Timothy S. Hogue. <i>The Ten Commandments: Monuments of Memory, Belief, and Interpretation</i>

Timothy Hogue’s monograph explores the Decalogue in light of monumental traditions of the Levant, particularly the “I Am” monuments. Hogue argues that this monumental tradition illuminates how the Decalogue functioned for ancient Israel and more precisely pinpoints when and why it emerged. Hogue begins by defining monuments as “focal points of engagement and interpretation” that produce “special meaning for a community as they interact with it” (pp. 1, 3). A monument need not be large or made of stone; an artifact of any size can function as a monument as long as associated social practices imbue it with authority.Chapter 1 surveys the Levantine “I Am” monuments as a model for the Decalogue (p. 21). “I Am” monuments introduce the speaker, offer a communal perspective, and include violation clauses and ritual practices (pp. 11–12). The monument’s direct address renders it a substitute for the living speaker. “I Am” monuments first appeared in the Late Bronze Age but were most common in the Iron Age (p. 25).The logic of these monuments shifted in each age, along with the conventional means of engagement. In the Age of Civic Ritual (950–850 BC), “I Am” monuments appeared on palace grounds to distribute the royal presence throughout gathered crowds of worshippers (pp. 32–43). In the Age of Territorial Theater (870–745 BC), the authority and prestige of central monuments were extended through their connection with peripheral monuments to unify a territory (pp. 49–50, 56–57). The Age of Court Ceremony (790–600 BC) curtailed the expansive reach of previous “I Am” monuments by limiting them to the royal palace, accessible only to elites, with toned-down rhetoric to appease Assyrian overlords (pp. 61–66). During the seventh century BC, “I Am” monuments nearly disappeared, appearing only in funerary contexts.Chapter 2 explores the Exodus Decalogue as an Iron Age monument from the Age of Territorial Theater that “constitute[s] the Israelites” by reembodying Yhwh in their midst. Because Yhwh addressed the community directly only here, “I Am” monuments are an appropriate analogue (pp. 80–81). Hogue identifies key phrases that link the commands to monumental discourse. For example, having “no other god above me” prevents rival monuments, using the same preposition as Luwian and Phoenician parallels (p. 83).Of particular interest was Hogue’s insistence that Exod 20:7 warned not to “maliciously erase the name” from a monument. Arguing that “name” can function metonymically for an inscribed monument (p. 90), Hogue points to Luwian parallels that imply nasa’ shem can mean “to lift away” the name. His is the most interesting proposal I have encountered on this command in ten years. However, Hogue’s thesis depends on defining lshav’ as “maliciously,” which bears no clear evidence in the Hebrew Bible.1 Israel’s high priest was also to nasa’ shem via his authorized garments (Exod 28:29). He carried tribal names as their representative. Could the same Hebrew phrase mean both to “bear the names” and to “erase the name”?Hogue suggests they were to “enchant” the Sabbath as a monthly ritual rather than a weekly day of rest. He insists that “zkr summarizes a set of ritual actions intended to conjure the agent and otherwise activate the monument” (p. 94). However, the day itself—not the Decalogue—was activated by the command.Ironically, the command to “honor your father and mother” adapted metaphorical language for esteemed community members to a familial context (p. 97). Social commands such as those against murder, adultery, theft, false witness, and coveting are also attested in “I Am” monuments. These demonstrate “ideal justice” for “ideal users of the monument” (p. 99). Hogue argues that the stone tablets in Exodus contained the tabernacle instructions rather than the Decalogue, probably to be understood as foundation stones (p. 102). He does not explain how foundation stones, which were normally buried under the temple, would have functioned with a movable tabernacle.Exod 24 is a key text for Hogue, because it depicts the transformation of Sinai into ceremonial theater with an assemblage of monumental objects and activities: twelve maṣṣebot (perhaps inscribed and representing individuals), an altar (unrelated to “I Am” monuments), sacrifice, a bowl for blood manipulation, a feast, and a scroll (a later addition to the account; pp. 104–14). Exod 24:1–2, 9–11a are additions that segregate commoners and elites, reflecting the Age of Court Ceremony (p. 115). Hogue helpfully explains that the spatially convoluted nature of Exod 19–24 (multiple trips up and down the mountain, approaches and retreats) reflects the spatial logic of ceremonial theater, which does not tolerate direct approach to a monument (p. 116). However, this “tiered approach with some groups left behind” partly contradicts his earlier claim that elite access was a later addition.For Hogue, the Decalogue marks Yhwh’s territorial boundary (p. 123), claiming Egypt’s borders as Yhwh’s and reversing notions of order and disorder by bringing order to the wilderness (p. 119). Hogue dates the original Decalogue between 870–745 BC (earlier than some), because Israel would have no reason to employ Levantine or Assyrian genres or vocabulary after they fell out of use (p. 131).Chapter 3 considers the monumentality of the Decalogue in Deuteronomy, which exhibits later updating to reflect the Age of Court Ceremony (pp. 140–41). The inscribed stones of Deut 27 are no longer called maṣṣebot because the reforms of Hezekiah or Josiah condemned those (p. 167). The curses in Deut 27–28 reflect a seventh-century update in light of Mesopotamian and Assyrian texts (p. 189). The “Ark of ‘dwt” became the “Ark of brt”; the former a throne for Yhwh with cherubim in the inner sanctum, the latter no throne or cherubim, instead a chest for stone tablets when hidden texts with limited access gained enhanced prestige (pp. 174–75). However, the tablets held by the later ark are explicitly called ‘dwt.Chapter 4 traces the afterlife of the Decalogue in the Postmonarchic period, noting the transition to smaller, household versions of Israel’s monumental tradition. Public inscriptions disappeared, giving way to scrolls, amulets, tefillin, and mezuzot (pp. 213, 231). The commands against false worship and idols were combined (pp. 214–16). The name command regulated speech rather than protecting monuments (pp. 218–19). Strangely, according to Hogue, this was accomplished by changing the language of the command against false witness in Deuteronomy rather than the name command itself. The Sabbath command shifted from ritual (“enchant”) to domestic practice (“keep”; p. 220).The appendixes include a chronological list of Levantine “I Am” Monuments with transcription and translation of key texts and a translation of Exod 19–24 that highlights the redactional process.While Hogue’s overall proposal is intriguing and helpful in several respects, Hogue’s decision to exclude earlier Late Bronze Age “I Am” texts as well as Egyptian texts is puzzling; he also does not precisely define which regions are included by the designation “Levantine.” Further, he neglects the generic connections to Hittite treaties that would better explain that the Israelites are Yhwh’s segullah, bearing his name as special representatives of the divine suzerain. This would enhance the monumental significance of these texts; people are moveable monuments, animate icons whose purpose is to ever expand the boundaries of Yahweh’s domain.Hogue’s proposed channels of transmission for the monumental genre are surprising—King Ahab, an ally of Urhilina (a major user of “I Am” monuments) and Jeroboam II (who absorbed Hamath; p. 130). This underlies Hogue’s most problematic theory: that the Northern Kingdom of Israel produced Israel’s monumental discourse based on similarities with the cult installation at Tel Dan (p. 133). How could the apostate Northern Kingdom produce a monumental tradition centered on a covenant with Yhwh for whom they exhibited no loyalty? King Ahab all but eliminated the prophets of Yhwh in favor of Baal and Asherah, and the Tel Dan installation explicitly competed with the temple of Yhwh in Jerusalem. Hogue does not suggest that this literature would have originated as a prophetic critique. Instead, he credits Jeroboam II for the original document, later edited by Judahite scribes to reflect the sensibilities of a later period while affirming the authority of the original (pp. 139, 205).I appreciated Hogue’s careful exploration of the Levantine monumental tradition and found his reexamination of the Decalogue thought-provoking. Some of his observations will shift the way I think about the biblical text and its function, especially as it pertains to ritual interaction with monuments. Ultimately, however, I am not persuaded that it offers the most compelling overall explanation of the origins and authority of the Decalogue.