Virtual History and the Bible

VIRTUAL HISTORY AND THE BIBLE EDITED BY

J. CHERYL EXUM

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BRILL LEIDEN· BOSTON· KOLN

2000

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Cover design: TopicA (Antoincuc Hanekuyk)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Virtual history and the Bible / edited by J. Cheryl Exum. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 9004115552 I. Bible~History of biblical c\'ellts~Miscellanea. 2. Bible-History of contemporary events~Miscellanca. 3. Bible-Historiography--l\·liscellanca. I. Exum,J. Cheryl. BS635.2.V57 1999 220.9'5-dc21 99-049028 CIP

Die Deutsche Bibliothek - CIP-Einbeitsaufnalune Virtual history and the bible / ed. byJ. Cheryl Exum. - Leidcn ; Boston; Koln : Brill, 1999 ISBN 9O--(}4-11555-2

ISBN 9004115552 Q Copyright 2000 by Koninklfjke Brilln<\ Ltidell, Tlu Nethtrlilluu

All rights rtsmJ/d. No part rf this publicatioll may be reproJucM, tromM/ed, S/{Jred in a retrieval.rys/cII, or transmit/d i'l anyj(lfm (If by any meaJiJ, electronic, mtc!u11/icaJ, Pho/{)(opying, recording (If otherwise, OC1·thOU/ prior unt/m permissWllftom th publisher. Authorkation /{J photocopy itemsjor internal or persoTllll use is gr(l1Iled by Brill proviJed thai the approprWteJees are paid direct!>' /{J The Copyrighl Clearance Center, 222 RouUlOQ(/ Dn·ve, Suite 910 Danvers MA 01923, Us;!. Fees are Jubject to change. PRI:vrED IN THE NETHERLA."DS

CONTENTS

J.

CHERYL EXUM

Why Virtual History? Alternatives, Counterfacluals, and the Bible , . KEITH W. WHITELAM

'Israel Is Laid Waste; His Seed Is No More': What If Merneptah's Scribes Were Telling the Truth? .

8

L. CRABBE Add£ Praeputium PraejJUlio Magnus Acer'Vus Ent: If the

LESTER

Exodus and Conquest Had Really Happened ...

23

SUSAN ACKERMAN

What If Judges Had Been Wriuen by a Philistine?

.

33

L. THOMPSON If David Had Not Climbed the Moum of Olives

.

42

~i~l~nfn~~~ii~~I~fa~~~~:~s~~~..~.i.~.!.~~~.I.l.~.~.~~~~:..~~~:.' . ~~:.

59

THOMAS

ERNST AXEL KNAUF

EJ.IUD BEN ZV)

Israel, Assyrian Hegemony, and Some Considerations about Virtual Israelite History .

70

DIANA EDELMAN

What If We Had No Accounts of Sennachcrib's Third Campai~n or the Palace Reliefs Depicting His Capture of Lachish .

88

ROBERT P. CARROLL

The Loss of Armageddon, or, 621 and All That: Biblical . Fiction, Biblical History and the Rewriuen Bible

104

NIELS PETER LEr.ICHE

What If Zedekiah Had Remained Loyal to His Master?

115

JOSEPH BLENKINSOPP

A Case of Benign Imperial Neglect and Its Consequences

129

A. GRAEME AULD

What If the Chronicler Did Use the Deuteronomistic History? . . . PHILIP

137

R. DAVIES

If the Lord's Anointed Had Lived

151

LOVEDAY C.A. ALEXANDER

What If Luke Had Never Met Theophilus?

161

RICHARD BAUCKHAM

What If Paul Had Travelled East rather than West? ...

171

JOHN DOMINIC CROSSAN

Earliest Christianity in COllnterfactual Focus .......

185

PHEME PERKINS

If Jerusalem Stood: The Destruction of Jerusalem and Christian Anti:Jlldaism .

194

WHY VIRTUAL HISTORY? ALTERNATIVES, COUNTERFACTUALS, AND THE BIBLE

J. CHERYL EX UM University oj ShtfJie/tf

[RJecourse to divine intcr.clllion to explain the unexpected illustrates the importance of contingency in history. Herbert Butterfield I Inevitability is only in retrospect and the inevitability of determinism is explanatory rather than predictive. Michael Scrivcn 2

How call we 'exphlin whal happened and why' if we only look at whal happened and never consider the alternatives Hugh TrcYOI'-Ropcr'

No one knows better than a biblical hiSlOrian that the millen-

nium, so anxiously awaited by so many, is a Western, Christian construct, and an inaccurate one at that, both in terms of the probable dating of the birth of Jesus and in terms of counting, for logically the millennium begins with 2001. But as we move illlo what much of the world is celebrating as the new millennium, the twenty-first century, it seems fitting for those of us working in a discipline whose subject is an ancielll text with considerable contemporary currency to reflect on where we are at the fin de sieck and how we got that way. What if important events in ancient I Herbert Butterfield, Tile Origins of HiS/Of)' (ed. Adam Watson: London: Eyre Methuen, 1981), PI" 200-201, cited by Niall Ferguson, Mlntroduction: Virtual History: Towards a 'Chaotic' Theory of the Past," in Ferguson (cd.), VirlUal His/01)': Alternatives (md Cml.n/erjaC/llau (London: Picador, 1997), p. 20. 2 Michael Scriven, "Truisms as G]'ounds for Historical Explanations," in Patrick Gardiner (cd.), T1leories oj History (London: Allen & Unwin, 1959), pp. 47Q.-71, cited by Ferguson, "Introduction,- p. 71. 5 Hugh Tre\'or-Roper, "History and Imagination,- in Valerie Pearl. Blair Worden, and Hugh Lloyd:loncs (cds.), HiS/Of)' and Imaginatioll: t;Ssays ill Hot/Ollr oj /-I.R. 7"rroor-Roprr (London: Duckworth. 1981), pp. 363fT" cited by Ferguson, "Introduction," p. 85.

2

J.

CHERYL EXUM

history had turned out differently? How different might the present century be? Such questions are the subject of this millennial issue of Biblical Inler/mtation, an issue that marks our seventh year of publication. Although they approach the question "what ir from different angles, the sixteen essays in this volume share a commitment to the historical enterprise: they represent serious scholarly inquiry into alternative historical possibilities, not simply fiction or fanLasy. Spanning morc than three millennia, from the evidence of the Merneplah stele to the consequences of the Je",ish War of 6670 CE for the subsequcm developmclll of Christian thought, they give a picture of what could have been: a Solomonic empire a few decades after the "conquest"; a Philistine book ofJudges celebrat· ing Delilah's role; a defeat of Assyria by the combined forces of Jehu and Hazael in the ninth century BeE; the survival and perhaps economic flourishing of the Northern Kingdom until the end of the Assyrian period; a Bible without the Deuteronomistic History and any deuteronomistic edition of the prophets; a Judaism confined to segregated enclaves in different countries; a failed Maccabean revolt and a different history of Jewish relations with Rome; a very different kind of Judaism with knock-on effects for the development (or not) of Christianity and Islam; a Christianity that remained part of Judaism; a Christianity without a heritage of anti:Judaism; a New Testament without Luke-Acts, or without Paul and his influence. Some turn uaditional questions around to test what passes for "fact" and "evidence" in biblical historiography: What if the exodus and conquest had really happened? At the least we would have a very different Bible. What if Merneptah's scribes were telling the truth? The biblical historian should take seriously the possibility that they were and its implications, for the traditional assumption of a direct link bet\veen the Israel of the Merneptah stele and later Israel ignores the shifting, situational, and subjective nature of ethnicity. What if the Chronicler used the Deuteronomistic History? Posing the question this way not only illustrates the difficulty of proving literary dependence but also the fruitfulness of reformulating the traditional questions to ask how comparisons with Chronicles can help liS to understand better the literary history ofJoshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings. Other essays use alternatives to bring to light the process by which historians reach conclusions about "what happened" and why. What if we

ALTERNATIVES, COUNTERFACTUALS, AND THE BIBLE

3

did not have the account of Sennacherib's third campaign or the palace reliefs depicting the capture of Lachish? The effect on the reconstruction of this period by historians of Judah would not be so great as one might imagine. Was the Northern Kingdom's decision to join Syria in a coalition against Assyria inevitable? Taking one "fact" that is generally agreed upon-the change in Israel's policy toward Assyria between 736 and 735/4 BeE-and exploring the serious possibility of a counterfact and its probable consequences-Israelite alignment with Assyria-contributes to a bener understanding of the forces that shaped Israel's decision by foregrounding issues of causality, contingency, and the role of structural or systemic considerations in Israelite histOl)'. One of the real benefits of conside.-ing counterfactuals is that it teaches us about reasoning historically. Viltual Histo")' and the Bible is not just about what might have happened; it is about how biblical historians work to synthesize and evaluate evidence, posit theories, and test historical reconstructions. Reconstructing the events in Judah and Philistia at the end of the eighth century BCE without the evidence of Sennacherib's account or the palace reliefs, and then looking at the picture we get when we add them to the equation, illustrates how much can be learned, and reasonably reconstructed, from piecing together the evidence of other extra-biblical sources, archaeological evidence, and the biblical account. Scholars have largely abandoned the biblical representation of the exodus and conquest, but not that of the exile and restoration. But to what extent is the exile and restoration scenario a virtual history constructed by biblical historians? Comparing commonly accepted reconstructions of these formative "events" to a virtual history scenario that pursues the possible consequences had Zedekiah not revolted against Babylonia in 587 BeE is a way of bringing a highly debated issue into sharper focus. The idea for this volume came from my friend Philip Mottram, to whom lowe a word of sincere thanks for repeatedly urging me to consider the project. The inspiration for the volume was a recent book edited by Niall Ferguson entitled Virtual History: Alternatives and Canterfactuals. Ferguson's volume deals with what a biblical scholar would consider recent history, beginning in the seventeenth centul)' with the English Civil War and ending with the collapse of Communism in the 19905, and it can afford a luxul)' not generally available to biblical scholars: the alternative outcomes posited in his collection are those that con temporal)'

J.

4

CHERYL EXUM

evidence indicated were actually considered at the time. Sometimes biblical historians are fortunate in having the kind of evidence enjoyed by historians of later periods: The claim on the Merneplah stele dearly fulfils [Ferguson's) condition that only those alternatives which cOnlcmporal"ies nOt only considered but commiued to paper (or some other form of record) which has survived should be seriously entertained ... Yet the counterfacwal question-'What if Mcrncptah's scribes were telling the lll.llh?'----<:arrics much greater weighl than those considered by Ferguson and his miler contributors. Merneptah's scribes did not just consider this plausible, they presented it as actuaIiIY,~

But biblical his LOry, on the whole, lacks such a valuable degree of corroborative evidence, especially for earlier periods. The Bible is often the single witness to the events it proclaims, and, as Martin Noth observed long ago with reference to !.he Hebrew Bible, any light it sheds on the history of the times is purely accidental. 5 Does !.his mean, then, that all biblical history is virtual history, as a colleague from another university quipped, upon hearing of this project? The essays in this volume do not represent a univocal position with regard to the possibilities and limitations of the historical method and its procedures. What they consistently re~ veal, however, is that biblical historiography, at its best, is the re~ suit of informed analysis based on all available evidence-biblical and extra-biblical literal)' sources, with their ideological biases; archaeological data, including geographical and natural factors; and comparative anthropology. A useful means in deciding what counts for "fact" and "evidence'" is the analogy of the courtroom: Whcn thcrc is only a single sourcc of tcstimony or I"hcn conflicting tcstimony is presented over Ihe samc cvent, it is the task of the historian to evaluate the tcstimony and decide what may be reliablc and what probably is not and to thcn rcnder a \'crdict abom what. if anything. is going to be accepted as reliable evidence undcr thc circumstances. using his or her best judgment. In this approach to history, it is ]·ccogni:.o:ed that evidence need not be limitcd to those pieces of information that can bc \'crificd ... Recognb.ing that all historical recrcation is intcrpretive and so subjectivc, historians who usc thc courtroom modcl for undcrstanding the e\'aluatiol1 of testimony will accept somc critically cvaluatcd dctails in the biblical account to be reliable without absolute corroboration. 6

Virtual history is another matter, involving speculation of a different, but equally sophisticated nature. Ferguson defines virtual • Whitelam, pp. 11-12 in this volume. ~ Martin Noth. Tht History oj Imul (New York: Harper & Row. 1960), p. 46. 6 Edelman. p. 82 in this volumc.

ALTER.'lATIVES, COUNTER.'ACTUALS, AND THE BIBLE

5

histo'}' as counterfactuals or "simulations based on calculations about the relative probability of plausible outcomes in a chaotic world,"7 "Chaotic" in this definition does not mean anarchy but rather refers to chaos theory, whose philosophical significance fur historians, according to Ferguson, is that it reconciles the notions of causation and contingency.s Thus one can speak of cause and effect and, at the same time, recognize that causation is not preordained by certain laws: chaotic "means unpredictable outcomes even when successive events are causally Iinked."g "[I)fwe want to say anything about causation in the past without invoking covering laws, we really have to use countelfactuals, if only to test our causal hypotheses, "10 The role played by colllingency should not be underestimated. We do not possess all the literature of ancient Israel and early Christianity. Extra-biblical evidence from ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia has sUlvived by chance, only to be rediscovered in the eighteenth centu'}' and afterwards, Literary and non-litera'}' artifacts are a matter of (lucky) survival of the fittest l' -tablets laS( longer than parchmelll, pyramids have a vast advantage over mud brick, Given both the nature and the paucity of OUl" sourcesand, no less relevant for the histo'}' of the discipline, the theological (ideological) interests at stake in much biblical intel'pretation-much reconstruction of biblical "histo'}''' is hotly contested. Even the disinterested historian, in weighing evidence and ascribing meaning to it, innuences the outcome, for, as Ferguson points out, "any observation of historical evidence inevitably distorts its significance by the ve'}' fact of its selection through the prism of hindsight."12 Contingency, moreover, is already deeply inscribed in the Bible and in most of our ancient sources, which ascribe the apparently inexplicable, and even the explicable, to gods intervening in human affairs, What happens to biblical characters, for example, "is not by their own decision or choice but by the will of God: by necessity, This is a litera'}' voice, which deals with virtual

Ferguson. "Introduaion," p. 85. Ferguson, "Iutroduction," p. 79. Ferguson acknowledges the influence of ideas aoom causation ill the sciences. 9 Ferguson, "Introduction," p. 79. 10 Ferguson, "1Illroduaion," p. 81. II See Ferguson's comments abOlll cOl1lingenc), in the natural sciences, es· pecially gene theory, and its relation to history, ~Introdllction: pp. ;1,79. 12 Ferguson, "Introduction," p, 74: similarl)', p. 89. 7

8

J.

6

CHERYL EXUM

histories as a matter of course. HisLOrical causality is Yahweh's, a historical necessity which is inscrutable and ineffable."IS It could be argued that the decisions or aClions of one person, or one incident occulTing differently or not happening at all, would not have been very important for the general course of hislOI)', the "big picture" that history often seeks to bring into view. The hiStory of Western philosophy might have been different if I'lato and Aristotle had not existed, but the philosophy of antiquity would probably have been able 10 produce olher independent minds. Plato and Aristotle did not create their philosophical systems out of nothing, but based them on a very long tradition of thinking, be it Greek or Oriental. The next gencrations of philosophers were more or less bound by the systems of thelr great teachers. Had these teachers nOl lived, they would have had to creatc their own systcms. 14

What if Merneptah's scribes were telling the truth? It makes little difference in terms of the transformation of Iron Age Palestine. What if Paul had travelled east rather than west? The churches of Mesopotamia might have been as important as those in the West, and the character of Christian theology in the East might have been different, but Christianity would still have spread with much the same long-term effects. On the other hand, without going to the reductive extreme of pinning the fate of Rome on Cleopatra's nose, it is hard not to imagine that changes in the factors involved would result in the kinds of alternative scenarios presented here. "Asking the 'what if questions of virtual history is a way of mbbing our noses in history's essential contingency-in the fact that things could have been different, that human choices (among other contingencies) actually matter."lS It is not only people or events determined by human aClion that shape history; geographical, economic, environmental and natural faclors play crucial roles in deciding the course of events. The variables are many, and "inevitability is only in retrospect," as Michael Scriven aptly puIS it. Christianity has been such a powerful influence on Western history and culture that "it is hard not to think of it all as inevitable, as if a force had been unleashed upon the world that nothing could ever have changed, let alone stopped."t6 But if Christianity had not spread to major cities, had not accepted pagans, or had been proscribed earlier by Rome and " Thompson. p. 54 in this volumc. Lemche. pp. 116-17 in this volume. I~ Alexander, p. 161 in this volume. 16 ClOssan, p. 185 in this volume. 14

ALTERNATIVES, COUNTER.'ACTUALS, AND THE BIBLE

7

persecuted more systematically, it could have failed to take root. 17 Counterfactuals are helpful as a heuristic device; investigating alternative historical scenarios can sharpen our framing of the important questions. "Explodng countenactuals is an elaborate game. But, like many games, it is played with serious intent. When played with success, dealing in 'what ifs' may lead us to put better questions to the old, long available information."18 Moreover, "countel-factual history helps to focus on 'history' as lived by the participants in the events, rather than as narrated by those who know 'the end. 'I' It raises the issue of which alternativcs lhcy had and, as such, contributes 10 a betlcr reconSlI'uction of thc historical period, for their participants did not know "the cnd:' In addition, it shows how the outcome of the vicissitudes of human agency (theirs or somcone else's), wisdom or folly, and contingencies beyond their control affecled their lives and sometimes sealed their fates. As such. it may also open a window into their world. including the way in which they made sense of their SI01)'.19

In their vat;ous ways, the essays in this volume open a window on the ancielll world. Without the idea and the inspiration, would this volume have come into being (to return briefly to the realm of "what if," or counterfactuals)? I knew from the outset that its viability would depend on whether or not scholars known for their contributions to the historiography of ancient Israel and early Christianity could be interested in it. One scholar responded that he was too busy writing about what did happen to write about what might have happened. This is not only an interesting perspective on the whole notion of countel{actuals,20 but it raises as well the question how can we explain what happened if we do not considel' that what happened was only one of a number of possible outcomes. Fortunately, however, as the contents of the volume indicate, the response I received was overwhelmingly positive, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank the contributors who, with their enthusiasm, expertise, and imagination, have turned Virluall-fist01y and the Bible into a reality. I also wish to thank my dedicated and capable editorial assistants, Andrew Davies and Fiona Black, for their work on this volume. 17 Three wars against Romc provide a fourth factor in this scenario discUSJicd by Crossan. 18 Auld, pp. 149,50 ill this volume. 19 Bell Zvi, p. 76 ill this volume. ro See Ferguson's critical response to this position of hislorians, "llllroduction.~ pp. 2,7 el frassim.

'ISRAEL IS LAID WASTE; HIS SEED IS NO MORE': WHAT IF MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH? KEITH W. WHlTELAM University of Slirling

The Limits of Scepticism Recent belligerem exchanges in the controversy surrounding the emergence of Israel in Palestine during the Late Bronze-Iron Age transition have included a call for a return to orthodoxy. This defence of oflhodoxy has been organized around the clarion call that there must be 'limits to skepticism' (Halla 1990: 188) when assessing the biblical traditions for historical reconstruction.] Halpern envisages an end to the influence of the so-called minimalists with the comment that 'the creeping critical rejection of biblical accounts has reached its natural limits' (1997: 314 n. 9). The other rallying call to the defenders of orthodoxy has been the claim that it is vital to use 'all available evidence'. Increasingly, such claims appear to be a longed for return to the golden age of Albright and the giants of the discipline, earlier in the century, when the biblical traditions were accorded a privileged position in historical reconstruction, Ironically, this means, in effect, a dismissal of the aitical methodological issues and approaches derived from literary sludies and hisloriography which have occupied cenlre stage within biblical studies for the pasl quarter of a 1 Hallo's central point concerns the debate o\'er whether or not cuneiform sources are adequate for reconstructing ancient Near Eastelll hislOry, institutions, and society, IntereStingly, he refers to the proponents within the debate as minimalists and maximalists. He then enters into the question of the use of biblical traditions for historical reconstruction, concluding that 'one can hardly deny the realiry of a conquest from abroad, implying a previous period of wanderings, a dramatic escape from the prior place of residence and an oppression there that prompted the escape', His rallying call on the limits to scepticism has been taken up recently by a number of biblical scholars. Similarly, Elton (1991; 41), in his Relum 10 Essentials, sounds the battle cry for historians, likening the fight against scepticism to the fight against the evils of drugs; 'Cert'linly. we are fighting for the lives of innocent young people beset by devilish tempters who claim to offer higher forms of thought and deeper truths and insights-the intellectual equivalent of crack.'

WHAT H' MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?

9

century, signalling a relUrn to the situation where archaeology is used to fill the gaps within the biblical narratives. Whybray, in ruling out archaeology and comparative anthropology as adequate for writing what he considers a continuous history of ancient Israel, argues that 'if none of these methods can provide an adequate basis for the writing of a history of Israel, it would seem that if such a history is to be written, the biblical text, howe\·er liable to correction, must be taken as a foundation' (1996: 72; see also Yamauchi 1994: 5). The result of such an approach, with the proviso of varying degrees of critical acknowledgment of difficulties inherent in the text, is the production of skeletal histories focused upon the history of events, biography, and political history. Provan, who places great emphasis on the 'integrity' of the biblical text., complains that revisionists disregard what he calls 'the plain sense of the text.' (1995: 596). He argues elsewhere that t.he biblicaltcxt is 'treated with a scepticism quite out of proportion to that which is evident when any other data relating to Israel's history are being considered' (Provan 1995: 602). Similarly, Kitchen claims that 'time and again the "minimalists" simply spend their time trying to wriggle out of explicit evidence, instead of facing up to it'. Davies [1992: 58-60] has to admit that the Merenptah victory-stela names "lsrael"-but then tries to a\'oid the implicat.ions of this term by warning on about Scots/PicLS, Britons/British, Dutch/ /kutsch, elC., that have nothing to do with the casc' (1998: ] 14). The Mcrneptah stele, of course, provides a pivotal role in the debate both in terms of attempts to interpret the archaeological data for the ute Bronze·lron Age transition and also the biblical evidence. Countless pages discuss the significance of the determinative, its implications for understanding the nature of Israel, the structure of the inscription and whether or not this olTers clues to the relative imparlance or location of Israel, and the relationship between Merneptah's Israel and the spread of rural settlements within the P.lIestinian highlands. Dever believes that Merneptah's reference to Israel settles the issue of the ethnic identity of the inhabitants of these early Iron Age setLiements: 'If Merneptah's "lsrael" is not to be identified, at least approximately, with our new-found hill-<:ountry complex (not "tribal groups"), lhen where was il?' (1996: 17), JUSI as Kilchen claims lhatthc minimalists ignore this 'explicit evidence', so Provan maintains that 'here we have an early piece of extra-biblical evidence which

10

KEITH W. WHITELAM

refers to Israel as a distinguishable entity in Palesline'(1995: 596).2 But what is remarkable about the defence of orthodoxy is that the limiL" of scepticism have been breached in silence. The integril:)' of the text, 'its plain sense', explicitly claims that Israel, whatever

its size, organization, or location, has been wiped out. The answer to De,,'er's question, 'where was it?', might be that it has been destroyed by Merneptah '5 troops. Yet few, if any of !.he proponents within the debate-so called 'minimalists' or 'maximalists'-take the claim seriollsly.g However, the 'plain sense of the text' ought to lead to the conclusion that !.his Israel is no more. To connect the settlement of the highlands to Merneplah's Israel and iden· lity them with it is LO pursue what Marc Bloch long ago called 'the fetish of the single cause' (1954: 193). Such a connection has to be demonstrated not assumed, As Bloch (1954: 197) remarked at the end of his incomplete study of the historian's craft, 'In a word, in history, as elsewhere, the causes cannot be assumed. They are to be looked for', The limits of scepticism work in both directions: why should we disbelieve the claim of Merneptah's scribes? Minimalist scepticism is consistent with their pathological state: they continually practice the hermeneutics of suspicion. Yet the defenders against the tidal wave of postmodernism sweeping across

biblical studies dismiss the claim of Merneptah's scribes as Egyptian hyperbole while claiming mat ulere must be limits to scepticism and that the biblical traditions are LO be trusted,4 2 Kitchen (1998: 100-103) discusses the meillion of Israel on the Mernepmh stela concluding that it refers to a group of people located in the uplands and valleys of Canaan. This is used as evidence for the existence and location of 1.5rael in Palestine in 1209/1208 fIC£. Hallo (1990: 194), as man)' others, refers to the Memeptah stele as evidence for 'the existence of a collective entity known as Israel' before the end of the thirteenth century ReE. 'Ahlstrom (1991: 30) ofTers a revised translation, '!smel is laid waste, her grain is no more', arguing that 'Israel' is a geographical designation whose crops have been desolated and therefore lies empty following LOtal devastation. He believes thaI lhe settlers in the territory after Merneptah's devastation became known as Israel 'nml if of difTerent ethnic backgrounds' (1991: 34) . .. Gordon (1994: 298), in a study of the David tradition, concludes thaI there should be limits to our scepticism. 'After all, the one thing about .....hich .....e can be fairl~' certain is that the nihilists (or Halpern's "negative fundamenl.alists~) have got it wrong when tlley gratefully accept externally unattested names like David and Solomon but deny tllat their reigns are at all accessible via the literalure that purporl.$ to describ<: them.' But it is not <:lear why thi~ is certain. How arc lhe e\'ents and descriptions of lhe biblical leXlS accessible through the literature in comparison wilh the problems which have llOW been raised ahom external evidence for any significant state structures in the tenth century BeE?

WHAT 11-' MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?

II

The response, of course, as to why scholars ignore the plain sense of the text, dismissing it as Egyptian scribal hyperbole, is that it is contradicted by the existence of Israel in Palestine at a later date. Leaving aside the rancerous debate on the Israelite monarchy, or more specifically how early a recognizable state appeared in Iron Age Palestine, the subsequent references to Israel in the inscription of Shalmaneser III and later external references contradict the Egyptian claim. However, such a response is based upon the unargued assumption of a direct relationship between Merneptah's 'Israel' and later 'Israel'. The claim by Merneptah's scribes ought to, at least, force the historian to take seriously the possibility and its implications. It is easy to dismiss the question, 'What if Merneptah 's scribes were telling the truth?', as mere fantasy, a charge already levelled at recent scholarship (Kitchen 1998: 114). Yet such a question fits the test laid down by Ferguson (1997: 85): 'The counterfactual scenarios we therefore need to construct are not mere fantasy: they are simulations based on calculations about the relative probability of plausible outcomes in a chaotic world (hence "virtual history").' He adds that 'we are obliged to construct plausible alternative pasts on the basis of judgements about probability; and these can be made only on the basis of historical evidence' (Ferguson 1997: 87). In the case of Israelite histol)', we are increasingly faced with a choice between a series of competing pasts as the anchor points of canonical biblical history-the patriarchs, exodus, United Monarchy-have been undermined. A key test for the defenders of orthodoxy in tJle construction of such canonical biblical histories remains plausibility and verisimilitude." As Ferguson notes, in trying to distinguish be(\veen probable unrealized alternatives from improbable ones, 'we should consider as plausible or probable oni)' those alternatives which we can show on the basis oj contemporary evidence lhal contemporaries actually cQ'lsidered' (1997: 86). The claim on the Merneptah stele clearly fulfils his condition tJlat only those alternatives that contemporaries not only considered but committed to paper (or some other form of record) which has survived should be seriously entenained (Ferguson 1997: 87).6 Yet the ~ See Miller (1997: 18,22) on lhe use of plausibilily or verisimililude as a leSI of the historicity of the biblical lraditions. The use of \'erisimilitude in contemporary 'biblical' histories is titde more lhan whal Raphael Samuel (1990) dismissed as the melhodology of 'nah"e realism'. ~ Ferguson (1997: 86) implies thaI 'all hislOll' is the hislOll' of (recorded)

12

KEITH W. WHITELAM

counterfaetual question-'What if Merneptah's scribes were telling the truth?'-carries much greater weight than those con sidcreel hy Fe:rgll.'mn and hi... olher cOlllrihlllors. Mernepl.ah's scrihes did nOljusl consider this plausible, they presented it as actuality.

What if Merneptah's scribes were telling the truth? Ethnicily and Merneptah

s Israel

The question forces a much sharper focus on a critical issue which has assumed centre slage in recent combative exchanges on the emergence of Israel in Palestine. Bimson's certainty that 'there is no reason at all to doubt that the Israel of the stela is biblical Israel of the premonarchic period' and that 'it is quite unreasonable to deny that the Merenptah's inscription refers to biblical Israel' (1991: 14), or Kitchen's assertion that 'Moab, Seir/ Edom, Canaan, Peleset, etc., in Egyptian sources are the Moab, Seir/Edom, Philistines, etc., of our biblical and other sources, and Israel cannot be presumed to be any different to these without explicit and positive proof' (1998: 114) are based on an essentialist notion of ethnicity and identity which is at odds \vith currenl research. 7 The burden of proof rests just as much with those who claim such a direct connection between Merneptah's Israel and the inhabitants of highland settlements in the Iron Age or later monarchic Israel. It cannot be settled by the question 'if this is not Merneptah's Israel, where was it?' or by claiming that the gap is filled by the stories in Judges, Samuel and Kings or 'tangible archaeological evidence' for the settlement history of the region thought" and thaI equal significance should be attached to (Ill the outcomes thought about. Ferguson's point here, howe\'er, is that to understand history 'as it actually was', it is important 10 considcr what contcmporaries thought werc possible outcomes. To consider only the possibility that actually was, is, for Ferr:son, to commit the most fundamental teleological error, Coote and Whilelam (1987: 179 n. 3) argued that 'the reference to ~Israel~ in the McrnepLah stela may not refer 10 the selliement of the highland or to any social group directly al1cestralto monarchic Israel'. Similarly. Thompson (1992: 311) argues for a difference between 'Israel' of the stela and the referent of the salllc nalllC in the Assyrian period, Reccntly, Finkelstcin (1998) has reitcrated that we know nothing about the si"le and geographical location of Merneplah's Israel and that 'at least territorially, we cannOI make an inSlinctive connection between the ~lsraeI~ of 1207 liCE and the area where Ihe Isrnelite monarchy emerged several centuries later'. Coote (1990: 72-93; 1991; 39-42) understands Merneptah's Israel to be tribal in a political sense as part of 'a complex network of relations of power'.

WHAT IF MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?

13

from 1200-900 BeE (Kitchen 1998: 115; see also Halpem 1995: 32).8 The recurring theme emerging from current research on ethnicity is that it is a dynamic process rather than something which is fixed and bounded. This stands in sharp contrast La views from earlier in the century, which are still influential in the de· bate on the origins of Israel, that ethnic identity was bounded, static, and primOl-dial. 9 Jones, for instance, argues that: [E]thnic identity is based on shifting, situational, subjective idcntifications of sclf and others, which are rooted in ongoing daily practice and historical experience, but also subject to transfonnation and discontinuity ... [Sluch theoretically informed analysis of the dynamic and historically contingent nature of ethnic identity ill the past Gllll in thc present has the potential to subject cOlHemporary claims about the pennanent and inalienable status of identity and territorial association lO critical scrutiny (1997: 13).

The essentialist notion of ethnicity, which assumes a natural and easy connection between all groups designated as Israel over cen· turies, emerged in the context of the triumph of the European nation state in the nineteelllh century. This has imposed a no-tion of the nation on scholarship, and biblical scholarship in particular, in which nation states were seen to be ethnically and lin· guistically homogenous entities (see Hobsbawm 1990: 169). The idea of ethnic groups as static and culturally bounded is, to use Jones's phrase 'a modern classificatory myth' projected onto hislOry (1997: 104). It is the assumption of stasis and boundedness which informs the conjecLUre that there must be a direct connection between Merneptah's Israel, Iron Age highland settlements, or later monaI'· 5 Even those scholars who assume thaI Mcrncptah's Israel fonned pan of thc settlement of the Palestinian highlands in the carly Iron Age are unsure of its size, location, or precise involvement. Few scholars now assume that the highland settlement and Israel are coterminous. Dever (1996: 17) qualifies his identification of Merneptah's Israel wit.h the highland settlements with the plll"ase 'at least appl·oximately'. Its pl-ecise involvement in the settlement of the Palestinian highlands in the Late Bronze-Iron Age transition cannot be stated with any degree of certainty on the basis of the evidence currently available. 9 James (1999: 67) notes that the telln American 'Indian' is a classic example of an erroneous assumption by an alien culture according to its own beliefsColumbus was not in India-and one which groups people together in ways which may have no local meaning at all (the 'Indians' were not a single, self·aware cultul
14

KEITH W. WHITHAM

chic Israel. Dever (1993: 23*; 1996: 15-16), in appealing to a Barthian (1969) definition of ethnicity. highlights the notion of difference by stressing a trait list approach, including language and culture. 10 What the discussion of Merneptah's Israel and the settlement transformation of Palestine fails to address is what Devalle termed 'historical discontinuities and the evolution of social contradictions' (1992: 21). Much greater emphasis needs to be placed on discontinuity, transformation, and the fluidity of identities in the discussion of the history of Palestine. ll Jones notes, most importantly, that 'in the case of theories of elhnicity, traditional assumptions abollt ethnic groups as culture-bearing entities have, in pan, been challenged on the basis of ethnographic evidena that there is no one-to-one correlation between culture and ethnicity, and as a result there has been a significant shift in the understanding of group identity in anthropology' (1997: 139). Similarly, Trigger argues that: \Ve must assume that in the past, as at present, ethnidty '""as a complex, subjective phenomenon. It consists of a self-assigned group identily, which ma)' change relatively quickly and mayor may not correspond with attributes that are observable in the archacological record. In the past, archacologists frequcnlly were tempted to trace ethnidty in the archaeological rec(wd by assuming congruency between race, language, and culture. This oftcn involved believing that the differentiation of all three resulted from the break-up of single ethnic groups. Anthropologists have long known that these are independent variables, which may follow similar or very different trajectories of change They also obscf\'cd that neighbouring peoples who share nearly identical material culturcs may assert a number of different ethnic or tribal identities, as was the case among the Pueblo Indians of the southwcstern United States or the Plains Indians of the nineteenth cenlury. Less frequently, peoples with different economies and material cultures may claim the same ethnic identity ... Because of the subjective nature of ethnic idemity, it is difficult to trace in the archaeological record in the absence of supplementary historical evidence (1995: 273).

It is increasingly recognized that the material culture of Iron 10 Jones (1997: 137), by contrast. notes that 'in both archaeology and anthropology the definition of ethnic or "tribal~ groups on the basis of the culture concept has traditionally invoked an inventory of cultural, linguistic and material traits'. It should bc noted that Barth (1969) also stresses the fluidity and shifting nature of ethnic identity. For a critique of some aspects of Barth's work, while aclnowledging its importance in the hislery of the study of ethnicity, see Banks (1996: 12-17). 11 See Coote (1990) for an understanding of these issues in the history of the region. Cribb (1991) provides an importalll discussion of nomadism and tribal groups as part of a fluid territorial system which is instructive for understanding the complexities of such societies.

WHAT IF MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?

15

Age highland settlements in Palestine reflect environmental and economic conditions rather than any precise ethnic identity (Whitelam 1994; Finkelstein 1995: 365, 1998: 13-20). The debate on the appropriateness of labels such as 'Israelite' or 'proto-israelite' in assessing the material culture of PalesLine in the Iron Age has confirmed the problems of assuming an easy correlation bet\veen ethnicity and culture. The failure of the search for ancient Israel in this material culture of early Iron Age Palestine, the recognition that the material culture is largely indigenous and that it reflects socio-environmental conditions rather than revealing precise information on the ethnic identities of the inhabitants of the settlements adds force to Ule consideration that Merneptah's scribes might have been telling the truth. In addition, recent research on the fluidity of ethnic identity means that it is not easy to demonstrate a connection bet\veen Merneplah's 'Israel' and later entities of the same name. 12 James claims that 'even where specific, named ethnic groups can be shown to persist for centu· ries, the changes they undergo due to continual redefinition of themselves from generation to generation mean that remote ancestors and distant descendants who share the same group name, if they could meet, might not recognize each other as the same'(1999: 75)Y~ Recent research on Celtic history and identity, which mirrors many of the debates on Israelite and Palestinian history, has undermined the long held assumption that there was a pristine Celtic cultural or ethnic uniformity stressing instead 'multiple traditions, undergoing contest and change' (James 1999: 87).14 The severance of an inevitable and direct connection between Merneptah's Israel and the inhabitants of the highland settlements in the early Iron Age, coupled with the recognition that it is no longer pos12 The se\'cring of this nccessary connection between Merneptah's Israel and later entities known by the same name does not lead to speculation (lver possible outcomes of what might have happened if the Hebrew Bible had llOt bcen produced. The widcspread conviction that the Hebrew Bible is the product of the Persian, Hellenistic and Roman pcriods. c\'cn if fragmcnts corne from the monarchic pcriod (Carroll 1991: 108) means lhat the loss of Mcrncplah's Ismel would not affeet this outcomc. 13 Banks (1996: 131) notes, following Ardcncr (1989), that 'c\'cn with populalions closer to our own day, we cannot be sure (hat we ha\
16

KEITH W. WHITELAM

sible to assume on the basis of their material culture that the Iron I sites share a common ethnicity. force the historian to take seriously the claim put fonvard by Merneptah's scribes. IS

The Transfonnation oj Iron Age Palestine The spectacular success of archaeology in recent years has been the disclosure of the transformation and revitalisation of Palestine in the Iron Age as part of the rhythms and pauerns of Palestinian history (Coote and Whitelam 1987; Finkelstein 1995, 1998).16 Would this process of transformation, whicb began in the Late Bronze-Iron Age transition and continued throughoUl the Iron Age, have been predjudiced if Merneptah's Israel had been wiped out? It is a question which needs to be considered in light of the rhythms and patterns of Palestinian hislOry over the centuries. Palestine, given its strategic location on the trade routes of antiquity, was unable to escape the consequences of the disruption and dislocation of the Late Bronze Age Mediterranean economy. The faCl that the decline and disruption was spread over a century or more, and that it was uneven throughout the region, suggests that it was the result of a complex set of circumstances in which it is difficult to distinguish bet\veen cause and effect. The continued publication of regional surveys, along with excavation data, for Iron Age Palestine suggest that the seeds of the revival and transformation-demographic expansion and economic growth-were located in the countryside. It was in the rural world of peasants and pastoralists that the revival began. On the basis of available evidence, there remains considerable disagreement on how far this was the result of internal population displacement, exernal movements, or internal demographic growth. The regional surveys have revealed this reordering of the countryside with the appearance of hundreds of small, unwalled villages, most newly established in the t\veIfth century, arranged in a variety of patterns, with many located on hilltops near arable l~ It has to be recognized thaI the term 'ethnicity' is 'of increasingly limited utility' (Banks 1996: 10) and joins the growing list oftenns, such as 'tribe', 'city', 'city Slate', 'nation stale', or 'national identity' which are difficult to use or require use with consider:able circumspection. in the cOllstnlction of the history of ancient Palestine. 16 For a marc detailed description, Wilh bibliography, see Whitelam (forlhcoming).

WHAT IF MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?

17

landsY The material culture of these villages-pillared buildings, silos, cisterns, terracing, and utilitarian pottery forms, such as the distinctive collared-rim ware-reflect the topographical and envi~ ronmental conditions facing their inhabitants, particularly ill the context of the disruption of local and regional economies (Whitelam 1994; Finkelstein ]995; see also Dever 1991: 83-84). Furthermore, it has become evident that this reordering of the countryside began in those areas which were the easiest to colonise, providing good agricultural land and conditions most suited to herding and grain growing. The greatest density of seltlement was to be found in the northern hill country with its fertile intermontane valleys, decreasing significantly as it approached the steeper, more rugged western flanks of the southern hills. Similarly, the eastern desert fringes provided much greater settlement potential compared with the less hospitable western slopes. It is significant that the less hospitable southern hill country and the western slopes which required considerable investment in the opening of new land and was most suited to long term cultivation of olives and vines did not experience similar density of settlement until the Iron II period. It was the increasing pressure of numbers which required new land and the opportunities offered by the development of more specialised agricultural strategies such as fruit and olive production. These ecological frontier zones have always been highly sensitive, often being the first to suITer in times of settJement crisis and the last to be repopulated when the economy revives (Finkelstein 1995: 353-54). Thus it appears that it was the limits of the possible, olTered by the most convenient and agriculturally promising in the north and eastern desert fringes. which dictated the direction of settlement. The vexed question of the ethnicity of the inhabitants of these rural settlements. and the role of Merneptah's Israel, is highlighted by the fact lhat similar patterns of settlement-with higher densities in lhe north and decreasing towards the ecologically more sensilive south-and a remarkably similar material culture are also found in Transjordan. Furthermore, similar responses to 17 Sec De\'er (1992: 104) fora dcscriptiOlL of this settlement and Mazar (1992: 292) for a discussion of the material culture of these villages and some of the regional variations. The essays in Finkelstcin and Na'aman (1994) provide a discussion and analyses ofval'ious regional sun.·c)'s. Sec also the synthclic treatments by ..- inkelstcin (1995, 1998).

18

KEITH W. WHITELAM

the dislocations of the Mediterranean economy, with the proliferation of small rural sites, can be observed from the Balkans, Greece, AnaLOlia, and Syria-Palestine. IS Thus the transformation and realignment of Palestinian society in the early Iron Age was pan of a wider regional response by rural and pastoral groups to the dislocation of regional and interregional economies. It is pan of the rhythms and patterns of Palestinian history throughout centuries and, as such, it was not dependent upon the continued existence of Merneptah's Israel anymore than the wider regional responses in sOllthern Europe, Greece, and Anatolia. One might adapt the comment of Hesse and Wapnish in saying that if similarities in material culture were 'taken as diagnostic for the presence of ethnic Israelites, there were a lot more Israelites in the ancient world than we ever suspected' (1997: 238) .19 Thus, if Merneptah's scribes were telling the truth, this would not have radically altered the transformation of Iron Age Palestine. Since the weight of numbers in any agrarian system was critical, it might have meant that the reordering of the countryside was slower and that the opening of the less hospitable areas took longer. However, the pattern of transformation and realignment is one which is well established within Palestinian history (see Coote and Whitelam 1987; Finkelstein 1995, 1998). The settlement shifts which took place in the Early Bronze and Middle Bronze periods were not dependent upon the existence or location of Merneptah's Israel. Such shifts were part of the pattern of Palestinian history: the space had always been there but it was the weight of numbers which determined its utilization. Therefore, it is no more reasonable to believe that the reordering of rural Palestine in the Iron Age, when the history of the region is viewed over centuries, was dependant upon the existence of Merneptah's Israel than earlier settlement shifts in the region. In fact, the weight of evidence, coupled with anthropological research on the concept of ethnicity, raises the question why minimalists and maximalists have persisted in disregarding the claim made by Merneptah's scribes. It might be argued that this alternative past carries a greater weight of probability than those traditionally constructed by biblical historians and archaeologists. 18 See the essays in Ward and Joukowsky (1992) for discu!sions of the responses from southern Europe through the Levant to the disruption of Mediterranean societies and economies. 19 Their comment was in relation to treating the absence of pig bones in the Iron Age as evidence for Israelite ethnicity.

WHAT IF MERNEPTAH'S SCRIBES WERE TELLINC THE TRUTH?

19

A consideration of coulHerfactuals in history highlights, as Ferguson (1997: 52-90) argues, that man)' accounts of history are teleogical. This has certainly been the case in biblical studies WIU:H: all c::xu:ptionalist view of Israel has dominated hi5torical reconstruction for much of this century. It is expressed explicitly in Albright's theology of histol)' which has been so influential within the discipline; 'The sympathetic slUdelH of man's fflliu history can have but one repl)'; there is an Intelligence and a Will, expressed in both Histol)' and Nature-for History and Nature al'e one' (1957: 126).20 However, teleogical assumptions are also implicit within more recelH constructions of Israelite history. The debate on the definition of 'Israelite' or 'proto-Israelite' ethnicity is invariably determined by appeal to the location and existence of the later Israelite monarchy.21 It is this later Israelite monarchy, or at least the biblical presentation of this monarchy, which becomes the defining moment in the histOl)' of the region and which is then used to determine the archaeological data from an earlier period. It might be objected that the Braudellian conception of history and the above accoull( of the transfonnation of Iron Age Palestine are equally deterministic.2'l However, the stress is upon the possibilities of history and the nature of indigenous responses to the ebb and flow of historical experience. It defines the limits of the I>ossibie facing the inhabitants of the region but recognises the role of contingenC)' in history and the fact that societies do not develop in a uniliniar fashion. Viewed in this way, it is by no means clear that the indigenous Palestinian responses to the dislocations throughout the eastern Meditel"ranean at the end of the Late Bronze Age would have been radically altered if Merneptah's 20 Wright (1950: 7) bclic\'cd that Israel and its faith was ulliquc so that thc CClltral c1cllIcnu of its faith could nOt be cxplaincd by CIl\'irOlllllcnL"ll or gcogra~hical condilioning. I Ie is often recognizcd that thc archaeological data is too ambiguous to settle thc qucstion of the cthnic idcnlit)' of the inhabiL"ll1tS of the highland scttlcmcnts in Palestine. Howcver, the label 'Israelite' is invariably attachcd to these sctllclllClmi on thc grounds Ihat this area was later associated with the Israelite monarchy (Mazar 1994: 91: 1992: 295-96. Herzog 1994: 148). Thus the ethnicity of the settlements is defined in reference 10 the Israelite monarch)' evell though it is recognized that there is nothing inherent in the dala themseh'cs ""hi,h a1l0\'\"5 for such an interpretation. n Ferguson (1997: !;g, fJ9) CrltlCIZCS Brauders conception of IIISI01"} as 'geographical determinism' and im'ohing a 'serious misconception of the natural \'I·orld'.

20

KEITH W. WH ITELAM

Israel had been wiped out. Of course, if Memeplah's scribes had been telling the truth, it might have resulted in some revisionist

sceptic emerging from a postrrlodern, postcolonial western Europe writing a book called The Invention oj Palestine: The Silencing oj Israelite History. Fortunately, Ferguson's strictures on what is possible and plausible in the alternative worlds of virtual history rule out such idle speculation. ABSTRACT

The reference to Israel in the Merneptah stele plays a pivotal role in the debate on Israel's emergence in Late Bronze-Iron Age Palestine. Most scholars ignore 'the plain sense of the text' which suggests that Ismel has been wiped out. Recent research on clhnicit)' undermines the essentialist notion that there is a dire<:l connection between Memeptah's 'Israel' and later entities of the same name. The article explores the implications of accepting the claim of Merlleptah's scribes that 'Israel' had been destroyed

Bibliography Ahlstrom, G.W. 1991 'The Origin of Israel in Palestine', SlOT 2: 19-34. Albright, W.F. 1957 I'rom Ihe Slo"e A~ 10 ChrisliOllily: Alollo/heism olld /he /lis/oriml Process (Doubleday: New York). Ardener, E. 1989 'The Construction of History: MVestiges of Creation"', in E. Tonkin, M. McDonald and M. Chapman (eds.), His/ai)' Wid Ethnicity (London: Routledge). Banks, 1\1. 1996 E/hnicit)': An/hropological Constructions (London: Routledge). Barth, F. 1969 E/hllic Groups a7ld Bmwllaries: The Social OrgallisatiQIl oj Culture DiJJtrrnu (London: George Allen and Unwin). Bimson, J. 1991 'Mercnptah's Israel and Recent Theories of Israelite Origins',)SOT49: 3-29. Bloch, M. 1954 The His/orian's Craft (Manchester: Manchester University Press). Carroll, R.P. 1991 'Textual Strategies and Ideology in the Second Temple Period', in P.R. Davies (ed.), Second Temple Studies I. Persian Period USOTSup, 117; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press): 108-24. Chapman, M. 1992 The Cells: The ConstnlCtion oj a M)'th (London: MacMillan). Coote, R.B. 1990 Early Israel: A New Horizon (Minneapolis: Fortress Press). 1991 'Early Israel', SJOT 2: 3~-46. Coote, R.B. and K.W. Whitelalll 1987 The Emngenu oj Earl)' Israel ill Hislorical PersptelilJe (Sheffield: Almond Press),

WHAT IF Mt:RNEPTAI'I'S SCRIBES WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?

21

Cribb, R. 1991 Nomads in Archaeology (COlmbl"idge: Cambridge University Press). Davies, P.R 1992 In Search of 'A1Kinl/ Israel' (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). Devdlle, S. 1992 Discources of EtJl1lirit)': CuUur, (mil Protesl ill jharklO1ld (London: Sage). Dever, w.e. 1991 'Archaeological Data on the Israelite Settlemem: A Review of Two Re· cent Works', RASOR 284: 77-90. 1992 'The Late Bronze·Early Iron I Horizon in Syria·Palestine: Egyptians, Canaanites, ~Sea Peoplcs,~ and Prolo-Israelites', in W.A. Ward and M.S. Jouko,,'Sky (cds.), Th, Crisis ),ears: The 12th Omtury B.e. from beyond the Danube lO the Tigris (Dubuque: Kendall/Hum Publishing): 99-110. 1993 'Cultural Continuity, Ethnicity in the Archaeological Record, and the Question of Israelite Origins', £1 24: 22·-33·. 1996 'The Idemity of Early Israel: A Rejoinder to Keith W. Whitelam',jSOT 72: 3-24. Elton, C.R. 1991 Ilelum to Essentials: Some Ill'jlfCtions OIl the Present Siale of /-lisloneal Stud), (Cambridge: Cambridge Universily Press). Ferguson, N. 1997 'Introduction; Virtual HistOry: Towards a ~Chaotic~ Theory of the Past', in N. Ferguson (cd.), Virlual /-lisIOry: Allemalives and Counltrfactuals (London: Papennac/MacMillan): 1-90. Finkelstein, I. 1995 'The Great Transformation: The "Conquest· of the Highland .·rontiers and the Rise of the Territorial Slates', in T.E. Levy (cd.), The ArcharolOlD' of SOOely in th, Nol)' Land (Leicester: Leicester University Press): 349-6:'. 1998 'The Rise of Early Israel: Archaeology and Long-Term History', in S. Ahiwvand E.O. Oren (cds,), The Origin of fArl)' Ismel-CuITellt Debat,: lJiblit:a{, Historical and Archaeologit:aI Persp«tives (Bccrsheva: Ben-Gurion University of thc Negev Press): 7-39. Finkelstcin, I, and N, Na'aman (cds.) 1994 From Nomadism 10 Monanhy: Archaeological alld /-lislorieal ASplCls of Early Israel (jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society). Gordon, R,P. 1994 'In Search of Da\'id: The David Tradition in Recent SlIldy', in A.R. Millard, J-K. Hoffmeicr and D.W. Baker (eds.), Fijilh, Tradition and History (Winona Lake: Eiscnbmuns): 285-98. Hallo, W.W, 1990 'The Limits of Skepticislll', JAOS 110: 187-99. Halpcrn, B. 1995 'Emsing History: The Minimalist Assault on Ancient Ismel'. I3It Dccembcr: 27-47. 1997 'Tcxt and Artifact: Two Monologues?', in N.A. Silberman 3nd 0.8. Small (cds.) 1997: 311-40. HerLOg, Z, 1994 'The Bcer-Sheba Valley: From Nomadism to Monarchy', in l. Finkel· stcin ;Illd N. NOl'aman (cds.) 1994: 122-49. Hcsse, B. and P, Wapnish 1997 'Can Pi~ Remains Be Used for Ethnic Diaf{nosis in the Ancient Ncar East?, in N.A. Silberman and D.B. Small (eds.) 1997: 238-270. HobsbawlIl, E.J. 1990 Nalions and NaliO'l(J/ism Si1lei 1780: P/'ogramme, Myth. Ilealit)' (Cain bridge: Cambridge University Press).

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james, S 1999 The At/alltic Celts: Allcient People or Modern IlIvetltio'l1 (London: British Museum Press). jones, S. 1997 The ArdweololD' of HIIl'licity: Col/JtTUcting /delllilies ill Ille Past a'ld tile Present (London: Routledge). Kitchen, K.A. 1998 'Egyptians and Hebrew, from Ra'amses tojcl"icho', in S. Ahituv and E.D. Oren (cds.), The Origin of&rly Israel-Currenl f)t6ale. Biblical, Historical and Arcllaeological Perspeclives (Beersheva: Ben-Curion Ullh'ersily of the Nege\' Press): 65-131. Mazar, A. 1992 'The Iron Age 1', in A. Ben-Tor (ed.),TIIe ArchatoleJrj of Allcinlt Israel (New Haven: Yale Univcrsity Press): 258-301. 1994 'Jerusalem and Its Vicinity in Iron Age I', in I. J-"inkelstein and N. Na'aman (cds.) 1994: 70-91. Miller, j.M. 1997 'Separating Ihe Solomon of History from the Solomon of Legend', in L.K. Handy (cd.), Th.e Age of Solomon: Scholarship at the Turn of Ih.e MilInmium (Leiden: Brill): 1-24. Provan, I. 1995 'Ideologies, litemI"}' and Critical: Reflections on Recent Writing on the History of Israel', JilL 114: 585-606. Samuel, R. 1990 'Cr:and Narmtives', Hislory Workshop Journal 29: 120-33. Silberman, NA. and 0.8. Small (eds.) 1997 The Arcllaeology of Israel: Conslmcling Ih.e Past, l'lltrpreling Ihe Present (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic I'ress). Thompson, T,L. 1992 The Early Hislory of Ih.e Israelite People: From Ih.e IVriltt71 Gild A,-ch.atological Sources (Leiden: Brill). Trigger, B.C. 1995 'Romanlicism, Nationalism, and Archaeology', in P,L. Kohl and C. Fawceu (cds,), NatiomJlism, Politics and Ihe Praclice of Archaeology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press): 263-79, Whilelam, K. W. 1994 'The Idenlity of Early Israel: The Realignment and Transformation of Late Bronze-Iron Age Palestine', JSOT 63: 57-87, 1996 Th.e It/VeIIliOlI of AncieTll IsrfUl: The Silencing of Paluliman Hislory (London: ROllLledgc). forthcoming 'Palestine in the Iron Age' in J. Barton (cd.), The Biblical World (London: Routledge). Whybray, R,N. 1996 'What Do We Know about Ancient Israel?', Exposilory Times 101: 7174. Wright, G.E 1950 Th.e Old Testamt7lt agaillsl its Envir01l11lent (London: SCM). Yamauchi, E. 1994 'The Current State of Old Testament HisLOriography', in AR. Millard, J.K. Hoffmeier, and D.W. Baker (eds.), Failh, Tradilion and Hislory (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns): 1-36.

ADDE PRAEPUTIUM PRAEPU110 MAGNUS ACERVUS ERlT: IF THE EXODUS AND CONQUEST HAD REALLY

HAPPENED LESTER L. GRABBE VIliller-sit)' of Hull

Perhaps one of the most interesting "what if' questions one could ask about history is that of the exodus and conquest. In the light of recent study these have been largely abandoned, at least in any form resembling that of the biblical text. Currently, few would be willing to argue for a version of history having much in common with the books of Exodus, Numbers. orJoshua. But what if the biblical accounts were basically correct and Israel had marched out of Egypt, through the desert (for 40 years), and even· lually conquered the land of Canaan in the shon space of five years? What would the rest of Israelite-and ancient Near East· ern-hislol)' look like? The biblical text wishes to give a panicular picture of the situation of Jacob's descendants in the time of Moses and what subsequently happened to them. The story itself is all of a piece; the various parts fit together into a coherent whole. Although mod· ern scholars have found evidence of editing, blending of various traditions, the use of different sources, and the like, the editorial stamp placed on all this material has left a surface narrative that is intelligible in its own righl. For the purposes of this exercise, the story will be read as it stands (as far as possible) and not rationalized or reinterpreted. I do not wish to make a great deat of the miraculolls elements, but they cannot be easily removed; they form an essential pan of the story and are integral to it. However you interpret the plagues, they would have devastated the country (cf. Exod. 8:20; 9:6, 25; 10:7, 15; 12:29-30). This is precisely the impression intended by the text. The crops had been destroyed, the cattle all killed (on no less than three separate occasions: 9:6, 9:25, 11:5), the infrastructure severely damaged, the population terrorized, culminating in the death of every firstborn male in the COllntry. Finally. the entire army-and perhaps even the pharaoh himself-had perished in the "Red Sea." We should expect to find some indication of this in the Egyptian texts, how-

24

LESTER L. GRABBE

ever shaming it may have been to the pride of the noble classes. The Israelites, on the other hand, had emerged as a potent force in the re~ion. First of all, it must be realized that they were three to four million strong. Exod. 12:37 states that there were 600,000 men of war (cf. also Num. 1:46; 2:32; 11 :21), that is, those of military age from t\venty years old upwards (Num. 1:3; the upper age was apparently 60 [Lev. 27:3, 7], though it was possibly 50 [cf. Num. 8:24-25]). For every such man there would generally have been a wife. at least one child, one or (wo parenLS, not to mention brothers and sisters. Let us consider the calculation in more demit. There would have been approximately the same number of women in the same age group (total 1,200,000). Each warrior would have had brothers and sisters; however, the sisters of the same age would be numbered in the 600,000 women, and the brothers would be included in the 600,000 warriors, requiring no additions to the numbers. On the other hand, any brothers and sisters below the age of 20 would need [Q be included, so a reasonable guess would be the same number (LOW 1,800,000). Many of these men of military age and their wives would have had children of their own, or another 1,200,000 at a conservative estimate (total 3,000,000). Finally, there were the parents. Each warrior would have had two parents; against this is the fact that some would no longer be alive, and, since some of the warriors were brothers, it would not have averaged two parents per person. We can thus add another half million to include parents plus any other elderly people above the fighting age (e.g., grandparents), to give a final Israelite population of three and a half million. A fighting force which numbers seventeen percent of the population might seem a bit high, hut we shall leave it for the moment since it is a reasonable-indeed, conselvative--estimate. (We ignore for the moment all those men between 20 and 60 who could not fight, such as the disabled and the Levites.) The implications of such a large group were already noted 250 years ago by Hermann Samuel Reimarus (1694-1768) in his Apologie (book 3, ch. 2 "lIber den Ourchgang der Israeli ten durch das Rohte Meer~). Using basically only the biblical texl, which was all that was available to him, Reimarus made a number of interesting calculations. Using an approach slighLly different from mine, he also came to a figure of well over four million for those going OUl of Egypt; however, for the sake of the exercise he reduced it lo the three million thal some olher earlier

IF THE EXODUS AND CONQUEST HAD REALLY HAPPENED

25

commentators had reckoned. But he then asked about some of the other factors necessary to take into account in any discussion of the exodus. One of the important fal.:turs induue::u ill his calculation was that of the livestock. That there were large numbers of cattle is indicated in a variety of texts. The descendents ofJacob seujed in the land of Coshen because of their livestock (Gen. 46:31-34). When Moses asked the pharaoh for permission to go worship God in the wilderness, their livestock were to go with them, leaving not a hoof behind (Exod. 10:24-26). The Israelite cattle were said not to suffer from the plague of catLie disease (Exod. 9: 1-7); rather, all their cattle departed the country with them, comprising a large number (12:32, 38; cr. Num. 11:21-22). Certain of the tribes were especially noted for their catLie raising (Num. 32: I). Reimarus gave an estimate-surely very reasonable, if not conservative-of 300,000 beef cattle and 600,000 sheep and goats. But he also asked about another point not mentioned in the text: the number of wagons and carts needed for baggage (wagons are mentioned in the biblical account of the exodus only in Num. 7:3, 6-8). After all, the Israelites had to bl'ing tents, bedding, cooking and eating utensiles, and tools-which could hardly be carried by people traveling 011 fout. There:: was also the enormous spoil collected from their Egyptian neighbors (Exod. 11 :2-3; 12:35-36). Reimarus used the extremely consenrative figure of 10,000 wagons, but that allows only one wagon per 300 persons, which would have been absurdly low. Reimarus then went on to ask about the amount of time required for such a large group to exit the country. Taking the figures of three million people, 900,000 animals, and 10,000 wagons, he calculated how long the traveling column would be. Naturally, that would depend on how wide the column was. He estimated fifty people marching abreast (which he thought was too many), with the space of t1uee steps taken up by each row of people. The wagons with their teams of oxen could also be calculated as lAking up about len stride-lengths. The livestock are harder lO calculate, bUl Reimarus concluded with the following figures: The column of people The column of livestock The column of baggage vehicles Tot
180,000 300.000 10.000 490.000

steps steps steps sleps

He went on to calculate how long it would take such a column to pass a single point (Reimarus 1972: vol. 1, 309):

26

LESTER L. GRABBE

Nun re<:hnel "lall 10 000 gUle Schriue auf cine teuIKhe Meile. Foiglich wiirde so vie! Zeit erfoderl. als dann ein Kerl 49 leulXhe Meilen zurUck legen magle. wenn er so lange in einem fon das Gehen aushahen kOnnte. Oa nun cin huniger KeT! cine teuuche Meile nidn ullIer l-n Stunde abgehen kano: so ""ofirde er 73~ Stunden, oder 3 ganutT Tage und I ~ Stunden, br.mchen ehe er die Fu6SLapfen oder den Lager On cler coten Reihen erreichte.

lOne would reckon 10,000 steps 10 a ~Gemlan mile~ (ca. fi,-c English miles]. It follows that it would take the amoullI of time that a roung man would require 10 cover 49 MGennan miles,M if he could hold out for that M long a march. Now a \;gorous )'oung man could nOI cO\'cr a MGerman mile in less lhan Ilh houn; therefore, he would need 73~ hours, or 3 complete da)'S plus 1Jh haun to reach the footsteps or camping place of the front of

lhe column. I

One might argue that on flat ground, the column could be much wider, say a mile in width. If so, the length of the column would be reduced perhaps twenty-fold for the people, though the animals and wagons would probably be reduced only about tenfold. If so, this would reduce the amount of time required to pass a point to about 40,000 steps or about six hours to pass a single point. But Reimarus is quite right that in rough or mountainous country, the column would have to be quite narrow, perhaps even more narrow than his column of fifty people 01" ten wagons wide. Also, the column could not move at the consistent pace possible for an unencumbered vigorous young man on his own. On the comrary, such a column would be very unwieldy, with an inevi· table amount of disorder, and would move at a much slower pace. It would surely have taken at least a week to cross the "Red Sea!" A number of matters not touched on by Reimarus need to be considered as well. What did the animals live on? The biblical text, unfortunately, does not address this important question. When the people ran out of food (Exod. 16), God sent manna and also quails for food. Did the cattle live on manna? One might see this as logical, though the quails would not have been of much help, but nothing is said abom the livestock. Finally, there is the quantity of dung produced by such a large group of humans and livestock-with the smell, the flies, the sanitation problems. The point has been made, and I do not wish to labor it further. But it is clear that the implications of the text as it stands--ofjust the few chapters in Exodus 12-16--are very serious and must be faced. Yet we must leave this situation behind and ffim'e on. In order to allow the sinful generation to die out, Israel was re-

1Jo" THE EXODUS AND CONQUEST HAD REALLY HAPPENED

27

quired to spend forty years in the wilderness. Some small portion of this time was spent in the actual journey from Egypt LO the Transjordanian region, but for much of the period Israel was st:ttlt:t.l ill tht: rt:giun uf Kadt:sh-barm:a, an oasis in the Negev or northern Sinai. Think of the effect on the region of three million plus people and their multitudes of cattle. Nomadic groups do not leave a lot in the way of archaeological remains, but such a large group in a confined space would surely not fail LO leave remains. The bones of the quails eaten and the cattle and sheep sacrificed would have had to be dealt with, probably by burying, since to leave them exposed would have created ny, smell, and health problems. Pottel)' used in daily life quickly becomes broken (unless it was miraculously preserved like the Israelite clothing [Deur. 29:4]). One cannot believe that some of the silver, gold, and jeweh)' taken from the Egyptians \vas not dropped and lost by three million people over the four decades. The area around Kadesh-barnea should be a treasure trove for archaeologists! Israel had been promised the land of Canaan because of the righteousness of Abraham (Gen. 15:7, 18-21). After forty years, the next generation began its march from K.:ldesh-barnea south of the Dead Sea LO the Transjordanian area. Although all the previous generation had died in the wilderness, the population appears to have remained constant, with about 600,000 men of military age, from age twenty (Num. 26:2). Their first goal was to move through the land of Edom, but they were prevented by the king of Edom (Num. 20:14-21). Israel strangely did not press the point with the Edomites; thwarted, the Israelites instead made their way further east to journey through the land of Moab and the land of the "Amorites" (Num. 21:10-35), defeating Og and the Amorites (Num. 21) and then the "Midianites" (Num. 31, though one expects the Moabites). We now come to a crucial issue. The refusal of cooperation by the Edomites and the Trallsjordanian tribes, and the resistence by the Canaanites, are practically inexplicable. They make little sense, for two reasons: first. the size of the Israelite forces, and, second, the reputation that must have accompanied this group which had lived in the wilderness for 40 years. Suppose you are king of a small nation, such as Edam or Midian, which can be defeated by an army of 12.000 (cf. Num. 31 :6-8). So when a nation with a potential army of 600,000 men in their prime, who have been living on miraculous provisions falling from heaven, asks to

28

LESTER L. GRABBE

move peacefully through your land, you say no? Of course, it is possible that their proferred peace is only a sham, but which is better: to sufTer certain destruction by refusing to let them pass or to take the chance that they will keep their word? The first will bring the certain end of your people, but at least you might escape if you cooperate. The refusal by the Edomite king seems rather unlikely. However, the same argument-if somewhat more compli~ cated-applies with regard lO the Canaanites. The Israelites had been camping on their borders for fony years. The Canaanites were not ignorant of their presence, including the faeL that they were clearly so superior in numbers that defeat was almost certainly assured. It was a matter either of submitting and becoming slaves or resisting and suffering destruction of the nations. What would they have chosen? Would they have realized the enormous size ofthe Israelite fighting force? Would they have felt that death was preferable to slavery? According to the biblical text, some thought it would be better to make peace and submit to servitude than to risk war Uosh. 9:3-27). Why only this one tribe? We come back to the numbers of fighting men among the Israelites. These numbers need to be considered in context to realize their real significance. Modern armies have hundreds of thousands of men in uniform, but populations were much smaller in antiquity and armies similarly reduced. The population of male citizens of the city-state of Athens was only about 45,000 in the time of Pericles, dropping to about 29,000 by about 360 BeE after the Peloponnesian War (Rhodes 1994: 566-67). It was from this small body that soldiers were recruited for conflicts. The population of Roman Egypt was stated to be about seven and a half million in one writer of late antiquity Uosephus, War 2.16.4 §385), but an* other writer puts it at three million (Diodorus Siculus 1.31.6-9, according to the reading of all the major manuscripts but one), and recent estimates have reduced it to four to five million or even less (Bagnall and Frier: 53-56), not much more than the alleged population Israel at the time of the exodus. Alexander began his invasion of Persia with an army numbering about 50,000 total (Bosworth 1994: 798). As a good way of illustrating the power of the Israelites, consider the battle of Raphia in 217 BeE between Antiochus III the Creat and Ptolemy rv of Egypt. At that time Antiochus had 35,000 heavy infantry, 21,000 light infantry, and 6,000 cavalry (Polybius 5.79; cf. Bar-Kochva 1976: 132), and the

IF THE EXODUS AND CONQUEST HAD REALLY HAPPENED

29

opposing Egyptian forces were about the same. Israel's troop strength was ten times as great. The Israelite army alone probably far outnumbered the entirety of the Canaanite population. No wonder the Canaanites were terrified! Resistance was useless. The "hill of foreskins" alleged to have been created by the circumcision of the new male generation Oosh. 5:3) would have been no exaggeration: weighing the better part of a ton, 600,000 prepuces would indeed have made a small hillock! One might argue that, although the number of fighting men was large, they were untrained. This ignores 1:\"0 facts as presented in the text: that Moses had been brought up as a prince in Egypt, which would inevitably have included military training, and that Israel had been in a great many battles from the time of leaving Egypt (Num. 14:39-45; 21:21-25; 31:1-12). Each new generation had to have its baptism of fire, naturally, but by the time the Israelites crossed the jordan, they were veterans. just noting that Israel had a large army is not sufficient, however; it is the entire population implied by this size of an army. What are the implications of such a large population suddenly settling Palestine? One might suspect there would not be sufficient resources for so large a group. This is a reasonable objection, but the biblical text never alludes to it. The promised land is a "land flowing with milk and honey," and the division of the country aftel" the can· quest suggests that everyone found a place (cf. josh. 13·19, 21). Since the birth of archaeology, it has often suggested that the new conquerors "from the desert" would bring a primitive material culture. That is simply due to the attempt to reconcile archaeology with the biblical text-to force what is found in the ground into conformity with the picture given by joshua. But this in fact ignores the implications of the text itself. Far from being a bunch of sheepherders from out of the desert, the Israelites had only recently come from Egypt where they had selved the Egyptians in all sorts of capacity, from city building to personal sen!ice in the household. They had been able to build a sophisticated portable temple of great quality, with intricate decorations requiring a high degree of skill (cf. Exod. 35-39). It is true that the adult generation coming from Egypt had died ofT, bUl they had spent much of the forty years near Kadesh-bamea, with no great requirements beyond gathering the daily quota of manna. There was ample opportunity for parents La pass on their sk.ills to

30

LESTER L. GRABBE

the new generation. It is unlikely that only a large unskilled population suddenly exploded illlo the land. On the contrary, the several million new people settling in Canaan would have quickly established a productive and prosperous society and a thriving economy. Furthermore, they had the surviving natives as their servants, natives possessing their own skills and knowledge (cf. Josh. 9, especially w. 21, 23, 27). What are the implications and likely consequences of the settlement described here? No less than that Israel would have been at least the second or third greatest power in the ancient Near East at the time, if not the greatest. With a booming economy. an agricultural surplus, and a large labour force it would be natural that the nation would have turned to thoughts of further expansion. After all, the land of Bashan was not included in the original Uland of Canaan" promised to Israel, but they had taken it and settled there anY'vay (Num. 32; Deut. 3: 12-16; Josh. 1: 12-28). Outright wars of conquest could easily be the result but, in any case, domination of surrounding regions would be a natural consequence of this power. A move to the north and along the Euphrates would have been another natural step to take. This expansion of social and political control. if not military takeover. is a natural consequence of the situation and almost inexorable. It should also not be forgotten that Egypt was within easy reach. Why refrain from attacking their recent oppressors? The country was unlikely to have recovered completely from the devastations half a century before. Asia Minor and Mesopotamia were a long way off. Expansion in that direction was possible, just as centuries later the Assyrians and Babylonians came west, but Egypt was nearby and there for the taking. An Israel as strong as implied by the numbers of fighting men could have taken control of at least Lower Egypt with a minimum of effon at this time. But then the Bible would have to be rewritten. The situation described in Judges and 1 and 2 Samuel would not have taken place, for the Solomonic empire would already have emerged within a few decades of the conquest. A powerful nation sitting on the crossroads between Africa and Asia would have done pre· cisely what was ascribed to Solomon in 1 Kings (5:1-6; 10): it would have ruled the whole area "from the river of Egypt to the river Euphrates" and have cOllu·oled the trade over a much wider re-

gion, including that between Egypt and Anatolia. Indeed, it could have ruled from "Thebes in Egypt" to the Euphrates, as well as

IF THE EXODUS AND CONQUEST HAD REALLY HAPPENED

31

having a uuoat-hold on much of the trade. commerce. and communications of the ancient Near East. One can go on to speculate on other developments. though these are not as straightforward. h used to be argued that wisdom entered Israel at the time of the "Solomonic enlightenment." AJ· though a numbe." of considerations now make this questionable. the pJinciple is still correct that the establishment of imperial rule with its economic and social benefits would have encouraged the intellectual pursuits. A large military force and the administration of an empire would require a sizeable bureaucracy with scribal skills and interests. The literary arts which flourished in Egypt. Ugarit. Mesopotamia. and elsewhere would have been paralleled in Israel. What would have happened from here is unpredictable. but one jJossible direction is a scientific and philosophical blossoming on the analogy of the Ionic enlightenment in the sixlh-eenLUry Greek world. If this happened-if Qohelet had really been from the early Iron Age. as was once thought-we might have seen the great intellectual and literary achievements now associated with the Greco-Roman world already replicated half a millennium earlier in Israel: philosophy, scientific inquiry, historical writing. lit· erary works for a leisured class. This advancement would not have been inexorable. for we know that the large empires controlled from Egypt and Mesopotamia did not lead to all these, and it was left to the Greeks to produce them. Nevertheless. the opportunity would have been there. So all we can say is, who knows? Perhaps the great intellectual accomplishments we now ascribe to the Creeks would have been Israelite ones. Instead of the Socratic method. we might be talking about the Solo monic method; we might be reading the dialogues of Palti, the scientific treatises of Asher. the satires of Menahem. We might have the comic plays of Aaron; the tragedies of Asaph. Simeon, and Ezekiel; the rhetorical treatises by Daniel; the histories of Tadmor and Zebulon, led by the "father of histOl)''' Haradah. Much of this is speculation, but it is also logical deduction. The one thing we can say, though, is that if the exodus and conquest had taken place as envisaged by the biblical writers, we would not have the Bible we have today-it would have had to be rewriuen. That would have been inevitable.

32

LESTER L. GRABBE

ABSTRACT

A lot of ~what ir situations in history can be imagined, with inlcresting resulL'!. BlH an event often taken as history in the past is now regarded as a literary creation: the exodus and conquest. \\'hen we begin to see the consequences of laking it as actual hiswry-surprisingly, nOt done by supporters of this interpretation-it becomes even dearer why thCI"C never was such an event. If the exodus and conquest had aClUally occurred, the outcome could have changed the whole of the history of the Western world, and we would ha\"c a completely different Bible today.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bagnall, Roger S., and Bruce W, Frier 1994 The Demography oj Roman ElfJPt (Cambridge SlUdies in Population, Economy and Society in Past Time, 23; Cambridge: Cambridge Uni\'crsity Prcss). Bar-Kochva, B. 1976 Th~ Seleucid Anny: OrganiUllion and Taclics in Ole Greal Campaigns (Cambridge Classical Studies; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Bosworth, A.B. 1994 ~Alexander the Great Pan I: The E\"elllS of the Rcign~, in D.M. Lewis et ai. (eds.) 1994: 791-845, Lewis, D.M. et al., (eds.) 1994 The Cambridge Ancit'lll HistQT)'. Volume VI: The FOllrth Century B.C. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Reimarus. Hermann Samuel 1972 Apowgit odn' Schlllzschrift JUr die vtnllinftigen Verehrer Colles (ed. Gerhard Alexander, irn Auftrag der Joachim:Jungius-Gesellschaft der \Vissenschaften Hamburg; 2 vols.; Frankfurt-arn-Main: Inscl Verlag). Rhodcs, P.]. 1994 ~The Polis and the Alternatives", in O.M. Lewis et ai. (eds) 1994: 56591.

WHAT IF JUDGES HAD BEEN WRITTEN BY A PHILISTINE? SUSAN ACKERMAN Darlmouth College

What if Judges had been written by a Philistine? The flip answers are so irresistible that they practically roll off our tongues: the content would be pedestrian and dull, the language boorish and crass, the overall effect pedamic and commonplace. Fortunately for the reader, though, this philistine Judges would probably be fairly short, since the subjects upon which we would expect it to focus-the Philistines-appear only occasionally in narratives ofJudges. The Philistines are mentioned just five times, for example, and fairly incidentally, in the first t\velve chapters of Judges (3:3; 3:31; 10:6; 10:7; and 10:11) and are entirely absent from the book's concluding episodes Uudg. 17-21). However, in judges 13-16, the saga of Samson, the Philistines do come to the fore. Indeed, this narrative begins by noting that the Israelites, having done evil in the sight of Yahweh, have been given into Philistine hands for forty years. The text then immediately turns to describe the miraculous birth of Samson, the child of promise, who will deliver the Israelites from their Philistine oppressors. By the end of the story, Samson has done just that, pulling down the pillars of the Philistine temple of Dagon and causing the building to collapse on all the lords of the Philistines and the three thousand others said to be gathered within. Yet sand\vlched between these stories of Samson's miraculous birth, injudg. 13:2-25, and his final miracle of deslruction, in judg. 16:23-30, are a series of narratives about Samson that, rather than extol the noble and heroic attributes we expect such a prodigy LO manifest, focus instead on this character's mundanely human foibles. In fact, so bumbling is Samson in his role as an Israelite hero that it seems almost as if judg. 14:1-16:22 had been wl"iuen by a Philistine, one whose intention was to poke fun at the Israeliles' alleged champion. Granted,judg. 14:1-16:22 does laud Samson as a mighty fighter. so endowed with superhuman strength that, with his bare hands, he can dp apart a lion that allacks him, and, armed with only the jawbone ofa donkey, he can kill a thou-

34

SUSAN ACKERMAN

sand Philistines. But he is rash, to the point of being a fool; as Roben Alter describes him, "a hero ... whose formidable brawn will not be matched by brain, or even by a saving modicum of common sense."l For example, in Judges 14, although he at first might seem to play the celebrated biblical role of the trickster, Samson ends up looking more like a cad and a cheat when, at his wedding feast, he proposes a wager to the Philistines that is winnable only if they are able to answer his unanswerable riddle. Moreover, when, against all odds (and with some help from Samson's new wife), the Philistines are able to provide the solution, Samson responds, first, with a fit of reckless killings and, second, by abandoning his bride, even though he has gone to some trouble, and against the wishes of his parents, to marry her (Judg. 14:19). Then, in Judges 15, when Samson decides that he does want to be with his newly..." ed \vife after all, only Lo discover that she has been given by her father to another, he engages in another spree of wanton destruction, burning the fields, the vine· yards, and olive groves of "the Philistines n (Judg. 15:1·5). Exaclly whom Samson attacks among the Philistines is unspecified, but the text seems to indicate it is Philistines other than the family of Samson's in-laws (see below), even though that family alone was responsible for the deed that had aroused Samson's ire. The larger community of "the Philistines n therefore, and not un· reasonably, retaliates, killing Samson's bride and her father, the countrymen whom they perceive to have brought about their troubles. Samson in turn takes revenge upon these Philistines and slaughters them. Even Samson's fellow Judahites seem to feel by this point that Samson's murderous rampages have gone too far, and they hand Samson over to the Philistines, bound. Samson being who he is, however, is able to escape, this being the moment in the saga when he kills a thousand Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey. Nevertheless, he ends lip bound again and blinded by Judg. 16:21, which further describes him as forced to grind grain like a woman in a Philistine prison in Gaza. 2 1 Robert Alter, ~How CoIl\'clHion Helps Us Read: The Case or the Biblc's Annunciation Type-SCcnc:' Prooftex/$ 3 (1983), pp. 115-30 (124); see also the catalogue or other scholan; unflattcring descriptions or Samson collected by n,M. Cunn, "Samson of Sorrows: An Isaianic Gloss on Judges 13-16," in D,N. Fewell (cd.), Reading Between Tex/s: In/mex/unlity and the Hebrew lJibk (Loui$villc, KY: Westminster/John Knox, 1992). pp. 225-53 (225). 2 On the subjugation or Samson allhc end ofJudges 16, see furtherS. Niditch,

WHAT II' JUDGES HAD BEEN WRJ'n'EN BY A PHILISTINE?

35

The agent who returns Samson lO shackles is, of course, Delilah, whose interactions with Samson are recounted inJudg. 16:4-22. It is in this part of the Samson saga, moreover, that Samson appears at his llIost illt:pt. Ddilah llIakc::s 110 sc::u-c::L of hc::r uc::si,-c:: to Ic::arll from Samson the secret of his great strength: she forthrightly asks him to reveal it, and no less than three times Uudg. 16:6, 10, and 13).3 She also makes no secret of what is at stake for Samson if he answers truthfully,4 for, each time he answers her falsely, she does just what he tells her she should do in order to subdue him (she binds him with fresh bowstrings [16:81; she binds him with new ropes (16:12]; and she weaves seven locks of his hair into the fabric on her loom [16:14]) and then summons the Philistines, who have been lying in \vait in her chambers, to come and take him." So can Samson really not anticipate that Delilah will have his head shaved and call the Philistines to seize him when finally, in Judg. 16:17, he does tell her the truth, that the source of his strength lies in his uncut hair?6 And when the Philistines do in fact come to capture him, in Judg. 16:20, can Samson, now in violation of his Nazirite vow, really hope to receive the miraculous deliverance from God he seems to expect? "Heroic" is hardly the adjective that springs to mind to describe this witless lout. Indeed, if there is any hero in the story, it is Delilah, who goes about her mission of discovery with determination and courage (given thal Samson could conceivably turn on her at any moment) and who ultimately ~Samson as Culture Hcro, Trickster, and Bandit: The Empowcrment of the \Veak,~ CBQ 52 (1990), pp. 608-24 (616-17), who cogently describes how the defeated Samson is rendered as a sexually subducd woman; also M. Bal, Lethal Lm.e: Frminist Literary Readings oj IJiblicall.AJtII'. Stories (Bloomington: Indiana Unh-crsity PI-ess, 1987), pp. 51-52; finally, as pointed Ollt by Niditch. K. van der Toorn, "Judges XVI 21 in the Light of Akkadian Sources,~ vr 36 (1986), pp. 248-53. ~ This is particularly well analy.ted by Bal in hcr analysis of the Samson and Delilah stOI)' (~Ddilah Decomposed: Samson's Talking Cure and the Rhetoric ofSubjectivity,~ chapter 2 in Lethal Love, pp. 37-67, esp. 51-52)_ "' Again, sec BaL ~Dclilah Decomposcd,~ in l..ethal Love, pp. 37..67, esp. 52-58. ~ The Philistines are not actually (lcscribed as lying in wait in the third episode, which describes the wea\ing of Samson's hair into the loom, bllt the general parallelism between that incident and the previous two suggests that we arc to imagine thcir presence in the Judg. 16:13-14 pericopc. 6 There is debalC in the scholarly literalure about who actually shaved Samson: some bal-ber whom Delilah is said to summon or Delilah herself? The issue need not concern us here. For thc two sides of the
36

SUSAN ACKERMAN

triumphs, like the adroit David over the hulking Goliath, over her morc powerful foe. To be sure, biblical intc."preters for the last two thousand years have not tended to remember Delilah as some female counterpan of the noble young David: she instead has been immortalized as the temptress flar excellence, the femme fatale, the seductive siren, the whore. 7 But what if we did notjusl have the hints of a Philistine point of view that we have already seen embedded in the text ofJudg. 14:J-16;21? What if the Philistines had also been responsible for shaping the ways in which Delilah has been rendered throughout the post-biblical era? Although surely no Philistine (or philistine!) himself,john Millon, in his Samson Agonistes, perhaps answers this question the best, putting these words in the mouth of Delilah as she Ullers her parting speech:8 , . , [I]n my country, where I most desire, In Ecron, Caza. Asdod, and in Gath I shall be named among the f"mousest Of women. sung at solemn festivals, Lhing and dead recorded, who to save Her counlly from a ficrce destroycr, chose Above the faith of "'edlock.-bands, my lOmb With odours visited and annual flowcrs (II. 98G-987).

Miltoll's Delilah even goes so far as to consider what the content of those songs to be sung of her at solemn festivals might be; as she conceives it, she will be: Not less rcno\~ned than in MOutH Ephraim Jael, who with inhospitable guile Smote Sisera slecping through the tcmples nailed (II. 988-990).

To put the maller another way: Israelite tradition has given us as part of its legacy the "Song of Deborah" inJudges 5 and the paean to the hero Jael embedded within it in v. 24-27. Were we, how· ever, to imagine ourselves as the Philistines' cultural heirs, it might be the "Song of Delilah" instead---or at least a celebration of the hero Delilah incorporated into in some larger "Song"-that would have come down to us as a hymn of praise. Indeed. although we cannot know how aware he was of all the specifics, Milton is particularly insightful to compare Delilah in , As brilliantly catalogued by j.C. Exum in ~Why, Why, 'Vhy, Delilah?~ in Plot~ led. Shol, mul Painled: Cllllural HeprtSnllalions oj IJibli((l{ Women (JSOTSup, 215; GeT, 3; Shcffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 1996), pp. 175-237. 8 Brought to my attention by Exum, ~Why, Why, Why, Delilah?,~ pp. 201-202.

WHAT IF JUDGES HAD BEEN WRITfEN BY A PHILISTINE?

37

Judg. 16:4-22 tOJael inJudg. 5:24-27. for example, inJudg. 5:2427 (and in the parallel account in Judg. 4:17-22), Jael acts on behalf of the Israelites and against the Canaanite war leader Sisera, but the text, in both its rccoulltings, is quitc clcar that shc is not herself an Israelite. Rather, she is from a small ethnic group known as the Kenites. Delilah, likewise, acts on behalf of the Philistines and against the Israelite hero Samson even though she herself is nowhere identified as Philistine; we only know that she comes from the "Valley of Sorek" (Judg. 16:4), which lies in the Shephelah, between the hill counlJ)' inhabited by the Israelites and the Philistine plain. Both Delilah and Jael, then, can be envisioned as outsiders within their stories, playing a role within an ethnic conflict that is not necessarily their own. Jael and Delilah both also seem to conduct their lives independent of roen, by which I mean that neither is unequivocally pictured as a part of the household of a father, a brother, or a husband who has authority over the woman's life. This is clearer in the case of Delilah, who is never mentioned in relation to a man other than her paramour Samson and who seems to have her own house that she manages alone (the place where Samson sleeps and where the Philistines hide, waiting to capture him, in a "inner chamber" [Hebrew ~lellerl).Jael's abode is different, since it is a tent, nOI a house, and, moreover, it is a tent she is traditionally assumed 10 share with a husband, Hebel". The NRSV translation of Judg. 5:24, for example, reflects this: Most blessed of women be jac!. The ,,'ife of Heber (helm') thc Kcnite. Of lem-dwelling women most blessed.

Many commentators, though, prefer an altcmate rendition, arguing that the second line of this verse describes Jael as "a woman of the Kenite community."9 The basis for such a translation lies in texlS from Mari, where the term [tibru11t is used to describe some sort of a community unit. a clan, a band, or a tribe. to This sug9 See, for example. B. Halpem. MThc Resourceful Israelitc Ilistorian: The Song of Debor'lh and Israelitc Historiography.~ j-ITll76 (1983), pp. 379-401 (388, n. 45 and 393 n. 56);j.A. Soggill. "'Hcber dcr Qcnil.· Das Ende cines biblischen Personnennamells?,~ vr31 (1981). pp. 89-92; Soggin.Juriges: A Commelltary (OTL; Philadelphia: \VCSlmillSter Pre~s. 1981), pp. 74-75. III A. lIhbrnal, "Mad and the Bible: Some P:ntc..ns orT..ibal Org:.miz:llion and Instilutions. ~ JAOS 82 (1962). pp. 143-50 (144-46), see also Ihe demiled survey of the uses of llbr/hbr throughollt Nonhwest Semilic in M. O·Connor. "North-

38

SUSAN ACKERMAN

geslS that !uber, the Hebrew cognate of !Jibrutn, should be similarly translated as a common noun refening to some sort of bondedtogether group. In fact, elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, /.ieber does occur with such a meaning. In Hos. 6:Y, a "band" or a "company" of priests is referred to as a /.leber Utcber koluinim). The Israelite place name Hebron (Ilcl.n"on). which is derived from the root ~llr,., also seems to draw on this idea of "band" or "company," as can especially be seen in lcxlS that give the name J(jriath-Arba, the "City of Four" (presumably, four bonded-together villages), as an alternative appellation for Hebron. ll In 2 Sam. 2:3, which speaks of the ~cities (are) of Hebron," we find a further indication that Hebron was comprised of several small communities that were banded together as one. If, in Judg. 5:24, we likewise understand lleber to be a reference to some sort of bonded-together group, specifically, the Kenites, then Jael, like Delilah, stands again depicted as a kind of an outsider, this time standing outside a relationship with a husband or other male authority figure. And then there is the sexual imagery that occurs in both the stories of Delilah and Jae!. In this case, however, neither text is particularly clear. For example, while Delilah in Judg. 16:4-22 is commonly assumed to be a seductress and even a whore, this is never stated explicitly. To be sure, she has her own house where she entertains Samson; moreover, he is there, we are told, because he loves her. All this could suggest a brothel. Delilah's story in addition is prefaced by the story of Samson's Gazaite prostitute, and this prologue might intimate Delilah's association with prostitution as wel!.12 Nevertheless, prostitutes are not the only women in the Bible who can be depicted as owning houses of their own. Widows also do, and in many respects, Delilah is as much like a famous widow of the biblical tradition, Judith, as she is like the Gazaite prostitute of Judg. 16:1·3, or like Rahab, the prostitute of Jericho described in Josh. 2:1-24; 6:22-25, with whom she is often compared. LikeJudith, Delilah is called upon at her home by her wcst Semitic Designations for Elective Social Affiliations," JANESCU 18 (1986). pp. 67.80 (72.80). II Gen. 23:2; 35:27; Josh. 14:15; 15:13; 15:54; 20:7; 21:11;Judg. 1:10. 12 Further on this ~guih by associationfl-that is, lhe negative judgments that lcnd to be imposed Oil Delilah on the basis of comparing her with the Timnitc wife ot Judg. 14 and the (jazaite prostitute or Judg. 16:1-3-see J.c. Exum, ~Samson's Women," in Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)vmiom oj Biblical Narrative (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1993), pp. 61.93, esp. 68-77.

WHAT

n- JUDGES

HAD BEEN WRITTEN BY A PHILISTINE?

39

region's nobility (the lords of the Philistines come to Delilah in Judg. 16:5; tlle elders of the town of Bethulia come to Judith in Jdt. 8:10); like Judith, Delilah seLS out to engage an enemy warrior in a one-on-one confrontation (Samson in Delilah's case; Holofernes in Judith's); and like Judith, Delilah uses the warrior's auraction to her to gain mastery over him (Delilah ultimately persuades Samson to reveal the secret of his uncut hair by asking how he can remain evasive if he truly loves her Uudg. ]6:15]; Judith presents herself dressed in "all her women's finery" so that she can manage to be left alone with Holofernes in order to attack him in his tent Udt. 12:15]). Finally, Judith's triumph over Holofernes, beheading him while he is passed out, drunk Odt. 13:6-9), is not so different than Delilah's triumph in "behairing" Samson while he sleeps. The fact that Judith holds Holofernes' hair as she severs his neck (jdt. 16:7) makes the connection be1:\veen this part of the 1:\'10 stories particularly clear. Still, in the Delilah story, although there may not be prostitution, there is, by the end, sexual imagery, as Samson sleeps, while he is shaved, be1:\'1een Delilah's knees (Hebrew 'al birkeyha;Judg. 16:19). As in passages associated with birth (Gen. 30:3; Job 3:12), "knees" here should refer to female genitalia. In this respect, the noun is similar to Jael's raglayim, "feet," also euphemistic for genitalia, between which Sisera lies collapsed in Judg. 5:27 after his head has been struck and pierced in Judg. 5:26. As Susan Niditch points out, the other language used in Judg. 5:27 to describe Sisera's collapse is also sexual in character: the verbs kara', "to kneel," and niipal, "to fall," especially when used in conjunction, can suggest the sexual posture expected of a would-be lover; the verb siikab, "to lie," is frequently used in illicit sexual contexts; and sadild, "despoiled," can be used-as in Jer. 4:30-l0 describe the fate that those who play the harlot will suffer.l:i But crucial to note here is that the "harlot" whom sadiUl describes in this text is Sisera; Jael is no more automatically to be identified as a prostitute than is Delilah. Indeed, if anything, what underlies the erotic imagery of both of these passages are intimations not of prostitution but of motherhood and the womb: Samson lies shorn between Deli· lah's knees in the same way he lay as a newborn, bald, between his mother's, and immediately following the description of Sisera J~ S. Niditch, "Eroticism and Death in the Tale or Jacl,~ in P.L. Day (ed.), Gender (lnd Differmct in Ancien/Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989), pp. 435i.

40

SUSAN ACKERMAN

lying between Jael's legs in Judg. 5:27 is a verse that describes his mother, the woman between whose legs the newly delivered Sisera first lay (judg. 5:28). Maternal imagery is also found further on in the same stanza, inJudg. 5:30, where one of the women attending Sisera's mother suggests (ironically it turns out) that the reason Sisera is delayed in returning home from war is that he tarries to collect booty after his viclOry in battle, in particular women as booty. These "trophy women" are referred to in Hebrew as ra~lam rafu'imiitayim, words whose literal foot meaning is "womb."14 In addition, there is maternal imagery found in the verses that precede the description of jael's killing of Sisera, as jael's giving milk and ghee to Lhe fugitive Sisera in Judg. 5:25 can be seen as a very nurturing and motherly act. There is in fact even a rabbinic mid rash that envisions that the milk Jael gives to Sisera was suckJed by him from her breast. 15 Nevertheless, no matter how like Jael Delilah seems to be-in terms of an "outside" ethnicity, in terms of standing outside of a hegemonic relationship with a man, and in terms of combining a triumph over an enemy with sexual imagery and, more specifically, maternally-linked eroticism-there is still the fact that Delilah betrayed Samson for money (eleven hundred pieces of silver from each of the Philistine lords who commissioned her; Judg. 16:5), and this "selling" of herself might present a serious problem to our "what if" Philistine who would write the laudatory "Song of Delilah" or extol Delilah in a Jael-Iike manner in a stanza of some other celebratory hymn. Or would it? In Israelite tradition, the verses of the "Song of Deborah" that describe Jael offer no reason to explain why she, a Kenite, would act on behalf of the Israelites and against the Canaanites in killing the Canaanite war leader Sisera. The prose account of the same episode, in Judg. 4: 17-22, likewise offers no reason explaining why Jael acted as she did. But the prose does offer a powerful argument against Jael's killing act: it posits that there was a peace treaty between King Jabin of HalOr, for whom Sisera was said to be fighting, and Jael's clan. In the logic of Judges 4, that is, Jael is just as much a beI.. R. Aller, ~FroTl1 Line lO Story in Biblical Verse,· Poetics Todo)' 4 (1983), pp. 615-37 (633), (as poimed OUl by NidilCh, "Eroticism and Death: p. 46); see also Aller, The Arl of Biblical POi/ry (New York: Basic Books, 1985). p, 46. I~ Poinled om by R. Alder, ~A MOlher in Israel: Aspecl.'l orlhe Mother Role in Jewish Myth,· in R.M. Gross (cd.), Beyolld Androcmlrism: New Essa)'s 011 Womerl a1ld Religion (Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977), pp. 237-55 (248).

WHAT IF JUDGES HAD BEEN WRrn'EN BY A PHILISTINE?

41

trayer as is Delilah in Judges 16, "selling out" her Kenite kin; in her case, moreover, "selling out" her Kenite kin without even a clear-cut motivation (like money), Yet in the biblical tradition as it has come down to us, Jael is still considered a hero despite her seemingly unsuborned betrayal because she "sells out" on Israel's behalf. From a Philistine point of view, the heroic status of Delilah, who sold herself to capture a Philistine enemy, should likewise stand undiminished. In Cecil B. De Mille's film "Samson and Delilah," the last words Samson (Victor Mature) speaks to Delilah (Hedy Lamarr) before he is blinded by the Philistines are, "The name Delilah will be an everlasting curse on the lips of men."16 But as we have now seen, this enobled depiction of Samson and his everlasting curse of Delilah is all a matter of perspective. If Judges had been written by a Philistine, it might well be Delilah who would bear the epithet othenvise given to Jael in Judg. 5:24, "most blessed of wonlen." ABSTRACT

Judges 13-16, the saga of Samson, is a text that, in popular imaginatiol1, is lypically described as depicting the exploits of the heroic Samson against the l'hitistine barbarians. But, in fact. as comment;IlOrs have often pointed out. Samson. although endowed wit.h superhuman strenglh in this tale, is Olhclwise something of a fool and a boor: posing an unfair riddle at his wedding feast, engaging again and again in acts of violent destruction, and revealing the secret of his uncut hair to Delilah even though she has made clear that she intends to Sllmmon the Philistines to seize him after rendering him powerless. Yet however stupid Samson and hOWC\'cr forthright Delilah are depicted as being in their inte.-actions IOgether, popular imagination again has almost always I-emembcred Delilah as the evil seductress who leads the helpless Samson astray. I'hilistine illterpl"eters, though. might well have remembered Delilah as an e(luiva1cnt of the Is.-aelite hero Jael: as a woman who, in terms of ethnicity, seems to stand outside of the di'pute in which she plays a role; as a woman who is not necessarily a part of the household of a father or husband; and as a womcn depicted in terms of erotic imagery that is primarily maternal ill nature. From a Philistine point of vicw. that is, Delilah might well bear the epithet Israelite tradition awards toJae! inJudg. 5:24: "most blessed of womcn.~

16

As in n. 8 above, brought to my attention by Exum. ~Why. Why, Why,

Delilah?~

p. 175

IF DAVID HAD NOT CLIMBED THE MOUNT OF OLIVES THOMAS L. THOMPSON Univl!'f5ity of Ccpe1lhagen

Virtual History as Histoncal Method While Eduard Meyer long ago warned us of the slippery virtuality of the Bible's historical slopes, 1 and Kurt Galling distinguished for us historical event from tradition varialll,2 Ono Eissfeldl's hisloricizing revision of Gunkel's Gauungsgeschichte has been nevertheless successful in turning biblical narrative into a virtual cornucopia of historical scenarios.~ Biblical narratives were, he claimed, storied events: a fictionalized past with roots in a real past and a real history that could be uncovered through a proper understanding of the history and growth of these traditions. 4 Bible historians needed not fear unemployment. And so indeed it was ... for nearly a half century. However, ifJoshua's assembly of the tribes of Israel at Shechem offered a distant echo of history's sacred amphictyony creating Israel as a people of Yahweh,!' Genesis's origin story of Israel in E. Me}'er, Dk Enlslehung desJlUkntums (Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1906), pp. 13031.

2 K. Galling, Die Enll(jhlungstraditionm Israels (BZAW, 48; Berlin: Alfred Topelmanll, 1928), pp. 1-2. S I anl thinking here cspecially of his cOlllribution lO the Gunkel Festschrifl: O. Eissfcldt, 'Slam message und Novclle in den Geschichten von Jakob und scinen SOhnen'. Eucharisterion: H. Cllnkef:wm 60. Geburtstag, 1 (Berlin: AJfred Topelmann, 1923), pp. 56-77; but see also his ]'cvisions of this thesis: Eissfeldt, 'Achronische, anachronische und synchronische Elemente in del' Genesis',jEOL 17 (1963), pp. 148-64; Eissfeldt, 'Stammessage und Menschhcitserzahlung in del' Genesis', Sitzungsherichte der Sochsischen Akademie der Wissenschaft :w Uipzig, (Phil-hist. kl. Bd 110,4; Unl\'crsitat Leipzig, Leipzig, 1965). pp. !'r21. 4 Here, see esp. Eissfcldt, 'Stammessage lind Menschhcitscrziihlung', following, abol'c all, Martin NOlh's revision and s)'nthcsis of Wcllhauscn and Gunkel (M. NOlh, UberlkJenwgsgeschichle des Pentateuch [Stuugan: W. Kohlhammer. 1948)); sec also G. \"on Rad, Das JOrolgtschichtfiche Problem des fltxaleuch (Stuttgart: \'1'. Kohlhammer, 1938). ~ M. Noth, Das System d~ zwiJlj Sujrnme Israels (BWANT, lV/l; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammcr, 1930): NOlh, 'Ubcdicfcrungsgcschichtliches zur zweitcn Hf,lfte des Joshuabuches', in H. Junker and J. Botle,wcck (eds.), AIUts/amentliehes Slu(lien: Friederich NQ/scher zum sechsigen Ctburts/ag 19 Jufi 1950 (BBB, 1; Bonn: Peter Hannstcin, 1950), pp. 152-67. On the litem!)' and unhistorical characterislics of

IF DAVID HAD NOT CLIMUED THE MOUNT 01'" OLIVES

43

the familiar triad of the patriarchal narratives became, historically, both redundant and unnecessary, understandable merely as a legendary etiological expansion of Israel's original tribal rootedness in the early West Semitic migrations. fI The peaceful migration of judges could then replace the conquering heroes ofjoshua's early chapters, and an original Mosaic monotheism might far better be associated with Protestantism's prophetic forebearers. Moses was no longer necessary, nor as important as he had been in a reconstruction of ancient Israelite history. The tribal amphictyony under joshua not only rendered Moses expendable but incompatible as an historical explanation of Israel's 0l"igins. 7 The conselvative side of the debate about Israel's origins was far less rational, complicated as it was both by its point of de· parture in the broad field of comparative ancient Near Eastern studies and by its positivistic, if not fundamentalistic, orientation towards biblical narrative. s This latter issue is far more important than has often been recognized, as it has encouraged historians to ignore one of the most important aspects of reading texts historically; namely, to understand the anachronic: the meaning of documents which are not addressed to us. 9 So, Gustav Dalman could use his immense anthropological experience in Palestine to recreate a virtual world of the Bible. 'o This 'orientalist', romantic understanding of the primitive is a denial of the historical, transposing as it does the past with the present. William Albright, on the other hand, followed a more realist bent, seeking to confirm the reality of the past through its remnants. l1 However, his depenthc amphictyon)·. see most recently N.J>. Lemche, TJII! Ismelilts in Hi~.Io1)' alld Tradition (Lonis\'il1e: \Veslminster/John Knox Press, 1998), pp. 104-107. {I M. NOlh, 'Zum Problem del' OSlkanaanaer', ZA 39 (1930), pp. 213-22; Noth, Geschichte Israels (GOllingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprechl, 2nd edn, 1954); Noth, Der Beitrag der Archiiologir: tUr Gesrhichte Im/els (TIS, i; Leiden: Brill, 1960), pp. 262-82; Noth, Die Ur.ipnillge des aUell Ismel im Lichte neuer Qllellen (Sluttgart: \-\1. Kohlhammer, 1950). 7 NOlh, r.eschichte Ismels, p.128; cf. also Lemehe. Tile Israelites, pp. 138-41. S See T.L. Thompson, The His/aridty oj thf Patriarchal Narratives (BZAW, 133; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1974), I'p. 6-9. 52-57, 315--16. 9 Thompson. Historicity oj tile Patriarchal Narratives, p. 328; Thompson, 'Das ahe TeSl'l.lIlCnt als theologisehe Disliplin', in ReligiOlugtschicllte /smels oder Theologie des allen Testamtmts (18Th, 10; Neukirehcn: Ncukirehner Vcrlag, 1995), pp. 15773. 1(1 G. Dalman, Arbeit Ulul Sitte ill Paulstilla 1-11/1 (GfHcrsloh: Dcutschc Palastina Verein, repro 1964). II See esp. W.F. Albright. His/0l)', Archeology, alul Christian HU/IIanisWl (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UniversilY Press, 1964).

44

THOMAS L. THOMPSON

dence on narrative led him to champion one virtual history after the other, whose acceptance was dependent-like most fictionnot on evidence but on his construct's plausibility.12 For nearly two generations, Old Testament studies oscillated uncertainly between two alternative virtual histories. The Bible was read according to one's choice. I find it interesting that this impasse was finally broken when George Mendenhall offered what was at hean a theological compromise. l! Moses, who had been dismissed by Nolh and was nearly invisible in the archaeologically oriented construcls of Albright, was reinstated, along with monotheism, as the original spring from which Israel's history flowed. AJl and Noth's centuries-long peaceful immigration and sedemarization of nomads and Bright and Albright's invading conquerors inaugurating the II-on Age were synthesized by a sermon to Palestine's peasants about freedom from slavel)'_ Already in 1967, Manfred Weippert, in his decisive critique of the conquest theory, undersLOod well both the attraction and plausibility of Mendenhall's scenario, even as he remained faithful to AJl and Noth's option. 14 Although Nonnan Gott\\lald's support of Mendenhall's hypothesis of a peasant rebellion with analogous models drawn from the libraries of American sociology and a Vietnam-

era reading of the Bible in terms of 'liberation theol ogy 'l5 gave this scenario the form of historical reconstructions common to the field, the border between historical argument and narrative virtuality had been crossed. History's intrinsic inLOlerance for narrative V'drianIS, once engaged, led to rapid deconstruction. Neither Niels Peter Lemche's, Israel Finkelstein's nor this writer's shortlived efforts to offer evolutionary models for Israel's origin l6 could 12 Here, most notoriously, W.F. Albright, Yahweh and Ihe Gods of Canaan (London: Alhlone Press, 1968); cr. T.L. Thompson, 'Review ofW,F. Albright, Yahweh and the (;(xis of Canaan', CBQ 32 (1970), pp. 251-16; M. Weippen, 'Abraham del' Hebraer? Bemerkungen zU W.F. Alb,ights Deutung der Vater Israds', Biblica 52 (1971), pp. 407-32. " C,E. Mendenhall. 'The Hebl'ew Conquest of Palestine', BA 25 (1962), pp. 66-87; see also Mendenhall, 'Between Theology and A"cheology',jSOT 7 (1978), pp, 28-34. I. M. Weippert. Die Landnahme der ismelilischen Stiimme ;n der "elleTen wisslmschaftlichell diskllssiQn (GOuingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967). 15 N.K. Gottwald, The "lhbts of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of Liberated Israel 125()..1050 BCE (Maryknoll. I'\'Y; Maryknoll Press. 1979); for a systematic critique, cr, N.r. Lemche, t:arly Israel (Leiden: Brill, 1985); also T.L. Thompson, The Early History of the Israelite People, (SI-IANE, 4; Leiden: Brill, 1992), pp. 5()..76. 16 Here, one must refer to N.r. Lemche, Del gamle Israel (Arhus: Anis, 1984),

IF DAVID HAD NOT CLIMBED THE MOUNT OF OLIVES

45

shore up histodcal criticism's grand projecl. That we were dealing in virtual history had become obvious, and the suspension of belief we had freely granted our biblical scenarios no longer held. T\\u of the guidelines of historical methodology in biblical stud· ies have been (a) evenlS are singular and (b) those of the past that we are aware of are the ones we need for our histories. This not only allows us lO define data as evidence, it also allows us to assert that the evenlS of the past we imagine on the basis of this evidence in fan happened. The sense that we make of our world's relationship to biblical traditions, the importance of such guidelines even as we now begin to doubt them, will, I hope, become clearer as we explore the literary evenlS of our texlS. The awareness of the hislOricization of our traditions that has been encouraged by Eissfeldt's and Noth's rationalizing paraphrases, as well as of the politicization of both archeology and history today, has increased our sensitivity to the relative character of the histories of the past we have chosen to create. 17 What we have written as a history of Israel has been more a theological product for an increasingly secularized world than it is the Bible's hist~ry. We might well ask why it is that as soon as we find anything at all that might be identified as e\;dence supporting a confinnation of the possible existence of a central biblical hero-and here I am thinking of the b)·tdwd in the inscription from Tel Dan l8 and the d(i7)w3t of the Karnak inscription-we begin to read the

publi.shed in Engli.sh as Ancimllsr~ (Sheffield: Sheffield Acadcmic PreMo 1988); see now, howe\'er, The [sr(ll'liles; see al.50 L Finkel.stein, The Archeology of Ihe Israelil, Settlement (Jerusalem: IES, 1988), now also Finkelstein, The Archeology or the United Monarchy: An Ahernative View', Levanl 28 (1996), pp. 177-87; and T.L. Thompson, The Early His/ory of Ihr Israelilt Prof)lr: from the Wriltm and Ardwwlogiml Sourc,s (Leidcn: Ikill. 1992); sec IIOW, howcver, Thompsoll, The Bible ill His/my: Huw Writers CrellU {/ 'Jasl (London:Jonathall Cape, 1999), published ill the USA as 77ie MJthic I'asl: IJiblical Archeology and the MJlh of Ismel (Ncw York: Basic Books, 1999). 17 Already j.M. Sasson, 'On Choosing ~fodcls for Recreating Israelite PreMonarchic History', JSOT 21 (1981), pp. 13-24: cr. al.50 B. Lollg, Plmltillg and &api"g Albright: Politia, ldbJiogy, UllIllntnprrt;ng tht IJible (PclIll.5}'h~"nia: University of Pennsylvania PreM, 1997). 18 A. Biran andJ. Na\"eh, 'An Aramaic t"rngmelU from Tel Dan', It] 43 (1993), pp, 81·98; also Biran and Naveh, 'The Tel Dan In.scriplioll: A Ne¥l' Fragment', It] 45 (1995), pp, 1~18; T.L Thomp.50Il, '~House ofDavid~: an Epon}Tuic Rererenl to Y.. h¥lt:h ..." Godfn, 'Di»onancc and Di3connf:ctions: NOtCli on the byldwd and the hmlJr.hdd Fragmelltj rrom Tel Dan', SJOT 9 (1995), pp. 236-40.

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Bible historically.'9 Whether or not such confirmations are valid, they add little to OUf hislory and nothing to our understanding of the historicity or function of our biblical narratives. There never has been any debate about whether the Old Testament reflected the past. The recent debates have rather been about whether the biblical narratives were in any way historical accounts of the past, or whether they could be used as part of OUf account of that past. The debate has been about hislOI)' and about how OUf historical perspectives have changed our perception of the Bible. It is as if we stop being critical and reson lO the fundamentalism of our childhood thal history might not corrupt OUf faith. We close ourselves within the biblical story and avoid all the necessary exegetical and historical questions which might resolve the debate through changes in our understanding of the narrative's context, function and goal. By trying to defend what is called 'the Bible's view of its past', we have ignored the literary questions that give us access to the text's implicit voice expressing that view. The question also needs to be asked: Is virtual history all that biblical studies ever had? In asking this question now, we are without irony's self-conscious safeguard of knowing what a history of the real past might look like, a saving grace that supports any delight over the exposure of our historiography's pretension. These virtual histories of Israel have been, as Keith Whitelam has argued?) narcissistic mirrors of our own ideologies, politics and theology, and substantially arbitrary histories at that. That they have been written as alternatives to history is a question that Whitelam's work forces us to ask. Here, the exercise of this volume might well help us in understanding the history we have created. Let us choose renectively virtual histories that we might play with such themes as evidence and causality. including the historian's ideal that such causality proceeds in chains. Let us check the firmness of the linkage and let us refuse to censor our storytellers' variants.

19 K.A. Kitchen, 'A Possible Mention of Dal'id in the Law Temh Century BCE, and Uelly ·Uod as Uead as lhe Dodo?', jSU1' 76 (1997), pp. 29-44. 20 feW. Whilelam, The Invention of Ancient Israel: The Silencing of Palestinian History (London: Roulledge, 1996).

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If David Had Nol Climbed the Mount of Olives, What "11Ien?

As a historical question, of course, this one is nonsense. A historian doesn't ask that kind of question. The historical questions are, Did he climb the mountain or not? And was it the Mount of Olives? When did he climb it? And did he ever come down?21 Nevertheless. our question is asked about a story in the Bible (2 Sam. 15), and we might suspend for a moment any domain assumption that the question is a historical one. After all, our modernist's faith in historical necessity has already destroyed more than a little of the Bible's theology. Even more to the point, sto-des and literature of all kinds ask such questions at every turn. 'What if is the guiding light of philosophical discourse through narrative. This question is asked implicitly, for example, by Matthew: 'Do not presume to say to yourselves, "We have Abraham for our father". I tell you that God can make children out of these stones here' (Matt. 3:9). There is nothing irrational about the question in this context. Cod, it is implied, is the lord of history. Matthew well understands that Abraham and the children his wives bore to him lived in a virtual history. whose arbiter was the divine. It is in Matthew's spirit that I ask my question. If one wishes to convert the Bible's theological discourse into historical discourse, virtual history is the product of choice. We engage ourselves in the exploration of a literary world-past as it is-and we become thereby dependent on the strength of our imaginative grasp of the world created by the literature we explore. It is imporL:1.nt to recognize that such a world breaks dovmas it has been breaking down since the Enlightenment-as soon as our sense of the reality of the past departs substantially from this constructed world. In a world nurtured by historicism, it is hardly surprising thal the stories of Adam and Eve and of the great flood. of the tower of Babel and of Sodom and Gomorrah were the most vulnerable and the first lost to our historical imaginations. It was not because they were either preposterous or impossible. Our imaginations failed us. Charles Darwin's Origin of Species of 1859 combined fatally with the discovery and translations of the Bible-like tales of Gilgamesh (1850) and the Enuma Elish (1876). Though my history of science tells me otherwise, I believe 21 lllc implicit allusion of my questions lO Moses and lhe mountains he climbed is inlenlional.

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that the discovery of these literary variants were the most decisive in undermining the worldview (or imagination) which had rendered the historicity of the Bible's stories plausible. The analogolls and virtual character of literature stands categorically opposed to the singularity of historical events. This was so precisely the central issue in biblical studies that almost the entirety of critical scholarship was exercised throughout the nineteenth century with the problems of variability of motifs and stories: a crisis which was ultimately resolved historically with the Graf-Wellhausen 'documental)' hypothesis', the foundation for historiography in the field ever since. Historical faith can not tolerate the fertile profligacy of more literary commitments. Historical possibility is singular. Two can be debated. A third exposes the literary motives of the tradition. One can, for example, entertain the defeat of the Jebusites in Jemsalem by David as potentially historical only by excluding from consideration the conquest of the Canaanites by Judah or of the Amorites of the city by Joshua. One hardly wishes to entertain the question of whether David was in a cave or a valley with Saul, or whether Jesus was on a mountain or in a plain with his sermon, And if one does, the understanding which awaits us is more theological than historical. There is also a technique of variation in our biblical narrative where one tradition draws from another and places its story through citation and allusion into conversation with its predecessor. This is the 'YPe of exegetical process by which Paul can speak of Jesus as the 'new Adam'. In another manner, Mark links Jesus with Elijah and Moses in a vision of those who, like Enoch, 'walk with God', With yet another form, Luke links his story of Jesus' birth, illustrating 1 Samuel's song of Hannah. Just so, stories about Jesus often portray him in images drawn from David. Such ancient exercises in virtual history are well known to us. It is this kind of literary technique and motif I would like to explore in my own effon at virtual history, beginning in a reading of David on the Mount of Olives.2\! The greater story line to which the story of David on the Mount 22 The roots of the story of David on lhe Mount of Olives, as it is now presented ill 2 Sam. 15, involve several central themes of biblical composition. These I have discussed in greater detail elsewhere and limit my discussion here to the briefeSl of comments. For a further discussion of David's role in Bible stories. see T.L Thompson, 'Historic og tcologi i overskriflerne til Davids sallncr', Collegium BibliCtlIll Amllrift 1997 (Arhus: Collegium Biblicum. 1997), pp. 88-102; Thompson, The Bible in History, pp, 21-22, pp. 70-71.

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of Olives in 2 Samuel 15 provides a climax might be seen to begin already in the scene at the very beginning of 1 Samuel, in which Hannah, like Sarah before her, is barren (l Sam. 1:2). In her great grief she prays to Yahweh ill the telliple (v. 10). Her prayer is so intense that Eli the priest believes her to be a drunk and scolds her. Hannah, in defense of her integrity, offers a paraphrase of a psalm of David, Ps. 42:5-7,12 (l Sam. 1:15). In acknowledgement that it is a divine spirit that has possessed her, Eli prophesies that her prayer will be heard. It is Eli as prophet that Hannah addresses when she closes the scene with: 'May your servant find grace in your eyes' (I Sam. 1:18), a prayer which many of Luke's manuscripts find answered in Gabriel's address to Mary in Nazareth (Luke 1:28). In Samuel, the prayer is one expressive of Hannah's humility in prayer. Hannah has prayed for a child; now she prayers for the grace that God wishes her, a thematic contrast which forms a leitmotif in 1 Samuel 1-2. When the child is born she calls him Samuel. Why? Because 'she prayed (sJte'illiv) to Yahweh for him' (1 Sam. 1:20). In form, this is, of course, a classic naming etiology, belonging to the traditional patterned scene of 'the birth of a saviour'.23 The cryptic pesJter of the word play, however, renders the answer to her prayer 'in God's eyes'. In the Hannah story, the child's name Shemu'eL, 'the divine name', is bound inextricably with the fulfilment of her prayer, which, as we remember was, in her eyes, to take away the shame and humiliation she had shared with Rachel (1 Sam. 1:6, 11; cr. Gen. 30:23). The answer to her prayer, the grace which she was to receive, was to be 'grace in God's eyes'. And so Hannah returns to the mountain of God to pray (l Sam. I :24-28). Here Hannah epitomizes piety. She is 'the woman who stood (there in the temple) and prayed to Yahweh' (1:27). She prayed (sJte'elali) for this child and God gave her what she prayed for (sJta'alli). Now she offers (hish'iLlihu) the child to God. All his days he is dedicated (sha'ul) to God. The story is a story aboul prayer. The events of this world are events which are seen only by a mirror's refraction. Not Saul, but Samuel is the grace which in God's eyes is given to Hannah to lake

2' cr. the table or this traditional narrative pallcrn in D. Irvin, M)'tharion (AOAT, 32; Neukirchen: Neukirchllcr Verlag. 1978). Sce also, B.O. Long. The

Problem of Etiological Narrative in the Dill Tes/amellt (BZAW, 108; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1968).

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away her shame. In the transcendent perspective of the divine, Hannah prays for all of Israel, for all humanity and for the shame to be removed, as an answer to her prayer is glimpsed in Lhe birth of yet another child, in I Sam. 4:21: Ichabod, [Ii's grandson who was marked with the shame ('i-kahod) of Israel's loss of the divine kabod. when God's name no longer dwelled in Israel. It is in Hannah's Son Shemu'tl that an understanding of grace, as God sees it, can be understood. It is in names that human destiny is eS13J>. Jished (a hislorical necessity and causality which has ever been the envy of the hisLOrian). This is the beginning of the Saul story in God's C)'ts: to re-establish God's kabod in Israel. This scene eSlabIishes a plot tension within the narrative which is not resolved until 2 Samuel 6-7, when David brings the ark back to Zion and Yahweh establishes David's house forever (le-'olam, 2 Sam. 7:29) that the children of Israel might be established as God's eternal people (ad 'olam, 2 Sam. 7:24) and Yahweh as their God. 24 It is in this implicit author's voice that Hannah's universal and cosmic psalm of salvation is to be read, and with it the whole of I and 2 Samuel within the context of this song, which is reiterated at its closure in 2 Samuel 22: 'There is no rock like our God' (1 Sam. 2:2); 'Yahweh is my rock, my fonress, my salvation' (2 Sam. 22:2). It is also Yahweh, Hannah sings (in yet another variation of this wordplay, Saul and David's destiny are wrapped within a cryptic allusion to the theme of birth and salvation), who is the one who both 'brings one down to Hades (sM'ot) and raises one up' (I Sam. 2:6; 2 Sam.

22,6). The story in I Samuel turns again to this theme in the story of Samuel's call in I Sam. 3:1-19. At the close of this scene Eli interprets the mysterious voice which has called Samuel from his sleep in a time in which God is silent: 25 'He is Yahweh: he does what is good in his own eyes!' This definition of Yahweh as Israel's patron that introduces the complex chain of narratives in 1 and 2 Samuel can already be seen in Genesis 1 in the set reiteration of the refrain: 'And God saw that x was good', especially as it stands in contrast to the woman of Gen. 3:6 (made in God's image, Gen. It This is well understood by Luke 1:25 as once again the binh of a child remo\'es Israel's shame (I wi$h (0 thank I. Hjelm for pointing out the importance of the Ichabod tale in reference to the Hannah and Elizabeth Stories). r. So, in the introduction to the story in 3:1, lhere is II silualion of gra\'e thre.1,( comparable (0 Jerusalem jusl before the fall (Lam. 2:9); also a day of hope and truth in which the pious hunger for Yahweh's silenl \'()ice (Amos 8:3; so in I Kgs 19:12b).

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1:26) who 'sees the tree as good' and so eats of it. and establishes the universal chain of narratives in Genesis I-II about the divine and the human in conflict over their contrary views of the good. 1 and 2 Samuel bring this patron-client connict into explicit f
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In closing this variant of the golden calf Slory, the narrative voice, having raised this forward looking spectre of Saul, reminds the audience of Yahweh's power over life and death. Samuel promises to show them the good and I'ight way. They must serve Yahweh 'with their whole heart' and noL follow after gods of emptiness. If however, they do evil, they and their king will die (I Sam. 12:2025). One is hardly surprised that Saul's inaugural saving deed as Yahweh's messiah and Israel's king in I Samuel 13 ends in disas· ter. Saul's perspective is set in contrast to Yahweh's demand for unwavering obedience. Saul's great lesson is put bluntly as Samuel declaims, 'Whereas you have not obeyed the command Yahweh your God has given you, and whereas at this time (hi 'alah) Yahweh has established your kingdom over Israel ad 'olam, now (we-'alah) your kingdom will not stand. And, Yahweh now will choose a king 'after his own heart' (1 Sam. 13:13-14). Here the narrative offers a lightly cryptic allusion to David (dwd, 'the beloved'): the great Sha'ul, the ponent of She'ol, a king according to Israel's heart, is contrasted to the choice of Yahweh's heart. It is in the variant to chapter 13 which we find in I Samuel 15, that the test of Saul over Yahweh's patronage reaches its climax. The double entendre surrounding Saul's name seals his fate. In the story's opening, the narrator offers us a human perspective of Saul's victol)' over the Amalekites. The king destroys 'all that was worthless and despicable' (1 Sam. 15:9). The reader finds Good King Saul, the good general. He spares Agag. And he puts aside the best of the sheep and cattle, the calves and the lambs to offer them to Yahweh. Yahweh, however, is angry again. As in chapter 13, Yahweh demands obedience, not sacrifice. Innocem Saul is unaware that he is undone (I Sam. 15: 13)! The story is hardly kind to Saul. He is stopped in mid-sentence of his victory celebration, as Samuel asks him, 'Do you want to know what Yahweh says?' Saul's tragedy in this tale reflects the hubris of humanity. Saul's great deed is evil in Yahweh's eyes (1 Sam. 15:19). Saul does not understand because 'he has utterly destroyed the Amalekites'. The effon of his piety to sacrifice to Yahweh is met with a greater indifference than that Yahweh had shown to Cain (Gen. 4:5), as Saul's stOI)' turns to its threefold humiliating closure. 'Yahweh is not a man that h(": should repent' (l Sam. 15:30)! Saul is a man, however, and does repent. He abandons all that he wishes, even forgiveness, only that he might worship Yahweh. In the face of such

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abject humility, this last request is accepted, that he might wor· ship. Having dealt with the all-too-human 'Good King Saul' in his repentence, the stOI)' closes inexorably as Samuel cuts Agag to pieces before Yahweh. Saul has been rejected because he did what he saw to be right evil in Yahweh's eyes. True belief is loyalty and allegiance, submission and unquestioning obedience to the divine will. This same theme has long been recognized in the climax of the Job story, which ponrays a scene of humiliation similar to Saul's. The just man dares to call Yahweh before the court of justice. This is according to the human understanding of justice. Appropriate to the theme of the divine perspective as diametrically opposed to the human, Yahweh never appears in Job's imaginary court. When he does show himself to job, job submits; and what he says is pertinent: 'I spoke of what I did not understand J had heard of you only b)' the hearing of the ear; now, however, my eyes see you, and I despise myself and repent ... ' Uob 42:3-6). Human understzlI1ding is not the same as God's; what we understand as true and what we see as good is not thereby true and good. \o\'hat is true and good is as God sees it. The story that stands in pola.·ity to Saul's rejection is found in 2 Samuel 15. This story of David illustrates the headings of so many of his psalms. Now, all David's efforts to avoid disaster collapse. HUlued by Absalom, abandoned by his friends and despairing of all hope that he can ever turn his fate away from defeat, David 'seeks refuge in Yahweh' and finally 'walks in piety's path of righteousness'. He climbs the Mount of Olives, overlooking jerusalem, where, ule text tells us, one is 'wont to go to pray' (2 Sam. 15:32). It is time for the man of action to give himself to prayer. David, in his role as piety's representative, is used to illustrate the power of prayer. David's stal)' reflects the exhortation in Ps. 2:8: 'Pray, and I will make the world your inheritance.' It is the role he was given in Ps. 3:1, 'when he ned from his son Absalom'. 'My enemies are many; they rise against me; they say: God will not save him' (Ps. 3: 2-3)1 David has nothing left; he climbs to his final refuge. He weeps as he climbs the mountain. He is barefoot; his head is bowed; everyone who is with him has his head bowed and weeps. David speaks to Zadok ($edeqah: 'righteousness, discernment') and the story clarifies its theme. This is the Zion that Hannah had climbed before him; a mountain like Abraham's Moriah in Genesis 22, one to test his life to the core. Israel's time of 'lchabod' shame is David's burden. Now seeking counsel in righteousness,

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David climbs as a man of piety to shout his song that Yahweh might answer from his holy place (Ps. 3:5): 'If 1 find grace in Yahweh's eyes, he will let me see once again his ark and his dwelling' (2 Sam. 15:25). And then wisdom's key which unlocks the story: 'Ifhe says that he no longer wishes to bother with me, so then may he do to me as he sees as good' (2 Sam. 15:26). David as the man of piety stands in contrast to Saul: he is emptied of all self-will. He is the apogee of Yahweh's messiah and king: humanity's representative as the se~'ant of Yahweh. In humility, David crosses over his mountain. Absalom-though Yahweh's messiah-dies ignominiously, hanging from a tree. David turns towards Jerusalem as the king, Yahweh's beloved, and, riding down the mountain on a donkey, enters his kingdom. In the virtual history which is the Bible, David had to climb his mountain just as Abraham was certain to hold to his faith on Mount Moriah and Hannah to offer her child on Zion. David is the one chosen after Yahweh's heart. It was the essence of his character to seek refuge in Yahweh and to take himself to the mountain to pray as much as it had been Saul's destiny to fail. If David had not climbed the Mount of Olives, Absalom would not have been hung from his tree and killed; Davirl would not have entered his king~ dom; the temple would not have been built; and David would not have been the 'beloved' ofYahweh. 27 In other words, David would not have been David. His destiny was by necessity, given the text in which he played out his life. Each of our literal}' heroes follows the necessity of his or her role as reiteration of the transcendent truth expressed more philosophically for us in Ps. I :6: 'Yahweh affirms the path of righteousness, but the way ofthe godless fails.' This is the reality which underlies all of our stories; the fate of our heroes is not by their own decision or choice but by the will of God: by necessity. This is a literary voice, which deals with vir~ tual histories as a matter of course. Historical causality is Yahweh's, a historical necessity which is inscrutable and ineffable. Virtual History as Method in Intellectual History A literal}' discourse lies at the center of our historical as well as exegetical questions which entertain the question of a text's im27 On the relationship between David, the divine epithel dwd and the temple inJerusalcm, sec Thompson, "'House or David"'.

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plicit authorial \'oice. If we now turn to imroduce our modern question of virtual history to the Bible, it must be addressed to what is more appropriately the literary history we write: the relationship of our texlS and traditions, the intellectual history implicit in our tradition. Let us stay with David on his Mount of Olives and ask a Iitera!)'historical question: If David had nol climbed the Motml of Olives, would Jesus have been crncified? It is Hannah and David's 'everyman's' story of piety which the Gospels have Jesus reiterate in Jesus's story on the Mount ofOtives in Mark 14:32-42 (Matt. 26:3046). Here too the exhortation to prayer of Ps. 2:8 lies at the center of the story's illustration: 'Pray and I will make the world your inheritance; you will possess the ends of the earth. ·~s Just as surely, it is Ps. 3:5-7 that Mallhew has Jesus and his disciples sing with confidence that Yahweh will answer his prayer from his holy mounlain, that they may rest in sleep and awake to Yahweh's support. 29 Jesus reiterates on the Mount of Olives the virtue of humility and self-understanding thal David sang of in PSt 37: II and Jesus laught the crowd in Malt. 5:5: 'It is the meek who wi.11 inherit the earth.' Prayer is to find one's refuge in God, to recognize lhal it is the divine that determines one's fate. All climb the mountain to illustrate the power of such prayer. The messiah enters his kingdom through humility and meekness. The manner in which the different stories illustrate this transcendent tntth varies, but the truth reiterated is invariable. When Jesus climbs the Mount of Olives the night before he dies, he too plays the role of everyman in his story. He goes where one is wont to go to pray. He is abandoned by his friends; he weeps in grief and despair and is without hope. In his turn, he speaks Hannah's and David's prayer of righteousness: 'Not my will, but yours be done.' The reader sought by this story in all ilS variations is the one who might recognize that it is not by human will but by the will of God that one enters the kingdom; il is those who pray, the meek, who inherit the earth. This reiterated, virtual history is a philosophical discourse on a tr
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with David: to enler Jerusalem. With Absalom, he hangs from Golgotha's tree in his passage into his kingdom. In doing 50, Mark draws from yet another tradition, which one might well glimpse, for example, in Pesher Nahum's motif of the crucifixion associated with the coming of the Kittim and the 'Lion ofWrath'.~ This theme has iLS roOLS in the theme of testing and suffering, of the wilderness as the path to resurrection and to a new creation. In the fifth song of Lamentations, the sign of a desert Jerusalem 's and Judah's godlessness on the day of wrath is a city in which women and 'virgins are raped and princes hung by their hands' (Lam. 5:11-12). Il is through such suffering that the messiah in Mark on his day of wrath comes into his kingdom. The motif of David's entrance into Jerusalem cursed and humiliated (2 Sam. 16:5-13) finds David's prayer, 'May Yahweh see my need and give me this day happiness instead of a curse' (2 Sam. 16:12), is answered at the very end of David's struggles-'when Yahweh had saved him from all his enemies' (2 Sam. 22:1). It is interpreted in terms of Hannah's vicarious 'raising the horn of Yahweh's messiah' in her song of victory (I Sam. 2.10). This interpretation of messianic potency sung by David himself in chapter 22. casts the whole of I and 2 Samuel's long narrative in the light of eternity. 'David sings to Yahweh his song of praise and is saved from his enemies' (2 Sam. 22:4). 'He has given his king great victories; he has shown himself true to his messiah, to David and his family to eternity' (2 Sam. 22:51). It is this interpretation that Mark uses. It is through sufTe.-ing and humiliation thatJesus comes into his kingdom. Mark's placement ofJesus' t.-iumphal march into Jerusalem marks Jesus' entry into this world's Jerusalem, setting up an ironic contrast to his entry into his heavenly kingdom through humiliation. Mark 15:33-39 offers a powerful scene without any excess of commenta'1" Jesus' final despairing complaint is 'My God, my God, why have you abandoned me'? With echoes of the Mount of Olives, Mark presents Jesus as Yahweh's suffering messiah: he quotes David singing Ps. 22:2-3: 'My God, my God, why have you abandoned me? You are far from my shout for help, from my scream. My God, I shouted in the day, but you do not answer, and at night but I find no rest.' This prayer with which Jesus' dying scream opens inescapably calls up the confident the:10 cr. G. Doudna. Prsh" Nahum: A Critical Edition (Copenhagen International Seminar; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. forthcoming).

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ology in Ps. I :2-3 that he who prays day and night will be like a tree of life planted by Yahweh's stream. 31 Jesus takes on the role of David as the man of prayer. Like David, he has put his trust in God; he was scorned and despised by people. In Mark, those who misunderstand his call to God olTer the reader an implicit prophecy: like David, the messiah is to be betrayed; he is to be abandoned even by God, a prelude to his entrance into his kingdom. 32 This role is furthered by yet another quotation from a song David sang in his suffering: 'They gave me poison to eat and vinegar to quench my thirst' (Ps. 69:22). At his scream, the curtain of the temple that separates the transcendent from this ephemeral world is torn in 1:\'0'0: the messiah enters his kingdom. Mark's StOI)' self· consciously mirrors I and 2 Samuel's presentation of David in the role of Yahweh's messiah, not only in the story of David on the Mount of Olives, but also in its intel'pretation in 2 Samuel 22 and throughout the Psalter, where David takes up the messianic role of warrior in Yahweh's cosmic war. Now, when we return to our question of virtual histol)', it is clearly in'e1evant whether David did or did not climb the Mount of Olives, or whether Jesus was ever crucified. The truth of our stories hardly lies in theil' events. These events can easily be replaced by some dozen alternatives. Human history offers ephemeral illustrations of eternal truths. If, on the other hand, we put our question to Paul's statement, 'IfJesus had not risen, our faith is in vain', we find that we have entered a world, not the virtual histol)' of this world, but one of theological necessity. Paul's statement is hardly to be read as a hisLOrical argumelll, as Roland de Vaux once paraphrased i[ ..'~ It is hardly used to cast doubt on faith. Rather, Paul's assertion renects a typically Hellenistic indifference to the historical. It echoes Qohelet. Our faith is not empty, but a faith in the living God. Therefore, I'esurrection and life are to be affirmed! As David, playing the role of piety's representative, is forced by intellectual necessity LO submit his wiIl to Yahweh's because he is in his essence the 'beloved' of Yahweh, so too must Jesus, as piety's representative of the victol)' over death, play his

" For this imerprclation, sec Thompson, TIlt !Jiblt ill Hisfmy, pp. 244-48. ~~ Thompson, The Bible ill /-lisfOl)', pp.358-59. " '~I la 101 hlstorique d'lsraeJ n'csl pas londce dans l'hlsLOlre, celle 101 CSI CIToncc, et la notre aussi' (R. dc Vaux, 'Les palriarches hcbrcux cll'histoirc', R..J3

72 11965J. PI" 5-28 [7]).

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Absalom role, hanging from a tree that he too might enter his kingdom. This is the role he has. In the world of biblical narrative, the world of experience is virtual; it is passing and variable. However, the world as God sees it stands. It is not the sLory of David, but the interpretive song of 2 Samuel 22. The Israelite tribes did not conquer Jericho. Yahweh's heavenly warrior of Josh. 5: 15 did. The real world of transcen· dence can be seen occasionally breaking into the human world of experience: in the vision of Ezekiel 43, in the fUlure of lsa. 11:19 and in the transfiguration of Mark 9:9-13. For the rest, we see as through a mirror, darkly. ABSTRACT

The history of Israel has always been a virtual history. Until recentJy, historical debate in the field has confined itselr almost entirely to a discussion about alternative fictional scenalios ror the past: the patriarchs and the cOIl(luest stories as an alternative lO the exodus and settlement narralkes; Moses or Ezra; Josiah or John Hyrcallus, Evidence, when it has been or illlerest lO the field at all, has ever been in regard to any given scenario's persuasiveness. The story or David on the Mount or Olives is used as an example or the theological world at sUlke in the Bible's virtual history; particulady in regard lO lhe motir or Yahweh as 'the 101"d or hislOry', Recognition or such virtuality in the biblical tradition aids the COlllemporary historian or illtcllectual history. The story orJesus on the Mount or Oli\"es is used 10 illustrate this.

FILLING IN HISTORICAL GAPS, HOW DID JORAM REALLY DIE?, OR, THE INVENTION OF MILITARISM ERNST AXEL KNAUF University of Hem Michael Niemann .tum /9. X. /998

In the case of Ancient Israel, the historian's primary task is to find out what really happened. There is no point in writing 'AI· ternative History' if the history for which an alternative is pro· posed is nothing but a product of the University of Bethel's 'Creative Hisl0l}' Writing Class' of 627 BeE. It is difficult to prove that David ever made love to Bathsheba, for his name does not figure in any contemporary documenl. l In the case of joram, however, last king of the renowned dynasty of Omri, everything seems to be clear: we have a dead body-Joram's-and we have a detailed account of the murder, giving the name of the murderer: Jehu, a culprit who, as is often the case with politically motivated atroci· ties, does not deny the charge, but rather seems to be proud of it. 2 Unfortunately, a second, and contemporary, confession was recently unearthed at Tel Dan. Now it is Hazael, parvenu-king of Damascus, who claims to have killed both Joram, king of Israel, and Ahaziah, of the Dynasty of David. 3 So the question is again: Who dunnit?4 I It is as difficult to deny that he did (on the basis of this assumption, the need to explain the origin of I Sam. 16-1 Kgs 2 quickly leads beyond the limits of rcasonable spcculation). In any case, a histolically reconstructed David who would fit IntO the Structures and conditions of the tenth century BeE (insofar as we know them) would ne\'cr bc identical with the David of biblical literature. 2 It stands to reason that 2 Kgs 9-10 reflects the point of view ofJehu's eIHOllrage. 3 Cr. H.-P. Meillcr, 'Die al
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Limitations of space and lime necessitate a mere outline of the investigation's results." First, it is not true that Joram left the Ramal-Gilead from and retired toJezreel (2 Kgs 9:14-15) because he was wounded in action. This was the official statement for public consumption. It is true thatJoram left the army, which he did not like anyway, and the war against the Aramaeans, which he disliked even more, and went to his Trianon called Jezreel-an action which was perfectly understood by the army's leading of· ficers (or so they thought) who all knew thatJoram was in perfect health. The dislike between Joram and his army was mutual. Contrary to what was thought (and whispered) at headquarters, it was not Shulamit bat Amminadab who drew him to jezreel, but he did what he could to nurture the rumour. He had his chariot adorned with lilies when he left. joram hated the war because he, his father and his grandfather had been allied to the Aramaeans of Damascus until, the year before, the Aramaean general Hazael had killed his royal master (Joram's beloved 'uncle Haddy', full name Hadad'ezer) and usurped the Damascene throne. Out of personal obligation to the deceased, joram had finally succumbed to jehu's (his chief of staff's) constant demand to fight a war regardless of where. against whom and for what reasons,just to prove what a fine Israelite army jehu had formed. But, as Joram knew well, there was no feasible alternative to the entente cordiale between Israel and Aram for either of them, nor for the Phoenician merchant cities who had always covered the expenses. Twelve years ago, Aram and Israel had withstood, on the Qarqar plain, the onslaught of a new and rather disturbing player in the field of Syrian politics: Assyria. Assyria hovered in the north, Assyria was poor, Assyria's economy subsisted on basically nothing, but Assyria had an army. Israel and Aram had their armies, too, as every kingdom was meant to have: the knights of the royal guard in their gaudily painted and lavishly gilded chariots, never to be used in action, because action would be harmful to the paint and the ornaments, and to the feathers on the knights' helmets, and to their rich but tasteful uniforms. They also had the levy of the tribes and the cities, marching at ease in any order that pleased them (i.e., generally in none at all), eager to see the world, to empty other cellars than their own, and ~ For crcdcntials, [ may POilll Qut th:a I was baptizcd in thc parish church of the Mfmchhausen barony, and thus had acccss to more Hieroglyphic Tales than Horace Walpole would havc imagincd.

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to do no serious harm to anybody, least of all to themselves. A battle, usually, was a rush and a roar, much arms-elauering but little arms-using, until one side advanced to the rear. This side was regarded as defeated and had to pay for the beer. Not so Assyria. Other kingdoms had an army, but 'The Army' had Assyria. Or was Assyria. The military was the only trade and craft that thrived in the north. The Assyrian army exercised before breakfast, after breakfast, before lunch, skipped lunch and continued exercising, before dinner and after dinner. And now they came. When the two hosts were arranged on the Qarqar plain, lhe Syrian medley on one side and the Assyrian army on the other, first there was silence. Then the evolutions began: the Assyrian formed lines, double lines. triple lines, deployed from line into column and back again, formed squares, moons, stars, half·moons and finally, triangles. One hundred years later the Syrians would have known that they were supposed to be impressed and to give up fighting, but in 853 BCE it was all new and rather curious. The Syrians, nol knowing what to think of the show, finally made the best of it and applauded (their only casualties on this fine day were those who had died of laughter). The Assyrians, having exercised evolutions but not yet bow-firing with live ammunition, did not know what to do further and retreated to their camp, where that very night most of them went down with diarrhoea. The Syrian coalition lost all their horses at sunset, when the Arab auxiliaries arrived on camels-too late for any meaningful action other than frightening the horses away. The next day, the knights had to draw the chariots by t11emselves. The battle was a draw: no peace treaty, no beer-
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pretty on parade), but he did not love Lhe soldiers at all. He was rather fond of the function they had to fulfill: to kill and to die. Jehu loved war, which ga\"C him that supreme feeling of power and sublime drunkenness which he abhorred in civil life (he was a vegetarian and lCalOlaller). In brief,Jehu was incredibly stupid, and Joram had him appointed chief of staff only because he thought that in lhis position Jehu would do Lhe least harm (soldiers were not highly regarded in Ancient Israel, and officers of the General Staff even less). Now, what Joram resented in the military camp at Ramol Gilead was not just the war that he did not really want, nor the permanent presence of Jehu, nor the absence of his beloved Shulamit (11011hat the king might not have brought his favourite concubine into camp--most kings did so-but Shulamit, not being head of government or senetary of state, refused to tolerate Jehu even for a second). What made Joram concerned and caused his premature departure from the field of glory was not the fact that Jehu and Hazael had both participated in the joint Aramaean-Israelite study group to analyze the Battle of Qarqar, and had submitted a proposal for the Assrrianizing of the coalition annies, which had been gradually implemented since then. This he knew. But now he discovered that more communication took place between the Aramaean headquarters and the Israelite General Staff than he was aware of; and, it was the per· son of me intermediary t11at appeared especially troublesome. The intennediary between Jehu and Hazael was called Elisha, and was known as the fanatical leader of the 'YHwH-A1one Movement'. Elisha, from a priestly family in a small town in Gilead (he still received his share of their temple's revenues, though he had never officiated and would never do so) had, after an unsuccess-ful attempt to join the administration, founded a new sect. He de· manded of his compatriots that they should worship YHWH alone, and worship him as he, Elisha, advised them. There is no god but the One God, and all power, praise and glory is due to his humble selVant on earth. Now monotheism was nothing new. Monotheism, the insight that the deity is finally one and that all the gods and goddesses somehow relate to him or her, representing aspects or local manifestations of the Supreme Being, was formulated by the philosophers of Egypt at the end of the second millennium BeE and knowledge of it was common among the educated. So it was perfectly possible to be an Israelite and worship him as YHWH, or a Sidon ian and venerate her as Ashtoret, or a Tynan and adore

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him as Melqart-Baal. Because all the deities were finally one, songs and rituals could be borrowed from one cult by another. Instead of 'Hadad is my shepherd' one might equally also sing 'YHWH is my shepherd', and the fine arts of Phoenicia had greatJy impl'oved the decoration ofYHwH's temples. In the presence of pictures and music, the most boring sermon could somehow be sustained. Now, the YHwH-AJone people hated pictures and detested music (and dancing). The movement recruited ilSelfamong the lower middle class, among those who whel-e marginalized by the economic and cultural boom of the past fifty years: small freeholders, who could not compete with the large estates; the last producers of flint blades and sickles (iron was so much more efficient); grocers succumbing to the competition of the newly-invented department stores. The YHwH·AJone Movement was a form of monotheism of the uneducated: There is only one Cod, and he is our Cod, whereas your gods are mere idols. How could such a god appeal equally to the high ranking Tyrian colony at Samaria, to the olive oil producers of Galilee, to the almond-plantation owners of Bethel, to the shepherds in the mountains, to Galileeans,Jezreelites, Gileadites and Ephraimites? Unfortunately, the number of Israelites who refused further to can}' the burden of being civilized and flocked to the meetings of the YHwH-AJone-and-lsrael-First Movement grew. They regarded Elisha, whose basic interest in life seemed to be that everybody should feel as miserable as he felt himself, as a holy man (which made him sacrosanct and allowed him to move freely between the two armies). What Joram learned about the Elisha-Hazael:Jehu connection was disturbing enough. Hazael encouraged Jehu to get rid of his royal master much in the same manner as Hazael had dispatched his king; he should seek the support of the YHwH-Alone Movement (their political aim of national independence would never be implemented, but they would provide a pressure group for internal disturbance, and war-machine fodder for the Great War to come), for Assyria was approaching again, and one could only fight Assyria with Assyrian means-something that Hazael in AramDamascus, and Jehu in Israel, had to accomplish. It was the last piece of news that disturbed Joram most. The Assyrian army had now adopted a quick firing composite bow and presented a dreadful threat. If Israel should succumb to civil war, the coalition would be defeated well before the armies were drawn up for battle. Joram needed to think, and this he could never accomplish in Jehu's

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headquarters. He needed Shulamit's presence, Avilal's cooking, and the diplomatic connections ofJczcbcl, his Phoenician mother. So he went to jczreel. AtJczreel, he summoned his vassal Azariah ofJudah and dived headlong into diplomatic frenzy. Doves carrying messages between Jezreel, Tyre, and Sidon died of exhaustion by the dozens. Assyria had to be slopped, coide qu£ come. If a coalition would not do any longer, let there be a 'United Kingdom' of Phoenicia, Israel and Aram. Let there be a supreme king as long as local and regional autonomy, inherited rights and ancestral customs could be presClved. Joram detested Hazael's ruthlessness, but he started to appreciate his opponent's intelligence. Without Hazael onc could not do what had to be done, so he was to do it with Hazael. By his Sidon ian diplomatic channels, Joram offered Hazael his submission as long as there would be no interference in Israel's internal affairs. Hazael demanded all the Galilee and most of Israelite Transjordan, half of Joram 's kingdom, in addition. Joram agreed even to that, signed lhe peace treaty, the vassal treaty, ceded Galilee and Gilead, and commandedJehu tojoin immediately the Aramaean army under the command of Hazael in order lo march against the Assyrians. The agreement between Joram and Hazael came to Jehu as a stunning blow. He would never submil to the command of someone who had been his colleague and, as he saw il, his ally in conspiracy. His spiritual advisor and financial supporter Elisha exploded in anger at the thought of ceding Gilead and Galilee (remember that the YHwH-A1one Movement also was an Israel-First Movement). Being a holy man, Elisha immediately designated Jehu king of Israel who, in turn, had Hazael's officers who communicated the Joram-Hazael treaty to him hanged, drawn and quartered for laise-majeste. Having thus made his point to Hazael, he summoned the Israelite army and rushed to Jezreel. Now il was a difficult thing to rush from Ramot Gilead to Jezreel in 841 BeE. The road from Gilead to the Jordan valley had been severely damaged by the lasl winter's rains and the funds designated for its maintenance had to be used for the mobilization of the army against Hazael. The chariots had to be taken apart, transported on donkeys' backs, and reassembled afler the crossing of the Jordan. News of interest for the stock market always ll'avelled much faster than rebel armies, so Joram, six hours afler Jehu's

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departure from Ramot Gilead, knew that everything was lost, at least for the next three hundred years to come. joram took Shulamit, jezebel, Avital, his sons, the Phoenician colony from Samaria, the priests of Samaria. BeLhei and Dan, the libraries and archives and went to Sidon in exile. The Sidonians, of course. would have appreciated a ruling Kingjoram much more than an exiled ci-devant King joram within their city walls, a presence that might cause diplomatic complications with whomever would be the next king of Israel. On the other hand,joram came with a large amount of money and an entourage of highly skilled and educated people. The Sidonians finally accepted joram as a co-citizen and as a shareholder of the West Mediterranaean Company6 on the condition that he adopt a bourgeois name. joram settled for 'Shlomo Qohelet'. He lived happily (insofar as he could forget what was happening in his ancient kingdom by then) for another 40 years. The Israelite expatriates used to gather three evenings a week in his residence, one evening with wine and Shulamit, one evening with wine and without Shulamit, and onc evening without wine. joram and his friends were kind enough to hand down the songs, which were sung in the presence of Shulamit,7 and the philosophical reflections. which were reflected in the absence of Shulamit,tl down to us. Considering the history of his time and the caneer of Hazael, Joram rewrOte the few notes he had found concerning the early kings of Israel and JlIdah completely. His story ends with the words 'Thus the royal power was firmly established in the hands of Solomon', a work which became a great literal)' success on the book market, but few readers have realised that it is a stOl)' about the illusion of power and the impossibility of stability in a world created by the power drunk and power addicted. A nephew of Joram who was engaged in the Arabian trade, a branch of enterprise just opened, wrote a long poem about the question of whether the deity could be equally almighty and just. His poem also was a great literary success, but again few readers have realised thatjoram's nephew actually solved the prob6

Cf. Qoh. 11:1.

7

As can be deduced from Song 6:12; 7:1.

8 Cf.. except for the dating, C. Uehlingcr, 'Qohelet im Horizont mcsopota1I1ischer, 1e\'antinischer und agyptischcr Wcishcitsliteratllr del' persischen lind

Ilclk"b~bdl';'" Zeit', in L. Schwicnho'-M-Schonbcrgcl" (cd.), Vas O"ch Koh"le/; S/udien .t"r Slnlktur, Gl!5chichte, ReuflliOlI tOld Theologie (Berlin: de CrllYlcr. 1997). pp. 155-247.

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lem. 9 In 753 BeE, two of Joram's grandchildren, Ram'el ('Romyl' in Phoenician) and Jojarem ('Remy' for his friends), founded a Sidon ian colony on the Tiber which was soon taken over by the natives of the area who proved very capable in the acquisition of knowledge, wealth, and power. Ahaziah was not so happy. He never felt at ease in the large cities of the North, and never did comprehend the rules of traffic (which, of course, were not applied at Jerusalem because, in the South, there was no traffic for hundred more years to come). This, within the frenzy of a premature departure, was his undoing. When his chariot went into Main Street from Palace Alley, he dis-regarded another chariot's right of way, and Ahaziah and his driver were killed in the accident. Now for Jehu and his troop. They endured the forced march from Gilead via the Jordan valley to Jezreel only by indulging in fantasies of what they would do withJoram,Jezebel and the others, once they had them (the band was greatly dimished after drinking from the Jordan valley water at Zarethan). When Jehu came to jezreei, the place was empty except for the dead bodies of Ahaziah and his driver. The latter was exhibited to the public as .Ioram, andJezebel was executed in effigy. Everybody left atJezreei who could read and write was regarded as a royal prince and massacred by the mob. At Samaria, because the priests were gone, the temple was filled with Israelite wine makers, pub owners and disc jockeys and then burned to the ground. Because there existed no more 'Joram' in the civil records anywhere in the world, Jehu could claim that he had killedJoram (as he wished he had) and go uncontested. Meanwhile, the Assyrian army marched unopposed to the walls of Damascus, behind which Hazael had retreated, being too weak to face the Assyrians in the open without an ally. The Assyrians had learned, since 853, how to fire a bow, but the Corps of Royal Assyrian Engineers had not yet been created, so the Assyrians devastated the gardens and the fields surrounding Damascus. The Assyrian general Fortinbras was despatched against Jehu, who was only keen to fight an enemy whom he regarded as inferior, soJehu submitted to Fortinbras and kissed his feet (which were never washed). At Damascus, after three weeks of looting, devastating 9 O. Keel is one of the few; cr. his Jahwp.; Enlgeglll.Hlg an fjab (Goltingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978).

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and destroying, the Assyrians became tired and went home. This was exactly what Hazae1 had expected. Hazae1 led his army out again, took possession of Galilee, devastated Gilead in retaliation for the messengers tortured by Jehu, and dedart:u himsc::lf supreme king from the brook of Egypt to the Euphrates. Now it is true that Hazael already had legally and peacefully received the Galilee fromJoram. Being, however, of low descent, Hazael could neither give gifts nor receive gifts, so he declared the Galilee his conquest. DespisingJehu (he knew him well), he never recognized him as king, and, since a king can only be killed by another king, never by a rebellious subordinate, Hazael was forced to claim the killing of Joram and Ahaziah for himself. Having thus sorted fact from fiction, it is now possible to ask the 'what iP.' question: what ifJehu had been half as stupid as he was, if he had joined Hazael fighting the Assyrians, if they were decisively defeated, if there were never an Assyrian empire and, in consequence, no deuteronomism, no destruction of the first temple, no exile, no first and no second Jewish war? First, being defeated decisively, the Assyrian would-be empire vanished quickly. Being dependent on conquest, expansion, and a continous influx of booty and tribute, one setback was enough to tear apart the economical basis of the Assyrian army which, in brief, was the entire state and its society. After less than a decade, the once mighty city of Assur had become a haunt of owls and vipers, and the dreaded name of 'Assyria' was forgotten except in the lore, where it figured as a paradigm of self-defeating hubris. The very idea of imperialism and militarism was discredited to an extent that humankind was henceforth spared these temptations. In this alternate world, thel"e nevertheless arose some sort of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Judaism is not to be called by this name, though, for Samaritans and Jews never split, so the Israelites are just Israelites and nobody contested the 'false Israels' in the name of some 'true Israel'. There is also a Hebrew Bible, consisting of the Torah 10 (minus Deuteronomy and the deuteronomistic layers) and the Ketuvim (minus Daniel and Esther). There are no Prophets as part of Scripture. So Arabian monoIII Even if most of the ami..detHeronomislic (i.e .. priestly) material in the Torah is posl-demeronomislic, some chapters can be identified as pre-dcuteronomislic; e.g., Gen. I, 10, and 36.

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theism, or [slam, had to do without Mohammed and without the concept of 'Holy War', and it resembles to a certain degree the Baha'i religion. Christianity is also known under another name, because the Former and Later Prophets (whence the term 'Messias-ChriS10S' originated) do not exist. But because the incarnation was decreed by the Holy Trinity before all lime, the Son of Cod was born, killed and resurrected at the appointed time. In the absence of the deutcronomistic tradition, the violent solution of the Hellenistic crisis in the second century BeE never took place (a crisis there would have been, and a lot of high ranking literary production, 100), so AriS10buius could not have conquered Galilee in 103 BeE, and Jesus was born an lturaean (still being a descendant of Abraham, though). The Church of the Nativity stands at Capernaum, and the Holy Sepulchre at Tiberias, and the interpreters of the Christian Bible have started, some tweIHY years ago, to reflect the Anti-Arabism of the gospel. Because Joram's insight that power is an illusion became common knowledge from the second century CE onwards, the Bishop of Rome never aspired to total control of the Christian church. As a consequence, there never was a Reformation, though there still was a renaissance of Augustinian theology led, among others, by a monk teaching at Wittenberg University in the the first half of the sixteenth century. Geneva is stilJ ruled by its bishop. In politics, there never was an attempt to establish monarchic absolutism, so there never arose the need for revolution which, in the absence of deuteronomistic theology, lacked any backing from religious authority. Charles I died with his head firmly connected to the rest of his body, and France is still ruled by the Bourbons (or rather, the descendants of Marie-AIHoineue). Needless to say, the concept of 'nation' is meaningless in this world. In the Near East, there still exists the 'United Kingdom of Phoenicia, Israel and Aram' (UKoPIA). Within the framework designed by Joram-as much central authority as absolutely necessary, as much local autonomy as possible-each community is guaranteed the use of its native language and the preservation of its inherited religion. Odginally, the preservation of local culture was handled rather strictly in order to prevent another 'YHWHAlone Movement', but, from the fifteenth century onward, communities of expatriates-Israelites at Sidon, still a thriving community today, or Aramaeans at Jerusalem-gained permission to set up chapels for their respective cults. The official languages of

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UKoPIA are Hebrew, Aramaic and Arabic, that is, their written standard forms. The spoken languages lOok the form of dialects, which are mutually as intelligible as the German of a Bavarian to the German of a Pommcranian, that is, not at all, UKoPlA was never ever conquered-empires knocking at UKoPlA's doors were invited to exercise some sort of suzerainity, like the Persians, AJexander, Rome. The Muslim armies never came (some regions in the south and east became Arabic, though, by demographic change), and the Mongols were beaten off in 1260 CEo Today, UKoPlA is an independent vassal of the 'Holy Roman Empire',ll very much like the 'United Kingdom of England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Nova Scotia and New England' (there is no USA, because revolution was never invented). Kings (and queens) are still the heads of state, and government officials are usually recruited from the ranks of the knights. But all decisions are discussed and finally made on the lowest local level possible, which ensures that in affairs of daily life, everybody has his or her say. The world is fairly democratic, although the word 'democracy' (like 'nation') has never been mentioned and would be incomprehensible to the inhabitants of this alternative world. The concepts of 'to rule' or 'to govern' are meaningless, as everybody knows thal all we can accomplish is somehow to muddle through the many and difficult obstacles, aporias, minor and major catastrophes of our personal and communal daily life. People of the 'alternative world' live much happier than the inhabitants of the present world, but because they do not know what they had been spared, they do not feel happier. ABSTRACT

Was there a chance, bctwccn 853 and 841 Ilet:, to prc\'cnt the rise of Assyria to supreme powcr in the Near East, and thus the invention of imperialism as a political conccpt? Which impcrfections in human behaviour in gcneral, or which flaws in the chanlclers of the protagonists specifically, must h;l\'c been absent to ensure a more f;wourable coursc of CVCllts? No deuteronornisrn without Assyria: thus the present essay tries to forecast how the world of today would look if this way of thoughl had ncvcr ariscn. 11 Which comprises, from East 10 \Vcst, the Kingdoms of Polonia, Hungary, Bohemia, Saxony, l3avalia, Hanover, Danemark, the United Netherlands, Italy, the Two Sicilies, Francc, Navarrc, Aragon, Castile, and Portugal, in addition to a number of principalities (like Lorraine, Normandy, and Toulouse) and free cilies 1ik~ 1-lamlJurg, Colognc, ZUl idl, 130\:;0.:1
ISRAEL, ASSYRIAN HEGEMONY, AND SOME CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY EHUD BEN ZVI Unium;ty oj Alberta

Introduction The aim of this counterfaClual study is to contribute to a beller understanding of Israelite history and the forces that shaped it. The seemingly naive question of "what if' in the context of his-Lorical studies may in fact be a helpful heuristic device. What if some historical event that could have happened differently would have? What if one interchanges a "historical fact" with what was a possible fact, but ended up being a "counterfact''? To begin with, within this context, the "what if' question really implies something like "would anything of historical significance be different beyond the basic event being discussed if so and so had happened" and, accordingly, begs the question of what is meant by "anything of historical significance" and for whom. Second, it assumes an openness to the possibility that the mentioned event had implications for the future, or, in other words, that it may have selved as a forking point at least on the short run, or, in more precise words, an openness to the idea that the probability of subsequent historical events is affected by the end result of the particular event under discussion. Third, and following the second point, it raises the issue of "short" vis vis "long"-run analysis, and, implicitly, the underlying issue of the interplay of "structures" and "human agency" in historical causation, whether deterministic or simply probabilistic. Fourth, it undermines the narrative determinism and the teleological stories that are most often embedded, consciously or unconsciously, in the historiography written by those who know well what was the "fact" and what was the "counterfact," at least in so far as it concerns the discussed event. By doing so it opens a possibility for better understanding of the perspective of the participants in the events, who surely did not know in advance what the historical "fact" would be. l

a

1

On these issues see the excellent introductory chapter by N. Ferguson in

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

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To be sure, for this analysis to be fmitful U't'O conditions must be fulfilled: (a) the "fact" should be known with much certainty, and so at least the main contours of the following events; (b) the counterfaet should be one that had a good chance of becoming the "fact," even if it did not. If (a) does not hold true, then the analysis turns into an exercise in writing a virtual SlOl)' of a virtual story, or to be more precise a literary exercise that involves a change in the plot and characterization of personages in a stOI)' whose historical rcferentiality is questionable. Of course, there is nothing wrong with this type of work, but it will not contribute a better understanding of Israelite histol)' and the forces that shaped it, and that is the goal of this paper. If (b) does not hold true, then one is invited to enter into the realm of fictional narrative, and perhaps even of a kind of (hard?) science fiction, in which the past plays the role of the fUtUI"C. 2 In any event, if (b) does not hold true, one loses the historical cues and anchors. and without them the discussion will surely not contribute to belter understanding of Israelite history and the forces that shaped it. The Fact Taking into account the previous considerations, and given the present controversies regarding the histol)' of monarchic Israel, I choose a "fact" that (a) is 110t in dispute at all and whose historical setting and consequences are in the main agreed by all, and (b) whose "counterfact" was a possibility that was evaluated and carried out in Israel for some time before the "fact," and was actually adopted as policy in some of the countries surrounding Israel. There is no dispute that at some poi III between 736 and 735/4 BeE, the previous model governing the foreign policy of Israel (i.e., the Northern Kingdom of Israel) towards Assyria was rejected and replaced with one based on, or dearly leading to, confrontation. The older model involved Israel's "voluntary" acceptance of its status as a tributary vassal-state of Assyria. It was adopted by king Menahem (ca. 748-38 BCE) and likely by his son Pckahiah

N. Ferguson (cd.). Virtual Historr Alternatives and Coullterfactuals (London: Papermac, 1991:1), pr. 1-90. ! Or ir done in less than good taste and historical knowledge, plain and simply into the domain or nully chal.~ M

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(ca. 738-36 BCE).' The new foreign policy involved confrontation with Assyria and alignment with Rezin, a partnership that is often referred to as the Syro-Israelite coalition. It is to be stressed that there is no dispute among historians about the historicity of this change in policy towards Tiglath-pileser III (hereafter, TP Ill), nor about the results that followed this change in the orientation of Israelite foreign policy. Both neoAssyrian and biblical sources clearly characterize Menahem as a tributary vassal-king. 4 Several neo-Assyrian sources aboutlhe campaigns ofTP III to the West from 734-732 BCE, the archaeological data from northern Israel, and the books of Kings and Chronicles all point to the military (and political) confrolllation between TP III and Israel, as well as to the main results of such confrontation.!> The mentioned change in Israel's foreign policy was most likely related to the coup against and murder of Pekahiah by Pekah, which took place in 736 BeE. The cumulative weight of the following points supports such a position: (a) The lurn around in foreign policy and the violent change of dynasties are temporally related;

, For chronologies of the peliod, see, for instance, G. Galil, The Chronology of tM Kings of Israel and Judah (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East, 9; Brill: Leiden, 1996). pp. 63-70, 81-82; N. Na'aman, "HislOrical and Chronological Notes on the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah in the Eighth Century B.C.,fl vr 36 (1996), pp. 71-92 (74-82, 92); J. Hayes and P.K. Hooker, A New Chronolog:)'for tile Kings of Israel andJudah and Its Implications for Dibfical History and LiUrature (Atlanta:John Knox Press, 1988); GJ-Jones, I and 2 Kings (NCB, Grand

Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), pp. 9-28; H. Tadmor, ~The Chronology of the First Temple Period: A Presentation and Evaluation of the Sources,fl in J.A. Soggin, A History of Israel: From the Beginnings to lhe Dar Kochba Revolt AD 135 (London: SCM Press, 1985), pp. 368-83. • See Ann. 13· line 10, and Stele III A, line 5 (H. Tadmor, The hucriP/ions of Tiglath Pikser III King of Assyria. Critical EditiQ/l, witllIntroductiOlu, Translations and Commentary Ucrusalem: Magnes Press, 1994], pp, 68-69 and 106-07), the discussions in TadmOI', Inscrilltions, pp. 265-68 and 274-76; B, Becking, The Fall of Samaria. An Historical and ArcJweowgical Study (SllIdies in the History of the Ancient Near East 2; Brill: Leiden, 1992), I'p. 3-4; L. Levine, Two Nf!t)-Ass)'rian Stelae [rom Iran (Royal Ontario Musellm: Toronto, 1972), col. 11, 1. 5; I'p. 18-19. As for

biblical sources, see 2 Kgs 15:19-20. ~ See Ann. 18:3'-7' and 24:3'-11'; Slimm. 4:15-19, Summ. 9:r9 and Slimm. 13: 17-18 (Tadmor, hucriptions, pp. 81-83, 140-41, 188-89, 202-3), the general discussion in Tadmor, Inscriptions, pp. 279-82. See also N. Na'aman, ~Tiglath-pileser Ill's Campaigns against Tyre and Israel {734-32 B.C.E.),fl TA 22 (1995), pp. 26878; Z, Gal, TIle Lower Galilee during tile frOlI Age (ASOR, Dissertation Series, 8; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1992), Pl'. 108-109. Cf. 2 Kgs 15:29; I ebron. 5:6, 26.

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

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(b) Menahem was clearly identified with one policy, Pekah with the other; (c) the Syro-Israelite coalition, and the coup d' elat itself may be seen in the light of the model of forced panicipation in alliances against a suzerain overlord;6 (d) since, within this model, Rezin will be the one who forced the alliance, it is worth stressing that all the documents give him a hegemonic role over Pekah;7 (e) Pekah executed his coup d'itat with the help of fifty Gileadites (2 Kgs 15:25); significantly the Gilead was probably under Aramean control at that time. 8 The l-esults of the change of policy were clear. Israel suffered much destruction, deportation, and the loss of the nonhem part of the kingdom,9 the loss of any hope of gaining conu'ol over the area of Gilead-which was likely taken earlier by Aram and became now Assyrian territory-as well as the loss of the coastal area.

6 Of. Hezekiah's aClions against I'adi, king of Ekron, and his likely involvemellt in the palace coup that brought Sidqa to the throne of Ashkclon, see 011' col. II, lines 60-72. 73-77. col. III, lines 14-15 (D.O. Luckenbill, The Annals of Sennaclw1h [Chicago: The University of Chicago aden tal Institute Publications, 1924], ml. 2, pp. 30-32). See N. Na'aman, MForced Participation in Alliances in the Course of the Assyrian Campaigns to the West,~ in M. Cogan and I. Eph'al (eds.), Ah AS~'ria ... SluditS in Assyrian History and Ancirnt Ntar t:asttnl Hisllmography Prt-senled 10 Hayim Tadmor (Scripta Hierosolymitalla, 33: Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1991), pp. 80-98. 1 See Becking, Fall of Samaria, pp. 6-7. , N. Na'aman, MRezin of Damascus and the Land ofGilead,~ WPV III (1995), pp. 105-17. Other scholars have suggested that the entire northern area or Israel was in Aramcan hands and that TP III, in fact. conquered these territories from Aram. Sec, for instance, S.A. Irvine, Isaiah, Ahaz, and the Sym-EI'hraimile Crisis (SBLOS. 123; Allanta: Scholars Press), pp. 34-35, 39-40, 66-68; J.I-I. Hayes and SA Irvine, Isaiah, the Eigh/h Om/Ill)' Prophel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1987), pp. 12021. On Rezin's ~Greater Syria,M see alsoJ.M, Miller andJ.H. Hayes, A History of Ancient Imud andJll(lah (Philadelphia: Westminster Press. 1986), pp. 323-26, 332. cr. Na'arnan's objections in Na'aman, MRezin,~ p. 114 and cr. Tadmor, Inscriptions, p. 280. 9 See Tadmor, Inscriptio"s, pp. 280-81, and earlier, Tadmor, ~The Conquest of Galilee by Tiglalh-pilcscr Ill, King of Assyria,W in H. Hirshberg (cd.), Ailihe umd ofNafttlfi (Jerusalem: Ismc1 ExplorationJollrnal. 1967), pp, 62-67 (Heb.); Gal, The Iflwer Galilee, PI" 108-109; Becking, Fall of Samaria, pp. 15-19; Na 'aman, ~Tiglath­ pileser Ill's Campaigns;M B. Oded, Mass Deportations and Deportees in Ille Nro-Ass)'ria71 Empire (Wiesbaden: Or. Ludwig Reichcrt Verlag, 1979). It is worth mentioning that the severity 01 the demogl
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In fact, Israel became a mini-kingdom around Samaria. 1o This kingdom was surrounded by Assyrian provinces, except in the south, where it bordered with the neo-Assyrian vassal-state of Judah. The kingdom was unstable-internally and externally-and disappeared forever only twelve years later. Large scale deportations from and to the tenitol)' followed. The Counterfact

The counterfaci is, of course, the continuation of the Israelite policy of submission to TP III, of alignment with Assyria, and of tributary vassaldom. Was the dramatic change in the orientation afthe Israelite foreign policy inevitable at that time? Or, to present the issue in a positive way, was there a real chance for the alternative position. namely the continuation of the previous foreign policies during the defining years, 736-34? The evidence strongly suggests that there was a significant chance for this counterfactual alternative. To begin with, the change was closely related to the success of Pekah's coup against Pekahiah, the king. The only source of information about this coup (2 Kgs 15:25) strongly suggesL<; that the main reason for its success was that the king was murdered as a result of a surprise attack in the royal palace that was led by an officer of the king, perhaps his adjutant, Pekah." Whereas the text characterizes Pekah as an insider, the fifty Gileadites who constituted his assault troop are probably characterized as "outsiders" to the palace. If the historicity of the text is to be trusted, then Pekah relied-at least in the main-neither on insiders of the royal palace (e.g., the royal guard, officers or the like) nor the people of the capital, nor on the army, but on a small band of 10 It scems that TP III did nOl demote Pekah, despilc his rebellion, because he surrendered, lhough his aaion was 1O0 late to save Ismel from the disasters mentioned above. Pekah was deposed by Hoshea, likely soon aflcr. In any case, in 731 ReE, Hoshea paid tribule to TP III. A fcw years later, however, he rebelled. On Hoshea's successful coup against Pekah and his paying of lhe uibute, see Summ. 4: 17'-18', 9;rIo-ll and 13: 18' (Tadmor, Inscripti01l$, pp.14041, 188-89, and 202-3). See also Na'aman, "Historical and Chronological Notes,~ pp. 72-74: Na'arnan, MTiglath.pileser Ill's Campaigns,fl pp. 274-75, and cf. Tadmor, Inscripti01l$, pp. 277-78; Seeking, Fall of Imul, p. 19 and bibliogmphy. See 2 Kgs 15:30 for lhe biblical reference to Hoshea's coup. II See 2 Kgs 15:25. Pekah was Pekahiah's o·~. On w-~ see B.A. Mastin, ~Was the salis Ihc Third Man in the ChariOl?,~ SVf 30 (1979), pp. 125-54.

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

75

armed people who came from a district under Aramean domination. None of this suggests the oven....helming support that would have made the success of his coup almost inevitable. 12 In any event, even if the details ot the description in the book of Kings, which is the only available source, are not fully trusted, it is obvious there is no guaranteed success in coups based on an attempt of assassination against the ruler in the ruler's palace. One may think of many scenarios in which-and reasons why-this coup may fail. History shows many more failed than successful palace coups and assassination anempts against rulers, though the latter tend to receive more attention, for obvious reasons. To be sure, one may claim that, allhough Pekah could have failed, eventually Rezin's strong-arm policies would have forced Pekahiah to join him in his anti-Assyrian coalition or would have replaced him on the throne of Israel with another member of the Israelite elite more sympathetic to his cause. IS According to this position, then in any event, even if Pekah had failed and lost his life in his palace attack, Israel had ended up participating in the "$yro-Israelite," anti-Assyrian coalition, and being defeated by TP Ill. There is little doubt that Rezin would have continued his efforts to bring Israel into his coalition, and that he would have tried to replace the king of Israel if Pekah had failed. However, there is certainly no reason to assume that success was the only possible or even likely outcome of his efforts. Not only would suspected pro-Rezin Israelites have been chased down after ule failed attempt of assassination, and likely less able to influence Israelite politics in the months following the attack, but the fact remains that Rezin and Pekah together failed to topple Ahaz, the king ofJudah, who decided not to join Rezin's coalition. H Significantly, Judah was a

l~ ~Ioreo\"er, if Na'aman is COlTeCI in his reconSU'union of the original text behind the present and problematic ;r.,~;r r;~1 :::!1::n~ 1'1~ of2 Kgs 15;25, thell there was "fierce battle in the palace,~ despite the surprise attack. See Na'aman, -Rezin,~ pp. 107-108. To be sure, the position that a king who submits to Assyria must be so unpopular because of the economic price of tdbute on the country and that he will inevitable fall to conspirators docs nOt deserve much allention, because many kings or vassal states remained in their thrones (including Mcnahcm. Ahaz, and Manasseh). Sec above. 10 2 Kgs 15:37; 16:5; Isa. 7:1-6. (Even if one were to deny any historicily to these biblical references, the faCI would remain that there was a strong tendency

l'

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EHUD BEN ZVI

kingdom weaker than Israel from a military, economic, and de· mographic point of view. I" Although it did not border with Rezin's Aram, it bordered with Pekah's (i.e., Rezin's ally) Israel. In fact, the Ahaz model provides a good alternative to what could have happened if Pekahiah had survived Pekah's coup. Even if, as is likely, the balance of power bc{\vcen Aram and Israel at that time was as lopsided as the one that existed during the days of king Hazael of Aram, in the second half of the ninth century, Judah vis a vis both Aram and Israel was probably not stronger than [grae! vis a vis Aram. If this is so, the most likely result would have been that Rezin attacked and defeated Israel in battle, that the Galilee would have been conquered and so the coasLaI area, and probably that Rezin would have placed Samaria under siege, but it is hard to believe that Samaria itself would have been conquered. 16 It is to be anticipated also that the king of Israel would have called for the help of his suzerain king, TP 111, who, in any case, would have atLacked Rezin and his anti-Assyrian coalition, even without Israel's request (cf. Ahaz's request for help under similar conditions)," TP Ill, of course, would have defeated Rezin and "saved" Israel. 18 Significantly. this "counterfactual" deed of TP III is comparable not only to his "factual" deed regarding Ahaz at the same time. but to a large extent also to those of Adad-nirari III several decades earlier, during the previous period of Aramean hegemony,l9 towards forcing neighboring nations illlO alliances, that Rezin was the mililary and political leader of the area, and thai Ahaz submined LO Assyria ralher than confroming il.) I~ In addilion, it is possible that Ahaz was reccntly elevated 10 the crown, see Na'aman, ~Rezin,~ 1'.109, cr. Na'aman, ~HisLOrical and Chronological Notes,W PI'. 83, 89, 92; Jones, 1-2 Kings, p. 28, Times of transition were oflell times of weakness in ancient ncar eastern monarchies. 16 Jerusalem was conquered neither in 734 DO; (by Rezin) nor e\'cu in 701 DCE (i.e., during Sennacherib's campaign), The conquest of a well-fortified city demanded much resources and time, Samaria was e\'elllually conquered by the Assyrian army, bUl also after a prolonged siege. 17 2 Kgs 16:7-9. \8 There al·e many examples of Assyria illlerYening in favor of a vassal king who was auacked because he was not willing to support an anti-Assyrian coalition led of a neighboring Slate (e.g., Adad-nirari III sa\'ed Kummuh from Arpad, and Israel from Aram, Sennachel·ib saved radi's throne from Hezekiah, and TP III himself saved KushtaShpi, king of KUlIlmuh), See Na'aman, ~Forced Participations. w Tv be SUle, "'lad wuul<.1 lIa\"O; l-'"i<.1 (UI litis help (t;f. 2 Kgs 16:7-9), "'Id the killg of Israel most likely would have come to Damascus 10 offer his tribUle 10 the victorious 1'1' III. 19 Adad-nirOiri 111 campaigned against Damascus (805-803, 796 OCt:) and ~sa\'edw

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

The Short-term Consequences Counter/actual History

0/ the

77

Countnftut: First Steps in

By the end of the previous section, I began to walk the first steps in coumerfactual history, namely Pekahiah would have been attacked by Rezin and asked for the help of TP III, and the latter, by defeating Rezin, and his allies, would have "sa\'ed" Israel. What other steps may one t.1.ke and still remain within the realm of likely or very likely developments? It is likely that at least some of the lands of the Assyrian vassal state that were conquered by the anti-Assyrian leader during his rebellion would have been ,"etumed to the faithful vassal. 20 Thus, one may assume that the northern part of the kingdom would not have been annexed to Assyria, but returned to Israel. I>erhaps even by the hand of the Israelites themselves, who, as the Aramean army would have retreated to defend the core areas of Aram, could have retaken the territory. One may imagine also a situation in which even the coastal area remained as an integral part of the Israelite territory, albeit with strong Assyrian presence and control (cf. the arrange· ments in Phoenicia and Philistia).21 Significantly, it seems that Judah did not lose any territory because of its stand against the S)'ro-Ephraimite coalition.

In any evem, Israel would have been spared deportations,2'./: the large scale destruction brought by the Assyrian army (which was Israel from the Aramean hegemony. He is probabl)' the -.sa\;or- melllioned in 2 Kgs 13:5. :10 In fact. there are occasioll5 in which some faithful vass.1!s receh·e territory taken from the unfaithful one. See, for instil nee, Scnnacherib·s arrangements regardingJudah in the aftermath of his 701 BCE campaign: see OIP col. III, lines 31-34 (Luckenbill, The Annals, p. 33). tl To be sure, clear hegemony and actual control of thc Eastern Mediterranean coast, from Phoenicia in the Nonh to Philistia in the South was one of the main stratcgic goals of TP III ill the Wcst. Yet the (Iucstion is whcther such a control actually necessitated thc anncxation of the territory to Assyria. The situaLion in Phoenicia and Philistia in Tr 111·s days, as well as in lhe days of his successors. points out thaI the answer to this question must be negalh·e. See M. [lat. MPhoenician Overland Trade within the Mesopotamian Empires,~ in Cogan and Eph·al (eds.), Ah AnJria, pp. 21-35 (pp. 23-29, esp. pp. 26-27). As for the Gilead, perhal>:!i e\·cn it could have been reHlmed lO (counterfaclUal) Israel, but TP III could have also considered its territory as part of Aram and, accordingly he could ha\·e annexed it to Assrria, as an)' other part of Damascus' domain. zt These deportations were a Mform of punishment for rebellion against Assyrian rule~ and sen·e to liqUidate -rival powers and weakening centers of resist.ance.~ See Oded, MlllS ~atio1U. pp. 41-45. Counterfactual Israel was. of course, an ally of Assp;a.

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EHUD BEN ZVI

larger than the one LO be expected from the Arameans armies; cf. Judah in 734 and 701 BeE), and most likely would have remained with a much larger terrilOry than post-732 Israel. The reigning dynasty would have been strengthened, and the country would have probably been more stable than post-732 actual (as opposed to virtual) Israel. Moreover. at least the potential of economic growth and settlement development-such as the one in Judah in the last decades of the eighth century-would have been possible in Israel too. To return to the issues raised in the introduction, would anything of historical significance be different beyond the basic counterfact in this case? Needless to say, had these virtual events been actual ones, they would have changed in numerous ways the life of many Israelites who lived through them, who lost their lives, who were deported from (and to) and the like. History as lived by them would have been drastically different. Can the same be said of Israelite history and of the historical data as commonly understood by late twentieth-eentUl)' historians? To answer this question, let us assume, for the sake of the argu~ ment, a theoretical framework that strongly minimizes the historical change that any counterfactual event may cause to history, and that claims a priori that histol)' must almost immediately return to "iLS factual course." Significantly, even within this framework, some differences between the factual and countelfactual history of Israel beyond the event iLSelf must be allowed. For one, within this counterfactual historical frame, it is difficult to assume that the socalled "Syro-Ephraimite" war againstJudah would have happened, because there would be no "Syro-Ephraimite" coalition. In fact, it is most likely that under such (counterfactual) circumstances there would have been an anti·Rezin coalition between the kings ofJudah and Israel. Rezin could have still invaded Judah and it is possible that he could have tried to appoint a client king over Judah, instead of Ahaz. But if he did not succeed with Pekah's support, there is no reason to assume that he would succeed with Pekahiah's opposition. In addition, scholars of the Hebrew Bible would immediately notice that even \vithin this minimal change framework, and even if the introduction of the counterfact would have changed absolutely nothing in the worldview and the ideologies of those who wrote the books of Kings, and Isaiah-and Chronicles-some pericopes and verses (e.g., Isa. 7:1-9; 2 Kgs 15:25-32) would have

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

79

been written differently if the counterfact had been the fact. Moreover. additional verses or passages could have been written, and some changes in, or additions to, the characterization of biblical personages could havl:: takell piau::. FOI instancl::, Pekahiah could have been characterized negatively because of his "bribing" of TP Ill, and his voluntal}' submission to Assyria,2~ or Ahaz would have added LO his reported sins that of an alliance with a sinful king of Israel.2~

To be sure. it may be claimed that these changes are minimal, and, in fact, only support a case for a deterministic hisLOI}' of Israel, or for deterministic histol}' in general. But a framework built around the assumption that hislOI}' must immediately I-eturn to "its factual course," does not seem to be the most "realistic" scenario. This is so because of the differences between the factual and counterfactual circumstances in Israel in the aftermath of the 73432 crisis. Given the magnitude of the differences, it is hard to assume that they would have contributed nothing to the relative likelihood that either of the alternative paths that stood before the leadership in Samaria (probably. within this counterfactual hisLOry, still Pekahiah and his court) would have been adopted as policy in following years, and perhaps decades. It is wortJl noting in this regard that if one accepts a priori that history must return to "its factual course" immediately, and, accordingly. that change must be as minimal as possible, then one cannot claim that "the sludy has shown" change lO be minimal, and, accordingly. has provided support for a more deterministic histol}' of Israel, wilhout falling inLO the trap of circular thinking. But would hiSlorical change likely be relatively minimal even if such an a priori assumption is not broughl into consideration? To answer that question, one must venture additional sleps in counterfactual history.

2~

Cf. N. Na'aman, 'The Deuteronomist and Vo[ulnary Scn·itude to Foreign 65 (1995), pp. 37-53. 2. Biblical theologians, and those interested in the living f
80

EHUD BEN ZVI

Further Steps in Counterfactual flistory Much caution is needed when treading additional steps into "virtual history," because the further our "simulation" of history moves

from its originating point. namely the coumerfaClual event, the less probable are its proposed reconstructions. Yet the issue is whether the temporal gap between the originating event in the actual hislOry and a turning or bifurcation point in that history is narrow enough to allow a counterfactual history to make at least reasonable claims about the necessity or likelihood of such a turning point in the counterfactual history. In the present case, the turning point in the actual hislory is the transformation of Samaria into an Assyrian province in 720 BeE, along with all the political, economic, and demographic changes that followed this process. Again, and leaving aside controversies about the precise series of events in the 725-720 period,25 the example is well chosen because there is unanimity about the basic facts, namely the end of the kingdom of Israel as a polity, the creation of an Assyrian province, the related deportations from and to that territory, and the like. The question is whether (a) the counterfactual kingdom of Israel being studied here must have or was very likely to have shared the same fate as its sibling "factual" Israel and become an Assyrian province, and (b) how far in virtual time one must check the likelihood of such an outcome, keeping in mind that the farther in time one moves, the less reliable the simulation becomes. To begin with (b), had the temporal parameters of the discussion been the little more than one hundred years of Assyrian hegemony in the area, the case would have been hopeless. Yet it seems to take into account the following: (a) The tendency to annex defeated countries in the West that clearly characterized the policies of TP III and Sargon II is not present in Sennacherib's regime, as clearly attested by his (imposed) political arrangements in the West, following his third campaign; (b) no widespread, multi-state rebellion against Assyria occurred in the West after 70] BCE, in fact, even when the ~ See, for insLallce, Calil, Chrollo{of!.Y, pp. 83-97; Beckinl(, Fall of Samaria;].A. Hares andJK. Kuan, ~The Final Years of Samaria (730-20 B.C.),~ Bib 72 (1991), pp. 153-81; N. Na'aman, ~The Historical Background to lhe Conquest of Samaria (720 BC),~ Bib 70 (1990), pp. 206-25.

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

(c)

81

Assyrian empire was crumbling, there is no sign of any revolt in the area;26 and when states such as Israel and Judah revolted against A5syria, they did so as pan of large scale. regional coa· litions.

This being so, the question is whether it is more likely that (a) the counterfactual kingdom of Israel presented here would have fundamentally changed its policies towards Assyria sometime betv.een about 732 and 705 BCE, or. beuer, between 732 and 713-2 BCE. which was the last time in which a regional, multi-state antiAssyrian alliance was formed, so as firmly to join or even lead a regional anti-Assyrian coalition than (b) Israel either kept or did not deviate much or for long from these policies during this relatively short period of twenty years (cf. Judah, Ammon, Moab, Edom). The starting point of this counterfactual history of Israel is a stable and relatively prosperous Northern Kingdom whose domain was much larger than the one of factual Israel in 732 BCE, ruled by a dynasty whose policy has been to submit to Assyrian vassalage and whose rule has been saved by Assyria, and with an antiAramean policy. To be sure this point of departure does not guarantee that there will be no drastic change in Israel's policies during these two decades. One may mention, for instance, that (a) the historical reliance of Israel on Assyria against Damascus (see examples from the days of Adad-nirari III and TP Ill) would have lost its lure once Damascus was turned into an A5syrian province (732 BCE); (b) Egyptian rulers would have been actively promoting anti·Assyrian policies; (c) regional leaders such as the Eloulaios (Lule) of Tyre and king Ilu'bidi of Hamath could have incited Israel to join them in their revolt against Assyria; (d) the death of Assyrian kings was seen as occasions for m-uor revolts, and in this period there were twO of them, TP III died in 727 BCE, Shalmanesser V in 722 BCE, and see previous references to both Eloulaios and llu'bidi;17 and (e) the coastal area, if it were indeed at least 26 Josiah neither revolted ag:.linSI Assyria nor attempted to recreate a "Davidic empire." On this matter and its implications. see E. Ben Zvi, "History and Prophetic Texts," in M.P. Graham, \'1'.1'. Brown, and J.K. Kuan (eds.), His/ol)' and 11l1e'pretlition: Essoy ill HOl/ollr OfJohn H. HaJes (JSOTS, 173; Sherfield, Sheffield Acadcmic Prcss, 1993), pp. 106-20 (113-20). l'7 The dCillh or Sargon ill 705 liCE also led to re"olts, but Scnnacherib, his

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EHUD BEN ZVI

formally part of lsraelite territory. could have caused seriolls frictions between Assyria and Samaria. However, the lack of guaramee mentioned above cannot be constructed as meaning that such a change in political orientation was a given or even more likely than any alternative that falls short of resulting in the irrevocable lfansformation of Samaria into an Assyrian province at some time bet\veen 732-705. 28 Point (a) would be of more significance if Aram's threat had been the main and only reason for preferring a SlalUS of tributary vassal state over overt rebellion. The might of the Assyrian army, in addition to the probable development of the area, can surely be considered good I"casons for that policy too. Point (b) was a given at that time, or at least until 712, as Yamani, the king of Ashdod learned the hard way, when he escaped to Egypt only to be sent back to Sargon, probably by Shabako. 29 In any event, there is no reason to assume that Pekahiah (or his successor) must have succumbed to the lure of Egyptian promises of help. Judah did not until after the death of Sargon, and the same holds true for other countries. In general, one may assume that the promise of Egyptian help may have contributed to a decision to revolt against Assyria, but probably \vas never the main reason for revolting. Similarly, there is no reason to assume that Pekahiah or his successor must have joined the king of Tyre around 727 BeE, as Hoshea probably did.~ It is worth mentioning in this regard that all other cities in Phoenicia did not join lhe Tyrian king:'l! Nor is it a given that son and successor, was the one who had to respond to them and, accordingly, they fall outside the parameters of the present discussion. !lI It may be noticed that Ashdod, who was one of the latest Western states u'Ulsformcd into all Assyrian province following Yamani's defeat at the hands of Sargon in 712 liCE (see A.C. Lie, The Inscriptions of Sargrm /I King of AS.I)'ria, Part I: The Annau [Paris: Paul Genthner, 1929], col II, lines 261-62, pp, 4041; cf. TUAT, vol. I, p. 384), appears as a vassal state again, with a local king, in Sennacherib's account of his Wcstern campaign, i.e., ill 701 liCE, see OIP col. II, line 54 (Luckenbill, Annau, p. 30). 29 On these issucs see H. Tadmor, ~J>hilistia under Assyrian Rulc," BA 29 (1966), PI'. 86-102 (94-95). 'lI Sec the account of Menander as reponed ill Jos. Ani. 9:283-87; H.]. ~tlenstein, The History of T)'J"f:, from Ihe Beginning of Ihe Ser:011d Millen.ium l/C}: unlil O,e Fall of the Nro-BafJ)'{01lian Empire Uerusalem: The Shocken Institute of Research of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1973), Pl'. 225-26; Na'aman, "Historical Backgro\lnd,~ PI" 213-14; C.W. Ahlstrom, 'l1Ie Hislory of Ancienl Pulesline from Ihe Paleolithic (~m(){i 10 Alexander's Q:mquesl USOTSup, 146; Sheffield: Sheffield Acadcmic Press, 1993), pp. 669·70. )I III fact, the Phoenician cilies---other than Tyre-provided the navy neccs-

CONSIDERATIONS AI\OUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

83

Israel must have joined Ilu'bidi's revolt, in which most of the western panicipallls-inciuding Damascus-were already Assyrian provinces, as opposed to coulllerfactual Israel. It is true that "faclual" brad seems to have joined all the above-mentioned revolts, but (a) its starting poi III was different from that of countelfactual Israel, (b) its elite is differelll, and (c) given the histol)' of successive, failed, but not fatal confrontations bet\veen the factual Samarian ruling elite and Assyria since 731 BCE,.'l2 one cannot dismiss the mounting effect that each of them had on the next. In other words, previous encounters with Assyria almost certainly informed the decision-making process of, and attitude to, Assyria within that process;3.'l to be sure, these circumstances do not apply to counterfactual Israel. Further, the example of Judah may be helpful to evaluate the chances that countelfactual Israel could have sUlvived these two decades without becoming an Assyrian province. Judah, whose actual political behavior closely matched that of counterfactual Israel in 732 BCE, did not lead nor was it a main participalll in any significant revolt against Assyria until after the death of Sargon, Although it seems to have supported in some way the regional revolt led by Yamani in 712 BCE, it probably hastened to pay tribute to Sargon, as probably Moab, Edom, Ammon, Ekron, and others did. Significantly, none of these countries were turned into Assyrian provinces, neither at that time nor ever..'l4 In sum, il Sl.:"1nds to reason that countel-factuallsrael did not have lO become an Assyrian province during the 732-712 BCE period, or ever. In fact, whereas one surely cannOl dismiss that possibilsary 10 keep a maritime siege. See Elat, "Phoenician Ovcrland Trade," p, 24; cf. Menander's account in Jos., Ani. 9:285. '2 Sec, for instancc, Na'aman, "Historical Backgl'ound," Hayes and Kuan, "Final Years." "" COlwcrscly, these encoullters may have innuenced the Assyrian polic)' towards the nonhern kingdom of Israel in its last years. ,. It is wonh stressing that "the geo-political arrangements imposed by Tiglalhpileser upon the other vassal states between Samal'ia and Egypt survived until the end of the Assyrian dominion or the region" (Tadmor, Inscrip/iQl'lS, p, 282), Samal"ia is rather the exception in the area. This cxception cannot be explained away by simply pointing to systemic reasons such as its geogl-aphical position. Moreover, Samaria cannot be compared in its potential as an advcrsary of Assyria with either lhe northem or southern powers that sel the borders or this area and providcd the main challenges to the Assyrian hegemon)', name I)' Damascus and Eg>1H. s..,maria's particular rate seems, howevcr, closely related to its own policies towards and intemctions Wilh Assyria rrom 734-720 BeE (sce above),

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ity. comparisons with other countries and mainly with Judah, as well as an analysis of actual rebellions that occurred, do not seem to suggest that such an alternative was necessarily the most likely. CounterfaClual Israel could have avoided the fate of factual Israel and remained a vassal, tributary kingdom during the Assyrian regime, and probably-again taking the example of Judah-it could have seen a significant growth in settJements, trade, and its elite, at least, could have prospered within the political and economic domain of the Assyrian empire. To be sure, such a counterfactual Israel would not have been spared the great troubles that followed the collapse of the Assyrian empire in Palestine. Most likely, as all its neighbors, it would have remained loyal to Assyria during the last decades of its power in the area, and would have supported Egypt, who acted as the successor state in the area, most likely in consultation and agreement with Assyria:'J.~ As such it would have fallen into the hands of the Babylonians, and sooner or later-and probably sooner-it would have ended up as a Babylonian province. After all, no vassal state was left standing either east or west of the Jordan after a few decades, and surely there is no reason to assume that counterfactual Israel wOlllrl have heen an f'xrf'ptioll.

Some Concluding Thoughts First, this work has pointed out that the critical study of counterfactual histolY may serve as a powerful heuristic device for the furthering of our understanding of the hisLOly of the period, the structural forces that influence its shaping, tlle role of contingency, and questions of agency. To be sure, this work reaffirms the importance of regional, systemic structures. For instance, no action by Pekah or Pekahiah would have ever led to a really independent Israel. In fact, the possibility of an independent Israel \vas nOt even discussed above, because the data shows that such a development would have been extremely unlikely, even in the ShOft run. This is due to the might and political tendencies of Assyria at the time, but, significantly, it is also consistent with a long-term, systemic trend towards large interregional polities in tlle area, which led first to the nco-Assyrian ~ See N, Na'aman, ~The Kingdom of Judah under Josiah,~ TA 18 (1991), pp. 3--71, and esp. p. 40; Bell Zvi, ~HjslOry and Prophetic Texts."

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empil'e, and, in succession, to the neo-Babylonian and the Achaemenid. This trend was so dominant for centlllies that even the fall of mighty empires did not weaken it. One large empire was sim· ply replaced by another large empire..'16 Systemic circumswnces do have an extremely important impact on historical developments, but, significantly, they may allow for, or are often compatible with, more than an alternative, even in issues of large scope, such as the character of a regional polity. For instance, the pl-esent study has shown that it is reasonable to assume that Israel could have ended up as either an Assyrian province or a tributary vassal state during the Assyrian periodat least there was the potential for both options within the neoAssyrian hegemonic system. Although such a potential seems to have faded away during ule neo-Babylonian period, within the political system of lhe countries east and west of the Jordan, it ex· isted for more than a centlll)'. In this particular case, the factual and counterfactual history ended up realizing different pOlenlials within the system. If the study case here points to a more general situation, then one may conclude that the actions of individuals, the vicissitudes of human agency, and particular contingencies that cannot be explained by any "general historical frame"-and certainly not by a later "teleological frame"-may play decisive roles in the "historical selection" of which alternative-and sub-alternative-becomes factual and which countel-factual within a set of (systemically) acceptable options. As for the historical process al work, it can be characterized by a mathematical analogy. Once particular (and basically non.-deter· ministic) factors decide the value of a function in a related set of functions (e.g., Pekah assassinated Pekahiah, Pekah did not assassinate Pekahiah; there was a purge of pro-Rezin elements in israel, etc.), such a value does affect lhe probability lhat related functions will receive this or that value, in both the "real" and lhe simulated "history." In other wOI"ds, the final outcome of a particular event is likely to affect the outcome of other subsequent events, creating a net of "fulfilled (probabilistic) events" thal strongly affects the probabililies of still unfulfilled events within the 36 This trend cominued later in thc rorm or Alexander's empire. thc Sclcucid
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EHUD BEN ZVI

same domainY To be sure, at times the practical differences would be hardly noticeable, but when !.his ripple effect significantly affects the likelihood of alternative paths at a main turning or bifurcation point, as in the case discussed here, there is a potential for a significant difference between actual and counterfactual history, even if they remain fully consistent with the parameters of the possible in terms of the circumstances of the period and place (i.e., systemic or "domain" considerations). Needless to say, these are the instances in which counterfaclual history will be most productive as a heuristic lOol. In the particular case studied here such a bifurcation point was affected. As for the potential differences between the allernalive outcomes, it would suffice to say that even if much caution is taken in historical simulations that run much after the first coulllerfactual event, it is certainly reasonable to assume that the continuing existence of Israel along with Judah during the entire Assyrian period would have affected in a substantial way the history of both states, and probably that of their "successors," Achaemenid Yehud and Samaria, and that it would have had a serious impact on texts (later) included in the Hebrew Bible, perhaps on their theology and on the story of themselves that their writers believed, created, and communicated. Further, it is likely that each of Lhese ouLcomes would have had its own ripple effect. This impact raises an additional meLhodological question, namely thaL of the staLus of shorL "transitional" or "odd" periods of (still explainable) anomalies within the larger perspective of a long duree. As mentioned above, after some point in the neoBabylonian empire and for more Lhan two millenia, none of the countries east or west of the Jordan were provinces (or sub-provinces) of larger empires whose capitals stood outside the area. Neither the sLaLus of vassal kingdoms nor outrighL independence characterize them except for short "odd" and mainly transitional periods, such as the first and forerunner of later empires in the area (namely, the nco-Assyrian), and the relatively short transiLional period bet\veen Seleucid and Roman hegemony. Yet, iL seems that these periods may have had a significant impact on successive hisLorical developments_~ Some of the considerations ~1 Cf. Ferguson's discussion of chaos theory and of ~chaostory,~ in Ferguson, Virtual Histo')'_ 311 For instance, one may wonder whal would have happened if the Maccabean

CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT VIRTUAL ISRAELITE HISTORY

87

behind the mathematical metaphor or "chaostory," both of which are associated \..fil.h virtual history as a heuristic tool, may help to elucidate why this so.1'9 Finally, it should be mentioned thal. coulllenactual history helps to focus on "hisLOry" as lived by l.he panicipants in the events, rather than as narral.ed by l.hose who know '"the end." It raises the issue of which alternatives they had and, as sllch, contributes to a better reconstrucl.ion of the historical period, for their participants did not know "the end." In addition, it shows how the outcome of the vicissitudes of human agency (theirs or someone else's), wisdom or folly, and contingencies beyond their cOnlrol affected their lives and sometimes sealed their fates, As such, il. may also open a window into l.heir world, including l.he way in which they made sense of their slOry, ABSTRACT

SlUdics of Israelite countelfactual history. if carried out within cenain parameters of research, may significantly contribute to a beller understanding of Israelite histol")' and the forces that shaped it, Such studies bring to the forefront issues of causality. contingency. and the role of stnlclUral or systemic considerations in Israelite history. This panicular work addresses these: issues from the pellOpective of (a) onc coumerfactual e~'CUI that W
WHAT IF WE HAD NO ACCOUNTS OF OR THE PALACE REUEFS DEPICTING HIS CAPT RE OF LACHISH? St:: NACHt::RJB'S THIRD CAMPAIG

DIANA EDELMAN Univm;;ty of Sluffidd

Suppose no accounLS of Sennacherib's third campaign in 701 neE' or the palace reliefs from room 36 of the palace of Nineveh, depicting the conquest of Lachish with the accompanying epigraph identifying the scene as Lachish, had sllIvived. 2 In addition to a graphic depiction of his capture of Lachish, we would lack the following official Assyrian account: In the COUf5e of my campaign I besieged Belh-Dagon, Joppa, Banai-Barqa, AzunI, cities belonging to $idqa who did nOl bow to my feet quickly (enough); I conquered (them) and carried their spoib away. The officials, the nobles, and the (common) people of Ekron_ho had Lhrown Padi. their king. into feuers (becaust: he was loy;al) 10 (his) solemn oath (sworn) by the god Ashur, :.md had handed him o"er to Hezekiah, the man of Judah-(and) he (Hezekiah) held him in confinement like an enemy-had become afraid and had called (for help) upon the kings of Egypt (and) the bowmen, the chariot (corps) and the C3\'alry of the king of Ethiopia, an army hq'ond counting-and these had come to their assislaJlce. In the neighborhood of the city of Ehekeh their hattie lines were drawn up against me and they offered hallIe. pon a truSI (>inspiring) oracle (gi"en) by Ashur, my lord, I fought wilh them and inflicled a defeat upon them. In the mch~e of the b:.mle, I personally captured alive the Egyptian charioteers with the(ir) princes and also the charioteers of the king of Ethiopia. I besieged Ellekeh and Timnah, conquered (them) and carried their spoils away. I drew near to Ekron and killed the officials and nobles who had committed sin and hung their bodies on poles surrounding the city. The (common) citizens who had sinned and treated Assyria lightly I considered prisoners of war. The rest of them, those who were not guil£)' of sin and contempt, I released, I made I'adi, their king, come from Jerusalem and set him on tilt: royal throne, o,'er them, imposing upon him the tribute (due) to me (as) o\'erlol'd, I For the various extant inscriptions that contain accounts of the third campaign, see, conveniently, D.D. Luckenbill, AIlde11t Rnords oj AJJJria Gild Babylollia (Chicago: niveoily of Chicago I'ress, 1927), "01. I, pp. 115-88. They include tile Taylor Prism, the Oriental InstitUie Prism, the Rassam Cylinder, the Bullinscriplion, and the Nebi Yunis Slab Inscription. t See, cOlwenientJy, J.M. Russell, SnIl1lUhnibi Palau Wllhout Rival at Ni"~ (Chicago: Uni\'ersity of Chicago Press, 1991), esp. pp. 20!J..205, 25~.

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As to Hezekiah. the man of Judah, he did not submit to my yoke. I laid siege to 46 of his strong cities, walled forts and to the countless small villages in their vicinity and conquered (them) by means of well-stamped (earth) ramps and battering-rams brought (thus) near (the walls), (com. bined with) the attack by fOOl soldiers, (using) mines, breeches, as well as sapper work. I drove out (of them) 200, 150 people, young and old, male and female, horses, mules, donkeys, camels, big and small cattle beyond counting, and considered (them) booty. Himself I made a plisoner in Jeru. salem. his royal I'esidence, like a bird in a cage. I surrounded him with earthworks-the one coming out of his city gate I turned back to his misery. His towns that I had plundered, I lOok ;lway from his country and gave them (over) to Mitinti. king of Ashdod. Padi, king of Ekron, and SilIibd, king of Gaz,1.. Thus, I reduced his country, but I still increased the tribute and the halF'll-presents (due) to me (as his) overlord. which [ imposed upon him beyond the fonner tribute, to be dclh'ered annually. I-Iezekiah himself, \~hom the terror-inspi,ing splendor of my lordship had overwhelmed and whose tnercenalY and elite troops that he had brought into Jerusalem, his royal residence in order to strengthell (it) had deserted him, did send me later, to Nineveh. my lordly city, IOgether with 30 talents of gold, 800 talents of silver, precious stones, slibnite, large cuts of red stone. couches (inlaid) with h'OIY, Illmedu-ehairs (inlaid) with ivory, elephant hides, ebony wood, boxwood (and) all kinds of valuable treasures, as well as his (own) daughters, concubines, male and female musicians. In order to deliver the tribute and to do obeisance as ;l slave he senl his (personal) messenger.

How crucial is the Assyrian account for the recreation of events in Judah and adjoining Philistia at the end of the eighth century BCE? 2 Kings 18-20 provides many details concerning events that look place in the twenty-nine year reign of Hezekiah, including Sennacherib's siege of Jerusalem and his conquest of most of the outlying territory of Jerusalem, 2 Kgs 18:7-8 gives tile initial impression that Hezekiah rebelled against the king of Assyria and that he smote the Philistines as far as Gaza and its territory, from watchtower to fortified watchtower, prior to the fateful fourteenth year, although it is possible to read w. 3-8 as a summary of the high points of his entire reign. In the latter case, the timing of his cultic reforms, his rebellion and his move against the Philistines would be undetermined and could fall at any point within his ,·eign. The writer reports specifically that in the fourteenth year of Hezekiah, which would be somewhere between 714-712 BCE, Sennacherib, king of Assyria, went up against all the fortified cities of Judah and took them and that Hezekiah sent to Sennacherib, who was at Lachish at the time, surrendered, and paid the required "gift" price of 300 talents of silver and 30 talents of gold by emptying the temple treasuries for the silver and stripping the temple doors and overlaid doorposts for the gold (2 Kgs 18:13]6). In an ensuing, recreated exchange between Sennacherib's

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representative, the rabshakeh, and the representatives of Heze· kiah, lhe rabshakeh mentions that Hezekiah is relying on Egypt as an ally (2 Kgs 19-21). Later, when the king of Assyria has moved from Lachish to Libnah, the rabshakeh repons that Tirhakah, king

of Ethiopia, has arrived to fight against Assyria (2 Kgs 19:8-]0). Finally, it can be noted that in the oracle in 2 Kgs 19:32-34, YHWH promises that the king of Assyria will not enter Jerusalem or shoot an arrow there or come before it with a shield or cast up a siege mound against it. If historians of ancientJudah had no Assyrian account of Sennacherib's third campaign, how rnighllhey reconSlruct events in the reign of Hezekiah differently? First, without tJle account, we would lack an important anchor in the comparative Assyro-Babylonian/ Egyptian/biblical chronology that has been the basis upon which absolute dates have been assigned to biblical events and the reigns of the monarchs of Israel and Judah. In the present case, Hezekiah's fourteenth year does not agree with the Assyrian date for Sennacherib's third campaign; the former yields a date under Sargon II of 714-712 BeE while the latter yields a date of 701 BCE for the Assyrian conquest of most of the outlying territory ofJudah and for a lifted Assyrian siege against Jerusalem. Historians have tended to accept the Assyrian material as more reliable and so have tended to assign a firm date of 701 BCE for Sennacherib's third campaign and his assault of Judah. Ifwe did not have any account ofSennacherib's third campaign, we would still be able to surmise that Hezekiah's fourteenth year fell within the reign of Sargon II rather than that of Sennacherib on Lhe basis of earlier and later Assyrian and neo-Babylonian synchronisms. By counting forward and backward from other anchor points, following the reponed lengths of reigns for Lhe various Assyrian and Judahite monarchs, we would still be able to date Hezekiah's fourteenth year and determine that the events reported about the Assyrian conquest of Judah and siege of Jerusalem by Sennacherib would need to be set after 705 BCE, the year of the latter's succession. Thus, the loss of this additional point of specific cross-reference would not be crucial. Two results would then be possible. Either scholars would argue that the biblical writer got his year correCl, but confused his Assyrian monarchs, and that the campaign reported LOok place under Sargon II in 714-712 BCE, or they would surmise that the writer got his year wrong, but his Assyrian monarch correct, and

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would deduce that the reponed campaign must have taken place in 701 BCE. Since extensive accounts of Sennacherib's eight cam· paigns have been preserved in multiple inscriptions and none of them was in the vicinity of Cisjordan,3 historians would undoubtedly link the biblical account with the missing third campaign in 701 BeE. In the first instance, Sargon II was active in Philistia in 7]4-712, quelling a revolt that led to his conquest of Ashdod and its conversion to an Assyl"ian province. It might be possible to argue that he moved against neighboring Judah at this time, but given the extent of the damage that he reportedly inflicted, one would expect some comment about his devastation of Judah to have been included in a summary of his campaign. Of the two options, a link with Sennacherib's missing third campaign would be more plausible. The most important role the accounts of Sennacherib's third campaign currently play in historical recreation is to provide independent corroboration for many details in the biblical account. Briefly, this includes Hezekiah's rebellion against Assyrian over· lordship, Sennacherib's conquest of much of the outlying territory of Judah, the arrival of Egyptians/Ethiopian forces as I-Iezekiah's allies, Sennacherib's apparent intent to besiege Jerusalem, Hezekiah's surrender to Sennacherib and his payment of tribute involving large amounts of gold and silver, and Hezekiah's move against Philistine territory. At the same time, the accounts provide more or different information about some of these events, which in some instances allows biblical information to be contextualized and so better understood, but in other instances brings into question the accuracy of biblical details. Missing altogether from tlle biblical account are the references to the rebellion of Sidqa of Ashke1on, the deposition of Padi, king of Ekron, by his own people and his emprisonment in Jerusalem by Hezekiah, the Assyrian conquest of Ashke1on's dependent cities of Beth-Dagon, Joppa, Banai-Barqa, and Azuru, the defeat of the Egyptian forces in the plain of Eltekeh and the subsequent conquest of Eltekah, Timnah, and Ekron, Hezekiah's strengthening of Jerusalem by adding elite and mercenary troops, and the conquest specifically of 46 strong cities, ,

CaJilpai~ll

HI

wa~ al;;aill~t

ll
#4 against Bit-lakin in lower Mesopotamia, #5 against the hill tribes east of the Tigris River, #6 against Bit-lakin again, and # 7 and #8 against Elam. alone.

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DIANA EDELMAN

walled forts and countless villages that belonged to Judah and their turning over to the rulers of Ashdod, Ekron and Gaza, three loyal Philistine kings, to control. Alllung lilt: uc::lails unique to the Assyrian account, three in par-

ticular, the involvement of Sidqa in the rebellion, Hezekiah's imprisonment of Padi because he refused to rebel, and Sennacherib's ceding of most of Judah's territory after its conquest to the control of Ashdod, Ekron. and Gaza, provide a larger context against which Hezekiah's reported conquest of Lhe Philistines as far as Gaza should be understood. Even so, the full significance of the biblical detail remains elusive; is it an expansionistic generalization based on his involvement in the removal and imprisonment of Padi? Might it have been a move coordinated with Sidqa of Ashkelon to tl)' to force Sillibel of Gaza to join the anti-Assyrian coalition? Or. might it reflect a move to recapture the land ceded by Sennacherib at some point later in his reign, perhaps near his death? Conflicting information beh\feen the h\fO accounts leaves historians to deduce which, if either, is more reliable. The Assyrian accounts repon that Hezekiah paid 800 talents of silver, not 300, along with ule 30 talents of gold and many additional gifts of precious commodities, daughters. and concubines. while the Bible reports that he paid 300 talents of silver along with the 30 talents of gold and gives the impression that this was the full extent of the penalty "gift" levied against him by Sennacherib. Which is correct? The Bible also claims that YHWH would not allow Assyrian siegeworks to be erected against Jerusalem, while the Assyrian accounts claim that they were laid. Which is correct? For historians who take a scientific approach to evidence and claim that we can recreate the past only with evidence that has been be verified by a second occurrence of the same infol-mation, the failure to discover any account of Sennacherib's third campaign would mean that none of the details in 2 Kings 18-19 could be lIsed to reconstruct events in 701 BeE or during Hezekiah's reign at large. As a single witness, the Bible would be unverifiable and so would have to be dismissed as a reliable source of infor. matlon .

.

• This would probably be true evcn though somc of the e\"cnts seclll to bc mcrHioncd in prophecies in Isa. 1-39. Given the generalized nalUrc of prophetic pronounccmcnts so that fulfillmcnt can occur in morc than onc circumstance or

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93

For historians who take a more courtroom-like approach to evidence, however, the absence of any account of Sennacherib's third campaign would have a small impact on their recreations of events in the reign of Hezekiah, especially in 701 BeE, When there is only a single source of testimony or when conflicting testimony is presented over the same event, it is the task of the historian to evaluate the testimony and decide what may be reliable and what probably is not and to then render a verdict about what, if anything, is going to be accepted as reliable evidence under the circumstances, using his or hcr best judgment. In this approach to history, it is recognizcd that evidence need not be limited to those pieces of information that can be verificd. A jury must declare innocence or guilt based on the presentation of conOicting cases by the defense and the prosecution and the final verdict is usually not verifiablc; the truth about what really happened is never able to be definitively established. Recognizing that all historical recreation is interpl-ctive and so subjectivc, historians who use the courtroom model for understanding the evaluation of testimony ,,"ill accept some critically evaluated details in the biblical account to be reliablc without absolute corroboration_ It is likely that most historians who espouse the courtroom approach to evaluating testimony \vill accept as reliablc the reference to Sennacherib's conquest of most of the territory of Judah and the arrival of Tirhakah the Ethiopian as Hezekiah's ally because both know the specific names of individuals rather than merely using vague titles Iikc king of Assyria or pharaoh/king of Egypt! Ethiopia. Other known historical records of both of these kings would place them within the same time frame as Helckiah, providing indircct support for the accuracy of the biblical account. While most would not accept the speeches attributed to the rabshakeh to be verbatim records of conversations in 70 I neE, they would tend to accept the Assyrian titles used within them, mbslwkeh., mbsaris, and farlan, to be I-eliable titles of Assyrian administrative posts, seeking corroboration in Assyrian texts. In addition, many would accept the appeal to the lack of the strength ofYHwH to deliverJudah from the hand of the Assyrian king in 2 Kgs 18:2935 and 19: I0-13 to reflect t}'pical Assyrian rhetoric and logic that can be found in many Assyrian inscriptions and would presume chain or e,"eIllS, one could al","3''$ Olrg\le that a suggested parallel is nOI a reliable par.tllel because il is too vague 10 pro,"ide a nece:ssan or c('nain correlalion.

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DIANA EDELMAN

that such a taunt would have been typical on such an occasion. Without the drawings of the siege of Lachish from the palace at Nineveh, archaeologists would lose a primary anchoring pin for their dating system, which rests upon an ability to delimit the periods during which specific pottery shapes and styles were produced and comillucd to be used to within 1OG-200 years. Currently, the Assyrian reliefs with accompanying epigraph that show Sennacherib sitting on a nimedu-throne, reviewing the booty taken from Lachish, allow the pottery found in the heavy destruction layc," that ended level III at Tell ed-Duweir" to be firmly dated to Sennacherib's third campaign in 701 BeE. While this correlation does not tell archaeologists how long a style had already been in vogue or how long it continued to be used after 701 BeE, it nevertheless allows them to state definitively that virtually all forms found in the deslluction debris were in use in 701 BCE, the last year of the 8th centul)'.6 Thus, the absolute date provides a firm anchor within the larger relative chronology for the lifespan of each pottel)' form found in the destruction. Not every form would have been introduced at the same time as the others, nor would each have lasted in vogue for the same length of time; nevertheless, the dating of eve I)' form can now be extended before 701 by some decades and after it by some decades on general principles. Without the palace reliefs, archaeologists would not be able to say with certainty that Sennacherib's Assyrian forces were responsible for destroying the level III city in 701 BCE. Since the epigraph explaining the drawings does not mention the campaign during which the city was captured, the date of 701 could not automatically be assigned to the event, although again, after reviewing extant accounts of Sennacherib's milital)' activities, it is likely that historians would link the drawing with his third campaign since none of the others were in this region. How significant would the loss of this anchor date be for the current pottery chronology in ancient Syro-Palestinian archaeology? Given the relative nature of pottel)' dating and the inability to pinpoint the date of the emergence or disappearance of a par~ For details, see, conveniently, D. Ussishkin, ~Lachish,~ in E. Stern (cd.), The New Encyclopedia of Archaeological Excavations in the Holy Land (Jerusalem: Carta. 1993), \'OJ. 3. pp. 897-991 (907·909). 6 It is possible that a few. rare pots were heirlooms that otherwise were no longer in general circulation; the heirloom factor must always be taken into consideration.

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ticular form, the loss of the 701 date would not have a huge impact on the dating sequence. As an item of material culture, pottery forms tend to evolve slowly, remaining in vogue for J 00-200 years. Thus, being able to pinpoint a single date during which a panicular form was definitely in use, while valuable to a certain degree, does not make a huge impact on the larger picture of the lifespan of a given form. However, the loss of the 701 date at Tell ed-Duweir would impact in a more significant way the dating of the jars with handles that bear lmlk stamps. The 413 examples of these jars that have been found in the destruction debris of level III at Lachish through 1990 allow these jars to be dated specifically to use within the reign of Hezekiah, and, more significantly, to use during the unsuccessful rebellion attempt in 701 BCE. While we cannot know how much earlier than 701 they might have been introduced 01how much beyond that date they continued in use, we can say that both the two-winged scarab seals and the four-winged scarab seals were used simultaneously in the year 701, since both types are found in the destruction debris. Without the 70 I date, scholars would still be debating the general date ofproduClion for the jars, their life spans, and the significance of the two types of scarab seals. Even with the 701 date. their specific purpose remains unclarified. It is likely, nevertheless, that the jars would be assigned to Hezekiah by many historians on the basis of the biblical testimony alone; they are generally seen to be pan of a fiscal reorganization effort under Hezekiah lO prepare for rebellion against Assyria, since they are generally found in walled cities and fortresses within the kingdom of Judah. They seem to be tJle precursor and model for a subsequent reform effon that involved jars with rosettestamped handles, the date of which cannot be pinpoinled. On the basis of the biblical accounts of cultic reforms undertaken by Hezekiah and Josiah, however, with the knowledge thallhere was no separation of lemple and state in ancient Judah, il would be logical to surmise thal the jars are lO be dated lO the reigns of these two kings, respectively, even though such an assumplion presently lacks full verification. Without the Nineveh reliefs and any accounts of the third campaign, current pOllery chronology cannot allow us to date them to the reign of a specific king, only to the span of a century; it can only provide consistent evidence from a number of sites that the lmlk stamped jars were used in an

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earlier period than the rosette-stamped jars but that both are found in similar contexts. Even without the Prism of Sennacherib, it is likely that historians would 3tlribtILc the destruction of level III at Lachish

to

the

Assyrians. The dozens of Assyrian spear points and arrowheads that have been recovered would point to this group as the agressors, as would the siege ramp that has been unearthed on the southwest side of the city. Such ramps were typically used by the Assyrians. In reviewing the Assyrian records for possible campaigns in the area and also taking into consideration the biblical account, historians would propose eventually that Sennacherib's third campaign would have been the most likely occasion for the destmclion. In addition, 2 Kgs 18: 17 mentions that the Assyrian king sent his military oflicials with a large force from Lachish to Jerusalem, implying a siege, if not a conquest, of Lachish in the course of the events thal took place during Sennacherib's move against Judah. Thus, the failure to have an Assyrian record and reliefs detailing the campaign within Judah and the capture of Lachish specifically would not preclude the ability of historians to deduce and propose that such an event had taken place and had led to the destmction of the level III city at Tell ed-Duweir. This would be the case even if the biblical texts did not mention Sennacherib's capture of all the fortified cities of Judah (2 Kgs 18:13) or his encampment outside the walls ofJerusalem, given the clues left behind by the assailants. Without an account of the third campaign of Sennacherib, historians would be left to surmise the reason for the sudden expansion of the city of Tel Miqne/Ekron in Stratum I from a ten-acre to a seventy-five acre site sometime near the end of the eighth centul)' or the beginning of the sevemh century.7 All ofa sudden, the city moves out from the acropolis area alone into the lower city for the first time since its abandonment sometime in the tenth century BeE. The lower city becomes the center of a massive olive oil production industry that lapers off its volume of production some time before the city's final destruction in the closing years of the seventh century. Many Assyrian-style vessels are found in the stratum that is contemporaneous with the peak operation of the

, See, convenienlly, T. Dothan and S. Gilin, "Miqnc Tel (Ekron),M in Stern (ed.). Nr.w E11C)'clofJ£dia af Arch(lwlogical ExclJTlO{ions, vol. 3, pp. 1051-59 (1056-58).

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olive oil industry. However, at some point before the final destruction of the city, the olive industl)' seems LO go into decline, as evidenced by the incorporation of many of the larger capacity pressing vats into the founuational walls uf builuings ill Field IV Upper and on the acropolis in Field 1. At the time of their destruction, these buildings contained a number of Egyptian artifacts, indicating a change in the political alignment of the region from Assyria to Egypt as the power center with whom locals had to reckon. This change is consistent with information from biblical and extrabiblical texts about the decline of Assyria and the brief resurgence of Egyptian influence in Cisjordan under Psammeticus II and Necho, prior to the dse of the Neo-Babylonian empire to its full strength. In order fOl' Ekron's massive olive oil industl)' to have become a reality, the city would have had to have gained direct control over thousands of acres of olive groves LO supply the raw material necessal)' to produce the 500 LOns of olive oil annually, the estimated yield of the industrial complex at the height of its operation. It is highly unlikely that such quantities of olives would have been secured by trade and the Philistines could not have planted enough groves in the lowland area under their direct control to produce the required volume of olives. Historically, the hill country of Ephraim and Judah had been centers of olive groves and olive oil production, going back as eady as the Early Bronze period, when olive oil was already traded from this region to Egypt. Imported jars of olive oil from Cisjordan have been excavated in Egypt from this period, which saw the spread of urbanization for the first time in Cisjordan. For Ekron to have secured the large quantity of olives suggested by the 115 presses found to date within the lower city of Stratum I, it must have gained direct control over the hill country of Judah, where the olive groves were already located. Thus, some military event would have to be postulated to have occurred sometime in the closing decades of the eighth centul)' or the opening decades of the seventh century that led to Ekron's supremacy over its neighbor immediately to the east, Judah. A couple of options for the required military event are possible. Ekron, working in conjunction with the other Philistine cities, could have atlackedJudah and forced its king at the time, be that Ahaz, Hezekiah, or Manasseh, to become a vassal and turn over most or all the olives produced within the countl)' as tribute. Such

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a move could have been made with or without Assyrian approval, depending upon whether Ekron and the Philistines at large were already Assyrian vassals. If the cities already were under Assyrian comrol, they undoubtedly would have needed to have approval from their overlord to undertake such an action unless Judah were considered a declared enemy of the Assyrian state. Judah first became a voluntary Assyrian vassal under Ahaz (2 Kgs 16:5-9) about 732 BCE, and the Philistines submitted to Assyrian vassalage slightly earlier, probably in 734 BCE. If the military event under discussion were dated to the opening of Abaz's reign, prior to the whole area, Philistine and Judahite alike, becoming Assyrian vassals, then no Philistine permission to attack Judah would have been needed. After this point, however, permission would have been needed and probably would have been granted only had the king of Judah rebelled. There is no act of rebellion recorded in 2 Kings for Ahaz, but this mayor may not be significant; the writer could have chosen not to men· tion such an event, especially given its catastrophic outcome for Judah. The yielding of most or all of the olives grown within Judah to Ekron/Philistia would have been a rather costly tribute, but, once defeated, Ahaz would not have had a lot of bargaining power. 8 An attack under Ahaz would probably have required the strength of the combined Philistine military forces to defeat the forces ofJudah ratller than the army ofa single Philistine city-state. By working together, the Philistines would all have benefitted, however. As the Philistine city closest to Judah, Ekron would have been the logical site to process the olives into olive oil, and the oil could then have been shipped to the Philistine ports at Ashdod, Ashkelon, and Gaza for transport to international markets. Some son of agreement for the sharing of profits for the entire enterprise could have been worked out among the cooperating cities. The details of the scenario would change if the event were to be placed during the reign of Hezekiah. 2 Kgs 18:7 states specifically that Hezekiah had rebelled against his Assyrian master but was unsuccessful and, as a result, had had the fortified cities of the realm conquered by Sennacherib and had had a heavy trib~ Perhaps the Philistines would have struck an agreement whereby some of the processed oil was returned to Judah; it is impossible to know what SOrl of arrangements might have been made.

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tile price assessed to regain vassal status and avoid annexation to the empire. It makes no mention of the fate of the conquered land, or whether Philistine troops were involved in the conquest. An astute historian, huwevel-, would tll-aw a casual link uetweell the biblical account of the Assyrian conquest of most of the ten-itory of Judah and the growth of the olive oil industry at Ekron in stratum I and postulate either that the conquered Judahite land ended up in Philistine hands or that its olives were ordered to be ceded to them. The first option could have occurred as a reward to the Philistines for sending troops to help quash the rebellion or because the relocation of the olive oil industry LO the lowlands under Philistine managcmelll would have cxpediled Assyrian exploitation of this important resource in the backwaters of the empire. By placing the entire opel"ation under Philistine control, shipment of the finished product to markets via the three Philistine ports of Ashkelon, Ashdod and Gaza would have obviated interregional rivalries. If the military action were to be assigned to the reign of Manasseh, the historian would again be faced with biblical silence concerning the rebellion of this monarch against Assyria. As in the case of Ahaz, however, the failure of 2 Kings to report a rebellion by Manasseh might or might notrenect historical reality, since only selected events from his reign have been recounted. Although 2 Chron. 33:10-13 could be used to argue that Manasseh might have rebelled against his Assyrian overlord, their histo.-ical reliability is suspect because the information uley present is lacking from the parallel aCCOUlll in Kings and because the passage is used to demonstrate how personal retribution was in force already during the monarchy-a favorite theme of the Chronicler that appears in many passages that have no parallel in Kings. NOt\v1thstanding, a Philistine attack early in his reign would be possible to propose, using the same lines of reasoning already set forth above for either Ahaz or Hezekiah. However, some form of rebellion on the pan of Manasseh would have to be presumed as the triggering event since both Philistia and Judah were Assyrian vassals at this time. Of the three options for scenario one, it is likely that historians would opt for the one under Hezekiah. It has the benefit of being based on some textual information. while the other two do not. In addition, it would provide some sort of context for understanding the reference in 2 Kgs 18:8 to Hezekiah's smiting of the

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Philstines as far as Gaza and its territory, from watchtower to fortified city. Such an action would plausibly be explained as a reaclion to the loss of the olive groves LO the Philistines at large and an attempt to reclaim the land for Judah. A date for such an aclion would logically be placed at a time of change of ruler in Assy.-ia or of perceived Assyrian weakness, when retaliation would not be feared. Alternatively, it might be seen to be the first blow in a border war between nvo Cisjordanian Assyrian vassals that eventually led to Philistine (amrol over most of the territory of Judah. The underlying cause of the dispute would not be known but plausible reasons could be suggested based on economic rivalry and domination of trade routes. The presence of significant quantities of Assyrian-style palace wal-e in the acropolis and the administrative complexes in the lower city at Ekron in stratum I could be viewed in different ways. First, it could be seen simply to illustrate how the Philistine upper class and rulers were picking up on the latest style to become known and popular-the fine ware of the Assyrian empire that had recently spread its tentacles into Syria and Cisjordan. Such an understanding is consistent with the fact that most of the ware is locally made and imitative rather than the imported genuine article. A second option would be to see the presence of the Assyrian-style ware to indicate that the Assyrian empire had penetrated the region and had already brought the Philistines into the Assyrian political orbit as vassals. In this case, the presence of the imitation palace ware could reflect the tastes and trends of the new overlord, which had been adopted by both local officials and possibly Assyrian officials now posted in the city. In the former case, Assyria could have been one of the markets for the olive oil, with the trade contacts introducing knowledge of the Assyrian palace forms in the area as a new prestigious trend. In the latter case, Assyria would have been Ekron's official overlord and so would have been the indirect sponsor of the newly created industry, giving approval for the creation of such an enterprise and undoubtedly taking a percentage of the product annually as tribute payment in kind. The second secenario for the military event that seems to be required to explain how Ekron gained access to Judah's olives would be to postulate that the Assyrians campaigned in the area, attacked Judah, reduced it further in vassal status, and ordered that the olives be turned over to the Philistines for processing at

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Ekron. In this case, the Philistines might or might not have been requested by their ovedord to supply troops to help Assyria with the attack against Judah. The Assyrians, as overlords of the entire region of Cisjordan, would then have been the ones who would have established a new regional processing center for olive oil in the Philistine lowlands, which would then have made the olive oil more easy to ship from adjoining Philistine ports to markets already established by the Assyrians. In this scenario, both Judah and Philistia become pawns and workhorses for the Assyrian national economy, which is aimed at exploiting natural resources in regions within the Assyrian empire's control most efficiently and lucratively. A reason for the Assyrian attack on Judah would need to be suggested, and rebellion would be logical. A perusal of the Assyrian annals would show tJlat rebellion was a regular occurrence among vassals in outlying regions of the empire, especially at the accession of a new Assyrian ruler. Given the information we have about the reigns of Ahaz, Hezekiah, and Manasseh, I-Iezekiah would become the most logical candidate to have been on the throne at the time of the military action in this scenario as well. He is known to have rebelled and to have had most of his land conquered by Sennacherib. The overlord would have been free to dispose of the land in any way he saw fil. Even without the mention of the ovel"throw of Padi, his restoration to the throne by Sennacherib, and his receiving control over part of the former territory of Judah in the accounts of the third campaign, historians would be able to date the expansion of Ekron to the lower city and the establishment of the massive olive industry to the first quarter of the sevemh century by using the inscription found in the temple complex in Field TV in 1996. 9 This inscription names the builder of the temple complex as Ikausu, the son of Padi. Ikausu is memioned alongside Manasseh ofJudah as one of the vassal monarchs of ancient Palestine who contributed materials to Esarhaddon for the building of the suburb of Ninevah called Kar Ashur-ahi-iddina. Esarhaddon ascended the throne in 680 BCE and ruled until 669 BCE; Manasseh ruled from 697-642 BCt:. Although no date is given in Esarhaddon's building inscription, historians tend to date the building activity in question to \I See S. Gilin. T. Dothan andJ. Na\'ch, Ekron," 11:.]48 (1997), pp. 1~16.

~A

Royal DedicatOry Inscriplion from

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the opening years of his reign, along with the first campaign. Taken together with the observations that there was a brief occupational phase in Ie the lower city at Ekron prior to the building of the temple complex and that contemporaneous buildings immediately outside the south enLrance have discarded oil vats reused in their walls, a date for the initial expansion into the lower city in the closing decade of the eighth century BeE or the opening decade of the seventh century seems plausible. In spite of the important information contained in Lhe various accounts of Sennacherib's third campaign and the reliefs of his conquest of Lachish that were on the palace wall at Nineveh. their absence would have little effect upon the recreation of events in the reign of Hezekiah by historians ofJudah. The results of excavations at Tell ed-Duweir/Lachish and Tel Miqne/Ekron suggest that sometime in the last decades of the eighth century or in the opening decades of the seventh century BeE, there was an Assyrian military presence in the Judean shephelah and a ceding of control over the shephelah and highlands ofJudah to the Philistines (or, minimally, a ceding of their olive yield) to fuel a newly established Philistine regional olive oil industry. When information about the kings who ruled in Judah in the period in question is considered, Hezekiah remains the most logical candidate under whom the ceding of the control of the territory of Judah to the Philistines by Assyrian assent and agency can be plausibly posited. The only details from the Assyrian inscription that are not easily recreated from the otherwise available archaeological and textual evidence are the complicity of the Philistine king Sidqa of AshkeIon in the rebellion with Hezekiah against Assyria; Hezekiah's forceful removal of Padi from his throne in Ekron with the help of the local citizenry because of his failure to join the anti-Assyrian coalition and his subsequent restoration by Sennacherib; Sidqa's removal from the throne of Ashkelon and his replacement with the Assyrian-appointed Sharruludari, the son of the former king prior (Q an apparent coup that placed Sidqa in pm\"er; the exclusion of Ashkelon from receiving any of Judah's land because it had also rebelled; and the battle in the plain of Eltekeh betw"een the Assyrians and the Egyptian and Ethiopian allied forces of Judah. Thus, the main outlines of the history of the period could still be posited, but the specific nature of the interregional conflict bet\vcen Judah and Philistia and the specific Assyrian resolution of of the conflict could not be established.

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ABSTRACT

In spite of the imponant information contained in the various accounts of MIlIl:lch... rih·s Ihird campaign :m(l IIU' r..li .. [~ of his cOll(l',...SI of I.:.chish, Ill ...ir

:lbsence would hilve linle effect upon the recreation of the events of the reign of Hezekiah by historians of Judah. The results of exca\'ations at Tell ed-Duweirl Lachish and Tel /o.Hqne/Ekron suggest that sometime in the last decades of the eighth century or in the opening decades of the seventh century BCE, there was an Assyrian military presence in the Judean shephelah and a ceding of control over the olive yield in the shephclah and highlands ofJudah to the Philistines 10 fuel a newly established regional olive oil industry. When information about the kings who ruled Judah in the period in question is considered. Hczekiah remains the most logical camlidate under whom the ceding of territorial control, which would have required Assyrian conscnt and agcncy. can be plausibly posited. The main outlines of the history of the period can Ilevcrtheless be posited; only the specific nature of the interregional connin between Judah and Philistia and the specific Assyrian resolution of the connict cannot be established.

THE LOSS OF ARMAGEDDON, OR, 621 AND ALL THAT: BIBLICAL FICTION, BIBLICAL HISTORY AND THE REWRITTEN BIBLE ROBERT P. CARROLL U'livmi/y oj Glasgow Ernest:

Gilbert:

Gilbert, yOli treat the world as if it were a crystal balL You hold it in your hand, and reverse it lO please a wilful fancy. YOli do nothing but rewrite hislOl)'. The one duty wt OWl history is to rewrite it. That is not the least of the lasks in store for the critical spilil.

Oscar Wilde I Haunted by a sense of lost possibilities, historians are almost Laodiccan in their attachment to the values of tile present time. Quentin Skinner2

Reading the Hebrew Bible always plunges me into that vertiginous experience of having to confront yet again the unresolvable dilemma of deciding whether the Bible is, on the one hand, fiction which reads like history or, on the other hand, history which reads like fiction or, on the third hand, an admixture of both requiring no stated resolution from me in the public arena, I know that this is a problem bequeathed to me by the Enlightenment and one which I could avoid altogether if I were to retreat into an imagined precritical, medieval world where allegory and typology still hold sway. or if I were to embrace more fully a postmodernist position where the terms history and fiction are completely interchangeable. But being neither premodern at all nor adequately postmodern I must wrestle still with the aporias of modernity and face up to [he problems of reading biblical narratives as if they were supposed to make sense to somebody reading them at the end of the twentieth century,~ Among the problems which I Oscar Wilde, 'The Critic as Artist', in Isobel Murray (cd.), Oscar Wilde (The Oxford AuulOrs; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), pp. 241·297 (257) (emphasis added]. ~ Quelllin Skinner, 'Modernity and Disenchantment: Some Reflections on Charles Taylor's Diagnosis', in James Good & Irving Vclody (cds.), The I'olilics of Postmodmlity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 49-60 (56). , While the viewpoint that the biblical text made sense 1Il its time to its

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the 'what if approach to reading the Bible poses for me is that it reopens such a dilemma by forcing me to think once more about the unthinkable and to decide the issue of 'history' or 'fiction' and to wonder what difference would it make whichever way one decided the matter. The fundamental question, 'What if the Bible as history were different?', seems to me to be hardly any different from a slightly rejigged question, 'What if the Bible as fiction were different?'. So whether the Bible is treated as history or as fiction, the 'what if' game will be played the same way however the question is answered because the nature of biblical literature as history and/or fiction, or even as historical fiction or fictional history, remains open to the scrutiny of OUI" learned hermeneutical investigations. In order to discuss some of the val"iations this game may have or a few of the ways in which it may be played, I have chosen to take tip that tired old scholarly topos of 'the death of Josiah' and to imagine that it did not happen as described in the Bible. but that the events retailed in the Bible happened differently and rather later than the current version of it in the Bible suggests. Changing this one iota of the biblical story will then allow me to speculate about all the major changes which may be imagined following in the train of the question, 'What if Josiah had not been killed or did not die at Megiddo in his encounter with the Egyptians?' However, in order not to build too much on too little and to avoid turning a variation on josiah's death into the 'Cleopatra's Nose' of the Bible, I shall need to include a number of other changes in my reconstituted biblical narrative of josiah which will entail considerable changes in the outcome of the rewritten narrative. For example, the removal from the biblical stOI)' of the so-called deuteronomistic movement associated with josiah's reformation of 621 BeE and the loss of the story of the so-called 'finding' of the scroll in the renovated Temple will have seriOliS consequences for subsequent accounts of the production of so much of the Hebrew Bible as presently understood by the introductory textbooks on the Bible. These additional variations will then allow me to look at a changed universe, but a little less like those science fiction type 'butterfly and dinosaur' stories where wrilCrs may be a slLstainable point of \'iew. I h"\'e no reason to belielle that the text need necessarily make any sense to readers other th"n its writers and from a lIery dilTerent century or from another planet. I would wish to see the ahcrnalive case made by argumenl rather than asserted as dogma.

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the crushing of a butterfly in the dinosaur age is imagined to have radically altered the universe forever after the smidgeon of change came about in the past. The macroevenl, of which Josiah's non-
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they are demonic spirits. performing signs, who go abroad to thc kings of the whole "orld, 10 assemble thcm for battle on the great day of God the Almighty .. , Alld they assembled them tll the pUice which is called ill Htbrew Ar· mageddtm (Rev. 16:12-16; cmphasis addcd).~

The place of this final battJe against the frog spiriLS is imagined to be the place where the ancient kings had a nasty habit of dying (cf. 2 Kgs 9;27; 23;29), the mount of Megiddo. The loss of the lfope of Armageddon is a genuine loss and I must regret it, but there is always a price to be paid for playing 'what if games. In the subsequent history of the reception of the Bible, the name Armageddon has become a topos for the apocalyptic battle with which the biblically-imagined world will end-not to be confused with current understanding of the second law of entropy whereby our universe will eventually self-destruct. I think biblical Rezeptionsgeschichte can stand the loss of just one highly imaginative name for the end of the world connict because there are so many other terms available to describe such apocalyptic imaginings. 6 The real implications of my reimagining and reconfiguring biblical history are much more radical than the simple loss of Armageddon as a place name for the final baule against the frog spiriLS. That kind of trivial loss can be sustained in any narrative of the imagined end of the world, but the cent,",ll thrust of Illy 'what if approach to the biblical narrative is the much stronger and more heavily loaded 'what if Egypt had won out against Babylon, had broken the power of Babylon in the West, prevented the emergence of Babylonian hegemony in that area and supported Josiah as their puppet king in Palestine?' ""hat would have been the implications of such a changed history? How would the subsequent world of power have been different and how would the reconstituted biblical story have differed from the one we are so used to reading? Apart from the fading of Assyrian power and

~ I have omined v. 15 because it interruptS the now of the narrative and is a warning to the hearers of the apocalyptic vision to stay awake and keep their garments-it makes for a much more dramatic illteractive reading of the text, but I am really only interested in v. 16 for the purpose of this anicle. 6 The kind of thing represented by such a book as Pctcr Lemesuricr. The Armageddoll Sen/x: The Power of FTOfJhecy flmi the Secret Life ofJesus (Shaftesbury, Dorset: Element Books, 1981) would slll"\~ve this change. with perhaps the loss of its title. The sorts of things discussed by Damian Thompson in his TAt Elld of Time: Faith alld Fear in the Shadow of the Millenllium (London: Minerva, 1997 [Sinclair-5tevenon, 1996]) and Marina Bergcn in her Living a/the End of Ihe World (London: Picador. 1998) would sluvive any such changes.

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the emergence once more of Egyptian hegemony in the Palestinian area, I can imagine many major changes which might have arisen from these rather slight changes. But this is where all those 'might have beens' and 'what irs' of alternative history always tend to irritate and annoy pious and professional historians. 7 Working from the exact science and twenty-twenty vision of hindsight, and working backwards from where we are today, it is easy but vacuous to propose a whole series of changes in order to represent a world which we could imagine as having been preferable to Lhe one we are alllOo familiar with. However, as this is the only game in town in this yolume, let us proceed to OUf speculations, reconfigurations and the rewriting of the past. The demise or non-existence of the deuteronomists proposed by this approach to rewriting the Bible would, in my opinion, be among the biggest and most important implicatures of such a 'what ir rereading of ancient history. The so-called Deuteronomistic History would disappear from the pages of the Bible, as would the so-called deuteronomistic edition of the prophets, so that certain patterns of imagining the story of Israel and Judah would be lost to future readers. There would be no cycle of rebellion and restoration motifs for telling of ancient times, of the judges or of the kings, nor would there be a so-called 'prophetic history' of the kings of Israel and Judah or of the people of Israel. More important, I think, would be the disappearance of such major events as the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem and the so-called Babylonian captivity. Deportation and diaspora would disappear, except for the prior Assyrian deportations. as Babylonian-orientated experiences. Of course there would have been a diasporic aspect to Judean history because of the movement of people between Palestine and Egypt throughout the history of Palestinian peoples. There might even have been a Babylonian dimension to the diasporic experience, but there would never have been what is fondly termed the 'exile and restoration' pattern of writing the story. Nor would there ever have been a movement of an intellectual group from Babylon to Jerusalem-let us leave aside the moot point whether this constituted a 'return'of descendants of the imagined original deportees or a seizure of 7 They arc well rehearsed in Niall Ferguson's introductory essay 'Virtual His,

lOry: Towards a "Chaotic~ Theory of the Past', in Ferguson (cd,), Virtual fliJlory: Altn71alivtj a7ld Cmmler!aclllau (London: Papermac, 1998 [original edition: Picador, 1997J), pp. 1-90.

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power by a Babylonian group claiming to have been descendants of the original deportees-intent on reconstructing Temple and territory as a bid for hegemonic comrol of the Persian colony 'a<.:l-uss the River'. Now I really do think that all such changes would have enlailed some powerful implications for a highly reimagined, reconfigured sto,)' ofJudah. I would not go so fal- as to say thattheJudaisms we have known throughout the past 1:\....0 millennia would never have come into existence. That would be far too radical and cata· strophic a set of reimaginings and reconfigurations-lacking any sense of controls, boundaries or limitations-and would turn my simple group of 'what if changes into world-altering consequences. No, but I do think that there would have been very many changes and some perhaps beyond imagining too. Evel)\lhing would have bem diJJerent. How different is a fair question to ask: perhaps only slightly different in some cases and a matter of sea changes in other cases, but the broad canvas would have looked really quite different from the canvases we are used to producing of that past. I think the Temple might well have nourished throughout the Egyptian, Persian, Greek and Roman periods, so there might not have been any major changes there. s I know there are vel)' fine biblical scholars who have always thought that contemporary biblical scholarship is too in thrall to theories of deuteronomism and who would much rather we concentrated on the Temple culture to the diminishing of focus on deuteronomistic matters. 9 The entity of the Temple would certainly provide for such linking material and continuity bel:\....e en what we imagine is in the Bible and the post-biblical period, so that there might not be as much disruption as we would like to think if notions of deuteronomism and the Babylonian deportation disappeared from our Bibles. But 8 As much as I would like to I shall not hcre imagine a \'cry different world ill which thcre was 110 first temple or only thc existcncc or Herod's temple, bccausc I think thal might be a vcry differcnt 'what iF slory. I shall just Slick to the biblical swry mutatis mutandis as ill1agined by my 'loss or Armageddon' stol)'linc. 9 For example, Margaret Barker comcs inslCK, 1992). Roben MurlOlY's nalllC also comes to mind; sec his The Cmmic CovenOllt: Biblical Th(J1les ofju.stice, Peau and the 11ItegritJ of CreatiQn (Heythrop Monographs, 7; London: Sheed & Ward, 1992).

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it would still be a different world from what we are used to think· ing of in relation to the Persian, Greek and Roman periods. Just how different is difficult to say, and no doubt the irnplicatures of such reconfigurations would be said differenlly by various people. My guesses about difference and how different would be along the following lines: the Babylonian dimension of ancient Jewish fOOLS would be greatly diminished, if it did not disappear altogether. Notions of 'exile and restoration' would cease to have much imporlance for doing biblical history and exegesis. That means much of the Genesis stories aboUl the 'patriarchs' would either disappear or have to be rewritten completely, with figures coming from tgypt rather than from Babylonia. The exodus SlOry under the leadership of Moses might then become not only dominant but the sole story of origins in the Bible. Palestine and Egypt would then be the twin Joci of the Bible rather than Palestine and Babylon. The implications of such a change are enormous and probably would entail rewriting the whole Bible altogether. Imagine also having to talk about the Jerusalem Talmud and the Egyptian Talmud-for example! Of course such changes might be miniscule in their particulars but taken together would constitute a radically new matrix of origins, development and structural narratives. An those deuteronomistic obsessions against Egypt would disappear from the Bible or would have to be rewritten against Assyria and Babylon (Persia and Greece?) instead. I think that there would have to be so many, many tiny changes to everything in the Bible that, Wisdom literature apart, the Rewritten Bible constituted by my 'what if approach would be a very different (kind of) book from what the Bible is now for its readers. It might well be vaguely recognizable in comparison to the historical Bible we all know (and love), but only if we had such an alternative Bible in the first place alongside my reimagined, reconfigured Bible. We are here in the terri lOry of 'possible worlds'-the property of science fiction much more than sober fiction (of a historical nature)-and we would all now live in a different world if we imagine that our past has been changed. So that would make it very difficult to compare different imagined worlds in the first place! It might not surprise readers very much to hear that among the implicattlres of my 'what if approach would have to be included either the disappearance or substantial diminution of the figure of jeremiah the prophet, because the logic of my rewriting of the Bible would entail such a factor. I cannot now imagine much, if any,

THE LOSS 01' ARMACt:I>DON, OR, 62 I AND ALL THAT

III

place for a prophetic figure who de"oted his life-the length of that life remains to this day a matter of dispute among scholars in Jeremiah studies-to announcing the fact that 'the k.ing of Babylon' would come and destroy the city ofJeru.salem and the dynasty of Josiah. If he had, he would not have lived very long! Or, if he had, who would have listened to him or taken him seriously because Neco would already have vanquished the k.ing of Babylon at Carchemish? It might be possible to reimagine a Jeremiah preaching surrender to Egypt and revolt against an imagined Babylon, but such a reconfiguration ofJeremiah partakes too much of a simplistic reversal to be worth imagining in the first place. I would rather consign the prophet to a quiet grave and have him edited out of the record than have his memory slandered as a friend of Egypt 10 He might, of course, have played a small part as a minor figure in the Book of the Prophet Hananiah, if we may allow that my 'what if approach could still entail a section on the prophets. My sense of the matter here is that, lacking a deuteronomistic movement, and its concomitant obsession with an ideology of propMtism, there would be no call for a collection of prophetic traditions in the first place. For given a Temple-oriemated value s)'Stem and central ideology governing the province and colony of Judah in the Persian period, why should there be any oppositional party represented by prophets in the first place? Those who would like to save, in any sense imaginable, the traditional prophets of the conventional biblical narratives will nlMr have to setLie for the integration of those prophets into a radically different collection where they function as "false' prophets and opponents of the 'true' prophets and 'servants of YHwH' or accept that they have disappeared from histol)' completely. If change there must be, then how great will be that change? Here there is plenty of room for disagreement among scholars, bUll shall assume a high level of primary variation and argue for the maximum degree of imagined change. The major change which I would like to argue maximally for would be whall shall call 'a loss of deuteronomism'. I suspect that such a loss would have been one of the most real benefits of this 10 Ilere I belray my fondness for lhe representation of lhe characterJeremiah as stated in cOlwentional Bibles. My fUwriltm Bibk would completely lack a section on the Prophets and Ill)' academic career would have been "ery different from the one I imagine I have had in the Guild thus far! But in the realm or 'what if?' reorderings of the univefS(:, ~'ef}thing changes and how!

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kind of 'what if approach to rereading (rewriting) the Bible. The loss of deuteronomism, or the marginalization of that movement which has been characterized by Paul Ricoeur as the producer of 'guilt-ridden histories' would be the most interesting consequence of my rewritten Bible. 11 Here I must agree with Margaret Barker in her demand for pushing deuteronomism into the background and for foregrounding the Temple and its cultic-mythic worldview. For the sake of convenience I will use her description of deuteron om is tic ideology as an illustration of the positive loss which would have been sustained by this change: The prophclS' prou:st about inherited guilt must surely be a comment upon the philosophy or the Dcmcronomic historians. The histories set out to show lhal lhe Dcuteronomists had been correct; Jerusalem had fallcn because of the evil ways of her kings, and these had been defined as dc\iation from the DeUleronomists' standard. NOliee that the kings and their disobedience are deemed responsible for the fate of their people, an echo of the older ways, even though the Deuteronomists have adapted this assumption to their own needs. The histories poim to prophecies fulfilled. and to great sin inherited by later generations. The exiles wcre len to weep by the waters of Babylon. One cannot help feeling that such an interpretation of history, olTered to a people in despair. can only have come from a rather vindictive menlality, perhaps from a group whose views were nOt widcly aceepted. 12

This would be one of the most applaudable benefits of such a 'what if approach to rewriting the Bible. Deuteronomism, with the possible exception of parts of the book of Deuteronomy (e.g., chs. 12-26), strikes me as being a pestilential cloud of moralizing ideology which has settled down over much of the Hebrew Bible and contaminated a great deal of the material therein, glossing and disfiguring many of the authentic elements to be found in the Bible. Much distortion and many displacements have been the result of the deuteronomistic interference with-what more benign critics might call 'editing'-so many of the traditions in the biblical text. Again I would have to agree with Margaret Barker's sound judgment when she advocates a differenl approach to read· ing the Hebrew Bible:

II See Paul Ricoeur, 'Biblical Readings and Meditations', in Ricoeur, Critique and Co'miction: Conversations with Francois AultlVi & Marc de tmmay (trans. Kathleen Blarney [French ori,it 1995]; London: Polity Press, 1998), pp. 139-70 ( 141). 12 Barker, The Older Testamrnl, p. 143; for her trealment of Deuteronomy see eh.5 (pp. 142-60).

THE LOSS OF ARMAGEDDON, OR, 621 AND ALL THAT

For rar too long and distorted by \Ve necd now to tion lose contact

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our reading or the Old Testament has been dominated Oeutel"Onomy. Theology has been writtcn in its shadow. listen to other voices, bcrore our attempts at reconstrucwith reality.l~

Whether there would be other and equally (un)sustainable losses accompanying the loss of deuteronomistic values I am not sure. Would the book ofJob be lost if Deuteronomy and deuteronomism were less prominenl in the collection of ancient Semitic writings? I doubt vel)' much that it would be lost because I sus~ pect the altitudes of Job's friends represenled standard popular and conventional moralities rather than deuteronomistic values. What befell Job was probably ounvith the deuteronomistic 'double entl)' book~keeping' notion of morality-what Oscar Wilde's Miss Prism would have defined as fiction: 'The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means' .-so Job would have sutvlved the serious rips in the fabric of conventional bibli~ cal literature caused by the disappearance of such biblical topoi as Josiah's death at Megiddo, the Babylonian captivity, deporta~ tion as exile and the loss of deuteronomism. Other moralities would have replaced it or closed over the hole caused by this sudden occlusion of deuteronomism, so that we as modern readers would never have known that anything real had disappeared. I think it would be a case of going too far to imagine that all subsequent religious developments arising out of movements associated with the ancient Near East would necessarily have been the beneficiaries of such a loss of deuteronomism. The quid pro quo aspect of religion which represents the mechanics of any and all religions oj obedience probably would have emerged in the mainstream religions which nowed over time from Jerusalem and Mecca and points east (Byzantium) or west (Rome). As the lwen~ liclh century comes 10 an end and after one of lhe most awful and appalling centuries of all time, noted so much for its 'fascisms of obedience' to a whole SpeClt"tlm of killing ideologies, the notion of obedience strikes me as one of the mosl~fearsomely-to~be~ avoided values in human communilies. In terms of values and systems I am inclined to believe that 'the rhetoric of obedience' came into the bloodstream of Western cui lure via the kinds of formal Christian ethics which were shaped by deuteronomistic values and other biblical deuteronomislS (such as the apostle l~

Barker. The Older Testament, p. 154.

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Paul). After such knowledge what forgiveness! So in removing the ideology and rhetoric of deuteronomum from the Bible, I think I am trying to reimagine and reconfigure the world in ways almost unimaginable. I strongly suspect that even with the disappearance of deuteronomism in the ancient world, the rhetoric of obedience and the mechanical notions of quid pro quo religion would still have emerged and flourished wherever petit bourgeois ethics held sway in society. So I do not wish to imagine or to claim that changing some minor evenls in the ancient past would necessarily have had catastrophic consequences throughout all subsequent history. That would be to take the 'Cleopatra's Nose' approach to historiography which I have already indicated that I have no wish to pursue. My Rewritten Bible project would require a book~length treatment in order to tease out all the consequential changes of a proper 62/ and All That approach to the ancient text as stated and as imagined to be restated in this 'what if' moment of fantasy. ABSTRACT

In this brief article the 'what if focus takes as its stage the disappearance from the biblical nalTative of the so-called deuteronomistic movement and, in panicular, the loss of Armageddon entailed by an imagined failure of Josiah to be killed at Megiddo. The loss of a substantive associated with represel1l.ations of the end of the world is acknowledged, but the concomitant loss of the world of autholitarian, moralistic discourses associated with the ideology or deuteronom ism would more than compensate for the aesthetic loss or the descriptor Armageddon. It would nOI be a case or all subsequent history having to be mdically altered, but everything would have been different and, in this author's opinion, better (a non-posunodcrnist attitude). The stimulating writings or Margaret Barker al·e utilized to this end and some points are made about the conceivable benefits of such a loss or the ideology and rhetoric or deulcronomism. The Re\\Tittcn Bible which lacked any sense or'621 and All ThaI' might then be a pleasure to read.

WHAT IF ZEDEKlAH HAD REMAINED LOYAL TO HIS MASTER? NIELS PETER LEMCHE Univmil)' of Copl!7lhagell

Virtual history lives from the expectation that decisions made by single persons can change the course of his lOry. The successes or failures of human beings tum the tide of hislOry. What if Na-

poleon had won the Battle at Waterloo? What if Admiral Nelson had been killed at Copenhagen? What if Alexander had been killed at lssos or Brutus had not murdered Caesar? Would this mean that Napoleon would have remained emperor of France. a country ruled for many years by his dynasty according to Napoleon's own expectations? Would the British have lost the battle at Trafalgar if Nelson had died four years before? Would the Creeks never have reached India if Alexander had not led them? Would the Roman Empire have sur-,ived until this day if Caesar had had a few years more to govern Rome? Who would be the poor souls chewed by the Devil in the bottom of Dal1le's inferno? Such questions are provoked by a very old but also very naive understanding of the forces that lie behind the course of history. Indeed, Napoleon should have won at Waterloo. Everything spoke in favor of a victory for the French. What would have happened after Waterloo? What could he and the world expect would follow this victOlY? Would England have left the coalition because of Wellington's failure? Would it not be more likely that other armies would have queued up to be beaten by the French arnlY? Would the French army not have exhausted itself, as happened the year before, when Napoleon, after a brilliant campaign fighting and beating several armies at the same time. in the end had to abdicate at Fountainbleu, victorious but exhausted to death by the sheer number of his opponents? When we turn to the fate of the other great persons, would a premature death of Admiral Nelson have changed the course of history? Would the Royal Navy not have been so overwhelmingly

strong that it, perhaps not as the result of one decisive battle but following several minor incidents, had worn the inferior French

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navy down? Even in the case that a major batLle at sea had been lost, would it not have been like the Battle of Jutland? The German Navy won the battle, but the Royal Navy won the war at sea because the enemy did not dare to engage it any morc. Maybe Alexander's armies would not have walked all the way to India without their great leader, but his many able generals would have comillucd his campaign and achieved his main goal, to establish a Greek hegemony over the Easl. The final scalement with Persia had been in preparation for almost two hundred years, ever since the victories at Marathon and Salamis, probably not so much because of mililafy considerations but because it had been mentally prepared for a very long period. It was the logical-not to speak of the economical---consequence of a mental develop"" ment that lasted for hundreds of years. The process probably left its mark on the Western mind, as in modern times, when to people of the Western world the danger is always coming from the East. What about Caesar? Would much have changed if Brutus had remained loyal to his master and Cassius had not been enraged by some minor offence? Caesar was already in his mid fifties. Given the normal life expectancy in those days, he would have only a few more years to live and reign. Octavian had already (accorrling to his will) been appointed as his successor. Civil war would have followed because constitutional matters were not yet settled. The Romans would have had to fight another war before the Augustean principate could finally be installed and the organization of the empire cemented. Individual persons may leave their stamp on history---even clear finger prints-but its general course would in most instances have been almost the same. This has to do with the concept of La Longue duree established by the French school of history called 'the Annals', according LO which the human factor is only a temporary condition. In the long run, geographical and economic considerations will dominate the historical process. The course of history may have to do with 'real' history, that is, the great events that changed the world. We need not, however, stay with this kind of history. AJso the development of the human mind is involved. The course of intellectual history is also a matter of virtual history. The history of Western philosophy might have been different if Plato and Aristotle had not existed, but the philosophy of antiquity would probably have been able to produce other independent minds. Plato and Aristotle did not create their

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philosophical systems out of nothing, but based them on a very long tradition of thinking, be it Greek 01" Oriental. The next generations of philosophers were more or less bound by the systems of their great teachers. Had these teachers not lived, they would have had to create their own systems. My example of virtual history has to do with the POilll made by this introduction, that the decision of a single human being may not be vel)' important for the general course of histo!)'. The decision made by an individual may not be vel)' interesting-except from the viewpoint of a newspaper person who is likely to concentrate on individuals. This is easy to explain. The minds of people living in the Western world have difficulties with numbers. It has been said that the death of a single pel·son is a tragedy, but those of a hundred thousand people are only statistics. l It has been the aim of modern historical research to establish a histol)' that runs counter to the expectations of the Western mind. I am not sure that it has really succeeded, except by making itself redundant. General .·eaders still want to read about the exploits of great men and women. They are not very interested in statistics and numbers. What if Zedekiah had remained loyal to his masters? What would have happened to the tradition of exile and restoration that carried tlle day among Jews of the Persian and Hellenistic-Roman periods? Let's fake a different scenario of 587/6 BCE from the one found in the Bible.

587/6

BeE

In this year, Zedekiah had been ruling his baltered kingdom of Jerusalem for about ten years after the dreadful events of 597 BCE when he was quite unexpectedly installed on the thmne of his ancestors by the mighty king of Babylonia, now his master and pa· tmn. The conditions had been harsh. Jehoiachim, his foolhardy brother, had lurned against his master and brought upon himself and his kingdom the forces of the empire. The anger of the king of Babylon against his unfaithful client was great and justiI In lhe 1930~ a popular Danish song included the lines: 40.000 mand ble\' stormens 1"0\'. De var aile kine~ere. Cud ske lo\'! (40,000 people became lhc prey of the typhoon-all Chincsc, thank God!).

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fied and the punishment was severe. jehoiachim had for once been so wise as to die in advance of the Babylonian onslaughl. In this way he escaped being personally punished. His kingdom was, however, left depleted, bereft of the elite of its population, its soldiers and its artisans. Its king, the ladjehoiachin, was taken away to Babylon and was still living at tJ,C court in a kind of golden cage. Evidently he had found some favour among the foreigners. Well, dreadful Nebuchadnezzar had no reason to act harshly against the young man. He had neither offended the king nor broken his oath to his master. He had only been in the wrong place at the wrong moment and was expendable. The king of Babylonia could trust him and had replaced him with his paternal uncle Mattaniah, now called Zedekiah. Ten years passed and things were rapidly changing. Ten years are many years to human beings all too ready to forget the lesson of the past. His advisers were forcing their ways upon Zedekiah, pressing him to revolt against his master, to whom he had sworn allegiance and to whom he owed his loyalty. Should he push his luck and rebel? Why should he do that? All previous rebellions against the Babylonians, and the Assyrians before them, had ended in disaster. Nobody had forgotten how the land ofJudah was totally destroyed by the Assyrians more than a cemury before. Only Jerusalem was spared, but left without assets of any kind. Everything had to be paid to the Assyrian king to keep him away from Jerusalem. King Hezekiah was utterly humiliated. He also had to deliver his daughters to the harem of Sennacherib. It was something forgotten in Judah, but a lesson not lost on Zedekiah, who was all too fond of his children and did not wam them to be swallowed up by the multitudes of Babylonia. 'You should rebel against the infidel and win the grace of our God'. This was the advice constantly pressed on Zedekiah from his silly advisers. They should have known better. They would have just as little chance of sUlviving the debacle as the king himself or his family. The threats included in the treaty between Zedekiah and his overlord had been explicit, and there was no reason to doubt that they would be carried out if the rebellion turned out unsuccessfully. Zedekiah did not rebel against his overlord. This was a wise decision. His depleted population was in no need of further blood· letting. He had seen how the successor of rebellious Hezekiah had altered the fate of his kingdom by playing the role of the loyal

WHAT IF ZEDEKIAH HAD REMAINED LOYAL TO HIS MASTER? 119

client to his patron, the king of Assyria. Now it was Zedekiah's turn. Let's keep good relations with our masters, and we will prosper. Maybe the Babylonians will allow us to incorporate provinces lOSt as a consequence of !.he stupidi(), of our predecessor. Maybe a king of !.he ancient house of David will be allowed to rule in Jemsalem forever and ever. The risk of failure if we rebel is enormous, !.he possibili()' of prosperi()' so much greater if we remain loyal. Maybe some governor along the coast will turn against his master. When he fails, we will help the Babylonians and ask for his proper()' in exchange. And when Babylon in the future turns against Egypt-the broken staff of a reed-we will join the Babylonians and win a fortune for ourselves. Zedekiah remained loyal. Neither he nor his successor was at any time unfaithful to his oath of allegiance. He did not outlive his patron, but died in peace, as a beloved king, ten years later. Sadly his sons had died young, but !.he Babylonian king found a substitute: Jehoiachin had in his captivity married a Babylonian noblewoman. One of their children, Amelmarduk, a young and gifted boy well versed in Babylonian culture, history and science, was appointed to succeed old Zedekiah. Amelmarduk's long reign introduced a period of massi\'e cultural import from Mesopotamia that changed backwardJudah and its provincial capital into almost a copy of Bab}'lon itself. Nobody ever thought of rebellion (or would have dared to speak in favor of an insurrection). When Cyrus put an end to the Bab),lonian kingdom, without resistance Judah changed allegiance to the new master of the world. After all, the tradition of a king of the line of Da\~d mling Jerusalem was to them much more important than freedom, a word without much meaning in those days.

No Exile, and So Whal r If this scenario represented the true turn of events in and around Jerusalem at the beginning of the sixth century BeE, the consequences would have been remarkable. It has become common among slUdents of the Old Testament and the Hebrew Bible La stress thaLthe exile was a kind of catalyst that created Judaism. Judaism would not have arisen if iL had nOt been for the trauma of the Bab}'lonian exilf'. TIlt' cala.',,-,"ophe that struck Jerusalem. its royal house and its temple contributed to the impression of a national disaster thaL spelled an end to the preexilic Israelite so-

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ciety. Large sections of the literature of the Old Testament presuppose the exile and make little sense without their authors (or colleclors) having witnessed either the catastrophe itself or its af· termath. Exilic and postexilic Judaism had to come to terms with the faCllhat its God destroyed ancient Israel and gave his chosen people into the hands of foreign conquerors and oppressors. If Zedekiah had chosen not 1O oppose his Babylonian overlord but had remained faithful to his oath of allegiance, there would have been no Babylonian exile at all, nothing to explain and no accusations against the God of Israel because of his acts against his people. In shon, the preexilic existence of the Israelites-or better Judaeans, the Slate of Israel had been destroyed 135 years before the second fall of Jerusalem-would have continued without interruption into the Persian and Greek periods. The literary Nachlass, the literaLUre that should explain why all of this happened, would have been without focus. There would have been nothing to explain and no dialogue between Israel and its God. In shon, there would have been no Judaism that had to confront the tribulations of the exile. There would have been no Jewish nation that saw itself as the heir of the ancient Israelites who sinned against their God and were punished because of their transgressions. And if we were to continue along this line, there would have been no talk about a 'new Israel' and a new covenant. Why should we need a new Israel when the old one was good enough? Why should we fear an exile when we are faithful to our masters, the one in heaven and the other one in Babylon? Maybe religious ideas and sentiments would have changed. Of course it would have been the case. The scenario supposed a comprehensive Babylonian cultural influence from the time of Zedekiah down to the fall of the Neo-Babylonian Empire. a massive import of foreign ideas and symbols. The Persian takeover would not have changed this situation, except Ulat from the end of the sixth century it would be Persian ideas that permeated the Palestinian Jewish society of the fifth and fourth centuries neE. The Greek conquest at the end of the fourth century would have brought about another massive source of import of cultural ideas. The process of assimilation of foreign ideas would most likely have led to a cultural and religious koine in Jerusalem, not very different from the one found in other parts of Syria where successively Babylonian, Persian and Greek influence was felt. If we continue along this line, it will be difficult Lo underSland

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how this religious and cultural assimilation could have led to a Christianity that based its claim to be the true Israel on the Jewish tradition of an exile that separated ancient Israel from the new Jt:wish mtLiun. This uut:s nul Int:an UI3l SUIIlt: kind of ChrisLianily would not have arisen. After all, who can deny that early Christianity was only one among several Jewish sectarian groups that claimed to have met their Messiah, in connict with the official Judaism of the Jerusalem temple community that developed a vision for a future Messiah. But the concept of a Messiah to appear sometime in the future would have been unnecessal)' because a king of the house of David already ruled in Jerusalem. He would not have been an independent king but the client of greater masters-nOt that the majority of his population would have appreciated the difference. There might have been hopes in circulation for a better king, but such hopes always circulated whenever a dynastic change was imminent. The new king to pin one's hopes on would, however, be merely a member of the ruling dynasty. In that event, matters in Jerusalem would have continued very much unchanged for cemudes, as long as the king in charge of this petty state remained faithful to his patron, whoever it was. So, if Zedekiah had not revolted against the Babylonians, Judaism would never have come into being, and if that had been the case, Cillistianity would never have had any appeal. There would have been no foundation for its claim that its Messiah was the only true one. It would have gone down the drain together with several similar short-lived religious movements of the Greco-Roman period. Finally, without Judaism and the affiliated Christianity there would have been no Muhammad to take up the role of the prophets. Islam would never have arisen in the Arab world and there would be no Qur'an transmitted by Allah to his faithful prophet. We would be living in a world without the great Western religions of this day, all of them eternal sources of the appearance of new sectarian movements. Instead of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, a situation may have appeared where the classic philosophical he.-itage survived in strength. The Stoic idea of the good person might still have been the focus of an enlightened person's self-understanding. It could also have happened that the ancient tradition was totally forgotten, and we would have ended in a situation of barbar-

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ism. Everybody would be doing whal he or she considered to be right because there would have been no divine master to tell us what is right and what is wrong. This is serious matter. Twice in this century we have witnessed what may happen in a society with· out a God. Two ideologies of the twentieth century have reacted in a forceful way against the interference of religious ideas and sentiments. One was fascism, the other communism. Neither fascism nor communism abstained from killing its citizens in thousands and millions in concentration camps. In fascism we find down the road a place called Auschwitz. In communism the name has changed into Gulag. Maybe we should not regret that Zedekiah revolted and that Nebuchadnezzar conquered jerusalem, destroyed its temple and dethroned its royal dynasty. Zedekiah's decision might well have been the most important ever made in the history of Western civilization. In this light, neither Moses, nor jesus, nor Caesar, but Zedekiah is the true father of our world. He should be praised for his not.very..c1ever decision to oppose the Babylonians. AJthough he instigated a revolt without any hope of success, it would in the long run have been a human disaster if his rebellion had never happened. In short, we owe our gratitude to Zedekiah-at least as long as we are convinced that the deci·

sion of an individual is able to change the course of history.

No J:..'Xile, and No Consequence It is sometimes maintained that if Moses had never existed,judaism would have been forced to invent him. The origin of judaism cannot be explained as a historical phenomenon without this man of God who acted as a middleman between God and Israel. Of course the correct answer to this argument is 'and so they did '! Now, it would be difficult to explain Judaism if there were no exile. This has to do with the function of the exile. It is not exclusively a historical event that changed ancient Israel into Judaism. This way of looking at the exile is probably only a modern way of ex· pressing the point made by the biblical historiographers, that there really was an exile. The idea of the exile is combined in the Bible with the obvious myth of the empty land, which argues that all of Israel was carried away into exile in Mesopotamia. Nobody remained in the country. As a consequence, the people living there when the descendants of the ancient Israelites returned to

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the home of their ancestors must perforce be newcomers without right to Slay in the country. Thus the exile has two functions. On the one hand, it separates tltt: SOliS fl-Olll tht:ir fatht:rs, tht: idol worshippers. On the other, it creates a link between the fathers and the sons. The fathers were punished because of their sins and had to leave their country given to them by their God. The sons, the new Israel, were able to re· turn to the countl)' of their fathers because they had not, like their fathers, sinned against God. Being sons, they possessed the right to inherit the land of their fathers and to throw out every illegitimate occupant to be found on the soil of their ancestors. The decisive argument was that the newcomers, the immigrants from Mesopotamia, were truly the descendants of the ancient Israelites. Genealogy was the customal)' means to prove this. I referred to the myth of the empty land, and we know this biblical concept to be a myth. Although not particularly wealthy, Palestine survived the transmission from Assyrian to Babylonian rule that happened c. 600 BCE. Recent investigations have shown that for the main part of the sixth century BCE, Palestine was not a deso-lated place (Barstad }966). On the contrary, it was settled, and for the majority of its population life continued as ever. This part of the biblical image of the exile is evidently by all means virtual history, the construct of later times. I will, however, also propose that the exile as described by the biblical historiographers is a myth. According to the Bible, after the fall of Samaria the people of Israel were dragged away by the Assyrians who in their place imported 'riffraff from faraway countnes. The Babylonians deported their southern relatives, the citizens of the kingdom of Judah, and left their countl)' emptied of inhabitants as a total wasteland. No one lived there and no one was able to return to this place before Cyrus issued a decree releasing the Jews from captivity after his conquest of Babylon. No one should be in doubt. Only a fraction of the Jews in Mesopotamia ever returned. The biblical version tells us lhal the Jews in their hundred thousands left Babylon as soon as possible in order to return to their land of origin. However, apan from this scenario created by the Old Testament hisloriographers, all historical evidence points in a different direction, telling us that, in the Persian period. a wealthy society of people from the west remained in Mesopotamia, which was destined lo become a major center of Jewish learning. As a matter of fact, this Mesopo--

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lamian Jewish society was most likely not destroyed before 1952 CE, when political circumstances forced the Jews of Iraq to 'return' to Israel, now a Jewish state in Palestine. One of the principal metaphors used in the Bible abollt the ex· ile is captivity. The exile is said to be a prison, and Cyrus is described as the hand of Yahweh who liberated his people from prison. As long as the Babylonians ruled, no one was allowed to leave Mesopotamia and travel to the West. We have, however, no indication that life in Mesopotamia was as bitter as that. We know ofa growing community of people from Syria/Palestine that partly assimilated, partly preserved, its identity. The biblical idea aran exile also presupposes thaI nobody could travel from Mesopotamia to Palestine as long as the Babylonians ruled the world. Is this an historical fact or only something imagined by the biblical hisLOriographers? Why should the artisans deported from Jerusalem to, for example, the great city of Nippur wish to leave Mesopotamia? Mesopotamia was, after all, in those days infinitely dcher than Palestine, and life there was much richer and more prosperous. It had little in common with the modern wasteland of, say, southern Iraq, a consequence of historical developments that belong to the Middle Ages. In short. from an economic and social point of view, there would have been little or no incitement for people to abandon their new homes and rettlrn to their poor land of origin. In antiquity ordinary people did not travel at all, if not forced to by special circumstances, such as forced deportations. The conviction that people would leave Mesopotamia on the spot in order to travel to their ancient homes in a remote countl)' is an invention of the biblical historiographers and theologians. These authors based their histol)' of exile and restoration on a notion of Israel as the people of Cod that is related to modern ideas about the nation, a nation that could not live without a land of iLS own. The exile as described in the Bible is the construct of Judaism, one of iLS most important myths of origin and a clear parallel to another origin myth, the one of the exodus from Egypt (ef. Lemche 1998). Although most modern studenLS oCthe Bible have adopted the biblical version, this is not because it represents the histol-ical reality. It is because it lives up to the expectations of people living in modern times. The biblical identification of the people of Cod fulfils our requirements for national identity. It has therefore been all too easy for scholars of the present world to

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accept the biblical explanations for Israel's ethnicity, be it the historicity of the exodus or of the return from Babylon. In the context of virtual history, it is easy to imagine a scenario different from the previous one proposed as an alternative to the biblical description of the fatal consequences of Zedekiah's rebellion. According to this second scenario the histOI)' of ancient Israel as told by the biblical historiographers is in it5elf from one end to the olher virtual history. It is a constructed hislol)' that may have had litLie to do with the actual histol)' of the southern Levant in the Iron Age. This verdict is vindicated because very little of the stOI)' told by biblical writers ever relates to what happened in the real world. Modern scholarship has made ulis certain. We know lhat the age of the patriarchs as lold by the Old Testament is a piece of invented history. We also know lhal all of Israel was never liberated from Egypt-even more conservative members of the guild of biblical scholars will agree on lhis. They may maintain that a small group participated in the events narrated by the Old Testament, but only the hardcore evangelicals would agree that evel}'thing happened as it is told by the Bible. To continue, no invasion and conquest of Canaan happened, no period of the judges followed with or without a Greek amphictyony, and no political union existed between the twelve tribes of Israel in the glorious days of David and Solomon. As a matter of fact, the very existence of these two monarchs is highly questioned by recent scholarship. Furthermore, because a unilY never existed between all the tribes of Israel, there never was a break between Israel and Judah as described by I Kings. The two pelty states of Judah and Israel are factual. Israel existed as 'The House ofOmri' for almost two hundred years between c. 900 and 722 BeE. Judah probably united in iLS minute territol)' as a kind of city-state of Jerusalem, perhaps sometime in the ninth or more likely at the beginning of the eighth cenlllry neE. They were, however, not alone on the Palestinian scene. Several other petty states joined their number, totally forgollen by the biblical historiographers. The question remains: Why should we pay more allention to the exile as a part of Israel's history than to any previous period that has turned out not lO be historical but virtual history? There is, as a matter of fact, no reason to change one's view of Israel's histol)' when we approach the exile. Like all other parLS of Israel's histol)', the exile has a role to play in the narrative construction created by the biblical historiographers, that of an origin myth. It

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is part of this construction, not something caused by it, that is, the result of a history that never happened. According to our second scenario, the Old Testament historiographers were active probably in the late Persian period, that is, between 539 and 331 BeE, or more likely in the Hellenistic pc· riod, probably in the third century BeE. Their literature shows many signs of influence from Greek historiography. It also represents a definite reaction against Greek influence. We have an example of a simultaneous acculturation and deculluration, so to speak, and can see how the authors are at the same time attracted by the Greek world and repulsed by its content. In order to achieve their goal, thal is, to create an identity absolutely different from the Hellenistic koine to which they physically belonged, the Old Testament historiographers created their version of virtual histol)'. It was planned as a piece of propaganda put together in order to persuade people to join their cause and separate from their Greek masters. These authors probably created their 'national' histol)' at the same time as other repre· sentatives of ancient Near Eastern culture, now to a large extent assimilated with Greek culture, wrote their versions. There is. from an historian's point of view. no reason to separate the biblical historiographers from their colleagues such as the Egyptian Manetho, the Mesopotamian Berossus, or the Phoenician Philo. The period knows of other historiographers of the same category. It was a general trend of the pel;od to create 'national' histories in order to preserve 'national' culture and identity before it was totally swallowed up by the overwhelming Greek cultural influence. It might well be that our first scenario, according to which Zedekiah never revolted against Nebuchadnezzar, is more in line with the historical realities of the early sixth century BeE than the second one created by the biblical historiographers. Mter all, al· though the Babylonian sack of Jerusalem in 597 Be}; is confirmed by an independent Babylonian source (Wiseman 1956), this Babylonian source breaks off a few years after this conquest. We have the word only of the Old Testament authors that the second conquest ever happened. The Old Testament historiographers needed this second destruction, but also the subsequent murder of the Babylonian governor to prove their case, that the countl)' was emptied of inhabitants all led into captivity in Mesopotamia.

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EpilolfUe

Virtual history has one wonderful quality. Nobody needs to believe in it. Therefore I do not ask my reader to believe my scenario. Nobody needs to pay any attention to it. They should not, however, think of the second scenario, the one created by the Old Testament historiographers, as more reliable. There is no reason to think that it is beuer, that is, more accurate, than modern constructions, and it is also no proof of its authenticity that scholars of Lhe modern world have paraphrased it so many times. Virtual history presents options and no more than that. It includes narratives to be liked or ridiculed, intriguing opportunities for a revised history. IL should not be taken too seriously, yet we should not overlook its background. We always carry the question with us: What if? Where would we have been if ... ? In this way virtual history is indeed a very personal matter. After all, it places the human being in the center and not on the periphery of hisLOry, as is very often the case in modern economic, social, or political historiography. Because it is human, related hisIOI)', it tells a story about us. Although it may fail in the eyes of the professional historians, it is at least relevant to human beings, be il the person who COnSlnlf"tS tht' virTU"'! hiSTory or fhe. one. who is

presented with it. 'What if is not a collective question, it is the decision of Lhe individual LO ask his or her history to produce something he or she might think is important. Let us return to our friend Napoleon. The question, 'what if Napoleon won the battle at Waterloo?', is not so much a question about what happened or might have happened. It is a question about what ought to have happened. Napoleon, the great hero in his days, should have won that battle. It was and is still for his many admirers a mystery and a scandal that he failed. 'What if is not a neutral question or a play with words. It has LO do wiLh Lhe personal wish thaL history should have followed a different course. 'WhaL if is synonymous with 'if only'. A Postscript about Literature

I have deliberaLely decided that this essay should be exactly Lhat, an essay and noL a scholarly article. It is noL even a virtual scholarly artide, like the !earllell illlluduCliun about the losl manusci-ipts

in Umberto Eco's novel Il nome della msa. It does not preLend to

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anything except an exercise. If it tells us that we should be careful paying much attention to virtual histories of the past, ancient and modern, I may after all have obtained something. The essay therefore (with one exception) remains notenJrei. The literature mentioned in this essay consists of only three numbers: Hans M. Barstad, The Myth of the Empty Land: A Study in the Histor)' and A1'Chaeology oj Judah during the 'Exilic' Period (Symbolae Osloenses, 28; Oslo: Scandinavian University Press, 1996), Niels Peter Lemehe, The Israelites in History and Tradition (Libr31J1 of Ancient Israel; Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press; London: SpeR, 1998), and OJ. Wiseman, Gimmicks oj the Chaldean Kings (626-556 B.C.) in the British Museum (London: The Trustess of the British Museum, 1956). Otherwise the perspective of the essay is exclusively the one of the so-called 'revisionists', or 'minimalists', or simply of 'the Copenhagen School'. Relevant and recent background reading can be found in Niels Peter Lemche, Prelude to Israel's Past: Background and Beginnings of Israelite History and Identity (Peabody, MA: Hend.-ickson, 1998), and Thomas L. Thompson, The Bible in Hist0'f)': How Writets Create a Past (London: Jonathan Cape, 1999). ABSTRACT

This ankle works with 1I,'0 difTerem examples of vinual history. The first describes the outcome of the events of 587 liCE. What if Zedekiah had not revolted? Then there would have been no Babylonian Exile, no Judaism founded 011 the idea of an exile, no Christianity founded on Judaism, and no Islam. So perhaps Zedekiah's decision to revolt was the single most important decision made by any persion in the history of Western civilization, Whereas this first scenario is a mock scenario, the second is IIOt. It concerns the virtual history constrUCLCd by the biblical historians who, among other things, created the myth of the Babylonian Exile as the foundation myth of their constructed nation, the new Israel. Seen in light of the extent of vinual history found in the Bible, the first scenario could easily-from an historian's point of view-be considered closer to the actual e,'ents in the southern Levant of the early sixth century BCE.

A CASE OF BENIGN IMPERIAL EGLECf AND ITS CO SEQ ENCES JOSEPH BLE, KINSOPP UnirNrSilJ of NoIrt Dam/! IfJerusalem had not been parI of a Gentile empire, the nomads would have dri\'cn (he Jews into the sea or swallowed up Palestine. and the rock of Zion would have been the foundation of an Anl.bian sanctuary a thousand ~'ears bt;fore Omar's mosque. l

In 586 BeE the Babylonians finally extinguished the Judaean state, destroyed Jerusalem, and deported members of the ruling and professional class. The administrative centre of the province was set up several miles north of Jerusalem at Mizpah (Tell enN~beh) under Gedaliah, scion of a prominent Judaean family. one of those who opposed Zedekiah's ill-advised revolt. Cedaliah's nile as a puppet king did not last long, howe\'er, for he was assassinated in the course of a short-lived nationalistic uprising in 582 BCE. 2 This act of foolish bravado led predictably to further rep,·essi\·e measures including another deportation. Destruction inflicted on other Judaean sites during the Babylonian conquest, though severe. was selective, but the province itself \'t'aS considerabl)I reduced in size, especially to the south. According to immemorial tradition reinforced by myth, danger could be expected to come from the north,~ bm the [ate of the rump province of Judah was to be decided from the opposite point of the compass. Some Edomites had been settled in the Judaean Negev since the heyday of the Assyrians in the seventh centUl)'. and we may suppose that their relations wilh the local Judaean populalion (inI Elias Bkkerman, Fro", &'m 10 lilt LlIsl of lhe Maccabtts: FO"'"(/fltioI1S of Post· Biblicaljudais", (New York: Schocken Book5. 1962 [first published 1949]). p. 10. t TIle assassin Ishmael. a member of the Judaean royal family, is described as rab hamm.tkJt, a chief officer of the king. certainly nOi lhe Babylonian king. Jer. 41:1. A seal disco\'ercd by Bade: at Tell en·Nasbeh belonged to a rO)·a.l official named Jaauniah Oy'tnJhw '1xJ IIIIIlk). a rather rdre mum: wille lJy .. llIc:;u,!Je, vf Gedaliah's coun, 2 Kgs 25:23). , Jer. 4:6: 6:9. 22, etc.

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eluding closely related Kenites, Kenizzites andJerahmeelites) were not invariably hostile. But during the western revolt against the Babylonian superpower, which ended with the successful siege of Jerusalem and me unsuccessful siege of Tyre. they stayed on the sidelines, and as a result were able to infiltrate even furLher into Judah. As long as some form of effective imperial administration remained in place in the Babylonian province, they were restricted

morc or less to the eastern Judaean Negev. But once the local administration collapsed with the fall of Babylon in 539, organized resistance to their colonisation more or less disintegrated. What happened then can be pieced together in the light of whal lillie we know or can reasonably surmise about the transition period to Achaemenid rule and with prudent recourse to the archaeological record, incomplete and always subject to revision as it is. The relevant biblical texts must also be taken into account. The policy of the early Achaemenid rulers towards the fonner Babylonian province ofJudah, to the extent that there was a policy, was determined by three factors: (1) control of the Mediterranean north-south coastal route, the route taken by both Cambyses in 525 and Alexander in 332 as they advanced on Egypt;4 (2) control of the east-west trade route from the Arabian peninsula and the Red Sea to the Mediterranean; (3) friendship with the Arab peoples whose co-operation was crucial for keeping open the trade routes through the Arava, Sinai and Negev, and was to prove invaluable during Cambyses' conquest of Egypt." It is hard to see what stake the Achaemenid rulers would have had in the region apart from these considerations. Quite the contrary, Cyrus II, Cambyses and Darius I would have had absolmely no interest in re-establishingJerusalem, that 'rebellious city hurtful to kings and provinces' (Ezra 4:15), or financing the rebuilding of its temple whose personnel had provided religious legitimation for the disastrous rebellion of Zedekiah, or encouraging Judaeo-Babylonians resident in and around Nippur to resettle in the ancestral homeland, if indeed there were any disposed to do so. The conditions for Edomite colonisation were therefore in place, and tl,e motivation was supplied by steady infiltration of Kedarite Arabs ~ There is no evidence that either Cambyses 01' Alexander thought it necessary or profitable to move inland. ~ Herodotus 3:4-5. Theil' assistance resulted in a league of friendship between Persians and Arabians (3:88). In the fifth satrapy Arabs were the only ones exempt from taxation (3:91).

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into the Edomite homeland east and south of the Salt Sea,6 not to mention the prospect of better land for grazing and growing crops in Cisjordania. Even before the sack of Jerusalem, Edornites wCI·e wdl estalr lished in the eastern Negev. Their hostile presence in the Arad region is attested on ostracon number 24, and Edomite names on other ostraca from Arad, together with Edomite pottery from the site, suggest that they were at that time or shortly afterwards in possession of this important town. 7 An Edomite cult centre on the Wadi Qatamat (Horvat Qitmit) some fifteen kilometres south of Arad was dedicated to their supreme deity Qaus (Q6s) , one of whose priests is represented on a stone seal discovered there. Its solid construction suggests that they meant business, that they were there to stay.s The entire region is dotted with Edomite sites: Tell e1-Milh (Tel Malhata), Khirbet Chara (Tel Ira), Khirbet e1-Mashash (Tel Masos), Horvat Radum, Tel Aroer, Khirbet Chazza (Horvat 'Una). We even have a letter addressed to the Edomite commander at this last location, situated about lwelve kilometres south-east of Arad, lelling him LO deliver some foodstuffs LO someone and blessing him in the name of Q6s. 9 Once it became clear that the Persian imperial authorities were not about to intervene, the pace of Edomite colonisation quickened. Judaean forts in the eastern Negev (e.g., al Horvat 'Anim, Horvat Tov) and in the Hebron hills were soon overwhelmed, 6 After the subjugation of Edom by Nabonidus in 553-552 liCE, there was no central power in Edom to organize resiSlance against infiltration. See I. Eph'a!. The Ancient Arabs: Nomads on the Borders oj the Fer/ik Crescent 9th-5th Cn/tunes n.c. Oenlsalem: Magnes Press, 1984), pp. 170-201; LA. Knauf, "Kedar,~ in D.N. Freedman (cd.), Anchor Bible Dic/ional)' (New York: Doubleday, 1992), vol. 4, pp. 9-10. J.R. Bartletl. ~From Edomites to Nabataeans: A Swdy ill Cominuity,M PEQ III (1979), pp. 53-66. argues for Nabataean occupalion lO the exclusion of Kcdarite Arabs. 7 On lhe Arad ostraca. sce Y. Aharoni, Amd Inscrilllions Oerusalem: Israel Exploration Sociely, 1981). 8 I. Beit.Arieh. MNew Light on the Edomites,~ BAR 14.2 (1988), pp. 28-41; MNcw Data on the Relation belweenjudah and Edom towards the End of the Iron Age," in S. Gitin and \-V,G. De\·cr (cds.), Recent EXCaV(lliOIl$ ill Isme{ (Winona Lakc, IN: Eisenbraulls, 1989), pp. 125-31. 9 In add ilion to the previous note see I. Ikit-Adeh, "Edomite Advance into judah-Isr.tclitc Defensive Fortresses Inadequate,M BAR 22 (1996), pp. 28-35; on the Horvat 'Uzza ostracon. sce l. Bcit-Arich and B. Cresson, MAn Edomite Ostracon from Horvat 'Uzza,MTel Alliv 12 (1985), pp. 96-101, and on the alleged Edomite shrine at En Hatzeva, R. Cohcn and Y. Yisrael, MPiecing Together an Edornite Shrine ill judah,M BAR 22.4 (1996), pp. 40·51, 65.

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bypassed, or abandoned. Cities whose defences had been dismantled as a result of the Babylonian conquest and never rebuilt (En~Gedi, Hebron, Tell e1-Hesi, Mareshah, Lachish) were occupied, though it is not always clear whether the occupants were Edomites, Kedaritcs, or a related Arab people. As Cambyses, with the assiSlance of the contiguous Arab peoples, was marshalling his forces along the coastal area for the conquest of Egypt in 525 BeE, Edomite bands were passing through Ramal Ra.chel on their way to an undefended and thinly populated Jerusalem. By the time Cambyses died five years later under mysterious circumstances, a modest sanctuary to the supreme deity Qos had been erected on the site of the Judaean temple burned by the Babylonian Nebuzaradan more than six decades earlier. to Far from being in any way extraordinary, Edomite, Kedarite and, later, Nabataean encroachment at the southern end of the SyroPalestinian corridor fits the overall settlement pattern throughout the region. Mter existing for a few centuries, the monarchies of Edom, Moab and Ammon had also been extinguished by the NeoBabylonian period, or the early Achaemenid period at the latest. and the entire region was gradually taken over and occupied by Arabian tribes and eventually incorporated into the Nabataean kingdom. Thus, by the first century eE, the region was ruled by an Idumaean (Edomite) client king, and Josephus could refer to Moabites quite simply as Arabians (Ant 13:374, 382). II

We have little precise information on the situation of the region under Achaemenid rule (6th to 4th celllury BeE). It formed a small and insignificant part of the fifth satrapy (Babili-Ebirnari) governed initially by one Ushlani (Hystanes). The administrator of the western section of the satrapy. initially Tauenai, resided in Damascus, and the oversight of the southern end of the Syro-Palestinian corridor was confided to the Sanballat dynasty in Samaria. Mizpah retained its status as administrative centre with a small palace used by the provincial governor on occasional visits. The

III The tradition that the temple of Solomon was burned by Edolllites rather than Babylonians (Slated at I Esdr. 4:45 and perhaps hinted at in Ps. 137:7) may have been suggested by the Edomile occupation of the city a generation or so later.

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Edomite-Arabs meanwhile continued to consolidate their settlement in the northern Negev, the Shephelah, the Hebron highlands, the Judaean highlands and the Judaean wilderness. Their penetration extended roughly to a line running from Tel Miqnc (Ekron?), through Beth-Shemesh and Jerusalem to Jericho. No doubt admonished by the authorities in Samaria, their forward movement stopped just north of Jerusalem. The territorial ambitions of the Kedarite Arabs under their ruler Gashm were likewise held in check, at [east for the time being. I I The mixed population in southern Palestine included Ji:hudim, descendants of the original inhabitants of the Judaean kingdom, but as time passed intermarriage inevitably blurred ethnic lines. By this time most ex:Judaeans lived elsewhere-in Samaria, the Galilee, the Transjordanian region, the Phoenician cities. The principal concentrations, however, were in Babylonia and Egypt, but there were Judaean settlements as far afield as Sardis to the north and the island of Jeb at the first cataract of the Nile to the south, In the territory of the former tribe of Judah the age-old pattern of subsistence farming continued. Life was never easy for most of the population, and was made worse by Achaemenid fiscal policy and heavy taxation dicL:'lted by the need to put down interminable revolts and to finance campaigns of conquest and reconquest, including the less successful forays into Europe during the reigns of Darius I and Xerxes. Ethnic mingling brought with it syncretic cults involving a wide range of deities. As the one who sponsored the Edomite resettlement, Q6s was the most important, but cult was also offered to Yahu, Milkom, Anath, Han
In spite ofSartlett's misgivings (see n, 6), it seems thaI by the fifth ce11lury the Kedarite Arabs had settled a broad area from the Tr.ll1sjordanian plateau 10 the Sinai and perhaps the fringes of lhe Nile delta. A bowl discovered at Tell e1-Maskhula in Lower Eg)'Pl is inscribed for "Cain son of Gashmu king of Kedar,~ and thc samc name. filii. occlirs in a roughly contcmporancous Lihyanilc inscriplion; see I. Rabinowitz, "Ar,lInaic Inscriplions of the Fifth Centul)' BCE from a Norlh-Arab Shrine ill Egypl," JNI-:S 15 (1956), pp. 1-9; WJ. Dlllllbrell, "The Tell e1-MaskhUl.a Bowls and the 'Killgdom' of Qedar in lhe Persian Period,' BASOn 203 (1971). pp. 33-4<1. II

BeE

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1II

Decisive for the course of the future was the fact that, as a result of this situation, the descendants of those deported by the Babylonians in 597, 586 and 582 were unable to return to the former kingdom of Judah. In this respect the situation was simi-

lar to that of Samaria after !.he incorporation of that kingdom into the Assyrian empire in 732-722 BeE. In keeping wim their usual practice, the Assyrians replaced the 27,290 Samarian deportees mentioned in Sargon II's inscriptions with a mixed population from northern Syria and soulhern Mesopotamia who, as a maller of prudence, worshipped Yahweh (Vahu?), whose writ had for~ merly run in thaI region, alongside their own deities-Nergal. Ashima, Adrammelek and others. Unable therefore to return, the dcponees were assimilatcd illlo the Mesopotamian melting pot and disappeared. If it is true that the Assyrians displaced some four and a half million people over a period of three centuries, this situation must have been replicated many times in all parts of the Near East. 12 The impossibility for somewhat similar reasons of a Judaean repatriation meant the loss of a fixed point of reference, of an em· blem of common idelllity, for the many 'hyphenated' Judaeans scattered over the Near East. That the major centres in southern Mesopotamia and elsewhere in the Neo-Babylonian empire nev· ertheless survived was due in the first instance to a contingent factor of state policy. The Babylonians found it more cost-efTective to settle deported ethnic groups as tenant farmers rather than enslave them, and to utilise the additional labour force in regions and on sites due for redevelopment, especially in the Nippur region. To facilitate administrative supervision and the collection of taxes, they also permitted them to maintain their own distinctive identity and organization. The same policy continued into the Achaemenid period. Each enclave developed its own mix of local with distinctively Judaean traditions, institutions, customs and laws. Some built their own temples (Shechem, Elephantine, perhaps Casiphia), but with the decline of animal sacrifice the trend was irreversibly towards lay organisation. Some concentrated more exclusively on the worship of the old, national deity, while others II B. Oded, Mass lHportatlotU a"d lRport«s ;" 1M Nto-AsJJritl" £",piTt (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludv.ig Reichen Verlag. 1979). pp. 19-20.

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again hedged their bets by offering cult to local gods and god~ desses. Customary law, for example in the matter of marriage and divorce, generally involved accomodation with local practice. This at least was the case with the Judaean military colony at Elephan~ tine on the southern border of Egypt, and it was probably not significantly different in other centres of Judaean settlement. The impossibility for the descendants of the deportees to re~ settle in the traditional homeland was therefore the norm rather than the exception. It meant that they had no realistic option but to seek the welfare of the cities to which they were sent Uer. 29:7) if they were to prosper 01' even sUlvive. At the same time it greatly increased the probability of assimilation to the local culture. Judaean enclaves seem, however, to have been more successful than most in preserving a distinctive identity. Though there was no one prescJiptive code of law and no central authority to enforce compliance, a tradition of ritual segregation developed (dietary practices and rituals of avoidance) together with fixed religious and commemorative rites of a kind that could be practised with~ out priests or other religious specialists-sabbath and Passover in particular. Traditions of national origins, of warrior kings, priests and sages were also recited, no doubt with advantages, and in the Hellenistic period tracts and histories were written comparing Israelite wisdom favourably with that of the Greeks. We recall the report of Clearchus about the encounter between Aristotle and the philosophical Jew from Coele~Syria who not only spoke Creek but had the soul of a Greek. 13 Another long~term effect of Persian neglect of this small (about 1,000 square miles) corner of their vast empire, and the conse~ quent loss of a Judaean homeland, was that the descendants of the original deportees and exiles were spared the turmoil of nationalistic politics and the apocalyptic Schwiirmerei so often in~ separable from the defence of national turf. In the early years of Persian rule 'messianic' movements in Babylon precipitated by political crisis-the revolt of Arakha against Darius and of Bel~ shimani against Xerxes, both claiming descent from the greal Nebuchadrezzar-must have ignited similar aspirations among Judaean expatriates; perhaps the prophecies about national and dynastic resloration were to be fulfilled after all. But these aspira~ tions faded with the collapse of the revolts, and as far as we know l' Reponed in Josephus, CQ/llra Apion I: 176-82.

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members of the Judaean ethnos, though occasionally the object of local hostility (for example. the Elephantine temple was de· strayed dUling a riol in 411 BeE), took no further part in uprisings against Persia or against their imperial successors, the Ptolemies, Seleucids and Romans. Meanwhile, the Nabataeans consolidated their control on both sides of the Jordan, first as a fully independent Arab kingdom, then as a client of Rome, until the entire region was annexed by Rome in 106 BeE. At this point an entirely new chapter in the history of the far-scattered Judaean settlements begins. ABSTRACT

Edomites were already well established in lhe Judean Negev before the Babylonian conquest, and archaeological evidence suggests that they profiled by the disturbances of those years (597-582 BeE) to infiltrate much of the province south of Jerusalem. After the collapse of the Neo-Babylonian empire, the inter· est of the Persians in the region was resuictcd to protecting tllC tlOlde routes along the Meditermnean coast and the Transjordanian plateau and the approaches to Egypt. They also had no interest in sponsoring the reUlrn of deponed Judaeans to the region. Once it became dear that there would be no intervention from disl.ant Sma. the pace of Edomite colonisation quickened, a semi-desertcdJerusalem was occupied, and a sanclUary to the supreme Edomitc deity Q6s (Qaus) arose 011 the site of the destro)'ed Yahweh temple. This ruled out the possibility of repatriation, and Judaism de\'e!oped as a scattering of ritually segregated enclaves in diITerent countries in line with other religions in late antiquity.

WHAT IF THE CHRONICLER DID USE THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY? A. GRAEME AULD Univmit)' oj Edillburgh

I do not hold that the Deuteronomislic History was 'in fact' the principal source of the Chronicler. However, it is a fact that this is very widely stated to be the case. Even if the following discussion is unable to settle the 'facts of the malter', it may serve to illustrate what does pass for 'fact' and for 'evidence' in this part of our academic field. The Queslion Posed For the sake of brief discussion, the question in the title may be resolved into a larger 'what if and a lesser one. The larger is a composite of three questions: (a) what if there was once a Deuteronomistic History?; (b) what if it did already exist at the time the Chronicler worked?; and (c) what if the Chronicler did use it? By 'a DeuteronomiSlic History', I intend here a fairly strong definition: the familiar biblical books of Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings-or at least something very like their present total shape. What then is the evidence that the Chronicler worked from this hisLOry, these books much as we know Oum and understood as a connected histmy? It may be sensible to assemble the 'evidence' for his method of composition, book by book. If the Chronicler has been influenced by Deuteronomy, it is negatively so-and that is not easy to prove from silence. There are no strong grounds for supposing that the Chronicler worked from or knew or was directly influenced by the text of Deuteronomy. There is of course shared language and material, but these are concentrated in the so-called 'synoptic' portions of Chronicles -the passages more or less precisely shared with Samuel-Kings (such as the ark as container of the stone tables, I or Yahweh as the God keeping covenant and loyalty).:'> The 'evidence' would 1 2 ehron. 5:10 / / I Kgs 8:9-and also Dellt. 10:1-5. 2

2 ehron. 6:14 II I Kgs 8:23--and also Dcut. 7:9.

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be stronger that the Chronicler worked from a text of SamuelKings, and learned this language from there. than that he worked directly from Deuteronomy. There is no all aloin' in special Chronicles material to the way Elijah in special Kings material uses the rare and distinctive word for 'kill' from the Ten Commandmenls against Allab and Jezebel (l Kgs 21:19). Of course, even that usage does not prove that the aulhor of Kings knew Deuteronomy 5, but it is at least an arguable proposition. Chronicles is in fact very much less 'Deuteronomic' than Samuel-Kings, and especially Kings. The situation is very different when we compare Joshua and Chronicles. There are several shared materials: the 1:\vo and a half Transjordanian tribes$ (mel also in Numbers, Deuteronomy, and JGngs); Achan/r who transgressed over what had been devoted to the deity;4 accounts of tribal holdings and relationships in which Judah bulks largest5 (and Caleb is prominent withinJudah);6 and Levi 7 and the Transjordanians8 are more prominent than the tribes to the north ofJudah. 9 There can be no surprise that these links are often explained as the Chronicler's dependence on the book ofJoshua. However, students ofJoshua have often described these shared or similar materials as among the most recent additions to that book: many of them as non-, or late-, or postDeuteronomistic. As such, therefore, they would be the least reliable portions of Joshua to cite within an argument that the Chronicler worked from a 'Deuteronomistic History' (in any strong sense) of which 'Deuteronomistic' Joshua was a parL IO And the relationship beu\leen Chronicles and Judges is different yet again. These books have almost nothing in common except notes about cities in Judges I (vv. 21, 27-33), which are found also in Joshua and are widely accepted as being more original , Josh. 1:12-15; 13:7-33; 14:2-4; 22 and I Chron. 5. Josh. 7; 22:20 and I Chron. 2:7. Josh. 15:1-63 and I Chron. 2-4. 6 Josh. 14:6-15; 15:13-19; 21:11·12 and several Calebs in I Chron. 24. On the prominence of the Caleb lines within the genealogy ofJudah in Chronicles, see W.JohnslOne. I and 2 Chronicles (Shemcld: Shemeld Academic Press, 1998), vol. 1, PI'. 45-65. , Josh. 13:14,33; 14:4b; 21:1-42 and 1 Chron. 6:1-81. 8 Josh. 13:7-13,15-32; 14:2-4a; 22 and I Chron. 5:1-26. 9 Josh. 16-19 and 2 Chron. 7-9. 10 That in some cases the direction of influence may have been from Chronicles toJoshua is argued in A.G. Auld,joshuaUelold (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), pp. 113-19. ~ ~

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there than in Judges, and mention of relatively minor char-tcters, such as Othniel and Caleb,ll and of Tola and Puah. '2 The heroes (or villains) of the big stories of Judges-Ehud and Deborah, Gideon/Jerubbaal and Abimelech,Jephthah and Samson~o not enjoy even passing mention in Chronicles. One striking expression Judges and Chronicles do share: of the divine spirit/wind 'clothing ilSelf with' someone and impelling him to an unaccus· tomed role, whether of leadership (as Gideon in Judg. 6:34) or speech (as Amasai in 1 Chron. 12:19 or Zechariah in 2 ehron. 24:20; compare 2 Chron. 15:1). The situation with 1 Samuel is much the same. The Chronicler does know of Samuel and Saul, and is familiar with the claim that Saul had resorted to a medium;13 yet these are essentially figures from a past that the Chronicler does not repon. 'What if Deutertr nomy-I Samuel were available to the Chronicler?' Then he passed over most of their material in silence, and what material he did use (and that, more from Joshua than ilS neighbours) was the least Deuleronomislic material available. The double question implied in the smaller 'what if might be stated as follows: What if, even although a Deuteronomistic History encompassing all of Deuteronomy to KinRs had not (yet) developed, there were 'Deuteronomistic' books of Samuel and Kings? What if the Chronicler used 2 Samuel-2 Kings as source in a period in which Deuteronomy:Joshua:Judges-1 Samuel were still being formed? If the Chronicler did use 2 Samuel-2 Kings as his principal source for all but I Chronicles 1-9, then he used it much as fol· lows. He transcribed almost half of the materials in these 'Deuteronomistic' books, and based on them a radical re-presentation of the period of the monarchy in Jerusalem. The larger sections which he did not transcribe included the more private and less reputable parts of the stories of David and Solomon, and with them the struggle between David and Saul and the question of the succession of Solomon to David, and the connected record of the kings of (nonhern) Israel, and with it the whole of the Elijah/ Elisha cycle. By and large, he repeated everything he did find in the records of Solomon's successors in Jerusalem, with four main

11

17

I~

Jlldg. 1:11-15; 3:9-11 and 1 Chroll. 2:42-50; 4:13. Juclg. 10:1-2 and 1 Chron. 7:1. I Chron. IO:I3-14---cf. 1 Sam. 28:3-25.

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exceptions. Though he had much additional material to offer on Hezekiah and Josiah, he also abbreviated what he found in 2 Kings 18-20 and 23 on those t\\lO good kings; then the record of josiah's last four successors was much abbreviated, and many slock negative evaluations were omitted, such as 'only he did not remove the high places'. His expansions related to cultie matters, building programmes, and a theology of repentance and restoration. Although the connected story of King Jeroboam and his nonhern successors is not transcribed by the Chronicler along with most of the parallel sLOry of the south, this does not mean that he has no interest in Israel and the north. 'Israel' is an important term in his writing: sometimes referring to the whole people once ruled by David and Solomon, sometimes to the nonh, sometimes to the southern remnant of that people still ruled by David's house and worshipping in Yahweh's house in Jerusalem. And the separated people of the north appear in some of his earlier narratives as Ephraim,14 and in (mostly) later ones as the Ephraimites and Manassites and members of other neighbouring tribes. t " Then again, on the assumption that the Chronicler did know and work from the 'Deuteronomistic' books of 2 Samuel-2 Kings. he preselved shadows of several of the northern narratives he did not transcribe: reporting building work in Judah never mentioned by Kings, in place of suppressed building reports from the north, or tales of a spirit-filled prophet or man of God working in the south, at points corresponding to the exploits of Elijah and Elisha in the time of the house of Om.-i. If the Chronicler used 2 Samuel-2 Kings as source, then he both subtracted from his Deuteronomistic source, and added to what was left of it. But he also altered its wording, not only replacing idioms no longer familiar and modifying syntax for readers of a later age, but subtly expressing preferences. He made more frequent use of the simple name of the king of the time in place of 'the king' and more frequent use than we find in Deuteronomistic books of 'the deity' or 'God' in place of his proper name Yahweh. Entrancing tales regularly correspond better with deeply felt needs than with simple facts. It may be exactly as we focus on this claim about minor changes in wording that we find the beguiling-cven if counterfactual-lapest'1' beginning to fray and un14

l~

2 Chron. 17:2; 19:4; 25:7,10; 28:7, 12. 2 Chron. 15:9; 30:1,10,11,18; 31:1: 34:6,9.

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ravel. Scrutiny of a small set of overlapping issues in the David stories shared by Samuel and Chronicles may give us some pUl'· chase on the issues, Da.vid in Jerusalem

The phrase 'ask of Yahweh/God' is shal-ed only in 2 Samuel 5 / / I Chronicles J 4, but is used several times in Judges and I Samuel. The usage pattern of 'uncover the ear' is similar: shared only in 2 Sam. 7:27 / / J ehron, 17:25 but used a further seven times in I Samuel,16 in addition to Ruth 4:4 and Job. If the Deuteronomistic History was available to the Chronicler as a major source, then we must remark on the interesting coincidence that (at least) two idioms frequent in the earlier part of that connected history stopped being used just at the point where the Chronicler began his transcription. However, both these usages ofJudges and Samuel are better explained as extrapolation backwards from the shared and more original David stories than as idioms from earlier narratives or even earlier periods which vanished soon after David gained Jerusalem. In somewhat similar vein, I have argued that the stOI)' of the ark in Philistine hands in I Samuel 4-6 is a fresh prologue to the narrative in 2 Samuel 6 of the ark's transfer to Jerusalem, and not its original introduction. 17 Of course, a key difference is that the ark is mentioned again, bolh at David's evacuation of Jerusalem in face of Absalom, and at the completion of Solomon's temple. David 'asking or the deity before routing the Philistines at BaalPerazim and his tl'ansfer of the ark to Jerusalem are neighbouring stories with at least one point in common: divine 'irruption' or 'bursting through' (pr$) , whether against the Philistines at Baalperazim or against Uzzah at Perez-uzzah. The tales are told in the order just mentioned in 2 Samuel 5-6, but in reverse order in I Chronicles 13-14. What if we suppose that the order in 2 Samuel is primary? Then the Chronicler has both separated the t"WO parts of the originally unitary ark story, and promoted the first part before the Philistine rout, in order to give David's religious policy higher prominence than his milital)' policy. Yet we should conI Sam. 9:15; 20:2,12,13; 22:8,17. In my comlllentaty on 1-2 Samuel inJ.D.G. Dunn andj.\\'. Rogerson (cds), COIIlInnltary 2000 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans [in press}). 16

17

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sider as a cross check whether the purposes of the Samuel author might have been served by a move in the opposite direction. Let us simply observe that the Chronicler's order, whether original or secondary, does allow the reader to suppose that it might have been in the presence of the ark that David 'asked of the deity. InJudges and Samuel, on the other hand, no location or circumstance is ever suggested for this consultation of the deity. Did the readers of Lhese books just know how such 'asking of the deity was accomplished? Or were the (later) writers of Judges and 1 Samuel simply adopting an established form of words from an already influential text? The way reference is made to the deity in these stories shared by Samuel and Chronicles, but also reshaped in one or the other (or both), may prove instructive. David enquires of 'Yahweh' in 2 Sam. 5:19, 23, but of 'Cod' in I ehron. 14:10,I4-part of a wider pattern in the two versions of the battle at Baal-Perazim. The deity is always Yahweh in 2 Sam. 5:17-25 (x6); and almost always Cod in the otherwise virtually identical I Chron. 14:8-16 (x5). 'Yahweh' is used by the Chronicler in his second reference to the deity within v. 10. What if the Chronicler has five times changed an original 'Yahweh' to 'Cod'? All such changes are possible. Yet he has added to the text of this shared story his own transitional material to the next stage in the ark story. And that begins: 'The fame of David went into all lands, and Yahweh brought the fear of him on all nations' (v. 17). The Chronicler has demonstrably no aversion to the name Yahweh. He does often val)' between Yahweh and Cod within the same sentence of his own material, as in the shortly following I ehron. 15:2. And it may be this feature of his style which had induced the one alteration he did make to the shared source text: from 'Cod' to 'Yahweh' in 1 ehron. 14:10. Despite the ovenvhelming preponderance of 'Yahweh' over 'Cod' in Judges and Samuel, we should note that 'ask of Cod' does remain in the text as many as five times l8 over against 'ask of Yahweh' ten times l9 in addition to 2 Sam. 5:19, 23. We may be observing here the tenacity of the original usage in the face of determined 'Yahwistic' editing: I mean 'enquire of Cod' was the original idiom learned by the writers of Judges and Samuel from the earlier version of the encounter of David and the Philistines 18 19

Judg. 18:5; 20:18; I Sam. 14:37; 22:13, 15. Judg. 1:1; 20:20, 23; I Sam. 10:22; 12:10; 23:2, 4; 28:6; 30:8; 2 Sam. 2:1.

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at Baal-Perazim, but this was overlaid by the same move towards 'Yahweh' among scribes of Judges and Samuel as we noted in the Chronicler's supplement in 1 Chron. 14: 17-15:2. This issue of divine name has wider resonance in these chapters about David in Jerusalem: another overlap. The ark. is 'the ark of Cod' in 1 Chron. 13:5,6,7,12,14; 15:1,2,2,15,24; 16:1and the references in 1 Chronicles 13 include all the material about the ark which Chronicles shares with Samuel. But in the Chronicler's special material in I Chron. 15:2,3, 12, 14; 16:4 we also find 'the ark of Yahweh', and 'the ark of the covenant of Yahweh' inl Chron. ]5:25, 26, 28, 29, and this constitutes fur~ ther substantial evidence against any suggestion of the Chronicler's aversion to the divine name. When we turn to 2 Samuel 6, the ark is Yahweh's in w. 9, 10, II, 13, 15, 16, 17, but Cod's in w. 2, 3, 4, 6, 7,12.2 Samuel 6 starts with an ark of God and finishes with an ark of Yahweh. In all the material the Chronicler shares with Samuel, he writes of an ark of God, but he mentions an ark of (the covenant of) Yahweh frequently in material he himself adds or rewrites. Again the natural presumption is that 'the ark of Cod', or 'the divine ark', is the more original Hebrew term. It appears that in the earlier form of the slory of the divine ark, still auested in I Chronicles 13, Yahweh was mentioned only in connection with bursting out on Uzzah and blessing Obed-Edom. In the fresh introduction to the ark theme in I Samuel 4-6, creatively built from themes in 2 Samuel 5-6 (rivalry bet\\leen Israel and the Philistines; and the divine power associated with the ark), we find similar variation bet\\'een 'divine ark' (mostly in 1 Sam. 4-5) and 'ark of Yahweh' (mostly in ) Sam. G)-and this again suggests the tenacity within Samuel of the original expression 'ark of God', like that (noted above) of the original expression 'ask of Cod'.20 If the Chronicler did work from the texts of Judges and Samuel, then he routinely altered 'Yahweh' of his source to 'Cod', while using Yahweh more than God in the material he himself added. It is worth attending to all these perspectives when we move from 2 Samuel 5-6// I Chronicles 13-16 to read the complex of variations on a common theme represented by 2 Samuel 7 and 1 Chronicles 17. I did mention this narrative earlier in connection with 'uncover the ear'. The main divergences bet\veen the refer20

It may also suggest that 1 Sam. 6 ""as drafted sepamtcly from I Sam. 4-5.

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ences to the deity (at least those which are not also part of the few wider differences between these U\fO versions of the slory) are as follows: 7:2

the ark of God 7:3, 4 Yahweh 7:18, 19 Lord Yahweh 7:19 Lord Yah...: eh 7:22 Lord Yahweh Yahweh God 7:25

17:1 17:2, 3 17:16, 17 17:17 17:20 17:23

the ark of tile cOI'cnant of Yahweh God Yahweh God God Yahweh Yahweh

There appears at first to be little system. However, in the spirit of my remarks to this point, I might suggest that Samuel here (against the normal trend) has preserved at the beginning the original 'ark of God', while the Chronicler represenlS the later adaptation to 'ark of the covenant of Yahweh'. In the following two verses, it is the Chronicler who preserves the original 'God'. Then, in the second half of the chapter, each of the instances quoted is in David's address to the deity. In the context of prayer, it seems more likely that more fulsome titles would have developed (in Samuel) rather than be curtailed (in Chronicles). In two of the five cases, the Chronicler also attests a double form; and in these cases the 'Yahweh God' he writes is also how the Masoretic tradition instructs us to read Samuel's 'Lord Yahweh' (adonai eLohim). It is often said that Samuel-Kings prefer 'Yahweh', and Chronicles 'God'. We are finding instead that both use Yahweh in their own special material, certainly Samuel to a greater extent than Chronicles. However, the Chronicler appears to have been more faithful than Samuel to 'the God' in the text underlying them both. This can be nicely illustrated again in the story of David's sin over the census. 2 Sam. 24:10 has 'Yahweh', where the synop-tic I ehron. 21:8 reads 'the God'. Corresponding to this divergence within shared material, 'Yahweh' occurs in additional Samuel material in 2 Sam. 24:1, 23, and 'the God' in added Chronicles material in 1 Chron. 21 :7, 15. Nothing so far suggests in which direction any change has been made. Yet we should note that it is 'Yahweh' that appears three times in 1 Chron. 21:11,12 within the Chronicler's fuller version of the divine threat pronounced by the seer Gad. It is important to stress again that the Chronicler exhibits no tendency not to use the divine name Yahweh. If, on the other hand, we were looking for an example of possible rewriting towards greater consistency, we should choose 2 Samuel 24. That version never uses any fonn of' [the]

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Cod' on its own, though it does add 'your/my Cod' in 24:3, 24 in apposition to 'Yahweh' anested on its own in I Chron. 21:3, 24, as well as use 'Yahweh your Cod' in the more substantial plus 2 Sam. 24:23. When we turn to the human leader, Samuel-Kings in general prefer 'the king', but the Chronicler here prefers the proper name-such as 'David'. Drawing my first examples from the chapter I have just been discussing, 2 Sam. 24:2, 9, 20 have 'the king', where the synoptic I ehron. 21:2, 4, 21 otTer 'David'. Reinforcing this pattern, 'the king' is a Samuel plus in 24:2, 3, 4, 21, 23. We should note that I Chronicles 21 is not at all opposed to using 'the king'-though adminedly the one relevant Chronicles plus is in I Chron. 21:6, where 'the word of the king' is simply repeated from the synoptic 21 :4. The Chronicler also retains 'my lord [the] king' in the synoptic 24:3, 22 /121:3,23. This may be a particularly significalll piece of evidence, for 'my lord (the] king' appears nowhere else in Chronicles. It is very common in substantial Samuel-Kings pluses (52x); but never occurs othenvise in or near synoptic passages. 21 Some statistics from neighbouring material in Samuel and Kings can act as a contro!' 'Solomon' is roughly twice as frequent (x45) in the synoptic ponions of I Kings 3-11 as 'King Solomon' (xIO) and 'the king' (x14) taken together. However, in the Kings pluses, the name Solomon (x28) is hardly more frequent than the sum of the other two (x 13 and x 12). There is a greater preference in these pluses for use of the title king. In 2 Samuel 9 and 11-20, the proportions are even more striking: we find 'the king' or 'my lord the king' or (occasionally) 'King David' some three times as often as the simple name 'David'-and it would be some four times as oflen if it were not for the exceptional situation in chapters 11·12, where Bathsheba and Udah and Nathan relate explicitly and repeatedly to 'David' and not to 'the king' or 'King David'. Two trails have already led us to the rich and dense account, or perhaps bener, accounts of David's sin in numbering his people (2 Sam. 24 and I Chron. 21). We noted that David spoke to ~l The diSlriblll.ion is as follows: 1 Sam. [4xJ; 2 Sam. 3:21; 4:8; 2 Sam. 9-21 [27x, incl. 15:15,21; 16:4,9]: I Kgs 1-2 [14)(, incl. 1:36,37]; I Kgs 20:4, 9; 2 Kgs 6:12,26; 8:5. And the only other biblical occurI'ence is in Dall. 1:10.

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Yahweh in 2 Sam. 24: 10, btll to God in the parallel 1 ehron. 21 :8; lhal the two pluses in Samuel which spoke of the deity called him Yahweh (\'Y. 1,23), while the fOUf such pluses in Chronicles used God twice (vv. 7, 15) and Yahweh u\Tice (vv. 11,12). And we noted thal, while 'David' gave the inSlmctions in 1 ehron. 21:2 and received the report in 21 :5, it was 'the king' in the parallel 2 Sam. 24:2, 9. 2 Samuel 24 is preceded (2 Sam. 9-20) and followed (1 Kgs 1-2) by chapters which oven\lhe!mingly prefer 'the king' to 'David' or 'Solomon'. Many of the divergences over God and king are in the opening verses, and we find other significant differences there too. The following translation offers an overview LOwards a synopsis of 2 Sam. 24:1-9 and I Chron. 21:1-5, Text found only in Samuel is italicized; text only in Chronicles is in bold: Again tlu! anger of Yahweh wttS hot Saran stood up against Israel, and he incited David against them, saying, 'Go to count Israel anti Judah.' So tlu! king David said to Joab and the commanders of the ann] who was with him people, '/Warn through all the tri~ of /srad, from Dan to !J«rslu!ba, Ulld lake a census of the people, so Owt I may know Ihe nwnbc" oj tlu! jNrJPlt, Go number Israel from Beersheba to Dan and bring to me and I wiU know their nwnber: But Joab said to the kiflg, 'May Yahweh your God increase tlu! his people a hundredfold, all/i the t)'IJS 0/ my tord the king suing! are they not, my lord the king, all of them servants of my lord? But why does my lord the king seck this? Why should he bring guilt on Israel?' But the king's word prevailed o\'er Joab and the commallllers of Ihe army, So Joab and llu! commanders oj tk anny wenl out from the presena of Ihe king to take a Ctll.l"US of the people, 0/ Israel. Th~ crossetl tlu! jordan, and begaJl/rom Arotr ... and th~ went out to the Negeb a/juda}1 at B«rsheb(l. Anti they roamed through all tire land, and went about in alllsrael, and came back to Jerusalem at the end of nine months lind twenty days. Joab reponed to the king the number of those who had been recorded: in aU Israel there were eight eleven hundred thousand soldiers able to draw the sword, and those of Judah were jive h!Hufred four hundred and seventy thousand.

These t\yo reports of the census laking are much more different from each other than is generally the case in the synoptic portions of Samuel-Kings and Chronicles, Three sorts of difference are illustrated in this opening section: the many shorter pluses; longer pluses like Joab's route in 2 Sam. 24:5-7 (abbreviated above); and alternative clauses, like the opening words. As with the stories of Solomon's vision at Gibeon in 1 Kings 3 and 2 Chronicles 1, either the one has been very substantially recast from the other or-as I think more Iikely--each has been considerably but less substantially rewritten from a common original. 22 It is n For a similar discussion of Solomon's vision, see A.G. Auld, Kings without Privilege (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), pp. 15-21.

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when the t\vo versions are read side by side, and when the reader focusses on the material they share, that most of their shorter pluses are shown up as secondary: repeating language from the common, shared stock of the original 5tOI)'. What could be more appropriate, when commenting on this story of all stories shared by Samuel-Kings and Chronicles, than to play devil's advocate and advance the case that the Chronicler is often witness to the more original text! I have argued elsewhere that Satan-role model for any devilish barrister-had a principal role in the story, and was edited out by the author of Samuel. 23 The opening incitement to count 'Israel' (21:1) meant 'all Israel', as Joab's action and report make clear (21:4, 5). Judah is subtotalled as a sub-section of Israel; it is not an equal partner with (northern) Israel, as Samuel both suggests (24:1) and computes (24:9). Joab was originally accompanied by the commanders of the 'people' (21:2). This common word is used several times in both versions, in synoptic portions (2 Sam. 24:3, 9, 21 / / I Chron. 21 :3, 5,22) and in pluses (24:2,2,4, 10, 15, 16, 17; and 21:2,17,17). The 'army', though a well-known word in each of Samuel-Kings and Chronicles (including all other five synoptic passages ),21 is used three times in the Samuel version (24:2, 4, 4) but not at all in the Chronicler's. It is nOl easy to see why the Chronicler would have expunged each mention of this word from his original.\!;' Typical of an expansionist writer, the authol- of Samuel does nOl lose 'people' when replacing it with 'army', but uses the dis· placed word t.wice in his expansion of David's command (0 Joab (24:2). He then uses it again in his enlarged report ofJoab's carrying out of his master's instructions: in 24:4, 'the people' and 'Israel' are in apposition to each other. It is harder to decide bet\\'een t.he alternative texts 'and the eyes of my lord the king seeing' (24:3) and 'are they not, my lord the king, all of them selvants of my lord' (21:3), which share only the words 'my lord the king'. The participial expression 'eyes seeing' ~, 'Re-Reading Samuel (I-lislorically): ~Et....' aS mchr NichtwissCIl~', in V. Fritz and P.R. Da\ies (cds), Tht: Ol'igi1U of/he AllcienllsmelileSlales (jSOTSup, 228; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), pp. 160-69. 2~ I Sam. 31:12:2$.1m. 8:9; 1 Kgs.IO:2: 15:20;2 Kgs. 11:15// I Chron.IO:12: 18:9: 2 Chron. 9:1; 16:4: 23:14. n 'Commanders of lhe people' (I Chron. 21 :2) is admittedly a \"el)' rare expression, found exactly only in Nell. 11:1.

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is found in other broadly Deuteronomistic contexts, such as Deut. 28:32; Jer. 20:4; 42:2; and. importantly, 1 Kgs 1:48. 26 Given the influences we have already detected from 2 Samuel 9-20 and 1 Kings 1-2 on the wording of synoptic passages in Samuel, it is far from impossible that this is a further example. In principle, the description of joab's route in 2 Sam. 24:5-7 could have been added to the version in Samuel or removed from the version in Chronicles. The fact that Joab acted under protest and only uncler royal pressure is nicely suggested in the Chronicler's minimalist repon of what he did: 'andJoab wenl out, and went abollt in all Israel, and came to Jerusalem' (21:4b). Expansionist Samuel explores the implications of the middle phrase in two ways: immediately after 'went out' it defines 'Israel' as 'the people' (24:4b); but, after the long territorial insert and before 'came back to Jerusalem', it resumes the shorter original by transposing its 'all Israel' into 'all the land' (24:8a). 'All Israel' preserved by the Chronicler had been ambiguous in its very brevity; both senses are neshed out in Samuel's generous expansion. Any Answers? It did not require our discussion of these samples from the David stories to make it abundantly clear that Chronicles is closely re· lated to Samuel. However, we have seen reason to believe that the nature of that relationship is not after all amenable to our opening 'what if. The Chronicler lIsed Yahweh and God interchange. ably in his own material. Of course, intrusive and wilful rewriting is not impossible to conceive. Yet it seems unwise to suppose that he almost routinely altered 'Yahweh' of his source in Samuel, especially when subject or object of a verb, to 'God'. It seems unwise to suppose that, when he passed over in silence the sad story of David and his family, which preferred to talk of 'the king' than of 'David', he often also altered 'the king' to 'David' in those neighbouring chapters he retained. What is true of 'the king' in 2 Samuel 9-20 and I Kings 1-2 is true also of the preference of these chapters for 'the people'. And that is yet another ground for suggesting that 2 Samuel 24--with its alteration of 'Israel' to 'the people'-is, no less than 1 Chronicles 21, an expansionist rewriting of a shorter shared source.

26

Elsewhere only in Gen. 45:12; Isa. 30:20.

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Chronicles is in fact much more closely related to Samuel than to Joshua, However, the nature of these two relationships is very different. Chronicles is related to a late or final or postDeutel"OllOmistic stage of tile book of Joshua, out-at least ill the substantial synoptic portions-to a much earlier stage in the development of the books of Samuel. In the synoptic chapters, where the links are obviously closeSt, the Chronicler's version is arguably more conservative than the text of Samuel according to a whole range of criteria. Then several elements of Samuel's special material may themselves have been based on or reshaped in the light of those synoptic chapters. These Samuel pluses are more Deuteronomistic than the synoptic portions shared with Chronicles, and even the synoptic pOI·tions are mOI'e 'Detueronomistic', at least in a minimal sense: they are better integrated in their wording with the surrounding materials in Samuel-Kings. What holds for David holds also for Solomon. I have attempted to show elsewhere that the Chronicler used for his account of Solomon a source that was markedly shorter and less 'Oeuteronomistic' than what we read in 1 Kings 3-11 (whether MT or LXX).27 A critic of this argument has asserted that some of the material the Chronicler did copy from Kings was added to the slory of Solomon in Kings still later than the Oeuteronomistic matedal omitted by the Chronicler. If this could be proved, of course my case would be damaged; however, the critic furnished no detail. 28 In the stories of the kings that followed Solomon, the inter-relationships between Kings and Chronicles seem different yet again; and there is no space to explore these further hel"e, Yet, howevel" they turn out, they should nOI be allowed to prejudice OUf reading of the earlier evidence. Its tail must nOI be allowed to wag this dog. A Belter Question r Exploring counterfacwals is an c1abol'ate game. BUI, like many games, il is played wilh serious inlenl. When played with success,

27 Auld. Ki,,~ without J+illilegt, pp. 12-41. 28 J. Van Selers, 'The Chronicler's Account of Solomon's Temple-Building: A Continuity Th~me', in M.P. Craham, K..C. Hoglund and S.L. McKenzie (cds), 1'ht! Chrollidt!1' as Hi$tQriml (JSOTSup, 238: Sheffield: Shcffidd Academic Press, 1997), pp. 283-300 (286-88).

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dealing in 'what irs' may lead us to put better questions to the old, long available information. The question this essay has led me to formulate is: How do comparisons with the books of Chronicles help us to understand better the literary hislory of Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings? I suspect this is a better way to proceed than simply to probe the Former Prophets on their own, then take the results of that operation, as if assured, to a fresh study of the Chronicler and his sources. 29 ABSTRACT

The Chronicler's pl"CSlIlllCd familiarity with Deuteronomy, Joshua,Judges, and I Samuel is Ilrst brieny explored. Closer scrutiny of the Da\id SIory in 2 Samuel and I Chronicles suggests thaI the Chronicler's use of 2 Samuel as source, while possible, is unlikely. Similar resulLs for lhe St0l)' of Solomon in 1 Kings and 2 Chronicles are noted, And consideralion of the counterfactualleads helpfully 10 a ncw qucstion about the books of the Former Prophets. :t9 For a first and very pro\'isional sketch of an answcr, see A.G. Auld, 'Thc DclltcronomislS bctwecn History and Thcology', in A. Lemaire (cd.), CO/Igress Volumes, Oslo 1998 (Leiden: Brill, ill press).

IF THE LORD'S ANOINTED HAD LIVED PHILIP R. DAVIES Uqivmit] of ShtJlidd

First, let me declare that this essay is not about Jesus or his followers. Well, not direcLly. But let us, nevertheless. start with the book of Daniel. Seventy wecu; are decreed for yOllr people and your holy city: to finish the trlllugressioll, 10 pUI an cnd 10 Sill, and to atone for iniquity. to bring in everlasting righteousness, lO seal both vision and prophet, and to anoint the most holy. Know therefore :llId understand: that frOIll the lillie til", the word wenl out 10 restore and rebuild Jerusalem, ulIlil the time of an (1II0;nIM prince, there shall be seven weeks; and for sixty-two weeks it shall be buill again with streets and moat. but in a troubled lime. Mler the sixtytWO weeks, an anoinlLd Qnt $h,111 iN tv.t off, and shall have nothing, and the lroops of lhe prince who is to come shall destroy I..he cily and lhe sanctuary. hs end shall come ....ith a flood, and lO the end shall be ....' ar. Desolal.ions are decreed. He shall make a strong CO\'enaOl ....i dl man)' for one .....eek. and for half of the .....e ek he shall make sacrifice and offering cease; and in their place shall be an abomination that desolates, umil lhe decreed end is poured OUI upon Iht" dM.nl:l!or (Oan. 9:24-7).1

This is how an unknown second-eentury BeE writer in the fashionable genre of the time, apocalypse, summarized the world history of the chosen people (5C. his own). He has a neat scheme here: two (high-priestly) 'anointed ones' (Le., real messiahs) stand as the pillars. Seven weeks out of seventy elapse before the first, and eight weeks are left after the death of the second (or, to ensure complete symmetry, we could count seven weeks before the final, desolating last week). Indeed, this subsequently canonized book alludes again to the destruction of the anointed one (11:22): 'Armies shall be utterly swept away and broken before him; and the prince of the covenant as well.' In Daniel's apocalyptic scheme the removal of the high priest was, like the desecration of the sanctual)', a signal of the final act of his play about history. If the desecration of the altar removes the true cult, the depanure of the anointed 'prince' threatens the covenant. The end of history cannot, byapocalyptic logic, be far away. I Tmnslalion of biblical passages (as lhroughOlU) from lhe NItS", ...ith the substitution here of 'Ihe mast holy" for 'a masl holy place' (v. 24).

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History, however, did continue. Yet momentous events followed the inscribing of this inaccurate but parLly encouraging prognostication. For one thing, the largest Judean kingdom in history sprouted for a century or so, incorporating Idumaea and Galilee, not to mention other parts of Palestine and Transjordan. Another century more saw the growth of a new world religion that was in time to dominate the Roman empire-and its successors, first in the continent of Europe, then in its largest offshore island, and finally in a New World of which the Romans were blissfully ignorant.

But who was the 'anointed one' whose death was for the writer(s) of Daniel so significant for the fate of the world? The majority of learned commentators on Daniel 2 agree that he was called Honi (or 'Onias' in Greek) and was the last of a long line of hereditary high priests of whom we know virtually nothing, except that we call them, after him, 'Oniads'. The brief legend of the life and death of Onias III (the numbering cannot be certain, since we have no direct knowledge of his predecessors) is narrated in 2 Maccabees 1-4, a book written by a Jew but not thought by Jews worth preserving (just because it was in Greek?). According to this account, Onias was the high priest under Seleucus IV, the relatively benign successor of Antiochus III, who had gained Palestine from the Ptolemies as part of his kingdom. Onias's traditional high-priestly authority over the temple market was being challenged by the proslales Simon, a member of the ambitious lay family of Tobiah (said by 2 Macc. 3:4 to be of the tribe of Benjamin). To further his aims, he incited Apollonius, the siralegos of Coele-5yria and Phoenicia, to confiscate certain temple funds. HeliodoJ'Us, the man subsequently instructed to ransack the sanctuary, was resisted by Onias, who led the priesthood and the people in a protest. Assailed during his attempt by an angel, and close to death, l-Ie1iodoJ'Us was spared by the prayers of Onias and acknowledged the power of the sanctuary's deity. Simon then accused Onias of having initiated Heliodorus's mission and caused such disaffection that Onias appealed to the 2 See, conveniently, the recent fine commentary by Collins (Collim 1993), p. 356 and nn. 90 and 91.

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king. But Se1eucus was murdered and his successor, Antiochus IV, gave the high priesthood of jerusalem to Onias's brother, jason, presumably in return for a bribe. It must have been about this time that Onias fled and sought sanctuary in Antioch. But three years later, Jason was in turn replaced by Menelaus, the brother of Simon (and thus not of the tribe of Levi, let alone the Oniad dynasty), who stole vessels from the temple. Onias protested, but was induced to leave his sanctual)' and, in 171 BeE, was assassinated by Menelaus's deputy Andronicus, a crime that appalled Jews, non:Jews, and even, we are told, the arch-villain Antiochus himself, who had the murderer killed at the scene of his crime. The stOI)', as said earlier, is packed with all kinds of legend. We can hear scriptural echoes of the angelic attack on Sennacherib's army, the sparing of Abimelech's life by Abraham, the treacherous assassination of joab beside the altar, and the conversion of the non-Jew after a miraculous experience (instances found in Daniel, Judith, etc.). But this story is nearly all we have. We find nothing about Honi/Onias in I Maccabees, and josephus gives us very little more: he says (Antiquities XII.4.1o-ll) that Onias succeeded Simon as high priest in Seleucus's reign, and received a letter from the Spartans. But he then resumes his long narrative of the family of Tobias, in which he has been principally inter· ested (and whence the villainous Simon), and opens his fifth book of Anliquilies with ule bare statement; About lhis lime, upon the death of Onias the high pricst, thcy gavc thc pricsthood 10 jcsus his brothcr. BUI this jesus, who "'as the brOlher of Onias, was strippcd of the high priesthood by Ihe king, who was al1gry with him and gal'e it 10 his younger brolher, whose name was also Onias. jesus ch,lIlged his namc 10 jason, and his brother was called r-,·lenclaus.

There is no hope of reconciling the discrepancies between 2 Maccabees and Josephus. Neither writer, in any case, cares to sacrifice colour to truth. But both of them agree, and therefore so do nearly all subsequent commentators, that a civil war between the followers of Jason and Menelaus broke out, and Ulat the son of Onias III, appropriately known as Onias IV, fled to Egypt and built a temple there.:! But it is with the death ofOnias III that the doors will, as it were, slide open again. , \Vell. so says josephus in Allliquities XII.9.7. Howcver. in \\Iar VII.IO.2 he says that it was founded by Onias HI, which looks Icss probable. The discrepancy should perhaps be viewed as ,u'ithmetical rather lhan hislOrical.

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Honi was, it was generally recognized even at the time, the one person capable of keeping things together. He was a charismatic figure, a poweri'ul and respected figure. The long line to which he had belonged had almost certainly been loyal (by choice or duty) to the Ptolemies for just over a century, just as they were now loyal to the Seleucids, and as a result of this (or perhaps it was a cause?) had won from both kingdoms guarantees that the Judeans could obsclVc their traditional practices. The trappings of the Creek way of life-gymnasia, theatres, games, ephebeia, Greek language, literaLUre and philosophy-were making inroads, but the 'covenant' remained safe with the traditional priesthood, and the temple remained a reassuring fixed point. There were, even so, those who welcomed the new opportunities. Greek cities were not run by priests, but by their citizens, and often enjoyed some autonomy from the king. The power that the hereditary priesthood in Jerusalem exercised over economic and political, as well as religious, affairs was resented by some others who gazed at the opportunities of life in a Greek polis. In particular, the Tobiad family, whose residence was anoss the Jordan (at what is now called 'Araq el Emir), but who maintained a great interest in Judean affairs. 4 had gained considerable power; one of them. Joseph, had acquired tax-farming rights for all of Palestine from the Ptolemies, incurring the enmity of his brothers. With the aims of this family many of the merchant and landowning classes would probably have agreed." Yet lhere were olhers, no doubt including members of lhe priesthood and probably a majority of the farmers, who had no wish to alter the way of life to which they were accustomed, and saw no benefits in the way of life of the Greek cities. Onias III therefore presided over a rift, and one that had probably been widening since early in the Ptolemaic period, when the impact of the Greek world began to make itself felt even in the villages, thanks to Ptolemaic bureaucracy (inherited in part from the Egyptian tradition). There is scholarly disagreement, nevertheless, over • It is widely surmised that this family was descended from Tobiah the Ammonite, represented as an opponent of Nehemiah (Neh. 2;10,19, etc.). Alternativel}', the story of Nehemiah may be based upon this family, though, perhaps signifirarltly. N..lwmiah is nor a priest. though Ill"

arp(':I1~

10 rOrllrol Ilw mark..t

in Jerusalem (Nch. 13). S On thc social SlrUClUt·C ofJud
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which of the two sides (if we may simplify the various interests into the two attitudes just outlined) was responsible for the intervention of Antiochus IV and thus the subsequent war. Bickerman's classic study (Bickermiln 1979) would place the blame:: 011 the Tobiad family and Menelaus, who were, he thinks, instrumental in inciting Antiochus IV to suppress forcibly those who resisted their programme for the development ofJudean culture. On the other hand, Tcherikover (Tcherikover 1959: 186-203) concludes that it was a group called the Hasidim, devoted to resisting Greek culture and anxious to restore the state of affairs existing under Onias III, that ignited the intervention of Antiochus. By making religion the key to their posture, the Hasidim encouraged Anticchus to suppress the cult. Many other opinions have been expressed (for a recent discussion, see Grabbe 1992: 1,246-56). If the impulses that led to the civil 'Vc1 from 6

For a studr of these, sec Sic\'crs 1990.

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Sadducees to Pharisees and back); by the promotion of education through Jewish literature (and thus. more or less directly, a conscious process of canonizing, aided by the creation of a Temple libra'}'). But the hislO'}' of the dynasty shows the fissures that could not be welded over, and of these the most destructive were within the family itself, erupting in fraternal rivalries that brought the country again to virtual civil war. The inevitable 31Tival of Pompey, though not in any way signalling for the first time the claims of Roman sovereignty (which already existed: see Hayes and Mandell 1998), the accession of Herod and his successors, direct Roman rule ofJudah, the war, destruction of the Temple, the bar Cochba revolt and rabbinic Judaism are all direct resulLS of a disintegration of Judean culture in the second quarter of the second cen· tury BCE, partly under the pressures defining 'Judaism' iLSelf. There were, of course, economic, social, and religious factors too-far too many to be mentioned, let alone analysed here. \I

But let us now suppose that Onias had not been assassinated. Clearly, his influence, even in exile (and here we assume some degree of authenticity in the account of 2 Maccabees) must have been considerable, even in self-imposed exile in Antioch. Only his removal, it seems, could make Menelaus feel secure. But Onias, warned in a dream, evaded the fate intended for him, and returned to Jerusalem. With the support of much of the populace, and also of his brother Jason, Menelaus was overcome and fled. The false rumours of the death of Antiochus that reached Jerusalem not long afLerwards were welcomed, but little trouble ensued; for after all, a respected high priest was in charge of affairs. and Antiochus had not been induced to intelvene in the affairs of Judah. Let us assume, with the majority, that he was not, after all, an ideologue. But unrest continued in Jerusalem between those who wished to see no further changes in what they regarded as their traditional lifestyle and those who wished to see Judean culture assume more of the characteristics of the neighbouring lands that were welcoming Greek ways of life. And indeed, if such other societies could integrate Greek customs without losing their own distinctiveness, why not the Judeans also? True, Judah had been something of a backwater during the Persian period. But under the Ptolemies there had been steady

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change. There was, of course, already a considerable population of persons who regarded themselves as belonging to the ellmos of Judeans but were living in Egypt, Syria, Babylon. These communities had been created through milital)' service, trade, slaveI)', and economic emigration (see Hengel 1974), and were in some kind of communion with the temple in Jerusalem, which they sometimes visited. They accommodated themselves to Greek customs in va'1rlng ways, as we can learn from their literature, their pictorial art, their inscriptions. The issues of the so-called 'Maccabean war' were, for Jews beyond Judah, non-issues. Of course, the Seleucid annexation of Palestine slightly increased the westward now from Mesopotamia towards the Mediterranean coast, and some religious traditions that were brought from there and absorbed into Judean 'Judaism,' such as the veneration of Enoch as a deified wise man, thus needed to be accommodated. But since Judah did not swell beyond its long held borders and nirt with imperial pretensions as it would have done under the Hasmoneans, and since that dynasty did not inflame tensions between the various Judean tendencies through its fluctuating patronage, internal strife and misappropriation (as some saw it) of the high priesthood, the culture (held together by the cult) ofJudah was able to tolerate different 'Judaisms' under an Oniad dynasty that preached 'traditional Judaism' while allowing 'modernization' (what under the present United Kingdom government would be called a 'third way').' Onias and his son achieved stability by yielding control of much of the economy to the Tobiads, leaving control of interest rates, as it were, to an independent bank. A new l)Otis, Magnesia, was built on Mount Scopus. Onias IV was the kind of man who would not have shirked at going to Egypt and building another sanctuary. But, remaining in Jerusalem, he wisely refrained from regulating the temple cult too exclusively. There had been different cui tie traditions since Persian times, and many groups even followed a Seleucid-type calendar based on lunar months instead of the traditional one based on a solar year. Not all Jews, therefore, observed their festival days simultaneously. Keen to preserve the inclusivity of Lhe Jerusalem sanctuary, but anxious to avoid the curious and often unattractive arrangements that would ultimately deface the 'Church of the Holy Sepulchre' (which would not have 7

Or 'New Zadokitism' if you prefer.

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been built, of course), Onias allowed different rites to be practised side by side. There were two Days of Atonement, and two entirely different beginnings to each new year, one in spring, one in autumn. Ai; today, Jerusalem was a multilingual and multicalendrical city, and the pilgrimage industry was vigorously developed, though not with the zeal or nair of a Herod. Plans for an enlarged temple were indeed drawn up, but never fulfilled. For the leading priests could not find someone with suitable architec· tural and engineering vision, even though they looked, as had Solomon, to their neighbours. Alllagonism between Judeans and their neighbours was not particularly noticeable. One can see, with the value of hindsight, some if not all of the reasons for this. A potential civil war had been averted, and with it the disturbances between Judeans and non:ludeans in the newly founded Greek cities being built in Palestine and Transjordan. With no Judean wars of conquest, such as the Hasmoneans pursued, there were few resentments arising from forcible conversions or divided loyalties. Nor did any potentially anti:ludean religion ever lake root in the region, let alone conquer the Roman empire. Messianic claimants there were in abundance, but under the Oniads their claims found little echo among the disaffected: neither political nor religious circumstances were distressing to the majority ofjudah's inhabitants. The Roman empire would, of course, sooner or later adopt a religion of its own, and a monotheistic one was most suitable for reOecting the traditions of the emperor cult: Mithraism might have been the most attractive candidate. But toleration of ancient cults would continue. The effective division of the Roman empire by Diocletian may still have left Byzantium as the capital of an empire surviving the onslaught of Celts, Goths and HUllS. But Palestine, of no particular significance to Byzantium, would have belonged to the Sassanids. After all, these, and their predecessors, had long seen in judaism little more than a curious local version of Zoroastrianism. But, even if a Muhammad were still to rise, he would be instructed in judaism alone. Might a more accommodating Arabian judaism have allowed another prophet in its midst, as Muhammad himself wished? Would the prophet have been accepted, rather than rejected, by the jewish u-ibes that he subsequently massacred before reorienting the qibla from jerusalem to Mecca? Without the two centuries of judean fragmentation that fol-

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lowed the untimely death of the Oniad messiah (a real 'suffering servant') would Judean society have torn itself apart, necessitating the magnificent achievements of the rabbis, who built an intellectual and practical system of religion the equal of any other? Probably not. Nor, of course, would the people ofJudah and those who called themselves Jews' beyond have been systematically rejected and persecuted by Christianity. Had there been a Jesus movement', it would likely have been a short scherzo. What sort of a world would the twentieth century (as it would not have been known) witness? The 'greatest manuscript discovery of modern times', the Dead Sea Scrolls, would never have been recovered, because never written. It could be added that six million more Jews (but out of a much smaller total) would have died a natural death. But this is unnecessary to add: there would have been few Jews in Europe anyway. Why should they settle in any large numbers in Europe? What, then, would be the Judaism of our own day? Would it in fact survive without a Christianity? One hears these days ofJews in what is now known as Israel spending their evenings stitching garments for the priests; I see in shop windows in Jerusalem pictures of the Third Temple. If these plans succeed, it is going to be worse for lambs and goalS than it is for turkeys at Christmas or Thanksgiving. But some Jews are indeed waiting for their own version of the millennium, while many Christians begin to disturb the peace of Jerusalem in their eagerness to make the front row for the Parousia Show. It might, it would, have been otherwise. Third temple? Who is to say the Second Temple might not still be standing, fighting with Gerizirn for the Mithraic tourists? ABSTRACT

The assassination of a Jewish high pdesl in 171 HCE removed the one figure who might have been able lO unitc lhc Jews of Judah and successfully mediate betweCn them and the Scleucid king. Had this popular charaCl.cr sun'hoed and rcturned to Judah, the successful revolt of a Maccabean-Icd Judcan faction against the Scleueids would probably not have happened, and there would have been no Hasmoncan dynany, no interlude of national indepcndence and a different history of I'elations \\ith Rome, one thaI did not result in loss of land or temple (or priesthood). What kind of Judaism, almost certainly without Christianity (and without Islam?) would have persistcd? What kind of religion would a ConStanunc have officially adoptcd (if ally)? What sort of Western civilization, if any. might have rcsulted?

160

PHILIP R. DAVIES BIBLIOGRAPHY

Barr, James 1985

'The Question of Rdigious Influence: The Ca.'lC of Zoroastrianism,Ju-

daism and Christianity', JAAR 53:201-35. Bickcrman, EJ. 1979 The God oJ the Maccabees (Leiden: Brill). Cohen, SJA. 1987

From the Maccabees /0 the Mishnah (Library of Early Christianity, 7; Philadelphia: Westminster Press).

Collins.John J. 1993 f)anie{ (Henncncia; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Press). Davies, W,D. and Louis Finkelstein, cds. 1989 The Cambridge History a/Judaism, vol 2: The Hellenjsli~ Age (Cambridge; Call1bridge Ulli\'crsilY Press), Goldstein, Jonathan A. 1976 I Maccabus (Anchor Bible, 41; Garden City, NY: Doubleday). 1983 II Maccabees (Anchor Bible, 41A: Garden City, NY: Doubleday). Grabbe, L.L. 1992 Judaism Jrom C)'ffiS /0 Hadriml (2 vals; Minneapolis: Fortress Press). Hayes, John H. and Sara Mandell 1998 The jewish Pro/lIe in CltlS!>ical Antiquity (Louisville: Weslminster/john Knox). Hengel, Martin 1974 judaism arid Hellenism: Studies in Their Encount~ in Palestillt during the Early Hellenistic Period (2 vols; London: SCM Press, translated from lhe second Gennan edilion. 1973). Kippenberg, H.G. 1978 lUligion rmd Kfassenbildung im antikt11 judtia (StUNT; Gotlingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2nd edn. 1985). Nodel, Etienne 1997 A Search for the Origins ofJudaism: From joshua to the MIShnah (JSOT Sup. 248; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). Sievers, joseph 1990 The Hasmo7lealls alld Their SlIpport~s (Allanta: Scholars Press), Tcherikovcr, VA. 1959 Hellenistic CiviliUltio'l and the JI!fOS (Philadelphia: jewish Publication Sociely).

WHAT IF LUKE HAD NEVER MET THEOPHILUS? LOVEDAY CA. ALEXANDER U""Xrsll] oj Shiffrdd

Asking the 'what if?' questions of virtual hislOI)' is a way of rubbing OUf noses in history's essential contingency-in the faCllhat things could have been different, that human choices (among other contingencies) aClually malter. That is as true within a theological framework as any other. Personhood means the possibility of refusal as well as the possibility of assent; and one of the mysteries of revelation (theologically speaking) is that it takes place in a medium as profoundly conditioned as human language, in particular languages belonging to particular cultures and societies. And of all history's contingencies. those of aulhorship seemat least to those of us who are aUlhors-Lhe most precarious imaginable. So many things conspire against the writing of any given text: there are an infinite number of wa}'S in which it might not happen, an infinite number of other combinations of words than the one that finally goes to press, an infinitude of tasks more ur· gent, more imistent (or simply less demanding) than sitting down to write. With Luke we are dealing with an author who seems particularly sensitive to the delicate combinations of forces, both corn· nlllllal and individual, that hedge about the articulation of the word. Luke's Jesus sLOry is swaddled in successive layers of discourse: much of it is 'un discours qui porte sur un discours', to borrow Genette's phrase. l The whole of his second volume (be· yond the first eleven verses) is a discourse not about Jesus but about people talking about Jesus, Jesus in quotation marks. The lavish use of direct speech in Acts ensures that we have plenty of dramatic opportunities to see this secondary discourse in action: the text foregrounds the activity of speaking the gospel stOI)' and shows how it changes and adapts to different cultural contexts. I G. (km:U<:, &ail.> (P.lli~. du $cui!. 1987), pp. 376-77. Sec further L.eA. Alexander, 'Reading Lukc-Ac(.5 From Back To Frolll', in j. VerhC)'dcn (cd.), TM UnilJ 01 Lu~Ac:ts (BETL; U:UVCII: Peeters, fonhcoming).

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The opening chapters of the Gospel foreshadow this by focussing on !.he Baptist and the circle of 'prophets' (Zechariah and Eliza· bern, Simeon and Anna) who all in their different ways talk about Jesus: the real subject of the Gospel does not come on stage as a speaking charaCler until chapter 4. This framework of secondorder discourse (people talking about Jesus) appears in the Gos-pel preface (Luke 1:14) in the Conn of 'the lI'adition handed down to us by the original eyewirnesses and ministers of the word' (Luke 1:2). But now the tradition itself has already become pan of the past, receding behind the third-order discourse of the 'we' who have received the tradition and the 'many' who have attempted to put it into narrative form (Luke 1:1).2 'Attempted' sounds rather pejorative, but perhaps it only indicates that Luke is aware of the difficulties inherent in the enterprise; at any rate, he can· not be entirely disapproving of their efforts, because he has decided to have a go at doing the same thing. writing up an orderly and accurate account for Theophilus of the 'business that has been fulfilled in our midst' (Luke 1:3). Unlike John's eternally pre-existent Logos, then, Luke's Gospel is presented as the product of a particular time and place, a tradition whose sunrival and progress could not (humanly speaking) have been predicted. The long dramatic narrative of Paul's shipwreck en route to Rome (Acts 27-28) emphasizes the precariousness of the process, the physical vulnerability of the bearer of the word. If the narrative of Acts could be entitled 'How We Brought the Good ews from Jerusalem to Rome', the shipwreck evokes the subtitle 'By the Skin of Our Teeth' (though the effect is somewhat dissipated by the discovery at 28:15 that there are already 'brethren' in Rome). The Gospel preface, however, seems to allow for a greater element of precariollsness in the production of this particular performance of the Jesus stOIY. True, there is a tradition, and there are by now 'many' other accounts of it in existence: the word is on the street, and all attempts to suppress it have been in vain (Acts 28:31). But the existence of Luke's own written version is the result of an entirely personal decision: £60;£ XQI-LOl, 'it seemed good to me also' (Luke 1:3), the standard classical formula for a decision made by the normal rational processes ! For a detailed commentary on these \·ersc:s. cr. LC.A. Alexander, The Prtf au 10 Lulu's CDspd: Lilt:mry Gonwnt;on and Socia/ Gonlat in Lukt 1, /-4 and Acts /. / (SNTSMS, 78; Cambridge: Cambridge Uni\'ersilY Press. 1993), pp. 102-42.

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of the human mind. The MuralOrian Canon seems to underline this humanistic aspect of the composition of Scripture (Lucas isle medicus ... nomine suo ex opinione conscripsit), but other early readers clearly found it more problematic: some Old Latin manuscripts of Luke 1:3 add et spiritui sanclo, echoing the doubly-determined decision of Acts 15.28, where the human processes of decision· making in council, by discussion and debate, are supplemented by direct divine guidance. 3 But although Luke is very ready to identify the intervention of the Spirit in the decisions taken by his characters (e.g. Acts 13:14; 16:6-10), he does not claim such direct inspiration for his own writing. The decision to write LukeActs is taken on his own responsibility. The only motivation he gives (apart from an implied desire to emulate and perhaps bet· tel' the efforts of the 'many') is that provided by Theophilus. This is a communication dependent on the conscious choice of its writer and written for the needs of a particular reader: 'it seemed good to me to write it all up for you, most excellent Theophilus, in order that you might recognize the reliability of the instruc· tion you have received' (Luke 1:3-4). Here, as Joel Green observes, 'Luke is apparently recognizing the role of Theophilus in providing inspiration or at least impe· (US for his writing' ,4 making explicit the social embedded ness implicit in every act of speech. But is this element of contingency real, or only apparent? It may be objected that the role of the dedicatee is not to be taken seriously in a literal)' produclion of this kind. Luke's substantial two-volume work is not by any stretch of the imagination a private letter: the address to Theophilus is a convention, part of the recognized literary etiquette of the CraecoRoman world. 5 Some authors using this convention clearly do not expect their addressee actuaJly to go to the lengths of readhlg the work presented to them. Pliny the Elder explicitly dissuades Titus from reading one of his more technical works: 'It was written for the common crowd, for the mob of farners and craftsmen, and ~

MuralOrian Canon cited in K. Aland, Synopsis Qualluor t.vangeliornlll (SHill·

gan: Bible SocielY, 5th cdn, 1968), p. 538. The guidance iuvoked in Acts 15:28 probably refers to lhe cvents of ch. 10, which lhe assembly has laken inlo ac· count in making its decision (cr. 11:18; 15:8) . • Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT: Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997). p. 44. ~ 1 have lried to analyse some of lhe ways lhis cOllvemion worked ill The PreI au, pp. 56-63.

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then for those with leisure for study'.6 In this sense literary dedication is a social fiction: the aul.hor and me addressee are both real people. but the implied one-to-one relationship ('1 am writing this for )'ou') uses simple language to mask a much more complex social situation. Nevenheless, it would be a mistake to rule OUl of court Lhe possibility that some dedicatees did in some ways act as a catalyst for the production of the book dedicated to them. Precisely how we see this relationship working in Luke's case depends to a large extent on who we think Theophilus was. Christian tradition has never, so far as I can tell, taken Theophilus seriously at all, even as a reader: there is no Saint TheophiIus, no attempt to discover sanctified bones or to find him a place (like Onesimus) in the hierarchies of church history. Scholars have speculated since the eighteenth century that he might have been a Roman magistrate, perhaps the very one detailed to examine the legal case for Paul's appeal. 7 There is however, no real evi· dence for this romantic view, and most New Testament scholars now would echo Barrett's wry comment: 'No Roman official would have filtered out so much of what to him would be theological and ecclesiastical rubbish in order to reach so tiny a grain of rei· evant apology'.8 But the vocabulary Luke uses of Theophilus is well paralleled in the dedications of a wide range of technical lit· erature: it belongs not so much to a particular literary genre as to a particular social context, pan of the courtesy of intellectual exchange between authors and their friends or patrons in the wider society.9 Theophilus, on this view (as I have suggested elsewhere), parallels figures like Galen's friends and patrons Bassus and Boethus, amatcur afficionados of medical theory who encour· aged Galen to write up his lecture notes into something more substantial. lo He could well have been the patron of a house church, providing a social location for the performance of Luke's narrative at Christian meetings not unlike thc symposia of pagan 6 Pliny, Nal. Hisl. pref. 6; Alexander, The PreJace, pp. 57-58; HJ. Cadbu.,.., The Alalling oj LuJte..AclS (London: SPCK, 1927). pp. 202·204. 7 cr. HJ. Cadbu.,.., 'The Purpose Expressed in Luke's Preface' (The Expositur XXI (1921], pp. 43141 (437)), ciling C.A. Heumann in Bib!iolhua Brtmensis [Class. i"., faK, 3 (1721 »). See further Cadbur)', The MaAing oj Lu..te-Acb, p. 315. • C.K. Barren, Lulie Ihe His/orion in IUcenl Study (London' Epwonh Pre", 1961), p. 63. , Alexander, The PrtJact, pp. 187-200. a. Barbara Gold, l.iltrory Potronogr in Grtta or.d R/J~ (Chapel Hill: Uni\'ersity of North Carolina Press, 1987). It Alexander, The PreJou, pp. 192-93.

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society. Gerald Downing has provided an engaging and persuasive pictul"e of such a performance. 11 I would be inclined now to suggest a second possibility. Theaphilus' name is not Latin but Greek, and it is one which (while not exclusively Jewish) seems to have been popular among hellenized Jews. Creek inlellectuals in Rome, as Bowersock observed long ago, tended to congregate around patrons from their own part of the empire. 12 We might take seriously the possibility that Theophilus is being used by Luke not so much as a back-door introduction to the Roman corridors of power but for what he is in his own right-that is (let us hypothesize), as a prominent and amenable representative of the same Jewish community in Rome to which Luke has Paul make his last impassioned plea for hearing in Acts 28. If this scene is a window into the real intended audience of Luke's work (as I am increasingly inclined to think it may be), then we might see Luke's relation to Theophilus as a humbler parallel to Josephus' relations with the Herodian family in Rome in the 80s and 90S.!"1 Like Josephus, desperate to establish his credibility in the wake of his disastrous war record, so Luke's Paul, at the end of Acts, makes his final apologia not to any Roman magistrate but to the leaders of the Roman Jewish community, who know little of Paul or his gospel except that it is a 'sect' (alpEOl.£)-that is, a sect ofJudaism-that is 'everywhere spoken against' .14 This could well be a dramatic represelllation of the situation Luke is trying to address a decade or so later. Our estimate of Theophilus' role in the genesis of Luke-Acts 11 Gcrald Downing, 'Thcophilus's First Reading of Luke-AclS', in C.M. Tuckett (ed,). Luke's Literary Achievement (jSNTSS. 116: Sheffield: Sheffield Mademic Press, 1995), pp. 91-\09. I~ G.W, Uowersock, Greek SalJ!lists ill /hf Rama" Empire (Oxford: Clarendon PI'CSS, 1969), p. 88: Alexandcr, The I'rej(la, p. 61. 13 Cf. Jos., Vito 359, 362-67. Cf. Cadbul)'. The Makillg aJ Luke·Acts, pp, 240-4\, on Luke's intcreSl in Herodian maners. to which should be added the remark· able scene in Acts 26 where Paul, though ostensibly on trial before the Roman go\'ernor, addresses his entire speech to Agrippa. For a writer of Lukc's sophistication, it is surely not without intent that Agrippa COIliCS at the end to exclaim, 'Almost you would pcrsuade mc to bccome a Christian' (26:28), Arguably, that is exactly thc kind of endorscmcnt that Luke is looking for. Notc thai Cadblll)' also to}'s with the idca of a westCl"ll (Italian) location for Theophilus (The M(lkillg aj Lukt-Acts, pp. 241-42). I~ AclS 28:22. Cf. L.C.A. Alexander, 'Thc AclS of thc Apostlcs as an Apologctic Texl', in M.Jo Edwards, M, Goodman, C. Rowland (cds.), Apolagtllf.S in /h,. !tam(ln Empirt: I'ug(lns, jeu's, (llld Chris/ialls (Oxford: Oxford Univcrsity Press, 1999), pp. 15-44.

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will vary according to which of these pictures we find more plausible. The key 1O Theophilus' role in the first case lies in the words 1t€QL WV xm:TJX~e'l~ Aoywv (Luke 1:4), 'the words in which you have been instructed'. Like the auditors addressed by Galen and Quintilian, this addressee is someone who has already heard the substance of the slory Luke is about to telJ: in this sense (pace Downing), he cannot be quite like the Roman host who invites his gueslS to dinner to hear a new poem or history being performed. He has already been part, on this model, of an audience listening to Luke's story (xQtTJxTj8f)<; carries an implication of orality), But that story might never have been committed to paper if Theophilus (perhaps a more literate member of the group, perhaps a man with space to house a library) had not asked Luke for clarification, for the ao<paMw. of seeing the material in a written form. Stories like ulis are told, in tradition, of the genesis of other Gospels: Clement has Mark writing down Peter's preaching at the request of 'certain Caesarean equites' .15 We are often reluctant to believe them: it seems too convenient a way to link the non-apostolic Gospel of Mark with the preaching of an apostle. But, whether or not we accept the apostolic connection, the mechanism itself is well attested: we know that such requests were made, and that they did have an effect on the production of written texrs, that is not on the composition of the work but on il:S transition from the oral to the written medium. 16 The essential contingency of the process is well brought out in Galen's fascinating little monograph On His Own Books (De Libris Prapriis): [3J As for the reason why mallY read my books as their o~n, this you know rourself, most excellent Bassus; for Ihey were given to friends or pupils without an inscription (chf./1"i$ epigraphes), simply because they were nOI for publication (pros ekoosill) but were made for individuals as they requested memol"3nda of what they had heard. Then when some died, anyone who got hold of the books and liked them lOok to reading them as their own ... (while others shared them with friends, who then] went home to their own country and after some delay, one in one place, olle in another, started to perform their own demonstrations [or: lecture~J from them. In time they were all detected and a number of people in~cribcd my name on the texIS which had once ag-J.in been recovered; but when they disco\'ered

15 Clemcnt of Alc"andlia, Adlllllbra/iOlles ad I Petro 5.0, citcd in Aland, SYllofr sis QlIatlllor Evallgeliorulll, p. 539 (AIc"ander, The Preface, p. 199 n. 18). '6 For e",lmp!es, cr. L.C.A. Alc"ander, 'Ancient Book Production and lhe Circulation of lhe Gospels', in RJ Bauckham (cd.), The Gospel.! jor All Chrislians (Grand R... pids: Eerdlllans, 1998), pp. 71-112, esp. pp. 94-97.

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that they were different from the texts held by Olhers they brought lhem to me and begged me 10 correct thcm. 17

Sometimes it is travel that provides the catalyst. People request written forms of teaching material if they are about to move away, or if the lecturer is about to leave town; bUl as long as the teacher is with you, who needs a book? Given the peregrinatory character of much earl)' Christian teaching, this makes another very plausible motive for a request to have gospel teaching in written form. But whatever the motive, the role of the dedicatee is a real one: without it, Luke's particular version of the gospel stOI)' (together with his unrivalled collection of missionary anecdotes: did you ever hear the one about the night Peter gOl OUl of jail, and the maid didn'l have the wil to lel him in, she was so excited?) might never have achieved the status of a wrilten text. This is all hypothetical, of course; but it is one way to en flesh the very real possibility that Luke-Acts might never have existed as a writlen text. But Theophilus' connection with the content of that text is still on this model vel)' tangential. If we follow the second hypothesis, Theophilus (or at least the community he represents) could have had a much more substantial impact on the particular form adopted by Luke's Gospel. The pronounced Jewish flavour of Luke's retelling of the gospel, with its strong emphasis on the roots of the Jesus story in biblical history, does not necessarily rule out a predominantly Gentile audience: cel-lainly we need to think carefully about the impact of that distinctive cultural colouring on subsequent generations of Christian readers lacking any kind of pre-education in the Bible. But the most obvious larget for such a presenlation is aJewish one, and if we think of Theophilus as a represent.:Hive of a diasporaJewish community (perhaps in Rome), he could well have been the catalyst for this and other distinctively Jewish features of Luke's work. Here we are considering not just the contingency of the transition from orality to literacy, but the many ways in which the distinctive shape of a literary text may be shaped by the particular social situation (on this hypothesis, an apologetic situation) to which it was originally addressed. I8 In this sense, thinking about Theophilus means

17 Galcn, De /ibm pnJpn·is proem (Kilhll XIX.s-]] = SenlJllI Afinora 11.91-93), Illy If,lTlslation. 18 Of lhe lIlllllcrous attempts to lillk Lukc's dislinClivc fealures Wilh lhe character of his audience, cr. especially Philip F. Esler. Cnmmllnity (lnd Gospel in 1.lIke-

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tJlinking about the possibility that Luke's distinctive form of the gospel story (with the sequel that only Luke adds) might never have existed. So asking 'What if Luke had never met Theophilus?' is in the end an invitation to consider the possibility of the non-exislence of Luke's Gospel and Acts. Once a text exists, it is very difficult to resist the temptation to regard it as inevitable-especially when it becomes pan of a canon of sacred texts. Imagining a New Testa~ menL without these two books (which make up a quarter of its bulk) is difficult, but interesting. The most obvious loss would be the unique narrative of Acts, the only hinge we have to link the Gospels and the Epistles. Luke's narrative may be suspect, but it is very hard to disregard it alLOgether, even for the most sceptical scholarship; it provides a plausible historical framework for the Pauline epistles in which details can be questioned but the overall framework remains. Yet the possibility of having no narrative at all is one that we experience without a qualm when dealing with the lellers of Peter or the Johannine community. What might the New Testament look like if James, or Peter (or even Jude) had had a faithful disciple with the literary talents of Luke? What if we had a narrative of the founding and development of the Johan nine churches rather than the Pauline churches? Certainly the popular image of the development of Christianity would look very different ,vithout Luke's concentration on the Pauline networks. But Luke's contribution to the shaping of the CllI;stian past (or at least to the popular perception of that past) is only a fraction of his contribution to the grand narrative of Christendom. I have been teaching a course on Luke this year with a focus on that grand narrative, especially as it is embodied in the artistic and liturgical traditions of the Christian world, and encouraging students to reflect on Luke's distinctive contribution to it. WitllOut Luke's Gospel, there would be no Good Samaritan, no Lost Sheep or Prodigal Son-all of them now deeply embedded in the symbolic grammar of Western culture. Can we envisage Christmas without the manger or the shepherds? Somehow the Matthean nativity, for all its narrative vigour, comes across as a fiercer, grim-

Acts: Thr Social and Political Motivations of Lueall Theolo/{J (SNTSMS, 57; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), and G.E. Slerling, Historiography and Self-thfinition: Josephos, Luk~Aets alid Apolo~tic Histrniography (NovTSIlP, LXIV: Leiden: Brill, 1992).

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mer story without the Lucan elements. The effect is all the more dramatic if we try to isolate the Lucan elements of the grand narrative within its primary performance location, the liturgical cycles uf tilt:: CllI"istiau chutches. Without Luke, there is no CluLstmas, only Epiphany; no feast of Stephen the Deacon, only the martyrdom of the Holy Innocents; no Benedictus or Magnificat, and indeed virtually no New Testament basis for Marian devotion worth talking about (Matthew subordinates her to Joseph). With· out Luke, we have no penitent thief at the crucifixion, no Easter walk to Emmaus-and, perhaps most important, no Ascension and no Pentecost. The motif ofJesus' exaltation is well embedded in the New Testament, but it tends elsewhere to be associated with the resurrection (cf. Rom. 1:4; Phil. 1:9; Rev. 1:12-18). Only Luke provides the narrative link beh....een the post-Easter appearances and the heavenly Christ of Christian belief. John's Jesus promises the Paraclete to his disciples after his 'departure', and breathes 'holy spirit' into them (all except Thomas) on the evening of the resurrection Sunday (John 14:26; 16:7·15; 20:22).19 Within the developing Christian tradition, however, the dominant paradigm is that of the Spirit poured out from heaven by the ascended Christ, and this is derived from Luke. It is not that this paradigm cannot be found elsewhere in the New Testament: cf. Eph. 4:712, which uses a christological exegesis of Ps. 68:18 to root it in Scripture. But it is Luke who supplies the narrative structure which makes it possible for the faithful to picture and celebrate this event. When Irenaeus of Lyons wanted an image for the Lucan element in the four-Gospel tradition, he chose the bull (what images would he have picked to justify a three-Gospel canon?).20 Though later tradition sought to lend this ascription some theological and even psychological plausibility, it remains an artificial connection, validated by long tradition rather than by any obvious intrinsic 'fit'.21 Much more apposite is the eastern tradition that Luke was the first icon painter: in numerous paintings, he is pictured with his easel and paintbmshes, painting a portrait of 19 Eastern Olthodox theology ]'ctains a distilH;tion between the Johannille and Lucan Pentecosts: Vladimir Lossky. '11"1 M)'stiw{ Theolog)' oJfhe/~tern Church (Camblidge: Jamcs Clarkc, 1991), pp. 167-68. 20 Irenactls. Adu. /-lUff. 111.11,7-9. 21 Jacobus de Voraigne. Thl' Golden Legend: Ivadings on Ihe SaiulS (trans. W.G. R}'an; Pl"incetOn: PrincetOll Universit)' Press, 1993), \'01. II PI" 2<17-54.

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Mary and her child (anticipating the child's public significance by a good thirty years).22 The image is naive, but it identifies something of Luke's distinClive contribution to the development of the Christian tradition. Luke is the supreme narrator of the New Testament (indeed his work is in many ways the first attempt to put together an overarching 'grand narrative' within early Christianity), His vision was one that lent itself to liturgical per· fOfmance: it became embodied in the daily and yearly cycles of Catholic and Orthodox Christian devotion. 23 And these cycles in their turn form the underwater reef which gives their distinctive shape to the iconographic traditions of Eastern and Western religious art. Emile Male's classic study of the iconography of the mediaeval cathedrals of France makes this point clearly: L'Eglise n'a pas VOUlll presenter aux chretiens toute !a vie de Jesu-Christ, pas plus qu'elle n'a mis entre leurs mains les quaLre Evangiles, mais die a choisi quelques faits de sens pl"ofond, significaLifs ellLre tous, pour les pr,oposer a la meditation des fideles. Ccs faits sont preciscmelll ceux que I'Eglise ct~li~bre chaqlle annee dans Ie cycle des retes. Les sclllptellrs, les verriers, les miniatllristes n'om done fait qu'illustrer Ie calendrier liturgiquC. 24

It is not wholly inappropriate that Luke should have come to be claimed as the patron saint of artists, given the int.rinsic connection between the artistic tradition and the liturgical tradition. And in the world of virtual history, we may fairly claim that both might have looked very different if Luke had not met Theophilus. AnSTRACT

Asking the 'what if?' questions of virtual history is a way of mbbing our noses in history's essential contingency-in the fact that things could have been different, that human choices (among other contingencies) actually matter. And of all history's contingencies, those of authorship seem-at least to those of us who are authors-the mOSt precarious imaginable. With Luke we are dealing with an author who seems particularly sensitive to the delicate combinations of forces, both communal and individual, that hedge about the articulation of the word. Asking 'What if Luke had never met Theophilus?' is in the end an invitation to consider the possibility of the non-existence of Luke's Gospel and Acts. Can we imagine the New Testament without these two texts (which together make up 25% of iL~ bulk)? 2'l Robin Cormack, Painting file Soul: Icons, Death Masks, a/lll Shrouds (London: Reaktion Books, 1997), pp. 44-64. nAnd correspondin!,:,ly less interestin!':' to Protestant de\'Olion: Bach composed no ·Sl. Luke Passion'. 2t Emile Male, L 'art riligieux du XlFle sieck en f'mllce (Paris: Armand Colin, 1925), p. 182.

WHAT IF PAUL HAD TRAVELLED EAST RATHER THAN WEST? RICHARD BAUCKHAM Universily oj St. Andrews

The Jewish l:,lzsl

For first-eentu'1' Jews, Jerusalem VMS not at the eastern edge of a world defined by the Roman Empire, the Mediterranean world depicted in maps of Paul's missionary travels in Bibles and reference works. For first-century Jews, Jerusalem was the centre of a world which stretched as far east as it did west, and, equally importantly. the centre of the Jewish diaspora, which also stretched as far east as it did west. New Testament scholars rarely remember the eastern diaspora. Of course, the New Testament texts give them very little occasion to call it to mind. The Acts of the Apostles, which probably more than any other New Test.ament documelll has fashioned the general impression we have of the geographical scope of the early Christian world, focuses, once the narrative leaves Palestine. exclusively on Paul's missionary travels to the north-west and west of Palestine. But Acts in fact contains its own warning against taking this focus as more than a pars pro lolo story of the spread of the Christian gospel in the early years. Its precise and accurate sketch of the geography of the Jewish diaspora (2:9-11), from Parthia in the east to Rome in the west, from Pontus in the north to Arabia in the south, with Jerusalem at the centre, is programmatic. It defines not the world that the gospel must finally reach (1:8), since in none of these directions does it reach one of the ends of the earth, as conceived at the time,l but the Jewish world which would be reached by Jews trav· cHing from jerusalem to all parts of the diaspora. 2 Just such a crowd of pilgrims as Acts 2 depicts would be present at every major lOne of these, Ethiopia, does appear implicitly in Acts 8:39, as the destination to which the Ethiopian eunuch will lake the Gospel when, beyond lhe narrative, he reaches home. 2 Sec R. Baud.ham, james and theJcrusalcll1 Church', in R. Bauckhanl (cd.), The Book of Acts ill if!; Palestinian Se/lillg (Carlisle: Paternoster Press; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), pp. 419-22.

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festival in Jerusalem and S0, surely ACLS implies, the gospel would be taken home to all parts of the diaspora not just after this initial preaching by the apostles at Pentecost, but continually as the leaders of the Jerusalem church continued to preach their message to the crowds in the temple court. For firSHentury Palestinian Jews, links with the eastern diaspora were as frequent and imponant as those with the western diaspora. Beyond the Euphrates in the east lived descendants of the exiles both of the northern Israelite tribes, deponed by the Assyrians in the eighth centUl)' BeE, and of the southern u"ibes,Judah and Benjamin, deported by the Babylonians in the sixth century BeE. The largest concentrations of Jewish communities were still in the areas to which their ancestors had originally been deported. The exiles of the northern tribes. not yet regarded as 'lost', lived mainly in north Mesopotamia (Nisibis and Adiabene) and Media,' while the exiles of the southern tribes lived mainly in southem Mesopotamia. In a somewhat confusing passage, Josephus seems to think that the eastern diaspora, comprising the northern as well as the southern tribes, was far more numerous than the western, complising members only of the southern tribes (An.t. 11.131-33). His depiction of the former as innllme:rahle: myri'lrls prnh'lbly reveals his desire to see in them the fulfilment of the promises to the patriarchs, that their descendants would be innumerable (Gen. 13:16; 15:5; 32:]2), but, however exaggerated, it suggests the importance of the eastern diaspora in first-cemul)' Jewish eyes. Josephus also recounts (Ant. 18.311-13, cr. 379) how the two cities of Nehardea (in south Mesopotamia) and Nisibis (in north Mesopotamia) served as the collecting points for the temple tax contributions from tJle eastern diaspora, where the resulting huge sums of money could be kept safe until they were conveyed to Jerusalem along with the caravans of pilgrims, whom Josephus numbers at tens of thousands. 4 For first-century Jews, the eastern diaspora was the original, biblical and paradigmatic diaspora. It comprised members of all twelve tribes, all t\velve of whom were expected, on the basis of the prophecies, to return from exile to form the regathered and reunited Israel of the future. Whereas much of the western ~ On the Median diaspora in this period, sec R. Bauckham, 'A.nna of the Tribe of Asher (Luke 2:36-38)'. lW 104 (1997), pp. 166-69, 173-77. of On this passage, see Bauckham. 'Anna'. p. 174.

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diaspora resulted from voluntary migration, though deportation and enslavement played a part in its origins, the eastern diaspora was paradigmatic in that it clearly resulted, in the narrative of the Hebrew Bible, f]"om involulltary deporlalion ellluodyillg' God's

judgment on his people. It was lherefore from the circumsL:'ll1ces of the eastern diaspora that the Jewish theological conception of the diaspora-as divine punishment which would be rescinded in the future-derived, For these reasons the eastern diaspora had a theological and symbolic priority over the western. Communication between Jerusalem and the eastern diaspora was frequent, especially, as already mentioned, through pilgrimage LO jerusalem and the conveyance of temple tax, There were also official letters circulated from the jerusalem religious authorities, on such mattel"S as the religious calendar, to tbe eastern as to the western diaspora," jewish merchants travelled with ease along the major trade routes from Palestine as far as the Gulf and beyond Uosephus, Ant. 18.34), which were also the routes travelled by Jewish pilgrims, Natives of the eastern diaspora migrated to live permanently in jerusalem, just as natives of the western diaspora did, (As native Aramaic-speakers, any CllI"istian converts among the fOimer would have been among the 'Hebrews' of Acts 6:1, whereas Christian converts from the latter were the 'Hellenists',) It should also be remembered that, whereas Palestine's incorporation in the Roman Empire was a vel)' recent development, Palestine's participation in a cultural world which stretched east to Mesopotamia and Persia was vel)' old and influential in count· less ways, This participation had two cultural layers: the Aramaicspeaking civilization of the Persian Empire, in which local cultures, while by no means replaced, were to some degree assimilated to an international Aramaic culture, and the Hellenization of the Middle East that followed in the wake of Alexander's conquests, was concentrated in the Greek cities established throughout the area, and was absorbed to val)'ing degrees by the local aramaicized cultures,6 The Romanization of the western part of this cultural world was, by comparison with Aramaicization and Hellenization, ~

Bauckham, 'Anna', pp" 174-76.

On the imponance of bOlh layers ill our period, and against a Olle-sided emphasis on Hellcnization, see A. Wasserstein, 'Non-HellenizcdJews in the Semi6

Hellenized East', Scripta Classica Israelim 14 (1995), pp. 111-37.

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only the thinnest of veneers. Hence the demise of the Hellenistic empires, succeeded by the Parthian empire in the east and the Roman in the west, while it divided politically the world that Aramaicizatioll and Hellenization had united culturally, by no means severed the cultural links. The Greek cities of Mesopotamia, for example, maintained close cultural relationships with those of the eastern Mediterranean. An example that nicely makes the point for OUf present purposes is that of the Stoic philosopher Archedemus of Tarsus who left Athens to eSlablish a Stoic school in Babylonia. 7 Thus, whether we consider Paul, native of Tarsus, as a Jew of the western diaspora or Paul, trained as a Pharisaic teacher in Jerusalem, as at home in the primarily Semitic-speak. iog religious culture of Jewish Palestine, he would have felt part of a cultural world that stretched east of Tarsus and Jerusalem to the Hellenistic cities of Mesopotamia and to those parts of the Jewish diaspora that had every claim to be considered the diaspora. Why should Paul not have thought of travelling east?

Why Should Paul Have Travelled East1 Paul became a Christian in Damascus, following his encounter with the risen Christ on the way there. It seems that from the beginning he understood this experience as a call to proclaim Jesus the Messiah to the nations (Gal. 1:16; d. Acts 22:14-15; 26:17·18). The impression his own account gives is that, so strong was this sense of a special vocation from God and so urgent his under· standing of the task, he did not wait until he could consult those who were already apostles, but immediately set about fulfilling his call (Gal. 1:17·18). But how could he decide where to begin? It would not be surprising if he were guided by t\vo facLors: provi· dence and scriptural exegesis. He must have reflected on the fact that it was in Damascus-just outside the land of Israel-that he received his call to take the gospel to the nations. Damascus must surely be the divinely intended geographical threshold of his mission. Where would one go from Damascus? Though it was possible to travel west through Abila to the Mediterranean coast at Berytus, no Jew from Palestine would think of Damascus as the starting 7 J. Neusncr, A History of the Jews in BalJylQllia: I: The Parthian Period (SPB, 9; 2nd edition; Lcidcn: Bl"ill, 1969), p. 9.

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point for travelling west. The obvious routes were south and northeast. It was the route south through the Hauran and along the King's Highway to Petra that we know Paul in fact took (Gal. 1:17). All uf Lhi~ an:::a cUlllpu~t:d tiLt: NauaLcan kingdom which Jews often called Arabia. s This was the area inhabited by the Gentile peoples who, according to the Genesis genealogies as understood at this time (cf. Josephus, Ant. 1.221, 239), were the most closely related to Israel: the Arab tribes descended from Abraham by his wife Keturah (Gen. 25:1-4) or through his son Ishmael (Gen. 25:13-15).9 Ishmael's eldest son Nebaioth (Gen. 25: 13) was thought to be the ancestor of the Nabateans, who took their name from him Uosephus, Ant. 1.221). Their closeness, by kinship as well as geographically, to Israel would make them the obvious starting point for a mission to the nations. But this would have been confirmed for Paul by his reading of prophecy, specifically the later chapters of Isaiah, which were pivotal both for the early church's self-understanding and for Paul's own understanding of his role in turning the nations to the God of Israel (Gal. 1:15; cf. Isa. 49:1-6). In the pilgrimage of the nations to Zion, it is the Arab tribes of north-west Arabia that are the first to be named: Midian, Ephah, Sheba, Kedar and Nebaioth (Isa. 60:6-7), all of them descendants of Abraham (Gen. 25:2-4, 13). It is remarkable that Rainer Riesner, who argues persuasively that Paul's later missionary travels followed a geographical programme provided by Isaiah 66:19,10 does not recognize that a firsHentury Jewish exegete would be likely to read Isa. 66: 19-20 in connexion with Isa. 60:9. 11 Tarshish (understood in Paul's time as Tarsus) comes first among the place names in Isa. 66: 19, but in Isa. 60:9 it follows the Nabateans (60:7). Thus Paul had every reason to begin obeying his missionary calling in Nabatea. That Paul deliberately began his mission in Nabatea should be taken more seriously than it usually is, because it disturbs the 8 J. Murphy-O'Connor, 'Paul in Arabia', CBQ 55 (1993), pp. 732-33. 9 The Edomiles, descended fromJacob's brother Esau, had by lhis tilllc converled to Judaism. 10 R. Riesner, Paul's Early Pen'od: ChronolojJ)', MissiQlI StralejJ)', Theology (lralls. D. SlOll; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), pp. 245-53; but cr. lhc crilique inJ.M. ScOll, Palll and the Natiol!J: The OM Testament aud fe'wish Background oj Paul's Mis· ~inn

fn flu, r.n>til"" ",ith S/"rinl ll".!I'rI"t!C' fo 01' D,st;'U1fion of CallI/inns (WUNT, 84;

Tlibingcn: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck]. 1995). 11 Therefore he denics that Paul's purpose in going lO Ambia was missionary: Paul's Early Pen'od, pp. 258-60.

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common assumption that Paul, the strongly Hellenized Jew from Tarsus, chose as an obvious matter of cultural affmity to preach in the cities of the north-east Mediterranean world. The Nabaleans, in this period before their annexation as the Roman province of Arabia in 106, were among the least Hellenized peoples of the Near EaSl. l2 There is rather little evidence for the use of Greek. Nahatean remained the language of government, law, re· ligion and ordinary speechyl But Paul, a 'Hebrew born of Hebrcv.s' (Phil. 3:5), that is, a native Semitic speaker,H was cenainly fluent in Aramaic as well as Greek. If> There were Jewish communities in Nabatea (probably mentioned in Acls 2: II), which no doubt Paul would use as a point of contact with sympathetic Gen· tiles, as was his regular missionary strategy later. Paul's policy of prioritizing the synagogue precisely in his Gentile mission (cf. Rom. I :16) was not merely pragmatic. It corresponded to the prophetic expectation that in the last days the nations would come to Zion bringing with them the Israelites of the diaspora (Isa. 11: 10-12; 60:4-9; 66: 18-20). Paul's Gentile mission was therefore bound to be to the lands of the Jewish diaspora, though it was in any case commonly supposed that thel"e were Jews in every part of the inhabited world (e.g. Philo, ug. Gai. 283-84). Mter a period, perhaps more than 1\..0 years (Gal. 1:17·18), in Arabia Paul returned to Damascus. Why to Damascus? There were more direct routes to Jerusalem. If Paul had become persona non grata to the Nabatean authorities, as is commonly deduced from the circumstances of his leaving Damascus (2 Cor. 11 :32-33), there were more rapid routes out of Nabatean territory. It must be that Paul now intended to travel the other main route from Damascus: the caravan route north-east to Palmyra and thence to Mesopotamia. That way the whole of the eastern diaspora, the original diaspora not just of the Judean tribes, but of all the twelve tribes who must all be brought back to Jerusalem by their Gentile neighbours

12 M. Hengel and A.M. Schwemer, Plwl Belwtlm Damascus and Antioch (trans. Bowden; London: SCM Press. 1997), p. 112. give a somewhat exaggerated impression of Hcllenization in Nabatea at this time. \3 F. Millar, Th, Roman Near East 31 Be-AD 337 (Cambl'idge: Harvard Univcrsity Press. 1993), pp. 401407. 14 M. Hcngel, The Prf!-Chrislian Paal (trail:>. j. BOWUCll; Lonuon; SCM Pn::>:>, 1991), pp. 25-26:J. Murphy-O·Connor. Paul: A Critical Life (Oxford: Oxford Uni\'ersity Press. 1996), pp. 36-37. l~ Hengel and Schwemer. Palll, PI'. 118-19.

J.

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in the last days, lay before Paul. Moreover, the nations to the east were Semites. The descendants of Shem lived from Syria eastwards to India (Gen. 10:21-31)-01" even to China, as Josephus seems to indicate (Ant. 1.143-47). On the principle of beginning with Israel's closest kin, these were the nations to whom Paul should turn after the Abrahamic tribes of Arabia. Prophecy explicitly envisaged the return of the eastern diaspora along with the nations of the east (Isa. 11:10-12, 15-16; cr. 45:6, 22; 48:20; 49:12). P.-obably;t was only the attempt of the Nabatean ethnarch in Damascus to arrest Paul and Paul's ignominious flight from the city (2 Cor. 11 :32-33) that prevented Paul following this direction to the east. The Nabateans controlled the routes nonh-east as well as south, and so Paul, in flight for his life, could take only the road to Jerusalem. 16 Doubtless, for Paul, this was providential guidance, an instance, as he was later to see it, of God's ability to further his purpose through Paul's weakness (2 Cor. 11:32-12:10). From Jerusalem Paul made, as it were, a new start (cr. Acts 22:17-21), understanding the prophetic programme now to direct him first to Tarsus (Isa. 60:9; 66:19; Gal 1:21; Acts 9:30) and so in an arc from Jerusalem to the furthest west (Rom. 15:19,23-24). His own origin in Tarsus no doubt now provided the providential indica· tion that this was his own role in the eschatological events, as missionary not to the descendants of Shem but to those ofJapheth. 17 The apostle who, but for the antipathy of the Nabatean authorities, might have travelled to the eastern end of the earth now followed a consistent imperative towards its opposite extremity. Paul in the

cast

Paul's missionary strategy in the east would have been similar to that which we know he followed in the west. He would have targeted the Hellenistic cities with significant Jewish communities in them, like those we know him to have worked in in Asia Minor and Greece. He might, in the first place, have travelled north from Palmyra to cross the Euphrates at Nicephorium and then followed 16 Riesner. Paul's Earl)' Pmod, pp. 261-62; cr. tl-Wlar, The Roman Nmr East, pp. 298-99. 17 Perhaps nOl only lhe location of the places in Isa. 66; 19 in the tcrrilory of Japheth. btl! also the priorily 01 Japheth in the table 01 the nations «(jen. JU;
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the route alongside the river Balikh to the Hellenistic cities of lchnai, Charax Sidoll and Charrhae. This would also take him to Edessa, whence he could travel east to Nisibis and Adiabene. where many of the non.hern Israelite exiles still lived. He would be unlikely to travel further north or east to Media, but would (urn south, perhaps ending this journey by crossing the Euphrates at Doura Emopos, another Hellenized and (at this date) Parthian city with a significant Jewish community. and thence back to Palmyra and Damascus. Another journey might take him to Babylonia, the area of the largest Jewish settlement in the east, travelling through Doura and sOllLh-east along the Euphrates LO the Jewish seulemem at Nehardea and then to Seleucia on the Tigris, the old capital of Seleucid Babylonia, the centre of Hellenistic culture in Babylonia, with a large Jewish community. Continuing south-east he could visit Antioch in Mesene and Charax Spasinou on the Gulf, perhaps also Susa. In many of these cities he might have stirred up the kind of local Jewish opposition that he encountered in some of the cities of Asia Minor and Greece, according 1O Acts, but he is unlikely to have been harassed by the tolerant Parthian authorities. IS Finally, Paul could have set his sights on travelling even further east, towards the eastern end of the earth, just as the Paul of Romans intended to Lravel west as far as Spain. This would take him as far as Alexander's empil-e had stretched, to north-east India, where the Acts of Thomas take their hero, the apostle Judas Thomas. Like the Palmyrene merchants who travelled down the Euphrates to Charax Spasinou where they embarked on ships,19 Paul would no doubt have travelled by sea through the Gulf to India. Although it is intrinsically likely that some Jews had already travelled this far and settled in India, we cannot be sure that there were already Jewish communities in India at this date. One difference from Paul's travels in the west might have been that he would probably have preached in the synagogues in Aramaic rather than Greek, and in general might have used some Greek but more Aramaic. This is difficult to judge precisely. Greek was spoken in the Hellenistic cities in which Paul would most likely have spent most of his time, and Greek is used on most Parthian 18 BUllhe chil war in I'anhia during the early years of his minisuy there could have complicaled matters for Paul. I') Millar. Tht Roman Near East, pp. 330-31.

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coins. But Josephus, writing the first (no longer extant) version of his jewish War in Aramaic for readers east of the Euphrates, presumably judged that this language was the most effective for reaching both a Jewish and a Gentile readership in the east. We may thus presume that the letters Paul would have written to some of his newly founded Christian communities in the Parthian e;=m· pire would probably have been written in Aramaic. This is an important point for following through our speculation, because it would inhibit their circulation to the west of the Euphrates outside Syria unless they were translated into Greek. This in turn would prevent the influence of Pauline theology on Greek and Latin Christianity and their successors. But translation of Paul's Aramaic letters into Greek would be not unlikely. Some of the earliest Christian literature in Syriac, probably all from Osrhoene, such as the Odes oj Solomon, the Acts oj Thomas, and some of the works of Bardaisan, were translated into Greek. The contacts with Greek-speaking Christians that would make a translation of Paul's letters into Greek desirable and likely certainly existed at an early date. Abercius, bishop of Hierapolis, who recorded his extensive travels in a rather cryptic epitaph on his tombstone, travelled to Rome and then to the east, around the middle of the second century. He 'saw the plain of Syria and all the cities, even Nisibis, having crossed the Euphrates. And everywhere I had associates. Having Paul as a companion, evel)"\lhere faith led the \\I3y'.20 In our present context the somewhat puzzling reference to Paul is tantalizing. Did Abercius mean that he was following in Paul's footsteps, not only to Rome, but also to Nisibis? The lack of any other trace of a tradition that Paul ever crossed the Euphrates makes this unlikely. Perhaps Abercius meant only that, like Paul, he travelled extensively, visiting Christian communities. Perhaps he meant that his copy of the Pauline letters was something he had in common with the 'associates' (fellow Christians) he encountered everywhere. Would Paul's travels in the east have made a significant difference to Christianity east of the Euphrates? If his letters had come down to us and/or he had inspired a Luke to write a Mesopotamian equivalent to Acts, we should certainly know a great deal morc abollt the beginnings of Christianity in Mesopotamia than 20 Translation in j. Quasten. Palrology, vol. I (UtTech\: SpCClnlffi, 1950), p. 172.

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we do. Though scholars who begin with the legends and find it impossible to ascertain the truth behind them tend to think Christianity did not reach Mesopotamia in Paul's lifetime or even in the t1rst century.21 it has to be said that the constant communication and travel between Jerusalem and the eastern diaspora makes it virtually incredible lhal it did 110[.22 Jewish pilgrims and merchams from me east would have heard the gospel in Jerusalem and taken it back to their synagogue communities. 23 This would surely have been the way Christianity initially spread lO much of the diaspora. including such areas as Egypt and Cyrene, aboUl which we know no more than we do of Mesopotamia. In addition, there is no reason Lo doubt the basic historicity of Addai, the apostle of Edessa, and his links with the pre.70 Jcmsalcm church,24 or Mari, whom traditions suggest planted the church in SeleuciaCtesiphon, travelling there from Nisibis, in the following generation. Such names, handed down in local traditions, are often reliable even when the stories told of them are legendary.?!> However, even these traditions do not indicate flourishing Christian communities as early as Paul's lifetime, other than in Edessa. Had Paul travelled east, this might have been otherwise. The churches of Seleucia on the Tigris and Charax Spasinou on the Gulf might have been as important as those of Ephesus and Corinth actually were. Moreover, the character of the Christian 2\ E.g. M.-L Chaumont. LA ChristiQnUation tk l'mlpir~ lranim tin urigina aUJl' granda fi'"sicution du !\'esikle (CSCO, 499; Lou"ain: Peeters, 1988), Pan I. n In my "iew the address ofJames 10 'Ihe lweh'e lribeS in the diaspora' (Jas I: I) is aemal evidence of this: sec R. Bauekham,jama: Wisdom ofjalMS, Discipu of jaus theSa~ (NT Readings; London: Routledge. 1999), pp. 14-16. IS Compare Ihe way in which Izales, before his accession 10 the throne of Adiabenc in 36 CE, W'dS convcrtcd 10 Judaism by a Jcwish merchant in Charax Spasinou, while his mOlher was similarly convcrtcd by aliolherJew in Adiabene. L,ler hates was influenccd by a Pharisec from Galilee (Josephus. Ant. 20.34-35, 38-48). 2i Discussions of Addai havc rei to take accounl of whal is probably lhe earliest known reference 10 him in the First Apocalypse of James (CC V, 3) 36:1525. Though this text had long been published by the time he ....rote, there is 110 reference to it in the diKussion of Addai by ChaullloIH, UI Cilristianisat;on, pp. 14-16. By linking Addai with James of Jerusalem, it makes improbable Ihe conclusion or Chaumonl and others that, Ihough historical, Addai's ministry in Edessa should be daled c, 100 at Ihe earliest. t5 Note also Ihe possibility that re!ali"es or Jesus were mISSionaries in the eastenl diaspora in Ihe- C"arly vrnnrl ce-nlllry: R. R:mckham,jll/" ",Id til, IUlat;,,,, of jaus in /he Earl] Church (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1990), pp. 68-iO; and the rull account no~' of Ihe C\idellce in Chaumont, La Cilrist;anisa/:Oll, pp. 4247 (he does nOi credit it).

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theological tradition east of the Euphrates might have been different. The great Syriac Fathers, Ephrem and Aphrahat of Nisibis, evidently formed in a theological tradition influenced by the kind of jewish Christianity that first took root in northern Mesopotamia,26 knew and used Paul's letters, but were not deeply influenced by them. Had Paul been the aposLJe of the east and his letters addressed to churches of the east, this might have been othenvise. The West without Paul The most challenging issue our counterfactual hypothesis raises is that of imagining what Christianity in the Roman Empire would have been like without Paul. The prominence of Paul in Acts and in the Western theological tradition down the centuries has led to such absurd exaggerations of Paul's significance as the claim that Paul invented Christianity or that without Paul Christianity would have remained a sect within judaism. Since the German Liberalism of the nineteenth cemu,)', Paul has been required to effect the transition between jesus, the preacher of ethics, the fatherhood and kingdom of God, and the dogmatic Christianity which proclaimed a Christocentric gospel of salvation through the death and resurrection ofJesus. 27 In LJle many versions of this view, it has been Paul who Hellenized the Jewish religion of Jesus and his first followers, Paul who created Christianity as a Gentile religion for Gentiles, Paul who made Jesus the object of faith and worship, Paul who set Christianity on the road to becoming the religion of credal orthodoxy it was in the age of the ecumenical councils. AJI aspects of this understanding of Paul and his significance have been comprehensively refuted in recent decades, both in Pauline studies and in studies of early Jewish and non-Pauline forms of Christianity. Against such exaggerations of Paul's role in the development of early Christianity, we must first note that, creative thinker though he was, not everything in Paul's writings is originally Pauline. Rather than detecting Pauline influence wherever other early Christian writings employ terms or ideas also found in Paul, 'ffi

R. Murray, S)'mbols oj Church and Kingdom (Cambridgc: Cambridge Univcr-

sity Press. 1975), lillruduuiull
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we should take such phenomena as evidence for the extent to which Paul shared a common understanding of the gospel, a tradition to which he held himself responsible (l Cor. 15:3), common Christian vocabulary, common Christian traditions of exegesis of the Hebrew scriptures, common paraenetic traditions, and so all. It is also clear that other major writings in the New Testament, stich as the Gospels of Mauhew and John, the letter to the Hebrews and the book of Revelation, are not plausibly influenced by Paul to any significant extent but develop non-Pauline versions of the Christian gospel which present it as a Christocenlric message of salvation through faith in the crucified and risen Jesus no less than Paul's version does. In comparison Paul appears as no less Jewish than these others, while, conversely, later patristic credal and doctrinal development \\'as at least as much Johannine as it was Pauline. The New Testament without Paul and his influ~ ence would still contain a range of Christian writings, each with its own idiom, nuances and creative theological developments, but all sharing common features which must have characterized the Christian movement from its earliest Jerusalem form, all highly Christological, all focused on an eschatological-soteriological reading of thf' Siory. as Wf'lI as thf' leachings, of Jf'SII..., his life. neath, resurrection and future coming. Some particularly Pauline features would certainly be noticeably missing-such as Paul's special contributions to pneumatology and his use of the cross as a cultural-critical principle, as well as his thinking about justification-but the Christianity of the New Testament would be still, from the perspective of later centuries, recognizably Christianity. Moreover, we should note, in transition to our second point, that all these non-Pauline forms of New Testament Christianity are fully supportive of the Gentile mission. The second respect in which we should not exaggerate Paul's role is in his importance in spreading the Cluistian gospel in the Mediterranean world of the Roman Empire. The Gentile mission began without reference to Paul's apostolic calling (Acts 10-11) and took place quite independently of Paul in areas such as Rome and Egypl which were not evangelized by Paul,28 Though withoul Paul the issue or Gentile membership of the eschatological people of God would no doubl have been posed and debated in rather U cr. the ralher desperate anempl by Hengel and Schwemer, Paul, p. 149, to poslUlale Paul's inOuence on the Jerusalem 'pillar' apostles.

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different ways, it is likely that without Paul there would have been general acceplance of the terms of the apostolic decree (Acts 15:19-20,28-29), which did not have a Pauline theological basis but established unequivocally that Gentile Christians belong to the people of God as Gentiles, not by becoming Jews. 29 The prominence of Paul's missionary travels in Acts should not disguise their geographical limitations. In Acts, as in Romans, it is clear that Christianity-Gentile as well as Jewish-was well established in Rome (soon to be the most important church of all) quite independentJy of Paul. 30 Though Paul had worked with some of those Christians in Rome whom he especially mentions in Romans 16 (vv. 3-4, 7, 13), it is notable that all these-Prisca and Aquila, Andronieus and Junia, Rufus and his mother (cf. Mark 15:21)had been Christians before they met Paul. The 1:\"'0 latter pairs must have been very early members of the Jerusalem church, as were other travelling missionaries: Peter and Philip, Barnabas and Mark, the brothers of the Lord (1 Cor 9:5), Silas/Sylvanus. Christianity almost certainly reached Rome from Jerusalem, quite possibly even before Paul's conversion, and soon attracted Gentiles already associated with the Jewish synagogues in the city. Even in Luke's account of the Pauline mission in the peculiarly Pauline mission areas of the north-east Mediterranean, we can detect hints of what might have happened even there had Paul not tJ'avelled there: Barnabas and Mark go to Cyprus without Paul (15:39); Prisca and Aquila, presumably converted to Christianity in Rome, come to Corinth (18:2); the Alexandrian Arollos is teaching in Ephesus and is assisted in his understanding of the gospel by Prisca and Aquila (18:24-26), before evangelizing in Corinth, without having met Paul (18:27-28; cf. I Cor. 3:6). Paul was probably the most gifted evangelist and the most fer29 See R. Bauckham, 'jame~ and the Gentile~ (Acts 15.13,21)'. ch. 7 in B. Witherington III (cd.), HislOl)', Ulerature alld Sod!';ty ill the Book of Act.l (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer~ity Press, 1996), pp. 154-84; and Bauckham, 'James and the jeru~alelll Church', pp. 450-80. :10 On the origins of the church in Rome, see W. Wiefel, 'The jewish Community in Ancient Rome and the Origins of Roman Christianity' and P. L""\mpe, 'The Roman Christians of Romans 16', both in K..P. Donfried (cd.), Tht Romans Debate (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991, expo edn), pp. 85-101, 216-30; R. Brandle and E.W. Stegemann. 'The .-ormation of the First ~CllIistial1 Congregalions~ in Rome in the Context of lhe jewish Congregations', in K..P. Donfried and P. Richardson (cds.), Judaism alld Christiallity in First-Cn/tul)' IlQme (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. 1998), pp. 117-27.

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tile theological thinker of the first Christian generation, though he himself would have seen only the power of God at work in his own weakness. But he worked within the context of the remarkably vigorous and creative movement which was earliest Christianity. The attempt to make Paul solely responsible for anything is either a kind of modern theological Marcionism or a reflection of the modern notion of original genius. The historical Paul is not diminished if we conclude that, although without Paul much would have been different about the way the early Christian movement would have spread across the Roman Empire, it would still have spread, with much the same long-term effecls.

ABSTRACT

For first-centul'Y Jews lhe eastern disapora was at least as important as the western. When Paul returned from Arabia (Nabatea) to Damascus, his intention was to tra\,el east from Damascus to Mesopotamia, where the synagogue communities, descendants of the ol"iginal exiles of both northern and southern tribes of Israel, ,,'ould have been his starting point for mission to the Gentiles of the area. But when he escaped arrest by the Nabatean ethnarc, Nabatean control of the trade routes south and east of Damascus left him no choice but to traveltoJemsalem, where he re-thought the geographical scope of his mission. Had Paul lravelled east, the Christian communities of both north and south Mesopotamia might have nourished already in the firsl century and Paul's writings might have had more influence on Syriac theology. Considering how Christianity in the Roman Empire would have developed without Paul entails rejecting such exaggerated views of Paul's significance as thatl'aul invented Christianity or that without Paul Christianity would have remained a Jewish sect. The Gentile mission began without Paul and tOok place in areas, such as Rome and Egypt, which were 1I0t evangelized by PauL Without Paul much would have been different about the way the early Christian mo\'ement would have spread across the Roman Empire, but it would still have spread, with much the same long-term effects.

EARLIEST CHRISTIANITY IN COUNTERFACTUAL FOCUS JOHN DOMINIC CROSSAN DePaul University (EmmiUS)

I do not ask what if Jesus had not been crucified, had not been raised from the dead, had not been confessed as Messiah, Lord, or Son of God but, presuming the existence of that inaugural faith, my purpose is to imagine what might have changed it utterly or stopped it completely. After two thousand years of what did happen, it is hard not to think of it all as inevitable, as if a force had been unleashed upon the world that nothing could ever have changed, let alone Slopped. I consider here four events, any one of which, any combination of which, and, especially, all of which would have altered Christianity completely beyond present recognition or destroyed it utterly beyond present imerest. The What If oj Cities

Wayne A. Meeks wrote a 1983 study wil.h the subtitle, The Social World of the Apostle Paul, but with the title, The First Urban Christians. It would be easy to conclude that the first urban Christians were in the churches of the Pauline mission or even that Paul himself was especially instrumental in the transition from nlral to urban environment. But before Paul, without Paul, and even if Paul had never existed, Christians were in at least three cities, jerusalem, Antioch, and Damascus, within two or three years of the execution of jesus. Whal if they had not made those moves? Jerusalem. In the overlap between Luke 24 and Acts 1 there is no memion of Christians (I use this term as short-hand for those first Christian jewish companions or followers of jesus) outside jerusalem. One gets the impression that all of those people came to jerusalem with jesus and either stayed there or went out thence to other places. Galilee is ignored as will be, in what follo\\'S, most everything not westward towards Rome. But reading Paul's Galatian letter gives the same impression. When he wants to visit Peter in L18, he does not go around Galilee seeking him but seems to know that he is, of course as it were, in jerusalem. Why

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did some Christians, and among them those whose names we know in a leadership capacity (James, Mary, Peter, etc.), stay in or rel
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three major cities. I certainly do not argue that all early Christians were urban nor that the more rural ones were irrelevant (think, for example, of those behind the Q Gospel). The key decision was probably the relocation of some of Jesus' companions to Jerusalem and the inevitability that pilgrim cOl1lacts would spread converts thence to other major cities. If that had not happened, and Mark's Gospel says the Jerusalem relocation should not have happened, Christianity would not have existed as it did and, probably, soon, not at all. It could have died out within one or two generations among the hills and hamlets of Galilee.

The What If of Pagans I am looking once more at that expectation which persuaded some Christians to relocate to Jerusalem and await the consummation of an apocalyptic scenario already begun by the resurrection of Jesus. It also resulted in another very significant program: the inclusion of Christian pagans alongside Christian Jews within the same community. Why and how did that happen? Paula Fredriksen has shown, with copious references, the ambivalence of Jewish tradition about "what place, if any, do Gentiles have" in Cod's kingdom once it is established. "We can cluster the material around 1:\"0 poles. At the negative extreme, the nations are destroyed, defeated, or in some way subjected to Israel ... At the positive extreme, the nations participale in Israel's redemption." That former option is not just chauvinism or xenophobia but understandable revenge for half a millennium's imperial oppression. And the latter opinion presumes that those "[E]schatological Gentiles ... who would gain admission to the Kingdom once it was established, would enter as Gentiles. They would worship and eat together with Israel, in Jerusalem, at the Temple. The God they worship, lhe God of Israel, will have redeemed them from the error of idolatry he will have saved themto phrase this in slightly different idiom-graciously, apart from the works of the Law."l Those options, however, whether negative, positive, or somewhere in between, were more easily stated as magnificent ideals than imagined as detailed programs, especially 1 Paula Fredriksen. MJudaism, The Circumcision of Gentiles, and Apocalyptic Hope: Another Look at Galatians I and 2,~.JTS 42 (1991), pp. 532--64. Citations arc from pp. 544-45 and 548.

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when apocalyptic consummation became an earthly period rather than a heavenly instant. But, in any case, those are the polar extremes: the Gentiles (all? many? some?) integrated apocalyptically inLO God's Kingdom by a war of extermination or a feast or rec· oncilialion. We know, but much more obscurely than we would wish, that, even before Paul, there was tension atJerusalem inside Christian Judaism between what Acts 6 calls "the Hebrews" and "the Helle· nis(S" and also outside Christian Judaism bet\\leen those "Hellenists" but not those "Hebrews" and other non-Christian Jewish Hellenists (9:29). In this case Luke even writes against himself in Acts 6, \vi.lh Stephen supposedly in charge of social assistance but actually performing "great wonders and signs among the people" and announcing, allegedly, that "Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place, and will change the customs which Moses delivered to us." But even though Luke writes against himself, it is not exactly clear how we must read him against himself. What was the core issue of contention? The only way I can interpret what was historically behind Acts 6 is to see it as the first act in a continuing controversy whose second and third acts appear as separate and consecutive events in Cal. 2:1-10 (the Jerusalem Council) and 2:1 1-11 (the Antioch Decision) but as a single combined event in Acts 15 (the Jerusalem Decision). Paul says that the Jerusalem Council involved "false brethren" requiring circumcision for male Christian pagan converts but that "James" did not agree with them. Since James, brother of John, had been executed in 42 and James, brother of Jesus, would not be executed until 62. that "James" in Cal. 2:9 must be the same "James, the brother of the Lord" from Cal. 1:19. But this is also the same James whose subsequent Antioch Decision ordered that community with both Christian Jews and Christian pagans to eat together according to Jewish rather than pagan meal customs. How are those two acts to be explained and what light do they cast back on the even more enigmatic first act? What, especially, is the logic ofJames' position as a Christian Jew who remained so acceptable to non-Christian Jews that he could live without incident in Jerusalem until 62 when those "strict in observance of the law" toppled an Annanide high-pdest for having him executed in the inter-regnum between two Roman procurators, according to Josephus in Jewish Antiquities 20. 20o-203? James must have been operating out of what Fredriksen termed

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the "positive extreme" of jewish apocalyptic presuppositions about Gentiles in Cod's Kingdom. They would not have to be circumcised if male nor observe kosher regulations whether female or male. BUlthere were also two codicils. First, he lOok it for granted that Christian jews, as distinct from Christian pagans, would continue to obselve the Law just like other non-Christian jews. Sec· ond, he demanded that if Christian Jews and Christian pagans ate together, they should do so according to Jewish not pagan cus· toms. We know that Paul refused that second condition and thereby isolated himself from all the others at Antioch ("even Barnabas") in Gal. 2:13. But we also know that James accused him of having refused the fonner condition in Acts 21: 17-21. I think that is correcl. Paul, on the radical wing of apocalyptic Gentile inclusivity, believed it applied not just to Christian pagans but to Christian Jews as well. Furthermore, it is on that same radical wing that I locate Stephen's Seven. The debate may have originatcd over the rituals of mixed table-fellowship (to that extent Acts 5 is correel) but that simply surfaced this deeper question: If Chris· tian pagans were accepted without the ritual law, how did that affect Christian Jews? It was in no way applicable to them, said the "Hebrews" and James; it was applicable to them in exactly the same way, said thc "Hellcnists" and Paul. You can focus that question even more shal'ply and personally like this: if Christian Jews had new-born sons, would they have circumcised them or not? Behind those debates and behind those competing positions one point is presumed: Christian pagans were accepted early into the community of God's Kingdom. But, even wit11in an apocalw tic situation already initiated and to be imminently consummated, extermination by war or reconciliation by feast were polar alternatives. What if earliest Christianity had not accepted the latter alternative, had not accepted pagans into their community of faith? Christianiry would have remained a part ofJudaism as, even with that, it might have done were it not for the next what if. The What If of Wars There was a time when it was easy to explain why "Christianity" broke away from and/or was rejected by "Judaism." For example; r:hri~liam helievNIJe... 1IS W;.l~ Me~ ... iah, 1.01'1"1, Son ofr-on, ,lJ1nJew~ did not. There you have it. For example: Christians refused Sabbath, circumcision, kosher, and Jews did not. There you have it.

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Those sounded reasonable explanations since Christianity and Judaism did evcnlualJy become separate religions, and those were then recognizable differences between them. They now, however, seem totally anachronistic. First, there were many diverse strands ofJudaism in that first-eenlury JC\v1sh homeland, all vying for leadership in the crucible of Greek cultural and Roman mililary imperialism. Second, Christians take their place alongside Pharisees, Sadducees, and Esscncs, or Fourth Philosophy, Sicarii, and Zealots, as competing options within Judaism. Third, as one more group disputing agai'nst other groups but within the same politico-religious community, Christians or Christianity meant Christian Jews or Christian Judaism in those early decades. Fourth, therefore, those above options and all others that distinguished them from competing groups, were options within not against Judaism. But that only makes even more pressing the question why, eventually, all other Jewish groups came to reject the Christian Jewish option for their future. The answer brings up my third great what if what if the three great wars against Rome had not taken place. It is quite customary to speak only of two such wars but I insist on the middle one as well. The First Roman War started under Nero in 66 and was concluded under Vespasian in 74. In the late summer of 70 Jerusalem was destroyed, the Temple burned, and its annual tax was punitively relegated to Jupiter'S Temple on the Roman Capitol. The Second Roman War took place under Trajan from 115 to 117 and centered in Egypt, Cyrene, and Cyprus, but with uprisings in Mesopotamia and possibly in Palestine as well. It resulted in the destruction of Egyptian and especially Alexandrian Judaism. The Third Roman War took place under Hadrian from 132 to 135 in the Jewish homeland with its leader, Simon bar Kosiba, acclaimed by Rabbi Aqiba as the Messiah. It resulted in the complete paganization of Jerusalem and in the empire·wide suppression of all Jewish obsenrances (Sabbath, circumcision, Torah study). Thl"ee terrible wars against the full might of the Roman Empire had affected not only the Jewish homeland but Jews throughout the Diaspora as well. Pagans had devastated that homeland, paganized Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple, and were attempting to suppress Judaism itself. What, then, would more and moreJews, would most Jews, would all other Jews think of one Jewish group which advocated fellowship with pag-
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those three wars that made inevitable the isolation of Christian Judaism and, with no middle ground any longer possible, its eventual replacement by Christian Paganism. Btll what if those wars had not taken place? What would have happened to a Christian Judaism still inclusive of apocalyptically acceptable pagans in that very different situation? And what would have happened as apocalyptic consummation failed to materialize? The What If oj Persecutions

After those first three events-the move of significant Christian Jews to Jerusalem and thence to other cities, the acceptance of pagans into the Christian Jewish community under apocalyptic dispensation, and the three terrible wars against Rome both inside and outside the Jewish homeland-was it then inevitable that the triumphant banner of the Cross would finally be erected on the ruins of the Capitol, to borrow Gibbon's famous phrase? I do not think so because there is still one ultimate comrafactual question: what if Rome had proscribed the Christian religion by the year 50 or even 150 rather than by the year 250 when it was far too late? That question does not derogate in any way from the suffering of chosen individuals or local groups under persecution from their neighbors or execution from their governors. My question concerns an empire-wide persecutional policy and such did not exist until the middle of the third century. What I ask myself to imagine is an alternative policy which proscribed Christianity as inimical to the Roman Empire, made the property of Christians forfeit to their accusers, and the life of Christians forfeit to their judges. Instead, the Roman Empire adopted a general policy of "don't ask, don't tell" and a particular policy of selecti\'e execution that created just enough martyrs to strengthen or invigorate the new religion but not enough to weaken or destroy it The first time when an empire-wide proscription might have been promulgated was in the year 49 when, according to Suetonius' The LIVes oj the Caesars, in The Deified ClmuLill.s 5.25, "Since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chrestus [=Christ?], he expelled them from Rome." At that stage imperial policy combined Christian Jews and other Jews as one common group whose internal struggles deserved general expul· sian. It was probably unlikely that any worse fate would have re-

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suited from those disturbances, but Suelonius reminds us a few lines later that Claudius "utterly abolished the cruel and inhuman religion of the Druids among the Gauls, which under Augustus had merely been prohibited to Roman citizens." What if Claudius had decided to do the same for the Christians among tile Jews? The second time when an empire-wide prohibition might have occurred was about fifteen years later under Nero. Mter the great Roman fire of July 64, in order to appease the terrified populace and exculpate himself, Nero blamed, according to Tacitus' Annals 15.44, "and punished with the utmost refinements of cruelty a class of men, loathed for their vices, who the crowd styled Christians ... First, then, the confessed members of the sect were arrested; next, on their disclosures vast numbers were convicted, not so much on the count of arson as for hatred of the human race." On the one hand, misamhropy \\IaS exactly the same charge Tacitus leveled at the Jews themselves in his Histories 5.5, and such a charge never generated an empire-wide proscription ofJudaism. On the other, when misanthropy led to urban arson, an empire-wide prohibition of Christianity would not have been unthinkable. Maybe, of course, such a decree coming from Nero as the Julio-Claudian dynasty staggered into extinction, might have had a reverse effect, but, one way or another, it never happened. Roman Christians died in agony but elsewhere there were no repercussions. It is also clear that by 64 the Roman authorities could distinguish quite clearly between the religiollsly different Christian Jews and other Jews and/ or between the ethnically different Christians and Jews. They could persecute "Christians" without touching "Jews." The third time when a general proscription was possible is the most important instance of all. This is when the "don't ask, don't tell" policy was officially and programmatically established around 112 in the correspondence between Pliny the Younger and the emperor Trajan. As the latter's emergency governor of BithyniaPontus on the southern Black Sea coast, Pliny found Christianity accused of disturbing local economic relationships concerning temples, animals, and sacrifices. He admitted, however, according to Letters 10.96, that even after tonuring two deaconesses, he could discover only a community which met together but only to hymn Christ antiphonally as "a god," which swore together but only not to do "any wicked deeds," and which ate together but only "food

of an ordinary and innocent kind." So whal, dear Trajan, do I do with these Christians? The emperor's response fixed policy for

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about the next 150 years. It declared three principles, according to Letters 10.97. First, do not go and search out Christians. Sec· ond, do not punish them as long as they repent. Third, do not acct:pt allunYIIlOu:s accusatiuns ut:cauSt: wt: du lIut uu that surt uf

stuff anymore. On the one hand, Christianity waS not declared exempt from pagan and imperial worship as was Judaism. On the other, Christianity was, surely, a strange type of crime, one not to be sought out and one to be forgiven upon repentance. That was the moment when pagan Roman policy towards Christianity guaranteed pagan Roman destruction by Christianity. The alternative, an early and empire-wide proscription of Christianity would almost certainly have guaranteed the extinction of that religion in its infancy. ABSTRACT

Granted that the historical Jesus existed and was confessed as Christ and Lord, what might have changed earliest Cht'istianity ulted)' or even stopped it completely? I propose four cvents which would have altered Christianit)' beyond at least my CapaCil} to imaginc. What if all of carlicst Christianity had stayed among the small hamlets of rural Galilee rather than some of it moving immediately to great cities like Jerusalem, Damascus, and Antioch? What if earliest Clll'islianity had not accepted pagans alongside Je,,·s within the new csch:Hological COllllnunity of God? What if lhree revolts within seventy years. inside and outside the Jewish homeland, had not brought down upon it the destructive \'engeance of the Roman empire? What if that same empire had not adopted a ~don't ask, don't tell" attitude towards earliest Christianity but made it immediately a forbidden superstition?

IF JERUSALEM STOOD: THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM AND CHRISTIAN ANTI:/UDAISM PHEME PERKINS Boston Colwgr

A War withQut Cause

00 wars have a reason? The currenl furor over a reVISIOnist view of Britain's entry into the First World War shows that even the most established historical conclusions can be challenged. l Historians look for the cumulative, fatal steps which bring belligerents to the point from which they can no longer turn hack from disastrous conflict. For the Jewish hislOrian, Josephus, his countrymen reached that point when a pro-rebellion party gained control of the high priesthood and Temple in Jerusalem. The}' threw down the gauntlet by rejecting offerings from foreigners and canceling the daily sacrifices on behalf of the Roman emperor. Internal strife broke out among the leaders of the people. Experts cited prece-

dents in the Law for such sacrifices. King Agrippa sent lJ'oops in support of those who sought to pull back from the breech (War 2.408-67). In the end, all such attempts failed. Violence spilled over into skirmishes between Jewish and Gentile residents of surrounding cities. Hatred be(\veen the Jewish community and the populace of Alexandria erupted again (War 2.488-508). The rebellion among diaspora Jews in 116-117 cr would spell the end of prominent Jewish colonies in Egypt and Cyrenaica. 2 Diaspora Jews were not indifferent to the fate of the Jerusalem Temple. 3 After the revolt, offerings once sent for its support were extended and converted to Roman use for the temple of Jupiter

Sce Niall Ferguson, The Pity oj War (New York: Basic Books, 1999). John M.G. Barclay,jew.! in the Medilnraneml Diaspora: From Altxander to Trajan (323 BCE-I / 7 CE) (Berkeley: University of California Press. 1996), pp. 11. 36, 74-79. ~ Philo's accouTlIs of Temple offerings and envoys from lhe diaspora tOJerusaI

2

lelll (I..Pgal 155-5(;: Sf'''''. l.pg. 1.57_7S) ~hnw Slrnng ,ies rn rhe aCIIl,,1 Tcmp"·. Al_

legorical interprelation (as in Vg. All. 3.11) docs not undermine lhe significance of the Holy Place. Sce PedeI' Borgen, PIli{o oj AltxlIndria: An EXfgelt Jar His Time (NT Sup, 86; Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 18-21.

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Capitolinus (War 7.218; Cassius Dio, Hisl 66.7.2). In Egypt, it meant that Jews had to be registered. The social significance of that registration should not be underestimated. A community that once prided itself on being as much a cultured elite as the "Greeks" was now lower than the Egyptian peasanlS. 4 The Sibylline oracles register the shock in response to the Temple's destruction (Sib. 01'.5.398-401): "I saw the second Temple thrown headlong, soaked in fire by an impious hand, the ever-nourishing guardian Temple of God made by holy people." For Tacitus' Roman audience, heavenly portents indicated that the gods had departed the Temple and approved the imperial ascendancy of ule Flavian victors (Hist. 5.13)." Scholars have tended to emphasize the bar Kochba I"ebellion as the definitive end to aJewish Christian presence inJudea. 6 Only non:Jewish Christians remained in Jerusalem (Eusebius, /-list. Eccl. 4.5). Would either the diaspora rebellion with its disastrous consequences for Alexandrian Jewry or the bar Kochba uprising with the harsh divisions between Christian Jews who refused to suppon the messianic claims of Simon bar Kochba Uustin Manyr, Dial. 31.6)7 have occurred if that earlier revolt had not ended in the fiery destruction of the Temple city? Probably not. The anti-Roman fury of the Sibylline oracles (Sib. Or. 5.150-78) renects the ideological passion behind the events of 116-17 CF.. 8 Barclay,jf'tJs, pp. 7&77. Manin Goodman, "jews, Greeks ,lIld Romans," ill M. Goodman (ed.),jell!S ill u Gm:t>-Romun World (Oxford: ClarcndOIl Prcss, 1998), p. 7. Goodman obscrvcs that thc silcncc conccrning thc lallcr rebcllion should not be intcrprctcd as lack of importance to Roman policy in thc East. An ~inglol'iousM connict had no l'OIe in Hadrian's imperial propaganda. 6 See j .D.G. Dunn, Tht Par/iugs of the Ways betw,en Christionity (!.lid jurlaism and Their Significance for th, Charnettr of Chrislirmil)' (Philadelphia: Trinit}, Press Intcrnational. 1991), pp. 23()..50; Stcphcn G. \Vilson, IlL/atttl Strangers: jews and Chris· tians 70-/70 c.E. (Minncapolis: FOrlrcss Press. 1995). pp. 4-9. 7 Richard Bauckharn ("jews andjcwish Chrislians in thc Land of Israel at thc Time of the Bar Kochba War, with spccial reference to the Apocalypse of Pctcr,~ in Graham N. Stanton & Guy G. Stroumsa (eds.), To/trunce allli/nlolt:rullu ill farly Judaism und Christiunity [Cambridge: Cambridge UniversilY Press. 19981. pp. 22829) pointS out that the bar Kochba leiters provide indepcndcnt confirmation of se\'crc mcasures takcn against any jews who did not join his rebellion. Christians wcrc not singled Ollt as Christians. However. thcir belief ill jesus mcssiah made it unlikely that Christians would support a movcmcnt whose lcader claimed to be God's anointed. Drh'cn from jerus.11ctll, any who had not supported the rcbellion would find thcmselves unwelcomc amolllo:" the rcfuj;tcs in Galilec. Thus Bauckhalll concludcs that lhc bar Kochba rcbellion may havc spellcd the cnd of jcwish Christianity wcst of thc jordan (p. 235). ~ So Barclay,Jews, pp. 22&27. Barclay notcs that ajudcan refugec WllO Slirred i

~

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To return to the murky issue of cause, both Josephus and early Christian traditions blame fateful moments of choice in which conciliatory and moderate voices were overwhelmed by those seeking armed confrontation. Prophetic sayings attributed to Jesus (Luke 13:34-35; 19:41-44) embraced both the crucifixion ofJesus and the later destruction of Jerusalem as examples of flawed judgment.9 These sayings do not invoke divine punishment for the death of Jesus as cause of Jerusalem's fall. 1O Faced with the tragic result of human folly, Luke invites readers to consider the possibility that events might have been othenvise (v. 42).11 This question concerns both Jewish history in general and the particular question of how Christians came to represclll their rools in God's covenant with the people of IsraeL Without the evenls of 66-70 eE, the Gospel narratives would tell the story from the perspective ofJews who believe in Jesus messiah, not from that of a movemelll dominated by non:Jews. Christian sources see in the destruClion of the Temple powerful confirmation of Jesus' word (Mark 13:2).12 The "just punishment" view appears in the Gospels (Matt. 22:6-7; Mark 12:9). Christians also began attributing their own sufferings to Jewish opposition (e.g. I Thess. 2:14-16), even when

Jf'WS

h"rI nOlhing 10 rio with tht' situ:uion. 13 Such claims

up rebellion in Cyrene (Josephus. lVar 7.437-53) may have represented the interests of less assimilated lower class jews. However, lhe Roman retaliation included lllany of the propertied class. Oepl'i\'cd of leaders inclined toward accommodation, the jewish community in Cyrene was ..ipe fOl' the subsequent rebellion (Barclay, Jews, pp. 239-42). 9 See joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According /0 Luke X-XXIV (New York: Doubleday, 1985), pp. 1034-36. Luke 13:34-35 adopts the genre of prophetic lament (comparejeremiah's lament over the death of josiah in 2 Chron. 35:25), Whether the abandoned "house~ refers to the Temple or to the city as a whole cannOt be deLCrmined. Fitzmyer nOtes that 4QFlor 1.5-6 speaks of the abandoned house and in 4QFlor 1.10 bit is explained as zar'likii ~your offspring." The phrase echoesjer. 22:5 (pp. 1036-37). Luke 19:41-44 has been formulated as a reflection on the city's fate at the hands of the Romans combined with traditional language about Nebuchadnezzar's capture of the city (Pl'. 1254-55). 10 This explanation was already employed in the allegory of Matt 22:6-7 and is assumed 10 be the meaning of Luke 19:44 by Origen (see c. CiLium 2.8). 11 Fitzmyer's translation, "\VQuld that )'ou, n.Jnl JOll, had recog'P1iud,~ highlights the pathOS of the verse (Fitzmyer, Luke, p. 1258). I' This tradition, in turn, led Chri~tianjews to dissociate themseh'es from bar Kochba's claim to be God's agent who would reStore and rebuild the Temple (so Bauckham, ".Jews and Jewish Christians,~ pp. 232-33). n judith Lieu (MAccusations ofJewish Persecutions in Early Christian Sources, with Particular Refcrence to justin Martyr and the Martyrdom of Polyca'l),M in Stanton and Stroumsa (cds.). "lblerance and Intolerance, pp. 280-83) points OUt that

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would not have become fixed in the Christian imagination if con· ciliato!)' voices had stemmed the move toward rebellion in 66-67 CEo Nor is the association between anti:Judaism and the fall of Jerusalem peculiar to Christian sources. Tacitus introduced his report of Titus' great military victory with an account of Jewish origins crafted to show that despite its antiquity, the Jewish way of life is abominable and impious (Hisl. 5.1-6). His histol)' fixed the Greco-Egyptian version of anti:Judaism as common property in tJle Western tradition. 14 Roman antipathy toward the spread ofJewish customs antedates the Jewish War. Cicero's Pro Fiacco warns of the political dangers of such a closely knit group (Pro Plar. 28.66). Tiberius expelled Egyptians and Jews in 19 BCE in what appears to be a move against foreign cults that were attracting adherents (Tacitus, An'n. 2.85.4; Suetonius, Tiberius 36; Cassius Dio, Hisl. 67.18.5) .15 Would such sentiments, of themselves, support the emergence of anti:Judaism among Gentile Christians who had to establish both lineage and identity for their community? Probably nolo Without the Jewish War-and its literal)' remains in Josephus, Tacitus and the Christian canon-Jews would not be distinguished from other ethnic groups. Martin Goodman points out that "if knowledge of Juda· ism was not greatly augmented by the survival of much internal literature presclved for special reasons by later Jews and Chris· tians, historians would still be a""He of the Jews as a distinct eth· nic and religious group, but Jews would not seem anything like as marginal in the Greco-Roman world as they do when their own, often jaundiced, views of the outside provide the basis for under· standing them."IB Jerusalem and the Public Image ojJews

Whatever the intent of the portrayal of Jews in Acts, their reli· gious and political authority is inextricably bound up with Jerusa· lem and its Temple. Christians assemble there (Acts 2:46; 3: 11·26; 21:23·26), and they remain subject to disciplinary actions of its Christians had a fixed perception that they were persecuted by ~Jews~ ill rulfilment or prophetic texIS concerning lhe suffering or [he righteous. Ii See Peter Scharer,./udtophobia: Allituda toward the Jews in the Ancimt World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. 1997). pp. 15-33. 1~ Scharer, JluftOfJhobia. pp. 108-111. 16 Goodman, MJews," p. 13.

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authorities (4:1-4). Opposition to that order leads to martyrdom (6:8-8:1) and the scattering of Christians outside the city (8:1-8). A mob seeks to kill Paul on a rumor that he brought one of his non-Jewish converts beyond the barrier that separated Jew and non:lew (21 :27-31). Roman intelvention providentially results in the apostle's witness to the gospel in Rome (23:11; 28:17-31)but not before two years of imprisonment during which Jewish leaders are described as plotting to have the aposLle tried in a hostile Jerusalem, or even assassinated (23: 12-22). These events confirm the picture of Jews and civic politics eSlablished by Luke's narrative. Jews stir up trouble for innocent Christians, accusing them of disregard for the Law and Roman order (17:6-7; 18:13; 24:12·13), even though it is they who generate civic discord. Such narratives reinforce the Christian tendency to see themselves as victims ofJewish malice. Stephen Wilson remarks, "Luke's distinctive approach is to project the relationship between Jews and Christians onto the public stage and in the presence of a third party. In so doing, of course, the dispute ceases to be intra mums. Christian enmity loward Jews becomes a public affair."'7 Is this public enmity linked to the Jewish War? The peculiar detail of Paul's exchange with the Tribune in Acts 21 :37-39 assumes that the reader would be familiar with the sicarii Uosephus, Ant. 20.186). The Tribune mistakes Paul for an Egyptian Jew whose band had been repulsed by Felix Uosephus, War 2.261-63; Ant. 20.169-72).18 To the Tribune, Paul presents himself as aJew of impeccable civic credentials, "citizen" ofTarsus. 19 This declaration anticipates the dramatic claim of inherited Roman citizenship superior to that bought by the Tribune at 22:25--29. 20 To the crowd, Paul presents himself as a zealous Jew with strong ties to Jerusalem. Obedient to divine revelation, he joined the movement he had once persecuted. God sent Paul from an unbelieving Jerusa-

l'

Wilson, Hewlfd Stral/grTS, pp. 67-71. Barrctl, A Critical alld Exegetiral Commenlary 011 tlu Acts of the Apostks. Volume II. II/Iraduclion al1d Co1lltrUmimy OIl Acts XV-XXVIII (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1998), pp. 1024-26. 19 Whethcr or notJcws werc technically enrollcd citizens of Tarsus as lhe IeI'm politiS suggcslS remains in doubt for lack of secure evidence (Barrelt, Acts XV· XXVIII. p. 1026). 20 Thc basis for Paul's claim has also been challenged by hiSlorians, since Paul nevcr makes such a claim in his lellers. Lukc's readers may have assumed that he carried a document allcsling to his cilizen origins (see Barren. Acls XVXXl'lll, pp. 1048-49). 18

c.K.

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lem to the Gentiles (22:1-21). Paul has indirectly answered the charges of inciting people to disrespect the Temple and abandon the Jewish way of life (21 :21_29).ZI The violence which eruplS when Paul speaks of his divinely sanctioned departure (22:21-23) proves the crowd umvilling to accept God's revelation. If God sends the apostle away from Jerusalem, should one not anticipate God's own departure? Could this account with its strain of anti:Judaism have even been formulated without the events of 66-70 CE? Hardly. Even the most virulent legends concerning the expulsion of Jews from Egypt as polluted lepers recognize that they became a nation by banding together in Judea and founding Jerusalem. 22 The status of Jerusalem as the civic and religious center ofJewish identity had been enhanced by the building program of Herod the Creat, whose architectural projects echoed and even influenced Augustan Rome. 23 Initial construction on the Temple began after Augustus' visit to Syria (ca. 20 BeE). Shortly after its dedication to celebrate Herod's accession (17 BeE), Herod visited Rome. Augustus' mausoleum may have inspired his Herodion. z4 The Antonia fortress exemplifies Herod's practice of naming buildings or even whole cities after Roman leaders. z:, The Temple was legendary for length of construction, some seventy years (Josephus, War 5.184-237; Ant. 15.380-423). Herod, himself, was more interested in the buildings that made up the area, the stoas, basilicas, and other Roman elements (Philo, Spec. Leg. 71), than the Temple sannuary.26 The awed reaction of Jesus' disciples (Mark 13:1-2) reflects the impact of such monumental architecture on the visitor. Was the Temple with its Herodian (and Roman) associations the focus of rebellious discontent by dispossessed Galilean peasants? Jesus' prediction that God would lake the vineyard away fmm its present tenants and bestow it on others (Mark 12:9) has been

21 Barrett, Acts XV-XXVIII. pp. 1031-32. :rz Schafer. JlUlwPhobifl, pp. 15-22.

23 See Duane \-\1. Roller, The Building {'rogmlll of Hrrod the Great (Berkeler Uni· versily of Califomia Press. 1998), pp. 33-53. 2i Roller, BUIlding Program. pp. 6&-73. 2~ Rollcr, Buill/jug Program, pp. 87, 175-76. The only Roman slructure 10 rc· tain its idclltification with ~lark Amonr aftcr 30 110:. Its function was primarily mililary, to solidify Hcrod's COlllrol of the city, Jlot to guard the Tcmple are as Herod lalcr claimed Oosephus, Ani. 15.292). 'l6 Rollcr. Bwlding Program. p. 177.

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interpreted as a call to rebellion against the Jerusalem elite. 27 At· tempts to allribute this view to Jesus or Palestinian Christians prior to the Temple's destruction discount the civic and religious pride evoked by this stunning architectural achievemenl. Destruction of the Temple would be nothing less than divine judgment against the nation. Such condemnation is the intent of Mark 12;9, as its links with lsa. 5: 1·5 suggesl. 28 And ifJerusalem stood? Jewish exegesis read the vineyard song of Isaiah 5 as a sign of God's mercy and the eternal election of Israel. 29 The Christian inversion of this tradition into a permanent mark of divine condemnation against Israel would not have been plausible. The violence in the parable as well as the sufferings of Mark J3:9-13 may represent the fate of Christians in the turmoil of the Jewish War. 30 A series of coins illustrates the public function of temple architecture. A coin of Agrippa I (43/44 a) shows the facade of the temple of Augustus and Roma at Caesarea. Another of Philip (8/ 9 CE), the temple of Augustus at Paneion (?). Finally, a tetradrachm from the bar Kochba revolt (132 CE) shows the facade of the Jerusalem Temple.~1 Clearly the I-Ierodian dynasts advertise their construction of temples to Augustus as evidence of ties to the Roman imperial family. The coin from the second revolt suggests that rebuilding the Jerusalem Temple was envisaged as a component of restored independence. This series of coins exhibits the public, political significance of temple building in antiquity. When Jerusalem stood, diasporaJews appealed to Roman power LO protecL the funds collecLed for Jerusalem from being confiscaLed by local civic officials (Josephus, :n James D. Hester, MSocio-rhetoricaJ Criticism and the Parable of the Tenants," JSNT 45 (1992), pp. 27-57; Craig A. Evalls, ~Jesus' Par-..bJe of the Tenant Farmcrs in LiglH of Lease Agrcclllcllls in Antiquity,~ jSP 14 (1996), pp. 65-83; Edward H. Horne, MThc Parable of the Tcnants as Indietment.~ JSNT 71 (1998), pp. 111-16. 28 Joel Marcus. ~The Intertextual Polemic of the Markan Vineyard Parable,~ in Stanton and StrOllll1Sa (cds.), To{enl1lcea"d I"tolerance, pp. 211-13. Marcus notes that Mark has deliberately misread Isaiah. In Isaiah, the vineyard suffers damage. In Mark, lhe tenants are destroyed. :19 ~'Iarcus treats lhe allusion to Isa. 5 in a vel)' fmgmenlary text 4QBentdiction (4Q500) as equating lhe Vineyard 10 the garden of Eden. He also notes that rabbinic tradition inverts the Isaiah text by having pagans vandalize the vineyard out of hatred for its owncr (Ptsiq. Rob. Ka/I. 16.9; p. 215). 50 So Marcus, ~Polemic,M p. 217. 51 Roller, Building Program, p. 198.

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Ant. 16. 162-65). City officials probably resented the fact thatJews sent money to Jerusalem and did not contribute LO maintaining temples that were the focus of local civic identity. They had reason LO reject Jews seeking LO be enrolled as citizens in the polis,~2 Imposition of the "Jewish tax" at the conclusion of the War might have lessened the on-going tensions between Jews and their neighbors in these cities. That Asia Minor Jews did not participate in either the revolt of 66-70 CE or 116-117 CE suggests that Herod's Temple was emblematic of Jewish integration illlO the Roman order, not of opposition to il.~~ Josephus reflects the sentiments of moderately assimilated, upper class Jews when he concludes that Titus cannot have ordered the burning and looting of the Temple. It must have been carried out by disobedient, unruly troops (War 6,254-77). Titus' subsequent progress through tbe province of Syria, besLOwing tbe spoils on its cities and displaying captives (War 7.20, 36-40, 96) makes this account implausible to us, but not necessarily to ancient readers. Josephus explains that on his return through the ruined city, Titus did not boast that he had conquered such a mighty fortress, but lamented the splendor and greatness brought down by the folly of a few (War 7.119-

20). Re-visioning the Christian Nwmtive When outsiders spoke of persons in their own cities as "Jews," they implied Judean origins or worship of a god whose sanctuary was in Judea.~4 As a whole, the Gospel narratives advance a strikingly supercessionist socio-religious agenda in image", which alludes to the destruction of that sanctua",.~s The veil to the Barclay, jews. pp. 271-78. Barclay, jews, p. 281, 3i See the extensive discussion of {he complex meanings of 'Jew- illcluding the problem of Herod as 'Jcw- in Sharc J.D. Cohcn, The Beginnings ojjewishness: Boundaries, Varielies. Uncmlli"ties (Berkcley: University of California. 1999), pp, 3--106. 3~ Excgetes generally treat John 19:30 as a declaration that Jcsus has accomplished the mission for which he was scnt by the Father (john 17:1-5; see Raymond E. Brown. The Death of the MeJSiah I New York: Doubleday, 1994]. IIp. 107778). However, Fran{ois Blanchetiere suggests that the narrath'e would also have 1I~ r~:l(1 ~il i~ finidw(l- a~ Iht' f'ml In JlIdai~m (KTlw Thrt'f'rnld r:hri~riar1 AnTi. Judaism,M in Stanton and Stroumsa [eds.], Toltrarll:eond Intolerance, p. 187).John'$ gospel substiUltcs thc body of The riscn Jesus for the deslro)"ed Temple (john 2:13-22) and true worship of God, without temple buildings, for the cultic sanc· 32

33

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sanctuary is symbolically rent when Jesus dies on the cross (Mark 15:38),36 Contrary to Israel's sense of divine election, the Gospels assert that God has rejected Israel for a new covenant people, those who confess Jesus as messiah. 37 After 70 CE, evcl),day life continued for most Jews with little change.:i8 Those living in Palestine between 70 and 110 CE probably did not expect the Temple to remain in ruins. 39 But the Christian slory soon became deeply entwined in an antijudaism thal was supported by a Jerusalem in ruins. Such principled antiTemple ideology as one finds in the speeches of Acts 7:44-50 and 17:24-25 shows that for Luke, at least, the time for Jerusalem and its Temple was over (Luke 21:24).<10 [fJerusalem stood, such claims would not have been credible. Blanchetiere proposes that the deep seated "fear of the jews" in the Fourth Gospel (john 7:13; 9:22; 12:42; 20:19,26) and Acts (12: I, 17) stems from the experiences of Nazarenes (jewish Chris· tians) in judea and Galilee during the jewish War and ilS after· math. 41 If jerusalem slood, the Nazarenes would have remained embedded in the jewish communities of judea and Galilee. The Fourth Gospel formalizes both "fear of the jews" and jesus' triumphant witness "to the world" in terms of synagogue and Temple (john 18:20). The jerusalem Temple and ilS feaslS are the center of jesus' activity in that Gospel. 42 With fine-tuned irony, the evangelist reminds his readers that jewish leaders-not the actions of jesus and his followers-led to the Roman destruction of the city (john 11:45-53). This result coheres with the consistent charges throughout the Gospel that the "jews" are untrue to their own tradition. They do not grasp the testimony of Scripture (5:39-40; 10:31-39), the Torah (7:19) or of their ancestor, Abraham (8:39tllaries of both Samaritans and Jews (4: 19-26). Scholars have also recognized that a paltern ofJewish feasts and symbols for which Jesus is the sllbHitlilc dominates John's narrative (see Raymond E. Brown, TM Gospe/ According /ojohn (I·XlI) [AB, 29; New York: Doubleday, 1966], pp. 201-204). 56 Brown, Death, pp. 1098-1106. n Blancheti6'e, "Christian Anti:Judaism," p. 187. 56 This continuity was e\'en lIUC for Jews living ill Palestine, so Doron Mendels, The Rise and Fall of jf:wish Na/iolla/ism: jewish Qlld Chris/iall Elhnici/y in Allcitm/ Palestine (Grand Rapids: Ecrdmans. 1992). pp. 201, 253. !19 Mendels, jewish Nationalism, p. 254. 010 Wilson, Strtmger, pp. 63-64. Mpp. 189-91. 41 BlanchCticre, ~Chrislian Anti:Judaism. 42 Judith M. Lieu, ~Tell1ple and Synagogue inJohn,M NTS45 (1999), pp. 5169.

DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM AND CHRISTIAN ANTI-JUDAISM

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44).'" Pilate forces theJewish leaders to reject the kingship ofJesus (and God) for that of Caesar (19:15). BOlh Luke 19:42-44 and John 11:45.53 link the fall of Jerusa· lem with failure to receh'e Jesus messiah. Luke 19:28-44 has Jesus make a royal entry to the city without the appropriate social recognition: appearance of civic officials outside the city to greet the dignitary on approach, a hierarchically ordered crowd of the people in festal clothing and the like..... Everyone knew that cities tendered the insult of an inappropriate welcome to kings and their emissaries at considerable peril. Jesus' disciples presume that brimstone would be suitable punishment for the Samal;tan village that refused him a welcome (Luke 9:52_54).45 These examples indicate that the canonical Gospels have invested the fall of Jerusalem with considerable importance at the rhetorical level. Whether it is the ironic comment on the cause of the city's disaster in Luke and John, the symbolism of the withered, fruitless fig tree framing Jesus' cleansing of the Temple in Mark (Mark 11: 12-21), or the angry king who sends an expedition to destroy the city of those who refuse the wedding invitation in Matt. 22:7, each ev.angelist has gone beyond Jesus' prophetic word concerning the fate of the Temple (Mark 13:2). The evan· gelists ha\"e exploited the fate ofJerusalem as a powerful piece of evidence in favor of their claims about Jesus as Israel's messiah. Look what happened to Jerusalem, they say. One neglects the advent of this divinely anointed king to one's peril. Had Jerusalem stood, Christianity would have retained a religious center in Jerusalem. It could not so rapidly dispense with the Temple as focus of God's presence. Paul's personal conflicts with Jewish Christian autho.·ities like James could not have been so quickly generalized as founding statements for a new co,·enant people. If Jerusalem stood, fo.·ms of tradition which antedate our present Gospels might be Christian ScripLUre: Jesus' prophetic words, wisdom sayings and parables; Jesus' mighty deeds; Jesus' debates with other religious authorities, even Jesus' death and resurrection as the fate of Cod's righteous one. Christianity would 4) Robert K)'s:l.r. ·Anti-Semitism and the Gospel or John,· in Craig A. E\~..ns and Donald A. HOlgner (eds.), A"li..&nflll511f a"d Early Christia"i,,: [nun of Poinnic a"d Faith (Minneapolis: fonress Prcss, 1993), p. 115. 44 Brcnt Kinman, ·ParousiaJesus: ·f\.Triumphar Entry. and thc Fate orJenlsalem (Luke 19.28-44): JBL 118 (1999). pp. 279-94. 4) Kinman, KParousia Jesus.- pp. 283-84.

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own its Jewish roots by birthright and incorporation of Gentiles into God's people. It would Ilot have buill a heritage of anti:Judaism into its narratives or turned the ruins or Cod's holy place into weapons against those who did not accept Jesus as messiah-antiJudaism would not be inscribed in Christian imagination. ABSTRACT

Asking what would have been the case had the Jewish War of 6&-70 CE 110t ended with the destruction of the Temple demonstrates the momentous consequence! of those events for the histol)' of Christianity and of ami:Judaism in \Vcslenl culture. ThaI the war might not have occurred or might have been nipped in the bud is a consensus view ofJewish. Roman and primitive Christian authors. That its consequences fueled a perception of Jews as abominable or rightly abandoned by their own God call be documented in both Roman and Chrinian texlS. I~ut the most disastrous consequence of the evenlS of 6&70 C£ was thc ami':1udaism which is embedded in thc Christian imagination through thc canonical Gospels, Their accounts of lhe divinely authorized breech between followers of Jesus messiah and fellow Jcws would ncvcr ha\'c becn crcdible had moderate Jcwish miccs quellcd the rcbellion. Christianity would havc rcmaincd a Jcwish movcment which incorporated Gentilcs into God's peoplc and anti':1l1~ daism would not havc becn inscribed on thc Wcstcm imagination.