Continuing My Conversation with Brant Pitre (Skinner)

PitreBefore I began my new position here in Chicago I was slowly but steadily working my way through a serial review of Brant Pitre’s mammoth monograph, Jesus and the Last Supper. As I have been trying to get my bearings here at Loyola over the past five weeks, I have been unable to devote any real attention to blogging through the book. Our discussion over several weeks back in August generated some helpful dialogue that allowed us both to iron out some misunderstandings, discuss some areas of disagreement, and also establish some common ground. Before I continue my review in the next week or so, I wanted first to thank Brant for his willingness to enter into and then continue this dialogue. I wasn’t sure if he would have time or interest when I extended the invitation for him to respond. I also wanted to briefly respond to a few of Brant’s replies on my last post (see if you can follow the discussion trail: here, here, here, here; see also Brant’s posts at the Jesus Blog). Hopefully sometime in the next week, the post that follows will continue the review where I left off. I don’t want to get too off track from the review but I do think the external dialogue is important.

In his last set of questions to me Brant wrote:

You used the language of being “suspicious” of the “subtext” driving my conclusions. You’ll forgive me if this creates the impression that you are reviewing the book with a hermeneutic of suspicion. I want readers of the book will be critical, but not suspicious. I don’t think it too much to ask to focus on the text I wrote rather than on the “subtext” that only exists in the imagination.

To this I would first respond by saying, “Yes. That is correct. I am reading this book with a hermeneutic of suspicion.” To be sure, I read every attempted reconstruction of the historical Jesus with a certain level of suspicion. That’s not because I am suspicious of my colleagues’ abilities or their intentions. It’s largely because I have become persuaded through my own research and by reading the works of scholars like Dale Allison (and others), that there is very little that we can know with any real certainty about the historical Jesus. So, if it seems as though I am giving Brant or his argument a “sideways eye,” (which I am not), it’s only because a lot of reflection has led me to a starting point of this type of suspicion. I would add to this, however, that I don’t think awareness of subtexts is a negative thing or even necessarily a sign of suspicion. Being aware of subtexts is eschewing the simple naivete that attends many attempts to simply “tell you what the text is saying” (which I think is near impossible). We all have a set of lenses we use to interpret these texts and those lenses shape, form, inform, and even taint our very best attempts at objectivity.

Brant continues:

That’s one reason I keep insisting that you focus your critique on my arguments rather than repeatedly emphasizing that I conclude that “everything” historically plausible, as if that alone was somehow a sufficient refutation. This is especially true if you recall that by “everything”, we are only talking about 6 of the over 360 pericopes found in the gospels. Now, if you think the use of E. P. Sanders’ triple-context approach to historical plausibility is flawed to err “on the side of historicity,” then by all means, critique the method. Show where and why the historical arguments from (1) contextual plausibility, (2) coherence, and (3) consequences in the early church break down or don’t work. But the thrust of your review seems to keep falling on the fact that I concluded that all 6 pericopes associated with the Last Supper are historically plausible, as if my conclusions alone show the historical arguments to be invalid or worthy of “suspicion” rather than evaluation. Of course conclusions are part of the argument and therefore fair game, but what I have yet to hear from you is *why* my conclusions *do not follow* from my arguments. That’s where I’d like to see the discussion go.

I understand the potentially positive rhetorical value of connecting one’s methodology to the likes of E. P. Sanders. He is a giant in this field and his work is highly respected. It’s not his methodology to which I am objecting. It’s Pitre’s use of this methodology that I find difficult to accept in places. It’s not that I think Sanders’s methodology errs on the side of historicity, it’s that (to my mind) Pitre’s use of this methodology errs on the side of historicity. As for a more specific critique of the method as it is used in the book, I can enumerate three:

(1) First, I have specific problems with the use of “coherence.” In the days when the criteria of authenticity reigned unquestioned, I always found the so-called “criterion of coherence” to be one of the least convincing approaches to deliberating on the historicity of a given saying or event in the life of Jesus. In my teaching, I often refer to the criterion of coherence as a “drip pan category having little, if any value.” In my estimation, “coherence” is a slippery category because it allows a given researcher to engage in what often appears to be a specialized level of subjectivity: “Now that I have established X as being historically plausible, allow me to make the case for the historicity of Y & Z, which clearly cohere with what I have already established.” To me this is terribly problematic. As I have indicated, I think the notion of coherence is brimming with opportunities for subjectivity to creep into our reconstructions. Now, I do want to be fair and acknowledge that Brant is not using the criterion of coherence as it has been classically formulated, but he is using coherence in a way that, to my mind, allows him to get away with the same type of deeply subjective suggestions when arguing for historical plausibility.

(2) Second, if the Gospels are participating in the genre of Greco-Roman biography (bioi) as Brant concedes (and as most agree), then another methodological concern rears its head. (In saying this, I am critiquing more than just Brant’s book but much historical Jesus scholarship in general.) If you read the works of classicists working with other bioi (e.g., Plutarch, Tacitus, Lucian, etc.) they are asking a very different set of questions than what historical Jesus researchers are often asking. In fact, I would argue that an element of special pleading is embedded in the way we think about the “historical Jesus” that neither classicists nor other historians would allow when approaching ancient Lives. With the nature of the gospel genre at the center of our deliberations, I am not persuaded that we can establish with certainty, precision, or even the levels of “plausibility” attempted by Pitre, that given words, deeds, and more importantly, mindsets can be isolated in the various presentations of Jesus the gospel narratives. Against that backdrop, I think Pitre’s arguments often function against the genre with which he’s working.

(3) Third, my own work on characters and characterization suggests to me that even when we are dealing with characters who are supposed to be imitable—which is one function of main characters in bioi—ancient authors are not concerned with detailing specific words and actions. It also suggests to me that isolating a potential mindset from which Jesus is working, (e.g., seeing himself as the New Moses v. his being presented as a New Moses at the narrative level; seeing himself as a Davidic King v. his being presented that way at a narrative level, etc.) is practically impossible. With that assertion in mind, I have recently written the following for a chapter on Johannine characterization in a forthcoming book. I think it applies to what I am trying to say here:

“The construction of personal identity is of paramount importance to modern individuals and therefore plays a prominent role both in the modern novel and the short story—the standards by which we judge contemporary literature in the Western world. When we encounter characters in contemporary literature we are often treated to psychological profiles as figures move toward and in some cases away from moments of redemption. As familiar as this scenario is to readers of modern literature (and consumers of modern film) this is not how characters typically functioned in ancient literature. Therefore, when approaching the New Testament narratives we must be careful to situate characters within the thought worlds that gave rise to them.”

When we treat Jesus as a historical figure and offer our reconstructions from the gospel material, I think we must pay close attention to the way characterization functions in ancient literature. Otherwise, we end up with a modern character whose inner-life can be profiled with precision—something that would not have been available within this genre of literature. While I could say more concerning methodology, my *brief* response to Brant’s questions is running long. I imagine I will say more in the course of my review.

Brant also wrote:

Second, I understand if you found my section of gospel genre and historical plausibility inadequate. I accept the criticism that it was too brief and I could have said more. What I took exception to was the claim that I “never” gave “any kind of statement” about the genre of the gospels. Yes, the statement was brief. But it wasn’t really in passing. It was at the beginning of a crucial section dedicated to how I understand what the gospels are and its implications for what I mean by “historical plausibility” (pp. 46-50). There I chose to focus on what I consider one of the primary “pitfalls” of gospel analysis: the search for the exact words of Jesus and the failed positivistic attempt to reconstruct “original forms.” I understand if you think more needed to be said. I would have liked to say more too, but this it isn’t a book about the origin and nature of the Gospels. It is a case-by-case analysis of a handful of episodes related to the topic of the Last Supper.

I appreciate this being spelled out in greater detail. While I agree that one pretty major pitfall of gospel analysis is the search for the *exact* words of Jesus, I also see a certain degree of historical positivism in the approach taken in Brant’s book, especially the suggestions about how the gospel accounts of these six pericopae should be harmonized to create a more coherent picture. The harmonization approach strikes me as out of keeping with the genre of the literature we are examining…..but I know this is a subject on which Brant and I clearly disagree (and it continues to be a question across a certain sub-section of historical scholarship). I will get to this critique in future posts.

(3) Brant wrote:

Third, you’re right: I didn’t answer your question: “What kind of evidence do the gospels represent?” So I will try now to give a brief answer: In my opinion, the four gospels are first-century Greco-Roman biographies, written within the living memory of the events they purport to record. Written from a post-resurrection vantage point, they reflect the understanding of later tradition and theology (e.g., Luke 24:45; John 2:22, 7:39; 14:26). Their intention is to provide accounts of the life of Jesus of Nazareth, with specific attention to what he did and said, and how he died and rose again, in order to lead others to faith in him. Like other ancient Greco-Roman biographies—Lucian’s Life of Demonax, Suetonius Lives of the Caesars, Josephus’ Life of himself—the gospels are not necessarily chronological (Suetonius, Life of the Deified Augustus, 9), nor are they comprehensive (Lucian, Life of Demonax, 67; Plutarch, Life of Alexander 1.1). Nor should the speeches within them be considered to be verbatim accounts of what was said (cf. Thucydides, History 1.22.1). As a result, any attempt at reconstruction of the life of Jesus should avoid the pitfall of confusing exactitude with historicity by focusing on the substance of the sayings and actions attributed to Jesus. With that said, the gospels seem closely akin to those bioi that are concerned to stress their historical “veracity” (Josephus, Life 336-39) and rootedness in eyewitness testimony and proximity to the subject (Lucian, Life of Demonax, 1). This seems to be why two of the four emphasize that their accounts of what Jesus said and did are based the testimony of “eyewitnesses” (e.g., Luke 1:1-4; John 19:35; 21:24-25). All of this taken together provides good grounds for the investigation, on a case-by-case basis, of the historical plausibility or implausibility various sayings and deeds attributed to Jesus, as well as events the gospels purport to have taken place.

I appreciate this more fulsome description from Brant. I have already (see above) registered some of my concerns about gospel genre vis-a-vis historical Jesus research in general and Brant’s work in particular. There’s actually much that I agree with in Brant’s paragraph and I’m glad to see him lay out his understanding of the gospel genre in these clear terms.

I also want to say that I appreciate how collegial Brant has been throughout our exchange thus far. Most people that I have heard from have seen us as engaging in rigorous dialogue while remaining friendly. I do hope this is coming through. One comment in the previous post questioned the “tone” of the conversation but for the record, both Brant and I believe it is possible to register strong disagreements and still treat one another well. I hope to get back to blogging through the book in detail in the next week or so. For now this exchange will have to suffice for keeping the conversation going. I look forward future exchanges (as I hope others do)!

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13 thoughts on “Continuing My Conversation with Brant Pitre (Skinner)

  1. Chris,
    I’m really enjoying this series of posts. I’ve only flipped through the book–I’m waiting to read it in December with a group of guys. However I feel some frustration at how your contentions are failing to connect with one another. It seems your critiques are really problems with the Third Quest overall, not particular to Pitre’s work here. That is, of course, a perfectly valid line of discussion, but Pitre keeps asking for analysis to his actual arguments. Are they cogent? Has he overlooked evidence? Has he violated his method? So far, the criticism seems to boil down to camp membership: ‘You’re a more credulous researcher; I identify with more agnostic (regarding historiography, not theism) scholars.’ I know this is oversimplification, but I’d just like to see more response to the actual new points he’s contending for. If it really comes down to dismissal of this whole enterprise, the target would perhaps more fairly be Meier or Wright, et al. Can you assess the work on its own terms?

    • Thanks for this Ragan. I do feel as though much of our differences ultimately boil down to methodological biases….though I did make specific statements here about Pitre’s use of “coherence” and his harmonization approach. These are, for better or worse, specific critiques. I will try to incorporate them into future posts but they are not completely unrelated to the content of the book.

  2. Hi Christopher,
    Thanks again for this. As I said in a previous comment, I think this conversation can become very significant for all of us biblical scholars. Clearly, the conversation thus far has underlined not only methodological, but probably also hermeneutical and epistemological issues.
    Your reference to Dale Allison is interesting. I have followed with great interest his theological journey over many years. It is – to say the least – remarkable how much he has changed over the years. One might be forgiven for thinking that the early Allison is a completely different person from the later Allison. I’m rather sad someone removed his lecture delivered with Joel Marcus about his theological journey from Youtube. I remember how he finished the lecture with Albert Schweitzer arguing for some kind of agnosticism about historical Jesus studies and a focus on social justice. Your thoughts on the psychology of biblical figures, coherence and harmonisation requires further reflection and analysis. It might be interesting and providing a broader hermeneutical framework to include in such a discussion not only EP Sanders, but perhaps also the likes of James Dunn, Craig Keener, Marcus Bockmuehl, and others who might have more nuanced positions … Oh, and Michael Bird must surely be added to the list …

  3. Hey Chris, Thanks so much for picking this up again. Congratulations on the new position–I understand how time-consuming such a transition can be. Unfortunately, we had a big family trip planned for this weekend so I won’t have time to read and make comments until Monday or so. Until then, thanks for continuing the dialogue!

  4. Thanks for your thoughts here – it’s much appreciated to see open and friendly discussion like this between two scholars. My two cents on some of the issues presented here:

    You say, “I think the notion of coherence is brimming with opportunities for subjectivity to creep into our reconstructions.” I’m not sure how this is really a problem so far as the historian’s task is concerned. As the course of discussions in the philosophy of history throughout the twentieth century (Collingwood, Carr, Elton, Mink, and then the postmoderns) have underlined, history requires a historian. The very nature of history is such that it is inferential, and requires a thinking, imagining subject. Lonergan and Meyer both argue, and I would think correctly, that objectivity is nothing more than the fruit of authentic subjectivity. In “The Idea of History,” Collingwood famously argued that historical criticism is done “by considering whether the picture of the past to which the evidence leads him is a coherent and continuous picture, one that makes sense.” If, as Collingwood would have it, we see the historian’s reconstruction as a web of inference and imagination stretched between nodes of evidence, then the coherency of the picture of the past as a whole absolutely has to be taken into account, perhaps even independently of the “authenticity” or (better) “plausibility” of the individual pieces of data (or testimony) that the historian uses to weave that web.

    I am a little bit concerned that the aspects of your argument based on genre may be an instance of the historian’s fallacy of faulty analogy, wherein because we see that the Gospels and Greco-Roman bioi are noticeably alike in certain respects, then they must be alike in other respects, even if this is difficult to establish on the basis of the available evidence. I am open to being wrong about this, and I am certainly willing to hear other opinions, but these are just my initial thoughts on the matter. My thoughts on some of the issues that you and Brant are going back and forth on here are articulated more fully in my JSHJ article from last November’s issue, if you’re interested (sorry for the shameless plug).

    • Just a quick addendum – you say that “isolating a potential mindset from which Jesus is working, (e.g., seeing himself as the New Moses v. his being presented as a New Moses at the narrative level; seeing himself as a Davidic King v. his being presented that way at a narrative level, etc.) is practically impossible.” In regards to this, it may be helpful to look into the crucial role played by “the inside of the event” (that which can be described in terms of thought), aims, and the intentions of historical actors in the philosophy of history, since these matters may speak to the issue that you raise.

      Anyways, that’s quite enough out of me for the time being.

    • Jordan,

      First of all, thank you for commenting (and shameless plugs are always allowed here!). Second, I will have to give your first paragraph more thought before I respond with any level of detail. I do think you make an interesting point. However, with respect to your second paragraph, I want to be clear that I tried to couch my discussion of genre in the context of my own work on characters and characterization. There is a great deal of discussion about how characters outside of the NT *should* function (according to generic standards) and how, through participation in the bios genre, they either do or do not meet expectations. There is also a burgeoning corpus of literature (to which I have contributed a little) which outlines how NT characters do and do not function. They do not express self-awareness a la many modern reconstructions of the historical Jesus, and the audience (implied or otherwise) never gets an “internal view” of the subject’s psyche or motivation. That’s the specific point I was trying to make about genre and character expectations….and I think it honestly holds up.

      I will certainly check out your article. Thanks again for chiming in!

      • Thanks for the response, Chris – that certainly clears things up a bit, and you certainly make some fair points. Again, I could be very much mistaken, and I’m really just most interested in understanding how history can or should be done. Beyond the concerns I raised above, I also wonder if using bioi in the way that you’re suggesting is using a literary tool (for lack of a better word) to make historical claims (cf. Morna Hooker’s classic work). Historians get at the inside of event not through any direct statements of intent, mental states, or psyche, but by making use of the available data (in this case, the Gospel data) as evidence to make inferences about the “inside” of the actions of historical actors (that which can be described in terms of thought). I also wonder if Ben Meyer’s response to the “intentional fallacy” in his “Critical Realism and the New Testament” might speak to the issue that you’re raising. Again, just throwing my thoughts out there – you’re certainly welcome to take a different stance. That’s the beauty of the academy.

      • Jordan,

        You wrote, “I also wonder if using bioi in the way that you’re suggesting is using a literary tool (for lack of a better word) to make historical claims.” This is actually what I am trying to critique. I think too many people are trying to make historical claims about Jesus AGAINST the literary genre with which they are working. I think you might be misunderstanding me. I am saying that, given the genre of the Gospels, many of the historical claims about Jesus’ self-understanding may need to be re-thought. I think I am doing just the opposite of what you read me to be saying. I’m not using the “wrong tool” (so to speak) to make historical claims. I am cautioning AGAINST using the wrong tool to make historical claims. Does that make sense? Again, thanks for the opportunity to dialogue.

  5. Chris,

    Thanks for clarifying. I do think that I’ve understood you, but I probably have not properly articulated my concern (so the fault is still mine). What I’m getting at is that the historian can determine the inside of historical events independent of whether or not the genre is concerned with presenting them, because the actions and words that the Gospels do present, however undetailed they may be, convey intention. This is why the principle that thought always undergirds human action (assuming it is self-initiated of course), whether in the past or present, is actually one of the most important contributions of the British Idealists to the philosophy of history.

    My point about genre is that i) we need to avoid falling into the problem of the fallacy of perfect (or faulty) analogy (as in Chapter 9 of Fischer’s “Historians’ Fallacies”), and ii) literary analysis of genre tells us something about how the text was meant to be read, but that might not be entirely relevant for the historian’s aims (that’s what I was trying to communicate in my last post). I would agree that the Gospels do not give us an “internal view” of Jesus’ motivation or psyche, and I would be alright with understanding that as being related to the function of the genre of the Gospels. However, the historian is not tied to direct statements, but is able to infer the inside of the event (that which can described in terms of thought) from the outside of the event (that which can be described in terms of physical action). History is by its very nature inferential, which is why it needs a historian, a thinking authentic subject.

    Thanks again for your thoughts, I really do appreciate them. I think the kinds of conversations that you’ve been having with Brant and with others are really important for the field right now, so I’m really happy to see this kind of engagement in your posts here.

  6. Hey everybody, thanks for the really stimulating thoughts and conversation so far. My deepest apologies for such a delayed response, Chris. Upon returning from my trip, I got caught in a maelstrom of accreditation activities and mid-terms! Hope it’s not too late for this to be helpful. Here’s a few thoughts.

    1. Selective Skepticism: Chris, you write: “there is very little that we can know with any real certainty about the historical Jesus.” Ok. So here’s my question for you: Is there any other ancient figure besides Jesus, for whom we have 4 bioi, written within living memory of the events—say, 40-70 years—about whom you say the same thing? For example, would you also claim that there is “very little we can know with any real certainty” about Alexander the Great? Note here that Plutarch’s famous bios of Alexander is from around 400 years after his death (ca. 120 AD), and the historical references to Alexander in Diodorus Siculus, Quintus Curtius Rufus, and Arrian, are likewise 300-400 years after the fact. So would you say the same about Alexander? Likewise, would you also claim there is “very little that we can know with any real certainty” about the historical Tiberius? Once again, the earliest sources for his life, including the one bios by Suetonius were written between 60-200 years after Tiberius’ death (e.g., Josephus, Tacitus, and Dio Cassius). So would you say the same about Tiberius? Finally, what about a philosopher like Demonax (AD 70-170)? There we only have only one bios, that of Lucian, written within living memory of the events. Can you give me another ancient figure with as many biographies about whom you are equally skeptical? Or is it just Jesus of Nazareth?

    2. Jesus and the New Moses: Chris, you write: “isolating a potential mindset from which Jesus is working—you give the example of “seeing himself as the new Moses”—is “practically impossible.” Would you say the same about the Jewish sign prophet Theudas, who “stated that he was a prophet and that at his command the river would be parted and provide them with easy passage” (Josephus, Antiquities 20.97-99). Clearly, at the narrative level, Josephus is presenting him as a (false) ‘prophet-like-Moses’ of Deuteronomy 18. Does that mean that I cannot also infer as a historian that Theudas himself saw himself as the long-awaited prophet like Moses? If it’s not impossible to infer how Theudas’ saw himself from his prophetic actions i, then why is it practically impossible in the case of Jesus?

    3. Coherence and E. P. Sanders: Chris, I notice that your critique here seems to isolate coherence, as if I use it by itself as an independent ‘criterion’ of historicity. If that were true, I would agree. But remember: as I argue in Chapter 1, neither contextual plausibility, nor coherence, nor plausibility of effects, should be used in isolation. Sanders doesn’t do it that way, and neither do I. Any argument from coherence must first be grounded in Jesus 1st-century context, precisely in order to avoid (as much as possible) an overly subjective portrait. Which leads me to ask you once again about your own method of drawing historical conclusions about Jesus: Can you give me an example of an episode or teaching from the gospels that you either consider to be historical or unhistorical? For example: do you think Jesus actually overturned the tables of the money-changers in the Temple? Or not? In either case: What historical arguments do you use to arrive at your conclusions about what did or did not happen? [P.S.: if it’s not too much to ask, can you give me some historical Jesus scholars you’re following as examples to help me see where you’re coming from? As you’ll recall, I gave over ten pages of direct quotations from historical Jesus scholars, endorsing the arguments from contextual plausibility (E. P. Sanders, M. Casey, D. C. Allison, G. Stanton, G. Theissen, D. Winter), coherence (E. Baasland, M. Casey, J. Dunn, G. Theissen, C. Evans), and effects (M. Casey, C. Keener, T. Holmen, G. Stanton, J. Becker, B. Meyer, etc.) that I appeal to (see pp. 34-45). It’s not just Sanders.]

    4. Historical Biographies and Words and Actions: Chris, you wrote that when it comes to biographies, “ancient authors are not concerned with detailing specific words and actions.” That’s quite a strong claim—although I’m wondering exactly what you mean by ‘detailing’. I’ve made my disclaimer about not seeking ipsissima verba pretty clear by now. But let me be sure that I understand you. Are you saying that Luke does not intend to record the *substance* of specific words and actions of Jesus? Then why does he begin his gospel with a historical prologue in which he insists that it based on the testimony of “eyewitnesses” (Luke 1:1-4)? Do you think Lucian’s biography of Demonax intend to tell us about specific words of Demonax? If so, why does Lucian also insist that his biography is based on eyewitness testimony (Life of Demonax 1)? Likewise, why does Josephus stress the historical “veracity” of his own autobiography, if he’s not interested in detailing what actually happened to him (Josephus, Life 336-39)? Is he not telling us about specific actions and words from his life? Finally, why does Plutarch’s biography of Alexander the Great begin by emphasizing that he is not going to be able to recount “all the famous actions” of the great king (Life of Alexander 1). Doesn’t that imply that he is going to speak of some—but not all—of the “deeds” (praxeis) of Alexander? He even uses the language of “particular cases,” only apologizing that he cannot provide a complete account (Life of Alexander 1)? I could give more examples, but you get my point: On what basis do you claim that “ancient authors” of biographies were not concerned with specific actions and words? Can you give me some actual examples where they say that?

    Before closing, let me be clear: my point is not that these ancient biographies are necessarily historical because they claim to be. My point is that they do claim to be. One major reason for writing these stories is that they were claiming that the subjects of their biographies did these things and said these things: i.e., actions as words (as you put it). Likewise, just because the Gospels are biographies doesn’t mean that they’re historical. But it does mean that they’re claiming to be historical (see Luke 1:1-4; John 19:35; 21:24-25). Ancient readers would have thought that the ancient author was claiming that that the substance of what is described actually happened. Which throws us back onto the necessity of scholars explaining why they think a particular episode is or isn’t historical, on a case by case basis. Question: So I go back to the question I keep wondering about: How do you decide which episodes in the gospels are historical, and which ones aren’t? What are your reasons?

    Thanks for the conversation!

  7. I have to say, I just happened upon this review and middle of the dialogue… I just want to say, what I appreciate most in reading this is the collegial and respectful dialogue you and author, Brandt Pitre. It should be a model for how academic, ideological, etc discussions of opposing opinions should occur on the internet.

    Thank you both. I look forward to both catching up and reading the continued review and conversation.

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