A brief retrospect
To expound the principles of ânew biblical archaeologyâ, I begin with a short retrospect on what was called âMinimalismâ. This was, of course, a term coined by opponents, which entirely missed the point by focusing on the (minimal) extent of biblical narrative held to contain reliable historical data. âMinimalistâ was attached to a small number of scholars who were supposed to form a âschoolâ. In reality, what was under way was not the invention of a new revolutionary or even revisionist ideology, but a response, in an appropriate manner, to the collapse of biblical archaeology, the faults of which have now been widely recognized (see, for example, Davis 2004). âMinimalismâ has remained a term of opprobrium, even while its conclusions have been quietly accepted. Its approach is now firmly in the mainstream.
The collapse of biblical archaeology may seem to have occurred quite rapidly, but the entire enterprise had been under challenge for some time. Whether the patriarchs, the Exodus and the Conquest had really belonged to history was a question that occupied the teachers of my own student years in the 1960s, even if their urge was regularly to affirm some kind of historical core. Nowadays, these episodes are less of an issue than the so-called âUnited Monarchyâ, or, more precisely, the figure of King David. In many (more ignorant) quarters, âminimalismâ is symbolized by the denial of the historical existence of this figure. The reason is that a stake in biblical historicity is not now, as previously, mainly a matter of religious commitment to the Bible as scripture. It is much more the city of Jerusalem that matters, a city now annexed and its Iron Age identity named as the âCity of Davidâ, celebrated as âIsraelâs eternal capitalâ.
Biblical historicity is now more a political than a religious issue. This, I think, partly explains the animosity that the word âminimalismâ still evokes in some quarters, even at times attracting the label of âanti-Semiticâ, a term evidently no longer used only to mean hatred of Jews, but opposition to the claims and deeds of the government of the State of Israel.
A review of the history of biblical scholarship written in fifty yearsâ time will surely recognize that âminimalismâ represented a return to normal scholarly discourse after three-quarters of a century of misdirection. It will comprehend that in the twentieth century Palestinian archaeology, which had so much to offer to biblical scholarship, turned its back on biblical criticism and pursued its own naĂŻve course up a blind alley.
Reinhard Kratz has recently pointed out (Kratz 2013: 141) that Wellhausenâs distinction between the religion of âancient Israelâ and the religion of Judaism remains a fundamentally important insight. We can now entertain a much richer complex and more positive appreciation of early Judaism or Judaisms, and a rather different view of the religious practices in Iron Age Israel and Judah than did Wellhausen. But he did, following the lead of de Wette, rightly perceive that â as we would not have to put it â the biblical Israels are a product of various Judahite/Judean communities and not the other way round.
The principle that biblical texts betray the history of the period of their production underlay the literary-critical reconstruction of ancient Israelite and Judahite religion, and made possible a scholarly history based on the chronological sequence of sources rather than the chronology within the narratives. The documentary sequence that emerged in Wellhausenâs work has, of course, been severely reconfigured, even dismantled, during more than a century of scholarship, and the notion of a documentary structure itself has been questioned. But the central insight and conclusion of the nineteenth-century reconstruction has survived: that the Mosaic Torah stands not at the beginning of Israel but at the beginning of Judaism.
Just at the moment of this realization, the development of a scientific archaeology, an archaeology of tells and pottery, of chronology and history, and not just the exposure of walls and buildings and the collection of museum pieces, became possible. The new discipline might have provided just what literary-historical criticism lacked: an independent means of verification, improvement and correction of its critical reconstruction. Instead, confronted with the re-emergence of the biblical stage â places, ruins, names â biblical archaeology made two fundamental mistakes: rejecting the conclusions of Higher Criticism and overturning its basic principle on the dating of sources. Instead, it took a view that, because Elsinore Castle can still be seen and visited, Hamlet is, therefore, a figure of history, and Shakespeare a historian. Textual analysis was abandoned and, instead, biblical archaeology set itself to search for evidence that the biblical story was, after all, quite true, and not the critical historical reconstruction derived from it. The goal of archaeology became its premise.
Because of this antagonism of âbiblical archaeologyâ to Higher Criticism, it was never going to be finally undone by any kind of literary-critical exegesis. It was definitively brought down only in the 1970s, with the results of the West Bank survey (see Finkelstein 1988), and many of those who then quickly became ex-biblical archaeologists claimed that archaeology itself had triumphed over the âphilologistsâ or âtheologians,â who reached similar conclusions through literary-historical criticism. The belief, incidentally, that literary criticism is somehow representative of a theological or philological approach is curious, even ridiculous, but one of the paradoxes of Albrightean âbiblical archaeologyâ was an antipathy to theology that concealed a commitment to the integrity of the biblical literature. That it was Israeli archaeology that undid a large chunk of national history in removing from history the contents of Genesis to Joshua was ironic, but also enormously helpful. It âerased historyâ, to use the phrase coined by Halpern (1988), but also undermined Nothâs hypothesis (Noth 1948) that the stories of ancestral immigration, exodus and conquest were an early Israelite tradition â this hypothesis representing another backtrack from the principle established by Wellhausen. The kind of âIsraelâ that might have created such a tradition had not existed.
Biblical archaeology had failed not only in its historical agenda but also in offering any alternative sense of the biblical narratives about the past, because it had, explicitly or implicitly, decreed that the truth of the Bible was essentially historical truth, and hence its narratives were to be read literally. This defect was avoided elsewhere through the postulation of Israelite âtraditionâ or âtraditionsâ, which were not necessarily always historically reliable. Such an approach permitted archaeological data to be evaluated somewhat more critically in assessing the historicity of these written âtraditionsâ. The essential difference between the two ways of applying archaeology to the Bible came most fully into light in a conversation in the Expository Times, between G. Ernest Wright (Wright 1960) and Gerhard von Rad (von Rad 1961). Each proposed his own different conception of biblical theology. Wright, who was a good archaeologist, also sought to make explicit the theology underpinning biblical archaeology (generating the so-called âBiblical Theologyâ movement): the Bible was a testimony to mighty divine acts, and it was in those acts, and not the written story about them, that the divine revelation, the âtruthâ, was embedded. Who had been writing these stories about the past, how, when or where, did not matter: the testimony could be evaluated quite independently by archaeology, without the aid of literary-historical criticism. For von Rad, the theology of the Old Testament lay in the sacred tradition of Israel, which von Rad did not confuse with historical truth; rather, it expressed a historical faith. In this von Rad anticipated the more recent fashion to regard the biblical narratives of the past as expressions of collective memory, as expressions of ideologies of identity, rather than bare records of facts, paying attention to the contours of the memory/story itself rather than merely investigating its accuracy.
Picking up the pieces of âbiblical archaeologyâ
The collapse of âbiblical archaeologyâ and its associated âbiblical theologyâ means that a quite different agenda is required for the historian seeking to make use of biblical narratives about the past. To begin with, the degree of discrepancy between the archaeologically reconstructed account of âIsraelite originsâ and the biblical stories of a pre-monarchic era suggest a substantial gap between the storyâs setting and its composition. How big the gap is really does not matter much, although there seems to be an anxiety among some scholars to hold on as far as possible to the monarchic (âpre-exilicâ) period for an early consolidation of much of the content. This is probably part of the reason why the reign of Josiah is so popular at present (see, for example, Finkelstein and Silberman 2001, 2007). Awareness of this gap does not, of course, âerase historyâ, but shifts our attention to a different segment of history, the time of the text, not the time it writes about; this shift creates the need for a different way of reconstructing history. From this perspective, archaeology is needed to provide a context for the creation of the writings. This is not only because, as I want to argue, the production of a text is the crucial point of intersection between exegetical and archaeological work, but also because the scriptural texts represent the most important artefacts to have come out of Palestine, the ones that ultimately explain the importance of the land and its history in our own times. The religion of Judaism â which can intelligibly be dated only to the second century ce at the earliest â is much more a product of the scriptures and the âIsraelsâ, depicted in those scriptures, than it is the outcome of any events that occurred in the Iron Age. This enshrines a universal truth, in fact: our own actions, individually and collectively, are determined less by what happened in the past than by how we choose to remember it.
Historical-critical exegesis has until recently dominated the literary approach. However, in the new perspective, the historian must also utilize other literary-critical techniques, especially those that relate to narrative analysis. The biblical stories have to be seen as works of fiction rather than as reportage, and hence we have to look more closely at literary features such as genre, point of view, type-scene, character and plot in order to understand their purpose and dynamics. While these features can be examined without any reference to the historical production of the text, my own view is that even fiction has its âpolitical unconsciousâ (to use the phrase of Fredric Jameson), and that in principle no story, no telling or retelling of a story, can entirely mask its historical context, even if we cannot always decode that context adequately. Hence, even if, for instance, the stories of David (or of Jesus) are nothing more than a reworked assemblage of types and tropes, there remains the question: why tell this story? Why now? Why tell it this way, deploy this particular repertoire, impart these variations? These are also the kinds of questions which invoke the study of cultural memory, whose essential feature, in my view, is a focus on the act of remembering, its purpose and function, and not on the degree of reliability of that memory. Remembering, especially in writing, is still a historical act, and a written memory is a cultural artefact, part of the cause and effect of the historical process that we seek either to understand or to create, depending on our philosophy of history. These considerations mark the difference between the now-defunct âbiblical archaeologyâ and whatever kind of negotiation between archaeology and the biblical text may now be necessary â which I call the ânew biblical archaeologyâ. However, first, it is necessary to ask: is such a negotiation any longer possible or desirable?