2 Maccabees 2:32

In this closing verse of his preface, the epitomist — the anonymous compiler of 2 Maccabees — signals the end of his prologue and the beginning of the narrative proper, acknowledging with self-aware wit that a lengthy introduction to a shortened history would be self-defeating. The remark is both a literary convention and a humble confession: the story itself, not the author's voice, must take center stage. This brief, almost playful verse encapsulates the entire spirit of the epitomist's craft — to serve the history, not to overshadow it.

Verse 32 — "Here then let's begin the narration…"

The phrase "here then" (Greek: enteuthen oun) functions as a formal literary hinge — a pivot from the self-referential world of the preface into the narrative world of the Maccabean struggle. Ancient readers familiar with Greek historiographical conventions would have recognized this as the standard closing gesture of a proem, signaling the author's readiness to yield the floor to events themselves. In this sense, the verse is doing precise literary work: it is a threshold, a doorway.

"…only adding this much to that which has already been said…"

The epitomist is not apologizing for the length of his prologue per se — by Hellenistic standards, his five-chapter condensation of Jason of Cyrene's five-volume work is admirably restrained — but he is acknowledging that he has said enough by way of orientation. The phrase "that which has already been said" refers back to the substantial methodological disclaimer of 2:19–31, in which the epitomist compared his work to that of a painter decorating a house (2:29) or an architect providing the structural framework (2:29–31), and explicitly distinguished his modest role from Jason's more ambitious one. He has laid out his hermeneutical stall; now he must honor his own stated principles by getting out of the way.

"…for it is a foolish thing to make a long prologue to the history, and to abridge the history itself."

This is the crowning aphorism of the preface, and it is remarkable for its dry, self-aware humor. The Greek word rendered "foolish" (ateleston, or in some manuscripts atopon, meaning "absurd" or "out of place") carries the sense of something that defeats its own purpose — a self-undermining act. There is an almost comic irony being performed here: the epitomist, who has already written a prologue of thirteen verses, now declares that long prologues are foolish. This is not contradiction but wit. He has said precisely as much as was needed to establish his credentials, his method, and his reader's expectations — and he knows it. The joke is in the timing.

The literary compression here is itself theological. The whole art of the epitomist is kenotic in structure: a reduction, a self-emptying for the sake of the other. Jason's work was full and expansive; the epitomist's is stripped down and purposive. He deliberately chooses smallness of form so that the content — the faithfulness of God working through the Maccabees — can be made accessible to a wider audience. The medium models the message.

Typological/Spiritual Senses:

On the typological level, this verse invites reflection on the relationship between preparation and fulfillment. The prologue is to the history as the Law and the Prophets are to the Gospel — necessary, preparatory, but not the end in themselves. The epitomist's explicit declaration that the is what matters anticipates the logic of salvation history: all the words spoken before are orientation toward the Word made flesh. The preface must give way to the story; the promise must give way to the event.

Catholic tradition has consistently recognized 2 Maccabees as deuterocanonical Scripture — affirmed at the Council of Trent (Session IV, 1546) and reaffirmed in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (§120) — which means this verse is not merely a curious literary curiosity but an inspired text. The Holy Spirit speaks even through the conventions of Hellenistic literary craft.

The epitomist's confession of method touches on what the Church teaches about the human authorship of Scripture. The Second Vatican Council's Dei Verbum (§11) teaches that "God chose men and while employed by Him they made use of their powers and abilities," so that each sacred author worked "as true authors." Here we see a human author self-consciously reflecting on the limits of his own role: he is an instrument with a task — not to be verbose, but to be useful. His humility before the history he transmits mirrors the sacred author's proper posture before Divine Revelation.

St. Thomas Aquinas, in his prologue to the Summa Theologiae, expressed a similar conviction when he wrote that he wished to set forth "those things that pertain to the Christian religion in a way that befits the instruction of beginners" — brevity and accessibility in service of truth, not academic display. The epitomist of 2 Maccabees is, in miniature, engaged in the same enterprise: subordinating authorial ego to the demands of the audience and the dignity of the subject matter.

Furthermore, this verse implicitly affirms a principle central to Catholic hermeneutics: that form must serve content. The Church's liturgical tradition embodies this — rubrics, prayers, and ritual form exist to present the sacred mysteries, not to obscure them. The epitomist's wit about the absurdity of a long preface to a short history is, in this light, a small but genuine reflection of Catholic sacramental logic: the sign must reveal, not obstruct, the reality it carries.

The epitomist's gentle self-mockery — "it is a foolish thing to make a long prologue" — is a word of wisdom for a world awash in commentary, preface, and meta-communication. Catholics today, especially catechists, preachers, bloggers, and teachers of the faith, can fall into the trap of so extensively preparing people for the Gospel that they never actually proclaim it. The Church's great homiletical tradition, renewed by Evangelii Gaudium (Pope Francis, §135–144), calls for preaching that is warm, brief, and pointed — preachers who know when to stop talking and let the Word land.

On a personal level, this verse challenges the spiritual tendency toward endless preparation — the person who reads books about prayer without praying, or studies the sacraments without receiving them. The epitomist models a kind of holy pragmatism: say what needs to be said, then begin. For the contemporary Catholic, this is an invitation to stop over-explaining one's faith and start living it — in charity, in witness, in the concrete acts of love that the Maccabean martyrs themselves embodied. The story of fidelity is told by living it, not by indefinitely rehearsing its preface.