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Dies ist urheberrechtlich geschütztes Material. Bereitgestellt von: Universit?tsbibliothek Leipzig, 14.02.2022
Forschungen zum Alten Testament

2. Reihe
Edited by
Konrad Schmid (Zürich) · Mark S. Smith (Princeton)
Hermann Spieckermann (Göttingen) · Andrew Teeter (Harvard)
104
Phillip Michael Lasater
Facets of Fear
The Fear of God in Exilic
and Post-exilic Contexts
Mohr Siebeck
Phillip Michael Lasater, born 1984; 2011 M.Div. from Union Presbyterian Seminary;
2017 PhD from the University of Zürich; currently Oberassistent am Lehrstuhl für
Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft und Frühjüdische Religionsgeschichte at the
University of Zürich.
Die vorliegende Arbeit wurde von der Theologischen Fakultät der Universität
Zürich im Frühlingssemester 2017 auf Antrag von Prof. Dr. Konrad Schmid als
Dissertation angenommen.
ISBN 978-3-16-156676-9 / eISBN 978-3-16-156677-6

DOI 10.1628/978-3-16-156677-6
ISSN 1611–4914 / eISSN 2568–8367 (Forschungen zum Alten Testament, 2. Reihe)
The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication

in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available
at http://dnb.dnb.de.
© 2019 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen. www.mohrsiebeck.com
This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that
permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This
applies particularly to reproductions, translations and storage and processing in
electronic systems.
The book was typeset by satz&sonders in Dülmen, printed on non-aging paper by

Laupp & Göbel in Gomaringen, and bound by Buchbinderei Nädele in Nehren.
Printed in Germany.
For my dad, David B. Lasater

Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks go to the Universität Zürich, especially the Theologi-

sche Fakultät and the UFSP Asien und Europa, whose generous funding
and collegial support enabled the research for this project. As my main
supervisor, Konrad Schmid has been a continual source of encouragement
and insight ever since he welcomed me to Zürich, an experience for which
I am and will remain grateful and indebted. From the outset, he allowed
me great freedom to pursue my research, helping me detect areas in need
of attention and pointing the way toward improvement. Thomas Krüger
and Christoph Uehlinger have likewise provided feedback, insight, and
critique on numerous occasions, providing me with a valuable, cross-
departmental experience as a researcher. During my years at the UFSP
Asien und Europa, I had the opportunity to think and collaborate in
an interdisciplinary environment, which fostered content-related con-
nections in my studies that endured until the end and greatly enriched
my work. Participating in the research group Begriffe und Taxonomien
(“Concepts and Taxonomies”) was instrumental here, since it heightened
my sensitivity to the import of taxonomy in my project and helped me
to ask questions that I otherwise may never have formulated outside of
an interdisciplinary setting. My thanks also go to those who participated
in, and offered me feedback in the context of, Zürich’s Hebrew Bible /Old
Testament seminar, including but not limited to Peter Altmann, Samuel
Arnet, Jordash Kiffiak, JiSeong Kwon, Florian Lippke (Fribourg), Florian
Oepping, Lida Panov, and Frank Überschär (Halle). On multiple occa-
sions over the course of my work, I enjoyed the opportunity to converse
with, pose questions to, and receive guidance from Hindy Najman (Ox-
ford) and Andreas Schüle (Leipzig), both of whom sharpened my focus
in critical ways. I want also to express my gratitude collectively to the
editors Konrad Schmid, Mark S. Smith (Princeton), Hermann Spiecker-
mann (Göttingen), and Andrew Teeter (Cambridge, MA) for accepting
this study into the series Forschungen zum Alten Testament 2.
To my wife Breanna and our children Asher and Jane: I cannot thank
you enough for putting up with me and my long hours of preparing
for and producing this book. My love is yours forever, and yours is my
constant treasure.
Inhalt
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
I. Philological, interpersonal, and theological

dimensions of ................................ 5
1. The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew
Bible . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
2. The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations,
antonyms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
2.1. Language, feelings, and meaning – with special
reference to .................................. 19
2.2. Specifying the meaning of ....................... 23
3. Reconsidering the history of research on ........... 26
3.1. Bidding farewell to the alleged relationship between
and .................................... 29
3.2. as response to greatness and authority . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
a. Overlap between kings and deities in the ancient Near
East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
b. Deities, kings, and : the link between ,
greatness, and authority . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
4. Transitive usages of with and .............. 56
5. The relationship between and statements of divine
nearness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
6. Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
II. Anthropological dimensions of fear and fear of the

divine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
1. Developments regarding “religious experience” and
the “self” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
2. The anthropology of ........................... 70
2.1. as a natural function of the ................... 71
2.2. The human-regulated as the source of ........... 74
a. Jeremiah 5:20–24 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
b. Isaiah 57:7–13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
X Inhalt
c. Isaiah 29:13–14 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
d. Deuteronomy 5:29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
2.3. The divinely-regulated : as an outworking of
divine initiative . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
a. Jeremiah 32:38–41 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
b. Psalm 86:8–13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
c. 1 Kings 8:37–43 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
d. Isaiah 63:15–19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
3. Summary: and theological anthropology . . . . . . . . . . . 95
III. in the iconic parody of Jeremiah 10:1–16 . . . . . . . . . . . 99

1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
2. The text of Jeremiah 10:1–16 (MT) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
3. Textual history, structure, and themes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
4. The date and content of Jeremiah 10:1–16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
4.1. The issue of dating Jeremiah 10:1–16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
4.2. The logic of in Jeremiah 10:1–16 . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
5. Briefly contextualizing Jeremiah 10 among texts from
the Neo-Babylonian Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
6. Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
7. Israel, Judah, and images: a postscript . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
IV. The Priestly use of in Leviticus 17–26 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

1. The nature and date of the Holiness Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
2. The context and use of in Leviticus 17–26 . . . . . . . . . . 143
2.1. Leviticus 19 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
2.2. Leviticus 25 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
3. Briefly contextualizing H among texts from the
Persian period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
4. Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175
V. , wisdom, and the transcendence of human

finitude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
1. Dating the material in Proverbs 1–9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
2. The shape of Proverbs 1–9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
3. and the transcendence of human finitude
through ................................... 182
3.1. Proverbs 1:7 and 9:10 as an interpretive bracket . . . . . . . . . 183
3.2. Proverbs 1:29 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
3.3. Proverbs 2:5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Inhalt XI
3.4. Proverbs 3:7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192

3.5. Proverbs 8:13a and the origins of in Proverbs 8 . . . . 195
4. Excursus: wisdom, transcendence, and ancient
translations of -derivatives as θαυµάζειν . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
5. Excursus: Otto, das ganz Andere, and transcendence . . . . . 210
6. Contextualizing Proverbs 1–9 among texts from the
Hellenistic Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
7. Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216
VI. Concluding summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
Select Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Introduction
In various texts and in varying ways, those who composed the Hebrew
Bible spoke about , as well as , , and other sim-
ilar expressions. This study is an attempt to understand this widespread
language and to renew interest in the topic, which receives relatively little
attention in current biblical scholarship.
As will be made clear, most of the work that has been done builds
upon highly influential interpretations of -derivatives as having a deep
connection to “holiness” ( -derivatives) and human experiences of
it. In order to foster clearer understanding and to engage the history of
interpretation more adequately, this project divides into two main parts:
Part 1, which is broader and more phenomenological; and Part 2, which
offers specific exegetical studies of divergent sorts of literature among
each major section of the Hebrew Bible. Part 1 is comprised of the first
two chapters. Chapter 1 overviews both where and how -derivatives,
as well as synonyms and Greek translations of , are used in the He-
brew Bible and other Second Temple literature. The chapter addresses
the distribution, semantic field, and conceptual affinities of . Even
though -derivatives can indeed mean, “to fear, be afraid,” relying on
a straightforwardly feeling-oriented translation would misrepresent their
semantic scope. Normative, submissive, intentional activity is equally rel-
evant and often inseparable from the element of feeling. The results of
the first chapter are a cumulative challenge to the way that has been
related to religious experience, as well as to -derivatives’ psychologi-
cal classification. The relationship between and feelings; rationality;
intentionality; and normative evaluation makes it very difficult to situate,
say, the noun within modern psychological categories or to translate
it with words informed by those categories. What one finds in the Hebrew
Bible also overlaps with the use of “fear” terminology in a number of ex-
tra-biblical texts, where such language clusters together with recognition
of greatness, authority, hierarchy, as well as practicing virtue and avoiding
vice.
The anthropological dimensions of even more directly occupy
Chapter 2. In the commonly held association of with , to hold
that has to do with religious experience is to say that it is relevant
2 Introduction
to theological anthropology. Although not in the way usually imagined,

does indeed play an interesting role in conceptions of human beings,
such as moral agency. After identifying some characteristics of theological
anthropology in the Hebrew Bible, this chapter focuses on what seems to
have been a debate in exilic and post-exilic texts about the capacity of
the human heart and its relationship to . I examine texts that present
as a normal function of the heart, and then turn to texts where the
heart is actively regulated by people who are expected to . These texts
contrast others where the heart is regulated by God, who enables it to .
It is argued that an explicit connection between and “tôrāh, law” is
a later link, though this link itself presupposes some common threads in
the usage of -derivatives (e. g., authority and normative conduct). That
is, some developments do take place, but without a neat, diachronic shift.
The differences among these texts point to competing views about moral
agency or moral psychology.
Part 2 of this project contains more narrowly focused, exegetical stud-
ies. There is one from each major section of the Hebrew Bible, and these
exegetical studies follow a literary-historical arrangement, not a canonical
one. Given the strong tendency to associate God and one’s conduct before
God with -derivatives, was often at home in a cultic context.
There are accordingly two chapters that examine cult-related instances
of . Chapter 3 discusses Jer 10:1–16, a poetic arrangement within the
prophetic book of Jeremiah. The text is a parody about cultic images,
where, in subtle ways, themes (including the issue of images themselves)
gradually “accelerate” and become more explicit over the course of this
text in its Masoretic version. In Jer 10:1–16, denotes proper con-
duct before Yhwh, who is identified as an appropriate object of .A
major reason that Yhwh is identified as an appropriate object of in
Jeremiah 10 is the text’s creation theology, which contains the familiar
elements of greatness, hierarchy, and power that were important for the
evaluative logic of . Since Jer 10:1–16 appears to fit well within the
Neo-Babylonian period, the chapter ends with a comparison between this
text and other Hebrew Bible texts that may reasonably be dated to the
same period.
Chapter 4 continues the focus on cultic dimensions of , but consid-
ers a different kind of text: the Priestly, legal material of Leviticus 17–26.
Since many interpreters have presumed an experiential connection be-
tween -derivatives and holiness ( ), one might think that, of all
places, Priestly texts would evince such a connection. That is not the case.
Indeed, -derivatives are scarce in the Priestly literature at large (both
Introduction 3
P and H), and where they actually cluster together in Leviticus 17–26,
not a single text confirms the idea that indicates a human response to
holiness. Holiness is a major issue in Leviticus 17–26, but its relationship
to diverges from what the history of research might lead readers to ex-
pect. This chapter studies the way that H uses within the -based,
hierarchically structured communal life that the Holiness Code envisions.
In Leviticus 17–26, takes not only personal superiors and God as
its object, but the logic of also places limits upon the more
powerful residents of the post-exilic community. In this text block, the
same -derivatives that reflect individuals’ lower standing (e. g., impov-
erished workers) are used to protect these vulnerable individuals from
potential mistreatment at the hands of those who have authority over
them. Even though debates persist about the dating of P, and therefore of
H too, the Persian period seems at the moment to be the likeliest setting
for Leviticus 17–26 as we know it. Chapter 4 concludes by looking at other
texts from the same general period, comparing them to what one finds
in H.
Chapter 5 is the final exegetical study. It transitions away from the
legal material of Leviticus 17–26 and toward the instructional material
of Proverbs 1–9, part of the wisdom literature. While the theme of
hardly belongs exclusively to wisdom literature, the usage of -
derivatives in Proverbs 1–9 accentuates the intellectual nuances of al-
ready discernible in some earlier texts. The most persuasive period for the
largely unified composition of Proverbs 1–9 seems to be the Hellenistic
period or, at the earliest, the late-Persian period. According to this series
of parental lectures, on the one hand, and speeches by personified Wis-
dom, on the other, is inseparable from concerns with knowl-
edge, wisdom, and practicing the virtues. Furthermore, there is good
reason to understand Proverbs 1–9 as part of an intellectual project that
sought to differentiate between different albeit complementary levels of
knowledge, which are juxtaposed in fairly direct ways in this instructional
material. In Proverbs 1–9, not all knowledge is equal, and to rest content
with an “untrained” ( ) human understanding would go against the
grain of being-human, the rightful enactment of which involves a con-
nection with divine and, via , a connection to Yhwh. Indeed,
the highest variety of knowledge would seem to be , the attain-
ment of which fosters human flourishing in a process that begins with
. Not only the hierarchical schema of knowledge, but also the
relationship to practicing the virtues and tutoring the passions maintains
familiar nuances of -derivatives. Greatness, hierarchy, authority, and
4 Introduction
normative practice remain in view, but in a manner somewhat unique to

this canonical text block. Chapter 5 concludes with a comparison to other
texts plausibly dated to the Hellenistic period.
Undoubtedly, more texts could and should be examined. However, due
to there being over 400 instances of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible,
the only realistic option for Part 2 is a sampling of texts to illustrate the
facets of “fear” in exilic and post-exilic literature. Future studies will be
needed for other texts that either conform to or diverge from the usages
of in Jeremiah 10; Leviticus 17–26; and Proverbs 1–9. An advantage
of this selection is that it gives a glimpse into usages of -derivatives
from thoroughly different texts, so that readers can get a sense of both
unifying and distinctive threads in the textual tapestry. Whatever the lit-
erary selections in future studies may be, it will be important to recognize
the serious shortcomings of the all too familiar connection between
and . This correction will hopefully enable other interpreters better
to recognize the shortcomings to be identified in this study too, for the
sake of better understanding the widespread and multi-dimensional motif
of or . Moreover, increased attention to the place
of -derivatives in the history of psychology can only help. In biblical
studies, -derivatives tend to be classified as belonging somehow to the
“emotions,” without noting that, in the history of psychology, the category
of the emotions is an outgrowth of a specific philosophical tradition from
the modern period, and the category was articulated by theorists who
were consciously rejecting classical notions of the “passions.” Due to the
passions’ traditional relevance to the intellect, will, and ethics, it is here
that biblical scholars can find more fruitful parallels to the way that
could indeed denote the feeling of “fear,” while nonetheless being insep-
arable from matters such as rationality, intentionality, normative activity,
and normative, third-person assessments. My hope is that this study helps
to clarify at least some of the numerous facets of how operates in
biblical and related literature.
I.
Philological, interpersonal,
and theological dimensions of
In the nineteenth century and into the mid-twentieth century, the con-
cept “fear of the divine” and the perceived place of “fear” in the history
of religion occupied a noteworthy position in the phenomenology of
religion, social anthropology, and, as discussed below, biblical studies. 1
But interest seems to have waned. This chapter proposes a revised per-
spective on the issue, attending to the distribution and meanings of
in the Hebrew Bible and reviewing the history of scholarship on “fear
of God.” A central goal of this chapter is to distance scholarly under-
standing of -derivatives from concepts of “the sacred,” 2 and from a
purportedly unique, religious feeling of the sacred to which past studies
have linked “fear of God.” A more promising juxtaposition is to couple
ancient Hebrew’s “fear” terminology with notions of greatness, hierarchy,
and certain modes of activity. Understanding how -derivatives were
1
For an early twentieth century critique of the theory that religion developed in linear
fashion from a fear-based to an ethics-based phenomenon, see Émile Durkheim, The Ele-
mentary Forms of Religious Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008 [orig. 1912]), 169;
and later, Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and
Taboo (Routledge: New York, 1996 [orig. 1966]), 1–6.
2
In J. Z. Smith’s essay “The Topography of the Sacred,” in Relating Religion: Essays in the
Study of Religion (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 101–116, Smith argues that
two competing schools of thought have dominated academic discourse about the sacred: a
French tradition (sociology and anthropology, where the sacred is largely spatial and taxo-
nomic) and a German tradition (phenomenology, where the sacred is a positive and often
experiential reality). Especially the portrayal of the sacred from German-speaking scholar-
ship has deeply influenced studies of fear of the divine and religious experience in antiquity.
For example, in Thorkild Jacobsen, The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian
Religion (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976), 3, note Jacobsen’s willingness to pre-
suppose the phenomenological theory of Rudolf Otto. More recently, Rainer Albertz has
published an essay on “personal piety” in ancient Israel, mentioning fear of the divine twice
under the headings “Personal Piety in Proverbs” and “Different Personal Theologies in the
Post-Exilic Period.” Although he does not elaborate on fear of God, one wonders whether
this emphasis on “piety” and individual, “personal experience” in connection with the “fear
of God” illustrates the enduring influence of Otto and the phenomenology of religion. See
Rainer Albertz, “Personal Piety,” in Religious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah (London:
T&T Clark International, 2011), 141, 144.
6 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of
used not only sharpens our grasp of this terminology’s meanings, but also
shows how, even though a feeling of “fear” may be involved, the perti-
nent conception of “fear” diverges from what is often meant in modern
references to “fear” as an emotion. In what follows in this chapter, the
aim is to improve our grasp of this language’s semantics and taxonomical
placement.
1. The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible

Almost exclusively in Hebrew with rare exceptions in Ugaritic, deriva-
tives of the root appear in multiple forms. In the Hebrew Bible’s
443 total instances of -derivatives, the most numerous by far are the
verbal forms (290 times; nearly all Qal, with a few exceptions in Piel
[2 Sam 14:15; 2 Chr 32:18; Neh 6:9, 14, 19] and Nifal [Psa 130:4]). These
verbal forms are numerically followed by the adjectival forms (97 times;
including both the participle and the verbal adjective ) and then
the nominal forms (56 times; including both and ). Canonically,
both the root and the associated idea of “fear of God” enjoy wide albeit
somewhat uneven distribution and should not be treated as indicating any
particular school of thought (e. g. deuteronomistic, sapiential, etc.). The
widely distributed fear of God(s) motif in the ancient Near East mirrors
its extensive attestations in the Hebrew Bible itself. 3 According to my
count, the verbal usages (including infinitives, which could be classified
as nominal) are as follows:
Table 1: Verbal Usages of in the Hebrew Bible (290 total)
Qal Piel Nifal
(284 times) (5 times) (1 time;
excluding
)4
Genesis 20 Torah: 75
Exodus 11
Leviticus 8
Numbers 4
Deuteronomy 32
3
The figures in the tables below are adapted from H. F. Fuhs, Art. “ yārē ” T. D. O.T.
6:292–293.
4
This total of 290 verbal usages excludes the 44 occurrences of , which, while mor-
phologically a verbal form (Nifal participle), is better classified with adjectival usages of
The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible 7

Qal Piel Nifal
(284 times) (5 times) (1 time;
excluding
)
Joshua 11 Prophets: 140
Judges 6
1 Samuel 21
2 Samuel 6 1
1 Kings 8
2 Kings 19
Isaiah 22
Jeremiah 21
Ezekiel 5
Hosea 1
Joel 2
Amos 1
Jonah 4
Micah 1
Habakkuk 1
Zephaniah 3
Haggai 2
Zechariah 3
Malachi 2
Psalms 30 1 Writings: 75
Proverbs 5
Job 8
Ruth 1
Lamentations 1
Ecclesiastes 7
Daniel 3
Nehemiah 6 3
1 Chronicles 3
2 Chronicles 6 1
-derivatives. In the Hebrew Bible, is usually a predication, almost always describing

God or God’s activity. Cf. Fuhs, “ yārē, ” who arrives at a verbal total of 333 by including
the texts with .
The Nifal participle is listed separately, despite the fact that it would
be morphologically justifiable to include with the verbal usages rep-
resented in Table 1. The reason for this distinction is that is often a
predication in the Hebrew Bible and, in almost all cases (namely, 36 of 44),
functions as a descriptor of either God or God’s activity (cf. the verbal
adjective chart below). 5 The canonical distribution of in individual
books is shown here:
Table 2: The Nifal Participle in the Hebrew Bible (44 total)
Genesis 1 Torah: 9
Exodus 2
Deuteronomy 6
Judges 1 Prophets: 13
2 Samuel 1
Isaiah 4
Ezekiel 1
Joel 2
Habakkuk 1
Zephaniah 1
Malachi 2
Psalms 15 Writings: 22
Job 1
Daniel 1
Nehemiah 3
1 Chronicles 2
The adjectival form 6 appears in multiple books of the Hebrew Bible but
clearly predominates in the Writings and is most pronounced in the
psalms.
5
See Joachim Becker, Gottesfurcht im Alten Testament (Rom: Päpstliches Bibelinstitut,
1965), 46; Fuhs, “ yārē, ” 292 with further references.
6
The numbers in Table 2 also reflect HALOT 2:433 (bracketing out the conjectural read-
ings), whose count differs slightly from Fuhs’s count. For all -derivatives combined, my
total count is slightly higher than his, bringing his total of 435 up to 443 (a difference of 8).
The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible 9
Table 3: The Verbal Adjective in the Hebrew Bible (53 total)

Genesis 3 Torah: 7
Exodus 2
Deuteronomy 2
Judges 1 Prophets: 7
1 Samuel 1
Isaiah 1
Jonah 1
Malachi 3
Proverbs 2
Job 3
Ecclesiastes 2
1 Chronicles 1
The nominal form is fairly widespread, appearing almost always in

construct (37 of 44 instances) and showing up in each canonical section,
though quite unevenly.
Table 4: The Nominal Form in the Hebrew Bible (44 total)

Genesis 1 Torah: 3
Exodus 1
Deuteronomy 1
2 Samuel 2 Prophets: 12
Isaiah 5
Jeremiah 1
Ezekiel 2
Jonah 2
Job 5
Proverbs 14
Nehemiah 2
2 Chronicles 1
Finally, the nominal form is much rarer than and has a more
even divide between construct and absolute states. Unlike the other forms
of -derivatives, it appears least frequently in the Writings. But in light
of the rarity of in the Torah, Prophets, and Writings alike, this point
is inconsequential.
Table 5: The Nominal Form in the Hebrew Bible (12 total)

Genesis 1 Torah: 5
Deuteronomy 4
Isaiah 2 Prophets: 5
Jeremiah 1
Malachi 2
Job 1
Worth noting here is that the nominal construct “fear of Yhwh” (

) – including variations like “fear of God” ( ), “fear of
Adonai” ( ), and on one occasion, “fear of Shaddai” ( )–
appears in the Hebrew Bible 36 times, 27 of which are with and 9 of
which are with . First, the texts using are Gen 20:11; 2 Sam 23:3;
Isa 11:2, 3; 33:6; Psa 19:10; 34:12; 111:10; Job 6:14; 28:28; Prov 1:7, 29;
2:5; 8:13; 9:10; 10:27; 14:26, 27; 15:16, 33; 16:6; 19:23; 22:4; 23:17; Neh 5:9,
15; 2 Chr 19:9. Secondly, the texts using are 1 Sam 11:7; Is 2:10, 19,
21; Psa 36:2; 2 Chr 14:13; 17:10; 19:7; 20:29. The numerical dominance
of over is indicative of the Hebrew Bible’s preference for -
7
derivatives in general when using fear vocabulary. Yet one should keep
in mind that some texts with the formulation construct-“fear”-noun +
suffix have to do with God, but do not have a full nominal expression like
(e. g. in Ex 20:20; in Isa 63:17; in Jer 32:40;
etc.). Given the relative paucity of these nominal constructions, one can
see from the tables above that fear of the divine in the Hebrew Bible is first
and foremost a verbal phenomenon, something that people actively “do,”
to put it simply. But what kind of activity is meant? A closer look at the
verbal and, indeed, behavioral nuances of will receive more attention
in what follows.
2. The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations, antonyms

In the Hebrew Bible, the most common roots whose derivatives can mean
“to fear, to be afraid” are and , though the latter is much less
frequent. Verbal forms of occur 26 times and nominal forms 47 times
(i.e., 73 total -derivatives; cf. 443 total -derivatives). Fearing and
7
On this point, see Becker, Gottesfurcht, 6–18.
The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations, antonyms 11
trembling were overlapping ideas, as individual words within the broader

semantic field show. On several occasions, verbal forms of (cf. Akk.
pahādu) ostensibly mean “to shiver, tremble” (Hif., Job 4:14; Qal, Isa 60:5;
Jer˘ 33:9) or “to be startled,” so that the same word points to feelings and
actions alike (see further HALOT 3:922). Joachim Becker argued that the
original meaning of the verb was in fact “to tremble, shake,” which, as
he saw it, preceded the verb’s affective meanings (i.e., “to shake with joy,”
in Isa 60:5). 8 Whether or not Becker’s diachronic claim here is correct, it
remains clear that one and the same word could denote both feeling and
action, the two of which are at times resistant to sharp distinctions in texts
like Hos 3:5 and Mic 7:17 (note + the preposition , “toward,” sug-
gesting motion or behavior). Psalm 119:120 is also noteworthy here, since
the “trembling” ( ) of the psalmist’s “flesh” because of parallels the
next statement that he “fears” or “trembles” ( ) because of or at divine
“judgments” ( ). The semantic overlap between the roots and
is discernible through the repeated juxtaposition of their forms, which
may evince little if any detectable difference in meaning.
Table 6. Juxtapositions of and

Verbal with verbal Mic 7:17,
Psa 27:1, //
Nominal with verbal Psa 91:5,
Psa 119:20, //
Prov 3:25,
Nominal with nominal Deut 2:25,

Nominal with nominal Deut 11:25, ...
The usage of and seems more or less interchangeable in Mic

7:17; Psa 27:1, and it seems very similar in Psa 119:20. But distinctions
are also observable. For example, Psa 91:5 and Prov 3:25 both position
the nominal as the object of the verb , making the relevant clauses
difficult to translate yet implying some kind of distinction. In these verses,
the dividing line may be the degree of concreteness (i.e., [ ] ⇡ a
feeling; ⇡ the perception of a threat). As the object of , the -
derivative is a “terror of the night” (Psa 91:5) or a “sudden terror, shock”
8
Ibid., 7.
(Prov 3:25). Even still, the semantic closeness is apparent between and
, each of which can encompass feeling and types of activity, includ-
ing intentional conduct. Moreover, Table 6 shows how, along with ,
can indicate a hierarchical relationship between parties through the
formulation + (Deut 2:25; 11:25; on this issue, see below). These
points about semantic similarity help to explain the observation above
that is the second most common term for the “fear of God” motif in
the Hebrew Bible (e. g., Psa 36:2; 2 Chr 19:7; etc.). But in this respect, the
gap in frequency between and is vast.
Less commonly than , one finds still other semantically related
words relevant to “trembling,” “shaking,” and “writhing,” some of which
appear alongside and some of which do not. These words include
derivatives of the roots in Table 7.
Table 7. Words for “tremble,” “shake,” and “writhe” used with
Terms Meanings Collocations
“to tremble, shake” (Qal); “to Judg 7:3,
startle” (Hif.); also the adj. ,
“anxious, frightened at” 1 Sam 28:5, ...
Isa 41:5,
See also Jer 30:10; 46:27.

“to writhe, tremble; to be in labor” Jer 5:22,
(Qal)
Zech 9:5,
“shuddering, horror” (! ) Psa 55:6,
(I) “to shudder” (Qal); “to Never occurs with

(I, III) 9 stimulate interest, excite” (Hif.)
and (III) “to know of, about” (Qal)
This table includes verses where additional terms for “trembling,” “shak-
ing,” “writhing,” etc., appear in parallel with or in close proximity to
forms of , so that the reader can see the repeated connection between
Hebrew words for fearing and trembling. Most of the terms listed here –
; ; and * – occur in other texts apart from , and on their
9
On the meanings of , see HALOT 3:1343–1344; note also the discussion in Becker,
Gottesfurcht, 13.
own they can have meanings that come close to (e. g., Hif. , “to
startle”; see further HALOT 1:310–311, 350; 3:935). Among these terms,
is used the most alongside , with direct juxtaposition of both
adjectival (Judg 7:3) and verbal (1 Sam 28:5) forms, as well as with Qal
verbs in poetic parallel (Isa 41:5). Worth pointing out here is the series of
verbs in Jer 30:10 and 46:27, where, even though is more syntactically
removed from , is nevertheless the final negated word in a verbal
series consisting of , (Nif. “to be shattered, dismayed”), and ,
so that fearing and trembling are jointly negated. To negate them jointly
presupposes some relationship between them.
Similarly, can touch on the semantic domain of even when
the latter is not present. In Psa 55:5, the psalmist parallels his heart’s
“writhing” ( ) with the falling of death’s “terrors” ( ) upon him.
Shown in Table 7, the next verse (Psa 55:6) juxtaposes with
(“trembling”), followed by the psalmist’s graphic statement of being
“clothed” (Piel ) in a garment of (“shuddering, horror”).
What should we make of this link between fearing and trembling?
First, in contrast to much modern psychology whose category of “the
emotions” has historically designated feelings as mental states, texts in
the Hebrew Bible portray feelings of fear in terms of more concrete move-
ments, including movements of the (in Table 7, see also 1 Sam 28:5).
Along with its role in governing agency, the was the seat of both
feelings and rationality, the two of which were not dichotomized, but
rather could overlap or be in harmony (e. g., Prov 1:7; 2:5; etc.). This use of
“heart” imagery is comparable to, but not identifiable with, conceptions of
the soul in ancient Greek- and Latin-speaking contexts. Even refraining
from a simple equation with the “soul,” this similarity hints at concep-
tions of feelings that, upon reflection, are not interchangeable with the
psychological category of “the emotions,” an approach to psychological
taxonomy traceable in key ways to consciously revisionist figures from
the 18th –19th century Humean tradition in Scotland. 10 The invention
of the emotions as a psychological category was a major shift toward
10
See Thomas Dixon, From Passions to Emotions: The Creation of a Secular Psychological
Category (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); L. C. Charland, “Reinstating the
Passions,” in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Emotion (ed. P. Goldie; Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2009), 238–260, here 238–239. See also the overview in A. M. Schmitter,
“Passions, Affections, Sentiments: Taxonomy and Terminology,” in The Oxford Handbook
of British Philosophy in the Eighteenth Century (ed. J. A. Harris; Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2013), 198–225. But note that Schmitter uses “emotions” more or less interchangeably
with “passions” (e. g., 202: “One ancient name available to eighteenth-century writers for
the genus of emotions was ‘passion.’”). Dixon and Charland argue persuasively that “emo-
sharply separating feelings, rationality, and intentional activity. As I have

addressed in detail elsewhere, what we find in the Hebrew Bible is not
only chronologically, but also conceptually closer to the originally Greek
and Latin taxonomy of “passions and affections” (i.e., movements of the
soul), which the category of “the emotions” displaced in the late modern
period. 11 Second, ancient scribal conceptions of regularly denoted
intentional activity, which helps to explain why the word could mean
“to fear, be afraid” and “to conduct oneself properly before a deity; to
worship.” This range of meaning is not congruent with contemporary
usages of the English word “fear.” Related to these positional, behavioral
nuances of , this root’s derivatives could also denote proper conduct
before social superiors, especially royalty, but not limited to royalty. These
meanings of are separated not by a watertight boundary, but rather by
a porous one (see below on “Language, feelings, and meaning”). 12
In addition to a range of words for “trembling,” the semantic field of
includes several words that more specifically mean “to fear, be afraid,
terrified,” and, broadly, “to be troubled, disturbed.”
tions,” on the one hand, and “passions,” on the other, are not alternative ways of saying the
same thing. See further Terence Penelhum, “Hume’s Moral Psychology,” in The Cambridge
Companion to Hume, 2nd ed. (ed. David Fate Norton and Jacqueline Taylor; Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2009), 238–269. Being an expert on Hume, Penelhum notes
that, despite Hume’s stated desire to oppose Descartes’ rationalism, Hume himself proceeds
from a similar starting point concerning the relation between emotions and rationality. The
difference between Hume and Descartes was not whether “emotions” and reason are to be
separated, but, assuming their separation, which one triumphs or ought to triumph over the
other (here 262–263). For Hume, the emotions triumph; for Descartes and Kant, reason
triumphs.
11
Phillip Michael Lasater, “‘The Emotions’ in Biblical Anthropology? A Genealogy and
Case Study with ,” Harvard Theological Review 110 (2017): 520–540.
12
See the different but, in a number of ways, conceptually complementary approach of
Brent A. Strawn, “The Iconography of Fear: Yir at Yhwh ( ) in Artistic Perspective,”
in Image, Text, Exegesis: Iconographic Interpretation and the Hebrew Bible (ed. Izaak J. de
Hulster and Joel M. LeMon; New York: T&T Clark, 2014), 91–134, here 124–125: “It seems
too simplistic to say that there are two entirely different and wholly distinct meanings of
‘fear,’ and that these can be easily glossed as ‘positive’ or ‘negative.’ The iconography shows,
instead, that there is something fundamentally similar – even identical – between the fear-
response in combat, for instance, an the correct posture of adoration and veneration before
monarch and deity. Indeed, both can be portrayed in entirely similar postures and gestures
on the self-same object .... The iconographical data suggest, moreover, that fear – real fear,
even terror – plays a role in both presentations. When seen in this light, it would seem that
the terror-filled aspects of are never lost, at least not fully.”
Table 8. Additional “fear” vocabulary either paralleling or juxtaposing -

derivatives 13

(III) “to be afraid, to fear” (Qal) Psa 22:24
Psa 33:8
“to be terrified, be in dread; to Deut 1:29

terrify” (Qal); “to be feared”
(Nif.); “to terrify; to be terrified,
show fear of” (Hif.) Deut 20:3
Deut 31:6 14
Isa 8:12
Psa 89:8
13
The definitions under “Meanings” are taken from HALOT.
14
Note Deut 7:21, where the people are told not to , because Yhwh is among them, and
he is .

“to be shattered, filled with terror” Deut 1:21
(Qal); “to be broken to pieces,
dismayed; to be terrified” (Nif.); ....
“to dishearten” (Piel); “to shatter” Josh 8:1
(Hif.)
....
Josh 10:25
Isa 51:7 15
Job 6:21
1 Chr 22:13
...
“to be afraid” (Qal) (cf. Ug. tt ) Isa 41:10 16

¯
“to be horrified, be out of one’s 2 Chr 32:18

senses; to make haste” (Nif.); “to
terrify; to make haste” (Piel); “to
terrify; to remove hastily from; to
hurry to” (Hif.)
“terrifying” (! , )
Hab 1:7
15
See also Deut 31:8; 1 Sam 17:11; Jer 23:4; 30:10; 46:27; Ezek 2:6; 3:9; and Mal 2:5;
1 Chr 28:20; 2 Chr 20:15, 17; 32:7.
16
See also 41:23 (cf. Jer 10:5).

Some other semantically related terms
“to be gripped by sudden fear” Never occurs with
(Nif.); “to terrify, frighten sb.”
(Piel)
“to be astonished, amazed; to Never occurs with
freeze with fear, be horrified; to
stare at” (Qal); “to be horrified”
(Hitp.)
“to bring into motion and Never occurs with
confusion, to disturb” (Qal); “to
be beside oneself ” (Nif.)
Table 8 shows derivatives of functioning within a larger field of

semantically similar words (including , addressed above) that en-
compass not only “fear” and “terror,” but also being “panicked” ( ),
“dismayed,” “broken,” or “shattered” ( ). Semantically, some of the
terminology in Table 8 seems practically interchangeable with . For
example, the rare word (III) can stand in parallel to and second the
meaning of , so that each expresses the fear of God motif with no dis-
cernible difference in meaning (Psa 22:24; 33:8). Another term like
evinces more of a distinction in meaning with the idea of “brokenness”
(“to be shattered, broken, filled with terror”), though its repeated juxtapo-
sition with may help to explain why “fearing” is sometimes contrasted
with , “being strong” (i.e., metaphorically, not “breaking, broken”).
Relatedly, in some texts, (“to be courageous”) provides a similar
contrast with (Deut 31:6; Josh 10:25; 1 Chr 22:13). In Deut 20:3, the
notion of courage finds expression in the way that synonymous com-
mands for military combatants like (“do not fear”) and
(“do not be terrified”) follow immediately upon the injunction to avoid
having “soft” hearts, which would amount to cowardice or a lack of res-
oluteness ( ). Indeed, these texts show how -derivatives
operate not only among words denoting what interpreters today are prone
to classify as mental states or emotions, but also among words denoting
evaluative, even normative, concepts of virtue and vice. This point should
remind us again about the disconnect between words for feelings in the
Hebrew Bible and the modern category of emotions. The emotions are
rarely an ethical matter in common usage. To understand feelings and
desires as a normative, ethical matter moves against the grain of the non-
teleological psychology that the Humean tradition supported in the early
modern period, the same period when a line of broadly Humean thinkers
articulated the category of “the emotions” as part of an even more wide-
ranging rejection of Scholastic Aristotelianism. These points may seem
far removed from our present concern with -derivatives, but such
historical shifts, often in unacknowledged ways, mold the thinking of
modern scholars who study the biblical texts that predate these shifts.
In the Hebrew Bible, feelings were not in principle divorced theoretically
from rationality, morality, or other normative considerations.
The normative elements of the Hebrew Bible’s fear terminology call to
mind the external, positional nuances of this class of terminology. Just as
in the case of (see above, -cognates followed by ), the words
in Table 8 may express hierarchy. A case in point is Psa 89:8, which uses
two predicative Nifal participles from the roots and . Paralleling,
and elaborating upon, the statement that God ( ) is in the heavenly
council, one finds the statement that God is “great and over all (
) around him” (for more detail on the formulation [ ] + , see
below on “ , deities, and kings in the Hebrew Bible”). Joshua 8:1 is
also relevant to this issue. Keeping in mind that -derivatives expressed
one’s positional conduct before a king, one should note the reversal of
hierarchy in Yhwh’s declaration to Joshua prior to the conquest: “Do not
and do not .” The reason for these imperatives is telling: “See, I
have given the king of Ai into your hand ( ), along with his people,
his city, and his land.” That is, Joshua need not or because the
political relationships of power have been reversed, so that Joshua now
stands atop the hierarchy due to Yhwh’s action of placing the king of Ai
in Joshua’s power or “hand” ( ). Joshua is consequently
no longer in the position to , an activity which, as is hopefully becom-
ing clear, is informed by evaluative standards external to Joshua himself.
Those situated at lower points in hierarchical arrangements are the ones
who , which may shed light on the fact that “Yhwh is never said to fear
any other entity.” 17 Normative ideas of greatness, hierarchy, and author-
ity play major roles in biblical and ancient Near Eastern conceptions of
“fear,” which, being akin to a passion, repeatedly involves evaluations of
its object as being great, having authority, and being worthy of specific
modes of conduct appropriate for such a status.
17
Strawn, “The Iconography of Fear,” here 126 n. 51, with the following comparative
citations: Gilg xi 114; EE vii 108 (CAD P, 41–42, 64–65; CAD L, 10–11); KTU 1.5 II.6–7;
1.6 VI.30-31.
2.1. Language, feelings, and meaning – with special reference to

The three conjoined radicals forming the Hebrew root are not the
concept(s) in which the root and its instantiated words participate. There
is a distinction between the semantic root /word, on the one hand, and the
concept, on the other (and likewise, between language and thought). This
distinction holds even though marking the degree of difference between
a linguistic root or word and concept is admittedly difficult and can be
overstated if we confuse “distinction” with “detachment.” Concepts – just
what a concept is is a bit unclear 18 – are expressed and learned through
words; in fact, one could plausibly insist that learning is possible only if
words and concepts are not identical. 19 Importantly, the way that concepts
are learned through words undermines excessive privatizing of language,
which, in order to be learned in the first place, requires the intentional in-
teraction of multiple language users in a public realm. 20 The most famous
representative of the non-private character of language is the 20th century
philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, whose argument to this effect appeared
posthumously in his Philosophische Untersuchungen. 21 There is a close
connection between the thinking and feeling subject, the “I,” and the pub-
lic in which he or she lives, carrying implications for how we understand
language and how it operates as a publicly intelligible phenomenon. Put
differently, the first person and the third person perspectives are inter-
twined, with the objective latter informing the subjective former. And
along with them on the level where human subjects address and judge
one another through language is the second person perspective, an “I”
addressing a “You,” the face of the Other.
The public dimensions of language require that, when studying the He-
brew root , peering into one’s interior life and seeing how or whether
one’s experience of “fear” compares with the usage of in the Hebrew
18
For more references on the identification of concepts and their relationship to words, see
the excursus in Chapter 5 about “Otto, das ganz Andere, and Transcendence.”
19
See Fergus Kerr’s discussion “How Concepts are Acquired” in idem, “Work on Oneself:”
Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Psychology (Arlington: The Institute for the Psychological Sci-
ences Press, 2008), 12–14.
20
Idem, Theology after Wittgenstein (2nd ed.; London: SPCK, 1997), 85.
21
Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus logico-philosophicus / Philosophische Untersuchungen
(Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1984), e. g., sect. 66, 243–315. Section 66 is instruc-
tive in suggesting that one only knows what a “game” is through actively participating in
“games” with others. For secondary literature on the private language argument, see Kerr,
Theology after Wittgenstein, 84–90; idem, Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Psychology, 55–56;
Roger Scruton, An Intelligent Person’s Guide to Philosophy (London: Penguin Books, 1996),
45–55.
Bible can only reveal so much. It may be relevant, but it cannot be the end
of the story. Or even necessarily the beginning. “Fear” is something that
people commonly regard as an “emotion” accessible first and foremost to
a first person perspective. But if one is inclined to accept Wittgenstein’s
private language argument, then one must acknowledge that there is
no addressing the first person completely apart from the third person,
which involves the public realm that informs and shapes the passions (or
in post-Humean terms, “emotions” over against “reason”). 22 Discussing
emotions, and distinguishing them from “a sensation or ‘a raw feel,’” the
philosopher Charles Taylor hints at the artificiality of detaching first and
third person perspectives when talking about emotion, which he uses as
a catch-all for “feelings.” Taylor argues for the evaluative character of
emotions, including the emotion of fear:
An emotion, like fear or despondency, joy or hopefulness, involves a perception. The
emotion is a response to its “intentional object,” and as such essentially involves a
“take” on this object .... The emotion is an apprehension of the object, threatening
or actually present, but in the register of feeling. 23
22
In contrast to the modern reason /emotions dichotomy, “passions, affections, and sen-
timents” fell on both sides of this divide. To speak generally of “the emotions” has a
homogenizing effect. Furthermore, these rival taxonomies were situated within differing
anthropologies: a teleological anthropology for “passions and affections,” and a non-teleo-
logical anthropology for “the emotions.” For a discussion of this development in modern
psychology and for its relevance to biblical studies, see Lasater, “‘The Emotions’ in Bibli-
cal Anthropology?.” See further Thomas Dixon, “‘Emotion’: The History of a Keyword in
Crisis,” Emotion Review 4 (2012): 338–344; idem, “Revolting Passions,” Modern Theology
27 (2011): 298–312. Although Dixon, “Revolting Passions,” 302, acknowledges that Hume
came close to the modern view of “emotions,” Dixon shows how, as a psychological category
that displaced the passions, “the ‘emotions’ came into existence in the nineteenth century.
The new science of psychology took over many ancient categories wholesale” (ibid., 298).
He later notes how “... the nature of the thing studied (our mental life) is changed by
the theoretical instruments used to investigate and explain it .... Theories of passions and
emotions take their place within larger histories of psychological models and languages,
which in turn reflect their social and institutional contexts. The death of the passions in the
nineteenth century coincided with aggressive secularisation; with widespread state incar-
ceration of criminals and lunatics; and with the granting of the vote to increasing numbers
of working classes” (ibid., 308). In a Neo-Stoic vein, see the detailed “Preface to the revised
edition” in Martha Nussbaum, The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy
and Philosophy (rev. ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), xiii – xxxix, here
xvi – xiii. Even more recently, see the “Review of On Emotions: Philosophical Essays,” Notre
Dame Philosophical Reviews: An Electronic Journal (August 2013). Cited 15 January 2018.
Online: http://ndpr.nd.edu/news/41534-on-emotions-philosophical-essays. Also relevant
here is the “Review of Philosophical Foundations of Neuroscience,” Notre Dame Philosophical
Reviews: An Electronic Journal (September 2003). Cited 15 January 2018. Online: http://
ndpr.nd.edu/news/23573-philosophical-foundations-of-neuroscience.
23
Charles Taylor, “Reason, Faith, and Meaning,” Faith and Philosophy 28 (2011): 5–18,
here 13.
Taylor’s immediate interest is the modern period’s idea (or rather, ideal)
of “reason alone” and, more specifically, normative expectations of “a
necessarily ‘dispassionate’ reason” – namely, reason divorced in principle
from παθός. (In Proverbs 1–9, the compatibility of rationality and feelings
or passions is evident in the claim that the first step [i.e., ] 24 toward
knowledge involves , specifically .) Taylor regards each of
these modern ideals as erroneous, arguing for a more classical conception
of reason as compatible with the higher passions, though he maintains
the term “emotion.” 25 His description of feelings as involving “a ‘take’” or
evaluation of something or someone once again suggests a link between
interiority and the public realm, which contains objects for evaluation and
which forms the practical space for human-living-together. The public
realm plays a major role in habituating the passions, which can come
to visible expression via conduct. 26 Stated differently, the dividing line
between interiority and exteriority, and between pathos and behavior, is
fluid. 27
24
On the meaning of (“beginning”) in Prov 1:7; 9:10, see Gerhard von Rad, Weisheit
in Israel (4th ed.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlagsgesellschaft, 2013 [orig. 1970]),
70–71; Michael Fox, Proverbs 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary
(Anchor Bible; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 67–68.
25
In Taylor’s “Reason, Faith, and Meaning,” he goes on to say, “Thus Hume will argue, in
one of the most fatefully influential passages of his philosophy, that our moral sentiments are
not ultimately grounded in reason. It is just a brute fact about us that we respond with appro-
bation to what conduces to utility, ours or that of others. He is making a clear rupture with
the ethical tradition of the ancients, which saw the good as an object of rational perception,
an object which cannot be rightly perceived without being loved” (here 14). See also idem,
A Secular Age (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2007), 136, where Taylor compares
Plato’s understanding of reason and desire with what he calls the modern “buffered self” – a
term that he introduces in contrast to what he calls the pre-modern “porous self” (see pages
29–41).
26
Kerr, Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Psychology, 56, notes that Wittgenstein’s view of lan-
guage, emotion, and behavior does not mandate a form of behaviorism: “the view that ‘the
self is nothing’ – that we are nothing but what appears in our social role.”
27
For more discussion on modern epistemology’s “inner /outer” duality, see Charles Tay-
lor, “Overcoming Modern Epistemology,” in Faithful Reading: New Essays in Theology and
Philosophy in Honour of Fergus Kerr, OP (London: T&T Clark, 2013), 43–60. Nussbaum,
Fragility of Goodness, sympathizes strongly with – even adopts a revised version of – the
Stoics’ theory of feelings as “forms of evaluative judgment” capable of “informing us about
matters of ethical significance” (here xvi). Clearly rejecting a divorce of first person ex-
perience from a third person perspective, Nussbaum writes that “Emotions are only as
reliable as the cultural material from which they are made” (xvii). See also idem, Upheavals
of Thought: The Intelligence of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001),
where Nussbaum elaborates further on what she calls her own “modified version of the
ancient Greek Stoic view” (here 22).
Taylor’s critical stance not only toward the modern ideal of “reason
alone,” but also the ideal of a “necessarily ‘dispassionate’ reason” results
in something akin to premodern theories of the passions, since the very
notion of reason as cleanly separable from and inharmonious with feel-
ings is part of what led to the early-modern category of “the emotions”
in the first place. To reiterate, the emotions are not to be equated with
feelings as such, but are to be seen as one, distinctively modern conception
of feelings. In this conception’s emergence, a plausible hinge point would
be Thomas Brown’s influential book Lectures on the Philosophy of the Hu-
man Mind, which was published in twenty editions between 1820–1860. 28
He and others, especially in the Humean tradition, were rejecting moral
psychologies of the passions – a rival conception of feelings that played
a major role among premodern thinkers. Since the Hebrew Bible is an
ancient body of texts with a number of similarities to classical thought, we
are on surer historical and conceptual ground to think more in terms of
the passions when studying the usage of -derivatives. Specifically, -
derivatives’ relationship to rationality, intentionality, and third-person,
normative assessment (i.e., may be done properly or improperly)
makes them more at home when classified as something akin to the pas-
sions. 29 Given these three elements’ relationship to passions, it was not
unusual for premodern writers to classify the passions as a subcategory
of ethics, so that, if we apply this psychological taxonomy or something
roughly like it to the Hebrew Bible, no complete separation will be possi-
ble between as felt and as practiced. In the case of -derivatives,
the Hebrew Bible’s emphasis seems to fall on the latter, but it by no means
follows that the former had disappeared. The two are often fused together.
I now re-state how the issues of private language, feeling, and the
interior /exterior duality are relevant to this study of . In the Hebrew
Bible, -derivatives communicate feeling as well as intentional, norma-
tive activity, which, in comparison with the English verb “to fear,” can
seem counter-intuitive. Derivatives of have a range of usages that
include but are not limited to “being afraid”; “properly conducting oneself
before a superior”; “properly executing cultic practices”; and “acting in
accordance with Torah.” The above discussion has tried to communi-
cate why it is unfeasible to postulate a linear progression from interior
feelings to exterior behavior, where subjective states or feelings logically
28
Thomas Brown, Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind (3 vols.; Flagg and
Gould: 1822). See further Dixon, From Passions to Emotions, 109–127.
29
For more discussion, see Lasater, “The ‘Emotions’ in Biblical Anthropology?”
precede public acts, since this division often depends on presupposing

that the interior life is radically private (i.e., “free?”) and removed from
the external world. This point arguably deserves even more serious atten-
tion when studying words related to feelings in ancient texts such as the
Hebrew Bible, removed as they are from contemporary Western culture,
taxonomies, and language usage. 30 In biblical scholarship, any study of
-derivatives or other pathos-words must bear in mind this aspect of
the human condition, which is defined by a background of plurality,
intelligibility, and (imperfectly) shared understandings. 31 To study how
scribes behind the Hebrew Bible and other texts understood the concepts
of fear and fear of God, we will focus on how words like show various
conceptions of them.
2.2. Specifying the meaning of

Having observed a semantic web of terms and the complexity of analyzing
ancient words for feelings, we should now consider the basic meaning of
the lexeme . In doing so, it helps to distinguish between the lexeme’s
sense, on the one hand, and its reference, on the other. Its “sense” would
be the general concept of the lexeme, a somewhat more stable element
of meaning. By contrast, its “reference” or “references” would be that
which is indicated in particular contexts, making this element of meaning
much more varied in theory. However, one should be able to discern
continuity between the sense of and its multiple, context-specific ref-
erences: The latter are constrained, though not flatly determined, by the
30
A presumed linear progression from interior feeling to exterior behavior informed the
chronology of 19th century source-critical conclusions regarding the history of Judaism: JE
marked the earlier, more spontaneous (i.e. allegedly individualistic and free) stage of religion
in ancient Israel, whereas P marked the later, law-bound (i.e. allegedly institutionalized and
controlling) ideology of the priests. On this issue in the history of scholarship, see Joseph
Blenkinsopp, Judaism, the First Phase: The Place of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Origins of
Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 1–11; and also his earlier discussion in idem, The
Pentateuch: An Introduction to the First Five Books of the Bible (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1992), 4–12.
31
On the link between the human condition and plurality, with clear influence from
Heidegger, see Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1958), 7–8. On the relevance of Wittgenstein’s private language argument to this point
of human community, see Kerr, Theology After Wittgenstein: “The point of exploring the
private language fantasy is, then, to retrieve the natural expressiveness of the human body,
and to reaffirm the indispensability of belonging to a community: two obvious facts that the
metaphysically dictated conception of the self trivializes and occludes” (89–90).
former. 32 Other semantic concepts are “denotation” and “connotation,”

but claiming much about connotation for ancient terminology seems too
speculative, since connotation has to do with the feelings brought about
by a term, its level of formality, and so on. Such features of language seem
best addressed by contemporaneous, day-to-day users of the language. As
for “denotation,” one understanding of it is the entire class of objects or
scenarios to which a word can refer – though one might wonder whether
-derivatives refer per se. 33 Rather than denoting by referring to this or
that class, it may be promising instead to say that -derivatives rightly
articulate something: a lower as well as a higher standing. If one were to
select such a denoted class for , it would likely be a class of relations
that are in some way hierarchical, in some way consisting of an upper
and lower end. Indeed, -derivatives can predicate such relations from
a third-person standpoint (e. g., x is over y), and they can articulate
a subject’s lived experience or practice of them (e. g., y x).
Venturing now to identify the sense of , a plausible way to under-
stand this lexeme’s general concept would be something like “to submit
affectively; an affective or affect-infused submission; to be subordinate.”
Some kind of submission or subordination is meant, and the activity of
submission includes something felt. With both “affect” and “submission,”
this sense encompasses the term’s relevance to feelings (i.e., to be afraid,
to fear); to normative, intentional modes of conduct (i.e., to worship;
to properly execute cultic duties; to practice or be in alignment with
Torah); and to nuances of hierarchy and authority, including their direct
predication (i.e., where x is the one to whom submission is appropriate,
x is over someone or something; on this issue, see the discussion of
“ , deities, and kings in the Hebrew Bible”). It seems fair to allow that,
depending on context, a particular usage of could lean more heavily
on one component of the sense than the other – perhaps chiefly stressing
feeling or chiefly stressing activity. But frequently, in usages of -deriva-
tives, more than one of these semantic dimensions is present at once, so
that identifying the sense in terms of “affect-infused submission” helps
solve the merely apparent interpretive conundrum of deciding between
the affect- or conduct-oriented facets of (but a translational conun-
drum remains when rendering -derivatives into, say, modern English,
32
Alan Cruse, Meaning in Language: An Introduction to Semantics and Pragmatics (3rd ed.;
Oxford Textbooks in Linguistics; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 46–47. See also
Nick Riemer, Introducing Semantics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 17–19.
33
On denotation as a class reference, see Riemer, Introducing Semantics, 18.
German, etc.). Generally speaking, those who receive are figures at

the top of some hierarchy, whether political (e. g., royalty, military), cultic
(e. g., deity), familial (e. g., parents), or otherwise. A Subject-x at the
lower end of a hierarchy does not receive, but rather enacts or directs
toward a greater or superior Subject-y. Formulaically, one could say that
Subject-x is to Subject-y, who is . Concomitantly, Subject-y is
over Subject-x, who enacts .
A fairly straightforward example of in the book of Amos can illus-
trate the relationship between a specific form’s reference and the lexeme’s
sense of “affective submission.” Amos 3:8 reads as follows:
Table 9. Amos 3:8
The lion has roared, who can but ?
The Lord Yhwh has spoken, who can but
prophesy?
This verse contains an analogy between a lion and Yhwh. Ignoring the
analogy for the moment and looking narrowly at 3:8a, the verb is the
prophet’s envisioned response to hearing a lion roar. In this case of , the
semantic reference is the prophet’s response. On the one hand, hearing a
lion’s roar is perceived as a threat, which leads to fearing the lion or being
afraid of it. The feeling of fear connects to the affective component of -
derivatives’ sense (i.e., affective submission). On the other hand, this use
of is about a lion, a creature that is matter-of-factly deemed more
powerful than the human speaker. The assumption is that, if conflict were
to ensue between the two, the lion would win. At some level, then, sub-
mission is discernible, even if this submission just consists of recognizing
a hierarchy between the human and the lion, where the human is at the
lower end and is therefore the one who cannot but . As the human’s
response to the lion, in Amos 3:8a approaches an acknowledgement
of no contest (i.e., opposition or resistance is futile). Hence, the lexeme’s
component of submissive activity is likewise discernible in this verse (i.e.,
affective submission). At this point, broadening our focus to the contextual
analogy between the lion and Yhwh further highlights how both unequal
positioning and a response of submission are in view. Just as a human’s
resisting a powerful lion would be pointless, so too would be a prophet’s
resisting the . In Amos 3, then, the futility of resisting that which
is greater or more powerful is communicated in part by the verb . The
nuances of feeling and normative activity are simultaneously present here
in . To say that has to do either with feeling or submission would
be artificial; both a feeling and an activity are meant.
3. Reconsidering the history of research on

In the first quarter of the twentieth century, Rudolf Otto’s book Das
Heilige outlined what he regarded as a fundamental religious experi-
ence, situating it within the broader category of “religion.” If the core
of religion is das Numinose or “the numinous, sacred,” it followed that
the core of religious experience is das numinose Gefühl, the numinous
feeling or feeling of the numinous (i.e., the experience of the sacred). 34
Several centuries of theoretical discourse attempting to articulate an an-
thropological or universal notion of religion made it desirable to seek
a correspondingly universal experience relevant to the present and the
past alike. 35 The homogenizing tendency 36 of this academic discourse
warranted applying these ideas to the modern period, as well as to the
“religion” or, according to some scholars, the “religions” 37 of ancient Is-
34
Rudolf Otto’s idea of das Numinose was coined for assessing experiences of das Heilige,
which Otto wanted to distance from what he regarded as his day’s overly moralizing
tendency with respect to holiness. He therefore sought “einen besonderen Namen dafür
zu erfinden der dann bezeichnen soll das Heilige minus seines sittlichen Momentes und,
wie wir nun gleich hinzufügen, minus seines rationalen Momentes überhaupt” (see Rudolf
Otto, Das Heilige: Über das Irrationale in der Idee des Göttlichen und sein Verhältnis zum
Rationalen [München: C.H. Beck, 2004 (orig. 1917)], 5–7).
35
Following the interrelated crises of the Catholic Church and Europe’s political structures,
one of the first systematic efforts to achieve such a universal category was Lord Herbert’s
1624 publication De veritate, which lay the groundwork for what became “Natural Religion.”
On this issue, see Talal Asad, “The Construction of Religion as an Anthropological Cate-
gory,” in Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and Islam
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), 39–43; and J. Z. Smith, “Religion, Reli-
gions, Religious,” in Relating Religion: Essays in the Study of Religion (Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 2004), 179–196; idem, “The Topography of the Sacred.” Also important
in this development was the taxonomic differentiation between “monotheisms” and “poly-
theisms,” the latter of which, until the last several decades, served in the study of religion
as a negative foil for the former. Both “monotheism” and “polytheism” are largely modern,
theoretical constructs with roots in the 17th and 16th centuries, respectively. See further
Gregor Ahn, “Monotheismus und Polytheismus als religionswissenschaftliche Kategorien?,”
in Der eine Gott und die Götter: Polytheismus und Monotheismus im antiken Israel (AThANT
82; ed. Manfred Oeming and Konrad Schmid; Zürich: TVZ, 2003), 2, 4.
36
Ahn, “religionswissenschaftliche Kategorien?,” 3.
37
See the edited volume by Francesca Stavrakopoulou and John Barton (ed.), Religious
Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah (London: T&T Clark International, 2011). On the vary-
ing conceptions of divinity in Israel and the resultant challenges for talk of “monotheism”
and “polytheism” in relation to ancient Israel, see Konrad Schmid, “Differenzierungen und
Konzeptualisierungen der Einheit Gottes in der Religions- und Literaturgeschichte Israels:
Methodische, religionsgeschichtliche und exegetische Aspekte zur neueren Diskussion um
den sogennanten “Monotheismus” im antiken Israel,” in Der eine Gott und die Götter:
Polytheismus und Monotheismus im antiken Israel (AThANT 82; ed. Manfred Oeming and
Konrad Schmid; Zürich: TVZ, 2003), esp. 16–38.
Reconsidering the history of research on 27
rael. 38 In Otto’s treatment of what he identifies as das numinose Gefühl in

the Hebrew Bible (mainly, Exod 3:6; 4:26; Is 40–66; Ezekiel; Job 38[–41]),
he points to the language of “Gottesfurcht” as a lens into this feeling of
the numinous basic to “religion,” sensing a common human response
to the sacred that binds present to past and past to present. 39 Allegedly
transcending time as well as space, this anthropological concept of reli-
gion helped accelerate the gradual re-location of religious authority away
from a concrete, institutional level (historically, the Catholic Church) and
toward the affective and cognitive life of the individual. 40 In Das Heilige,
Otto’s reflections about the Old Testament involve no philological inves-
tigation of or , but rather an effort to think theoretically about
personal, religious experience through the lens of the Bible’s language of
fear and holiness. Yet he did make claims about this terminology that
proved to be influential.
Consciously building on Otto’s work, Joachim Becker in 1965 wrote
a monograph entitled Gottesfurcht im Alten Testament, offering a much
more detailed treatment of Hebrew Bible texts than Otto and dividing fear
of God in the Hebrew Bible into three different concepts (Ger. “Begriffe”):
the cultic concept, the moral concept, and the legal concept. He argued
rightly that a study of the concept fear of the divine in the Hebrew Bible
is largely coterminous with an investigation of the Hebrew root and
its derivative forms. 41 However, his exegesis of Hebrew Bible texts often
depends on assumptions that can no longer be taken for granted. On the
one hand, in tune with broader trends in scholarship, Becker was com-
fortable assuming Otto’s concept of the numinous as a widely accepted
category for the history and psychology of religion. 42 On the other hand,
38
For example, in Otto’s conclusion to the chapter entitled “Das Numinose im Alten
Testamente,” he transitions directly from the book of Job in the Hebrew Bible to a con-
temporaneous novel by Max Eyth, which contains “ein ganz echtes Gegenstück zu diesem
Hiobs-Erlebnis” (Otto, Das Heilige, 101).
39
Otto, Das Heilige, 94.
40
For a postcolonial critique of this development, see Asad, “Construction of Religion,”
27–54; and more recently, idem, Formations of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2003), 30–36.
41
Becker, Gottesfurcht, 1.
42
He states that “Das ‘Numinose’ gilt seit R. Otto als anerkannter religionsgeschichtlicher
und religionspsychologischer Terminus” (ibid., 19). Louis Derousseaux, La crainte de Dieu
dans l’Ancien Testament (Paris: Les Ed. du Cerf, 1970), would build on Becker’s philological
and taxonomic work, seeking mainly to formulate a diachronic account of based on
the source criticism of his day. The internal instability and resultant limitations of this
approach were noted by Francis Martin, “Review of Louis Derousseaux, La crainte de Dieu
he interpreted the Hebrew roots and as pointing to the category

of “the numinous.” He was very clear in stating this connection:
jr’ und synonyme Wurzeln sind in ihren verschiedenen Derivaten zunächst Termini
der numinosen Furcht. Numinose Furcht ist spontane Reaktion des Menschen in
der Begegnung mit dem Numinosen, wie sie sich in verschiedenen Formen sin-
nenfälligen Erlebens göttlicher Gegenwart und vor allem bei den furchterregenden
Taten Jahwes vollzieht .... Treffende biblische Termini des Numinosen sind qādôš
und nôrā’. 43
Among biblical scholars, Becker has hardly been alone in presuming a

conceptual and semantic relationship between fear and holiness in the
Hebrew Bible. In the entry on in T.D.O.T, and under the thematic
heading “Fear of God as Fear of the Numinous,” 44 H. F. Fuhs refers to
the “originally numinous nature of fear of God” and claims that such
fear is “evoked by an attribute of God expressed biblically by ! qdš
and its derivatives: holiness.” Distinguishing between “absolute holiness –
‘holy per se’” and “moral holiness – ‘holy for ...,’” 45 Fuhs speaks of an
“internal association” between absolute holiness and fear of the numinous
and seeks to substantiate his claim that “qādôš and nôrā are synonyms.” 46
To substantiate their synonymous status,¯Fuhs refers to Gen 28:17 and
Exod 3:5, only one of which uses both roots and neither of which equates
with , nor even places the two in parallel (for more on these texts
and others, see below). Despite this fact, he insists that God’s “numinous
nature” is “identical with his holiness, [which] is termed nôrā , ‘terrible.’”
This linguistic connection lays the foundation for arguing that, when
dans l’Ancien Testament,” CBQ 34 (1972): 210–212; as well as by Joachim Becker, “Louis
Derousseaux, La crainte de Dieu dans l’Ancien Testament,” Biblica 53 (1972): 280–287.
43
Ibid., 55–56. Translated into English, it would read: “yr’ and synonymous roots in their
derivative forms are primarily terms of numinous fear. Numinous fear is a spontaneous
human reaction in the encounter with the numinous, the occurrence of which takes var-
ious forms in the experience of divine presence and, above all, of Yahweh’s fear-inspiring
deeds .... Relevant biblical terms of the numinous are qādôš and nôrā’.”
44
Fuhs, “ yārē, ” 300.
45
On this distinction’s roots in Otto’s work, see the discussion below on “Bidding farewell
to the alleged relationship between and .” For Otto himself, see his Das Heilige, 6;
and for Becker’s adoption of the distinction into Hebrew Bible studies, see Becker, Gottes-
furcht im Alten Testament, 43. Citing Becker, Markus Saur has recently argued for a similar
evolutionary development in the semantics of from a primitive fear of the numinous
(i.e. absolute ) to ethical nuances of proper conduct. See Markus Saur, “Sapientia discur-
siva: Die alttestamentliche Weisheitsliteratur als theologischer Diskurs,” ZAW 123 (2011):
236–249, here 238–242.
46
Fuhs, “ yārē ,” 300.
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foe who violated without compunction engagements which had been
ratified with every circumstance of deliberation and solemnity. The
grievous conditions of partisan warfare were renewed. The existence
of a truce was considered an advantage, as increasing opportunities
for surprise. Every individual who wore a Moorish dress was classed
as an enemy and treated accordingly. Fields were ravaged. Castles
were taken and sacked. The peasantry fled from their homes in
terror. The country was rapidly assuming the melancholy
appearance of those regions of the Peninsula which had been
harassed for generations by the alternate occupancy of hostile
armies, when the arrival of the King arrested the progress of
destruction. Such property as could be found and identified was
restored to its owners. The frightened cultivators were invited to
resume their peaceful avocations. The noble, who, with his retainers,
had unceremoniously occupied the fortress of some Moslem prince,
was summarily deposed from his recent and illegally acquired
dignity. By every means in his power the King endeavored to make
reparation for the wrongs committed without his sanction by an
undisciplined and reckless soldiery. This conduct, dictated by
sentiments of personal honor and public equity, was, however, not
destined to endure. The long period designated by the truce was
eminently unfavorable to the designs of both clerical avarice and
royal ambition. Episcopal piety was grieved by the infidel possession
of cities whose revenues would sustain with ease the pecuniary
burdens of an extensive bishopric. The worthy prelate saw with
horror and indignation the performance of Moslem rites in
sumptuous mosques protected by the unwonted indulgence of a
Christian prince, and longed for the day when the wealth of these
splendid establishments might be confiscated for the benefit of the
Church of Christ and the treasury of a corrupt and sensual
priesthood. With military success and expanding power the public
opinion of the age tended more and more to the disregard of treaties
contracted with an enemy who was daily becoming less capable of
resistance. The constant and universal excitation of theological
odium contributed mainly to the adoption of this false and pernicious
principle of political ethics. Secular ignorance came in time to
sincerely believe the odious doctrine defended by ingenious casuists
and promulgated by ecclesiastical hypocrisy and hatred from
motives of personal interest. For its acceptance and pursuit to an
inevitable conclusion, the degradation of Spain from the high position
it occupied under the first sovereigns of the Austrian dynasty is to be
chiefly attributed. No people can systematically repudiate its
contracts, even with an adversary incapable of resenting his injuries,
without forfeiting the respect and confidence of the other members of
the great community of nations. The diplomatic perfidy inaugurated
by religious malice and royal subserviency in the Moorish wars of the
Peninsula was subsequently repeated, on a larger scale, in the
politics of Europe, and was responsible for most of the incredible
atrocities which accompanied the conquest of Mexico, Central
America, Peru. Already tacitly acknowledged as a maxim of national
policy in a country which subsequently displayed its willingness to
sacrifice the most obvious principles of public faith and morality for
the exaltation of ecclesiastical power by the foundation of the Jesuit
Order, the peremptory abrogation of a treaty with the votaries of a
hostile faith was considered, during the epoch under consideration,
rather a meritorious than a reprehensible proceeding. Therefore the
King of Aragon, after he had rebuked his officious subordinates for
their ill-timed energy and exhibited a plausible zeal for redress by
restoring their possessions to the injured Moslems, felt no reluctance
in committing the same offence against honor and justice as soon as
his own plans were matured. His martial emulation had been excited
by the exploits of Ferdinand of Castile in the West, and he feared
that that monarch might be tempted to include in his ambitious
projects the subjugation of the remaining Eastern states of Moorish
Spain, which he himself already regarded as his own by the doubtful
claims of geographical proximity and anticipated conquest. With the
insatiable avidity of the conqueror, he preferred to violate his royal
word rather than to be insulted by the presence of a foe who still
enjoyed possession of a region equal in extent and advantages to
any recently added to the dominions of Aragon, and, what was even
more important, who could not hope to offer any serious opposition
to his arms. The ever-available pretext of religious expediency, or
even duty, urged by able and pious advocates, was no doubt
efficacious in removing any conscientious scruples he might have
entertained.
The city of Xativa, situated on the frontier of the now diminished
Moorish domain and south of the Xucar, the boundary established by
the treaty, was the first place to experience the effects of Spanish
duplicity and the resistless impetus of Spanish power. Its
manufacturing interests had from time immemorial been among the
most extensive and profitable in the Peninsula. Under the Romans,
its linen products enjoyed a reputation for fineness and durability
which spread to the limits of the empire. During the Moslem
occupation, it was the centre of the paper industry in Spain. The
adoption of cotton as a material for the fabrication of this most useful
article of commerce is said to have been due to the practical genius
of the artisans of Xativa. At a time when the scribes of Christian
Europe were reduced to the necessity of erasing the works of classic
authors to obtain parchment for the preservation of pious homilies
and monkish legends, the mills of Xativa were producing great
quantities of paper, much of which, in texture and finish, will compare
not unfavorably with that obtained by the most improved processes
of modern manufacture. The demand for this product, indispensable
among a people of intellectual tastes like the Hispano-Arabs, was
enormous. The factories of the city supplied the imperial scriptoriums
whence issued the voluminous works that filled the vast libraries of
the khalifs. The literary necessities of a highly educated population,
the multiplication of manuscripts, the requirements of innumerable
institutions of learning had a tendency to constantly promote this
industry, of which Xativa was the principal distributing point in the
empire, and of whose profits it enjoyed a practical monopoly. In
consequence of this lucrative branch of traffic, the citizens in time
amassed prodigious fortunes, and many of them rivalled, in the
splendor of their domestic establishments and their equipages, the
magnificent displays of royalty. But this was far from being the only
source of the opulence of Xativa. The same genial climate, the same
wonderfully productive soil belonged to the district surrounding that
city which had made the principality of Valencia a model of
agricultural perfection. In the thirteenth century it presented to the
casual observer the same charming aspect it had exhibited under
the khalifate. Aside from occasional temporary occupation by
freebooters, it had almost entirely escaped the destructive effects of
internal discord and foreign invasion. Its inhabitants retained to a
large extent their possessions, impaired somewhat by the casualties
incident to national misfortune and by the resultant diminution of the
manufacture which had been the principal source of their prosperity.
But the abounding harvests, the interminable orchards, the vast
plantations of cane and cotton still attested the flourishing and happy
condition of an industrious people. The knowledge of these manifold
advantages and the overpowering incentive of military glory more
than counterbalanced, in the mind of the King of Aragon, the moral
obligations he had incurred. Without a formal declaration of war,
without any intimation of broken faith or meditated hostility, a
numerous Christian army, commanded by Jaime in person, pitched
its tents before Xativa. Under ordinary circumstances that city was
not incapable of an obstinate defence. Its fortifications were strong
and in good repair. Its immense castle, which is still its most
conspicuous feature, was second in extent and massiveness only to
the famous citadel of Almeria. The population was numerous, the
facilities for obtaining subsistence excellent. In imitation of many of
the Moslem communities of Spain which royal incompetency and
national indifference had abandoned to their fate, the inhabitants of
Xativa had erected their city into an independent principality, whose
laws and institutions were modelled after those of a republic. This
political anomaly had not yet secured even the confidence of its
originators. The experimental stage of government had not been
passed. The radical deviation from principles always recognized as
essential elements of a constitution which had endured from time
immemorial and on which the entire Moslem polity was based was
not regarded with favor by a large and powerful faction, in which
were included many of the most wealthy and influential citizens. This
want of harmony was fatal to the liberties of Xativa. It was found
impossible to secure the co-operation of parties which mutually
distrusted each other, and the sudden appearance of an enemy
increased the uncertainty and danger of the situation. It was not
improbable that the enterprise of Jaime had been undertaken with a
previous knowledge of the political conditions prevailing in the last
great city of Oriental Spain which remained in the hands of the
Moslems. Apprehensive of the result of a siege which must terminate
disastrously, the magistrates of Xativa hastened to propose a
compromise. An agreement was concluded by which the place was
not to be surrendered to any sovereign but the King of Aragon. A
number of castles and a considerable extent of territory which
acknowledged the jurisdiction of the city were given up as the price
of a temporary respite; other unprotected places distracted by
revolution and without hope of relief sought the dangerous protection
of a Christian suzerain; and the greater part of the region south of
the Xucar was incorporated into the Aragonese monarchy, which
received this important addition to its realms with no other exertion
than that required by the commission of a deliberate act of perfidy.
Family troubles and the civil dissensions which distracted the
kingdom of Jaime deferred for three years any further molestation of
the Moslems of Xativa. Profiting by their dearly purchased
experience, they utilized every moment of that interval in preparing
for the approaching conflict. Foreign engineers were employed to
direct the efforts of the native laborers. The castle, already one of the
best fortified in Europe, was still further strengthened. The walls of
the city were increased in height and protected by additional
buttresses and barbicans. An efficient militia was organized, and the
citizens, whose enervating climate made them reluctant to undergo
the duties of military service, were thoroughly instructed in the use of
arms. Magazines sufficient to contain supplies for an extended siege
were erected and filled. These preparations, which indicated the
determined spirit of the Xativans, were productive of important
results when the Aragonese again invested the city. The King, whose
force was wholly inadequate to the reduction of the most formidable
fortress in the Peninsula, was repulsed; but the capture of Alcira and
Denia, after an obstinate resistance, in a measure indemnified him
for the disappointment he was compelled to endure before Xativa.
In the mean time Ferdinand had subjected to the crown of Castile
the remaining Moorish cities of Andalusia, and his occupation of
Murcia seemed to indicate an intention to encroach upon those
provinces of the East which the King of Aragon, in the formation of
great plans of conquest, already regarded as his own. The latter
learned with apprehension of the progress and the increasing
reputation of his enterprising and successful contemporary. Like the
aspiring young Greek general, the trophies of his rival would not
suffer him to sleep. The prospect of additional power and glory to be
acquired by a monarch whose exploits had already eclipsed the
distinction in arms he himself enjoyed and had won the applause of
Christendom, was not flattering to his vanity and ambition. He
collected an imposing army, and bound himself by a solemn oath
never to slacken his efforts until Xativa should be taken. Once more
the siege of the Moorish stronghold was begun. The defence was
conducted with signal ability and courage; but the garrison, well
aware that no hope of assistance could be entertained, was induced
to propose terms of accommodation before the city was reduced to
extremity. Such was the impregnable character of the place that
remarkably favorable conditions were obtained by the besieged. The
nature of these conditions may well excite surprise. The Christians
seem to have gained nothing in reality but a nominal occupation of
those quarters of the town which, in case of renewed hostilities, were
not susceptible of effective defence. The great citadel, which
dominated not only Xativa but also the surrounding country,
remained in possession of the Moors. At the expiration of two years
it was to be evacuated, and two other castles were to be given in
exchange for its peaceable transfer to the Aragonese. The Moslems
were guaranteed protection of person and property as well as
permitted the practice of their religion and the operation of their laws.
Such equitable treatment of an infidel foe had been long unknown to
the savage code of the princes who directed the Reconquest. Never
since the Christian power attained to prominence had concessions
equally generous been granted to the vanquished Saracen. It would
appear, however, that this leniency was really only a pretext to gain
by treachery what was unattainable by force. For a time the treaty
was respected. The murmurs of the soldiery, defrauded of their
expected prey, were silenced by ample donatives from the royal
treasury. The inhabitants, deluded by a show of impartiality and
moderation, pursued in peace their ordinary employments. But this
condition was only temporary. The grasping ambition of Jaime was
not to be satisfied with the mere shadow of possession and authority.
Considerations of moral obligation were unceremoniously swept
aside by the royal casuist the moment they conflicted with the
imperious demands of political necessity. Excuses were invented
and opportunities found to accuse the Moors of infraction of the
treaty. The enmity of the conquerors was, in accordance with the
baser and more mercenary instincts of humanity, first directed
against the rich. Opulent merchants were condemned, without
accusation or trial, to exile and beggary. Their property, the chief
cause of their persecution, was confiscated by the crown or divided
among the clergy and the nobles, who received with complacent
gratification the rewards of national perfidy and dishonor. Possession
of the citadel was secured by stratagem; the castles for which it was
to have been exchanged were retained by the Christians, and
numbers of Moorish maidens became, in spite of the faith of
conventions and in defiance of the canons of the Church, unwilling
ministers of the pleasures of the orthodox but voluptuous conqueror.
The melancholy end of the governor of Xativa, Yahya-Ibn-Ahmed,
will arouse the compassion of every reader who sympathizes with
the misfortunes which ill-directed resolution and bravery are liable to
encounter in every age. He was a personage of the highest
consideration among his countrymen. His talents and his integrity
had elevated him to the first position in the state. His wealth enabled
him to sustain with dignity the civil and military honors conferred
upon him by an appreciative and admiring people. In the defence of
the city he had more than justified the exalted opinion universally
entertained of his capacity. The treaty he negotiated with an enemy
of vastly superior resources and elated by recent conquests was the
most advantageous to the weaker party of any recorded in the
annals of the Peninsula. He scrupulously observed every condition
of that agreement which his adversaries repudiated at their
convenience without shame and without excuse. With the other
wealthy citizens of Xativa he was driven from his home; his estates
were appropriated by the rapacious foreigner; he was forced to
subsist by the charity of strangers in a land where he had formerly
displayed the ensigns and exercised the prerogatives of royalty; and,
while his fate remains in doubt, his death was popularly believed to
have been hastened by poison or starvation.
The subjection of Xativa by the King of Aragon caused a rupture
between the two greatest soldiers of Western Europe which, had it
developed into open hostility, would have seriously imperilled the
cause of Christianity in the Peninsula. It was not without reason that
Jaime had apprehended the dangerous effects of Castilian ambition.
The tendency of conquest must hereafter inevitably be to the
eastward. Andalusia, forever lost to the Moslem, was now an integral
part of the dominions of Ferdinand. It was well known that the
aspirations of that conqueror had not been satisfied by the
acquisition of the most valuable portion of the Saracen empire. His
intention to dispute the doubtful claim of Aragon to the coveted
region lying east of Granada had already been disclosed by his
occupation of Murcia. It was not merely by arms that the astute King
of Castile endeavored to extend, at the expense of his rival, his
already formidable power. The political interests of the two monarchs
had recently been nominally united by the marriage of Alfonso, the
heir to the Castilian throne, and Yolande, the daughter of Jaime.
Instigated by his father, that prince endeavored to induce the
Moslem governor to surrender to him the city of Xativa, in
contravention of the treaty negotiated with the King of Aragon. This
scheme was frustrated by the vigilance of Jaime, and the expulsion
of the principal citizens, some of whom were suspected of complicity
in the designs of Ferdinand, was determined upon in consequence
of the discovery.
Foiled in this attempt, Ferdinand then demanded the place as the
dowry of his daughter-in-law. But the King of Aragon, whose pride
was not inferior to that of Ferdinand, was unwilling to relinquish to
the importunity of a rival the substantial fruits of his courage and
energy, and it required all the address and the blandishments of his
queen to reconcile the conflicting pretensions of her husband and
her kinsman. The ancient boundary of Murcia and Valencia was
eventually re-established as the frontier of the two Christian
monarchies. The designs of Jaime were hereafter prosecuted to a
successful termination without hinderance from the intriguing policy
of Castile, and in a few years all the other fortresses held by the
Moslems in the East of the Peninsula were incorporated, either by
conquest or negotiation, into the realms of the kingdom of Aragon.
The remaining years of Jaime were passed amidst the distracting
turmoil of family disputes and feudal encroachments. An ill-advised
expedition to the Holy Land, in which the crusading fleet was
dispersed by a tempest and which ended ignominiously, for a time
engaged his attention. On the seventh of July, 1276, he died at
Valencia, the scene of his greatest triumph.
This famous king was one of the most extraordinary personages
of mediæval history. The romance which colored his entire career
antedated his very existence. The son of Pedro II. and Marie,
Countess of Montpellier, whose marriage had never before been
consummated and was immediately afterwards practically annulled,
he owed his origin to an artifice, not infrequently met with in the
merry tales of the Middle Ages, but in this instance exhibiting a
singular mixture of the humorous and the pathetic. Even his name he
owed to chance. His mother lighted twelve candles, to represent the
twelve apostles, and that of St. James having burned longer than the
others, her son was christened for that worthy as his patron saint.
While yet a little child, he was intrusted to Simon de Montfort,
crusader, soldier of fortune, and persecutor of the Albigenses, to be
educated. That freebooter, the most eminent in his infamous calling
of any of the military outlaws of his time and who subsequently
defeated and killed the father of his charge on the field of Muret,
caused the boy to be betrothed to his own daughter before he had
attained the age of four years. It afterwards required all the influence
of the Pope, moved by the entreaties of the Spanish clergy, to
rescue the royal infant from the hands of Simon and place him upon
the throne of Aragon.
Held in the arms of the Bishop of Tarragona, he repeated
mechanically and without comprehension the customary oath to
maintain and execute the laws of the realm. From the very beginning
his abilities, child as he was, were exercised with tact and discretion
in the treatment of his uncles, who attempted to govern in his name,
and of the nobles, who obstinately disputed his authority. It was not
long before his genius asserted itself and commanded the respect
and obedience of his unruly vassals. Personal advantages, which
have so much influence with the majority of mankind, bore no small
share in effecting this result. Nature had lavished upon him her most
precious gifts. His stature greatly exceeded that of other men. His
features were handsome; his form exhibited the proportions and the
muscles of a Roman gladiator. His manners were singularly winning;
his demeanor conspicuous for its graces among a people renowned
for their courtesy. While fearless in the presence of danger, such was
his compassion that he shrank from the signature of a death-warrant,
and more than once a criminal escaped the consequences of his
misdeeds through the gentleness and humanity of his king.
No prince in Spanish history occupies a more exalted position for
manly qualities, dauntless valor, and lavish generosity. His reign of
sixty-three years is the longest, if not the most eventful, in the annals
of the Peninsula. It was practically one uninterrupted campaign. This
great king won thirty pitched battles over the Moslems. He was the
exemplar of the prevalent crusading passion of the time. His
popularity with the clergy surpassed that of any of his royal
contemporaries. He founded and endowed at his own expense two
thousand churches in the territory conquered from the Moors. He
knew the Scriptures by heart, and during every grand religious
festival he preached from the pulpit to vast congregations with all the
unction and probably with more than the eloquence of an
ecclesiastical orator. His memoirs, written under the title of a
chronicle, disclose a profound knowledge of human nature, acute
observation, and a remarkable degree of literary culture, considering
the advantages he enjoyed and the circumstances under which his
life was passed. Powerful even in death, the provision of his will
excluding females from the succession has always been sacredly
observed as an inviolable part of the constitution of the kingdom of
Aragon.
The reverse of the medal is not so attractive. The famous
Aragonese crusader was bigoted, perfidious, licentious, cruel. He
introduced the Inquisition into Spain. Its agents, the Dominicans,
were his favorite counsellors. While treating for the surrender of
Elche, in the presence of his courtiers he slipped a purse of three
hundred byzants into the sleeve of one of the Moorish envoys, who
he had ascertained was willing to betray his countrymen for gold. He
violated his royal word to Doña Teresa de Vidaure, whom he had
promised to make his queen, and was supported in his infamous
resolve by the Pope. He habitually repudiated the most solemn
contracts entered into with his Moslem vassals and adversaries. His
libertinism was conspicuous even in an age of universal social
depravity. He lived with two wives at once. He entertained numerous
concubines. He was said to have had a mistress for every church
that he founded. He caused the tongue of the Bishop of Gerona, his
spiritual adviser, to be torn out as a punishment for having betrayed
certain unsavory secrets learned in the sacred privacy of the
confessional. Amidst the frightful spectacles afforded by cities
carried by assault, the pitiless hand of the ferocious soldiery was
rarely stayed by the authority of the champion of the Christian cause,
in whose eyes every infidel was legitimate prey.
The scene of action in the exhibition of the romantic drama of the
Reconquest now shifts to Andalusia. It was in that province, enriched
with every gift of nature, improved by every resource of industry and
art, that Moorish civilization first had its origin; and it was there that,
after centuries of glory, it was destined to a melancholy and
disastrous end.
The monarchy of Castile, the foundation of whose future
greatness had been already laid by the important military successes
which preceded and followed the capture of the ancient metropolis of
the khalifate, was now to be adorned with yet more decisive and
brilliant triumphs. With the death of Mohammed-Ibn-Hud the integrity
of the Emirate of Murcia was destroyed. The alcalde of each city, the
governor of each province, forthwith aspired to independence. The
absurd claims and irreconcilable quarrels of these petty rulers, none
of whom were worthy of the title of prince, but the majority of whom
claimed the dignity of khalif, advanced unconsciously, but none the
less expeditiously, the projects of the Christian enemy. The
dismemberment of Murcia had been the result of the intrigues of
Mohammed, King of Granada, the founder of the famous line of the
Alhamares, who was now recognized by all patriotic Moslems as the
representative of their power and their religion in the Peninsula. The
assassination of the daring Ibn-Hud had been injurious rather than
beneficial to the national cause. None of the score of pretenders who
had divided among themselves the principality of Murcia were willing
to do homage to the King of Granada, whose title to sovereignty
was, in fact, no better than their own; and Mohammed, whose
attention was fully occupied by the movements of the Christians, was
not at liberty to enforce compliance with his demands by the potent
agency of the sword. After a series of indecisive operations, in which
the Christians, although they succeeded in penetrating as far as the
Vega of Granada, seem to have been worsted in almost every
encounter, Ferdinand turned his attention to the more promising field
presented by the divided and helpless Emirate of Murcia. An army
under the command of Prince Alfonso had already reached the
borders of that kingdom when hostilities were suspended by
overtures for peace. The reputation of the Castilian monarch, while
stained with many well-founded accusations of violated honor and
broken faith, was so far superior to that of his contemporaries that
the Moslems did not hesitate, even with the full knowledge of the
ecclesiastical influences to which he was blindly subject, to intrust to
him the custody of their persons and the disposal of their fortunes.
Other reasons impelled them to this wise determination. Combined,
the states of Murcia could never have successfully withstood the
power of the Castilian monarchy; disunited, their resistance was
absolutely hopeless. The dreadful fate of Moorish cities which had
attempted to retard the advance of Christian conquest was always
present to the effeminate population of Murcia. Ultimate subjection to
either Ferdinand or Jaime was inevitable. The inhumanity of the
Castilian had heretofore been far less conspicuous in instances of
voluntary submission than that displayed by the cruel and perfidious
Aragonese, whose armies were largely composed of foreigners, and
whose ideas of equity were habitually subordinated to considerations
of present gain or future advantage. With these facts before them,
the Moslems of Murcia did not long hesitate in making a choice of
masters. The cities of the emirate with the exception of Lorca
voluntarily submitted to the ascendency of Castile, and the
ceremonies incident to the establishment of royal supremacy were
performed. The feudal obligations which preceded the institution of
suzerainty and vassalage were then publicly acknowledged, and the
credulous Moors welcomed the tyranny of a foreign prince with
acclamations such as they would scarcely have vouchsafed to a
ruler of their own blood and their own religion.
The respite afforded by the prestige of his victories and by the
diversion of the arms of Castile to Murcia was employed by
Mohammed-Ibn-Ahmar in the improvement of his kingdom and the
embellishment of his capital. The encroachments and the conquests
of the Spaniards had driven into exile thousands of Moslems, to
whom the society of their countrymen and the unmolested exercise
of their worship were privileges not to be sacrificed to the uncertain
security of Christian domination. Within the space of a few years, as
a result of constant immigration, the population of Granada had
increased with tremendous rapidity. The most experienced
cultivators, the most finished artisans, the most learned scholars who
represented the declining age of Saracen genius, found a refuge
from persecution and insult in the dominions of a prince not unworthy
to be compared with the most distinguished sovereigns who had
ever dignified the Hispano-Arab throne. Their accumulated
experience and industry had enriched beyond measure the country
of their adoption. Nor was that country in the charms of climate, soil,
and scenery unworthy of the labors of the most energetic and
accomplished of colonists. Its surface, diversified by valley, plain,
and mountain, afforded the combined advantages elsewhere
enjoyed only by a succession of regions in widely distant quarters of
the globe. A few hundred feet of elevation or descent determined the
character of the vegetation, and valuable plants, ordinarily separated
by many degrees of latitude, here grew luxuriantly almost side by
side. Streams fed by melting snows rushed down the mountain
slope, diffusing their refreshing moisture through the teeming
harvests of the Vega. This district—as the plain enclosed by the
Sierra Nevada and the Alpujarras became subsequently designated
—was unsurpassed in the fertility of its soil and the number and
superior quality of its agricultural products. So dense was its
population, that its contiguous and endless hamlets and plantations
gave it the appearance of a single interminable village. Although
including an area of not more than seven hundred and fifty square
miles, it supplied with ease under Moslem care and economy the
wants and luxuries of a hundred thousand souls. At its northern
extremity, on the gentle slope of the Sierra, stood the capital, which
had begun to assume the architectural splendor which distinguished
the dynasty of its builders, the crumbling ruins of whose edifices are
still the models of the architect and the admiration of the traveller.
The vast circuit of the Alhambra, with the ancient fortress which,
from a period far anterior to the foundation of the khalifate, had
commanded the city with its innumerable towers, barbicans,
outworks, had already been enclosed. Facing the citadel, on the
most elevated point of an eminence which barbarian sagacity had,
even before the date of Phœnician occupation, chosen as a place of
refuge and security, a magnificent palace, the exemplar of a new and
indescribably gorgeous style of architecture, had arisen. Its arcades
and halls and courts did not as yet exhibit the extent of area, the
exquisite taste, the profusion of ornament which subsequently
distinguished the most elaborate and beautiful edifice of
Mohammedan Spain. In that portion, however, which had issued
from the hands of the builders the germ of its future elegance was
plainly discernible. The most skilful workmen in the Peninsula—still
the European centre of architectural superiority—had been
employed in its construction and embellishment as well as in the
design and completion of many less sumptuous and imposing, but
still not less remarkable, structures of the capital. A constant influx of
dextrous and ingenious colonists from the provinces harassed by
Christian cruelty and intolerance had developed, to a degree which
could scarcely have been anticipated by the most sanguine political
economist, the inexhaustible mineral, agricultural, and commercial
resources of the kingdom. As a legitimate consequence of this
extraordinary impulse received by every department of trade and
husbandry, the revenues of the state were prodigiously increased.
With the means and the opportunity of enjoyment came a growing
demand for every article of luxury. Through the ports of Almeria and
Malaga a maritime trade was maintained with distant countries which
greatly enriched the merchants of Granada. The capital was adorned
with superb buildings dedicated to the noble purposes of public
instruction and religious worship. A portion of the intellectual
ambition and literary culture which had exalted the Ommeyade
metropolis to such well-merited pre-eminence seemed to have been
inherited by Granada. Her institutions of learning were superior to all
others of contemporaneous Europe. The works of her historians,
travellers, and scholars survive as the masterpieces of the age in
which they were composed. It is to the genius of Mohammed I. that
the origin of her prosperity and influence must be attributed. The
Moslem immigrant, deluded by a false and momentary security,
believed that he had, after many wanderings, at last discovered a
permanent abode. But the sagacious mind of Mohammed was
deceived by no such pleasing anticipations. He recognized the full
significance of Christian encroachment, and the eventual result of a
conflict already prolonged for more than six hundred years, and
whose termination could not long be deferred. In conjunction with his
military talents he brought to bear all the resources of political craft
and far-sighted diplomacy. He purchased the influence of powerful
nobles and ecclesiastics at the court of Castile. He maintained the
closest and most amicable relations with the sultans and sheiks of
Northern Africa, whose inextinguishable hostility to the Almohade
dynasty made them the faithful and enthusiastic allies of a prince
who represented a faction devoted to its extermination. The
important consequences of these wise and able measures
subsequently became apparent in the hour of Christian success and
Moslem extremity.
The rise of the monarchy of Granada in opulence and strength
was coincident with, and, indeed, partly resultant from, the decline of
Moorish power in the remaining states of the Peninsula. Sancho II.,
King of Portugal, was gradually adding to his possessions the
isolated and feeble remnants of what had formerly constituted one of
the most important principalities of the khalifate. In the prosecution of
conquest, Jaime had invaded the region south of the Xucar, which
had just before been declared inviolate by the provisions of a
deliberately executed treaty. With the single exception of Jaen, the
whole of Northern Andalusia had been incorporated into the
monarchy of Castile. After the submission of Murcia, Ferdinand,
impatient of inaction, prepared for another campaign. He penetrated
into the Vega of Granada, desolated its plantations, and, returning
through the valley of the Genil, where his destructive march was but
too clearly indicated by the blackened remains of crops and
dwellings, encamped before Jaen. The governor of that city, Ibn-
Omar, an officer of indomitable courage and inexhaustible fertility of
resource, showed himself eminently worthy of the trust reposed in
him. The advanced position of Jaen gave it unusual value in a
military point of view. It was the extreme outpost of the Moslem
possessions towards the north. Its loss implied the certain fall of
Seville as well as the subjection of the remaining territory of
Andalusia, and would afford an unobstructed course to an enemy
who desired to invade Granada. The city was only fifty miles from the
capital of that kingdom. These facts made its retention in Moorish
hands a strategical necessity. Its strength and the bravery of its
citizens were such that hitherto every effort to take it had been futile.
Anticipating the object of Ferdinand, the King of Granada had sent a
large convoy with provisions and arms for the garrison, which was
delayed and narrowly escaped capture. Then he attempted at the
head of a numerous but undisciplined army to raise the siege. The
Moorish peasantry, ill-fitted to cope with veterans skilled from
boyhood in the profession of arms, were easily routed, and the
situation of the besieged grew desperate. It was evident that the city
was doomed, and its occupation by the Christians must, in the
present defenceless condition of the Moslems, be the melancholy
precursor of a long series of misfortunes, of religious persecution,
poverty, slavery, and exile. Then it was that Mohammed determined
upon a course which his shrewdness convinced him was the only
expedient through whose means the integrity of his kingdom and the
preservation of his people could be secured. He appeared voluntarily
in the camp of the Castilian king and announced his willingness to
render him homage. The penetration of the astute Moslem had not
miscalculated the effect of this extraordinary resolve upon the mind
of his generous rival. The surprise and gratification of Ferdinand at
the proposal inclined his disposition, ever averse to acts of deliberate
cruelty and injustice, to a display of unusual magnanimity. He
accepted with unconcealed pleasure the offer of Mohammed; the
mutual obligations of lord and vassal were assumed, and the
sovereign of Granada agreed to attend, when summoned, the
national assembly of the Cortes, to furnish a stated number of
soldiers in case of war,—even against the votaries of his own
religion,—and to pay each year into the treasury of Castile a tribute
of fifty thousand maravedis of gold. The duty of protection incumbent
on the suzerain, according to the laws of feudalism, was solemnly
acknowledged by Ferdinand, and the surrender of Jaen, as an
assurance of good faith, was the significant preliminary of a
temporary but advantageous peace. The impolitic liberality of their
monarch in granting such favorable concessions to an enemy
reduced to despair has been, perhaps not with injustice, severely
criticised by Spanish historians and churchmen. In this instance, at
all events, the royal saint was not guided by celestial inspiration, and
the adoption of a treaty inimical to the interests of his country
prolonged the existence of Islamism in the Peninsula for a period of
two hundred and fifty years.
The success which had attended the movements of the King of
Castile in the recent campaign incited him to further and even more
strenuous efforts. Seville, the greatest city of Moslem Spain, the
centre of a region of prodigious fertility, the seat of a most lucrative
maritime and internal trade, a city whose wealth and manifold
attractions could hardly be exaggerated by either the pride of the
Moor or the cupidity of the Spaniard, was still in the hands of the
infidel. At that time its population, increased by thousands of
refugees and exiles, was larger than at any previous period of its
history. The productiveness of the soil and the patient industry of the
cultivator had repaired the effects of foreign depredation and
domestic violence. Its environs, remote from the seat of war, had not
suffered from repeated and systematic devastation such as had
afflicted the suburbs of Cordova. From the summit of the Giralda, for
a distance of fifty miles on every side, could be seen a continuous
mass of verdure dotted with farm-houses and villas, interspersed
with olive plantations, vineyards, and orange groves, and intersected
by the silver threads of countless canals and rivulets. Occasionally
the ruins of a hamlet or the brushwood which covered the surface of
a once flourishing district proclaimed the former presence of an
enemy, but in general the appearance of the surrounding country did
not differ materially from that which it had worn in the most thriving
days of the Moslem domination. The quays of the city were crowded
with shipping from every port of the Mediterranean. The streets
swarmed with people. The markets, provided alike with the most
common articles of daily consumption and the most expensive
luxuries, afforded unmistakable evidences of general prosperity, and
the imposing and splendid edifices dedicated to public utility, private
ostentation, and religious worship disclosed the extraordinary
development of architectural taste and the substantial results of
princely munificence. In its external aspect, therefore, Seville still
exhibited an apparent, if deceptive, image of imperial greatness. Her
power, however, as was perfectly realized by her citizens, rested
upon an insecure and crumbling foundation. Many of those citizens
had once been residents of flourishish communities which the
fortunes of war had delivered to the merciless Christian. Their
mosques had been profaned. Their household gods had been
scattered. Their children were in the harems of the licentious noble
or ecclesiastic. They, more than all others, understood the
deplorable results of conquest, and the persevering, the indomitable,
the resistless spirit which inspired the measures and guided the
movements of the Christian armies. The fears which had for so long
agitated the inhabitants of Seville were now about to be realized. In a
political as well as in a geographical sense the city and its
dependencies were completely isolated. At the south was the
Mediterranean; in all other directions the Castilian power encroached
upon the limits of Sevillian territory; the sole monarch of kindred
blood and a common faith was a vassal of the enemy. Other causes
conspired to render the separation more complete. Berber influence,
extinct elsewhere in Spain and fast vanishing in its original seat
across the sea, still maintained a precarious but decided foothold in
the centre of Andalusia. The Emir of Seville, Abu-Abdallah, was a
prince of the Almohade dynasty. The unpopularity of that abhorred
race had by no means declined with its capacity to effect either
substantial benefit or serious injury. In the breast of the Arab partisan
all other animosities were reconciled when confronted with the
universal execration which attached to the names and the character
of Almohade and African. Two centuries and a half had passed since
the distrust and the partiality of Al-Mansur had elevated to posts of
pre-eminent dignity and power individuals of a race that Arab pride
disdained as inferior, and whose influence subsequent experience
had conclusively proved to be inconceivably destructive to art,
learning, and every instinct of civilization. Since that fatal day the
supremacy of Islam in the West had steadily declined. Results of the
inherent evils of a defective political system, and of the refractory
character of a mixed population whose elements were incapable of
thorough and permanent fusion, were commonly attributed to the
sinister influence with which tribal prejudice and hereditary
malevolence invested every act of an aggressive and finally
dominant faction.
The surrender of Jaen and the unexpected submission of the King
of Granada imparted extraordinary power and distinction to the
cause of Ferdinand. His arms were regarded as invincible alike by
his Moorish enemies and by his admiring subjects and allies. The
inhabitants of Seville heard with consternation of the removal of the
last bulwark which guarded the frontier and of the defection of the
last Moslem prince who, despite the persistence of ancient
prejudices and the memory of recent wrongs, it had been fondly
hoped might still have made common cause with the adherents of
the same religious belief against the enemies of Islam. The activity of
the conqueror afforded them but little time for defensive measures.
The great vassals of the kingdom were summoned to the camp at
Cordova, the starting-point of the campaign. Among them was
Mohammed, whose fealty to his suzerain was attested by a retinue
of five hundred picked and splendidly mounted horsemen. Orders
were sent to Biscay to equip and despatch a fleet to blockade the
mouth of the Guadalquivir and to intercept all communication with
Africa. The environs of Carmona were wasted with fire and sword.
Alcalá de Guadair was taken and presented to the King of Granada
as a token of esteem and confidence from his feudal lord. As the
main body of the army was about to move, Ferdinand received
intelligence of the death of his mother, Queen Berenguela, who at
the advanced age of seventy-six years was, as the regent of the
kingdom and the counsellor of her son, not unequal to the
assumption of the cares and responsibilities of a great and turbulent
empire. In the mind of the stoical and ambitious sovereign of Castile,
the misfortune of domestic bereavement was unhesitatingly
subordinated to the important interests of country and religion. The
campaign was inaugurated without delay. The ruthless policy of an
age which made war with a barbarity at present happily extinct
demanded the absolute destruction of everything which could afford
either shelter or subsistence to a foe. The Castilians, acting upon
this principle, soon transformed the beautiful plain of Seville into a
prospect of appalling desolation. The houses were burned. The
harvests were trampled into the earth. The vineyards were
destroyed. The orchards, the orange-groves, the almond and
pomegranate plantations were cut down and set on fire. For leagues
in every direction the view was obscured by dense clouds of smoke
rising from half-consumed trees and burning villages. The city itself
was enveloped in darkness which at times made the streets
impassable and exceeded the gloom of a starless night. This
exhibition of severity was not lost upon the inhabitants of the more
defenceless towns of Andalusia. Carmona, Loja, Alcolea hastened to
make terms with the invader. Others, among which was the fortress
of Cantillana, held out till the last, and received a terrible lesson for
their obstinacy. All places which offered resistance were stormed,
delivered up to pillage, and every living being within their walls was
massacred without mercy. The capitulation of other cities and the
utter devastation of the country deprived the people of Seville of the
prospect of reinforcements and the means of obtaining supplies. The
produce of the crops, swept away by the Castilian cavalry, had been
their dependence for replenishing the failing magazines of the
capital, and upon the resistance of the outlying fortresses had rested
the hope of securing time to reap the harvests. The only resource of
the Almohade prince was now with his kinsmen beyond the Strait.
His appeal for help was answered by the donation of a fleet of twenty
galleys, which attempted to arrest the progress of the Christian
squadron about to ascend the Guadalquivir. A naval battle was
fought; the Moors, notwithstanding their superior numbers and their
long experience in this kind of encounters, were defeated, and the
Castilians, proceeding up the river without molestation, cast anchor

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Facets of Fear The Fear of God in Exilic

and Post exilic Contexts Phillip Michael

Fear Management Foreign Threats in the Post War Polish

Monstrosity Patriarchy and the Fear of Female Power

Facets of the Enlightenment Studies in English

A State of Fear How the UK government weaponised fear

Imagining Home Exilic Reconstructions in Norma Manea

A Kingdom of Frost and Fear 1st Edition Whitney Dean

Fear and the Shaping of Early American Societies 1st

Amboina 1623 Fear and Conspiracy on the Edge of Empire

Forschungen zum Alten Testament

Phillip Michael Lasater

ISBN 978-3-16-156676-9 / eISBN 978-3-16-156677-6

The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication

© 2019 Mohr Siebeck Tübingen. www.mohrsiebeck.com

The book was typeset by satz&sonders in Dülmen, printed on non-aging paper by

For my dad, David B. Lasater

My sincere thanks go to the Universität Zürich, especially the Theologi-

I. Philological, interpersonal, and theological

II. Anthropological dimensions of fear and fear of the

III. in the iconic parody of Jeremiah 10:1–16 . . . . . . . . . . . 99

IV. The Priestly use of in Leviticus 17–26 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

V. , wisdom, and the transcendence of human

3.4. Proverbs 3:7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192

VI. Concluding summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219

Select Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225

to theological anthropology. Although not in the way usually imagined,

normative practice remain in view, but in a manner somewhat unique to

6 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of

1. The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible

The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible 7

-derivatives. In the Hebrew Bible, is usually a predication, almost always describing

8 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of

The distribution of -derivatives in the Hebrew Bible 9

Table 3: The Verbal Adjective in the Hebrew Bible (53 total)

The nominal form is fairly widespread, appearing almost always in

Table 4: The Nominal Form in the Hebrew Bible (44 total)

10 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of

Table 5: The Nominal Form in the Hebrew Bible (12 total)

Worth noting here is that the nominal construct “fear of Yhwh” (

2. The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations, antonyms

The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations, antonyms 11

trembling were overlapping ideas, as individual words within the broader

Table 6. Juxtapositions of and

Nominal with nominal Deut 2:25,

The usage of and seems more or less interchangeable in Mic

12 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of

See also Jer 30:10; 46:27.

“shuddering, horror” (! ) Psa 55:6,

(I) “to shudder” (Qal); “to Never occurs with

The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations, antonyms 13

14 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of

sharply separating feelings, rationality, and intentional activity. As I have

The semantic field of : synonyms, collocations, antonyms 15

Table 8. Additional “fear” vocabulary either paralleling or juxtaposing -

Terms Meanings Collocations

“to be terrified, be in dread; to Deut 1:29

16 Philological, interpersonal, and theological dimensions of