A Hellenistic First Testament: The Views of Minimalist Scholars

Giovanni Garbini

Giovanni Garbini assesses much of Israelite and Jewish history recorded in the Bible in very critical fashion, concluding that what we have primarily in these biblical texts is theological fiction designed to serve the ideological and religious needs of the eras in which the texts were crafted. He suspects that much of the Primary History arose in the second century BCE. He affirms that if early Jewish historians (non-biblical authors) from the fourth through the second century BCE tell a different story than what is found in the biblical text, it strongly indicates that the Pentateuch did not yet exist until the second century BCE (Garbini 2003: 27).

When we observe Jewish historians, we note that they tell a different story about Moses than the one found in the biblical text. Hecataeus of Abdera in the late fourth century BCE says that Moses led a colony into Palestine to found Jerusalem, build the temple, and create laws there. Likewise, second and first century BCE Jewish historians Demetrius, Eupolemus, and Artapanus do not seem to know the biblical account of Moses either. Non-Jewish authors like Pompeus Trogus, Strabo, and Tacitus also relate that Moses arrived in Jerusalem. Not until the writings of Philo and Josephus in the first century CE do we discover narratives that concur with the biblical account. The implication is that the Pentateuch was a new creation that emerged only slightly before the translation of the Septuagint in the middle of the second century BCE (Garbini 2003: 60–63). The Septuagint then contained the latest version of the law (Garbini 1988: 146). The Pentateuch deliberately chose to tell the story differently from those accounts wherein Moses arrived in Jerusalem and then created the Temple and the Law. This second century BCE Pentateuch: (1) placed Israelite origins in Mesopotamia with Abraham rather than in Egypt with Moses, (2) reduced Moses to a stutterer to be replaced by Aaron as a speaker, and (3) made Moses die outside the land of Palestine, after a significant new narrative about the exodus experience arose. (Garbini 1988: 143, 146; 2003: 70). Furthermore, the “new” Pentateuch manufactured the books of Joshua, Judges, and Samuel, as well as the history of David. The biblical author used some old sources, but mostly created the narratives as fiction (Garbini 2003: 76–77). For example, Joshua is made to appear like the portrayal of Josiah in Chronicles, and the priestly imagery in the portrayal of both men appears to address third and second century BCE Jewish concerns (Garbini 1988: 130–32). Garbini dates Priestly editing of the Pentateuch to this era (Garbini 1988: 146; cf. also Larsson: 408–09). Thus, for Garbini both the Hebrew Pentateuch and the Septuagint translation arise in the second century BCE.

Niels Peter Lemche

Niels Peter Lemche is the leading member of the minimalist Copenhagen School. He is “comrade in arms” with Philip Davies (Sheffield, UK) and Thomas Thompson (Copenhagen) in denying the essential historical reality behind the biblical narratives in the Primary History of Genesis through 2 Kings (also Ezra and Nehemiah), as well as maintaining that the Primary History emerges as a literary unity in the Hellenistic era, after 300 BCE.

Niels Peter Lemche believes that the Primary History arose in the Hellenistic era, even though older sources were sometimes used in the generation of the literature. His arguments for such a late date are essentially as follows. (1) Only in the Hellenistic era did Jews develop a concept of historiography that would enable them to create such an extensive corpus of literature. Greek authors, who were the inspiration for this endeavor, were not accessible to Jews prior to the Hellenistic era (Lemche 1993: 184). (2) Much of the biblical material appears to be influenced by Greek historians, especially Herodotus, but also Greek historians of the third and second centuries BCE. He believes this is particularly true of the Deuteronomistic History (Lemche 2000b: 127–40). Herodotus should be our earliest point of departure for discussing the origins of biblical literature (Lemche 1993: 183; 2001 221–22). (Although you could assume Herodotean influence and still suggest Persian period origins for the biblical text in the fourth century BCE.) (3) The idea of an Israelite or Jewish kingdom in Palestine, as it is portrayed in the biblical text, did not arise among Jewish intelligentsia and scribes until after 300 BCE. A theocratic Judah could not have been envisioned before the second century BCE. Actual Iron Age Palestine had only disparate city states with no serious unification. Biblical narratives reflect diaspora Jewish values of Persian and Hellenistic times with talk about wandering patriarchs, an exodus, and establishing a kingdom (Lemche 1993: 182–83; 2001: 217). (4) The Persian period appears to have been a time of little cultural achievement, hardly a time to produce great literature. Suggesting the Persian period as the fertile time of text production, when we know far too little about this era, is like assuming a closed “black box” in which all the answers are to be found, but the box cannot be opened (Lemche 1993: 184–87). (5) In general, most of the narratives in the Primary History have no reliable historical substance behind them, which implies that most of the narratives are a later fictionalizing of what few sources they might have had. There are some historical memories in the Primary History, but they symbolically allude to other events. Thus, Israelite slaves working in the cities of Pithom and Ramses (Exod 1:11) may refer to Necho's use of Jewish slaves after 609 BCE. Joshua's conquest of the tribal areas of Benjamin may recall pastoral movements of a tribe called Benjamin down from north Mesopotamia. The accounts about David and Solomon in 1 Samuel through 1 Kings may be veiled memories of the accomplishments of Omri and Ahab in northern Israel in 1 Kings (Lemche 1994: 174–87). Lemche pointedly says that the Hebrew texts could only be ten to a hundred years older than the Septuagint (Lemche 1993: 189). He suggests that the Primary History arose in the city of Seleucia, which replaced Babylon as the important city in the Hellenistic era (Lemche 2001: 223–24), or perhaps in Alexandria in Egypt (Lemche 2011: 92). The Hebrew text is theological fiction with a significant religious message, and Christian theologians and biblical scholars need to observe the message rather than obsessing with creating an artificial history off of the biblical narratives, along with the skewed use of archaeological information, that selectively eliminates the miraculous in order to make the biblical narratives seem historical. Religious truth does not come from history but from the fictional theological narratives. The Hebrew text is created primarily in unified form after 300 BCE from a few historical sources; so that essentially the Documentary Hypothesis is an untenable theory (Lemche 2000a; 2008).

Lemche locates the time for the emergence of this literature as the second century BCE. He sees no evidence for a Hebrew text prior to 200 BCE. Only after 200 BCE is Palestinian society sophisticated enough to produce such literature, and only the Dead Sea Scrolls from the middle of the second century BCE provide evidence of a literary tradition for the biblical books. One should date literature by the youngest material in a text (Lemche 2011: 77; 2001: 218–19). Perhaps the Pentateuch might be as early as the third century BCE, but it could not have originated in Palestine (Lemche 2011: 92). Sources older than that may have been available to the biblical authors, but they were limited in scope (Lemche 2011).

In Lemche's view biblical authors intellectually create a history by writing backwards and building on the institutions of their own age. They fictionalize a past to comment upon the present era in which they live. They recall a cultural memory, not an actual history (Lemche 2015). The biblical authors create a monotheistic history out of a polytheistic past in order to speak to their present time. They suggest the existence of an amphictyonic league in order to criticize the Hasmonean kings of a later era (Lemche 2015: 26–28). Biblical authors may actually be speaking to the politics of the Maccabean or Hasmonean age in the second century BCE. He suggests that the exodus traditions may be a direct response to Manetho's negative portrayal of Jews (Lemche 2008: 131–32). Some of the prophetic oracles could be describing a Jewish diaspora in Egypt in the third and second centuries BCE (Lemche 2008: 228–30). Thus, many biblical texts might be best explained by the social and religious needs of Jews in the Hellenistic era.

Lemche has received significant critique from various scholars. Rainer Albertz states the following: (1) Cultural sophistication is not a pre-condition for literary publication. More likely a social crisis, like the sixth century BCE Babylonian Exile, will lead people to preserve traditions in written form, lest they be lost. (2) Hellenistic culture threatened the national identity of the Jews; it did not provide a fertile soil for growth of literature. (3) The Hellenistic period was not the first climax for intellectual development for the Jews; the first climax was the economic and social development in the eighth century BCE. (4) Albertz also notes that Lemche has not elaborated his ideas in sufficient detail to create a cogent theory. Especially lacking is a social-historical paradigm into which the message of the literature would fit in the Hellenistic era. (5) Finally, Hecataeus knows the Pentateuch in 300 BCE (Albertz: 31–41).

In defense of Lemche, I would respond to Albertz's arguments: The sixth century BCE crisis may have generated the earliest written traditions, but the Hellenistic era may have provided the intellectual agenda to produce the grand national epic, as well as some additional narratives. Hellenistic culture had a varied impact upon Jews in different parts of the world, perhaps threatening in Palestine, but inspiring in Alexandria, where Hellenistic influence enabled Jews to craft works like the later Wisdom of Solomon and some of the writings in the Pseudepigrapha. The overall cultural atmosphere of the Hellenistic era is the social cultural setting; one need not be more specific than this. Being more specific, as Albertz demands, is often being too speculative. Perhaps, Hecataeus knew more of what Jews in his age believed and practiced rather than being conversant with literary texts. However, my response is not a definitive refutation of Albertz; his observations are good and deserve a response from minimalists.

Other scholars likewise have criticized Lemche. Barstad observes how the Deuteronomistic History resonates the thought of the pre-exilic ancient Near East with its theology and language, and shows no awareness of Hellenistic intellectual issues (Barstad: 47–77). In particular, the biblical preoccupation with so many specific deities, by name, would not be typical of Hellenistic Jewish thought that would condemn polytheism in general (Bardstad: 68). Becking notes that the Hebrew Bible lacks concern with issues of purity and impurity, which would be hallmark topics for Hellenistic Jews (Becking: 86). Gunn notes that Lemche seeks to date the text by its youngest elements, but if a text is composite, containing older elements, something which Lemche does admit occurs, then it would be inappropriate to speak of the Primary History as a total Hellenistic creation (Gunn: 189).

I would observe that upon taking these critiques into account, a more detailed evaluation of the evolution of the biblical text is needed from Lemche or someone, a theory that suggests how the final stages of development of the biblical text emerge in the Hellenistic period. But Lemche's observations have been seminal in initiating the entire discussion of Hellenistic origins.

Thomas L. Thompson

Thomas Thompson's views are quite similar to those of Niels Peter Lemche. He believes that Jewish historiography could arise only in the Hellenistic age. Like Lemche he suggests the second century BCE as the time for such literature to be created. There were prior sources, but not very many, so that most of the narratives are fiction. Old traditions used by the biblical author might have included (1) Prayers in Leviticus, (2) genealogies of Shem and Ham, (3) the Balaam narratives, (4) dynastic lists from Omri onward in the northern state of Israel, (5) the memory of Samaria's destruction, (6) old psalms, like Psalm 89, (7) the garden story in Genesis 3, and (8) the flood narrative (Thompson 1999b: 295).

Much of the material in the biblical text can be explained by reference to events in the Hellenistic era. Thus, a few examples can be given. Deuteronomy 5:6 refers to Jews who went down to Egypt in the third century BCE. The wandering of Abraham is inspired by the stories of the wandering of Aeneas, for both create great new settlements. Ahab is a symbol for Antiochus IV Epiphanes. David and Josiah are allegories for the Maccabean ruler John Hyrcanus, Solomon symbolizes Alexander the Great, and Hezekiah also foreshadows John Hyrcanus (Thompson 1999b: 66, 77–78, 207–08, 273). Thompson believes that narratives in the Dead Sea Scrolls, such as 4QTestamonia and 4Q158 actually inspired the biblical narratives in Numbers and Deuteronomy (Thompson 1999b: 275–78).

In particular, Thompson sees the year 164 BCE as a crucial date for the creation of the text, because the biblical chronology for the entire Pentateuch seems to imply that 164 BCE is the four thousandth anniversary of the founding of the world. It is also the year when the Temple was rededicated and purified after Seleucid rule (Thompson 1999b: 73–75, 294). After 164 BCE there are minor revisions to the biblical text.

For Thompson the Bible is not history but theology. One of its chief themes is the interplay between the creative and the destructive power of the spirit (Thompson 1999a: 258–93). Since Thompson's theory is similar to Lemche's, the criticisms and counter response would be much the same. So we need not go into detail at this point. Both Lemche and Thompson agree that there were sources prior to the Hellenistic era that were used by the authors who crafted the final form of the biblical text, but they assume that such sources were not extensive nor well organized. The next three scholars that we shall review affirm that the Primary History is completely a creation generated in the Hellenistic era with no real prior sources.

Russell Gmirkin

Russell Gmirkin believes that both the Hebrew Primary History and the Greek Septuagint were produced by the same people in the same era at the library in Alexandria. He uses the references in the genealogies of Genesis 10 to establish the historical era in which this Hebrew text would have arisen, and he locates its creation about 273–272 BCE (Gmirkin 2006: 1). He further believes that monotheism is not promulgated among Jews in a consistent form until these texts are created (Gmirkin 2017: 261–62) His development of his thesis is well organized.

He first observes that there appear no true references to the Pentateuch prior to 300 BCE. The written finds at the Jewish colony of Elephantine show no awareness of Pentateuchal stories or customs in the 400s BCE (Gmirkin 2006: 28–33). The supposed reference to the Pentateuch and Jewish laws from Hecataeus of Abdera's Aegyptica dated to 320–300 BCE actually does not come from him. Many scholars appeal to that reference to maintain that the Primary History arose before the Hellenistic era. The references of Hecataeus are preserved in Diodorus Siculus, Library 40.3.1–8, but Gmirkin painstakingly demonstrates that Diodorus Siculus is really using Theophanes of Mytilene's writings from 62 BCE. Only Theophanes would have had the first-hand awareness of Jerusalem implied by the passages, for Theophanes was the biographer for Pompey when the latter entered Jerusalem in 63 BCE (Gmirkin 2006: 34–71; 2014: 61–83). The negative portrayal of the Jews fits the views of Theophanes, not Hecataeus of Abdera (Gmirkin 2006: 45–49). The excerpts say that Jews had no images of the gods, but Greeks did not have that knowledge until Pompey went into the Temple (Gmirkin 2006: 50–52; 2014: 74, 81). The expression “Jews never had a king” comes from Theophanes and justifies Pompey's termination of Hasmonean kingship (Gmirkin 2006: 54–55). If we then exclude the testimony of Hecataeus of Abdera, only the Septuagint shows the first true awareness of the Pentateuch (Gmirkin 2006: 2). Gmirkin has defended this particular issue in detail against a number of critical responses (Gmirkin 2014: 56–88).

There was no prior Greek translation of the Hebrew before the Septuagint. Aristobulus (second century BCE) thought there was such a translation, but he only inferred this from other observations of Hecataeus. The Letter of Aristeas (second century BCE) implies an earlier Greek translation, but it was written by Aristobulus (Gmirkin 2006: 76–88).

Gmirkin spends much effort to prove that the biblical texts in Genesis 1–11 were inspired by Berossus' Babyloniaca (278 BCE), for Berossus would have made the cuneiform myths and stories from Meospotamia available to the west semitic world in Greek form, and particularly for the biblical authors (Gmirkin 2006: 3, 7, 91–139). Otherwise biblical authors would not have had access to cuneiform texts. Furthermore, his comparison of the texts seeks to demonstrate how the biblical version of the primeval history is very close to Berossus, more so than to the Mesopotamian texts. There is great similarity between Genesis 1, Berossus, and the Enuma Elish, but only Genesis 1 and Berossus mention the creation of animals. Gmirkin asks why Genesis 1 is like Berossus and the Enuma Elish, when there are other Babylonian creation accounts? The biblical authors knew only the Enuma Elish because that is what Berossus recorded (Gmirkin 2006: 91–94). The story of the garden could have come to the biblical author from Mesopotamia only through Berossus, and Oannes, the proto-type for the serpent is found only in Berossus (Gmirkin 2006: 100–07). According to Berossus Enmeduranki was the seventh pre-diluvian figure, as in the Bible, but other Babylonian stories rank him sixth or eighth (Gmirkin 2006: 109). The biblical account of the flood has very close parallels with the Gilgamesh Epic, and Berossus, who uses the Gilgamesh Epic (Gmirkin 2006: 111–13). Gmirkin demonstrates how the story of Nimrod reflects the version of Berossus, not the version from Persica by Ktesis, as many claim (Gmirken 2006: 114–17). The Babel account comes from the Poem of Erra (seventh century BCE) by way of Berossus (Gmirkin 2006: 124–33). Genesis 1–11 and Berossus share accounts about: (1) creation, (2) the origin of the arts, (3) ten rulers of the pre-flood world, (4) a flood hero, (5) the flood, and (6) rebuilding Babylon (Babel) (Gmirkin 2006: 135).

Gmirkin then discusses how the biblical author crafted the narrative of the Exodus from the writings of Manetho's Aegyptiaca (285–280 BCE). Manetho's critical interpretation of the Jewish presence in Egypt shows no awareness of the biblical narratives, but rather uses native Egyptian traditions. Manetho wrote before the time of the Septuagint and he did not read Hebrew (Gmirkin 2006: 187). Manetho describes the expulsion of foreigners from Egypt into Judea. The Hyksos have nothing to do with the Jews. But Gmirkin seeks to demonstrate that the biblical account of the Exodus is really designed to counter the vile propaganda of Manetho about Jews, and when Manetho's observations are not critical of the Jews, the biblical text concurs with his summary (Gmirkin 2006: 171; 2017: 226–27). The biblical author reverses the Hyksos enslavement of the Egyptians to become the Egyptian enslavement of Israel. The reference to 600,000 Israelites leaving Egypt reflects Manetho's reference to 240,000 shepherds coming into Egypt (Gmirkin 2006: 172–84). The biblical author deliberately reverses Manetho's accounts as a polemic against him: (1) Jews entered peacefully, not as invaders, (2) Jews were enslaved, they did not conquer, (3) Egyptians killed Jews, not the reverse, and (4) Jews escaped, they were not driven out (Gmirkin 2006: 188–91). Manetho's second account of Jews as lepers polluting Egypt really drew from Egyptian traditions. The lepers refer to devotees of the Egyptian god Seth during the Nineteenth Dynasty. Manetho, however, did connect Osarseph, leader of the lepers, with Moses superficially. But the biblical author turned Osarseph into Joseph to disconnect him from Moses, and the allusions to the leprosy of Moses and Miriam in the biblical text indicate that leprosy was really infrequent among the Jews (Gmirkin 2006: 192–212).

Gmirkin's careful consideration of the genealogies in Genesis 10 observes that the Table of Nations describes the relationship of Seleucid, Ptolemaic, and independent regions after 278 BCE during the Wars of the Successors (278–246 BCE), and the Curse on Canaan reflects the political circumstances after the First Syrian War in 273–272 BCE (Gmirkin 2006: 140–69). Hence, he locates the creation of the Hebrew text in this era. Shem represents the Seleucid Empire of Lydia, Syria, and Mesopotamia, and at no other time did Seleucid territories correspond to the biblical personages. The sons of Japhet are those areas that were somewhat independent from Seleucid rule in 278–269 BCE. The sons of Javan are areas of naval interest for Ptolemy I and Ptolemy II in 273–269 BCE. Sons of Ham represent the Ptolemaic Empire and areas they claimed to rule (Gmirkin 2006: 146–63). The Curse on Canaan reflects Ptolemaic rule in Palestine, and it contains the hope that the Seleucids (Shem) would replace Ptolemaic rule there, when Japhet would dwell in the tents of Shem (Gmirkin 2006: 163–69). (Much of this last argument appears rather forced to me.)

The figure of Moses appears to have been inspired by the last pharaoh of Egypt, Nectanebos II, who was romantically portrayed in Egyptian legends as a savior of the Egyptians from the Persians and as a magician, both attributes of Moses. Nectanebos II failed to deliver Egyptians from Persians, but Moses succeeded in saving Jews from Egyptians. Both personages tried to drown their enemies (Gmirkin 2006: 215–21). Furthermore, the place names in the account of the Exodus flight from Egypt reflect place names in the early Ptolemaic period, the early third century BCE, and the crossing of the sea may allude to geographic features connected to the canal that ran from the Ptolemaic Nile to the Red Sea, which was in place by 273 BCE. The water went from the Nile to the Pithom canal. The walls of water for Moses and pharaoh reflect the swelling water level in the locks that allowed ships to pass (Gmirkin 2006: 222–39). Ptolemy II transformed the Bitter Lakes into sweet water by his lock system, just as Moses did with the water at Maran (Gmirkin 2006: 238). The speech of Moses in Deuteronomy 1–9, replete with the laws in Deuteronomy 12–26, is parallel to the speeches and legislation given by Greek leaders as they guide Greek colonists to new settlements (Gmirkin 2017: 250).

Thus, Gmirkin marshalls a significant amount of information to locate the date of the creation of the Hebrew text in a particular age. He then assumes that the Septuagint was translated about that same time, as the Letter of Aristeas implies. One could hold to Gmirkin's theory about the origin of the Hebrew Pentateuch but suggest a much later date and gradual evolution for the Septuagint, as I do. Nonetheless, Gmirkin believes that the Hebrew Pentateuch and the Septuagint were produced together in Alexandria, both at the request of Ptolemy II in the third century BCE (Gmirkin 2006: 252–56; 2017: 1).

A special concern of Gmirkin is to establish a strong connection between biblical laws and Greek laws, especially Athenian laws and the laws in Plato's writings. He addresses this issue in a single monograph. In a detailed three way comparison of biblical, ancient Near Eastern, and Greek laws, Gmirkin observes that the biblical text shows a strong affinity to both ancient Near Eastern and Greek laws. In this comparison, however, Gmirkin notes how biblical laws often show far greater similarity with the Greek laws, especially those found in Plato's Laws, on issues such as murder, sex laws, some slavery laws, military law, treason, and sacred law (Gmirkin 2017: 77–86, 98–111, 123–39). However, it is significant that Gmirkin does admit that biblical and ancient Near Eastern laws are more similar to each other on issues of assault, theft, marriage, social laws, livestock laws, agricultural laws, and commercial laws (Gmirkin 2017: 86–98, 111–23). So this is a complex issue for discussion, and I do not believe Gmirkin has a totally convincing argument on the laws. In terms of the overall structure and purpose of lawcodes, biblical and Greek codes share more in common with each other than with ancient Near Eastern codes, especially with the lack of a sponsoring king (Gmirkin 2017: 183–206). Furthermore, biblical and Greek law codes are presented in the context of a narrative, often the story of a migration and founding of a new city/country (Gmirkin 2017: 220–34). In general, a basic comparison of biblical and Greek laws alone reveals similarities in terms of the assumption of egalitarianism, lack of kings, citizen armies, comparable land distributions, kinship and household structures, deliberative bodies, judiciaries, magistrates, and even the portrayal of military heroes (such as David) (Gmirkin 3027: 26–28, 145–46). Gmirkin, of course, assumes that the biblical authors would have had access to the laws of Athens and Plato's Laws in the great library of Alexandria, where they created both the Hebrew Bible and the Septuagint translation within the same generation.

Gmirkin's theories are detailed and well argued. Scholars who oppose minimalist theories and a Hellenistic origin for the Hebrew text must come to grips with his many observations.

John Van Seters has critiqued Gmirkin with some substantive observations (Van Seters 2008: 212–14). He accuses Gmirkin of providing no critical analysis of biblical texts, but merely giving random selections of narratives which observe similarities but ignore differences between the Bible and the Greek historians. He chides Gmirkin for suggesting that some parallels between Berosus and the Bible once existed but have been lost to us (other short reviews speak similarly). Gmirkin ignores parallels between the biblical text and cuneiform sources, such as the Sargon Legend and Moses, and in turn Gmirkin only offers a few parts of the Pentateuch for comparison. These critiques are valid and quite significant.

Lukasz Niesiolowski-Spano

Lukasz Niesiolowski-Spano proposes that the Primary History arose in the Hellenistic era, after 200 BCE. He suggests that the literature arose as a result of the Hasmonean or Maccabean rule in the second century BCE, for only the authority of an organized monarchy could effectively inspire such a work and assure that it would be accepted by the Jewish intelligentsia and people as a whole. Furthermore, he opines that the literature may have arisen in response to the emergence of the Samaritan traditions in Shechem. Thus, the Primary History focuses upon Jerusalem as the true center. His study of narratives about shrines in the historical literature observes that there is a tendency to select shrines close to Jerusalem or to artificially locate them close to Jerusalem as a response to the beliefs of the Samaritans in the north.

His most signficant work is a monograph about the biblical traditions connected to various shrines, Origin Myths and Holy Places in the Old Testament. He focuses upon stories about shrines in Beersheba, Bethel, Dan, Hebron (Mamre), Ophrah, Shechem, Gilgal, Penuel, Gadeel, and Manahaim to discern how the mythic traditions connected to these shrines grew over the years. He summarizes how critical scholarship has hypothesized various dates for the stages of evolution in these traditions, and he accepts that traditions about these shrines could be very old and were handed down in fragmentary fashion. But ultimately these biblical narratives, in his opinion, took their final form under second century BCE Hasmonean scribes. He suggests how the final form of the story and its message makes sense in the Maccabean era, especially with the hints in the accounts that imply the value of unified royal rule over the land. Such unified royal rule never occurred in the pre-exilic or post-exilic era until the second century BCE. (He, of course, discounts the historicity of accounts connected to David and Solomon.) When he discusses how the biblical narratives and their theological message best fit the second century BCE, he says very little. Ultimately, though his arguments are coherent, his thesis is very suggestive and lacks detailed arguments for second century BCE dates for all these texts. Sometimes his arguments for second century BCE dates are painfully brief. His monograph has value when placed together with the writings of other scholars who argue for a Hellenistic origin of the biblical text.

In brief, this is what he says about the second century BCE message found in the traditions of those various shrines.

Beersheba would have become important to biblical authors only in the second century BCE when Maccabean rule extended to that area under John Hyrcanus after 164 BCE (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 54–57, 248–49, 251–52).

A critical attitude toward Bethel would have been necessary for the author of Genesis in the second century BCE because there were rival priests in that shrine during the Maccabean era (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 90).

Dan is a shrine whose founding is recounted in Judges 18. This chapter is missing from the book of Judges found in the second century BCE text from Qumran, implying that the narrative is generated in the second century BCE. The Maccabean conquest of Galilee under John Hyrcanus (135–104 BCE) would be the time when this shrine assumed importance for biblical authors (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 105–09, 251–52).

Mamre would become meaningful under the Maccabeans for the sake of legitimating the Jewishness of the Hebron era after its conquest by John Hyrcanus. The oldest archaeological artifacts at Mamre or Hebron date only to the second century BCE (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 131, 248–49, 251–52).

The place name Ophrah comes into existence only in the first century CE, thus implying this material is very late. The name Ephrathah is changed to Ophrah only after the separation of the Massoretic tradition from the Septuagintal tradition (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 171, 244).

The stories about Shechem, especially Joshua 24, emerge only in the Hellenistic era and reflect rising tensions between Jews and Samaritans. The Shechem traditions solidify only in the second century BCE because the stories about Joshua's conquests reflect Maccabean conquests. The significance of the shrine needed to be minimized in the second century BCE because of the Samaritans in the north (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 199, 203, 245).

Gilgal traditions about the conquest of that city by Joshua really reflect Maccabean conquests in the second century BCE (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 212).

Penuel, Gadeel, and Manahaim, all Transjordanian sites, become meaningful places for Jews only once they rule this land under the guidance of the Maccabees (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 252).

Thus, all the shrine stories make sense as a unified narrative only in the period of 160–100 BCE, for only then did Jews rule the territory in which all of these shrines are found (Niesiolowski-Spano 2011: 256). Of course, this argument assumes that the historicity of the United Monarchy and much of the Divided Monarchy is suspect, an assumption of the school of thought out of which Niesiolowski-Spano comes. Thus, he really relies heavily upon the scholarship of other minimalist scholars, and he makes no original arguments to discredit the possibility that another era other than the second century BCE could be a time in which Jews had control of the land in which these shrines are located.

His article, “Primeval History in the Persian Period?” (Niesiolowski 2007), provides insight from another perspective. He evaluates Genesis 1–11 and discerns that it really originates in the Hellenistic era after 300 BCE, not the Persian period, and reflects influence from the writings of Plato. He observes how references to these chapters do not occur in the rest of the Bible, except in Chronicles and other late, second century BCE writings. In fact, in the second century BCE author, Aristobulos, there are frequent references to passages in the Pentateuch, but none to Genesis 1–11 (Niesiolowski-Spano 2007: 109). Ezekiel's allusions to the garden of Eden and the man in that garden on the mountain probably inspired the accounts in Genesis 1–3 (Niesiolowski-Spano 2007: 112–13). In general, motifs from the Primeval History occur only in Jewish Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha (like Enoch), and the Second Testament, indicating a second century BCE origin for the Primeval History (Niesiolowski-Spano 2007: 113–14, 125 presents a detailed chart).

Mythic images in the Primeval History come from Plato. These include (1) a self-moving being creates the world, (2) humans are made in the image of God, (3) humans include both male and female, (4) humans are meant to dominate other creatures, (5) woman is responsible for the fall, (6) the Tree of of Knowledge, and (7) possession of wisdom as the reason for the fall (Niesiolowski-Spano 2007: 117). (I believe his derivation of these themes from Plato's dialogues results from his very generous and loose reading of Plato.) Plato died in 347 BCE, and his writings would have become available to Jewish intelligentsia by the third century BCE, which would make the second century BCE emergence of the Primeval History a viable theory (Niesiolowski-Spano 2007: 124). Thus, Niesiolowski-Spano consistently points to the second century BCE as the logical era for the ultimate emergence of the Primary History in its final form.

Philippe Wajdenbaum

Philippe Wajdenbaum provides the most detailed evaluation of Hellenistic influence in the First Testament. He goes through the entire Primary History, focusing upon those narratives that appear to have parallels in the Greek mythic and historiographical tradition as well as narratives that appear to have been influenced by Greek narratives, even in a slight way. His study is thorough to the point of being overwhelming, and to the point of being described as an “avalanche” of data. Even if he is correct in his evaluations only part of the time, he has presented a significant number of examples that cannot be easily dismissed by critics. He affirms that there are so many examples of parallels between Greek literature and the First Testament, that it is more logical to assume that the biblical author knew Greek literature rather than assuming that so many Greek authors knew biblical materials (Wajdenbaum 2011: 15). Only the overwhelming cultural challenge of Hellenism after 300 BCE could have created the desire to generate the Hebrew text of the Primary History (Wajdenbaum 2010: 41).

His central thesis is that old traditions were used by a single Jewish author after 200 BCE to create the Primary History. There are no JEDP sources behind our biblical text, only Greek literary texts and fragments of Jewish legends (Wajdenbaum 2011: 27). This scribe was deeply steeped in Greek literature, especially the writings of Plato, including first and foremost Plato's Laws. As he creatively crafted the Primary History, he often used individual narratives to create biblical stories and sometimes he drew together images from several Greek stories to generate a particular biblical account (Wadjenbaum 2011: 13–14). He further maintains that the same scribe who wrote Genesis through 2 Kings also created the book of Esther (Wadjenbaum 2011: 288–96). This scribe was a hellenizing Jew working in the Library of Alexandria during the time of the Hasmoneans. Because of its origin in Egypt, this Hebrew literary work was quickly translated into the Greek Septuagint in Egypt also. Crafting the Primary History as a nine volume work reflects the author's imitation of Herodotus, whose Histories are also in nine volumes (Wajdenbaum 288). By dating the creation of the Primary History to the second century BCE, Wajdenbaum also assumes that the translation of the Septuagint is to be dated to the second rather than the third century BCE, as the Letter of Aristeas claims. Only the Hasmonean state in the second century BCE would have had the authority to promote an authoritative Hebrew text created in Egypt (Wajdenbaum 2011: 28–29, 304–05).

It would be tedious to list all of the examples of Greek influence offered by Wajdenbaum, but some of the significant parallels deserve mention. I apologize for the length of the list, but it is important to realize how much can be offered by way of testimony to the Greek connections with the Bible. Sometimes he believes that the Greek story influenced the creation of the biblical account, at other times he suggests that the Greek story simply influenced part of the narrative plot.

Both Plato's Laws and the book of Genesis narrate how there was a flood, followed by references to the lives of ancient people after the flood, then the creation of many cities, followed by the giving of laws (Sinai), and finally the creation of the Ideal State (conquest under Joshua) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 69, 106–07).

Alcmaeon kills his mother and must become a wanderer (Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War II, 102), just as Cain kills Abel and wanders the earth (Gen 4:1–16) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 104).

In Hesiod's Works and Days and Theogony divine human matings are recounted, just as in Gen 6:1–4 (Wajdenbaum 2011: 102–03).

As Noah has three sons and their descendants are listed in Genesis 10, Herodotus (Histories IV, 45) divides the world into three continents (Asia, Libya, Europa) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 108–09).

Iapetos is the grandfather of Deucalion, the flood hero (Pindar, Olympian IX, 40–56), just as Japhet is the son of Noah (Gen 9:18), in a commonly occurring genealogical displacement (Wajdenbaum 2011: 105).

In Hesiod (Theogony 1175–1180) Kronos castrates his father as Ham sees Noah naked (Gen 9:20–27) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 107–08).

When Japhet expands and dwells in the tents of Shem (Gen 9:27), it previsages the Hellenistic conquest of Asia (Wajdenbaum 2011: 105).

In Ovid's Metamorphoses I, 150–70 giants pile up mountains to storm the heavens, but Zeus stops this by hurling lightning bolts to destroy the mountains. The story of Babel in Genesis 11 is similar, but without the lightning bolts (Wajdenbaum 2011: 111).

In the Critias 116c–117a Plato portrays the fall of Atlantis as foreshadowing the fall of Athens, just as the biblical author in Genesis 11 has Babel foreshadow the fall of Jerusalem (Wajdenbaum 2011: 112).

In Herodotus, Histories V, 39–41, the wife of Anaxandrides is barren, so he takes a second wife, but then the first wife becomes pregnant, so that he has several children. This is closely comparable to how Abraham takes Hagar as a surrogate wife when Sarah is barren (Gen 16:1–6) (Wajdenbaum 2011:114).

In Ovid, Fasti, V, 495–545 Jupiter, Neptune, and Mercury promise an old widower, named Hyrieus, a son, just as the angel messengers promise a son to Abraham and Sarah (Gen 18:1–15) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 115–16) (Cf. Gnuse 2017b).

In Ovid, Metamorphoses VIII, 620–725 Jupiter and Mercury save Philemon and Baucis from the great flood, just as the angels save Lot and his family from the fire that descends upon the cities of the plain (Gen 19:14–26) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 117–18) (Cf. Gnuse 2017b).

In Ovid, Metamorphoses X, 45–50 Orpheus tries to bring Eurydice out of Hades, but when he looks back, she is trapped, just as Lot's wife looks back and turns into a pillar of salt (Gen 19:24–26) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 118–19).

In Ovid, Metamorphoses X, 430–475 Myrrha, daughter of king Cinyras of Crete, has sex with her father, just as Lot's daughters seduce him (Gen 19:30–38) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 119).

Athamas, king of Boetia, almost sacrifices his son, Phrixos, to Zeus for the sake of land fertility due to a false oracle, when a winged ram with a golden fleece, given by Nephele, carries Phrixos safely to Colchis. In thankfulness Phrixos sacrifices the ram and hangs its golden fleece on an oak (anticipating Jason's recovery of it years later) (Apollodorus, Library I, 9, 1; Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica II, 1190–1195). This is when Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac is stopped by the voice of God and the appearance of a ram in the thicket (Gen 22:11–14) (Wajdenbaum 2010: 132; 2011: 18, 120–21).

Abas and his wife Aglaia have twin sons, Acrisius and Proetus, who fight with each other in the womb (Apollodorus, Library 2, 2, 1), as do Jacob and Esau (Gen 25:22–23) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 123).

As Thespius tricks Hercules into having sex with his fifty daughters (Apollodorus, Library, 2, 4, 10), so Laban tricks Jacob in marrying both Leah and Rachel (Gen 29:21–27) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 127).

As Helen is kidnapped (Apollodorus, Library, 3, 10, 7), so also is Dinah (Gen 34:1–31), and as a result two cities are destroyed (Wajdenbaum 2011: 129–30).

Xerses seduces his daughter-in-law and is caught because she possesses his robe afterward (Herodotus, Histories IX, 108–110), just as Tamar seduces Judah and saves her life by producing his signet, cord, and staff, and she is destined to be his daughter-in-law (Gen 38:13–26) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 133).

Odysseus goes to Egypt and is pharaoh's friend for seven years and then in prison for seven years (Homer, Odyssey XIX, 340–345). Joseph is first in prison and then in pharaoh's court, and the number seven occurs as years of plenty and then famine (Genesis 40–41) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 138–39).

As the king of Ethiopia accuses the envoys of Cambyses of being spies (Herodotus, Histories III, 20–21), so Joseph accuses his brothers of being spies (Gen 42:8–17) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 142–43).

Aesop has a sacred cup planted in his luggage for which the Delphians catch and execute him (Scholiast of Aristophanes, Wasps 1446; Herodotus, Histories II, 134), just as Joseph plants coins and a silver cup in Benjamin's sack (Gen 44:1–34) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 143).

As both Odysseus and Joseph reveal their identities, there is a similar narrative sequence: (1) revelation of identity, (2) friend or brother grabs his neck, (3) they embrace, (4) they kiss, and (5) they weep (Homer, Odyssey, XXI, 200–210; Gen 45:2–3, 14–15) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 140).

When Odysseus and Joseph see their father, they fall on his neck and weep (Homer, Odyssey XXIV, 315–350; Gen 46:29) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 140–41).

Odysseus kills the suitors with a bow and arrow (Homer, Odyssey XXII, 70–72), just as Joseph is compared to an archer (Gen 49:22–24) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 142).

Herodotus, Histories II, 124 tells how Cheops forces his people to build pyramids, as Pharaoh forces Israelites to build for him (Exod 1:7–14) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 146).

Alcmene exposes her baby, Athena finds it, Hera tries to nurse it, but Athena takes it to Alcmene to raise (Diodorus Siculus, Library IV, 9, 6–7). Likewise, Moses is exposed by his parents, guarded by Miriam, found by pharaoh's daughter, and then finally nursed by his own mother (Exod 2:1–10) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 148).

Hercules rescues the seven daughters of Atlas and Hesperides who were drawing water (Diodorus Siculus, Library IV, 27), just as Moses defends the seven daughters of the priest of Midian who were drawing water (Exod 2:16–21) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 149).

Hesiod is called to be a poet while he is a shepherd (Hesiod, Theogony 24–35), as Moses is called while tending the sheep (Exod 3:1–12) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 150).

Cyrene in Libya is founded by Battus, who stutters (as Moses did in Exodus 4:10), and leads people to a land promised to their ancestor, Euphemos, the Argonaut (Herodotus, Histories IV, 145–159), just as Moses leads the Israelites to a land promised to the patriarchal ancestors. Both rule for forty years either in Libya or the wilderness (Wajdenbaum 2010: 133–34; 2011: 72, 113, 151).

According to Herodotus, Histories II, 119 Menelaus keeps his wife in Egypt during the Trojan war, so that after Troy falls, he picks her up along with all his wealth. This reminds us of Abram and Sarai in Egypt (Gen 12:10–20) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 152–53).

Theoclymenus of Egypt wants to marry Helen, but Castor and Pollux appear and tell him that she is married (Euripides, Helen 1650–1660), just as God appears to Abimelech to tell him that Abraham and Sarah are married (Gen 20:1–18) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 154).

Herodotus, Histories VIII, 129 tells of how high tide kills Persians trying to cross to Pallene, just as the Egyptians are drowned while chasing the Israelites in Exodus 14–15 (Wajdenbaum 2011: 157–58).

Plato's allegory of the cave in Republic XII tells of how people resist coming to the light as they leave the “cave” of ignorance, just as the Israelites murmur in the wilderness on their way to the promised land (Exod 14:11–12; 17:2–4) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 158–59, 169).

Spies from Cyrus go to Syria and Libya, and their news frightens the soldiers (Xenophon, Cyropaedia VI, 2, 9–13), just as the twelve spies investigate Canaan and their news frightens the Israelites (Num 13:26–33) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 180–81).

Zeus throws Amphiarus into the underworld (Euripides, Suppliants 927), just as Korah disappears into the underworld (Num 16:31–33) (Wadjenbaum 2011: 182).

Asclepius tells the king of Rome to look upon a snake wrapped around a staff during a plague (Ovid, Metamorphoses XV. 650–660), just as Moses puts the bronze serpent on a pole before the Israelites to protect them from snakes (Num 21:8–9) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 184).

The horses of Achilles warn him of his impending death (Homer, Iliad XIX, 400–420), as the donkey of Balaam warns him of his potential death at the hands of the angel (Num 21:8–9) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 184–87) (Cf. Gnuse 2017d).

Athena appears to Odysseus, and though Telemachus cannot see her, the dogs can (Homer, Odyssey XVI, 162). Similarly, Balaam cannot see the angel, but his donkey can (Num 22:22–30) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 186).

Lemnina women kill their husbands and then seduce Jason's argonauts (Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica 1, 845–875), just as Phineas kills the Israelites who have slept with Moabite women (Num 25:1–13) (Wajdenbaum 2011:187–89).

Greek daughters may receive land from their deceased fathers if they marry kinfolk (Plato, Laws 924c–e), just as the daughters of Zelophehad are enabled to receive their father's inheritance (Num 27:1–11) (Wajdenbaum 2011:190–92).

Plato's Ideal State has twelve parts (Plato, Laws 745b–c), as the twelve tribes receive apportioned land in Num 26:51–56. Plato's Critias tells how an Ideal State collapses because it fails to follow its own laws, just as the Deuteronomistic History tells the same story (Wajdenbaum 2010: 135–36; 2011: 73, 189).

Antenor and Theano hide Menelaus and Odysseus who come to Troy as spies and negotiate with them for their survival. For the invading Acheans to recognize their house, a leopard skin is attached to the window (Homer, Iliad III, 200–225; Pausanias, Description of Greece 10, 27, 2). Similarly the spies in Jericho are hidden by Rahab, who negotiates her own safety when the city falls, and she protects her home by placing a crimson thread in the window (Josh 6:22–23) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 207–09).

Agamemnon prays for the sun not to go down until Troy falls (Homer, Iliad II, 410–420), as Joshua does during his battle (Josh 10:12–14) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 209–10).

Atossa sadly awaits the return of her son, Xerses, after his defeat by the Greeks (Euripides, Persians 832–833), as Sisera's mother awaits his return after his death (Judg 5:28–30) (Wajdenbaum 2011:216–17).

Leonidas fights with three hundred Spartans (Herodotus, Histories VII, 205–07, 220), as Gideon fights with three hundred men (Judg 7:1–8, 20–22), and both undertake a night attack in which their confused enemies kill each other (Diodorus Siculus, Library XI, 10; Judg 7:20–22) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 217–18).

Iphigenia is sacrificed by her father for the sake of military success in the future (Euripides, Iphigenia at Aulis), just as Jephthah sacrifices his daughter after military victory (Judg 11:31–49) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 222).

Samson appears to be paradigmed after Heracles or Hercules. Hercules is descended from Danaea, the mother of Perseus, and Samson is from the tribe of Dan, a similar sounding word. Both kill a lion (Euripides, Heracles 360–364; Judg 14:8–11). Both lose their wives (Apollodorus, Library 2, 6, 1; Judg 15:1–3). Both are captured but then kill their assailants (Herodotus, Histories II, 45; Apollodorus, Library 2, 5, 11; Judg 15:11–16). Both obtain water from a broken rock (Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica IV, 1440–1450; Judg 15:18–19). Hercules takes down the walls of Mycenae (Euripides, Heracles 990–1010), as Samson carries off the city gates (Judg 16:1–3). Pterelaus loses power and subsequently dies because of the loss of his golden hair (Apollodorus, Library 2, 4, 7), as Samson loses strength with his hair cut (Judg 16:19–20) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 224–29). I have adduced additional parallels between Hercules and Samson (Gnuse 2018).

Aristarchus accompanies the Phocaeans to colonize Massalia and be their priestess (Strabo, Geography IV, 1, 4), just as the Danites takes the priest of Micah (Judg 18:27–31) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 229–30).

Titus Livius I, 9–13 tells the story of the rape of the Sabine women and Herodotus, Histories VI, 138 tells of the Pelgasian abduction of the Athenian women, both of which are quite comparable to the seizure of the young girls at Shiloh by the Benjaminites (Judg 21:19–24) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 231–34; cf. Gnuse 2007).

As Phineus awaits the return of the argonauts (Apollonius of Rhodes, Argonautica II, 180–205), so also blind Eli waits for his sons (1 Sam 4:13–18) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 239–40).

Cadmus of Tyre founds Thebes by observing where a cow, which had never been yoked before, finally collapses (Apollodorus, Library 3, 4, 1), just as the Philistines return the Ark of the Covenant with two cows that had never been yoked before (1 Sam 6:1–3) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 240–41).

Samuel's speech in 1 Samuel 8 condemning kings is inspired by a speech by Theseus of Athens in Euripides' Suppliants (Wajdenbaum 2011: 32, 241–42).

In Herodotus, Histories X, 470–505 the Paionians attack the Perinthians who challenge the former to come to fight them, just as Jonathan's Israelite attack on the Philistines is precipitated when the latter challenge the former to attack them (1 Sam 14:8–12) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 242–43).

The reckless attack of Diomedes and Odysseus upon the Trojans (Homer, Iliad X, 470–505, 520–525) is described as equally murderous as the attack by Jonathan and his armor bearer upon the Philistines (1 Sam 14:13–15) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 243–44).

Achilles dresses Patroclus for battle (Homer, Iliad XIII, 130–140), as Saul dresses David (1 Sam 17:3–7, 37–38) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 244–45).

Hector tells Ajax that he will feed his bodies to the wild animals (Homer, Iliad XIII, 825–830), and Goliath says the same to David (1 Sam 17:43–47) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 245–46).

Hector kills Ajax with a stone (Homer, Iliad XVI, 570–575), Patroclus kills Cebriones with a stone (Homer, Iliad XVI, 735–745), and David does likewise to Goliath (1 Sam 17:48–49) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 246).

Cambyses is mad (Herodotus, Histories III, 33), so is Saul (1 Sam 18:10–11, 19:4–6, 9–10). Cambyses kills the priests in an Egyptian temple (Herodotus, Histories III, 37–38), so also Saul kills priests at Nob (1 Sam 22:9–19) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 247–48).

Odysseus feigns madness to survive (Hyginus, Fables 95), just as David does before the Philistines (1 Sam 21:10–15) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 248–49).

The witch Circe tells Odysseus to consult the spirit of Teiresias, a dead seer (Homer, Odyssey X, 315–380), just as the witch of Endor brings up the dead spirit of Samuel the seer for Saul (1 Sam 28:8–25) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 250–52).

Ajax and Saul both throw themselves upon their swords (Sophocles, Ajax 815–860; 1 Sam 31:3–6) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 252).

Glaucus turns around to kill Bathycles, the son of Chalcon, with a spear (Homer, Iliad VI, 220–230), just as Abner turns to kill Asahel with a spear (2 Sam 2:18–23) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 252–53).

Achilles weeps when Briseis is taken (Homer, Iliad I, 345–350), as Paltiel weeps when Michel is taken from him back to David (2 Sam 3:14–16) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 254).

Achilles mourns Patroclus (Homer, Iliad XXIII, 120–150), as David mourns Abner (2 Sam 3:31–36) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 254–55).

Proteus sends Bellerophon with a sealed letter calling for the latter's death, but Bellerophon survives (Homer, Iliad VI, 150–160), just as Uriah is sent to Joab with a letter from David calling for Uriah's death (2 Sam 11:1–27) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 257).

Nitocris kills Egyptians at a banquet in revenge for her brother's murder (Herodotus, Histories II, 100), as Absalom kills Amnon at a banquet for his sister's rape (2 Sam 13:18–20) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 258–59).

Plato's Laws 868d–e call for a three year exile as punishment for killing your spouse, which is the time Absalom spends in exile after killing his half-brother, Amnon (2 Sam 13:37–39) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 259–60).

Herodotus, Histories II, 121, mentions how guards have half of their beards shaved, comparable to what the Ammonites do to David's representatives (2 Sam 10:4–5) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 260).

Phoenix sleeps with his father's concubine (Homer, Iliad IX, 440–480), as does Reuben (Gen 35:22; 49:4) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 260–61).

Cheops forces people to build the pyramids according to Herodotus, Histories II, 124), as Solomon forces people to work on his building projects (1 Kgs 5:13–18; 6:7; 9:10–22) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 269). Croesus is like Solomon in terms of wealth and oppression (Herodotus, Histories I, 27–30, 92). Solon visits Croesus to praise his wisdom (Herodotus, Histories I, 29–30), as the Queen of Sheba does for Solomon (1 Kgs 10:1–3). Croesus offers huge sacrifices at Delphi (Herodotus, Histories I, 50), as Solomon does at Jerusalem (1 Kgs 8:5) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 270–73).

Fire falls upon the funeral pyre of Patroclus (Homer, Iliad XXIII, 190–222), as fire falls on Elijah's sacrifice at Mt. Carmel (1 Kgs 18:36–40) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 276–77).

In Plato's allegory of the cave people come out into the light of truth, just as Elijah comes out of the cave on Mt. Horeb to encounter divine revelation (1 Kgs 19:9–14) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 277–78).

Agamemnon calls the seer Calchas a liar (Homer, Iliad I, 100–110), as Ahab calls Micaiah-ben-Imlah a lying prophet (1 Kgs 22:7–8) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 278).

Hermes pulls an ax out of the water for a workman (Aesop, “Hermes and the Workman,” Fables), as does Elisha (2 Kgs 6:1–7) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 281–82).

Darius shoots an arrow into the air to anticipate victory over the Greeks (Herodotus, Histories V, 105), and Joash of Israel shoots an arrow through the window to predict his victory over the Arameans (2 Kgs 13:14–19) (Wajdenbaum 2011:282–83).

The sun moves for Sethos (Herodotus, Histories II, 142), as it does for Hezekiah (2 Kgs 20:8–11) (Wajdenbaum 2011: 284–85).

Herodotus and the Deuteronomistic History both end with the fall of a great city, Sestos and Jerusalem (Herodotus, Histories IX 115, 118–120; 2 Kgs 24:20–5:7). Both tell how the city falls, how the leaders flee at night, how they are caught, that the kings are put in chains, and that their son/s are killed before them. Of course, both histories are nine books in length (Wajdenbaum 2011: 287–88).

Several points need to be made about this long list of examples that Wajdenbaum provides. Of course, many of the examples seem rather superficial. Most of those I actually omitted from the list; he had about half again as many examples as the ones I listed. The superficial examples that I mentioned include (1) Thespius, Hercules, Laban, and Jacob, (2) Odysseus and Joseph as archers, (3) Menelaus, Abram, and Sarai, (4) Theoclymenus and Abimelech, (5) Amphiarus and Korah, (6) Athena and Balaam, (7) Lemnina women and Phineas, (8) Phineus and Eli, (9) Paioneans and Jonathan, (10) Diomedes, Odysseus, and Jonathan, (11) Glaucus and Abner, and (12) the shaved beards of the guards and David's messengers. There simply were not solid parallels between the Greek and the biblical stories. However, other examples impressed me as being substantive, and these include (1) Hyrieus and Abraham, (2) Philemon, Baucis, and Lot's family, (3) Xerses, Tamar, and Judah, (4) Odysseus and Joseph in Egypt, (5) Aesop, Joseph, and Benjamin, (6) Hercules and Moses with the seven daughters, (7) Battus and Moses, (8) Asclepius and Moses, (9) horses of Achilles and Balaam's donkey, (10) Plato's Ideal State and the Deuteronomistic History's vision of Israel, (11) spies at Troy and Jericho, (12) Agamemnon and Joshua pray for the sun to stop, (13) Leonidas and Gideon in battle, (14) Iphigenia and Jephthah's daughter, (15) the lives of Hercules and Samson, (16) Bellerphon and Uriah, (17) Cheops, Croesus, and Solomon, (18) Darius and Joash shoot arrows, and (19) the cities and Sestos and Jerusalem fall. In these stories there are several points of connection between the accounts, and the accounts are often quite distinctive in their plot.

Overall, the sheer multitude of the examples commands our attention. One cannot simply dismiss all of these examples as sheer coincidences. Nor can one casually say that such stories are common in folklore around the world. The number of the parallels precludes the possibility of coincidence, and one cannot find parallels in other literatures for all these parallel examples in Greek and biblical literature.

It is totally absurd to say that the Greek authors got their material from the Bible, as some have done. There are simply too many Greek authors here; they could not all have been familiar with the biblical text. The principle of Occam's Razor demands that we assume that one biblical author or final editor was familiar with a host of Greek literary works rather than say that a host of Greek authors knew the biblical text. As biblical scholars we need to come to grips with Wajdenbaum's arguments. I personally believe that most of his examples are a bit stretched, but the number of valid examples he presents convinces me that there were significant additions to an already existant Primary History in the Hellenistic era.

He would respond to me that some Greek stories directly inspire some biblical stories, but more often occasional Greek motifs appear in biblical stories. He would respond to all those instances which I deem to be weak examples by saying those are instances where some Greek themes became part of the biblical story, and that I was being too picky to exclude them.

In addition to the similarity of narratives in Greek traditions and the biblical text, Wajdenbaum has another set of similarities with his consideration of laws. He is firmly convinced that the biblical text in Exodus, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy has drawn many of its secular laws from Plato's work, Laws. Thus, he makes the following observations about similar laws:

We should respect parents (Laws 931e; Exod 20:12; Lev 19:3). Do not move landmarks (Laws 842e; Deut 19:14). You must pay for injury done to another (Laws 876e–877b; Exod 21:17–21). A master can kill a slave without punishment sometimes (Laws 865c–d; Exod 21:21). Damage to another's land must be repaired (Laws 843c–e; Exod 22:5–6). Burning a neighbor's field requires restitution (Laws 843d–e; Exod 22:5–6). A son is not judged for his father's crimes (Laws 856c–d; Deut 24:16). A thief must repay double (Laws 857a; Exod 22:2–3). A thief breaking in at night may be killed (Laws 874b–c; Exod 22:4). The owner of a goring bull may be prosecuted for murder if his bull kills someone (Laws 873d–e; Exod 21:28–32). Children of slaves belong to the master (Laws 930d–e; Exod 21:4). Greeks should not have Greeks for slaves (Republic 469c), and Hebrew slaves must not be held for more than seven years by Israelites (Exod 21:2; Deut 15:12). Murder of a parent deserves death (Laws 872d–e; Exod 21:12–17, not a good parallel, I believe). Laws on wounds (Laws 865c–d; Exod 21:17–21, not a good parallel, I believe). Boundary stones ought not be moved (Laws 842a–843b; Deut 19:14). Travellers may eat food in a stranger's field modestly (Laws 844d–845d; Deut 23:24–25). Worship should be centralized in Greek temples or the Jerusalem Temple (Laws 909d–910a, 924c–e; Num 27:1–11). The country should be ruled by a good king (Laws 709e–710b; Deut 17:14–20). Condemnation of witchcraft occurs (Laws 932e–933e; Deut 18:9–14). Leaders should not take bribes (Laws 955c–d; Deut 16:18–20; 19:4–6). Involuntary manslaughter does not deserve death (Laws 865a–c; Deut 19:4–6). Perjury merits death (Laws 937b–c; Deut 19:16–19). Merchants must be honest (Laws 916d; Deut 25:13–16). A discovered corpse demands a city purify itself (Laws 874b; Deut 21:1–9, not a good parallel, I believe). Orphans need protection (Laws 927b–e; Exod 22:22–24; Deut 24:17). A disobedient son may be punished by civic authorities (Laws 928d–929d, exile; Deut 21:18–21, death). No interest should be imposed on loans to fellow citizens (Laws 742b; Exod 22:25; Deut 23:19–20). Strangers may reside in the land (Laws 850a–b; Lev 19:33–34). Land belongs to families and cannot be sold (Laws 741b–c; Lev 25:8–17). Foreign slaves must not be treated harshly (Laws 777b–d; Lev 25:39–47) (Wajdenbaum 2010: 136–38; 2011: 68, 159–67, 190–204).

Wajdenbaum's selection of laws is less impressive than the parallels he observes among the narratives. Many of these laws are similar because common sense in both cultures would provide the same punishment or principle of restitution. Some are similar because both Greek and biblical laws were rooted in a legal tradition which goes back to the ancient Near East. Finally, laws are rather simple, so that a similarity will entail one detail, unlike stories which can have several details of similarity. Laws will basically have to make a straightforward logical conclusion, whereas a story line can move in an infinite number of directions. In a couple of instances Wajdenbaum points out that biblical laws and Greek laws in Plato's Laws occur in the same sequence. That is probably coincidence, especially since he observes this only in a few cases. Thus, his enumeration of parallel laws is not as convincing as the great number of similar narrative accounts that he adduces. Those parallels deserve our attention.

A strident critique of Wajdenbaum has been sounded by Serge Frolov (Frolov 2013: 273–85). He declares Wajdenbaum's work to be sloppy in that he does not really do structural analysis, does not really discuss the Argonauts myth as the title implies, does not analyze biblical texts very closely, does not assess the relative strength of his parallels despite the “avalanche” of examples, does not discuss whether some coincidental themes are common in world literature, does not work well with Greek and Hebrew, does not recognize other meaningful scholarship in the field, and compares too many accounts on the basis of a few minor details in both accounts (quite true, I say!). With Frolov I would especially say that in comparing two accounts there should be shared elements in the plot line that follow in the same sequence, and too many of Wajdenbaum's examples fail in this regard. Frolov asks some pointed questions. If the Enneateuch (Primary History) is Hellenistic: (1) Why do we not find more Persian and Greek loanwords? (2) Why is the language of the Enneateuch not more similar to late works like Chronicles, Ezra-Nehemiah, Daniel, and Esther? (3) Why did the Enneateuch pose translation problems for translators of the Septuagint? (4) Why are there not historical allusions to the events of the post-exilic era and the Hellenistic era? (Miminalists, however, have located examples of such allusions not only in the Persian era especially, but also the Hellenistic era.) (5) Why does the Enneateuch seem to know more cuneiform sources that Berossus can provide us? (Gmirkin would argue with that, saying Berossus is sufficient to provide the necessary parallels.) (6) Why does the Enneateuch seem familiar with royal chronicles of Samaria and Jerusalem, and furthermore these accounts are backed up by archaeological materials, such as Assyrian annals? (7) How could the rest of the First Testament arise after the Enneateuch in the short time of the third and second centuries BCE? (Minimalists have discussed that possibility.) (8) Why would there be hope for the restoration of the Davidic Dynasty as late as the third and second centuries BCE when such hopes should have been dead? (Minimalists believe those hopes were connected to the Hasmonean dynasts. Frolov forgets that Christians still used these hopes to speak of Jesus.) (9) Why do the Samaritans have a Pentateuch if they split from Jerusalem before the Hellenistic era? (Minimalists suggest that the split between Samaria and Jerusalem occurred in the Hellenistic era.) Frolov makes some good points, many of which I also affirm, but some of his arguments can be countered. Thus, the arguments of Wajdenbaum are not easily dismissed as the observations of a “dilettante,” as Frolov suggests.

Various Authors

There are a number of other authors whose work is not as extensive as those already discussed, or they suggest the Persian period more than the Hellenistic era as the locus of origin for biblical texts. But they make significant observations and their books and articles are frequently quoted in the Hellenistic origin debate, so they are worthy of mention.

John Strange believes that the book of Joshua is really a veiled narrative which speaks about the accomplishments and the aspirations of the Maccabean kings in the second century BCE. Joshua's conquest of the tribal area of Benjamin reflects the second century BCE Hasmonean conquest of this land from the Samaritans, and Joshua's activity in the Transjordan reflects the Hasmonean seizure of this land from Hellenistic cities (Strange 136–41).

Thomas Bolin suggests that the Hellenistic era is the place to look for the final redaction of the Pentateuch. His chief arguments proceed from a study of Ezra and Nehemiah which, in his opinion, do not demonstrate any awareness of the accounts in the Pentateuch. Even by the late fourth century BCE there is no awareness of a biblical corpus of literature like the First Testament. In the Hellenistic period the Jews finally felt the need to create a past (Bolin: 3–15).

Flemming Nielsen believes that the Deuteronomistic Historian was influenced by Herodotus in regard to the emphasis upon the tragic dimensions in the stories presented by both. By “tragic,” Nielsen believes that both authors emphasized the distance between people and the divine, the need for humans to keep their proper place in the order of life, and how pride and overstepping one's boundaries in life brings punishment or destruction. He assumes the biblical materials were generated in the Hellenistic era after 300 BCE, but he gives no arguments other than to say that this is the only logical period when a biblical author would have had access to the writings of Herodotus (Nielsen: 114, 164, et passim). One could easily use his observations and assume the later Persian period as the time of origin.

Jan-Wim Wesselius wrote a monograph that demonstrates how the books of Genesis and Exodus show that the biblical author is inspired by Herodotus, and the latter's narration of the lives of Persian kings. He compares in great detail the similarities beween Joseph and Cyrus, and especially between Moses and Xerses. Joseph and Cyrus both have dreams, are exposed to die, go into foreign exile, are hidden for a time, and become ascendant when their identity is revealed. Moses and Xerses go forth to conquer either Canaan or Greece, and cross water with their people. Many other details are mentioned as well as comparisons between Terah and Phraortes, Abraham and Cyaxares, Isaac and Astyges, and Jacob and Mandane (Wesselius 1999: 24–77; 2002: 6–47). Though Wesselius posits that these books were crafted in Nehemiah's Jerusalem in the later fifth century BCE, and places the range of dates for the origin of the Primary History from 425 BCE to 300 BCE, later minimalist authors have referred to his detailed research as evidence that these books more likely were written in the Hellenistic era after 300 BCE.

K. Stott observes that the rise of David, as it is described in the biblical text, may be inspired by the narrative that describes the ascendancy of Cyrus to the throne of Persia and Media. He observes the following parallels: (1) Cyrus and David have humble beginnings, (2) both enter the court of the previous king, (3) that king is jealous of both young men, (4) both are threatened with death by that king, (5) both flee the court, (6) both attain roles of leadership, (7) there is a defection of an ally, (8) both usurp rule of the kingdom, (9) with success resulting from military prowess, (10) the old king's life is spared for a time, (11) but there is a tragic element in the fall of the previous king, and (12) the result is the formation of a new political entity (Stott: 62–71). Stott believes that only in the Hellenistic era would this text have been available for biblical author to use in crafting the Davidic narratives (Stott: 77–78).

Daniel Hawk observes that the Orestia of Aeschylus and 1 Samuel 8 through 2 Kings 8 share similar structure and characters. Both have a tripartite scheme and use metaphors to reflect the transition from a kinship society to a civic society. Agamemnon and Saul reflect the old order, Orestes and David show the transition, and Athena and Solomon inaugurate the new order (Hawk: 73–88). The Deuteronomistic Historian found in the Orestia a model for his “received traditions concerning the Israelite monarchy” (Hawk: 88). The Hellenistic era would have been the time when a biblical author might have had access to the writings of Aeschylus.

Gerhard Larsson observes that there is no awareness of the biblical history prior to the second century BCE. At the turn of the third century BCE Hecataeus of Abdera has no knowledge of the biblical rendition of the exodus narrative when he speaks of Moses. Furthermore, there are significant similarities between Berossus (280 BCE) and the biblical accounts of the creation of humanity, the flood, and ancient rulers of great age. Manetho's grand history of Egypt divides history into significant eras, as does the biblical history, and Palestine was under Egyptian Ptolemaic rule when his history was crafted. He thus concludes that the biblical accounts were created in the second century BCE and influenced by significant third century BCE Greek historians such as Berossus, Manetho, and Eratosthenes (Larsson: 296–311).

Emanuel Pfoh believes that though the Primary History was created in the Hellenistic era, some traditions did come from the Assyrian and Persian eras and were developed by scribes over the years. Ultimately, the overall message of the text was shaped under Hellenistic influence (Pfoh: 23, 33–35).

Etienne Nodet believes that the Pentateuch arose in the early third century BCE, but the Prophets and some of the Writings were created in the second century BCE. All were generated in Alexandria (Nodet: 36–55).

Philippe Guillaume suggests that the book of Judges was inserted into the Deuteronomistic History in the second century BCE by scribes in Alexandria who were reflecting the ideological needs of the Hasmonean rulers in Palestine (Guillaume: 146–64). He discounts individually the references elsewhere in the First Testament to the judges, saying that they do not prove the existence of a book (Guillaume: 147–54). Judges was inspired by Hesiod's Works and Days, especially the section on the heroes, which Hesiod inserted into the four ages of metal, and in the same way Judges was inserted into the Deuteronomistic History (Guillaume: 154–57). Having stories about heroic judges prior to David and Solomon undermines the claims of the Davidic Dynasty, which helps the Hasmonean dynasts who had no Davidic ancestory behind their claims of messianic rule (Guillaume: 164).

Personal Observations

I have been involved in this discussion over the past twenty years. I have suggested that Greek narratives do lie behind some of the narratives in the biblical text, which implies for some accounts a very late Persian era origin and for other accounts a Hellenistic era origin.

I have suggested the following: (1) Hesiod's Theogony, in part, was an influential source for the author of Genesis 1 (Gnuse 2017c). (2) Stories found in Ovid's Fasti and Metamorphoses lie behind the narratives of Abraham and Lot in Genesis 18–19 (Gnuse 2017b). (3) A narrative about Democedes of Croton in the Histories of Herodotus may have given rise to the narrative about Joseph interpreting the dreams of pharaoh in Genesis 41 (Gnuse 2010a). (4) The short narration about the talking horses of Achilles in the Iliad may be spoofed by the account of Balaam's donkey in Numbers 22 (Gnuse 2017d). (5) The sacrifice of Iphigenia in two plays by Euripides may have inspired the account of Jephthah's sacrifice of his daughter in Judges 11 (under submission). (6) A number of Greek legends about Heracles appear to have influenced the Samson narratives in Judges 13–16, at a late date, most likely the Hellenistic era (Gnuse 2018). (7) “The Rape of the Sabine Women” as an old tale recalled by Livy and Plutarch may be the template for the abducted girls in Judges 21 (Gnuse 2007). (8) Arrian's account of Alexander the Great and the spilt water in the Anabasis of Alexander may have inspired a similar story of David in 2 Samuel 23 (Gnuse 1998). The narratives of Joseph and Jephthah could have been placed in the biblical text during the Persian period, but the other five narratives seem to me to have a Hellenistic era origin.

I personally believe that the bulk of the Primary History was created by 400 BCE. I suggest in numerous writings that the Elohist originated in the seventh or sixth centuries BCE (Gnuse 1995; 2000; 2010c; 2012; 2017a), the Deuteronomistic History in the sixth century BCE, the Yahwist in the early fifth century BCE (Gnuse 2010b), and the Priestly tradition in the late fifth century to fourth century BCE. But significant accounts continued to be added in the fourth and third centuries BCE, especially in those portions of the text that appear as appendages to biblical books (Joseph novella in Genesis 39–50, Samson tales in Judges 13–16, miscellaneous accounts in Judges 17–21, Davidic traditions in 2 Samuel 22–24) and in accounts that appear to have been expanded in the older narratives (Abraham, Lot, Balaam, Jephthah).

Because of my own research, I am sympathetic to the “minimalist” viewpoint, especially those ideas suggested by Lemche and Thompson, who admit the existence of biblical narratives prior to the Hellenistic era. I, however, assume that those narratives are more expansive than they are willing to acknowledge. I am fascinated by the views of Gmirkin, Niesiolowski-Spano, and Wadjenbaum. I am not convinced, as are they, that the Primary History is completely a Hellenistic creation. Nor am I convinced by all of their arguments. But ultimately the point that I wish to make is that the scholarship of these authors must be taken seriously in the future and not facilely dismissed, as is too often the case on this side of the Atlantic. They may represent the future of critical studies in the First Testament.