Abstract
This essay proposes based on literary-compositional considerations how two authors working together could have composed Genesis–Joshua. After this, it suggests that Genesis–Joshua can be seen to reflect a sociopolitical transformation of ancient Canaanite societies into an Israelite one(s) through a process that can be labeled as ancient settler colonialism, and that the document could have been written concomitantly. Subsequently, relevant ancient Near Eastern and archaeological evidence will be considered, suggesting compatibility with the idea that Genesis–Joshua has reused and readapted existing traditions together with creative narrative retelling for its sociopolitical purposes, and that this could have already taken place from the late second millennium
Keywords
To date, the study of the Pentateuch remains in a ferment. The now classic Wellhausenian paradigm has been severely challenged and no longer holds an exclusive preeminence, even if still provides many pointers for further research. At the same time, no new theory has been able to capture widespread scholarly imagination as a robust alternative. As I would see it, ultimately much comes back to the question of how the Pentateuch should be considered to have been constituted. As part of this, what is the origin of the materials, can one see the end product as a coherent piece, and how? If there is coherence, what are the implications of that coherence, in what ways can one see authorial intention in the work, and who might the author(s) of the Pentateuch be? All in all, academic scholarship is still wrestling with the questions of who, what, why, when, where, and how in relation to the work. In this essay, I propose a response that tries to address these questions, in a manner that is somewhat different from previous attempts, and as part of that in particular also takes into account the book of Joshua that follows the Pentateuch in the canonical order. Specific focus will be put on seeing unity, coherence and strong authorial intent in this piece of world literature, something that Wellhausenian based approaches have generally struggled with. The main argument consists of three interlinked parts of looking at compositional issues, detecting an overall ideological framework for the composition, and examining the date and provenance of the materials. In addition, toward the end of the essay, I will include some considerations that relate to the reception of the postulated original Genesis–Joshua by later communities.
Compositional Issues
Basic Framemwork
In what follows, I suggest a possible means by which Genesis–Joshua could have been composed as an essentially unified work from its sources. To start with, it is generally clearly assumed in Pentateuchal scholarship that stylistic differences in the work may indicate a change in authorship. Even such scholars as Cassuto and Whybray who have either argued against this idea or qualified the matter, do think that, as a whole, a variety of materials of differing origin have been incorporated in the Pentateuch (see Cassuto, Whybray). In this light, and at the very least broadly speaking, whatever source critical views one takes, there is a case for priestly, narrative and Deuteronomic materials in Genesis–Joshua. Also keeping in mind Noth's theory of the Deuteronomistic history, there is clearly a case for Deuteronomic materials and style in Deuteronomy and Joshua and at the very least a relative lack of such materials and style in Genesis–Numbers so that the overall character of Genesis–Numbers is not Deuteronomic (cf. e.g. McKenzie & Schearing). Also, there is practically no priestly material in Deuteronomy. Joshua includes priestly concerns, but the character of such materials is different there (see. e.g. Pitkänen 2010a).
These considerations are enough to start suggesting that Genesis–Numbers and Deuteronomy–Joshua are differing units. In particular, Eckart Otto has argued in detail for a separate provenance of the two putative entities before their later combination to form the Hexateuch and then the Pentateuch (see Otto 2012a). While the Moab redaction for Otto largely combines Deuteronomy and Joshua, a comparable unity is less the case for him for Genesis–Numbers before its incorporation into the Hexateuch (cf. the summary chart in Otto, 2012a: 256). I propose to look at things more synchronically and suggest that two authors worked together, the first (A1) writing Genesis–Numbers and the second (AD) Deuteronomy–Joshua (Figure 4 in the Appendix should serve as an aid for the following presentation.)
There are of course continuities throughout Genesis–Joshua. As Milgrom has suggested, there is an overall chiastic structure that spans these books (see Figure 1 in the Appendix). When considering general authorial unity throughout, from a purely narrative perspective, one can also think in terms of such modern comparators as the Harry Potter series and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, together with the Hobbit as a prequel to the trilogy. All of these are differing books and yet connected.
As regards Genesis, there are differences between Genesis and Exodus–Joshua so that many have argued that the two were originally independent and only connected at a late stage (See, e.g., Dozeman and Schmidt). One may however consider Genesis as a kind of prequel to Genesis–Joshua, perhaps broadly in the manner of the Hobbit to the Lord of the Rings from a purely literary perspective. That is, the Hobbit of course really describes a relatively jolly adventure, and the real connecting feature with the Lord of the Rings in the next generation, the main story, is provided by the finding of the ring by Bilbo Baggins, an almost incidental feature of the Hobbit, even if the ring does facilitate Bilbo and the expedition in their success of arriving at the Lonely Mountain and defeating Smaug. The Lord of the Rings then develops the themes latent in Hobbit further into the main story that, within the fictional framework, is also darker and more serious in tone than the Hobbit. Comparably, one may note how many of the themes of Genesis find their fulfillment in Exodus–Joshua as a whole. Above all, the promise of land to the patriarchs is thoroughly mirrored in Joshua. In other words, connections are not limited to such units as Joshua 24, even if Joshua 24 undoubtedly makes a number of very explicit references to the patriarchs. Otherwise, Joshua connects back to Exodus, as especially attested by the mirroring of the crossing of the Sea of Reeds narrative in Exodus 14–15 in Joshua 3–4. At the same time, Deuteronomy clearly continues the story from Numbers and also includes major references to the Sinai narrative in Exodus (e.g. Deut 5; 9–10; cf. also Figure 2 in the Appendix). So, Deuteronomy and Joshua clearly assume Genesis, Exodus, and Numbers. On the other hand, as Exodus–Numbers clearly seem to be connected (e.g., van Seters 1994; Nihan; cf. also Pitkänen 2010a for seeing Exodus 25–40 as a whole, or at least essentially an integral part of the Sinai narrative). This then suggests the existence of Genesis–Numbers for Deuteronomy and Joshua. In terms of matching the two blocks, the idea of padding in connections between Numbers and what follows and a late connection of Genesis to Exodus–Joshua is of course conceivable. But it is just as easy, if not considerably more simple, to assume such connections as part of an overarching design of Genesis–Joshua as a unified work. In addition, it is easy to think that Deuteronomy was aware of all of the main various sources postulated for Genesis–Numbers. This is the case for narrative (see Figure 2), keeping in mind the question of whether there is any H included in the narrative (see below). That is, for example, Baden's suggestion (see Baden) that Deuteronomy refers only to E can be sustained only by a new delimitation of the sources and ultimately assuming that P could not yet have existed (e.g. in terms of Deuteronomy 10:1–6, even if this is a position often taken in scholarship in terms of the ark). Such awareness is also the case for legal materials (again, see Figure 2). In cases where Joshua used priestly materials (and otherwise; see Figure 2), one can think that AD was referring back to their own work in Deuteronomy, and to Genesis–Numbers. In case of a redactional layers approach, Figures 2 and 3 do nevertheless indicate a set of broad building blocks in terms of style, at least from an overall conceptual perspective—that is, narrative, deuteronomistic and priestly materials. If so, the argument is retained mutantis mutandis for the building blocks, possibly collapsing some postulated stages of redactional layers into fewer, or even only one in each case (cf. also Figure 4).
As for the end of Deuteronomy, it is often seen as a continuation of J narrative or equivalent (so, e.g., van Seters 1994). If so, or even if it was an independent piece of narrative, it could have served as a source that a Deuteronomic author incorporated largely in its existing form. In any case, it is likely that a Deuteronomic author incorporated narrative sources in Joshua 1–11, as attested by Noth's related concept of a Sammler. Similarly, a Deuteronomic author could have comfortably incorporated such priestly materials as the narrative of Joshua 22:9–34 in his work. More specifically, it would seem that the author decided to take priestly materials into account when he could have referred to Deuteronomic materials only for the Passover, towns of refuge and the eastern tribes. But, in any case, based on the extant biblical text, this would not have been the case with the Levitical towns; with these, the author had to refer back to Priestly materials. In other words, one can think that the book of Joshua is the first document that already starts combining priestly and Deuteronomic understandings of the legal materials as they relate to the Passover, the towns of refuge, and the concept of centralization in Joshua 22:9–34. In Deuteronomy itself the author simply changes priestly understandings into Deuteronomic ones where appropriate, such as with centralization of worship (cf. below).
In recent theories of redactional layers, post-priestly and post-deuteronomic redactors are seen as working on narrative materials. Such a concept would fit with the idea promoted here. There is of course the question, then, of putative similarities of style of such proposed redaction across the whole of Genesis–Joshua. But at least some of such additions could be about material that has essentially been copied by one of the authors from material already produced by the other. Any perceived modifications and resulting differences between Genesis–Numbers and Deuteronomy–Joshua would fit with such an idea. At the same time, putative redactional additions are usually assumed to be of a nature that creates overall unity to the Pentateuch. If so, such additions could instead also be argued to be part of at least partially continuous narrative sources running across at least parts of Genesis–Joshua that have been incorporated by the authors of Genesis–Joshua. This seems to be more in line with classical source criticism. Even if, considering the jumbled nature of the history of scholarship, no assumption is made here about whether there was a separate E source, if one were able to assume a (nonpriestly) narrative source (cf. also, e.g., Cassuto). That there is an overall chiasm in terms of wider subject matter, rather than in terms of material associated with minor stylistic additions as argued by those advocating redactional layers, clearly suggests that the overall plot has not been produced by a creation of a late layer uniting the traditions but is inherent already in the arrangement of the broader materials. Also, again, that Deuteronomy and Joshua repeat materials in Genesis–Numbers suggests that Deuteronomy and Joshua were aware of its basic plotline. In general, a postulation of two authors can very easily explain why Genesis–Numbers ends relatively abruptly and why Deuteronomy largely refers back only to Horeb, with only cursory mention of earlier events. And, even if one were to assume a chronological priority of Deuteronomy–Joshua, this would be compatible with the idea of Genesis–Numbers being separate, and, in terms of logic, Genesis–Numbers could be conceived to have been produced after Deuteronomy–Joshua either after a period of time or in close succession. As regards possible continuities and similarities in plotline across Genesis–Numbers and Deuteronomy–Joshua, such as between Numbers 32 and Joshua 22:9–32, in line with our remarks just above, one of the passages could have been produced first and then the other based on it. Or, alternatively, A1 could have produced Joshua 22:9–34 together with Numbers 32 and given it over to AD (cf. comments below). I will leave the matter open for the present purposes, but, if so, A1 would have had to have been aware of the Ai story (Joshua 7) in its basic outlines, probably from A2 or from the sources that A2 might have had at his disposal (cf. v 20).
As already noted above, it has sometimes been argued that there are Deuteronomic materials in Genesis–Numbers (cf. McKenzie & Schearing). Whatever the case, the overall style of Genesis–Numbers is not deuteronomic. A fair bit of such material is seen to concentrate around the Sinai narrative and Covenant Code in Exodus. As will be suggested in more detail below, the essentials of the Decalogue and Covenant Code can be seen as a source for both A1 and AD. If so, these, and any other sources available to A1, could easily have included protodeuteronomic concepts that were then further developed by AD into Deuteronomy. One can think, for example, that A1 did not utilize any such full–blown Deuteronomic concepts for Genesis–Numbers as centralization of worship.
Incorporation of Priestly and Narrative Materials
It has to be kept in mind that Genesis–Joshua is primarily a narrative with legal materials incorporated in the narrative framework. That is, after all, Genesis–Joshua at the very least arguably tells a story. Even Leviticus, albeit largely a collection of legal materials, can be argued to attest narrative development as a whole (see Nihan), in addition to such express developments as the consecration of priests in Leviticus 8–9 in response to Exodus 29 and the death of Nadab and Abihu in Leviticus 10 that are limited in number and extent. In Deuteronomy, the parenesis and narrative in 1–11 and 31–34 can be seen to have been built around the legal materials of the book (so most scholars anyway, see, e.g., Otto 2012a), even when the narrative materials in Deuteronomy 1–11 largely constitute a set of flashbacks built into the parenesis. That recent scholarship considers that there are postpriestly materials that unify the composition of Genesis–Joshua reinforces the importance of an overarching narrative framework.
In terms of the individual books, there is a relatively small amount of priestly material in Genesis, and it occurs only in certain places in the book. A case for the insertion of priestly materials into the narrative, especially based on the structuring of genealogies, has already been made in the past (see, e.g., Wenham), and it is in general good to keep in mind that priestly sources were as a whole considered to be earlier than J and E before the time of Wellhausen. It would seem that the existence of a priestly narrative in Genesis that is in any way comparable to the patriarchal narratives can be argued only by suggesting that chunks of priestly materials have been cut off. In addition, in Exodus, the golden calf narrative clearly seems to be placed within priestly materials in a deliberate way (as an intercalated double plot—Park: 191, quoted in Pitkänen 2010b: 256), and the amount of postulated P material in Exodus 7:8–11:9 is clearly less than that of non–priestly material (cf. Dozeman: 206–58), and even less if the mention of or presence of Aaron is not considered as a distinctive characteristic of priestly material, supported by the fact that this is not considered to be the case for Aaron in Exodus 32 (cf. Dozeman: 206–58, 679–81).
As for Leviticus, it clearly largely consists of priestly materials, with some narrative development as indicated above. It would appear that in this case the narrative development was something formed largely based on collecting and arranging available priestly materials, which mostly consist of legal injunctions, towards a broad development of the plot (see Nihan: 69–110) rather than on a priestly narrative per se, even though the latter is also a possibility at least to some extent. Numbers has a clear narrative framework with a large amount of priestly material included, both in terms of law and narrative, and with law and narrative as a whole in many ways alternating through the book. In some of the narratives, it is clearly difficult to separate P and non–P materials from each other (e.g., Numbers 14:26–35; cf. Knohl, 91). That the basic plot in Numbers clearly mirrors that of Exodus suggests that the two go together, as does the interlude of legal material in Exodus 12–13 that is reminiscent of the arrangement of law and narrative in Numbers. The explicit connections between the golden calf narrative in Exodus and the rebellion narratives in Numbers 13–14 should also be noted here. All this then suggests at least the possibility of a comparable authorial mode of working in Numbers to that in Exodus in terms of the relationship of priestly and narrative materials.
In terms of Deuteronomy and Joshua, there is little priestly material in Deuteronomy even though, in Deuteronomy 32:48–52, the author could refer to Meribah Kadesh and holiness as described in Numbers 27:12–14 (cf. Knohl: 95), and in general one can think that he would be likely to have had narrative sources about Moses available as a basis for Deuteronomy 31 and 34. In fact, one might even surmise that Deuteronomy 31:14–15, 23; 32:48–52; 34:1–9 could also have been written by A1 as a conclusion to Genesis–Numbers and then given over to AD by him. That it is very easy to detach these verses from the rest of Deuteronomy supports such an idea. However, Deuteronomy 34:10–12 should be considered as separate from these, as a further and later addition. As regards the book of Joshua, as already mentioned, it has incorporated priestly materials. Again, however, the characteristics of this material in Joshua 1–11 and 13–21 are different from materials in Genesis–Numbers, even when a fair bit of Joshua acts as a conclusion to what is happening in Genesis–Numbers. That Deuteronomy is largely an insertion into the overall chiastic structure of the Hexateuchal narrative as a whole (see Figure 1) would fit with the idea that there is little or no priestly material in Deuteronomy. The priestly tradition may not have included a speech of Moses, or at least details about it. In this, it would also seem plausible that the Deuteronomic author did not incorporate priestly materials because the speech of Moses, together with recapitulation and flashbacks into events at Horeb and other previous events (cf. Baden; Otto 2000), was his creation and in a sense an addition into, and almost an interlude in the wider narrative of Genesis–Numbers. In any case, if one thought that priestly materials are later than Deuteronomy, one might just as well ask why there are no priestly additions to Deuteronomy (except perhaps 32:48–52, and Aaron is mentioned in 32:50, 9:20 and 10:6). Finally, it is easy to conceive that relatively independent blocks of narrative could have been used for Genesis–Joshua in places, such as is most notably the case with the Joseph narrative in Genesis and the Balaam narrative in Numbers.
We conclude this subsection with a further specific example where the approach outlined above can be helpful. The relationship between Deuteronomy 1–3 and the book of Numbers has in general been seen as a difficult problem (see MacDonald: 83–103). However, on a two-author hypothesis (even if the following may be a possibility based on other compositional hypotheses also), one can think that there were two differing traditions about Israel's dealings with Edom during the wilderness period. According to one the Israelites were denied access to the territory of Edom, and according to the other, they could pass through it. A1 and AD were not sure which was the correct tradition and accordingly placed differing versions side by side, in Numbers and in Deuteronomy, respectively (cf. also Cassuto: 81, 122 for the possibility of placing differing traditions together in general). Then, A1 composed his version based on traditions available to him, and AD used his general tradition about going through the territory of Edom and also drew on the speeches tradition of Numbers 20:14–20 or its pre-A1 source and also from the tradition in Numbers 21 or its pre-A1 source. Naturally A1 was aware that Edom and Israel were brothers already based on the Genesis narratives. It would appear that most of the problems expressed, e.g., in MacDonald would thus be resolved in a straightforward manner.
The Case of H Materials
Most academics think that there is a separate H source. In any case, however, H has affinities with P. In terms of subject matter, P largely deals with rituals and H deals with ethical issues that relate to the land. This may provide a reason for at least some of the differences between the two codes, with differing subject matter necessitating a differing vocabulary. For example, one does not have to expect a concept of holiness to explicitly permeate the ritual descriptions of Leviticus 1–7. It is disputed whether any of the priestly narrative materials attest characteristics of H (see Milgrom, vol 2). However, such scholars as Knohl argue for the pervasiveness of H in priestly narrative sections, in addition to the legal materials (Knohl).
One can think that H materials were available with P materials at the time of composition of the Hexateuch. If Knohl's analysis about H material, or at least concepts, is correct, the situation becomes quite easy to conceive. A1 had P, H and narrative materials available to him. It would make sense that H had already largely been redacted into P to form a priestly corpus, even though that is not a must for the argument here. A1 then combined the priestly and narrative materials, whether as separate sources or as at least as partially coherent narratives and created the overall narrative framework, possibly based on any already existing narrative frameworks in the sources. As part of making this suggestion, I find van Seters's (1992, 1994) arguments for a coherent narrative framework in Genesis–Numbers (as suggested by his Yahwistic narrative) broadly convincing, including not necessarily needing to allocate parallel versions of a narrative (e.g. the wife–sister motif in Genesis 12:10–20; 20 and 26:7–11) to differing sources (the putative J and E), and regardless of the date he proposes for the Yahwist and the relation of his Yahwist to the other sources, and even regardless of the exact delimitations of the Yahwist. Nor is it in my view necessary to agree with all of the proposed details about the progression of the narrative in order to agree with the broad thrust of the argument of a coherent overall narrative framework. The proposal here is that such a narrative framework includes the incorporation of Priestly materials in Genesis–Numbers. A1 also added such relatively independent narratives as the Joseph narrative and Balaam narrative. Places where separating narrative and priestly materials is very difficult (e.g. Numbers 14:26–35, cf. above) suggest that the author was able to work creatively rather than merely mechanically. The same goes with such passages as Exodus 25–40 where priestly material has been woven into the narrative framework of the golden calf incident in Exodus 32–34, as indicated above. That the priestly material in Exodus 25–31 is largely duplicated in Exodus 35–40, whether in the form of P or H or a combination of them, would suggest that the author was also able to specifically arrange priestly materials. If so, this would imply a similar case for Leviticus also where there is narrative development, even though only a limited amount of explicitly narrative material.
So, the suggestion here is that P had been created earlier, much in interaction with known ANE traditions. These include the creation and flood traditions and rituals in Leviticus 1–16 (cf. Feder on the hattat rituals; cf. also Weinfeld 2000). Separately, but in connection with P, H was created and was possibly already being redacted into P. H also utilized ANE traditions, even if apparently with fewer parallels to known ANE materials (Leviticus 18 and 20 have clear parallels in Hittite laws) and thus more of creative work than P. A person with Priestly affinities (A1) then combined this material with narrative materials to write Genesis–Numbers, at the same time creating the overall narrative framework. That land (including the patriarchal promises) was a leitmotif of this composition (cf. further below on the cruciality of land) fits with the concerns of H in particular, together with the concerns of D/AD (cf. also Lev 26:11; Josh 18:1). One may also keep in mind here that Milgrom and Knohl suggest that H was the final redactor of the Pentateuch, and also that a minimal amount of H material is postulated for Deuteronomy (only Deuteronomy 32:48–52 according to Knohl: 106), again resulting in a break between Genesis–Numbers and what follows (keeping in mind our suggestion that the character of priestly materials is different in Joshua). And, as already indicated above, considering subject matter and context, any existing materials could have been supplemented in the style of that subject matter, but also in one preferred style (especially H perhaps) or in a mixture of styles. In any case, once one excludes narrative that could also be P (cf. above), there are only a relatively limited number of passages where P and H were combined (see Figure 3), and in most such cases there seems to be a clear predominance of P materials, except with Numbers 28–29. If it were argued that there was no separate H, the considerations become much more simple; there is only the integration of priestly material in general to be considered. In all this, that the delimitation of priestly and non–priestly materials is even less clear than often assumed by those following the documentary hypothesis (or its successors), as Cassuto for example has pointed out (see Cassuto, especially 50–65), supports the idea that A1 could have integrated these varying materials.
Relationship between Legal Materials
The concerns of both A1 and AD are ultimately priestly. Deuteronomy can be seen to have priestly concerns even though it has been written for laymen (see, e.g., Otto 2000: 253). Also, it is generally recognized that the Covenant Code and Deuteronomic laws attest a close relationship (see, e.g., Otto 2007, Levinson), and a case for Deuteronomy revising and expanding the Covenant Code (CC) can be made easily (see, e.g., Levinson). As the Decalogue was incorporated by both A1 and AD, this suggests that a basic Decalogue would have served both A1 and AD which both shaped according to their purposes, one Priestly and one Deuteronomic (cf. Otto 2012b: 684–715), and, interestingly, it clearly appears that it, at least in some form, served, or had already served, as a source for Leviticus 19 (H). Similarly, it would be easy to think that the laws of the Covenant Code plus a set of other laws formed a source from which A1 took the CC and AD shaped D especially based on the concept of centralization of worship. D could however also have been an already existing source for AD that he incorporated in Deuteronomy, even though this seems less likely considering the parenesis, e.g., in Deuteronomy 12 that ties with the parenesis in Deuteronomy 1–11. But, this said, a basic tradition about centralization could already have existed as such on which the Deuteronomic author played, perhaps in line with the (at least narrative) requirement to centralize worship in the wilderness in P/H and generally based on Exodus 23:17 in the Covenant Code, even when this passage is likely to refer to local sanctuaries (cf. Pitkänen 2014/2003, especially 25–110). Otherwise, as indicated above, P type laws would seem to be a separate source, much, but not exclusively, consisting of ritual materials. As Joshua uses priestly materials, on a joint authorship (and in any case mutantis mutandis), AD equally had access to priestly materials. But, P and H materials were largely used by A1, even though some were used or built on by AD, especially in Joshua, just as is conversely the case with the laws that serve as a basis of the Covenant Code and Deuteronomy.
The suggestion here is that priests essentially kept two types of laws, one type more technical and another more lay oriented. Both had their precedents in ancient Near Eastern concepts (cf. our discussion above). The lay oriented material was used and further shaped for the Sinai narrative and for Deuteronomy. This material could originally have been in the safekeeping of particular priestly personnel (cf. the often used concept of a “school”). The priestly oriented material that was largely used for Genesis–Numbers was in the safekeeping of other priestly personnel and was essentially shaped into a priestly–holiness corpus. In the composition of Genesis–Joshua, both corpuses were further shaped and combined. This proposition may be compared and contrasted, e.g., with the approach of Weinfeld (1972: 180), which argues that the priestly and deuteronomic schools were concurrent rather than successive, and Blum's approach that basically sees the Pentateuch as a compromise document between priestly and deuteronomic traditions (see, e.g., Achenbach: 8 for a summary and comments on Blum).
The priestly circles are likely to have been aware of each other already before the combination of the laws by A1 and AD. However, as it is suggested here both that AD incorporated priestly materials (in Joshua) and also reshaped a basic set of laws of the set of Decalogue, CC and lay oriented materials, this suggests that AD also could have shaped D based on P/H laws. Interestingly, one may also consider here the case of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14; Nihan (283–99) suggests for these passages that it is possible that the Deuteronomic legal materials were already aware of a common source that was utilized for the priestly materials. If so, one can then think that both streams of tradition took on and worked that source further based on their own emphases, and the resulting legal materials were subsequently reintegrated into Genesis–Joshua. But, in general, reshaping by AD would seem to have been at a broad level, and a main reason is likely to have been that the Deuteronomic legal materials were intended for a slightly different audience from that of P/H. This is attested, e.g., in the looseness of the language about priests and Levites and generally less detail with a number of laws in comparison with P/H laws where a parallel is attested. D could have also at least partially abrogated concepts in P/H, thus arguably at least with Leviticus 17 versus Deuteronomy 12 and profane slaughter where the relaxation of the rule makes sense at least in the narrative world of a move from a wilderness camp to the land as a whole. It would appear that revision was done only where really felt necessary. And, in any case, that full harmony was not needed is particularly suggested by the case of the Decalogue where the two versions could have been harmonized but were not (cf. Otto 2012b: 684–715). Interestingly, Kitchen and Lawrence (especially vol 3, 127–31) suggest that there is a covenant running through Exodus and Leviticus, with the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20 forming the basic stipulations followed by detailed laws, and Leviticus 26 forming the blessings and curses section, and with Leviticus 27 considered as a supplement in ancient Near Eastern style. Similarly, the law code of Deuteronomy (cf. esp. Kitchen & Lawrence, vol. 3: 143–45) has the Ten Commandments as the first laws/basic stipulations and is largely concluded by the blessings and curses of Deuteronomy 28. If one further considers the laws in Exodus 12–13 and in Numbers as essentially supplements (priestly ones at that) to the basic structure relating to the first covenant identified by Kitchen and Lawrence, this fits very neatly with the two-author hypothesis suggested here, even if the Covenant Code and the priestly materials may have had a separate prehistory before their combination and incorporation by the postulated A1.
The overall canonical order of the texts within Genesis–Joshua is also significant here as a whole. Normally, unless there are flashbacks, plot in a literary work is developed progressively from start to finish. Therefore, unless explicitly specified, any later material apparently superseding earlier material should be seen as actually doing so. Thus, it is hard to think that at least in the final reading of the Pentateuch, people would not (have) read D as superseding P/H in cases where the two are in contradiction. Placing D largely in the end suggests that the concerns of priests were ultimately focused on the people as a whole, and this is confirmed by the overall purpose of the writing of Genesis–Joshua, as elaborated below from a slightly different perspective. At the same time, technical material for priests was nevertheless available and could and would be edited further as textual differences from postexilic time attest. In general, placing priestly materials both in a “middle” position in the Pentateuch and in the wilderness would seem to help emphasize their more or less esoteric feel and orientation, at least from a reader-response perspective. That Joshua has incorporated priestly materials in a Deuteronomic framework further reinforces these proposals (cf. above). Also, if Deuteronomy has a parenetic and folk–oriented character, any minor differences about, e.g., some details of ritual might not have been seen as particularly important. And, one may keep in mind here that in any case it is not clear to what extent ancient Near Eastern laws in general were considered authoritative or as mere scholarly exercises (see e.g. Westbrook, especially 18–19) and that differing versions of rituals could exist in the ancient Near East (as noted in Fleming, especially 98–99 for the zukru ritual in Emar). Thus, based on the above considerations, one can think of Genesis–Joshua as a combination of essentially two differing but interrelated strands of thought in ancient Israel (see Figure 3 for a summary). Such a proposal may seem unexpected, but I see no reason why it should be an impossible one to conceive.
Settler Colonialism as the Unifying Ideology of Genesis–Joshua
Settler colonialism is essentially a phenomenon that accompanies “autonomous collectives that claim both a special sovereign charge and a regenerative capacity” (Veracini: 3). Settlers consist of people who remove into a new land and establish a new society of their own liking there (Veracini: 4). While the analysis of settler colonialism often assumes the concept of a metropolis that more or less has political control over settlers, Pitkänen (2014c) suggests that migrants can become a settler collective if they have the disposition and means available to take political control in their destination, a matter that is of significance for an analysis of ancient Israel. Pitkänen (2014b) also gives detailed reasons for why and how settler colonialism can be applied to the ancient world, concentrating on issues of intergroup violence, access to resources (including land), the objectives of colonizers and migrations of peoples. The study of settler colonialism as an academic discipline is very new; it has distinguished itself from general colonial studies only over the last ten years or so (see Veracini: 1–15 for the history of scholarship). In terms of the narrative of Genesis–Joshua, as discussed above and as is otherwise well known, it indicates that Abraham, Israel's forefather, migrated into the land of Canaan from Mesopotamia, and that his descendants subsequently migrated to Egypt to protect themselves from a famine. The Israelites became a nation in Egypt but were enslaved. They were later liberated and left Egypt under the leadership of Moses. They then traversed a wilderness and arrived at the edge of the land of Canaan where Moses died, and it was left to his successor Joshua to lead the Israelites into the land of Canaan in order to conquer it and settle it. At the outset, this immediately sounds like settler colonialism. The portrayal should also be seen in the context of migration studies that analyze migrations based on four main types of home-community migration, colonizing migration, whole-community migration, and cross-community migration (see Manning: 4–10; cf. also Harzig & Hoerder: 10, who categorize under six labels which ultimately equate with Manning), with the Israelite case then primarily falling under the category of colonizing migration. In express settler colonial terms, the Israelites, especially towards the end of Genesis–Joshua, become an autonomous collective that claims both a special sovereign charge and a regenerative capacity. Also, they vie for a piece of land to claim for themselves under their sovereign charge where they are to establish a new society, and, as a case in point, we may recall that the Holiness Code and Deuteronomic laws particularly focus on land. The indigenous peoples are to be eliminated, either by killing them (see, e.g., Deuteronomy 7), or by physical displacement (e.g., Exodus 23:20–30). There are also more subtle ways to eliminate the indigenous population, labeled as indigenous others by Veracini. They can, for example, be assimilated. Such people include Rahab (Joshua 2, 6), the Gibeonites (Joshua 9) and individuals in 1 Chronicles 20:4–8; 1 Samuel 27:8 (cf. these with the charts in Veracini: 25–29). People coming from outside, labelled as exogenous others by Veracini, can also join the settler collective, and this can be called as transfer, see Veracini: 33. More specifically, Veracini defines transfer essentially as “cleansing” the settler body polity of its (indigenous and exogenous) alterities (Veracini: 33), defining 26 different forms of transfer (Veracini: 35–50). The concept of transfer itself relates to the concept of a “structural genocide” where an existing (indigenous) society is destroyed (see Wolfe 2006: 401, 403). As part of this, one may note that indigenous others are normally considered as a threat to the settler collective, as their continuing existence constitutes a threat and challenge to the very existence and legitimacy of the settler collective (Veracini: 24–26, 33–34), whereas exogenous others (these might include people from lands external to the settler collective who might join the collective) are generally seen as people who can collaborate with the settler collective (Veracini: 26–27). In the Israelite case, exogenous others include the mixed multitude (erev rav) that went out of Egypt in the Exodus (according to Exodus 12:38) and Caleb the Kenizzite (Joshua 14:6). And, the Israelites legislate for a foreigner (ger) in a number of places in the Pentateuchal legal materials (e.g. Lev 17–25; Deut 14:1–21). Thus, people from outside the main settler collective would have been transferred into the settler collective, whether initially as indigenous or exogenous others. There can also be abject others, those permanently excluded from the settler polity, having lost their indigenous or exogenous status (Veracini: 27–28). In the Israelite society these include people who have been subject to the karat punishment of being cut off from the people (Lev 7:20–27; 17:4–14; 18:29 etc.) and the Ammonites and Moabites who according to Deuteronomy 23:1–7 cannot be uplifted into the Israelite community, even when an Edomite and Egyptian can be included in the third generation. These processes would go on for centuries in the Israelite society after the initial invasion described in Joshua and would result in transforming the Late Bronze societies as attested, e.g., in the Amarna letters into the later Iron Age, and ultimately also the postexilic Israelite societies. In this, it is important to consider that, in general, settler colonialism is a structure rather than an event where an initial invasion gives rise to a prolonged process of eliminating the indigenous population (see Wolfe 1999: 2,163; Wolfe 2006: 402).
In this respect, David Day's Conquest: How Societies Overwhelm Others (Day) outlines an overall process that typically happens when a society takes over another. According to Day, a “process of supplanting” by a society involves three stages: “Firstly, it must establish a legal or de jure claim to the land” (Day: 7). Then, “a supplanting society must proceed to the next stage of the process by making a claim of effective or de facto proprietorship over the territory that it wants to have as its own” (Day: 8). Such a claim “is commonly established by exploring the territory's furthest reaches, naming its geographic and other features, fortifying its borders, tilling its soil, developing its resources, and, most importantly, peopling the invaded lands” (Day: 8). Lastly, “the last and most elusive step of the process … involves establishing a claim of moral proprietorship over the territory” (Day: 8).
For this to succeed, “such a claim must outweigh the claim that any other society, including the previous inhabitants, has the potential to assert” (Day: 8). In broad sweep, which we will be refining further below, for the Israelite society, the patriarchal promises reflect the first point, the conquest and settlement the second, and recourse to Yahwism as an exclusive ideology, together with the constitution of the new society (as in, e.g., Deuteronomy and the Holiness Code in Leviticus) and its contrast with the practices of the previous inhabitants (e.g., Deuteronomy 7) the moral claim. Day then goes further by identifying typical processes that accompany these three stages, commenting that these processes are often overlapping (as are the three main stages; Day: 7–9). These are as follows: staking a legal claim, mapping the territory, claiming by naming, supplanting the savages (i.e. savages in the eyes of the supplanters), claiming by right of conquest, defending the conquered territory, using foundation stories, tilling the soil, recourse to genocide where appropriate, and peopling the land. One may also add a final section, organizing the supplanting society, to reflect on certain issues relating to the moral claim. I will illustrate these aspects below, with some slight modifications, as some of the features can be seen as slightly overlapping for our purposes here. More specifically, I will propose these elements: staking a legal claim, mapping the land, naming, foundation stories, supplanting the savages and the genocidal imperative, by right of conquest, tilling the soil and peopling the land, defending the territory. (What follows below is largely a summary; full details are available in Pitkänen 2014b.)
Abraham's travels in the land of Canaan and building of altars (e.g. Genesis 12) can be seen as staking a legal claim. Interestingly, the place for the first recorded altar is Shechem, and the Israelites are later instructed to build an altar on mount Ebal in Deuteronomy 27, and the act of building, together with the accompanying ceremony prescribed by Deuteronomy 27:9–26, is described as having taken place in Joshua 8:30–35. This ceremony of conquest and supplanting by a new society harks back to the patriarchal promises in Genesis and also reinforces the interrelatedness of Genesis, Deuteronomy and Joshua, and arguably Genesis–Joshua as a whole.
In terms of mapping the land, we can see how Abraham traverses the land in Genesis (Genesis 12:6–9), also at
In terms of claiming by naming, it appears that there are some occasions when the Israelites rename places according to the biblical documents, but these seem relatively few. This is the case with Gilgal (Joshua 14:15), Hill of Foreskins (Joshua 5:2–3), Valley of Achor (Joshua 7:26), Hebron (Joshua 14:15; 15:13; Judges 1:10), Debir (Joshua 15:15), Jerusalem (Judges 19:10), Bethel (Judges 1:23), Dan (Joshua 19:47; Judges 18:29), Havvoth Jair (Numbers 32:31) and Nobah (Numbers 32:42). By way of comparison and contrast, interestingly, in the explicitly religious sphere, the Israelites are commanded to erase even the name of the gods of the previous inhabitants (Deut 12:3). Instead, the name of Yahweh is to be established in the land, and in a “chosen place” in particular (Deut 12:4–31).
As regards foundation stories, the Bible clearly indicates, in the book of Genesis in particular, that the land was promised to the patriarchs, and this theme runs through the whole of Genesis–Joshua one way or another (see e.g. Exod 3:16–17; 4:5; Deut 1:8; 6:10; 9:5; 29:13; 30:20; cf. e.g. Num 13:2; Josh 1:2, 12). The exodus and liberation provide another powerful foundation story, and the occasions of lawgiving at Sinai (Exodus), in the wilderness (Leviticus–Numbers), and at the edge of the promised land (Deuteronomy) add further strands to the set of foundation stories. The genealogies (see especially Gen 10) serve to establish Israel's place among the nations, in the context of creation and the land Israel now occupies, and the patriarchal stories define Israel's relations with its close neighbors (e.g. the Edomites, Gen 26–27, 32–33). Such expressions of relations appear to go back to the Late Bronze Age in ancient Greek traditions (see Finkelberg: 24–41).
As for supplanting the savages and the genocidal imperative, the idea of the lower worth of the inhabitants is already grounded in Genesis 9:25 where Canaan is cursed. As already discussed above, such texts as Deuteronomy 7 indicate that the inhabitants of Canaan are to be obliterated, and this settler colonial transfer corresponds to a genocidal imperative.
Acording to the biblical documents, lands would also belong to the Israelites by right of conquest, as with king Sihon (cf. Day: 96–97, making a parallel with later conquistadors), or apparently even by virtue of treading on them (Day: 96, and see, e.g., Josh 1:3; 14:9). Ancient battles already provided legitimation for Jacob according to Genesis 48:22.
As regards tilling the soil and peopling the land, with early Israel, we can see how the population explosion, as it has been called (see Dever: 98), in the highlands was followed by an expansion out from there in the ensuing centuries. In general, settler colonial processes may include periods of apparently peaceful coexistence, and then extensions of the process that may include further fighting, and may also include transfers by assimilating, or attempts to assimilate indigenous peoples (cf. Kakel). While the Israelite narrative in the book of Joshua can be read to emphasize aspects of war and sudden conquest, it does also indicate a continuing settlement process that took a lot of time. Conversely, the narrative of Judges does emphasize the gradual settlement and coexistence aspect, without however denying that there was also violence (especially Judg 1).
As for fortifying the territory, with early Israel, there seems to be a relative lack of mention of fortifications and fortifying in Genesis–Joshua. But Numbers 32 does indicate that the Israelites fortified and possessed fortified towns in Transjordan, and Deuteronomy 3:5 suggests fortified towns with “many” unfortified villages in Transjordan, which would also fit with the large number of unfortified settlements in Cisjordanian highlands in IA I. It would appear that the Israelites would have taken over fortified towns where they existed and where they could conquer them (cf. Josh 10:20; 14:12; 1 Sam 6:18, 20:6, 15). David and Solomon and later kings are described as taking over fortified towns or fortifying themselves (e.g. 2 Sam 5:6–10; 1 Kgs 9:15; 1 Kgs 12:25).
Finally, the legal materials in Genesis–Joshua can be seen as providing a blueprint for the new Israelite society, even when it is not certain how much this was a theoretical rather than a practical construct (cf. above). As Wolfe points out, “settler colonialism has, as observed, two principal aspects—not only the removal of native society, but also its concomitant replacement with settler institutions. This latter, positive aspect involves the establishment and legitimation of civil hegemony” (Wolfe 2008: 130, n. 71). And, “eliminatory strategies all reflect the centrality of the land, which is not merely the component of settler society but its basic precondition” (Wolfe 2008: 103). The centrality of the land surely also applies to the positive aspect(s).
We may also note that a vision of a rest that Israel is to achieve with Yahweh dwelling in its midst in the land that Yahweh has promised to their forefathers is seen to come to fruition at the end of the book of Joshua. At the same time, importantly, together with these expressions of fulfilment of promises, there is talk about the incompleteness of the conquest and encouragement for the Israelites to continue following Yahweh and not to join with non–Israelite peoples that remain in the land (Josh 13:1–7; Josh 23). Many commentators have seen these two at least apparently contradictory viewpoints as puzzling and difficult to interpret (see e.g. Hess: 284–86; Nelson, especially pp. 12–13, 242–43; cf. Knauf). The presentation in the book of Joshua is also considered to be in contradiction with the book of Judges, which clearly describes an incomplete conquest. However, from the perspective of settler colonial studies, it is typical that settler colonial societies generally somehow wish to “disavow” their violent origins. According to Veracini, as one part of such processes, “an anxious reaction to disconcerting and disorienting developments produces a drive to think about a pacified world that can only be achieved via voluntary displacement” (Veracini: 89). Also, while “settlers are natural men engaged in building a settled life in an ahistorical locale, recurring representations of settler original idylls insist on a immaculate foundational setting devoid of disturbing indigenous (or exogenous) others” (Veracini: 88). And, “ultimately, the fact that these images coexist with ongoing (explicit, latent, or intermittently surfacing) apprehension may actually suggest the activation of a splitting of the ego–like process, where two antithetical psychical attitudes coexist side by side without communicating, one taking reality into consideration, the other disavowing it” (Veracini: 89). In the case of ancient Israel, this fits well with the (particularly priestly) idea of movement from the paradisal garden to Sinai and to Shiloh in Genesis–Joshua as a restoration of creation in and through ancient Israel (cf. e.g. Nihan: 64–65, 370–71, 381–82 and passim). Interestingly, this imagery is repeated in the depiction of the time of Solomon, the second king of Israel, in 1 Kings 4:20–34 and apparently 1 Kings 10 (cf. Sanders 2005: 26), in contrast to 1 Kings 11 where a comparable cognitive dissonance appears to take place. Overall, it would seem that the narrative of Kings sees another high point associated with Solomon. This is attested by the choice of Jerusalem and the building of the temple there after the rejection of Shiloh in mid–11th century
In sum, we can see that the overall ancient Israelite strategy and message attested in Genesis–Joshua and the broad contours of archaeological data are very compatible with a settler colonial transformation in ancient Canaan at the end of second millennium
Ancient Near Eastern and Archaeological Evidence and the Date and Provenance of the Materials
In the following, I will continue the argument by setting out some additional considerations of how external data could support the above considerations, together with some further re–readings of the biblical materials themselves. An important related idea in this is that conquerors, even in spite of their explicit agenda, often in reality incorporate symbols and elements from existing peoples for their own foundation stories (as pointed out, e.g., by Day: 132–44, which see for further details). Starting from external data from the ancient Near East (see Kitchen & Lawrence for one work with a very good amount of such comparative data), parallels to Hittite materials include the treaty format, much of the various manifestations of the hattat ritual in Leviticus, and the atonement ritual for an unsolved murder in Deuteronomy 21. The border descriptions in Joshua can be compared with border descriptions in Hittite treaties. Deuteronomy 13 also has a parallel with Hittite materials. The plagues material in Exodus can be read as a polemic against the Egyptian gods. The Joseph materials remind us of the tale of two brothers in Egyptian literature. The creation and flood narratives have their parallel in the Babylonian Creation poem and the Gilgamesh Epic. The Covenant Code attests similarities with the Code of Hammurabi. The concept of miṡarum as ethical action, in addition to the miṡarum acts proper that can be compared with the biblical jubilee laws, is seen in the prologue of the Code where justice is based on gods entrusting its implementation to the king. This can broadly be compared with YHWH entrusting the upholding of justice to the Israelites at Sinai through the Decalogue and the Covenant Code. The Sinai narrative itself can be seen as a recontextualisation of ancient near Eastern storm god traditions as applying to Y
Such parallels as listed above clearly show the pre–exilic provenance of concepts that pertain to the narrative as a whole. An argument for an early origin of the concepts can of course be responded to by stating that early concepts could have been preserved and then incorporated in the composition later. However, the question must be asked as to what actual incontrovertible evidence there is for a late dating. Arguably, this question is often avoided by those advocating a late dating. Or, late dating is argued for without actually considering how that same evidence could be used for an earlier dating. For example, one of the two Israelite visions of territory in the Pentateuch is often seen in terms of Persian eber nari (see, e.g., Otto 2012a: 337). However, the concept of eber nari is attested in Neo–Assyrian tradition also, and it is likely that this designation was used because of the clear geographic demarcations. One may also note here the apparent ancient Egyptian thinking of internal, external and ideological zones at the time of Thutmose I and III where the last went up to the river Euphrates (as pointed out by Hays). In addition, based on more modern examples, one can expect that differing visions about territories could simultaneously exist in the minds of colonizers (see e.g. Kakel: 130, as pointed out in Pitkänen 2014b). And, more broadly, there are various possibilities in relation to ancient parallels in general. Early material may have been redacted in early or late. Late material may have been redacted in late into an already existing work, or, alternatively, essentially at the time of writing. Ancient Near Eastern materials attested late could often have existed early but not attested in existing documents (cf. Sommer). In addition, there is in general the possibility of retouching of earlier narratives. The Gilgamesh epic can be seen to provide a useful parallel (see especially Carr: 3–149; Tigay), and if so, such texts as Deuteronomy 4:27–31 and 29:28–30:10 could as such have involved retouching in the time of the exile. In general, it can be difficult to have precision based on detailed arguments from the texts due to characteristics of oral–written tradition (see Carr, especially 3–149; Tigay). In addition, it is of course well known that various versions of the biblical texts existed in the postexilic period, as attested especially from Qumran, that diverge from the Masoretic text, and the Septuagint has its own textual differences that cannot be accounted for based on issues relating to translation only (cf., e.g., Tov). Thus, ancient Near Eastern parallels and textual considerations support the idea of an early origin of the materials, with possible later editing included.
As for historical settings, a number of features can be read in multiple ways in the light of the above comments. Thus, for example, the emphasis on Jerusalem in the Melchizedek narrative (Gen 14:17–20) could already be seen as affirmation that the king of a significant town which the Jebusites for the author currently control did in the past honor and bless the Israelite forefather who then could in the distant past, removed from the current conditions, also give a tithe to him. Or, one may consider the narratives about Abraham and Isaac in the land of the Philistines where they could make a covenant in the distant past (Gen 21:22–33; Gen 26) even if the Israelites at the time of the author may hold less than friendly relationships with the current occupants of the area (and this would hold for much of the monarchic period, too). These previous occupants of the land can then be seen as either supporting or at least being in line with Abraham's future oriented claims for the land, even if this might stand in contrast to the present realities for the author. Similarly, the mountain in Genesis 22 could be seen as having been connected with Jerusalem by later tradition, assuming this is what the author of Chronicles wants to allude to in 2 Chronicles 3:1 in addition to referring to David. In this connection, one may note the use of the related word moreh for (at least partially so) various localities in Genesis 12:6, Deuteronomy 11:30, and Judges 7:1, further suggesting that the narrative may not necessarily have been connected with Jerusalem initially. The religion of the patriarchs is in general portrayed as different from the later period in the biblical materials (as cogently argued by Moberly). As part of the differentiation of the eras, Genesis 15:12–16 clearly suggests that the genocidal imperative is not yet in place during the time of the patriarchs (especially v 16). That is, whichever ways the patriarchal traditions were formed, in their present arrangement they can (at least arguably) be read as part of the settler colonial framework. Centralization can also be interpreted differently from the Wellhausenian (and de Wettean) interpretation which served as a major bulwark for a seventh century dating. One may think that Shiloh was seen as a central sanctuary in early Israel by the biblical documents, and that there was no central sanctuary and thus no need or “requirement” for centralization of worship between the rejection of Shiloh after the disaster at Aphek (1 Sam 4) and the building of the Temple of Solomon (Ps 78:56–72; see Pitkänen 2014/2003). In addition, centralization was seen as an ideal by Deuteronomy, to be achieved in conditions of peace and complete settlement (see Pitkänen 2014/2003), and the issue to what extent one should see the Israelite legal materials as theoretical or practical should also be considered.
As regards archaeology, Genesis–Joshua attests to a number of difficulties. In general it is seen as portraying a period whose details cannot be verified archaeologically. Genesis 1–11 certainly does not fit with what one knows about the history of the area from outside the biblical documents and with scientific evidence about the origin of the earth and the universe. As a side remark, it is interesting how the imagining of the biblical authors about the development of humankind and civilization (homo sapiens) very broadly matches current views about the early origins and spread of mankind, even if the starting point in modern theories is Africa (from an evolutionary perspective, of course), and the timeline and exact sequencing is different (see Manning 2013, especially 16–59. That is, loss of paradise can broadly be compared with migration out of tropics and subsequent development of technologies, no doubt at least partially to adjust to colder climes). I am not suggesting that there is any evidence that would link the narratives which in any case have been told from an ancient Near Eastern perspective (e.g. the garden motif in creation) to actual memories. But I do find the coincidence interesting. As for the patriarchal narratives, they have proved elusive in terms of their verification through archaeology, also as they portray single persons who are not easily attestable in the archaeological record. The exodus has proven problematic to verify from Egyptian sources even though there are those who see things in more positive terms. Events at Mount Sinai cannot be verified, nor is it known where the mountain depicted by the biblical narrative is located. There is no direct evidence of the Israelites in the wilderness. Especially, a large group such as portrayed in Numbers seems too large to be sustainable, let alone conceivable for the area. Most of the events depicted in Deuteronomy are outside potential archaeological verification, except for the descriptions of the conquest of Transjordan in chapters 2–3. Much of the conquest tradition itself, especially in the book of Joshua, is difficult to verify archaeologically. Especially, such places as Jericho, Ai and Arad have proven problematic.
The best way to respond to a number of these issues seems to be to suggest that Genesis–Joshua is ultimately a story. The biblical authors told what in their view might plausibly have happened. Many of the stories were thus told in an embellished manner. From a comparative perspective, there is evidence that, in the ancient Near East, Mesopotamian accounts could range in a continuum from factual to fictional (see Longman, including 209–10), and “reminiscences” could be preserved from earlier times in later stories about those times in Egypt and Greece (see Kitchen & Lawrence, vol. 2: 60–61). Also, from a more philosophical perspective, one may ask to what extent history, and, even any theory in general, as a product of the human mind(s), is fiction (cf. Curthoys & Docker; see also Docker: 212, quoting Lyotard: “Is there a real difference between a theory and fiction?”). In any case history is a literary representation of the past (cf., e.g., Manning: 108–09; Roskop: 14–49). Thus, even with embellishment, there may be a kernel of truth in the materials. There were Semites in Egypt in the Middle Bronze Age, and some of them rose to high positions in the Egyptian society. After the expulsion of the Hyksos at about the end of the Middle Bronze Age, it is possible that the societal position of Asiatics would have deteriorated as a whole, with some possibly ending up in a position of slavery. It is possible that a Semite did actually wander in the Sinai area and felt an experience of the divine and a political consciousness to help an enslaved group of his countrymen leave Egypt. Others could also have followed in such a migration, even at least partially separately from this group. This group then spent some time in the wilderness, perhaps passing through the place where the leader had experienced his divine call. The large numbers portrayed in especially the book of Numbers may be seen in comparison with certain Neo–Assyrian military accounts which appear to have consciously exaggerated numbers by a factor of ten (see Sagrillo: 435), and this factor may have been different in the case of ancient Israel. The group experienced some hardship and diseases in its harsh desert environment and was initially afraid to attempt a conquest of the land, but eventually had the courage to do so and also succeeded in making a bridgehead that expanded in the following centuries. This is where the story of Genesis–Joshua breaks off. Interestingly, all of the major neighboring peoples mentioned in Numbers–Joshua were in place in the Iron Age I (see Fritz: 197–208 for a convenient summary). Also, in particular, the strong antagonism with Amalek in the Pentateuch (Ex 17:8–16; Deut 25:17–19; cf. Judg 3; 6–7) tallies with the portrayal of Samuel's genocidal antagonism against them in the books of Samuel (1 Sam 15), itself also tying with our considerations above about settler colonial ideology and its genocidal imperative (cf. below on dating the books of Samuel). The general emphasis on the unity of Israel is of course best understood as a possible reality before the division of the kingdom after Solomon, the conquests by Mesha in the 9th century and the exile of the Northern kingdom in the 8th, even if one could of course always also argue that such a unity was argued for by a later author who wanted to refer to the “glories” (real or imagined) of an earlier situation in his writings (cf. comments on this in Pitkänen 2010a). The cases of Jericho, Ai, and Arad are also not as clear cut against a possible conquest as is often thought, especially when one takes into account uncertainties in the interpretation of the archaeological record and the possibility, even likelihood of literary embellishment in the narratives (see, e.g., Pitkänen 2010a, passim and Hawkins: 91–120 and passim).
In determining the date of materials in Genesis–Joshua, we should also make some comments about the books of Samuel and general issues that relate to writing in ancient Israel. As regards the books of Samuel, significantly, they include references to the Pentateuchal traditions (cf. Patrick) and have at times been dated early and seen as relatively accurate portrayals of the time they portray (cf. Patrick; Garsiel), even if the historicity of the associated time of David and Solomon has been recently strongly challenged, especially by the so–called minimalists. If one keeps on the side of a relatively maximalist interpretation (see Patrick; Garsiel for a good number of arguments for such an interpretation), the books of Samuel support the idea of an early provenance of the Pentateuch, even if one can always argue for influence from the books of Samuel to the Pentateuch rather than the other way around. Otherwise, I would suggest that the literary character of Genesis–Joshua is different from that of the books of Samuel in that there is much more reliance on oral tradition in the former and ultimately to a construction of a past for the authors who envisaged events from hundreds of years in the past to some 150–200 years (or more) before their present time. While the related issues are complex and debatable (see e.g. Carr; Niditch) and I cannot but make some brief comments here, it would seem likely to me that many if not most of the narrative sources available to them could have involved oral tradition and in any case a story form of a particular broad (cultural) style, keeping in mind that we do know from the ancient Near East that a particular literary style could be maintained for centuries. At the same time, an oral or oral-literary form in my view also particularly easily ties with possible embellishment and adjusting to later conditions. The books of Kings can perhaps be seen as more of a mixture of annals and oral stories (e.g. the Elijah and Elisha narratives) that look back at the history of the monarchy spanning some 300–400 years. The book of Judges looks back at the time before the monarchy through a collation of individual stories and attempts to establish an order of events and at least an overall chronology, within “parameters” of ancient (and not modern) writing. But it is not, e.g., based on annals such as is the case with the books of Kings. In terms of writing before the time of the monarchy, while there is only limited positive evidence, writing at the time remains a clear possibility (see, e.g., Byrne: 1–37; Millard; cf. Galil). In terms of scribal activity, if there was substantial writing in ancient Israel in the time of David, especially considering that the books of Samuel may have an early provenance (cf., e.g., 2 Sam 8:17; 20:25), one does not necessarily need to assume that this was a sudden development. From this angle, it is plausible that there was scribal activity of at least some kind already in the premonarchical time. From another angle, the Late Bronze scribal culture, e.g. in Emar, Ugarit, Hattusa etc. (see, e.g., Cohen, Devecchi), also attested in the Amarna letters from Canaan itself, could have been taken into account by the ancient Israelites. We must also bear in mind that the Israelite settlement in the highlands clearly appears to have started before the collapse of the Late Bronze Mediterranean world in the early 12th century
More broadly, blanket scholarly thinking about the primitiveness of the premonarchical period can be considered analogous to 19th century colonial beliefs about the primitiveness of contemporary indigenous cultures (see, e.g., Wolfe 1999 on the latter). Such thinking may also be linked with modern ideas about nation states and their (exclusive) pre–eminence. A counterweight to these views, which ultimately seem to trace back to the 19th century and the time of Wellhausen, is the knowledge that has emerged over the last century or so about the sophistication of ancient Near Eastern cultures already from the late fourth and third millennium
In sum, the biblical materials can then be seen as a mixture of fact and fiction, and it is sometimes difficult to tell where the story reflects actual events and where it has been stylized. And yet, even with the embellishments and creative retelling that are included, the narrative can be suggested to have been associated with a settler colonial transformation in the highlands of ancient Canaan and may have an early provenance.
In terms of the more specific background of the authors, it would seem that Priestly material has a somewhat southern orientation and Deuteronomy, as has generally been acknowledged, a somewhat northern orientation, even if such distinctions may not be particularly strong. On a hypothesis of a potential early origin, and also considering the emphasis on Shiloh in Joshua, this might imply a particular association, or perhaps orientation, of AD with Shiloh, also, for example, attested by the focus of 1 Samuel 15 on the destruction of the Amalekites that tallies with Deuteronomy's herem theology (but cf. also Exod 17:8–16; Num 14:45; 24:29 and the Pentateuch as a whole). The Priestly material points towards the south especially in terms of Judah leading in the wilderness (Num 1–10) and the Levitical towns (Josh 21). The system of Levitical towns can be considered as entirely programmatic and, except for the objectives explicitly stated in the Bible, comparable to colonial centers of rule which are intended to consolidate the hold of the colonizers, in this case the Israelites and Yahwism in the land. In particular, comparisons with Inka centres of rule in pre-Columbian America (for these, see DeMarrais, especially the map on p. 77; see also D'Altroy: 281–85, including Figure 9.6 on p. 282), and the related Inka artisan colonies may provide an even closer parallel. As there clearly seem to be no historical or cultural links at all between these entities, one may conclude that it is possible that comparable plans and political systems be independently devised in differing places and settings (on scholarship on the Levitical towns in general, see e.g. Hutton). It appears that this part of the vision(s) of Genesis–Joshua was, however, never implemented, at least not in full, as was the case with a number of other aspects of the vision(s). Significantly, the focus in Joshua 21 is on Hebron, and this is the case with the Caleb tradition as well (especially Josh 14:6–15 and 15:13–19). Also, David is reported to have initially ruled from Hebron (2 Sam 5:1–5). And, the patriarchal tombs are portrayed to be largely in Hebron (cf. Kallai: 145), with the books of Samuel, themselves sometimes dated to an early time (cf. above), referring to a burial tradition about the patriarchs (1 Sam 10:2; cf. Kallai). All this speaks for the idea that the priestly material could have been oriented towards the south and Hebron in particular already before the rise of the Israelite monarchy. In contrast, Deuteronomy (34:5–6) emphasizes that Moses' burial place (in Transjordan) is not known. If there was an ideological early emphasis on the South, it would not tally with the concentration of population in the North in Iron Age I, even though the move of the central sanctuary to Shiloh in this period would have helped redress the balance towards the North (cf. Pitkänen 2014/2003, especially 111–269). As part of this, for example, Genesis 49:10 could even be read as referring to the setting of Shiloh as the central sanctuary, moving focus away from Judah and Hebron. Genesis–Joshua could thus also be seen as promoting the unity of Israel, including between the South and the North (cf. Fritz: 140–43, which also suggests that such a division already existed before the time of monarchy), with such unity across the putative tribes specifically being a great Deuteronomic theme anyway. If the document originates from an early time, its view of the unity of Israel could also have been picked up and promoted by the authors as part of responding to the threat of the Philistines from the southwest (cf., e.g., Faust), with events ultimately leading to a rise of a monarchy led from the South, incidentally in continuation with aspects of the early emphasis on the South (cf., e.g., Fritz: 187–88, 196–97). All in all, the rise of the Philistines may be considered as an important factor responsible for the rising political prominence of the South towards the end of the premonarchical period, together with such already existing ideological aspects as the importance of Hebron. The writing of Genesis–Joshua could then have been coinciding with this time. But possible settings for its production could also basically be imagined for a later time, for example the time of David and Solomon, and for the early 9th century when the Israelite territories east of the Jordan were still intact (cf. 2 Kgs 10:32–33; the Moabite stone). However, when one considers the disaster at Aphek and the rejection of Shiloh as the central sanctuary in about the mid 11th century
Contemporary Implications
The above considerations have suggested that Genesis–Joshua can be read as an essentially unified work written to promote a settler colonial transformation in ancient Israel. An early date would suggest that its authors wished to establish a new society of Yahwism in place of an older order. The vision of a new at least relatively democratic society attested in the documents (cf. Berman) is special, even marvelous, even when it is rooted in already existing traditions of the ancient Near East. At the same time, on the underside of the vision, the grand designs signalled death and destruction for the indigenous peoples of the land, even when it would appear that these plans could not be effectively disseminated across the early Israelite population and therefore were at best only partially implemented. And yet, it is also clear that the pre-Israelite late Bronze Age societies did undergo a transformation that resulted in the birth of (an) ancient Israel. The interpretation of the documents also seems to have changed with the passing of time and changes in the context of the Israelite society. If the idea of an early provenance is followed, during the monarchical period, at the time of Josiah when the law code of Deuteronomy had been rediscovered, the focus of the Deuteronomic reforms seems to have been the destruction of idolatry rather than a continuing settler colonial transformation and its associated genocidal imperative. Genesis–Joshua may also have been updated at the time. Updates might have included revising especially the town lists of Judah in Joshua to reflect the realities of seventh-century
Once the Israelite monarchy had been extinguished, the interpretation of Genesis–Joshua, and already the books of Samuel–Kings, regardless of whether the first edition of the books of Kings originates from the exile or before it, would focus on reflection on and interpretation of the documents based on the great catastrophe. If there was a further exilic redaction of the materials, or in case of an exilic composition of Kings mutandis mutandis, it could then have added the final chapters of Kings and inserted or retouched at least some of the materials that are linked to the exile in their present form in the book of Deuteronomy and in Leviticus 26 (cf. Cross: 285–89), even though the latter activity also could already go back to an earlier time. It is also very possible that the exile acted as a major watershed in terms of how Genesis–Joshua per se was being read. As suggested by Sanders (see Sanders 2005: 51–53, 102–04; cf. Sanders 2014: 23–24), the loss of immediate connection to the land for the exiles meant that the fulfilment of its conquest was now less important than before. Nor would the returnees as a small community within an empire be likely to have had the means to launch a settler colonial program (cf. Sanders 2005, 52). Instead, the torah of Moses, a document that looked forward to the land, became a reference point for the now emerging early Judaism, securing the identity of the early Jews, many of whom were and even would increasingly be scattered throughout the Mediterranean world and in practice could only hope to return to the land some day, rather in an “eschatological” sense (cf. Sanders 2005: 48–49, 2014: 23–24). This identity did also have an increasingly individualising aspect (Sanders 2005: 108). Accordingly, Ezra would read the Pentateuch as torah in postexilic times and Nehemiah would focus on separation from foreigners rather than their extermination. Based on these considerations, and as Sanders suggests (2005: 51–53), it is very possible that, in terms of the canonical process for the emerging early Judaism, the separation of the Pentateuch from what follows took place during this era. After this development, it was largely only Joshua that was left on its own as an ostensible conquest text. Importantly, the material also started to be explicitly commented on separately as it was canonized (cf. Otto 2014). In the Graeco–Roman environment, New Testament readings detached the document even more from its original message. Readings based on the original settler colonial vision came back in vogue in the Western colonial period in particular, although perhaps in a somewhat mutated form. Such readings have been recently analyzed critically in the present postcolonial world, even if the concept of postcolonialism has to be qualified by the fact that in reality settler colonialism continues in today's world (see Hinkson, James & Veracini). Thus, if the reading here is adopted, we may consider that the interpretation of this document is coming full circle, with interpretations detached from the proposed original meaning nevertheless also still current.
In terms of academics, reading Genesis–Joshua as a settler colonial document as above cuts in the middle between so–called maximalists and mainstream scholarship. It suggests that an idea of a basic reliability of the documents and an idea of a less than evolutionary development of the ancient Israelite religion seems warranted, even granting a literary presentation of the materials that can be partially fictional and embellished. At the same time, in favor of mainstream scholarship, it does not leave out the idea of differing sources nor the possibility—even a likelihood—of later additions to the work, even if the composition of the work is constituted differently here. In addition, it does easily account for the violent characteristics of the texts, something that neither the maximalists nor mainstream scholars are often willing to face, even when it is true that postcolonial and minimalist readings do interact with these (for further analysis on this, see Pitkänen 2014a). Hopefully the above reading could then also on its part help provide some common ground between differing interpretative camps and by doing so help towards transforming the current often conflict-oriented approach between them into a more peaceful, accommodating and even mutually respecting one.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Professor Eckart Otto for reading an earlier draft of this paper and for his helpful suggestions. I would also like to thank Dr. Nathan MacDonald for sending me a copy of his article (MacDonald), Professor Alan Millard and Dr Stephen Russell. Thanks, too, to Mr. Zachary Thomas for drawing my attention to the presentation script by Hays. Finally, thanks to Professor Philip Esler and to the anonymous BTB peer reviewers for their comments and suggestions. The views are of course mine.