Abstract
The variety of reading methods applied to 2 Samuel 11–12 have resulted in various interpretive debates. The variety of approaches, however, shares a consensus regarding David’s sin as his relationship with Bathsheba and/or his murder of Uriah. Yet these sins would not seem to justify the harsh judgment that results in the death of David’s first-born son. This study suggests that the narrator constructs an alternate sin of David. The analysis first attends to questions of the Deuteronomistic editors as an interpretive lens for uncovering David’s sin. The results of that analysis are then brought into conversation with narrative-literary reading methods, paying particular attention to perspective as a literary device. The study argues that approaching the text from two reading lenses solidifies David’s alternate sin and the real narrative justification for the death of David’s son.
The David and Bathsheba account in 2 Samuel 11–12 remains an intriguing narrative. Modern commentators present David’s sins as his act with Bathsheba and / or the murder of Uriah. The harsh divine response in the death of the first-born has motivated a search for other sins. Some discuss David’s command that Uriah be with his wife even though Uriah is bound to celibacy during the time of war. 1 Others have suggested that the time in which David sleeps with Bathsheba violates a purity law. 2 Despite the scholarship on this text, two questions—necessary for interpreting this narrative—remain unanswered: what is David’s primary sin, and the related question, why does this sin justify the death of David’s first son? This article identifies David’s primary sin by allowing more traditional methods of biblical-criticism to operate in conversation with narrative-literary reading methods. In response to scholarly challenges that the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) is not a helpful reading lens for this text, the first section argues that 2 Samuel 11–12 remains a text of the DtrH. The second section shows how a Deuteronomistic (Dtr) reading lens can contribute to understanding David’s primary sin by assessing public and private spheres in the context of Dtr language. The third section presents the results of narrative-literary readings, particularly the narrative construction of perspective, to reinforce and elucidate the Dtr insights of David’s sin.
The Deuteronomistic History and 2 Samuel 11–12
It is well known that 2 Samuel 11–12 displays themes and language that are characteristic of the DtrH. 3 For example, ‘doing what is right in the eyes of YHWH’ (Deut 4:25) is one such central Dtr phrase that identifies idol worship. 4 In 2 Sam 12:9 the prophet Nathan uses this phrase to implicate David. It is curious that Nathan uses such a phrase to identify actions that are not specifically or explicitly idolatry. What sin is so serious as to be associated with idolatry, incur prophetic admonishment, and result in the death of David’s son? Further, what is the role of Dtr language and a Dtr context in understanding David’s sin in 2 Samuel 11–12? Answering these questions requires a more detailed presentation of how 2 Samuel 11–12 relates to the DtrH in order to clarify the intentions of the text.
John Van Seters determines that 2 Samuel 11–12 is not part of the DtrH since the former contains an anti-Davidic stance that contradicts the pro-Davidic approach of the surrounding DtrH in Samuel–Kings. 5 In particular, a weak David in the Succession Narrative (SN) of 2 Samuel 9–20 (which Van Seters calls the Court History) contrasts with the stronger David in the rest of the DtrH. 6 For Van Seters, the result is that 2 Samuel 11–12 is a later story, written to supplant the DtrH and its expression of the ideal king. 7 Differing representations of David are, thus, the dominant interpretative criteria over and against the presence of Dtr language or themes. Regarding 2 Samuel 11–12, Van Seters states: ‘The fact that the language is similar to that used by Dtr has led to the erroneous view that this is evidence of the Dtr redactor. It is simply not possible to believe that at one point David can be accused of being a king … like Ahab … and at another point be heaped up with praise.’ 8 Van Seters, together with McKenzie, shows that the representation of David in 2 Samuel 11–12 is problematic for envisioning a DtrH source for 2 Samuel 11–12 in conjunction with earlier representations of David in the DtrH. 9 Despite this, the occurrences of Dtr language in 2 Samuel 11–12 must still be given some explanation. 10 I agree with seeing 2 Samuel 11–12 as a later insertion, I suggest that this does not necessarily remove it from being considered to be a Dtr text. Viewing the narrative as a later insertion in conversation with a Dtr tradition sharpens the focus for how the text constructs David and his sin.
Briefly, we can consider Jeremiah’s temple sermon as an instructive example that operates in the later stages of a Dtr tradition, while differing from it. Well known for its critique of the temple as a source of pride for the Judean community, Jeremiah 7 (together with Jeremiah 26) is considered to be part of the DtrH tradition based on shared themes and language. 11 Yet Jeremiah’s vision of the temple contrasts with another (agreed DtrH text) regarding the promise of the temple, namely, 2 Samuel 7. Both texts are seeped in Dtr language and themes while expressing different ideas of the temple. The change is accounted for either by different stages of the DtrH or by later communities thinking in terms of Dtr ideology, and the new needs of Jeremiah’s audience versus earlier communities. Similarly, we need not remove the representation of David in 2 Samuel 11–12 from the Dtr tradition based on contrary representations of David (as Van Seters suggests), nor explain the text as having David operate by different cultic standards (as does Gordon). An alternative approach is to view 2 Samuel 11–12 as a later layer in the DtrH or as a later scribe operating under a Dtr ideology, that was influenced by (or perhaps had access to) an early form of the pre-exilic version of the Dtr corpus. 12 While various detailed theories have been proposed, I will limit the discussion to 2 Samuel 11–12 as an exilic/post-exilic interaction with a pre-exilic layer of the DtrH. 13
Reading 2 Samuel 11–12 as a text of the DtrH
Thomas Römer has provided a fine and recent discussion of the different layers of the DtrH. Among them, he notes the crisis literature of the exile, and how the DtrH contended with that reality.
14
Römer captures well the exiles’ concern: ‘How to reconcile these events with the nationalistic ideology of the first Deuteronomistic writings from the end of the seventh century BCE? For the Deuteronomists, the exile had to be explained.’
15
Mayes explains:
The legitimating function of the first edition of the deuteronomistic history, with its focus on divine promises relating to the temple and the Davidic king, was overtaken by the events of 587 BCE. The supreme role claimed for the king and temple had not justified itself in history, and there emerged an urgent need for a fresh interpretation of events as they developed in the latter part of the exilic period. The revision of the deuteronomistic history involved an extensive reorientation of the work which involved the deuteronomic lawbook as well.
16
The representation of King David in 2 Samuel 11–12 fits well as a later response to the crisis literature informed by, or part of, the DtrH. In fact, it is around the person of the king that one would expect to find a later text with the most changes from its pre-exilic tradition. While this study agrees with Van Seters that the author of 2 Samuel 11–12 is trying to undermine the previous representation of David, the text is best viewed as a post-exilic dialogue with the DtrH tradition as a response to crisis of failed kingship.
This is evident since 2 Samuel 11–12 actively engages with the DrtH tradition while developing it for its own historical circumstances by recovering core messages of the DtrH. 2 Samuel 11–12’s critique of kingship corresponds well with earlier forms of the DtrH in which the institution of human kingship is itself a question (Judg 8:23; 9:7–15; 1 Samuel 8). In particular, the DtrH’s resistance to the monarchy (1 Samuel 8–12 and Deut 17:14–20) matches the same perspective of 2 Samuel 11–12. Yet, as opposed to earlier layers of the DtrH (which uphold an ideal king versus failed kings), 2 Samuel 11–12 makes relevant the critique of kingship for its own time. In an exilic/post-exilic context in which there is no king, a logical way of entering into a Dtr perspective is to critique the ideal king that every reader would have known.
This can be accomplished since 2 Samuel 11–12 maintains an ideal form of DtrH leadership. The author of 2 Samuel 11–12 knew he had a core story involving a positive representation of David which had to be dealt with. In critiquing the role of David, 2 Samuel 11–12 is not rejecting all forms of ideal leadership, but offering an alternative leader in the role of the prophet. As Moses is the idealized mediator between YHWH and Israel in Deut 5:23–31, similarly, Nathan is the idealized prophet in this text (2 Samuel 11–12; Deut 18.22). By critiquing the Davidic kingship and elevating the prophet, 2 Samuel 11–12 maintains the DtrH critique of kingship and looks to that same DtrH for the office that is to be elevated in the king’s place. Thus the anti-Davidic stance of 2 Samuel 11–12 fits reasonably in Römer’s construction of crisis literature, but, at the same time, is intentionally interacting with earlier layers of DtrH and contextualizing its literary heritage for its own time. The literary heritage of 2 Samuel 11–12 is the first indication of what might be David’s sin. The major concerns of failed kingship are clearly in the narrative’s moral radar. It is to the actions of kingship and the ideals of leadership that one should turn in uncovering the main sin of David. With a reasonable construction of 2 Samuel 11–12 as a DtrH text, we can analyze one aspect of its language that relates to its surrounding narrative and further uncover the author’s construction of David’s sin.
חלש in 2 Samuel 11–12 and the DtrH
While many link the DtrH to 2 Samuel 11–12 via its shared themes and formulaic language, less studied are individual verbs. In particular, 2 Samuel 11–12 highlights חלש (to throw/to send), both by its repetition in the story and its link to the surrounding Dtr narrative. It is common to the militaristic style of the DtrH and is used 15 times in 2 Samuel 11–12. Its emphasis is collaborated by its tripartite repetition in 11:6 and by the fact that 12 of the 15 occurrences are in the wayyiqtol (and so at the head of their clauses). Such emphasis draws the reader into a richer understanding of the verb through the juxtaposition of its anticipated meaning and its construction in the narrative.
The surrounding DtrH (both inside and outside the SN) use the verb for military ‘dispatching.’ 17 In the narratives closer to 2 Samuel 11–12, however, it is notable that the verb is associated with acts of deception (2 Samuel 13:7, 16; 14:2, 32; 15:5, 10, 36). Only later does the verb return to its purely militaristic function (2 Samuel 18:2, 29; 19:15, 32; 22:15, 17; 2:13) with no additional connotations. These features in the surrounding texts, combined with the verb’s prominence in 2 Samuel 11–12, suggest not only the latter’s narrative interaction with earlier layers of the DtrH, but also that the construction of the verb is important for the meaning of the story.
Attention to comparative Semitic cognates suggest that the author of 2 Samuel 11–12 was aware of the verb’s military connotation and expects the reader equally to be aware of this. The verb חלש (to send) has a semantic range of military action that was known in biblical Hebrew (above) and in Hebrew inscriptions of the period. 18 In 2 Samuel 11–12 the term is often used of David as the chief military officer sending letters for military action. On the surface, military action is the intended denotation in the text, and this is supported by other Semitic uses.
In Ugaritic, the term חלש means ‘to stretch, throw, or to send,’ which, understandably, involves, in part, throwing a weapon or spear. 19 Beyond verbal forms, the nominal form in Ugaritic means a type of weapon, shlkh. 20 חלש is also cognate to the Akkadian shalum (to whirl up, to toss). 21 Specifically, shalum can mean to shoot arrows or throw weapons. The Akkadian nominal form shiltahu has other connotations that the Israelite author may have been exploiting. shiltahu was not just a normal arrow, but referred to the arrow of the king which reflected the arrow of the warrior god Marduk. 22 It was the arrow (and bow) granted to the king by the ideal warrior god Marduk as a type of divine appointment and acknowledgement of human kingship.
Finally, another semantic range of shalum is observable in 2 Samuel 11–12. Shalum is used in river ordeals (hurshan) to indicate the act of testing guilt or innocence. 23 In the second law of Hammurabi’s law code, when an awilum (citizen) brings an accusation against another awilum, the accuser is permitted to take the bitum (estate) of the accused if the latter sinks in the river (Id, the river god). Since it was common for ancient people not to swim, such water ordeals were used as a test to establish guilt. It is interesting that shalum includes a semantic range of testing and judgment, while its Hebrew form חלש is now emphasized in a text that is concerned with the judgment and the testing of David. This connection to legal language that is used to suggest guilt could be important given that 2 Samuel 12 is also a court case. Nathan’s parable before David is presented as a case to be judged by the king and is used to suggest the guilt of David. This may be more telling for a post-exilic text that may have been exposed to Mesopotamian law (while in exile). 24 Yet, it must be said that the Hebrew author’s echo of river ordeals is not clear and cannot be demonstrated as part of the biblical writer’s knowledge or intention.
While the broadest meaning of חלש and its cognates remains ‘to send,’ its more specific meanings as intended in 2 Samuel 11–12 were well known in related languages. Here it is used either to indicate dispatching for military purposes; sending a weapon, for example, or in its nominal form referring to the weapons themselves. Notably, some meanings imply the divine appointment and responsibility of the human king or even the ideas of justice and legality. Whether or not the author of 2 Samuel 11–12 knew all these nuances, there is a strong indication that the narrator is taking advantage of the reader’s militaristic expectation of this term, and, indeed, upsetting this expectation for didactic purposes.
In contrast to חלש in the surrounding DtrH and against its use in related languages, 2 Samuel 11–12 uses חלש to contrast David’s supposed military action with his real intentions in the text. David continually uses his kingly position as chief of the military to fulfill his private purposes. 25 Attention is drawn to this element at the head of the narrative. It was ‘the time of the year when kings go out [to war] … but David stayed in Jerusalem’ (2 Sam 11:1). This unexpected action of King David—not fulfilling his expected role—is carried through the narrative when actions with a private purpose (that are meant to be of public interest) are described in militaristic language. 26
Staying at home during a time of war, David ‘sends’ (חלשׁיו) for information about Bathsheba and then ‘sends’ the messenger to Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:3, 4). This verb communicates private information in Bathsheba’s message about her conception (11:5). Despite the reader’s expectation of this verb (dispatching messages for the purpose of advancing Israel’s military position), here, חלש is used by David to procure Bathsheba and so that Bathsheba might communicate the conception. In 2 Samuel 11:6 the verb is repeated three times. Whereas on the surface reading (the military content) the text communicates the expected meaning and the likely common semantic connotations, it contrasts those expectations with the private actions to which the military dispatching truly relates. Finally, David has Uriah ‘send’ a letter to Joab (11:14) for the army to fall back, exposing Uriah and leading to his death. The irony is not merely in Uriah delivering his own death sentence, as others have noticed, but that David’s military actions are self-serving rather than for the benefit of the community. Taking the DtrH as a larger context for 2 Samuel 11–12, the study of the verb ‘send’ shows that the sin of David goes beyond his private actions against Uriah and Bathsheba. The narrator’s use of language exposes a larger sin of David’s kingship.
Perspective as a Literary Device
With its own methods, language and interests, literary-narrative readings sometimes appear to be removed from the above discussion. Yet narrative criticism has provided a useful lens for understanding this story and may further clarify the results of more traditional analysis. 27 In particular, narrative readings have applied the well-known literary motif of perspective to this narrative. Notable among these readings is that of Alice Bach, who emphasizes how the interplay between ‘gazes’ leads to women being the subject of the male gaze. 28 Yet the nomenclature, ‘the gaze,’ is too limiting for 2 Samuel 11–12. 29 Rather, there are varying perspectives in the narrative that include in the act of looking moral thoughts and the constructions of characters. The readers’ awareness of these textual perspectives is helpful in understanding the narrator’s construction of perspective and, derivatively, David’s sin. In this case a narrative-critical reading clarifies further the results of the DtrH reading regarding the public versus the private with respect to David that is evident in the use of ‘to send’ in 2 Samuel 11–12.
David’s Perspective
It would appear that the narrator is silent regarding David’s moment of sin. 30 Whereas the narrator describes David, we are never privy to his private thoughts. 31 David, staying at home at the time when kings go off [to war], walks on his roof and sees Bathsheba. The suggestion that David went on the roof because he knew Bathsheba would be in view is not evident. The hitpael of ךלה (to walk) suggests that David was walking around without intention. 32 Because David’s walking is not intentional, we must assume that his sin occurs sometime between the moment of his first look and his subsequent response.
The narrator provides a compass with which to interpret that sin. David’s perspective is framed in sexual terms given the narrative inclusion דאמ הארמ תבוט השאהו (‘the woman was an extremely beautiful sight’) (2 Sam 11:2). While some have pointed to sexual desire as a response on David’s part that might be problematic, at this point in the narrative there is no moral judgment and the sexual dimension is neither negative nor positive. Since the reader does not know of Uriah, this description could be the beginning of a valid relationship between the viewer and the viewed.
The narrative constructs David’s perspective through the reader’s perspective. 33 In the act of reading the narrator includes the reader in the act of viewing. 34 David’s sin may take place when David’s actions go beyond the reader’s own moral sensibility. It would appear that this is subjective in that it depends on the moral sensibility of each reader (ancient and modern). The narrator begins to construct a gradual development from innocence to guilt. The movement of the narrative from the disturbing to the grotesque actions of David reveals eventually a formula for all: David has sinned (and at this point, the reader is removed from David’s perspective). This is achieved through contrasting perspectives that inform contrasting actions.
Uriah’s Perspective
Upon meeting Uriah the reader is not sure what to think, being uncertain as to why Uriah does not obey David when David commands him to go see his wife. From the introduction of Uriah in 11:3–11, the reader is forced to suspend judgment. We do not know the reasons for his actions until we are given his perspective in 11:11. Uriah does not wish to be with his wife because he is more concerned with the reality of war and the protection of the ark. A further change signals that something important is occurring. Whereas the omniscient narrator describes David’s perspective, here, Uriah is allowed to speak for himself. Contrasting perspectives signify contrasting actions. As discussed above, David’s supposed public and militaristic actions only serve his private purposes. In contrast, Uriah represents what David ought to be doing. Uriah is aware of the time of battle and acts accordingly. This is even more striking since Uriah’s actions reflect those of the younger David (1 Sam 23:1–2) who was always with his men in times of distress (1 Sam 24:3). Uriah also parallels the younger David’s concern for consulting the will of YHWH (1 Sam 23:2; 24:6; 26:11; 2 Sam 2:1). Although the figure of David in earlier layers is clearly in contrast to later presentations, 2 Samuel 11–12 is still in conversation with the literary tradition of DtrH.
Contrasting Perspectives
A narrative-critical reading demonstrates that contrasting actions are rooted in different perspectives: the private-sexualized perspective versus that of protection and community responsibility. 35 Consider the key phrases that draw out the contrast. In 2 Sam 11:2 we have David’s perspective: דאמ הארמ תבוט השאהו גגה לעמ תצחר השא אריו (‘Then, from upon the roof, he saw a woman bathing and she was an exceedingly beautiful vision’). Contrasted is Uriah’s perspective in 2 Sam. 11:11 תוכסב םיבשי הדוהיו לארשיו ןוראה םינח הדשה ינפ לע ינדא ידבעו באוי ינדאו (‘The ark, Israel and Judah are dwelling in temporary shelters but my lord Joab and the servants of my lord are camped on the field’). These perspectives are the foundation for actions in the text. David’s erspective leads to his actions under the guise of military language: השאל שרדיו דוד חלשיו (and David sent and he sought after the woman) (2 Sam 11:3), which leads to a series of sinful actions. In contrast we have Uriah’s action: ותיב לא דרי אלו וינדא ידבע לכ תא ךלמה תיב חתפ הירוא בכשיו (‘And Uriah lay at the door of the king’s house with all the servants of his lord and he did not go down to his house’).
The reader is given two perspectives with which to associate. The double perspective functions in the narrator’s construction of contrasting actions. David’s actions lead to personal gain, while Uriah’s are for the protection of the community and possibly YHWH (the ark). Such contrasting actions rooted in contrasting narrative constructions of perspective indicate that David’s sin is more than his immediate actions, but is the overall failure of executing his kingly office (reflected in Uriah).
2 Samuel 12
In Chapter 12 we return to the DtrH, where attention to a narrative reading reinforces that David’s sin is the failure of the king in the public sphere rather than his personal actions in the private sphere. Cognizant of the readers’ militaristic expectation of חלש, the narrator again uses this verb, this time to indicate that the term is used in a new way by a new agent. David is no longer sending, but YHWH is sending Nathan to David (2 Sam 12:1). This change in agent hints that the narrative will take a different direction with control shifting from the human king to YHWH (through the prophet).
The emphasis on contrasting his private actions with David’s public responsibility is the primary reason for the parable opening up David’s private life for public viewing. Nathan reports what YHWH says: ‘because you have done this in secret, but I will reveal it before all Israel and before the sun’ (2 Sam 12:12). 36 A key question is why does the narrative focus the community back on David if his actions have nothing to do with the community of Israel? The effects of David’s actions are not merely private since his sin is not limited to murder and fornication (that occur in the private sphere). The juxtaposition of the private and public spheres—demonstrated in the expectations of חלש versus its narrative construction in the surrounding DtrH—constantly reminds the reader of what David is doing as opposed to what he is supposed to be doing.
The focus on David’s failure in his kingly office is finalized in 2 Samuel 12. Again, we have a text that is not merely a post-exilic insertion that is antithetical to the surrounding narrative, but that is an insertion that is in communication with its own Dtr tradition. Here the major themes of DtrH are drawn upon in order to expose David’s ultimate sin. Until now we have assumed DtrH language in 2 Samuel 11–12, and scholars have recognized the identification of such language is complex. Ben Zvi notes the limited lexicon of the Hebrew Bible, and points out that various traditions would have had knowledge of the other. With this in mind, literary dependence cannot be limited to shared phraseology, and he suggests that we look for significant indications of inter-textuality based partly on language that is central, rather than peripheral, to the DtrH. 37 In this case, we have not only Dtr language, but also, in 2 Samuel 12, the most prized central themes of DtrH that are used to contextualize David’s ultimate sin.
In Nathan’s speech, the narrator drives home the point of David’s sin by setting the construction of perspective in the context of its DtrH literary tradition. We see this in Nathan’s speech after his parable (2 Sam 12:7ff). 2 Samuel 12 appropriates the grand themes of the DtrH such as that of election (‘I anointed you as king over Israel’ [2 Sam. 12:7]), a theme of primary importance to DtrH as evident in Deut 7:6; 14:2. Drawing on election solidifies the previous contrasting perspectives and actions of David and Uriah, reminding the reader that David has failed in the kingly office of protecting the ark and army of YHWH. Also, the Dtr cycle of sin, punishment, and restoration is employed. 38 The theme of deliverance from one’s enemies in Deut 2:25 is reflected in 2 Sam 12:7 (‘and I rescued you from the hand of Saul’). David has sinned, his punishment is realized, the sin will be on public view, and the child dies (2 Sam 12:11). Restoration, then, occurs through the preservation of David’s life (2 Sam 12:13) and the gift of a second child (2 Sam 12:24). It is, thus, little surprise that David’s self-condemnation is seeped in Dtr thought, when he judges the man of Nathan’s parable. For Deut 22:22 states that ‘if a man has been found lying with a woman who is married they will die.’ David himself echoes this death sentence in 2 Sam 12:5, when he claims that the man of the parable should die. Again 2 Samuel 12 is in dialog with the DtrH and, combined with a narrative construction based on perspective, uses the central themes of that corpus, to underline David’s failure in the kingly office.
Both interpretive lenses recover the text’s constant hinting that David’s sin goes beyond his private actions. David’s failure is not merely private, but has consequences for his public life in relation to his covenantal obligations as king. David’s sin and the justification for the death of his child, understood through the post-exilic/exilic redaction of the DtrH, become clear in the narrative function of perspective in 2 Samuel 11–12.
Judgment on the Child
The most shocking act of divine justice is the death of the son, who was the first-fruit of David and Bathsheba’s union. The death of the son is clearly not due to the more traditional readings of David’s sin. If David’s primary sin were murder, as some have speculated, we could expect that similiar events of murder in the Hebrew Bible would result in the death of offspring. Yet Enoch was not punished with death because of Cain’s sin (Gen 4:17). Considering narratives closer to the DtrH, if we entertain the possibility with some that the sin is the rape of Bathsheba, we find that there is no precedence in which the death of a child is deemed a suitable judgment for this act. Consider the rape of Tamar by Amnon (2 Sam 13:12); no son results and no son dies. This is equally so in the case of the rape of Dinah (Genesis 34) and in other cases (Judges 19). It is not a motif in the Hebrew Bible that a son dies as punishment for murder or rape. Since this feature is unique to 2 Samuel 11–12, the source of sin that is justified in a death is elsewhere. 39 David has failed in his kingly office and this is the sin that justifies the death of the child.
In the negative conclusion of 2 Samuel 12 we come to appreciate the seriousness with which this later layer of the DtrH took kingship, leadership, and the implications of its failings from a post-exilic perspective. Only in this context can the death of the child be better understood. Yet understanding does not always give satisfaction in terms of conclusions. We see that serious leadership is a concern of the text, and, through Nathan and Uriah, the narrator provides examples of what that leadership might be. We need not remove such difficult texts or their negative elements, but allow them to speak in their own terms even though they may communicate their message in a cultural envelope that is offensive to our own. 40 Here, for example, we can read of ideal forms of leadership even though this is communicated in the context of a disturbing death. From our contemporary perspective, we may even come to a better appreciation of the truly marginalized in this story. While feminist readings have rightly called attention to the marginalized and silenced Bathsheba, she eventually gains prominence as a queen mother. However, the first child remains silenced and remains nameless. The child is the truly marginalized of the story and this marginalization is evident so that the narrator might communicate dissatisfaction with David’s failure as king.
Conclusions
In biblical studies, too often particular reading methods compete for the place of interpretation. It is clear that a more sure footing for interpretive results occurs when various reading methods concur to produce shared conclusions. I discussed 2 Samuel 11–12 as a likely exilic/post-exilic layer of the DtrH and in this a particular verb that highlighted the contrast between David’s military responsibilities as a king and his private actions. A narrative-critical analysis of perspective combined with attention to central themes of DtrH shows in the narrator’s construction the whole community looking back on the sins of David. The narrator’s act of placing readers in the perspectives of Uriah and of David, the attention to earlier forms of the DtrH, and the expectations of militaristic language, all communicate David’s ultimate sin: he has failed in his office as king to implement the divine perspective which is that of protection and concern for the community (reflected in Uriah). It is for this sin that the child dies and remains the truly marginalized character of the story. 41
Footnotes
1
David’s command contradicts 1 Sam 21:5; Deut 23:10–15; Num 31:16–24. See John Mauchline, 1 and 2 Samuel (London: Oliphants, 1971), 249.
2
See Lev 20:18. Hans Wilhelm Hertzberg, I & II Samuel (London: SCM, 1964), 310. Robert Alter sees the sin as the combination of all the sinful actions (Robert Alter, The David Story: A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel [New York: W.W. Norton, 1999], 256).
3
Scholars have realized the complexity of such identifications. Many questions should be asked in order to determine whether a text is Dtr or not: what is the level of frequency of Dtr language and how many Dtr phrases occur before a text is classified as such?; is the language characteristic or tangential to the DtrH?; is there the possibility of mutual influence on the text?; how do text-critical issues factor into determining Dtr phraseology given the complexities of language between the Masoretic Text and LXX? This study roots 2 Samuel 11–12 in language that is characteristic and central, rather than tangential, to the DtrH.
4
For example: the language of idolatry is expressed in the phrase ‘you will not go/walk after foreign gods’ (Deut 6:14; 8:19; 11:28; 13:3; Judges 2:12; 1 Kings 11:10); and the centralization of worship theme is expressed in the phrase ‘to place his name there’ (Deut 12:5, 21, 14:24; 1 Kings 9:3; 11:36; 14:21; 2 Kings 21:4, 7). See Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972). Also see Deut 1:23; 4:25; 6:18; 19:18; 12:25, 28; 13:19; 17:2; 21:9; 31:29.
5
This position has been repeated by Van Seters in various forms (see John Van Seters, In Search of History [New Haven, CT: Yale University, 1983], 277–291). See also John Van Seters, ‘The Court History and DtrH: Conflicting Perspectives on the House of David,’ in Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, ed. Albert de Pury and Thomas Römer, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 176 (Freiburg, Switzerland: Universitätsverlag, 2000), 70–93, at 71–77. Most recently the position is restated in John Van Seters, The Biblical Saga of King David (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 290–91.
6
Thus Van Seters believes the SN is not an independent unit, as was proposed by Rost and accepted by scholars like Noth and Von Rad. For a useful summary, see Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clark, 2005). Steven McKenzie, in general, agrees with Van Seters’s assessment (Steven L. McKenzie, ‘The So-Called Succession Narrative in the Deuteronomistic History,’ in Pury and Römer, Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, 123–135, at 135). The current discussion does not solve the problem of the SN, but only comments on 2 Samuel 11–12 in relation to the DtrH. For three scholarly reviews of Römer, see Raymond F. Person, ed., ‘In Conversation with Thomas Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History: A Sociological, Historical and Literary Introduction (London: T & T Clarke, 2005),’ Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9 (2009): 2–49.
7
Van Seters is correct in observing that Gordon’s response to this apparent contradiction—which argues David fulfills the minimum obligations of kingship and can thus still be critiqued by the DtrH—is insufficient (Robert P. Gordon, ‘In Search of David: The David Tradition in Recent Study,’ in Faith, Tradition and History: Old Testament Historiography in Its Near Eastern Context, ed. Alan R. Millard, James K. Hoffmeier, and David W. Baker (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 285–298, at 289.
8
Van Seters, The Biblical Saga of King David, 293.
9
Here David’s crime is similar to that of Ahab’s (1 Kings 21), which the DtrH judges harshly (1 Kings 16:30) (see McKenzie, ‘The So-Called Succession Narrative in the Deuteronomistic History,’ 132–134). McKenzie concludes that 2 Samuel 11–12 is a post-DtrH insertion into the text, agreeing that its representation of David is at odds with other aspects of DtrH.
10
For other studies that discuss the Dtr language in this text, see Randall C. Bailey, David in Love and War: The Pursuit of Power in 2 Samuel 10–12 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1990).
11
Ernst Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles: A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970), 68–69. Some disagree with identifying Jeremiah 7 as a Dtr text. It is of note that William Holladay does not debate the existence of Dtr language in the chapter, but acknowledges it (see William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986], 240). Jeremiah’s use of Shem theology (Jer 7:10), in particular, reflects Deut 12:5; 11. Holladay does not engage this aspect of Jeremiah 7 in arguing against it as a Dtr text. For a discussion of Shem theology and Jeremiah, see Tryggve N.D. Mettinger, The Dethronement of Sabaoth: Studies in the Shem and Kabod Theologies (Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1982). For a critique of Shem theology, see Sandra L. Richter, The Deuteronomistic History and the Name Theology (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2002).
12
Andrew D.H. Mayes has proposed that the exilic forms of the DtrH had access to earlier forms of the tradition (Andrew D.H. Mayes, The Story of Israel between Settlement and Exile: A Redaction Study of the Deuteronomistic History [London: SCM, 1983]). For those that support the idea of access to older forms in the exilic redactions, see Nobert Lohfink, Studien zur Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur, vol. 8, vol. 12, vol. 20 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1990, 1991, 1995).
13
Various theories are proposed for this general position. Some date the composition/compiling of the DtrH to the Neo-Babylonian period (560 BCE) or advocate two editions (see Richard D. Nelson, The Double Redaction of the Deuteronomistic History [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1981]). The most recent theory is for a neo-Assyrian date with three redactions (see Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History).
14
Römer, The So-Called Deuteronomistic History, 107–163.
15
Ibid., 113. Römer envisions the exilic period as the first attempt at creating a comprehensive history.
16
Andrew D.H. Mayes, ‘Deuteronomistic Ideology and the Theology of the Old Testament,’ in Israel Constructs its History: Deuteronomistic Historiography in Recent Research, ed. Albert de Pury, Thomas Römer, and Jean-Daniel Macchi (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 456–480, at 469.
17
2 Sam 2:5; 3:12, 14, 21, 26; 5:11; 8:10; 9:5; 10:2ff, 16.
18
For the translations and texts of representative examples, see Lachish Letters 3: 1, 6, 7, 21; 4: 2, 4, 8; 5: 4, in Sandra L. Gogel, A Grammar of Epigraphic Hebrew (Atlanta: Scholars, 1998), 415–423.
19
Gregorio del Olmo Lete and Joaquin Sanmartin, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 816.
20
See Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit: einschliesslich der keilalphabetischen Texte ausserhalb Ugarits, ed. Manfried Dietrich, Oswald Loretz, Joaquin Sanmartin et al. (Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, 1976), 36.
21
The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, ed. John A. Brinkman et al. (Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1956–2011) (hereafter CAD), 17.1: 300. The correspondence between the Hebrew kh and the Akkadian u can be explained since the latter is a contraction of two vowels, once separated by what in Akkadian is called the glottal stop (aleph), also referred to as the third aleph. Thus the aleph corresponds to the proto-Semitic *kh and *h allowing shalum to be a cognate of shalakh. Shalakhum is another possible cognate in which the Akkadian h can equal the Hebrew kh. In this case Akkadian shalakhum simply connotes dispatching, not necessarily in military contexts (CAD, 17.1: 222).
22
CAD, 17.2: 448–450.
23
CAD, 17.1: 301. For example, ‘If a man is taken prisoner in war, and there is sustenance in his house, but his wife leaves house and court, and goes to another house: because this wife did not keep her court, and went to another house, she shall be judicially condemned and thrown (shalum) into the water’ (Code of Hammurabi, 133; trans. available in Martha T. Roth, Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor, 2nd [Atlanta: Scholars, 1997], 71–142); see also other river ordeals (Code of Hammurabi 2, 108, 129, 143, 155). River ordeals have also been noted as a possible aspect of the Hebrew Bible as in Psalm 18; 66; 69; 88; 124 and 144 (see P. Kyle McCarter, ‘The River Ordeal in Israelite Literature,’ Harvard Theological Review 66 (1973): 403–412). While there is no reference to the river in 2 Samuel 12, YHWH is clearly the judge as the river god Id was.
24
While the Code of Hammurabi is from the time of Hammurabi, later copies of it are known during the exile period. It is also the case that it was mostly the elites who were exiled and most likely exposed to Mesopotamian legal systems. For a recent work that claims Mesopotamian legal influence on biblical texts, see David P. Wright, Inventing God’s Law: How the Covenant Code of the Bible Used and Revised the Laws of Hammurabi (New York: Oxford University, 2009).
25
Richard Smith has summarized this well: ‘David’s public military aggression abroad will set the stage for his aggressive sexual appetite at home’ (Richard G. Smith, The Fate of Justice and Righteousness During David’s Reign: Narrative Ethics and Rereading the Court History According to 2 Samuel 8:15–20:26 (New York: T&T Clarke, 2009), 121.
26
LXX here has a genitival chain ‘the time of the expedition of the kings.’ For a discussion of David’s action as unexpected and for examples similar to 2 Samuel 10:6–13, see Smith, The Fate of Justice and Righteousness During David’s Reign, 121.
27
For a useful summary of negative and positive reactions in Hebrew scholarship to the narrative readings of Perry and Sternberg, see Moshe Garsiel, ‘The Story of David and Bathsheba: A Different Approach,’ Catholic Biblical Quarterly 55 (1993): 244–262, esp. at 246.
28
Alice Bach, Women, Seduction and Betrayal in Biblical Narrative (New York: Cambridge University, 1997), 128–132. The topic of the gaze has been analyzed in literary studies for some time. Examples of gazing are evident in literary works that have to do with first contact between cultures and sexes. The gaze as a literary device is often the focus of post-colonial literary works. A traditional example is to be had in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (see Kimberly J. Devlin, ‘The Eye and the Gaze in Heart of Darkness: A Symptomological Reading,’ Modern Fiction Studies 40 [1994]: 711–735; Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness [London: Penguin, 1999]). For similar readings regarding the function of gazing as highlighted by narrative criticism, see Mieke Bal, ‘The Elders and Susannah,’ Biblical Interpretation 1(1993): 1–19; J. Cheryl Exum, Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)Versions of Biblical Narratives (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 174.
29
These narrative readings could benefit from a more concentrated definition of the gaze. One of its more helpful expressions is to be found in the medical work of the structuralist Michel Foucault. Foucault focuses on the gaze in light of the physician’s relationship with the patient. He examines the simple gaze of observation and characterizes it in terms of modern faith in objectivity and in the visual (see Michel Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception, trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith [New York: Vintage Books, 1975]; see also Martin Jay, ‘In the Empire of the Gaze: Foucault and the Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought,’ in Foucault: A Critical Reader, ed. David Couzens Hoy [Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988], 175–204). Foucault, for example, states: ‘The gaze (le regard) implies an open field, and its essential activity is of the successive order of reading; it records and totalizes; it gradually reconstitutes immanent organizations; it spreads out over a world that is already the world of language, and that is why it is spontaneously related to hearing and speech’ (Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic, 121, emphasis added).
30
For this study I have chosen to bypass discussions of the real and implied author, the ideal and implied reader, and the narrator and the narratee (see Andrew D.H. Mayes, ‘Deuteronomistic Royal Ideology in Judges 17–21,’ Biblical Interpretation 9[2001]: 246–249).
31
Garsiel believes that the moment of sin is when David looks at Bathsheba and covets her, since this is against the usual modesty expected between the sexes (Gen 24:64; Job 31:1) (see Garsiel, ‘The Story of David and Bathsheba: A Different Approach,’ 253). Yet at this point in the narrative there is no judgment on David’s action. Perhaps, seeing a woman bathing could be a description of love and attraction resulting in a marriage. This type of sexual attraction is known in biblical narratives. For example, we can consider Gen. 29:17 when the result of Rachel and Laban’s attraction is a divine blessing of their union (Gen 29:22).
32
Thus, the vav of אריו could be understood as ‘then,’ so as to read: ‘he strolled upon the roof of the king’s house [zaqep qaton following the Masorets], then he happened to see.’ The use of the hitpael here fits with Job 1:7, 2:2, and Gen 3:8. The secondary issue of Bathsheba intentionally being in view so as to be seen by David, while an interesting suggestion, is not useful for understanding what is David’s sin and is not indicated by the narrator. Such suggestions often try to exonerate David in some way; David’s sin remains whether Bathsheba intended to be seen or not. The same discussion of intention holds for whether or not Uriah is aware of the adultery and David’s deception (see Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading [Bloomington: Indiana University, 1985], 201–209.
33
For the discussion of point of view, see Adele Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Sheffield: Almond, 1983), 55–56.
34
This is in agreement with J. Cheryl Exum in her discussion of the voyeuristic intention of the narrator. Yet, I believe that the narrator is only welcoming the reader into a suggestive moment. Exum takes this suggestiveness further. For her, ‘the intimacy of washing is intensified by the fact that this is a ritual purification after her menstrual period … A woman is touching herself and a man is watching.’ Yet the washing in relation to התאמטמ, ‘her uncleanliness,’ only occurs in v. 4 after David lies with her and thus after the scene of gazing on Bathsheba is complete. At the point to which Exum refers, neither David nor the reader knows why she is washing (see J. Cheryl Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996], 25–26). Further, the issue of the washing—as discussed by McCarter—is rather ambiguous, where the circumstantial clause, for example, regarding the state of Bathsheba is merely to let the reader know that the forthcoming child is not Uriah’s (see P. Kyle McCarter, 2 Samuel [New York: Doubleday, 1984], 286; see also Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 198). Others have noted that Bathsheba’s bathing exonerates her from the charge of luring David since she is following ritual custom (Lev 15:19–24). Bathsheba follows Israelite purity laws and David disobeys them (see Smith, The Fate of Justice and Righteousness During David’s Reign, 124). The narrator may be forming a particular perspective on David as unclean (Lev 15:25–31) since he has been with an unclean woman and the allotted time likely had not yet passed. The extent to which Israelites were to avoid an unclean woman is evident in the ancient Near East since an unclean woman is even to be avoided by Mesopotamian demons like Lamashtu (see Karl van der Toorn, From Her Cradle to Her Grave: The Role of Religion in the Life of the Israelite and the Babylonian Woman, trans. Sara J. Denning-Bolle (Sheffield: Journal for the Study of the Old Testament, 1994), 52.
35
Others have noted David and Uriah’s contrasted actions (see, for example, Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of the Biblical Narrative, 40).
36
The contrast between private and public in the account has already been noted (see David Gunn, The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1982], 88–94).
37
Ehud Ben Zvi, ‘Deuteronomistic Redaction In/Among “The Twelve”? A Contribution from the Standpoint of the Books of Micah, Zepeniah and Obadiah,’ in Those Elusive Deuteronomists: The Phenomena of Pan Deuteronomism, ed. Linda S. Schearing and Steven L. McKenzie (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 232–261.
38
Consider Deut 1:23, 4:25, 6.18, 9:18, 12:25, 28, 13:19, 17:2, 21:9, 31:29; Judg 2:11, 3:7, 3:12, 4:1, 6:1, 10:6, 13:1; 1 Sam 12:17, 15:19, 2 Sam 11:27, 12:9. For a treatment of this cycle, see Joze Krasovec, Reward, Punishment and Forgiveness: The Thinking and Beliefs of Ancient Israel in Light of Greek and Modern Views (Boston: Brill, 1999).
39
Jeremy Schipper has made a helpful connection in his discussion of David’s sin in noting that familial terms accompany Uriah and Bathsheba in 2 Samuel 11 (vv. 3, 11, 26, 27). Nathan’s parable shows how the poor man’s family unity was destroyed; his accusation focuses on how David destroyed Bathsheba’s and Uriah’s family unit (Jeremy Schipper, Parables and Conflict in the Hebrew Bible [New York: Cambridge University, 2009], 52). Given the narrator’s repetition of the family sphere, Schipper’s analysis supports the public–private dialogue occurring in the text. David has a negative effect on family structures. For example, David’s first family structure is destroyed (the death of the son) as a result of his actions. Upsetting this first family structure is inevitably tied to the very public institution of the monarchy.
40
This is slightly different than ethicization. We can still find positive elements in this text only because the realities of the negative features are admitted. The goal, however, is to see in a positive way the content of a problematic text against children (see Annemie Dillen, ‘Good News for Children? Towards a Biblical Hermeneutic of Texts of Terror,’ Irish Theological Quarterly 76 [2011]: 164–182).
41
This article is a revised version of papers read at the Graduate Interdisciplinary Approaches to the Biblical World conference at Trinity College, Dublin (2007) and the seminar, The Concept of Justice in the Near and Middle East from Antiquity to the Present, University of Toronto (2008). I would like to thank those who contributed in their observations and questions to this article, in particular, Andrew D.H. Mayes.