1&2 Samuel an Introduction and Study Guide: A Kingdom Comes 9781350008953, 9781350008984, 9781350008977

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T&T CLARK STUDY GUIDES TO THE OLD TESTAMENT

1 & 2 SAMUEL

Series Editor Adrian Curtis, University of Manchester, UK Published in Association with the Society for Old Testament Study

Other titles in the series include: 1 & 2 Samuel: An Introduction and Study Guide 1 & 2 Kings: An Introduction and Study Guide Ecclesiastes: An Introduction and Study Guide Exodus: An Introduction and Study Guide Ezra-Nehemiah: An Introduction and Study Guide Hebrews: An Introduction and Study Guide Leviticus: An Introduction and Study Guide Jeremiah: An Introduction and Study Guide Job: An Introduction and Study Guide Joshua: An Introduction and Study Guide Psalms: An Introduction and Study Guide Song of Songs: An Introduction and Study Guide Numbers: An Introduction and Study Guide

T&T Clark Study Guides to the New Testament: 1&2 Thessalonians: An Introduction and Study Guide 1 Peter: An Introduction and Study Guide 2 Corinthians: An Introduction and Study Guide Colossians: An Introduction and Study Guide Ephesians: An Introduction and Study Guide Galatians: An Introduction and Study Guide James: An Introduction and Study Guide John: An Introduction and Study Guide Luke: An Introduction and Study Guide Mark: An Introduction and Study Guide Matthew: An Introduction and Study Guide Philemon: An Introduction and Study Guide Philippians: An Introduction and Study Guide Romans: An Introduction and Study Guide The Acts of the Apostles: An Introduction and Study Guide The Letters of Jude and Second Peter: An Introduction and Study Guide

1 & 2 SAMUEL

An Introduction and Study Guide A Kingdom Comes

By David Firth

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury T&T Clark An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc Imprint previously known as T&T Clark 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

1385 Broadway New York NY 10018 USA

www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2013. This edition published 2017 © David Firth, 2017 David Firth has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: PB: 978-1-3500-0895-3 ePDF: 978-1-3500-0897-7 ePub: 978-1-3500-0896-0 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Series: T&T Clark Study Guides to the Old Testament, volume 9 Cover design: clareturner.co.uk Typeset by Newgen Knowledge Works (P) Ltd., Chennai, India Printed and bound in Great Britain

FOR VIC ELDRIDGE, AN INSPIRING SCHOLAR AND TEACHER

CONTENTS

Foreword

ix

Abbreviations

xi

Chapter 1 READING SAMUEL Samuel as History Samuel as Prophecy Samuel as Narrative Samuel as Myth Samuel as Scripture Conclusion

1 2 6 9 12 15 17

Chapter 2 THE LITERARY INTEGRITY AND STRUCTURE OF SAMUEL Relation to Surrounding Texts The Structure of Samuel Conclusion

18 19 22 26

Chapter 3 THE TEXT OF SAMUEL Witnesses to the Text Examples of Issues in the Text of Samuel The Character of the Witnesses

29 29 31 39

Chapter 4 SOURCES, DATE AND AUTHORSHIP Sources Date and Authorship

41 41 50

Chapter 5 CENTRAL THEMES The Reign of God Kingship Prophetic Authority David, the Chosen King

55 55 58 61 64

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Chapter 6 CHRONOLOGY AS A LITERARY FEATURE OF SAMUEL Chronology within a Narrative Chronology across Narratives Conclusion

67 68 73 79

Bibliography

80

Index of Authors

91

Index of Subjects

93

FOREWORD

The production of any book is a complex process. Although the writing itself can be a lonely task, it is still done within a particular context. I should therefore like to thank at least some of those who have assisted and encouraged me in the production of this book. Pride of place needs to go to Dr Adrian Curtis, first for inviting me to contribute and then for his care and encouragement when working with the manuscript. His attention to detail represents a standard to which all should aspire. Professor David Clines has also modelled something of what scholarship means in practice in his own careful reading of the manuscript and comments on it. I should also like to thank my colleagues at St John’s College Nottingham for making this a congenial place in which to work and write. Particular thanks are due to our principal, Dr David Hilborn, for arranging study leave for me in Michaelmas term 2012 and so clearing space for me to do the initial writing. As always, my family has supported me as I worked, especially my wife, Lynne, who continues to go the extra mile to support and encourage me. The dedication of this book, however, goes back to a much earlier time, to when I began my theological studies at Morling College in Sydney. It was there that Dr Vic Eldridge introduced me to the study of the Old Testament, inspiring me to travel a path I have followed ever since. For that, I express my sincere thanks. Nottingham Easter 2013

ABBREVIATIONS

BZAW CBOT CBQMS ESV

EUS FAT FRALNT HBM HSM HTS ISBL JSOTSup JTIS LHBOTS NRSV

OBO PFES SBLDS SBLMS SOTSMS SVT

Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Coniectanea biblica Old Testament Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series English Standard Version European University Studies Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments Hebrew Bible Monographs Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Theological Studies Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplements Journal of Theological Interpretation Supplements Library of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies New Revised Standard Bible Orbis biblicus et orientalis Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series Society for Old Testament Study Monograph Series Supplements to Vetus Testamentum

1 READING SAMUEL

The process of reading a text involves (at least) a dialogue between the text and the reader. As readers, we construct meaning as we read, though the range of meanings we can construct will be limited by the text. An important part of this dialogue involves us as readers making decisions about the genre of the text before us. As we make these decisions, we create a frame of reference by which we interpret the text. At a minimum, we usually make a distinction between prose and poetry even though we know that there are texts where it is difficult to be sure which we are reading. Indeed, anyone reading this book will, probably, have drawn some conclusions as to its genre even before reading this page as the book’s design, title and contents pages all point to a particular literary genre. That it is part of a series will assist some in this though, in the nature of guides such as these, the particular issues each volume addresses will vary somewhat because of the different issues each of the biblical books generates. And this variation between volumes means that, even though there is an overarching genre that we can identify, there is sufficient that is different between each one to mean readers have to explore the genre further as they continue to read. This does not mean that each reader will consciously apply a genre label to this book, but it does mean that each will draw on previous reading experiences to provide a context through which to interpret it. Thus, although an author has employed a genre in writing a text, as readers we construct a genre for that text through the dialogue of reading that text. In doing exegesis, we hope that the genre we construct will either match that of the author or at least represent the features of the text sufficiently well that we can offer an informed reading of the text. This is a complex process even with contemporary texts. For example, many people apparently believed that Rob Reiner’s spoof film This is Spinal Tap was about an actual rock band because it used the conventions of the documentary genre, though it, in fact, created the genre of the ‘mockumentary’. So, one reviewer on Amazon pointedly asked ‘If you’re going to make such an excellent documentary, why make it about a band that nobody has ever heard of?’ Just to complicate things, other Amazon users have commented on the review and debated whether or not this was a deliberate piece of sarcasm. Might it be offering a parody of the online review just as the film

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parodies heavy rock music? So, either the reviewer has misunderstood the film, or most readers have misunderstood the review. And the misunderstanding comes down to understanding the genre of the text. But, if this sort of issue can arise with relatively contemporary texts, and, in the case of the review, a very brief one, how much more is this so with ancient texts such as the books of Samuel? Here, we no longer have the familiarity of the genres with which we are familiar to guide us as we face a significant gap in language and culture. So, although many features of Samuel are familiar to us in terms of genre, they may not operate in the ways that we expect. As a result of this, it is no surprise that scholars have read Samuel in a range of ways, each reflecting a different understanding of its genre. The issue of the genre of the books of Samuel is raised quite acutely by David Jobling’s trenchant question ‘What, if anything, is 1 Samuel?’ (Jobling 1998: 28-37). Although Jobling pursues this in terms of the concept of 1 Samuel as a book and the effect of the canonical divisions on how we read 1 Samuel, his question actually raises two distinct issues. The first is the question of genre, which we consider in this chapter, and the second is the question of the literary integrity of the books of Samuel. That Jobling’s question was specifically concerned with 1 Samuel more naturally led him to focus on the question of how 1 Samuel relates to the texts that surround it. But the issue of genre is equally important, and, arguably, needs to be considered before literary integrity because only when we know what kind of text we are reading can we make informed judgments on the integrity and boundaries of the text. Of course, in the actual practice of reading we invariably integrate these elements, but it is useful to separate them for the purposes of analysis. In looking at different scholarly approaches to Samuel, we should note that most would acknowledge that Samuel does not fit easily within the generic boundaries of contemporary literature and that applying a particular genre label to it can be misleading. Moreover, different scholars invariably privilege certain aspects of Samuel in their reading so that, even though they might hold that Samuel does not fit entirely within a particular genre, the effect of their reading is to emphasize that genre. It is therefore helpful for us to consider a range of genres that have been applied to Samuel to appreciate that each has something to contribute to our understanding of the genre and, therefore, of the purpose of Samuel. Samuel as History Reading Samuel as a work of history is a long established strategy. By ‘history’ we mean that Samuel is read in order to discover what happened at points in the history of Israel. It should be emphasized that such a reading

1. Reading Samuel

3

does not have to believe that Samuel is a reliable historical source—as we shall see many scholars today do not believe Samuel is at all reliable, but that it still reveals something about the history of Judah when it was composed. For others, though, Samuel is read as history precisely because it seems to tell the story of Israel and Judah from the end of the period of the judges through to the securing of the monarchy under David. So, one can see reasons why such a reading would be adopted. Arguably, our earliest evidence for an historical reading of Samuel is provided by the LXX, probably completed sometime around 200BCE. Although we might think of the LXX only as a translation of the Hebrew into Greek, that translation is actually our earliest interpretation of the book. At a most basic level, it has to interpret the text at the point of translation, though beyond that it is notable that at points the LXX differs quite markedly from MT. The reasons for these differences are debated and all of this is complicated by material found at Qumran, so we shall consider these facts in Chapter 3. But the most important move in the LXX is to place Samuel in a different part of the canon from that of the Hebrew Bible. As we shall note in a moment, the Hebrew Bible places Samuel in the Former Prophets (with Joshua, Judges and Kings), but the LXX has a different structure for the canon, providing the forerunner to the structure that we have in our English Bibles, even if we inherited it through the Vulgate. So, the arrangement of the canon with which we are generally familiar is usually broken up into something like ‘Law’, ‘Histories’, ‘Poetry’ and ‘Prophecy’ and we can trace this desire to group all of the books with a direct interest in history back to the LXX. Of course, the compilers of the LXX do not provide us with these headings, but the structure into which they arranged the canon makes it clear that this is their preferred approach. Moreover, LXX treats the books of Samuel and Kings as 1–4 Kingdoms, regarding them as the books which tell the history of the kingdoms of Judah and Israel. It would be fair to say that reading Samuel as a work of history has been a dominant approach ever since. The reason for this is that the way in which the canon is arranged inevitably shapes our reading processes, guiding us in the sorts of question that we bring to the text. Although the Church Fathers often read Samuel allegorically, they generally recognized the existence of history in their reading. The same is true of the Reformers, for whom Samuel is self-evidently a work of history (though not only history). In the twentieth century, the figure who dominates the reading of Samuel is Martin Noth. Although he did not originate the idea, he was the one who brought together the evidence to argue that Joshua – Kings as a whole is a ‘Deuteronomistic History’ (Noth 1981). We will consider Noth’s theory and the various reactions to it in Chapter 4. But what is consistent is that Samuel is read as an historical text. Interpreting it as a ‘Deuteronomistic’ text means it is not read only as history, but history continues to provide a

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key approach to its reading. For many readers, whether they realize it or not, reading Samuel as history seems self-evident, so the only questions are then concerned with the quality of the history that it offers. But what might a historical reading of Samuel look like? To some extent, the answer to that question depends on how much value is given to Samuel’s testimony about the events it relates. But reading Samuel as history does not mean assuming it should be read in the same way as a contemporary work of history. No modern historian would write an account of a nation’s history where the actions of God are placed so centrally because the acts of God are not subject to the principles of historical validation and verification. That is, the text may well insist that God did something (such as choosing Saul and then David), but that key theological claim is not something a historian can claim to analyze. Nevertheless, something that characterizes historical readings of Samuel is an interest in determining whether or not the events described are likely to have happened—this in contrast to those who insist that the historicity of the events is irrelevant (cf. Long, 1994: 88). It is not the case that anyone reading the text historically is interested in defending historicity at all costs, but it is true to say that they are concerned to say that the text’s historical reliability is an important pointer to how we read it. The reason for this is that the text appears to make historical claims—that certain kings reigned, or that certain battles were won—and these are an important element in the book’s interpretation. An obvious example of this can be seen in the various histories of Israel that use Samuel as a source and in some recent biographies of David. Provan, Long and Longman argue that the testimony of these texts should be taken seriously, though this must be done with high literary competence (2003: 99), with the result that their history of the early monarchy (2003: 193-238) reads at times like an exegesis of the books of Samuel. So, when discussing David’s rise and Saul’s demise (1 Samuel 16–31), they place great emphasis upon the reliability of the traditions in Samuel. This is in contrast to two recent biographers of David, Steven McKenzie and Baruch Halpern. Halpern sees two sources running through 1 Samuel 8–2 Samuel 1 which, though they generally agree, sometimes conflict. Halpern is willing to date Samuel quite early—‘no later than the 9th century’ (2001: 69)—and thus based on records that are ‘reasonably robust about major events’ (2001: 72). McKenzie draws on a more traditional source analysis of Samuel, regarding 1 Samuel 16–2 Samuel 5 as a History of David’s Rise, but still concludes that ‘whatever their date of writing, they seem to contain genuine historical information about David’ (2000: 35). As such, their conclusions about the dating and general reliability of Samuel are not dissimilar to those of Provan, Long and Longman, nor of the earlier history of Bright (1980: 184). But McKenzie and Halpern offer very different readings of David from that

1. Reading Samuel

5

presented in the biblical text, and hence Provan, Long and Longman. For both, David was a serial killer and generally responsible for the deaths of those who Samuel claims he did not kill. To take only the example of Nabal, McKenzie (2000: 96-101) argues that the apologetic nature of the material plus the benefit to David of Nabal’s death makes it more likely that David arranged his death. Halpern (2001: 77) also notes the benefits to David of Nabal’s death, arguing that Abigail possibly killed him for David. This conforms to his general line of argument that points where Samuel shows David did not kill someone indicates that the claim was made that he had, a claim Halpern is generally willing to accept as true. This is not the place to engage in depth with these arguments, though it is worth noting that there are other themes running through this particular narrative, not least showing David that violence was not the way he was to proceed to the throne (Firth 2009: 272-73). If so, then a reading which is literarily competent needs to question whether Halpern and McKenzie’s proposals are true to the text itself. Perhaps a more notable concern is with the underlying methodology of McKenzie and Halpern. Both are heavily dependent on the model outlined by McCarter (1980a), which reads the History of David’s Rise as an apology for David, so that the historian needs to read against the grain of the apology to get to the historical reality. This is because he sees the apology as justifying the fact that David is a usurper who seized the throne by force (McCarter 1980a: 499). But this approach has recently been subject to a detailed analysis by Short (2010), who notes that the various charges from which McCarter claims the text defends David is dependent upon reading parts of it out of order. Because Saul has been rejected before David is introduced in 1 Samuel 16, readers know that David is the one chosen long before any of the events from which he is apparently defended (Short 2010: 144). David would not then need to be defended against these various charges. Beyond that, one might wonder what else the text could say about events it openly acknowledges. If to try and demonstrate David’s innocence is to show that the charge was made in his lifetime and, therefore, true, then there is no way of proving his innocence. Attempting to resolve questions over the historical reliability of Samuel is not the only way in which Samuel is read historically. A rather different approach is offered by Adam (2007). Where the scholars we have discussed so far all tend to date the material concerning David’s rise relatively early, Adam believes it cannot have originated any earlier than the seventh century and was then continually re-written (known by the German term Fortschreibung) to justify later kingship (2007: 15, 29). Adam thus gives very little credence to the historical claims of Samuel as everything is addressed to later concerns in Judah. The historical importance of Samuel, for Adam, is thus not in the reliability of its claims about David since there is little

6

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that can be trusted. Rather, its importance lies in what it reveals about later generations, especially in the Persian period, and how they constructed their own view of themselves through an imagined past that they recount. Although this is not a reading that is interested in constructing a history of the period of Saul and David, it is still a historical reading, though one that struggles to explain why such a text should begin to emerge in the seventh century. By contrast, Bodi (2010) draws on ancient Akkadian texts to situate David’s story in the context of warlord behaviour, showing how David is critiqued in 2 Samuel 11–12. Although Bodi allows for later redaction, his argument places David historically in the time set by the text, showing that it can be interpreted in light of the Akkadian context (2010: 19-70). The key point here, though, is not that Bodi attempts to argue for or against the historicity of Samuel, but rather that wider historical concerns can shape our reading of Samuel. A further alternative is offered by Gilmour (2011), whose concern is with historiography (that is, how history is written), though it should be noted that her concerns move away from the historicity of Samuel to consider more how the past was being actualized by Samuel’s composers. Although at it may be disappointing that these scholars cannot agree with one another, it is notable that methodologically they are not far apart from one another. What marks all these readings as historical is that for them 1–2 Samuel is a source to be interrogated in the process of a historical inquiry. Of course, all know that history is never ‘as it really was’ because history is always an imaginative construct, but the point is that a primary reason for such a reading of Samuel is an attempt to understand what happened in history. Although theological presuppositions clearly do play a part in how such readings are constructed (contrast, for example, Brooks 2005 with Tushima 2011), they are not particularly prominent. Of course, not all studies of Samuel are purely historical and many will use history as one element among others, but this pattern is evident in contemporary historical readings. But that Samuel cannot provide us with a comprehensive history of the period it describes on its own moves us towards recognizing that, although it contains work which can be considered in terms of history (however assessed), it is not purely a work of history. Reading it for history is a valid approach, but it is not the only one because to read it solely as history is to make a genre mistake. It contains history, but is not itself history. Samuel as Prophecy Our second approach to reading Samuel also has a venerable history and is, perhaps, even older than the approach of reading Samuel as history. Reading Samuel as prophecy goes back as far as the Hebrew canon, which divides

1. Reading Samuel

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the books of the Old Testament into three groups—‘Law’ (traditionally), ‘Prophets’ and ‘Writings’. The second grouping within the canon is divided into two: the Former Prophets, which the books of Joshua, Judges, Samuel and Kings constitute, and the Latter Prophets, consisting of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and the Minor Prophets. It is clear that the structuring of the canon in the Hebrew Bible operates on different criteria from those with which we are familiar in the Christian tradition, and, therefore, most English Bibles, which have followed the LXX. For example, where the Christian arrangement of the canon places Samuel in the histories along with Chronicles (which also covers this period), in the Hebrew tradition Chronicles is included in the Writings. Conversely, where the Christian tradition includes Daniel among the Prophets, in the Hebrew Bible it too is included among the Writings. Neither approach is necessarily better than the other, but each option leads us to read Samuel in a particular way. The emphases that we bring to reading the book come from its placement at a certain point in the canon because, whether we are conscious of it or not, these paratextual features shape our reading. But we should also note that the inclusion of Joshua – Kings among the Prophets in the Hebrew Bible also suggests a rather different understanding of ‘prophecy’ from that which most western Christians today might think it is. An important difficulty to face is that we do not know what the criteria were for deciding that Samuel belongs among the Former Prophets. It seems reasonably clear that Joshua – Kings represents a literary whole, albeit one that emerged over several centuries. Its unity is thus more the result of editorial activity than of composition so that many points of tension remain within the text. But we do not have any clear reason for deciding that these works belong in a different part of the canon from Chronicles. It may be that the reason is simply one of historical process; Joshua – Kings was finished sooner and the Former Prophets as a canonical division was closed when Chronicles was composed, so it simply ended up in the Writings. But even if that is so, the Hebrew tradition concluded that Samuel had sufficient in common with Isaiah or Jeremiah to decide that it should be placed in the Prophets, though it was sufficiently different that these were the ‘Former’, not ‘Latter’ Prophets. Thomas Mann (2011: 10) is thus more confident than I am about this process when he says that ‘The Former Prophets were so named because the figure of the prophet plays a major role, especially in the books of Samuel and Kings, but also because the theological and ethical world-view of the prophets pervades the narrative as a whole.’ I am less certain than Mann about this because prophets play no part at all in Joshua and very little in Judges, though he is correct that they are influential in Samuel and Kings. But understanding these books as embodying the world-view of the prophets is perhaps closer to the mark, recognizing that these are not works told purely to recount the past. Rather, as is perhaps always true of

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history, it recounts Israel’s past in order to bring a message to its own time. Particularly, if the finished work of Joshua – Kings emerged in the exile, then we should understand it as a text which addresses the needs of the exilic community. Moreover, it is presented as a work that is concerned with what Yahweh is doing, interpreting Israel and Judah’s past through a profoundly theological reading of that past. To give one simple example, it is possible to examine the evidence for David’s existence and the probability of him becoming king in place of Saul. This is historically accessible, even if that evidence is interpreted quite differently. But what cannot be assessed is the claim that David’s rise was because of Yahweh’s choice of him (1 Sam. 16:1-13). Likewise, we can assess the historical probability of the rebellions of Absalom (2 Sam. 13–19) and Sheba (2 Sam. 20). But we cannot historically assess this as Yahweh’s punishment of David for his sin in 2 Samuel 11. So, it is not unreasonable to understand Samuel as forming part of a prophetic message to the exilic community, although, we will argue in Chapter 4, it also addressed earlier generations, so that a message for one period was seen as having continued validity for the exilic community. But the validity of that message is in part, at least, determined by the presence of the message from the various prophets whose ministries are recorded throughout Samuel, and whose message in their own time is consistent with the message that the book as a whole wants to bring—that for all his failings, David is Yahweh’s chosen king. Moreover, as we shall note in Chapter 2, the songs that form the boundaries of Samuel are also understood as a prophetic witness in the text and these confirm that Yahweh is prepared not only to work with a king, but with David in particular (cf. 1 Sam. 2.10, 2 Sam. 23.5). As Samuel is brought into an integrated history in the exile, Yahweh’s choice of David is then related by the book of Kings to the failure of subsequent kings to remain faithful, though the promise to David becomes a reason why Yahweh refrains from taking the sins of Israel to their apparently logical conclusion (1 Kgs 15.4-5). David’s importance for Samuel can be seen in the amount of space devoted to him, but also in the prominence the text gives to the promise to David in 2 Samuel 7. Noth tends to downplay this text because of his belief that the Deuteronomistic History was opposed to kingship and so gives scant attention to it. But McCarthy (1965) has shown that 2 Samuel 7 is actually pivotal to the whole work, while Gerbrandt (1986) has shown that it is not monarchy as such that is opposed. So, there is a strong interest in David as God’s chosen king in Samuel, an interest that is given prophetic voice in Nathan’s oracle in 2 Sam. 7.4-16. Moreover, David’s ‘last words’ (2 Sam. 23.1-7) are also given a strongly prophetic twist. This is notable through the close parallels with Balaam’s oracles (Num. 24.3-4, 15-16; cf. Starbuck 1999: 186-89), so that David’s words simultaneously look both back and forward. Although David is prohibited from building a temple himself, Yahweh promises to establish

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a dynasty (‘house’) for David, a house that David can claim is secure with Yahweh (2 Sam. 23.5). That David reflects on this covenant relationship with Yahweh after the events described in 2 Samuel 9–20 suggests that this security for his house remains in spite of David’s manifest failures (cf. Firth 2005: 97-98). The importance of David is thus established through prophetic messages, messages that thus confirm the narrative’s own emphasis on David. But in recording this through prophets, the abiding significance of David is affirmed for later generations, thus making it the basis for prophetic reflection in later texts (see Avioz 2005: 71-192, Schniedewind 1999). The prophetic reading of Samuel does not depend on 2 Samuel 7 alone. With Samuel’s birth narrative (1 Sam. 1) we are shown the importance of prophetic figures right from the outset, with Samuel’s importance emphasized through his initiatory experiences in 1 Samuel 3. It is notable, though, that the message that Samuel is to bring Eli (1 Sam. 3.11-14) largely repeats that of an anonymous man of God in 1 Sam. 2.27-36, though such repetitions are typical in Samuel (Firth 2005b). The importance of Samuel as a prophet is then established in the comment in 1 Sam. 3.19–4.1a, a commendation that also assures subsequent readers of Samuel’s importance. This is then demonstrated in Samuel’s role in the appointment of Saul as Israel’s first king, a process that climaxes in his speech to the people in 1 Samuel 12. Here, Samuel lays out a way forward by which the nation can live with a king and yet still have Yahweh as the great king, so that in renewing kingship (1 Sam. 11.14) Yahweh’s own reign was also renewed (Vannoy 1978: 178). Samuel’s task here is to lay out the means by which kingship could succeed, a model in which civil responsibility was given to the king, but where Yahweh’s authority continued to be mediated through his prophet, so that kings still stood under divine authority (cf. Firth 2009: 148-49). Thus, although the Davidic promise is crucial for the books of Samuel, it is a promise that is mediated and under Yahweh’s authority through prophets. In reading Samuel as a prophetic message built around history that includes numerous prophetic messages, we also begin to realize that its message is not simply laid out for us as a few bullet points that can be drawn from its narrative. Rather, the narrative itself is an artistic composition, one that lays out patterns early on that are only fulfilled later and which constantly interact with its various elements. So, we realize that, although Samuel is a prophetic text, it is not just a prophetic text. Again, to read it only as prophecy would be a genre mistake. Samuel as Narrative These observations lead us to recognize that we not only need to approach Samuel as history and prophecy, but also as a work of narrative. Indeed, Provan, Long and Longman’s insistence that a historical reading needs to be literarily

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competent (2003: 99) has already highlighted the need to consider the nature of the text as a narrative. At one level, that might appear to be stating the obvious. Samuel tells a story, the story of how Israel becomes a kingdom under Saul, of his rejection and then the securing of the kingdom under David. Of course Samuel is a narrative. But it is important at this point to distinguish between a story and a narrative. A story is what happened (whether or not the story is fiction or history, does not affect this), but the narrative is how the story is told (Walsh 2009: 6-9). Put simply, in choosing to present a given story in a particular form, a narrator invariably emphasizes certain points that another narrator might not. So, a narrator selects the information from the story in order to present it and does so because of the message that the narrative is intended to communicate. All history does this to some extent as historians construct a narrative from their sources, but reading Samuel as narrative means recognizing that its narrative has been artistically constructed. Reading Samuel as narrative does not have the same venerable history as reading it as history or prophecy, at least not in terms of the structure of the canon. Nevertheless, that Samuel has good stories, which grip us and grab our attention, is something that has long been recognized. Sunday school curricula, for example, have long made stories like David’s encounter with Goliath (1 Sam. 17) a staple. It would be fair to say that the book presented to children has been somewhat sanitized, so, although David’s encounter with Goliath is well known, the revolts of Absalom and Sheba (2 Sam. 13–20) are not. And of course, David’s encounter with Bathsheba (2 Sam. 11) or Amnon’s rape of Tamar have long been deemed unsuitable for children. But even allowing for this, it is clear that reading at least parts of Samuel as a narrative has a long pedigree, even if, until comparatively recently, such readings have been deemed fit for children rather than adults. Biblical studies took a literary turn in the 1980s, something that triggered a growing interest in Samuel as a narrative. The key figure here was probably Robert Alter whose The Art of Biblical Narrative (1981), though in reality building on a range of studies from the previous decade, opened the way for serious consideration of Old Testament narrative through its focus on methodology. As a result of this turn, we are not simply concerned to read the stories—rather, we are concerned with how Samuel tells its story, because understanding how it tells its story is vital to appreciating its message—hence the distinction between ‘story’ and ‘narrative’. It is this increased awareness of the literary character of the text that has driven many recent studies of Samuel. Indeed, where for Old Testament studies the term ‘literary criticism’ could be used forty years ago to refer to source criticism and the like, it is now more likely to describe studies which are concerned with how Samuel narrates its story. As such, a unifying feature of narrative studies of Samuel is their focus on the text as we have it rather

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than its sources, though this does not mean such readings are ignorant of the book’s development. One of the key figures in studying Samuel as narrative is Alter, since his commentary on Samuel (1999) takes an explicitly narrative approach, though the work of Shimon bar-Efrat (1999, 2007, 2009) is equally important in bridging narrative theory and commentary on Samuel. But, since the books of Samuel have proved particularly fertile ground, pride of place should probably be given to the extensive readings of Polzin (1989, 1993) and Fokkelman (1981, 1986, 1990, 1993), both of whom have offered narrative analyses of the whole of Samuel. Others, like David M. Gunn (1978, 1980), Lyle M. Eslinger (1985, 1994) and Barbara Green (2003a, 2003b), have provided substantive narrative analyses of portions of the book, while Uriah Kim (2008) has offered an expressly postcolonial reading of Samuel in light of his experience as a Korean-American. We cannot examine each of these here, but note that the approaches taken by these scholars in the pursuit of a narrative reading differ considerably. We can take Fokkelman as one end of a spectrum. He is quite clear that one should not begin with a specific method in mind because to do so is to limit the questions that one can put to the text (1981: 3). Instead, a narrative reading aims to consider the way the text itself is formed, so that method emerges from the process of reading a given text. His reading is, therefore, like a series of concentric circles (1981: 3) as he engages with the text. Although this might sound as if he aims to read in a way that is methodologically free, this is not strictly the case, as he acknowledges (1981: 10-12) the influence of bar-Efrat’s 1975 dissertation (in Hebrew), a work which formed the basis for his own later work. However, Fokkelman does not often draw this material into the formal discussion as his goal is to interpret the text through intrinsic study (1981: 1). A result of this is that his sprawling study moves to consider a range of issues in reading any given text in Samuel, though Fokkelman frequently comments on the artistic structures employed within the book, at both the micro-textual (e.g. 1986: 266, 1989: 94-95) and macro-textual levels (e.g. 1981: 415, 1993: 540-49). However, for Fokkelman, it is crucial that no one methodology for reading narrative should control the reading process. Rather, the features particular to a passage should generate one’s reading questions. A radically different approach is taken by Polzin. He is clear that he is not interested in the pre-history of the text and, indeed, is quite critical of readings which focus on it (1989: 1-6). Likewise, he is sharply critical of readings (such as Noth) which treat the author as a largely mechanical compiler of existing traditions (1989: 9-12). For Polzin, it is better to work on the assumption that, however worked over it might be and allowing for problems with textual criticism, the text, as we have it, makes sense

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(1989: 17). With all this, Fokkelman would be largely in agreement. Where Polzin differs is that he draws extensively on the literary theory of Mikhail Bakhtin (among other Russian formalists). This tends to be introduced within his reading of a particular passage, rather than as part of a methodology outlined in his introduction to the volumes on Samuel (e.g. 1989: 18, 1993: 14), though it is briefly outlined in an earlier volume (1980: 18-25). This approach is developed further by Green (2003a), who structures her reading of each section of 1 Samuel around a particular point of Bakhtin’s literary theory, though her roots in Polzin’s reading of Samuel are clear. So, rather than pointing to the ways the structure and features of the text hold it together in a literary unity, as Fokkelman tends to do, Polzin (and Green following him) explores the dialogical tensions he identifies within Samuel. What unites these readings of Samuel as a narrative is that they are concerned with the final form of the text; a reading that shows considerable literary skill is employed in the construction of its narrative. But where they differ is in where they locate the leading questions—are they those generated by the text or those brought by the reader? Since in reality all readers come with certain questions to Samuel, the issue is perhaps more accurately whether or not they seek to privilege those questions. But narrative readings of Samuel as a whole recognize it as a text with a high level of literary artistry, something that is an abiding gain of reading Samuel as narrative. We could draw on a range of other literary discussions of these narratives, but the pattern would be largely similar. The literary turn has seen Samuel read as a work of narrative. One result of this is that the questions of history tend to fade from the central place that they held for so long in Old Testament scholarship, though this is far from absolute (e.g. Edelman, 1991, integrates a literary reading of 1 Samuel with historical concerns). On the other hand, the prophetic element continues to be emphasized. So it should not be presumed that all literary readings are ahistorical, but it is certainly a trend they follow. Nevertheless, this in turn raises questions for us about the relationship between Samuel and history. It certainly seems to describe historical events, but it is not simply history any more than it is simply prophecy. Literary readings have opened up new perspectives, but the questions left unanswered also highlight the fact that reading Samuel only as narrative is also a genre mistake. It is an artistic telling of the past, an interpretation of it, and some of that interpretation can be unpacked by examining it as a narrative. But we need to consider other ways in which it works. Samuel as Myth If Samuel tells a story, and we realize that it tells a story that seeks to generate a fundamental understanding of Israel’s position, then it opens up

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questions as to the nature of what that story is. One way in which that story is being read is as myth. Now, reading parts of the Bible as ‘myth’ is again something that has a venerable history. Arguably, the fact that the Church Fathers read so much of the Old Testament allegorically is because of the fact that they wanted to understand it as containing more than its surface meaning, though often enough it is also because they clearly didn’t want it to mean what it appears to say on the surface! For example, Francke (2005: 266-67) points both to Paulus Orosius, reading 1 Sam. 17.3-7 allegorically and equating Goliath with the Pelagians (an early Christian group regarded by most of the Fathers as non-orthodox), and Chrysostom, who sees David as an example of faith. The allegorical reading has little interest in the surface meaning of the text (though Chrysostom’s reading is closer to it), but rather with the sort of homiletic turn that is common enough today. But in neither case is the primary concern with what the text itself actually says. There has, in fact, been a movement among some scholars in recent times to revive an allegorical reading of the Bible generally, and this is, to some extent, represented in Leithart’s Brazos commentary on Kings (2006), though his treatment is perhaps evidence of the difficulty of deciding when a typological reading has moved into allegory and also the difficulty of writing a commentary on Kings that is specifically shaped by Trinitarian orthodoxy. Nevertheless, it is apparent that his reading looks for something more in the text than it appears to say of itself. Those familiar with the history of the interpretation of the Old Testament in the first half of the twentieth century might also be familiar with Gunkel’s (1901) work on myths or the so-called myth and ritual school of interpretation centred on the work of S.H. Hooke, though more contemporary approaches to myth differ from them in that they are not interested in uncovering the traditional myths that lie behind the biblical text, but rather in reading the Old Testament material itself as myth. But reading the Old Testament, or, at least, parts of it, as myth, immediately raises questions for many, especially as many would equate ‘myth’ with ‘legend’, so that questions of history are challenged. However, reading Samuel as myth takes on a rather different perspective, though, at the more popular level, it often expresses itself in a statement something like ‘it doesn’t matter whether or not it happened like that.’ It seems to be the case that this is typically applied to those situations where the Old Testament describes things we might rather wish it didn’t. But reading Samuel as myth involves us drawing on contemporary anthropology as a guide to reading, much as the narrative approach draws on contemporary literary theory. So, Douglas Earl (drawing on the work of William Doty) suggests that myths ‘draw on a network of symbolic stories that address the heart as well as the head so as to evoke ways of making sense of and living in a particular

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community’ (2010b: 19). A myth is thus a story which is told which, in some way, creates a shared sense of identity, helping a community to draw on a range of resources to explain its existence and the challenges that it faces. It is a means by which cultural memory is formed (Earl 2010a: 15). Wright (2010: 141-42) has criticized Earl, though his methodological concern is more with the way the word myth is used in general speech. It should be noted that myth is not necessarily opposed to history. Contemporary societies also have their myths, even if they are shaped in a particular moment of history. For example, the story of the Pilgrim Fathers is rooted in real history, but it has come to mean considerably more for contemporary America. Likewise, in British history, the story of Henry VIII and his separation from Rome is rooted in history, but has also taken on a mythological character as it seeks to explain to Britain something about the existence of the Church of England. Myths do not have to have any particular link to history either, but it is important to stress that ‘mythical’ does not have to mean ‘unhistorical’. The move to draw formally on myth is a recent one, though it has perhaps been evident in a number of readings of Samuel. Perhaps the most obvious is seen in the efforts of historians wrestling with the events of David’s census (2 Sam. 24). No historian today is going to write a history that speaks of the agency of the angel of Yahweh striking down thousands of Israelites, with the result that many look for a naturalistic explanation for what happened. In effect, they are treating the account itself as a myth. But this in turn highlights the wider point that we made when considering the historical readings of Samuel—a historical reading cannot assess the central theological claims being made by the text. And a consistent emphasis of Samuel is that Israel’s history takes the shape that it does because Yahweh acts in and through Israel and that history involves a close interplay between human action and divine determination—note, for example, David’s comments on why he cannot kill Saul in 1 Sam. 26.9-11. But such an assessment of the narrative can rightly be described as mythological because it is a means of explaining why Israel’s history in Samuel worked out as it did. A more specifically mythical reading of 1 Samuel 15 is suggested by Earl (2010b), though not really developed by him since his primary concern is with the book of Joshua. He deals with the apparent devoting of Amalek to destruction (sometimes called ‘the ban’, rem) as something that can be understood as myth. As such, in the world of the text, it functions as a test of Saul’s faithfulness, so that how readers respond to it (with Amalek standing mythically for evil) becomes a test for their faithfulness to Yahweh. It is unclear if Earl is saying that this did not actually happen because of his focus on what myth does (cf. Wright 2010: 142), since for him the text’s purpose is more important than historical claims, though this is an issue for

1. Reading Samuel

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the whole of his reading. But whatever we make of his position with respect to history, his claim that the text is doing something more than just recounting history is valid and, provided a strict definition of myth is employed, this is an appropriate way of describing the material in Samuel. Although preferring the language of saga to myth, van Seters’s (2009) reading of David’s story is similarly mythical in form, though it fuses historical and narrative elements with it. He argues that there is a brief historiographical account about David embedded in Samuel that was positive towards him, but that most of it is a saga dating from the Persian period that was highly critical of him, creating a text that was anti-messianic (2009: 359). Van Seters’s argument is radically different from most (although there are similarities with Adam (2007)), but his earlier work, which has developed this approach, has not been widely taken up. Whether this more recent study will persuade scholars of the actual details of his argument is, therefore, uncertain, but, like Earl, the strength of his approach is that he foregrounds the ways in which Samuel is not only written to address a problem from the past (as is largely true of Noth’s Deuteronomistic Historian), but also to shape the community to which it was addressed, so his ‘saga’ might also be called a myth. Nevertheless, we cannot leave the reading of Samuel at the point of myth because, although Samuel aims to shape the community it addresses, it is also true that its place within the canon also shapes the process by which we read it. We have already noted that where we place Samuel within the canon impacts our reading of it, but that it is in the canon points to the fact that, in the history of interpretation, it has been understood as more than myth. To read it only as myth is, again, a genre mistake. Samuel as Scripture This in turn leads to our fifth reading strategy, reading Samuel as scripture. This may seem like a blindingly obvious way to read it since it is, indeed, part of the Bible and, although Jews and Christians have differed over the years in terms of what they have meant by ‘scripture’, no one has seriously suggested that Samuel should not be there. Indeed, it is precisely because Samuel is scripture that many continue both to read it and use it as the basis for speaking into our own time and place. That said, we should acknowledge that hermeneutical reflection on what it means to call Samuel scripture tends to be a specifically Christian enterprise and also that many read Samuel without assigning it any canonical value. But, in recent times, a scriptural approach has been exemplified by Thomas Mann’s (2011: 107-242) close reading of Samuel within the corpus of the Former Prophets, and then by his reflections on it (especially, though, not only) in

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addressing the contemporary North American context. We might distinguish this approach from reading Samuel as a prophetic text by noting that a prophetic reading presumes that Samuel tells a story that was important for its initial readers, whereas a scriptural reading assumes it has an abiding significance, a significance to which many would also grant authority. Again, therefore, we should note that there is a long tradition of reading Samuel as scripture, but doing so with this as an explicit methodological consideration is a relatively recent innovation and can be traced to the landmark work of Brevard Childs (1979: 263-80). Childs’s great innovation was to insist on the canon as the context for reading any part of it, a move which stood against the then dominant trend of seeking to read the books of the Old Testament by stripping them back to their individual sources. Childs was not opposed to the work of historical criticism and the identification of sources, but he insisted that there was also a need to read the text as we find it now. Childs thus deliberately placed his work in contrast to that of scholars such as Martin Noth and Leonhard Rost in that, where both of them had insisted that the way to read Samuel depended upon our ability to identify the sources behind it, reading Samuel as scripture meant accepting that the final shaping of Samuel is itself intentional. Drawing especially on the work of Carlson, Childs stressed the importance of interpreting the text that we now have (1979: 271). It is from the work of Childs, or at least in dialogue with it, that the recent move towards what is becoming known as ‘theological interpretation of Scripture’ has begun to emerge. In Britain, this movement is particularly associated with Walter Moberly at Durham, though his significant work has not been on Samuel (but, see Moberly, 2011). However, his students have been notable for the ways in which they have sought to generate theological readings, which thus also develop Childs’s interest in the history of interpretation as being itself important. Most especially, Moberly has been keen to explore those passages which many Christians have wanted to leave aside as difficult or embarrassing and to explore them through interaction with theological sources. For example, he has engaged with the difficult question of what it means to speak of God repenting in 1 Sam. 15.29 (Moberly 1998) on the basis of other texts that speak of God repenting. In light of his theological method, he then examines this tension in dialogue with the New Testament, thus emphasizing the relevance of the Old Testament generally to Christian theology. This approach is also evident in the work of his student, Douglas Earl, though as noted Earl’s reading of Samuel is not particularly developed. However, he has explored the implications of van Seters’s reading of the David saga (2010c). Although he notes that the earliest interpreters seem not to have read it as van Seters suggests, his approach could still be fruitful

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theologically when understood through the hermeneutical model of Paul Ricoeur, so that a canonical hermeneutic explores the ambiguity of the world of the Samuel text (Earl, 2010c: 225). What is important in Earl’s reading is thus not simply the text itself, but the ways in which the tradition has taken it up and the different ways in which it might fruitfully be explored, though an interpretation must still fit the text. Conclusion One might conclude that reading Samuel as scripture is the approach to genre to which all the other approaches build. And at one level that would be correct, since it is the model that seeks most clearly to draw on the other four. It seeks to consider the historical claims of the Samuel text, though, as we have seen, it is possible to explore the text theologically while holding a particular reading of its historicity at arm’s length. It is also interested in what Samuel was composed to say, how it says it and how it seeks to shape the worldview of those who read it. Thus, as a reading approach, it draws on the other approaches, while adding in concerns of its own. However, ‘scripture’ is such a broad category of literature that simply to speak of Samuel as scripture is also misleading. It is clearly different from other books of the Old Testament, such as Psalms or Isaiah, which can also be described as ‘scripture’. How Samuel works as scripture can only be understood in terms of the other categories we have considered. That is to say, each of the approaches that we have considered is a valid way of reading Samuel because each contributes to a partial understanding of its genre. Therefore, provided the partial nature of each is recognized, each has a valid contribution to make provided we recognize that the other approaches may also contribute to our understanding of the book. This also points to the fact that our constructs of genre are not those of the audience for whom the book was composed and, therefore, the last word can never be spoken on this issue. But the range of genre labels we can identify does at least point us to the types of question that can most fruitfully be explored through Samuel and each will, in turn, guide us in a reading strategy that draws out at least some of the issues involved in the interpretation of this fascinating text.

2 THE LITERARY INTEGRITY AND STRUCTURE OF SAMUEL

In highlighting the issue of genre, we addressed one part of Jobling’s question about the nature of Samuel (1998: 27-37). But, as we noted, Jobling pursues his question more in terms of the literary integrity of Samuel. This is an important issue because, although we speak conventionally of the book(s) of Samuel, there is no agreement that such terminology is actually helpful in understanding the text. This is because Samuel now comes to us as part of the larger literary whole that is the Former Prophets and can also be understood as part of a Deuteronomistic History or even a primary history covering Genesis–Kings. Viewed in light of these larger blocks, one might argue that to speak of Samuel as a book in its own right is to misconstrue the text, privileging certain portions of it as a beginning or an ending, when in fact it needs to be understood within a larger framework. Miscall (1986: ix) thus prefers to think of Samuel more as a chapter within a larger book, in his case Genesis–Kings. But, although Miscall acknowledges that the analogy of ‘chapter’ is only imperfect, it does at least leave open the possibility that Samuel is intended to represent a coherent literary unit. This recognizes that the division between 1 and 2 Samuel is artificial, probably introduced in LXX, since the Massoretic notes cover the whole of Samuel. So, although printed editions of the Hebrew Bible now follow the convention familiar to us from our English Bibles of printing Samuel as two books, the Massoretic tradition still only recognizes one book. On the other hand, Samuel might also have been composed as a literary work (and thus analogous to our ‘book’), but only subsequently included in a larger work. There are, therefore, three basic options before us in terms of the coherence of Samuel: 1. Samuel is a complete work in its own right. 2. Samuel is a complete unit within a larger literary whole. 3. Samuel is a part of a larger literary whole, but which has no particular integrity. Each of these options will result in a rather different reading of Samuel and in order to explore which is most appropriate, we need to consider both the ways in which Samuel relates to the texts around it and also its internal structure.

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Relation to Surrounding Texts A key element in reaching a conclusion about Samuel’s integrity is its relationship to the texts which surround it in the canon. We are thus particularly concerned with Judges and Kings since, in the Hebrew Bible, Ruth is placed in the Writings and so Samuel follows Judges. In the case of Kings, the close link with Samuel is evident from the fact that in LXX Samuel–Kings is called 1–4 Kingdoms, effectively regarding them as a continuing narrative. Such an approach is still evident in those readings which see 1 Kings 1–2 as effectively concluding David’s story from Samuel, though it is notable that in doing so the place of 2 Samuel 21–24 is usually ignored, so that 1 Kings 1–2 are seen to follow on more or less immediately from 2 Samuel 20. This approach is seen most clearly in the theory of a Succession Narrative, a proposed source that (roughly) runs through 2 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2 (Rost 1982). We will need to consider this suggestion in more detail in Chapter 4, but, at this point, it is sufficient to note that there are some significant problems with this suggestion. Of particular relevance, at this point, is the fact that reading the text in favour of this source has the effect of marginalizing 2 Samuel 21–24, treating them as an appendix to Samuel, rather than a well-integrated part of the narrative as a whole. Moreover, there is clearly a significant chronological gap between 2 Samuel 20 and 1 Kings 1–2. Although David is clearly quite mature in 2 Samuel 20, he is far from the fairly feeble old man we encounter in 1 Kings 1–2. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with reading a source through, even where it does not follow the contours of the text we have now, but the extent of the chronological gap between 2 Samuel 20 and 1 Kings 1 ought to caution us against assuming that we can readily move straight between these chapters. Moreover, even if the Succession Narrative was a source for Samuel, it is still legitimate to ask whether or not the purposes of that source have been subsumed into the concerns of the finished text. That is, maintaining the integrity of Samuel does not require us to maintain the integrity of any of its sources. That there is some relationship between 2 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2 is apparent, and it is possible to explore this irrespective of the source critical questions (Fokkelman 1981: 411-30), but attention must also be given to the place of 2 Samuel 21–24. In particular, we need to explore the possibility that these chapters are either an intentional conclusion to Samuel or at least a marker that 2 Samuel 20 is intended to complete the account of the rebellions against David. That 2 Samuel 21–24 may be intended to conclude Samuel may be supported by noting the parallel between these chapters and Judg. 17–21. Although Noth, in a brief footnote, dismissed them as not belonging to

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Judges (1991: 77), a number of more recent studies have shown that they can be understood as a well-integrated element within the book (cf. Butler 2009: 373-74), drawing in elements which have been placed at key points throughout the book, even though they seem to stand apart from the main narrative. However, even if this approach is rejected, it is still true that, irrespective of the source relationships within Judges, in the final form of the book chaps. 17–21 clearly bring the book to a close, so that the opening of 1 Samuel does not make a direct reference to them in the sense of continuing either of the narratives recorded there. This does not mean that the opening of 1 Samuel is unaware of the end of Judges any more than the opening of 1 Kings is unaware of the ending of Samuel, but there is no continuation of the narratives from the close of Judges. So, although 1 Sam. 1.1–2.10 prepares readers for the coming of kingship (especially through its punning of the name ‘Saul’, even though he never appears in it (Firth 2009: 57)), it does not do so through a direct reference to the end of Judges as those narratives are (in terms of their plot) complete in themselves. There is thus good reason to think that 1 Samuel 1 represents a point of beginning, and it is certainly the point at which the story of kingship within Israel really begins, even if kingship will not come in the way that many might expect, but rather through Yahweh’s gracious gift of a child to a woman whose womb he had previously closed (Brueggemann 1992: 234). That child is Samuel, who will not be the first king, but the one through whom Yahweh will grant kingship to Israel. Judges leaves us with a less than positive view of kings, with Abimelech’s attempt to establish a kingdom (Judg. 9) clearly regarded as flawed and the possibility of kingship, hinted at in Judg. 17–21, ambiguous at best. Yet in spite of this, Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10) assumes that kingship is the model of government that Yahweh will employ (1 Sam. 2.10), something then confirmed in the message of an unnamed man of God to Eli (1 Sam. 2.35). Neither the story of Samuel’s birth (1 Sam. 1.19-28) nor the subsequent account of life at the Shiloh temple indicates how kingship is coming. Rather, they create an expectation of its arrival through mentioning it at these two points, but without making it clear how it will come. Such an approach is typical of the commencement of a narrative, planting the seeds for future elements of the plot, but without resolving them, rather than of something that is a continuation of a previous narrative. Apart from this, it is worth noting that none of the characters mentioned in 1 Samuel 1 has a direct link to those in the book of Judges. In terms of its narrative form then, 1 Samuel 1 appears to represent a point of beginning, but a beginning that knows something has gone before (cf. Miscall 1986: 8). This position is rejected by Jobling who argues that the canonizers have exercised such authority over the interpretation of the text that they

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have caused us to read 1 Samuel 1 as an introduction, rather than seeing 1 Samuel 1–12 as the conclusion to a ‘book’ which commences at Judg. 2:11 (Jobling 1998: 29, 33). According to Jobling, it is because of the canonizers, who have divided the material of the Deuteronomistic History as we now have it, that we tend to read 1 Samuel forward rather than forward and back. His divisions follow those of Noth (1992) and McCarthy (1965), taking the Deuteronomistic History as a whole that is divided by key summary passages at Judg. 2.11-23, 1 Samuel 12 and 2 Samuel 7. Accordingly, he divides the Deuteronomistic History into rather different ‘books’ from those we know today, with one running from Judges 2:11–1 Samuel 12 and the next from 1 Samuel 13–2 Samuel 7. Jobling’s approach rightly highlights the importance of key summary passages throughout Joshua–Kings, but whether they can provide the main dividing points for these texts, an internal marking of their ‘books’, is open to question. One could equally point to Joshua’s speeches in Josh. 23–24 as a key summary point and thus the logical conclusion to the material in Joshua, so that Judges 1 would then represent a proper point of beginning. Indeed, it is notable that, after the seemingly completely successful conquest, a quick reading of Joshua might suggest Judg. 1.1–2.5 then serves to disorient readers by showing this is not the whole story. Judges 17–21, in turn, provides a further disorientation by recounting stories which do not include any judges, but which reference kingship (Judg. 17:6, 18.1, 19.1, 21.25). But these stories do contain specific references back to Judg. 1.1–2.5. Something similar happens with 1 Sam. 1.1–2.10, which also disorientates readers who might anticipate a smooth account of the rise of kingship, while 2 Samuel 21–24 is similarly disorientating about David’s reign after the apparent resolution provided by 2 Samuel 20. But, as we shall shortly note, 2 Samuel 21–24 also has some quite direct links back to 1 Sam. 1.1–2.10. This suggests that Samuel and Judges are both marked by a parallel narrative structure with both employing a similar method of starting and finishing. If so, then it is better to regard the summary passages as key points of theological reflection within the narrative than as the key structural points. So, although it can be argued that 1 Samuel 12 concludes a section within 1 Samuel, 2 Samuel 7 is better understood as an element embedded within an initial assessment of David’s reign. The summary statements thus can function as key elements structurally, but it is not necessary that they do so and, as such, it is better not to regard them as marking off the key points within the text. Recognising the diverse ways in which the summary passages can function, and taking into account the way in which 1 Samuel 1 introduces a new narrative and 2 Samuel 21–24 brings about closure, it is best to consider the canonical division as representing an appropriate literary division and to treat Samuel as a literary

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whole, albeit one that has links with both what has gone before and what follows. The Structure of Samuel Consideration of the coherence of Samuel also needs to take into account how the book as a whole is organized. That is, although 1 Sam. 1.1–2.10 provides an appropriate opening and 2 Samuel 21–24 can be said to provide a suitable closure, it is still only appropriate to treat Samuel as a whole if this is borne out by its macrostructure. The related studies of Koorevaar (1997) and Klement (2000) have made important contributions in this area. Though they can both be criticized for being overdependent on the concept of chiasm (Firth 2009: 38), they are more convincing than Martin’s attempt (1984) to structure the book around the principle of fertility, since they attend more closely to the book’s own features. Koorevaar’s study appeared earlier, but in it he draws on Klement’s doctoral thesis, though without following it exactly. Koorevaar also notes the importance of the changing form of Israel’s government as an important structural element that does not always match up with the chiasms (Koorevaar 1997: 58-62). He is unsure whether the differences between these two patterns can be reconciled, but, in fact, it is perfectly possible for a work to have multiple structuring patterns. Klement is particularly concerned to explore the relationship of 2 Samuel 21–24 to the rest of Samuel, a relationship we will see is particularly important, and both stress the fact that 2 Samuel 21–24 is structured as a chiasm (Klement 2000: 17, Koorevaar 1997: 71): A. B. C. C′. B′. A′.

Famine Account (2 Sam. 21.1-14) Warrior Stories (2 Sam. 21.15-22) Worship Poetry: David’s Thanksgiving Song (2 Sam. 22) Worship Poetry: David’s Last Words (2 Sam. 23.1-7) Warrior Stories (2 Sam. 23.8-39) Plague Account (2 Sam. 24)

These chapters have often been treated as a miscellany of remnants that could not otherwise be fitted into the rest of Samuel, most notably in attempts to show a literary relationship between 2 Samuel 9 and 21.1-14 (cf. Simon 2000: 68, J-S. Kim 2007: 33-49). The reason for this is that 2 Samuel 21 has no obvious narrative connections with 2 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2 appears to resume that narrative. Moreover, although its chiastic structure has long been recognized, none of these texts makes an immediate connection with the other and their chronological relationship is, for the most part, unclear. Hence, partly under the influence of the theory of a

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Succession Narrative, these chapters have been treated as an insertion that can largely be set aside (cf. Klement 2000: 17-60). However, recent studies have also noted that a not dissimilar chiasm occurs in 2 Sam. 5.17–8.14 (e.g. Firth 2001: 212): A. B. B′. A′.

Military Victories (2 Sam. 5.17-25) Worship of Yahweh: Bringing the Ark (2 Sam. 6) Worship of Yahweh: Nathan’s Oracle (2 Sam. 7) Military Victories (2 Sam. 8.1-14)

This chiasm is also notable for the lack of clear chronological markers and, although 5.17-25 can be understood as introducing conflict with the Philistines as a logical outcome of David claiming the throne, since he had hitherto been effectively a vassal, the balance of the chiasm makes no such connections. 2 Samuel 9–20 is generally recognized as a more or less continuous narrative, but it is thus notable that it is bounded at both ends by chiasms that are thematically quite similar, with the one in 2 Samuel 21–24 extended by the famine/plague narratives on the outside of the chiasm. In spite of the structural similarities, there are important differences between these chiasms. First, whereas, in 2 Sam. 5.17-25 and 8.1-14, it is David who wins the battles (albeit with Yahweh’s help), in 2 Sam. 21.15-22 and 23.8-39, it is David’s warriors who win the battles. Second, whereas worship is clearly public in 2 Samuel 6–7, with David acting as the figurehead for such worship, in 2 Sam. 22.1–23.7, it is David reflecting on his own experiences. The key question is thus how we are to interpret these changes. Brueggemann (1990: 89-90) offers a suspicious reading of 2 Samuel 21–24, arguing that they deconstruct the high royal ideology developed in 2 Sam. 5.17–8.14. In practice, Brueggemann rejects the claims of the text itself, seeing it serving royal ideology and so needing to be resisted. But his reading also ignores the function of 2 Samuel 9–20 which deconstructs David far more effectively than anything in 2 Samuel 21–24. That there is a high royal ideology in 2 Sam. 5.17–8.14 is reasonable, but given that David has already been deconstructed by portraying him as an adulterer and murderer (2 Sam. 11) and unable to control his family or, indeed, his senior military figures (2 Sam. 13–20), it is more likely that we are to read 2 Samuel 21–24 as showing a way forward for David. These chapters hardly whitewash him (2 Sam. 24.10), but they do offer a way forward in which David is submitted to the purposes of Yahweh (similarly, Birch 1998: 1355). Rather like Samuel himself (1 Sam. 8.10-18), these chapters know that kingship is not always a good thing, but instead offer an example of the sort of relationship between Yahweh, king and people that was envisaged in 1 Samuel 12. Rather than being an appendix, 2 Samuel 21–24 is better understood as a conclusion to the book of Samuel.

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Once we understand these chapters as a conclusion, it becomes possible to reflect on how they interact with the rest of the book. We need first to note the placement of the major poems in Samuel—Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10), David’s Lament (2 Sam 1.17-27) and his Thanksgiving Song (2 Sam. 22) and Last Words (2 Sam. 23.1-7). Since the latter two are paired within the final chiasm, we can treat them as a single block of poetry, albeit one that clearly has two main and distinct parts. Klement (2000: 157) has pointed to the important part played by these poems and their location at pivotal parts of the narrative. Rather than seeing them as isolated pieces (e.g. Becker-Spörl 1992), they need to be interpreted by their context and also to be seen as interpreting that context. Hannah’s Song is both a reflection on the opening narrative (1 Sam. 1) and also an announcement of the main themes of the rest of the book (cf. Watts 1992: 19-40, Klement 2000: 112-13), declaring that Yahweh brings hope to those who cannot bring hope to themselves (Firth 2009: 54). The language of Hannah’s Song finds many echoes in the two poems of the Samuel Conclusion, but it is also linked thematically and linguistically to David’s Lament. Kingship is a central theme in each of these poems. It is announced in Hannah’s Song, while David’s Lament reflects on Saul’s failure to provide the kingship that was necessary. David’s two closing pieces then reflect on how kingship can provide something positive. The major poems thus provide the building blocks around which Samuel is built, with Hannah’s Song and David’s reflections acting as bookends, while David’s lament is the pivot, marking the decisive end of Israel’s first king and preparing for David’s own reign. It is also important to note parallels between 2 Samuel 9–20 and the story of how David became king in 1 Sam. 16.1–2 Sam. 5.5. Both these stretches of narrative have often been treated as separate sources, something we consider further in Chapter 4. For the moment, we need to observe the presence of a parallel narrative structure to both, along with interlocking motifs, through which links are made between them and the Samuel Conclusion. First, there is a clear pattern of doubling narratives across Samuel as a whole (cf. Kent 2011: 136-217), so that many repeat earlier themes and structures, such as occur in the two accounts of David not killing Saul (1 Sam. 24; 26). But this not only occurs at the level of individual narratives, it is also present across large portions of the book. So, in 2 Samuel 9–20, we have two rebellion narratives, those of Absalom (2 Sam. 13–19) and Sheba (2 Sam. 20). These rebellion narratives are preceded by an announcement from Yahweh, declaring David’s sin and, therefore, the penalty he is to pay (2 Sam. 12:1-25). This is paralleled in the earlier narrative where there are two rivalry narratives, one between David and Saul (1 Sam. 18–2 Sam. 1) and then another between David and Ish-bosheth (2 Sam. 2–4). This narrative is also preceded by an announcement from Yahweh in which Saul is

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rejected (1 Sam. 15.28-29). Moreover, in both instances, it is notable that the long narrative comes first (David and Saul, David and Absalom) and the short narrative comes second (David and Ish-bosheth, David and Sheba). However, we should also note that the short rivalry narrative introduces the theme of death by being struck in the belly (2 Sam. 2. 23, 3.27) that recurs in the short rebellion narrative (2 Sam. 20.10). In addition, the theme of sexual relations with another man’s wife operates as a significant motif across these narratives. This first occurs in 2 Sam. 3.7-10 when Ish-bosheth accuses Abner of having such a relationship with Saul’s concubine, Rizpah. But this theme then becomes the fundamental reason for Yahweh’s judgment on David following his adultery with Bathsheba (2 Sam. 11.1-4), even though Yahweh had given Saul’s wives to him (2 Sam. 12.8-10). It then becomes emblematic of this judgment when Absalom in turn has sexual relations with the concubines David had left behind (2 Sam. 16.20-23). So, the rivalry narratives and rebellion narratives mirror each other structurally, but also cross-reference each other through their shared motifs. Both the rivalry and rebellion narratives then have links to the Samuel Conclusion. The reference to Rizpah (2 Sam. 3.7-10) prepares for her central role in the famine account (2 Sam. 21.1-14). Her actions there could be understood as evidence that the earlier accusation was false, though, in fact, we are never given the evidence to resolve this, something that also occurs in respect of Mephibosheth’s response to David’s flight from Jerusalem (cf. 2 Sam. 16.3-4, 19.25-30). Reference to Rizpah thus joins these narratives, encouraging them to be read in light of each other. But, since the first mention of Rizpah also occurs in a narrative context that is linked to the rebellion narratives, the reading of 2 Sam. 21.1-14 needs to consider both the rivalry and rebellion narratives. In particular, the earlier narratives had shown the reality of the sins of both Saul and David, though neither had gone beyond the point of noting the presence of that sin. But the famine narrative shows that it is impossible to separate the sin of the king from the experience of the nation as a whole, a theme that is then reinforced though the plague narrative of 2 Samuel 24. A further link between the earlier narratives and the Samuel Conclusion can also be seen in the references to the Spirit of God. It is the Spirit that comes upon David when he is anointed (1 Sam. 16.13), and it is by the Spirit that David speaks in his ‘Last Words’ (2 Sam. 23.2), so that the whole of David’s reign is marked by his experience of the Spirit, with references to the Spirit acting as bookends to it. In particular, David speaks by the Spirit in 2 Sam. 23.1-7, reflecting on his entire reign and suggesting a way forward for his house (2 Sam. 23.5). Reference to David’s ‘house’ also points back to the promise to David in 2 Sam. 7.4-17 and the announcement of punishment in 2 Sam. 12.10, creating a further link. David’s experience of

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the Spirit stands in marked contrast to Saul’s, from whom the Spirit of God had departed and been replaced by a baleful spirit, though he would have another encounter with the Spirit of God when he attempted to kill David in 1 Sam. 19.22-24. But reference to the Spirit of God also points back to the earlier narrative of Saul’s rise to kingship, where experience of the Spirit was not only a sign promised by Samuel (1 Sam. 10.5-8), it was the one that specifically recounted. (1 Sam. 10.10-11). ‘Spirit’ language is quite common in Judges and Samuel, something that stands in marked contrast to Joshua and Kings, where it is quite rare. But, in Samuel, it plays an important structural role, linking each of the major sections of the book and reaching its climax in David’s Last Words where, for the first time, the Spirit is associated with intelligible utterance from God as opposed to the ecstatic experience that was typical of Saul. We also need to note a number of links between the plague narrative (2 Sam. 24) and Hannah’s story (1 Sam. 1). Although seemingly quite different from one another, there are important points of contact. One obvious point is that, in 1 Sam. 1.6, we are told that Hannah’s rival, Peninah, used to vex her because ‘Yahweh had closed up her womb’. In 2 Sam. 24.1, we are told that Yahweh ‘incited David’ against Israel. In both narratives, therefore, it is Yahweh’s actions that trigger the crisis. Both also find their resolution in worship—in Hannah’s case when she went to the Shiloh temple (1 Sam. 1.9-18), while David offered sacrifices when he had purchased Araunah’s threshing floor (2 Sam. 24.18-25). Samuel thus closes with sacrifice, just as it had opened with them (1 Sam. 1.3). Reference to sacrifice here also completes another pattern, joining this narrative to the coming of the ark to the city of David (2 Sam. 6) and also to Saul’s rejection. The language here refers to ‘burnt offerings and peace offerings’ (2 Sam. 24.25), a combination that had previously occurred in only two places. In 2 Sam. 6.17-18, it is what David offered when the ark was brought to the City of David, a key element in showing David as Yahweh’s legitimate king. But, in 1 Sam. 13.9 it is what Saul intends to offer before his initial rejection by Samuel (1 Sam. 13.8-14 – though only the offering of the burnt offering is specifically recounted), leading to an initial, though oblique, reference to David as ‘the man after Yahweh’s heart’ who would replace Saul. When David offers burnt offerings and peace offerings he acts appropriately, showing that he is the man after Yahweh’s heart. He is, therefore, for all his faults, the king anticipated by Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.10). Conclusion These considerations suggest that Samuel is a carefully structured whole and that, rather than being an ‘appendix’ containing material that could not be

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fitted in elsewhere, 2 Samuel 21–24 is actually key to understanding the book. That it has often not been read this way reinforces the point made in the previous chapter that Samuel’s genre does not match any one category that we might use today, and the Conclusion has been largely relegated to obscurity because of this. But its internal structure and careful links with the rest of Samuel indicate that it is actually of pivotal importance. It is an intentional point of conclusion, the ending towards which Samuel has been building. Likewise, Hannah’s story (1 Sam. 1.1–2.10) represents an intentional opening, flagging up themes of kingship and Yahweh’s authority that will echo throughout the rest of the narrative. In particular, Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10) establishes key themes in terms of Yahweh’s involvement with the weak, his opposition to enemy forces and commitment to his king that will reverberate throughout. This story also establishes the importance of worship for the book as a whole, with the approach to worship particularly important in determining one’s relationship to Yahweh. It will be irregularities in worship that see both Eli (1 Sam. 2.12-36) and Saul rejected (1 Sam. 13.8-14). By contrast, Hannah is faithful in her worship, in spite of Yahweh’s actions against her, and the same is true of David (2 Sam. 6; 24). It is, therefore, appropriate to read Samuel as a literary whole, a work intentionally bounded by its opening and conclusion, which are not simply accidental divisions within a larger work. However, we do not read Samuel simply as a stand-alone piece. Rather, it is now firmly integrated into (at least) the Former Prophets. Thus, although Judges 17–21 take an ambiguous view of kingship, it is still the rise of kingship that is described in 1 Samuel 1–12. Similarly, 2 Samuel 5–24 narrates the period of David’s reign, but not the whole story. Although 2 Samuel 24 brings Samuel to its point of closure, it does not conclude David’s reign. We have noted the chronological gap between the presentation of David at the end of Samuel and the start of Kings (though 2 Sam. 23.1-7 is arguably from the same period of David’s life, if it is his ‘last words’), but it is still a continuation of David’s story. That it does not include David’s death means that Samuel is not really ‘the David story’ (Alter, 1999), but the additional material provided by Kings does at least allow us to read through to the end of David’s story. Whether the links to these other works are authorial or redactional is a matter we need to consider in Chapter 4, but it is certainly the case that the canonical presentation of Samuel requires us to read it in light of at least Judges and Kings. In terms of the options we noted at the start of this chapter, then, it seems the best option is to regard Samuel as a complete work that can be read in its own right, a work that tells of the rise and establishment of the

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monarchy in Israel. But we also read it as part of a larger story that not only moves from the origins of monarchy, but also to the division of the kingdoms (1 Kgs 12) and then ultimately to the exile (2 Kgs 25.1-26) and the possible hope in Jehoiachin’s release (2 Kgs 25. 27-30). However, the option that can be rejected is the possibility that Samuel has no integrity of its own. So the issue is thus not whether Samuel has integrity, but rather how that integrity works internally and with those works around it.

3 THE TEXT OF SAMUEL

In discussing Samuel, so far we have largely assumed that, even if there are questions about what it is as a text, we at least know what that text is. And certainly anyone picking up an English Bible would have little to make them aware that the text of Samuel is an area of major discussion. But in fact, the text of Samuel poses numerous problems because of the range of witnesses to it and the diversity found between them. The discussion of the text is not restricted to that area of study traditionally known as textual criticism because the variant texts have also been used as a basis for arguments about the editorial history of the book (cf. Hugo 2010: 11-19 for a brief assessment and excellent bibliography and Rezetko, 2007 for a detailed example). So, before we can proceed to consider issues such as authorship and sources, we first need to pause and consider the question of the text of Samuel. Witnesses to the Text Although there is a diverse range of sources studied by textual critics, we will be concerned here only with what might be called ‘primary’ witnesses to the text of Samuel. In terms of Samuel’s text, we can regard the ‘primary witnesses’ as those which have been suggested as providing evidence for both the resolution of textual issues and the editing of the book. Of course, for a full consideration of the text, it is necessary to consider all the witnesses, but we need to take a narrower focus. We will, therefore, focus on the two main Hebrew witnesses to Samuel, the Septuagint (or ‘LXX’) in its various forms and 1–2 Chronicles, since these are the most important textual traditions for Samuel, though at any given point other traditions such as the Targum (in Aramaic), Peshitta (in Syriac) or Vulgate (in Latin) might be more relevant. The obvious starting point for the text of Samuel is found in printed editions of the Hebrew Bible, the most important of which is currently Biblia hebraica stuttgartensia (BHS). A more up to date edition is currently in production (Biblia hebraica quinta or BHQ), but although fascicles have appeared for some books, Samuel has not been published at the time of writing. There is no doubt that, when it does appear, it will become the standard point of reference. However, both reproduce the same basic text,

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that of the medieval Leningrad Codex, with the differences being in the form and detail of the critical apparatus and the masorah, the various notes made by the Massoretes when compiling the Massoretic Text (MT). We need to note that, although BHS reproduces a Massoretic text, it is not the MT because it is only one example of this textual tradition. So, we must not equate BHS (or BHQ when it appears) with MT because the simple fact of reproducing a single manuscript means that those errors and idiosyncrasies which it includes are present. Nevertheless, the variances between the Massoretic manuscripts are relatively small and, where these variations occur, they are noted in the textual apparatus. So, in practical terms, BHS can be understood as a vehicle for accessing MT. But MT is not the only Hebrew source for the text of Samuel. Among the scrolls found at Qumran, three from Cave 4 are of particular value, though another fragment was also found in Cave 1. These manuscripts are important because they push back our access to the Hebrew textual tradition by more than a thousand years to a time before the work of the Massoretes in standardizing the text of the Hebrew Bible. They are thus a potentially important independent witness to the Hebrew text. The most important of these three manuscripts is variously known as 4QSama or 4Q51. In this case, what we call this manuscript is a key indicator of the importance we give it in assessing the text of Samuel. It is by far the most complete of the Samuel manuscripts, covering portions of 1 Samuel 1–12, 14–15, 17, 24–28, 30–31, 2 Samuel 2–8, 10–16, 18–24 (Ulrich 1978: 271). Such a chapter listing may give the appearance that it contains most of Samuel, but in reality it has only portions of each of these chapters, with 2 Samuel 22.30-51 as its longest continuous sequence of text. Most of the time, it contains only a few verses before coming to a break in its record of the text. The other manuscripts from Cave 4 are known as 4QSamb (4Q52) and 4QSamc (4Q53). These are both considerably briefer, with 4QSamb containing portions of 1 Samuel 16.1-11; 19.10-17; 21.3-10 and 23.7-17, while 4QSamc has 1 Sam. 25.30-32; 2 Sam. 14.7–15. Although these three manuscripts cover only a portion of Samuel and each has its own problems, they are an important witness to the Hebrew text from a time considerably earlier than MT. A further witness to the Hebrew text of Samuel can be found in the book of 1 Chronicles. Although it might seem odd that the text of one book of the Old Testament can be assessed from another, Chronicles actually stands in a very close textual relationship to Samuel (and Kings). In the case of Samuel, 1 Chronicles 10–29 can be arranged synoptically with Samuel, especially 2 Samuel 5–24. We need to consider the nature of that relationship in Chapter 4, but it is clear that, at certain points, Samuel and Chronicles are both presenting the same text, so that Chronicles might record a more original reading than we currently have in Samuel. Care

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is needed, in this instance, because Chronicles may have made its own changes to its source text, but the possibility certainly exists in the synoptic portions that Chronicles may have retained a superior reading than what we currently have in MT Samuel. Finally, we need to note LXX, the Greek translation of the Old Testament, probably completed in Alexandria about the beginning of the second century BCE. However, LXX has its own complicated history (see the helpful chart in Brotzman 1994: 80), so, when assessing the relevance of LXX to the question of the text, we also have to place a particular witness within the complex history of recensions of LXX and of certain key manuscripts. Because of this complex history, the earlier form of LXX is sometimes known as the Old Greek (OG). For the text of Samuel, we pay particular attention to LXX A, representing the text found in Codex Alexandrinus and LXX B, representing the text found in Codex Vaticanus. It is Codex Vaticanus that gives us our best access to the OG. In addition, there are various recensions of LXX, of which the Lucianic recension (LXX L) from the third century CE, a revision of LXX which generally moved it closer to the MT text, is the most important. LXX is thus frequently not a unified witness to the text of Samuel, meaning that care is needed in assessing the weight to be given to a particular reading in it. Readers who lack the ability to read the original languages can now see the variances between MT and OG laid out in the translation offered by Auld (2011). Throughout his commentary, he has helpfully translated both MT and OG. Where they agree, the text is presented in normal type, but where they disagree with each other, the translation of the Greek variants are in italics, while those of MT are in square brackets. By necessity, this practice makes the translation more difficult to follow, though, for Auld, the plurality of the text is itself an important theological datum. But it does have the advantage of showing the extent of the variances between these two, which are the only complete witnesses to the text of Samuel. Examples of Issues in the Text of Samuel Before offering an overall assessment of these witnesses, it will be helpful to work through some samples of text-critical problems in Samuel. It should be stressed at the outset that, although MT represents our best way into the text of Samuel, it is not the case that we need to consider variant readings only when there is a self-evident problem with MT. As a complete witness to the text, and in the original language, MT represents the primary vehicle for establishing the text of Samuel, but it needs to be read in the light of the other witnesses because there are points where, even though the MT is itself internally coherent, the other witnesses may still record a superior

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reading. Of course, the question of what might constitute a superior reading is itself a contested area in Old Testament studies, but Childs’s argument that the goal is to establish the canonical text (1979: 103-106) has a persuasive coherence, though it is probably still possible to work towards an original text. But it is important to stress that the canonical text is not necessarily identical with MT, though MT, as the oldest complete witness to that text in its original language, is the primary vehicle for identifying that text. As a first example, we might consider the question of the height of Goliath in 1 Sam. 17.4. Textually, there is no internal problem within MT for its reading of ‘six cubits and a span’, whatever we might make of the fact that this would make him about nine feet nine inches tall. Indeed, in resolving text-critical questions, any judgment that we might make about the probability of someone being that tall plays no direct part because there is nothing to prevent that being what the text says, though many commentators do point to records of extremely tall people from the past. Within the narrative of 1 Samuel 17, such a presentation of Goliath is consistent with the fact that, in the opening verses, we are presented with someone who appears invincible, though, of course, it is an appearance the narrator will spectacularly reverse when David overcomes him. However, both LXX B and 4QSama read ‘four cubits and a span’, which would make Goliath about six feet nine inches tall, though LXX A agrees with MT. So, we are confronted with different readings and (textually) both are equally probable. McCarter (1980b: 286) opts for the reading of LXX B and 4QSama, partly on the basis that MT is an ‘exaggeration’. But that does not provide a textual basis for such a reading and is rightly critiqued by Tsumura (2007: 440-41). But Tsumura’s counter argument (supporting MT) is equally flawed because it, too, depends upon an assessment of the historical probability of what Goliath could carry. And given that the Australian bushranger, Ned Kelly, was only a little over five feet tall and his famous armour was much the same weight as that of Goliath (Firth 2009: 203), then, on either reading, Goliath could have carried the weight listed, especially as it is clear that he was not particularly mobile. Chronicles does not record this story, so we are not able to draw it into the analysis. So, how might we resolve this seeming impasse? A first observation is that, short of accepting textual plurality, no easy resolution is available as the witnesses attest to different readings that cannot be reconciled with one another. It is not possible that this change would have come about accidentally as the words for ‘four’ and ‘six’ are quite different from one another. One textual tradition has changed the reading, but both are internally consistent. For this reason, commentators are divided over the correct reading. But if we have to choose, then we have to give weight to our different

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witnesses. And here there may be a preference for the reading of four cubits and a span on the basis that LXX B is our best point of access to the Old Greek, while 4QSama provides us with our oldest witness to the text and, of course, is in Hebrew. These are both our oldest witnesses to the text and, therefore, have had the least opportunity to be changed. The possibility must still be held that MT represents an older tradition for which we currently lack the manuscript evidence—remembering that the discovery of the Qumran manuscripts was itself something of an accident. In addition, we have to appreciate that both LXX and 4QSama have their own idiosyncrasies, so age alone is not enough to sustain this reading and is another reason why many continue to support MT (e.g. Bergen 1996: 189). However, one thing that is clear from this is that these different texts have made their own editorial decisions about what should be in the text; the presentation of the text is not a neutral thing. At other points, it is clear that there is a problem with the MT of Samuel and this, naturally, leads to an examination of the text. A good example of this can be seen in 1 Sam. 13.1. It can be translated fairly literally as ‘Saul was a year old when he became king and he reigned for two years over Israel.’ LXX B omits this verse altogether, though it is difficult to imagine why something so cryptic might have been inserted into the text. It seems more likely then that the verse’s absence more probably represents an interpretative decision by LXX B than an indication of the Hebrew text before the translator. Unfortunately, this verse is not extant in any of the Qumran manuscripts. LXX L suggests Saul was thirty years old when he became king, but, though not improbable, it is probably best to follow the majority of commentators and accept that the age had fallen out of the text before the work of the Massoretes. Likewise, a reign of only two years has struck many as improbable, though Noth (1960: 176) has pointed out that this period actually fits with the chronological structure of the Deuteronomistic History. Again, it is possible to find ancient sources that fill in this gap and NIV accordingly offers ‘forty-two years’, presumably based on Acts 13.21. This period is consistent with Josephus (Antiquities 6.14.9, though in 10.8.4 he offers only twenty years) and also works with the fact that the reign described for Saul seems much longer than two years. In this case, it may be possible to defend MT, but to understand it as describing the period of Saul’s legitimate reign prior to his rejection in 1 Sam. 15.26, but without specifying the total length of his reign. This would differ from the practice in 2 Sam. 2.10 and 5.4, but might be explained on the basis that Saul’s reign is unique and, therefore, that a distinction needs to be made between his period as king de jure and de facto. As such, there might be only one textual error in this verse as opposed to the two presumed by most. But where LXX B appears to have made a

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deliberate decision to omit a cryptic text, it is notable that MT retains it, in spite of the obvious difficulties that it causes. A similar issue occurs in 2 Sam. 19.11-12 [ET 19.10-11]. Here the phrase ‘all Israel’s word came to the king’ occurs at the end of 2 Sam. 19.12 in MT, but at the end of 2 Sam. 19.11 in LXX B. 4QSama is not altogether clear, but appears to support LXX B. Although attempts have been made to support MT here (cf. ESV), it seems likely that MT represents a mechanical copying error, where a copyist has skipped between two occurrences of ‘the house’, and that LXX B represents the better reading, so an apparent inconsistency in the MT text is thus resolved. Before considering some other examples, it is appropriate to make some observations on these examples, though of course, they are only a small sample of the textual issues that occur. First, in some instances, it is clear that the different readings are evidence of different editorial decisions in the formation of the text of Samuel. It is not possible that both options for Goliath’s height are correct and the options cannot be explained on the basis of a mechanical mistake. Likewise, the absence of 1 Sam. 13.1 in LXX B seems to suggest an editorial, rather than a textual, decision, though, whether it was made by LXX B or its manuscript source(s), is impossible to tell. So, textual variances can be evidence of further editing of Samuel. But second, the possibility exists that differences between these witnesses may simply point to a mechanical problem with the text and, here, MT is more conservative in that it tends to retain difficult items, such as the details of Saul’s reign. Of course, keeping a difficult item is itself an editorial decision, but keeping what was before a copyist is simply being consistent with the rest of the manuscript. This does not mean MT is necessarily to be preferred, as it may retain mechanical errors and LXX B may point to a better text, as we see in 2 Sam. 19.11-12. A far more complex text critical problem occurs in 1 Sam. 17.1–18.5. All of these verses are present in MT, but 1 Sam. 17.12-31, parts of 17.37, 38, 39, 41, 48b, 50 and 17.55–18.5 are absent from LXX B. By contrast, LXX is longer than MT at 1 Sam. 17.46, but, in this case, it is clear that there is a mechanical error in MT, where text has been omitted because of words with a similar beginning (homoioarchton, cf. McCarter 1980b: 289) leading to a scribe missing the words in between. LXX A has all the verses of MT, but material appears to have been inserted secondarily to conform to MT because it follows the text of MT much more closely in these verses than the rest of the passage. So, we can discount the evidence of LXX A as a later correction of LXX back towards MT. Although 4QSama is damaged at all these points and so cannot provide conclusive evidence (though, of course, it does agree with LXX B on Goliath’s height), Johnson (2012) has argued that the evidence of the fragments suggests it might support the longer text. But because this evidence is at best indirect, it is not considered further here.

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A reading of LXX B shows that a number of difficulties that appear in the narrative of David and Goliath are resolved. For example, in 1 Sam. 16.21-22 David is established as a member of Saul’s military, but in 1 Samuel 17 he is presented as a shepherd, so when explaining to Saul how he might take on Goliath, he draws only on that experience, nothing military. Indeed, in 1 Sam. 17.55 Saul has to ask Abner whose son David is, though he has previously contacted Jesse asking for David to remain with him (1 Sam. 16.22). Internal issues are also resolved. For example, in 1 Sam. 17.50 we are told that David had killed Goliath without a sword, though, in 1 Sam. 17.51, he then takes Goliath’s sword and kills him with that. These features have led some scholars to suggest that the additional material in MT represents either an intentional series of supplements (Auld 2004: 81-96) or the record of a separate tale about David (Campbell 2003: 167-93, Tov 1986). On this approach, the shorter account of LXX represents an earlier stage of the text (Version 1), whereas MT is a later version (Version 2) which now includes two separate narratives which have been mixed together. Tov (1986: 40) is clear that LXX cannot be an abridgement of MT because he can think of no reason why this might have happened. Following a similar approach, McCarter (1980b: 284-309) translates and comments on these stories separately from one another. Of course, this does not resolve the question of the text translated by LXX – Tov thinks that the translator had only the shorter text to work with (1986: 40), while Barthélemy (1986: 47-54) argues, on literary and textual grounds, that the translator was working with something similar to MT, though, in fact, MT is still a composite text (1986: 54). And this immediately brings us to the issue of textual variances as evidence of editorial activity. In this case, it is indisputable that the variances are evidence of such editing, though the form of this editing could go in several directions. Most obviously, either MT represents a tradition which has added to the shorter text represented in LXX B, or LXX B is an abridgement of MT, though, as we have noted, at least some of the differences between them can be understood as resulting from a mechanical copying error. However, the originality of MT has also been defended on both literary and textual grounds (Firth 2005c, 2009: 194-95), though we can provide only a brief sketch here. As Gooding (1986: 75) has noted, the fuller version presents ‘a thought flow that makes excellent, detailed, well-constructed and sustained sense, in comparison with which Version 1 is inferior.’ Indeed, a point that is often not noted is that, although the shorter version of the story resolves the apparent conflicts in the relationship between 1 Samuel 17 and 1 Sam. 16.14-23, it does not resolve those in terms of how 1 Sam. 16.1-13 relates to them both. There, Samuel is afraid to go to the house

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of Jesse because he believes Saul will attempt to kill him if he hears of it, while the elders of Bethlehem are equally concerned about Samuel’s arrival (1 Sam. 16.1-5). We cannot explore these elements in detail, but it is notable that the full term ‘Jesse the Bethlehemite’ occurs at 1 Sam. 16.1 and 17.58 effectively providing an envelope for the whole narrative, though, since the phrase also occurs at 1 Sam. 16.18, we should note that it is an element in each of the three narratives recounting David’s initial rise. As 1 Samuel 16 begins, we have been given no reason why going to the family of Jesse the Bethlehemite should cause Samuel concern since it appears to be a relatively minor family (note that Samuel consecrates Jesse separately from Bethlehem’s elders, 1 Sam. 16.5). This, along with other elements, suggests that the chronology of these three accounts has been broken up (see the treatment of this passage in Chapter 6) for narrative and theological purposes, though the apparent difficulties which LXX B overcomes are then markers that point back to this process. The MT’s current structure seeks to set in place suspense by which our expectation that David will be the champion needed to defeat Goliath can emerge gradually (Gooding 1986: 64-65), though this process also enables the narrative to structure David’s rise in parallel with that of Saul (cf. Grønbæk 1971: 71-74). If this line of argument is sustained, then it would seem that the more probable explanation is that the textual tradition represented by LXX B has recognized the chronological difficulties caused by placing 1 Samuel 17 after 1 Sam. 16.14-23, but has not appreciated the literary techniques that led to the formation of the text. Accordingly, this textual tradition has done precisely what Tov could not imagine and abridged a longer tradition that is (more or less) the MT text as we have it now as part of an editorial process that seeks to resolve apparent difficulties. But, if the chronological markers have a particular function within the current narrative structure, then it becomes apparent that there is a deliberate move to follow David from initial election through to military victory. In that way, David’s election can still be seen as something initiated by Yahweh, rather than something based on his merit as a military champion, though that election is then shown to make good military sense too. Accordingly, although the different textual traditions give evidence of editorial activity, it is the tradition represented in LXX which has done this, while MT is again fairly conservative in the text it maintains. Having considered a point where LXX offers a distinct text, we need also to consider one from 4QSama. A good example here occurs between 1 Sam. 10.27 and 11.1. This text is rendered by NRSV in its main text as: Now Nahash, king of the Ammonites, had been grievously oppressing the Gadites and the Reubenites. He would gouge out the right eye of each of

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them and would not grant Israel a deliverer. No one was left of the Israelites across the Jordan whose right eye Nahash, king of the Ammonites, had not gouged out. But there were seven thousand men who had escaped from the Ammonites and had entered Jabesh-gilead. About a month later…

This text provides a possible background to Nahash besieging Jabesh-gilead, which is otherwise unmotivated in Samuel (though Josephus, Antiquities, 6.5.1 knows this tradition), and has been adopted by several commentators (e.g. Baldwin 1988: 95-96), though ‘About a month later’ still requires a slight emendation from LXX. But Fokkelman (1993: 459-60) makes a spirited defence of MT here, noting that the addition breaks up the structure of the passage, the language used is odd and shows signs of being the work of an undistinguished imitator (an ‘epigone’). Aesthetic judgments are perhaps not a sound basis for making such a judgment, but the structural point is important. As MT now stands, the passage ends with Saul’s silence, which balances Samuel’s cry at 1 Sam. 10.17 with which it opens. Beyond this, the brevity of MT makes it precisely the sort of text that may have encouraged an editor to fill the gap with a known tradition. If so, then MT still represents the better text, while the addition in 4QSama is here evidence of editorial activity. The examples so far have not considered the witness of Chronicles, so it is appropriate to provide some examples of that. It should be said at the outset that the points where these texts differ from one another is, apart from points where there is evidence of mechanical error, evidence of editorial activity. We shall briefly consider the probable relationship of Chronicles to Samuel in Chapter 4 where the priority of Samuel will be argued. If that is so, then the editing must be what Chronicles has done with Samuel, rather than what they have both done with a common source. So, we can consider the evidential value that Chronicles might have for the text of Samuel, with a particular focus on the MT for both, though of course the other witnesses for the text of Chronicles can also play their part. Here, we might consider 2 Sam. 21.19. On internal grounds, we can fairly immediately see that there are serious problems with the text (note, for example, the double use of ‘oregim’, seemingly both as part of a name and also to refer to weavers). Although various solutions are offered by the commentators, there is a lack of agreement as to how best to resolve the problems posed by this text, though quite a few make use of the parallel in 1 Chron. 20.5 for at least some of their solution (e.g. Anderson 1989: 253, 255). Important historical questions are also linked to the resolution of this textual question since, as it now stands, it asserts that Elhanan killed Goliath, a giant from Gath. Since it is improbable that there were two such giants with this same name, it is often argued that Elhanan’s slaying of the

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giant was later attributed to David in 1 Samuel 17, following a typical pattern in folklore where great deeds are attributed to a hero (see Isser 2003: 125). That the parallel text in 1 Chron. 20.5 is in better condition is not disputed, but questions of editorial activity come to the fore in that Chronicles asserts that Elhanan killed Lahmi, Goliath’s brother. For many, this is simply a case of Chronicles resolving a difficulty in its source text with an unacceptable harmonisation (e.g. McKenzie 2000: 76), but it has to be asked whether a more probable solution is that, at this point, Chronicles is copying from an uncorrupted source text. Thus, Provan, Long and Longman (2003: 225) have noted that ‘Lahmi’ in Hebrew (with the direct object marker) differs little from ‘Bethlehemite’, so that a scribe mistook the rare ‘Lahmi’ for ‘Bethlehemite’. With the loss of ‘Lahmi’, the phrase ‘brother of Goliath’ could easily be corrupted to make Goliath the direct object. If this is correct and, in fact, the consonantal difference between these two texts is quite slight, then Chronicles may well provide a more original reading, even though at first glance it appears to offer a rather different editorial take on the story. This reading is also consistent with the structural role we have suggested for the Samuel Conclusion, though, of itself that should not determine the textual issue. But, at other points, it is clear that Chronicles’ editorial work means that we cannot take it as providing the original text. To take one example, in 2 Sam. 24.1, it is Yahweh who incites David to take the census for which he is subsequently punished. But, in 1 Chron. 21.1, it is Satan (or ‘an adversary’) who does so. When rendered as the proper noun Satan, it is clearly saying something rather different from Samuel. But even when treated as a common noun and translated ‘an adversary’, so that the one who incited David is not named, it refrains from suggesting that Yahweh incited David. In this case, there are no obvious problems with the Samuel text and the variant in Chronicles should, therefore, not be brought to bear in considering the text of Samuel because it clearly represents Chronicles’ editing of the Samuel traditions. At other points, it is unclear whether Chronicles has omitted part of Samuel or if there has been some minor editorial work done on Samuel after Chronicles used it. For example, 2 Sam. 7.14b has no obvious parallel in 1 Chronicles 17, meaning the originality of the passage is much disputed. In this case, the balance is probably slightly in favour of an omission in Chronicles, but it is by no means clear. These examples continue to demonstrate the issues we have noted throughout. MT Samuel is not a perfect text and there are points where it has clear errors. But it appears to be a more conservative text, whereas others that have worked from it (or at least its ancestors) show more evidence of continued editorial work. Chronicles’ editorial work is more obvious,

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though it can still provide evidence to resolve points where there are difficulties with MT Samuel. The Character of the Witnesses Although numerous other examples could be given, the ones we have considered so far provide us with an opportunity to comment on the character of the witnesses to the text of Samuel and along with this to address the question of the extent to which the textual diversity points to continued editorial activity on the text. A particularly important discussion is focused on 4QSama, which, as we have noted, is also called, 4Q51. The nature of this text has recently been discussed in some detail. Calling the manuscript 4QSama means we regard it as a Samuel manuscript and, as a result, considerable weight is given to it as a witness to the text. Its distinctive witness can then be understood as contributing something important to our understanding of the text (Aejmelaeus 2010, Parry 2010) and also to the process of Bible translation (Himbaza 2010). But Rofé (2010) has recently challenged this, noting the presence of traits in this text that he regards as typical of a Jewish exegetical tradition, known as midrash, by which he means the text reworks existing traditions (2010: 80). Such a pattern is in evidence in the addition at 1 Sam. 10.27 (and Rofé agrees with the view expressed above), but he also notes examples from 1 Samuel 1–3 and 2 Samuel 24, all of which have been considered as points where this scroll is an important independent and ancient witness to the text. The evidence accumulated by Rofé, which points to a considerable volume of rewriting, may well suggest that we need to treat the evidence of this manuscript more circumspectly. Although the name 4QSama now seems too well-established for the alternative name to be used, there may well be value in placing 4Q51 in brackets after it to indicate the uncertainty about the appropriate way to use this manuscript. This does not mean it cannot be used in establishing the canonical text, but it does mean that its special character needs to be taken into account, so that we need first to rule out rewriting as a possibility before claiming it as a witness. The element of rewriting that can be observed in 4QSama (4Q51) can also be observed in LXX. We have argued that there is evidence for this in 1 Samuel 17, but, in fact, this is true at many points. For example, Walters (1988) has studied the narrative differences between MT and LXX, noting several points at which LXX represents a different narrative tradition. For example, in 1 Sam. 1.11 it makes explicit that Samuel is a Nazirite, something that is only implicit in MT, while 1 Sam. 1.18 adds a cultic meal before Hannah leaves the sanctuary. Although the addition in 1.11 is also represented in 4QSama (4Q51), in this instance, it is evidence that they

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are both working from this alternative narrative tradition which tends to expand the text, as, of course, also happens in 1.18. In the case of LXX, we cannot go so far as with 4QSama (4Q51) and identify the text as midrashic, but these examples all fill in perceived gaps in MT. Again, this does not make all alternative readings in LXX suspect, but with Pisano (1984: 283-87), it does suggest that, for all its difficulties, MT is still generally a reliable guide to the text relative to the evidence from both Qumran and LXX. As with the evidence from Qumran and LXX, Chronicles shows evidence of rewriting the text that we find in Samuel, though, since this is widely agreed, we need not pursue that point here. The various witnesses to the text of Samuel are thus quite diverse. However, although MT has numerous problems, the evidence we have examined suggests that it is still the primary vehicle by which we might access the canonical text. However, it is also clear that the textual traditions behind the MT were being taken up and rewritten in different ways, so that there were competing presentations of this material, though the extent to which this material differs from the traditions represented in MT varies considerably. The greatest variations exist between Samuel and Chronicles in part because these books are using Israel’s history to address different audiences. The variations indicated by LXX and Qumran are less distinct, but still real. However, although this evidence points to textual fluidity, an emerging canonical text can be traced and that text is relatively close to MT. The alternative textual tradition of Chronicles was also accepted into the canon, though its placement in the Writings may suggest it was understood in a different way to Samuel. The other text forms are also variations on the traditions behind MT, but MT continues broadly to represent the form of Samuel that was recognized as canon.

4 SOURCES, DATE AND AUTHORSHIP

In examining the text of Samuel, we noted considerable evidence of editing in the different textual traditions, even though MT seems to represent our best point of access to the canonical text. However, we should not imagine that the text’s editing only began with the variants to MT Samuel. Rather, Samuel has a long editorial history that reaches back through its various sources and this editorial history has, in turn, been fed into the work we now have. The presence of editing is not inconsistent with the idea of a coherent work, for which we argued when considering Samuel’s structure, since it is perfectly possible for someone to draw together a range of sources and, through editing, create a coherent text. Moreover, where an author works with various sources to create a text, even when that text is itself based on various sources, it is not always possible to trace all those sources in the finished text. Nevertheless, it is possible to make some observations about the sources that have been used in creating Samuel and from this to draw some conclusions about the book’s authorship. Sources It was for some time fashionable to continue the documentary hypothesis from the Pentateuch into Samuel. As late as the mid-twentieth century Eissfeldt (1965: 275) was still arguing that the pro- and anti-monarchic strands identified by Wellhausen in Samuel were identified with his J and E (to which Eissfeldt added his own ‘L’ source). Yet such an approach was considered quite old fashioned even then. Rather, Martin Noth’s (1991, but German original 1943) analysis, in which Samuel was part of a larger work that he called the Deuteronomistic History, had come to dominate the discussion. But before coming to the direct role of the Deuteronomist(s), it is worth noting that, in Samuel, Noth regarded the Deuteronomist as someone who was largely a compiler of older source materials (1991: 86). Since the major variations on Noth’s theory of a single Deuteronomist, Cross’s model of a double redaction and the various layers of redaction posited

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by the Göttingen school of Smend also posit various sources as underlying Samuel, it is appropriate to consider the sources behind the text before coming to some conclusions about the authorship of Samuel and its relationship to the Deuteronomists. As a first concern, we, therefore, need to consider the sources that lie behind Samuel. A key starting point here is provided by the work of L. Rost (1982, but German original 1926), whose proposal of a Succession Narrative (SN) continues to generate discussion (e.g. Seiler 1998). Although he is often credited with initially identifying this source, it would be more true to say that Rost drew together discussion that had preceded him in a way that made his proposals the established view. But Rost’s work involved more than just a Succession Narrative, as he also proposed an Ark Narrative (AN) and a History of David’s Rise (HDR). Although there is some variation in the ways in which these labels are used, they continue to shape much contemporary discussion about Samuel, with the basic idea being that these sources can (largely) be identified with existing sections of Samuel. That is, where the documentary hypothesis in the Pentateuch posits sources that have been interwoven with one another, Rost’s proposal is that (with the exception of 2 Samuel 6 in AN) these sources are largely laid out successively, each contributing to the overall narrative. Although SN is his best known proposal, the other two are integral to his reading of Samuel, though he does not treat HDR in any depth. Although his work was focused on SN, Rost began with AN (1982: 6-34). AN comprises roughly 1 Sam. 4.1b–7.1 plus 2 Samuel 6. Rost deletes some small passages within this as additions to the text (1982: 13), but these have little impact on the overall character of AN. As with SN, this is a text which continues to generate interest (e.g. Campbell 1975, Miller and Roberts 1977, Brueggemann 2002). According to Rost, AN is a cult narrative, which can be distinguished from the text around it on the basis of its distinctive style and vocabulary and which is concerned to recount how the ark eventually came to Jerusalem. Rost argues that it was written by someone within the community of priests who tended the ark in either the latter part of David’s reign or the early part of Solomon’s (Rost 1982: 33-34). It is thus an ancient source, albeit one that was not particularly interested in the politics of its time. It is perhaps unsurprising that, although Rost’s suggestions have generated considerable discussion, the boundaries of the text attributed to this source have been much disputed (cf. Campbell 1975: 165-78, Miller and Roberts 1977: 18-26). The question of whether or not there were small additions to the source over time can be set aside as it does not affect the nature of the proposal, but the question of the text’s boundaries has a significant impact on how it is read. And proposals have been made both to

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bring earlier texts from 1 Samuel into AN and also to exclude 2 Samuel 6 from it. We thus need to consider the question of the possible boundaries of AN. According to Rost, 1 Sam. 4.1b represented an introduction to a narrative which was clearly distinct from what had gone before. Most notably, whereas Samuel himself had been a significant figure in the previous chapters and 1 Sam. 4.1a asserts that his word came to all Israel, he is not mentioned at any point in 1 Sam. 4.1b–7.1. By contrast, apart from a passing mention in 1 Sam. 3.3, the ark had not played any significant role in the narrative to date and yet becomes the principal focus of the narrative, which follows its journey to Philistine territory and back. Yet, once the ark is returned and settled in 1 Sam. 7.1, it receives only a passing mention in 1 Sam. 14.18 (unless we follow LXX and read ‘ephod’—but, for defence of MT, see Stoebe 1973: 260, van Zyl 1988: 175) until it again becomes central in 2 Samuel 6. Although these observations are true as far as they go, they fail to note that there are important links between the material in 1 Sam. 1.1–4.1a and the first section of AN (see Willis 1971: 297-301, Gitay 1992: 222-24). Although some of these links might be redactional, they are still an integrated element in the finished text. In particular, one should note that the prophecy of the unnamed man of God in 1 Sam. 2.27-36 is worked out when Eli’s sons Hophni and Phinehas die on the one day (1 Sam. 4.1b-22), a theme further developed in Samuel’s inaugural message (1 Sam. 3.11-14). This means that, although Samuel is physically absent from the final form of AN, his word (which 1 Sam. 4.1a said came to all Israel) hangs in foreboding authority over all of it. But once we recognize that these messages are important for understanding AN, then it becomes apparent that we need to include earlier parts of 1 Samuel or else we are left with other sections which lack context. Accordingly, Miller and Roberts suggest that 1 Sam. 2.12-17, 22-25 and 27-36 are all part of AN, though they exclude 3.11-14, since they regard all references to Samuel in these sections as evidence of skilful editing (Miller and Roberts 1977: 21, 25). But the connections with the earlier texts in Samuel already suggest that, if we still have AN, then it might not be something that is still complete and able to be recovered, since it has now been integrated into other material. This possibility becomes stronger when we note that there are also links with the material that follows. Eslinger (1985: 57-60) has noted that both 1 Samuel 4 and 1 Samuel 8 show human attempts to usurp Yahweh’s reign, meaning that there is a strong parallel between them. We can also observe the important parallel introduced by 1 Sam. 8.1-3 where Samuel’s sons turn out to be as untrustworthy as Eli’s. Israel faces the same crisis of leadership under the aging Samuel as it had under Eli. The possibility of such paralleling is also seen in 1 Sam. 7.2-17. Here, although Samuel has directed

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the nation to remove their idols, they are attacked by the Philistines, who are only defeated after Yahweh’s thunder leads to them being routed (1 Sam. 7.10). It is notable, therefore, that both 1 Sam. 5.1–7.1 and 7.2-17 lead to Yahweh defeating the Philistines without human assistance. In both instances, this is marked by a significant stone (1 Sam. 6.18; 7.12), though the naming of Ebenezer (1 Sam. 7.12) as a place of Yahweh’s help (‘Ebenzezer’ means ‘stone of help’) now reverses 1 Sam. 4.2 where it marks the site of Israel’s defeat prior to the ark’s capture. This suggests that 1 Sam. 4.1b–7.1 is much less separable from its context than Rost had thought, and, although it may well have source material underlying it that represents AN, its integration into the larger narrative now means that it is no longer a fully traceable source. At the other end of AN, serious questions exist about the place of 2 Samuel 6 within AN. Again, questions are focused on whether we can recognize it as a discrete text within its context which requires us to return to 1 Sam. 7.1b or whether it is better understood within its current literary context. We can thus find those who argue for its inclusion in AN (Campbell 1975: 143, Brueggemann 2002: 58-60) and those who argue for its exclusion (Miller and Roberts 1977: 23-25). The ark’s arrival in the City of David is certainly crucial for the whole presentation of David’s government. And it is clear that there is no immediate narrative connection between 2 Samuel 6 and the passages which precede and follow it (2 Sam. 5.17-25, 2 Sam. 7). In part, this is in the nature of the material’s presentation, since 2 Sam. 5.17–8.14 is a chiasm made up of discrete narrative portions (see Chapter 2, ‘Structure’). These narratives are not meant to connect to each other in terms of plot. Yet there are important links between them. Thus, the moving of the ark to the City of David prepares for David’s plan to build a house for the ark in 2 Sam. 7.2. But the ark’s arrival also connects to earlier sections of Samuel. For example, although Bible translations routinely head 2 Samuel 6 with something like ‘The Ark is brought to Jerusalem’, Jerusalem is never mentioned in it. Instead, it is always the ‘City of David’, which is the stronghold of Zion (2 Sam. 5.9), a phrase that can only be understood from the (admittedly difficult) account of the city’s capture in 2 Sam. 5.6-10. There are obvious points of contact with 1 Sam. 4.1b–7.1 (see van der Toorn and Houtman 1994: 222), but there are also marked differences. Most importantly, although Kiriath Jearim (1 Sam. 7.1) and Baale Judah (2 Sam. 6.2) might be variant names for the one site, it is unlikely that the continuous source postulated by Rost would make such a change (Miller and Roberts 1977: 23). The most likely conclusion, therefore, is that 2 Samuel 6 is not part of AN, but rather a separate text item written in full knowledge of the earlier material about the ark. In light of all this, we have to conclude that,

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although material about the ark probably constituted some of the source material available for the composition of Samuel and this material was probably quite ancient, we do not have a fully recoverable source that is complete in itself. Rather, the available material has been worked into the finished book, so that whatever functions it may have had as a source are subsumed into the goals of the final work. We can make similar observations about both HDR and SN and so will treat them more briefly. Of the two, HDR was of less interest to Rost and so the reasons for regarding it as a source were not as clear since its main function was to prepare for SN. In any case, his comments on it were only fragmentary. However, it is generally thought to be roughly 1 Samuel 16–2 Samuel 5, but even more than AN, the boundaries of HDR have been disputed because there is not an obvious narrative shape to this material (cf. Mettinger 1976: 33-42). At least AN and SN have the virtue of proposing more or less complete narratives. So, although HDR covers the material that describes David’s rise to the throne and contains certain repeating motifs, such as Yahweh’s presence with David, it lacks the internal coherence that Rost was able to claim for the other sources. Accordingly, although some continue to argue for it as an identifiable source, HDR is more typically understood as describing this section of Samuel (allowing for variations in how scholars divide the material), rather than as a source that can be isolated. As Short (2010: 15) notes, therefore, the ‘History of David’s Rise’ can variously refer to a) the actual events around David’s rise to kingship, b) a discrete source or c) a kind of shorthand for referring to these chapters in Samuel. In that they describe David’s rise, there is a degree of internal coherence to them, so there is value in studying these chapters as a unit within Samuel, though the idea that it represents a discrete source is much harder to substantiate. Moreover, since the theory requires that it was heavily edited before finding its way into Samuel, it must also face the problem of whether or not there was enough time for these various editions to appear to then find their way into the book. Perhaps it would be best to say that, as with AN, if a separate HDR ever existed, it is now well embedded into these chapters of Samuel and so not really possible to isolate (similarly Short, 2010: 19). Perhaps because of the lack of a clear narrative structure, HDR for some time lagged behind AN and SN in the closeness with which it was studied. It has, however, played a significant role in some recent studies of Samuel and two biographies of David. It was McCarter (1980a) whose argument for reading HDR as an apology for David triggered this new interest. Although drawing on some earlier studies, McCarter popularized the idea that these chapters were written to justify David’s position on the throne since he was clearly a usurper; HDR is thus principally concerned to address political concerns, though it does this theologically. There were thus a range

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of charges against David (McCarter 1980a: 499-502) which the narrative had to answer. It did this by showing that, although David was a trusted lieutenant of Saul’s who had never acted against him, his rise to power was inevitable because of Yahweh’s presence with him (McCarter 1980a: 499). McCarter’s approach has been developed further by McKenzie (2000) and Halpern (2001) both of whom take the political themes identified by McCarter as central to their reading of David. The work of both can be characterized as ‘reading against the grain’ since both take the view that, although HDR represents an ancient source, its political spin is such that the more likely historical interpretation is that David actually killed all the people that HDR says he let live. However, Short (2010: 126-28) has shown the inherent circularity of such arguments, though his own counterproposals are seriously weakened by his decision to offer his own reading of the text only as far as 1 Samuel 31. That these chapters are pro-David is clear, but, rather than an apology, it seems they are an exploration of what it means for Yahweh to have chosen David. Rost’s most important proposal remains the existence of SN and it was this that was at the heart of his book. But again, we find that, if this source is present in Samuel, there are disputes about its boundaries, with the problem of deciding where HDR ends also affecting decisions about the nature of SN. Rost worked backwards from what he believed was the narrative’s conclusion in 1 Kings 1–2 through (more or less) 2 Samuel 9–20, adding 2 Sam. 6.16, 20-23; 7.11b, 16 (1982: 87), though, for the most part, discussion of SN covers 2 Sam. 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2. Rost’s proposals for including passages before 2 Samuel 9 have not received general support, but the difficulty of the narrative beginning rather abruptly at 2 Samuel 9 has not been overcome. Gunn has suggested that David’s story really begins at 2 Sam. 2.8 or 2.12 (Gunn 1978: 66-68), but including this means that we are dealing with a significantly different text. Gunn’s proposal also has to deal with the structure of Samuel, especially the chiasm of 2 Sam. 5.17–8.14, which would seem to cut across any proposed source running through this section, though it does lead to a more integrated reading of Samuel. A more radical critique of Rost was put forward by Keys (1996, cf. McCarter 1981: 361-62). She has demonstrated that there are substantial differences between 1 Kings 1–2 and 2 Samuel 9–20 in terms of style, language, content and theological outlook (1996: 54-70). Keys also noted the place of the Samuel Conclusion, observing that Rost’s hypothesis had assumed a connection between the two blocks of text, rather than actually arguing for it (1996: 66). One of Keys most devastating points is to show that Rost’s key texts in establishing his theory are actually a conflation of 1 Kgs 1.20 and 27, so that, although he makes much of the claim that succession is the ‘insistent question’ for SN (Rost 1982: 68), it is not one that

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the text actually makes. But once this is recognized, then the claim that the narrative is about succession becomes problematic. This is especially so if, with Keys, we accept that 1–2 Kings is a subsequent text which knows of the existence of 2 Samuel 9–20, but is not actually part of the narrative. Even if this is not accepted, a number of scholars have argued that succession is, in fact, not central to the narrative (Ackroyd 1981), while Fokkelman (1981: 418) goes so far as to say that this is a theory that has ‘crippled’ Old Testament studies since it was initially proposed. Because of these problems, it seems preferable to use the more neutral term ‘Court Narrative’ to discuss this text, though this does not resolve the issue of its boundaries. But if Keys is right that 1 Kings 1–2 do not belong to it then, taking seriously the structural boundaries within Samuel, we need to understand it as containing 2 Samuel 9–20. Keys has also suggested that 2 Samuel 9 ought to be regarded as a separate unit (1996: 74-81), though her case here is less persuasive as it does not give sufficient attention to the ways the chapter is integrated into its context (cf. Carlson 1964: 131-39). But, since we now have a narrative that lacks an obvious beginning, it is more likely that we are again dealing with a source that has been worked into its current context, rather than something that is fully recoverable. As with each of Rost’s proposed sources, we may be dealing with material that is quite ancient, but what is presented in Samuel is no longer the source, but rather a piece that has been integrated into the larger narrative structure of Samuel. As a court narrative, it is also apparent that succession is no longer the issue and it is probable that, were succession not so obviously an issue in 1 Kings 1–2, then it would not have been read back into 2 Samuel. Rather, as Keys has argued (1996: 123-55), it is primarily focused on the theme of David’s sin and punishment. If so, then the material on the Ammonite war (2 Sam. 10–12) outlines David’s sin, with the two rebellion narratives (2 Sam. 13–20) demonstrating how the punishment for that was worked out. 2 Samuel 9 is still necessary for this narrative, if we are to understand the sections focused on Mephibosheth and Ziba (2 Sam. 16.1-4; 19.17; 24-30), but understood within the boundaries we have noted, succession is clearly not an issue. However, these boundaries for the narrative are also important within the larger rhetorical unit of 2 Samuel 5–24, since the resolution of the punishment announced on David means that the closing chiasm can now reflect on the possibilities for his house in light of a punishment that has been completed (Firth 2001). The fact that Rost’s postulated sources cannot really be recovered—and indeed may never have existed as separate entities—does not mean that Samuel was written without recourse to sources. Although the deployment of certain literary techniques across the book as a whole (see Chapter 6) is

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suggestive of a broadly unified composition, there is still enough diversity to indicate that the authors were using sources. But we should not think that they have been basically laid end to end with only small joins to create the finished text, as is suggested by Rost’s model. Instead of looking for sources in particular narrative sections, it would be better to look for sources interested in discrete themes within the book. At a minimum, therefore, we would expect that there were sources that were interested in the Shiloh traditions and the temple there; that there was a source interested in the ark, even if it is not to be identified with AN; that there was a source interested in Saul’s rise and rejection; that there was a source that was aware of David’s period in the wilderness which may or may not have been aware of his time as king; that there was a source aware of David’s conflict with Ish-bosheth; that there was a source aware of David’s military achievements and another aware of his period as king. Indeed, it is possible that there were multiple sources for at least some of these and, likewise, that some overlapped with others. Of course, unlike Kings, Samuel does not attribute information to specific sources, whereas from Solomon on Kings refers to sources to substantiate its information (1 Kgs 11.41). Such a general listing of possible sources may not seem terribly satisfactory, but it is a feature of good writing that we cannot necessarily identify the particular sources used, especially if some of these were oral rather than written. However, Campbell (1986) has argued that much of Samuel (he excludes AN and is ambivalent about SN, 1986: 82-84) is based on a source he calls the ‘Prophetic Record’ (PR), which he dates to the time of Jehu, the late ninth-century BCE, and which he argues can be traced as far as 2 Kgs 10.28 (Campbell 1986: 1). A key piece of evidence that he adduces for this is that in Samuel–Kings there are three episodes where a king is anointed by a prophet, while there are also key passages within Samuel in which the work of a prophet is pivotal (Campbell 1986: 14), so that PR emerges as ‘a narrative composed from a specific viewpoint, designed to illustrate the course of God’s guidance of his people in a particularly exciting and eventful period of their history’ (Campbell 1986: 15). Campbell excludes AN and SN from PR, though, at this point, it is arguable that he is overdependent on Rost’s source analysis. Although we have argued that Rost’s sources either do not exist or are not in a recoverable form, his instinct that the material they contained was quite ancient is probably sound. Dating sources is notoriously difficult, but the Akkadian parallels pursued by Bodi (2010: 101-37) make more sense if the material is ancient, while Halpern (2001: 57-72) draws on a range of themes to show that the material in SN emerged no later than the tenth century and contains authentic memories of the tenth century BCE. If this is the case, then it is quite likely that virtually all of the narrative material in Samuel was available by the end of the

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ninth-century BCE and, given the extent to which we have found Rost’s proposed sources to be integrated into the larger narrative, it is not impossible that something approaching the current book existed by then. Such a dating would then be consistent with the claim in 1 Samuel 27.6 about Ziklag belonging to the kings of Judah, since this narrative aside clearly comes from after the division of the kingdoms after Solomon’s death and so cannot have been written before the early ninth century. McCarter (1980b: 18-23, 1984: 7-8) offers a not dissimilar analysis to what is proposed here, arguing that what he calls a ‘Prophetic History’ emerged in the north, but with some sympathy for David. However, his analysis does not take into account the evidence provided by Kings and so does not address the possibility of the link to Jehu noted by Campbell. Because of this, he does not consider the possibility that the material could have originated in the ninth century. However, McCarter’s proposal also includes more of Samuel than Campbell’s, which is consistent with the position argued here. It seems possible, therefore, that Samuel is mostly based on PR, though a PR that is larger than that proposed by Campbell. But PR itself also has sources and these lead to variations within it and it is notable that Campbell seems to observe a difference in character from 1 Kings 2 (1986: 14, 85), though, in light of our earlier observations, this should be pushed back to 2 Samuel 24. These sources would probably include the type of material noted above, but the challenges of identifying sources within a putative source are such that we should be content with recognizing their general presence, since the level of uncertainty in identifying such sources is relatively high. On the other hand, PR is not Samuel as we have it today and, although it represents the base text, it has still been edited at a later point. We can, however, comment on one source that has not attracted much research and that is the four major poems around which much of Samuel is structured and which I have elsewhere called the Royal War Songs (RWS, Firth 2009: 29-30). These are distinct from the other proposed sources, since it is likely that they have been presented more or less complete, the major role in redaction being to locate them appropriately in the finished book. That each comes from a source is clear from their immediate contexts in Samuel. The first two, Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10) and David’s Lament (2 Sam. 1.17-27) break up the narrative in which they are found and it is notable that each is given an introduction that sets it apart from the surrounding text. David’s Thanksgiving (2 Sam. 22) and Last Words (2 Sam. 23.1-7) are also notable for receiving introductions, which provide them with a context, though their function is clearly different because they are not presented as part of a specific narrative. However, the introductions mark them out as separate material as does their poetic character, though other short pieces of poetry are also found across Samuel (e.g. 1 Sam. 18.7; 2

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Sam 3.33-34). But these four are distinct as complete poems, which are also marked by a body of shared theme and vocabulary, most notably their use of military language and the fact that each uses mašîah. (‘anointed’), a key word within Samuel. These factors suggest that these poems have been drawn from a common source which may, again, be quite ancient (for example, on 2 Sam. 1.17-27, see Birch, 1998: 1205). That 2 Samuel 22 is also Psalm 18 (with slight variations), a psalm whose placement in the Psalter is also considered significant (Brown 2010: 270-74), would suggest that, rather than Samuel drawing on Psalms or Psalms drawing on Samuel, the more likely conclusion is that each drew on RWS, structuring the material as was appropriate to its particular location. If this is the case, then we can conclude that the composers of Samuel felt unable to modify the poetic source material of RWS, but they were able to draw it together with PR to provide the general structure of Samuel. Date and Authorship From the discussion of sources that lie behind the finished text of Samuel, it is apparent that the book is the result of extensive editorial work. This process has still produced a coherent narrative that builds to its conclusion in 2 Samuel 21–24, but it is not a work that was simply composed without reference to earlier materials. Since we have noted that Samuel draws on sources that probably emerged in the ninth century BCE, we can immediately discount the Talmudic tradition (b. Bath 14b, 15a) that associates the book with Samuel, Nathan and Gad, something that probably derives from 1 Chron. 29.29. In any case, Samuel himself is dead by 1 Sam. 25.1, so he is an unlikely author, in spite of the book being named after him. This does not make it impossible for them to have been involved in the development of the sources, especially as PR is dependent on the work of prophets, but it is not possible, on the basis of the evidence in Samuel itself, to make a direct link with these three prophets. So, rather than looking for an author we can name, we should acknowledge that the book has come down to us anonymously and that discussion of authorship can only address issues associated with the type of person(s) who might have been responsible for it. Ever since Noth, the most common answer in critical studies of Samuel is to speak of the author as the Deuteronomistic Historian (Dtr). This approach accepts the anonymity of the work and the label ‘Deuteronomistic Historian’ is intended to provide us with some guidance as to what this author (or authors) might be like. But this immediately requires us to acknowledge that, although this one label is used, different scholars mean very different things by it. For Noth, Dtr was a creative author who worked in the exile and drew together a range of different source materials to create

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a broadly unified work. As we have observed already, he believed that, in the case of Samuel, most of the material was already formed and taken over by Dtr with (comparatively) little editorial work. But North American scholars have tended to follow Cross (1973: 217-89; cf. Nelson, 1981) in seeing two redactions of the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH), one emerging in the period of Josiah and the other in the exile. Fortunately, this has comparatively little effect on the interpretation of Samuel, as it puts the focus on Kings, though it does presume that texts alluding to exile were introduced by the second redactor. For example, even when Nelson discusses 2 Samuel 7 (1981: 105-108), his principle concern is with what it means for his reading of the latter chapters of Kings. However, it does mean that, even though both refer to Dtr, they mean something different by it. Complicating things further are scholars like van Seters (2000) who argue for a more unified composition (‘neo-Nothian’, Römer 2007: 31-32), but one which is much more prepared to adapt material for its own purposes and which may be much later than Noth suggested. A more complex approach was initiated by R. Smend and has been continued by the Göttingen school. Like Cross, Smend (2000) observed complexity in Deuteronomistic material, assigning texts to an additional layer, which he called DtrN, referring to a ‘nomistic’ (or legal) redactor. Smend’s student Walter Dietrich (1972) then argued for an additional layer, which he called DtrP because of its interest in prophecy. In a more recent study of 2 Samuel 7, Kasari (2009) has argued for a division of DtrN into two layers (DtrN1 and DtrS, though this is roughly equal to what some have called DtrN2). According to his analysis, DtrP precedes DtrN1 and this was later worked over by DtrS. But once we have so many layers, one wonders whether (to adapt van Seters, 2000) DtrH can avoid death by redaction. However, although we have argued that it is not really possible to identify the layers of the text with the precision required by this model, it is not radically different from the source model explored above in that certain sources have been integrated into PR which in turn forms the basis for the book of Samuel and was in turn drafted into DtrH. However, this approach allows for less Deuteronomistic input than the Göttingen school expects. We should also note that ‘Deuteronomist’ can be used in another way. In the work of Polzin (1989, 1993), ‘Deuteronomist’ seems simply to be another way of referring to the author of the book. In this way, Polzin is much closer to Green (2003a, 2003b) or even Fokkelman (1981, 1986, 1990, 1993), even though he eschews such considerations. So, even though we noted that most scholars refer to the final author of Samuel as Dtr, they clearly mean such radically different things by it that it may well be time to come up with a new set of labels. Certainly, it is difficult to see too much in common between Kasari and Polzin and the various options in between.

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An additional consideration in the case of Samuel is the comparatively small amount of material that is necessarily Deuteronomistic. Noll (2007: 317) has argued that material should be classified as Deuteronomistic if it employs words and phrases from Deuteronomy and affirms its ideology. Given that ideology is a much more difficult thing to test, our best option for checking this is Weinfeld’s listing of Deuteronomistic words and phrases (1972: 320-65). But, when we examine this list, it is notable for the relative sparseness of references from Samuel, so that, although there are conceptual links, these are a much weaker than the semantic links which are much stronger in other books in the Former Prophets. Conversely, some of Weinfeld’s key terms are absent from Deuteronomy (Firth 2009: 24). So, although some of Samuel is evidently Deuteronomistic, much of it can be so classified only on the basis that it is in a Deuteronomistic History. But to classify it on that basis and then use it to identify other Deuteronomistic material is a dangerously circular argument. Further, if Dtr (or one of them) is the final hand, then some layers of the text seem misplaced. To take one example, McCarter (1980b: 21) includes 1 Samuel 28 in his Prophetic History, a position which seems sound, so placing it in PR. But this text clearly knows 1 Samuel 15, a text which, on Noll’s test, does adopt Deuteronomistic material. If Dtr has adapted PR to include 1 Samuel 15 then it is a later text than 1 Samuel 28. To resolve this problem, Foresti (1984: 133-36) posits multiple redactions, but a simpler solution is merely that, within a coherent composition, an author writing 1 Samuel 28 would know about 1 Samuel 15. An implication of this is that ‘Deuteronomistic’ language may be more widespread in its use than is sometimes suggested and could represent forms of speech used over several centuries. Auld (2004: 189), building on his earlier work on Kings and Chronicles (Auld 1994), has, accordingly, suggested that we read backwards from Kings to Deuteronomy, so that Deuteronomy is a result of the Former Prophets, rather than its wellspring. Along with this, and pointing to the synoptic portions of Samuel–Kings and Chronicles, he has argued that, rather than Chronicles being a later adaptation of Samuel–Kings, both come from a shared source, which he came to call the ‘Book of two Houses’ (BTH). He has not, to date, convinced many people of the existence of BTH and, if Campbell’s proposal of PR is correct, then this may be a source theory too many. If so, then rather than Samuel–Kings and Chronicles being independent interpretations of the same source material, only one of which works back to Deuteronomy, Chronicles is a reinterpretation of Samuel–Kings that is addressed to a later generation. Further, since Kings presupposes Samuel and Samuel Judges, then we need to read these works forward. And, since Joshua and Kings do fulfil Noll’s criteria for a work

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being Deuteronomistic, it makes more sense to think of these works being written in light of Deuteronomy. For Samuel in particular, therefore, it is useful to move away from the language of ‘the Deuteronomist’. As we have noted, although it clearly draws on sources, Samuel’s overall structure is more suggestive of a coherent narrative and relatively little of this would be described as Deuteronomistic apart from a predisposition to name it as such. The authorial group’s positive use of prophetic material would indicate that the book emerged from within prophetic circles, something consistent with points we noted in discussing its genre, though much of the material had been shaped before the final redaction. This is not to deny that Samuel has much in common with Deuteronomy so much as to affirm that the prophetic circles responsible for its composition do so at a more general level, rather than a direct literary one. But when would a work such as Samuel have been composed? Once ‘Deuteronomistic’ material is no longer a guide then a wider range of dates becomes possible. Obviously, we cannot go earlier than the source material, and if PR and RWS are our clearly identifiable sources, and PR dates from the late ninth-century BCE, a date that is also plausible for the compilation of RWS, then we are pushed into the eighth century for the earliest possible composition of Samuel. Yet, if we are correct that Kings was composed as a later, separate work, but one with knowledge of Samuel, then Samuel, or at least the bulk of the material within it, must have existed before it. So, the latest date for Samuel must precede the earliest composition of Kings, and the date for that depends on whether or not Kings had a Josianic and then exilic redaction or is essentially an exilic work, and, of course, we have to reckon with the use of sources in Kings. However, this still allows for the composition of Samuel to fall somewhere in the range 900–560 BCE. Narrowing this to a more specific date would then depend upon the material internal to Samuel, especially its main theological themes, which we explore in Chapter 5. However, we should note the importance of David and the promise to David for the whole of Samuel. Given the date of the source material, the final composition cannot simply be an apology for David in place of Saul, though this may have been of interest in PR and its sources. Rather, we should look for a point when the promise to David might have seemed under threat as a time which would generate a work such as Samuel. We can rule out the time of Rehoboam because it would not leave sufficient time for 1 Samuel 27.6 to be meaningful and, in any case, it predates our source material. This leaves us with two possible options, either the late eighth century when Judah was under pressure from Assyria during the reign of Hezekiah or against the emerging threat of Babylon under Josiah and his immediate successors. There are texts in Isaiah (e.g. Isa. 7)

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and Jeremiah (e.g. Jer. 23.1-8) which could indicate that the future of the Davidic house was a live issue at the time of both. However, the later we date the text the less reason there is to maintain so much material about Saul and one could easily have compressed the account about him to something like 1 Chronicles 10. Although we cannot exclude a Josianic composition, preference should, therefore, be given to the time of Hezekiah as one where important questions about the viability of David’s house were being asked and where a prophetic affirmation of its legitimacy was particularly important. This text would then be very close to our Samuel, though some minor editing would have happened when it was drafted into the broadly continuous history of the Former Prophets in the exile.

5 CENTRAL THEMES

If the basic shape of the book of Samuel emerged in defence of the Davidic monarchy, then it is not surprising that monarchy and the issues associated with it are central to the theological themes that it develops. However, although the Davidic monarchy is crucial, Samuel creates a context for understanding that monarchy within the larger framework of the reign of Yahweh so that Israel’s kings reign under him. This reign is explored through the relationship between prophet and king, a delicate balance in which the prophet is subject to the king in civil matters, but the king subject to the prophet in sacral ones. One of the important reasons for retaining the material about Saul is precisely because it enables Samuel to explore what it means to be king in relation to Yahweh’s reign. However, it is clear that David’s reign, and in particular the promise to David, represents the high point of the theology of kingship. That does not mean that Samuel views kings as always positive—the failings of both Saul and David are narrated at some length—but a distinction needs to be drawn between particular kings and kingship as a means of expressing God’s reign. The Reign of God Although kingship is important, it is worth noting that Samuel does not introduce it by emphasizing the potential of kings. Indeed, 1 Samuel 1–7 devotes a great deal of effort to demonstrate that kings are not necessarily needed, though kingship is something Yahweh will employ. But this is balanced by the fact that at two key points (1 Sam. 2.10 and 2.35) kingship is introduced as something that fits within Yahweh’s purposes. It is important that both elements are present and the narrative explores the tension between them. The story of kingship thus does not begin with the narrative of a powerful warrior winning a battle. It starts, instead, in 1 Samuel 1 with the story of Hannah, a woman who suffers from a patronizing husband and a vexatious second wife, as she has gone to the temple at Shiloh to worship Yahweh.

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Complicating her life is the fact that Yahweh has closed her womb (1 Sam. 1.5), and that when she prays in the temple the High Priest Eli can only imagine that such passion in prayer is an expression of drunkenness (1 Sam. 1.14). It is not immediately apparent that this story is about the beginning of kingship, though of course the ‘barren wife’ motif in the Bible almost always points to something that Yahweh is about to do (Jarrell 2002: 3-18), even if, in this case, the motif observes that Yahweh is the cause of the barrenness. Moreover, although he is never named, there are constant plays on the name ‘Saul’, since it comes from a verb which can mean ‘to ask’ or ‘to lend’. So, where Hannah says Samuel is ‘lent to Yahweh’ (1 Sam. 1.28), we could over-literally translate the phrase as ‘he is Saul’, since the verb in this instance takes exactly the same spelling as the name ‘Saul’. By deliberately evoking the name of Saul while recounting Samuel’s nativity, the narrative makes clear that it is telling us about the start of kingship. But it makes clear that the origins of kingship do not lie with Israel’s first king. They lie, instead, with Yahweh’s mysterious activity in the world as he grants a child to a barren woman (cf. Brueggemann 1992: 234) and the child concerned is not even the first king. Rather, he is the prophet through whom Yahweh will anoint Israel’s first two kings. Samuel’s birth story stands in marked contrast to the quasi-royal presentation of Eli (cf. Polzin 1989: 23-24) and his family, where Eli sits on a ‘throne’ (1 Sam. 1.9) and administers a ‘temple’—a word that elsewhere can mean ‘palace’. The opening narrative also makes clear that before the coming of kingship there was an alternative system of government in Israel mediated through the High Priest at Shiloh and, if kingship was to come, then that system would need to be removed. Samuel’s birth is thus simultaneously the point where kingship begins and the Priestly administration of Eli falls. Although the narrative highlights the failings of Eli and his family (1 Sam. 2.12-36), there is a clear emphasis on the fact that it is Yahweh who will bring them down. The importance of this is evident from the fact that it is announced twice, first through the message of an unnamed man of God (1 Sam. 2.27-36) and then through Samuel’s inaugural message (1 Sam. 3.11-14, 18). It is thus Yahweh who brings kingship and it is Yahweh who removes Eli’s family. This theme is highlighted in Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10) as it particularly emphasizes the reversal of fortunes motif, stressing that it is Yahweh who brings down and exalts and protects his own people. Hannah’s Song thus serves as a prophetic announcement of key themes that run throughout Samuel (cf. Klement, 2000: 112-13), for it is Yahweh who brings down both Eli and Saul while protecting people like Hannah and David. Strikingly, just as there are two announcements of Eli’s downfall, so also there are two narratives in which Saul’s fall is announced

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(1 Sam. 13; 15). The parallel is not absolute, in that Saul’s two announcements represent stages of his rejection, whereas the two announcements of Eli’s fall are essentially parallel to one another. However, the close links between their respective falls are emphasized by the fact that both die on the same day as their sons as a result of conflict with the Philistines, though in neither case do the Philistines strike the fatal blow (1 Sam. 4; 31). Conversely, the Song points (1 Sam. 2.9) to a counter-intuitive reality, which is that power is not the means of prevailing because it is the weak who trust in Yahweh who prevail (Firth 2009: 61). It is this possibility that will be demonstrated in the victory over the Philistines in 1 Sam. 7.2-11 and, more radically still, in David’s defeat of Goliath where David gives voice to these themes in his dialogue with the giant (1 Sam. 17.45-47). In both of these narratives, Israel faces a seemingly insurmountable military challenge, and yet, in both cases, the themes of Hannah’s Song are vindicated. It is on this theme, of Yahweh’s presence with the weak and the significance of that for those who rule, that David reflects further in 2 Samuel 22 and 23.1-7. However, within the structure of the book these reflections are to be interpreted through the prism of the two rebellion narratives following David’s sin with Bathsheba (2 Sam. 11). David, too, must learn the importance of Yahweh’s reign. That kingship is a particular concern of Hannah’s Song is shown by the fact that it not only mentions royalty in general (1 Sam. 2.8); its climax is in the triumphant declaration of 1 Sam. 2.10, that Yahweh shall overcome his foes and exalt his king. At this point there is no king, even though 1 Samuel 1 has alluded to Saul, and there has been no indication in that chapter that there would be a king. Yet, Hannah’s Song concludes by referring to Yahweh’s king, his anointed. This is not the only reference to Yahweh’s anointed as the judgment speech of the man of God against Eli and his family not only announces that they will be deposed, but also that Yahweh will raise a faithful priest who would stand before Yahweh’s anointed (1 Sam. 2.35). It is Yahweh who exalts and deposes, emphasizing Yahweh’s own kingship, but these two texts also indicate that kingship fits within Yahweh’s purposes. We should also note in this context the use of the title ‘Yahweh of Hosts’ (yhwh b’wt) within Samuel. This name first occurs in the Bible in 1 Sam. 1.3 as the name of the deity to whom Elkanah’s family offer their annual sacrifice. Although the origins of the name are disputed (cf. Klein 1983: 7), it is perhaps more important to note its use within the narrative (Firth 2009: 55). We then note that it occurs in three blocks, in 1 Samuel 1–4, 15–17 and 2 Samuel 5–7, and nowhere else in the book. Each block recounts a significant change in the power structures within Israel. Hence, in 1 Samuel 1–4 the name occurs in the narrative of the transition of authority from Eli

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to Samuel. In 1 Samuel 15–17, it occurs as Saul is finally rejected and David shown to be Yahweh’s chosen king, while in 2 Samuel 5–7 it is in the setting of the establishment of the promise to David. Within Samuel the name is thus a key marker of the reign of Yahweh so that all forces are subject to Yahweh. It is Yahweh’s reign that is thus a source of hope for those who read Samuel later, whether against the background of the Assyrian crisis at the end of the eighth century or the exile a little over a century later. Kingship Although Samuel stresses Yahweh’s kingship, it does so within a context in which Israel’s own monarchy emerges, first through Saul and ultimately through David. But kingship in Samuel cannot be an absolute claim to power as all human kings must submit their authority to Yahweh and it is the conflict that inevitably arises between the claims that kings will make for themselves as opposed to Yahweh’s overarching reign that forms the tension the narrative explores. As we have noted, both Hannah’s Song and the message from the man of God anticipate kingship as the model Yahweh would use in Israel. Before we are told of the emergence of monarchy, we have the account of the ark’s capture and return from the Philistines (1 Sam. 4.1b–7.1) and then the defeat of the Philistines (1 Sam. 7.2-11), climaxing in the events at Ebenezer (1 Sam. 7.12). A key function of these narratives is to demonstrate that Yahweh can overcome Israel’s enemies independently of any human king. That being so, the ark is not returned by the Philistines because an Israelite army has defeated them, but because the Philistines themselves need to confirm that it was Yahweh who was attacking their cities (1 Sam. 6.9). Likewise, although Samuel is leading the nation in prayer (1 Sam. 7.5-9), and indeed will be said to have ‘judged Israel’ (1 Sam. 7.15), the Philistines are not defeated by Israelite valour, but by Yahweh’s direct intervention. Indeed, his ‘thundering’ from heaven (1 Sam. 7.10) is exactly what Hannah’s Song has said he will do before it introduces the possibility of kingship (1 Sam. 2.10). So, the opening seven chapters of Samuel set the scene for the emergence of kingship by noting that monarchy is the direction in which Yahweh is moving the nation, but at the same time monarchy is not something that is needed if Israel is to win battles. Kingship will need to have a different function. It is from this context that the narrative explicitly begins to recount the origins of monarchy in Israel in 1 Samuel 8–12. In that the two earlier references to kingship spoke of Yahweh’s anointed, it might be expected that the move to monarchy would be initiated by Yahweh. But instead, it comes from a request by the elders who had seen that Samuel’s sons were no more reliable than Eli’s and so asked for a king ‘like all the nations’ (1 Sam.

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8.1-5). Although Samuel was displeased by this, he was directed by Yahweh to give them a king, even though their request was a rejection of Yahweh’s reign (1 Sam. 8.6-9). The attitude of both Samuel and Yahweh towards this request is clearly negative and, although Yahweh still agrees to appoint a king, he first requires Samuel to warn them about the ways of a king (1 Sam. 8.10-18). The people’s response to this is to reaffirm their request for a king, adding the additional role of leading them in battle (1 Sam. 8.19-20), even though the two previous narratives have shown that Yahweh will do this for them without a king. This chapter is crucial for understanding the attitude of the book of Samuel (as opposed to the prophet Samuel) to kingship. Noting how negative 1 Samuel 8 is to kingship and that 1 Samuel 10.17-27 and 1 Samuel 12 are also critical of kingship, whereas 1 Sam. 9.1-10.16 and 1 Samuel 11 are more positive has led to a widespread view that 1 Samuel 8–12 are made up of two sources, one pro-monarchy and the other anti-monarchy (for an overview, see Birch 1976: 21-29). But this approach greatly oversimplifies the problem because there are certainly elements in the supposedly pro-monarchic sections that are at least critical of Saul—for example, in 1 Samuel 9, as Saul goes looking for some lost donkeys and finds instead a kingdom, it is clear that his servant is much more capable than he is (cf. Garsiel 1983: 84). And, curiously, in this passage Saul is not anointed as king, but as ngyd, a word which is difficult to render in English, but covers tribal, royal, military and priestly leadership (NIDOTTE 3: 20). Similarly, although in 1 Samuel 11 Saul successfully delivers Jabesh-gilead, the allusions within that story to earlier ones in Judges may suggest a critical perspective. Conversely, as Gerbrandt (1986: 143) has shown, the supposedly antimonarchic sections have elements which appear to be in favour of a king. For example, in 1 Sam. 10.17-24, it is Yahweh who chooses the king, while in 1 Samuel 12 the king is Yahweh’s anointed. So, the division into pro- and anti-monarchic sources does not fully engage with the material and tends to read the material through the perspective of the characters within it, while also assigning different portions of the text to the Deuteronomist. But as Eslinger (1983) has argued, the narrator’s own voice through these chapters is not found in any one of these characters so much as the juxtaposition of them. So, although Samuel himself is opposed to kingship in 1 Samuel 8 and Yahweh is opposed to the particular model requested, it does not necessarily follow that the text is opposed to monarchy (cf. Eslinger 1985: 259-62). Rather, it is more probable that it records something of the range of opinions that its rise generated. Accordingly, we need to read the whole of 1 Samuel 8-12 to appreciate the pattern of kingship it develops. Read against the background of 1 Sam. 4.1–7.1 it is possible to see the flaws in the elders’ request. They do

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not need a king to win battles. In addition, although the language of ‘a king like all the nations’ is rooted in Deuteronomy 17.14, there is a small twist in how it is developed. The role of the king in Deuteronomy is quite limited, but the king requested here is expressly ‘to judge us like all the nations’. But the idea of ‘judging’ (as a military figure) is foreign to Deuteronomy. There is, indeed, an ambiguity in ‘a king like all the nations’. In Deuteronomy it refers to an office that is filled, but which is interpreted in a quite radical way. But, in the elders’ request, it is a position that in its function is patterned on the nations around Israel. Although there was no one model of kingship, none of them reflected the pattern of Deuteronomy. Samuel himself is probably opposed to kingship as such, but this is not the same as saying the text presents Yahweh as rejecting it. Rather, through the narrative of Saul’s rise, we are gradually brought to an understanding of Yahweh’s model and this is not that of the elders in their request. We should also note that in 1 Sam. 11.14-15 Samuel summons the people to renew the kingdom and this renewal takes place through Samuel’s speech and the people’s response to it in 1 Samuel 12. The implication would appear to be that the model on which the kingdom is structured is not yet that which Yahweh desires, so that, in effect, 1 Samuel 12 becomes a sort of miniature constitution, though Samuel had previously written up the rights and duties of kingship in 1 Sam. 10.25. So, 1 Samuel 12 lays out the ways in which kingship can work in Israel. It is perhaps an extension of the statement in 1 Sam. 9.17 that a key task for the king is to ‘restrain’ the people (on this translation, see Firth 2009: 119), though what that might mean is not explained there. It is an extended speech from Samuel, though, unlike earlier speeches from Moses and Joshua, it is not really a farewell speech, since his own death is not recorded until 1 Sam. 25.1. The text draws on courtroom language as Samuel protests his own innocence (though carefully sidestepping the failures of his sons!) before insisting that Yahweh was a witness to their actions (1 Sam. 12.1-6). The action of asking for a king is placed within a pattern of sin that can be traced back to the exodus, but a way forward is offered in vv. 13-15. Samuel asserts that Yahweh has given Israel the king they wanted, but the only way forward is for both king and people to submit to Yahweh. It is clear, therefore, that the king Israel is to have cannot operate on the pattern requested by the elders. Although Samuel’s speech does not refer directly to the law of the king in Deut. 17.14-20, it certainly makes sense against that background. A way forward for Saul to succeed as king is thus offered and, though he will fail, it does not mean he is destined to fail from the outset (against Gunn 1980: 65). Samuel as a whole is perhaps anti-Saul rather than antimonarchic, but David is also expected to operate on the pattern established here.

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Prophetic Authority If Deut. 17.14-20 provides a principal background to the origins of kingship as it is presented in Samuel, then there is one rather surprising omission. In Deuteronomy, the central task of the king is to make a copy of the Torah (presumably Deuteronomy, or at least something like it) so he might read it continually. McConville (1982: 295) has argued that this shows that the primacy of Torah is crucial to the kingship law. Yet, although Samuel records the rights and duties of kingship (1 Sam. 10.25), there is no evidence of either Saul or David making their own copy of the Torah and, the way their reigns are described, there is not too much opportunity for them to spend time reading it. But the point of that law is that the king might know the will of Yahweh and thus be submitted to him, and so not exalt himself above his people either. Although Samuel does not record either king as spending time reading Torah, there is a clear concern that the king not be exalted above the people, though this concern is expressed through the various prophetic figures that populate the book. In particular, it is primarily through prophets that Yahweh’s will is made known, though guidance on particular points can be given through Urim and Thummim (1 Sam. 14.42—though on this text, cf. Firth, 2009: 161). We have noted previously the important prophetic role assigned to Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10), but, since its function is to establish the central themes for the book, rather than demonstrate how Yahweh’s reign is manifest through prophets, we do not need to consider it in detail here. However, we can note that some of its themes are of importance for the role of prophets, especially the warnings against arrogant speech (1 Sam. 2.3), its stress on the reversal of fortunes motif (1 Sam. 2.4-7) and the assurance that Yahweh would act in justice (1 Sam. 2.10). David’s final words (2 Sam. 23.1-7) are presented as a prophetic utterance and they echo these themes in their advice to rulers. However, although these two passages are presented as prophetic in their form, neither Hannah nor David is ever given a label that is typical of a prophet (seer, man of God or prophet – note especially 1 Sam. 9.9 – though, in fact, there are two different Hebrew words translated ‘seer’, only one of which occurs here). They are thus distinguished from other figures who are prophets, though, there is, perhaps, some fluidity in what might be considered as prophetic. Although we have noted that kings stand under Yahweh’s authority through prophets, it is actually more exact to note that all leadership operates on these terms. Thus, when Samuel commences, leadership is located with the High Priest Eli and his sons at the sanctuary at Shiloh. But we quickly learn that Eli’s leadership will not last, fulfilling the reversal of fortunes motif. First, an unnamed man of God announces the fall of the family

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(1 Sam. 2.27-36) and this is then confirmed in Samuel’s inaugural message (1 Sam. 3.11-14), a message that confirms to all that Samuel was established as an authentic prophet of Yahweh (1 Sam. 3.20). So, although neither the man of God nor Samuel is mentioned within 1 Sam. 4.1b–7.1, the threat of their messages hangs heavily over the whole of the story of the ark’s sojourn among the Philistines and eventual return. In particular, the fall of the house of Eli is given particular prominence, though of course it is a narrative about a good deal more than just the fulfilment of a prophetic message. The origins of the monarchy are, likewise, rooted in the activity of prophets, though we also see here the limitations of prophets. Although Samuel emphasizes the important role played by prophets, it does not see any particular prophet as something absolutely good and a prophet is valued only to the extent that the prophet is faithful to Yahweh’s purposes. In Samuel’s case there is a hint of criticism in 1 Sam. 8.1-3 where he is reported as appointing his sons to be judges in Beersheba where they proved to be as corrupt as Eli’s sons. It is their abuse of power that triggered the request of the elders for a king. Moreover, in Samuel’s apology in 1 Sam. 12.1-5, he notes the presence of his sons, but only makes the point that he has not abused his position, carefully avoiding mention of their actions. Samuel is thus presented as being as blind to his sons’ failures as Eli before him. As we have noted, Samuel himself is presented as opposed to monarchy, though Yahweh appears prepared to work with it. To the extent that Samuel announces Yahweh’s message, this does not undercut the significance of his ministry, but it does show that the book does not automatically regard everything a prophet says or does as authoritative. In 1 Sam. 16.1-13, Samuel is presented as nervous about following Yahweh’s command to anoint a son of Jesse and is, initially, willing to anoint the wrong man as he is impressed by Eliab’s appearance, rather than considering the heart, so Yahweh’s directive to him acts as a mild rebuke. Likewise, in 2 Sam. 7.3, Nathan’s initial toadying response to David’s desire to build a temple for the ark has to be completely reversed by Yahweh (2 Sam. 7.4-16). So, although Samuel is positive about prophets and views them as authentic mouthpieces for Yahweh, prophets themselves can still be fundamentally flawed. Prophets have authority only to the extent that they faithfully represent Yahweh to the nation. But even allowing for the limitations on prophets, they are still a principal means by which Yahweh’s authority is presented to both people and leader. The account of Saul’s rise is thus shaped by Samuel’s prophetic activity as the one directed by Yahweh to provide a king (1 Sam. 8.22). He is the one who anoints Saul in response to a word from Yahweh and announces the signs that will confirm this (1 Sam. 9.15–10.9) and through whom Saul is elected (1 Sam. 10.17-25). It is also notable that the key sign

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for Saul is that he would encounter a prophetic band and also ‘prophesy’, though in this case this is probably a form of ecstasy (1 Sam. 10.5-13, cf. 1 Sam. 19.20-24; Firth 2011: 294-305). After Saul has delivered Jabeshgilead, it is then Samuel who summons the nation to renew the kingdom at Gilgal (1 Sam. 11.14-15) and who then announces the means by which nation and king can prosper in this new social structure (1 Sam. 12). The level and extent of prophetic activity is higher in these chapters than any other in the book, emphasizing the importance of prophets for Israel’s kings. Saul and David can only succeed as king when they recognize the authority of legitimate prophetic messages. It is no surprise, then, that Saul’s rejection as king comes about as he fails to accede to the prophetic message, first concerning his attack on a Philistine garrison (1 Sam. 13.8-14) and then in his failure to devote the Amalekites to destruction (1 Sam. 15). As king, Saul must accept Yahweh’s authority and that comes through a prophet. Samuel himself appears somewhat testy in these chapters and is certainly never entirely at ease with the idea of Saul as king, but from the perspective of the text this does not devalue his message to Saul. More curiously, even his post-mortem message to Saul (1 Sam. 28.15-19) continues to have authority, this time announcing not only his fall from monarchy, but more particularly his death, a death which mirrors that of Eli, as both die on the one day with their sons as a result of a battle with the Philistines. There is thus a close parallel between Samuel’s inaugural and post-mortem messages. Although the book (and Samuel himself) seems more positive about David, it is notable that he too is subject to prophetic authority. David is particularly associated with two prophetic figures apart from Samuel. Apart from anointing him, Samuel himself has comparatively little to do with David, though he did offer him shelter when he fled from Saul (1 Sam. 19.18-24). First, Gad is with David early in his time as an outlaw on the run from Saul (1 Sam. 22.5), though he is able to direct David. He plays a more prominent role in the plague narrative of 2 Sam. 24.11-25 where he initially offers David his choice of punishment following the sin of the census and then tells him to build an altar on the threshing floor of Araunah the Jebusite. David’s better known prophetic association is with Nathan who recounts to him the promise of 2 Sam. 7.4-16 and also announces the punishment on David after his adultery with Bathsheba and murder of Uriah the Hittite (2 Sam. 12.1-15a). David is certainly not presented as a virtuous figure in these accounts, but the narrative carefully distinguishes him from Saul (and Eli before him) in that he accepts the authority of the prophet’s message and works within the framework it establishes. By contrast, in 1 Samuel 13–15, Saul is portrayed as not only failing to carry out what Samuel has announced, but also as attempting to justify his actions. For all his failings, Samuel presents David as understanding the terms of 1

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Samuel 12 and, for this reason, legitimizes him as the king who understands that Yahweh’s authority, through his prophet, exceeds his own. David, the Chosen King For 1–2 Samuel, David is Yahweh’s chosen king and, even though there is an extended period in which both David and Saul can claim to be Yahweh’s anointed (1 Sam. 16–31), there is never any doubt that David will ultimately triumph. The narrative is careful to show that David’s reign is legitimate because he is Yahweh’s chosen one. This is something that Saul’s son Jonathan recognizes as he continually makes covenants with David (1 Sam. 18.1-4; 20.12-17; 23.16-18, cf. Wozniak, 1983), while it is also partially why Abigail can dissuade David from killing Nabal (1 Sam. 25.30-31). That David is the chosen king is, ultimately, acknowledged even by Saul himself, first ironically (1 Sam. 20.30-31) then more soberly after David did not kill him in the cave (1 Sam. 24.17-21) and, eventually, in acknowledging his folly in pursuing David (1 Sam. 26.21). That David accepts this, to some extent, is apparent when he returned Saul’s spear to him. Indeed, Saul’s spear is a recurring motif across the long rivalry narrative, though he is apparently a pretty poor shot with it because he never succeeds in hitting anyone with it (1 Sam. 18.10-11; 19.9-10; 20.33). But this does not mean that David finally trusts Saul because he then left to live in Philistine territory. None of this is meant to present David as an exemplary figure, for although his encounter with Abigail apparently finally proves to him that he must leave the transfer of the kingdom to Yahweh (1 Sam. 26.9-11), there are numerous points where David is duplicitous and this certainly continues while he is among the Philistines (1 Sam. 27.1–28.2). It is as a result of his actions among the Philistines that it seems he is going to fight against Israel in the battle that will lead to Saul’s death, only for the other Philistine leaders to insist he be removed. The whole of 1 Samuel 27–2 Samuel 1 is thus careful to demonstrate that David was in no way active in Saul’s death and that, indeed, he was in the far south defeating some Amalekites, the very people Saul had been meant to devote to destruction (cf. Firth 2007). David’s speech in 1 Sam. 26.9-12 thus becomes a text which is demonstrated in the accession narrative that runs through to his lament over Saul and Jonathan (2 Sam. 1.17-27)—David can never seize the throne, he can only wait for Yahweh to deliver it to him. One might think that following Saul’s death, David would simply accede to the throne, but this move is complicated by Saul’s commander Abner establishing Ish-bosheth as king in the trans-Jordanian town of Mahanaim. By contrast, David was able to claim the throne of Judah after going to

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Hebron. However, the short rivalry narrative never grants Ish-bosheth the level of legitimacy previously given to Saul because he was never anointed by a prophetic figure on behalf of Yahweh. Nevertheless, David did not attack him directly, though he was prepared to negotiate with Abner when he offered to come across to him (2 Sam. 3.12-21). Strikingly, in his meeting with David, Abner claims that Yahweh had promised he would deliver Israel from the Philistines through David (2 Sam. 3.18). However, Abner is murdered by David’s commander Joab, because of an earlier conflict in which Joab had killed his brother Asahel (2 Sam. 2.18-23), before he could act on this promise. But Ish-bosheth’s weakness was obvious and in the end he was murdered by two of his own troops (2 Sam. 4.5-7), though when they brought the news to David, he had them executed for regicide. The narrative is thus careful throughout to show that David has not claimed the throne, but rather even his enemies eventually realize he is Yahweh’s chosen king. All this comes to its logical conclusion when David is anointed as king of Israel and Judah (2 Sam. 5.1-5). Again, the explicit claim is made that David is Yahweh’s chosen king (2 Sam. 5.2), so that the covenant he then makes is for both kingdoms (2 Sam. 5.3). However, David is then based in Hebron, in the far south of Israel, and he was clearly aware that it was difficult to govern the whole country from there. Accordingly, 2 Sam. 5.6-16 recounts David’s capture and subsequent development of Jerusalem and, in particular, the stronghold that he renamed ‘the City of David’. Its capture was not only important as the removal of a Jebusite fortress, it also meant that there was a royal city which sat more or less on the border of Israel and Judah, but which did not belong to either group. Capturing it was both a political and military masterstroke, though the text emphasizes that David achieved this because of Yahweh’s presence with him (2 Sam. 5.10, 12). This overview of texts referring to David as Yahweh’s chosen king helps to place the promise to David in 2 Samuel 7 in its proper context. Although this chapter is often treated as something that is virtually an independent unit, it is actually an integral part of the whole narrative movement of Samuel (cf. Avioz 2005: 51-68). Although it is valid to study its redactional history (e.g. Kasari 2009), we must also understand it within the framework of the book. Recognizing the extent to which earlier passages in Samuel have prepared us for the promise is an important corrective to approaches that have emphasized its role within the Deuteronomistic History to the detriment of studying it within its own contexts. Conversely, it also suggests that close readings that focus on only relatively small portions of Samuel (e.g. Eslinger 1994, Murray 1998) may distort the text by failing to see its connections with the rest of Samuel. Thus, although David’s proposal to build a temple is a typical royal act (Carlson 1964: 98-99), it is rejected because

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Yahweh is showing him that only Yahweh can initiate this. Nevertheless, the promise is not something David has to wrest from Yahweh since it emerges from the earlier narrative. Whereas Saul had initially lost the possibility of a dynasty (1 Sam. 13.13-14), it is a dynasty that is promised to David (2 Sam. 7.11b-16), a promise that within Samuel is demonstrated initially in the record of David’s victories in 2 Sam. 8.1-14. It is possible that these were historically earlier than the promise itself, but by placing them after the promise they become immediate evidence of David’s status. This promise then becomes crucial for the rest of Samuel and, arguably, for Kings as well. Reflection on it occurs at several points in Samuel and, in that Samuel does reflect on it in this way, demonstrates that the promise continues in spite of David’s manifest failings (cf. 1 Kgs 15.4). Initially this reflection occurs in 2 Sam. 12.7-10 when Nathan assures David of perpetual violence within his house as a result of him killing Uriah and taking Bathsheba, something worked out in the two rebellion narratives. But the keyword here is ‘house’, since it is the same word as that used for both the temple and the Davidic dynasty in 2 Samuel 7, though in fact there is an extensive range of parallels between the passages (Avioz 2005: 60). David, it seems, is portrayed as placing the promise at risk, though his acceptance of the announced punishment seems to indicate that there will be no escalation in it. It would then seem that the next direct reference to the promise, in 2 Sam. 23.1-7 where it is first called a covenant (2 Sam. 23.5), reflects on the promise in light of David having been punished, so that David’s house stands in a right relationship with Yahweh, even if David himself might not. But, by recording David’s punishment, the narrative makes clear that David himself has been fully punished for his sin so that the promise continues. For all his faults, kingship is the model that Yahweh will use and David is the one Yahweh chooses to work with. This point is fundamental to Samuel as it is thus able to suggest to future generations that, though far from perfect in experience, the Davidic monarchy continued to be vital to Yahweh’s purposes.

6 CHRONOLOGY AS A LITERARY FEATURE OF SAMUEL

In considering the composition, structure and themes of Samuel, we have mentioned at a number of points that it employs a range of sophisticated narrative features. It is to a consideration of these that we now turn, though, in doing so, we shall bypass discussion of the features that are typical of narrative literature in the Old Testament, since these are addressed in detail elsewhere (e.g. Alter 1980; Sternberg, 1985). Rather, we shall focus on certain features that are developed in a distinctive way within Samuel, drawing principally on the theory of narrative developed by Gérard Genette (1980). His approach provides us with a range of analytical tools, which are controlled by the content of the text and which go beyond those typically outlined in studies of narrative in the Hebrew Bible, though we shall avoid much of his technical language in order to make this more accessible. The features explored here are not necessarily unique to Samuel, but they are developed in a consistent manner across it. However, rather than surveying these techniques across the text as a whole, we shall focus on particular examples as soundings in the literary features of the book, with a particular focus on how Samuel works with chronology. Chronology is a crucial element for us to follow and understand a narrative. If we are unable to place elements in a narrative in their place relative to other elements then understanding that narrative becomes very difficult. However, we need to make a distinction between the importance of chronology within a particular narrative (such as Samuel anointing David in 1 Sam. 16.1-13) and the chronological relationship of narratives that make up a larger narrative block. This is because it is possible that, though the internal chronology is coherent, we may be unable to relate them chronologically to one another. In those cases, it may be that no chronological information is provided because it is unnecessary to the interpretation of the narrative. For example, we cannot place the events in 2 Samuel 24 in relation to many other narratives in 2 Samuel. It has to be after David has captured Jerusalem, but is this story set chronologically before or after David’s sin in 2 Samuel 11? We are simply not presented with sufficient information to

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judge. What matters in this case is only that it is recounted to us after the rebellion narratives have shown that David has been punished for his sin. So, each of these narratives has its own internal chronology, but the relationship between the different narratives can work differently (cf. Genette 1980: 86-99). Broadly speaking, we can suggest that narratives can relate to one another chronologically, achronologically or dischronologically. That is, the different narrative elements that make up the book can relate to one another as successive events, as events without any chronological relationship or with their chronology deliberately reported out of sequence, but with some hints as to the actual chronology. Beyond this, we should note that the internal chronology of a narrative episode can develop in either a linear or non-linear form—that is, its events can be recounted in the order in which they happened, but a narrator might choose to recount them in a different order (cf. Genette 1980: 33-85). Samuel employs a sophisticated understanding of chronology as it draws on these possibilities in constructing its narrative world. We therefore need to consider how Samuel tells its stories because exploring how a story is told is a vital element in understanding what it is striving to communicate.

Chronology within a Narrative A Linear Narrative – 1 Samuel 1.1-2.10 If we begin with internal narrative dynamics, we can consider the use of linear and non-linear chronology. The simplest way to tell a story is to start at the beginning and then recount the elements which make it up in the sequence in which they occurred. In this way, the real world and the story world match up to one another. Samuel does narrate some of its stories this way, though it will often do so in ways that play with the process. We can consider, as an example, Samuel’s birth story (1 Sam. 1). Here, the narrative moves through the main events in order, starting with Hannah’s arrival at the sanctuary with her family before recounting her time of prayer in the temple and Eli’s blessing before she returned to her home. Then we are told that Yahweh remembered her (1 Sam. 1.19b-20) and she conceived and gave birth to a son whom she named Samuel. Finally, in fulfilment of her earlier vow, Hannah returned to the temple where she left Samuel as one dedicated to Yahweh. Read this way, it is clear that the story is narrated so that it follows events as they would have happened. But the narrative also plays with its chronology along the way in terms of its frequency and the speed at which it passes. In terms of frequency, an event might be narrated only once or it might be repeated a number of times (Genette 1980: 113-14). So, it is

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clear as we read 1 Sam. 1.3-8 that we are encountering a pattern of family worship that happened annually, so that both the sacrifices and the conflict between Hannah and Peninah were part of a longer term pattern, as also was Elkanah’s habit of giving Hannah a special portion because of Yahweh closing her womb. But, although no shift in perspective is formally marked, in 1 Sam. 1.8 we move from a repetitive situation to something that is singular. That is, Elkanah’s rather condescending attempt to comfort Hannah is no longer part of a repeating pattern, but rather now represents the first point where we are presented with the singular events associated with Hannah praying for a son. This is clear from the fact that the events in the temple (1 Sam. 1.9-18) are clearly singular. However, we then move to another mixture of frequency (1 Sam. 1.21-23) where the repeating routine of the family’s visits to the temple is mixed with specific comments passed between Hannah and Elkanah about when Hannah would return to the temple. As the chapter concludes (1 Sam. 1.24-28), we return to a singular event as Hannah takes Samuel to the temple and dedicates him before reporting her prayer (1 Sam. 2.1-10). The move between singular and repeating events also enables the narrator to play with the rate at which time passes within the narrative, passing over periods of several years quite quickly through repeating elements (1 Sam. 1.3-7, 21-23) in order to focus on the singular events (1 Sam. 1. 8-18, 24-28) in which narrated time passes much more slowly. But this is not a uniform approach, so, although the conception, birth and naming of Samuel are all singular events the narrative does not linger over them in the same way. Noting that the narrative’s chronology is presented in this way makes an important contribution to understanding the central theological themes that it develops. In particular, it is notable that the changes from repeating to singular events serve to highlight the dialogue that occurs within the chapter. Thus, the change from repeating to singular event at 1 Sam. 1.8 places a particular focus on Elkanah’s words to Hannah. These words direct us as readers in two directions. First, since their meaning depends upon the repeating events previously noted, we are forced back to the description of those events and especially the narrator’s comment that it was Yahweh who had closed Hannah’s womb. In directing us to look back, they also contribute to Elkanah’s characterization within the narrative as someone who, though well meaning, is not really aware of the significance of what is happening around him. It is, effectively, the point at which we discover that Elkanah is not to be a major figure in the narrative, even though his introduction (1 Sam. 1.1-2) is designed to make us think he might be. But second, these words lead us as readers to go forward in the narrative because we know from the repeating events that Elkanah’s words are insufficient.

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In a world where a woman’s worth was largely measured by the number of children and, especially, sons she bore, Elkanah could not be worth ten sons to Hannah (cf. Amit 1994). But once we move forward into the account of Hannah in the temple, we again note that there are variations in the rate of the chronology, again using the variation of repeating events with singular events in order to highlight the dialogue. Thus, we are initially presented with a mixture of repeating events and a singular event as Eli is sitting at the door and Hannah weeps and prays (1 Sam. 1.9-10). Both events are clearly of some duration, though of course we cannot know how long. But we then focus on a singular event as we record Hannah’s request for a son and associated vow (1 Sam. 1.11). There is a text-critical question here as to whether or not the vow specifically indicates that son will be a Nazirite, but this does not affect the point of the narrative structure as, once again, the shift highlights the dialogue and thus the theological issue at the heart of Hannah’s complaint. It is Yahweh who has closed her womb and, therefore, it is Yahweh who must open it. As the scene continues, we return to repeating action as Hannah continues to pray now, specifically, watched by Eli. Again, no specific duration for this is mentioned, but it is made clear that it happened over some time, before we then have the longest singular event of the chapter, as Hannah encounters Eli and, proving that she was not drunk, at least extracts a blessing from him (1 Sam. 1.14-18a), before the narrative returns to repeating action (1 Sam. 1.18b). Again, this strategy places a particular focus on the dialogue between Hannah and Eli, providing the narrative with a means to characterize Eli as a somewhat obtuse priest who cannot distinguish between drunkenness and passionate prayer, but also putting the focus on the central theological issues being developed. The following section is also unusual within this chapter as it represents a series of singular events (1 Sam. 1.19-20). This is distinct in that previously each singular event was highlighted by placing it in a series of repeating events, whereas this time each event is narrated in sequence with no repeat mentioned. This change in strategy marks out this section, but again it is done to highlight the central theological concerns. There are four distinct actions, but though only mentioned three times, Yahweh plays a central role in each because of their sequential nature. However, Yahweh’s role is represented differently in each, enabling an escalation in our awareness of his part. Thus, that the family worshipped before Yahweh is reported simply as part of the narrative. But that Hannah was able to conceive is reported by the narrator as an act in which Yahweh remembers Hannah and grants her a son, an act that quite precisely matches Hannah’s earlier prayer (1 Sam. 1.11) and thus Eli’s blessing. The narrator is thus able to demonstrate the precise answering of Hannah’s prayer, which is then emphasized by the one

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piece of dialogue in the section as Hannah affirms Yahweh’s involvement as she names her son Samuel. The final section of the chapter (1 Sam. 1.21-28) again mixes singular and repeating events. However, whereas the opening section had moved from repeating events to singular, this one moves from singular to repeating before coming back once again to singular. Thus, it opens with a particular example of a repeating event, as Elkanah went, once again, to go to the temple for the annual sacrifice, but with Hannah choosing to remain at home. Again, this has the function of putting focus on the dialogue, as Hannah stresses that Samuel would one day dwell in Yahweh’s presence in fulfilment of her vow, while Elkanah expresses a wish that Yahweh might fulfil his word. There are some difficulties here in that Elkanah is reported as wanting to fulfil his vow when we have no record of him doing so, unless we are to understand him as having taken on Hannah’s vow (similarly Hertzberg 1964: 28), and, likewise, we have no record of any word from Yahweh, unless it alludes back to Eli’s blessing. However, the emphasis placed on the dialogue again emphasizes Yahweh’s involvement in events. Beyond this, there is a blurring here between singular events and repeating ones that reverses the opening of the chapter, as this one moment becomes the pattern that is followed until Samuel is weaned, perhaps at about three years of age (cf. 2 Macc. 7.27), before returning to a singular event where Samuel was brought to the temple (1 Sam. 1.24b-28). Once again, the focus of the event is placed on dialogue, in which Hannah recounts her summary of what happened to Eli before announcing that Samuel was dedicated to Yahweh, thus fulfilling the vow, which is demonstrated as Samuel worships Yahweh. The structure of the chapter, and particularly the rate at which it allows chronology to move, is thus marked by a consistent process whereby the changes between singular and repeating events always bring our focus onto Yahweh’s involvement. This is principally done by recording comments by the characters in the narrative, though it can also be done by direct narrative comment. However, the focus on dialogue that emerges through the chapter is also important as it prepares us for Hannah’s Song (1 Sam. 2.1-10). Human speech at singular moments has been the principal means by which reflection on Yahweh’s work has taken place and it is notable that the amount of dialogue increases as we progress through 1 Samuel 1. Hannah’s Song is then an outburst of speech that not only reflects on the events to date, it becomes a prophetic word that comments on the whole of the book of Samuel. As an extended poem, it is clearly marked out from everything that has gone before as a distinctive example of human speech, but it is also presented as the climax of the dialogue that has built throughout. In what is a straightforwardly linear narrative, in which the passing of time within the narrative matches the world it describes, chronology still plays an important

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role in both emphasizing the central theological themes developed and also pointing beyond them in the way it builds to Hannah’s Song. Examples of Non-Linearity Not all linear narratives are developed in the same way as 1 Sam. 1.1–2.10, but the principle of attending to how the narrative deals with chronology is an important one, even when the order of the narrative and the order in which it is recounted are the same. This is by far the most common method of narration in Samuel, but there are points where it breaks from this pattern and does not recount the events in their chronological sequence, thus creating a non-linear narrative. Where these occur they are principally small deviations from the linear pattern, but given the importance of chronology and order in Samuel, it is not surprising that we need to attend to these when they occur. Rather than exploring a complete narrative, we shall simply note the points where these changes occur in some sample passages. A notable example occurs at 1 Sam. 9.15-17, a text found in the narrative of how Saul’s father lost some donkeys which he sent Saul and a servant off to find, though he found a kingdom instead. As it happens, Saul is not very good at finding the donkeys (cf. Cohen, 1994, on what this suggests about Saul’s characterization), but his servant is at least clever enough to know of Samuel’s existence and suggest that they should enquire of the well-known seer there and for whom they receive directions as they reach the city (1 Sam. 9.3-14). All of this is presented in a straightforwardly linear pattern, though there is a narrative aside included (1 Sam. 9.9), climaxing in them seeing Samuel coming to meet them on their way to the high place. We thus expect them to approach Samuel and ask for information about the missing donkeys, but, instead, the chronological sequence is deliberately broken at 9:15 to offer a flashback to the previous day, reporting an earlier word from Yahweh to Samuel. By doing this, the narrator breaks the sequence of events and delays the encounter between Saul and Samuel in order to provide readers with information that is vital for understanding the events which are about to transpire. The chronological break means that this additional information receives particular prominence, suddenly making clear that the loss of the donkeys was not simply a random event, but rather clear evidence of divine providence (Deist 1992). Moreover, that the flashback focuses on a message from Yahweh, which is now recounted, gives that message prominence, which it might not otherwise have had, as it introduces the concept of anointing for the first time since 1 Sam. 2.10, 35, though it (9.16) speaks of a ngyd (a leader), rather than a king as we might have expected from 1 Sam. 8.22. But it also emphasizes something specific about this royal leader, which is that he would save his people from the Philistines,

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thus also providing a key test against which to measure Saul’s effectiveness. The move to a non-linear pattern of narration is thus a crucial mechanism within the narrative for the introduction of key interpretative information, placing it in a prominent position while also generating an intriguing perspective on Saul’s search. The balance of this narrative then reverts to a linear account so that no other information receives such prominence. This is so, even though the account of the meal (1 Sam. 9.22-24) needs to refer to instructions Samuel had given the cook the previous day, because it does so by having Samuel refer to this in his speech to the cook at the feast. There is within this narrative only one break in chronology and there can be no others because of the narrative prominence it thus receives. Another example of non-linear narration occurs in 1 Sam. 26.12. Here, David had entered Saul’s camp at night and, having refused Abishai’s offer to kill Saul in order to be technically guiltless in his death, took Saul’s spear and water jug away. At this point, we have a direct comment by the narrator that explains Yahweh’s actions in causing a deep sleep to fall on everyone in the camp, enabling David and Abishai both to enter the camp and to leave. In effect, the narrator pauses within a linear sequence to offer a flashback, which covers everything up to that point, since a natural question that otherwise arises is how they could have got past the guards and reached Saul, had the conversation about killing him and then left. But by introducing this comment, the narrator is able both to explain events up to this point and also to reaffirm the key point of Yahweh’s presence with David, a presence which then shapes the subsequent dialogue between David and Saul as they call to each other across the valley. Again, it is the move to break the linear sequence that enables the narrative to emphasize its central theological themes. Chronology across Narratives As well as adopting different approaches to chronology within a particular narrative, it is also possible to play with chronology across narrative sections. This is possible because, although Samuel tells an overall story, it also recounts a number of episodes within it. But the chronological relationship of the narratives is such that we cannot assume that, simply because one episode is recounted after another, that one therefore follows the other. Just as we have seen that the order of events within a narrative does not have to follow a linear structure, so also the various episodes may be presented non-linearly. However, just as the chronological variations within a given narrative function to emphasize certain theological themes, so the chronological variations across the episodes serve both to emphasize key theological themes and also to mark out the structure of the book. Nevertheless, the

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majority of episodes are in their chronological sequence, so again it is the points where the chronology is varied that receive the most emphasis. Achronologized Narration Achronological narration is not particularly common within Samuel as it requires two (or more) episodes to have no chronological relationship— basically, each has to be completely free-standing and lack any means of relating it chronologically to the other episodes. As Samuel tells the story of the emergence of the kingdom of Israel and Judah, it does not have any particular interest in achronological narration. However, some narratives do tend towards achronology, though as we shall note, dischronology is a more important technique in Samuel. We might consider the accounts about David’s mighty men in 2 Sam. 23.8-23. These form part of a larger listing of David’s elite soldiers and, for the most important of these soldiers, a citation for a particular exploit is recorded. It is not possible to determine when all of these stories happened relative to the main narrative because, for the most part, no information is provided. The one obvious exception is the account of the three men who broke through to obtain some water for David from the well at Bethlehem, since we are told he was in the cave at Adullam (2 Sam. 23.13), which suggests that this happened in his period in the Judean wilderness (cf. 1 Sam. 22.1), but we cannot be more precise about this. Since many of these citations deal with the Philistines, they are probably from earlier in David’s reign, but we cannot say more than this because the chronological information is withheld. Given that such narration is rare in the Old Testament anyway, why might it be included here? The answer is that it must still serve the theological and historical concerns of the overall narrative and, in particular, the fact that the Samuel Conclusion aims to provide a revised understanding of David. Instead of valorizing him, it stresses, both here and in 2 Sam. 21.15-22, that David’s achievements not only happened because of the presence of Yahweh (a theme also notable in these citations), but also through his loyal servants. We do not need to know exactly when these events happened, so much as to realize that this was typical of the whole of David’s reign. By including these citations, we are asked to read David’s story once again and to do so especially against the background of Hannah’s Song which seems particularly important here (Firth 2009: 538-39). Dischronologized Narrative Where an achronological narrative leaves no obvious chronological connections, a dischronologized one retains those connections, but deliberately

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presents the material out of its chronological sequence. Again, the reason for doing so is to emphasize certain elements within the narrative, though, in the case of dischronologization, it is important that readers still be able to recognize the chronological connections between the episodes. Even though the overall narrative is relatively linear, dischronologized narrative is still fairly common in Samuel. As an initial example, we might consider 1 Samuel 27–2 Samuel 1, David’s accession narrative (Firth 2007). This section is marked off from the text around it in that it employs serial narration, where each episode builds into the next one (technically known as ‘hypotactic narration’), whereas those that preceded it were each discrete episodes (‘paratactic narration’), while David’s lament over Saul and Jonathan (2 Sam. 1.17-27) represents a clear end to it. Nevertheless, it clearly contains a number of distinct episodes within it and, as such, is clearly distinct from the examples of non-linear narration we considered above. The episodes are broadly the same as the chapter divisions save that the opening episode (David with Achish) runs from 1 Sam. 27.1–28.2, so the account of Saul and the spirit-mistress at Endor starts at 1 Sam. 28.3. It is also notable that, in this instance, we have a bifurcated narrative, which follows the experiences of David and Saul in parallel, synchronizing (cf. Fokkelman 1986: 594, Bergen 1996: 285) and cross-referencing them to each other through tiling (Ska 1990: 10-11), a process where one episode’s conclusion overlays the start of the next. We thus follow each of them through the narrative flow, but track one in relation to the other. One possibility that hypotactic narration generates is to leave an episode with a key point unresolved (a ‘cliff-hanger’) and this is skilfully exploited through these chapters. Thus, the first episode closes (1 Sam. 28.1-2) with the Philistine king, Achish, appointing David to his bodyguard as their forces gather for war with Israel. The next episode closes with Saul leaving after a meal that was provided by the spirit-wife at Endor (1 Sam. 28.21-25), but with the threat of Samuel’s words, that tomorrow he and his sons would also be dead, hanging over him (1 Sam. 28.15-20). David is thus left in a seemingly impossible position because to be among the elite Philistine troops when Saul dies would make it very difficult to generate Israelite support for claiming the throne. These issues are then resolved in each of the subsequent episodes. First, David is rejected by the other Philistine leaders, who recall his defeat of Goliath (1 Sam. 29), so that he is expelled from the army and has to journey back to the far south of Judah in Ziklag and then as he has to go into the wilderness to retrieve his and his men’s families and possessions from some raiding Amalekites (1 Sam. 30). David is far removed from Saul when he dies on Mt Gilboa (1 Sam. 31) and hears of his death only when an Amalekite brings him the news (2 Sam. 1.1-16).

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Read through like this, it is possible to see how the narrative flows and that the order is important because it enables the tension to be maintained over an extended narrative. However, the narrative also retains evidence to show that this is not the actual order of the events. We do not know this initially when we read of Saul’s visit to the spirit-mistress, but it becomes clear from the geographical notes in 1 Sam. 28.4; 29.1 and 29.11. When Saul went to the spirit-mistress at Endor, the Philistines were in the far north at Shunem, well-placed for the fatal battle at Gilboa (1 Sam. 31). But in 1 Samuel 29, the Philistines are initially at Aphek (1 Sam. 29.1) and then Jezreel (1 Sam. 29.11), a perfectly natural set of points at which to locate them on their journey north to Shunem. This makes it clear that David had been dismissed from the Philistine forces long before Saul went to Endor, but the variation in order was necessary to sustain the suspense. It is, of course, possible that, in a source associated with David’s time among the Philistines, the events of 1 Samuel 29 followed immediately on from Achish appointing him to his bodyguard, but this does not mean that we should follow McCarter (1980a: 422) and relocate 1 Sam. 28.3-25 after 1 Samuel 30 because, although these events clearly belong then (meaning David was in the far south when Saul died), the accession narrative is not primarily concerned to retain the chronological sequence, though this does not mean removing these elements. Rather, its theological concern is matched by a desire to generate a narrative that holds our interest and this is achieved by dischronologizing the narrative. Another example occurs in the pivotal chiasms which reflect on the whole of David’s reign in 2 Sam. 5.17-8.14 and 2 Samuel 21–24. Both of these passages are made up of a number of discrete narratives which, for the most part, have limited chronological links to one another. In 2 Sam. 5.17-25, there are two accounts of David defeating the Philistines with Yahweh’s help, events that are presumably relatively early in his reign, since he would initially have been considered as aPhilistine vassal rebelling against his overlords. This is balanced by the accounts of battle victories in 2 Sam. 8.1-14, which describe a range of victories after he had defeated the Philistines and which appear to reflect an extended period of his reign. But 2 Sam. 7.1-2 portrays David wishing to build a temple because Yahweh had given him rest from his enemies all around, so although this chapter clearly comes after 2 Samuel 6, since it depends on the arrival of the ark in the city of David, it is presumably after many of the events described in 2 Samuel 8. In this instance, the order of presentation is shaped by the need to put elements concerned with worship at the centre of the chiasm. The elements of chronology are retained, so that one can read from 2 Sam. 5.25 straight through to 2 Sam. 8.1 without 2 Samuel 6–7 and so recognize the dischronologization. But this, in turn, asks readers to reflect on why this

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might have been done and we then recognize that this becomes a crucial mechanism for highlighting the promise to David in 2 Samuel 7 in the context of the whole of his reign. We can see a similar process at work in 2 Samuel 21–24. Again, there may be a link between the outer elements (2 Sam. 21.1-14; 2 Sam. 24) as the opening ‘again’ of 2 Samuel 24.1 seems to look back to the earlier famine narrative, though it is not clear how long the gap between them might be. By contrast, the accounts of the giant-slayers (2 Sam. 21.15-22) and David’s warriors (2 Sam. 23.8-39) seem to provide accounts drawn from the whole of David’s reign. Covering the whole of his reign would then appear to be a primary concern of the chronological notes introducing the two songs (2 Sam. 22.1; 23.1), with the reference to Saul indicating that 2 Samuel 22 comes from early in David’s reign, whereas his ‘Last Words’ clearly come from the end. We are thus provided with a reflection on the whole of David’s reign, just as occurs in 2 Sam. 5.17–8.14, one that is again centred on worship, though it is notable that 2 Sam. 22.1 also evokes 2 Sam. 7.1 as another means of linking the two chiasms. Once again, the use of material that is dischronologized, but which retains clues to this, provides a mechanism for reflecting on the whole of David’s reign as one ultimately submitted to Yahweh. This reflection takes on special importance in light of the events of 2 Samuel 9–20, which is thus shown to be a particular period in David’s life. It cannot therefore overturn the overall assessment of him provided by the book, while also suggesting a way in which David can go forward by being submitted to Yahweh (Birch 1998: 1355). As a final example, we can consider the account of David’s initial rise and killing of Goliath (1 Sam. 16–17). If we read these as a linear set of narratives where one follows the other then it poses a range of difficulties, some of which we have suggested may have contributed to the rather different LXX text of 1 Sam. 17.1–18.5. Most obviously, Saul’s apparent ignorance of David’s family when he has killed Goliath (1 Sam. 17.55-58) is difficult to square with him having already served as his kit-bearer (1 Sam. 16.21), especially since he had written to Jesse asking permission for David to stay with him (1 Sam. 16.22). Since this passage already notes David as having significant military experience (1 Sam. 16.18), it is also odd that David is still presented in 1 Samuel 17 as a shepherd with no military experience (1 Sam. 17.12-16, 34-40). But once we recognize that the narrative has been dischronologized (Firth 2005c), most of these problems resolve themselves. In particular, the revised text of 1 Samuel 17 in LXX only resolves the issues relating to the relationship of the Goliath story with 1 Sam. 16.14-23, not those generated by 1 Sam. 16.1-13. A key difficulty with the current sequence, which is not often recognized, is Samuel’s fear in 1 Sam. 16.1-3. At the point it occurs,

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we have no reason within the narrative to explain this fear, especially since Samuel apparently had no fears about confronting Saul in the previous chapter over his failure to deal with Amalek. But Samuel is particularly afraid of Saul hearing that he is going to Jesse the Bethlehemite, a phrase that occurs here and 1 Sam. 17.58, thus forming a bookend for this section. At this point, Jesse’s is apparently an insignificant family, since, although Samuel directs the elders of Bethlehem to consecrate themselves for a sacrifice, he consecrates the family of Jesse himself separately (1 Sam. 16.4-5), suggesting he was not included among the elders. So, why should Samuel be afraid of Saul discovering he had gone to a relatively insignificant family in Bethlehem? The answer appears to be, that to understand Samuel’s fear, we have to read the story in a different order to the narrative presentation, with 1 Samuel 17 being the earliest episode and both events in 1 Samuel 16 being later. If this is the case, then the chronological difficulties are largely resolved. Samuel is afraid of going to Bethlehem precisely because it is now known that David is Jesse’s son and this would suggest to Saul that this is a dangerous family because of David’s popularity after Goliath’s death. Samuel still does not know that David would be the chosen king when he goes, and, indeed, it appears that he knows only that a son of Jesse was the one who had slain Goliath, not specifically that it was David, which is why he is still ignorant of David, while the portrayal of Eliab in 1 Sam. 17.28-30 would also suggest that the family would be glad to see him back tending sheep. This naturally leads us to ask why the material would be presented in this format. Part of the answer lies in recognizing that, although Samuel has historical goals, it is not simply a work of history and it is, more specifically, not a biography of David. Its concerns are also theological and here it is concerned to present the narrative of David’s initial rise in a particular order, one that parallels that of Saul (cf. Grønbæk 1971: 71-74, Edelman 1991: 28-36), though with one key variation. Their accounts can now be presented in a parallel structure (Firth 2009: 120): Private anointing Public acceptance Military demonstration

Saul 1 Sam. 10.1-8 1 Sam. 10.17-27 1 Sam. 11.1-11

David 1 Sam. 16.1-13 2 Sam. 5.1-5 1 Sam. 17

The variation in order between them is necessitated by their different status at each point, especially that David cannot claim the throne while Saul is still alive. However, placing the anointing at the start of each account puts the emphasis on Yahweh’s election, rather than the apparent suitability of the candidate. It is Yahweh’s inscrutable purpose that is crucial,

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not David’s military skill. A subsidiary benefit is that this gives particular emphasis to David’s speech in 1 Sam. 17.45-47, which can thus express the ideal of Israel being a witness to the nations. This means that we begin the long rivalry narrative knowing that David has a more profound understanding of Israel’s calling while also knowing that it is Yahweh’s choice that matters more than anything else. Conclusion Although we have focused on the particular issues of chronology and the related concepts of order and frequency, these are not the only points where Samuel displays a high level of literary sophistication. That it retains some of the chronological difficulties by presenting the material in this order is perhaps evidence of its respect for its source material, though it is also partly explained by noting the difference between achronological and dischronological material. A range of other aspects might also have been considered, but the point remains that, although it is clearly ancient literature, Samuel is also crafted with great literary skill. Such skill is necessary because, in a predominantly oral culture, authors needed to create texts that would hold the attention of those who heard and read them. This is not to suggest that those responsible for Samuel were being literary or clever simply because they could. Rather, as literature that sought to instruct, it also had to entertain and this meant employing various literary techniques. In interpreting Samuel, therefore, attention to the literary techniques it employs is vital both when considering some of the problems that remain, but also when considering how to appreciate its central theological concerns.

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1994 House of God or House of David: The Rhetoric of 2 Samuel 7 (JSOTSup, 164; Sheffield, JSOT Press). Firth, D.G. 2001 ‘Shining the Lamp: The Rhetoric of 2 Samuel 5–24’, Tyndale Bulletin 52, pp. 203-24. 2005a ‘Speech Acts and Covenant in 2 Samuel 7:1-17’, in The God of Covenant: Biblical, Theological and Contemporary Perspectives (ed. Jamie A. Grant and Alistair I. Wilson; Leicester: Apollos, 2005), pp. 79-99. 2005b ‘Play It Again Sam: The Poetics of Narrative Repetition in 1 Samuel 1–7’, Tyndale Bulletin 56: pp. 1-17. 2005c ‘“That the World May Know.” Narrative Poetics in 1 Samuel 16–17’, in Text and Task: Scripture and Mission (ed. Michael Parsons; Milton Keynes: Paternoster), pp. 20-32. 2007 ‘The Accession Narrative (1 Samuel 27–2 Samuel 1)’, Tyndale Bulletin 58, pp. 61-82. 2009 1 and 2 Samuel (Nottingham: Apollos). 2011 ‘Is Saul Also among the Prophets? Saul’s Prophecy in 1 Samuel 19:23’, in Presence, Power and Promise: The Role of the Spirit of God in the Old Testament (ed. David G. Firth and Paul D. Wegner, IVP: Nottingham), pp. 294-305.. Fokkelman, J.P. 1981 Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses. I. King David (II Sam. 9–20 and I Kings 1–2) (Assen: van Gorcum). 1986 Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses. II. The Crossing Fates (I Sam. 13–31 and II Sam. 1) (Assen: van Gorcum). 1990 Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses. III. Throne and City (II Sam. 2–8 and 21–24) (Assen: van Gorcum). 1993 Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses. IV. Vow and Desire (I Sam. 1–12) (Assen: van Gorcum). Foresti, F. 1984 The Rejection of Saul in the Perspective of the Deuteronomistic School (Rome: Edizioni del Teresianum). Francke, J.R. (ed.) 2005 Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. IV. Joshua, Judges, Ruth, 1–2 Samuel (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic).

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Garsiel, M. 1983 The First Book of Samuel: A Literary Study of Comparative Structures, Analogies and Parallels (Jerusalem: Rubin Mass). Genette, G. 1980 Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Gerbrandt, G.E. 1986 Kingship according to the Deuteronomistic History (SBLDS, 87; Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press). Gilmour, R. 2011 Representing the Past: A Literary Analysis of Narrative Historiography in the Book of Samuel (SVT, 143; Leiden: Brill). Gitay, Y. 1992 ‘Reflections on the Poetics of the Samuel Narrative: The Question of the Ark Narrative’, Catholic Biblical Quarterly 54, pp. 221-30. Gooding, D.W. 1986 ‘An Approach to the Literary and Textual Problems in the David–Goliath Story’, in D. Barthélemy et al. (1986), pp. 55-86. Green, B. 2003a How Are the Mighty Fallen? A Dialogical Study of King Saul in 1 Samuel (JSOTSup, 365; London: Sheffield Academic Press). 2003b King Saul’s Asking (Collegeville, PA: Liturgical Press). Grønbæk, J.H. 1971 Die Geschichte vom Aufstieg Davids (1. Sam. 15–2. Sam. 5): Tradition und Komposition (Copenhagen: Munksgaard). Gunkel, H. 1901 The Legends of Genesis, available at http://www.sacred-texts.com/bib/log/ index.htm, accessed 31 August, 2012. Gunn, D.M. 1978 The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation (JSOTSup, 6; Sheffield: JSOT Press). 1980 The Fate of King Saul: An Interpretation of a Biblical Story (JSOTSup, 14; Sheffield: JSOT Press). Halpern, B. 2001 David’s Secret Demons: Messiah, Murderer, Traitor, King (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans).

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Hertzberg, H.W. 1964 I and II Samuel: A Commentary (London: SCM Press). Himbaza, I. 2010 ‘4QSama (2 Sam 24:16-22). Its Reading, Where It Stands in the History of the Text and Its Use in Bible Translations’, in Hugo and Schenker (2010), pp. 39-52. Hooke, S.H. 1935 The Labyrinth: Further Studies in the Relation between Myth and Ritual in the Ancient World (London: SPCK). Hugo, P. 2010 ‘Text History of the Books of Samuel: An Assessment of the Recent Research’, in Hugo and Schenker (2010), pp. 1-19. Hugo, P., and A. Schenker (eds.) 2010 Archaeology of the Books of Samuel: The Entangling of Textual and Literary History (SVT, 132; Leiden: Brill). Isser, S. 2003 The Sword of Goliath: David in Heroic Literature (SBLMS, 6; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature). Jarrell, R.H. 2002 ‘The Birth Narrative as Female Counterpart to Covenant’, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 97, pp. 3-18. Jobling, D. 1998 1 Samuel (Berit Olam. Studies in Hebrew Narrative and Poetry; Collegeville, PA: Liturgical Press). Johnson, B.J.M. 2012 ‘Reconsidering 4QSama and the Textual Support for the Long and Short Versions of the David and Goliath Story’, Vetus Testamentum 52, pp. 534-49. Kasari, P. 2009 Nathan’s Promise in 2 Samuel 7 and Related Texts (PFES, 97; Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society). Kent, G.J.R. 2011 Say It Again, Sam: A Literary and Filmic Study of Narrative Repetition in 1 Samuel 28 (Cambridge: Lutterworth).

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Keys, G. 1995 The Wages of Sin: A Reappraisal of the ‘Succession Narrative’ (JSOTSup, 221; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). Kim, J.-S. 2007 Bloodguilt, Atonement and Mercy: An Exegetical and Theological Study of 2 Samuel 21:1-14 (EUS, 845; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang). Kim, U.Y. 2008 Identity and Loyalty in the David Story: A Postcolonial Reading (HBM, 22; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press). Klein, R.W. 1983 1 Samuel (Waco, TX: Word Books). Klement, H.H. 2000 2 Samuel 21–24: Context, Structure and Meaning in the Samuel Conclusion (EUS, 682; Frankfurt a,M.: Peter Lang). Koorevaar, H.J. 1997 ‘De macrostructuur van het boek Samuël en de theologische implicaties daarvan’, Acta theologica 17, pp. 56-86. Leithart, P.J. 2006 1 and 2 Kings (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press). Long, V.P. 1994 The Art of Biblical History (Nottingham: Apollos). Mann, T.W. 2011 The Book of the Former Prophets (Eugene, OR: Cascade). Martin, J.A. 1984 ‘The Structure of 1 and 2 Samuel’, Bibliotheca sacra 141, pp. 28-42. McCarter, P.K., Jr 1980a ‘The Apology of David’, Journal of Biblical Literature 99, pp. 489-504. 1980b I Samuel: A New Translation with Notes and Commentary (Garden City, NY: Doubleday). 1981 ‘“Plots, True or False”: The Succession Narrative as Court Apologetic’, Interpretation 35, pp. 355-67. 1984 II Samuel: A New Translation with Notes and Commentary (Garden City, NY: Doubleday). McCarthy, D.J. 1965 ‘2 Samuel 7 and the Structure of the Deuteronomic History’, Journal of Biblical Literature 84, pp. 131-38.

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McConville, J.G. 2002 Deuteronomy (Leicester: Apollos). McKenzie, S.L. 2000 King David: A Biography (New York: Oxford University Press). Mettinger, T.N.D. 1976 King and Messiah: The Civil and Sacral Legitimation of the Israelite Kings (CBOT, 8; Lund: C.W.K. Gleerup). Miller, P.D., Jr, and J.J.M. Roberts 1977 The Hand of the Lord: A Reassessment of the ‘Ark Narrative’ of 1 Samuel (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press). Miscall, P.D. 1986 1 Samuel: A Literary Reading (ISBL, 72; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press). Moberly, R.W.L. 1998 ‘“God is Not a Human that He Should Repent” (Numbers 23:19 and 1 Samuel 15:29)’, in God in the Fray: A Tribute to Walter Brueggemann (ed. T. Linafelt and T.K. Beal; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press), pp. 112-23. 2011 ‘By Stone and Sling: 1 Samuel 17:50 and the Problem of Misreading David’s Victory over Goliath’, in On Stone and Scroll: Essays in Honour of Graham Ivor Davies (ed. J.K. Aitken, K.J. Dell and B.A. Mastin; BZAW, 420; Berlin: de Gruyter), pp. 329-42. Murray, D.F. 1998 Divine Prerogative and Royal Pretension: Pragmatics, Poetics and Polemics in a Narrative Sequence about David (2 Samuel 5.17–7.29) (JSOTSup, 264; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press). Nelson, R.D. 1981 The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup, 18; Sheffield: JSOT Press). Noll, K.L. 2007 ‘Deuteronomistic History or Deuteronomic Debate? (A Thought Experiment)’, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 31, pp. 311-45. Noth, M. 1960 The History of Israel (London: Adam & Charles Black, 2nd edn). 1991 The Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup, 15; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 2nd edn; German original 1943).

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Parry, D.W. 2010 ‘Hannah in the Presence of the Lord’, in Hugo and Schenker (2010), pp. 53-73. Pisano, S. 1984 Additions or Omissions in the Books of Samuel: The Significant Pluses and Minuses in the Massoretic, LXX and Qumran Texts (OBO, 57; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht). Polzin, R. 1980 Moses and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part One: Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges (New York: Seabury Press). 1989 Samuel and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part Two: 1 Samuel (San Francisco, CA: Harper & Row). 1993 David and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part Three: 2 Samuel (Bloomington, IN: University of Indiana Press). Provan, I., V.P. Long and T. Longman III 2003 A Biblical History of Israel (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press). Rezetko, R. 2007 Source and Revision in the Narratives of David’s Transfer of the Ark: Text, Language, and Story in 2 Samuel 6 and 1 Chronicles 13, 15–16 (LHBOTS, 470; London: T. & T. Clark). Rofé, A. 2010 ‘Midrashic Traits in 4Q51 (so-called 4QSama), in Hugo and Schenker (2010), pp. 75-88. Römer, T. 2007 The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T. & T Clark). Rost, L. 1982 The Succession to the Throne of David (HTIBSS, 1; Sheffield: Almond Press). Schniedewind, W.M. 1999 Society and the Promise to David: The Reception History of 2 Samuel 7:1-17 (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Seiler, S. 1998 Die Geschichte von der Thronfolge Davids (2 Sam 9–20; 1 Kön 1–2): Untersuchungen zur Literarkritik und Tendenz (BZAW, 267; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter). Short, J.R. 2010 The Surprising Election and Confirmation of King David (HTS, 63; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press).

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Ska, J.-L. 1990 Our Fathers Have Told Us: An Introduction to the Analysis of Hebrew Narratives (Rome: Pontifical Institute). Smend, R. 2000 ‘The Law and the Nations: A Contribution to the Deuteronomistic Tradition History’, in Reconsidering Israel and Judah: Recent Studies on the Deuteronomistic History (ed. Gary N Knoppers and J. Gordon McConville, Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns), pp. 95-110. Starbuck, S.R.A. 1999 Court Oracles in the Psalms: The So-Called Royal Psalms in their Ancient Near Eastern Context (SBLDS, 172; Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature). Sternberg, M. 1985 The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press). Stoebe, H.-J. 1973 Das erste Buch Samuelis (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn). Toorn, K. van der, and C. Houtman 1994 ‘David and the Ark’, Journal of Biblical Literature 113, pp. 209-31. Tov, E. 1986 ‘The Nature of the Differences between MT and the LXX’, in D. Barthélemy (1986), pp. 19-46. Tsumura, D.T. 2007 The First Book of Samuel (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans). Tushima, C.T.A. 2011 The Fate of Saul’s Progeny in the Reign of David (Cambridge: James Clarke & Co.). Ulrich, E.C. Jr 1978 The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus (HSM, 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press). Vannoy, J.R. 1978 Covenant Renewal at Gilgal: A Study of 1 Samuel 11:14–12:25 (Cherry Hill, NJ: Mack). Van Seters, J. 2000 ‘The Deuteronomistic History: Can It Avoid Death by Redaction?’, in The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (ed. T. Römer; Leuven: Peeters), pp. 213-22. 2009 The Biblical Saga of King David (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns).

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Walsh, J.T. 2009 Old Testament Narrative: A Guide to Interpretation (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press). Walters, S.D. 1988 ‘Hannah and Anna: The Greek and Hebrew Texts of 1 Samuel 1’, Journal of Biblical Literature 107, pp. 385-412. Weinfeld, M. 1972 Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Willis, J.T. 1971 ‘An Anti-Elide Narrative Tradition from a Prophetic Circle at the Ramah Sanctuary’, Journal of Biblical Literature 90, pp. 288-308. Wozniak, J. 1983 ‘Drei verschiedene literarische Beschreibungen des Bundes zwischen Jonathan und David’, Biblische Zeitschrift 27, pp. 213-18. Wright, C.J.H. 2010 ‘Response’, in Douglas Earl, The Joshua Delusion: Rethinking Genocide in the Bible, pp. 139-48. Zyl, A.H. van 1988, 1 Samuël (2 vols.; Nijkerk: G.F. Callenbach BV). 1989

INDEX OF AUTHORS Ackroyd, P. 47 Adam, K.-P. 5, 15 Aejmelaeus, A. 39 Alter, R. 10, 11, 27, 67 Amit, Y. 70 Auld, A.G. 31, 35, 52 Avioz, M. 9, 65-66 Baldwin, J.G. 37 Bar-Efrat, S. 11 Barthélemy, D. 35 Becker-Spörl, S. 24 Bergen, R.D. 33, 75 Birch, B.C. 23, 50, 59, 77 Bodi, D. 6, 48 Bright, J. 4 Brooks, S.S. 6 Brotzman, E. 31 Brown, W.P. 50 Brueggemann, W. 20, 23, 42, 44, 56 Butler, T.C. 20

Fokkelman, J.P. 11-12, 19, 37, 47, 51, 75 Foresti, F. 52 Francke, J.R. 13 Garsiel, M. 59 Genette, G. 67-68 Gerbrandt, G.E. 8, 59 Gilmour, R. 6 Gitay, Y. 43 Gooding, D.W. 35-36 Green, B. 11-12, 51 Grønbaek, J.H. 36, 78 Gunkel, H. 13 Gunn, D.M. 11, 46, 60 Halpern, B. 4-5, 46, 48 Hertzberg, H.W. 71 Himbaza, I. 39 Hooke, S.H. 13 Hugo, P. 29 Isser, S. 38

Campbell, A.F. 35, 42, 44, 48-49, 52 Carlson, R.A. 16, 47, 65 Childs, B.S. 16, 32 Cohen, K.I. 72 Cross, F.M., Jr 41, 51

Jarrell, R.H. 56 Jobling, D. 2, 18, 20-21 Johnson, B.J.M. 34

Earl, D.S. 13-17 Edelman, D.V. 12, 78 Eissfeldt, O. 41 Eslinger, L.M. 11, 43, 59, 65

Kasari, P. 51, 65 Kent, G.J.R. 24 Keys, G. 46-47 Kim, J.-S. 22 Kim, U.Y. 11 Klein, R.W. 57 Klement, H.H. 22-24, 56 Koorevaar, H.J. 22

Firth, D.G. 5, 9, 20, 22-24, 32, 35, 47, 49, 52, 57, 60-61, 63-64, 74-75, 77-78

Leithart, P.J. 13 Long, V.P. 4

Deist, F.E. 72 Dietrich, W. 51

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Martin, J.A. 22 McCarter, P.K., Jr 5, 32, 34-35, 45-46, 49, 52, 76 McCarthy, D.J. 8, 21 McConville, J.G. 61 McKenzie, S.L. 4-5, 38, 46 Mettinger, T.N.D. 45 Miller, P.D. and Roberts, J.J.M. 42-44 Miscall, P.D. 18, 20 Moberly, R.W.L. 16 Murray, D.F. 65 Nelson, R.D. 51 Noll, K.L. 52 Noth, M. 3, 8, 11, 15-16, 19, 21, 33, 41, 50-51 Parry, D.W. 39 Pisano, S. 40 Polzin, R. 11-12, 51, 56 Provan, I., Long, V.P. and Longman III, T. 4-5, 9, 38 Rezetko, R. 29 Roberts, J.J.M. 42-44 Rofé, A. 39 Römer, T. 51 Rost, L. 16, 19, 42-49

Schniedewind, M.A. 9 Seiler, S. 42 Short, J.R. 5, 45-46 Ska, J.-L. 75 Smend, R. 42, 51 Starbuck, S.R.A. 8 Sternberg, M. 67 Stoebe, H.-J. 43 Toorn, K. van der and Houtman, C. 44 Tov, E. 35-36 Tsumura, D.T. 32 Tushima, C.T.A. 6 Ulrich, E.C., Jr 30 Vannoy, J.R. 9 Van Seters, J. 15-16, 51 Walsh, J.T. 10 Walters, S.D. 39 Weinfeld, M. 52 Willis, J.T. 43 Wozniak, J. 64 Wright, C.J.H. 14 Zyl, A.H. van 43

INDEX OF SUBJECTS Abigail 5, 64 Abishai 73 Abner 25, 35, 64-65 Accession Narrative 64, 75-76 Allegory 3, 13 Ark Narrative 42-45, 48 Ark of the Covenant 23, 26, 42-45, 48, 58, 62, 76

Hannah 26-27, 39, 55-56, 61, 68-71 Hannah’s Song 20, 24, 26-27, 49, 56-58, 61, 71-72, 74 History of David’s Rise 4-5, 42, 45-46 Ish-bosheth 24-25, 48, 64-65

Ban, the 14 Bathsheba 10, 25, 57, 63, 66

Jerusalem 25, 42, 44, 65, 67 Jesse 35-36, 62, 77-78 Joab 65 Jonathan 64, 75

Chiasm 22-24, 44, 46-47, 76-77 City of David 26, 44, 65, 76

Kingship 5, 8-9, 20-21, 23-24, 26-27, 45, 55-61, 66

David 3-6, 9, 14-16, 19, 21, 23-27, 32, 35-36, 38, 44-49, 53-58, 60-61, 63-68, 73-79 David’s Lament 24, 49, 75 David’s Last Words 22, 24-27, 49, 57, 61, 77 David’s Thanksgiving Song 22, 24, 49, 57 Davidic Covenant, promise 8-10, 25, 53, 55, 58, 65-66, 77 Deuteronomistic History 3, 8, 15, 18, 21, 33, 41, 50-53, 65 Eli 9, 20, 27, 43, 56-58, 61-63, 68, 70-71 Elkanah 57, 69-71

Myth 12-15 Nabal 5, 64 Nathan 8, 23, 50, 62-63, 66 Peninah 26, 69 Philistines 23, 43-44, 57-58, 62-65, 72, 74-76 Prophet, prophecy 3, 6-10, 12, 16, 43, 50-51, 53-56, 59, 61-65, 71 Prophetic History 49, 52 Prophetic Record 48-50 Qumran, Qumran Manuscripts 3, 30, 33, 40

Former Prophets 3, 7, 15, 18, 27, 52, 54

Rebellion Narrative 19, 24-25, 47, 57, 66, 68 Rivalry Narrative 24-25, 64-65, 79 Royal War Songs 49-50, 53

Gad 50, 63 Genre 1, 2, 6, 9, 12, 15, 17-18, 27, 53 Goliath 10, 13, 32, 34-38, 57, 75, 77-78

Samuel (prophet) 9, 20, 26, 37, 39, 43, 50, 58-60, 62-63, 69, 71-73, 75, 77-78

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Samuel Conclusion 24-25, 38, 46, 74 Saul 4-6, 8-10, 14, 20, 24-27, 33-37, 46, 48, 53-66, 72-73, 75-78 Sheba ben Bichri 8, 10, 24-25 Shiloh 20, 26, 48, 55-56, 61 Spirit of God 25-26 Succession Narrative 19, 23, 42, 45-46, 48

Tamar 10 Temple 8, 20, 26, 48, 55-56, 62, 65-66, 68-71, 76 Torah 61 Uriah the Hittite 63, 66 Urim and Thummim 61