REDESCRIBING THE RELIGION OF HEBREWS
AAR/SBL 2007 Annual Meeting in San Diego
Consultation of Hebrews
Pamela Eisenbaum
Iliff School of Theology
Draft – Do not cite without author’s permission.
Hebrews is often called a mysterious text, because it betrays little of its context and seems so
dissimilar to other early Christian texts, particularly other NT texts. Yet, in spite of this
mysteriousness, there seems to be little debate about what Hebrews means. To be sure,
there is the usual scholarly quibbling about the meaning of this or that phrase or subsection,
lively discussion about which genre Hebrews belongs to, as well as ongoing discussion about
how we should best describe the structure of Hebrews. But, compared to, say, Romans,
Hebrews for the most part possesses a kind of clarity to modern readers. Its central
argument is relatively easy to follow: Hebrews portrays Christ as an utterly unique figure who
has supplanted the central institutions of ancient Judaism, most importantly, the temple cult,
because Christ has once-and-for-all achieved the ultimate purpose of the cult, to purify the
worshippers so as to bring them into the presence of God.
Although Hebrews must wrestle some paradoxes in order to construct a coherent
view of Christ—Christ is both divine and human, in heaven and on earth, continuous and
discontinuous with past tradition (we could go on). Overall, Hebrews appears to modern
readers to flow logically toward its inevitable conclusion.
In distinction to this view, I submit that Hebrews appears so transparent in its
meaning because the ostensible theology of Hebrews reflects certain key assumptions
embedded in the Protestant Christian world view, and thus in more generalized conceptions
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of religion, assumptions having to do with ritual and sacrifice. To put the matter in summary
form, the standard message of Hebrews is that the ineffectiveness and emptiness of ritual
sacrifice has been exposed and thereby rendered obsolete by the “Christ-event.” Whereas
previously contact between humans and God was severely restricted and institutionally
controlled, the death and resurrection of Christ has now enabled unmediated access to God.
This newly acquired access has eliminated the need for priests, a temple, and sacrifices. All
that is needed is a particular mental disposition oriented toward Christ—this is commonly
known as having faith and (perhaps) a moral, upright life. As I said, this theological position
bears an uncanny resemble to the foundational theology of Protestant Christianity. From
this perspective, Hebrews seemingly condemns institutional religion in favor of
individualistic spirituality; salvation comes through Christ alone; one need not perform any
rites, rituals, or appeal to the mediation of persons or institutions to achieve perfection with
God. The sacrifice of Jesus is not merely a symbolic representation pointing to some sort of
theological reality. It really accomplished what the enactment of other sacrifices only points
to.1 (What I have just described is intended not as a paraphrase of Hebrews, but of what
one finds in most commentaries on Hebrews.)
There are two related problems in this traditional reading of Hebrews to which I
wish to call attention. First, this reading of Hebrews says what Hebrews says with near
perfect one-to-one correspondence that it has not explained, analyzed or redescribed
Hebrews in such a way that allows it to be understood in terms other than Christian
theological discourse. To say that Hebrews condemns the levitical cult in favor of the one-
1
As G. R. Hughes says, the Mosaic covenant “was in nature preparatory, propaedeutic,
showing in particular the seriousness of sin, the reality of the righteousness of God, and the
necessity of atonement” (Hebrews and Hermeneutics, [Cambridge, 1979], 393).
2
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time sacrifice of Jesus is just barely to paraphrase Hebrews, and paraphrase is not
explanation; it’s a restatement of the same thing. Here I invoke Jonathan Z. Smith: a map is
not helpful if it’s the same size as the territory it represents.2
The second problem concerns the issue of supersessionism. Hebrews is frequently
named as the most supersessionist text in the NT (including by me, though recently some
have begun to challenge that).
And in the restatement of Hebrews I just articulated I
suppose it is. If the message of Hebrews is that Christ as the new covenant has replaced the
old one, which is now “obsolete”, what else shall we call Hebrews but supersessionist? But I
suspect that part of the reason Hebrews appears so supersessionist is precisely because of its
purported anti-ritual, anti-sacrificial position, because that position correlates to higher forms
of religion in a modern perspective. As Jonathan Klawans describes in his recent book,
Purity, Sacrifice and the Temple,3 most theories of sacrifice presuppose an evolutionary
perspective—one in which the practice of sacrifice reflects a primitive stage of religion; more
sophisticated religions regard sacrifice as at best of symbolic meaning; they therefore
dispense with the making of sacrifices.
Klawans points out that discussions of sacrifice in the Bible frequently culminate
with Hebrews, because Hebrews is the best articulation of the way in which the practice of
sacrifice is seen as fundamentally flawed; it never achieves what it is supposed to achieve.4
The point is not that Hebrews does not say this; the point is that scholars believe it. Thus it
seems that Hebrews reflects a “rational” understanding of sacrifice closely akin to the
modern reader’s perspective. In other words, on the evolutionary scale in the History of
2
J.Z. Smith, Map is not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions (University of Chicago, 1978).
Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (New
York: Oxford, 2006).
4
Ibid, 8.
3
3
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Religions, Hebrews represents a more evolved form of religion than what we might call
Mosaic religion. To translate into traditional supersessionist language: Christianity is a more
evolved form of religion than Judaism (or at least ancient Judaism).
Thus, the form of
religion represented by Hebrews (=Christianity) is perceived to be a better form of religion
than that which it critiques.
For scholars concerned with the problem of modern Jewish-Christian relations, the
problem of supersessionism in Hebrews has generally been dealt with in two ways. The first
is simply to acknowledge it while at the same time distinguishing it from the gospels and
Paul. In this way, it stands as an aberration in the NT, not typical of the early Christian
perspective. The other option is to defend Hebrews in some way. This has usually meant
placing Hebrews inside the sphere of Judaism; the critique of the temple then becomes part
of an intra-Jewish polemic.
I want to propose that there may be another option. There are other categories with
which to understand and classify Hebrews. Instead of seeing it as “Jewish” or “Christian,” I
suggest utilizing categories that might describe the religious phenomena of Hebrews so as to
enable its redescription in terms that transcend Hebrews, in terms that scholarship itself
defines as useful for analysis beyond a Christian theological context.
I propose to employ a system of categorization proposed by Jonathan Z Smith.
Smith distinguishes between locative and utopian religions or religious symbol systems.5. The
locative vision of the world emphasizes place, and what Smith later calls emplacement; the
utopian vision of the world by contrast emphasizes the “value of being in no place.” Smith
argues that this dichotomy between the locative and the utopian enables us to perceive one
5
Sometimes also referred to as “central- locative” and “peripheral-utopian.”
4
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of the most foundational elements that orient a culture’s view of the world, namely its
conception of place.
The question of the character of the place on which one stands is the fundamental
symbolic and social question. Once an individual or culture has expressed its vision
of its place, a whole language of symbols and social structures will follow.6
The locative is characterized by a sense of a well-ordered universe, one which has a
center, often viewed as the originary point of that universe, and around which everything
thing else is ordered. Within this world-view, religious practice revolves around maintaining
this order. Everything has its place, and wisdom is in knowing what one’s place is within the
cosmos. Indeed, “the chief responsibility of priests and kings is to attune human order to
the divine order.”7 Smith cites India as an example of a culture with a locative orientation,
because of the perduring system of caste that defines that culture. Ancient Israel is another
example (as are virtually all other ANE societies). Citing Mary Douglas, Smith argues that an
emphasis on holiness indicates a locative orientation.8 “Holiness is exemplified by
completeness. Holiness requires that individuals shall conform to the class to which they
belong. And holiness requires that different classes of things shall not be confused.”9 Of
course, holiness is regulated and maintained by the rules of purity. In other words, the
levitical laws provide an excellent illustration of a locative symbol system as defined by
Smith. The center of Israel lies in the Jerusalem temple, where God is accessible. Even
during those periods when no temple existed, ancient Israel still possessed a center, as
6
J.Z. Smith, Map is Not Territory, 141.
Ibid, citing C. Loew in Myth, Sacred History and Philosophy (New York, 1967), 5, 13.
8
Elsewhere Smith says that locative traditions may also be referred to as “religions of
sanctification” (Drudgery Divine [Chicago: University of Chicago, 1990), 121.
9
M. Douglas, Purity and Danger (New York, 1966), 53, cited by Smith, Map is Not Territory,
137.
7
5
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indicated by the tabernacle texts of Exodus and the vision of the temple in Ezekiel. In other
words, the cult itself, whether it was being enacted or merely imagined (and written about),
worked to maintain the cosmic center of Israel, and thus to keep Israel’s identity in tact.
Locative traditions also depend on the notion of chaos as the complement to the
notion of order. The forces of chaos are always a potential threat. The order of things is
seen to be relatively fragile. Nevertheless, cosmic order is maintained by constant vigilance
through highly regulated behavior—everything and everyone must be in place. The social
structures and rituals that maintain order are therefore perceived as meaningful and
comforting. In other words, the forces of order are soteriological.
In contrast to the preoccupation with order, place, and purity that characterize the
locative sensibility, a utopian orientation to the world experiences that world as disordered.
Thus the utopian view is not preoccupied with place, neither place in general nor places in
particular. Such traditions do not engage in practices designed to maintain the order and
sanctity of the world but seek salvation from it. The very forces of cosmic order seen as
comforting in the locative understanding are instead seen to be oppressive, restricting, and
obstacles to well-being. The goal is transcendence from the work-a-day world. Thus, there
is no center holding the world together. Value is instead placed on the periphery, the
margins, the places where one can escape the world in which one lives. The emphasis then
is not on knowing and maintaining one’s place in the world, but on freedom and even
rebellion.
Most forms of Gnosticism are utopian. But one of the best examples of the utopian
orientation to the world is modern, Western culture. Whatever might be the restriction of
race, gender, class on our lives, conceptually speaking, we have the freedom to choose
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whatever “place” we like. Our position in society is not the result of a pre-assigned, Godgiven order, but of whom we would like to become. As participants in this society, we are
not compelled to operate within a carefully prescribed set of rules, but rather we are called
upon “to challenge [our] limits, break them, or create new possibilities…”10
Not surprisingly, Smith suggests that certain kinds of myth are typical of the one
topological orientation, and other types of myth characteristic of the other. For example,
Smith classifies Gilgamesh as locative. Gilgamesh, not content with his lot in life, goes on a
quest (away from the center, toward a periphery) to attain immortality. But Gilgamesh does
not realize his goal, rather he comes to realize the inevitability of his mortal condition, his
humanity. Gilgamesh is a failed hero, and the story of the failed hero is characteristic of
locative traditions. Gilgamesh is a model human being not because he transcends his place
in life, but because he accepts his place in life. In a locative tradition, the worlds of the living
and the dead are kept separate and distinct, or, as Smith says, “the dead remain dead”11
(though there can be some sense of relationship, through, for example, memorialization,
ancestor worship, or a cult of the dead—all these practices Smith places in the category of
the locative). Conversely, the successful hero story is typical of utopian traditions. The
utopian hero is the savior, who through his or her transformation leads others to
transformation. Jesus is the obvious example here.12
10
Smith, Map is Not Territory, 101.
Drudgery Divine, 132.
12
Although, as Smith argues in Drudgery Divine, early Jesus traditions of Syria and Palestine
reflect a more locative orientation, memorializing Jesus, perhaps in ritual meals at the tomb.
They would not have understood his death as itself transformative, but as a martyrdom.
11
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Smith comments only briefly on the role of ritual for each topological orientation.
But given the importance of ritual to Hebrews, it is worth mentioning. For Smith, ritual is
closely connected to place.
Ritual is, first and foremost, a mode of paying attention. It is a process for marking
interest. It is the recognition of this fundamental characteristic of ritual that most
sharply distinguishes our understanding from that of the Reformers, with their all
too easy equation of ritual with blind and thoughtless habit. It is this characteristic,
as well, that explains the role of place as a fundamental component of ritual: place
directs attention.13
A good illustration of this, says Smith, can be found in what he calls a “built ritual
environment,” that is to say, a temple.
When one enters a temple, one enters marked-off space…in which, at least in
principle, nothing is accidental; everything, at least potentially, demands attention.
The temple serves as focusing lens, establishing the possibilities of significance by
directing attention, by requiring the perception of difference. Within the temple, the
ordinary…becomes significant, becomes “sacred,” simply by being there. A ritual
object or action becomes sacred by having attention focused on it in a highly marked
way. From such a point of view, there is nothing that is inherently sacred or profane.
These are not substantive categories, but rather situational ones. Sacrality is, above
all, a category of emplacement.14
Locative traditions place more emphasis on ritual than do utopian ones—which is
not to say utopian traditions do not have ritual; they do. But the rituals tend to be of a
different kind. While locative rituals tend to effect purity and purgation, restoring the world
to its proper ordering, utopian rituals emphasize initiation, conversion and transformation.
Smith also notes that ritual efficacy in the utopian world tends to be either extended, or
alternatively, reduced to a “’once for all’ permanent action.”15
13
Smith, To Take Place: Toward a Theory of Ritual (Chicago: 1987), 103.
Ibid, 104.
15
Drudgery Divine, 133.
14
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Before turning to Hebrews, I wish to make one final point about the
locative/utopian dichotomy. Smith repeatedly emphasizes that these two types of
orientation are not to be understood in evolutionary terms. Perhaps the most important
point about this schema is that it is not an attempt to remap the old evolutionary
dichotomous models in the history of religions, such as spiritual vs. material religion,
intellectual vs. ritualistic, enlightened vs. magical. The locative is not to be equated with the
primitive and the utopian civilized religion, or, worse yet, the locative with Judaism and the
utopian with Christianity. The same cultures or religions may be oriented toward the locative
or the utopian depending on wide variety of situational factors. In fact, the utopian and
locative topologies are not found in pure form—there are elements of both the utopian and
the locative present at the same time. It is perhaps best to think of them on a continuum,
though one typically dominates; for one or the other is better equipped to cope with a given
set of circumstances. Social change is effected by transitioning from one topology to the
other.
I turn now to Hebrews. With respect to the two different senses of place I have
been describing, Hebrews most certainly falls in the utopian category. The utopian
orientation of Hebrews can be illustrated by the following characteristics:
1. Jesus is the successful hero, and because of what he accomplished, he leads others
into salvation.
2. Jesus cannot be categorized as human, angel, or divine. He is both a priest and the
sacrifice. He has experienced mortality and immortality together, and this is a model
for what his followers will experience. Thus, ordinary boundaries between categories
of people and things are not operative. (Heb 2:14-18; 5:7-8)
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3. The only ritual sacrifice that now matters is Jesus’ one-time sacrifice. The once-andforever status of Jesus sacrifice is explicitly contrasted with the regular and repeated
sacrifices of the tabernacle cult. It is the very repetition of the levitical offerings that
is problematic in Hebrews, for they do not effect transformation, but in fact, they
maintain the status quo.
4. The status quo is perceived as meaningless. The order that the levitical system of
sacrifice worked to maintain and protect from the forces of chaos does not provide a
sense of comfort and stability, but rather anxiety, for it “does not perfect the
conscience of the worshipper.” Salvation comes from transcending the existing
order.
5. Finally, there is no center in Hebrews. The universe has been completely
decentralized.
Allow me to elaborate especially on this last point. This world is not an orderly place or
at least the order which defines it is not a source of comfort and confidence, but one of
oppression. Heb 2:9 says, “As it is, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him, but
we do see Jesus, ….” Hebrews does not say to whom everything is currently subjected, but
the implication is that world is not under the authority of God. Hebrews eagerly anticipates
another world, the world to come, a world that transcends the institutions of this world.
“Here we have no lasting city, but we are looking for the city that is to come” (Heb 13:14), a
city “whose architect and builder is God” (11:10), a place where there is no labor, a place of
eternal rest (Heb 4:10).
As is well known, Hebrews does not speak of the Jerusalem temple, but rather of the
tabernacle. However, the author does not use the tabernacle (which was of course mobile)
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as a critique of the temple—the building of a house for God—as, for example, the book of
Acts does. Rather, I believe he has collapsed the tabernacle and temple into one; the
distinction between them does not matter. They both represent the earthly sanctuary, which
is just a simulation of the space God inhabits. In this simulation, ritual activity was carried
out, but it did not produce its intended effects. The hieratic ritual system did not “work.”
The endlessly repeated sacrifices are proof that no one was cleansed, no sins were atoned, no
one was perfected, and perhaps most importantly, they did not enable access to God, but
rather restricted it. The system was pointing to these realities, but did not realize them. The
architecture of the tabernacle, with its sanctuary inside the sanctuary, symbolized the
inaccessibility of God and the ineffectiveness of the ritual: “the way into the sanctuary has
not yet been disclosed as long as the first tent is still standing. This is a symbol of the
present time, during which gifts and sacrifices are offered that cannot perfect the conscience
of the worshipper…” (9:8-9).
My guess is that if you asked a priest serving in the Jerusalem temple if the sacrifice
“worked” in the sense meant in Hebrews, in the sense of actually transforming an individual,
or for that matter a community, into a sinless, perfect being, he would say no. That indeed
would render ritual observance unnecessary, perhaps even obsolete. The point of the cult
was to render sacred, or clean, that which was not clean. The repetition of these rites was
necessary because human beings continued being human; they were not permanently
transformed; the sacrifices were an acknowledgement of the profound difference between
human beings and God, and the danger of bringing these two wholly different realities into
contact.
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The difference between the author of Hebrews, and, for example, the author of the
Temple Scroll, is two-fold. Hebrews has a completely decentralized orientation to the
universe. That’s why God is now accessible everywhere. The periphery has come to the
fore. Hence the exhortation in the final chapter “to go to him outside the camp…for here
we have no lasting city, but we are looking for the city that is to come” (13:13-14).
Moreover, Hebrews has remapped a spatially organized system on to a temporal
one, hence the emphasis on contrasting old and new, then and now. I realize that Hebrews
does in fact have a spatial as well as a temporal dimension—the earthly sanctuary is
described as a copy of the heavenly one. Gnostic systems have elaborate spatial hierarchies
as well. What I am suggesting is that the spatial is subordinate to the temporal, and that, in
any case, it is the sense of place in particular that has become inconsequential to the vision of
Hebrews. To be sure, the author reads the levitical cult like a map for an alternate reality,
but it is a map the way a church bulletin is a map to a church service, a guide to the order of
things in time, even if they must be laid out spatially on a piece of paper. Another analogy
might be the stations of the cross in a Catholic church. One may move from one station to
the next, but what they each represent is a critical moment in time, an event in the passion of
Jesus, and the movement through space is only meant to simulate the movement through
the narrative of Jesus’ life, that is through time.
In sum, Hebrews represents a utopian orientation toward religion rather than a
locative one. Given that modern Western society also possesses a utopian perspective, it
seems to many as if Hebrews makes more sense; it ostensibly represents a more “rational”
form of religion than that represented by cultic Judaism because of its critique of sacrifice.
Sacrifice is just symbolic of something else, so it seems “natural” to abandon the practice of
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sacrifice in favor of what it represents. But the locative and utopian orientations to the
world are merely alternative orientations to the world; one is not better or more rational than
the other. They are both strategies of conceptualization designed to enable people to cope
with reality. For they both acknowledge the dissonance between the world as it should be
and the world as it is. One tries to manipulate the world in pursuit of its ideal, the other to
break outside the world.
While there is no way to deny the negative remarks Hebrews makes about cultic
Judaism, and that it claims to offer something better in Jesus, modern readers can distance
themselves from the text and its language of supersession. If we translate what is going in
Hebrews into scholarly categories—categories that transcend Jewish and Christian
theology—we can describe the vision of Hebrews in other terms, in terms that both allow us to
see more clearly and to refrain from adopting the negative appraisals of cultic practice, and
by extension Judaism, as if they were somehow obvious or natural.
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