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i

Inconsistency in the Torah

ii
iii

Inconsistency
in the Torah
Ancient Literary Convention and the
Limits of Source Criticism

JOSHUA A. BERMAN

1
iv

1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© Oxford University Press 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
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above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Berman, Joshua A., 1964– author.
Title: Inconsistency in the Torah : ancient literary convention and the
limits of source criticism / Joshua A. Berman.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, [2017] | Includes
bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016045243 (print) | LCCN 2016045476 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780190658809 (cloth) | ISBN 9780190658816 (updf ) |
ISBN 9780190658823 (epub) | ISBN 9780190675295 (oso)
Subjects: LCSH: Bible. O.T.—Criticism, interpretation, etc.
Classification: LCC BS1178.H4 B47 2017 (print) | LCC BS1178.H4 (ebook) |
DDC 221.601—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016045243

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
‫‪v‬‬

‫‪For Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks‬‬

‫ונחה עליו רוח ה'‬

‫רוח חכמה ובינה‬
‫רוח עצה וגבורה‬
vi
vii

Contents

Abbreviations ix

Introduction 1

PART I : Inconsistency in Narrative

Setting Conflicting Histories Side by Side

1. Diverging Accounts within the Kadesh Inscriptions of Ramesses II 17

2. The Exodus Sea Account (Exod 13:17–​15:19) in Light of the

Kadesh Inscriptions of Ramesses II 35

Disparity in the Sovereign’s Recounting of History to His Vassal

3. Divergent Histories between Original and Renewal Treaties in

Hittite Diplomatic Literature 63

4. Retold History in the Book of Deuteronomy in Light of the

Hittite Treaty Tradition 81

PART II : Inconsistency in Law

5. The Pivotal Characterization: Ancient Law as Non-​Statutory Law  107

6. The Misapplication of “Strict Construction” and the Semblance of

Contradiction  118
viii

viii Contents

7. Honoring a Law Code and Diverging from Its Dictates in the

Neo-​Babylonian King of Justice and in the Book of Ruth  137

8. Blending Discordant Laws in Biblical Narrative  148

9. Legal Revision in the Torah Law Collections: Supersessionist

or Complementary?  171

10. Redacting the Torah’s Conflicting Laws: New Empirical Models  192

PART III : Renewing Pentateuchal Criticism

11. A Critical Intellectual History of the Historical-​Critical Paradigm

in Biblical Studies 201

12. The Abuses of Negation, Bisection, and Suppression in the Dating

of Biblical Texts: The Rescue of Moses (Exodus 2:1–​10) 227

13. Source Criticism and Its Biases: The Flood Narrative of Genesis 6–​9 236

Conclusion: A New Path Forward 269

Select Bibliography 281

Subject Index 299
Index of Scriptural Passages 303
ix

Abbreviations

AASOR Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research

AB Anchor Bible
ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols.
New York, 1992
AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament
ATD Das Alte Testament Deutsch
BA Biblical Archaeologist
Bib Biblica
BJS Brown Judaic Studies
BO Bibliotheca Orientalis
BR Biblical Research
BZ Biblische Zeitschrift
BZABR Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische
Rechtgeschichte
BZAW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of
Chicago. Chicago, 1956–​
CahRB Cahiers de la Revue biblique
CBQ Catholic Biblical Quarterly
CTH Catalogue des Textes Hittites. Edited by E. Laroche. Paris, 1971
DULAT Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition.
Edited by G. del Olmo Lete and J. Sanmartin. Leiden, 2002
FAT Forschungen zum Alten Testament
FRLANT Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen
Testaments
HÄB Hildesheimer Ägyptologische Beiträge
x

x Abbreviations

HALOT Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew and

Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Translated and edited under
the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Leiden, 1994–​1999
HDT Hittite Diplomatic Texts. Edited by G. Beckman. Atlanta, 1999
HKAT Handkommentar zum Alten Testament
HS Hebrew Studies
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HUCA Hebrew Union College Annual
ICC International Critical Commentary
JAJ Journal of Ancient Judaism
JANES Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JETS Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society
JHS Journal of Hebrew Scriptures
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies
JNSL Journal of Northwest Semitic Literature
JSOT Journal for the Study of the Old Testament
JSOTSS Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series
JSS Journal of Semitic Studies
JTS Journal of Theological Studies
KRI Kitchen, K. A. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and Biographical.
8 vols. Oxford. 1969–​90
LHBOTS Library of Hebrew Bible/​Old Testament Studies
MVAG Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-​ägyptischen Gesellschaft. Vols.
1–​44. 1896–​1939
NCBC New Cambridge Bible Commentary
NICOT New International Commentary on the Old Testament
OTL Old Testament Library
RBL Review of Biblical Literature
RIMA The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods
RITA Kitchen, K. A., ed., Ramesside Inscriptions Translated and Annotated.
6 vols. Oxford. 1996–​2014
RITANC Kitchen, K. A., ed., Ramesside Inscriptions Translated and Annotated
Notes and Commentary. Oxford. 1993–​
RS Ras Shamra
xi

Abbreviations xi

SSEA The Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities

TB Tyndale Bulletin
TZ Theologische Zeitschrift
UF Ugarit-​Forschungen
UTB Uni-​Taschenbücher
VT Vetus Testamentum
VTSup Supplements to Vetus Testamentum
WBC Word Biblical Commentary
ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie
ZABR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtgeschichte
ZAW Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
xii
1

Introduction

On a Sunday morning in May 2013, nearly one hundred scholars from around
the world awaited the beginning of the proceedings of a conference titled,
“Convergence and Divergence in Pentateuchal Theory: Bridging the Academic
Cultures of Israel, North America, and Europe” on the leafy Jerusalem campus
of the Israel Institute for Advanced Study. There was anticipation in the air;
this was no ordinary conference. Though the morning marked the beginning of
the conference, in a more significant sense it was, rather, a culmination. For an
entire academic year, the Institute had sponsored a residential research group
composed of eight of the most distinguished names in Pentateuch criticism.
Their task was to move toward a common discourse and set of shared assump-
tions about the field’s most fundamental questions: should we be looking to
identify extended sources that give a running history of Israel’s origins, or should
we be focusing on finding smaller thematic blocks and cycles? Are these units to
be identified and delimited primarily by their narrative coherence, by the consis-
tency of their ideology, or by their common language? Does redaction produce
a cohesive text, or is cohesion to be found only in the precursors to the received
text? What do we mean by “source,” “layer,” and “supplement?” Is the task of the
exegete primarily literary and only secondarily historical—​or, perhaps, must we
date the passages first, and derive their message on that basis? These questions
and more have been sources of great fragmentation within the discipline for
some time. The Institute provided an unprecedented opportunity and environ-
ment for scholars to collaborate in close quarters, and to share their thoughts in
weekly seminars.
The conference opened with a report of the group’s accomplishments over
that time. Speaking on behalf of the conveners, Bernard M. Levinson explained
that the discipline is in a state of fragmentary discourse, where scholars talk past
2

2 In t roduct ion

each other, and mean different things even when they use the same terms. As he
put it, “scholars tend to operate from such different premises, employing such
divergent methods, and reaching such inconsistent results, that meaningful prog-
ress has become impossible. The models continue to proliferate, but the commu-
nication seems only to diminish.”1
A colleague sitting next to me commented that he was not surprised to hear
this description of gridlock and crisis. As he put it, this should have been the
expected result of bringing together so many accomplished and senior members
of the same field. If you are a scholar whose entire output has consisted of studies
predicated on say, source criticism, it is probably quite difficult for you to imagine
that perhaps sources, classically conceived, do not exist. The American novelist
Upton Sinclair said, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when
his salary depends on his not understanding it”2; and we may apply Sinclair’s
observation to the world of academic publishing and say, “It is difficult to get a
scholar to understand something, when his entire scholarly oeuvre depends on
his not understanding it.” Put differently, perhaps this deadlock stems from what
Thomas Kuhn explains in his Structures of Scientific Revolutions: paradigms do
not shift overnight. When scholars have worked with a given paradigm for a long
time, he writes, the problems of the paradigm are never quickly acknowledged.
The old paradigm will not be discarded until another paradigm is proposed that
is demonstrably more compelling.3 We stand today in diachronic study of the
Bible at a midpoint in this process. Problems have been identified with the reign-
ing paradigms, yet no alternatives have been proposed that are demonstrably bet-
ter. In this intellectual climate, it is to be expected that different scholars will stick
to their different academic guns, so to speak.
In this volume I offer no panacea to the questions and issues raised concern-
ing the formation of the Torah. Instead, I offer a contribution to a recent and
growing movement within historical-​critical scholarship on the Torah. The root of

1. See Levinson’s introductory comments to “Convergence and Divergence in Pentateuchal

Theory: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Israel, North America, and Europe,” available at
https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=PHYKPSE6iZc at 0:16:47. See now also in the pub-
lished conference volume, Jan Christian Gertz, Bernard M. Levinson, Dalit Rom Shiloni,
and Konrad Schmid, “Convergence and Divergence in Pentateuchal Theory—​The Genesis
and Goals of This Volume,” in Gertz, Levinson, Shiloni, and Schmid, The Formation of the
Pentateuch: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Europe, Israel and North America (FAT 111;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2016), 3.
2. Upton Sinclair, I, Candidate for Governor: And How I Got Licked (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1994), 109.
3. Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1970).
3

Introduction 3

the problem heretofore, according to this movement, is that scholars have rooted
their compositional theories for the growth of the biblical text entirely in their
own intuition of what constitutes literary unity. For those of us working in this
new movement, the time has come to root compositional theory in the so-​called
empirical findings of the writings of the ancient Near East. We must canvas and
analyze documented examples of compositional growth and editing across a wide
field of ancient Near Eastern texts, both within ancient Israel and outside it.4
How did these scribes go about editing and revising revered texts? What edi-
torial trends do we see when we compare earlier versions of a text to later ones?
For these scholars it is an axiom that the Hebrew Bible, and with it the Torah, is
a product of an ancient Near Eastern milieu, which deeply influences not only
its content, but also its poetics and process of composition. The turn by these
scholars toward empirical models for compositional theory has met with resis-
tance in some quarters, because essentially, these scholars claim that the only way
to right the ship is by jettisoning many sacred cows of compositional theory, and
effectively throwing them overboard.
Whereas other scholars have examined the editorial practices of ancient
scribes, I seek here to question our own notions of consistency and unity in a
text, in light of what we discover from the writings of the ancient Near East.
Scholars have long known that this corpus can surprise us with the seeming
“inconsistencies” that it yields. A foundational staple of early Penateuchal crit-
icism maintained that the disparity of divine names found in the Torah was
itself proof positive of composite authorship, and a key to determining and
delimiting its sources.5 This axiom had to be walked back, however, in light
of evidence that the ancients were quite comfortable referring to the same
deity by multiple names, even within a single passage. Witness what we find in
Tablet IV of the Ugaritic Ba’al Cycle: “Baʽlu’s enemies grasp hold of (the trees

4. Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 2007); David M. Carr, The Formation of the Hebrew
Bible: A New Reconstruction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011); Juha Pakkala,
God’s Word Omitted: Omissions in the Transmission of the Hebrew Bible (FRLANT
251: Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014); Molly Zahn, “Reexamining
Empirical Models: The Case of Exodus 13,” in Eckart Otto and Reinhart Achenbach,
eds., Das Deuteronomium zwischen Pentateuch und deuteronomistischem Geschichtswerk
(Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 33–​56; Reinhard Müller, Juha Pakkala, and
Bas ter Haar Romeny, Evidence of Editing: Growth and Change of Texts in the Hebrew Bible
(Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014). See now also, Raymond F. Pearson and Robert Rezetko, eds.,
Empirical Models Challenging Biblical Criticism (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016).
5. See discussion in Joel S. Baden, The Composition of the Pentateuch: Renewing the Documentary
Hypothesis (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press), 106, 246.
4

4 In t roduct ion

of ) the forest, Haddu’s adversaries (grasp hold of ) the flanks of the moun-
tain(s). Mighty Baʽlu speaks up: Enemies of Haddu, why do you shake with
fear?” (4, vi.36–​vii.38).6
In like fashion, the alternation in address between singular and plural pro-
nouns, sometimes referred to as Numeruswechsel, was thought to designate var-
ious sources or strata in the Hebrew Bible.7 However, the phenomenon is also
found in the Sefire treaty, that is, in a literary setting where we cannot propose
diachronic composition. In Stele III, the suzerain commands the vassal to hand
over fugitives, warning him that if he fails to do so, “You (pl.) shall have been
unfaithful to all the gods of the treaty” (III:4; cf. similarly, ll. 16 and 23). However,
further on, the suzerain demands freedom of passage in the vassal’s territory, and
warns him that if he fails to do so, “you (s.) shall be unfaithful to this treaty”
(cf. similarly ll. 14, 20, and 27).8
These examples serve as a warning flag for scholars looking to parse the text
on the basis of their own notions of literary unity. The ancient text is a mine-
field of literary phenomena that are culturally dependent. The diachronic scholar
who treads there based solely on his own modern notions of literary unity risks
serious interpretive missteps. Passages such as that from the Baal cycle above,
or from the Sefire treaty can be safely assumed to have been written by a single
hand. The rhetoric we find in these comparative materials can offer a control.
Of course, the presence of these phenomena elsewhere does not prove that the
Torah must be read this way as well. Even if we assume that the passage from the
Baal Cyle cited above was composed by one hand, this does not mandate that
the presence of two (or even three) divine names in Genesis must all stem from
the same authorial hand—​but it should, at the very least, place a check on the
confidence that a modern exegete can have when approaching the biblical text
and encountering literary phenomena that seem inconsistent. Perhaps the most
prudent lesson from such examples is that we must attain competency as readers
before we engage the text—​and this we can do only by canvassing the available
cognate materials.

6. Translated by Dennis Pardee in William W. Hallo, ed., The Context of Scripture (3 vols.;
Leiden, Brill, 1997), 1:262–​63. See discussion in Norman Whybray, The Making of the
Pentateuch: A Methodological Study (LHBOTS 53; London: Bloombury T & T Clark,
1987), 68.
7. E.g., Gerhard Von Rad, Deuteronomy (London: SCM Press, 1966), 49.
8. Translations of these lines in Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire
(Rome: Pontifical Institute, 1995), 137. See discussion in Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1-​11
(AB5; Garden City: Doubleday, 1995), 15.
5

Introduction 5

The examples adduced above give witness to seeming inconsistencies within a

given passage. But Pentateuch scholars routinely grapple with far more substan-
tial inconsistencies in the Torah. These are inconsistencies not within a given pas-
sage, but rather, wholesale sets of inconsistencies between different versions of the
same episode, such as the differences between the wilderness accounts of Exodus
and Numbers on the one hand, and of Deuteronomy on the other. Similarly, the
Torah presents tensions and inconsistencies between different iterations of the
same law, such as the laws of manumission, the festivals, and more. In this book
I examine ancient Near Eastern cognate materials that can shed interpretive light
on these sorts of macro-​level inconsistencies.
In Part I, “Inconsistencies in Narrative,” I identify examples in the cognate lit­
erature where a single agent composes multiple conflicting versions of an histori-
cal account for consumption by one and the same audience. The first two chapters
explore conflicting historical accounts that we find juxtaposed side by side for
such an audience. Egyptologists have long noted that Ramesses II commissioned
three conflicting versions of the battle of Kadesh to be inscribed together at var-
ious monumental sites. In ­chapter 1, “Diverging Accounts within The Kadesh
Inscriptions of Ramesses II,” I lay out the multiple inconsistencies witnessed
between these accounts, and explore how Egyptologists have accounted for this.
To our minds, when we encounter conflicting historical accounts, the trustwor-
thiness of both accounts is brought into question. I conclude the chapter by
exploring the modern notion of historiography—​largely a phenomenon that
emerges only in the nineteenth century—​and premodern notions of history-​
telling in the writings of the so-​called historians of ancient Greece and Rome,
and the medieval Church fathers. These premodern notions of historiography
give us a discourse through which to understand how ancient Egyptians could
have overcome the glaring contradictions between these multiple, juxtaposed ver-
sions of the same event. In c­ hapter 2, “The Exodus Sea Account (13:17–​15:21) in
Light of the Kadesh Inscriptions of Ramesses II,” I demonstrate that the Exodus
sea account bears strong affinities with the Kadesh Poem of Ramesses II. The two
compositions share a lengthy and distinct common plot structure that features
many tropes which are distinct to these two works alone. I claim that the Exodus
sea account is an appropriation of the Kadesh Poem as part of an ideological bat-
tle with Ramesses II, who ruled Canaan for the better part of the thirteenth cen-
tury bce. Importantly for our purposes, I show how the differences between the
prose and poetic accounts of the crossing of the sea in Exodus c­ hapters 14 and 15
are highly reminiscent of the types of differences that we see between the multi-
ple versions of the battle of Kadesh that Ramesses commissioned upon his return
home from battle with the Hittites at Kadesh. I also demonstrate that the longest
of the three inscriptions, the Kadesh Poem, which is universally understood as
6

6 In t roduct ion

composed by one agent, is nevertheless rife with the types of inner tensions and
contradictions that often lead modern critics to the conclusion of revision and
redaction within the texts of the Hebrew Bible.
In the latter half of Part I, I turn to a second forum in which we find conflict-
ing historical accounts promulgated by a single agent for consumption by one and
the same audience: the treaty literature of the Late Bronze Age Hittite empire. In
­chapter 3, “Divergent Histories between Original and Renewal Treaties in Hittite
Diplomatic Literature,” I show that, as Hittite kings communicated with their
vassals, they routinely recounted the history of the relationship between the two
kingdoms. Strikingly, the record reveals that each communication brought with
it a redrafted version of that history—​which, more often than not, was at odds
with the history recounted in the earlier communications. Most significantly, we
see that as Hittite monarchs redrafted earlier histories, these past versions were
not erased from the record; rather, even as the Hittite kings redrafted their his-
torical accounts in accord with the needs of the moment, both they and their
vassals read these accounts while retaining and recalling the earlier, conflicting
versions of events. Drawing inspiration from a series of pioneering studies of the
El Amarna letters, I turn to the field of international relations for a social-​science
perspective to explain why the Hittite kings composed such conflicting histories
and how, in turn, these were read and interpreted by their vassals. In c­ hapter 4,
“Retold History in the Book of Deuteronomy in Light of the Hittite Treaty
Tradition,” I turn to the vexing question of the bald contradictions we encounter
between the narratives of the book of Deuteronomy and the parallel accounts
earlier in the Torah. This rewritten history is remarkable because in the form that
we encounter it today—​the received text of the Torah—​there is no erasure. We
first encounter the stories in the books of Exodus and Numbers; we then encoun-
ter them again in reworked form, later in the text continuum of the Pentateuch as
part of Moses’s recollections, in the book of Deuteronomy. In this chapter I claim
that what we witness in the Torah—​namely, rewritten history that does not dis-
place earlier, conflicting versions of those same events—​may be understood with
recourse to the Late Bronze Age Hittite treaty prologue tradition.
In Part II, I turn to inconsistencies among the Torah’s law codes. Scholars
of biblical law have long seen the inconsistencies among the law corpora of the
Pentateuch as signs of schools and communities in conflict. Chapter 5, “The
Pivotal Characterization: Ancient Law as Non-​Statutory Law,” forms the basis
for the following five chapters on biblical and ancient Near Eastern law. Here
I maintain that the dominant approach to the critical study of biblical law is
based on anachronistic, nineteenth-​century notions of how law works and how
legal texts are formulated. I trace here the history of legal thought in that century,
and how it shaped (perhaps a better word is “distorted”) how we view the ancient
7

Introduction 7

legal texts of the Bible and the Near East, and recover premodern understandings
of how law works and how legal texts are to be read.
The modern notion of statutory jurisprudence mandates that judges adhere
to the exact words of the code because the code, by definition, is autonomous and
exhaustive. This hermeneutic, sometimes referred to as the jurisprudence of “strict
construction,” has had a profound impact on the comparative study of the Torah’s
law collections. In c­ hapter 6, “The Misapplication of ‘Strict Construction’ and
the Semblance of Contradiction,” I draw from discussions concerning the inap-
plicability of strict construction in the understanding of ancient Near Eastern
law to illuminate our understanding of seemingly contradictory passages of bib-
lical law. As an illustration I build on the work of Barry Eichler and show that
the logic of the formulation of §§25–​29 of the Laws of Eshnunna sheds light on
the compositional logic of the separate and inconsistent iterations of the laws
of manumission in Exodus 21:1–​6 and Leviticus 25:39–​46. From there I turn to
address laws within a single code that seem to contradict each other. In the Laws
of Hammurabi, §§6–​8 have long been considered to conflict with each other and
to derive from competing traditions. The inconsistencies, however, are deliberate,
and reflect rhetorical and ideological needs. The drafting of these laws can shed
light on the coherence of the homicide laws of Exodus 21:12–​14.
In ­chapter 7, “Honoring a Law Code and Diverging from Its Dictates in the
Neo-​Babylonian King of Justice and in the Book of Ruth,” I attend to an unusual
literary phenomenon found in both Mesopotamian and biblical traditions: the
manner in which the consecutive order of clauses in a law collection serves as
the structure of the plot of a later, narrative composition. The plot of the book
of Ruth closely follows the series of laws found in Deut 24:16–​25:10. The late
Victor Avigdor Hurowitz noticed a similar phenomenon in the use of LH 1–​5 in
the Neo-​Babylonian work, “Nebuchadnezzar King of Justice.” What is remark-
able about this phenomenon is that, while the author of Ruth pays homage to
Deuteronomy by employing its laws as a structuring template, the practice of law
in the story itself is at variance with those very laws to which it alludes. Likewise,
the author of “King of Justice” pays homage to LH by employing its laws as a lit-
erary template, and yet the judgments rendered by the King of Justice are at vari-
ance with those found in the laws of LH, to which it alludes. The phenomenon
challenges us to understand how these ancient writers related to venerated legal
texts and the provisions they contain.
Chapter 8, “Blending Discordant Laws in Biblical Narrative,” highlights
a peculiar phenomenon in the biblical literature outside of the Pentateuch: a
biblical writer will invoke iterations of a given law from two or more of the
Pentateuch’s four corpora. Scholars have heretofore assumed that this phenome-
non was limited to post-​exilic literature, and stemmed from the exigencies of exile
8

8 In t roduct ion

and return that created an urgent need to create a vehicle that would grant legit-
imacy to various communities and their attendant legal traditions. However, the
broad array of books in which such legal blending is found forces us to question
whether the legal blend is strictly a literary phenomenon of the post-​exilic period.
Moreover, the phenomenon obliges us to question the long-​standing assumption
that diverging iterations of the same law in two (or more) of the Torah’s law cor-
pora are inherently mutually exclusive.
In ­chapter 9, “Legal Revision in the Torah Law Collections: Supersessionist
or Complementary?” I assess the state of the field concerning the mechanics of
legal revision among the Torah’s four codes of law. Classically, scholars of biblical
law assumed that as jurists redrafted these laws, they did so with the intention
that their new formulations would supersede the older ones, and that the older
versions of the law were thereby denied any authority or standing. However, since
the late twentieth century some scholars of biblical law have viewed the biblical
law corpora as complementary; for these scholars, the inconsistencies between
the various law corpora represent a process of reapplication, not rejection. No
study to date has thoroughly measured the arguments for the two approaches.
Marshaling all of the evidence brought thus far in Part II, I argue for the comple-
mentary nature of the inconsistent law collections.
Chapter 10, “Redacting the Torah’s Conflicting Laws: New Empirical
Models,” attends to the final form of the law corpora as exhibited in the received
text of the Torah. Scholars have classically viewed redaction of the Torah as either
a great compromise or an attempt an anthology. Here I critique those views and
champion more recent models of Pentateuch redaction that see here instead a
creative melding of reapplications of God’s word. Scholars who view the corpora
as complementary, however, must also posit a redaction strategy which answers
for the redaction of the Torah. By all accounts, the various law collections are
revisions of one another. By the time of the redaction of the Torah, some itera-
tions of the laws that conflict were clearly no longer in practice—​so why, then, are
they all retained in the final redaction? In this chapter I identify empirical models
of legal texts that do what the Torah does: retain outdated law within an authori-
tative legal text. The examples I highlight are taken from American constitutional
jurisprudence and from rabbinic jurisprudence in the Mishnah. These, of course,
are unrelated to each other, and unrelated, in any direct fashion, to biblical Israel.
I invoke these models phenomenologically, as a heuristic aid to understand legal
revision and legal drafting in biblical Israel.
The evidence that I adduce in the first two parts of the book lead me to Part III,
Renewing Pentateuchal Criticism, in which I critique current methodology and
seek a new path forward. The Jerusalem conference to which I alluded to earlier
was subtitled: “Bridging the Academic Cultures of Israel, North America, and
9

Introduction 9

Europe.” There is a fundamentally correct understanding in this framing of the

current state of the field: scholars do not work in a vacuum. Rather, they ply their
trade within specific academic cultures of first assumptions. In his introductory
comments at the Jerusalem conference, Bernard Levinson noted that American
and Israeli scholars contend that “the current proliferation of European hypoth-
eses and multiple layers of redactional development is theory driven and self-​
generated without adequate consideration of comparative literary evidence.”9
However, the Jerusalem conference devoted no time to laying bare these cultural
axioms. What is it, for example, about the academic culture of German-​speaking
lands that leads scholars there to rally around a certain set of methodological
presumptions? An awareness of our cultural presuppositions and of the intellec-
tual heritage to which we are heirs is essential if we are to be self-​critical about
our own work. I seek to address these issues in ­chapter 11, “A Critical Intellectual
History of the Historical-​Critical Paradigm in Biblical Studies.” My goal is to
understand the origins of the intellectual commitments that shape the discipline
today, and its reluctant disposition toward empirical models of textual growth.
I examine how theorists over three centuries have entertained the most funda-
mental questions: what is the goal of the historical-​critical study of the Hebrew
Bible? What is the probative value of evidence internal within the text itself, rela-
tive to evidence from external sources? What is the role of intuition in the schol-
ar’s work? What is the role of methodological control? The axioms that governed
nineteenth-​century German scholarship were at a great remove from those that
governed earlier historical-​critical scholarship, in the thought of critics such as
Spinoza. These axioms were based in intellectual currents that were particular
to the nineteenth century, and especially so in Germany. From there, I offer a
brief summary of the claims of contemporary scholars who are looking toward
empirical models to reconstruct the textual development of Hebrew scriptures.
I conclude by demonstrating how this vein of scholarship undermines an array of
nineteenth-​century intellectual assumptions, but would have been quite at home
in the earlier periods of the discipline’s history, and call for a return to Spinozan
hermeneutics.
I continue my critique of current historical-​critical method in ­chapter 12,
“The Abuses of Negation, Bisection, and Suppression in the Dating of Biblical
Texts: The Rescue of Moses (Exodus 2:1–​10).” Here I maintain that the scholarly
aim to clearly delineate and definitively date layers in a text unwittingly leads to

9. See his introductory comments to “Convergence and Divergence in Pentateuchal

Theory: Bridging the Academic Cultures of Israel, North America, and Europe,” available at
https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=PHYKPSE6iZc at 0:19:00.
10

10 In t roduct ion

three malpractices of historical-​critical method. Handling complex evidence in a

reductive fashion, scholars routinely engage in what I call, respectively, the undue
negation of evidence, the suppression of evidence, and the forced bisection of a
text. Scholarship on the account of the rescue of Moses serves as an illustration.
The division of the Genesis flood account is one of the most celebrated
achievements of modern biblical criticism. In ­chapter 13, “Source Criticism
and Its Biases: The Flood Narrative of Genesis 6–​9,” I take a critical look at the
source-​critical paradigm and examine its hermeneutics. Here, too, we will see that
historical-​critical scholarship applies a series of double standards that all work
in concert to support the source-​critical aims and results. Moreover, it consis-
tently suppresses evidence adduced from cognate materials (particularly from the
Mesopotamian version of the flood story contained in Tablet XI of the Giglamesh
Epic) that threatens its validity by simply ignoring it, or otherwise negating the
validity of that evidence through unwarranted means.
In the Conclusion, I offer a new path forward for historical-​critical study of
the Hebrew Bible, calling for three imperatives. First, I suggest an epistemolog-
ical shift that soberly acknowledges the limits of what we may determine, both
in terms of the dates of the texts we study, and of the prehistory of those texts.
Second, I call for a far greater engagement of the poetics and compositional strat-
egies of scribal practices of ancient Near Eastern texts as we adduce composi-
tional theories for the origins and growth of the Hebrew Bible. Finally, I invite
scholars to employ an exciting new research tool that I have developed with my
Bar-​Ilan colleague, the computational linguist Moshe Koppel: The Tiberias
Project: A Web Application for the Stylistic Analysis and Categorization of the
Hebrew Scriptures.

Acknowledgments
I gratefully acknowledge several editorial boards for granting permission for
me to reprint material that appeared earlier in their respective forums. Portions
of c­hapter 1 appeared previously in “Juxtaposed Conflicting Compositions
(Gen 1–​2:4a–​2:4b–​2:24, Exod 14–​15, Jud 4–​5): A New Kingdom Egyptian
Parallel,” JNSL 42:1 (2016): 1–​14; portions of ­chapter 2 appeared as “The Kadesh
Inscriptions of Ramesses II and the Exodus Sea Account (Exodus 13:17–​15:19),”
in James K. Hoffmeier, Alan R. Millard, and Gary A. Rendsburg, eds., “Did I Not
Bring Israel Out of Egypt?” Biblical, Archaeological, and Egyptological Perspectives
on the Exodus Narratives (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2016), 93–​112; ­chapter 3
originally appeared as “Histories Twice Told: Deuteronomy 1–​3 and the Hittite
Treaty Prologue Tradition,” JBL 132:2 (2013): 229–​50; portions of ­chapter 5 orig-
inally appeared in “The History of Legal Theory and the Study of Biblical Law,”
11

Introduction 11

CBQ 76:1 (2014): 19–​39; ­chapter 7 originally appeared as “Law Code as Story
Line: Deuteronomy 24:16–​25:10 and LH 1–​5 as Narrative Template in Biblical
and Mesopotamian Tradition,” JNSL 39:2 (2013): 1–​17; ­chapter 8 originally
appeared as “The Legal Blend in Biblical Narrative ( Joshua 20:1–​9, Judges 6:25–​
31, 1 Samuel 15:2, 28:3–​25, 2 Kings 4:1–​7, Jeremiah 34:12–​17, Nehemiah 5:1–​12),”
JBL 134:1 (2015): 105–​25; portions of ­chapter 9 are drawn from “Supersessionist
or Complementary? Reassessing Legal Revision in the Pentateuchal Law
Corpora,” JBL 135:2 (2016): 201–​21; c­ hapter 10 appeared as “Retaining Outdated
Laws within the Redacted Pentateuch: Empirical Models,” ZABR 15 (2015): 321–​
26; c­ hapter 11 appeared as “Empirical Models of Textual Growth: A Challenge
for the Historical Critical Tradition,” JHS 16, no. 12 (2016): 1–​26; portions of
­chapter 12 appeared in “Historicism and Its Limits: A Response to Bernard
M. Levinson and Jeffrey Stackert,” JAJ 4 (2013): 297–​309.
This work is interdisciplinary, and friends and colleagues with expertise in
pertinent fields graciously critiqued earlier versions of various parts of this book,
and shared their wisdom with me: Craig Bartholomew, Noah Efron, Adam
Ferziger, Edward Greenstein, Steven Grosby, Yoram Hazony, James Hoffmeier,
Bernard Jackson, Aaron Koller, Michael LeFebvre, Alan Millard, Shalom Paul,
Iain Provan, Gary Rendsburg, David Rothstein, and Benjamin Sommer. Should
the reader discover any errors of fact or of interpretation, these should be ascribed
to me alone. My thanks as well to the Shalem Academic Center for a research
grant during the 2015–​2016 academic year, which allowed me to conclude work
on this volume in a timely fashion. It has once again been a pleasure to work with
Cynthia Read and the editorial staff of Oxford University Press.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks is one of the foremost public intellectuals in
Britain today, a former recipient of the Grawemeyer Prize for Religion and the
recipient of the Templeton Prize for 2016. Over the span of twenty-​five years
as a highly public figure, he has graciously made room in his calendar to meet
with me during my visits to London and during his to Jerusalem. He is nowhere
cited in this book, but his spirit, insight, and inspiration gird its every page. The
hallmark of his voluminous writings is a critique of modernity: that where we
see linear progress, we in fact are involved in a series of trade-​offs, and that while
what we celebrate is evident, what we have lost is not. With an unsurpassed
grasp of modern cultural and intellectual history at his fingertips, he lays bare
how the new perspectives that now seem so clear and obvious are, upon inves-
tigation, the limited glimpse of reality afforded us from within the fishbowl of
our own cultural assumptions. It is in his spirit that I have tried to reflect on the
habits of my field of study as a biblicist, and in joy and reverence I dedicate this
book to him.
12
13

PART I

Inconsistency in Narrative
14
15

Setting Conflicting Histories

Side by Side
16
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Along the shore of the sounding sea they went, making prayer to
Zeus that he would grant them success in what they sought.
When they came to the ships and huts of Achilles they found him
sitting with a lyre in his hand. Of beautiful workmanship it was, with a
silver cross-bar upon it, and as the hands of Achilles drew from it
wondrous melody, he sang of the glorious deeds of the heroes of
old.
Beside him sat Patroclus, listening silently to the song of the
friend that he loved.
Then did Odysseus step forward, and Achilles, amazed, sprang
to his feet, his lyre in his hand, and Patroclus also arose.
‘Welcome ye are,’ said Achilles; ‘truly ye are friends that are
come. Even in my anger are ye the dearest of all the Greeks to me.’
Then he led them forward and made them sit on seats covered
with lordly purple.
To Patroclus he said:
‘Bring forth the biggest bowl and the finest of my wines, for I have
no dearer friends than those who are here with me now.’
So did Achilles have a rich feast of precious wines and of dainties
of all sorts made ready for those who brought him the message of
Agamemnon the king.
And when the feast was ended, Odysseus did tell him of the dire
woes of the Greeks and of the royal gifts of Agamemnon, and of the
pleadings of the Greeks and of their overlord, that their hero,
Achilles, would come and fight for them once again.
Then did Achilles make answer:
‘Hateful to me as are the gates of death, O great Odysseus, is
the man who hideth in his heart one thing and sayeth another. So will
I speak to thee as seemeth me best. Hard have I laboured, fiercely
have I fought for Agamemnon, yet what is my gain after it all?
Hateful to me are the gifts of Agamemnon. Wealth and power can be
mine without aid from him, yet know I well, for my mother, Thetis the
silver-footed, hath told me, that death swiftly draweth nigh. Let the
Greeks seek help elsewhere, for fierce is my anger, and no help
shall ye gain from me.’
Then said Ajax:
‘Let us go hence, Odysseus. Our embassy is vain. Yet evil though
the news we carry with speed must we bear it back to the Greek
host. Merciless art thou, Achilles! Anger hath made thee set at
naught thy comrades’ love and the love of thine own dear land.’
And to Ajax did Achilles make answer:
‘Take ye, then, my message, brave Ajax! Tell Agamemnon that
until the day that the men of Troy come even to my ships and my
huts and smirch them with fire, no finger will I raise for Greece. But
on that day, then, surely, will the power of the Trojans be stayed.’
Then did Odysseus and Ajax and the others return in sorrow to
the host of the Greeks, and gave to them the message of Achilles.
In silence did the warriors listen.
Then said Diomedes:
‘Achilles, then, must bide his time. When his heart is aroused
again within him, he will fight. But let us now take meat and drink and
sleep, and when rosy-fingered Dawn doth come, strength shall be
ours for the battle, and with courage shall we fight for the cause of
Agamemnon our king!’
 CHAPTER IX
THE WHITE HORSES OF RHESUS

Sound was the sleep of the Greek chiefs that night, but Agamemnon
the king slept not. From his enemies’ camp came the sound of pipe
and flute and laughter of men, as the Trojans feasted and made
merry in the red light of their camp-fires. As he looked seawards at
the ships of the sleeping Greeks, his heart was heavy within him and
he groaned aloud.
On his feet he bound his sandals, over his shoulders did he throw
his great mantle of a tawny lion’s skin, and, grasping his spear, he
went forth into the night to take counsel of wise Nestor.
Neither to Menelaus came there sleep, for his heart was full of
fear lest harm should come to the Greeks who had crossed the wide
seas to fight for his sake in Troyland.
 Agamemnon heard the sound of pipe and flute and laughter of men as
the Trojans feasted and made merry (page 86)

On his head he placed his bronze helmet, across his broad

shoulders he threw a leopard skin, and, spear in hand, went to seek
his brother.
Down by the ships he found him, putting his armour on.
‘Why dost thou arm thyself, dear brother?’ he asked. ‘Wilt thou
send forth one of our comrades to spy on the Trojans? I fear me no
man of ours is of courage enough to go alone in the night and do so
brave a deed.’
 Then did Agamemnon bid his brother go and awake the lords of
his host and call a council together, while he himself went to rouse
Nestor, the oldest of all the warriors.
And as they passed through the host they found the sentinels
sitting wide awake with their arms, like dogs that watch by a lonely
sheepfold amongst the hills and listen to the cries of the savage wild
beasts that come towards them through the woods.
Gladly did old Nestor see them.
‘Even so keep watch, dear children,’ he said, ‘lest we allow our
enemies to triumph over us.’
Out in the open field, beyond the deep trench which they had
dug, the chiefs of the Greeks sat themselves down in council.
To them, then, spake Nestor.
‘O friends,’ said he, ‘is there among you a man with heart so
fearless that all alone he will go into the camp of the Trojans this
night and there learn what are their plans for battle? If such an one
there be, and he return to us scathless, great will be his fame among
all men, and great the rewards that he wins.’
Then said Diomedes of the loud war-cry:
‘With willing heart will go, Nestor: yet if another man will come
with me, more comfort and courage will be ours.’
Many there were who asked with eagerness to be that one who
should go with Diomedes. But Agamemnon spoke.
‘Diomedes, joy of mine heart, verily shalt thou choose thine own
comrade,’ he said.
And Diomedes made answer:
‘If indeed I may choose, then shall I choose Odysseus, for with
him as comrade we might pass through raging flames and yet return
in safety.’
 ‘Praise me not overmuch, Diomedes,’ said Odysseus, ‘but let us
be going. The night wanes, the stars have gone onward, and the
dawn is near.’
Then did they don their armour, and set forth, like two lions
seeking their prey, treading underfoot the men who lay still and dead
in their blood. And through the dark night they heard the shrill cry of
a heron, and knew it for an omen sent by the gods, a promise to
them of victory.
In the Trojan camp was a council also held. And brave Hector
offered great rewards to the man who would go in the darkness to
where the Greek ships lay and find out how it fared with the men of
Agamemnon, and what plans were theirs.
And Dolon, the swift-runner and ill-favoured man, but one who
owned great riches of gold and bronze, stood up and said:
‘To the swift-sailing ships will I go as thy spy. But for reward must
I have the horses and bronze chariots of Achilles.’
‘No other man of the Trojans shall mount these horses,’ swore
Hector.
Then Dolon took his bow, on his shoulders cast a great wolf-skin,
on his head drew his helmet of ferret-skin, and with his sharp javelin
in his hand, went forth towards the seashore.
In the darkness Odysseus heard his stealthy footsteps.
‘Lo, here is some man, Diomedes,’ he said; ‘I know not whether
he be a spy or a plunderer of the dead. But let him pass, and then
will we rush on him and take him.’
Turning from the path, they lay down amongst the dead bodies
on the plain, still and silent as those they lay beside.
But when Dolon had gone a little way, they ran after him, and
Dolon, when he heard them, stopped, thinking they were
messengers from Hector, coming to bid him return. Less than a
spear’s-throw from him were they when he knew them for foemen
and fled before them.
But as two fierce hounds pursue a hare or a doe, so did
Odysseus and Diomedes hunt Dolon. They had wellnigh reached the
trench where the sentinels were placed when Diomedes called
aloud:
‘Halt! or my spear shall pin thee dead to the ground!’
Thereat he hurled his spear, but not with the wish to smite Dolon.
Over his right shoulder it flew, burying its sharp point in the ground in
front of him. Green with fear, and with chattering teeth, Dolon
stopped, and Odysseus and Diomedes panting, came up to him, and
laid hold of him.
‘Take me alive!’ said Dolon, weeping, ‘and a mighty ransom of
gold and bronze and iron shall be yours if ye but spare my life.’
‘Fear not,’ said Odysseus, ‘but tell us truly why thou comest thus
at dead of night into the camp of thine enemies.’
Then did Dolon, the coward, tremblingly tell his tale, and reveal to
Odysseus and Diomedes all that Hector had bidden him do. At their
bidding, too, he told them how all the Trojan forces lay, and how best
they could win into the camp.
‘At the farthest point from the men of Troy are encamped the
Thracians,’ he said. ‘Rhesus is their king, and fit for a god is his
golden armour and his chariot of gold and silver. His, too, are the
fairest horses mine eyes have seen, of great strength and height,
whiter than snow, and swift as the wind.’
Eagerly did Odysseus and Diomedes listen. But when he had
ended and begged them to take him a prisoner to the ships, or to let
him go free, grimly did Diomedes look at him.
‘Good is thy news, Dolon,’ he said, ‘yet nevermore shalt thou
have a chance of playing the spy, or of fighting against the men of
Greece.’
 With that he raised his mighty sword, and ere Dolon could beg for
mercy he smote him on the neck. Cleanly was his head shorn off,
and it rolled in the dust at the feet of Diomedes. His casque of ferret-
skin, and the grey wolf-skin, and javelin and bow did Odysseus and
Diomedes then take from him and held them aloft, an offering to
Athene. They placed them on a tamarisk bush, raising on it a mark of
long reeds and branches of tamarisk, lest they might miss the place
as they returned again ere dawn.
Across the plain did they hasten then, until they came to the
camp of the Thracians. Deep was the sleep of the warriors who lay,
each with his arms beside him, and his two horses standing near at
hand. And in the midst of them lay Rhesus the king, his great white
horses tethered to his chariot of silver and gold.
‘Lo, here is the man, and here are the horses of which Dolon
gave us tidings,’ said Odysseus.
And thereupon did the slaying begin.
Like a lion that rends a flock of sheep without a shepherd, even
so did Diomedes slay the men of Thrace. On this side and on that he
slew, till the earth grew red with blood, and terrible was the groaning
of the dying men. Twelve men did he slay, and as he slew them,
Odysseus dragged them to the side that a way might be left clear for
the white horses of Rhesus. For he feared that panic might seize
them were they to step in the darkness upon the dead men.
The thirteenth man was King Rhesus himself. An evil dream
made him draw his breath hard and quick, but ere he could awake
from sleep the sword of Diomedes took his life away. Then did
Odysseus drive the horses out of the camp, smiting them with his
bow, for he had no whip, and driving them onwards.
To Diomedes he whistled, for a sign that he should cease from
slaying and follow him and their lordly spoil. Still did Diomedes linger,
pondering whether he should drag the chariot with him, or slay yet
more of the Thracians. And as he pondered, Athene came to him.
 ‘Return to the ships, Diomedes,’ she said, ‘lest another of the
gods arouse the Trojans, and in flight thou art driven before them.’
Even then, indeed, was Apollo arousing one of the kinsmen of
Rhesus, who with great lament saw the dead and dying men and
knew that the horses of the king had been stolen away.
But swiftly did Diomedes and Odysseus spring on the backs of
the white horses, and swift as the snowy foam on the crests of
storm-driven waves did they dash through the darkness back to the
ships.
When they came to the tamarisk bush, where they had left the
bloody spoils of Dolon, Diomedes leapt to the ground, seized them
and placed them in the hands of Odysseus, and again mounted,
and, lashing the horses, dashed furiously onward.
The clang of the hoofs of the galloping horses struck first upon
the ears of old Nestor, and quickly did he and other lords of the
Greeks go to meet Diomedes and Odysseus.
Then did the two heroes rein in their horses and lightly spring to
the ground, and with hand-clasping and glad words were they
welcomed by their comrades.
And when he had told the tale of the slaying of the men of Thrace
and the taking of the horses of Rhesus, Odysseus, laughing, drove
the white steeds through the trench and stabled them beside the
other horses of Diomedes.
Then did he and Diomedes plunge into the sea and wash the
sweat and dust from off their limbs in the cold waves. Glad were their
hearts when they sat down to sup and poured forth an offering of
honey-sweet wine to Athene; but in the camp of the Trojans were
there shame and lamenting for the deeds that had been wrought in
the third watch of the night.
 CHAPTER X
THE FIGHTING ON THE PLAIN

The night passed, and grey dawn saw a mighty fight begin.
Fiercely did the battle wax and wane, and valiant deeds were
done that day.
Mightily fought Agamemnon, but against him fought the gods,
and when the sun blazed forth at noon, he and many another Greek
warrior, grievously wounded, were forced to leave the field.
An arrow, from the bow of Paris, smote Machaon, skilled
physician of the Greeks, and fear seized them lest he who healed
their wounds might himself perish.
Into his chariot did old Nestor take Machaon, and right willingly
his horses galloped back to their stables by the shore.
By the stern of his ship stood Achilles, watching the battle from
afar, and his dear friend and comrade, Patroclus, he sent speeding
to the tent of Nestor for tidings of the battle and to ask the name of
the wounded warrior.
Scornfully spake Nestor:
‘What matters it to Achilles which of the sons of Greece lie
wounded? Many chiefs of the Greeks have shed their blood this day,
yet Achilles heedeth not. Hast thou forgotten, Patroclus, that day
when thy father didst speak to thee of thyself and of Achilles? “Of
nobler birth than thou is Achilles,” he said, “and in might much
greater. Yet he is younger than thou, so see that thou counsel him
gently and wisely when there is need, and he will obey thee.” Even
now, Patroclus, thou mightest persuade Achilles to go forth to battle.
But if he will not go, then let him lend thee his armour so that the
men of Troy may flee before thee, thinking that Achilles goeth forth to
war once more.’
So did Nestor rouse the heart of Patroclus, and swiftly Patroclus
returned to the ship of Achilles.
Fiercer and ever more fierce grew the battle as the hours went
by. Up to the walls that the Greeks had built did the Trojans press
their furious way. Up the battlements, spear in hand, they swarmed,
nor heeded the storm of stones that crashed down upon them from
above.
In front of the gates lay a stone so huge that two strong men
could not together have lifted it and placed it on a wagon. With one
hand did mighty Hector, legs wide apart, hurl it against the great
double gates. Before it, hinges burst, bars smashed, and the gates
crashed backwards. Then in leapt Hector, his eyes flashing fire.
None but the gods could have withstood him, and on his heels came
the men of Troy. Before them they swept the Greek host to their
ships.
But down by the sea fought Ajax, and round him the Greeks took
their stand. Mighty was the wall of living men that sought to die for
their honour and for their own dear land.
Yet, like a great rock that the fierce floods of winter tear from a
mountain-side, and that crashes through the forests and thunders
down the valleys, destroying as it goes, so did Hector press onward.
Behind him in heaps lay the slain, the moans of the dying mingled
with the din of battle, and the dark night of death blinded the eyes of
many a mighty chief.
‘Thinkest thou to spoil our ships!’ called Ajax to Hector. ‘To the
gods, and not to the men of Troy do we owe our evil plight. Yet ere
long will Troy fall before us, and thou thyself wilt pray to Zeus to
make thy steeds fleet as falcons as they bear thee in shameful plight
back to thy city, across the plain.’
To Ajax did Hector make answer:
 ‘Blundering boaster art thou! Woe cometh this day to the Greeks!
And thou, Ajax, if thou hast courage to meet my spear, shalt be food
for the birds and the dogs.’
In his tent the heart of Agamemnon sank within him, and those
beside him did he counsel that they should drag their ships down to
the sea and swiftly sail away.
‘There is no shame in fleeing from ruin,’ said he.
But Odysseus and Diomedes replied with angry scorn to the
coward words of their overlord.
‘Let us go down to the battle, wounded though we be,’ said
Diomedes.
So they set forth, and with them went Agamemnon, and through
the long day did that mortal fight go on. Now would the Trojans
triumph, and again to the men of Greece would come the victory.
At last, before a huge stone, hurled by Ajax, did Hector fall. Like a
mighty oak smitten by lightning he fell, and the Trojans bore him
away, the black blood gushing from his mouth.
Then pressed the men of Greece the more. Back from the ships
they drove the men of Troy.
But to Hector where he lay a-dying came Apollo, and into his
fainting body and heart he breathed fresh strength and courage.
With strength as the strength of ten Hector once again faced the
foe, and before him the Greeks fell back in dismay.
Patroclus in his tent, tending the wounds of a friend, marked how
the Greeks fell back, and he groaned aloud.
‘To Achilles must I hasten,’ he said. ‘Who knows but that the time
has come when I may arouse him to join in the battle.’
 CHAPTER XI
HOW PATROCLUS FOUGHT AND DIED

While round the dark ships of Greece the fierce fight raged, Achilles,
from afar, listened unmoved to the din of battle, and watched with
stony eyes the men of Greece as they fell and died on the reddened
ground.
To him came Patroclus.
‘Why dost thou weep, Patroclus?’ asked Achilles. ‘Like a fond
little maid art thou that runs by her mother’s side, plucking at her
gown, hindering her as she walks, and with tearful eyes looking up at
her until the mother lifts her in her arms. Like her, Patroclus, dost
thou softly weep.’
Then Patroclus, heavily groaning, made answer:
‘Among the ships lie the bravest and best of the men of Greece,
sore wounded or dead. Pitiless art thou, Achilles, pitiless and
unforgiving. Yet if thou dost still hold back from the battle, give me, I
pray thee, thine armour, and send me forth in thy stead. Perchance
the Trojans may take me for the mighty Achilles, and even now the
victory be ours.’
Then said Achilles, and heavy was his heart within him:
‘These Greeks took from me my well-won prize, Patroclus. Yet let
the past be past; no man may keep his anger for ever. I have said
that until the men of Troy come to burn my own ships I will hold me
back from the battle. But take you my armour; lead my men in the
fight, and drive from the ships the men of Troy. But to others leave it
to chase them across the plain.’
Even as Achilles spoke, the strength of mighty Ajax had come to
an end, and with furious rush did the Trojans board the ships. In their
hands they bore blazing torches, and up to the sky rushed the
fiercely roaring flames.
Then cried Achilles, smiting his thighs:
‘Haste thee, Patroclus! They burn the ships! Arm thyself speedily,
and I will call my men!’
Corslet and shield and helmet did Patroclus swiftly don, and
girded on the silver-studded sword and took two strong lances in his
hand.
In the chariot of Achilles he mounted, and Automedon, best and
bravest of charioteers, took the reins.
Swift as the wild west wind were Bayard and Piebald, the two
horses of Achilles, and in the side harness was Pedasus, a horse
only less swift than they.
Gladly did the men of Achilles meet his call to arms, for fierce as
wolves were they.
‘Many times hast thou blamed me,’ cried Achilles, ‘because in my
wrath I kept ye back from battle. Here for ye now is a mighty fight,
such as ye love.’
To battle they went, and while Patroclus led them forth, Achilles in
his tent offered up an offering to Zeus.
Like wasps that pour forth from their nests by the wayside to sting
the boys who have stoned them, so now did the Greeks swarm from
their ships.
Before the sword of Patroclus fell a mighty warrior, and when the
men of Troy saw the shining armour of Achilles in his own chariot
their hearts sank within them.
Out of the ships were they driven, the fire was quenched, and
back to the trench rolled the tide of battle. In the trench writhed many
a horse and many a man in dying agonies. But clear across it leaped
the horses of Achilles, and close to the walls of Troy did Patroclus
drive brave Hector before him.
 His chariot then he turned, and headed off the fleeing Trojans,
driving them down to the ships. Before the furious rush of his swift
steeds, other horses were borne off their feet, other chariots cast in
ruins on the ground, and men crushed to death under his wheels.
Chief after chief did Patroclus slay. A mighty destroyer was he that
day.
One only of the chiefs of Troy kept his courage before the
destroyer who wore the shining arms of Achilles.
‘Shame on ye!’ cried Sarpedon to his men, ‘whither do ye flee? I
myself will fight this man who deals death and destruction to the
Trojan host.’
From their chariots leaped Sarpedon and Patroclus.
With the first cast of his spear Patroclus missed Sarpedon, but
slew his charioteer. Then did Sarpedon cast, and his spear whizzed
past Patroclus, and smote the good horse Pedasus. With a dreadful
scream Pedasus fell, kicking and struggling, in the dust. This way
and that did the other two horses plunge and rear, until the yoke
creaked and the reins became entangled. But the charioteer leaped
down, with his sword slashed clear the traces from Pedasus, and the
horses righted themselves.
Once again did Sarpedon cast his spear, and the point flew over
the left shoulder of Patroclus. But Patroclus missed not. Through the
heart of Sarpedon sped the fiercely hurled spear, and like a slim tree
before the axe of the woodcutter he fell, his dying hands clutching at
the bloody dust.
Furious was the combat then over the body of Sarpedon. One
brave warrior after another did Patroclus lay dead.
And more terrible still was the fight because in the ranks of the
men of Troy there fought now, in all-devouring wrath, the god Apollo.
Nine men, good warriors all, did Patroclus slay; then, waxing
bolder, he tried to climb the very walls of Troy.
 Three times did Apollo thrust him back, and when, a fourth time,
he attacked, the god cried aloud to him in anger, warning him not to
dare so much.
Against Patroclus did Hector then drive his war-horses, but
Patroclus, leaping from his chariot, hurled at Hector a jagged stone.
In the eyes it smote the charioteer of Hector, and the slain man
dropped to the ground.
‘How nimble a man is this!’ jeered Patroclus. ‘How lightly he
diveth! Were this the sea, how good an oyster-seeker would this
fellow be!’
 The point of the spear flew over the left shoulder of Patroclus (page 107)

Then from his chariot leaped Hector and met Patroclus, and the
noise of the battle was as the noise of a mighty gale in the forest
when great trees fall crashing to the ground.
When the sun went down, victory was with the Greeks. Three
mighty charges did Patroclus make, and each time he slew nine
men. But when, a fourth time, he charged, Apollo met him. In thick
mist he met him, and Patroclus knew not that he fought with a god.
With a fierce downstroke from behind, Apollo smote his broad
shoulders, and from off his head the helmet of Achilles fell with a
clang, rattling under the hoofs of the horses. Before the smiting of
the god, Patroclus stood stricken, stupid and amazed. Shattered in
his hands was the spear of Achilles, and his mighty shield clanged
on the ground.
Ere he could know who was the smiter, a Trojan ally drove a
spear between his shoulders, and Patroclus, sore wounded, fell
back.
Marking his dismay, Hector pressed forward, and clean through
his body drove his bronze spear. With a crash Patroclus fell.
‘Thou that didst boast that thou wouldst sack my town, here shall
vultures devour thee!’ cried Hector.
And in a faint voice Patroclus made answer:
‘Not to thee do I owe my doom, great Hector. Twenty such as
thou would I have fought and conquered, but the gods have slain
me. Yet verily I tell thee that thou thyself hast not long to live. Even
now doth Death stand beside thee!’
As he spoke, the shadow of Death fell upon Patroclus. No more
in his ears roared the din of battle; still and silent for ever he lay.
 CHAPTER XII
THE ROUSING OF ACHILLES

Fierce had been the fight before Patroclus died. More fiercely yet it
raged when he lay dead.
From his body did Hector take the arms of Achilles, and the dead
Patroclus would the Trojans fain have dragged to their city, there to
bring shame to him and to all the Greek host.
But for him fought the Greeks, until the earth was wet with blood
and the very skies echoed the clang of battle.
To Achilles came Antilochos, a messenger fleet of foot.
‘Fallen is Patroclus!’ he cried, ‘and around his naked body do
they fight, for his armour is held by Hector.’
Then did Achilles moan aloud. On the ground he lay, and in his
hair he poured black ashes. And the sound of his terrible lament was
heard by his mother, Thetis, the goddess, as she sat in her palace
down under the depths of the green sea.
Up from under the waves swiftly came she to Achilles, and
tenderly did she listen while he poured forth to her the tale of the
death of his dear comrade.
Then said Thetis:
‘Not long, methinks, shall Hector glory in the armour that was
thine, for Death presseth hard upon him. Go not forth to battle, my
son, until I return, bearing with me new and fair armour for thee.’
But when Thetis had departed, to Achilles in his sorrow came Iris,
fair messenger of the gods.
 ‘Unto windy Ilios will the Trojans drag the body of Patroclus
unless thou comest now. Thou needst not fight, Achilles, only show
thyself to the men of Troy, for sore is the need of Patroclus thy
friend.’
Then, all unarmed, did Achilles go forth, and stood beside the
trench. With a mighty voice he shouted, and at the sound of his voice
terror fell upon the Trojans. Backward in flight they went, and from
among the dead did the Greeks draw the body of Patroclus, and hot
were the tears that Achilles shed for the friend whom he had sent
forth to battle.
 The making of the arms of Achilles (page 113)

All that night, in the house of the Immortals, resounded the clang
of hammer on anvil as Hephaistus, the lame god, fashioned new
arms for Achilles.
Bronze and silver and gold he threw in his fire, and golden
handmaidens helped their master to wield the great bellows and to
send on the crucibles blasts that made the ruddy flames dance.
No fairer shield was ever borne by man than that which
Hephaistus made for Achilles. For him also he wrought a corslet
brighter than a flame of fire, and a helmet with a golden crest.
And in the morning light did Thetis dart down from snowy
Olympus, bearing in her arms the splendid gift of a god.
Glad was Achilles as he put on the armour, and terrible was his
war-cry as he roused the Greek warriors. No man, however sore his
wounds, held back when the voice of Achilles called him to the fight
once again. Wounded was Agamemnon, overlord of the Greeks, but
forth also came he. And there, while the sun rose on many a warrior
who would fight no more, did Achilles and Agamemnon speak as
friends once again, their long strife ended.
Hungry for war, with Achilles as their leader, did the Greeks then
meet the Trojans on the plain. And as a fierce fire rages through the
forest, its flames driven by the wind, so did Achilles in his wrath drive
through the host of Troy.
Down to the Scamander he drove the fleeing Trojans, and the
water reddened with blood, as he smote and spared not.
Merciless was Achilles; pitilessly did he exult as one brave man
after another was sent by him to dye red the swift flood of the
Scamander.
At length, at his lack of mercy, did even the river grow wrathful.