Resisting rape culture: The ten concubines of 2 Samuel 15–20 and #MeToo

Introduction

In October 2017, over 30,000 #MeToo responses flooded Twitter, the social media platform, in response to Alyssa Milano’s invitation: “If you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted write ‘me too’ as a reply to this tweet.” ¹ Within one week, #MeToo appeared in numerous languages across eighty-five countries. ² In only two months, #MeToo’s momentum carried it from a viral internet phenomenon to a global movement with faces, teeth, and grit. I distinctly remember when my December 18, 2017 issue of TIME magazine arrived in the mail with its front cover depicting six women from all walks of life dressed in black. “The Silence Breakers,” individuals, mostly women, who had come forward to accuse and name those who had sexually violated them, were 2017’s Person of the Year:

This reckoning appears to have sprung up overnight. But it has actually been simmering for years, decades, centuries . . . They’ve had it with the fear of retaliation . . . They’ve had it with the code of going along to get along . . . They’ve had it with men who use their power to take what they want from women . . . These silence breakers have started a revolution of refusal, gathering strength by day, and in the past two months alone, their collective anger has spurred immediate and shocking results: nearly every day, CEOs have been fired, moguls toppled, icons disgraced. ³

One year later, the #MeToo hashtag had been used more than nineteen million times on Twitter alone. ⁴ Now, two years later, the founder of ‘Me too,’ Tarana Burke, reflects: “What happened two years ago was a historic and critical part of one of the most significant movements in the world . . . It was a consciousness-stirring moment, but it’s not enough to create awareness. What matters is what we do next.” ⁵ In a critical time for the #MeToo movement, this article focuses attention on the state of this dialogue within biblical studies, a field that notoriously lags behind other areas in the humanities. How do readers engage sacred texts in ways that honor the work of #MeToo by combatting the normalization of sexual violence within our society, by hearing the voices of victims of sexual violence, and by holding perpetrators of sexual violence accountable?

The need to dismantle rape culture

Within US society at large, rape, sexual assault, and sexual violence are currently inescapable. The #MeToo movement has foregrounded patterns of sexual violence and social mechanisms that are shored up through silencing victims and defending abusers. Society needs to dismantle these mechanisms that protect and perpetuate rape culture to realize the dream of the day when no one will need to say #MeToo. ⁶ Our collective responsibility is to listen to victims’ voices, to change our assumptions about sexual violence, and to stop propping up rape culture. As Tarana Burke declares, “The reality is if we really want to look toward ending sexual violence, we have to examine all of our behavior—this is across the board, however you identify on the gender spectrum.” ⁷

We need to eradicate the acceptance of “rape myths” that bolster victim-blaming, perpetuate rape culture, and defend sexual violence. In 1994, Kimberly Lonsway and Louise Fitzgerald defined “rape myths” as “attitudes and beliefs that are generally false but are widely and persistently held, and serve to deny and justify male sexual aggression against women.” ⁸ To illustrate this definition, two pervasive rape myths are that “women routinely lie about being raped,” and “only ‘certain women’ are raped, primarily women with ‘bad’ reputations and those from socially marginal or minority groups.” ⁹ Rape myths are the source material for the phenomenon commonly called victim-blaming, which shifts responsibility from the (typically) male perpetrator to the (typically) female victim. ¹⁰ Shifting blame from perpetrator to victim serves to assuage women’s fear of sexual violence by falsely reassuring them that they can make themselves immune to sexual violence, and legitimizes men’s sexual aggression by rationalizing their behavior and alleviating any guilt they may feel. ¹¹ The acceptance of rape myths leads to victim-blaming, which silences sexual assault victims. Fewer reported crimes of sexual violence “protects individuals, and society, from confronting the reality and extent of sexual assault.” ¹² The pervasive failure to confront sexual violence creates a vicious cycle that perpetuates rape culture. Sexual violence occurs; the victim is blamed and silenced, whereas the perpetrator is excused; sexual violence becomes increasingly normalized; new sexual violence occurs. This cycle serves to maintain the status quo of patriarchal ideology.

As part of dismantling rape myths, society needs to normalize consent, bodily autonomy, and healthy sexual boundaries. Establishing these societal values requires complex and multi-layered social changes. For the topic at hand, however, one of the important strategies to promote the necessary changes is to define sexual assault as any sexual contact without affirmative consent. Each individual involved in sexual contact “needs to agree in words or clearly demonstrate that they want to engage in sexual activity.” ¹³ In the framework of affirmative consent, bodily autonomy is normalized, and any sexual contact that is not a purely voluntary activity is deemed to be sexual assault. As of 2012, the definition of “rape” used by the United States Department of Justice reflects this description. ¹⁴ However, this understanding has not been adopted by our wider society, and specifically by people who sit on juries of rape cases. ¹⁵ Other countries, and prevailing rape myths, still define rape based on coercion, actual or threatened physical force by the perpetrator, and the victim’s ability and attempt to resist the sexual assault. Under this latter definition, aggressive sexual contact is normalized and requires active resistance in order to maintain bodily autonomy.

Engaging sacred texts as a means of dismantling rape culture

Many entry points exist into critically considering society’s attitudes and behaviors that perpetuate rape culture, and consequently normalize sexual violence. One common and powerful starting place for self-examination and communal reflection is engaging with sacred texts. This exercise is powerful because, as Baruch Hochman so insightfully points out, readers glean their interpretations of characters through the same frameworks they use to understand real people in life. ¹⁶ Therefore, a natural suggestion is that attitudes towards victims and perpetrators of sexual violence are interwoven into how communities of faith read stories of sexual violence in biblical texts. Just as it is inescapable in our society, sexual violence permeates the biblical text. Communities of faith, as well as biblical scholarship, need to consider critically their attitudes toward victims of sexual violence and the perpetrators of such violence when studying and interpreting these biblical narratives.

Beyond normalizing consent and bodily autonomy in our everyday lives, we should also normalize them within our readings of the biblical text. Within the worlds portrayed in biblical texts, advocating for consensual sexual contact might seem anachronistic. Rape was a cultural norm in ancient Israel and, much like today, it was used to assert dominance, power, and control over another person. Modern readers value empowering women and those vulnerable to sexual violence; readers can therefore reasonably hold characters in ancient texts accountable for their actions in the same way as characters in modern texts.

The challenge of #MeToo can be daunting. Cheryl Exum, in her powerful book Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)versions of Biblical Narratives, grounds her chapter on rape thusly: “Raped by the pen is not the same as raped by the penis . . . This is obvious, but it needs to be stated since in speaking of rape by the pen I am applying the language of bodily experience to literary representation . . . I take this violence seriously, though I do not take it literally.” ¹⁷ In contrast to Exum, I maintain that, because modern readers interact with narrative characters in the same way as they do with people in life, reading the rapes in our biblical text as though they were being perpetrated by real men violating real women is important. Though Exum’s approach is valid, imagining the figures in the sacred text as real people encourages readers to apply their textual studies to their lived experiences. Through this individual and communal work, we can unlearn damaging rape myths, and learn to ask new questions about consent, as well as practice hearing the victims of sexual violence and holding perpetrators of sexual violence responsible for their actions. ¹⁸ To illustrate this approach, this article examines the case of David’s ten concubines in 2 Samuel 16:20–22.

Absalom’s rape of ten concubines

In 2 Samuel 15, David’s son and heir to his throne, Absalom, declares himself king at Hebron, gathers men to his cause, and gains the endorsement of the great counselor, Ahithophel. Eventually, a messenger comes to David, reporting, “The hearts of the Israelites are with Absalom!” (2 Sam 15:13). ¹⁹ Recounting David’s flight from Absalom’s invasion, the narrative pauses long enough to mention that “the king fled, and all his household on foot, but the king left behind ten םישגלפ (concubines) to guard the house” (2 Sam 15:16) before returning to the story by repeating the phrase, “the king fled, and all the people, on foot.” When Absalom reaches the royal house, he seeks the counsel of Ahithophel, who advises him:

“Go into your father’s םישגלפ (concubines) who were left behind to guard the house, and all of Israel will hear that you have become foul to your father. Then the hand of all who are with you will be strengthened.” So, they spread out a tent on the roof for Absalom, and Absalom went into his father’s םישגלפ (concubines) before the eyes of all Israel. (2 Sam 16:20–22)

Absalom then pursues his father and dies in the ensuing battle. When David hears the news of Absalom’s demise, he loudly bewails his fallen son. Joab reprimands the king: “Today, you have shamed the faces of all your servants, who, today, delivered your life, and the lives of your sons and your daughters, and the lives of your wives, and the lives of your םישגלפ (concubines)” (2 Sam 19:6). Concluding Absalom’s rebellion and before engaging Sheba’s rebellion:

David went to his house in Jerusalem. The king took the ten םישגלפ (concubines) who were left behind to guard the house, and he set them in a guarded house. He sustained them, but he did not go into them. So, they lived shut away until the day of their death, living in widowhood. (2 Sam 20:3)

Most of the biblical scholarship that actually addresses the ten concubines in this story avoids naming what Absalom does to these women on the rooftop as rape. Instead, scholars employ euphemisms such as claiming, seizing, cohabitating, taking over, sleeping with, possessing, and seducing. ²⁰ Absalom’s rape of the ten concubines is interpreted as a necessary narrative and theological element, nothing more. Several popular arguments justify Absalom’s rape of the ten concubines. One argument asserts that the rapes facilitate Absalom’s claim to the kingship in Jerusalem by his lying with the royal harem. Though this act might have been an actual practice in the ancient Near East, relying on that argument as the sole way to understand Absalom’s rape of the concubines props up the rape myth that men are sexually violent by nature. Another common argument elucidates that Absalom’s perpetration of sexual violence fulfills Nathan’s prophecy that a man would lie with David’s wives under the sun as punishment for David’s taking of Bathsheba and ordering the murder of Uriah the Hittite (2 Sam 12:7–14). ²¹ This narrative reading does justice to the rhetoric of the text; it also justifies, however, the implication within the narrative that these women’s perspectives and experiences are completely irrelevant. ²² Furthermore, this argument shifts the responsibility for Absalom’s sexual violence against these women from Absalom to the figure of God and thus to David. Consequently, Absalom raping these ten women is rationalized as a divinely just punishment of David. ²³ The limited aspect of these readings reflects US rape culture. They perpetuate rape myths that excuse a man’s public rape of ten women for the benefit of narratological and theological arguments. Within much modern biblical scholarship, Absalom’s domination and violation of these women is completed. They are interpreted in line with the ideological perspective of 2 Sam 16:20–22 as objects without subjectivity, autonomy, or power.

Practice bringing new assumptions and asking different questions

In light of these problematic readings and to respond adequately to the challenges of the #MeToo movement, we need to insist on readings that seek to liberate the voices of the ten concubines, validate their experiences, and hold Absalom responsible for his own sexual violence. Biblical interpretations are shaped by the assumptions and questions readers bring to the text; to change our readings of the text, therefore, we must practice bringing new assumptions and asking different questions. Instead of assuming male characters have good reasons for their actions, we assume gendered power dynamics exist and ask questions about them. Instead of assuming biblical stories reflect justice, we assume we are capable of identifying what is and is not just, and ask questions such as, “Is this just?” instead of “How can I interpret this as just?”

When David leaves the royal house and the ten concubines behind, he surrenders his power to them. They have no choice in the situation, no chance to consent; this power is simply thrust upon them. Between David’s abandonment of the palace and Absalom’s assumption of control, these women are responsible for ensuring the proper functioning of the royal palace in Jerusalem. Thus, Absalom wrests power over the palace away from these ten women, not from David, when he takes them up to the rooftop and sexually assaults them in full public view. Rape is not about sex; rape is about domination and power. Using the women to demonstrate his dominion denies their humanity and renders them objects—physical spaces in which a power struggle can rage. Here, Absalom rapes them in an attempt to delegitimize their power, their bodily autonomy, and their subjectivity. Again, they have no choice, no ability to consent; this power is ripped from them through sexual violence.

Following Absalom’s death during the battle, Joab berates David for mourning his rebellious son’s death. During his diatribe, Joab names the ten concubines as both those whom David is shaming and those who have been saved by David’s troops. ²⁴ As female bodies within a patriarchal rape culture, these women require protection from the sexual violence of other men. As faithful subjects, these women deserve to have their honor defended from an unfaithful king. This duality highlights the complexities of being a woman in a society flooded with rape myths: “women are often framed simultaneously as both victim and agent, target and temptress.” ²⁵ Their pain becomes fodder for political manipulation. The general co-opts their experiences of abandonment and rape so he can exert power over the king.

David has barely dried his tears before Sheba instigates another rebellion in his kingdom. Yet, David takes the time to return to Jerusalem and secure the ten concubines in a guarded house. They are effectively punished for succumbing to sexual violence. ²⁶ Rather than analyze David’s rationale for his decision and consequently excuse his re-victimization of these ten women, I propose to explore this scene through the lens of victim-blaming. (Treating victims as though they are to blame often results in the re-victimization, or punishment, of sexual violence victims.) The policing of victims ultimately attempts to silence them in order to maintain the status quo, to assert that this world is just, and to reassure members of society that they are capable of controlling what happens to them. ²⁷ By removing the ten concubines from the royal house, David attempts to restore the status quo of the community. Their sequestering erases the evidence of his failure to protect members of his household. Their silencing erases the voice of dissent that claims the world is not just. Ironically, David’s attempts to erase the women from the narrative highlights them all the more. The residue of their fate remains as a stark reminder of the patriarchal rape culture encountered in the world of our biblical text. And, if we listen closely from behind the guarded door of their house, we can hear the ten concubines saying, “Us too.”

Concluding thoughts

As this reading of 2 Samuel 15–20 demonstrates, readers have agency when engaging sacred texts; we choose which questions to ask of the biblical text, one another, and ourselves. Within community learning, such as in a Bible study, we have a responsibility to ask questions and facilitate discussions that critique the claims of rape culture found within the biblical narratives. The practice of asking these kinds of questions allows readers to reconsider perspectives on sexual violence, adjust problematic views, and practice new ways of talking about rape and sexual violence. New questions, ones that hold the perpetrators of sexual violence responsible, create space for the ten concubines to testify to their victimization and their pain. Carrying this practice out of the Bible study into the wider world is one step towards creating communities in which victims of sexual violence feel safe to share, to accept support, and to heal. This step is one small, but important, way that we can meet the challenge of the #MeToo movement to end the normalization of rape culture in our society.