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The Old Testament Journal For The Study Of: Experiment) Deuteronomistic History or Deuteronomic Debate? (A Thought
The Old Testament Journal For The Study Of: Experiment) Deuteronomistic History or Deuteronomic Debate? (A Thought
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Deuteronomistic History or
Deuteronomic Debate?
(A Thought Experiment)*
K.L. NOLL
Brandon University, 270- 18th Street, Brandon, Manitoba R7A 6A9, Canada
Abstract
This study intends to replace Martin Noth’s Deuteronomistic History hypothesis with an
approach that makes better use of all available data. Three thesis statements establish a
new paradigm for future research. First, to the extent that they have Deuteronomy in view,
the Former Prophets represent not a deuteronomistic ideology, but a Deuteronomic debate.
Second, the like-minded intellectuals who produced these scrolls did not intend to create
authoritative scripture because their writings were not intended for mass consumption.
Third, each book of the Former Prophets presents a distinctive pattern of response to
Deuteronomy, usually negative but occasionally positive. In sum, what we have in the
Former Prophets is a conversation with Deuteronomy. What we do not have, except for a
few late glosses, is deuteronomism.
* An early draft of this research was presented under the title ‘Is the Deuteronomistic
History a History? And is it Deuteronomistic?’ at the annual meeting of the Society of
Biblical Literature in Orlando, 24 November 1998. A revised version was presented as
‘Deuteronomistic History or Deuteronomic Debate?’ at the annual meeting of the SBL in
Philadelphia, 20 November 2005. I am grateful to the Brandon University Research
Committee for its generous support of this project.
do not promote the ideology of Deuteronomy, but rather flesh out and
deepen the complex characterization of story-world characters.7 The
supplemented with an anti-Samaritan insertion (vv. 24-34a) and a miscellany of very late
glosses blaming the people (not the kings) of Israel and citing alleged sins that, in the
narrative, are more common to Judah than to Israel (vv. 7-20, 34b-41). Likewise, Judg.
2.1–3.6 cannot have been a summary passage invented for the purpose of presenting a
deuteronomistic viewpoint. These verses do not agree among themselves as to why and
for what end the Canaanites have not been driven out. Moreover, the tale about an angel of
Yahweh in 2.1-5 comes from, and goes, nowhere and is surely a late gloss on this very late
addition. Above all, Judg. 2.10b, 17-18, and context paint a decidedly undeuteronomistic
scenario, a point often overlooked by scholarship. As for the summary speeches in Joshua,
ch. 12 is priestly, not deuteronomistic, and Josh. 1 is a miscellany of motifs, some of
which evolved in tandem with priestly materials in Numbers. Josh. 23 shifts from a
complete-conquest ideology to a partial-conquest ideology and back again.
7. 1 Kgs 8 serves Solomon’s characterization, but does not serve a deuteronomistic
narrator. See two works employing very different methodologies: L. Eslinger, Into the
Hands of the Living God (JSOTSup, 84; Sheffield: Almond Press, 1989), pp. 155-78, and
passim; and E. Talstra, Solomon’s Prayer: Synchrony and Diachrony in the Composition
of 1 Kings 8,14-61 (CBET, 3; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1993), pp. 83-170. Likewise, the
speeches of 1 Sam. 12 and 2 Sam. 7 serve the personal agendas of the characters Samuel
and David, respectively; see Eslinger, Into the Hands, pp. 82-104; idem, The Kingship of
God in Crisis: A Close Reading of 1 Samuel 1–12 (Bible and Literature Series; Sheffield:
Almond Press, 1985), pp. 383-424; and idem, House of God or House of David: The
Rhetoric of 2 Samuel 7 (JSOTSup, 164; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994). It is unfortunate
that the synchronic method advocated by Eslinger and others so often has been ignored by
redaction critics, though recent research is making strides to correct that error. I find
Eslinger’s approach sound except when Eslinger asserts, against his own evidence, that
biblical authors never employed the ‘unreliable narrator’ (Into the Hands, p. 31). Social
anthropology demonstrates that traditional storytellers frequently distinguish between the
self as author and the self as narrator, creating the distance required for unreliability that is
then used for creative effect (e.g. E. Tonkin, Narrating Our Pasts: The Social Construc-
tion of Oral History [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992], pp. 9, 42-49). In
biblical literature, unreliable narrators are not difficult to spot, though many scholars are
reluctant to label them as such in conformity to a prevailing bias against this alleged
anachronism. See, among others, R. Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist: A Literary
Study of the Deuteronomic History. I. Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges (New York: Seabury,
1980); idem, Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic
History. II. 1 Samuel (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989); idem, David and the Deuter-
onomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. III. 2 Samuel (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1993); J.T. Walsh, ‘The Characterization of Solomon in First
Kings 1–5’, CBQ 57 (1995), pp. 471-93; R.C. Bailey, ‘The Redemption of YHWH: A
Literary Critical Function of the Songs of Hannah and David’, BibInt 3 (1995), pp. 213-
31; K.L. Noll, The Faces of David (JSOTSup, 242; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
1997); J. D. Hays, ‘Has the Narrator Come to Praise Solomon or to Bury Him? Narrative
Subtlety in 1 Kings 1–11’, JSOT 28 (2003), pp. 149-74.
chronological system of Judges differs from the one used in Kings, and
neither Joshua nor Samuel seems influenced by these chronological
schemes, except at the level of glossing. If the chronological scheme
reflects an interest in history writing, it is late and relatively superficial.8
Also, the alleged pattern of prophecy and fulfillment does not account for
the diversity of prophetic stories in the Former Prophets (a topic to which
I will return in Section III, below).
Moreover, the very diversity of views among Noth’s defenders is
sufficient evidence that the Former Prophets do not press a unified theme
at all. The point deserves to be emphasized even though most of the data
related to it will not be pursued in this short article. For example, recent
publications question: whether the book of Kings is compatible with
Deuteronomy’s agenda for governance,9 whether the selection of judges
in the book of Judges is compatible with Deuteronomy’s agenda for
8. There is no reason to think that the Former Prophets were created as a history
narrative. Eventually, they were interpreted as something similar to Greek history writ-
ing, but they were not created with this purpose in mind. For discussion of this issue, see
K.L. Noll, ‘Is There a Text in This Tradition? Readers’ Response and the Taming of
Samuel’s God’, JSOT 83 (1999), pp. 31-51 (41-51); and idem, Canaan and Israel in
Antiquity: An Introduction (The Biblical Seminar, 83; London: Sheffield Academic Press/
Continuum, 2001), pp. 58-82. At least two scholars, apparently independently of one
another, have concluded that the Former Prophets were linked into a sequential order only
because the scrolls were originally stored on the same or adjacent shelves. P. R. Davies
suggested this in his programmatic treatise In Search of ‘Ancient Israel’ (JSOTSup, 148;
Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), pp. 125-26; T. Römer proposed a similar
hypothesis in the important essay ‘The Form-Critical Problem of the So-Called Deutero-
nomistic History’, in M.A. Sweeney and E. Ben Zvi (eds.), The Changing Face of Form
Criticism for the Twenty-First Century (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), pp. 240-52
(251). The hypothesis is probable given the superficiality with which these scrolls are
linked. Nevertheless, the process by which the final chronological system in the Former
Prophets was established must have been complex, with several experimental attempts
discarded along the way. For example, the Old Greek and the MT differ with respect to
regnal years for kings, passages such as 1 Sam. 13.1 and 1 Kgs 6.1 are awkward glosses,
and the textual variants for the books of Joshua and Judges suggest that, at one time, these
two books became linked (cf. OG Josh. 24.33). That this is evidenced at the textual level
suggests that it was not the earliest stage of either book’s existence, as will become clear
from the discussion in this article, Section II.
9. G.N. Knoppers, ‘Rethinking the Relationship between Deuteronomy and the
Deuteronomistic History: The Case of Kings’, CBQ 63 (2001), pp. 393-415; idem, ‘The
Deuteronomist and the Deuteronomic Law of the King: A Reexamination of a Relation-
ship’, ZAW 108 (1996), pp. 329-46; B.M. Levinson, ‘The Reconceptualization of King-
ship in Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History’s Transformation of Torah’, VT 51
(2001), pp. 511-34.
17. Van Seters, In Search, pp. 324-37; Na’aman, ‘Law of the Altar’.
18. T. Römer, ‘La fille de Jephté entre Jérusalem et Athènes. Réflexions à partir d’une
triple intertextualité en Juges 11’, in Intertextualités: La Bible en echoes (Le Monde de la
Bible, 40; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2000), pp. 30-42.
19. Van Seters, In Search, pp. 249-91; S.L. McKenzie, ‘The Trouble with Kingship’,
in de Pury et al. (eds.), Israel Constructs its History, pp. 286-314; cf. E. Eynikel, ‘The
Place and Function of 1 Sam 7,2-17 in the Corpus of 1 Sam 1–7’, in W. Dietrich et al.
(eds.), David und Saul im Widerstreit: Diachronie und Synchronie im Wettstreit: Beiträge
zur Auslegung des ersten Samuelbuches (OBO, 206; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht, 2004), pp. 88-101; M.E. Biddle, ‘Ancestral Motifs in 1 Samuel 25: Inter-
textuality and Characterization’, JBL 121 (2002), pp. 617-38.
20. McKenzie, Trouble with Kings, pp. 61-115.
21. B. Peckham, ‘The Significance of the Book of Joshua in Noth’s Theory of the
Deuteronomistic History’, in McKenzie and Graham (eds.), History of Israel’s Traditions,
pp. 213-34 (214-21); cf. Noth, Deuteronomistic History, p. 10, and passim.
22. For example, consider two hypotheses: R.F. Person, Jr, The Deuteronomic School:
History, Social Setting, and Literature (Studies in Biblical Literature, 2; Atlanta: Society
of Biblical Literature, 2002); T. Römer, ‘L’École deutéronomiste et la formation de la
Bible hébraïque’, in T. Römer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (Leuven:
Leuven University, 2000), pp. 179-93.
23. A variety of scholars using a variety of (sometimes incompatible) assumptions and
methods have raised a collective voice against the Nothian paradigm. Representative
examples include: E.A. Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” (DtrH) Exist?’,
in de Pury et al. (eds.), Israel Constructs its History, pp. 388-98; E. Würthwein, Studien
zum deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk (BZAW, 227; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1994),
pp. 1-11; C. Westermann, Die Geschichtsbücher des Alten Testaments: Gab es ein deuter-
onomistisches Geschichtswerk? (TB, 87; Gütersloh: Chr. Kaiser/Gütersloher Verlagshaus,
1994); Eslinger, Into the Hands; K. Schmid, ‘Das Deuteronomium innerhalb der “deuter-
onomistischen Geschichtswerke” in Gen–2 Kön’, in E. Otto and R. Achenbach (eds.), Das
25. Extensive discussion and very comprehensive bibliography on this topic can be
found in the monograph by Person, Deuteronomic School; see as well the following
important more recent works, also including valuable bibliography: A. Schenker, Älteste
Textgeschichte der Königsbücher: Die hebräische Vorlage der ursprünglichen Septua-
ginta als älteste Textform der Königsbücher (OBO, 199; Fribourg: Fribourg Academic
Press, 2004); idem (ed.), The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible: The Relationship between
the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuagint Reconsidered (SBLSCS, 52;
Atlanta: SBL, 2003); two essays in the same volume: J. Hutzli, ‘Mögliche Retuschen am
Davidbild in der massoretischen Fassung der Samuelbücher’, pp. 102-15, and A.G. Auld,
‘The Story of David and Goliath: A Test Case for Synchrony Plus Diachrony’, pp. 118-28,
both in Dietrich et al. (eds.), David und Saul im Widerstreit. There are scholars who
dissent from this consensus about the textual evidence in the Former Prophets. For one
recent example, see N. F. Marcos, ‘The Hebrew and Greek Texts of Judges’, in Schenker
(ed.), Earliest Text, pp. 1-16.
26. N.F. Lohfink, ‘Was There a Deuteronomistic Movement?’, in Schearing and
McKenzie (eds.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists, pp. 36-66 (48-55). Lohfink’s observa-
tions are logical and difficult to ignore: Deuteronomy envisions itself as existing in, at
most, two manuscript copies. All redactional models not dependent on textual variation
are valid if, and only if, every manuscript copy of the work was still available to the small
group of scribes engaged in redactional work. Thus, at most, a handful of manuscript
copies existed and probably all in one location, just as Deuteronomy implies. Lohfink’s
observations are compatible with research on bookmaking in the ancient world. An author
or group of authors could revise a manuscript any number of times, but the document was
no longer under the author’s control the moment that circulation began, a problem about
which many ancient authors complained. For discussion and comprehensive bibliography
on this topic, see H.Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of
Early Christian Texts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995). For additional recent
research on scribes, literacy, and book production in the ancient world, with bibliography,
see J.L. Crenshaw, Education in Ancient Israel: Across the Deadening Silence (New
York: Doubleday, 1998); I.M. Young, ‘Israelite Literacy: Interpreting the Evidence’, VT
48 (1998), pp. 239-53, 408-22; E. Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the
Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ, 54; Leiden: Brill, 2004); and D.M. Carr, Writing
on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2005).
27. Two examples illustrate what I have in mind, though neither is necessarily a
decisive instance of the phenomenon: (1) the relationship of 1 Kgs 12.26-32 and 13.34 to
the MT 1 Kgs 14.1-20 seems instructive. Van Seters makes a strong case to show that the
readings in the former texts are closely related to MT 1 Kgs 14.1-20 (Van Seters, ‘Can Dtr
Avoid Death by Redaction?’, in Römer [ed.], Future of Deuteronomistic History, pp. 213-
22). The latter is not the earliest recoverable text. The Old Greek supplement in 3 Kgdms
12.24 provides a striking contrast to MT. McKenzie provides evidence to suggest that the
earliest version, preceding both OG and MT, was a predeuteronomistic narrative roughly
equivalent to MT 1 Kgs 14.1-6, 10-13 (14), 17-18. This is not, however, McKenzie’s
conclusion (cf. McKenzie, Trouble with Kings, p. 30); moreover, it is entirely possible that
all the texts under consideration are stage-two additions (cf. A. Schenker, ‘Jeroboam and
the Division of the Kingdom in the Ancient Septuagint: LXX 3 Kingdoms 12.24 a-z, MT
1 Kgs 11–12; 14 and the Deuteronomistic History’, in A. de Pury et al. [eds.], Israel
Constructs its History, pp. 214-57). (2) Na’aman makes an excellent case for the late
redactional additions found in Deut. 11.26-30; 27.1-26; Josh. 8.30-35; and portions of
Josh. 24 (Na’aman, ‘Law of the Altar’, pp. 141-61). If these passages evolved in roughly
the manner Na’aman outlines (which can be disputed), then passages that can be identified
Thus, two stages, each involving more than one layer of redactional
change, are unequivocally indicated by the evidence. Within each of the
two stages, the multiple layers of redactional change are more difficult to
discern, and will not be the focus in this short, programmatic article.
Suffice it to say that the redactional process in each of the two stages must
have been too complex for comprehensive reconstruction by modern
exegetes.
If the relative chronology is clear for these two stages of redactions,
can absolute dates be assigned to them? Probably not with precision, and
yet a number of observations, seemingly unrelated, converge to permit a
reasonable general hypothesis. When one permits internal data from the
text of the Former Prophets to interact with external data concerning both
the history of narrative origin traditions and the process of canonical
formation, an interesting picture begins to emerge.
To begin with external data, it seems likely that the Elephantine Jews
did not possess knowledge of biblical books, which suggests that biblical
scrolls might not yet have been in circulation in the late Persian era.28 This
is interesting when one considers the diversity of narrative traditions
about Jewish origins in the Hellenistic era. Hecataeus of Abdera knew
little or nothing of the traditions in the Former Prophets and gave Moses a
role in Jerusalem (cf. 1 Sam. 12.8). Demetrius and Eupolemus demon-
strate that when these documents were known, they were not treated as
definitive accounts of past events, and another non-Jewish author,
as secondary in the textual variants are related to other redactional elements lacking
textual variants. These two examples illustrate the idea, though I do not necessarily
endorse the suggested conclusion in either.
28. Given that Elephantine Jews were in contact with Jerusalem, the lack of biblical
evidence is a strong argument from silence. Gamble notes that Egypt could receive freshly
composed literature very quickly, at least in Roman times, as the speed with which
Irenaeus’ Against Heresies arrived in Egypt attests (Gamble, Books and Readers, p. 121).
For bibliography and some of the current thinking on the Elephantine Jewish community,
see the recent essays by B. Porten, ‘Settlement of the Jews at Elephantine and the
Arameans at Syene’, in O. Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and the Judeans in
the Neo-Babylonian Period (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2003), pp. 451-70; and E.A.
Knauf, ‘Elephantine und das vor-biblische Judentum’, in R.G. Kratz (ed.), Religion und
Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden (VWGTh, 22; Gütersloh: Chr. Kaiser
Verlag, 2002), pp. 179-88; P.-E. Dion, ‘La Religion des papyrus d’Élephantine: Un reflet
du Juda d’avant l’exil’, in U. Hubner and E.A. Knauf (eds.), Kein Land für sich allein:
Studien zum Kulturkontact in Kanaan, Israel/Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred
Weippert zum 65. Geburstag (OBO, 186; Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002),
pp. 243-54.
29. For discussion with bibliography, see L.L. Grabbe, ‘Israel’s Historical Legacy
after the Exile’, in B. Becking and M.C.A. Korpel (eds.), The Crisis of Israelite Religion:
Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times (OTS, 42; Leiden:
Brill, 1999), pp. 9-32. See also P.R. Davies, ‘Scenes from the Early History of Judaism’,
in D.V. Edelman (ed.), The Triumph of Elohim: From Yahwisms to Judaisms (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), pp. 145-82.
30. Famous examples, such as 1 Sam. 12.8; Exod. 15.20-21; Deut. 32.8-9; and Judg.
5.4, are by no means the only ones. A few additional examples: the Old Greek of Joshua
betrays an alternative exodus tradition associated not with Moses, but with Joshua himself
(see M. Rösel, ‘The Septuagint-Version of the Book of Joshua’, SJOT 16 [2002], pp. 5-23
[14-15]); van Keulen notes that if 2 Kgs 21.8a is interpreted literally, it suggests a
tradition about an exile prior to the time of the Davidic monarchy (P.S.F. van Keulen,
Manasseh through the Eyes of the Deuteronomists: The Manasseh Account [2 Kings 21.1–
18] and the Final Chapters of the Deuteronomistic History [OTS, 38; Leiden: Brill, 1996],
pp. 111-12); also, a literal reading of Chronicles implies that Israel was never exiled from
the land; at most, the Transjordanian tribes and Judah were exiled, while the Cisjordanian
Israelites suffered military distress. For discussion, see S. Japhet, ‘Exile and Restoration in
the Book of Chronicles’, in Becking and Korpel (eds.), Crisis of Israelite Religion, pp. 33-
44 (39-42). This, incidentally, places Judg. 18.30 in a different light: what event did the
original author of the verse have in mind?
writings of clearly secondary status, with the Former Prophets in the latter
category.31
A related issue is the perception of these documents as sacred or,
rather, the lack of such perception until relatively late. Eugene Ulrich
makes a strong case for the thesis that, as late as the Persian period and
probably later, most of what we now call the Hebrew Bible was literature,
not sacred literature.32 The point is worthy of comment because when
texts come to be regarded as sacred, they are less subject to editorial
alteration, a trend clearly observable in the emergence of both the
Masoretic text and the emerging Christian canon during late antiquity and
the early medieval era. Given that citations of and allusions to the Former
Prophets lagged behind the Torah, it is reasonable to conclude that the
redactional process of the Former Prophets continued to a later date than
these other scrolls, as the textual evidence suggests.
With all these observations in mind, the data from the text of the
Former Prophets that might have seemed trivial now become enlighten-
ing. First, among those portions of the Former Prophets that were
redacted in the first stage, when Lohfink’s single manuscript existed, are
passages that clearly presuppose the Babylonian exile, and passages that
employ priestly idiom or otherwise late forms of Hebrew.33 This is hardly
31. J. Trebolle, ‘A “Canon within a Canon”: Two Series of Old Testament Books
Differently Transmitted, Interpreted and Authorized’, RevQ 19 (1999–2000), pp. 383-99;
idem, ‘Origins of a Tripartite Old Testament Canon’, in L.M. McDonald and J.A. Sanders
(eds.), The Canon Debate (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), pp. 128-45, and, in the
same volume, J.C. VanderKam, ‘Questions of Canon Viewed through the Dead Sea
Scrolls’, pp. 91-109; E. Ulrich, ‘Our Sharper Focus on the Bible and Theology Thanks to
the Dead Sea Scrolls’, CBQ 66 (2004), pp. 1-24; idem, ‘Qumran and the Canon of the Old
Testament’, in J.M. Auwers and H.J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons (BETL, 163;
Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2003), pp. 57-80; idem, ‘The Non-attestation of a
Tripartite Canon in 4QMMT’, CBQ 65 (2003), pp. 202-14.
32. E. Ulrich, ‘The Notion and Definition of Canon’, in McDonald and Sanders (eds.),
Canon Debate, pp. 21-35; idem, ‘The Text of the Hebrew Scriptures at the Time of Hillel
and Jesus’, in A. Lemaire (ed.), Congress Volume: Basel, 2001 (VTSup, 92; Boston: Brill,
2002), pp. 85-108; idem, ‘Multiple Literary Editions: Reflections toward a Theory of the
History of the Biblical Text’, in D.W. Parry and S.D. Ricks (eds.), Current Research and
Technological Developments on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Conference on the Texts from the
Judaean Desert, Jerusalem 30 April 1995 (Leiden: Brill, 1996), pp. 78-105.
33. With no attempt to be comprehensive, these examples illustrate the point: the
Babylonian exile is presupposed in Josh. 23.13; 1 Sam. 12.25; 1 Kgs 8.46-50a; 9.6-9; cf.
Deut. 4.25-31; 28.64-68; 29.27-29; 30.1-10; 31.16-22. A number of linguistic features are
either Late Biblical Hebrew or anomalous in some other manner. For example, the
paragogic he on waw-consecutive first-singular forms is surprisingly frequent in the first-
stage portions of the Former Prophets (e.g. Judg. 10.12; 12.3; 1 Sam. 2.28; 2 Sam. 4.10;
7.9; 12.8). Or again, the periphrastic construction is not uncommon (e.g. Judg. 11.10;
19.1; 1 Sam. 2.11; 2 Sam. 3.17; 4.3; 7.6). Nor is it surprising to find late vocabulary in the
first-stage texts (e.g. 1 Sam. 20.31). Since most scholars agree that texts reflecting the
influence of priestly tradition were composed after the Iron Age II, it is worth noting that
Joshua betrays extensive priestly influence (Van Seters, In Search, pp. 322-37), and there
are priestly glosses elsewhere (e.g. Judg. 4.11; cf. Num. 10.29). Also worthy of note are
passages in which Kings seems to be secondary to Chronicles, such as 2 Kgs 17.13//2
Chron. 24.19 (for discussion, see A.G. Auld, ‘Prophets Shared—But Recycled’, in Römer
[ed.], Future of Deuteronomistic History, pp. 19-28 [27]).
34. For example, Schenker, Älteste Textgeschichte, pp. 185-87.
35. Knauf, ‘Does “Deuteronomistic Historiography” Exist?’, p. 389.
36. See the scholarship cited in nn. 9 and 11.
42. For an excellent entry into the history (with extraordinarily comprehensive bibli-
ography) and current status of this research field, see the volume of essays edited by
I. Young, Biblical Hebrew: Studies in Chronology and Typology (London: T&T Clark
International, 2003). Also, two productive sessions were held at consecutive annual meet-
ings of the National Association of Professors of Hebrew Affiliate (Z. Zevit, chair), at the
annual meetings of the SBL in November 2004 (San Antonio) and November 2005
(Philadelphia); these papers are to be published shortly.
43. This insight is not new. Already in 1990, E.A. Knauf argued that Biblical Hebrew
is a constructed language of the Persian era, derived from the pool of available Hebrew
dialects (‘War Biblisch-Hebräisch eine Sprache?’, ZAH 3 [1990], pp. 11-23; cf. recent
discussion in R. North, ‘Could Hebrew Have Been a Cultic Esperanto?’, ZAH 12 [1999],
pp. 202-17). This might be correct. Either Biblical Hebrew is constructed or it is a
linguistic fragment haphazardly preserved, but in either case, I see no reason to accept the
speculation of those who insist on viewing SBH as pre-Persian language, since that thesis
rests, ultimately, on assumptions about the composition of biblical texts. For a sound
criticism of those who resist the reasonable conclusions from linguistic evidence, see P.R.
Davies, ‘Biblical Hebrew and the History of Ancient Judah: Typology, Chronology and
Common Sense’, in Young (ed.), Biblical Hebrew, pp. 150-63; see also in the same
volume the useful methodological discussion by J.A. Naudé, ‘The Transitions of Biblical
Hebrew in the Perspective of Language Change and Diffusion’, pp. 189-214.
44. Particularly persuasive are the data and discussions advanced by M. Ehrensvärd,
‘Linguistic Dating of Biblical Texts’, pp. 164-88, and I. Young, ‘Late Biblical Hebrew
and Hebrew Inscriptions’, pp. 276-311, in Young (ed.), Biblical Hebrew. (Obviously the
discussion of historical linguistics brings the entire Hebrew Bible into view; however, the
present article does not attempt to assign absolute dates to the compositional or redac-
tional stages of any but the Former Prophets. I recognize that if this thesis is accepted, it
has implications for further study of the Torah, Latter Prophets, and Kethubim. In any
case, whether my thesis is accepted or rejected, the compositional date of Haggai–
Zechariah will need to be pushed back to the middle or late Persian era, as archaeological
data from Persian-era Jerusalem, to be discussed momentarily, suggest.)
45. See n. 33.
46. Auld, ‘Deuteronomists’, p. 122. This is obvious in a case such as Judg. 5.31//Deut.
6.5 (cf. Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School, p. 333). But many examples of this phenomenon
can be discerned and probably include at least the following: Josh. 8.1 and 10.25–11.8 use
phraseology that is relatively rare in Deuteronomy but well-suited to the narratives in
which they are found (cf. Deut. 2.34; 3.3; 20.16); the phrase ‘to transgress a covenant’
occurs in Hos. 8.1 but seems to be a gloss on Deut. 17.2b; it occurs in a variety of late pas-
sages of the Former Prophets (Josh. 7.11, 15; 23.16; Judg. 2.20; 2 Kgs 18.12); the phrase
‘to walk after Yahweh’ is found only in a grammatically awkward gloss in Deut. 13.5, but
is more common to Kings (1 Kgs 14.8; 18.21; 2 Kgs 23.3; cf. Hos. 11.10; Jer. 2.2).
kingdom are evaluated in light of Deuteronomy’s centralization policy.47 One of the most
influential hypotheses argues that Deuteronomy 12 and King Josiah’s alleged fulfillment
of it were the central motivations for the creation of the entire Deuteronomistic History.48
How, then, can it be the case that the Former Prophets existed for centuries in a pre-
deuteronomistic form?
This objection has little merit when evaluated from an archaeological or literary
perspective. To begin with the literary evidence, the story about King Josiah in 2 Kings
22–23 contains a Persian loanword and a passage that seems to be influenced by the
priestly tradition, suggesting that the tale in received form dates to a period much later
than the seventh century.49 This is not a controversial conclusion. Most scholars acknowl-
edge that 2 Kings 22–23 has been subject to a complex redactional history. Unfortunately,
there is no consensus concerning which verses are early and which were added later,
which portions of the tale reflect events of the seventh century and which do not.50 For our
purposes, an approach that offers some degree of external control will be useful.
Auld’s research provides an external control for the evaluation of the Josianic narratives
in the Bible. He argues that the text shared between Chronicles and Samuel–Kings is an
47. 1 Kgs 3.2-3; 11.7; 12.31-32; 13.2, 32-33; 14.23; 15.14; 22.44; 2 Kgs 12.4; 14.4;
15.4, 35; 16.4; 17.9, 11, 29, 32; 18.4 (, 22); 21.3; 23.5, 8, 15, 19.
48. This is the Cross–Nelson hypothesis, also known as the Double-Redaction
hypothesis. See F.M. Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of
the Religion of Israel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973), pp. 274-89; and R.D.
Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup, 18; Sheffield:
JSOT Press, 1981); see also n. 2, above. Even those who are less faithful to the Cross–
Nelson school often retain a significant portion of Deut. 12 for King Josiah; for example,
T. Römer, ‘Une seule maison pour le Dieu unique? La centralisation du culte dans le
Deutéronome et dans l’historiographie deutéronomiste’, in C. Focent (ed.), Quelle Maison
pour Dieu? (Paris: Cerf, 2003), pp. 49-80.
49. There seems to be a relationship between priestly tradition and 2 Kgs 22.3-11
(Van Seters, In Search, p. 318). (Compare the interesting observations of C. Levin,
‘Joschija im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk’, ZAW 96 [1984], pp. 351-71.) A
Persian loanword occurs in 2 Kgs 23.11; and the narrative weqatal, which some scholars
continue to view as a feature of LBH (though it has been disputed), appears in the Josiah
tale, passim. See Ehrensvärd, ‘Linguistic Dating’, p. 171.
50. The scholarship is vast. For recent discussion of the historical question with
bibliographies, see N. Na’aman, ‘The Kingdom of Judah Under Josiah’, TA 18 (1991), pp.
3-71; L.K. Handy, ‘Historical Probability and the Narrative of Josiah’s Reform in
2 Kings’, in S.W. Holloway and L.K. Handy (eds.), The Pitcher is Broken: Memorial
Essays for Gösta Ahlström (JSOTSup, 190; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995),
pp. 252-275; E. Eynikel, The Reform of King Josiah and the Composition of the Deuter-
onomistic History (Leiden: Brill, 1996); R. Kletter, ‘Pots and Politics: Material Remains
of Late Iron Age Judah in Relation to its Political Borders’, BASOR 314 (1999), pp. 19-54;
M.A. Sweeney, King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2001); B.W. Barrick, The King and the Cemeteries: Toward a New
Understanding of Josiah’s Reform (VTSup, 88; Leiden: Brill, 2002); L.L. Grabbe (ed.),
Good Kings and Bad Kings (LHB/OTS, 393; London: T&T Clark International, 2005).
earlier draft, the source for both narratives.51 Auld’s thesis has received mixed responses,
but his often sobering research is difficult to ignore.52 Recently, David Carr observed that
Auld’s thesis is probable since it conforms with known scribal practices generally.53
Although scribes who supplement an earlier text sometimes abbreviate the text in order to
make room for the additions, the Chronicler would have had to abbreviate very radically if
he were using Samuel–Kings as his starting point.
If the text shared between Kings and Chronicles is an acceptable starting point for
evaluation of the Josianic tradition, it is worth noting that this shared material lacks most
of Weinfeld’s deuteronomisms; nor does this material suggest a policy of centralization.54
Among the very few deuteronomisms that remain in the shared-text tale of Josiah are
several that many scholars already consider to be late additions to the story.55
Thus, the biblical evidence suggests that a historical King Josiah never engaged in a
policy of temple centralization, but the story of his reign was ‘improved’ by later editing.
This conclusion is affirmed by archaeological data.
Apparently working independently of one another, Lisbeth Fried and Nadav Na’aman
re-evaluated the archaeological evidence for state-sponsored religion during Iron Age II,
and both concluded that neither Hezekiah, Josiah, nor any other Judaean king engaged in
temple centralization.56 Multiple temples were maintained by Hezekiah, and several were
lost to destruction by Sennacherib (e.g. Lachish, Beer-Sheba, perhaps Arad).57 These were
excludes passages that many redaction critics regarded as secondary. For example, a
variety of researchers have concluded, using more traditional methods of redaction
criticism, that 2 Kgs 23.4-20 is secondary: H.-D. Hoffmann views the passage as a col-
lection of motifs derived from other portions of the narrative (Reform und Reformen:
Untersuchungen zu einem Grundthema der deuteronomistischen Geschichtsschreibung
[AThANT, 66; Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 1980]); another example is Eynikel, who
isolates 2 Kgs 23.4-20a in part by noting that the list of names in 23.4a appears to be
borrowed from ch. 22, with no new introduction (Reform of King Josiah, pp. 342-43);
Barrick concludes that 23.4-20 is secondary, the passages using narrative weqatal are
tertiary, and the additional activities narrated in 23.16-18 have been transferred, artificially,
from Jerusalem to Bethel and the region of Samaria (King and Cemeteries, pp. 36-46, 64-
118, and passim).
55. In the text identified as shared by Auld, Weinfeld is able to identify clear linguistic
parallels to specific passages from Deuteronomy only in 22.2, 17, 19, and 23.3 (Weinfeld,
Deuteronomic School, pp. 320-59). Of these, Eynikel notes textual data suggesting that
the deuteronomistic formulation in 23.3 is secondary (Eynikel, Reform of King Josiah,
p. 345), and most scholars (including myself, cf. n. 40 above) believe that Huldah’s oracle
has been modified at least once, which leaves 22.2 as the only possible deuteronomistic
verse in the earliest version of the story about Josiah. The use of the phrases ‘the book of
the torah’ (22.8, 11, 13), ‘the book’ (22.16), and ‘the book of the covenant’ (23.2) are not
necessarily deuteronomistic. In documents composed prior to 70 CE, references to a book
of torah or a book of Moses can refer to any number of documents, including some that
might no longer be known to us (Ulrich, ‘Qumran and the Canon’, p. 70; see also,
VanderKam, ‘Questions of Canon’, pp. 91-109). Given the almost total absence of
deuteronomisms in the shared text, there is no a priori reason to associate this story of a
book-discovery with Deuteronomy.
56. L.E. Fried, ‘The High Places (bƗmôt) and the Reforms of Hezekiah and Josiah: An
Archaeological Investigation’, JAOS 122 (2002), pp. 437-65; N. Na’aman, ‘The Abandon-
ment of the Cult Places in the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah as Acts of Cult Reform’, UF
34 (2002), pp. 585-602.
57. The dates for the temple at Arad remain under dispute. Z. Herzog has criticized
D. Ussishkin’s analysis of the stratigraphy, and N. Na’aman has criticized Herzog’s analy-
sis. In any case, all three agree that the temple at Arad does not provide evidence
consistent with a royal policy of centralization. Ussishkin and Na’aman believe the temple
was destroyed in military conflagration (and I find that approach more probable), while
not rebuilt by Manasseh, probably because he had no political jurisdiction over regions
formerly held by Judah but lost in the war of 701 BCE.58 Josiah ruled over a region too
small for multiple sanctuaries, so there was no need to pursue a policy of centralization,
and it is highly improbable that Josiah ever thought of doing so.
Because temple centralization did not take place prior to 587/6 BCE, Fried suggests that
Noth’s Dtr dates to the Persian period, and she dates the creation of Deuteronomy 12 to
the period after 701 BCE, viewing it as a rationalization for the fall of Lachish and the
survival of Jerusalem.59 Fried is correct to see Deuteronomy 12 as a reaction to facts on
the ground, rather than viewing it as a proposal for future policy (as many scholars errone-
ously view it). State-sponsored religion never voluntarily contracts its area of influence.
Temple centralization would have been counterproductive in Iron Age II Palestine. The
temples were the locations for collection of taxes in kind. A king who closed some
temples for religious reasons would have lost his ability to collect taxes from outlying
regions of his realm.60 The fact that Manasseh and Josiah failed to reopen destroyed
temples reflects their political subjection to empire, not piety or fiscal policy.
Fried has identified the earliest possible date for deuteronomistic editing (her Persian-
era Dtr) correctly, but her proposed date for Deuteronomy 12 in the seventh century is too
early. One does not rationalize a devastating military catastrophe by saying the god had
selected one place for his name, thus trivializing the destruction of all other sites. One
explains catastrophe by saying the god has punished sin (which is the usual explanation in
the Hebrew Bible, especially the Latter Prophets), or one laments the loss without delving
too deeply into the depths of theodicy (e.g. Lamentations; Ps. 137). To accept Fried’s
hypothesis, one would have to conclude that this centralization ideology was imposed
Herzog asserts that the temple was taken out of use temporarily, probably by Hezekiah,
but with a hope for future restoration. See the articles in the previous note, and Z. Herzog,
‘The Fortress Mound at Tel Arad: An Interim Report’, TA 29 (2002), pp. 3-109; idem,
‘The Date of the Temple at Arad: Reassessment of the Stratigraphy and the Implications
for the History of Religion in Judah’, in A. Mazar with G. Mathias (eds.), Studies in the
Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan (JSOTSup, 331; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 2001), pp. 156-178; D. Ussishkin, ‘The Date of the Judaean Shrine at
Arad’, IEJ 38 (1988), pp. 142-57.
58. Fried and Na’aman do not arrive at identical reconstructions with respect to these
details, and my views differ from both. A very creative alternative hypothesis is advanced
by Knauf, ‘The Glorious Days of Manasseh’, in Grabbe (ed.), Good Kings and Bad Kings,
pp. 164-88 (184-88). Unfortunately, Knauf’s interpretation of Deut. 12 strikes me as an
act of desperation: he suggests that the phrase ‘in the place that Yahweh will choose’
originally meant ‘in every place that Yahweh will choose’ (pp. 186-87; cf. Exod. 20.24).
Although one can slice the grammar to bleed this interpretation from it, it ignores the
context in which the line appears (Deut. 12.13-18).
59. Fried, ‘High Places’, p. 461.
60. Lohfink, who supports the hypothesis of a Josianic temple-centralization policy,
nevertheless admits that ‘[w]e still do not have a plausible explanation for this develop-
ment. Neither purely fiscal nor purely theological hypotheses are convincing’ (Lohfink,
‘The Cult Reform of Josiah of Judah: 2 Kings 22–23 as a Source for the History of
Israelite Religion’, in P.D. Miller, Jr, et al. [eds.], Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in
Honor of Frank Moore Cross [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1987], pp. 459-75 [468]).
with callous disregard for the dead whose memory would have been a fresh emotional
wound in the lives of the survivors. Similarly, the biblical version of the Sennacherib
invasion (2 Kgs 18–19 and parallels) blithely ignores the fate of Lachish and is likely to
date to a time long after the events, when the wounds were not so fresh.61
I have argued that Deuteronomy 12 and related passages emerged in the Persian period,
when Persian imperial policy permitted Yahweh to choose but one place among all the
tribes of Israel. Political reality results in theological rationalization.62 This approach best
satisfies all available data. On the one hand, it is not an optimistic proposal for a new
policy but, rather, a kind of collective sigh of the oppressed. Among these subjects of
Persia, there was a passive recognition that Yahweh’s jurisdiction was limited, either by
explicit imperial policy (if, say, Ezra 1 and 6 are based on actual Persian policy), or by de
facto political and social circumstances (if Nehemiah’s perceived enemies were actually
opposed to his policies, and were not just figments of his own paranoia). On the other
hand, the centralization ideology attempts to make a virtue of this necessity, ignoring the
loss of Judahite real estate that was, by the Persian era, only a dim ancestral memory
anyway.
The proposed Persian-era date of Deuteronomy 12 can be refined. Recent archaeology-
cal investigation of Persian-era Palestine suggests that Jerusalem was not rebuilt between
587/6 and roughly 450 BCE.63 Some data suggest that cultic activity might have taken
place prior to the mid-fifth century, but the building of one meager temple and the
invention of a theology to rationalize that disappointing structure are likely to date to the
latter half of the Persian era. This observation has implications for the variant myths of
origin now contained in Haggai–Zechariah as well as Ezra 1–6, implications that are
beyond the scope of this article. The observation also converges with our earlier dis-
cussion about the redactional stages for the Former Prophets.
It would seem that the many scholars who place Deuteronomy (or at least Deut. 12 and
the related portions of Deuteronomy that explicitly mention centralization) later than
Josiah are now vindicated.64 Let us not forget that the Jews at Elephantine are ignorant of
61. For recent discussion of the Sennacherib traditions with extensive bibliography,
see the collection of essays edited by L.L. Grabbe, ‘Like a Bird in a Cage’: The Invasion
of Sennacherib in 701 BCE (JSOTSup, 363; London: T&T Clark International, 2003). See
also my essay, ‘The Evolution of Genre in the Book of Kings: The Story of Sennacherib
and Hezekiah as Example’, in P.G. Kirkpatrick (ed.), The Function of Ancient Histori-
ography in Biblical and Cognate Studies (London: T&T Clark International, forth-
coming).
62. Noll, Canaan and Israel in Antiquity, pp. 230-37.
63. O. Lipschits, ‘Demographic Changes in Judah between the Seventh and the Fifth
Centuries BCE’, in Lipschits and J. Blenkinsopp (eds.), Judah and the Judeans, pp. 323–76
(329-33); cf. idem, The Fall and Rise of Jerusalem (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005),
pp. 185-271; cf. C.E. Carter, The Emergence of Yehud in the Persian Period: A Social and
Demographic Study (JSOTSup, 294; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999).
64. For example, O. Kaiser, Einleitung in das Alte Testament (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn,
1969), pp. 108-109; E. Würthwein, ‘Die Josianische Reform und das Deuteronomium’,
ZTK 73 (1976), pp. 365-423; L.J. Hoppe, ‘Jerusalem in the Deuteronomistic History’, in
N. Lohfink (ed.), Das Deuteronomium: Enstehung, Gestalt, und Botschaft (Leuven:
Leuven University Press, 1985), pp. 107-10; P.R. Davies, In Search, pp. 90-127; L. Perlitt,
centralization theology, and André Lemaire recently published data hinting at a Yahweh
temple in Palestine, but not in Jerusalem, in the Persian period.65 The imposition of a
policy of centralization among the Jews of Jerusalem almost certainly occurred after the
circumstances reflected in these two data emerged. The late-Persian-era addition of a
centralization motif to the book of Kings was a simple matter of glossing (i.e. the
alteration of about a dozen verses and the rewriting of the Josiah narrative), a process that
would require a single afternoon’s work by a scribe who had access to the book of Kings
in predeuteronomistic form.66
67. S.W. Hahn and J.S. Bergsma, ‘What Laws Were “Not Good”? A Canonical
Approach to the Theological Problem of Ezekiel 20.25-26’, JBL 123 (2004), pp. 201-18.
Since the version of Deuteronomy to which Hahn and Bersgma point appears to be a
mature one, it is reasonable to suppose that Ezek. 20 and the ‘debate’ to which it gives evi-
dence were taking place relatively late in the evolution of both Ezekiel and Deuteronomy.
68. In conversation, T. Römer asked me to clarify how, using my model outlining two
stages of redactions for the Former Prophets, Deuteronomy became deuteronomistic. It is
an important question that can be only briefly discussed in this programmatic essay.
Certainly a core of material (portions of chs. 13–15; 19–25; and 28?) was not deuter-
onomistic but was expanded over the centuries, becoming deuteronomistic in the Persian
era, as my discussion of Deut. 12 has suggested. However, Deuteronomy itself was not
free of the Deuteronomic debate I shall outline here in Section III. For example, Brettler
demonstrates that Deut. 30.1-10 is either pseudo- or antideuteronomic, introducing an
element of divine intervention derived from Jer. 31.31-34 and contradicting the view
73. Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School, pp. 59-157; idem, ‘The Loyalty Oath in the
Ancient Near East’, UF 8 (1976), pp. 379-414; P. Dion, ‘Deuteronomy 13: The Suppres-
sion of Alien Religious Propaganda in Israel during the Late Monarchical Era’, in B.
Halpern and D.W. Hobson (eds.), Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel (JSOTSup, 124;
Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), pp. 147-216 (199-204); H.U. Steymans, Deuteronomium 28
und die adê zur Thronfolgeregelung Asarhaddons: Segen und Fluch im alten Orient und
in Israel (OBO, 145; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1995); U. Rütersworden, ‘Dtn
13 in der neueren Deuteronomiumsforschung’, in Lemaire (ed.), Congress Volume: Basel,
2001, pp. 185-203.
74. E. Ben Zvi, ‘The Urban Center of Jerusalem and the Development of the Lit-
erature of the Hebrew Bible’, in W.G. Aufrecht et al. (eds.), Urbanism in Antiquity: From
Mesopotamia to Crete (JSOTSup, 244; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997),
pp. 194-209; P.R. Davies, ‘The Jewish Scriptural Canon in Cultural Perspective’, in
McDonald and Sanders (eds.), Canon Debate, pp. 36-52; idem, Scribes and Scrolls: The
Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville, KY:
Westminster/John Knox Press, 1998); Noll, ‘Kaleidoscopic Nature’, pp. 3-10, 23-24.
Joshua. The book of Joshua is hot and cold with respect to Deuteronomy.
Following Baruch Halpern, I believe the earliest version of the tale was a
response to facts on the ground. Iron Age construction projects routinely
revealed massive Bronze Age structures for which popular storytelling
provided an explanation. Earliest Joshua was an anthology of those popu-
lar stories constructed, as Van Seters has argued, to emulate Assyrian
royal propaganda.75 Manuscript variants suggest these tales were not
originally associated with the Moses tradition at all.76 Much later (in our
hypothetical first stage of redactions), the narrative has become deuterono-
mistic but simultaneously priestly, a conquest tale fulfilling Deuteron-
omy’s promises.77
75. Halpern, ‘Preface to the Paperback Edition’, in The First Historians: The Hebrew
Bible and History (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2nd edn, 1996),
p. xxviii; Van Seters, ‘Joshua’s Campaign’. The general idea advanced by Halpern is
derived from the Alt–Noth school of thought. My appropriation of it divorces the origins
of the book of Joshua from any memory, however clouded or unreliable, of actual Bronze
Age or Iron Age I battles.
76. The Old Greek lacks the name Moses in 24.5 and declares that it was Joshua who
led Israel out of Egypt in 24.31 (24.30 MT). This does not seem to be an anomalous datum.
The Masoretic version of Joshua mentions Moses more than fifty times, but most instances
of the name appear in material with priestly or deuteronomistic influence (e.g. chs. 1; 4;
12; 13–21; 22; 23). When Moses is mentioned in apparently older sections of the tale,
such as ch. 8, the name appears in units that many regard as priestly or deuteronomistic
glosses (e.g. 8.30-35; 9.24; perhaps 3.7). Only four or five references to Moses within
portions of Joshua are arguably early (i.e. 11.12, 15, 20, 23, and perhaps 3.7). Several of
these seem syntactically questionable, and it is not impossible that all four or five are
secondary. Of four chapters that mention an exodus from Egypt (chs. 2; 5; 9; 24), only 9.9
is part of an arguably old stratum, and the OG suggests that ch. 24 has a complex
prehistory. It is not difficult to view 9.9 as part of a Joshua-exodus tradition rather than the
dominant Moses-exodus tradition. It should not be forgotten that Moses was not originally
paired with the exodus tradition, if Exod. 15.20-21 is any indication.
77. Van Seters provides an excellent starting point for any attempt to trace the
redactional history of Joshua in the first stage of redactions as defined in this article (see
Van Seters, In Search, pp. 324-37). However, Van Seters is incorrect to view his deuter-
onomistic edition as the earliest recoverable version of the book. For example, within
Josh. 3 and 4, Van Seters identifies (correctly) an earliest deuteronomistic version in these
verses: 3.2-3, 4b, 6-7, 9-11, 13-16; 4.10b-11a, 12-14. But this is not the earliest narrative
in these chapters, for it contains two introductions (3.2-3, 4b and 3.6-7, 9-11). The first of
these employs possible deuteronomistic formulations, but the second does not. Originally,
the book glorified Joshua by a miracle at the Jordan previously unimaginable but later,
when the Moses-exodus story was prefixed and the book of Joshua revised, the awkwardly
inserted 3.7bD subordinated Joshua to Moses and Joshua’s miraculous crossing to Moses’
miraculous crossing (which had been, originally, Miriam’s miraculous crossing).
Likewise, Van Seters’ conclusion in 4.10b-11a, 12-14 is anticlimactic and superfluous to a
tale that was complete already in 3.16. Thus, within Van Seters’ earliest deuteronomistic
layer one can isolate, very easily, 3.6, 7abBH, 9-11, 13-16 as even earlier. Tentatively
(realizing that a proper defense is not possible in this article), one can suggest that earliest
(predeuteronomistic) Joshua is to be recovered from Josh. 3*; 5.13-15; 6*; 8*; 9*; 10*;
11*; 24*, and perhaps a few stray verse fragments (passim).
78. The unreliable narration produced by redaction in Joshua is described by L.D.
Hawk, Every Promise Fulfilled: Contesting Plots in Joshua (LBCI; Louisville, KY:
Westminster John Knox, 1991). On Josh. 2, see Y. Zakovitch, ‘Humor and Theology or
the Successful Failure of Israelite Intelligence: A Literary-Folkloric Approach to Joshua
2’, in S. Niditch (ed.), Text and Tradition: The Hebrew Bible and Folklore (Atlanta:
Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 75-98. Van Seters notes correctly that Josh. 6–7 has con-
nections to priestly tradition, though to what purpose it is put here is not so clear. As Van
Seters observes, ‘[t]he addition of all the trumpet-playing priests has ruined the effect of
the blast on the horn and the great war cry’ (Van Seters, In Search, p. 327). The effect of
the received Masoretic version suggests attempted satire, not liturgical description, like
the child who adds a beard and funny glasses to a photograph published in a book. The
addition about Rahab’s home being located in the wall (lacking in OG 2.15) is another
example of this seemingly deliberate tendency to transform the tale into a farce (it is this
wall that Yahweh causes to collapse). Equally absurd is Yahweh’s demand for an
elaborate process of divination in Josh. 7, since the deity seems to be in direct verbal
communication with Joshua, rendering the ritual a pointless charade. These and other
absurdities in the story are additions, and various plausible reconstructions of earlier strata
have been advanced by redaction critics.
Judges. For its part, the book of Judges presses an overtly antideuter-
onomic theme throughout. Yahweh raises up these judges, but Deuteron-
omy instructs Israel to select its own leaders.81 Moreover, Yahweh seems
to be a poor judge of character. The old hero legends have been strung
together in such a way that it is Yahweh himself who seems to be the
79. It is worth noting that the other books of the Former Prophets take up the ‘rest’
motif in ways that differ from Joshua. In Samuel, the motif occurs in but two Masoretic
verses, both demonstrably late glosses or alterations: 2 Sam. 7.1 (lacking in 1 Chron. 17.1)
and 7.11 (in which Chronicles and the Old Greek versions witness variants). Ironically,
the rest motif in this chapter is antideuteronomic. It implies that Jerusalem, the city in
which David resides when Nathan delivers this prophecy, is not the place that Yahweh
will choose (cf. W. Dietrich, ‘Niedergang und Neuanfang: Die Haltung der Schluss-
redaktion des deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerkes zu den wichtigsten Fragen ihrer
Zeit’, in Becking and Korpel [eds.], Crisis of Israelite Religion, pp. 45-70 [62-66], whose
exegesis is moving in the right direction, though still hampered by the outmoded notion
that a text with Deuteronomic language must be a deuteronomistic text). By contrast, the
book of Kings places the motif of rest on Solomon’s lips (5.18; 8.56), but ironically so,
since Solomon foolishly views himself as without adversary, a view that the narrative will
quickly shatter (1 Kgs 11). The Chronicler goes his own way with this deuteronomistic
motif; cf. Auld, Kings without Privilege, pp. 38-39, and Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School,
p. 343.
80. Commentators rarely take note how utterly bizarre Josh. 22 really is. A perma-
nently nonfunctioning altar is approved by rather pompous story-world characters who
seem content to relegate the actual altar to a perpetually nomadic existence, since Yahweh
has not bothered to declare a place as promised in Deut. 12. The named characters suggest
priestly influence and the deuteronomisms suggest Deuteronomic influence, and we have
seen in Section II of this article that this kind of intermingling necessitates assigning a late
date to the text.
81. Dietrich, ‘History and Law’, p. 320.
problem rather than the solution. Barry Webb has described this tale as
one in which divine freedom is the key motif; chaos is the result.82
The relatively few glosses and revisions to Judges that reflect the
influence of Deuteronomy’s language and themes can be suspected of
aiding the antideuteronomic tone of the narrative or, at least, never under-
mining that tone. For example, in ch. 2, the cyclical theme of apostasy
and repentance is presented defectively (see esp. 2.10b, 17-18), and the
effect of the original tale only becomes more pronounced, not less so,
since Yahweh is now highlighted very explicitly as a divine failure. When
2.1-5 and 6.7-10 were added, a deuteronomistic angel and a prophet
became part of the story, but their impact is to undermine the Deuter-
onomic notion of retribution by presenting a deity who appears impotent
in the face of the dilemma he has created for himself.83 Gideon’s altar
(Judg. 6.11-32) and ephod (Judg. 8.27) undoubtedly respond to Deuteron-
omy’s themes of centralization and idolatry. However, these motifs
undermine Deuteronomic theology in a doubly ironic manner: a divinely
chosen judge whose fidelity to Yahweh is unimpeachable violates the law
of centralization and creates a cult object that, in the end, leads people
astray. The cumulative effect of these explicit echoes from Deuteronomy
is to portray a story world in which the exhortations, promises, and threats
of Deuteronomy’s Moses never leave their expected marks on Israel’s
fate. Even the deity in the book of Judges ignores the Moses of Deuter-
onomy.
At the level of Weinfeld’s deuteronomistic language, Judges is revealed
to be even less deuteronomistic.84 Except for a series of stage-two addi-
tions in 1.1–3.6 (which were not added as a block, but represent a series
82. Webb, Book of Judges; cf. L.R. Klein, The Triumph of Irony in the Book of Judges
(JSOTSup, 68; Sheffield: Almond Press, 1988). Auld suggests that the final form of
Judges with its seemingly deuteronomistic motifs is dependent upon the final form of
Kings. See A.G. Auld, ‘Gideon: Hacking at the Heart of the Old Testament’, VT 39
(1989), pp. 257-67; idem, ‘Reading Joshua after Kings’, in J. Davies et al. (eds.), Words
Remembered, Texts Renewed: Essays in Honour of John F.A. Sawyer (JSOTSup, 195;
Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), pp. 167-81 (174-75).
83. Webb, Book of Judges, pp. 102-105, and passim.
84. I choose once again to rely on Weinfeld’s list of deuteronomistic formulae to
provide a safe, almost universally accepted, general guide for the identification of these
words and phrases (Weinfeld, Deuteronomic School). Judges is, in Weinfeld’s assessment,
almost devoid of deuteronomisms. Apart from the passages designated late on textual
grounds (1.1–3.6; 6.7-10), deuteronomistic clichés are limited to 10.10, 13; 17.6; 18.1, 9;
19.1; 20.13; 21.25; and the ‘evil in the eyes of Yahweh’ introductions (3.7, 12; 4.1; 6.1;
10.6; 13.1).
Samuel. The book of Samuel is very similar to, or perhaps a mirror image
of, the book of Job. Here we have the question: Does David serve
Yahweh for naught?85 Saul is presented as a genuine Yahwist who makes
mistakes and pays the penalty. David is a genuine Yahwist who makes
mistakes too, but remains on the throne. Yahweh is introduced early in
the tale as an unreliable patron deity, one whose words and deeds are not
to be trusted, even when expressed with seemingly deuteronomistic
rhetoric. Yahweh reneges on a promise of an eternal priesthood, which
casts a shadow over the later promise to David (1 Sam. 2.27-36; cf.
2 Sam. 7). Yahweh ‘delights’ (#AI) in the killing of unworthy priests and,
coincidentally, others as collateral damage (1 Sam. 2.25b; cf. 4.10-11).
Yahweh misinterprets the people’s request for a king, a request explicitly
permitted by Deuteronomy (1 Sam. 8.8; cf. 8.5 and Deut. 17.14-15).86
85. Noll, ‘Is There a Text?’, pp. 31-41. This paragraph is dependent upon Noll’s
article and the monograph by Noll, Faces of David.
86. There is a great deal of confusion among exegetes over the relationship of 1 Sam.
8 to Deut. 17. Representative are the recent essays by Dietrich, ‘History and Law’,
pp. 322-25, and McKenzie, ‘Trouble with Kingship’, p. 303. Although many view 1 Sam.
8 as antimonarchic, in rebellion against ancient Near Eastern models of monarchy, it is, in
reality, promonarchic; and although many believe Deut. 17 is dependent on an older
narrative in 1 Sam. 8, just the opposite is the case. The pattern common to ancient
epigraphs is one in which a patron god elects a king to protect the people from harm and
to bring justice to all the land. (For this pattern, see K.L. Noll, ‘Canaanite Religion’,
Compass 1 [2006]; online <http://www.blackwell-compass.com/subject/religion/>.) The
people who seek a king ‘like the nations’ in 1 Sam. 8 seek a divinely chosen human
patron. Deuteronomy had attempted to subvert this common ancient Near Eastern
theology (Deut. 17.14-20, and passim). It had permitted Israel to seek a king ‘like the
nations’, but had imposed unrealistic restrictions on the king’s power. In my view, the tale
in Samuel makes sense if, and only if, an author is poking fun at the absurdity Deut. 17
Kings. Like the book of Jeremiah, the book of Kings evolved in fits and
starts, as textual evidence indicates. To borrow William McKane’s excel-
lent phrase, Kings is a ‘rolling corpus’.87 It began as a relatively short
book, received substantial editing, and attracted an excessive number of
occasional glosses. Little bits of text gave rise to little bits of exegesis that
became part of the text as well. The final form of Kings is baroque, a
cacophony of dissonant sound, with multiple viewpoints competing for
the reader’s attention. In spite of the explicit chronological system in
Kings, it is the one narrative of the Former Prophets that is utterly resistant
to a coherent sequential reading. Stray verses show up at inappropriate
spots (e.g. 2 Kgs 1.1//3.5; 8.25//9.29), Naboth’s vineyard miraculously
migrates from Jezreel to Samaria (1 Kgs 21.1, 18, 19b; cf. 22.38), general
Jehu and his sidekick Bidqar are able to recall a version of a prophecy
that never took place (2 Kgs 9.25-26), Elijah the true prophet fails to
carry out divine instructions (1 Kgs 19.15b-17), and chronological ambi-
guity indicates halfhearted concern with historiographical issues (e.g.
2 Kgs 1.17; 3.1).
had created. Our narrator, who understands very well that Deut. 17 cannot be realistic,
introduces a situation in which it is reasonable for people to seek a king ‘like the nations’,
then presents a god who is unwilling to oblige for Deuteronomic (that is to say, unreal-
istic) reasons. The reader was expected to be repelled by this god.
87. W. McKane, Jeremiah (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), pp. l-lxxxiii. (This
portion of my essay is a digest from my article, ‘Is the Book of Kings Deuteronomic? And
is it a History?’, SJOT 21 [2007], pp. 49-72).
Conclusion
In sum, what we have in the Former Prophets is a conversation with the
book of Deuteronomy. What we do not have is deuteronomism. These
stories either attack or at least probe Deuteronomic ideology and often
find it wanting. Yet a few portions of Joshua and Kings betray a positive
attitude toward deuteronomistic thinking as well.
The thought experiment advanced in this article invites you to step back
from the elaborate redactional hypotheses burdened with the impossible
task of upholding Noth’s vision of one noble scribe (or a few) cobbling
together a grand narrative that would interpret the past in light of the
sixth-century BCE present. Instead, permit the Former Prophets to be the
recalcitrant hodgepodge of narrative discontinuities that they really are.
Gradually, as a book of Deuteronomy evolved over a period of about
three hundred years (ca. 600–300), scribes responded to its teaching,
some positively and others negatively, spinning out shorter or longer
narratives to test aspects of Deuteronomic thought. These, in turn,
inspired additional shorter glosses, longer tales, and an occasional poem,
which in turn became part of the evolving books of Joshua, Judges,
Samuel, and Kings. Toward the end of this long process (ca. 200 or so,
for most portions of the text), a few superficial attempts were made to link
the four books into a single narrative framework, but these meager
glosses could not stitch together massively differing blocks of material. It
was, rather, the sheer will of later religiously minded readers, intent on
viewing the whole as a sacred history, that created Noth’s Deuteronomis-
tic History. In other words, the Deuteronomistic History belongs to the
history of Jewish and Christian interpretations and not to the history of
composition and redactional growth.
Deuteronomistic History or Deuteronomic debate? I suggest that the
former has served far too long as the lens through which these narratives
91. See previous note, and see R. Westbrook, ‘Elisha’s True Prophecy in 2 Kings 3’,
JBL 124 (2005), pp. 530-32; J.M. Hamilton, ‘Caught in the Nets of Prophecy? The Death
of King Ahab and the Character of God’, CBQ 56 (1994), pp. 649-63; L.J. Hoppe, ‘The
Death of Josiah and the Meaning of Deuteronomy’, LASBF 48 (1998), pp. 31-47.
have been viewed, distorting the nature of the texts, misrepresenting the
intentions of ancient scribes, and leading to an interpretation of the
evidence that is not very plausible. ‘It is easy to formulate theories about
the ancients: they cannot sue us for libel.’92 It is my hope that the
hypothesis sketched roughly in this article better represents the intentions
of many anonymous scribes who created the anthology we call the
Former Prophets, and that it will honor those intentions by permitting a
freer, more playful, less theological interpretation of their efforts.
92. E.A. Knauf, ‘From History to Interpretation’, in D.V. Edelman (ed.), The Fabric
of History: Text, Artifact and Israel’s Past (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), pp. 26-64 (64).