A. Pietersma "Kyrios or Tetragram" (85-101) first sets out to reduce the number of instances of the tetragram in Jewish manuscripts of the Greek version. First he argues that we have to allow for the possibility that the tetragram represents an intrusion from the Hebrew wherever the manuscript concerned shows any correction from an Hebrew text. Thus Barthélemy's scroll of the Minor Prophets (8 Hev XII gr) shows corrections from an Hebrew text and so the presence of the tetragram in Hebrew characters may represent a correction from the Hebrew. The same may be argued for P. Fouad 266 (Rahlfs 848).
 |
| P.Ox.656 |
We may add a footnote here. P.Ox.656, Bodl. Gr. bibl. d.5(P), Rahlfs 905 has some variations where the tetragram is involved. An inspection of the papyrus suggests that 905 was copied from a text that had the tetragram in Hebrew letters. In copying the scribe of 905 left a space for the second scribe to insert the tetragram. Instead of doing this the second scribe inserted the corresponding forms of κύριος. Abbreviated κύριος does not always fit the space left by the first scribe and at least at one place (end of a line?) the second scribe has inserted nothing. If this correctly interprets the evidence of 905, it would support Koenen's view that the scribe of 848 left spaces in his transcript to be filled in by a second scribe.
We may question Pietersma's thesis that as far as 848 is concerned "its status, in general, as a typical exemplar of the LXX is not beyond doubt". This assumes that apart from demonstrable corrections the LXX was transmitted without interference from the Hebrew. We may question this assumption and argue that apart from other variations the LXX was frequently corrected from an Hebrew text whenever opportunity arose. If this is true, we cannot discard texts of the Greek version because they appear to show correction from the Hebrew. If this is so, we shall have to take 848's evidence seriously.
Let us assume that wherever papyri give the tetragram they are reproducing the LXX and that Origen is right in his evidence about the LXX on this point. We may suggest that apart from the Christian texts the LXX gave the tetragram either in archaic Hebrew or in Aramaic lettering. The occasional use of forms like ΙΑΩ or ΠΙΠΙ appear derivative.
Against this we have to set the facts of the Christian tradition. This consistently presents us with κύριος. How are we to explain this? Whatever was written in the manuscripts, we may infer that when the text was read aloud in the synagogue or elsewhere κύριος was used.
We may link this inference with another. In
Vigiliae Christianae 36 (1982) 99-106 I reviewed C. H. Roberts,
Manuscript, Society and Belief in Early Christian Egypt. Apart from other matters touched upon in Roberts' Schweich Lectures, we have conjectured that the difference between the script of manuscripts of Jewish origin and that of Christian texts may be explained as follows:
"Up and down the eastern Mediterranean in the first century A.D. were many Greek-speaking Jewish communities. Each was centred in its synagogue whose congregation often seems to have consisted in a Jewish core and a fringe of interested Gentiles. From this Gentile fringe a number of converts passed into Judaism (Juvenal, Sat.xiv.96-106). When Christianity came upon the scene as in the missionary chapters of Acts it won over Jews and interested Gentiles, but the Jewish authorities controlling the synagogue seem to have remained unconvinced. If we may build on various hints in the Epistles, a minority of Jews and a majority of interested Gentiles seem to have joined the new movement. From this result we can infer that as the Jewish leadership rarely, if ever, became Christian, the resulting Christian community would not as a rule take over the official copies of the Greek Bible in all their calligraphy, but would have a number of private copies in a more or less workmanlike script which derived from the unofficial copies which members of the synagogue possessed." (100)
We may link this conjecture with another.
Official manuscripts of the LXX may have had the tetragram, but unofficial and, subsequently, Christian texts, may have had κύριος. If this is true, Origen's statement is correct and the use of κύριος will by and large reflect private usage.
Pietersma later turns to the use of the article with κύριος. The principles followed in the Greek Pentateuch seem similar to those which obtain in large stretches of the New Testament, cf. my paper in P. Hoffmann (ed.),
Orientierung an Jesus, Für Josef Schmid (1973) 214-219 "Κύριος Again". Variations in the NT manuscripts and problems in NT interpretation find helpful parallels in the LXX.
If
we end by remaining unconvinced by Pietersma's arguments about the tetragram, we must none the less acknowledge that at many points he has made suggestions that are relevant to the NT. The form in which the LXX is quoted in the NT has its problems and Pietersma has indicated some of them in clear and detailed form.
2 comments:
G.D. Kilpatrick’s review raises a number of thoughtful objections, but ultimately it misrepresents the scope and method of Pietersma’s argument. At the heart of the discussion lies the question of whether the LXX originally rendered the divine name as κύριος or preserved the Tetragrammaton in Hebrew or paleo-Hebrew script. Pietersma’s contribution, which argues for κύριος as the original rendering in the Greek Jewish scriptures, has been influential precisely because it offers a robust internal linguistic and textual analysis. Kilpatrick, by contrast, offers an argument largely shaped by assumptions regarding manuscript transmission and synagogue usage, but his reasoning fails to overturn the textual and contextual force of Pietersma’s thesis.
Kilpatrick begins by suggesting that whenever Hebrew forms of the divine name appear in Greek manuscripts, we may attribute them to retroversions or corrections from Hebrew exemplars. This is possible in theory, but it hardly undermines Pietersma’s thesis unless it can be shown that such corrections were systematic and widespread in a way that distorts the trajectory of the Septuagint’s original translation choices. Pietersma does not claim that the Hebrew Tetragram never appeared in later manuscripts—he acknowledges such insertions. His core argument is about the translation technique of the original translators of the Pentateuch and the early LXX corpus. That argument is grounded in syntax, grammar, and consistent patterns of usage—not merely in manuscript evidence. Substituting κύριος for YHWH fits the translators’ general tendency toward contextualization and dynamic equivalence, especially in theological language.
Kilpatrick brings in the example of P.Oxy. 656 (Rahlfs 905) to challenge Pietersma’s approach. He suggests that the manuscript shows signs of deliberate spacing for a second scribe to insert the Tetragrammaton, but that κύριος was used instead—possibly due to Christian influence. But this reading of 905 is speculative. The mere presence of spacing does not demonstrate that the Hebrew Tetragram was originally present in the exemplar; it only proves that the scribe anticipated some form of insertion. In fact, if the second scribe chose to use κύριος instead of the Hebrew name, this very act may suggest that κύριος had already become the practical and liturgical norm—a point that supports rather than undermines Pietersma’s thesis about reception history and usage.
Furthermore, Kilpatrick insists that we cannot dismiss texts like Papyrus 848 simply because they show correction from a Hebrew Vorlage. But this risks begging the question: the entire debate hinges on whether such Hebrew-based corrections represent a re-Hebraizing process or whether the LXX always preserved the Hebrew divine name. If the trend was toward Hebraizing corrections, then the Hebrew Tetragram in some manuscripts is a secondary feature—precisely what Pietersma argues. Kilpatrick’s critique fails to interact seriously with the evidence of systematic recensional activity in Jewish scribal practice, especially post-70 CE, where there is strong evidence that some communities were increasingly concerned with Hebraizing their Greek texts to counter the growing dominance of the Christian LXX.
Kilpatrick’s appeal to Origen’s testimony that the LXX originally contained the Tetragrammaton is not as conclusive as he assumes. Origen’s statements in the Hexapla reflect a complex textual situation in the third century, long after the initial translation work. The fact that Origen used Hebrew letters in his critical edition does not mean that the original LXX texts contained them; rather, it reflects his effort to bring his column into closer conformity with Hebrew texts for scholarly purposes. Origen, in fact, frequently used κύριος in his own theological writings when referring to Old Testament quotations, suggesting that even if he acknowledged the presence of the Hebrew name in some columns of the Hexapla, it was not the universal or original form of the Greek scriptures.
Kilpatrick further appeals to synagogue reading practice—namely, that even if the Hebrew name was written, it was read aloud as κύριος. This inference, while likely accurate, ironically strengthens Pietersma’s case: if κύριος was the term used in liturgical practice, then rendering YHWH as κύριος in the translation would reflect not only theological caution but also a pastoral desire to match the Greek scriptures to the actual synagogue usage. Pietersma has emphasized that translation is not a purely mechanical process but one shaped by context and intent. That the Greek translators may have rendered YHWH as κύριος precisely because this was the spoken form is both historically and linguistically plausible.
Kilpatrick’s conjecture that Christian texts derive from unofficial synagogue manuscripts while Jewish scribes preserved “official” LXX copies with the Tetragrammaton lacks concrete documentary support. The distinction between “official” and “unofficial” texts is itself speculative. There is no evidence of a centralized body standardizing and enforcing the exclusive use of Hebrew-letter YHWH in all Jewish Greek texts. Instead, the surviving evidence points to a diversity of practice. Pietersma does not deny this complexity; rather, he argues that the earliest layer—the translation itself—used κύριος as a theological rendering of the divine name, and that the later insertion of the Hebrew Tetragrammaton is a scribal development responding to intra-Jewish concerns about the sanctity of the divine name in response to Christian usage of κύριος.
On the use of the article with κύριος, Kilpatrick agrees that parallels exist between LXX and NT usage. But this linguistic observation reinforces Pietersma’s point about κύριος being a long-standing rendering of the divine name in Greek. The grammatical patterns with and without the article only make sense if κύριος was a stable and intentional equivalent for YHWH in the original translation. These patterns are not random or forced; they exhibit internal coherence and semantic sensitivity.
In the end, Kilpatrick admits that even if one remains unconvinced by Pietersma’s thesis, his work raises valuable questions and insights. That is a significant concession. But more than raising questions, Pietersma’s case is built on robust textual and linguistic evidence. It fits the socio-religious context of Hellenistic Judaism, aligns with the liturgical practice of reading Adonai, and provides a more plausible historical trajectory for the later Christian transmission of κύριος than the reverse theory does. In contrast, Kilpatrick’s objections rest heavily on conjecture about manuscript lineage and lack sufficient engagement with the core of Pietersma’s linguistic and translational analysis.
Therefore, Pietersma’s thesis stands as a compelling account of how the Septuagint originally rendered the divine name—one that coherently explains both the textual evidence and the evolution of Jewish and Christian scriptural traditions. Kilpatrick’s critique, while worthy of attention, ultimately fails to dislodge the strength of Pietersma’s linguistic, textual, and historical synthesis.
Post a Comment