Expressive Tribalism In The Bible:
What I Know Now That I Didn’t Know Before, and The Difference It Makes
Foreboding and ominous, oozing a dreaded sense of fallacious hypocrisy, legitimizing millennia of bloodshed and ignorance; I once feared the Bible. Or, rather, I feared the Bible’s misappropriation at the hand of fire-and-brimstone fundamentalists. Gravely mistaken, I misconstrued the Bible as a work of literature with its crude abuse in the hands of literalists. I am happy to inform, however, that my biblical phobia has fully receded into permanent remission, replaced by a newfound passion full of vigor and unbridled curiosity. “The Biblical Foundations of Literature” has corrected me, purging me of misunderstanding and resultant intimidation. No longer do I view the Bible as a big, bad singular volume full of contradictions, but as a varied library of shifting worldviews and narratives that pervade Western literature and thought. While it may be safe to assume that I will never regard the Bible as a revealed text, I nevertheless find comfort in its metaphorical and historical contexts. As a foundational work of literature, the Bible must be cherished for its expressive uniqueness as a manifestation of an originally tribal people’s anagogic prowess.
When first introduced to the notion of “tribal exclusivity” by our guest lecturer, a seed was planted into the back of my head. While tribal exclusivity operated within the lecture as an explanation of inter-familial (i.e. cousin) marriage, the anxiety of tribal preservation, cultic transgression, and modes of patriarchy, the term most importantly revealed an expanded way of encountering the Bible as a narrative. In essence, I underwent metanoia, reversing my “usual conceptions of time and space” (Frye 130). Serving as a powerful reminder of the negative implications of viewing ancient narrative through the lens of the present, tribal exclusivity as an analytical device fulfilled the definition of metanoia advanced by Northrop Frye in which such “a vision, amongst other things, detaches one from one’s primary community and attaches him to another” (130). Despite my realization concerning tribal exclusivity’s role as a mesocosm – a bridge to the past of the Hebrew Scriptures, primarily – it was only one of many such revelatory transformations I experienced throughout our course’s duration. Nevertheless, as a metanoic trigger and analytic lens, tribal exclusivity forms a perfect spine from which to expound upon the topic of “what I know now that I did not know before, and the difference it makes.”
While reading the Bible, one absolute constant seems to emerge: its kerygmatic, multi-source nature inherently allows for a varied multitude of interpretation and relevant experience. The Bible as a whole simultaneously serves those concerned with traditionalist theology, religionists seeking affirmations of their worldview, scholars searching for Levantine historicity, and our class – students of story and metaphor. In a way, the Bible operates as a metaphorical tree, from which various sustained meanings branch off, as Frye explains:
Suppose we thought of Plato’s myths, not as illustrating his dialogues but as the primary meaning of which the dialectic discussions form a commentary. This would lead us to the principle that metaphorical meaning has the same relation to discursive meaning that myth has to history: it is a universal or poetic meaning, and can sustain a number of varying and yet consistent renderings of its discursive meaning, just as a myth can sustain a number of historical exempla. (Frye 65)
The use of tribal exclusivity as a tool of analysis, to derive further meaning from scriptural text, inhabits the role of viewing the metaphorical universality of the Bible through a particularly discursive, historical context.
In Numbers 13, God orders Moses to send spies to Canaan, which he intends to give to the Israelites. The spies report back that the land “flows with milk and honey … Yet the people who live in the land are strong, and the towns are fortified and very large,” after which one of the spies, Caleb son of Jephunneh, insists, “Let us go up at once and occupy it, for we are well able to overcome it.” (NRSV, Num. 13.27-30). From Numbers 13, a traditionalist would most likely interpret God’s command as a literal step in delivering his chosen people to the Promised Land, with Caleb’s insistence demonstrating righteous faith in the divine logos of God. While a critical interpretation would discount such a traditionalist notion, the passage resists a solely poetic reading. Instead, as Frye observes, the Bible presents “a historical myth that by-passes conventional historical criteria: it is neither a specific history nor a purely poetic vision, but presents the history of Israel, past and future, in a way that leaves conventional history free to do its own work” (Frye 65). A reading of Numbers 13 through the lens of tribal exclusivity resists being specifically historical or solely poetic, instead it reveals a metaphorically expressed validation of tribal preservation via hostile invasion throughout “the history of Israel, past and future.”
One may argue that Caleb is faithful to God, but he seems most loyal to God’s plan for his tribe, to the regenerative violence that will ensure the Israelites’ continued survival and establish their sovereignty. When the Israelites rebel in Numbers 14 after being deceived by false reports from the other spies who fear the strength of Canaan’s indigenous tribes, God declares, “According to the number of the days, for which you spied out the land, forty days, for every day a year, you shall bear your iniquity, forty years, and you shall know my displeasure” (14.34). Of all the adult Israelites, only Caleb and another, Joshua, are allowed to enter the Promised Land immediately. As further punishment, “the men who brought an unfavorable report about the land died by a plague before the Lord. But Joshua son of Nun and Caleb son of Jephunneh alone remained alive, of those men who went to spy out the land” (Num. 14.37-38). Interestingly, Caleb is thought to be of an “old epic” source dominating the passage, while Joshua, who also gives a positive report of the Promised Land in Numbers 14:7, “is included only in verses that stem from the Priestly tradition” (Hackert 218). Ultimately, despite their originally disparate sources, the characters of Caleb and Joshua inhabit a consistent archetype of the ideal Jew willing to face adversity to ensure his people’s continued viability as a tribe, even when the rest of the tribe dissents. Caleb and Joshua enter the Promised Land, a space both metaphorical and historical, wherein the tribe will cement their identity through force and exclusivity. The Promised Land constitutes an ancient Israelite version of Manifest Destiny, simultaneously imagined and real, spiritually ordained and temporally sectarian.
Requisite to a greater understanding of how tribalism expresses itself through literature, particularly in the Bible, is an elaboration upon tribal exclusivity’s inherent relationship to marital practices. As our guest lecturer noted, the marriage of cousins was common and even encouraged up until recent history, all for the sake of preserving the tribe’s exclusive purity. Abraham bounds his servant by oath, telling him, “you will not get a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I live, but will go to my country and to my kindred and get a wife for my son Isaac” (Gen. 24.3-4). The servant, pleading with God for success, finds the perfect candidate in Rebekah, Isaac’s first cousin once removed. In essence, Abraham establishes the practice of endogamy – marrying within one’s own group – that becomes a central aspect of traditional Judaic culture and Biblical literature. Were the Israelites to endorse exogamy, or marriage with outsiders, one may safely assume that Judaism would not exist as a unique ethno-religious identity today.
Despite the importance of tribal exclusivity through endogamy, important limits exist within the Hebrew Scriptures. In Leviticus, God makes a general statement, “None of you shall approach anyone near of kin to uncover nakedness: I am the Lord” (18.6). A laundry list of sexual restrictions follows, specifically declaring what constitutes incest, including relations with parents, your father’s wife, siblings, grandchildren, a daughter of your father’s wife, aunts, and so on. Of course, the list purposefully refrains from barring relations between cousins; as such practice was not considered incest but a valuable vanguard of tribal purity. When applied to Genesis, however, the restrictions against marrying your daughter-in-law (Lev. 18.15) or a woman and her sister (Lev. 18.17) conflict with the stories of Judah’s marriage to Tamar and Jacob’s marriage to his cousins Leah and Rachel, rival sisters. According to the HarperCollins Study Bible’s footnotes, such conflict between Levitical law and the sacred patriarchs is easily resolved by the fact that such discrepancies “occurred before the Sinaitic law code became operative” (Milgrom 178). Yet, interestingly enough, the restriction against marrying your brother’s wife in Leviticus 18:16 seemingly opposes “the institution of levirate marriage” (Milgrom 178). Outlawing levirate marriage directly conflicts with the early endogamic practices of Israelites, in which a male was mandated to marry his deceased brother’s wife should he leave behind no son (Deuteronomy 25.5-10). Consequently, the conflict between imagined law and social reality reveals a certain tension between the logos and praxis of tribal exclusivity. Before taking the “Biblical Foundations of Literature,” a discordant relationship between the written word and lived experience may have proved bothersome, but I now welcome such tension as a simple extension of our class’s ever-evident mantra, “God loves conflict.”
Indeed, were no conflict to arise from the endogamous practices of traditional Judaism, were the Israelites and their descendents to not engage in tribal exclusivity, Isaac Baashevis Singer would have been unable to write The Slave. Without opposition to his love for Wanda, a gentile, the Jewish protagonist in Jacob would only possibly face the adversity of being a slave to Jan Bzik. Most likely, Jacob would not even be a slave, as a great deal of the abuse perpetuated by European gentiles upon Jews stemmed from misunderstandings fostered by the insular tribalism of both groups. Even if Jacob were enslaved, it is fairly safe to postulate that he would have accepted the offer to marry Wanda and integrate himself into her village. Jacob and Wanda’s love would not be forbidden, would not warrant violent recourse by gentiles or excommunication by Jews, and, thus, would not generate conflict. Instead of driving the narrative to possess an engaging, constantly undulating parabolic shape, Jacob’s story would simply flounder as a boringly flat, demotic account. No conflict, no story.
As described by our guest lecturer, a persistent concern with procreation exists throughout the Torah, especially in Genesis. In the Priestly writer’s account of Creation, God’s first command to the newly created humans is to “Be fruitful and multiply” (Gen. 1.28). Immediately, the anxiety of tribal preservation emerges within the Hebrew Scriptures as a literary agent of paramount significance. The importance of preserving one’s tribe becomes most painfully evident through the story of Lot’s daughters. Fearing that their people are no more, the anathema of incest transforms into a viable last resort so that they “may preserve offspring through [their] father” (Gen 19.33). Getting Lot drunk on wine, both daughters proceed to rape him; a poetic retribution for previously offering them up for gang rape by the angry mob in Sodom. Nevertheless, the expositional intent of the unnamed daughters remains pure, not vengeful, even if its execution constitutes a shameful act. What may have otherwise been a grave transgression instead becomes a misguided act of tribal dedication. As a result of their mistaken incest, Lot’s daughters give birth to Moab and Ben-ammi, the eponymous ancestors of the Moabites and Ammonites, respectively. By utilizing a failure of tribal preservation as a shameful etiological account to mock their neighboring rivals, the Israelites metaphorically reassert their own tribal identity as a “pure” or chosen people.
In order to engender a well-rounded portrayal of tribal exclusivity as it relates to marriage and procreation in the Hebrew Scriptures, exceptions to the theme must be explored. Amongst ta biblia, The Book of Ruth presents a particularly moving and well-crafted short work of literature. The story of Ruth, a widowed Moabite, remaining steadfastly loyal to her Israelite mother-in-law Naomi, and vice versa, allows for the temporary reversal of tribal exclusivity should an outsider demonstrate sufficient reverence towards their adopted kinsfolk. After marrying Boaz, Ruth ensures the continuation of Naomi’s family through the birth of a son:
Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without next-of-kin; and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and nourisher of your old age; for you daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has borne him.” (4.14-15)
While Ruth’s child may not be Naomi’s biological grandson, he presents a solution to the anxiety of tribal preservation. Instead of being simply a family tale, The Book of Ruth may very well be an allegory for “the continuity of the nation, an extension of the idea of family continuity. The Judeans, like the family of Naomi, returned from exile and rebuilt their community” (Berlin 213). By marrying Boaz, Ruth allows for a surrogate genealogical line to flourish in her deceased husband’s stead, and enables the eventual birth of King David (4.21). Cultivating the future of Israel through conception, it seems only fitting that much of the story “is linked to the imagery of harvest” (Frye 155). Ruth, if anything, becomes an integral agent of tribal preservation and a key player in Israel’s establishment of exclusive sovereignty through the mythically unifying kingship of David.
When viewed through the lens of the present, the presence of divinely ordained genocide in the Hebrew Scriptures conflicts with modern-day, traditional notions of a merciful God. By thinking of genocidal narrative as an expression of tribal exclusivity and preservation, however, the obscuring veil of modernity may be lifted so as to attain a metanoic realization. As punishment for “opposing the Israelites when they came up out of Egypt,” God promises to blot out the Amalekites (I Sam 15.2). The prophet Samuel orders King Saul to “utterly destroy” the Amalekites, and to “not spare them, but kill both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey” (I Sam 15.2-3). Sauls spares the Amalek king, Agag, and the choicest livestock, ostensibly to be used as burnt offerings, consequently incurring the wrath of Samuel. Declaring that “rebellion is no less a sin than divination,” Samuel and God reject Saul “from being king” (I Sam 15.23). Under a literalist scope, Saul’s harsh punishment results from being disobediently merciful, however slightly, in committing genocide. Considering, however, that the Amalekites continue to reemerge throughout the narrative, with David resuming their slaughter, a superficial reading of the text fosters obvious inadequacies. By applying Occam’s Razor, we come to the simplest solution: the story of Saul’s destruction of Amalek is a metaphor. Rather than being an endorsement of genocide, Saul’s rebellion and ultimate punishment serves the dual purpose of reiterating the authority of God’s logos and the need for a competent king to protect Israel from its rivals. Yet again, we are reminded that God loves conflict, God loves mythos, as do the Israelites. Through regenerative violence against a common enemy, Israel reinforces its identity as a cohesive, uniquely exclusive tribe that continues to persevere in the enactment of its own story. In our age of melting-pot multiculturalism, the idea of erecting and constantly rebuffing boundaries of tribal identity (i.e. “We are Israel. You are Amalek.”) may seem foreign or backwards, yet such sectarianism was – and still is – an integral function of community-cohesion and self-identification in the Levant. Certainly the ancient Israelites and Amalekites of "actual history" engaged in countless bloody conflicts, committing what may be viewed today as horrible atrocities against one another, but the biblical or kerygmatic portrayal of such events serves primarily as an allegorical proponent of tribal exclusivity, of communal identity, of solidarity.
Representing a crucial paradigmatic shift in the tribal identity of Israel, the development of Judaic monarchy arouses unique literary tensions. The total transition from the relatively anarchic and decentralized system of judges to the centralized, monarchial authority of kings was not instantaneous or without resistance. Constituting the central arc of First and Second Samuel, the authorship of text pertaining to the emergence of Judaic monarchy is composed of “a group of early narrative sources upon which later editors and compilers drew” (McCarter 390). Amongst these sources, some express suspicions of the institution of kingship, while others support it (McCarter 390-1). Thus, a tense narrative of differing mores and attitudes emerges. In a particularly anti-monarchal verse, God tells Samuel that in their insistent requests to be given a monarch, the Israelites “have rejected me from being king over them” (1 Sam. 8.7). The differing biases of First Samuel’s sources seemingly originate from a larger debate on the merits of a king’s temporal authority versus the spiritual authority of God and his “divinely appointed” representatives. A sectarian worldview, stemming from an intrinsic sense of sacred exclusiveness, alongside Judaic monotheism, with its central tenet of exclusive devotion to one supreme “Lord,” combine in resistance against a powerful desire to raise a king and be “like other nations” (1 Sam. 8.5). As Frye notes, a new sense of typology develops touting a forward-directed vision of Israel’s place in history:
The most important single historical fact about the Old Testament is that the people who produced it were never lucky at the game of empire. Temporal power was in heathen hands; consequently history became reshaped into a future-directed history, in which the overthrow of the heathen empires and the eventual recognition of Israel’s unique historical importance are the main events. (Frye 83)
The wish for temporal success and a forward idealization of Israel’s exclusive position in history contributes to the perceived need for a strong, central government. Ultimately, the Israelites’ demand for a king who "may govern us and go out before us and fight our battles" (1 Sam. 8:20) wins out. The transformation of Israel into a monarchy only reflects the surface of a larger, evolving societal dynamic, as the expression of tribal identity manifests in an increasingly nationalistic, broader level. Exit the Twelve Tribes of Israel, enter the Jewish People.
Tribal exclusivity obviously exists independently of monotheism or polytheism, but not of mythos, through which it is expressed. Nevertheless, the exclusive monotheism of the Israelites played a major role in the formation of their own unique brand of expressive tribalism. Throughout much of the Hebrew Scriptures, the prophets, judges, and God constantly occupy themselves with dragging the ancient Israelites kicking and screaming into monotheism. God commands Hosea to take for himself “a wife of whoredom” (Hosea 1:2), serving as an allegory for God’s own relationship with his unfaithful bride, Israel, who keeps straying to the comfort of Canaanite and Mesopotamian gods. Born in a polytheistic environment, surviving millennia of discrimination and violence; the Jewish identity places great emphasis upon the adversity through which it has persevered. Without a doubt, the Yahweh of the Hebrew Scriptures gives cause on multiple occasions to believe that he is not a particularly easy god to follow. For instance, in First Samuel, God slaughters at least seventy people for not celebrating the Ark of the Covenant’s arrival in Beth-Semesh, leading the rest of the town to cry out, "Who is able to stand before the Lord, this holy God? To whom shall he go so that we may be rid of him?" (6:20). Without conflict, Yahweh would not be Yahweh, and neither would the Israelites be Israelites. As scars serve as physical testimony of what one has endured, the Hebrew Bible operates as a metaphorical testimony of a Semitic people’s struggle to coalesce into a single, communal whole, to carve out a tribally exclusive identity.
Unfortunately, the Bible aptly demonstrates that justified violence, bigotry, and oppression can manifest as dark by-products of a tribally exclusive worldview. Yet, tribal exclusivity in itself is not necessarily evil or wrong, but a facet of humanity as metaphor is a facet of storytelling. We still engage in exclusion to define who we are, but on a more multidimensional scale, from ethnic blocs to nation states to sub-cultures to social cliques. Shaping the mythos through which it was expressed, ancient Israelite tribalism in turn continues to reinforce Judeo-Christian and Western identities through the legacy of biblical narrative. Narratives inform us of whom we are not literally, but metaphorically. Therefore, everyone should love the Bible, believers and non-believers alike, as a monumental library of literature with the anagogic potential to help shape your own story. Respect the creative power of logos.
Work Cited
Frye, Northrop. The Great Code: The Bible and Literature. New York: Harvesy/HBJ , 1982.
Hackert, JoAnn “Numbers Introduction and Annotations.” The HarperCollins Study Bible. New Revised Standard Version, Including the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books With Concordance. Eds. Harold W. Attridge, et al. Revised Edition. New York: HarperCollins, 2006. 194-254.
McCarter, Kyle “1st & 2nd Samuel Introduction and Annotations.” The HarperCollins Study Bible. New Revised Standard Version, Including the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books With Concordance. Eds. Harold W. Attridge, et al. Revised Edition. New York: HarperCollins, 2006. 389-473.
Milgrom, Jacob “Leviticus Introduction and Annotations.” The HarperCollins Study Bible. New Revised Standard Version, Including the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical Books With Concordance. Eds. Harold W. Attridge, et al. Revised Edition. New York: HarperCollins, 2006. 150-193.
