, p. 24Google Scholar: ‘the law is binding down to the jot and tittle’); Schweizer, interprets v. 18Google Scholar in its Matthean context in terms of v. 17, which by common consent is redactional (‘Matth. 5, 17–20’, passim; so also Trilling, op. cit. p. 179)Google Scholar. Surely Schweizer is more nearly right. Some passages may require some modification of Schweizer's results, but they can hardly call his basic method into question. To assert, however, that ‘gegenüber den Antinomisten hält er (sc. Matt.) am Wortlaut der Tora fest’ (Hummel, , op. cit. pp. 68f.)Google Scholar implies that Matthew agrees exactly with the rigid Jewish-Christian statement in v. 18; on this view, there is no difference between tradition and the redactor on the matter of the Law. But the real problem of Matthew's theology is that he is not simply a Jewish-Christian of the ‘Wortlaut der Tora’ type, on the one hand, and that he does not reduce the Law to the love-commandment, on the other.

^{page 83 note 2} See, e.g., Schweizer, , ‘Matth. 5, 17–20’, col. 479Google Scholar (= Neot. p. 400)Google Scholar; Kümmel, , Z.N.W. XXXIII (1934), 127fGoogle Scholar.

^{page 83 note 3} See Bornkamm, Günther, ‘Der Auferstandene und der Irdische‘, Zeit und Geschichte (Danicesgabe an Rudolf Bultmann zum 80. Geburtstag) (Tübingen, 1964), pp. 172–91Google Scholar; Barth, , Tradition, pp. 131–7Google Scholar; Trilling, , op. cit. pp. 21–51Google Scholar; Jeremias, J., Jesus' Promise to the Nations (Studies in Bib. Theol. 24; Naperville, III., 1958), pp. 38fGoogle Scholar. Not available to me: Lohmeyer, E., ‘“Mir ist gegeben all Gewalt”’, In memoriam Ernst Lohmeyer (Stuttgart, 1951), pp. 22–49Google Scholar; Michel, Otto, ‘Der Abschluss des Matthäus’, Eu. Theol. X (1950), 16–26Google Scholar; Vögtle, A., ‘Das Christologische und ekklesiologische Anliegen vonMatth. 28, 18–20’, Studia Evangelica, II (Berlin, 1964), 266–94Google Scholar.

^{page 83 note 4} See esp. Bornkamm, ‘Der Auferstandee…’.

^{page 83 note 5} That what follows is essentially an elaboration of the commission is apparent. Yet exegetes have long noted that in the commission itself baptism comes before teaching, not vice versa, as we might expect. Is not this stress on post-baptismal teaching an indication that Matthew has in mind a lifelong instruction of believers in the true meaning of the Law? The Great Commission then picks up the antipathy expressed in v. 19, so that Christian teachers who mislead other Christian about Jesus' commandments are judged unfaithful in carrying out the express mission of the Risen Lord.

^{page 83 note 6} In Matthean usage διδάσκω refers primarily to elaborating the meaning ofthe law; see Bornkamm, , Tradition, p. 38 n. 1Google Scholar. In spite of the comparative rarity of the various related terms, it is an important Matthean concept (Trilling, op. cit. p. 36Google Scholar; Strecker, , op. cit. pp. 39f., 126 ffGoogle Scholar.; cf. Kilpatrick, G. D.,The Origins of the Gospel according to St Matthew [Oxford, 1950], p. 80)Google Scholar. ‘Das Werk (sc. das Matthäusevangelium) ist als Ganzes weniger Botschaft als Lehre…’ (Trilling, op. cit. p. 37)Google Scholar.

^{page 84 note 7} I find it hard to believe that Matthew's use of πᾶσ is in any genuine way similar to the Essenes' repeated use of . (So Barth, , Tradition, pp. 71 ffGoogle Scholar.; more cautiously, Strecker, , op. cit. p. 141 n. 1.)Google Scholar On in Qumran, see Braun, , op. cit. I, 28Google Scholar and his 'ldquo;Umkehr” in spätjüdisch-häretischer und in frühchristlicher Sicht’, Z. Th.K. L ( 1953), 243–58, esp. 251Google Scholar (= Ges. Stud. pp. 70–85, esp. pp. 78ff.)Google Scholar. A similar argument could show Luke to be essentially a legalist, since his use of πᾶς is even more significant than Matthew's: Matthew 26; Mark 6; Luke-Acts 73. No contrast with ‘some’ or ‘part’ is necessarily implied in this device, which is clearly rhetorical.

^{page 84 note 1} This term is, in the synoptics, Matthean (Matthew, 7Google Scholar; Mark, 0Google Scholar; Luke, 1Google Scholar, but Acts 4). It rests on God's righteousness (vi. 33) and was characteristic of John's ministry (xxi. 32); perfectly fulfilled by Jesus (iii. 15), it is an active virtue (vi. 1) which the faithful should earnestly seek (v. 6) but which the scribes and Pharisees do not possess (v. 20) for this the faithful will be persecuted (v. 10). (An eschatological interpretation of v. 6—righteousness as God's eschatological act of vindication— is improbable; and since the Lukan form is more primitive, it is unnecessary to postulate a preMatthean saying with an eschatological sense.) On the adjective δίκαιος, which is less clearly Matthean (Matt, . 13Google Scholar; Mark, 2Google ScholarLuke, iiGoogle Scholar; Acts 6), see above, p. 81 n. 2.

^{page 84 note 2} See above, p. 81 nn. 1, 2.

^{page 84 note 3} This Matthean phrase is repeated in the pointed question in the parable of the Two Sons, xxi. 31, where the keeping of the Law is not at issue.

^{page 84 note 4} Matthew not only repeats this theme where he finds it in his source (Mark, xii. 2Google Scholar = Matt, . xxi. 34)Google Scholar; he also adds it twice (vv. 41, 43). Luke simply follows Mark.

^{page 85 note 1} Vs. Bornkamm, , Tradition, p. 24Google Scholar cf. Barth, Ibid. p. 71 n. 3. It might have meant something like this in Matthew's tradition, since the M material in chap. xxiii is clearly composite (so, rightly, Haenchen, E., ‘Matthäus 23’, Z.Th.K. XLVIII [1951], 38–63; on vv. 2f., see 38f.)Google Scholar, though even there it could not have been intended of every detail of scribal halachoth. In any case, Matthew's negative interpretation of the Pharisees is fixed by the redactional material in xxiii. 5a, 7b, 24, 28, 32ff., not by the pre-Matthean suggestions in xxiii. 3 a (so rightly Strecker, , op. cit. I 138f.)Google Scholar or xxiii. 23 b (ταῦτα δέ …, Q).

^{page 85 note 2} Hummel recognizes (op. cit. p. 31)Google Scholar that this text cannot easily be squared with xv. 1ff. But because he insists that the evangelist still hopes for a reconciliation with Judaism (so also Bornkamm, –Barth, –Held, , Tradition, passimGoogle Scholar; Lohmeyer, Ernst/Schmauch, Werner, Das Evangelium des Matthäus [Meyer, Krit.-exeg. Komm., Göttingen, 1962 ³], p. 335)Google Scholar he interprets it as ‘tactical’ rather than ‘theological’. Quite apart from the question of how effective such tactics might have been expected to be, one should note that for Matthew ‘hypocrisy’ is characteristic not only of the Pharisees (Haenchen, , ‘Matthäus 23’, pp. 46, 58fGoogle Scholar.; Barth, , Tradition, p. 76Google Scholar seems to imply that the charge is restricted to them), or even of a representative idealized Pharisee (xxiii. 26), but also of Pharisees and Sadducees (iii. 7–10), chief priests and elders of the people (xxi. 23), chief priests and Pharisees (xxi. 45), and scribes and Pharisees (xxiii. 2, 13, 15, 23, 25, 27, 29; cf. xxiii. 5a, 28)—in short, of practically all Jewish officialdom. (Haenchen, , ‘Matthäus 23;, p. 59Google Scholar: ‘Die Gegner sind eine einzige massa perditionis.’) Furthermore, if Matthew is really hoping for a reconciliation in terms of scribal Judaism, why does he not follow Mark's favourable presentation of a scribe in Mark, xii. 28–34?Google Scholar Instead, he makes an earnest question into a hypocritical one (xxii. 35) and the whole controversy over the Great Commandment into a judgment on the Pharisees (xxii. 34–40). While it is possible that Matthew and Luke here use a different Mark from ours (Bornkamm, , ‘Doppelgebot’, pp. 92 f.)Google Scholar, the agreements between Matthew and Luke against Mark are negligible, while the omission of Mark, xii. 32b–34aGoogle Scholar by Luke is necessitated by the Lukan use of the section in introducing theGood Samaritan. There is thus no good reason for denying that both Matthew and Luke used approximately our Markan text, while Matthew deliberately omitted Mark, xii. 32–34aGoogle Scholar. In any case, Mark, xii. 32Google Scholar a certainly stood in the Markan text used by Matthew (cf. Luke, xx. 39)Google Scholar, s its omission by Matthew indicates at least some measure of anti-scribal feeling.

^{page 85 note 3} This is not merely a formal, conventional charge about the ethics of the opposition; it is precise and concrete. But neither here nor in vii. 21 ff. nor in the Sermon as a whole are the antinomians described ‘in relation to the [my italics] question about the Law’ (vs. Barth, , Tradition, p. 75)Google Scholar.

^{page 85 note 4} See below, pp. 88f.

^{page 86 note 1} For the texts, see Bill, . i, 312–20Google Scholar.

^{page 86 note 2} So Hummel, who also notes that in Mark Jesus really opposes Moses, while in Matthew Jesus harmonizes the biblical passages (i.e. Deut. xxiv. I with Gen. i. 27; ii. 24); Matthew simply substitutes Jesus' interpretation of the Torah for the scribal interpretation (op. cit. pp. 49ff.)Google Scholar.

^{page 86 note 3} For the rabbinic casuistry, see Bill, . I, 284–8, 342f., 787–97Google Scholar.

^{page 86 note 4} For this, see xii. 35 and vi. 15, both peculiar to Matthew. Note also the emphasis on reward in the Matthean insertion (x. 41) into his source at Mark, ix. 37–40Google Scholar.

^{page 86 note 5} Hummel repeatedly uses the term ‘halacha’ for such material: cf. op. cit. pp. 44f., 46–9, 49ffGoogle Scholar. for anti-Jewish ‘halacha’, pp. 57f. for the ‘Frömmigkeitsregeln’, etc. Yet the difference between, say, Tohoroth (Danby, , pp. 603–789)Google Scholar and the ‘halacha’ in Matt, . xv. 20bGoogle Scholar is so enormous that it seems better not to use the term.

^{page 86 note 6} See Bill. I, 952f.

^{page 87 note 1} So Hummel, , op. cit. pp. 40fGoogle Scholar.; Braun, , op. cit. II, 70 (71) n. 2Google Scholar. The texts cited in Bill. I, 630 seem to me somewhat less clear on the point than Hummel suggests.

^{page 87 note 2} Bornkamm, , Tradition, p. 31 n. 2Google Scholar. Bornkamm suggests that these healings involve a ‘violation’ of the sabbath commandment.

^{page 87 note 3} mSab 2, 5 (Danby, , p. 102)Google Scholar; Cf. Sab. 30a, b.

^{page 87 note 4} So, rightly, Barth, , Tradition, p. 79Google Scholar. Obviously there are also no rabbinic parallels to the Christological statements in vv. 6, 8.

^{page 87 note 5} See Bill, . I, 618fGoogle Scholar. For healing on the sabbath, see Ibid. I, 622–9.

^{page 87 note 6} Bornkamm, , Tradition, p. 31 n. 2Google Scholar.

^{page 87 note 7} Yet Hummel insists flatly: ‘Die christlichen Halachoth sind für die Kirche des Matthäs in demselben Maβe Gesetz wie die pharisäischen für das Judentum’ (op. cit. p. 54). For Matthew's church that may well be true, but hardly, as the ‘hunger’ motif shows, for Matthew himselfGoogle Scholar.

^{page 88 note 1} Hummel, , op. cit. p. 42Google Scholar.

^{page 88 note 2} As Hummel notes (ibid.).

^{page 88 note 3} The rabbis also taught that the Yes of a righteous man means Yes, his No means No (Midr. Ruth, vii. 6 on iii. 18Google Scholar; for rabbinic usage in general, see Bill, . i, 336f.)Google Scholar. But they also used a double Yes or No as a mild oath (so also James, v. 12), whereas the force ofGoogle ScholarMatt, . v. 33–7Google Scholar is against the use of oaths. For this there are, of course, no rabbinic parallels. Furthermore, the rejection of Pharisaic practice with regard to oaths (Matt, . xxiii. 16–22)Google Scholar, even though a much milder critique than that of Jesus, is not connected with any new positive regulations, as genuine ‘halachoth’ would be.

^{page 89 note 1} On this, see Kümmel, ‘Traditionsgedanke’.

^{page 89 note 2} In view of Matthew's unmitigated hostility to Pharisaism (above, p. 76n. 1), it is unlikely that this restricts the application of the Isaiah passage to the Corban-controversy and thus represents a severe minimizing of the critique of Pharisaism (vs. Schmid, , op. cit. p. 237)Google Scholar.

^{page 89 note 3} See below, pp. 90, and above, p. 82 n. 1.

^{page 89 note 4} So, inter alia, Schmid, , op. cit. p. 237Google Scholar. Held, (Tradition, pp. 225, 242)Google Scholar has shown a Matthean tendency to revise the miracle-stories in the direction of the Streitgespräch as well.

^{page 89 note 5} An immense distance, though only a comparatively brief period of time, separates Bultmann's treatment(op. cit. pp. 3955)Google Scholar from Albertz's quite excessive conservatism about the authenticity of this material. Conceived independently, both Albertz, Martin, Die synoptischen Streitgesprache (Berlin, 1921)Google Scholar and Bultmann's, Die Geschichte der synoptischen Tradition (I. Aufi., Göttingen, 1921)Google Scholar appeared in the same year; but the divergence in treatment is no less obvious in the early than in subsequent editions of the latter work.

^{page 89 note 6} Albertz, (op. cit. pp. 38f.)Google Scholar is aware of this fact and cites passages from both the rabbinic literature (Aboda Sara, 16b, 17aGoogle Scholar; Chullin, Tosephta2, 24Google Scholar; Οohelet rabba on i, 8) and early Christian material (Oxy. pap. 5 [1907], no. 840)Google Scholar to illustrate it.

^{page 89 note 7} So Loisy, A., Les évangiles synoptiques (2 vols., Paris, 1907–1908), I, 954Google Scholar.

^{page 90 note 1} Naturally Matthew could not, like the modern exegete, attribute the ambiguity to a distinction between tradition and reduction at this point.

^{page 90 note 2} That ‘a principle of morals is thus converted into a precept of law’ (Kilpatrick, , op. cit. p. 38)Google Scholar is a half-truth, since it assumes that for Matthew the Bible is simply a law-book.

^{page 90 note 3} The general διαλογισμσί…κακοί of Mark's list has become the first vice in Matthew's. This last vice, slander (βλασφημίαι), is placed at the end to correspond to Matthew's emphasis on the month.

^{page 90 note 4} Nepper-Christensen, Poul, Das Matthäusevangelium: ein Judsn-christliches Evangelium? (Acta theologica danica, I; Aarhus, 1958)Google Scholar is, on the whole, a rather disappointing book. But no satisfactory answer has yet been given to his argument (p. 206) that a Jewish-Christian gospel could not have become the favourite of the Great Church, as the first gospel did. The development toward an almost wholly Gentile church must already have been well begun when Matthew wrote, and he must have sympathized with that development, at least as long as basic ethical concerns were preserved.

^{page 91 note 1} Such passages as v. 17–20, X. 5f., xxiii. 2ff., 23f., 25f., etc., clearly reflect tension between Matthew and his tradition.

^{page 91 note 2} The phrase comes from page 43 of Haenchen's study of Matt, . xxiiiGoogle Scholar (see abov, p. 85 n. 1) and refers to xxiii. 2f. and xxiii. 7 b 8a.

^{page 91 note 3} Ibid. p. 40.

^{page 91 note 4} Op. cit. pp. 17fGoogle Scholar. Verse 16 he rightly regards as a gloss (cf. iv. 23). Loisy, (op. cit. 1, 958 n. 2)Google Scholar thinks it may be authentic, on the grounds that it is rather useless and could easily have been omitted by a scribe.

^{page 91 note 5} Taylor, Vincent, The Gospel according to St Mark (London, 1957), pp. 334–47Google Scholar.

^{page 91 note 6} Op. cit. pp. 36–9Google Scholar.

^{page 91 note 7} Op. cit. 7, 132–66Google Scholar.

^{page 91 note 8} Haenchen, Ernst, Der Wee Jesu (Berlin, 1966), pp. 260–71Google Scholar.

^{page 92 note 1} Hence some texts ( A W Θ 33 sy^{s, p} sa bo etc.) read πάντα for πάλιν.

^{page 92 note 2} Loisy's, view (op. cit. I, 964) that the depreciation of the intelligence of the Galilean disciples is a Pauline trait obscures its real theological significance in Mark, where it serves to motivate the messianic secretGoogle Scholar.

^{page 92 note 3} In Mark, the disciples are no less blind than the crowds, so the ‘also thus’ makes sense. In Matthew, the blindness motif is no longer important, so he modifies the ‘also thus’ to ‘also still’ (άκμήν).

^{page 92 note 4} See Schreiber, Johannes, ‘Die Christologie des Markusevangeliums’, Z.Th.K. LVIII (1961), 154–83Google Scholar. Schreiber's criteria, of which the above is no. 2, are given on pp. 154f.

^{page 93 note 1} As Hummel shows (op. cit. pp. 53f.)Google Scholar, almost all of the Markan Streitgespräche reflect a church which boasts of its freedom from the Law.

^{page 93 note 2} Verse 20 is almost an exact doublet of the second half of the little parable in v. 15. I should be inclined, therefore, to assign it to Mark as a conscious attempt to connect the vice list with the parable itself. Yet the pre-Markan tradition must have had something following v. 15, so we cannot simply take all of vv. 17–23 as Markan elaboration. The recurrent attempts to decide the Sitz of v. 19 b on the basis of its crudity rest on unprovable and largely meaningless assumptions about Jesus, Mark, and modern sensibilities.

^{page 93 note 3} So Albertz, , op. cit. p. 37Google Scholar.

^{page 93 note 4} The difficulties in the way of accepting Mark's account at face value as a description of Jewish custom are insuperable. For the Mishnaic regulations see mNed. viii. 1 ff. (Danby, , 274f.)Google Scholar and Bill, . I, 711–17Google Scholar, and for a discussion of the problems, Montefiore, op. cit. I, 147–52Google Scholar; Branscomb, , op. cit. pp. 165–70Google Scholar; and Taylor, , op. cit. pp. 341f.Google Scholar

^{page 93 note 5} Op. cit. p. 38Google Scholar.

^{page 94 note 1} The ‘prophetic principle’ in vv. 5–8 opposes specific requirements of the Torah. As Montefiore points out, the prophets could ignore Pentateuchal regulations because they did not yet exist, an option that was hardly open to Jesus. Yet Monteflore also wishes to hold to the substantial authenticity of the controversy, so he suggests that perhaps ‘in the heat of conflict Jesus forgets the exact facts’ (op. cit. i, 146)Google Scholar. The expedient is not very plausible.

^{page 94 note 2} On the other hand, quite apart from the problems in vv. 3f., this section rests on a charge against Jesus' disciples, not against Jesus himself, while Jesus' reply involves no counter-argument but consists merely in the citation of Scripture. These factors point toward the primitive church, not the lifetime of Jesus.

^{page 94 note 3} Op. cit. p. 18Google Scholar.

^{page 94 note 4} Montefiore (op. cti. 1, 141)Google Scholar is sympathetic with Büehler's view, communicated to him verbally, that perhaps Diaspora Jews practised rules of the kind described by Mark while Palestinian Jews, in less danger of defilement, did not. But even if this hypothesis were true, it should still be noted that the Talmud knows of no such rules for laymen before about A.D. 100, so that every decade earlier than Mark becomes a more problematic Sitz.

^{page 94 note 5} See Branscomb, , op. cit. p. 162Google Scholar; Nineham, D. E., Saint Mark (Pelican Gospel Commentaries, London, 1963), p. 195Google Scholar: ‘It is just the part where the Greek text deviates from the Hebrew that affords the point of the quotation here.’

^{page 94 note 6} Montefiore is quite right that the story might originally have related to non-religious hand-washing, to cleanliness rather than purity, in which case there is no conflict with the Talmud, (op. cit. I, 140f.)Google Scholar. But this suggestion abolishes any conceivable motivation the primitive community might have had for handing down the story!

^{page 94 note 7} Loisy, notes (op. cit. I, 951 n. 1) on the basis of the analogy in iii. 22 that the Pharisees may be presumed to be Galileans, but the scribes are not. They are coming, not returning, from JerusalemGoogle Scholar.

^{page 94 note 8} Montefiore, op. cit. I, 133. So alsoGoogle ScholarTaylor, , op. cit. p. 342Google Scholar; Davies, W. D., ‘Matth. 5, 17–18’, p. 436Google Scholar; Loisy, , op. cit. 1, 960Google Scholar (citing its crudity as evidence). Branscomb, , op. cit. pp. 176–82Google Scholar is more cautious, holding merely that it is ‘essentially genuine’.

^{page 95 note 1} Cf. Mark, ii. 16Google Scholar, ‘Why does he eat (not: associate) with sinners?’ Schulz, S. may be right (Z. Th.K. LVIII [1961], 190)Google Scholar that since sinners did not keep the food laws this scene is for Mark ‘eine offenbare Demonstration gegen Moses’. But however clear this may seem to us, it is impossible to believe that Jesus so intended his action. Or to believe that he saw in this practice, as Matthew probably does (Hummel, , op. cit. p. 39)Google Scholar an anticipation of the meal-fellowship between Jewish and Gentile Christians. Note that Mark, (v. 15)Google Scholar, followed by Matthew, (v. 10)Google Scholar, believes that Jesus' disciples shared his practice.

^{page 95 note 2} In Mark, vii. 15Google Scholar the saying is parabolic but clear; in Matt, . xv. 11Google Scholar, in spite of what Peter says (v. 15), it is no longer even a parable.

^{page 95 note 3} On Jesus' attitude toward the Law see Benj. Bacon, , ‘Jesus and the Law’, J.B.L. XLVII (1928), 203–31Google Scholar: Branscomb, , op. cit. passimGoogle Scholar; Schmid, , op. cit. pp. 89–94; and espGoogle Scholar. Bornkamm, G., Jesus of Nazareth (New York, 1960), pp. 96–143, esp. pp. 96–100Google Scholar.