Fate of Justice and Righteousness During David's Reign: Narrative Ethics and Rereading the Court History According to 2 Samuel 8:15-20:26

LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES 508 Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Seri...

Author: Richard G. Smith

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LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES

508 Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series

Editors Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge

Founding Editors David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn

Editorial Board Richard J. Coggins, Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon, Norman K. Gottwald, Gina Hens-Piazza, John Jarick, Andrew D. H. Mayes, Carol Meyers, Patrick D. Miller, Yvonne Sherwood

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THE FATE OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS DURING DAVID’S REIGN

Rereading the Court History and Its Ethics according to 2 Samuel 8:15b–20:26

Richard G. Smith

Copyright © 2009 by Richard G. Smith All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, T & T Clark International. T & T Clark International, 80 Maiden Lane, New York, NY 10038 T & T Clark International, The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX T & T Clark International is a Continuum imprint.

Visit the T & T Clark blog at www.tandtclarkblog.com

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN-13: 978-0-567-02684-2 06 07 08 09 10

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Jill, Truett and Emmet


CONTENTS Preface Abbreviations Chapter 1 INTRODUCTION Chapter 2 CRITICAL METHODOLOGY 1. Problems for Descriptive Narrative Ethics in the Hebrew Bible 2. Theology and Ethics a. Towards a Philosophy of Theology b. Aspects of Modern Moral Philosophy (1) Theories and Principles (2) Morality (3) Moral Dilemmas (4) Character Ethics (5) Ethical Language 3. Narrative Criticism a. Aspects of Literary Competence b. The Art of Close Reading c. Appreciating Rhetorical Techniques of Narrative 4. A Word on Textual Criticism Chapter 3 JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS AS ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN ETHICAL IDEAL AND HERMENEUTICAL CONSTRUCT 1. On ‫ משׁפט וצדקה‬and kittum u mī¡arum as Semantic Equivalents 2. The Family Factor: Genesis 18–20 as Narrative Analogue 3. The Ideal Purpose of Kingship 4. Associated Behaviors 5. A Divine Gift 6. The Wisdom Factor 7. The Warrior Factor

xiii xv

1 5 6 10 10 16 17 20 22 22 24 26 27 32 33 40

42 44 46 49 52 56 57 59

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign

8. Expectations for Palaces and Royal Cities 9. The Problem of Punishing Royals 10. Conclusion Chapter 4 REDEFINING THE COURT HISTORY ACCORDING TO 2 SAMUEL 8:15B–20:26 AS A LITERARY UNIT 1. 2 Samuel 8:15b as the Beginning of the Unit 2. Establishing “Justice and Righteousness” in 2 Samuel 8:15–20:26 a. David’s Acts of ‫( חסד‬9:1–10:6) b. The Ammonite–Aramean War (10:6–11:1; 12:26–31) c. David’s Sin and Its Punishment (11:2–12:25) d. The Amnon–Tamar–Absalom Affair (13:1–14:33) e. Absalom’s Rebellion (15:1–19:9[8]) f. David’s Return and Sheba’s Secession (19:10[9]–20:26) 3. A Suggested Theme 4. Wisdom Interest 5. The Use of Motifs a. The Author’s Use of Traditional Literary Motifs b. The Author’s Use of His Own Literary Motifs 6. Reflections on Style 7. Degree of Coherence a. Weighing Major Lines of Evidence for Coherence in 2 Samuel 18:15b–20:26 (1) Stylistic/Linguistic Features and Intracharacter Contrasts (2) The Problem of Absalom’s Sons: 14:27 vs. 18:18 (3) Problems Related to David’s Punishment (a) The Significance of 12:6–14 for the Nature and Duration of David’s Punishment (b) Evidence of David’s Awareness of His Punishment in 13:1–19:9(8) (c) Evidence of the Narrator’s Awareness of David’s Punishment in 13:1–19:9(8) (d) Evidence of David’s Awareness of His Punishment in 19:10(9)–20:26 (e) Evidence of the Narrator’s Awareness of David’s Punishment in 19:10(9)–20:26 b. Conclusions Regarding Coherence 8. 2 Samuel 20:26 as the End of the Unit 9. Conclusion

60 62 63

65 65 70 70 73 74 75 75 77 77 78 81 81 83 85 87 88 89 89 91 92 94 99 100 100 101 102 105

Contents

Chapter 5 READING 2 SAMUEL 8:15B–10:19 AS THE BEGINNINGS OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: DAVID’S ACTS OF ‫חסד‬ AND THE AMMONITE–ARAMEAN WAR 1. David’s ‫ חסד‬towards Mephibosheth and Treatment of Zibah (9:1–13) 2. David’s ‫ חסד‬towards Hanun and the Ammonite–Aramean War (10:1–19) a. The Sending of Comforters to Hanun (10:1–5) b. The Ammonite–Aramean War (10:6–19) c. The Battle at the Gates of Rabbah (10:6–14) d. The Battle of Helam (10:15–19) 3. Conclusion Chapter 6 READING 2 SAMUEL 11–12 AS THE CORRUPTION OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: THE URIAH AFFAIR AND THE FALL OF RABBAH 1. The Uriah Affair (11:1–12:25) a. David’s Adultery (11:2–5) b. David’s Attempts to Conceal His Adultery (11:6–15) c. The Death of Uriah (11:16–24) Excursus d. David’s Response to Uriah’s Death (11:25–27) e. Nathan’s Confrontation of David (12:1–15a) f. David’s Response to the Death of the Child (12:15b–24) 2. The Fall of Rabbah (12:26–31) 3. The “Misuse” of the Traditional “Final-Capture-of-a-City” Form in 12:26–31 a. Joab’s Capture of the City and Citadel (12:26–27) b. Joab’s Orders to David (12:28) c. David’s Compliance with Joab’s Orders (12:29) d. David and the Crown of Milcom (12:30a–c) e. Despoiling the City and the Maltreatment of Its Inhabitants (12:30d–31) 4. Conclusion Chapter 7 READING 2 SAMUEL 13:1–19:9(8) AS THE PERVERSION OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: THE ABSALOM AFFAIR 1. David and the Justice of Absalom (13:1–14:33) a. Amnon’s Crime as Incestuous Rape Deserving of Death (13:1–19) b. Absalom’s Execution of Amnon (13:20–36)

ix

107 107 110 111 112 113 114 116

120 121 122 124 126 126 130 131 134 134 135 137 138 139 140 141 143

146 146 147 153

x


c.

A Difficult Narrative Transition (13:37–14:1) (1) Establishing the Text of 13:37–14:1 (2) Establishing the Meaning of 13:37–14:1 d. The Return of Absalom (14:2–22) (1) Joab Recruits a Wise Tekoite Woman (14:2–3) (2) The “Widow’s” Case (14:4–11) (3) The “Widow’s” Indictments of David (14:12–14) (a) For Ignoring Legal Precedence (14:12–13) (b) For Resisting the Will of Yahweh (14:14) (4) The King’s Popular Reputation (14:15–17) (5) Mutual Discernment (14:18–23) e. The Vindication of Absalom (14:24–33) f. Absalom’s Exclusion from Court (14:24) g. A Poignant Profile of Absalom (14:25–27) (1) How Absalom Got His Day in Court (14:28–32) (2) The Royal Kiss of Vindication (14:33) 2. David and the Rebellion of Absalom (15:1–19:9[8]) a. Absalom’s Conspiracy (15:1–12) b. David’s Flight: Backgrounding the Death of Absalom and Beyond (15:13–18:5) (1) Loyal Troops and Spies (15:14–37) (2) Gloating Saulides (16:1–14) (a) David and Zibah (16:1–4) (b) David and Shimei (16:5–14) (3) The Frustration of Ahithophel’s Counsel (16:15–17:23) (a) The First Phase of Ahithophel’s Counsel (16:15–23) (b) Hushai and the Second Phase of Ahithophel’s Counsel (17:1–14) (c) The Beginning of Yahweh War Motifs and the End of Ahithophel (17:15–23) (4) Absalom’s Appointment of Amasa (17:24–26) (5) Preparing the Troops at Mahanaim (17:27–18:5) c. Absalom’s Death in Battle (18:6–19:9[8]) (1) Yahweh War in the Forest of Ephraim (18:6–9) (2) Joab and the Death of Absalom (18:10–18) (3) The Two Messengers (18:19–32) d. David’s Mourning (19:1[18:33]–19:9[8]) 3. Conclusion

157 157 159 163 163 164 167 167 168 173 175 176 177 177 178 180 180 180 182 183 184 185 185 185 186 186 188 188 190 191 191 192 194 198 201

Contents

Chapter 8 READING 2 SAMUEL 19:10(9)–20:26 AS THE DEATH OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: DAVID’S RETURN AND SHEBA’S SECESSION 1. The Ordering of Ideas in 19:10(9)–20:26 2. The Return of David (19:10[9]–41[40]) a. David Favors Judah and Amasa over Israel and Joab (19:10[9]–16[15]) b. The Frustration of Royal Authority at the Jordan (19:17[16]–41[40]) 3. The Secession of Sheba (19:42[41]–20:22a) a. Sheba’s Call for Secession (19:42[41]–20:2) b. The Final Fate of David’s Concubines (20:3) c. The Pursuit of Sheba and the Murder of Amasa (20:4–13) d. The Siege of Abel and the End of Sheba (20:14–22a) 4. Institutionalized Oppression in David’s Administration (20:22b–26) 5. Conclusion

xi

205 206 207 208 212 217 218 219 220 223 226 227

Chapter 9 CONCLUSIONS

229

Bibliography Index of Biblical References Index of Authors

242 257 271


PREFACE The rst manifestation of this work came in the fall 2000 as a doctoral dissertation presented to the University of Cambridge that focused on the characterization of Joab in 2 Sam 9–20. In the course of that work on the Joaberzählungen I became convinced of the critical need to delineate the moral worldviews reected in those narratives. Indeed, such is fundamental to understanding how any characters are portrayed in the texts associated with the so-called Succession Narrative or Court History of David. Nevertheless, my dissertation ended up dividing its time between narrative ethics and the characterization of Joab. In the end, I felt like the former needed more focused treatment. That opportunity was graciously afforded me when Andrew Mein and Claudia V. Camp offered to let me revise my dissertation for the LHBOTS series, with a greater emphasis on descriptive narrative ethics in 2 Sam 9–20 within its current literary environment. The interest in characterization still remains but involves more than Joab. Special thanks goes to Professor Robert P. Gordon, not only for his work as my supervisor during my Cambridge years, but also afterwards for his recommendations regarding publication. Robert’s sense of humor was a welcome distraction for an overly intense graduate student back in the late 1990s. His example of scholarship is one that I can only hope to imitate. I would also like to thank Katherine Dell and J. Gordon McConville, who served as examiners of my original dissertation and offered many helpful critiques. I am also indebted to Professor John Barton of Oxford University for his recommendations in steering the publication of this work towards the LHBOTS series. I am very grateful to my copyeditor, Duncan Burns, for his extensive labors in preparing this manuscript and producing the index. While I alone am responsible for any remaining aws, the reader should know that this work has beneted immensely from Duncan’s careful editorial labors, corrections and suggestions. Much of my original research was conducted at Tyndale House in Cambridge. I am indebted to Dr. Bruce Winter, the former warden, and his staff for allowing me an extended stay at desk #10 in what was, and continues to be, one of the best libraries for biblical studies in the world.

xiv


The faithful support of Fellowship Bible Church of Northwest Arkansas was also a mainstay throughout all the years of my graduate studies. Robert Cupp, Gary Harrell and Mickey Rapier were of special encouragement to me. A number of other benefactors also assisted me. In particular, a large grant from Dr. and Mrs. Steve Farrar made an entire year of writing and research in Cambridge possible. Since 2001 it has been my pleasure to serve as Associate Professor of Biblical Studies at Taylor University in Upland, Indianapolis. I would like to thank my students and colleagues for their support and interest in the completion of this work. Finally, I would like to thank my family. My parents, Linda and Grady Smith, have been a constant source of support and encouragement. Their love for me and complete lack of pretense has been a priceless asset throughout my life. Yet, this book would never have come to completion without the compassion and love of my dear wife, Jill, and the playful distractions afforded me by my two sons, Truett and Emmet. At those times when I found it difcult to cut through a swirl of personal trials and focus on this manuscript—the very sight of which often stirred painful memories for me regarding the circumstances behind its production over the past fourteen years—it was Jill who listened to me, prayed for me and encouraged me to forge ahead. Meanwhile, Truett and Emmet provided me with much needed laughter and living room wrestling matches. With much love and affection I humbly dedicate this book to Jill, Truett and Emmet.

ABBREVIATIONS Readings of the Masoretic text follow Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia, edited by K. Elliger and W. Rudolf (Stuttgart, 1967–77). Readings of the Septuagint generally follow the Cambridge edition by A. E. Brooke, N. McLean, and H. St. J. Thackeray, The Old Testament in Greek according to Codex Vaticanus. II/2: I and II Samuel (Cambridge, 1927), with consultation of the Lucianic readings presented in N. F. Marcos and J. R. B. Saiz, El Texto Antioqueno de la Biblia Griega. Vol. 1, 1–2 Samuel (Madrid, 1989). Readings from the Qumran manuscripts of the books of Samuel rely on Frank Moore Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel (Discoveries in the Judean Desert 17; Oxford, 2005). 4QSama 4QSamc AB ABD AbrN AN AnBib ANET ANETS AOAT ARI ArOF ASORsvs AUSS BASOR BAW B.C.E. BDB BHS BHT Bib BibInt BISNELC BLS BWANT

4Q51 Samuel manuscript from Qumran Cave IV 4Q53 Samuel manuscript from Qumran Cave IV Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York, 1992 Abr-Nahrain Ark Narrative Analecta Biblica Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. 3d ed. Princeton, 1969 Ancient Near Eastern Texts and Studies Alter Orient und Altes Testament Assyrian Royal Inscriptions Archiv für Orientforschung American Schools of Oriental Research Special Volume Series Andrews University Seminary Studies Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Die Bibliothek der Alten Welt before the Common Era Brown, F., S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford, 1907 Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia Beiträge zur Historischen Theologie Biblica Biblical Interpretation Bar-Ilan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture Bible and Literature Series Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament

xvi BWL BZAW CAD CAI CAT CBC CBQ CH

CH COS CSA DCH DH DNWSI ETL EUS ExpTim FCI GKC HALOT

HDR HSM HTIBS HTR IB IBC ICC Int IOSCS ISBL JANES JAOS JBL JCS

The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign Lambert, W. G., Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford, 1960 Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago, 1956– Aufrecht, W. E., A Corpus of Ammonite Inscriptions. Lewiston, N.Y., 1989 Commentaire de l’Ancien Testament Cambridge Bible Commentary Catholic Biblical Quarterly Codex Hammurabi as published in G. R. Driver and J. C. Miles, The Babylonian Laws. Vol. 2, Transliterated Text, Translation, Philological Notes, Glossary. Oxford, 1955 Court History The Context of Scripture. Edited by W. W. Hallo. 3 vols. Leiden, 1997–2003 Copenhagen Studies in Assyriology Dictionary of Classical Hebrew. Edited by D. J. A. Clines. Shefeld, 1993– Deuteronomistic History Dictionary of the North-West Semitic Inscriptions. J. Hoftijzer and K. Jongeling. 2 vols. Leiden, 1995 Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses European University Studies Expository Times Foundations of Contemporary Interpretation Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar. Edited by E. Kautzsch. Translated by A. E. Cowley. 2d ed. Oxford, 1910 Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Translated and edited under the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Leiden, 1994–99 History of David’s Rise Harvard Semitic Monographs Historical Texts and Interpreters in Biblical Scholarship Harvard Theological Review Interpreter’s Bible Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching International Critical Commentary Interpretation International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Cuneiform Studies

Abbreviations JEOL JJS JNES JNSL JPS

JQR JRJ JSOT JSOTSup JSS KAI KAT KEHAT KHAT KKHSANT LBI LCBI LCL LXX LXXA LXXB LXXL LXXM LXXN MS, MSS MT

NAC NCB NEB NIV NRSV

OBO OBT OT OTG OTL OtSt OTWSA PA PEQ PIOSCS

xvii

Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap (Genootschap) Ex oriente Lux Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures: The New JPS Translation according to the Traditional Hebrew Text. Jewish Publication Society Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Reform Judaism Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Journal of Semitic Studies Donner, H., and W. Röllig. Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften. Wiesbaden, 1962 Kommentar zum alten Testament Kurtzgeffastes exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament Kurtzgefasster Kommentar zu den Heiligen Schriften des Alten und Neuen Testaments Library of Biblical Interpretation Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation Loeb Classical Library Septuagint Codex Alexandrinus Codex Vaticanus so-called Lucianic manuscripts (boc2e2) Codex Coislinianus Codex Basiliano-Vaticanus manuscript, manuscripts Masoretic text New American Commentary New Century Bible New English Bible New International Version New Revised Standard Version Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Overtures to Biblical Theology Old Testament Old Testament Guides Old Testament Library Oudtestamentische Studiën Ou-Testamentiese Werkgemeenskap in Suider-Africa Probleme der Ägyptologie Palestine Exploration Quarterly Proceedings for the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies

xviii


PTMS RA RB RSV

RV SA SBL SBT SDIOAP SJOT SNBB SPIB SN SSN ST STDJ STTAASF TBC TC TDNT

TDOT

TGUOS THS ThS TZ UF UMSHS VB VT VTSup WASS WBC WMANT ZAH ZAW ZBK

Pittsburgh Theological Monograph Series Revue d’Assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale Revue Biblique Revised Standard Version Religionsgeschichtliche Volksbücher Samuel Appendix (2 Sam 21–24) Studies in Biblical Literature Studies in Biblical Theology Studia et Documenta ad Iura Orientis Antiqui Pertinentia Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Study Notes on Bible Books Scripta Ponticii Instituti Biblici Succession Narrative Studia Semitica Neerlandica Studia Theologica Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemian Toimituksia Annales Academiæ Scientiarum Fennicæ Torch Bible Commentaries TC: A Journal of Biblical Textual Criticism Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G. Kittel and G. Friedrich. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids, 1964–76 Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament. Edited by G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren. Translated by J. T. Willis, G. W. Bromiley, and D. E. Green. 8 vols. Grand Rapids, 1974– Transactions of the Glasgow University Oriental Society Tyndale House Studies Theologische Studiën Theologische Zeitschrift Ugarit-Forschungen University of Michigan Studies Humanistic Series Vorderasiatische Bibliothek Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Westminster Aids to the Study of the Scriptures Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monograph zum Alten und Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für Althebraistik Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zürcher Bibelkommentare

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION

For a long time modern biblical scholars have tended to view the narratives of 2 Sam 9–20 according to the hypothesis of a Succession Narrative, a theory formulated in 1926 by Leonhard Rost, postulating that 2 Sam 9–20 together with 1 Kgs 1–2 was originally part of a single narrative work designed to defend the Solomonic succession.1 However, it has now become somewhat fashionable for scholars to talk about how inadequate the Succession Narrative hypothesis is. The present study takes its cue from a comment by Albert de Pury and Thomas Römer regarding the many interpretive problems associated with the so-called Succession Narrative: “Apparently our own ethical criteria are not necessarily suitable to understand the value conceptions of biblical texts appropriately.”2 This assessment is part of their editorial introduction to a collection of essays entitled Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids: Neue Einsichten und Anfragen, in which three of its six contributors deny that there was ever a separately existing Succession Narrative (hereafter SN).3 1. Leonhard Rost, Die Überlieferung von der Thronnachfolge Davids (BWANT 42; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1926). For an English translation of this work see Leonhard Rost, Succession to the Throne of David (trans. M. D. Rutter and D. M. Gunn; HTIBS 1; Shefeld: Almond, 1982). 2. “Anscheindend sind unsere eigenen ethischen Kriterien nicht unbedingt geeignet, die Wertvorstellungen biblischer Texte angemessen zu verstehen” (Albert de Pury and Thomas Römer, “Einleitung: Zu den wichtigsten Problemen der sogenannten Thronnachfolgegeschichte,” in Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids: Neue Einsichten und Anfragen [ed. A. de Pury and T. Römer; OBO 176; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000], 1–3 [3]). 3. W. Dietrich, “Das Ende der Thronfolgegeschichte,” in de Pury and Römer, eds., Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, 38–69; and, in the same volume, John Van Seters, “The Court History and DTRH: Conicting Perspectives on the House of David,” 70–93, and S. L. McKenzie, “The So-Called Succession Narrative in the Deuteronomistic History,” 123–35. 1

2


Of course, the SN hypothesis has always had its problems; and criticism of it appears to have been growing unabated even prior to the publication of the aforementioned volume.4 One especially bothersome problem over the years has been that an adequate starting point for the SN in the books of Samuel has remained elusive. Indeed, Rost himself suspected that the beginning of the SN had actually been lost in the course of its incorporation into the books of Samuel. Another key problem has been that the theme and Tendenz (or intentionality) of this narrative are not immediately obvious. Vigorous debate has ensued over whether succession is the theme of the texts associated with the SN, whether their narratives represent pro- or anti-Davidic/Solomonic political thrusts, and whether they are even more profoundly anti-messianic. There is also signicant debate over whether this material associated with the SN was a building block of, or a large-scale interpolation into, the Deuteronomistic History (DH). Unfortunately, the whole problem of 4. E.g. H. Schulte, Die Entstehung der Geschichtsschreibung im alten Israel (BZAW 128; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972), 138; Charles Conroy, Absalom! Absalom! Narrative and Language in 2 Sam 13–20 (AnBib 81; Rome: Biblical Institute, 1978), 101–5; K. K. Sacon, “A Study of the Literary Structure of ‘The Succession Narrative,’ ” in Studies in the Period of David and Solomon and Other Essays: Papers Read at the International Symposium for Biblical Studies, Tokyo, 5–7 December, 1979 (ed. T. Ishida; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1982), 27–54 (53); R. C. Bailey, David in Love and War: The Pursuit of Power in 2 Samuel 10–12 (JSOTSup 75; Shefeld: JSOT Press, 1990), 7–31, 125–30; Gillian Keys, The Wages of Sin: A Reappraisal of the “Succession Narrative” (JSOTSup 221; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic Press, 1996); R. A. Carlson, David the Chosen King: A TraditioHistorical Approach to the Second Book of Samuel (trans. E. J. Sharpe and S. Rudman; Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1964), 136; David M. Gunn, The Story of King David: Genre and Interpretation (JSOTSup 6; Shefeld: University of Shefeld, 1978), 13–16, 66–67; Peter R. Ackroyd, “The Succession Narrative (socalled),” Int 35 (1981): 383–96; Jan P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analysis. Vol. 1, King David (II Sam. 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2) (SSN 27; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1981), 1–20, 417–19; John Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 264; W. S. Vorster, “Readings, Readers and the Succession Narrative: An Essay on Reception,” ZAW 98 (1986): 357–61; I. W. Provan, “On ‘Seeing’ the Trees while Missing the Forest: The Wisdom of Characters and Readers in 2 Samuel and 1 Kings,” in In Search of True Wisdom: Essays in Old Testament Interpretation in Honour of Ronald E. Clements (ed. E. Ball; JSOTSup 300; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic Press, 1999), 155–62; H. H. Klement, II Samuel 21–24: Context, Structure and Meaning in the Samuel Conclusion (EUS 23/682; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2000), 32–40; Serge Frolov, “Succession Narrative: A Document or a Phantom?,” JBL 121 (2002): 81–104. 1

1. Introduction

3

Tendenz associated with the political propaganda perspective of the SN since the work of L. Delekat has led to some extreme fracturing of the narrative along supposed redaction-critical lines.5 Here the arguments at times even center on issues of characterization.6 All of these debated issues are interrelated and hinge on questions of literary boundaries, theme, characterization and Tendenz. Nevertheless, with the remains of the so-called SN now supposedly scattered throughout 2 Sam 2–4, 6, 9–20 and 1 Kgs 1–2, and with its boundaries exhibiting such ux in scholarly discussion, I suspect that if the SN ever existed as a separate entity, then there can be little question that its original structural and thematic integrity has been severely compromised by the editorial interests of the one(s) responsible for the current composition in which its remains are now supposedly found.7 Currently there is no consensus on these questions, and scholarship is increasingly moving away from the SN hypothesis as a reading paradigm.8 In light of this, I see no reason to order the present study around the SN hypothesis as a Prüfstein. Yet, if the SN hypothesis shows us anything, it shows us how delimitation of the narrative’s literary boundaries stands to impact views of the moral perspective governing the narrative. Indeed, Rost’s successsion theme 5. See L. Delekat, “Tendenz und Theologie der David-Salomo-Erzählung,” in Das ferne und nahe Wort (ed. F. Maass; BZAW 105; Berlin: Töpelmann, 1967), 26–36. 6. This is evident in the work of E. Würthwein, who likes to speak of an antiJoab stage of redaction and who suggests that 2 Sam 14:1–22 was inserted in order to place the blame for Absalom’s return squarely on Joab (Die Erzählung von der Thronfolge Davids-theologische order politische Geschichtsschreibung? [TS 115; Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 1977], 43–47). R. Bickert has developed Würthwein’s latter notion into a theory of no less than three redactors having worked over 2 Sam 14:1–22 (“Die List Joabs und der Sinneswandel Davids. Eine dtr bearbeitete Einschaltung in die Thronfolgeerzählung 2 Sam 14,2–22,” in Studies in the Historical Books of the Old Testament [ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 30; Leiden: Brill, 1979], 30–51). For more redaction criticism associated with the problem of Tendenz, see T. Veijola, Die ewige Dynastie. David und die Entstehung seiner Dynastie nach der deuteronomistischen Darstellung (STTAASF 193; Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1975), 26–46; F. Langlamet, “Pour ou contre Salomon? La rédaction prosalomonienne de Rois, I–II,” RB 83 (1976): 321–79, 481–528; idem, “Absalom et les concubines de son père. Recherches sur II Sam 16,21–22,” RB 84 (1977): 161–210. 7. Indeed, as B. S. Childs said, “it seems more and more evident that the intention reconstructed by L. Rost is no longer shared by the nal editor of the book” (B. S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976], 275–76). 8. For a very good summary of scholarly responses to the SN hypothesis together with his own critique, see Frolov, “Succession Narrative,” 81–104. 1

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functioned as an ethical perspective from which to evaluate the various characters and their actions in the narrative. But this succession theme itself was dependent on the inclusion of 1 Kgs 1–2, without which there would be no SN at all. At the present time, no other reading paradigm has arisen to rule the day in place of the SN hypothesis, and proposals for dating the narrative material previously associated with it currently range anywhere from the tenth century to the post-exilic period. Fortunately, there is still widespread agreement that 2 Sam 9–20 is a core unit of narrative material within 2 Samuel.9 So, it is with this that the present study begins. With the issues of ethics, theme, literary boundaries, characterization and Tendenz being so intertwined, the present inquiry into the value conceptions of 2 Sam 9–20 constitutes not only another literary study of that major block of narrative associated with a SN, but also a study of ethics in the Hebrew Bible. To focus on the fundamental ethical perspective of 2 Sam 9–20 is to inquire into the very nature and purpose of this narrative in its current literary environment. This study will attempt to address the interrelated problems of literary boundaries, characterization, theme and Tendenz in 2 Sam 9–20 by conducting an examination of its moral and ethical perspectives through narrative criticism. This focus on descriptive ethics is fundamental, because any exegetically based inquiries into such matters as characterization and Tendenz presuppose understanding of the moral worldviews which undergird their construction. Chapter 2 of this study will address matters relevant to critical methodology as we seek to employ narrative criticism in light of issues related to ancient literary competence, the modern study of moral philosophy and aspects of a philosophy of theology. In Chapter 3 I will present a study of the Hebrew expression (“justice and righteousness”), along with its Akkadian semantic equivalent kittum u m£arum in preparation for Chapter 4, where I seek to redene 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26 as a literary unit better designated as the Court History of David. I will argue that this unit has “the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign” as its theme. Chapters 5–8 will then conduct a close reading of this unit in order to demonstrate more fully how this redened narrative as discoursed presents the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. Chapter 9 will summarize and synthesize my conclusions, placing special focus on ethics, characterization and Tendenz.

9. However, some scholars have doubted the place of chs. 10/11–12 in the history of redaction. See Peter Kyle McCarter, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes and Commentary (AB 9; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1984). 1

Chapter 2

CRITICAL METHODOLOGY

In an effort to delineate what we can of the various ethical criteria associated with the value conceptions presented in 2 Sam 9–20, this study will focus descriptively on (1) the ethical norms and values of the narrative’s implied author, (2) the ethical norms and values which this implied author attributes to the characters portrayed, and (3) how these diverse perspectives may serve understandings of literary boundaries, characterization, plot, theme and Tendenz of 2 Sam 9–20. As an exercise in descriptive narrative ethics, this study is textually focused. Its approach is founded on what Douglas Knight has designated as the referential construct in which the ethicist, utilizing the various methods associated with historical-critical exegesis, seeks to interpret the text “in terms of its prehistory, specically its literary development, the intentions of its authors and redactors, and the phenomena in the real world to which it, ex hypothesi, refers.”1 Ethical analysis carried out according to this construct, as dened by Knight, “relies heavily on extra-biblical information supplied by archaeology, other historical evidence, and ancient Near Eastern literature, but its focus remains on the biblical text itself as the object to be explicated ethically.”2 However, in as much as 2 Sam 9–20 represents the art of classical Hebrew narrative, this study also operates with what Knight has designated as the literary construct, in which ethical analysis is mainly interested not in the producers of the literature but rather in the world of the text and the world of the reader. Admittedly, as Knight points out, this type of analysis results directly from a literary theory that both questions the ability of the interpreter to get “behind” the text to its cultural and authorial causes and also disputes the value of such information even if it were obtainable. Nevertheless, such studies have the advantage of showing “the ways in which meaning is 1. Douglas A. Knight, “Introduction: Ethics, Ancient Israel, and the Hebrew Bible,” Semeia 66 (1994): 1–8 (2). 2. Ibid. 1

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constituted and conveyed in individual texts, a meaning that bears on the nature of humanity, divinity, and the world.”3 These referential and literary constructs are not mutually exclusive, but, as Knight properly observes, they do represent distinct differences in the way the accent is set in any study of biblical ethics. 1. Problems for Descriptive Narrative Ethics in the Hebrew Bible The task of determining the ethical perspectives that are operative in any narrative text of the Hebrew Bible faces a number of difculties, not the least of which involve some fundamental and far-reaching stances on major critical issues in the Hebrew Bible as well as some challenges related to the competencies usually considered essential for scholarly study of it. Indeed, the very idea of “biblical ethics” presupposes competency in the two demanding disciplines of ethics and biblical studies. However, it must be admitted that few scholars are adequately prepared for this combination of moral philosophy and biblical criticism. According to James M. Gustafson, specialists in ethics generally lack proper training in biblical studies and specialists in biblical studies generally lack sophistication in ethical thought.4 While this may represent a fair critique of many involved in these disciplines, Eryl W. Davies probably speaks more to the sympathies of biblical specialists interested in the ethics of the Hebrew Bible when he notes that ethics itself is “a notoriously amorphous subject which does not lend itself very readily to scholarly analysis,” and that the material available to us in the Hebrew Bible is not easy to identify or classify.5 Furthermore, the Hebrew Bible does not present a unied or coherent body of ethical principles, but instead contains a wide variety of moral values and norms, preserved in books which date from different periods and which have frequently been subjected to a long process of editing.6 In the midst of all this, it has been observed that the Hebrew Bible itself presents little or no detached reection on the subject of moral philosophy.7 Consequently, in-depth study of the biblical material often reveals unresolved tensions existing 3. Ibid., 3. 4. James M. Gustafson, “The Place of Scripture in Christian Ethics: A Methodological Study,” Int 24 (1970): 430–55 (430). 5. Eryl W. Davies, “Ethics of the Hebrew Bible: The Problem of Methodology,” Semeia 66 (1994): 43–54 (43). 6. Ibid. 7. Recently by Andrew Mein, Ezekiel and the Ethics of Exile (OTM; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 5. 1

2. Critical Methodology

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between ethical demands, so that it becomes difcult to do justice to the whole range of biblical material relating to any particular issue. The problems posed by the various biblical sanctions against adultery have proven to be a case in point.8 The law codes of the Torah, since they constitute probably the most overt and easily recognizable ethical material in the Hebrew Bible, tend to become a natural starting point for the study of ethics in the Hebrew Bible. Indeed, it is the very essence of law to be focused on the subject of ethics. However, the priority of place given to this Torah legislation in the canonical order of the Hebrew Bible has encouraged many to read the Prophets and Writings in that light. In other words, the laws of the Torah are assumed to represent the standards according to which the rest of the Hebrew Bible makes ethical appeals. However, historical-critical study on the relationship between the law codes of the Torah and the rest of the texts of the Hebrew Bible weighs heavily against any a priori assumptions that the latter were composed in light of the former despite their canonical sequencing. Such a historical-critical understanding of these texts weighs against adopting a canonical approach to their interpretation.9 But even if we ignore such historical-critical issues for the moment, one still should not assume that all biblical narratives founded their ethical perspectives on the laws contained in the Torah; nor should one assume that the laws contained in the Hebrew Bible represent a full or comprehensive statement of the ethical imperatives that were incumbent upon Israelites at any particular time, since many ethical obligations required actions that went far beyond strictly legal requirements.10 Such obligations are often the particular concerns of narrative material in the Hebrew Bible.11 8. Anthony Phillips, Ancient Israel’s Criminal Law: A New Approach to the Decalogue (Oxford: Blackwell, 1970), 110–29, 153; Henry McKeating, “Sanctions Against Adultery in Ancient Israelite Society, with Some Reections on Methodology in the Study of Old Testament Ethics,” JSOT 11 (1979): 57–72; A. Phillips, “Another Look at Adultery,” JSOT 20 (1981): 3–25; Henry McKeating, “A Response to Dr Phillips by Henry McKeating,” JSOT 20 (1981): 25–26; Arnold A. Andersen, “Law in the Old Testament: Laws Concerning Adultery,” in Law and Religion (ed. Barnabas Lindars; James Clarke, 1988), 13–19; Cyril S. Rodd, Glimpses of a Strange Land: Studies in Old Testament Ethics (ed. D. J. Reimer; OTS; London: T&T Clark, 2001) 28–43. 9. Eckart Otto, “Of Aims and Methods in Hebrew Bible Ethics,” Semeia 66 (1994): 161–72 (161). 10. Davies, “Ethics of the Hebrew Bible,” 46. 11. Gordon J. Wenham, “The Gap between Law and Ethics in the Bible,” JJS 48 (1997): 17–29. 1

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In light of all this it seems reasonable to accept that one should be open to a plurality of models as furnishing the basis of morality in the Hebrew Bible. Such models might consist of the imitation of God, obedience to God’s revealed will, and conformity to a pattern of natural order (i.e. natural law).12 However, the adoption of such conceptual categories traditionally associated with moral philosophy—as is particularly the case with studies of biblical ethics that employ notions of natural law and human rights—brings with it another complex of problems related to the integration of moral philosophy and the exegesis of ancient texts. Concerning this, Peter J. Paris (an ethicist) points to a tendency among some biblical specialists “to submit too easily to the methodological classications within the history of ethics and to use them as heuristic devices in determining the scope of their respective inquires.”13 Such an approach, he rightly argues, makes one vulnerable to anachronistic judgments and argumentation. Therefore, Paris goes on to advise that any explanatory categories of a people’s moral life should be developed wholly from within that people’s own worldview. Importation of categories from other cultures should be strictly avoided so as to lessen the risk of either distortion or neglect. According to Paris, we are better off asking questions of the text that are decidedly pre-modern.14 While Paris’s hermeneutical cautions are well taken, his methodological purism is not easily workable. It strikes me as better to follow Michael V. Fox’s reasoning according to which the application of modern labels to ancient thought is valid heuristically insofar as the basic denitions of the philosophical systems can help organize and encapsulate the ancient ideas, recognizing, however, that the subtleties and ramications of the philosophical ideas, as developed by the modern advocates, will rarely apply precisely to the ancient concepts.15 Mary E. Mills reects similar circumspection regarding the relationship between moral philosophy and exegesis when she writes, It may well be possible to move from moral philosophy to biblical morality, but only by paying careful attention to the parameters of each area in its own right. At the same time biblical texts, which contain legal or ethical statements, must be subject to the same process of biblical exegesis as would be applied to other types of biblical material. Texts may well 12. Davies, “Ethics of the Hebrew Bible,” 50. 13. Peter J. Paris, “An Ethicist’s Concern About Biblical Ethics,” Semeia 66 (1994): 173–82 (173). 14. Ibid., 173–79. 15. Michael V. Fox, “The Epistemology of the Book of Proverbs,” JBL 126 (2007): 669–84 (675–76). 1


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provide examples of moral vision or ethical behavior and stories are of particular value here. But the route to identifying these examples is by the act of reading, of biblical exegesis, which in itself is not separate from any other act of careful reading of a narrative as a whole.16

Another factor that complicates descriptive study of narrative ethics in the Hebrew Bible is the fact that its ethical perspectives are intimately bound up with its theological perspectives. Indeed, Biblical Hebrew narratives, whether by default or by design, reect human propensities towards moral and theological reection, displaying the moral and theological perspectives of those behind the texts (i.e. authors, editors, scribes) as well as attributing moral and theological perspectives to the characters within the texts. Such presentations are part of the art of classical Hebrew narrative which involves an imitation of life itself,17 albeit according to ancient Near Eastern literary conventions. For instance, in the account of David’s sin in the Bathsheba–Uriah affair we have the following statement: (“And the thing which David did was evil in the eyes of Yahweh,” 2 Sam 11:27). This demonstrates that notions of theology and ethics are implicit in the literary-rhetorical crafting of the narrative. The verse demonstrates an overt theological interest in as much as it presents an assertion about Israel’s God on the part of the one(s) responsible for the text’s composition. Whether we prefer to think of them as authors, editors, or scribes, their assertion suggests that they have engaged in theological reection which has inuenced their portrayal of King David. Their theologizing clearly has an ethical component as they have attributed to Yahweh a certain moral evaluation of David’s actions according to a category designated by the word (“evil”). Such expressions of moral and theological sentiments involve a complex literary-rhetorical dimension, in that these sentiments are conveyed sometimes through the voices of narrators and sometimes through those of characters. These in turn serve the characterization of both human and divine gures and also appear directed towards the reader’s own moral perspective on the story. Clearly, 16. Mary E. Mills, Biblical Morality: Moral Perspectives in Old Testament Narratives (Heythrop Studies in Contemporary Philosophy, Religion and Theology; Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), 8. 17. “It is through meeting and interacting with others that a human being explores the potential of self-identity and forms his or her own set of values and priorities. Narratives mirror this social process of meeting and interchange and thus achieve a moral dimension… Stories may be said to have a mimetic function, in that they produce in their symbolic world of text, situations, which echo actual human experience of life in society” (ibid., 11). 1

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a descriptive study of narrative ethics in the Hebrew Bible needs to orient itself towards the disciplines of theology and ethics on the one hand and to literary-rhetorical criticism on the other. 2. Theology and Ethics The Hebrew Bible often portrays peoples and nations doing theology for good or ill over very long periods of time and amid the mundane affairs of domestic life as well as the more exotic circumstances associated with major social, political, and philosophical upheavals. The very idea of “doing theology for good or ill” implies that there is an ethical dimension to theologies in the Hebrew Bible which is reective of a natural intersection between theology and ethics. a. Towards a Philosophy of Theology It is commonplace for those in biblical studies to speak of biblical books/authors as having a particular theology and to discuss the content of that theology at length. Sometimes such studies even consider something of the theological method which gave rise to these theologies. However, what is often left undone is a denition of what theology is, to articulate what it means to do theology in the rst place, regardless of method. Such considerations are especially important for studies in biblical narratives, because in them we see characters portrayed as if they are in the process of doing theology for good or ill. It is not just the content of their theology that is on display, but also the circumstances under which they construct their theology and the ethic that it serves. Perhaps the most common way to think about theology is to focus on it as an analytic, critical and constructive exercise expressed in a formal discipline or set of disciplines that developed through the interaction between Middle Eastern and European thought particularly after the Enlightenment. Obviously, as John Goldingay points out, most texts in the Hebrew Bible do not represent this kind of exercise in theology. However, this is not to say that there are not some texts, and I am thinking here with Goldingay of Isa 40–55, Job and Qoheleth, that reect something approaching analytical, critical and constructive thought. While these sorts of texts represent a minority they nevertheless constitute evidence that such reection need not be considered foreign to the Hebrew Bible.18 Indeed, what we moderns may loosely designate as “theology” is essentially a manifestation of our own involvement in what 18. John Goldingay, Old Testament Theology 1: Israel’s Gospel (Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP Academic, 2003), 19. 1


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the ancients seem to have associated with the quest for wisdom.19 In this respect it is worth noting that the more overtly theological texts mentioned above have long been recognized for their interest in wisdom.20 If there is a certain degree of continuity between modern and ancient tendencies to engage in theological reection, it remains to consider, on a basic humanistic level, what is going on when a person engages in such reection. Considering the doing of theology from this angle, it seems appropriate to describe our subject as that of a philosophy of theology. To some this may sound like an oxymoron, since modern opinions vary considerably as to how theology should be related to philosophy. Of course, much of one’s conception regarding this relationship is bound up with the history of debate on whether theology should be understood as scientia or sapientia.21 However, leaving this aside, we can appreciate how Gerhard Ebeling sums up the various ways in which philosophy and theology have related: [Philosophy] has represented an integrating factor in the history of theology from the beginning. This partnership between theology and philosophy has shown many modications. Its scale reaches from the most intimate interpenetration to the most external hostility, from a philosophy that claims to be theology to one that understands itself in the light of its contrast to theology, from a theology that seems to dissolve into philosophy to one that strives to free itself from any contact with philosophy. Between these there lie the attempts, in numerous combinations and gradations, to distinguish theology and philosophy in such a way that they remain in communication with one another.22

19. As far as I am aware, biblical literature does not use a word that may be properly glossed as “theology.” However, the word “theology” appears to nd a near semantic equivalent in Hebrew , which is poetically associated with wisdom in Prov 9:10, (“The beginning of wisdom is the fear of Yahweh, knowledge of holy ones is understanding”). 20. H. G. M. Williamson, “Isaiah and the Wise,” in Wisdom in Ancient Israel: Essays in Honor of J. A. Emerton (ed. J. Day et al.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 133–41; Leo G. Perdue, “Wisdom in the Book of Job,” in In Search of Wisdom: Essays in Memory of John G. Gammie (ed. L. G. Perdue et al.; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 73–98, and, in the same volume, Michael V. Fox, “Wisdom in Qoheleth,” 115–31. 21. Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of Science (trans. F. McDonagh; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976), 3–22; Edward Farley, Theologia: The Fragmentation and Unity of Theological Education (repr., Eugene, Or.: Wipf & Stock, 2001 [1994]), 29–48. 22. Gerhard Ebeling, The Study of Theology (trans. D. A. Priebe; London: Collins, 1979), 53. 1

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It is also worth pointing out that the very word theology seems to have been philosophically coined, in as much as the word appears to have entered the literary tradition through Socrates’s use of theologia (RFPMPHJB) in Plato’s Republic to designate mythology (379a).23 To ask what is done when one does theology is to inquire more about universal dynamics than content or doctrines, about common processes more than methods or criteria. My concern here is with theologizing as part of universal human experience. So, if we may fairly regard any thinking about God as more or less representing an exercise in theological reection at some level, then it is probably not an overstatement to regard doing theology as an effort more or less common to all humans. Whether we are focusing on theology in this loose sense or more formally “as a disciplined reection on faith, and thus also on revelation,”24 human efforts in theology are still characterized by certain basic dynamics and systemic issues, as people search for theological truth regardless of whether or not they approach the task with discipline. Notice that this humanistic and existential element is implicit in Wolfhart Pannenberg’s arguments for the principle of coherence in theology: The question of truth in religion is not only a theological question. It is not even theological in the rst place. Before it comes to theology, there is a feeling of reliability or an awareness, but vaguely perceived, of the mysterious reality that encompasses or pervades our lives. To most people, beauty speaks of truth in more powerful ways than any intellectual argument does. Nevertheless, what we take as true in experiential immediacy may be challenged. All momentary certainty stands in need of further conrmations and interpretation, and it is only by the reference to the unity of all our experience and of all our knowledge that we can determine what is true. Coherence provides the nal criterion of truth, and it can serve as such a criterion because it belongs to the nature of truth: Whatever is true must nally be consistent with all other truth, so that truth is only one, but all embracing, closely related to the concept of the one God.25

My initial effort towards a philosophy of theology is to suggest that a person’s theology results from attempts to integrate four interdependent sources of knowledge, which may be designated simply—but hopefully not simplistically—as scripture, tradition, reason and experience. The following diagram attempts to illustrate this: 23. Ibid., 54. 24. For this formal denition of theology, see Avery Dulles, Models of Revelation (Garden City, N.Y.: Image, 1985), 5. 25. Wolfhart Pannenberg, An Introduction to Systematic Theology (Osterhaven Lectures 1; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 5–6. 1


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Scripture

Reason

Theology

Experience

Tradition

Dynamics of Doing Theology

This model attempts to represent basic dynamics intrinsic to doing theology regardless of cultural context, temporal setting or confessional commitments. It is not suggesting that people can or should do theology in a particular way. That would be to talk about a theological method. Rather, this model attempts to represent something of the basic existential environment common to all cultivations of theological notions regardless of the particular methods employed. So, this model is intended to represent not a potential method but a fundamental reality in which the sources for theology are recognized as interrelated and interdependent. I have distinguished them here merely for the sake of clarity, but in the actual act of theologizing they are all swimming together in the same soup, so to speak. Some may wonder why this model does not present culture as a distinct source for theology. If we dene the word culture as a sociological term referring to the sum total of ways of living built up by a group of human beings and transmitted from one generation to another, then culture is essentially tradition.26 Thus, according to our way of thinking, this model provides a place for the notion of culture. As for my designation of scripture as a source for theology, this is intended to refer broadly to any texts which a group of people may 26. This raises some interesting questions: How does culture relate to theology? Does culture give rise to theology or does theology give rise to culture? 1

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accord “sacred” status. Even those who do not recognize the sacred texts of Judaism, Christianity or Islam nevertheless appeal to certain texts which they accord some special authority, be it religious or secular, and thereby treating those texts as functionally “sacred.” Nevertheless, some with confessional commitments may object that my preferred model does not reect a proper hierarchy in which scripture is given the pre-eminent place. However, such criticism is based on a misunderstanding of my model combined with a failure to distinguish between a philosophy of theology, a method of theology, and a construct of theology. The idea that scripture is the ultimate or most authoritative source for theology is itself a theological construct generated from a particular method of integrating the sources. Reason, tradition and experience are all critically and indispensably at play even when one reads and interprets scripture in a way that leads to the conclusion that scripture itself is the most authoritative source for theology. This brings us to the relationship of theology to revelation. When people do theology, they assume that revelation occurs and that it is to be found in certain places. Indeed, theology presupposes the existence and knowability of revelation.27 Where one posits this revelation drastically affects the contours of one’s theology. This is one reason for much of the theological diversity that we nd within scripture itself,28 to say nothing of the modern theological landscape. However, our model does not intend to comment on this classic question of the locus of revelation, because that is itself a theological question, the answer to which requires formulation of a theological construct. Consequently, the question of revelation’s locus has been answered in a variety of ways according to various methods of integrating the four sources on that subject. Whether revelation should be understood to reside in scripture, tradition, reason or experience, or even in the theology generated from the integration of these sources is beyond the scope of my model. Nevertheless, an examination of the revelatory language used by biblical writers may well indicate that the Hebrew Bible witnesses to all of these theologies regarding the locus of revelation.29

27. Dulles, Models of Revelation, 5. 28. On theological diversity within scripture, see Paul D. Hanson, The Diversity of Scripture: A Theological Interpretation (OBT; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982); John Goldingay, Theological Diversity and the Authority of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987). 29. See Avery Dulles, Revelation Theology: A History (New York: Herder, 1969), 13–30. 1


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Finally, my model is not commenting on whether any theology is inspired, valid or based on revelation. Those are different questions altogether. The model proposed in the present study is attempting to be phenomenological and humanistic. It is intended to represent theological dynamics under which all people, of all faiths, at all times, do theology. It is intended to be descriptive of basic dynamics under which theology as a human enterprise is engaged. Consequently, this model is also understood to apply to the theological perspectives of the implied authors of the biblical materials and is also useful for analyzing the portrayals of characters and their theological perspectives. One may argue that the theologizing of a biblical writer is inspired, but this does not mean that their theology was any less of a human enterprise conducted according to the basic dynamics we have proposed. These efforts at formulating something of a philosophy of theology are fundamental to the descriptive task of exegesis of the Hebrew Bible. In fact, it could be argued that many of the critical methods devised for the analysis of biblical texts actually arose out of scholarly efforts to understand how biblical writers went about doing theology in their literary compositions, especially with respect to their use of sources. Yet, even when interest in the theologies of the Hebrew Bible has been at the forefront of scholarly inquiry, these have not usually been accompanied by efforts to clarify what it means to do theology in the rst place. In other words, there has been little in the way of a philosophy of theology. A philosophy of theology (or lack thereof) can directly affect how we view the texts of the Hebrew Bible as orienting themselves to some fundamental issues in ethics. For instance, when discussing the possibility that a natural law ethic may undergird some of the material in the Hebrew Bible, Eyrl W. Davies concludes that “the tendency to regard the ethics of the Hebrew Bible as exclusively revelational may need to be reconsidered, for it may well be that Scripture bears witness to principles of right conduct which are rationally discoverable.”30 Here Davies appears to reect a philosophy of theology which poses a false dichotomy between revelation and reason, due in large part to the failure to consider how the theologies of the Hebrew Bible orient themselves to the subject of the locus of revelation. It may well be that some texts in the Hebrew Bible actually present a theology which sees the event of revelation as residing in rational discovery.

30. Davies, “Ethics of the Hebrew Bible,” 49 (italics mine). 1

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This question of the Hebrew Bible’s own orientation to the subject of revelation’s locus has again been brought to the fore in the recent work of Karel van der Toorn, who argues that the very notion of the Hebrew Bible as revelation was an invention of the scribes who compiled the biblical material.31 However, even if one agrees with van der Toorn that it was the scribes who rst designated the Hebrew Bible as revelation— a word which van der Toorn denes as “human knowledge from a culturally postulated superhuman source”32—it still remains to consider whether or not the scribal generation of this theological-cultural construct was itself revelation. b. Aspects of Modern Moral Philosophy Just as with theological reection so too has ethical decision making always been part of the human condition. To the extent that people make moral decisions, they may be said to engage in doing moral philosophy, even if, like theology, they do so informally and pragmatically on the basis of several potential standards. In fact, it is inevitable that people weigh ethical concerns in light of laws, customs, community welfare, virtues, consequences, loyalties, affections and the like. There is surely no reason to doubt that ancient peoples were any different from moderns in this respect. So, when examining an ancient Hebrew narrative for how it may reect various ways of understanding and examining the moral life, some familiarity with the things involved in the task of doing moral philosophy can actually help make the biblical exegete more sensitive to those narrative features which may have ethical import. Indeed, just as some formal awareness of concepts, categories, and issues involved in the task of doing theology can help the biblical exegete become more sensitive to those narrative features which may be suggestive of how characters and implied authors have approached the theological enterprise, so too can some awareness of concepts in moral philosophy assist the biblical exegete in analyzing the ethics reected in narratives of the Hebrew Bible. The value of modern moral philosophy for the exegesis of Biblical Hebrew narrative is not so much in its ability to establish timeless moral and ethical principles of conduct (prescriptive ethics) but rather in its ability to help clarify dynamics and systemic issues inherent to moral reasoning together with the way these things may be expressed in language (descriptive ethics).

31. Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass.; Harvard University Press, 2007), 205–32. 32. Ibid., 206. 1


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(1) Theories and Principles. The discipline of ethics or moral philosophy has been formally organized in a variety of ways. One common approach is to divide ethical theories into three general areas: metaethics,33 normative ethics,34 and applied ethics.35 However, for our purposes it may prove 33. James Fieser explains metaethics this way: “The term ‘meta’ means after or beyond, and, consequently, the notion of metaethics involves a removed, or bird’s eye view of the entire project of ethics. We may dene metaethics as the study of the origin and meaning of ethical concepts. When compared to normative ethics and applied ethics, the eld of metaethics is the least precisely dened area of moral philosophy. Two issues, though, are prominent: (1) metaphysical issues concerning whether morality exists independently of humans, and (2) psychological issues concerning the underlying mental basis of our moral judgments and conduct” (James Fieser, “Ethics,” in The Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, n.p., online: http:// www.iep.utm.edu/e/ethics.htm [accessed December 18, 2008]). 34. James Fieser explains normative ethics this way: “Normative ethics involves arriving at moral standards that regulate right and wrong conduct. In a sense, it is a search for an ideal litmus test of proper behavior. The Golden Rule is a classic example of a normative principle: We should do to others what we would want others to do to us. Since I do not want my neighbor to steal my car, then it is wrong for me to steal her car. Since I would want people to feed me if I was starving, then I should help feed starving people. Using this same reasoning, I can theoretically determine whether any possible action is right or wrong. So, based on the Golden Rule, it would also be wrong for me to lie to, harass, victimize, assault, or kill others. The Golden Rule is an example of a normative theory that establishes a single principle against which we judge all actions. Other normative theories focus on a set of foundational principles, or a set of good character traits… The key assumption in normative ethics is that there is only one ultimate criterion of moral conduct, whether it is a single rule or a set of principles. Three strategies will be noted here: (1) virtue theories, (2) duty theories, and (3) consequentialist theories” (ibid.). 35. James Fieser explains applied ethics this way: “Applied ethics is the branch of ethics which consists of the analysis of specic, controversial moral issues… Generally speaking, two features are necessary for an issue to be considered an ‘applied ethical issue.’ First, the issue needs to be controversial in the sense that there are signicant groups of people both for and against the issue at hand… The second requirement for in issue to be an applied ethical issue is that it must be a distinctly moral issue… The aim of social policy is to help make a given society run efciently by devising conventions, such as trafc laws, tax laws, and zoning codes. Moral issues, by contrast, concern more universally obligatory practices, such as our duty to avoid lying, and are not conned to individual societies. Frequently, issues of social policy and morality overlap, as with murder which is both socially prohibited and immoral. However, the two groups of issues are often distinct. For example, many people would argue that sexual promiscuity is immoral, but may not feel that there should be social policies regulating sexual conduct, or laws punishing us for promiscuity. Similarly, some social policies forbid residents in certain neighborhoods from having yard sales. But, so long as the neighbors are not offended, there 1

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more helpful to adopt that approach which divides ethics into the areas of normative and non-normative. According to Tom L. Beauchamp and James F. Childress,36 there are two broad types of non-normative ethics: descriptive ethics and metaethics. These are grouped as non-normative because their goal is to establish what factually or conceptually is the case rather than what ethically ought to be the case.37 Descriptive ethics is the factual investigation of moral conduct and beliefs using “scientic techniques” to study how people reason and act to determine which moral norms and attitudes are expressed in professional practice, in codes, in institutional mission statements and rules, and in public policies.38 Metaethics includes analysis of language, concepts, and methods of reasoning in ethics. While metaethics addresses the meanings of ethical terms, it also deals with moral epistemology and the logic and patterns of moral reasoning and justication. It also investigates the critical issues of whether morality is objective or subjective, relative or non-relative, and rational or emotional. Metaethical questions would include whether a moral system is based on an ethic of obligation or duty (deontological) or on an ethic of goal-directed conduct (teleological). As for normative ethics, Beauchamp and Childress divide this into two types as well: general normative ethics and practical (or applied) ethics. In general normative ethics we ask “Which general moral norms for guidance and evaluation of conduct should we accept and why?”39 Implementing these theories of the standards for ethics with regard to particular ethical problems is the task of practical ethics. However, as Beauchamp and Childress point out, often there is no straightforward movement from theory or principles to particular judgments. “Theory and principles are only starting points and general guides for the development of norms of appropriate conduct.”40 Indeed, metaethics often takes a turn toward the normative when one attempts to justify moral standards, and normative ethics relies on metaethics. No sharp line is nothing immoral in itself about a resident having a yard sale in one of these neighborhoods. Thus, to qualify as an applied ethical issue, the issue must be more than one of mere social policy: it must be morally relevant as well” (ibid.). 36. Tom L. Beauchamp and James F. Childress, Principles of Biomedical Ethics (5th ed.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Though specically devoted to biomedical ethics, this text is ironically one of the more thorough introductions to the study of ethics in general. 37. Ibid., 2. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Ibid. 1


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should be drawn between practical ethics and general normative ethics or between normative ethics and metaethics.41 Consequently, care should be taken in adopting these categorical distinctions of ethics in moral philosophy. Various ethical theories concerning standards have arisen from attempts to identify and justify moral norms. Consequence-based theory, or consequentialism, holds that actions may be considered right or wrong according to the balance of their good or bad consequences. Such a perspective moves beyond considerations of one’s own interests to the interests of others. Utilitarianism, as the most prominent consequencebased theory, “asserts that we ought always to produce the maximal balance of positive value over disvalue (or at least possible disvalue, if only undesirable results can be achieved).”42 Of course, any utilitarian approach to ethics must still dene what goods should be maximized, and this is a subject of disagreement among utilitarians. Obligation-based theory, often designated as deontological, places the locus of right and wrong in autonomous adherence to moral laws or duties and thus hold that the rightness or wrongness of an action depends on the action itself and not on the consequences it produces.43 This type of theory has been shaped deeply by the ethical philosophy of Immanuel Kant and is therefore often designated as Kantian.44 Another type of ethical theory bases itself on a notion of rights, which may be dened as justied claims that individuals and groups can make upon other individuals or upon society. According to Beauchamp and Childress, Claiming a right is a rule-governed activity. The rules may be legal rules, moral rules, institutional rules, or rules of games, but all rights exist or fail to exist because the relevant rules either allow or disallow the claim in question. As such, legal rights are claims that are justied by legal principles and rules, and moral rights are claims that are justied by moral principles and rules. A moral right, then, is a justied claim or entitlement, warranted by moral principles and rules.45

Opposed to this emphasis on liberal individualism and rights, however, is community-based theory. This kind of theory holds that everything fundamental in ethics is derived from communal values, the common good, 41. Ibid., 23. 42. Ibid., 341. 43. William Lillie, Introduction to Ethics (University Paperbacks; London: Methuen, 1961), 100. 44. Beauchamp and Childress, Principles, 350–51. 45. Ibid., 357. 1

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social goals, traditional practices and cooperative virtues. One such version, labeled “communitarianism,” emphasizes conventions, traditions, loyalties and the social nature of life and institutions.46 Communitarianism tends to have its militant and moderate expressions, with the former being much more opposed to autonomy and individual rights than the latter. Some communitarians argue that local community practices and their corresponding virtues ought to have priority over ethical theory in normative decision-making.47 To this list of theories of general normative ethics we should also add the so-called “ethics of care,” which down-plays universal rules, impartial utilitarian calculations and individual rights, and instead emphasizes “care for, emotional commitment to, and willingness to act on behalf of persons with whom one has a signicant relationship.”48 An ethic of care emphasizes actions, how those actions are performed, their motives, and whether those actions promote or undermine positive relationships. According to Beauchamp and Childress, the ethic of care originated primarily in feminist writings, the themes of which included how women supposedly display an ethic of care in contrast to men who supposedly exhibit an ethic of rights and obligations.49 Be that as it may, an ethic of care challenges the emphasis on impartiality and universal principles characteristic of other ethical theories and attempts to give due place to the importance of interdependence in relationships and emotional responsiveness. (2) Morality. The word “morality” refers to “norms about right and wrong human conduct that are so widely shared that they form a stable (although usually incomplete) social consensus.”50 Morality is a social institution encompassing many standards of conduct, including moral principles, rules, rights and virtues.51 People inherit a sense of moral standards and responsibilities as these are transmitted across generations. In this way people grow up with a basic understanding of the institution of morality and so readily grasp its norms.52 For instance, as Beauchamp and Childress argue, people generally know that they should not lie or steal property, and that they should keep their promises, respect the 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 1

Ibid., 362. Ibid., 366. Ibid., 369. Ibid., 370. Ibid., 2–3. Ibid., 3. Ibid.


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rights of others and not kill or cause harm to innocent persons. People also tend to recognize that to violate these things without having a morally good and sufcient reason is immoral and should lead to feelings of remorse. It is precisely because people are already convinced about these sorts of matters that the literature devoted to the study of ethics does not debate them; indeed, it would be a waste of time to do so.53 People also learn to distinguish between the general morality that holds for all people and the norms that hold only for members of special groups.54 The set of moral norms that a group of morally serious persons share and consider binding on all persons in all places is called “the common morality.” However, Beauchamp and Childress recognize that morality consists of more than the common morality, and thus they caution that we should never confuse or conate the two: For example, morality includes moral ideals that individuals and groups voluntarily accept, communal norms that bind only members of specic moral communities, extraordinary virtues, and the like. The common morality, by contrast, comprises all and only those norms that all morally serious persons accept as authoritative. Here two distinctions are crucial: The rst is between “morality” in the universal sense and “morality” in a community-specic sense; and the second is between nonnormative (that is, empirical) claims about what is universal in moral belief and normative claims about what should be universal in moral belief.55

Community-specic morality is that which springs from particular cultural, religious and institutional sources. It is a particular insight of descriptive ethics that a person may mistakenly assume that their community-specic morality has the support of the common morality.56 Beauchamp and Childress argue strongly that even though morality in the community-specic sense reects signicant cultural differences, it is still an institutional fact about morality that it contains fundamental precepts. It is these fundamental precepts that make it possible for a person to make cross-temporal and cross-cultural judgments and to assert rmly that not all practices in all cultural groups are morally acceptable.57 Furthermore, it is important to recognize that a common morality, even a community-specic morality, contains several types of moral norms, including principles, rules, rights, virtues, moral ideals and emotional responses. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 1

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 4. Ibid., 4–5.

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(3) Moral Dilemmas. Moral philosophy recognizes that reasoning through moral dilemmas is part of the human condition. Indeed, such is often illustrated in popular literature, novels and lms. “Moral dilemmas are circumstances in which moral obligations demand or appear to demand that a person adopt each of two (or more) alternative actions, yet the person cannot perform all the required alternatives.”58 Beauchamp and Childress delineate two forms of moral dilemmas. One type of moral dilemma occurs when evidence or argument suggests that an act is morally right while other arguments or evidence indicate that it is wrong, but the evidence or strength of argument on both sides is inconclusive. Another type of moral dilemma is when an agent believes he or she is morally obligated to perform two or more mutually exclusive actions. In a situation such as this, one or more moral norms obligate an agent to do x and one or more moral norms obligate an agent to do y, but the agent cannot do both in the same circumstance. The reasons behind alternatives x and y are good and weighty, and neither set of reasons is obviously overriding. If one acts on either set of reasons, one’s actions will be morally acceptable in some respects but morally unacceptable in others.59

Of course, some philosophers and theologians argue that many practical dilemmas exist, but that no irresolvable moral dilemmas exist. I shall not attempt to settle this debate here, but there is surely wisdom in the assertion of Beauchamp and Childress that explicit acknowledgment of the moral dilemmas that result when moral principles conict in the moral life helps avert unwarranted expectations of moral principles and theories: On some occasions, moral dilemmas are so deep that specifying moral principles will not determine an overriding ought. Although we generally have ways of reasoning about what we should do, we may not be able to reach a clear resolution in many cases… An agent who can determine which act is the best act to perform under the circumstances still might violate a moral obligation in doing so. Even the morally best action under the circumstances of a dilemma can leave a trace of a moral violation.60

(4) Character Ethics. Moral philosophy considers the place of moral virtues and moral character. An approach to ethics grounded in principles emphasizes action, whereas an approach based on character ethics or

58. Ibid., 10. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid., 11–12. 1


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virtue ethics emphasizes the agent who performs the action.61 “Our feelings and concerns for others lead us to actions that cannot be reduced to instances of rule-following, and we all recognize that morality would be a cold and uninspiring practice without various emotional responses and heart-felt ideals that reach beyond principles and rules.”62 However, if we accept that a virtue is a trait of character that is socially valuable, and a moral virtue is a morally valuable trait of character, then it is important to recognize that virtue and a community-specic morality may not correspond, since moral virtue is more than whatever is socially approved. This is why communities sometimes disvalue persons who act virtuously or admire persons for their meanness or churlishness.63 Character ethics have come to play a signicant role in the study of the ethics of the Hebrew Bible, especially its wisdom literature. In discussing character as a matter of perception, intention and virtue (or disposition), William P. Brown understands that perception involves the way a person selects, interprets, and evaluates events by means of certain fundamental symbols. The role of perception in the denition of character cannot be over-emphasized, because “the subject matter of character is in essence the self in relation to the perceived world, including God, and to the history and pattern of one’s choices.”64 As for intentions, Bruce Birch and Larry Rassmussen nd that these consist of expressions of character which show aim, direction, purpose; they express the volitional side of character.65 In considering virtues and dispositions, some careful distinctions need to be made. William P. Brown, who understands virtues in terms of dispositions, sees a need to distinguish them from abilities or skills for success since one may possess a particular ability without the disposition to use it; indeed, there is not necessarily a causal nexus between success and moral virtue or integrity.66 Therefore, as Brown reasons, Virtue is a disposition, which denotes the pattern of choices an individual makes. Dispositions comprise persistent attitudes or “habits” of the heart and mind that dispose one to a consistency of certain action and expression. Bound up with perception, dispositions constitute the traits of

61. Ibid., 26. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid., 27. 64. William P. Brown, Character in Crisis: A Fresh Approach to the Wisdom Literature of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 7–8. 65. Bruce C. Birch and Larry L. Rasmussen, Bible and Ethics in the Christian Life (rev. and expanded ed.; Minneapolis Augsburg Fortress, 1989), 79. 66. Brown, Character in Crisis, 10. 1


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character that are demonstrated in customary patterns of ethical behavior. Classically, such dispositions have been referred to as “virtues,” a term that is nding renewed currency in moral discourse.67

Beauchamp and Childress, however, criticize the tendency to dene “moral virtue” as a disposition to act or a habit of acting in accordance with certain moral principles, obligations, or ideals. They argue that this denition “unjustiably derives virtues wholly from principles and fails to capture the importance of motives in the virtuous person’s actions.”68 Accordingly, we should care morally about people’s motives, and especially about their characteristic motives, that is, the motives deeply embedded in their character. For example, people who are motivated in this manner by sympathy and personal affection meet our approval while those who act in the same way but from motives of personal ambition might not. Thus Beauchamp and Childress go on to conclude that persons who characteristically perform morally right actions from morally wrong motivations are not morally virtuous, even if they always perform morally right action.69 At this point I nd that the emphasis on motives in virtue ethics starts to lose practical viability since it is difcult to imagine a person who always performs morally right actions but does so from morally wrong motivations. It seems doubtful to me that the various ethics of the Hebrew Bible ever consider such a possibility. A preoccupation with motives in the Aristotelian tradition could pose problems for a descriptive study of narrative ethics in the Hebrew Bible, but only to the extent that its narratives focus more on actions than motives. In any case, the basic point that Beauchamp and Childress make regarding the importance of motives in relation to virtue is well taken. However, the relative importance of motives and external actions as criteria will vary in different contexts; motive will gure more prominently in the criteria used by a father confessor concerned with character development than in the criteria used by a policeman concerned with enforcing the law.70 (5) Ethical Language. Modern moral philosophy has also concerned itself with the use of language, since different types of language can serve different functions, sometimes involving moral evaluation and sometimes not. Words used as ethical terms are notorious for having ethical and non-ethical uses, so that there is a tendency for the popular vernacular 67. 68. 69. 70. 1

Ibid., 9. Beauchamp and Childress, Principles, 27. Ibid., 27. See Lillie, Introduction to Ethics, 317.


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to corrupt the terms we use as moral markers. The word “good” in English is a classic example of a word that has ethical and non-ethical uses. The same is true of in Classical Hebrew. Nevertheless, even when the moral force of these terms is clear, their moral reference is relative to their context. Consequently, ethical terms such as justice or righteousness have to be unpacked in their historical and cultural context, because what constitutes justice or righteousness in one context may not hold in another. In considering the use of language to convey ethics, it is helpful to distinguish different types of language. The ethical import of some types of language is immediately obvious, as in prescriptive language, which is the type most readily associated with commanding, exhorting, advising, guiding and even commending. Prescriptive language consists of sentences with the intention of telling someone what to do.71 Such statements often imply a moral evaluation. However, we must recognize and distinguish between form and function in language. As William Lillie observes, sentences like “The troops will disembark at 08.00 hours” or “I want you to write this letter” are used to bring about the action to which they refer.72 While prescriptive in function, these statements are still descriptive in form. Therefore, since they function virtually as commands, it would be a mistake to judge these descriptive statements as true or false. As William Lillie informs us, this is “one of the most common mistakes made in dealing with the language of ethics.”73 Less problematic but equally subtle is the use of descriptive language with the intention both of telling a person what to believe and of letting them know that you believe it yourself.74 Such language may involve apologetic purposes, as when the narrator of 2 Sam 3:26 informs the reader that David did not know that Joab had summoned Abner back to Hebron. The implied author believes this and apparently wants the reader to accept it before recounting Joab’s murder of Abner. This brings us to emotive language, which consists of words or sentences functioning to express or evoke emotional attitudes. This is evident not only in the use of various exclamations and interjections, such as Alas, Woe, and so on, but also in the evocative use of other phraseology and vocabulary. Indeed, ethical language is naturally emotive when it is used seriously.75 Lillie gives a helpful example from the world of British 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 1

Ibid., 321. Ibid., 310. Ibid., 311. As quoted in ibid., 310. Ibid., 318.

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politics when he compares the following two statements: (1) “The Tory government’s reactionary policy has thrown the nation’s road transport system to the capitalistic wolves.” (2) “The liberal policy of a freeenterprise party has restored to our road transport system the initiative of business men.” As Lillie observes, these two statements, which use different emotive expressions, can essentially be replaced by the sentences, “The government has denationalized road transport—what a shame!” and “The government has denationalized road transport—how splendid!”76 Language with ethical import may also reside in interrogative language in which questions are sentences with the intention of evoking a statement or a command from the hearer. A biblical example is Abraham’s question to Yahweh in Gen 18:25, “Shall not the judge of all the earth do justice?” Such questions are often designated as rhetorical. Finally, in the language of ethics we should also be mindful of the ways in which moral judgments differ from commands. William Lillie notes several. First, moral judgments are universal in a way that commands are not. Second, the direct command is often not as effective a tool of persuasion as the moral judgment, in that it lacks those emotive meanings which arouse feelings and stimulate action in others. Third, the ordinary command has the single function of getting somebody to do something, if given sincerely, though moral judgments are more variable in their functions. Fourth, someone who gives a command is not logically bound to give any reason for why it should be obeyed; but when someone says, “You ought to do this,” they imply that there are reasons for taking the advice. Fifth, because a moral judgment is universal, it is a command to the speaker him-/herself as well as to others.77 However, it is well to remember that “the characteristic expression of decision is action, and if decision be the very essence of morals, this suggests a limitation of the study of language in ethics.”78 3. Narrative Criticism Because of the need to keep both literary and rhetorical aspects of ethical language in view, this study approaches the text of 2 Sam 9–20 mainly from the standpoint of narrative criticism, in an effort to delineate the ethical norms and values reected in 2 Sam 9–20 and relate these to the broader issues of literary boundaries, plot, characterization, theme and Tendenz. Consequently, my task has a dual focus. On the one hand, it 76. Ibid., 310. 77. Ibid., 322–23. 78. Ibid., 324. 1


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will focus on the narrative as story, that is, the content of the narrative, what it is about. Of special concern here will be the need to delineate the boundaries of the narrative unit, a task usually associated with rhetorical criticism.79 One the other hand, I will focus on the narrative as discourse, that is, its rhetoric, how the story is told. It is perhaps this latter focus which is the most crucial for descriptive ethics, that is, as it demands careful consideration of the rhetorical means by which the implied author guides the reader’s judgments. However, it is also this latter focus on the narrative as discourse which ends up highlighting a particular shortcoming of narrative criticism, in as much as strict narrative criticism does not rely on information gained from outside the narrative itself. As Mark Allen Powell has pointed out, symbols of cultural range, which “derive their meaning from the social and historical context of the real author and his or her community,” pose a serious problem for narrative criticism, because if modern critics want to read the narrative as the implied reader they must at this point rely on insights gained from historical criticism.80 This need to rely on knowledge from outside the narrative in order to appreciate symbols of cultural range is indicative of a broader need for knowledge of ancient Near Eastern literary conventions, which is also gained from outside the narrative. This in turn validates structuralist concerns for ancient literary competence. a. Aspects of Literary Competence Drawing on linguistic philosophy, John Barton denes literary competence as “being in command of the conventions governing the production and thus the meaning of literary compositions.”81 Unfortunately, the ancient Israelites, unlike the writers of the classical world, did not leave 79. I am aware that there is a tradition which distinguishes clearly between literary and rhetorical criticism, as seen in the classic denitions of literary and rhetorical criticism offered in Herbert A. Wichelns, “The Literary Criticism of Oratory,” in Studies in Rhetoric and Public Speaking in Honor of James Albert Winans (ed. A. M. Drummond; New York: The Century Co., 1925), 181–216, and “Some Differences Between Literary Criticism and Rhetorical Criticism,” in Historical Studies of Rhetoric and Rhetoricians (ed. R. F. Howes; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1961), 217–24. Nevertheless, I nd that the two disciplines are not easily separated when it comes to the actual practice of exegesis. Indeed, the fact that proponents of rhetorical criticism have traditionally emphasized the need to dene the limits of the literary unit implicitly testies to this and highlights the need for narrative criticism. 80. Mark Allen Powell, What is Narrative Criticism? (GBS; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990), 29. 81. John Barton, Reading the Old Testament: Method in Biblical Study (2d ed.; London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1996), 16. 1

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any treatises on their understanding of narrative rhetoric and its conventions. Consequently, “the rules of Ancient Hebrew rhetoric need to be identied and ferreted out through a close study of the texts which we assume to embody them.”82 This concern of literary competence with conventions and rhetoric raises the issue of genre, which Barton helpfully denes as “any recognizable and distinguishable type of writing or speech which operates within certain conventions that are statable in principle.”83 As Barton points out, the ability to recognize a given genre helps the reader develop a sense of what sorts of questions it makes sense to ask of a particular literary work. Such skill in genre-recognition even makes one able to appreciate when some texts are rather unconventional.84 Therefore, literary competence involves the ability to recognize genre and to respond to it appropriately. The fact that we may be dealing with ancient literature produced according to the conventions of a culture that no longer exists does not release us from this hermeneutical burden. Unfortunately, determining the genre of a given narrative in the Hebrew Bible is not a straightforward enterprise. A helpful framework developed from this type of study is that presented by John Barton, whose essay devoted to dating the SN distinguishes three ways of writing Hebrew narrative: (1) the classic style, which is laconic and tends to refrain from direct commentary (e.g. the Patriarchal narratives typically associated with the J-source, the texts of Samuel associated with the SN, and some of the stories about Elijah and Elisha in the books of Kings), (2) the deuteronomistic style, in which various references to the laws of Moses are invoked as evaluative criteria using language reminiscent of Deuteronomy (e.g. narratives in Joshua, Judges and Kings), and (3) the “Jewish novel” (e.g. Esther, Tobit, Judith).85 Obviously, some decisions on major critical issues in the study of the Hebrew Bible are reected in this delineation, as Barton is well aware, and many questions about specic genres still remain. Nevertheless, it is a helpful place to start, and, what is more, this three-fold distinction also reects different approaches to ethics on the part of the biblical writers, from Deuteronomic to more Diaspora-centered concerns. 82. Takamitsu Muraoka, “Foreword” to Literary Structure and Rhetorical Strategies in the Hebrew Bible (ed. L. J. de Regt et al.; Assen, The Netherlands: Van Gorcum, 1996), viii–x (viii). 83. Barton, Reading the Old Testament, 16. 84. Ibid., 16–17. 85. John Barton, “Dating the ‘Succession Narrative,’ ” in In Search of Pre-exilic Israel: Proceedings of the Oxford Old Testament Seminar (ed. J. Day; JSOTSup 406; London: T&T Clark International, 2004), 95–106. 1


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Another critical issue for a literarily competent approach to narrative criticism is that of the conventional use of sources in the composition of ancient Near Eastern literature. This stands to impact signicantly how we approach the task of delineating the boundaries of a narrative unit on the basis of its degree of independence from the surrounding material, coherence and closure. It is surely one of the great insights of modern biblical scholarship that ancient Near Eastern texts often utilized other pre-existing texts to create new compositions, a process that involved varying degrees of editorial creativity.86 This is true even if it was misguided on the part of some earlier scholars to try and reconstruct those source texts merely on the basis of the existing nal compositions. So, if we recognize that the people of ancient Israel regarded it as legitimate to make a book by combining bits of other books, then this raises some important methodological considerations for our study. How much and what kind of unity should we expect in the resulting books? How should such considerations affect the narrative critic’s task of delineating the boundaries of a literary unit? A narrative’s degree of independence is typically measured by the extent to which it presupposes information or knowledge from outside it. As for coherence and closure, these are primarily matters of logical plot development, point of view and resolution. These sorts of criteria have been a driving force of source-critical inquiries into the books of Samuel. However, the Samuel narratives have not been able to stand up rigidly to this kind of criterion, as is well shown by the uidity of the boundaries of the History of David’s Rise (HDR), the Ark Narrative (AN), and the SN in scholarly discussions. Even though my present concern is not with the unity of the books of Samuel as a whole, such questions related to independence, coherence and closure are still worth asking of any major portion of its narrative. Indeed, what Barton suggested vis-à-vis Robert Alter regarding the composition of Gen 37–50 could also be true of 2 Sam 9–20. Of Genesis, Barton writes, Alter might be right in thinking that Genesis forms a unity, but for the wrong reasons. It may be that Genesis is a unied text, not because it manifests the great internal coherence and closure which Alter tries to demonstrate, but because no-one bothered about coherence and closure in 86. A whole host of studies have validated this perspective on ancient Near Eastern literature in general and biblical Hebrew literature in particular. Worthy of note is Jeffrey H. Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982; repr., Wauconda, Ill.: Bolchazy-Carducci, 2002). For a recent study of scribal practices, see van der Toorn, Scribal Culture. 1

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign texts anyway. It was enough for the text to be written on a single scroll and to have, let us say, some broad general theme sufcient to attract all stories about Jacob, Joseph, and their families into the same sepher.87

Of course, Barton recognizes that there are texts in the Hebrew Bible which are not particularly incoherent anyway, such as Ruth and Esther. Nevertheless, he asks whether inconsistencies were allowable, even intentionally introduced, under the literary conventions of the day.88 Barton eventually concludes that old fashioned source critics were probably right to see inconsistency as evidence for sources, since it occurs in works such as the Pentateuch and Deuteronomistic History and prophets but very little in later works which are modelled on these. Evidently it mattered to later writers to iron out inconsistency, and not to introduce any into their own work. It is thus not a gment of the historical imagination to see inconsistencies as signicant for the origins and development of biblical literature: it is not just we moderns who see inconsistency as a problem, but the ancient writers themselves.89

When it comes to the stories in 2 Sam 9–20, it is possible that these were brought together merely on the basis of some theme such as the strife within David’s house. Of course, this is essentially what is behind the view that 2 Sam 10–20 is merely a series of Novellen. Yet Barton’s discussion highlights the importance of considering a work’s theme and level of coherence in relation to each other. For instance, if the theme of a work such as Gen 37–50 or 2 Sam 9–20 is broad and general, then there would be no need to quibble over certain incongruities in the details of its composition, so long as these do not detract from the perceived theme. On this reckoning, the text would still be considered a unity, because it has coherence with respect to its general theme and the author’s purpose in crafting or compiling it. However, if a narrow and precise theme is intended, then it would stand to reason that a highly coherent and carefully composed narrative would be required to convey it. Perhaps we can summarize it this way: a narrative’s degree of coherence is directly proportional to the specicity of its theme. Or, to say it more simply: classical Hebrew narratives are only as coherent as they need to be. This way of constructing the relationship between theme and

87. John Barton, “What is a Book? Modern Exegesis and Literary Conventions in Ancient Israel,” in Intertextuality in Ugarit and Israel (ed. J. C. de Moor; OtSt 40; Leiden: Brill, 1998), 1–14 (10). 88. Ibid., 11–12. 89. Ibid., 12–13. 1


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level of coherence is signicant in light of 2 Sam 9–20’s reputation for literary skill and sophistication. Such characteristics may well be indicative of a very specic literary theme for this narrative complex; and one should not be biased against the ability of narrative to convey an author’s carefully nuanced proposition with supporting argumentation. So the question, therefore, becomes how much independence, coherence and closure does 2 Sam 9–20 demonstrate, and how does this relate to its theme and the author’s rhetorical purposes? Some scholars utilizing synchronic approaches tend to down-play the signicance of source and redaction criticism for discerning the ethical viewpoint of the narrator. Gordon Wenham has recently argued that source criticism is marginal to a study of narrative ethics. Appealing to Genesis as an example, Wenham claims that although we do not know what a biblical author has omitted from his source, “we do know that what he has preserved is refracted through his own ethical lens.”90 I agree with Wenham that it is a shaky enterprise to discuss the stance of a hypothetical source, and I also share Wenham’s concern to focus on the present books of the Hebrew Bible. No doubt their composition entailed the use of sources, but it is not possible to reconstruct those sources. However, Wenham’s dismissal of source criticism belies certain assumptions about the composition and editing of biblical books, especially with respect to how carefully these authors/editors sought to achieve coherence. Wenham may be right that the pious reader wants to know what the canonical author thought about the deeds of David and his entourage rather than what the author of the SN thought, but to assume that the canonical author has carefully brought every detail of his source(s) into line with his own ethical outlook seems presumptuous in light of the conventions that appear to have been operative in the composition of ancient books. Thus Wenham’s dismissal of source criticism for the study of narrative ethics undermines the sort of ancient literary competence that should be the foundation of such a study in the rst place. When it comes to the historicity of a narrative for the study of narrative ethics, Wenham is on stronger ground. He argues that the historicity of the events which a narrative relates does not affect the study of narrative ethics, since elucidating the writer’s ethical outlook is not concerned with whether a work is ction or history.91 Nevertheless, we must admit that the books of Samuel, especially those sections associated with the 90. Gordon J. Wenham, Story as Torah: Reading Old Testament Narrative Ethically (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2000), 7. 91. Ibid., 6–7; cf. Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (London: Duckworth, 1981), 114. 1

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Court History or SN, do seem intended to be taken as history writing of a dramatic type. A study of the ethics of any biblical narrative associated with the socalled Deuteronomistic History must always have an eye for sourcecritical issues. Whether it involves pre-exilic sources used by an exilic redactor or the tension between the theology of the Deuteronomic law code and that of the court circles in Jerusalem, source-critical matters stand to play an important role in how we go about delineating the ethical perspectives reected in the text and to whom we attribute them. The dismissal of source criticism in the study of narrative ethics represents a failure to recognize that one’s view of the compositional features of ancient books can signicantly affect one’s understanding of the intentionality of the text’s portrayals, and this directly relates to any effort to determine the text’s literary theme and Tendenz by affecting how one goes about the task of “close reading.” b. The Art of Close Reading The ancient convention of creating books from pre-existing literary works and the impact this convention had on the resulting work’s level of coherence and theme has signicant ramications for how one ought to go about “close reading” Biblical Hebrew narratives. Many have credited these narratives as demonstrating a very subtle and sophisticated literary-rhetorical art that involves more “showing” than “telling.” This is particularly the case with those narratives reecting the classic style. However, if those responsible for producing the type of ancient literature reected in the narratives of the Hebrew Bible manifested little concern to achieve high degrees of coherence and closure in their compositions, then how “closely” were these texts intended to be read? Can modern attempts to “close read,” especially from a synchronic perspective, run the danger of “over-reading” the text by postulating subtle literaryrhetorical nuances in the story which are not really there? It is important to recognize that close reading is not inherently diachronic or synchronic in its orientation. This has been well expressed by Joel Rosenberg, who criticized the tendency of some to distinguish literary criticism as synchronic over against source criticism as diachronic: One easily forgets that non-source-critical literary study has its own diachrony: the temporal unfolding of the story, whose conguration of action must be played to be fully perceived. This is where so-called literary and synchronic analyses are the most disappointing. They have come to be trapped by their own tools. The charts, statistics, and catalogues that are supposed to provide a way into the story violate its spirit 1


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and lead to inconsequential and formalist generalizations, clouding whatever good insights the studies advance (and they do advance them) with a thicket of technical language, textbookish reications, numbing efforts at hard science.92

While Rosenberg does not use the term “close reading,” his contention that the conguration of action must be “played” in order to be appreciated is really what close reading is all about. This echoes the earlier sentiment of James Muilenburg who, when outlining his vision of rhetorical criticism, argued that “the passage must be read and heard precisely as it is spoken.”93 So, we can see that associating close reading with synchronic approaches may lead to the mistaken notion that diachronic conclusions are not based on close readings of the text. In fact, however, diachronic views of the biblical text arise primarily as a result of the perceived difculties encountered for synchrony when close reading the text. The apparent tensions encountered then become the basis for postulating various sources and redactors. Therefore, we choose to think of close reading not so much as a method but as a disposition (or virtue) which may characterize readings carried out under the auspices of more than one method. Our understanding of ancient literary competence demands that our approach to close reading remains mindful of the diachronic associated with an historical-critical approach as well as the synchronic of narrative criticism. It seems reasonable to suggest that a narrative with a high degree of unity would be better able to sustain a synchronically oriented “close reading” than one with a low degree of unity. This, of course, returns us to the question of ancient literary conventions posed by Barton and the relationship between level of coherence, specicity of theme and the ancient writer’s purpose. It seems, therefore, that the exegete must conduct a “close reading” of the text in order to formulate a working judgment as to what extent and in what ways the narrative in question was intended to be closely read. In this way one may be able to get a feel for the narrator’s hierarchy of concerns which transcend the supposed inconsistencies that may indicate the use of different sources. c. Appreciating Rhetorical Techniques of Narrative The crafters of narratives employ a number of different rhetorical devices in order to guide their readers’ perceptions and to convey their own ethical perspectives. Some of the more prominent of these devices are 92. Joel Rosenberg, King and Kin: Political Allegory in the Hebrew Bible (ISBL; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 104 (italics his). 93. James Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond,” JBL 88 (1969): 1–18 (5). 1

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outcomes in plots, the use of different voices, point of view, symbolism, irony, narrative patterns and characterization. The portrayal of the histories of Israel and Judah in the books of Kings as both culminating in exile is an obvious example of the implied author’s use of plot to reveal his overall ethical perspective. However, the most prominent way to reveal ethical perspectives is through voices in the narrative. Such narrative voices consist of the narrator, which is the voice that the implied author uses to tell the story, and the voices of individual characters. The use of voices highlights the overlapping dynamics of characterization and point of view. Here we are particularly concerned with the evaluative point of view which governs the work in general, that is, the norms, values and general worldview that the implied author establishes as operative in the narrative, the standards of judgment by which readers are led to evaluate the events, characters and settings that comprise the story.94 This evaluative point of view may be conveyed through various voices. The implied author may convey it through the voice of the narrator or through the voice of one of the characters. Critical for recognizing when the implied author is using the voice of a character as a mouthpiece to convey his own views is to observe when that character has been portrayed in such a way as to provoke the sympathies of the implied reader. In this way a character may be turned into a hermeneutical authority gure for the reader. For example, there is little doubt the implied author of 2 Sam 13 portrays the scene of Tamar’s rape by Amnon in such a way as to illicit great sympathy for Tamar. This important technique represents an emotional appeal to the reader. So, there is good reason to think that the implied author agrees with Tamar in stressing that Amnon’s rape of her would make him like one of the wanton fools ( ) in Israel (v. 13).95 Such is a strong indicator that the implied author is trying to get the reader to adopt his ethical perspective.96 However, caution is in order, in that too much emotional involvement in the plot can inhibit clear thinking and thus the ability of the reader actually to grasp the ideas in the narrative. So, once again, this can be a tricky exegetical business, as when Tamar tells her half-brother Amnon in the very same verse that the king would not refuse him if he asked to have her (13:13). Does the narrator agree with this, and, if so, what sort of moral evaluation of David would be in view?

94. Powell, What is Narrative Criticism?, 23–24. 95. Shimon Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible (trans. D. Shefer-Vanson; JSOTSup 70; Shefeld: Almond, 1989), 55. 96. Ibid., 97–98. 1


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The most obvious way that implied authors of Biblical Hebrew narratives reveal their ethical perspectives is still through direct commentary in the voice of the narrator. The lengthy narrative editorial in 2 Kgs 17 is a clear example in which the narrator explains the exile of the northern kingdom as having happened “because the Israelites sinned against Yahweh, their God” (v. 7). Another example discussed earlier is the narrator’s words at 2 Sam 11:27, “And the thing that David did was evil in the eyes of Yahweh.” Although the narrator is technically portraying Yahweh’s moral perspective, it is safe to assume in this case that the narrator’s perspective and Yahweh’s are the same. However, things are not usually this simple in Biblical Hebrew narrative of the classical style. In fact, it is more common for authors of these texts to reveal their moral perspective through the use of an ethically laden keyword in their scenic mode of storytelling.97 Examples of this would include “Sarai ill-treated her ()” in Gen 16:698 and “they played the harlot ( ) after the Baals” in Judg 8:33. However, in dealing with these sorts of statements exegetical caution should again be exercised in light of broader narrative analysis. For example, in 2 Sam 20:16 the narrator says that “a wise woman ( ) called from the city.” While it is true that in the Hebrew Bible and its derivatives normally have positive connotations, here the statement should be evaluated more strictly in light of the implied author’s development of a wisdom motif throughout 2 Sam 13–20, where the wisdom of those associated with David’s court is portrayed in a decidedly negative fashion. The most obvious case occurs early on in 13:3 when the narrator describes Jonadab—the one who advises Amnon in the rape of Tamar—as a “very wise man.” Gordon Wenham points to the crucial, yet often neglected, relationship between literary analysis, characterization and the study of ethics in the Hebrew Bible. He writes, Failure to distinguish three different worlds represented in the biblical text has led to grave misrepresentation of its ethics in studies devoted to the topic and in biblical commentaries. First, there is the world of the writers themselves. Though they have an ethical outlook, they rarely make their views explicit: moral comments are rare in Hebrew narrative. There is, second, the world of the law, which attempts to regulate the problems which arise in society, often as a result of human misbehavior. Laws imply an ethical stance, which may be elucidated by analysis and

97. See Jacob Licht, Storytelling in the Bible (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1978), 29; Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible, 33; Wenham, Story as Torah, 14. 98. This is the narrator’s portrayal of Sarai’s action after Abraham tells her to do to Hagar “what seems good in your eyes” ( , v. 6a).

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign synthesis. Third, there is the ethical world of the actors themselves. They behave in accordance with certain ethical principles, which may or may not be congruent with those enshrined in the law or held by the biblical writers.99

In support of this critique Wenham points to the tendency among some commentators to equate the outlook of the writer of Genesis with those of its characters. The result is that some commentators think that Genesis praises Abraham for misleading foreigners about his wife Sarah (12:10– 20; 20), Lot for offering his daughters to the men of Sodom (19:8) and Jacob for deceiving his father (27:18–29).100 According to Wenham, the mistake of these interpretations is that they “tend to view the patriarchs always as paradigms, as models to be copied, when sometimes the writers actually see their actions as mistaken.”101 Wenham admits that on many occasions such an assumption is justied, but he asserts that when a character’s behavior “clearly conicts with the ethical norms expressed elsewhere in the Bible, the assumption needs revision.”102 While I am in general agreement with Wenham on this point, I would prefer to say that the assumption needs validating, unless we are to assume a priori that the Hebrew Bible reects no degree of diversity in the ethical perspectives of its writers. Nevertheless, Wenham is quite right to point out that it is recognition of the moral dimension implied by the narrator which gives the interpretations of Gerhard von Rad, Robert Alter and Meir Sternberg such power and depth.103 Indeed, for the biblical writers “righteousness involves more than living by the decalogue and the other laws in the Pentateuch,”104 meaning that (and this is the important point of Wenham’s article) there is often a gap between law and ethics in the narratives of the Hebrew Bible. The case with interpreting the portrayals of David and other characters in the CH/SN is similar to that which Wenham highlighted regarding the patriarchs in Genesis; this is because interpreters differ on whether certain actions by these characters are

99. Wenham, “The Gap between Law and Ethics in the Bible,” 17; cf. Jonathan Magonet, “Character/Author/Reader: The Problem of Perspective in Biblical Narrative,” in de Regt, de Waard, and Fokkelman, eds., Literary Structure, 3–13. 100. Wenham points to Bruce Vawter and Hermann Gunkel as examples of the rst and third interpretations, but leaves us wondering what commentator would think that Lot is praised for offering his daughters (“Gap between Law and Ethics,” 17). 101. Ibid. 102. Ibid. 103. Ibid., 18. 104. Ibid., 19. 1


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commendable. Thus the moral perspective of the implied author needs to be sought and distinguished from the moral perspectives attributed to the characters. The implied author may also use symbolism and irony as rhetorical devices to guide the reader’s evaluation of the story. Drawing on the works of R. Alan Culpepper and Philip Wheelwright, Mark Allen Powel lists four categories from which the meanings of symbols may be derived. Even though his discussion is oriented towards narrative criticism in the New Testament Gospels, it is still helpful for our purposes:105 1. Archetypal symbols derive their meaning from contexts that are virtually universal, such as the basic opposition of light and darkness. 2. Symbols of ancestral vitality derive their meaning from earlier sources. In the Hebrew Bible these may involve a variety of intertextual allusions. 3. Symbols created by the implied author can be understood only within the context of the particular. 4. Symbols of cultural change derive their meaning from the social and historical context of the real author and his or her community. While symbolism implies recognition that something means more than it initially appears to mean, irony implies that the true interpretation is actually contrary to the apparent meaning.106 The use of symbol and irony may overlap with the implied author’s use of various narrative patterns and characterization techniques to guide the reader. Mark Allen Powell, drawing on the work of David Bauer, lists the following compositional relationships found in biblical narrative:107 1. Repetition involves a recurrence of similar or identical elements. 2. Contrast associates or juxtaposes things that are dissimilar or opposite. 3. Comparison associates or juxtaposes things that are alike or similar. 4. Causation and substantiation order the narrative through relationships of cause and effect (causation is the movement from cause to effect, and substantiation from effect to cause). 5. Climax represents a movement from lesser to greater intensity. 105. 106. 107. 1

Powell, What is Narrative Criticism?, 29. Ibid., 30. Ibid., 32–33.


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6. 7.

8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

Pivot involves a change in the direction of the material, either from positive developments to negative ones or vice versa. Particularization and generalization involve movement in the text toward explication that becomes more specic or more comprehensive. Statements of purpose structure the narrative according to a movement from means to end. Preparation refers to the inclusion of material in one part of the narrative that serves primarily to prepare the reader for what is still to come. Summarization offers a synopsis or abridgment of material that is treated more fully elsewhere. Interrogation is the employment of a question or problem followed by its answer or solution. Inclusio refers to a repetition of features at the beginning and end of a unit. Interchange involves an alteration of elements in an “a, b, a, b” pattern. Chiasm has to do with the repetition of elements in an inverted order: “a, b, b, a.” Intercalation refers to the insertion of one literary unit in the midst of another.

Recognition of these compositional patterns at the micro and macro levels of the narrative can help the narrative critic discern principles which the implied author followed in organizing the work. They may also provide additional insights into point of view, characterization and irony. According to Wayne C. Booth, the implied author can reveal characters either by telling the reader about them or by showing the reader what they are like in the story itself.108 What we are interested in here relates my earlier discussion of character ethics to the portrayal of a literary character’s moral character. However, even after the interpreter has discerned what the implied author has attributed to a character with respect to perception, intention and virtue (or disposition), there still remains the question of what ethical standard or ideal is to be employed in evaluating these. Does the character perceive rightly, are his intentions honorable and does he possess and employ noble virtues?

108. Wayne C. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1961), 3–20. 1


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If there is validity in the growing consensus that wisdom literature in the Hebrew Bible was concerned with the formation of character in the community,109 then it stands to reason that when a Hebrew narrator displays an interest in the “wisdom” of his characters he does so at least in order to attribute moral character to them. Brown’s approach to nonnarrative wisdom literature makes an apt distinction between literary and moral character, noting, however, that in biblical wisdom the two are tightly interwoven. For Brown, a at character can be either good or bad, but hardly both. More complex or round characters, on the other hand, “exhibit a mixture of estimable and not-so-estimable qualities, a delicate balance of conservative and unorthodox traits.”110 In Brown’s study the corollary to this literary–moral aspect of character is his delineation of descriptive–prescriptive character. The interrelation between the two is implicitly summed up when he writes, “the way in which the literary character is portrayed bears direct relevance to the way in which normative character is proled.”111 Brown nds that “[t]he appeal of suggesting character formation as the central framework and goal of biblical wisdom lies in the literature’s focus on the developing self in relation to the perceived world, thus bridging the gulf between the anthropocentric and theocentric frames of reference that run through the wisdom corpus.”112 While the relationship of the CH/SN to wisdom literature and traditions is debated,113 it is clear that its narrator demonstrates a strong interest in the “wisdom” of certain characters. It is interesting, therefore, that 2 Sam 17–18, like classical wisdom literature, also reects anthropocentric and theocentric poles when recounting David’s ight from Absalom, the thwarting of Ahithophel’s counsel and the battle in the forest of Ephraim (cf. 15:31–37; 17:14; 18:9–15).114 These poles in wisdom-inuenced narrative stand to have an impact on the reader’s 109. Cf. R. E. Murphy, The Tree of Life: An Exploration of Biblical Wisdom Literature (3d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 15; Brown, Character in Crisis. 110. Brown, Character in Crisis, 17. 111. Ibid. (his italics). 112. Ibid., 4. 113. Roger Norman Whybray, The Succession Narrative: A Study of II Sam. 9–20 and I Kings 1 and 2 (SBT 2/9; London: SCM, 1968); James L. Crenshaw, “Method in Determining Wisdom Inuence upon ‘Historical’ Literature,” JBL 88 (1969): 129–42; Gunn, The Story of King David, 26–29; Hans-Jurgen Hermisson, “Weisheit und Geschichte,” in Probleme biblischer Theologie (ed. H. W. Wolf; Munich: Kaiser, 1971), 137–48. 114. On divine and human double causality in the Hebrew Bible, see I. L. Seeligmann, “Menschliches Heldentum und göttliche Hilfe: Die doppelte Kausalität im alttestamentlichen Geschichtsdenken,” TZ 6 (1963): 385–411. 1

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perception of human character. However, though a wisdom-inuenced narrative may critique a character, it does not necessarily follow that the narrative’s purpose is oriented didactically towards the reader’s character, as Whybray suggested was the case with the SN. Nevertheless, one should recognize that any literary attempt to persuade will only be compelling if it convinces the readers that the decision placed before them is a matter of intellectual and moral integrity. Thus there is a fundamental sense in which all suasive literature is oriented towards the character formation of the reader. Wisdom traditions stand to be employed to this end by the implied author of a narrative in the Hebrew Bible.115 It is important to consider how the implied author of the CH/SN relates his characters, with all the moral traits he has attributed to them, to the stated purposes of God in the narrative, for this too carries with it ethical implications. And yet there has been a tendency in biblical scholarship to neglect this theological dimension of characterization in the CH/SN. Indeed, the theological dimension of characterization strikes at the heart of biblical narrative. As John Goldingay reminds us, theological issues are biblical narrative’s major concern; thus, teasing out their theological implications is inherent in their exegesis. The exegete who fails to do so “has not left the starting line as an exegete.”116 4. A Word on Textual Criticism As a study based on the text of the books of Samuel, it is necessary to conclude this chapter with a word on the importance of textual criticism. The study of narrative ethics in 2 Sam 9–20 must give careful consideration to text-critical problems, regardless of how tentative such decisions may have to remain at times. Fortunately, the books of Samuel have for a long time drawn the special interests of some of the greatest textual critics in biblical studies whose works I have tried to carefully consult.117 115. Cf. Carole Fontaine, “The Bearing of Wisdom on the Shape of 2 Samuel 11–12 and 1 Kings 3,” JSOT 34 (1986): 61–77 (62). 116. John Goldingay, “Biblical Narrative and Systematic Theology,” in Between Two Horizons: Spanning New Testament Studies and Systematic Theology (ed. J. B. Green and M. Turner; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 126–27. 117. Julius Wellhausen, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis Untersucht (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1871); Samuel Rolles Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text and the Topography of the Books of Samuel (2d ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1913); Dominique Barthélemy, Études d’historie du texte de l’ancien Testament (OBO 21; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1978); “La qualité du Texte Massorétique de Samuel,” in The Hebrew and Greek Texts of Samuel (ed. E. Tov; PIOSCS; Jerusalem: Academon, 1980), 1–44; Critique Textuelle de l’Ancien Testament (OBO 1


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It is well-known that the Masoretic text (MT) of 1 and 2 Samuel appears to have suffered signicantly in its transmission history. This requires that careful consideration be given to the testimonies of the Samuel manuscripts from Qumran, as well as the LXX manuscripts. When it comes to evaluating the LXX witnesses, the major task is to determine the reading of the Old Greek (OG). In 1 Sam 1–2 Sam 9 this task is made less daunting by the witness of Codex Vaticanus (LXXB). This Greek uncial is recognized as the best witness to the OG due to the fact that it seems to have escaped the revisions to which other Greek manuscripts were subjected. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the witness of LXXB to the text of 2 Sam 10:1–1 Kgs 2:11, in which falls the bulk of the text that is the focus of the present study. In these chapters LXXB preserves a later translation in which the OG has been revised towards an early forerunner of the MT. This later revised translation has come to be designated as the ,BJHF Recension because of its habit of translating Hebrew with Greek LBJHF. In 2 Sam 10:1–1 Kgs 2:11 the best witnesses to the OG appear to be the so-called “Lucianic” manuscripts, designated individually as b o c2 and e2 in the Cambridge edition, and collectively referred to in the present study as LXXL. The upshot of all this is that in the textual criticism of 2 Sam 10–20 the burden of determining the OG reading is heavy. So, it is without apology that I will give careful attention to text-critical matters. Individual textual problems will be discussed as they are encountered in the process of close reading. At the same time, I will try to relegate as much of the textcritical discussion to the footnotes as the argument will permit.

50/2; Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982); Takamitsu Muraoka, “The Greek Text of 2 Samuel 11 in the Lucianic Manuscripts,” AbrN 20 (1981–82): 37–59; McCarter, II Samuel; Stephen Pisano, Additions or Omissions in the Books of Samuel: The Signicant Pluses and Minuses in the Massoretic, LXX and Qumran Texts (OBO 57; Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984); Frank Moore Cross, D. W. Parry, R. J. Saley, and E. Ulrich, Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel (DJD XVII; Oxford: Clarendon, 2005). 1

Chapter 3

JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS AS ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN ETHICAL IDEAL AND HERMENEUTICAL CONSTRUCT

In 2 Sam 8:15 the narrator claims “David began to do justice and righteousness with all his people” ( ). In this statement the implied author assumes that the implied reader knows something of what it meant for a king “to do justice and righteousness.” The interpretive situation encountered here is similar to those where a biblical writer uses such expressions as (“regulation and judgment”),1 / (“legal provision and regulation”)2 and (“the teaching of Moses”)3 as shorthand expressions for bodies of legal material with which the readers are assumed to be familiar.4 However, in the use of at 2 Sam 8:15 we are confronted not with a legal code but with a common ideology and moral tradition that was shared throughout the ancient Near Eastern world. Though it guided 1. Exod 15:25; Lev 26:46 ( ); Deut 4:1, 5, 8, 14, 45; 5:1, 31; 6:1 ( ), 20 ( ); 7:11 ( ); 11:32; 12:1; 26:16, 17 ( ); Josh 24:25; 1 Sam 30:25; 1 Kgs 8:58; 9:4; 2 Kgs 17:37 ( ); Ezek 11:12; 20:25; 36:27; Mal 3:22; Ps 147:19; Ezra 7:10; Neh 1:7 ( ); 1 Chr 22:13; 2 Chr 7:17; 19:10; 33:8. 2. Deut 4:45; 6:17, 20; Ps 99:7. 3. Josh 8:31, 32; 23:6; 1 Kgs 2:3; 2 Kgs 14:6; 23:25; Mal 3:22; Dan 9:11, 13; Ezra 3:2; 7:6; Neh 8:1; 2 Chr 30:16. 4. It is difcult to say what kind of familiarity is presupposed in some of these narrative instances. Does the narrator assume the readers have a specialized, even scribal, knowledge of this material? That would presuppose a rather sophisticated or elite audience. Perhaps narrators used these expressions simply for their broadly authoritative connotations, somewhat in the way moderns might speak of “nuclear power” without having any real grasp of nuclear physics. In any case, the presence of such legal phraseology and its association with texts such as Deuteronomy has been a major criterion for designating some narratives of the Hebrew Bible as “deuteronomistic” in their covenant theology, which in turn serves as an anchor point for understanding the ethical perspectives of those narratives. 1

3. Justice and Righteousness

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legal thinking, and its Akkadian semantic equivalent kittum u m£arum represented something much deeper than law.5 In fact, the notion of justice and righteousness represented an ethical ideal and thus also functioned as a hermeneutical construct in the writing of law codes, in the interpretation of history, and in prophesying the future.6 To this extent justice and righteousness was a foundational concept, concern for which was not restricted to any one particular ideology or group of tradents, even though the available evidence shows that it was especially associated with royal ideologies. For ancient Israelite writers there is a sense in which justice and righteousness was a sort of rst principle in the Yahwistic universe. It was a standard dened and adhered to by God himself and to which he subjects his order. The same may be said with respect to Mesopotamian writers and their gods.7

5. It has been said that an author’s ideological point of view is the means by which they seek to guide their readers’ interpretation of events (Tremper Longman III, Literary Approaches to Biblical Interpretation [FCI; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1987], 88). Implicit in this observation, however, is perhaps a more fundamental hermeneutical insight, namely, that an ideological point of view is also a moral and ethical worldview. Ludwig Wittgenstein recognized the importance of this ideological–ethical connection when he noted that if language is to be the means of communication, then there must be agreement not only in denitions but also in judgments (Philosophical Investigations [trans. G. E. M. Anscombe; Oxford: Blackwell, 1963], part 1, 24). Similarly, Michael Stanford claimed that if people are to talk to each other they must agree not only about words, but also on how they see the world (The Nature of Historical Knowledge [Oxford: Blackwell, 1986], 117). 6. The propagandic nature of some ancient Near Eastern texts, particularly those of the Assyrian kings, is what makes them such valuable sources for the study of ancient Near Eastern ideology, because in propaganda we nd the expression of ideals. Indeed, Bustenay Oded concludes of the ARI that “the proclaimed reasons for war should be taken as material for ideological rather than historical analysis” (War, Peace, and Empire: Justications for War in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions [Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1992], 190). For the signicance of “justice and righteousness” in Israelite and ancient Near Eastern concepts of the primeval past and the eschatological future, see Moshe Weinfeld, Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East (Jerusalem: Magnes; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 205–6. 7. On the signicance of justice and righteousness for ancient Near Eastern views of the divinely instituted world or cosmic order, see Henning Graf Reventlow, “Righteousness as Order of the World: Some Remarks Towards a Program,” in Justice and Righteousness: Biblical Themes and Their Inuence (ed. H. G. Reventlow and Y. Hoffman; JSOTSup 137; Shefeld: JSOT Press, 1992), 163–72; H. H. Schmid, Gerechtigkeit als Weltordnung (BHT 40; Tübingen: Mohr, 1968), 13–77, 166–86. 1

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1. On and kittum u m£arum as Semantic Equivalents The concept of social justice was expressed in ancient Israel and in the rest of the ancient Near East by means of hendiadys; and the most common Hebrew word-pair was our phrase, . In the Hebrew Bible is a hendiadys that occurs at least twenty times. Some of these instances distribute the components of the hendiadys between poetic lines for stylistic purposes.8 Variant Hebrew expressions include ,9 10 and .11 Other closely related and comprehensive Hebrew word-pairs are // or // and // or //.12 Moshe Weinfeld nds to be semantically parallel to Akkadian kittum u m£arum. While it is true that Akkadian mšarum properly equals Hebrew or (“equity”), Weinfeld cogently argues that it is more semantically equivalent to /.13 Indeed, even in Hebrew, / and / are closely associated (cf. 1 Kgs 3:6). The expressions and kittum u m£arum can refer to a sense or disposition for just ruling which is granted to the king by God. The prayer of Ps 72:1–2 clearly reects this idea: “O God, endow the king with your justice ( ), the king’s son with your righteousness (), that he may judge your people rightly (), your lowly ones justly ( ).” The same was in view in Mesopotamia when the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal claimed that the gods “granted me truth [and] equity (iš-ru-ku-in-ni-kit-tu mi-ša-[ru]).”14 The expressions and kittum u m£arum may also refer to a social ideal along the lines of mercy and kindness. In Isa 16:5 the prophet says “A throne shall be established with kindness ( ), and on it a judge shall sit in truth ( ), in the tent of David, who seeks 8. Gen 18:19 ( ); 2 Sam 8:15//1 Chr 18:14; 1 Kgs 10:9//2 Chr 9:8; Isa 33:5; 56:1 ( ); Jer 9:23 ( ); 22:3, 15; 23:5; 33:15; Ezek 18:5, 19, 21, 27; 33:14, 16, 19; Ps 99:4. 9. Ps 119:121; Eccl 5:7. 10. Pss 89:15 (// ); 97:2; Prov 1:3 ( ); 2:9 ( ); Ps 72:2 (

); Hos 2:21 ( ). 11. Mic 6:8; Hos 12:7; Ps 101:1. 12. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 25–26. 13. Ibid., 26 n. 7. 14. Leroy Waterman, Royal Correspondence of the Assyrian Empire (UMSHS; repr., Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1972 [1930–31]), part II, no. 926:14. 1


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justice ( ) and hastens righteousness ( ).” Similarly Isa 9:6(7) associates peace ( ) with the future establishment of a Davidic throne “by justice and righteousness” ( ). In Jer 9:23 Yahweh afrms that he “does kindness ( ), justice and righteousness in the land.” As part of a marriage metaphor, Hos 2:21 has Yahweh saying to Israel, “I will take you for my wife ( ) in righteousness and in justice ( ), in kindness and in mercy ( ). A close relationship is also seen between and in Ps 89:15, which says “righteousness and justice are the base of your throne; kindness and truth stand before you.” In the same fashion Akkadian kittum u m£arum appears to be associated with acts of kindness when Hammurabi claims “I established kittum u m£arum throughout the land, I dealt kindly with the people” (ki-it-tam u mi-ša-raam i-na KA ma-tim aš-ku-un ši-ir ni-ši u-tib, CH, col. va, 20–24). The expressions and kittum u m£arum are directed towards just dealings in the social sphere. This is particularly so when they are used in conjunction with the concept of way () or path ( ). This is clearly reected in Gen 18:19, the rst usage of our expression in the canonical ordering of the Hebrew Bible, where doing justice and righteousness is closely associated with keeping the way of Yahweh. This important text, about which I shall have more to say below, presents Yahweh’s grand vision for the character development of Abraham and his descendents amid realization of the divine promises made to Abraham. The same social notions of just dealing are reected in Prov 2:8–9 where the understanding of “justice, righteousness and equity” ( ) is associated with the “paths of justice” ( ), “the way of [Yahweh’s] kind one” ( ) and “every good path” ( ). Likewise in Isa 26:7 the pathway ( // ) of the righteous is “smooth” or “made level” (// ). The pathway-metaphor here plays on the literal and gurative meanings of words for ethical concepts. In Isa 59:8–9 a cognitive dimension is brought in when ignorance of “the way of peace” ( ) is associated with the lack of justice in people’s paths ( ). Likewise, Akkadian kittum u m£arum is associated with the concept of “the way” in the numerous instances when it is used with the expression harran/uruh kitti u mšari, “the road/way of truth and equity.”15 Finally, we should note that Ps 99:4 extols the mighty king for his just dealings in the social sphere when it describes him as one who loves justice and places his establishment of equity alongside his execution of justice and righteousness: “You have established equity; 15. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 31. 1

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you have established justice and righteousness in Jacob” ( ). This combination of , and is similar to the wisdom instruction of Prov 1:3 and 2:9. 2. The Family Factor: Genesis 18–20 as Narrative Analogue It is clear from most of the occurrences of that it is a notion associated with the preaching of the prophets.16 It is rarely mentioned explicitly in the narratives of the Hebrew Bible. For this reason it is interesting from the standpoint of the present study that the rst use of in the Hebrew canonical order occurs in the Patriarchal History at Gen 18:19, where it is part of a broader narrative that traditional Pentateuchal criticism has attributed to the Yahwist or J source and which some recent scholars think was part of a narrative source that served as the literary base on which the canonical narrative of Gen 2:4–1 Kgs 2 was built.17 In the section of Gen 18:16–22, represents an ethical standard to which Yahweh envisions Abraham and his descendants conforming. In fact, in this text Yahweh views the doing of as the means by which Abraham’s descendants will keep “the way of the Yahweh,” which will in turn lead to the fulllment of Yahweh’s promises to Abraham. Thus Yahweh envisions his promises to Abraham as coming to fruition in the context of Abraham and his descendants living (and instructing) according to an ethical ideal. This represents a signicant family factor in Israelite thinking about justice and righteousness. The following represents my translation of MT with the voice of the narrator set in italics: 16

18 17 19

20 21 22

16. E.g. Isa 33:5; 56:1 ( ); Jer 9:23 ( ); 22:3, 15; 23:5; 33:15; Ezek 18:5, 19, 21, 27; 33:14, 16, 19. 17. See Richard E. Friedman, The Hidden Book in the Bible (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1998); Schulte, Die Entstehung der Geschichtsschreibung; cf. Barton, “Dating the ‘Succession Narrative,’ ” 100–101, who refers to the “Schulte– Friedman hypothesis.” 1


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(16)

And the men arose from there and looked out over the face of Sodom. Abraham was walking with them to send them off. (17)Now Yahweh had said, “Should I hide from Abraham that which I am about to do? (18)Now Abraham will certainly become a great and mighty nation; and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed through him. (19)Indeed, I have known him in order that he may command his sons and his house after him that they should keep the way of Yahweh by doing righteousness and justice in order that Yahweh might bring about concerning Abraham that which he spoke concerning him.” (20)Then Yahweh said, “The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is indeed great and their sin has indeed become very weighty. (21)I must go down and see if they have done completely according to the outcry against it which has come before me; if not, then I will know.” (22)So the men turned from there, and they went toward Sodom. But as for Abraham, he was still standing before Yahweh.

In these verses Yahweh has two speeches. The rst is in vv. 17–19 where the disjunctive word order introducing it in v. 17 is used to indicate the pluperfect. This together with the third person references to Abraham suggest that Yahweh’s words in vv. 17–19 are not addressed to Abraham. Instead, they represent Yahweh’s own private deliberations with himself as he considers whether or not to let Abraham in on his plans to destroy the cities of the plain. Sodom and Gomorrah’s reputation as oppressive societies which God destroyed seems to have been wellknown to the classical prophets and their audiences.18 It would appear from Gen 13:10 that the implied reader of the Patriarchal History may already know of some tradition concerning Yahweh’s destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. So, here in Gen 18, the narrative assumes that Yahweh has already decided to carry out the destruction even before he meets with Abraham. Therefore, the purpose for the meeting is presented as pre-emptive. Yahweh, knowing that Abraham will awake the next morning to nd the Jordan Valley going up in smoke (cf. 19:27), apparently does not want to leave Abraham to his own theological devices when making sense of this catastrophe for the cities of the plain. Such destruction of what Abraham might consider innocent life could lead him to question whether Yahweh really is a just God. The struggle with theodicy that would no doubt ensue could then make it difcult for Abraham to fulll his role of teaching his descendents to keep the way of Yahweh by doing justice and righteousness (18:19). The enterprise, as Yahweh envisions it, hinges on Abraham’s role as an authoritative teacher, that is, as a father. Because of this special place that Abraham now occupies in the divine plan, Yahweh decides to make a preemptive effort to assure Abraham that he is indeed a just God. That effort takes 18. E.g. Amos 4:11; Isa 1:9, 10; 3:9; 13:19; Jer 23:14; 49:18; 50:40; Zeph 2:9. 1

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the form of giving Abraham the experience of interceding before Yahweh on behalf of the few righteous that might be (but actually are not) in Sodom. The presentation of all the Sodomites as violent homosexuals may represent a unique contribution of the Yahwist to that tradition already reected in the Prophets, where Sodom and Gomorrah are singled out as archetypal cities of social oppression in general with no explicit mention of sexual perversion (e.g. Ezek 16:49). Yahweh’s second speech comes in vv. 20–21 and marks the beginning of Yahweh’s direct address to Abraham. Yahweh addresses Abraham under the auspices of being on a fact-nding mission in response to a report of great wickedness concerning Sodom and Gomorrah. Such is not really the case, as vv. 17–19 have already made clear, but Yahweh engages in this role-play with Abraham for the purpose of instruction. Knowing of the wickedness of Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham is apparently able to read between the lines of Yahweh’s words in vv. 20– 21 and concludes that wholesale destruction is looming for the cities of the plain. The ensuing exchange between Yahweh and Abraham presumes that righteousness is an ethical standard to which both men and God must conform and that righteous people ( ) and wicked people ( ) should not be subjected to the same fate. This is most clear in Abraham’s climactic protest, “Shall not the judge of all the earth do justice?” ( ). The rest of the narrative goes on in ch. 19 to conrm that there are no righteous people in Sodom, not even Lot (cf. vv. 4–11). Indeed, Yahweh’s preservation of Lot seems based in an ethical perspective that recognizes Abraham’s ties of affection and kinship to Lot as having ethical value (cf. 19:29). Apparently, this is part of doing justice. In any case, Gen 18–19 as a torah narrative presents Sodom and Gomorrah as a negative object lesson for Abraham and his descendents, in that these cities represent the antithesis of a just and righteous society, the very thing that the Israelites, as children of Abraham, are not supposed to become. Moving into ch. 20, the narrative begins a new episode but maintains a connection with the justice and righteousness theme begun in ch. 18. It tells about Abraham’s unjust dealings with Abimelech whom he deceives into thinking that Sarah is his sister rather than his wife. The narrative theme of Abraham doing justice and righteousness is still in view at this point as the narrator has Abimelech say to Yahweh, “O lord, will you kill a people even though righteous” ( ). This seems to echo strongly Abraham’s question to Yahweh in 18:23, “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?” ( !). Abraham’s violation of justice and righteousness ethics puts Abimelech on the verge of being guilty of a traditional and most grievous social sin, 1


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namely that of adultery. Consequently, Abimelech labels Abraham’s treatment of him as “that which should not be done” ( , v. 9), the very antithesis of doing justice and righteousness. It is only after Abraham comes clean and intercedes with Yahweh on Abimelech’s behalf that the fertility of Abimelech’s house is restored to what may be described as a blessed state. Here as in chs. 18 and 19 traditional morality and custom express the ethics of doing justice and righteousness. It should be noted that here adultery is assumed to be a most grievous violation of this traditional ethical standard and deserving of a death sentence carried out by the deity. After Gen 18:19 the expression does not occur again until 2 Sam 8:15, a text which carries particular signicance for our study of 2 Sam 9–20. Thereafter, the expression does not occur again until 1 Kgs 10:9, where the queen of Sheba claims that Yahweh made Solomon king “in order to establish () justice and righteousness.” Notice that all three of these occurrences employ the verb with the phrase as object. In Gen 18:19, this task of doing justice and righteousness is expected of all Abraham’s descendants. In 2 Sam 8:15 and 1 Kgs 10:9, the task is specically a work of the monarchy. These democratic and monarchic perspectives on doing justice and righteousness are reected elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, with the prophets especially making a connection between the two, in that they see monarchy as occupying a position which affects the dissemination of justice and righteousness throughout the broader society. 3. The Ideal Purpose of Kingship Throughout the ancient Near East the establishment of kittum u m£arum or was considered rst and foremost to be the task of the king. In the Hebrew Bible, establishing is associated with the anointing of kings and with kingship in several passages.19 Doing as the purpose for Israelite kingship is expressed quite clearly in 1 Kgs 10:9 (// 2 Chr 9:8). There the queen of Sheba stands in awe of Solomon’s wisdom and says that Yahweh made him king “in order to do justice and righteousness” ( ). This divine installation of the king is associated with Yahweh’s delight ( ) in Solomon and his love for Israel. A king of such character is thereby considered a gift to the people from the deity who cares about them.

19. 2 Sam 8:15; 1 Kgs 10:9; Isa 9:4, 6; 16:5; Jer 22:3, 15; 23:5; 33:15; Ezek 45:9; Ps 72:1–2; Prov 16:12. See Weinfeld, Social Justice, 9. 1

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In Mesopotamian literature kings were lauded for having established social justice. Indeed, the king who establishes kittum u m£arum is declared good, as in the case of Hammurabi (CH, col. ia, 32–col. va, 13; col. va, 15–24). Wilfred G. Lambert provides us with another example of royal praise when he describes the extant portions of a Babylonian tablet in which an unnamed king’s virtues as lawgiver and judge are extolled. Finding that no other king except Nebuchadnezzar II ts with the internal evidence of the tablet, Lambert concludes that Nebuchadnezzar must be considered here as a second Hammurabi, since the tablet ascribes to him a code of laws, regulations for his city (i.e. Babylon) and his own royal ofce:20 (22) He was not negligent in the matter of true and righteous judgment, he did not rest night or day, (25) but with counsel and deliberation he persisted in writing down (23) judgments and decisions arranged to be pleasing to the great lord, Marduk, (24) and for the betterment of all the peoples and the settling of the land of Akkad. (26) He drew up improved regulations for the city, he built anew the law court. (27) He drew up regulations . [sic] his kingship forever…21

It was traditional for such just kings to be likened to the sun, which in Mesopotamian religion was associated with Shamash, the god of justice (CH col. ia, 32–44).22 In fact, from Babylon to Mari to Ugarit kittum u m£arum were considered to be the son and daughter of Shamash and his courtiers.23 The traditional association of the sun with the king’s establishment of “justice and righteousness” seems also to be echoed in 2 Sam 23:1–7, as well as in Ps 72:17.24 Israel’s prophets demanded that its monarchs and their subordinate ministers establish justice and righteousness. Jeremiah says in the name of Yahweh, “Do justice and righteousness, and deliver the victim () from the hand of the oppressor ( ). Do not hand over () an alien, an orphan or a widow. Do no violence ( ) and do not shed innocent blood in this place” (22:3). Similarly Ezekiel demands, “Enough 20. Wilfred G. Lambert, “Nebuchadnezzar King of Justice,” Iraq 27 (1965): 1–11 (3). 21. Ibid., 8, col. II, lines 22 n. 27. 22. Fritz Rudolf Kraus, Königliche Verfügungen in Altbabylonischer Zeit (SDIOAP 11; Leiden: Brill, 1984), 80 (B. A-s 1). 23. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 27 n. 12; cf. Anton Deimel, Pantheon Babylonicum (SPIB; Rome: Pontical Biblical Institute, 1914), 196 no. 2387; Georges Dossin, “Un ‘panthéon’ d’Ur III à Mari,” RA 61 (1967): 97–104 (100, 104); J. Nougayrol et al., Ugaritica V, Mission de Ras Shamra XVI (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1968), 220 line 166. 24. On 2 Sam 23:1–7 and Ps 72:17, see Weinfeld, Social Justice, 52–53, 217. 1


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(), O princes of Israel! Put away violence ( ) and oppression ( ), and do justice and righteousness. Stop your evictions ( ) of my people” (45:9). In Isa 32:1–5 we nd a rich description of the effects which will be wrought by a king whose whole administration, kings and princes, rules with justice and righteousness (v. 1). It is open to debate whether the text should be read as a prediction about a particular future ruler or a lecture on the nature of righteous rule and its affects. In any case, such an administration provides relief from the oppressive circumstances, for which the references to wind ( ), storm (), dry place ( ) and weary land ( ) are metaphors (v. 2). This protection and relief will then effect a positive transformation of human character and moral order which removes old incongruities. For instance, those who have sight will also have insight, those who have ears will also be teachable (v. 3), the impulsive will be knowledgeable ( , v. 4), those who stammer will be quick to speak ( , v. 4) and, perhaps most importantly, the fool () and the criminal ( ) will be recognized for what they are (vv. 5–7). These transformations in vv. 3–4 seem implicitly to describe a society’s acquisition of wisdom in its various facets, which involves character formation and the reformation of hermeneutical faculties of moral perception. A successful democratization of the task of establishing justice and righteousness seems to be in the view of Isa 32:14–16 for the eschaton. This sort of top-down perspective on the character of rulers and ruled does not keep Israel’s prophets from calling on every individual in the nation to promote social justice. This ts with Yahweh’s vision for Abraham’s descendents presented in Gen 18:19. However, the failure of a society to take up this responsibility to establish justice and righteousness is reected in Isaiah’s explanation of the parable of the vineyard: “The vineyard of Yahweh of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men ( ) of Judah are the planting in which he took delight ( ). Then he waited ( ) for justice ( ) but beheld bloodshed ( ), for righteousness () but beheld a cry of distress ()” (5:7). The call on all individuals to establish justice and righteousness did not dilute the king’s responsibility in this regard. Weinfeld has pointed to a certain oscillation between justice and righteousness in reference to the king and in reference to the people both in the Hebrew Bible and in Hesiod. Such interchanges he nds understandable since the king was responsible for the ordering of justice in his land and was thus also held responsible for its perversion.25 Indeed, the directives of Jer 22:3 25. Ibid., 215–18. 1

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mentioned above may be seen as paradigmatic. Interestingly, the passage goes on to state that compliance with these stipulations will mean the glorious continuation of the Davidic dynasty (v. 4). Failure will mean the desolation of both dynasty (vv. 5–7) and city (v. 8). 4. Associated Behaviors I have already had occasion to mention some specic acts traditionally associated with the establishment, or obstruction, of , namely, the treatment of widows, orphans and aliens, and the shedding of innocent blood. This draws attention to the fact that part of knowing what served to establish justice and righteousness entailed not only knowing what was congruent with it but also knowing what was antithetical to it. It is important to realize that to do justice and righteousness was to do / (“good”)26 and that this represented the opposite end of the ethical spectrum from doing / (“evil”).27 For this reason the knowledge of good and evil was considered necessary for the establishment of justice and righteousness (1 Kgs 3:9–11). Such an antipathy between “justice and righteousness” and “evil” is also implicit in those ancient Near Eastern texts where the king claims to destroy evil and evil doers or is called upon to do so. For instance, Hammurabi claims that the gods Anum and Illil called on him to make justice appear in the land and to destroy the evil and the wicked (CH, col. ia, 32–44). In one mšarum proclamation the prince of Der describes himself as “the one who establishes justice and destroys evil” (škin mšarum muälliq raggim).28 Similarly, Azitawada claims, “and I broke up all the evil which was in the land.”29 Likewise, Nebuchadnezzar claims, “evil and evildoers I removed from among the people.”30 David’s statement in 2 Sam 4:11, “I shall remove you from the earth,” should also be viewed as reecting this purging side to the establishment of justice and righteousness.31 26. Cf. Mic 6:8; Amos 5:15; Prov 2:9, 20. 27. The expressions “to know good and evil” (Gen 2:9, 17; 3:5, 22) and “to do good/evil” (Gen 39:9; Ps 14:1, 3) imply that / and / are at opposite ends of an ethical spectrum. 28. Dietz Otto Edzard, Die »zweite Zwischenzeit« Babyloniens (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1957), 68–69. 29. KAI 26, A I:9. 30. Stephen H. Langdon, Die neubabylonische Königsinschriften (VB 4; Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1921), 112 (no. 14 col. I:27), 124 (no. 15 col. II:28–29); cf. M.-J. Seux, Épithètes Royales Akkadiennes et Sumériennes (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1967), 99. 31. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 50 n. 17; see Weinfeld’s Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 356. 1


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According to Weinfeld, the main wrongdoing which the prophets decried was not so much the perversion of the judicial process as it was the oppression perpetrated by rich landowners and the ruling circles that controlled the socio-economic order.32 It is in this sense that Amos rebukes those who cheat and enslave the poor (3:10; 4:1; 5:11; 8:5–6). Similarly, Isaiah condemns those rich landowners who foreclose on properties and thereby enlarge their own estates (5:8). The cause for these foreclosures would appear to be reected in 10:1 when Isaiah rebukes those who “enact laws of injustice and write iniquitous decrees,” thus subverting the cause of the poor, robbing the needy of their rights, despoiling widows and making orphans their booty (v. 2). A similar situation is seen in the call of Ps 49 for divine vengeance on those who oppress God’s people and his inheritance (vv. 5, 14). Micah prophesies that those who disregard in this way will not receive any allotment of land in the community, even their own land will be divided up (2:2–5). As for the perversion of judicial and legislative processes, this kind of activity is probably associated with oppressive actions conducted in the gates of cities.33 The absence of was associated with the obstruction of “truth and straightforwardness” ( ) in Isa 59:14.34 Here some other activities which thwart justice and righteousness include “rebelling and denying Yahweh, turning away from following our God, speaking oppression and rebellion, conceiving and muttering lying words from the heart” (59:13). Indeed, the prophet claimed that his own social situation was so bad that those who did turn from evil were despoiled (59:15a), apparently by the rest of society (cf. vv. 9, 14). It is said that “Yahweh saw it, and it was evil in his eyes that there was no justice” (59:15). What we have here in Isaiah is a picture of social meltdown. Similarly, Jeremiah (22:17) argued that the real antithesis of is dishonest gain (), spilling innocent blood and practicing oppression ( ) and violence ( ). However, Jeremiah was also careful to point out there was no problem with a king living in luxury so long as he fairly judged the case of the poor and needy (v. 15). At the same time, Jeremiah reects another dimension of when he condemns those who used forced labor: “Woe to him who builds his house without righteousness, and his upper rooms without justice; who makes his neighbors work for nothing, and does not give them their wages” (22:13). We 32. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 36. 33. Job 31:21; Prov 22:22; Isa 29:21; Amos 5:10, 12. 34. In this passage each hendiadys ( and ) has had its elements distributed syntactically between the cola. 1

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should see these words in context as the condemnation of a king who builds his kingdom or dynasty by these methods. Rainer Kessler has also shown us that this criticism involves reference to “his neighbor” () to highlight that the king and his impressed worker are fundamentally equals.35 In the exilic and priestly context of Ezekiel (45:9), all the leaders of Israel are called to “thwart violence and devastation” ( ) and to establish “justice and righteousness.” In 18:5, promoting social justice is the very mark of a righteous man. Such a man does not engage in idolatrous worship (especially that kind which was characteristic of the northern tribes), commit adultery, have sexual relations with a woman during her menstrual period, or practice oppression ( ), robbery, or even usury (vv. 6–7a). He also avoids iniquity, repays his debts, supplies food for the hungry, clothes the naked, establishes just verdicts ( ) and ultimately adheres to Yahweh’s laws in order to do what is truly righteous (vv. 7b–9). The reward for such a way of life is said to be life, while the punishment is death (cf. vv. 9, 19, 21, 27; 33:14, 16, 19). Ezekiel 18 is one of the few passages that actually venture to dene concretely what it means to be righteous. On the one hand, Ezekiel is here appealing to ethical standards which he thought should be obvious to all Israelites. Signicantly, the giving of bread to the hungry and clothing to the naked in Ezek 18 and Isa 58 nds some overlap with the concerns for social justice in Israelite wisdom literature (Job 22:6–7; 31:16–20), Egyptian autobiographies, as well as Hittite and Assyrian literature.36 On the other hand, we may wonder whether Ezek 18 implies that the prophet’s priestly ethics are at odds with the common Israelite morality of his day. Consequently, he is compelled to specify. As can already be seen from the discussion thus far, acts which were primarily associated with the establishment or corruption of justice and righteousness involved the treatment of weaker members of society. Indeed, Weinfeld claims that walking in the path of kittum u m£arum 35. Rainer Kessler, Staat und Gesellschaft im vorexilischen Juda vom 8. Jahrhundert bis zum Exil (VTSup 47; Leiden: Brill, 1992), 84. See also Walter J. Houston, Contending for Justice: Ideologies and Theologies of Social Justice in the Old Testament (rev. edn; London: T&T Clark International, 2008), 138. 36. For Harkhuf’s description of his own worthiness and fair social dealings, see Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings 1: The Old and Middle Kingdoms (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), 24; Eberhard Otto, Die biographischen Inschriften der ägyptischen Spätzeit: ihre geistesgeschichtliche und literarische Bedeutung (PA 2; Leiden: Brill, 1954), 167 no. 28. For Hittite and Assyrian texts, see Weinfeld, Social Justice, 224, and the references cited there. 1


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meant the establishment of social equity and that doing is likewise bound up with actions on behalf of the poor and the oppressed.37 According to Weinfeld, in the psalms and prophetic literature

refers primarily to “the improvement of the conditions of the poor, which is undoubtedly accomplished through regulations issued by the king and his ofcials, and not by offering legal assistance to the poor man in his litigation with his oppressor.”38 The association of doing justice and righteousness with acts of kindness or in general was strong and widespread. Indeed, the justice and righteousness of a king was thought to be dependent on his acts of (Isa 16:5; Prov 20:28). The close association between

and is also seen in Jer 9:23; Hos 2:21; 12:7; Mic 6:8; Pss 33:5; 89:15; 101:1. Thus Weinfeld rightly claims that expresses in a general sense, social justice and equity, which is bound up with mercy and kindness; it includes, but is not restricted to, just judicial decisions.39 As part of royal ideology, the establishment of /kittum u mšarum was also associated with proclamations of freedom in the ancient Near East.40 The establishment of mšarum (a term connoting social justice in general) was closely associated with the establishment of andurrum (“freedom” or “liberation”), a term which referred specically to the manumission of persons and the return of property to its owner. The implementation of andurrum was considered a religious act throughout Mesopotamia.41 However, according to Weinfeld, while one could be given andurrum, one could not be given mšarum. Nonetheless, Weinfeld adds that when andurrum is used in the general sense of release there is no difference between the two.42 In fact, in Mesopotamia and Egypt the king’s proclamation of liberation was dened as “the establishment of justice and righteousness in the land.”43 In the mšarum document of Ammiaduqa the general expression “the king has established mšarum in the land” is repeatedly attached to specic proclamations pertaining to the cancellation of taxes owed to the king, personal debts, accumulated interest, as well as the manumission of enslaved debtors and exemptions from military service. Weinfeld points out that 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 1

Weinfeld, Social Justice, 33. Ibid. Ibid., 36, 44. Ibid., 75–96, 140–151. Cf. ibid., 87. Ibid., 75. Ibid., 140–44.

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although we do not nd in this document the return of land to its owner as a component of mšarum, the edict canceling all debts implies that property was also restored to its original owners. Weinfeld notes that this is specically attested in the documents of Mari and other documents of that period.44 Thus, proclaiming andurrum was an activity within the sphere of establishing kittum u mšarum. Throughout the ancient Near East concern for widows and orphans came to be a classic motif for social justice.45 According to Wolfram von Soden, a description of the king’s intervention on behalf of the socially weak, particularly widows and orphans, as well as his commitment to justice in the land is hardly ever lacking from the more lengthy formulaic titles of ancient Near Eastern kings; the same he says is true of references to the king’s commitment to justice in the land at the behest of the gods who installed him.46 Thus one may appreciate the signicance of a Babylonian tablet which extols the virtues of a just king and criticizes the regent and prince who “would not take the part of the cripple and widow before the judge.”47 Israelite literature also reects these concerns but seems to go a step further by adding concern for the alien to the dyad of widows and orphans.48 This is apparently due to Israel’s own heritage as aliens in the land of Egypt (Exod 22:21; 23:9; Lev 19:33; Deut 23:7). 5. A Divine Gift An ancient Near Eastern king’s sense for establishing social justice was considered to be a gift bestowed on him by the deity. For Mesopotamians this was the gift of the sun-god, Shamash, the god of justice. At Mari, the inscription of king Yahdunlim says that Shamash the god of justice gives kittum u mšarum as his gifts.49 Likewise Hammurabi claims to be a just king (LUGAL mi-ša-ri-im) who has received kintum (“truth”) from 44. Ibid., 90–91; cf. 76, 89. 45. Frank Charles Fensham, “Widow, Orphan, and the Poor in Ancient Near Eastern Legal and Wisdom Literature,” JNES 21 (1962): 129–39. 46. Wolfram von Soden, The Ancient Orient: An Introduction to the Study of the Ancient Near East (trans. D. G. Schley; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 66; cf. M. Anbar, “Aspect moral dans un discours ‘prophétique’ de Mari,” UF 7 (1975): 517–18. See Exod 22:22, 26; Deut 10:8; Jer 22:3; Zech 7:5–6, 9–10. 47. Lambert, “Nebuchadnezzar,” 8, col. II, line 5. 48. M. Sneed, “Israelite Concern for the Alien, Orphan, and Widow: Altruism or Ideology,” ZAW 111 (1999): 498–507; D. E. Gowan, “Wealth and Poverty in the Old Testament: The Case of the Widow, the Orphan, and the Sojourner,” Int 41 (1987): 341–53. 49. See Weinfeld, Social Justice, 27 n. 12 for the reference. 1


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Shamash (CH, col. xxvb, 97). The Assyrian king Ashurbanipal claims that the gods gave him kittu mša[ru] (“truth and equity”).50 Also, Ishmedagan is said to have received truth and justice from UTU (i.e. Shamash), in order to treat the people equitably, establish truth, preserve the just and eliminate the wicked, all so that the weak might not be handed over to the strong and so that evil and injustice might be eliminated and justice ourish.51 Several texts in the Hebrew Bible indicate that both the desire and the intuition for establishing social justice were considered the gift of Yahweh. This is seen in Ps 72:1–2, where the psalmist petitions God to give the king . The same idea of divine gifting is in view in Isa 33:5, where it is said that Yahweh “has lled Zion [with] justice and righteousness.” Israel’s prophets tended to see the recipients of this gift extending beyond the king, at least in the eschaton (e.g. Isa 32:15–18). Nevertheless, given human instrumentality in Yahweh’s establishment of social justice, the prophet Jeremiah found it necessary to remind his hearers that credit for such things ultimately belongs to Yahweh: “Let the one who boasts boast only in this: understanding and knowing me (

), namely, that ( ) I, Yahweh, establish kindness ( ), justice and righteousness in the land, because ( ) in these things I delight, says the Lord” (Jer 9:23).52 6. The Wisdom Factor The king’s ability to establish social justice was closely related to his possessing the faculty of wisdom, which was also considered by ancient Near Eastern peoples to be a divine gift. For instance, the hymn of Šulgi king of Ur associates his righteousness with his wisdom: “My wisdom is 50. Waterman, Royal Correspondence of the Assyrian Empire, Part 2, no. 926:14. 51. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 51–52. 52. My translation is based on the MT. Weinfeld suggests that the text be amended on the basis of the LXX (i.e. in the quotation appended to 1 Sam 2:10) to read “understanding and knowing YHWH, and establishing kindness, justice and righteousness in the land, for these things I desire.” According to Weinfeld, therefore, “it is man who must establish justice in the land, not God” (ibid., 47). He asks “what is the point of saying that God acts with kindness and justice because he desires them? It is more reasonable to say that man acts with kindness and justice, an idea which is in fact present in Hos 6:6: ‘For I desire kindness.’ ” Weinfeld adds that “Hosea is known to have inuenced Jeremiah” (47 n. 8). However, it seems that the point of the MT is not to deny any human agency in the establishment of social justice, rather it is to emphasize the ultimate agency of Yahweh. Humankind, for all its wealth, power, and wisdom is only an intermediate agent. 1

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perfected (as well). Its true words I (strive to) attain. Righteousness (nì-si-sá-e) I cherish, falsehood I do not tolerate, words of fraud I hate.”53 In the hymn of Lipit-Ishtar, where the just king is described as appearing like the sun and as being a wise shepherd, the king of Isin is said to have received from the goddess Nisbah the written tablet which bestowed wisdom.54 Hammurabi also declares, after expounding his law, that he is “the just king, to whom Shamash has granted the truth. My words are choice, my deeds have no rival; only for the unwise are they vain, for the profoundly wise they are worthy of all praise” (CH, col. xxvb, 95–xxvib, 1). The association of a king’s wisdom with his righteousness is also reected in the Phoenician Azitiwada inscription: “I sat on the throne of my father, and I established peace with every king, and every king also treated me like a father [lit. ‘with paternity’]55 on account of my righteousness, and on account of my wisdom, and on account of the goodness of my heart.”56 My reference earlier to Jer 9:23 has already touched on the wisdom factor in the Israelite conception of establishing “justice and righteousness.” To this may be added King Solomon’s request in 1 Kgs 3:9 for Yahweh to give him “a discerning heart to judge your people, to discern good from evil, for who is able to judge this great people?” This is a request for the deity to give Solomon the intuitive faculties necessary to establish social justice in the nation, particularly through his judicial functioning (cf. 1 Kgs 10:9). What Solomon requests here is not just his own moral certitude, but also the ability, or shrewdness, to root out and uncover the moral truth in his judicial verdicts. He seeks the ability to root out the evil cause and vindicate the good. Positive proof that 53. J. Klein, Three Šulgi Hymns: Sumerian Royal Hymns Glorifying King Šulgi of Ur (BISNELC; Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1981), 190–91 lines 21–25. 54. Lipit-Ishtar is said to have made the equitable and righteous appear, to have punished oppressors, freed the oppressed, and to have established equity for Sumer and Akkad (lines 24–40). In this hymn are found several of the motifs related to the king who establishes justice and righteousness: appearing as the sun, holding the scepter of equity, wisdom, justice and righteousness, abolishing evil and establishing good (Weinfeld, Social Justice, 64–65). 55. The meaning of is somewhat uncertain. It possibly refers to a father’s legal power or status as father (J. Hoftijer et al., Dictionary of North-west Semitic Inscriptions [Leiden: Brill, 1995], 1:8). 56. H. Donnor and W. Röllig, Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1962), 26, lines 11–13. The Aramean Birrakib inscription is less clear but seems also to associate a king’s wisdom with his righteousness (215, lines 10–11). For descriptions of the wise as well as just king in Mesopotamia, see Seux, Épithètes Royales Akkadiennes et Sumériennes, 22, passim. 1


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Yahweh did indeed honor Solomon’s request is given in 3:16–27 when the narrator tells how Solomon brilliantly handled the judgment of a maternity case between two prostitutes (3:16–27). From this all Israel is said to have perceived that, “the wisdom of God was in him to establish justice” ( , v. 28). That Solomon did indeed use this wisdom to establish justice and righteousness in the land is further suggested by the general description of Israel and Judah in 1 Kgs 4:20 as being “as numerous as the sand by the sea; eating, drinking, and rejoicing.” Association of the establishment of social justice with the presence of such harmony is also seen in the hymn of LipitIshtar, king of Isin: “you have established equity for Sumer and Akkad, you have gladdened the land of Sumer.”57 Isaiah’s description of the Davidic king who will judge the weak with righteousness, decide with equity for the poor and kill the wicked (11:4) is preceded by a declaration of this king’s wisdom: “The spirit of Yahweh will rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and strength, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord” (11:2–3). This king will wear integrity () and faithfulness ( ) like a belt (v. 5). The wisdom of the just eschatological Davidic king is also in view in Jer 23:5 where the verb #" $ " , though difcult, may have the sense of “to engage in circumspection.” The priority of circumspection to the acquisition of knowledge and good behavior is also reected in Jer 9:23 and Ps 36:4.58 Thus in Jer 23:5 we see a certain progression, in that the king assumes his reign, then engages in contemplation, and then proceeds to establish justice and righteousness ( ). 7. The Warrior Factor The king’s responsibility for establishing justice and righteousness would at times require his ability as a warlord. This is presupposed in the king’s responsibility to protect his people and sacred cities from enemies— often characterized as unrighteous or criminal—and in his responsibility to hunt down and execute wrongdoers. The Assyrian royal perspective on all this is summarized well by Bustenay Oded: 57. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 64. 58. In Jer 9:23 those who boast are to boast only in the fact that they have engaged in circumspection and arrived at the knowledge that it is God who establishes kindness, justice and righteousness in the land, because he delights in those things. In Ps 36:4 the example is negative in that the wicked person is said to fail to engage in circumspection for the purpose of doing good. 1

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign [A]s “king of kings” and “king of the universe”, the logical conclusion is that it is lawful and obligatory for the Assyrian monarch not only to judge and punish the subjects and ofcials of his kingdom but also offenders wherever and whenever necessary. Through the agency of war he sets right the injustice committed by the transgressors. The impression left by the ARI is that waging war was the rule rather than the exception: the wars of the king of Assyria are part of his never ending struggle against evil at any time and in any place, with the ultimate objective of redressing injustice over the entire world.59

Likewise Yahweh is depicted as a warrior when he intervenes to right wrongs and establish justice (e.g. Isa 1:24–28). This portrait of Yahweh is often fundamental to prophetic discourses as well as to narratives in the Torah and Former Prophets, where the history of Israelite religion is perceived to be grounded in the nation’s rst introduction to her deity as a warrior deity who delivered them from Egyptian bondage and oppression by the pharaoh (Exod 1–15). Isaiah 59:14 depicts Yahweh as the archetypal sovereign who turns to rectify a situation in which justice and righteousness have been driven back. Among the functions he fulls are the exaction of vengeance and the punishment of “enemies” according to their deeds, while becoming a redeemer to “Zion” and to “those in Jacob” who turn from transgression (59:14–20). A king’s protection of sacred cities and his people from attack was part of his establishment of justice and righteousness. This is seen with respect to the city of Babylon in Nebuchadnezzar’s inscription: “I lled this house with glory, splendor, power, and awe. My glorious majesty lls its borders. The wicked and the unjust shall not enter it, and thus no troubling enemy shall disturb Babylon.”60 David’s role as Yahweh’s chosen one to liberate Israel from all her enemies reects the warrior factor in the responsibility of Israel’s kings to establish justice and righteousness (2 Sam 3:18). 8. Expectations for Palaces and Royal Cities If there was any place where justice and righteousness should be established, it was in the king’s palace and the holy cities, particularly temple cities. No doubt, as Weinfeld points out, such expectations were only increased by the fact that temple cities also often shared the status as royal capitals where the king and his ofcials (those responsible for 59. Oded, War, Peace, and Empire, 38. 60. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 99; cf. Langdon, Neubabylonische Königsinschriften, 118–20 (no. 14 cols. II:56–III:34), 138–40 (col. IX:36–65). 1


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establishing social justice) resided.61 Jerusalem, Nippur and its later replacement Babylon, all served this dual function. Such cities were to be purged of wrongdoers.62 When these cities failed to do this, so that justice and righteousness were corrupted in them, the city and its inhabitants attracted criticism. Esarhaddon’s inscription criticizes Babylon because of its oppression of the poor, corruption, and bribery.63 There is also a complaint about “trouble and disturbance, revolt and acts of violence” in the city of Borsippa, “city of truth and righteousness.”64 City sanctity is also reected in the inscription of the citadel of Amman.65 As for Jerusalem, or Zion, it was designated as the “holy city” ( , Isa 48:2; 52:1; Neh 11:1, 18; Dan 9:24), “righteous city” ( , Isa 1:26), “abode of righteousness” (, Jer 31:23), “city of faithfulness” or “believing city” ( , Isa 1:21, 26), and “city of truth” ( , Zech 8:3). However, due to the corruption of its inhabitants, Ezekiel did not hesitate to call it (“city of bloodshed,” 22:2; 24:6, 9). The utter tragedy of this city and its failure to live up to its status is emphasized in Isa 1:21: “How the faithful city has become a whore! Faithful city, full of justice, righteousness lodged in her, but now murderers.” In Ps 101 it is presumably a king who sings of his intentions to do kindness and justice by cutting off all evildoers from the city of Yahweh (vv. 1–8b; cf. Isa 52:1, 3–6; Joel 4:17). According to the prophet Isaiah, the Lord himself will lead a punishing purge to

61. For the expectations, privileges and freedoms associated with temple cities in Israel and the ancient Near East, see Weinfeld, Social Justice, 97–139. 62. For the city of Lagash, see the inscription of Gudea dedicating the temple of Ningirsu in Adam Falkenstein and Wolfram von Soden, Sumerische und Akkadische Hymnen und Gebete (BAW; Zurich: Artemis-Verlag, 1953), 137–82. For Nippur, see the hymn of Enlil in the English translation by S. N. Kramer in ANET, 573. For Babylon see Nebuchadnezzar’s inscription in Langdon, Neubabylonische Königsinschriften, 118 (no. 14 col. II:56–57), 138 (no. 15 col. IX:36–37). For an English translation, see Weinfeld, Social Justice, 99. 63. R. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien (AfOB 9; Osnabrück: Biblio-Verlag, 1967), 12, §11 episode 3. 64. W. G. Lambert, “Literary Style in First Millennium Mesopotamia,” JAOS 88 (1968): 123–32 (126 lines 15–17). 65. According to E. Puech and A. Rofé (“L’inscription de la citadelle d’Amman,” RB 80 [1973]: 532–46), line 4 reads: ] [ (“]mais dans toutes les colonnades habiteront les juste[s”). This is also supported by W. E. Aufrecht, A Corpus of Ammonite Inscriptions (ANETS 4; Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 1989), no. 59, 160 (cf. COS 2:139). However, Weinfeld reects another popular reconstruction with [] , “righteousness shall lodge in all the surrounding districts” (Weinfeld, Social Justice, 99). 1

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restore the city’s status as a “city of righteousness” (Isa 1:24–25). In failing to live up to its status as a holy city, Isa 3:8 says that Jerusalem “has stumbled” ( ). 9. The Problem of Punishing Royals With it being the task of ancient Near Eastern kings (who were divinely appointed) to establish justice and righteousness in the land, and since a divine grant of the faculties necessary to accomplish this was an important if not indispensable asset, there seems to have arisen the problem of what to do and think when these kings themselves became guilty of corruption. Who punishes the king and how? Responsibility for this task was understood to fall back upon the gods. Indeed, ancient Near Eastern theological perspectives allowed for the possibility that the proliferation of social ills was itself attributable to divine punishment on a king for his failure to do justice and righteousness. In Mesopotamia we nd Akkadian prophecies which attribute ex eventu various social disorders to a king who oppresses his people. Such disturbances are said to arise after the gods take counsel and to include rebellion against the king, inter-tribal and inter-city conict, war, rivalries between colleagues leading to murder, friends and brothers putting each other to the sword, spouses forsaking each other, parents forsaking children, and the whole land falling into anarchy.66 A similar perspective seems to have been shared in Israel where the means by which Yahweh was understood to have taken up the task of punishing the king varied from environmental disasters and afiction by human agents (cf. 2 Sam 7:14) to social disorder (2 Sam 12:11a). However, in the context of Israelite Yahwism—where there was normally little question that the standard for Yahweh’s punishment of the wicked was itself based upon (cf. Isa 28:17)—a theological crisis seems to have arisen when Yahweh was perceived to have used human agents who themselves were manifestly just as wicked, or even more so, than the people (or king) whom they were employed to punish. Habakkuk 1 reects a classic example of this particular kind of theodicy. There is also evidence that an Israelite monarch’s insensitivity to justice and righteousness was explained as due, at least in part, to the deity having withdrawn or confounded that faculty of wisdom in him for the purpose of punishment (cf. 1 Kgs 12:13–15; Ps 33:10; Isa 8:10; 19:11–14; 29:14).

66. A. K. Grayson and W. G. Lambert, “Akkadian Prophecies,” JCS 18 (1964): 7–30. 1


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10. Conclusion The ancient Near Eastern texts that have been examined in this chapter have provided evidence that the notion of justice and righteousness, as represented especially in the expressions and kittum u m£arum, was a goal, a sought after state of being for people individually and for societies as a whole. The goal represented in justice and righteousness was that of a well ordered and peaceful society where freedom and equality prevailed. So, as we can see, the concept of establishing justice and righteousness drew many other ancient Near Eastern ideas and institutions into its realm. Accordingly, it was closely associated with wisdom and acts of kindness. Thus justice and righteousness was thought of as something that one does as an expression of character and mental conguration. The responsibility to promote justice and righteousness was democratized in several texts of the Hebrew Bible, thereby suggesting that all Israelites were thought by some to be responsible for it. Indeed, the Patriarchal Narratives of Gen 18–20 suggest that some Israelite conceptions of the doing of justice and righteousness centered on domestic family life. Nevertheless, throughout the ancient Near East justice and righteousness was still considered the special responsibility of monarchy. Thus neither the Hebrew Bible nor the Mesopotamian texts that we have examined associate the establishment of justice and righteousness with a radical egalitarianism or the wholesale rejection of hierarchical social structures. Indeed, the establishment of justice and righteousness was considered the ideal purpose of kingship. With such being the responsibility of monarchy it is not surprising to nd a particular emphasis on the establishment of justice and righteousness in royal cities and even the palace. A ruler’s keen sense for justice and righteousness was thought to be a divine gift, which led to its close association with the divine gift of wisdom. The presence or absence of wisdom in the royal house stood to inuence the same in the rest of the kingdom. Of particular note is the prophetic emphasis placed on the impact of the royal establishment of justice and righteousness on the character formation and hermeneutical faculties of society as a whole. The king’s establishment of justice and righteousness also called upon his abilities as a warlord. Kings and nations which failed to promote justice and righteousness were thought to be punished by the gods through internal social dissolution, loss of kingship and other national calamities. The establishment (or obstruction) of justice and righteousness was associated with specic concrete 1

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actions and behaviors, with adultery and murder guring prominently in the Hebrew Bible. Justice and righteousness and kingship functioned together as political, philosophical, moral and religious ideas. What constituted the just and righteous state of affairs in a given situation seems to have been determined on the basis of ethical considerations that drew upon a variety of standards.

1

Chapter 4

REDEFINING THE COURT HISTORY ACCORDING TO 2 SAMUEL 8:15B–20:26 AS A LITERARY UNIT

This chapter will present my initial case for reading 2 Sam 9–20 as part of a highly coherent narrative unit beginning at 2 Sam 8:15b and ending at 20:26 and having as its theme “the fate of ‘justice and righteousness’ during David’s reign.” I shall adopt eventually the old title “Court History” (CH) to refer to this redened narrative unit, because it seems more appropriate to its contents than does the title “Succession Narrative.” Nevertheless, when interacting with the work of other scholars, whose works are based on the notion of a SN, I still will nd it necessary to employ the term in discussion. 1. 2 Samuel 8:15b as the Beginning of the Unit It is worth recalling the well-known dissatisfaction of Leonhard Rost with 2 Sam 9 as a starting point for the SN and his consequent attempt to include the story of Michal’s barrenness in 6:16, 20–23.1 Since Rost, other proposals for the start of the SN have included 2 Sam 2–4; 6; 7; 9; 10; 11; 13; 15, and 21:1–14.2 The current impasse seems reected in Stephan Seiler’s renewed afrmation that the beginning of the SN was obviously lost in the process of it being worked into the books of Samuel.3 Of course, these proposals have source-critical goals in view and make no claims regarding the unity of the extant narrative as we now have it in the books of Samuel.

1. Rost, Succession to the Throne of David, 26. 2. For an appraisal of these proposals, see Stefan Seiler, Die Geschichte von der Thronfolge Davids (2 Sam 9–20; 1 Kön 1–2): Untersuchungen zur Literarkritik und Tendenz (BZAW 267; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1998), 277–96. 3. Ibid., 179. 1

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However, the work of Gillian Keys represents one attempt to dene the SN as a unit within its current literary context, restricting its boundaries to 2 Sam 10–20. Unfortunately, Keys bases her reasons for excluding 2 Sam 9 on a strained demonstration against Rost that 2 Sam 16:1–4 and 19:25–31, regarding Mephibosheth’s disloyalty, are self-explanatory and thereby fail to display any direct dependence on 2 Sam 9. Obviously the chronological expression at 10:1 poses a problem for Keys’s view. She reckons that the phrase is perhaps “a timely reminder that 2 Sam 10–20 is not completely independent of the surrounding material. As it stands now it is part of 2 Samuel and therefore plays a role in the book as a whole. It has been fully integrated into 2 Samuel and for this reason the phrase does not present a problem when it is viewed in its proper context.”4 Keys is quite right to downplay any need for complete independence from the surrounding material, yet the fact remains that the chronological expression must follow on from something else. This suggests that ch. 10 in its present state is part of what precedes it. We also observe here that Keys slides effortlessly from source criticism to redaction criticism, and in so doing unwittingly introduces John Barton’s “disappearing redactor,” who thereby proceeds to undermine her thesis for the beginning of the SN. According to Barton, the trick of the disappearing redactor is this: The more impressive the critic makes the redactor’s work appear, the more he succeeds in showing that the redactor has, by subtle and delicate artistry, produced a simple and coherent text out of the diverse materials before him; the more also he reduces the evidence on which the existence of those sources was established in the rst place. No conjourer is required for this trick: the redaction critic himself causes his protégé to disappear.5

Indeed, Keys claims that “2 Samuel 10–20 never had an independent existence, but was linked with the rest of 2 Samuel from its initial composition.”6 Aside from the chronological marker at 10:1 there are also thematic grounds for not separating 2 Sam 9 and 10 after the manner of Keys. For instance, David’s words in 10:2; 9:7; 9:3 and 9:1 all have to do with his acts of and thereby suggest a strong thematic connection between the two chapters. Unfortunately, the abrupt makes it difcult to view 9:1 as the beginning of a unit. So, if we cannot retreat to

4. Keys, Wages of Sin, 80. 5. Barton, Reading the Old Testament, 57. 6. Keys, Wages of Sin, 163. 1

4. Redening the Court History

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2 Sam 10 for the starting point of the CH/SN, much less push back to any part of chs. 2–7 or the better part of ch. 8, then where shall we turn in order to nd a suitable beginning for the narrative containing chs. 9–20? I suggest that 2 Sam 8:15b provides the starting point for the narrative of 2 Sam 9–20. Admittedly, this suggestion ies in the face of the common view that 8:15–18 is a virtual full stop concluding the narrative of ch. 8. After all, does not 8:15 continue the standard narrative consecution with

? And does not the list of royal ofcials in vv. 16–18 seem to create a natural terminus? So widespread is such thinking that Brevard S. Childs did not hesitate in citing 8:15–18 as one of the “few obvious summaries of literary sections.”7 For those partial to this stance, J. P. Fokkelman sums up the basic point of 2 Sam 8: “The successful conclusion to military violence abroad culminates in harmony at home, created by so righteous a king.”8 However, as is well known, this list of David’s top brass in 8:16–18 nds a parallel at 2 Sam 20:23–26. Keys notes but dismisses as imsy the possibility that these parallels could serve as structural markers delineating the boundaries of the SN.9 Likewise, even Fokkelman takes 8:15–18 as being especially intended for ch. 8.10 However, there is evidence to suggest that a shift in narration occurs within 2 Sam 8:14–15. The chronological expression at 8:1 links 2 Sam 8:1–14 as a section to that which precedes it. These fourteen verses tell of the nations David subjugated and the war booty he dedicated to Yahweh. The section appears to divide structurally into two subsections comprised of vv. 1–6 and 7–14. Both of these subsections end with .11 These structural markers seem then to separate vv. 1–14 from v. 15. In so marking 8:14 as the end of a subsection, the narrator prepares the reader for a change of subject. The change comes when the story turns thematically in 8:15 from Yahweh’s establishment of David’s throne over all Israel to David’s establishment of justice and righteousness for all his people. A careful examination of the Hebrew text of vv. 14–15 reveals how this transition is accomplished. 7. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture, 267. 8. Fokkelman, King David, 261. 9. Keys, Wages of Sin, 79. 10. J. P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analysis. Vol. 3, Throne and City (II Sam. 2–8 & 21–24) (SSN 27; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1990), 262. 11. Another instance where an expression about Yahweh’s support of David appears to close out a subsection is 2 Sam 5:10. 1

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign 14a

15a 14b 15b

Note that the wayyiqtl verb,

, in v. 15a suggests that David’s divinely aided victories led to the establishment of his kingship over Israel. This verb most likely has an ingressive sense (“and David became king”), rather than durative (“and David reigned”).12 This sense of the verb is familiar to us from the well-known formula for royal succession which occurs often in the books of Kings and which is more immediately observable in 2 Sam 10:1, where we read

(“and Hunan his son became king in his place”).13 Thus 8:14b–15a is understood to mean, “And Yahweh gave David victory wherever he went. And so David became king over all Israel.” This statement in v. 15a sums up the “dischronologized” narrative of 2 Sam 5:3–8:14a, where the focus throughout was on David’s military achievements against the nations and how these served to establish his kingship.14 This lack of straight 12. Cf. J. H. Ulrichsen, “JHWH mlk: einge sprachliche Beobachtungen,” VT 27 (1977): 361–68. 13. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 46. 14. For the term “dischronologized” applied to various Hebrew Bible texts, see W. J. Martin, “ ‘Dischronologized’ Narrative in the Old Testament,” in Congress Volume: Rome, 1968 (ed. G. W. Anderson; VTSup 17; Leiden: Brill, 1969), 179–86. Dischronology in 2 Sam 5:3–8:14a is reected at several points. For instance, after David’s anointing in 5:3 we are given a brief statement of the number of years he reigned in Hebron and Jerusalem (v. 4). The narrative then recounts David’s establishment of Jerusalem from the point of its capture from the Jebusites (vv. 6– 9a), the building of its walls (vv. 9b–10), and Hiram’s building of a house for David there (v. 11). This leads to David’s perception of Yahweh as having established his kingship (v. 12). The information regarding David’s acquisition of more concubines and fathering more children also covers a lengthy period of time in Jerusalem (vv. 13–16). However, when we come to v. 17 the narrative ashes back to a point shortly after David’s anointing in v. 3. Thus in v. 17 the narrative returns to a time in which David was functioning as the king-elect, having not yet been fully established in his ofce. This state of affairs would seem to continue through the account of the Philistine wars (5:17–25b) to the gathering of the ark to Jerusalem (5:25c–6:23). Upon reaching 7:1 the narrative catches up to a point in time shortly after that reected in 5:11–12 concerning the establishment of David’s kingship in Jerusalem. The return to a state of war in 8:1 would seem to suggest a time prior to David’s rest from all his enemies in 7:1, yet the temporal expression at 8:1 weighs against seeing such a ashback. This, of course, makes ch. 7 look like a later insertion, as many scholars have long claimed. In any case, the narrative then continues in 8:1–15a, where a straight chronology is maintained. The upshot of all this is that, where 5:3–8:14a is concerned, we can hardly agree with Keys that 2 Sam 1–9 gives a chronological record of events from the death of Saul until David’s rule is 1


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chronology suggests that a broadly thematic approach to composition is operative here in 2 Samuel. This in turn helps to explain the mention of David’s coronation at 8:15a, even though the preceding narrative has already mentioned his anointing in 5:3, 17 and the establishment of his throne in 5:12; 7:16. That David’s ascent to the throne in 8:15a sets up the transition to a new subject in v. 15b is supported by the grammar. David’s ascension in 8:15a is related to the second sentence in v. 15b, where the construction + active participle ( % &) in Biblical Hebrew is not the past continuous as in later Hebrew but rather is an expression for the beginning of a recurrent action: “And David began to establish justice and righteousness for all his people.”15 In this light consider the following grammatical parallels: Gen 4:2:

“And Abel became a shepherd, but Cain had become a tiller of the soil.” Gen 4:17:

“And she bore Enoch and he became the builder of a city.” Gen 21:20:

“And he lived in the desert and he became an expert with the bow.” Judg 16:21:

“And they bound him in shackles and he became a miller in the prison.”

rmly established over the nation and his enemies subdued (cf. Keys, Wages of Sin, 81). It is not even necessary to suppose that all the events of 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 are presented as having taken place after those described in 2 Sam 1:1–8:14 (cf. E. H. Merrill, “The ‘Accession Year’ and Davidic Chronology,” JANES 19 [1989]: 101– 12). J. W. Flanagan has proposed that 2 Sam 5–8 is chiastically organized into three pairs of literary elements: two lists, two battle narratives, and two narratives of legitimation concerning ark and oracle (J. W. Flanagan, “Social Transformation and Ritual in 2 Samuel 6,” in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth [ed. C. L. Meyers and M. O’Connor; ASORsvs 1; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1983], 361–72); cf. Klement, II Samuel 21–24, 63–78. 15. Weinfeld thinks this is a usage inuenced by Aramaic (Weinfeld, Social Justice, 46 n. 5). 1

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign 1 Kgs 5:24:

“And Hiram began supplying Solomon with all the cedar and cypress trees he wanted.”

In each of these examples functions to mark a transition or turning point in the narrative. The same is the case in 2 Sam 8:15b, where the narrative turns to David’s initial attempts to establish “justice and righteousness.” Therefore, 2 Sam 5:4–8:15a may function as a “swing narrative”16 recounting Yahweh’s establishment and consolidation of David’s throne while 2 Sam 8:15b–18 serves to begin an account of David’s establishment of “justice and righteousness.” 2. Establishing “Justice and Righteousness” in 2 Samuel 8:15–20:26 My earlier discussion of and its Akkadian equivalent kittum u mšarum in Chapter 3 has already shown that in 2 Sam 8:15b the reader is confronted not with a legal code but with a common ideology and moral tradition that was shared throughout the ancient Near Eastern world, especially in regards to kingship. As such, functioned as an ethical ideal and hermeneutical construct and represents a basic level of commonality upon which the ancient Hebrew author could appeal to his readers. 2 Samuel 8:15b–20:26 appeals to and builds on this ethical tradition. It remains now to consider the extent to which the subject of David establishing “justice and righteousness” remains in view after 2 Sam 8:15b. It is not my intention at this point to describe the plot or even the Tendenz of 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26 in detail. Rather, it is simply to present evidence based on the discussion in Chapter 3 that the idea of David establishing “justice and righteousness” is kept in view throughout the narrative scenes which follow 8:15b–18. a. David’s Acts of (9:1–10:6) In light of the earlier conclusion that in 8:15b has an ingressive sense, and given the earlier demonstration that doing

encompassed a broad eld of concepts and governed the interpretation of history in Israel and Mesopotamia, it should not be assumed 16. Cf. J. W. Whedbee, “On Divine and Human Bonds: The Tragedy of the House of David,” in Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs (ed. G. M. Tucker, D. L. Petersen, and R. R. Wilson; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 147–65 (149). 1


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that the idea of David establishing “justice and righteousness” falls from view in 2 Sam 9–20 simply because the expression is not repeated there, although it comes close to being so in 15:4. Moshe Weinfeld suggested that 2 Sam 8:15 alludes to the Mesopotamian practice of the king establishing mšarum upon coronation. He draws our attention to a close parallel in the mšarum formula of the Old Babylonian king, Ammiaduqa, who is said to have “established mšarum for all the people,”17 or more literally “set in order the widespread people” (un šár.ra.ba si bi.íb.sá.sá.a).18 Thus, for Weinfeld, 2 Sam 8:15 has in view acts of liberation performed by David upon his ascent to the throne. According to Weinfeld, any other explanation of 2 Sam 8:15 would fail to explain the juxtaposition of David’s ascent to the throne and his establishment of justice in the same verse.19 This interpretation can be further supported by (1) the parallels between 2 Sam 8:15b–9:13 and Mesopotamian mšarum declarations which involve specic edicts of andurrum, (2) the ideological continuity of acts of with the establishment of , (3) the association of Mephibosheth with traditional justice and righteousness motifs, (4) the formal religious tone attributed to David’s act, and (5) the parallels between the case of Mephibosheth and that of Jehoiachin in 2 Kgs 25:27–30. Understanding David’s kindness to Mephibosheth as the Hebrew equivalent of a m£arum declaration launching David’s program of establishing justice and righteousness would also help explain the implied author’s interest in revisiting this case on two more occasions in the narrative (16:1–4; 19:25–31). As will be recalled from the discussion in Chapter 3, the establishment of mšarum (a term connoting social justice in general) was closely associated with the establishment of andurrum (“freedom” or “liberation”), a term which referred specically to the manumission of persons and the return of property to its owner. Furthermore, the previous study also determined the ideological connection between establishing

and doing acts of .20 A close connection between 8:15b and ch. 9 is also supported by the use of in v. 1. Under such circumstances, which emphasize David’s turning to the task of establishing 17. This is Weinfeld’s translation (Weinfeld, Social Justice, 47). 18. For the text, see Fritz Kraus, Königliche Verfügungen, 80 (B. A-s 1). This text is part of a Sumerian date formula. The word mšarum does not actually occur here. However, si.sá is equivalent to Akkadian eš ru. While it literally means “to set in order,” its sense is “to set aright” or “to set on right paths.” Weinfeld’s translation seems to be using mšarum to represent si.sá. 19. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 47. 20. See also ibid., 35–36, cf. 59. 1


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justice and righteousness in his realm in 8:15b, it is not at all surprising that the narrator should include a list of the chief ofcials in David’s administration (8:16–18) and then immediately recount a formal decree of David regarding the return of an estate to its owner as an act of (9:1–13). Indeed, if 2 Sam 8:15b prepares for the Hebrew equivalent of a mšarum declaration of andurrum, then the of 9:1 is no longer seen to be abrupt but is rather expected. The coupling of the general statement regarding the establishment of justice and righteousness with a specic edict regarding the restoration of property is reminiscent of the same juxtaposition of the general mšarum statement with the specic andurrum edict in the documents from Mesopotamia.21 In short, after reading that King David began to establish justice and righteousness, we should then expect to hear of royal edict. The restoration of family land to Mephibosheth and his elevation to the king’s table on the basis of David’s faithfulness to the covenant with Jonathan also furthers the association of this act of with David’s establishment of . Faithfulness in covenant relations was associated with the promotion of justice and righteousness (cf. Gen 18:19; Jer 34:8–15). As a crippled orphan, Mephibosheth also embodies traditional justice and righteousness motifs (cf. Job 29:23–25). The fact that David speaks of doing (v. 3) alludes to his functioning in an ofcial royal capacity as an agent of the deity, thereby injecting a clearly religious note into these formal proceedings. Of course, the covenant with Jonathan requires , but it is by virtue of David being king that he is able to bestow the of God.22 The case of Mephibosheth also strongly parallels the elevation of Jehoiachin by Evil-Merodach of Babylon in 2 Kgs 25:27–30: (27)

In the thirty-seventh year of the exile of King Jehoiachin of Judah, in the twelfth month, on the twenty-seventh day of the month, King EvilMerodach of Babylon, in the year that he began to reign, released King Jehoiachin of Judah from prison; (28)he spoke kindly () to him, and gave him a seat above the other seats of the kings who were with him in

21. According to H. Olivier, the mšarum-practice was discontinued after the Old Babylonian period, while some of its features remained prevalent in the later practices of kidinn t (“exemption” or “protection”), and the Neo-Assyrian royal decrees of andurrum (“The Periodicy of the Mšarum Again,” in Text and Context: Old Testament and Semitic Studies for F. C. Fensham (ed. W. Claassen; JSOTSup 48; Shefeld: JSOT Press, 1988], 227–35 [228]). 22. The expression is used in Ps 52:8(10) (cf. in v. 3[1]). In 1 Sam 20:14 Jonathan’s reference to has David’s future kingship in view (cf. v. 15). For other uses of , see Isa 63:7; Pss 33:5; 89:2(1); 103:17; 107:43; Lam 3:22. 1


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Babylon. (29)So Jehoiachin put aside his prison clothes. Every day of his life he dined regularly in the king’s presence. (30)For his allowance, a regular allowance was given him by the king, a portion every day, as long as he lived.

Weinfeld thinks this was undoubtedly a part of the liberation and amnesty proclaimed by Evil-Merodach at his coronation.23 David’s declaration of his intention to do with Mephibosheth by restoring his ancestral lands and providing him a place at the king’s table (9:1–7) is tantamount to a specic edict of andurrum upon David’s beginning to establish (the equivalent of Akkadian mšarum) at his coronation. David’s reciprocation of in 10:1–3 by sending comforters to Hanun at the death of his father, Nahash, also reects the relationship between establishing justice and righteousness and performing deeds of kindness.24 b. The Ammonite–Aramean War (10:6–11:1; 12:26–31) The fact that David’s attempt to demonstrate to Hanun degenerates into the Ammonite–Aramean war in 10:6–19 in no way marks a departure from the narrative’s concern with David’s establishment of justice and righteousness. It is an unfortunate turn of events to be sure, but with the Ammonite’s humiliating David’s envoys (10:4–5) and then amassing a mercenary force, the war reects the traditional relationship between a king’s establishment of justice and righteousness and his responsibility as a warrior to protect his people and cities from enemies and to punish wrongdoers.25 Interestingly, it is Joab in 10:12 who gives the clearest voice to this royal task when he urges his brother, Abishai, “Be strong, and let us be courageous for the sake of our people and the cities of our 23. Weinfeld, Social Justice, 95. 24. Weinfeld sees the addition of deeds of kindness to the demand for righteousness to be a development of the Second Temple period, when the concept of justice and righteousness deepened and came to be expressed in and , which included the comforting of mourners and escorting of the dead (Social Justice, 19). Nevertheless, repaying kindness and relations of mutuality is clearly the thrust of the that David extends to Hanun upon the death of his father. Perhaps we have here in this instance of Davidic charity a precursor to the later development observed by Weinfeld. According to Weinfeld, the idiom does not appear in biblical literature from the First Temple period, appearing rst in Isa 63:7. However, he claims the expression is also known in Akkadian gimil dumqi, meaning the repaying of kindness and relations of mutuality. The Hebrew expression, he thinks, was borrowed from the Babylonian (n. 30). 25. Cf. K. W. Whitelam, The Just King: Monarchical Judicial Authority in Ancient Israel (JSOTSup 12; Shefeld: University of Shefeld, 1979), 119–39. 1

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God; and may Yahweh do what is good in his eyes.” The account of the fall of Rabbah in 12:26–31, however, is cast in a different light, coming as it does after the account of David’s sins of adultery and murder and the initiation of his punishment. c. David’s Sin and Its Punishment (11:2–12:25) The story of David’s sin is presented as his corruption of justice and righteousness via adultery and murder. The explicit statement that what David had done was evil in the eyes of Yahweh at 11:27 clearly places David’s actions at the opposite end of the ethical spectrum from doing . With more than a touch of irony the narrative alludes to traditional justice and righteousness motifs in regards to the treatment of aliens (in this case a Hittite [11:3, 6, 17, 21, 24; 12:9, 10]), a neighbor’s wife (11:3, 27; 12:9, 10, 15), widows (11:27), practicing oppression in the palace (11:2–5) and shedding innocent blood (11:15) in order to present David as a stereotypical oppressor (cf. 12:7a), possibly even reminiscent of the petty thug-king, Abimelech (cf. 11:21; Judg 9). In 2 Sam 12 the problem of punishing corrupt kings is reected when the responsibility for calling David to account falls to God himself, who does so through the prophet Nathan. The prophet’s judgment-eliciting parable makes use of another traditional justice and righteousness motif, that is, a rich man’s oppression of a poor man (12:1–4). Ironically, the parable masquerades as an appeal to the king to establish justice by rendering a verdict on this oppressor. Indeed, LXXL makes this notion explicit (12:1).26 David’s pronouncement of fourfold restitution as punishment is thereby quite signicant in as much as Nathan appears to turn David’s own judgment against him (12:5–7a). Nathan’s assessment of David’s corruption focuses on the king’s failure to maintain a proper relationship of mutuality with the deity (12:7b–9a). In Nathan’s delivery of Yahweh’s word, it is interesting that each time he mentions Uriah he does not fail to include the appellative “the Hittite” (12:9–10) as if to emphasize again that David has oppressed an alien. 26. The LXXL adds BOBHHFJMPO EI NPJ UIO LSJTJO UBVUIO = , “declare to me this judgment” (cf. OL, VULGMSS). P. K. McCarter thinks this reading is hardly secondary and that a situation involving led to haplography in the MT (II Samuel, 294). In further support are two Greek minuscules (j b2) which read BOBHHFMX TPJ EI LSJTJO LBJ FJQFO = (“ ‘Let me tell you of a case.’ And he said…”). According to E. D. Herbert, the remains of 4QSama may also point to a fuller introduction here in v. 1 (Reconstructing Biblical Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Method Applied to the Reconstruction of 4QSama [STDJ 22; Leiden: Brill, 1997], 144). 1


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The traditional association of the sun with the king’s establishment of justice and righteousness is also ironically alluded to when Yahweh declares that one of David’s neighbors will lie with his wives “before the eyes of this very sun” (12:11), and again when he says, “You did this in secret but I will do this in the sight of all Israel and before the sun” (12:12). The point is that while king David’s actions were covert and corrupt, Yahweh’s raising up of open corruption () against David as punishment (v. 11) will be straightforward justice. The sentencing of David to continual violence arising from within his own house (12:10– 11) reects the general ancient Near Eastern perspective that the gods punished corrupt kings by social and domestic upheaval. d. The Amnon–Tamar–Absalom Affair (13:1–14:33) The rape of Tamar in 2 Sam 13 is an act of wanton oppression. Most disturbing is the employment of “wisdom” for this evil purpose (13:3–5). Amnon recognizes that Tamar and he are separated by the moral boundaries of an ordered society (13:2, 12–13). Tamar’s vulnerability (13:10–11) and physical weakness (13:14) before Amnon’s attack are emphasized; and the crime is referred to as a great evil (13:16). The scene following Tamar’s rape is particularly conspicuous for its lack of a judicial element (13:20–22). Absalom’s murder of Amnon two years later thus appears to be an attempt to bring the rapist to justice (13:23– 29) when king David would not (13:21 [cf. LXX v.l.]). The portrait of David’s role in the entire affair appears to draw attention to his lack of insight and foresight, or perhaps his refusal to trust his own instincts (cf. 13:6–7, 21, 25–27). Eventually a judicial scene comes in 2 Sam 14 which reects upon the king’s responsibility to administer justice. The Tekoite’s ruse employs the traditional oppressed widow motif (14:4–7) and alludes to the injustice of depriving the poor of a place in Yahweh’s estate (vv. 7, 16). In 14:17, 20 the traditional motif of the king being granted divine wisdom for the purpose of establishing justice and righteousness is in view. Afterwards, David’s refusal to allow Absalom access to court upon his return from exile reects the mindset that a just king could not abide the presence of the unrighteous (14:24, 28). Absalom, however, wants to be vindicated at court (14:32). e. Absalom’s Rebellion (15:1–19:9[8]) With the beginning of Absalom’s conspiracy in 2 Sam 15 the subject of justice and righteousness becomes explicit again. Absalom specically focuses on its judicial aspects (vv. 3–4). Indeed, in v. 4 Absalom’s rhetoric seems designed to play upon the use of the hendiadys to refer to 1

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social justice when he says, “Who would appoint me judge in the land!? Then to me anyone who had a suit or cause could come, and I would vindicate him” (

). The expression may be a legal pleonasm, and is a verbal form; yet the choice of word-order emphasizes Absalom and deliberately juxtaposes and . This is designed to recall the well-known hendiadys and thereby insinuate that if Absalom were judge then justice and righteousness would nally be brought together, that is, social justice would be achieved (cf. Ps 85:11[10]–12[11]). However, the narrator describes Absalom’s behavior as actually undermining the sort of faithful social relations that should characterize the establishment of justice and righteousness when he describes Absalom, the supposedly righteous judge, as having duped the men of Israel into supporting him ( , vv. 5–6). In the account of David’s ight from Jerusalem (15:13–16:14) there are several features which serve to keep the subject of justice and righteousness in view. David forsaking his concubines in 15:16 recalls the sort of domestic breaks which the Akkadian prophecies of social disorder link to the reign of an unjust king.27 The idea of the wicked being expelled from the holy city seems to have encouraged the portrayal of David’s humiliating ight as an act of mourning (15:30). Shimei certainly seems to point to David’s expulsion to justify his cursing (16:7– 8). Absalom’s taking of his father’s concubines further reects the sort of social breakdown characteristic of the failure to establish justice and righteousness (16:20–22). In this respect it is interesting that Ahithophel attempts to put a positive “justice and righteousness spin” on the revolt against David by citing David’s death as the means for returning the people like a bride to her husband and for establishing peace (17:2–3). In light of a king’s abilities as a war-lord being intimately associated with his ability to establish justice and righteousness, it is not surprising, on the human level, that Absalom, a self-righteous king, would be keen to follow Hushai’s advice and play the warrior who leads Israel into battle against David (17:11, 14a). By stating Yahweh’s intention to bring evil on Absalom (17:14b) and by giving hints that the battle in the forest of Ephraim is to be viewed as a Yahweh War (18:8), the narrator succeeds in maintaining a judicial ethos which the two messengers try to exploit on only one angle, that is, vindication of David (18:19, 28, 31). Joab’s rebuke of David’s mourning is grounded ironically in his understanding of the responsibility to 27. Cf. Grayson and Lambert, “Akkadian Prophecies,” 7–30. 1


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maintain their relationship of mutuality (19:6[5]–7a[6a]). Indeed, David’s ingratitude at being saved from the hands of Absalom is taken as a severe breakdown of social ethics and thus a manifestation of his poor character (19:7b[6b]–8[7]). f. David’s Return and Sheba’s Secession (19:10[9]–20:26) The narrative’s interest in the establishment of justice and righteousness continues to be reected in the accounts of David’s return and of Sheba’s secession in 2 Sam 19–20. This is most pronounced in the two judicial scenes regarding Shimei and Mephibosheth (19:17[16]–31[30]). David’s offer to provide for Barzillai in Jerusalem in repayment for his earlier assistance should also be noted (19:32[31]–40[39]). Sheba’s secession is driven by the perception that the northern tribes have been treated unjustly with respect to the return of David (19:42[41]–44[43]). David’s shutting up of his concubines also raises the issue of widowhood and being deprived of life’s pleasures (20:3). Joab’s murder of the half-breed, Amasa, while feigning peace, is ruthless in the extreme (20:8–13). The wise woman of Abel’s description of the city is designed to call attention to its “wisdom” with respect to settling disputes (20:18–19). In fact, she accuses Joab of being an oppressor, a charge which he atly denies (20:20). As in 2 Sam 14, this scene also alludes to the injustice of eradicating the weak and vulnerable from Yahweh’s estate (20:19). The retaining of the murderous Joab in the king’s service (20:22b–23) and the rise of Adoram as minister of forced labor (20:24) highlight the growth of institutionalized injustice. 3. A Suggested Theme The suggestion of 2 Sam 8:15b as the starting point of a narrative unit has led us into a thorough re-evaluation of the narrative’s ideology and ethical perspective by virtue of the prominence given to David establishing . Indeed, my analysis of and its related concepts prepares us for a narrative focused more at the level of ethics than at the level of law or even religion (i.e. cult). Indeed, R. R. Wilson concludes that Deuteronomic law was only one of the inuences on the historians’ evaluations of Saul and David,28 and Morton Smith has described 2 Sam 10–20 as a “moral tract.”29 28. R. R. Wilson, “Approaches to Old Testament Ethics,” in Tucker, Petersen, and Wilson, Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation, 73. 29. M. Smith, “The So-called ‘Biography of David’ in the Books of Samuel and Kings,” HTR 44 (1951): 167–69 (168). 1

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The subject of David’s establishment of justice and righteousness is kept in view throughout the narrative. A judicial ethos and the instrumentality of royal decrees and decisions are always at the forefront, driving the story onward. It seems, therefore, that the theme of 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26 should be understood as “the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign.” However, since the narrative is predominantly taken up with the rise of corruption and its effects, it seems that this theme will involve a tendency to point out the failure to establish justice and righteousness during David’s reign. I now turn to consider how this theme relates to the narrative’s wisdom interests, motifs, and stylistic features. 4. Wisdom Interest The theme of “the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign” explains the portrayal of wisdom in the narrative. Indeed, there can be little doubt that the narrator of 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 demonstrates a marked interest in portraying the wisdom or of his characters. However, it seems that all these portrayals are decidedly negative, with one ironic exception, Barzillai the Gileadite. This overall portrayal of wisdom seems to have been necessitated by the nature of the theme as we have dened it, because, if it is true that the administration of justice was perceived to be an activity within the framework of practical wisdom,30 then any failure of justice and righteousness must presuppose the failure of wisdom at some level. The overall negative portrayal of wisdom in 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 is seen in those instances where the word / is actually used in the narrative. First, Jonadab’s wisdom is given over to enabling Amnon to rape his half-sister, Tamar (13:3). His callous wisdom would seem to be in view again when he chides the king for weeping over the false report that all the king’s sons were dead, when, in fact, as Jonadab had assured him, only Amnon was dead (13:30–36). Second, the wisdom of the Tekoite woman, David and Joab (by implication) collectively serves to justify the return of Absalom without considering his justice in avenging the great wrong done to Tamar (14:1–24). This critical delay of justice contributes to the corruption of Absalom’s character (14:28–15:6). Third, the last character to whom wisdom is explicitly ascribed is the wise woman of Abel Beth-maacah (20:16). Yet even her brand of wisdom appears to

30. Cf. Z. W. Falk, “Law and Ethics in the Hebrew Bible,” in Reventlow and Hoffman, eds., Justice and Righteousness, 82–90 (83, his italics). 1


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be undermined by her own actions and words when she claims to be among those most peace-loving in Israel; nevertheless, she promotes a ruthlessly pragmatic and ignominious beheading of Sheba, whose head is then unceremoniously tossed over the wall of the city (20:19–22). Her eventual alignment with Joab, after the narrator has just exposed Joab as a ruthless oppressor, also does little to promote her wisdom. In 2 Sam 20 the wise and the ruthless are allied for the sake of the kingdom—thus there is little distinction between the fate of a besieged rebel and the fate of a submissive ally when wisdom goes from serving the interests of justice and righteousness to serving the security of the crown. The narrator’s portrayal of wisdom may also be extended to instances where words other than / are employed. For instance, Ahithophel’s (“counsel”),31 though shrewd and effective in the achievement of practical goals is, nevertheless, employed for the sorry purpose of usurpation and regicide (16:20–17:4). Indeed, the irony is that Ahithophel is so (rightly?) certain of the acumen and cruciality of his own wisdom (cf. 16:23) that when it is not followed at court he reasons it necessary to commit suicide in 17:23! The ultimate failure of his wisdom is thereby symbolized by his self-destruction. Though there may have been some difference among ancient Near Eastern wisdom traditions with respect to the extent to which wisdom leads to life, it is interesting that portrayals of other ancient Near Eastern sages who took up the question of suicide show them as managing to reason their way out of it.32 In any case, Ahithophel’s rebellious counsel concerning David’s concubines and the thwarting of his military advice by Hushai actually serve to fulll the prophecy of Nathan regarding David’s punishment, that is, another man lies with David’s wives (12:11; 16:22) and violent death befalls a member of his house (12:10; 17:14; 18:14–15). As for the counsel of Hushai which eventually wins out at court (17:5– 14), on the one hand it masquerades as wisdom before Absalom and his supporters (17:7), while on the other it is presented as part of David’s

31. It is legitimate to treat “wisdom” and “counsel” in the SN on a roughly equal basis (R. P. Gordon, “A House Divided: Wisdom in the Old Testament Narrative Traditions,” in Day et al., eds., Wisdom in Ancient Israel, 94–105 [98]). 32. The extent to which certain passages in biblical wisdom literature reect contemplations of suicide or merely a longing for death to come swiftly is debated. Yet, if suicide is in view, Job and Qohelet managed to avoid taking its course (cf. Job 7:15; 13:15; Eccl 3:2; 4:1–3). At the end of the rather humorous Babylonian composition, Dialogue of Pessimism, a master considers suicide apparently to see how his compliant servant will respond (BWL, 139–49; ANET, 600–601; COS 1:495–96). 1

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cunning in thwarting the counsel of Ahithophel (15:34). However, David’s enlisting of Hushai, who seems to come as an answer to David’s prayer (15:31b–32), actually ends up serving Yahweh’s intention to destroy Absalom quite against the will of David (17:14b; 18:5). Therefore, Hushai’s counsel, even though an extension of David’s tactical wisdom and even of his faith in Yahweh, ends up serving purposes other than those which were humanly intended. Interestingly, the apparent wisdom of David’s soldiers in counseling him not to join them in the battle also contributes to assuring Absalom’s death by virtue of removing David from a position where he can exercise oversight (18:3). It is only after listening to their advice that David apparently realizes the potential for harm to come upon Absalom as he watches his troops march out from Mahanaim (18:4–5). It is a rather tantalizing fact that the only character in the narrative who claims to lack discernment is also the one most noted for his charity. He is Barzillai, the aged Gileadite (19:36). Barzillai actually has the sense to decline David’s invitation to live with him at what has proven to be a most dysfunctional and dangerous court, one in which wisdom is employed to pervert justice and the vulnerable are abused. This Transjordanian’s self-confessed inability to enjoy life at court ironically serves as another positive comment to the implied reader regarding his virtue (cf. 2 Sam 17:27–29). In this penetrating portrayal of the use and abuse of wisdom with all its twists and ironies, it seems fair to say that the narrator of 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26 certainly demonstrates his own Üo¤mh, particularly if he is here assessing a known history and not merely crafting an entertaining story out of whole cloth. However, this overall negative portrayal of wisdom in David’s court can be explained as a by-product of the author’s primary interest in showing the failure to establish justice and righteousness during David’s reign and his desire to show how history unfolded to effect and affect David’s punishment. Given the intimate relationship that was perceived throughout the ancient Near East to exist between the possession of wisdom and the establishment of justice and righteousness, it therefore became necessary for the narrator to undermine the former in order to show the disestablishment of the latter under David. With respect to the outworking of divine punishment on David, there is an element of poetic justice in this negative portrayal of wisdom in 2 Sam 13–18. Finally, this understanding of the relationship between the portrayal of wisdom and the establishment of justice and righteousness in 2 Sam 9–20 is converse to that in 1 Kgs 1–4, where, in order for justice and 1


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righteousness to be established under Solomon, the narrator takes great pains to show how Solomon broke from the shrewd Machiavellian wisdom of his father’s court, which he himself had inherited, to eventually gain possession of a divine wisdom which was altogether quite different.33 5. The Use of Motifs The author’s use of traditional motifs as well as the development of his own motifs is, like his portrayal of wisdom, governed by the theme of the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. One should make a distinction between the author’s use of traditional motifs and the author’s development of his own literary motifs. Traditional motifs are identied as such by their occurrence throughout different bodies or works of literature over time, often transcending cultural boundaries. Thus a traditional motif may be employed on only one occasion in a particular literary work but may be recognized as traditional by comparative study of other literary works where similar devices are employed. a. The Author’s Use of Traditional Literary Motifs I have already shown how the narrative alludes to the traditional “justice and righteousness” motifs of the oppression of widows, aliens and orphans, the shedding of innocent blood, and the rich man’s oppression of the poor. The cases of Mephibosheth and Uriah with regard to the treatment of orphans and aliens respectively have already been discussed; and Joab and the Tekoite’s use of the oppressed widow motif has already been noted. However, we should also see the narrator as alluding to the traditional justice and righteousness motif of the treatment of widows in his description of David’s treatment of his concubines after returning to Jerusalem. The description of how these “concubine-wives” ( , 20:3) were shut-up and ignored seems deliberately designed to recall the notion of oppressed widows. The traditional motif of a man unknowingly delivering his own written order of execution is seen in 2 Sam 11:15 with respect to David’s order to have Uriah killed. This so-called “letter of death” motif occurs only once in our narrative and is not developed. However, we are able to identify it as a traditional motif by virtue of similar instances in other 33. On the portrayal of Solomon recovering true wisdom, see Provan, “On ‘Seeing’ the Trees,” 163–65. Provan concludes, “[i]t is not just Davidic wisdom that is under a cloud in 2 Samuel…but the very notion of human wisdom at all, as it seeks to function in independence of the divine will” (171). 1

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literature.34 This traditional motif with respect to Uriah’s death seems to have been employed for its effectiveness in emphasizing how Uriah’s own virtue was exploited by David, thus heightening the portrayal of the king’s corruption of justice and righteousness. Other traditional motifs to which David M. Gunn has pointed include David and the sons of Zeruiah (16:5–13; 19:6–23; cf. 1 Sam 26:8–9), the judgment-eliciting parable (12:1–4; 14:4–7), the woman who brings death (i.e. Bathsheba, 11:2–25), the woman and the spies (17:17–20) and the two messengers (18:19–32).35 I would, however, disagree with Gunn’s designation of David and the sons of Zeruiah as a traditional motif evidencing friction, since it occurs only here in our narrative and its employment in 1 Sam 26 does not express tension. As for the judgmenteliciting parable, it is employed, like the letter of death, to heighten the portrayal of David’s corruption by emphasizing the virtue and vulnerability of his victims. The motif of the woman and the spies, however, is actually part of a broader “Yahweh war” motif, as is evident by its use in Josh 2. This Yahweh War motif will continue to function in 2 Sam 17– 18. The judicial ethos of the Yahweh War motif is quite in keeping with the theme of the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign, since it is employed to portray Yahweh’s punishment of Absalom and David for their corruption. As for the so-called “woman who brings death” motif, this may not even be an accurate description of the women associated with death in the CH/SN. As John Van Seters points out, this motif is more properly associated with such texts as Prov 1–9 and the seductress or adulterous woman who plays an active role in leading men astray. This does not apply to any of the cases in the CH/SN, for even though sexual passion is involved, the woman is passive, resists the man’s advance or has an unspecied role.36 The traditional motif of the two messengers is used in order to tease out the theological signicance of Absalom’s defeat, which is related to the punishment of David for his corruption of justice and righteousness (18:19–32). The same purpose behind the employment of this motif is 34. Hermann Gunkel, Das Märchen im Alten Testament (RV 2; Tübingen: Mohr, 1921), 150–51; Gunn, The Story of King David, 46. 35. Gunn, Story of King David, 39–48; cf. J. Blenkinsopp, “Theme and Motif in the Succession History (2 Sam. xi 2ff) and the Yahwist Corpus,” in Volume du Congrès. Genève, 1965 (VTSup 150; Leiden: Brill, 1966), 44–57 (52–56). 36. J. van Seters, “Love and Death in the Court History of David,” in Love and Death in the Ancient Near East (ed. J. M. Marks and R. M. Good; Guilford, Conn.: Four Quarters, 1987), 121–24 (122). Van Seters therefore prefers to reclassify the “woman who brings death” motif for the CH as “love or passion for a woman resulting in death.” 1


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evident in 2 Kgs 9:17–20, where the two messengers sent to Jehu by Joram and the two reports by the watchman who observes their meetings from afar are designed to draw out the theological signicance of real in the community.37 We may also point to the three captains and their fties whom Ahaziah sent to Elijah with the message “O man of God, the king says, ‘Come Down’ ”—this being designed to emphasize the theological signicance of Elijah being “a man of God ” (2 Kgs 1:9– 15). As will be shown later in this thesis, the employment of the twomessengers motif is used in 2 Sam 18 to emphasize that a thoroughly pro-Davidic interpretation cannot be placed on the news of David’s victory over Absalom, precisely because in the death of Absalom it was the king’s son who died (18:20; 19:1[18:33]). Interestingly, King David in 2 Sam 18:28–32, like Joram in 2 Kgs 9:17–20, is also concerned about . I, therefore, do not share the opinion of Gunn that the account of the race in 2 Sam 18 is for sheer entertainment or suspense and has nothing in particular to teach.38 In fact, Joel Rosenberg has suggested that the beauty and power of the Davidic stories to divert or entertain may well stem from the elegance and force of their power to explain, and the need of the culture which produced them for particular kinds of explanation.39 b. The Author’s Use of His Own Literary Motifs In addition to these traditional motifs, the author develops his own literary motifs, ones which seem designed to support the over-all theme I have discerned. The portrayal of wisdom which may well be part of a “wisdom” motif has already been considered. A by-product of this would seem to be the deception motif elucidated by H. Hagan.40 This deception motif, with its relevance to wisdom and its inherent immoral connotations, is quite effective in furthering the portrayal of the failure to establish justice and righteousness during David’s reign. It is the logical inversion of the notion expressed by Z. W. Falk that “if justice is a matter of reason [i.e. wisdom], it can also be taken as a synonym of truthfulness.”41 Thus, injustice involves the loss of wisdom and consequently the rise of deception. 37. Cf. S. M. Olyan, “Hšlôm: Some Literary Considerations of 2 Kings 9,” CBQ 46 (1984): 652–68. 38. Cf. Gunn, Story of King David, 45. 39. Rosenberg, King and Kin, 107. 40. H. Hagan, “Deception as Motif and Theme in 2 Samuel 9–20, 1 Kings 1–2,” Bib 60 (1979): 301–26. 41. Falk, “Law and Ethics in the Hebrew Bible,” 84. 1

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With the detrimental effects of the crimes recounted in the development of the justice and righteousness theme, it is not at all surprising that we should see, with Gillian Keys, an extensive mourning motif (10:1–2; 12:16–17; 13:19; 14:2; 15:16–16:14; 19:1–9[18:33–19:8], 24; 20:23). With the exception of the mourning for Hanun in ch. 10, Keys takes every instance of mourning in 2 Sam 10–20 as being linked with the punishment of David decreed in 12:10.42 Another of the author’s motifs which stands out is that of callous responses to the misery or suffering of others. This is seen with respect to David (11:15; 20:3), Amnon (13:15–17), Absalom (13:20, 28; 14:30), Jonadab (13:33), the ctitious clan of the Tekoite woman (14:7), Ahithophel (16:21; 17:3), the two messengers (18:19, 32), Joab (19:5[4]– 8[7]; 20:9–10), Joab’s (20:11–12), the wise woman of Abel BethMaacah (20:21–22) and ultimately the rise of a minister over the corvée (20:24). Again, these are all employed to serve the theme of the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. However, in 2 Sam 12– 20 there is also an aspect of poetic justice in this callousness motif with respect to David’s punishment for his own callous indifference to Uriah’s death. We may even suspect that the use of the expression in 12:17 to describe the elders’ response to David’s mourning for the sick child is designed to echo the same expression in 12:11 regarding the rise of evil against David. Thus, the elders may not be portrayed as very conciliatory in their response to David, and this harshness is associated with the outworking of judgment on David. A nal literary motif which has points of contact with the motifs already described is that of the exploitation and degradation of women in the narrative. This motif is clearly evident with respect to the treatment of Bathsheba (chs. 11–12), Tamar (ch. 13) and David’s concubines (15:16, 22; 20:3). It may even be in view in Joab’s corruption(?) of the Tekoite’s wisdom when the narrator says, “And Joab put the words into her mouth” (14:3b). There is a sense in which all this could be seen as a traditional motif, since it is also employed in the book of Judges. In any case, both in 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 and in Judges the motif is used to enhance the portrayal of moral and ethical degeneration in Israelite society.43 However, in Judges this is related to the absence of kingship in 42. Keys, Wages of Sin, 152–54. 43. In Judges an ideal is expressed in the portrayal of Caleb’s arrangements and provisions for the marriage of his daughter Achsah (1:12–15); but this ideal degenerates throughout the book, ending with the rape and dismemberment of the Levite’s concubine (ch. 19), the taking of the virgins of Jabesh-Gilead (21:8–14) and the marital kidnapping of the daughters of Shiloh (21:16–24). 1


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Israel, while in 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 it is related to the character of the king himself and the means by which his punishment works itself out in history according to the decree of the deity. 6. Reections on Style According to Jean Nabert “there are two ways to treat historical events. One way aims at a determinist explanation, the other seeks to recapture the decisions, moral energy, and ideals expressed by the events.”44 The latter seems particularly characteristic of the CH, with its use of dialogue and ironic portrayals of events and characters. However, this irony is not just for entertainment. It has a key rhetorical function. Tremper Longman observes that irony “is a particularly effective device to demolish selfsatised and proud positions and peoples by exposing their blindness.”45 This too is part of the author’s critique of his characters’ orientation towards wisdom and ultimately the establishment of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. The same is largely true of the narrator’s use of dramatic irony, as observed by Roger N. Whybray, where “the reader is entertained by knowing in advance what will happen, and so [is] able to watch the characters playing their parts in ignorance of their fate.”46 The narrator’s use of similes, which Rost and others have highlighted (14:14; 16:23; 17:3, 8; 18:3), are all part of the portrayal of wisdom. The author’s exceptional use of dialogue to convey the characters’ complex motives is also related to the negative portrait of wisdom and David’s corruption (e.g. 11:6–25; 12:1–14; 17:1–3, 8–13; 18:33–19:8). The stylistic observations made by both Rost and Whybray regarding the fact that the SN as they dene it can be divided into neatly detached episodes is reective of the narrator’s need to wrap-up carefully a scene in order to present the next scene as developing from the unjust state of affairs that the former established. This may be why the author chose to bring each episode to some closure before moving to the next event. Two other stylistic features of the narrative involve the interrelated aspects of characterization and the use of extreme realism. A sense of realism in the narrator’s style has often been recognized in the narrator’s ability to portray characters realistically and with psychological depth. 44. Jean Nabert, Elements for an Ethic (Northwestern University Studies in Phenomenology & Existential Philosophy; trans. William J. Petrek; Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press, 1969), 3. 45. Longman, Literary Approaches, 99. See also W. C. Booth, A Rhetoric of Irony (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 1–6. 46. Whybray, The Succession Narrative, 46. 1

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However, what has not been noted is the narrative’s tendency towards extreme or graphic realism. Such is most apparent in the portrayals of the rape of Tamar (13:1–20), the death of Absalom in the great oak (18:9, 14–15), the disemboweling of Amasa and his wallowing in blood (20:10, 12) and the tossing of Sheba’s head over the city wall (20:21b–22a). We may even suspect that Yahweh’s words in 12:11–12, with their reference to the sun, prepare for this sort of style in the ensuing narrative by suggesting that the events to be associated with David’s punishment will be all too public, gritty and real.47 The tendency towards extreme realism when the subject of administering justice is in view is reected elsewhere in biblical and extra-biblical literature. However, extreme realism may be used in two different and opposing ways. On the one hand, extreme realism may be used to satisfy the reader’s desire to see justice done and to instill a sense of fearful respect in light of the means by which injustice is punished. In my opinion, the account of Jehu’s prophetically sanctioned massacre of the house of Ahab and its Baalism is a prime example of a story which employs this style for this purpose (cf. 2 Kgs 9–10). The same tendency may be reected in other ancient Near Eastern literature concerned with justice. Again, in reference to a Babylonian tablet apparently extolling the justice of Nebuchadnezzar II, Lambert writes, Both royal inscriptions and the historical epics from the second half of the second millennium are heroic in tone. Lofty words are matched by lofty deeds. Anything down-to-earth and vulgar is kept out. But here, in praise of Nebuchadnezzar II, we nd a writer with an almost journalistic eye for what will appeal to human instincts less than the most noble. He expatiates on gory details of chopped-off heads and bleeding bodies, and lets us hear the ipsissima verba of the judge rebuking racketeers. Here is all formality stripped away and the cult of realism is embraced. The author is in the same line as Petronius and other anticipators of the modern novel. Yet all this was done in praise of the ruling king, or at least so it would seem.48

On the other hand, extreme realism may be used to create a longing to see justice done by graphically portraying the horric nature of certain criminal acts and to instill a sense of revulsion in the reader. Biblical examples of this are seen in the account of the depravity of Sodom in Gen 19:1–11 and in the story of the rape, murder and dismemberment of the Levite’s concubine and the resulting Benjaminite war in Judg 19–20.

47. The book of Qoheleth reects a similar ethos in which the sun is associated with stark existential reality (e.g. Eccl 2:17). 48. Lambert, “Nebuchadnezzar King of Justice,” 4. 1


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It would seem that the use of graphic realism in 2 Sam 11–20 is on the whole more akin to these examples. 2 Samuel 8:15b–20:26, like Gen 19 and Judg 19–20, is a story of social disintegration amid the proliferation of violence and the perversion of justice. Interestingly, the only act of violence not recounted with extreme realism in 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 would seem to be the killing of Amnon. Indeed, the killing is not actually even recounted, but is just mentioned as having taken place. This fact may ironically hint at its legitimacy. By contrast, the graphic presentations of Tamar’s rape and Amasa’s murder may signal that these are to be viewed as criminal acts. There is, however, a certain duality of purpose in the use of extreme realism in 2 Sam 11–20. On the one hand, its acts of violence evoke revulsion and create a thirst to see justice done. On the other hand, these same acts of violence are seen as being Yahweh’s just punishment for David’s sin in 2 Sam 11. This seems to reect an authorial perspective in which human injustice is interpreted as part of divine justice in punishing a previous human act of injustice. The implicit theodicy robs the reader of ethical satisfaction, leaving him/her with the mystery of divine vs. human causality in the making of history. In 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 the use of extreme realism, interplay between divine and human causality, and the negative portrayal of wisdom in the outworking of David’s punishment draw attention to the theological dictum expressed in 2 Sam 22:27, “with the pure you show yourself pure, and with the crooked ( ) you show yourself shrewd ().” This general theological perspective may be echoed in 2 Sam 12:9, 10–12 with respect to the different angles taken on the judgment of David (cf. 1 Sam 2:30: ). 7. Degree of Coherence Up to this point it has been shown that the various sections of 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 are united by ideology, ethical world-view, theme, motifs and style. This, however, does not prove that these stories are anything more than a series of related Novellen,49 because it is theoretically possible that these common features merely contributed to these stories being placed together in one collection. So, if 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 is to be rightly regarded as a single unied narrative, then it must be shown that its stories successively build upon each other and that in the end they all achieve some measure of closure. The subsequent chapters of this study

49. Contra Keys, Wages of Sin, 121. 1

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will attempt to demonstrate that this is the case. However, even if all this can be established, there still remains the question of where on the continuum of coherence 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 falls and what impact this should have on the present reading. This question is crucial if it is accepted that (1) chs. 13–20 are generally presented as the outworking of David’s punishment announced in ch. 12 for his sin recounted in ch. 11, and that (2) the author of 8:15–20:26 compiled this narrative from pre-existing sources. Under these conditions one must then explain to what extent the interpreter should keep the idea of David’s punishment in view while conducting a detailed exegesis of 2 Sam 13–20. In other words. How well has the redactor done his work?50 a. Weighing Major Lines of Evidence for Coherence in 2 Samuel 18:15b–20:26 In 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 there are really only a handful of features which may be cited as potentially strong evidence of disunity or incoherence, most of which have already been noted by Wilhelm Caspari,51 but some additions may be made. The following seem to represent the strongest arguments for incoherence in 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26: 1. Stylistic and linguistic differences exist between 13–14 and 15– 20. 2. David’s stern treatment of Absalom in 2 Sam 14 cannot be reconciled with his grief for Absalom in ch. 19. 3. Absalom’s attitude towards Amnon’s rape of Tamar cannot be reconciled with his own raping of David’s concubines. 4. Joab’s support of Absalom’s return cannot be reconciled with his actions towards him in 2 Sam 18. 5. Joab’s obedience to David in ch. 11 cannot be reconciled with his deance in chs. 14, 18 and 19. 6. There is a discrepancy between 14:27 and 18:18 regarding Absalom’s sons. 50. Otto Eissfeldt admitted that it is “often extremely difcult to decide whether two narratives which now succeed one another were really originally written down as belonging together, and thus form a larger unit, or whether they stand together quite by chance or merely because the chronological sequence of the events described necessarily involved their being placed together. The decision is made all the more difcult because it cannot always be decided with certainty whether the links which now exist are really original or only secondary” (Otto Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: An Introduction [trans. P. R. Ackroyd; Oxford: Blackwell, 1965], 139). 51. W. Caspari, “The Literary Type and Historical Value of 2 Samuel 15–20,” in Narrative and Novella in Samuel: Studies by Hugo Gressmann and Other Scholars 1906–1923 (JSOTSup 116; ed. D. M. Gunn; Shefeld: Almond, 1991), 59–88. 1


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7. David does not seem to associate the events of chs. 13–20 with his punishment despite the earlier prophecy of Nathan in 2 Sam 12. 8. The account of David’s return and Sheba’s secession, unlike the story of Absalom’s revolt, makes no mention of Yahweh’s hand in the events. (1) Stylistic/Linguistic Features and Intracharacter Contrasts. As Caspari himself admitted, the evidence for stylistic and linguistic inconsistency is inconclusive; accordingly, point 1 will be removed from further consideration. Points 2–5 have also been aptly criticized by R. A. Carlson52 and Keys53 for denying a priori the possibility of character development, and, we might add, plot development. Interestingly, in regard to Joab’s insubordination in 18:14, there is evidence to suggest that in the ancient Near East insubordination was as much a reection on an unjust king as it was a reection on the character of his subjects. For instance, the enemy king, Ursa of Urartu, is disparagingly referred to by Esarhaddon in the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions as a king who gave orders but l išmû qibssu, “without his order being obeyed.”54 This leaves points 6, 7, and 8 as the strongest evidence for disunity in 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26. (2) The Problem of Absalom’s Sons: 14:27 vs. 18:18. With respect to the problem of Absalom’s sons (point 6), the apparent contradiction between 14:27 and 18:18 has been traditionally overcome by suggesting that Absalom’s sons died at an early age. Indeed, Hertzberg55 thought that the mention of Absalom’s daughter in 14:27 implies as much. However, Henry P. Smith56 and Carlson57 are among those who take either 14:25–27 or 18:18 as a later insertion. Karl Budde recognizes that 14:28 cannot be joined directly to v. 27 and thus it presupposes the intervening material.58 Fokkelman thinks that the narrator has simply slipped up in furnishing this information.59 Keys nds the contradiction to be an 52. Carlson, David the Chosen King, 182–86. 53. Keys, Wages of Sin, 106. 54. Oded, War, Peace, and Empire, 101; cf. Borger, Die Inschriften Asarhaddons Königs von Assyrien, 106: §68: III line 29. 55. H. W. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel (trans. J. S. Bowden; OTL; London: SCM, 1964), 334–35. 56. H. P. Smith, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Samuel (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1912), 337–38. 57. Carlson, David the Chosen King, 183–88. 58. Karl Budde, Die Bücher Samuel (KHAT 8; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1902), 264. 59. Fokkelman, King David, 1:150. 1

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abiding enigma in the SN which, however, is not compelling enough to convince her of the disunity of the material.60 My own suspicion is that 18:18 is, at the very least, not a haphazard insertion. First of all, key words link it to the preceding narrative and there seems to be a desire to contrast Absalom’s monument in the valley of the kings with the pile of stones erected over him in the pit of the forest of Ephraim (18:17). For example, two verbal links exist between vv. 17 and 18. In v. 18, contrasts with in v. 17; and in v. 18, contrasts with in v. 17.61 The erecting of a very large pile of stones over Absalom in v. 17 also encourages ironic comparison with his memorial stele in v. 18. Some, however, think that the use of (“and they erected”) in v. 17 is not appropriate for the piling up of stones. Consequently, Budde suggested reading instead,62 while P. Joüon thought that the primitive reading was .63 However, these suggestions may miss the rhetorical point of the narrative. In vv. 18 and 17 an ironic comparison is being made between the pile of stones “erected over Absalom” and the stele which Absalom “erected for himself” during his lifetime. The large pile of stones is thereby presented as a sort of rival monument to Absalom, one for which our narrator may suggest he was more deserving.64 Although there is (later) evidence for the practice of a childless person setting up a memorial stele over their intended resting place,65 I still have some doubts about how literally the words “I have no son to keep my name in remembrance” in 18:18 should be taken. Does this really mean to say that Absalom has no sons? After all, the Assyrian stigmatization of a usurper as mr l mamman (“son of nobody”)66 does not really mean that the brigand had no parent; rather, it was a disparaging way of saying 60. Keys, Wages of Sin, 107. 61. Cf. Conroy, Absalom! Absalom!, 66; Carlson, David the Chosen King, 187 n. 3. 62. Budde, Bücher Samuel, 284. 63. Paul Joüon, “Notes philologiques sur le texte hébreu de 2 Samuel,” Bib 9 (1928): 302–15 (313); cf. Vulg. 64. McCarter labels the implied connection between this royal stele and the large pile of stones as “spurious” and “silly,” no doubt because he considers v. 18 to be a late redactional note (II Samuel, 407). Conroy is of the same mind in regard to the lateness of this passage, though he nonetheless still notes the verbal connections between v. 18 and that which precedes (Absalom! Absalom!, 66). 65. See the fourth- or third-century B.C.E. Phoenician inscription from Kition in H. Donner and W. Röllig, Kanaanäische und Aramäische Inschriften (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1962), no. 35. 66. Oded, War, Peace, and Empire, 67. 1


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that he was not of royal lineage. Consequently, S. A. Wiggins could be on the right track when he suggests that Absalom is modeled on the Ugaritic deity, Athtar, another would-be king who failed to measure up, got suspended “between heaven and earth” (cf. 18:9) and complained of having no progeny.67 Wiggins concludes that 2 Sam 18:18 is not a misunderstood statement of fact, as some commentators take it…, but it is specically a complaint of a would-be king. Thus the monument would have been erected by Absalom before his revolt signaling his frustrated longing to be king. The pattern had been established as long ago as Athtar’s attempt at sovereignty: to have no male heir was to be denied true kingship.68

Perhaps it would be better to say it another way: to be denied true kingship was, for some, as bad as having no male heirs. The complaint emphasizes the type of legacy sought by the complainer: not just any legacy, but only a royal legacy will do. For an ambitious prince to speak of having no male heirs was a way of lamenting that he had not acquired the kingship he desired. That the notice about Absalom’s monument in 18:18 is a ashback is supported by the inverted word-order: “Now Absalom had taken and set up for himself.” A period prior to Absalom’s revolt could very well be in view since the time between the announcement of his kingship at Hebron and his death in the forest of Ephraim seems to have been rather brief and taken up with marching to Jerusalem and pursuing his father. The setting up of his stele would t the ethos of that period when he expressed his longing to be judge over the land (15:4). In any case, Absalom’s stele signaled his longing for kingship; and the surrounding narrative of 2 Sam 18 is, therefore, intent on showing how thoroughly that longing was eventually frustrated in the forest of Ephraim. (3) Problems Related to David’s Punishment. The last two problems with which we have to deal are David’s apparent failure to associate the events of 13–20 with his punishment and the apparent absence of Yahweh’s involvement in the events of 19:10(9)–20:26. These two are actually part of a bigger problem regarding the continuity of chs. 13–20 with chs. 11– 12. It has been suggested that all or parts of 2 Sam 11–12 were attached to the beginning of Absalom’s revolt as a sort of theological preface designed to explain the narrative which followed. P. K. McCarter assigns 67. S. A. Wiggins, “Between Heaven and Earth: Absalom’s Dilemma,” JNWSL 23 (1997): 73–81. McCarter also notes the mythic parallel to the rebel who ascends the throne, eventually descending to the pit (II Samuel, 407). 68. Ibid., 77. 1

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all of chs. 10–12 to this function.69 Others focus mainly on the scene of Nathan’s confrontation in 12:1–15a as primarily added for this purpose.70 Of course, even the homogeneity of this supposedly secondary scene has itself been drawn and quartered on the grounds of deuteronomistic editing. For instance, Tryggve N. D. Mettinger saw vv. 7b–12 as deuteronomistic in origin,71 while others see v. 10 as a secondary expansion presupposing the later history of the nation. The fact that David does not appear to associate the events which befall him in chs. 13–20 with punishment for his sin in ch. 11 and the complete absence of Yahweh’s hand in the events of 19:10(9)–20:26 tend to give some general credence to these suspicions. We shall, therefore, rst consider the signicance of 12:6–14 for the nature and duration of David’s punishment. Second, I will examine 13:1–19:9(8) for evidence of both David’s awareness of his punishment and the narrator’s awareness of David’s punishment. Third, I will examine 19:10(9)–20:26 for evidence of these same features. (a) The Signicance of 12:6–14 for the Nature and Duration of David’s Punishment. In 12:6–14 ve statements are made with respect to the nature and duration of David’s punishment. The rst is made (unwittingly) by David himself and the remaining four are announced by Nathan. In 12:5 David responds to Nathan’s parable by declaring that the rich man is a , which I take as more of a subjective evaluation than a legal.72 Nevertheless, it draws attention to the fact that the death penalty is potentially in view for David’s sin, as v. 13 makes clear upon David’s confession. David goes on to declare in v. 6 that the rich man should restore the ewe-lamb fourfold.73 In v. 7 Nathan makes this into a binding 69. Cf. also McKenzie, “The So-Called Succession Narrative,” 133–34. 70. F. Schwally suggested that 12:15b originally followed 11:27 (“Zur Quellenkritik der historischen Bücher,” ZAW 127 [1892]: 153–61 [155–56]). 71. T. N. D. Mettinger, King and Messiah: The Civil and Sacral Legitimation of the Israelite Kings (Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1976), 30. 72. A. A. Anderson, 2 Samuel (WBC 11; Dallas: Word, 1989), 162. However, G. W. Coates prefers to designate Nathan’s story of the rich man and the poor man as a fable. According to Coates’s reading, the Nathan story focuses on David’s loss of human emotion, which opened the door to adultery and murder; thus Nathan’s judgment rests ultimately in v. 10 on David having despised () Yahweh (“Parable, Fable, and Anecdote: Storytelling in the Succession Narrative,” Int 35 [1981]: 368– 82 [377]). This seems to solve the problem of how Nathan’s story applies to David. C. Fontaine sees Nathan’s judgment as wisdom indicting folly, nding no pity in the actions of the king (“The Bearing of Wisdom,” 65). 73. Some have thought that the original reading of 12:6 was (“sevenfold”) on the basis of LXXBAMN. The possibility of an allusion to the name of 1


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judgment on David when he says “You are the man!” and then proceeds to delineate in vv. 10–14 the four elements that will make up David’s punishment: rst, the sword will never depart from David’s house (v. 10); second, Yahweh will cause “evil” to arise against David from within his own house (v. 11a); third, Yahweh will take David’s wives and give them to his “neighbour,” who will have sexual relations with them “before the eyes of this sun” (v. 11b); and fourth, the child born of David’s adultery will die (v. 14). In this we see Nathan dening what will make up David’s fourfold punishment.74 The declaration that the sword will never depart from David’s house raises the question of whether in 12:10 means from David’s family, court, dynasty or nation. The peace and tranquility attributed to the Solomonic reign in 1 Kgs 4 would seem to militate against making this statement into an interpretive paradigm for the DH. Also, since 1 Kgs 2:24b mentions the rise of a new house (i.e. administration) with Solomon, there may be some grounds for seeing 2 Sam 12:10 as having only David’s administration or court in view. Thus the outworking of this punishment “forever” could be restricted to the life of David. Nevertheless, the ambiguity of the statement forbids making any absolute restrictions. In v. 11a, when Yahweh declares , the participle is used to express the imminent future. Elsewhere, the collocation is used in the Hiphil to express the idea of establishing someone or something in a position of power or dominance over someone or something else, often with violent connotations.75 This judgment renders Bathsheba combined with the hint of a proverbial perspective on compensation for adultery (cf. Prov 6:31–32) is primarily what makes the reading attractive (see Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 291; P. W. Coxon, “A Note on ‘Bathsheba’ in 2 Samuel 12,1–6,” Bib 62 [1981]: 247–50). The MT is supported by LXXL and Josephus. It seems likely to us that LXX’s “sevenfold” is an attempt to make the judgment account for all the violence against David’s kin up to the Solomonic succession: the illegitimate child, Tamar, Amnon, Absalom, Amasa, Adonijah, and Joab. The death of Joab, however, was ordered by David himself. 74. However, some have associated the fourfold punishment with the death of David’s four sons: the illegitimate child of Bathsheba (12:18), Amnon (13:28–29), Absalom (18:15) and Adonijah (1 Kgs 2:25). This interpretation is ancient, as it is reected in the Targum (Sperber’s MS c) and has been advocated by J. D. Levenson (“I Samuel 25 as Literature and History,” CBQ 40 [1978]: 11–28 [23]). However, this completely ignores the fate of David’s daughter, Tamar, an oversight not made by another rabbinic tradition, which associated the fourfold restitution with the fate of Bathsheba’s rst child, Tamar, Amnon and Absalom (b. Yoma 22b). 75. Num 30:10; Deut 19:11; 28:7, 36; Judg 9:18, 43; 20:5; 1 Sam 17:35; 2 Sam 18:31. 1

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futile any further attempts by David to fulll his royal mandate to establish justice and righteousness. From now on David will be dominated by corrupt forces arising within his own house. This establishment of corruption is the utter antithesis of the ideal royal task and constitutes a body-blow to the establishment of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. The fate prophesied for David’s wives in v. 11b seems to be presented as an example of the sort of corruption mentioned in v. 11a that will dominate David from his own house. That vv. 11a and 11b are related in this way explains why the motive clause is withheld until v. 12: “because ( ) you did it secretly; but I will do this thing before all Israel, and before the sun.” In vv. 13–14 Nathan’s response to David’s confession shows that the death penalty possibly alluded to in v. 6 has been in the background throughout this judgment scene. However, it does not necessarily reect the Mosaic law (cf. Exod 21:12; Lev 20:10; Deut 22:22), but may recall a more fundamental social order, such as blood-vengeance for murder (Gen 9) or death at the hands of the deity for adultery (Gen 20). In any case, David’s death sentence is transferred to the child of the adulterous union when Nathan says in v. 14 that he will certainly (

) die,76 because David utterly scorned Yahweh by this deed.77 The announcement that David will not die also tells us how the story of David’s punishment will eventually turn out. In this way a certain element of suspense is removed at the outset. (b) Evidence of David’s Awareness of His Punishment in 13:1–19:9(8). After 2 Sam 12 there are three instances in the section comprising 13:1– 19:9(8) where David may demonstrate some sense of being under God’s judgment. All three instances occur in the context of his ight from Jerusalem to the Jordan in 15:14–16:14. The rst is when David refuses the company of the ark (15:25–26). The second is in his ascent of the Mount of Olives (15:30). The third is in his response to Shimei’s cursing (16:5–13). 76. 4QSama draws out the implications with (“shall certainly be put to death”). 77. Here reading . The MT reads , but this is most likely a euphemism for Yahweh that has been added subsequently (McCarter, II Samuel, 296; C. McCarthy, The Tiqqune Sopherim and Other Theological Corrections in the Masoretic Text of the Old Testament [OBO 36; Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981], 184–87). 4QSama has a different euphemism: (cf. v. 9 in the MT). Note that BHS’s citation of the Qumran reading is incorrect (Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 144). The non-euphemistic reading is preserved in LXX MS c (=376). 1


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In 15:25–26, when David refuses to have the ark accompany him on his ight from Jerusalem, he says to Zadok, (25)

Carry the ark of God back into the city. If I nd favor in the eyes of the LORD, he will bring me back and let me see both it and the place where it stays. (26)But if he says, “I take no pleasure in you,” here I am, let him do to me what seems good to him.

Here David at least entertains the possibility of being out of the divine favor. However, this seems more due to his present circumstances with respect to the revolt than to the memory of Nathan’s judgment oracle. The bringing of the ark to David seems to presuppose its power, particularly in warfare. David, however, does not share such simplistic religiosity. He knows that Yahweh’s favoring of him is not dependent on the presence of the ark in his camp. However, the power of the ark as a means of demonstrating Yahweh’s favor or disfavor has been made amply clear in the earlier narratives of Samuel (1 Sam 6; 2 Sam 6:1–11). Thus the ark could be a double-edged sword.78 It is not, therefore, surprising, given David’s doubts about divine favor, that he should refuse the ark’s cultic services. Nevertheless, the scene does portray David’s submission to Yahweh and seems intended to show how the ark ended up being a “cover-story” for Zadok and Abiathar’s intelligence activities.79 The second indicator of David’s perspective regarding his judgment may come in 15:30, with the description of how David ascended the Mount of Olives, weeping, barefoot and with head (“uncovered”[?]).80 At the very least this description would appear to associate his trek with mourning rites (cf. Ezek 24:17, 23). And yet, the extent to which engagement in these rites reects David’s sense of being violated (cf. 13:18) or being penitent is not clear.81

78. Anderson, 2 Samuel, 204. 79. Cf. ibid., 204. 80. For evidence of a second root meaning “to uncover,” see R. Gordis, “Hebrew Roots of Contrasted Meanings,” JQR 27 (1936–37): 33–58 (41–43); G. R. Driver, “L’interprétation du texte masorétique à la lumière de la lexicographie hèbraïque,” ETL 26 (1950): 342–44; cf. NEB’s “bare-headed.” 81. Cf. Anderson, 2 Samuel, 207. A. M. Cartun suggests that there is a correspondence between the “ups and downs” of David’s spiritual situation and the topographic ascents and descents of his ight from Jerusalem (“Topography as Template for David’s Fortunes during his Flight before Avshalom,” JRJ 38 [1991]: 17–34). 1

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The third instance which may indicate some awareness on David’s part that the events of 13:1–19:9(8) involve his divine punishment is David’s response to Shimei’s cursing in 16:5–13. Shimei interprets David’s present misfortune as Yahweh’s judgment on him for the blood of the house of Saul (vv. 7–8). Abishai clearly questions Shimei’s right to curse David and his men in this way. We should note the contrast he expresses between “this dead dog” and “my lord the king” in v. 9b. Therefore, Abishai asks David for permission to lop off Shimei’s head (v. 9c). But David rebukes Abishai for this. Though the text of v. 10 suffers at points, we read David’s rebuke as follows: “What to me and to you, O sons of Zeruiah? In this way he has cursed, because God has said to him ‘Curse David.’ And who can say ‘Why have you done this?’ ” (

).82 In David’s rebuke we again encounter the “Sons of Zeruiah” motif previously seen in 2 Sam 3:39 and which will be seen again in 19:23(22). However, unlike the rst instance, the present use of the motif occurs with “sons of Zeruiah” as a vocative preceded by the interrogative Hebrew expression ' ' . It is generally agreed that this expression has some measure of disassociation in view, but a more precise grasp of its sense has been rather elusive. I. Lande understands ' ' as a concise denial. The refusal, he thinks, is expressed by the fact that one’s possession is set in contrast to the possession of another. It is, therefore, to a certain extent, a mapping of the boundaries between two personal areas.83 According to Lande, community with persons, especially relatives (2 Sam 16:10; 19:23), as well as things (2 Kgs 9:18, 19) can be rejected in this way.84 Raymond Brown, however, nds two shades of meaning for the expression in the Hebrew Bible. He writes, (a) when one party is unjustly bothering another, the injured party may say, “What to me and to you?” i.e., What have I done to you that you should do this to me? What subject of discord is there between us? (Judg xi 12; II Chron xxxv 21; I Kings xvii 18); (b) when someone is asked to get involved in a matter which he feels is no business of his, he may say to the petitioner, “What to me and to you?” i.e., That is your business;

82. is supported by a few MSS, the LXX, and Targ. The MT reads . My reading of simple later in the verse for the MT’s is supported by some MSS, the LXX, Targ, Vulg. 83. E.g. Judg 11:12; 1 Kgs 17:18; cf. 2 Kgs 3:13; Josh 22:24. 84. I. Lande, Formalhafte Wendungen der Umgangssprache im Alten Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1949), 99; cf. N. H. Snaith, Notes on the Hebrew Text of 2 Samuel XVI–XIX (SNBB; London: Epworth, 1954), 14. 1


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how am I involved? (II Kings iii 13; Hos xiv 8). Thus there is always some refusal of an inopportune involvement, and a divergence between the views of the two persons concerned; yet (a) implies hostility while (b) implies simple disengagement.85

McCarter nds that the expression most often means, “What issue of grievance is there between us that you should want to harm me?” Thus he concludes that in 2 Sam 16:10 and 19:23 David is saying to Abishai “What do you sons of Zeruiah have against me that you continuously cause me trouble?”, David’s point being that it would be disastrous for him to take Abishai’s advice to retaliate against Shimei.86 It seems to me that the expression ' ' almost always inaugurates a discussion about rights or authority and on several occasions is followed by a vocative expressing one party’s contempt for the other.87 However, the variety of these contexts suggests that the expression may not have had a precise meaning by itself, but could vary in sense depending on the context. In 2 Sam 16:10 David expresses his frustration with the sons of Zeruiah and their presumption about the extent of their authority and of the king’s authority over Shimei’s right to curse. In other words, David angrily points out that neither he nor the sons of 85. R. E. Brown, The Gospel According to John (I–XII) (AB 29A; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1966), 99. 86. McCarter, II Samuel, 374. 87. The issue of rights or authority is clear in the dispute between the Israelites and the Transjordan tribes in Josh 22:24, and likewise in Judg 11:12 where Jepthah questions the king of the Ammonites. Questions concerning another party’s right or authority always presuppose some illegitimate encroachment. Of particular interest is 1 Kgs 17:18 where a few MSS and the Targ correctly perceive that the expression, used with a vocative, is to be followed by . Nevertheless, its absence in the MT better reects the asyndeton in the words of the woman who is bitter and in distress. That the vocative is contemptuous and sarcastic is seen in v. 24, when the woman is nally convinced of Elijah’s status and of the character of prophetic ministry. In 2 Kgs 3:13 Elisha’s points out that the king of Israel (Jehoram) is no Yahwist, thus Elisha is under no constraint (or authority) to inquire of the Lord for him. In 2 Kgs 9:18, 19, where two messengers in succession come to Jehu with a message from King Joram asking about , Jehu, in his replies, uses the expression with in a fully edged theological sense: . Jehu’s question asks on what authority the messengers, who both speak in the king’s name about , come representing real . His point is clearly that their apostate sovereign has no authority to speak about real . In 2 Chr 35:21 Pharaoh Neco asks Josiah, . We should note again the vocative of contempt. The ensuing text is problematic, but it is clear that Neco theologically justies his excursion through Judah on the way to the battle of Carchemish. According to Neco, Josiah has no basis for opposing him—indeed, to do so is to oppose God. 1

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Zeruiah have any authority over Shimei’s right to curse, since it has been ordained by God—and no one can question God’s decision to do this. Here the narrator has David raise a traditional question posed by the sages when faced with man’s inability to nd out God’s purpose behind life’s inscrutable vicissitudes: “Who can say, ‘Why have you done this?’”88 In 2 Sam 16:10 the subject of (“Have you done?”) is Yahweh, not Shimei. David’s point is that only Yahweh can answer Abishai’s “why” question of v. 9. As Walter Brueggemann observes, David emphasizes Yahweh’s freedom; and the issue of David and Shimei is not without parallel to that of Job and his three friends,89 though, of course, David’s guilt in the Bathsheba affair has been well established. David is aware that there is a certain injustice, even absurdity, in Shimei cursing them for Saulide blood which, if the HDR is to be believed, he did not spill. Nevertheless, David opts to assume that this cursing is somehow part of Yahweh’s doing. However, in an attempt to formulate some insight into the situation David points Abishai and his servants to the appropriateness of Shimei, as “the son of my right hand” (

),90 cursing his life at the very moment when “my son who has gone out from my own bowels (

) is seeking my life” (v. 11).91 Thus David recognizes that there is a sense in which Shimei’s unjust cursing is appropriate to the circumstances. Perhaps David’s appeal to the literal meaning of the Benjaminite alludes to the idea of “right” signifying “bad” in the interpretation of omens.92 Shimei’s absurd cursing is, at the very least, a bad omen, which is not surprising in the light of Absalom’s rebellion. So David bids his men to let Shimei curse. Nevertheless, in v. 12 David holds out hope that the Lord will repay him with good for having endured this cursing. Even though Shimei will be forced to recant his curses when David returns victorious, this scene highlights for the reader the fact that Yahweh’s means of punishing David is unfolding along inscrutable lines. However, David stops short of recognizing Shimei’s cursing as part of Yahweh’s punishment on him for the Uriah affair. 88. Job 9:12; Wis 12:12; cf. G. von Rad, Wisdom in Israel (trans. J. D. Martin; repr., London: SCM, 1997 [1972]), 199. 89. W. Brueggemann, “On Coping with Curse: A Study of 2 Sam 16:5–14,” CBQ 36 (1974): 183–90. 90. This is a popular etymology based on the alternate spelling of the tribal name (cf.

at 1 Sam 9:21). 91. For Brueggemann, David here is a remarkable model of that type of faith which takes human history and activity seriously without in any way diminishing God’s share in events. See Brueggemann, “Coping with Curse,” 175–92. 92. Cf. von Soden, The Ancient Orient, 154. 1


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(c) Evidence of the Narrator’s Awareness of David’s Punishment in 13:1–19:9(8). Unlike David, the narrator appears to associate the events of 13:1–19:9(8) with David’s punishment for his sin in chs. 11–12. This is rst evident in the narrative’s presentation of all David’s troubles as developing from Amnon’s lust for Tamar and in the narrative’s tendency to portray this lust as a heightened parallel to David’s lust for Bathsheba. Shimon Bar-Efrat points to several features which suggest that the two scenes of Tamar’s rape and David’s affair with Bathsheba are to be related:93 1. Bathsheba goes from her house to David’s house at David’s bidding (11:4) while Tamar goes from her house to Amnon’s house at David’s bidding (13:7–8), both resulting in unlawful intercourse. 2. David instructs Uriah to go to his own house, but Uriah does not wish to leave the king’s house (11:8–9), while Tamar does not wish to leave Amnon’s house (13:15–16). 3. The root is used six times in the Tamar narrative and nine times in the Bathsheba narrative (11:4, 9, 11, 13 [×2]; 12:3, 11, 16, 24; 13:5 [×2], 6, 8, 11, 14 [note that these are the only occurrences of in all of 2 Sam 8:15–20:26]). 4. The scene of Tamar’s rape is related to the death of Bathsheba’s child by the rarely occurring root (“sustain,” 12:17 v.l.; 13:5, 6, 10). 5. A connection between the two narratives is insinuated by the opening phrase (“Now after this”) in 13:1. For Bar-Efrat, Amnon’s abuse of Tamar is to be interpreted as David’s retribution for his behavior towards Bathsheba.94 We may add that David’s unwitting instrumentality in sending Tamar to her fate is part of his own punishment with respect to being dominated by corruption from his house. Furthermore, the identity of some of the key players in 13:1– 19:9(8) seems intended to emphasize the fact that all the evil acts of chs. 13–18 arose from David’s own house in fulllment of Nathan’s judgment in 12:11. For instance, Tamar, Amnon and Absalom are all David’s children (13:1). Jonadab, who advises Amnon, is David’s nephew (13:3), as is Joab (17:25; cf. 1 Chr 2:15–16). The prophecy of Nathan regarding the fate of David’s wives and Absalom’s appropriation of David’s concubines on the advice of Ahithophel (16:21–22) is a second strong indicator that the narrator has the 93. Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art, 281–82. 94. Ibid., 282. 1

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outworking of David’s punishment in view. If 16:21–22 were composed before 12:11 one wonders why the prophecy was not made more specic so as to correspond more closely to the fulllment. The association of Yahweh’s will with Joab’s killing of Absalom (by way of direct statement in 17:14 and via Yahweh War motifs in chs. 17–18) against David’s orders also bespeaks the narrator’s perspective on the events of 13:1– 19:9(8) as part of divine judgment on David. We should note especially how Nathan’s announcement of the “evil/corruption” which will arise against David from within his own house is echoed in the use of in 13:16; 15:14; 16:8; 17:14; 18:32; 19:8(7).95 (d) Evidence of David’s Awareness of His Punishment in 19:10(9)– 20:26. In 2 Sam 19:10(9)–20:26 there are no hints at all that David associates his situation with divine judgment. Indeed, the fact that David retaliates against Israel by snubbing them upon his return in favor of Judah (19:12[11]–13[12]), against Joab by replacing him with Amasa (19:14[13]), and against his concubines by placing them in detention and not having relations with them (20:3), suggests that David harbors resentment over the events of 13:1–19:9(8) that is not tempered by any appreciation of them as divine punishment for his own sin. These decisions by David set the stage for Sheba’s revolt (20:1–2) and Amasa’s murder (20:4–10). (e) Evidence of the Narrator’s Awareness of David’s Punishment in 19:10(9)–20:26. There can be little question that the narrative of 2 Sam 19:10(9)–20:26 is intimately related to the events of 13:1–19:9(8). However, the former narrative, unlike the latter, has no direct references to Yahweh’s involvement in events. Nevertheless, the disputes which confront David upon his return (19:25[24]–31[30]; 19:42[41]–44[43]), the appearance of Sheba as an who leads Israel in secession (20:1–3), and the ruthless murder of Amasa by Joab (20:8–13) may all be seen as examples of corruption emanating from his house and the sword not departing. However, the fact that the narrator closely links the revolt and the murder to David’s decisions regarding Israel and Joab shows a special emphasis on David’s culpability. Yet we note that David’s use of the verb (“do evil/harm”) at 20:6 with respect to Sheba’s secession may be one last echo of Nathan’s judgment in 12:11. Also, it seems signicant that David’s decision regarding the difcult case of Mephibosheth vs. Zibah (19:30) represents the nal undoing of David’s original mšarum declaration in 9:1–13.

95. W. Brueggemann, “David and his Theologian,” CBQ 30 (1968): 156–81 (167). 1


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b. Conclusions Regarding Coherence The present analysis of the level of coherence demonstrated in 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26 suggests that contrasts within the portrayals of individual characters cannot be cited as evidence of incoherence without a priori denial of character and plot development. 2 Samuel 8:15–9:13 are linked by David’s towards Mephibosheth as part of the formal beginning of David’s attempts to establish justice and righteousness. The theme also links chs. 9 and 10, while chs. 10–12 are linked by the Ammonite war. In 13:1–19:9(8) the narrator seems to be quite keen to link the events he records with the remaining three elements of Nathan’s fourfold judgment in ch. 12. This is especially clear in his description of Amnon’s rape of Tamar as a heightened parallel to David’s adultery with Bathsheba, Absalom’s appropriation of David’s concubines and Absalom’s death. The problem posed by 18:18 vis-à-vis 14:27 regarding Absalom’s sons could be resolved by recognizing 18:18 as the frustrated rhetoric of a would-be king, and, therefore, not necessarily a literal statement about the existence of his progeny. Therefore, the primary problems for coherence come to focus on the extent to which chs. 13–20 demonstrate that it has in view the elements of Nathan’s judgment oracle of 12:1–15a. In considering this, it is necessary to maintain a distinction between evidence of David’s awareness of his punishment and evidence of the narrator’s awareness of his punishment. The David of 13:1–19:9(8) does not share the narrator’s keen awareness, although David does seem to entertain the thought that the events in which he is embroiled are the result of incurring divine disfavor. However, he never associates them with his sin in ch. 11, or Nathan’s oracle of ch. 12. Indeed, it is difcult to tell whether David sees himself as a sinner in need of judgment or a sufferer in need of vindication. The irony seems to be that the narrative of 13:1–19:9(8) is concerned to show, especially through the death of Absalom, how both were true. The negative portrayal of human wisdom and its instrumentality in depicting the outworking of Yahweh’s judgment on David would tend to favor seeing David’s myopia regarding his punishment in 13:1–19:9(8) as a deliberate part of his portrayal, rather than as evidence that 2 Sam 12 was appended later to 2 Sam 13–20. The case of Shimei’s (wrongly) cursing David and interpreting his ight from Jerusalem as evidence of David’s punishment for the blood of the house of Saul seems to have especially taxed David’s sapiential faculties. In 19:10(9)–20:26 no mention is made of Yahweh’s involvement in events. Instead, the narrator relates the events of Sheba’s revolt and 1

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Amasa’s murder directly to David’s decision to favor Judah over Israel and Amasa over Joab upon his return. Only by appealing to the themes inaugurated in 2 Sam 12 regarding the rise of corruption and the everpresent sword can the narrator be seen to link 19:10(9)–20:26 to the divine punishment announced in ch. 12. As for David, in 19:10(9)–20:26 he demonstrates no awareness of events being related to his punishment. In fact, his two decisions with respect to Israel and Joab seem to be presented as the king’s retaliation against Israel for supporting Absalom in his revolt and against Joab for his insubordination in killing Absalom. Thus David’s own personal responses to the punishment chronicled in 13:1–19:9(8) are given prominence as an over-arching explanation of the history in 19:10(9)–20:26. In 19:10(9)–20:26 the perspectives of the narrator and David have become thoroughly anthropocentric. Therefore, I conclude that while the judgment theme inaugurated in 2 Sam 12 is present in chs. 13–20 there is far greater emphasis placed on it in 13:1–19:9(8) than in 19:10(9)–20:26. The narrative seems to shift from revealing Yahweh’s judgment in human history (13:1–19:9[8]) to leveling criticism at the humans who made the subsequent history (19:10[9]–20:26). The shift in the tone of the narrative required a shift from a theocentric to a more anthropocentric perspective. Nevertheless, this all still serves the divine purpose of punishing David by establishing evil within his house. David’s apparent lack of awareness of his punishment may be part of his negative portrayal and does not necessarily reect discontinuity between 2 Sam 11–12 and 13–20. 8. 2 Samuel 20:26 as the End of the Unit 2 Samuel 20:26 marks the close of the narrative unit that we have been thus far investigating. It does not extend into the so-called Samuel Appendix of 2 Sam 21–24 (hereafter SA), nor does it include 1 Kgs 1–2. The primary signicance of this demarcation is that the succession theme falls away from our narrative with the exclusion of 1 Kgs 1–2. The second list of David’s ofcials in 20:23–26 can easily be taken as a closing bracket with the rst list in 8:15–18. In fact, the addition of Adoram as minister of forced labor (v. 24) marks a negative development which is quite in keeping with the failure of “justice and righteousness” which we have traced throughout the narrative. However, some would see the list of ch. 20 as merely a variant of the rst one in ch. 8. McCarter thinks that the doublet arose in the nal compilation of the book when 21:1–14 was removed from its original location preceding ch. 9, in this 1


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way the last part of ch. 8 was reproduced in both places.96 J. Begrich, however, argued that the list of ch. 20 represents a later development in David’s cabinet, since Adoram could not have been appointed until late in David’s reign.97 As for our exclusion of the SA from our narrative unit, some see the Gibeonite revenge of 2 Sam 21:1–14 as a prerequisite for the Mephibosheth episode of 2 Sam 9. However, as a miscellany of material relating to events throughout David’s reign, one should expect the SA to have some points of contact with the preceding narrative. This, however, is a far cry from seeing the SA as a part of the preceding narrative unit. Indeed, this miscellany would seem to have an identity all its own as a chiastically arranged anthology of material stemming from early and late periods in David’s reign:98 As for 1 Kgs 1–2, although it is dependent on information from 2 Sam 2–20, it should not be included as part of the narrative comprising 8:15b– 20:26. As the text stands, the SA presents a signicant structural barrier between 2 Sam 20 and 1 Kgs 1–2. Keys has observed that the very positioning of the SA between 1 Kgs 1–2 and 2 Sam 10–20 suggests that the scribe responsible for it did not see a strong connection between the two texts.99 Interestingly, Rosenberg observes that 2 Sam 24 establishes two key pillars of the Solomonic bureaucracy—the census and the house of Yahweh.100 A closer relationship between the SA and 1 Kgs 1–2 is also observed by S. M. McDonough, who shows that the sequence of an Israelite bargaining for and buying an important piece of land from a foreigner followed by a statement that that Israelite was old and advanced in years occurs only twice in the Hebrew Bible, namely, in Gen 23:3–24:1 and 2 Sam 24:18–1 Kgs 1:1. The echo of the former in the latter, McDonough thinks, is not coincidental. Just as Abraham’s purchase of the cave at Machpelah is understood as the rst step in fullling the divine promise regarding possession of the land, so too is David’s purchase of the threshing oor from Araunah (a Jebusite, the last of the Canaanite people to be dispossessed) to be seen as the nal step in the fulllment of that promise.101 This would also serve to integrate the 96. McCarter, II Samuel, 257. 97. Joachim Begrich, “Sf r und Mazkîr,” ZAW 58 (1940–41): 1–29 (5–6); cf. 1 Kgs 12:18. 98. Cf. Klement, II Samuel 21–24; Robert P. Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel (OTG; Shefeld: JSOT Press, 1984), 95; Keys, Wages of Sin, 82–85. 99. Keys, Wages of Sin, 69–70. 100. Rosenberg, King and Kin, 170. 101. S. M. McDonough, “ ‘And David was old, advanced in years’: 2 Samuel xxiv 18–25, 1 Kings 1, and Genesis xxiii–xxiv,” VT 49 (1999): 128–31. 1

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fulllment of the land promise with the promise of temple and Davidic dynasty, something which already appears to have been done in 2 Sam 7 (cf. vv. 10, 12–13, 16–17). Keys has offered several other arguments in addition to those based on the position of the SA which weaken the relationship between 1 Kgs 1–2 and 2 Sam 10–20 on the grounds of style, language, content and theological orientation. First is the lack of evidence for the succession theme as a major element in 2 Sam 10–20, though it is dominant in 1 Kgs 1–2. Another factor is the almost universal agreement that 2 Sam 10–20 shows very few signs of deuteronomistic editing vis-à-vis the opposite claim for 1 Kgs 1–2. Furthermore, 1 Kgs 1–2 shows a marked increase in references to cultic elements over that of 2 Sam 9–20. 1 Kings 1–2 mentions “the horn of oil” (1:39), “the tent” (1:39), “the tent of Yahweh” (2:29, 30), “the altar” (2:29), “the horns of the altar” (1:50, 51; 2:28) and “the law of Moses” (2:3). While I would prefer not to stress stylistic arguments, Keys has pointed out that the stylistic analyses of the SN by Rost and Whybray have very few references to 1 Kgs 1–2. Indeed she claims that of the 23 references that Whybray made to SN’s style, only one is from 1 Kgs 1– 2.102 Keys also nds that Whybray’s attention to the narrative pace of the SN, which alternates between rapidity and slowness, is hardly characteristic of 1 Kgs 1–2, which is uniformly slow throughout in comparison with 2 Sam 9–20.103 Keys also nds that repetition is used extensively in 1 Kgs 1–2 but is not typical of the style of 2 Sam 9–20.104 While Rost and Whybray noted the frequent use of vivid simile and metaphors in 2 Sam 9–20 (cf. 12:3; 13:13; 14:2, 14, 17, 20; 16:9, 23; 17:3, 8, 10, 11, 12; 18:3, 32; 19:3, 28; 20:3), Keys nds no such similes, metaphors or comparisons anywhere in 1 Kgs 1–2.105 With regard to language, it is telling that in the often noted correspondence between the ostentatious displays of Adonijah (1 Kgs 1:5) and Absalom (2 Sam 15:1) the two texts contain signicant differences in vocabulary.106 According to the MT, 2 Sam 15:1 reads .107 1 Kings 1:5 echoes it with . Since an intertextual allusion is 102. Keys, Wages of Sin, 55. 103. Ibid., 56. 104. Ibid., 57–61. 105. Ibid., 61–62. 106. Cf. ibid., 64–65. 107. However, at 2 Sam 15:1 one might prefer the partially reconstructed reading of 4QSamc, [] [( ( (] ( (Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 260, 262–63). 1


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probable here, the switch from to and from to might be signicant. It seems less likely (particularly in the second instance) that a single writer would use two different words to refer to the same objects when making such an association. Abner’s absence from 2 Sam 9–20 also poses a problem for seeing 1 Kgs 1–2 as linked with the SN or with our unit of 8:15b–20:26. Although David Gunn overcame this problem by including 2 Sam 2–4, there is more to be said for Key’s suggestion that the reference to Abner shows that 1 Kgs 2 draws on all the David traditions and not just on the SN.108 It is clear that the attitude of 1 Kgs 2:27 towards Abiathar is dependent on 1 Sam 2:31–36 and that there is no hint of rivalry between Abiathar and Zadok in any part of 2 Sam 10–20. However, this latter point should not be emphasized too strongly since it runs the risk of denying plot development. Besides Abner, neither Shimei nor Rei (1 Kgs 1:8) receives a proper introduction. Keys also nds the motive cited for Joab’s murders of Abner and Amasa in 1 Kgs 2:5 to be problematic for linking 1 Kgs 1–2 with 2 Sam 10–20. David claims in 1 Kgs 2:5 that Joab avenged in a time of peace blood which had been shed in war. According to Keys, nowhere is this motive ever associated with the murder of Amasa in 2 Samuel. She criticizes J. Gray’s attempt to solve this problem by suggesting that the two statements of “avenging in time of peace blood which had been shed in war” and “putting innocent blood upon the girdle about my [David’s] loins” isolate a separate motive for each murder. According to Keys, this solution actually causes more problems by connecting the bloodguilt which David hopes to remove only with the murder of Amasa. If this is to be the case, then Keys claims there would be no need to mention Abner’s murder.109 9. Conclusion 2 Samuel 9–20 is a highly coherent literary unit that actually has its starting point at 2 Sam 8:15b, where the reference to David doing justice and righteousness inaugurates the theme of the narrative itself and invokes the ethical tradition governing the narrative as discoursed. Only the account of the Ammonite War in chs. 10–12 and the two lists at 8:16–18 and 20:23–26 give any substantive indication of external sources having been used. Otherwise, the boundaries of any sources cannot be clearly distinguished from the editorial work which shaped 108. 109. 1

Keys, Wages of Sin, 67. Ibid.

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them into a larger whole. In delimiting 2 Sam 8:15b–20:26 as a narrative unit I have not intended to make any comment on whether it ever existed independently of the broader Samuel narrative, only that it marks a distinct phase within this broader narrative as it stands. The demonstrable concern of 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 with ideas associated with the establishment of is so pronounced from beginning to end that one feels justied in seeking its theme here rather than in the idea of succession. The theme of the narrative may be tentatively dened as “the fate of justice and righteousness during David’s reign.” This understanding of the theme seems to explain the narrative’s stance toward wisdom, subdued interest in the cultus, emphasis on divine retribution, Yahweh’s control of history and the use of motifs. The narrative of 2 Sam 8:15b– 20:26 shows how David and his house (1) failed to establish justice and righteousness during his reign over all Israel, (2) actually promoted the moral dissolution of his court and kingdom, and (3) eventually institutionalized oppression. In this context the narrative presents several characters as those whose moral deconstruction was catalyzed by David’s unjust reign, amid the historical outworking of divine judgment against him. The narrative thereby presents these unsavory individuals more as products of the Davidic regime than as scapegoats for its failings.

1

Chapter 5

READING 2 SAMUEL 8:15B–10:19 AS THE BEGINNINGS OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: DAVID’S ACTS OF AND THE AMMONITE–ARAMEAN WAR

As initially suggested in the previous chapter of this study, David’s acts of (“kindness”) in 2 Sam 9 and 10 are presented as his rst political efforts to carry out the traditional royal agenda of establishing

(“justice and righteousness”) introduced in 8:15b. The restoration of paternal lands to the lame Mephibosheth, a grandson of Saul through Jonathan, and David’s elevation of him to the royal table in ch. 9 is analogous to Mesopotamian m£arum declarations which kings made upon their enthronement as they began to establish justice and righteousness. These declarations often involved edicts of andurrum or “freedom/release,” which included restoration of property and general amnesty. As a crippled member of a now defunct rival regime, Mephibosheth appears to be an ideal candidate for this kind of royal attention. However, the implied author reveals that Mephibosheth was not the only stakeholder in the estate of Saul. The place of Zibah the steward was also a matter that should have received more careful consideration. As for the that David attempts to display towards Hanun in 2 Sam 10, this also becomes problematic in that David’s dispatching of envoys is presented as triggering the Ammonite–Aramean war, despite the fact that protecting the people and cities of Yahweh was in keeping with the king’s establishment of justice and righteousness. 1. David’s towards Mephibosheth and Treatment of Zibah (9:1–13) In the account of Mephibosheth’s elevation we are shown a David who seeks to establish identities and to assuage fears as he attempts to display (“kindness”) for the sake of Jonathan. The story presupposes 1

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knowledge of David’s earlier covenant with Jonathan in 1 Sam 20:14– 17. This covenant sought to guarantee that the of God would continue towards Jonathan’s house even after his death. David’s sincerity in his efforts to demonstrate is not disputed, and Mephibosheth is presented as an ideal charity case. However, the way that the implied author doles out information serves to criticize David at the level of policy formulation. The implied author shows that David’s kindness towards Mephibosheth, noble as it was, actually resulted in the establishment of some injustice for Zibah and his house. The implied author begins by having David express his desire to know whether there are any surviving members of the house of Saul to whom he can show kindness for the sake of Jonathan. The wording of David’s inquiry in v. 1 suggests that he has some reason to suspect that there is a survivor of Saul’s house: (“Is it that there is still someone remaining to the house of Saul?”). The voice of the implied author then intrudes parenthetically in v. 2 to inform the reader of a servant to Saul’s house named Zibah. In v. 3 this Zibah is plied with the same question expressed in v. 1 regarding survivors of the house of Saul. Given the earlier deaths of Abner and Ishbosheth in 2 Sam 3–4, it would seem that David is asking Zibah about those “of public or political standing.”1 In any case, David restates his intentions in stronger terms as “I want to do with him the of God,” which seems a clear echo of 1 Sam 20:14. In this David presents himself as an agent of charity on behalf of the deity. Zibah informs David that a lame son of Jonathan resides in the house of Machir son of Ammiel in the Transjordanian city of Lo-debar (v. 4b).2 In v. 5 the implied author informs that David had this son taken from the house of Machir and brought to him. Note that it is not until v. 6 that the implied author actually identies this son by name as Mephibosheth3 when introducing his meeting with David. In v. 7 the implied author tells how David assuaged Mephibosheth’s fears and informed him of his intentions to do . This is now the third time in the narrative that David has declared this intention. Here in v. 7 it is worded more strongly than the previous two cases, as seen in the use 1. Gunn, The Story of King David, 68. 2. It appears that Machir was a wealthy man (cf. 17:27) who provided a place of exile. Z. Ben-Barak suggests that Zibah’s reply in v. 3c, which mentions the lameness of Jonathan’s remaining son Mephibosheth, is an attempt to protect him by highlighting that he is not a political threat (“Meribaal and the System of Land Grants in Ancient Israel,” Bib 62 [1981]: 73–91 [78]). 3. The name Mephibosheth is thought by many to be a euphemism for Meri(b)baal (cf. 1 Chr 8:34; 9:40). This suggestion is not without its problems, as carefully explained by McCarter, II Samuel, 125. 1

5. Reading 2 Samuel 8:15b–10:19

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of the innitive absolute for emphasis: “I am really about to do with you for the sake of Jonathan your father.” The point of such emphasis is that David was particularly zealous and sincere to show kindness to the house of Saul. David goes on nally to tell what form this act of will take: “I will restore to you every eld of Saul your father, and you shall eat food at my table continually.” Mephibosheth expresses his humble shock at such generosity (v. 8). Up to this point in the narrative everything has progressed very nicely. There is no indication that the implied author is not in sympathy with David’s efforts to show kindness to the house of Saul nor is there any hint of rivalry between Zibah and Mephibosheth. However, the portrayal of these proceedings starts to evidence some criticism when David addresses the fate of Zibah in v. 9. At this point the implied author now refers to Zibah somewhat more nobly as , “the steward of Saul,” a position of some status.4 It will be recalled that earlier in v. 2 Zibah was described using the indenite expression (“a servant to the house of Saul”). This shift in the implied author’s designation of Zibah seems signicant given that David is about to relegate this steward to a virtual eld hand. Apparently, the implied author intends to highlight this as a demotion for Zibah. Concern for Zibah’s status is also why the implied author informs that Zibah even headed his own house consisting of fteen sons and twenty servants (v. 10b; cf. v. 11). The implied author’s use of such language indicative of social status makes it difcult for us to accept the view that Zibah is now being given an honored appointment as Mephibosheth’s servant.5 Consider David’s words to Zibah in v. 10: You shall work the ground for him, you and your sons and your servants, and bring in [the harvest] (). But the produce ( ) shall belong to the son of your master, and he shall consume it (). Yet Mephibosheth, the son of your master, shall eat food continually at my table.

Notice that Zibah in his new assignment will not receive the fruits of his labors, because both the produce itself and the right to consume it will belong to Mephibosheth. What makes this ethically problematic is that 4. In the light of its usage on some seal impressions, may be rendered as “steward” (W. F. Albright, “ ‘The Seal of Eliakim and the Latest Pre-exilic History of Judah’ with Some Observations on Ezekiel,” JBL 51 [1932]: 77–106). Albright considered Zibah to have been a most important person [p. 83]). For the signicant status of the , particularly in the royal courts of Saul and David, see J. Macdonald, “The Status and Role of the NA!AR in Israelite Society,” JNES 35 (1976): 147–70. 5. Contra Ben-Barak, “Meribaal and the System of Land Grant,” 78. 1


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Mephibosheth has also been granted the privilege of eating continually at the royal table (vv. 7, 10). Of course, to restore Saulide property to the lame Mephibosheth is all well and good, indeed the very picture of charitable kindness in the tradition of royal justice and righteousness. The same may be said of David granting Mephibosheth a place at the royal table. However, to consign a man of status such as Zibah along with all his entire house to toiling in Mephibosheth’s elds for no gain is another matter. In this way the implied author indicates that David’s magnanimous gesture towards one man has brought about the unjust enslavement of another. As if to highlight further the magnitude of this inequity, the implied author immediately informs the reader of the sizeable nature of Zibah’s house which will be assigned to Mephibosheth’s elds: fteen sons and twenty servants (v. 10c). In light of this apparent injustice done to Zibah, we may conclude that his solemn acceptance of the king’s verdict in v. 11a is meant to stand out sharply. Yet even at this point the implied author immediately moves in vv. 11b–13 to contrast again the elevation of Mephibosheth and his one little son, Micah, with the fate of Zibah and all those sons and servants in his house: (11b)

Now Mephibosheth was eating at the table of David6 like one of the king’s sons. (12)And Mephibosheth had a little son and his name was Micah. But all the inhabitants of the house of Zibah were servants to Mephibosheth. (13)And Mephibosheth was dwelling in Jerusalem, because at the table of the king he ate continually. But he was lame in both his feet.7

2. David’s towards Hanun and the Ammonite–Aramean War (10:1–19) Continuing with the subject of David’s acts of the implied author tells of another in 2 Sam 10:1–5 which was part of David’s foreign rather than domestic policy. Like the account of Mephibosheth, the account of David’s towards Hanun is also portrayed as starting out well, or at least with sincerity, but quickly becoming problematic. Linked as it is with the Ammonite–Aramean war, some have suggested that the events of 2 Sam 10 and 12:26–31 really took place after Absalom’s revolt.8 6. In v. 11b should be changed to on the basis of the LXX, as the words can hardly be read in the voice of Zibah or David (cf. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 286–87). 7. In vv. 11b and 13 the participles )& and ) & are used to highlight the ongoing state of affairs resulting from David’s edict. 8. McCarter, II Samuel, 274–76. 1


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Despite these historical questions, the present narrative is literarily coherent as it stands. However, the contrast in narrative tone between the naive portrayal of David in sending envoys to Hanun in 10:1–5 and that of his glorious victories over the Ammonite–Aramean coalition is probably due largely to the author’s reliance in 10:6–19 on an early written source devoted to David’s Ammonite wars. a. The Sending of Comforters to Hanun (10:1–5) The implied author reports that sometime after the events of ch. 9 Nahash, the king of the Ammonites, died and was succeeded by his son Hanun (v. 1). Another royal decree by David is then introduced just as in 9:1 using the expression . David states his intentions as “I will do with Hanun son of Nahash like that which his father did with me.” Though we are not told what the was that Nahash did for David, it seems that such reciprocity is intended as proof of David’s solidarity with the house of Nahash by graciously sharing in its distress.9 Once again we are shown David extending kindness to a son of one of his deceased allies. The implied author describes David as sending consolations “by the hand of his servants” ( ). The sending of messengers of condolence was a regular feature of ancient Near Eastern interstate diplomacy.10 The servants of David are then said to have entered the land of the Ammonites. Elsewhere in the books of Samuel the expression (“servants of David”) is used to describe David’s private military with only one exception.11 In light of this, one may see some ironic wordplay in the implied author’s use of at 10:2, for one does not readily associate David’s servants with (“to comfort”) but rather with (“waging war”). Of course, this is precisely how the Ammonite princes will view it. The words (“and the servants of David entered the land of the Ammonites”) may also have connotations of a military expedition or even spying (cf. Josh 2:18). 9. On this aspect of , see Moshe Weinfeld, “Covenant Terminology in the Ancient Near East,” JAOS 93 (1973): 190–99. In light of Nahash’s reputation as a bitter oppressor of Israel’s eastern tribes (cf. 1 Sam 10:27–11:1), it is possible, on the one hand, that the mention of David’s relations with Nahash here may not reect well on David. One the other hand, David’s reciprocation of , even to such an undesirable as Nahash, could show noble character. 10. P. Artzi, “Mourning in International Relations,” in Death in Mesopotamia: Papers Read at the XXVIe Recontre assyriologique internationale (ed. B. Alster; CSA 8; Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1980), 161–70. 11. Cf. 1 Sam 25:10, 40; 2 Sam 2:13, 15, 17, 30, 31; 3:22; 11:17; 18:7, 9. The usage in 2 Sam 12:18 is ambiguous. 1

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The use of such leading vocabulary combined with the portrayal of the Ammonites’ suspicions suggests that the implied author may be attempting to provoke some sympathy for the Ammonite princes in their doubting of David’s intentions. David may be portrayed here as having unwisely sent his military leaders on what was intended to be a mission of state charity. The situation would be similar if in today’s political climate the president of the United States were to send his secretary of defense on a mission of aid to Iran. So, the implied author seems to lead the reader into a measure of sympathy with the Ammonite point of view when he quotes the Ammonite leaders warning to their new king in v. 3: “Is David honoring your father in your eyes, because he has sent comforters to you? Is it not in order to search the city and to spy it out and to overthrow it [that] David has sent his servants to you?” Heeding his princes warning, Hanun shames David’s envoys by cutting off half their beards and garments. In this Hanun may have parodied conventional signs of mourning.12 We may also note the implied author’s wordplay between his use of (“and to spy it out”) in v. 3 and (“and they shaved”) in v. 4, thereby furthering the association of this shaming with the charge of spying. Hearing of their humiliation, David directs his envoys to remain in Jericho until they have recovered their dignity with the regrowth of their beards (v. 5). b. The Ammonite–Aramean War (10:6–19) Despite some sympathy with Ammonite suspicions, the implied author seems to suggest that Hanun’s contemptuous treatment of David’s envoys was impetuous. This is seen in the way that the implied author presents v. 6a, again from the Ammonite perspective: “And the Ammonites saw that they had become odious to David.” These words function to provide a narrative transition to the older war account of 10:6–19 and may even suggest that the Ammonites did not initially intend to provoke David to war. Throughout the rest of this section of narrative the verb is used repeatedly to indicate realization of a situation (cf. vv. 9, 14, 15, 19). However, it is interesting that, even though the Ammonites realize they have provoked David to war, David, nevertheless, makes no military preparations until v. 7, and then only after hearing of the looming Ammonite–Aramean coalition of v. 6. If one attempts a thoroughly synchronic reading of the text this could suggest that David was reticent to take up the cause of his subjects when they have been wronged. However, it is more likely that a written source for the war narrative already presented Israel and its king as responding defensively to the 12. Cf. Isa 7:20; 20:4; Gordon, I and II Samuel, 250. 1


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Ammonite–Aramean threat. In support is the fact that the account of the Ammonite–Aramean war itself in 10:6–19 portrays David and his ofcials positively, even somewhat ideally. This would be expected in a war report devoted to glorifying the regime. c. The Battle at the Gates of Rabbah (10:6–14) The account of the rst stage of the war focuses on Joab as a commanderwarrior in the battle at the gates of Rabbah (vv. 6–14). Having passed the point of no return, the Ammonites set about amassing a rather formidable mercenary coalition of Aramean states (v. 6b). David responds by sending Joab and the army.13 In the account of the engagement which follows we are told, according to the MT, that the Ammonites drew up their battle lines at the opening of the gate. Apparently it is the city of Rabbah that is in view (cf. v. 14). The implied author then informs that meanwhile the Aramean forces were by themselves in the open country (v. 8b). Apparently Joab was unaware of this and thus he unexpectedly nds himself facing a battle on two fronts, before and aft (v. 9a). The implied author tells how Joab responded to this threat by selecting from all the choice soldiers of Israel and personally leading a force to meet the Arameans (v. 9b), while leaving the rest of the army under the command of his brother Abishai to engage the Ammonites (v. 10). At this juncture we are presented in vv. 11–12 with a speech by Joab to Abishai which expresses their strategy, motivation, and pious resignation. Verses 11 and 12 provide the only speech in the battle accounts of 10:6–19: (11)

If the Arameans are too strong for me, then you shall help me; but if the Ammonites are too strong for you, then I will come and help you. (12) Be strong, and let us be courageous for the sake of our people and for the cities of our God; and may Yahweh do what seems good in his eyes.

Joab recognizes that if he and his brother are defeated, then Israel, its people and cities, will be at the mercy of the Ammonite–Aramean forces, who could then march virtually unchallenged into Israel.14 “Our people and the cities of our God”15 is a statement reecting Joab and Abishai’s 13. The MT’s is awkward and thus we may prefer the combined witness of Hebrew MS, LXXL, Syr, and Vulg which suggests (“all the army of the professional soldiers”; cf. 1 Chr 19:8). 14. For Hertzberg, Joab reveals the magnitude of the danger (I & II Samuel, 304–5). 15. Although in v. 12 could refer to Transjordanian cities associated with Yahwism, it is not necessary to suppose this or the doubtful philological alternative “altars of our God.” Much less should we favor the emendation to , “the ark of our God.” 1

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sense of solidarity with their people and alluding to a theology of Yahweh’s estate, that is, a theology in which God’s people worshipping him in his land is considered as the ideal.16 Even if we choose to see Joab as a rough sort of character who out of desperation turns to piety for comfort, his is, nevertheless, presented as an ideal sort of piety dedicated to protecting the people and cities of Yahweh’s estate while still being submissive to the ultimate will of the deity. This sort of mingling of human and divine causality should not be taken as evidence of later editing, but rather as reecting an age when the authors of ancient epics and the sages were content with the idea of double causality and did not burden themselves with resolving the theological tensions between divine sovereignty and human freedom, divine purposes and human pathos.17 As Walter Brueggemann observes, Joab’s leadership includes not only careful strategy but also the stirring rhetoric of faith and patriotism reminiscent of the old summons to holy war (cf. Deut 20:3–4).18 In such are rooted the ethics of this war as far as Joab is concerned. The outcome of the narrative seems to suggest that the pious perspective of the sons of Zeruiah was honored, since vv. 13–14 appears to reect what Yahweh decided was good in his eyes to do.19 The implied author describes how the Arameans retreated before a pitched battle was even engaged. Admittedly, this interpretation is based on a rather strict reading of the Hebrew of v. 13: (“And Joab and the troops who were with him approached to wage war with Aram, and they ed before him”). Of course, these words could represent accelerated narration which assumes or glosses over an intervening battle. In any case, the sight of Aram eeing likewise causes the Ammonites to ee before Abishai and to enter their city (v. 14a–b). After this, Joab withdraws from the Ammonites and returns to Jerusalem having achieved his defensive objective (v. 14c). d. The Battle of Helam (10:15–19) The second stage of the war focuses on David as the situation escalates in the battle of Helam (vv. 15–19). Again David and Israel are presented as acting defensively in response to another threat. Stung by the earlier defeat of the coalition, the Aramean king, Hadadezer, takes matters into 16. Cf. 1 Sam 26:19; 2 Sam 14:16; Hos 9:3; 1 Kgs 8:36; see E. Lipiski, “ * * nÜal; +, * naÜªlâ,” TDOT 9:328–33. 17. Cf. Seeligmann, “Menschliches Heldentum,” 385–411. 18. W. Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel (IBC; Louisville: John Knox, 1990), 270. 19. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 305. 1


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his own hands and summons the Arameans “who were beyond the river” (i.e. the Euphrates), placing Shobach, his own general, in command of them (vv. 15–16). It seems reasonable to suggest that the calling-up of these extra Aramean troops and the appointment of Shobach is presented as an effort to match Israel’s “choice men” (cf. v. 9) and their now proven general, Joab. It is possible that the implied author mentions Shobach here as a well-known enemy commander. Likewise, Helam, the location of the battle, is a place now unknown to us but apparently wellknown to the original readers. David responds to this matching of forces by gathering all Israel and bringing them over the Jordan, leading them himself (v. 17a–b). It seems that the personal leadership of King David is presented as tipping the balance of power in Israel’s favor. The implied author says in v. 17c that the Arameans drew up to meet David and that this time a battle was engaged: “they waged war with him” ( ). Nevertheless, Aram is still forced to ee, having suffered heavy losses (v. 18a).20 At this point, in v. 18c, the implied author goes on to invert the word-order of the next sentence, stating,

. This would appear to signal a switch to the pluperfect, thereby meaning “Now Shobach, his [i.e. Aram’s] army commander, [David] had struck; and so he died there.” This reference to David killing Shobach could well reect an instance of monomachy between the two commanders that preceded the Aramean ight. If so, its mention in v. 18c is designed to explain how the circumstances of v. 18a–b arose allowing David to inict such heavy casualties. Shobach’s identity not only as a general but also as a champion may be in view in v. 16, where he is described as being in front of the Aramean army ( ).21 It is important here to be mindful that other ancient accounts of contests between picked champions typically end in the army of the defeated champion eeing and suffering great losses.22 Furthermore, ancient accounts of monomachy often have issues 20. It is said in v. 18b that David killed 700 charioteers () and 40,000 horsemen ( ). For the latter it may be better to read (“foot soldiers”) as in 1 Chr 19:18. 21. This is reminiscent of H. A. Hoffner’s suggestion that Hittite piran üyanza, “one who runs/marches in front,” may specically designate a champion, since there are other terms in Hittite for a general or commander (“A Hittite Analogue to the David and Goliath Contest of Champions,” CBQ 30 [1968]: 220–25 [224]). 22. E.g. David and Goliath (1 Sam 17); the men of Abner and the men of Joab (2 Sam 2:12–28); Tiamat and Marduk (Enuma Elish IV:93–120 [COS 1:398]); Ñattušiliš III and the Pišüruwian piran üyanza (Hoffner, “Hittite Analogue,” 220–25); Menelaus and Paris (Iliad 3:15–460); Hector and Achilles (Iliad 22); Eteocles and Polynices (Euripides, Phoenician Maidens 1460–75); Pyraechmes and 1

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of justice in view via the notion of trial by combat.23 This account ends in v. 19 by telling how all the kings who were vassals of Hadadezer realized that they were defeated before Israel and thus made peace with Israel and served them. 3. Conclusion In 2 Sam 8:15b–10:19 the implied author works subversively but not with a heavy hand in portraying David’s initial attempts to establish the justice and righteousness through two acts of royal kindness ( ). David’s applied ethics in these efforts are portrayed as based in ancient Near Eastern political tradition. However, the implied author evaluates these efforts through a combination of utilitarian and rights-based concerns. David’s kindness towards Mephibosheth is analogous to a Mesopotamian royal m£arum declaration that was done upon David’s ascent to the throne. The implied author initially presents this as a royal act of in which David functions as the divine agent to bestow the of God in faithfulness to the covenant with Jonathan, which had pinned its hopes on David becoming king and thereby being in a position to bestow such . The implied author accepts that the kindness to Mephibosheth was a royal act of in which David sought to function as a divine agent who bestows the of God out of loyalty to the late Jonathan. In this the implied author portrays the basis of David’s ethical decision-making as rooted generally in the traditions of m£arum and andurrum typical of ancient Near Eastern royal policy and focused specically on the covenant of friendship that he had with Jonathan. However, the ethical basis from which the implied author levels criticism at this charitable Degmenus (Strabo 8.3.33; Pausanius v. 4); the 600 Spartans and Argives (Herodotus 1.82); the Perinthians and the Paeonians (Herodotus 5.1). 23. In addition to the references cited in the preceding note, several other accounts of contests between champions have the establishment of justice in view via the idea of trial by combat: the contest of 1208 B.C.E. between Hyllus and Echemus (Herodotus 9.26); Phrynon and Pittacus (Strabo 13.1.38). We note that Livy (59 B.C.E.–17 C.E.), in his Ab Urbe Condita (1:23–25), provides us with a colorful account of a purportedly seventh-century (ca. 672–640 B.C.E.) trial by combat between the Romans and the Albans that was preceded by a rebuff of envoys. Finally, we should note that social justice is in view in the famous contest between Gilgamesh and Enkidu. While the nature of Gilgamesh’s oppression has been the subject of debate, the words of the Old Babylonian version strongly suggest that it is his practice of the jus primae noctis (see Tigay, The Evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic, 183). 1


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legislation is seen in the portrayal of how it leads to the oppression of Zibah the steward, a man of some status with a large household of his own. The place awarded to Mephibosheth at the king’s table and his being given sole possession of all the produce generated from the estate of Saul is instrumental in demonstrating that it was not necessary to deny Zibah a portion of this produce in order to maintain Mephibosheth or restore to him his ancestral lands. The royal bounty of David’s table was more than enough to maintain Mephibosheth and his one son and thereby do for Jonathan’s sake. As far as the implied author is concerned, David’s efforts to release, restore and elevate Mephibosheth led to the binding, stripping and demoting of Zibah. It is doubtful that the implied author shares David’s view that this element represented the of God. In this narrative criticism of David we can see that the ethics of the implied author are rooted in three things. First, Zibah’s social status as the faithful steward of the house of Saul conventionally entitles him to honor. Second, the large number of dependents (sons and servants) in Zibah’s house when compared to the one son of Mephibosheth functions as a utilitarian argument for allowing Zibah a portion of the produce coming from the elds of Saul. Third, having a permanent place at the royal table in Jerusalem and being made the only recipient of the goods produced on the Saulide estate amounts to an excessive double provision for Mephibosheth. This was certainly more than he or his son could consume. There seems to be no reason why arrangements could not have been made for Zibah to receive the fruits of his labors and provision for his own house. In the second act of , David is again portrayed as sincere in his sympathy towards Hanun, and again David’s ethical-decision making is rooted in ancient Near Eastern conventions generally and in a commitment to old loyalties specically. With these the implied author has no problem. However, his criticism resides in positing this naive act of charitable foreign policy as the catalyst for the Ammonite–Aramean war. Again, the point is not to undermine the grand notion of showing acts of kindness towards a foreign or even rival nation per se or to deny the nobility of defending Israel from invasion. Rather, it is again with the practical way in which this royal attempt to show kindness was mishandled with grave consequences. The implied author hints that the suspicions of the Ammonites were not altogether unreasonable, because David sent his military ofcers as envoys on what was to be a charitable mission of condolences to a nation with which Israel had had a long history of hostile relations. This kind of criticism does not involve highlighting the creation of an unjust situation by the king, as was the case with 1

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Zibah, but it does involve the stinging suggestion that David was perhaps naive about how the Ammonites might perceive things. In seeking to empathize with Hanun personally over his father’s death David failed to empathize corporately with the perspective of the rest of the Ammonite princes. The account of the Ammonite–Aramean war itself in 10:6–19 portrays David and his ofcials positively, even somewhat ideally. This is not surprising, especially if this part of the story derives from an old war report that the author of 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 has grafted into the broader narrative with few changes. In doing so the author has adopted a portrayal of David and Joab which shows them holding to a warrior ethic guided by a theology which understands the land of Israel, its cities and people, as Yahweh’s estate that must be defended at all costs. In the account of the rst two stages of the war, David is presented as operating defensively to meet a combined threat from the Ammonites and Arameans; however, it is Joab who voices the ideology and faith appropriate to fullling the responsibility to protect the people and cities of Yahweh’s estate. Indeed, Joab’s commitment to this aspect of the justice and righteousness ideal and his submission to the goodness of Yahweh’s ultimate will serves to portray him as a virtual holy warrior. Divine aid seems to be suggested by the implied author’s claim that the Ammonites and Arameans ed before Joab and Abishai without even engaging them in battle. This portrait of Joab is followed by David’s heroic role in the second stage of the war. There David is without question presented as a mighty warrior. Indeed, it is likely that he is even portrayed as having won another single combat with a well-known enemy commander. However, all these glories associated with the Ammonite wars are tarnished somewhat by the implied author having placed them in the context of David’s bungled attempt to show kindness to Hanun. For our implied author the glories of the Ammonite wars, legitimate as they were in and of themselves, are nevertheless tarnished somewhat in light of the initial poor judgment of the king. So it appears that in both the cases of Zibah and the Ammonites David’s interpersonal affections and loyalties, noble as they were, tended to blind him to broader domestic and international social dynamics. As far as the implied author is concerned, this created problems for David’s establishment of justice and righteousness. In demonstrating this, the implied author has acted somewhat subversively by exposing injustice and folly inherent in two of David’s sincere acts of royal kindness, the rst of which functioned strategically to inaugurate David’s social agenda of establishing justice and righteousness for all his people. 1


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The implied author of 2 Sam 9–10 is not blindly enmeshed in the traditions associated with the ancient Near Eastern royal ideology of m£arum declarations and edicts of andurrum, nor is he enamored with the warrior ethics of a heroic age. It is doubtful that the implied author frowns on these traditional ways of governance as a whole or in principle. The implied author appears to accept them in principle as part of the legitimate tools of royal governance while maintaining an ethically critical stance on the practical use of these tools. In the case of Zibah, the implied author appears sensitive to the potential for ethical problems inherent in the redistribution and restoration of wealth by the monarchy. Consequently, he is careful to show how this royal prerogative ultimately resulted in an unjust state of affairs for the house of Zibah. This portrayal may be part of the reason why 2 Sam 9 is completely ignored by the Chronicler (cf. 1 Chr 19), who seems more interested in positive portrayals of David. The importance of this royal edict as inaugurating David’s social justice agenda in 2 Sam 8:15–20:26 is reected in the fact that the implied author will revisit it on two more occasions in 16:1–4 and 19:25– 31. As far as the implied author of 2 Sam 9–10 is concerned, David’s little oversights in inaugurating his social justice program created big problems for his domestic and foreign policies in that they brought with them the unintended consequences of an injustice on the domestic front and an open conict on the international front. This laid a shaky foundation for the establishment of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. At this point in the narrative David’s warrior reputation as a traditional component of royal justice and righteousness is still intact. And yet, even that will soon be undermined in chs. 11–12.

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Chapter 6

READING 2 SAMUEL 11–12 AS THE CORRUPTION OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: THE URIAH AFFAIR AND THE FALL OF RABBAH

In 2 Sam 11–12 the narrator moves from David’s mismanaged efforts at showing the royal kindness that led to the rise of the Ammonite– Aramean threat to a heinous portrayal of David’s corruption of justice and righteousness during his renewed aggression against the Ammonites.1 Few biblical narratives craft the sort of negative portrait of a character as does 2 Sam 11–12 with respect to David. This is clear even with all the gaps and ambiguities in its narration which have received so much scholarly attention.2

1. J. Rosenberg focuses on the portrayal of David and institutional corruption in 2 Sam 11 (“The Institutional Matrix of Treachery in 2 Samuel 11,” Semeia 46 [1989]: 103–16). 2. See R. Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History. Part 3, 2 Samuel (ISBL; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 117–18. For various attempts to deal with the ambiguities and gaps in the narrative, see Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative, Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 186–229; G. G. Nicol, “Bathsheba: A Clever Woman?,” ExpTim 99 (1988): 360–63; idem, “The Alleged Rape of Bathsheba: Some Observations on Ambiguity in Biblical Narrative,” JSOT 73 (1997): 43–54; idem, “David, Abigail, and Bathsheba, Nabal and Uriah: Transformations within a Triangle,” SJOT 12 (1998): 130– 45; G. A. Yee, “‘Fraught with Background’: Literary Ambiguity in II Samuel 11,” Int 42 (1988): 240–53; J. C. Exum, Fragmented Women: Feminist (Sub)versions of Biblical Narrative (JSOTSup 163; Shefeld: JSOT Press, 1993), 170–201; A. Bach, “Signs of the Flesh: Observations on Characterization in the Bible,” Semeia 63 (1993): 61–79. I am reticent to engage in much of this “reading-between-the-lines.” My own sympathies lie more in the direction of M. Garsiel, who suggested that the narrator refrains from commenting on the inner worlds of the characters in order to keep readers’ eyes on the religious and moral lessons of the story (“The Story of David and Bathsheba: A Different Approach,” CBQ 55 [1993]: 244–62). 1

6. Reading 2 Samuel 11–12

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1. The Uriah Affair (11:1–12:25) The setting for David’s descent into corruption is given in v. 1, where the narrator appears to designate the spring as the traditional season for kings to march forth for war.3 Here we see the narrator beginning this story with an appeal to royal custom, so that image of David not accompanying all Israel to war at this time but remaining in Jerusalem may well reect the narrator’s criticism of David as having neglected one of his traditional royal duties.4 Thus the narrator reects an ethic rooted broadly in what he claims is ancient Near Eastern convention for kings. This failure to accompany the army to war is combined with a portrait of David as the aggressor. He sends out Joab and his professional military5 along with all Israel, and they proceed to “annihilate” ( ) the Ammonites and besiege Rabbah. It is difcult not to see the narrator’s use of the verb here as loaded with negative connotations. David’s aggression in 11:1 is in contrast with the defensive roles previously attributed to him and to Joab in 10:6–19. These negative connotations will be at play in the account of David’s nal subjugation of the Ammonites in 12:31. Meanwhile David’s public military aggression abroad will set the stage for his aggressive sexual appetite at home.

B 19A vocalizes as " $ *- * “messengers.” Many other MSS vocalize as " +-$ * (“kings”). Several other MSS lack entirely, thus supporting the reading (“kings”). This is endorsed by the LXX, OL, Targ, and Vulg. For other possible instances where quiescent alephis inserted for apologetic purposes, see Robert P. Gordon, “Aleph Apologeticum,” JQR 69 (1979): 112–16. The primitive reading, , could refer back to the of 10:19 and thus serve to make 11:1 designate a time one year after the offensive launched by the vassal kings of Hadadezer (McCarter, II Samuel, 285). However, in the light of 1 Kgs 12:24x (LXX); 20:22, 26; and 2 Chr 36:10, it seems better to see the expression in 2 Sam 11:1 as a reference to the following spring, the traditional season for kings to go to war. 4. It is true that David also remained behind earlier in 10:6–13 when Joab led the servants of David against the Ammonites, and this without any apparent negative connotations. However, David still gathered and led all Israel against the Arameans in 10:17. Accordingly, there seems to be some signicance in David not leading all Israel here in 11:1. 5. It is possible that in 11:1b refers to Joab’s servants (Anderson, 2 Samuel, 153). However, the triple use of the object marker may serve to keep , and linked directly to David, who, as subject of , would then be the antecedent of the rst third masculine singular sufx. Nevertheless, the relationship of David’s servants to Joab will become an issue again in this narrative in connection with Uriah’s speech (11:11). 3.

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a. David’s Adultery (11:2–5) The portrayal of David’s roguish behavior in Jerusalem begins by telling how David, after arising from his bed one evening, walks about on the roof of his palace and spies an exceptionally beautiful woman bathing (v. 2). There is nothing to suggest that David had seen this woman bathing before or that she was trying to entice David or even that she was being negligent in bathing within view of the palace. It is simply that the king goes for a walk on his roof, and it just happens that he saw her. Nevertheless, the sight of this beautiful woman bathing sets David’s heart in motion. So, in v. 3a, he sends messengers to seek information about her. However, the narrator is careful to show that David was confronted with the identity of this woman and her status as the wife of Uriah the Hittite. The information is conveyed through the form of a question in v. 3b: “And he said ( ), ‘Is this not Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam, wife of Uriah the Hittite?’ ” This simple question carries with it a complex of issues when it comes to evaluating its narrative signicance for ethics and motivations. First of all, it is unclear who voices this question; this is because the antecedent of the implied subject of (“and he said”) is ambiguous. Are these David’s words/thoughts, or are they the words of a second party responding to David’s query? If David’s words/thoughts are in view, then these serve to portray the king as immediately knowing the identity of the woman he saw. His sending of messengers is then presented as an attempt to conrm what he already suspects. However, if these words are from a second party then they would seem to carry a note of warning or disapproval in the response which the messengers bring back to the king: “Is this not Bathsheba, daughter of Eliam, wife of Uriah the Hittite!?” At the very least, David knows that Bathsheba is the daughter of a certain Eliam, that she is married, that her husband is a certain Uriah, and that this Uriah is a Hittite (i.e. a non-Israelite).6 Second, it is signicant that 4QSama adds ([]to the end of this question, thereby further identifying Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, as “Joab’s armor-bearer.”7 This longer reading claries from the outset 6. It is an open question whether the narrator expected his readers to know that Eliam was one of David’s heroes and the son of David’s counselor Ahithophel (cf. 2 Sam 23:34), one who will eventually support Absalom’s revolt in 15:12 (cf. J. A. Wharton, “A Plausible Tale: Story and Theology in II Samuel 9–20, 1 Kings 1–2,” Int 35 [1981]: 341–54 [343]). 7. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 138. Josephus also relates this information when discussing David’s instructions for Joab to send Uriah to Jerusalem in v. 6 (Josephus, Ant. 7.131). Josephus’s correspondence with the text of 4QSama on this point may be further evidence that he was at least partly dependent 1


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Uriah’s role as a soldier and his whereabouts with Joab at Rabbah. Knowing that Uriah was Joab’s armor-bearer makes it seem all the more appropriate for David to ask Uriah specically about Joab’s welfare in v. 7. This Qumran plus has the effect of increasing the relational triangles that David’s dalliance with Bathsheba will affect. In the longer Qumran reading, David is implicitly confronted with the ties of loyalty between Uriah and Joab in addition to those ties of affection and loyalty existing between Uriah, Bathsheba and Eliam. The question in v. 3b carries not only an implicit warning against pursuing a married woman, it also points to a web of relational ties and affections that stand to be violated by David’s actions. David’s taking of Bathsheba with all of this in view draws attention to his willfulness. But to ask why David slept with Bathsheba admittedly seems a banal question in light of adultery being an act of passion and therefore not particularly amendable to rational analysis. Nevertheless, the words of 11:3 do indicate some consideration on the part of David; however, it is probably going too far to suggest, as does J. W. Wesselius, that David is presented as concluding that he could do what he wanted without fear of the consequences.8 David is clearly worried about the consequences of his actions, if they become known, when he tries to cover his paternity by trying to get Uriah to sleep with Bathsheba. It is not entirely clear what all those consequences might be, other than the general effects of public shame, the demands of a cuckold husband, or perhaps the claims of an illegitimate child. As for the question of why, the narrative seems to suggest that it was Uriah’s Hittite ethnicity that provided David with all he needed to rationalize his dalliance with Bathsheba. The MT version of the question in 11:3 ends with emphasis on Uriah’s status as a Hittite. Thus begins David’s portrayal in 2 Sam 11 as a classic “oriental despot.”9 on a Hebrew text. E. C. Ulrich is condent that Josephus used a Greek Bible for the Samuel portions of the Antiquities (The Qumran Text of Samuel and Josephus [HSM 19; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1978], 255). However, Barthélemy expresses more caution (Études d’historie du texte, 293–94). Muraoka points to one example in 2 Sam 11:8 where Josephus is apparently not dependent on a Greek text but is at least aware of one plausible interpretation of the Hebrew (“The Greek Text of 2 Samuel 11,” 43–44, 57). He also nds 11:9, 13, 16, 21 to display a lack of afnity between Josephus and LXXL (p. 57). 8. J. W. Wesselius, “Joab’s Death and the Central Theme of the Succession Narrative (2 Samuel ix 1–1 Kings ii),” VT 40 (1990): 336–51 (347 n. 15). 9. T. Naumann, “David als Exemplarischer König: Der Fall Urijas (2 Sam 11) vor dem Hintergrund altorientalischer Erzähltraditionen,” in de Pury and Römer, eds., Die sogenannte Thronfolgegeschichte Davids, 136–67. 1

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After David takes Bathsheba and sleeps with her, the narrator informs the reader that “she was purifying herself from her uncleanness” ( , v. 4). The use of the participle here rather than the perfect is a ne example of the use of the anterior construction for anticipatory backgrounding, which is a mark of skilled literary craftsmanship.10 It indicates that Bathsheba was currently in the process of ritual purication after the end of her menstrual cycle (cf. Lev 15:19–24). At the very least, by designating the optimum time for conception,11 this information operates forensically to establish David’s paternity beyond all doubt.12 Yet it also has apologetic value for Bathsheba in showing that she piously observed the code of cleanliness and that she was not pregnant before sleeping with David. In other words, she did not entrap him; and she is at least portrayed as possessing simple virtue manifested by her adherence to convention. In this way the author may temper somewhat her “non-person” status in the narrative.13 That the narrator does not fault Bathsheba for submitting to the king’s advance is further indication that the narrative’s ethical ethos is grounded in convention, custom and established hierarchies. b. David’s Attempts to Conceal His Adultery (11:6–15) It goes without saying that David probably did not consider Bathsheba’s fertility when he decided to sleep with her. So, even though the reader may not be surprised by her pregnancy in light of the statement regarding her purication, the news of her pregnancy in v. 5 was certainly an unexpected development from David’s perspective. He responds to this news by sending word to Joab ordering him to send back Uriah the Hittite, apparently under the pretense of wanting a brieng on the progress of the war (vv. 6–7). Thinking that Uriah will not pass up a chance to enjoy the pleasures of domestic life, David tells Uriah to go down to his house and “wash his feet” (v. 8a). To David’s surprise, however, Uriah does not comply. Instead, he sleeps at the entrance to the king’s house with “all the servants of his lord” (vv. 9–10a). Indeed, the narrator is keen to emphasize 10. Z. Zevit, The Anterior Construction in Classical Hebrew (SBLMS 50; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998), 35. 11. M. Krause, “II Sam 11 4 und das Konzeptionsoptimum,” ZAW 95 (1983): 434–37; cf. b. Nid. 31b; William R. Smith, Kinship and Marriage in Early Arabia (ed. S. A. Cook; new ed.; London: A. & C. Black, 1903), 276. 12. A. Berlin, “Characterization in Biblical Narrative: David’s Wives,” JSOT 23 (1982): 69–85 (80). 13. Berlin nds Bathsheba presented as a complete non-person, not even a minor character, and thereby not considered guilty of adultery (ibid., 73). 1


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that Uriah did not go down to his house (v. 9b). When questioned, Uriah directs David’s attention to the army’s solidarity under Joab and to Israel’s theocracy represented in the presence of the ark in a way that cuts right to the heart of David’s sin. Whether intentionally barbed or not, Uriah’s speech in v. 11 overtly mentions sexual relations with his wife, explicitly elevates Joab as his lord ( ) and implicitly denigrates David for having indulged in sexual relations during wartime, abstinence from which was a mark of David and his warriors from their earliest times (cf. 1 Sam 21:5–6). Uriah’s comments may be even more damning of David if means that the whole nation is faithfully observing the feast of booths despite the conditions of war.14 As far as our narrator is concerned David has violated the sacred bonds of marriage and his holy-warrior status. He is completely out of step with the entire religious life of the nation which is at war. It is surprising to hear Uriah, the armor-bearer of Joab, speak so boldly to his king. We are led to suspect that the narrator has made Uriah the mouthpiece for his own sentiments.15 The fact that David resorts to getting Uriah drunk shows that he too recognized the indisputable virtue of Uriah’s refusal to enjoy domestic pleasures during wartime. He therefore attempts to undermine Uriah’s resolve rather than his ideology (vv. 12–13a). The narrator is adamant that Uriah did not go down to his house but rather spent those nights bunking with the king’s servants (v. 13). Uriah’s resolve to maintain his loyalties nally moves David to draft an order commanding Joab to 14. M. M. Homan, “Booths or Succoth? A Response to Yigael Yadin,” JBL 118 (1999): 691–97, reveals fatal difculties in Y. Yadin’s arguments for “in Succoth” in the seven other occurrences of in the Hebrew Bible. He shows that “in booths” remains the preferable translation. 15. The question of whether Uriah should violate religious solidarity by enjoying food and sexual relations with his wife at his own house while his comrades are camped in the eld is answered by Uriah himself with an emphatic negative that comes in the form of an oath sworn on the life of the king (v. 11c). Up to this point Uriah’s speech seems to have come at the expense of respect for David. According to M. Sternberg, “it follows that because of [Uriah’s] solidarity with his comrades and his commander (Joab) he is not prepared to bow to the authority of the supreme commander himself” (Poetics, 204). However, Uriah’s oath shows that his civil disobedience, if we may dare call it that, stops short of denying the authority of his king. By using Uriah’s speech to highlight David’s corruption the narrator may be said to give the victim his only chance of resistance (see S. K. Bietenhard, Des Königs General: Die Heerführertraditionen in der vorstaatlichen und frühen staatlichen Zeit und die Joabgestalt in 2 Sam 2–20; 1 Kön 1–2 [OBO 163; Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997], 163). Obviously, the narrator’s sympathies lie with Uriah and this again makes his speech reective of the narrator’s own views. 1

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arrange for Uriah’s death in battle (v. 15). The letter orders that Uriah be subjected to the ercest ghting; and then the rest of the troops are to abandon him, so that he will be killed.16 The writing of an unjust decree is the epitome of royal corruption. And the fact that Uriah is made to deliver it especially highlights David’s exploitation of his loyal, nonIsraelite servant. c. The Death of Uriah (11:16–24) The plan proposed by David in v. 15 required a tactical withdrawal, the execution of which presupposed mastery of the battle situation by Joab. To be sure, in v. 16 Joab seems to be up to the task when he surveys ( ) the city and stations Uriah opposite strong Ammonite warriors. Without knowing the reasons for David’s order, Joab has no option but to comply with it. On the basis of the information gradually doled out over the course of vv. 16–24,17 it is difcult to reconstruct the course of the battle in which Uriah died and the reason’s for Joab’s instructions to his messenger on how to deliver the news to David. Excursus There are narrative grounds to doubt whether the circumstances of battle continued to grant Joab the freedom to decide how, and to what extent, he would comply with David’s order. The problem is that the details of the battle in which Uriah died are not given all at once in the narrative but are gradually released over the course of vv. 17–24. The chief factors that must be accounted for in any reconstruction of the picture, and thus Joab’s role in it, are the following: (1) the narrator’s claim in v. 17 that the Ammonites launched an attack from the city; (2) Joab’s expressed concern in vv. 19–21 that David will become angry over their ghting close to the 16. David’s use of the plural verbs and ( in the MT does not t the apparent context of David addressing Joab, unless we are to understand that the entire army is being addressed since their cooperation in the plan was necessary to pull it off. In LXXBAMN FJTBHBHF suggests the singular form /. It is possible that the MT’s (from ) arose from the loss of before the following (McCarter, II Samuel, 281). LXXL QBSBEPK may partially support the MT. Another use of the plural imperative when the preceding context suggests that the speaker(s) is/are addressing a single person is found in of 1 Sam 11:12, at which point two MSS read , while the LXX has QBSBEPK. Another example is ( in 2 Sam 13:17. 17. For these verses the MT is the best witness to the primitive text vis-à-vis LXX, with its expansions. For careful isolation of the OG and an explanation of the rise of the pluses, see Pisano, Additions or Omissions in the Books of Samuel, 49–54. McCarter’s view that both the MT and LXX have suffered massive haplography is inconsistent and does not actually account for the OG (see II Samuel, 282–84). 1


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city wall; (3) the narrator’s claim in v. 22 that the messenger told David all that Joab commanded him to tell; (4) the messenger’s claim in v. 23 that the Ammonites launched an attack from the city but that the servants of David managed to drive them back to the city gate; (5) the messenger’s apparent failure to deliver Joab’s message in a way which would provoke David’s anger. In an extensive analysis of vv. 17–24 Sternberg suggested that Joab found David’s original plan of v. 15 to be awed because requiring the troops to desert Uriah on the battleeld would expose the conspiracy. Therefore, Sternberg thinks that Joab provoked a sharp battle at the walls so that Uriah would die along with others in what would look like an unfortunate mishap of war.18 In the account of how the news was reported to David, Sternberg nds that Joab’s instructions to his messenger reect two interests on the part of Joab and one on the part of the narrator. According to Sternberg, the rst interest on the part of Joab is to inform David covertly that he intentionally fought close to the walls of Rabbah so that Uriah’s death would look like one of many war casualties and the conspiracy would thereby be kept secret. K. Bodner has followed this basic interpretation of Joab by seeing him as a readerresponse critic who creatively reinterprets David’s written order and crafts a different military strategy that will benet the king. According to Bodner, it was Joab’s reading rather than David’s writing which produced the necessary cover-up of Uriah’s death.19 Sternberg considers such an execution of David’s order by Joab to be a signicant improvement on what was an otherwise ill-advised plan. Joab’s second interest, according to Sternberg, is to play a harmless but stinging joke on the king by letting him get angry before telling him the “good news” of Uriah’s death. However, according to Sternberg, the messenger, because he was ignorant of the conspiracy, fabricated a story about an Ammonite offensive in order to make it appear that Joab’s approach to the walls had military justication. This resonates with Barthélemy’s understanding that the MT depicts a clever messenger who not only succeeds in avoiding David’s anger but also obtains a word of consolation for Joab by means of two “ruses.” Barthélemy tells of the Ammonite sortie to emphasize that it was necessary to approach the walls in order to repulse the attackers and then moves immediately to report the death of Uriah without giving David a chance to respond.20 Sternberg thinks that the narrator’s summary in v. 22 and the messenger’s words in vv. 23–24 amount to a redundancy which draws attention to the fact that the narrator has “in effect ‘innocently’ conveyed how orders (this time, Joab’s) were not implemented.”21 The end result is that David does not get angry, as Joab predicted, and the messenger moves straight on to inform him of the death of Uriah. U. Simon nds that “[t]he narrator dwells at length on Joab’s orders as a means of illustrating David’s usual approach in order to highlight that David did not react in his characteristic way.”22 In order to sustain this line of interpretation Sternberg is 18. Sternberg, Poetics, 213–22. 19. K. Bodner, “Is Joab a Reader-Response Critic?,” JSOT 27 (2002): 19–35. 20. Barthélemy, Critique Textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, 261. 21. Sternberg, Poetics, 216. 22. U Simon, “The Poor Man’s Ewe Lamb: An Example of a Judicial Parable,” Bib 48 (1967): 207–42 (219). 1

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forced to conclude that v. 17 actually refers to an Ammonite counter-attack and that Joab was really the one who initiated the battle at the walls of Rabbah. As for the narrator’s interest in Joab’s instructions to his messenger, Sternberg thinks that the narrator uses Joab to suggest an analogy between David and Abimelech which is relevant to David’s affair with Bathsheba. Sternberg takes this to reect the author’s criticism of David placed in the mouth of Joab. S. K. Bietenhard follows the main lines of Sternberg’s interpretation but also adds that Joab’s instruction to his messenger on how to handle David’s anger reects the commander’s honest concern to protect one of his soldiers from what he knew could be the lethal wrath of the king upon receiving bad news.23 This interpretation usually appeals to 2 Sam 1 and 4 for support. However, it is not justiable to attribute such an attitude to David when receiving bad news in general. 2 Sam 1 should be explained according to David’s concern that no one should lift his hand against “the anointed of Yahweh.” There is also the possibility that the Amalekite messenger is the object of some residual animosity towards Amalekites in general after the raid on Ziklag in 1 Sam 30. As regards the executions in 2 Sam 4, aside from being explained according to David’s horror that a righteous man was so treacherously murdered, it should also be borne in mind that the murder of Ishbosheth is presented as analogous to the murder of Abner in 2 Sam 3. In my opinion, the multiplication of arguments necessary to sustain Sternberg’s thoughtful reading of Joab’s handling of the battle unfortunately undermines its validity. His claim that v. 17 actually refers to an Ammonite counter-attack does not appear to be supported by the straightforward Hebrew, , which follows immediately on the heels of v. 16. Furthermore, Joab’s supposed desire to play a joke on the king is at odds with his supposed desire to conceal the conspiracy and not jeopardize the war, because the immediate appeasement of David’s anger by news of the death of Uriah would do nothing but raise suspicions in the minds of any who witnessed it at court. Finally, the narrator’s claim in v. 22 that the messenger reported to David “all that Joab had sent him [to report]” functions, at the very least, to validate the content of the messenger’s report about the Ammonite offensive. Otherwise, if we accept Sternberg’s claim that the messenger is lying in v. 23, then we must also conclude that the narrator does not really mean what he says in v. 22, and that he has left a major gap between v. 16 and v. 17 which is actually never lled, that is, Joab’s initiation of the conict at the walls of Rabbah is never mentioned. I would, therefore, propose a different solution which not only takes into account the narrator’s use of the unexpected but which also only leaves gaps in the narrative with respect to characters’ motives and not with respect to any major events. It appears that even though the messenger fails to deliver his report in the manner directed by Joab, he, nevertheless, gives all the proper facts in vv. 23–24. This ts well with the narrator’s claim in v. 17 regarding the Ammonite offensive and his claim in v. 22 regarding the content of the messenger’s report. It is the messenger’s report, therefore, which nally provides the reader with the rst full picture of what happened in the battle in which Uriah died. Faced with an unexpected Ammonite

23. 1

Bietenhard, Königs General, 163–67.


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offensive, Joab had no other option than to attempt to force the attackers back into the city, lest they be allowed to maneuver in the open eld and Joab thereby nd himself once again in a battle on two fronts (cf. 2 Sam 10:9–10). This necessitated approaching the walls during the ghting. However, in this scenario we are still left with the problem of Joab’s instructions to his messenger, which was the starting point for Sternberg’s elaborate theory in the rst place. If Joab was strategically justied in approaching the walls of Rabbah in order to repel the Ammonite offensive, why then is he concerned about David’s anger? Are we to suppose that Joab doubted that David would recognize the necessity of this strategy? Yet, if Joab really wanted to avoid the king’s wrath, then he could have directed his messenger to deliver his report just as the messenger actually does in vv. 23–24.

It seems that the most important feature from a rhetorical point of view is the narrator’s interest in creating a David–Abimelech analogy in the mind of the reader. He uses Joab’s instructions to his messenger to accomplish this but keeps David unaware of this analogy by having the messenger fail to deliver the news as Joab had instructed. Joab’s concern over David’s anger is the author’s excuse to place a David–Abimelech analogy in the mouth of this general, who elsewhere functions as the king’s chief critic (e.g. 2 Sam 19:6[5]–8[7]). As Sternberg himself points out, both the David and the Abimelech stories share the pejorative connotations of “Warrior King Laid Low by Woman”; on the other hand, while Abimelech fell at the hands of a woman while at the head of his army, David falls at a woman’s hands precisely because he plays truant from war.24 The text, however, gives no indication of whether Joab appreciated this analogy. Sternberg writes, Joab may be serving either as a conscious agent or merely as an unwitting vehicle of the text’s machinations. If previously Uriah was exploited as a conductor of irony, now Joab performs a similar function. Only that Joab is not an idealist, nor a moral paragon, nor a deceived husband. The irony in his words is irony for its own sake.25

It seems that the narrator’s overriding interest in evoking a comparison of David with Abimelech would explain the tension that resides between Joab’s concern about the king’s response and the course of the battle suggested by the statements of the narrator and the messenger. Such tension could have arisen from the narrator’s use of sources. The narrator may not have been aware, or perhaps did not care, that his interest in making Joab the vehicle for a David–Abimelech analogy would create

24. Sternberg, Poetics, 221–22. 25. Ibid., 222. 1

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logical tensions with the battle reports reected in vv. 17, 23–24. However, the tension could be removed by a different understanding of Joab’s motives. One could speculate that Joab has been presented as “predicting” David’s anger when talking to his naive messenger when in fact he was actually hoping to incite it so that the entire court would see how David was pacied by the news of Uriah’s death. This would raise suspicions. Thus Joab may be covertly trying to expose David’s crimes. Justication for suspecting this motive on the part of Joab may be found in the words of David in v. 25, words which suggest that Joab viewed the situation as evil. Having received an order to arrange for Uriah’s death in battle, it would not take a eld general to suspect that something sordid had taken place in Jerusalem. If such an attempt to expose David is in view, it, nevertheless, fails due to the messenger’s ignorance of the conspiracy and devotion to Joab. This may have been part of a broader design of the narrative to contrast the failure of Joab and his messenger with the success of Yahweh and his messenger (i.e. the prophet Nathan) in exposing David by evoking from him an unwitting self-condemnation (cf. 12:1–7a). That we should make such a connection between the two scenes may be suggested by the fact that 11:18 begins with while 12:1 begins with . Nevertheless, the David–Abimelech analogy, at which the author has hinted in the voice of Joab, continues to echo in the mind of the reader. d. David’s Response to Uriah’s Death (11:25–27) David’s response to the news of the Ammonite offensive which resulted in the death of Uriah provides the climax in the portrayal of David as a corrupt king. In vv. 25–27 the callousness of David’s response is highlighted by setting it in contrast with the responses attributed to Joab, Bathsheba and Yahweh. The directions that David gives his messenger to take to Joab say something about the perspectives of both David and Joab on the death of Uriah. David advises that Joab not consider “this thing” as evil.26 This is because the sword devours indiscriminately, apparently implying that there is no way to determine who will be a casualty of war.27 It is the unexpected Ammonite offensive that provides David with the opportunity to appeal to this truism. The admonition reects David’s perspective 26. The Hebrew is (“Do not let this thing be evil in your eyes”). The antecedent of appears to be the death of Uriah mentioned at the end of v. 21, although it could refer to all of the casualties. 27. This appears to be the force of .

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that the Ammonite offensive and the strategic response it required of Joab have served to make “irrelevant” his own ordering of Uriah’s death. As far as David is concerned, Uriah died by the sword of the Ammonites in a battle that was not predetermined. In this way David attempts to dilute what he thinks is Joab’s moral perspective. It is on this basis that David then urges Joab in v. 25b to press on with his attack against the city and raze it. To assure Joab further, David directs his messenger to encourage him ( ). David’s smug condence is in contrast with Joab’s apparent moral concern. Bathsheba’s sorrow for her husband in v. 26 contrasts with David’s callous response to Uriah’s death. David’s taking her to be his wife in v. 27 looks, on the public level, like an act of charity towards a widow whose husband was David’s servant. However, the closing words of the narrator in this scene make it clear that Yahweh, in contrast to David’s earlier words to Joab, does consider David’s actions as evil (v. 27c). This reference to Yahweh’s moral perspective makes it clear that nothing has been concealed from the deity. Here there is an interesting moral continuity established by the narrator between the perspective attributed to Joab and that attributed to Yahweh. These combined with the brief account of Bathsheba’s mourning for her husband to show the reader that all of the key gures in this story, except David, have a negative moral perspective of the death of Uriah. e. Nathan’s Confrontation of David (12:1–15a) The story that Nathan tells David focuses on a rich man’s oppression of a poor man and is thereby rooted in traditional justice and righteousness motifs. The wrongness of the rich man’s taking of the ewe-lamb is not viewed according to the ethics of theft nor is the act of lamb-slaughter the problem. It is, as David himself declares, a fundamental lack of pity on the part of the rich man in which ties of love and affection between the poor man and his pet lamb are ignored. This is made even more grievous by the fact that the rich man has ample means of his own to fulll the customary obligations associated with hospitality towards travelers. The fact that David is morally outraged over this shows that his moral faculties are not completely dysfunctional. Nevertheless, his own lack of self-awareness requires that Nathan point out to him that he is in affect the rich man. In this way, the story itself, which may aptly be described as a parable, is designed to play primarily on emotion and sentiment. It reects a fundamental perspective in which ties of affection are seen to have ethical value, the violation of which is understood as an act of oppression worthy of serious punishment, even death. 1

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The rest of Nathan’s prophetic judgment speech breaks down into two parts: vv. 7b–10 and 11–12, each section beginning with the messenger formula “thus say Yahweh.” In the rst part Nathan switches between speaking in the voice of Yahweh (vv. 7b–8), in his own voice (v. 9), and then back to the voice of Yahweh (v. 10). This is indicated by the shift between rst and third person references to Yahweh.28 In v. 8 Yahweh recounts how he had David anointed king over all Israel and delivered him from the hand of Saul. This presupposes the earlier narratives associated with the HDR in 1 Samuel. Yahweh also claims to have given David possession of his master’s (i.e. Saul’s) house and wives, even the houses of Israel and Judah. This obviously reects acceptance of the ancient Near Eastern custom of polygamy for kings as well as the acquisition of the previous monarch’s wives as a symbol of the appropriation of his kingship. Here the use of the word (“into your bosom,” v. 8) in reference to David’s reception of Saul’s wives ironically echoes the use of the same word in Nathan’s portrayal of the intimate relations between the poor man and his lamb (v. 3). There is in all this an unmistakable tone of perturbation on Yahweh’s part as he emphasizes his manifest intention to grant abundantly all these things to David and much more besides. Nathan’s voice continues the irritated tone in v. 9 by asking why David has “despised Yahweh29 by doing the evil thing in his eyes?” Indeed, Nathan goes on to spell out the form of the offense as David using the sword of the Ammonites to murder Uriah and take his wife as his own. In not looking to Yahweh, who stands ready to grant all his desires, but rather turning to acts of oppression to get what he wants is how David has despised Yahweh. Yahweh’s voice in v. 10 also emphasizes that in taking Uriah’s wife, David has demonstrated that his attitude towards Yahweh was one of despising.30 It is because of this that Yahweh declares that the sword will never depart from David’s house. In the second part of Nathan’s speech (vv. 11–12) Yahweh’s voice continues to elaborate the form that David’s punishment will take, claiming that he himself will cause evil to arise against David from his own house (v. 11). There is no mistaking that Yahweh claims to be the agent behind this eruption of evil. Its justication however resides in 28. The style nds a parallel in Isa 1:2–9 where the oracle proper is in vv. 2b–4 and the prophet’s elaboration on it in his own voice is reected in the remonstration of vv. 5–9. 29. The MT reads (“the word of Yahweh”). This is mostly likely euphemistic for Yahweh (cf. LXXL). 30. The use of the wayyiqtl form after indicates that the act of taking is a result of the despising attitude. 1


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being retribution for David’s own acts as an agent of evil. For Yahweh to cause evil to arise against David from within his own house is the functional equivalent of Yahweh decreeing that David and his administration will be the agents of their own failure in the royal task of establishing justice and righteousness. Yahweh goes on to specify that he will take David’s wives and give them to his neighbor, who will have sexual relations with them. The designation of this perpetrator as David’s (“intimate/friend/neighbor”) presupposes the rise of conict in David’s house and echoes via wordplay the preceding reference to the (“evil”) that Yahweh will cause to arise against David. That this will be done before “this sun” ( ( () alludes to the use of sun imagery in ancient Near Eastern conceptions of deities, kings and the establishment of justice. The use of the demonstrative pronoun may even reect a situation in which there is a sun icon present in David’s throne room, perhaps even on the throne itself, representing the king as the one who is supposed to be an agent of divine justice.31 This would presuppose a readership intimately familiar with the royal court. That the taking of David’s wives will be done “before this sun” implies not only that this punishment is just, it also may suggest that this act will be associated with one taking over David’s throne. Yahweh declares that he will see to it that this punishment of David is worked out in public before all Israel. In the brief exchange between David and Nathan in vv. 13–14 the prophet’s statement that “you [David] will not die” shows that David was deserving of the death penalty but was spared by Yahweh’s gracious forgiveness of his sin. No explanation is given for this forgiveness. It could reect an awareness of the Davidic covenant from 2 Sam 7 in which Yahweh promised to maintain his loving-kindness ( ), but we must admit that no direct reference is made to it here. The immediate context suggests that the deity’s forgiveness of David was a response to his confession of guilt in v. 13. In this context, receiving Yahweh’s forgiveness appears to mean being spared the conventional punishment of death. It does not mean escaping from punishment altogether. Rather, someone must still die, and that person is decreed to be the illegitimate child. The reason for this, according to Nathan, is because David, in committing this sinful act, has utterly scorned ( ) Yahweh.32 This reiterates Yahweh’s own claim in v. 10. 31. E. J. van Wolde, “In Words and Pictures: The Sun in 2 Samuel 12:7–12,” BibInt 11 (2003): 259–78. 32. Here reading . The MT reads , but this is most likely a euphemism for Yahweh that has been added subsequently 1

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f. David’s Response to the Death of the Child (12:15b–24) Yahweh’s punishment of David begins with the death of the illegitimate child as announced by Nathan. The afiction of the child appears to strike right at David’s own natural ties of affection in a way that ironically echoes his own lack of pity for such things in the commission of his crimes. The exchange that David has with his servants after the child dies over why he mourned when the child was alive but not after his death, indicates that for David death is the end, not just of life, but also of all reasons for living in awareness of another’s life once they are gone. David’s answer to his servants is a wisdom reection on the nature of human existence and its ramications for living. It is the rst of two such reections attributed to David when he is experiencing adversity that the narrative associates with the outworking of his punishment over the Uriah affair. The other occurs when he is cursed by Shimei in 2 Sam 16:5–13. Both instances are unclear regarding the extent to which David associates the trouble with his punishment. The judgment scene of 12:1–25 closes on a positive note when a second son is born from David’s attempt to comfort Bathsheba (v. 24). The son from this union is none other than Solomon, whose acceptance by the deity is made evident in the claim that Yahweh loved him and in the name (“Beloved of Yahweh”) given him by Nathan the prophet possibly as his throne name.33 However, despite this happy addition to the royal family, David still remains under a cloud of punishment. 2. The Fall of Rabbah (12:26–31) The sordid events in Jerusalem, the harsh reality of war and the unnished business at Rabbah return to confront David in 12:26–31. J. P. Fokkelman speaks for many when he suggests that the postponed recounting of the fall of Rabbah until after David’s penance, mourning and marriage (12:13–25) indicates that the narrator wants the reader to enjoy David’s nal victory over the Ammonites and reect on Joab’s concern for David’s triumph.34 However, this interpretation fails to (A. Geiger, Urschrift und Uebersetzungen der Bibel in ihrer Abhängigkeit von der innern Entwicklung des Judenthums [2d ed.; Breslau: Hainauer, 1928], 267; McCarthy, The Tiqqune Sopherim, 184–87; McCarter, II Samuel, 296). 4QSama has a different euphemism: (cf. v. 9 in the MT). Note that BHS’s citation of the Qumran reading is incorrect (Cross et al., eds., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 144). The non-euphemistic reading is preserved in LXX MS c (=376). 33. McCarter, II Samuel, 303. 34. Fokkelman, King David, 94–96. 1


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recognize that 12:26–31 offers more parody than praise as the narrator has “misused” a traditional literary form to recount the nal capture of Rabbah in a way that seems to ridicule the grandiose.35 3. The “Misuse” of the Traditional “Final-Capture-of-a-City” Form in 12:26–31 Evidence from the Hebrew Bible accounts of the nal capture of cities generally adhere to a traditional form comes from the books of Joshua and Judges: Josh 6:15–26 (Jericho); 8:10–29 (Ai); Judg 9:42–49 (Shechem); and 9:50–57 (Thebez). The concern of the present context is not with the entire account of the battles in which these cities were taken, but simply with the reporting of the nal stages in which the city itself was captured. For the sake of comparison I lay out the components of these accounts as follows: Josh 6:15–26 (Jericho) Introduction (v. 15) Commander’s orders (vv. 16–19) Compliance with orders (vv. 20a, 21, 22–24b, 25) Capture of the city (v. 20b) Maltreatment of the inhabitants (v. 21) Destruction of the city (v. 24a) Treatment of spoil (v. 24b) Treatment of leading citizens (v. 25) Cursing of the city (v. 26)

Josh 8:10–29 (Ai) Introduction (vv. 10–17) Deity’s instructions (v. 18a) Commander’s signal (v. 18b) Compliance with signal (v. 19a) Capture of the city (v. 19b) Maltreatment of the inhabitants (vv. 22, 24–26) Treatment of spoil (v. 27) Destruction of the city (vv. 19c, 28) Execution of the king (vv. 23, 29)

Judg 9:42–49 (Shechem) Introduction (v. 42) Commander’s strategy (vv. 43–45a) Capture of the city (v. 45b) Maltreatment of the inhabitants (v. 45c) Destruction of the city (v. 45d) Siege of the stronghold (vv. 46–49a) Treatment of leading citizens (v. 49b)

Judg 9:50–57 (Thebez) Introduction (v. 50a) Capture of the city (v. 50b) Preservation of citizenry in tower (v. 51) Siege of the tower (v. 52) Death of attacking king (vv. 53–56) Curse fulllment (v. 57)

35. In suggesting 2 Sam 14 as a parody of 2 Sam 12, H. S. Pyper wonders whether 2 Sam 12 is to be read as a parody as well (“The Enticement to Re-Read: Repetition as Parody in 2 Samuel,” BibInt 1 [1993]: 153–66). However, if “parody” is “ridicule of the grandiose” as Pyper suggests, then the whole of 2 Sam 12 should not be so described. Rather, only vv. 26–31, where David’s nal victory at Rabbah is presented, has the potential to be understood as parody. 1

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The rst two examples in Josh 6:15–26 and 8:10–29 represent the standard use of the traditional form to celebrate or aggrandize an Israelite victory. However, the celebratory note would seem to be subdued in Judg 9:42–49 by the context which reveals Abimelech as an evil character. The tone is nally turned to ridicule in the example of Judg 9:50–57, where the content of the form is altered to disparage Abimelech, mainly by replacing the maltreatment of the inhabitants with their preservation in the tower and by replacing the death of the city’s king with the ignominious death of the attacking king, Abimelech, at the hands of a woman with a millstone. As pointed out by Katharine J. Dell, the deliberate misuse of forms is essential to the genre of parody. She speaks of “parody” as a “parasitic genre” which “feeds on other genres” and “makes use of any other genre for its own purpose.”36 Elsewhere, on the “misuse” of form, Dell explains, Any form usually has content which can be characterized as typical of that form. It is when the context is changed but the form and content are not that a distinction can rst be drawn between a form and its function. But different context alone is not enough to cover every aspect of the technique being found here; it is often the context in which a form is used that brings about a change in content too and hence a more profound change in function. Thus when form and content remain the same but the context is different one can speak of a “reuse” of an existing form in a new function. When content and context are different and the form alone remains the same, one can speak of a “misuse” of an existing form in a new function.37

In short, the “misuse of forms” refers to a traditional form being used with a different content and context and thus having a different function. This is what occurs in the use of the “Final-Capture-of-a-City” form in 2 Sam 12:26–31 in order to create a parody which ridicules David’s capture of Rabbah.38 First, a new context is given to the form by the 36. K. J. Dell, ‘Get Wisdom, Get Insight’: An Introduction to Israel’s Wisdom Literature (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 2000), 47–48. 37. K. J. Dell, “The Misuse of Forms in Amos,” VT 45 (1995): 45–61 (47–48). 38. Such misuse of form, but not for the purpose of parody, has also been recognized by C. Conroy as part of the theme of reversal in 2 Sam 13–20. Conroy does not speak of “the misuse of form” but of “the technique of submerged form,” by which he means “the occurrence of narrative elements whose function or meaning in the story is the opposite of what one normally nds in other occurrences of those elements.” He points particularly to motifs of Egyptian love poetry in ch. 13 which are normally associated with idyllic mood and happy endings but are here overturned and reversed by the actual course of events in the rape of Tamar. Conroy also points to the heroic description of Absalom in 14:25–27, which, though reminiscent of comparable descriptions in 1 Sam 9:2; 16:12, inaugurates his steady decline (Absalom! Absalom!, 100–101). 1


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intervention of 2 Sam 11:2–12:25 which separates it from the siege account introduced in 11:1 and sets the stage for a change in content. Though the traditional use of the form to recount the capture of Ai also follows a judgment scene, the difference between it and 2 Sam 12:26–31 is that the judgment of David in 12:1–25 marks only the beginning of his judgment, whereas Achan’s sin in Josh 7 was exposed and its punishment thoroughly completed before the capture of Ai. Second, several drastic changes seem to have been made in the traditional content of the form in 2 Sam 12:26–31. In fact, the form itself seems to have been affected by the changes in content, as is seen in the presence of double elements: Introduction (v. 26a; cf. 11:1) First capture of city and stronghold (vv. 26b–27) Commander’s order (v. 28a) Compliance with order (v. 29) Second capture of city (v. 29) Treatment of the king (v. 30a–b) Treatment of spoil (v. 30c) Maltreatment of inhabitants (v. 31) Destruction of the city(?) (v. 31)

In the discussion that follows I will describe the content changes which the narrator makes to the form in 12:26–31 in order to create a parody of David’s nal capture of Rabbah. a. Joab’s Capture of the City and Citadel (12:26–27) The rst hint of parody comes when Joab is presented as having played down his own success at Rabbah in order to leave room for David to take on the role of the conqueror. That Joab in v. 27 plays down his success is suggested when his words are read in light of the narrator’s claim in v. 26. The narrator claims that Joab captured (“the city of royalty”) while Joab claims in v. 27 that he captured (“the city of water”).39 How should these two statements be understood regarding the place they each claim Joab to have captured? It is possible that and both refer to the city of Rabbah at large,40 the former designating it as the capital city and the 39. Even though Targ and Syr conform Joab’s to the narrator’s , there is no basis for rejecting the MT’s witness to these two designations, particularly in light of their unqualied support by the LXX. See McCarter, II Samuel, 310; contra Wellhausen, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis untersucht, 185; Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 293, both of whom change to . 40. Like ancient Rome, Rabbah was known as “The City of Seven Hills,” one which also provided natural defenses against invaders (W. H. Shea, “Milkom as the 1

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latter referring to its location on the Jabbok.41 However, it seems preferable to understand , a hapax in the Hebrew Bible, as designating Rabbah in general as the capital city of Ammon. The synonymous use of the expression

elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible strongly supports this (1 Sam 27:5; Josh 10:2).42 Thus I suspect that in Joab is referring to the fortress of Citadel Hill which protected the city’s water supply. I conclude, therefore, that in v. 26 the narrator states frankly that Joab waged war against the capital city of Rabbah and that for all practical purposes he captured it. Joab’s message to David is, however, a bit more subdued in v. 27. He claims to have waged war against Rabbah, but only to have captured its most strategic fortress. All that remains, in effect, is the formal takeover of the city. b. Joab’s Orders to David (12:28) The words of v. 28 correspond to that traditional element of the “FinalCapture-of-a-City” form which tells of the commander’s orders. However, here the content has been changed in that rather than Joab giving orders to his troops (as one would expect in the traditional use of the

Architect of Rabbath-Ammon’s Natural Defences in the Amman Citadel Inscription,” PEQ 111 [1979]: 17–25). Situated in the middle of these hills of modern Amman is Jebel Qalah which rises some 300 feet from the valley oor and is known as “Citadel Hill.” This fortress, located next to the Jabbok at the junction of three valleys, had its own subterranean water supply to which it was connected by a secret passage. This citadel may also have been the site of the palace (F. Zayadine, “La Campagne d’Antiochos III le Grand en 219–217 et le Siège de Rabbatamana,” RB 97 [1990]: 68–84). This geography seems to create some ambiguity regarding the limits of the city of Rabbah and has probably contributed to the divergence of views on the meaning of vis-à-vis ; see Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 318; McCarter, II Samuel, 310, 312; A. Caquot and P. de Robert, Les Livres de Samuel (CAT; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1994), 488; R. W. Younker, “Rabbah,” ABD 5:598. 41. Evidence for the use of two names to refer to the same city occurs in the two names associated with the city of Abel. In 2 Sam 20:14 and 1 Kgs 15:20 it is known as , while in 2 Chr 16:4 it is known as (“Meadow of Waters”), apparently because of its location on a grassy knoll above the falls at the headwaters of one of the sources of the Jordan (W. G. Dever, “Abel-beth-Ma!acah: Northern Gateway of Ancient Israel,” in The Archaeology of Jordan and Other Studies [ed. L. T. Geraty and L. G. Herr; Berrien Springs, Mich.: Andrews University Press, 1986], 210). We may also recall the many different titles used to designate the city of Jerusalem (see ABD 3:751). 42. J. Mauchline rightly doubts that a fortress within the city would be given the epithet “royal,” rather than the city itself (1 and 2 Samuel [NCB; London: Oliphant’s, 1971], 256). Furthermore, the use of in v. 27 suggests that is a subset of . 1


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form) he gives orders to the king. The fact that Joab tells David to gather the rest of the troops immediately, encamp against the city and capture it, when in fact Joab himself has already done this (cf. 11:1; 12:26), shows that David’s capture of the city was a somewhat contrived affair. It should be noted that Joab says nothing about David waging war against the city. Thus it would seem that David’s status as a conquering hero is being parodied. However, we may still inquire further as to why the author presents Joab as wanting David to make the ofcial capture of Rabbah. Joab’s imperatives certainly do not reect the submissive attitude one would expect if he were seeking to honor David. Indeed, the narrator has his message directed “to David” rather than “to the king”; and we nd no subservient address such as “my lord.” The LXXL even reads LBJ QSPLBUBMBCPV BVUIO TV (“capture it yourself ”).43 In v. 28 Joab states his reason for these terse commands with “lest I capture the city and my name be invoked over it ( ).” To be sure, it is doubtful that Joab is referring to himself as becoming the owner of Rabbah.44 The collocation in the Niphal, though not divorced from the ideas of ownership, rule, or dominion, seems to have in view the solemn religious act of invoking one’s name over, or attaching it to, something, which thereby elevates the status of that something.45 The change in context created by 11:2–12:25 may lead us to suspect that Joab does not want his own name associated with the city where Uriah died. c. David’s Compliance with Joab’s Orders (12:29) In v. 29 we read how the king complied with Joab’s orders. This fact alone marks a change in the content of this formal element. What is even more striking is that the content of the commander’s order in v. 28 and the king’s compliance in v. 29 concerns a second “mock” capture of Rabbah, merely for the sake of the king (or so it seems). We should note that in describing this second capture the narrator says that David “waged war” against the city. This, together with the claim that he captured it, is seen to be stated “tongue-in-cheek” in light of vv. 26–28. 43. On this basis McCarter suggests that has dropped out of the MT after due to homoioteleuton (II Samuel, 310). The presence of this pronoun would nicely parallel Joab’s emphatic use of . 44. Anderson, 2 Samuel, 168. 45. Cf. 1 Kgs 8:43 (// 2 Chr 6:33); Isa 4:1; 63:19; Jer 7:10, 11, 14, 30; 14:9; 15:16; 25:29; 32:34; 34:15; Amos 9:12; Dan 9:18, 19; 2 Chr 7:14. As regards the association of the divine name with the people, this idea was subject to corruption by the people thinking that the fruits of this status could be enjoyed without regard to ethics. 1

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d. David and the Crown of Milcom (12:30a–c) The description of David’s appropriation of a crown in v. 30a–c corresponds to that element of the traditional form which usually described the treatment of the enemy king (or leading citizens) after the capture of the city. However, instead of reading how the enemy king was executed, the narrator tells how the victorious king, David, donned a pagan crown. This much is clear regardless of whether is taken as “their king” or “Milcom.” Preferring the latter, we read “And he took the crown of Milcom from upon his head—now its weight was a talent of gold and in it was a precious stone—and it was [placed] on the head of David.”46 To focus on whether it is realistic to believe that David donned a 75 lb pagan crown is to fail to recognize the hand of the parodist I have been describing in this misuse of the traditional “Final-Capture-of-a-City” form.47 It is the stuff of which satire is made. With this overweight 46. In v. 30 David is the subject who takes the , probably a helmet-type, or hat-type, crown (S. H. Horn, “The Crown of the King of the Ammonites,” AUSS 11 [1973]: 170–80 [171]). Did David take this crown from the head of Milcom, as suggested by LXXBMN, UPO TUFGBOPO .FMYPM[.FMYPN MN]UPV CBTJMFXK BVUXO (which appears to be a double translation or conation)? Or did he take it from “their king,” as suggested by the MT’s +#$ * (cf. LXXAL; Josephus, Ant. 7.161). Another option is that David took the crown from “its [i.e. the city’s] king,” as suggested by in one Hebrew MS. This problem regarding the original resting place of the crown is related to another problem which concerns whether it was the crown or just the stone that was put on David’s own head. The situation is described in the MT with . As it stands, may technically refer to the crown’s weight or value, and the feminine subject of may be either the stone or the crown. The parallel passage in 1 Chr 20:3 reads

. Even though

is probably an explicating expansion of the in 2 Samuel, the Chronicler’s (cf. Targ and Syr at 2 Sam 12:30) probably reects the primitive text. It seems that was lost from 2 Sam 12:30 due to the repetitive sequence of and and the graphic similarity of and in the original (McCarter, II Samuel, 311). Taking the weight of the crown (ca. 75 lbs) at face value and observing that +#$ * lacks a clear antecedent, I favor &#$ " as the proper vocalization (Wellhausen, Der Text der Bücher Samuelis, 186; Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 294; cf. Jer 49:1, 3). 47. H. S. Horn is doubtful that David would have worn a crown which came from the idol of a heathen nation. He thinks that this crown was the royal Ammonite crown made of solid gold and that it merely gave the impression that it weighed or was worth a talent: “the statement about its weight simply cannot be taken literally whatever its correct explanation might be” (“Crown of the King of the Ammonites,” 173). The weight would then seem to favor the idea that it was only the stone that David wore. Unfortunately, does not naturally support this idea, especially in light of the contrast that this phrase has with the preceding in 1


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Ammonite crown David is being lampooned as a pagan king. The traditional association of the god Milcom with human sacrice may have encouraged such lampooning of David since he has been presented as a king who required the death of his loyal servants. e. Despoiling the City and the Maltreatment of Its Inhabitants (12:30d–31) In vv. 30b–31 the narrative takes up David’s spoiling of the city and the maltreatment of its inhabitants. In these nal elements the narrator appears to bring this scene to a close with a more traditional use of the form, since the rhetorical damage to David’s reputation has already been done. The Hebrew word order of vv. 30d–31a is inverted, thereby suggesting the pluperfect: “Now the spoil of the city he had already brought out in great abundance and the people who were in it he had already brought out.” The rest of v. 31, however, becomes quite problematic with respect to the text and its interpretation. It is clear that some maltreatment of the citizenry is being described, but it is not clear to what extent this involved torture or forced labor and whether or not it involved the destruction of the city. In pre-modern times it was generally agreed that 2 Sam 12:31 described the torture David inicted on his Ammonite captives.48 This interpretation was probably current in Josephus’ day, since he claimed that David tortured the Ammonites and put them to death (Ant. 7.161).49 The interpretation nds support from other passages where David is presented as a rather cruel conqueror.50 Furthermore, some of the words in 2 Sam 12:31 elsewhere have clear associations will killing and torture.51 In the nal reference to the crown’s resting-place on the cranium of Milcom. Furthermore, that is a disjunctive parenthetical note makes it more likely that is re-establishing connection with the previous wayyiqtl sentence which introduced the crown. 48. J. F. A. Sawyer, “David’s Treatment of the Ammonites (2 Samuel 12:31)—A Study in the History of Interpretation,” TGUOS 26 (1978): 96–107. 49. It may even go back to the time of the Chronicler. 50. Most notably, in 1 Sam 18:27 he performs post-mortem circumcision on 200 Philistines; and in 2 Sam 8:2 he systematically slaughters two-thirds of his Moabite captives. We may also recall how David hamstrung Hadadezer’s chariot horses in 8:4. 51. The two words + $ $ * and " * , though their exact meaning is unknown, have clear associations with killing and torture via the use elsewhere of their cognate terms . * (“sharp,” Amos 1:3; Isa 41:15) and the verb (“to cut,” 1 Kgs 3:25, 26; Isa 53:8; Ezek 37:11; Hab 3:17; Ps 88:6; Lam 3:54). In fact, Amos 1:3 uses the phrase %$ *0 * ,. * in the context of killing (Sawyer, “David’s Treatment,” 103; Sawyer, “Root-meanings in Hebrew,” JSS 12 [1967]: 46–50). The word also 1

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analysis of this complex textual and exegetical problem I tentatively choose to interpret v. 31 as describing how David did indeed brutally torture some of his Ammonite captives while consigning others of them to the brickworks.52 occurs in language about torture, punishment and oppression in Deut 4:20; 28:48; 1 Kgs 8:51; Amos 1:3. Also, is known for its reference to “putting to death by re” even without being accompanied by the phrase (“through re,” Jer 32:25; Ezek 16:21; 21:26; 23:37). We should note especially that this type of torture is associated with Ammonite worship (2 Kgs 23:10; Jer 32:35). 52. The MT reads [ ]. The words are omitted by a few MSS, LXXBMN, and Syr. The parallel passage in 1 Chr 20:3 reads ( ( . In neither of these two passages is the object of the initial verb expressed. However, since 1 Chr 20:1 declares that Joab razed the city of Rabbah ( ), we should probably understand the text of the Chronicler to have the people in mind as the object of ( and thereby avoid redundancy or even contradiction. Therefore, it is likely that the text of 1 Chr 20:3 has the torture of the Ammonites in view. At 2 Sam 12:31 McCarter (II Samuel, 311) favors reading the Chronicler’s verb ( on the basis of LXXL (LBJ EJFQSJTFOƒEJFQSITFO), OL [serrauerunt illos] and Targ rather than the MT’s ( (cf. LXXBAMN Syr). However, McCarter takes the city as its implied object, “ripped [it],” and thereby avoids the notion of torture. McCarter claims that the resumptive use of the independent pronoun in the following sentence supports this. The interpretation which understands David to have tortured the Ammonites usually takes the Qere reading in 2 Sam 12:31 as meaning “and he had them pass through the brick-kiln.” Rashi, however, took here as “brick-pavement,” which has good support in Jer 32:35 (cf. NRSV), thus understanding David to have dragged his victims through the streets (cf. Sawyer, “David’s Treatment,” 100). Most modern scholars, however, prefer to interpret MT as telling how David subjected the Ammonites to forced labor. This interpretation usually takes the collocation in the sense of “to set among” or “employ about” on the basis of in 1 Sam 8:11 (cf. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 296). It also usually involves emending to , although McCarter (II Samuel, 311) wonders whether might be retained here with the meaning “to consign.” Further support comes from G. Hoffman (“Lexicalisches,” ZAW 2 [1882]: 53–72) and Driver (Notes on the Hebrew Text, 295–97) who are adamant that means “brick-mould” and not “brick-kiln,” here as well as in Nah 3:14, Jer 43:9 and in Post-Biblical Hebrew. The “forced labor” interpretation has been rened further by G. C. O’Ceallaigh (“And ‘So’ David Did to ‘All the Cities’ of Ammon,” VT 12 [1962]: 179–89 [185–89]) who understands David to have set the Ammonites to work at tearing down their own city and desecrating their images of Molech. O’Ceallaigh defends the text of the MT and takes the people as the implied object of . He suggests that )+ -$ *0 be revocalized to 1+ $2 * 0$ , thus producing the meaning, “And the people who were in her (the city) he brought out and set at tearing her down, even with iron crows and iron mattocks.” O’Ceallaigh further suggests that the Kethib should be read as an Aramaic 1


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4. Conclusion Working from ethical sensibilities rooted broadly in convention and sentiment, the implied author shows in 2 Sam 11–12 that during his nal subjugation of the Ammonites David secretly abused his royal power plural Peal participial noun " $ +- *0, meaning “the Molechs,” which is what he thinks the Ammonites called their version of the Phoenician Baal—the Aramaic being used here by the biblical author to make it clear that he was not talking about kings but idols. O’Ceallaigh thereby understands, “And he made them to transgress against (i.e. desecrate, violate or destroy) the Molechs.” Interestingly, Kimchi, Thenius and Kittel (see Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 294) also took as a reference to Molech, though they understood it as referring to the place in which people were sacriced to Molech (i.e. +#$ + 0$ , “in their Molech,” or &#$ -" *0, “in the Molech image”). In trying to balance the evidence for the torture and forced-labor interpretations, Sawyer, who accepts that means “brickmold,” has suggested that the original text read only and referred to forced labor. According to him, is an Aramaism and thus a later interpolation into the text. Sawyer—noting that most of the occurrences of in the sense of “put to death by re” are exilic—thereby concludes that it was the Deuteronomist living during the Babylonian exile who later introduced the savage anti-Ammonite interpolation into the middle of the verse. Yet, if Sawyer is correct in this hypothesis, then does this not require the improbable assumption that the Deuteronomist understood

as “brick-kiln”? When interpreting 2 Sam 12:31 it should not be assumed that the verse must refer exclusively to either the torture or the forced labor of the Ammonites. Indeed, David’s cruel conquest of the Moabites clearly portrays him as putting a certain portion of his captives to death while the others were spared to serve him. So, it appears that the crux decision to be made when interpreting 2 Sam 12:31 is primarily a textual one, namely, the decision between and . With a difference of only one consonant the decision can go either way. The Chronicler’s could be a later interpretation, or could be a later (but pre-LXX) correction designed to ameliorate David’s character in 2 Sam 11–12. Some, like Sawyer, would have us believe that the torture interpretation was introduced during the exilic period when the Ammonites were particularly despised by the Israelites. This could explain the rise of the reading , but it cannot be used to explain [ ] without requiring the additional assumption that (if this reading is accepted) means brick-kiln, which Driver and Hoffman have shown to be more than suspect. If we read at 2 Sam 12:31, then the whole verse may be interpreted as referring to forced labor, though we should probably have to emend to in order to sustain it. However, if we agree with O’Ceallaigh (cf. McCarter) that David set the Ammonites to tearing down their own city, this suggests that Joab did not carry out David’s order to raze Rabbah in 11:25. Consideration of date and character of the readings leads me very tentatively to prefer (Chr LXXL OL Targ) over (MT LXXBAMN Syr), understanding the people to be the object of the verb. I also prefer the Qere . The Kethib probably arose when the last two consonants were confused with those of the following . 1

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in oppressing a loyal, non-Israelite, warrior-servant. Many motifs and images traditionally linked with the establishment of justice and righteousness are highlighted in this portrayal David’s corruption in the city of Jerusalem. After each crime, implicit criticism of David’s sins is given, rst of adultery and then of murder. The rst comes from Uriah when he explains his reason for not going down to his house. The second comes from Joab, whose instructions to his messenger suggest the likeness of David to the ruthless king Abimelech. Although there is the possibility that Joab’s instructions to his messenger were designed to expose what Joab suspected was some evil on the part of David. The failure of Joab’s messenger to expose David unwittingly in this respect may prepare for the success of Yahweh’s messenger, Nathan, in explicitly calling David to account. It is signicant that David ordered the death of Uriah precisely because he could not corrupt Uriah’s virtue and thereby conceal his affair with Bathsheba. In the light of David’s secret corruption of justice and righteousness, Yahweh is presented as justied in therefore decreeing a very public punishment which would also guarantee David’s failure in the royal task of establishing justice and righteousness. The implied ethical basis for Yahweh’s judgment in vv. 7b–10 is a combination of utilitarian and conventional grounds. The utilitarian angle is seen in Yahweh emphasizing that David has been well-provided for, especially with wives, so that there was no need for him to take Uriah’s wife. The conventional angle appears in the traditional motif of the rich oppressing the poor. The narrative does not appeal to any law-codes related to adultery, but, like the story of Abimelech and Abraham in Gen 20, seems to presuppose that anyone who commits adultery risks being killed by the deity. David’s ethics in taking Bathsheba and murdering Uriah seem based in principles of pleasure and absolute royal authority. Nathan’s confrontation of David presupposes that pre-existing ties of affection have ethical value. David’s violation of this ethic is why he is punished. This ethic is also probably why Yahweh chooses not to execute David, the one whom Yahweh loves. Ironically, much of the historical outworking of Yahweh’s punishment against David will involve human violations of ethics based in ties of affection. David’s punishment will manifest itself when an evil not unlike David’s own erupts against him from within his own administration. After Nathan’s judgment, the birth of Solomon may imply the stability of the Davidic covenant, although a covenantal understanding of Yahweh’s relationship with David is not made explicit in the narrative. David’s ceasing from mourning after the illegitimate child dies draws 1


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criticism from courtiers on the basis of an ethic based either in custom or again in ties of affection. David’s son is dead, should not he mourn? David’s explanation presupposes a utilitarian consequentialist ethic. The child is dead. Nothing can change that. What good will mourning for him do? At the end of this section, the implied author parodies David’s nal capture of Rabbah and his subjugation of the Ammonites as the acts of an oppressive, pagan-like king. Given the way the narrative is presented, the implied reader may legitimately ask whether Joab considered it an honor or a disgrace to have his name associated with the city where Uriah died. The fact that Joab is presented as ordering David to come and play the lead role in what is in effect a second mock capture of Rabbah is particularly disparaging and may ironically recall David’s ordering of Joab to orchestrate Uriah’s death in battle. That David dons a hefty pagan crown also bespeaks satire and would not be attering from an Israelite perspective. Just as Nathan was the agent who called David to account for adultery with Bathsheba and the murder of Uriah, so too is Joab the one who orders David to take responsibility for the capture of the city where Uriah died. The brutal torture and forced labor of the Ammonites also associates David’s behavior with the practices of pagan kings. In the end, Rabbah is not presented as becoming a city of David, rather David becomes an oppressive Ammonite king (cf. 1 Sam 11:1–2). In order to justify engaging in this parody of David’s victory in 2 Sam 12:26–31 it was necessary that the author provide just cause for ridiculing it by rst recounting David’s corruption and judgment in 2 Sam 11:1–12:25. The scene is, therefore, a parting shot at the character of David’s kingship before moving on to the business of recounting the outworking of Yahweh’s judgment in the court history of the kingdom.

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Chapter 7

READING 2 SAMUEL 13:1–19:9(8) AS THE PERVERSION OF JUSTICE AND RIGHTEOUSNESS: THE ABSALOM AFFAIR

2 Samuel 13:1–19:9(8) depicts the perversion of justice and righteousness during David’s reign. The implied author presents several incidents to justify this perspective: the rape of Tamar by her half-brother Amnon; David’s refusal to punish Amnon for this incestuous rape; David’s prolonged refusal to acknowledge the justice of Absalom in executing Amnon; the use of wisdom by Joab and the Tekoite woman in persuading David to overlook what he thinks is blood-guilt for the sake of having all the people of Yahweh together in Yahweh’s estate with none in exile; Absalom’s duping of Israel into thinking he was a righteous judge; Absalom’s usurpation of the king’s throne; and the wicked use of wisdom by Jonadab and Ahithophel to aid in the rape of Tamar and a coup d’état respectively; Absalom’s appropriation of David’s concubines; and David’s order to deal gently with Absalom during the battle in the forest of Ephraim. 1. David and the Justice of Absalom (13:1–14:33) After the account of the subjugation of the Ammonites in 12:26–31, the narrative wastes no time in turning its attention to Absalom. The narrator’s concern with him becomes evident in 13:1 where he is the rst character introduced. This rst section, 13:1–14:33, begins with and tells how David’s failure to address the rape of Tamar and his unwillingness to acknowledge the justice of Absalom in executing Amnon for this crime were the chief factors that pushed Absalom to the point of usurping his father’s throne. The portrayal of Amnon’s rape of Tamar is crucial for understanding Absalom’s subsequent activities and for evaluating the argument put forth by the Tekoite and Joab on behalf of his return in ch. 14. Indeed, Amnon’s admission to Jonadab that Tamar is 1

7. Reading 2 Samuel 13:1–19:9(8)

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the sister of his brother Absalom indicates that her fate in this story is primarily related to explain Absalom’s actions.1 The question that confronts the reader throughout 13:1–14:33 is whether Absalom’s killing of Amnon was a just response to the rape of Tamar. However, one’s response to this question actually embodies responses to two questions. Was Amnon’s crime deserving of the death penalty? And was Absalom a legitimate agent for carrying out the execution? a. Amnon’s Crime as Incestuous Rape Deserving of Death (13:1–19) When interpreters have morally evaluated Amnon’s crime they have tended to be preoccupied with resolving the tension between Tamar’s words in 13:13, biblical laws regarding rape and incest, and examples of licit marriages between half-siblings. Tamar’s words in 13:13 are thought to suggest that marriage between half-siblings would have been licit. Biblical laws, however, specically prohibit marriage between halfsiblings (Lev 18:9; 20:17; Deut 27:22) and stipulate that anyone who has intercourse with a full- or half-sibling shall be “cut off” (Lev 18:9, 11, 29; 20:17 [cf. Ezek 22:11]).2 According to Deut 22:25, rape of an inchoately married girl is punishable by death, while vv. 28–29 legislate that rape of an unbetrothed girl is only punishable by payment of a set bride price and forced marriage with no option for divorce. However, Abraham and Sarah appear as an example of a licit marriage between half-siblings in Gen 20:12. Consequently, protracted discussions have ensued concerning the relationship between the historical setting for the events of 2 Sam 13, the narrative’s Sitz im Leben and the historical development of biblical (especially Levitical) law as scholars debate whether Amnon’s crime of rape was also one of incest which required his execution.3 If 1. Cf. Polzin, David and the Deuteronomist, 3:135. 2. D. J. Wold has shown that for the sexual violations in Lev 18 refers to the divine penalty of extinction of the individual and offspring, not excommunication (see “Meaning of the Biblical Penalty Kareth” [Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1978]; or, more recently, Out of Order: Homosexuality in the Bible and the Ancient Near East [Grand Rapids: Baker, 1998], 46–47, 144–48). 3. Cf. D. Daube, Studies in Biblical Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1947), 77–79; R. de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions (trans. J. McHugh; London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1961), 19–20; A. Phillips, “NEBALAH—a Term for Serious Disorderly and Unruly Conduct,” VT 25 (1975): 239; Conroy, Absalom! Absalom!, 17–18 n. 3; G. J. Wenham, “Betûlh ‘a girl of marriageable age,’ ” VT 22 (1972): 341–43; W. H. Propp, “Kinship in 2 Samuel 13,” CBQ 55 (1993): 39–53; D. G. Bressan, Samuele. La Sacra Bibbia: Volgata Latina e Traduzione Italiana dai Testi Originali Illustrate con Note Critiche e Commentate (Rome: Marietti, 1960), 600; J. W. Flanagan, “Court History or Succession 1

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only rape is in view in 2 Sam 13,4 then Absalom’s killing of Amnon becomes difcult to justify on the basis of the aforementioned laws. However, if incestuous rape is in view for Amnon’s crime, then Absalom’s pursuit of the death penalty against Amnon can be easily defended on the basis of biblical law. Unfortunately, this preoccupation with evaluating the moral world of 2 Sam 13 according to biblical law fails to appreciate the ethical grounds upon which the narrator makes his moral appeal. Indeed, it must be admitted that the narrative makes no direct reference to any legal formula governing sexual relations. The moral appeals which it does make reside in the presentation of Amnon’s sexual crime as a heightened version of that committed by his father (who appears to have been deserving of a death sentence but was spared by God’s mercy [12:13; cf. v. 5]), Tamar’s status as a (13:2), ancient Israel’s attitude towards acts of (13:12) and the disposition of David with respect to the desires of Amnon (13:12). It is on these that our efforts to discern the narrative’s moral perspective on Amnon’s crime and its punishment should focus. These statements speak more of ethics than of law. That Amnon’s crime is presented as a heightened version of the sexual sin perpetrated by David, which was also considered worthy of the death penalty, suggests that the narrative is geared towards presenting the death of Amnon as a just punishment for the rape of Tamar. Many have seen Amnon’s crime against Tamar as paralleling that of his father against Bathsheba,5 and I have already discussed in Chapter 4 the textual links Document? A Study of 2 Samuel 9–20 and 1 Kings 1–2,” JBL 91 (1972): 172–81 (180); H. A. Hoffner, “Incest, Sodomy and Bestiality in the Ancient Near East,” in Orient and Occident: Essays Presented to Cyrus H. Gordon on the Occasion of his Sixty-fth Birthday (ed. H. A. Hoffner; AOAT 22; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Butzon & Bercker Kevelaer, 1973), 81; McCarter, II Samuel, 323–24; Bar-Efrat, Narrative Art in the Bible, 239–40; R. Westbrook, “Punishments and Crimes,” ABD 5:552; K. Stone, Sex, Honor, and Power in the Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 234; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic Press, 1996), 106–19. 4. Most scholars have had little trouble referring to Amnon’s treatment of Tamar as rape. However, P. T. Reis’s argument that Amnon and Tamar willingly engaged in incestuous relations, thus bringing dishonor on their father, is an exception and is in my opinion a highly improbable interpretation. See her “Cupidity and Stupidity: Woman’s Agency and the ‘Rape’ of Tamar,” JANES 25 (1997): 43–60. 5. Fokkelman, King David, 99, 106; Mauchline, 1 and 2 Samuel, 259; Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 322; D. F. Payne, I and II Samuel (Daily Study Bible; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1982), 215; H. F. Vos, 1, 2 Samuel (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983), 133; R. M. Schwartz, “Adultery in the House of David: The Metanarrative of Biblical Scholarship and the Narratives of the Bible,” Semeia 54 (1999): 35–55 (47), 49; D. N. Fewell, Gender, Power and Promise (Nashville: Abingdon, 1993), 157. 1


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between 2 Sam 11 and 13. It is important to recognize, however, that the account of Amnon’s crime is presented as a heightened parallel to that of David, because many commentators have been inclined to tar David and Amnon with the same brush. This trend has led M. Gray to argue that although 2 Sam 11 and 13 tell similar tales of sexual acquisitiveness and violence which led to death, the latter, in its rhetorical presentation, is identied as “the darker and more terrible” by several features of the narrative.6 For instance, Amnon’s lustful watching of Tamar is given much greater emphasis (13:8–10) than David’s seeing Bathsheba (11:2). Moreover, David’s entire conquest of Bathsheba is recounted in the space of only one verse (11:4). David’s pious refusal of food during his fasting for the life of the illegitimate child (12:17) also contrasts with Amnon’s refusal to eat as part of his perverse ruse (13:9). It is also signicant that David “took” ( ) Bathsheba (11:4) while Amnon “seized” ( ) Tamar (13:11). In addition, David’s relations with Bathsheba are described with (“and he lay with her,” 11:4), while Amnon’s rape of Tamar is presented more coarsely with (‘and he pinned her down and [lit.] laid her”).7 Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible the verb and its cognates are used often to describe acts of oppression (e.g. Gen 15:13; Exod 1:11; 2 Sam 7:10). We also note that while Amnon hates Tamar and turns her out to public shame (13:15–19), David at least sought to conceal his relations with Bathsheba by trying to promote relations between her and Uriah (11:6–13). Finally, whereas David “took” the wife of one of his own servants, Amnon takes the sister of his halfbrother. Thus the presentation of Amnon’s sexual crime as a heightened parallel to David’s sin thereby increases the probability that the narrator has the death penalty in view for Amnon’s crimes of incest and rape just as he had it in view for David’s crimes of adultery and murder. The difference, however, is that Amnon’s execution will not be transferred to another as David’s was to the illegitimate child (cf. 12:13–14). We may suspect that the many references to brother and sister in this chapter (cf. 13:1–12, 20, 22, 26, 32) reect a narrator who is seeking to highlight the incestuous nature of the crime,8 although some think this is 6. M. Gray, “Amnon: A Chip Off the Old Block? Rhetorical Strategy in 2 Samuel 13.7–15: The Rape of Tamar and the Humiliation of the Poor,” JSOT 77 (1998): 40, 44–50; cf. Gunn, The Story of King David, 100. 7. McCarter wonders if with in v. 14 is a vestigial clue to an original deemed obscene by the Masoretes (II Samuel, 317). 8. Polzin claims that 2 Sam 13 refers to children and siblings more than any chapter in 1 and 2 Samuel (2 Samuel, 133). 1

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merely designed to call attention to the lack of fraternal feelings.9 The narrator’s description of Amnon’s frustration in 13:2 shows that Amnon himself recognized that Tamar’s status as a placed her off-limits to his advances. Regardless of whether the word means “virgin” or “a girl of marriageable age,” the point is to show that the only things restraining Amnon’s moral depravity in his lust for his sister were external social barriers. Amnon is restrained by pragmatics, not a sense of ethics. This provides the opening for the services of Jonadab, whose title as Amnon’s * ) (“friend”) may play on the word * (“evil,” vv. 4–5). The practical fact that Tamar may have been constantly chaperoned would serve to strengthen the idea that the social world of the narrative viewed her as morally off-limits to sexual advances. It is Tamar’s labeling of Amnon’s crime as that marks the strongest moral evaluation of Amnon’s crime in the narrative; and it calls attention to the type of punishment it warranted. In the Hebrew Bible, crimes designated as are those which threaten the sacred fabric of an ordered society.10 They are always associated with the death penalty (Gen 34:7; Deut 22:21; Judg 19:23, 24; 20:6, 10; Jer 29:22–23). Even though law codes in the Hebrew Bible addressed all such things that elsewhere fall under the heading of , the use of this word in 2 Sam 13 suggests that an appeal is being made to a more fundamental moral standard than law. It is the level of social ethics that is in view. This is the level at which other narratives discussing acts of are also focused. In this respect we may note the rape of Dinah in Gen 34 is literarily set in a time prior to the establishment of Israel’s law. Of course, R. Westbrook, in evaluating the rapes of both Dinah and Tamar, appeals to the law of Deut 22:24–29 as a basis for condemning the revenge killings committed by their respective brothers.11 However, Westbrook’s interpretation neglects to consider the importance of both crimes being designated as (Gen 34:7; 2 Sam 13:12) and the fact that Simeon and Levi retaliated with a massacre. In both instances the brothers of the sisters are said to become angry or hateful (Gen 34:7; 2 Sam 13:22), the rape is described as something that ought not to be done in Israel (Gen 34:7; 2 Sam 13:12), and the fathers are presented as passive towards the perpetrator (Gen 34:5, 30; 2 Sam 13:21 [v.l.]). And yet, whereas Simeon and Levi retaliated by

9. E.g. Anderson, 2 Samuel, 175. 10. Phillips, “NEBALAH,” 241; W. M. W. Roth, “NBL,” VT 10 (1960): 394–409 (402–4). 11. Westbrook, “Punishments and Crimes,” ABD 5:552. 1


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massacring every male of Shechem’s village (Gen 34:25–26), Absalom executed only the perpetrator, Amnon (2 Sam 13:28–29, 32–33). So the problem in Gen 34 is not the administration of the death penalty for Shechem’s act of rape, but rather the fact that the punishment was inicted on an entire village. The concern of Jacob is with the extent of his sons’ retaliation and the trouble it may create for him with the Canaanites. The concern of Simeon and Levi is that their sister has been treated like a whore (Gen 34:30–31). Amnon’s crime as an act of is enough to warrant his execution in the mind of the narrator. This makes the debate about whether Tamar’s rape was also incestuous somewhat irrelevant. Nevertheless, P. K. McCarter12 is probably right to suspect that it was the incestuous nature of Amnon’s crime which led to its association with . We are, however, still left with a question regarding the narrative signicance of Tamar’s claims that David would not refuse to give her to Amnon (13:13b) and that Amnon’s rejection of her afterwards was a greater wrong than the incestuous rape itself (13:16). To begin with, it should be pointed out that her words in v. 13b (

) do not necessarily refer to her being given in marriage; and even if they do, they are immediately grounded in the ethical character of David and not necessarily in any recognized societal norms or laws. Indeed, her words may suggest that the royal family has ways of circumventing custom.13 It is interesting in this respect that there appears to be some wordplay in Tamar’s speech between her use of and (vv. 12–14). As for S. Bar-Efrat’s claim that Tamar’s words in v. 13 must have had some basis in fact in order to carry conviction, there lies the rub: they did not carry conviction. Amnon is unfazed by Tamar’s warning with respect to and unwilling to seek his father’s approval, so he proceeds to rape her. The narrator’s description of the behavior of the king’s son and the perspective reected in Tamar’s plea regarding the will of the king himself may call attention to a more disturbing mindset in the kingdom. M. Gray writes, Of course, like all communities, Israel had its rapists and ne’er-do-wells, but in Amnon we stand at the start of a trajectory where the values of such are, to all intents and purposes, being elevated to the level of and embedded in [sic] the modalities of established governance. Thus, in this

12. McCarter, II Samuel, 324. 13. Burke O. Long, “Wounded Beginnings: David and Two Sons,” in Images of Man and God: Old Testament Short Stories in Literary Focus (ed. B. O. Long; Shefeld: Almond, 1981), 26–34 (27). 1

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The Fate of Justice and Righteousness during David’s Reign instance, even Tamar, at some level, seems to accept the logic that an inherently corrupt relationship can be legitimated by royal imprimatur… This hints that in a context as debauched as this, which does not leave David untouched (he is, after all, the head of state), everybody’s thinking, that of the oppressed as well as the oppressor, becomes distorted; a bleak picture indeed.14

That David will be portrayed as unwilling for a long time to acknowledge the justice of Absalom in putting Amnon to death further supports the notion that David’s moral faculties have become clouded due to overindulgent paternal affections for his rstborn (cf. 13:21 v.l.).15 As for Tamar’s words in v. 16 regarding Amnon’s rejection of her, the MT reads

. If here means “concerning” or “with regard to,”16 then there is a possibility that the opening words reect a frank moral evaluation in the voice of the narrator, “And she said to him concerning this great evil…” In this we are forced to assume that the notion of “worse” is to be understood in the passage, thus, “And she said to him concerning this great evil, ‘to send me away [is worse] than the former thing which you did to me.’ ”17 Given Tamar’s shattered state and preference for euphemism, perhaps we should allow the narrator to have her words falter here. But it seems more likely that something has been lost from the text.18 The witness of 4QSama and LXXL conrm the more likely reading, ( (

( (19 (“And Tamar said to him, ‘Don’t, my brother! For this latter evil, sending me away, is greater than the former thing which you did with me!”) It appears that what makes Tamar’s rejection so horrible is that, having been raped, she now has no means of reclaiming her worth and no hope of securing the kind of married life, and the social security that would go with it, which her previous status as a beautiful virgin 14. Gray, “Amnon: A Chip Off the Old Block?,” 49. 15. The longer original reading of 13:21 is preserved in LXX and 4QSama. 16. Cf. DCH 1:148–49. 17. LXXB reects the MT with LBJ FJQFO BVUX 2INBS QFSJ UIK LBLJBK UIK NFHBMIK UBVUIK VQFS FUFSBO (FUBJSBO B*) IO FQPJITBK NFU FNPV UPV FYBQPTUFJMBJ NF. The witnesses of LXXL are not uniform, LBJ FJQFO BVUX 2BNBS (I BEFMGI BVUPV PUJ PV NFHBMI I LBLJB I FTYBUI [b]) VQFS FUFSBO (VQFSUFSB [c]) IO QFQPJILBK bc2e2 NFU FNPV UPV FYBQPTUFJMBJ (LBJ BQPTUFMFJK [c]) NF. LXXMN puts the reference to this great evil in Tamar’s voice with LBJ FJQFO BVUX 2INBS NI BEFMGF PUJ NFHBMI I LBLJB I FTYBUI VQFS UIO QSXUIO IO QFQPJILBK NFU FNPV UPV FDBQPTUFJMBJ NF. 18. Driver considered the MT untranslatable (Notes on the Hebrew Text, 298–99). McCarter nds it “unintelligible” (II Samuel, 318). 19. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 149. 1


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daughter of the king would no doubt have afforded her.20 As “damaged goods,” so to speak, she must now rely on the charity of others. Tamar is not, therefore, protesting any refusal by Amnon to marry her, but rather his refusal to provide for her future, as her brother Absalom will eventually take it upon himself to do in 13:20. H. Gressmann observed that Amnon’s “sudden change from love into hatred is the ancient narrator’s simple but effective means of depicting the troubled spirit of a libertine.”21 It seems clear that the narrator intends to evoke deep sympathy for Tamar and moral outrage against her assailant. This is suggested in the depiction of the cunning with which the trap for Tamar was laid (13:5– 11), Tamar’s desperation when faced with actual rape (13:12–14), Tamar’s cruel rejection by Amnon afterwards (13:15–18), Tamar’s mourning (13:19) and her shattered persona (13:20b). All this suggests that support is being solicited for Absalom’s killing of Amnon. It will be recalled that Nathan’s parable of the poor man’s ewe lamb also played on the sympathies. David’s declaration, , suggested that, from the standpoint of ethics, the ruthlessness of the rich man’s theft and slaughter of the lamb made him deserving of death (12:5), though legally, perhaps, David could only sentence him to a fourfold restitution for theft (12:6). Nothing, however, stands in the way of giving Amnon the execution he so justly deserves—nothing, that is, except the love of his doting father, who is also the king, the one responsible for justice. b. Absalom’s Execution of Amnon (13:20–36) Recognizing the justice of putting Amnon to death for the rape of Tamar does not, however, compel the narrator to present Absalom as a moral paragon, as the rest of Israel will take him to be in 14:25 and 15:1–6. This is seen when the narrator shows how Absalom fell short of displaying proper sympathy for Tamar when he writes, “And Absalom, her brother, said to her, ‘Has Aminon, your brother, been with you? Now my sister, be silent. He is your brother. Do not take this matter to heart’ ” (v. 20). The Hebrew word-order in the narrator’s introduction to this speech seems to stress that Absalom is Tamar’s brother and that he is

20. Cf. G. Ridout, “The Rape of Tamar,” in Rhetorical Criticism: Essays in Honor of James Muilenburg (ed. J. J. Jackson and M. Kessler; PTMS 1; Pittsburgh: Pickwick, 1974), 76. 21. H. Gressmann, “The Oldest History Writing in Israel,” in Gunn, ed., Narrative and Novella in Samuel, 9–58 (32–33). 1

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saying these callous words to her. Absalom’s use of , if a diminutive form and not an alternative spelling, may also reect his contempt for Amnon.22 Absalom’s dismissal of Tamar’s feelings over being raped is reminiscent of David’s callous dismissal of Uriah’s death (cf. 12:25). In 13:21 King David is said to have heard “all these things,” which would seem to include the news of the rape as well as Absalom’s handling of Tamar. These things made the king angry, suggesting that he recognized a wrong had been done. Nevertheless, he does not address the situation any further, possibly because it had already been quelled, but more so because—as the primitive text of LXXL and 4QSama inform us—he was unwilling to punish Amnon, his beloved rstborn.23 By contrast, Absalom is said to have refrained from any hostile response, although he hated Amnon for humiliating his sister.24 Hatred of evildoers, like Amnon (cf. 13:16), was (as my discussion in Chapter 2 demonstrated) considered an ideal response by those who were concerned with the establishment of justice and righteousness. The statement of 2 Sam 13:22 shows that when Absalom nally takes matters into his own hands two years later, it is not because he was impatient with the slow turning of the wheels of his father’s justice but rather with the fact that the wheels of his father’s justice were not turning at all. Though I agree with C. Conroy’s caution when critiquing the succession theme that “[p]olitical consequences should not be confused with political motivation,”25 the issue of justice does make Absalom’s killing of Amnon something of a political matter—it is personal for Absalom but not only personal.

22. Driver suggests the diminutive form and relates it to Absalom’s contempt (Notes on the Hebrew Text, 300). However, McCarter claims that here is the correct vocalization of the name just as Abinar is for Abner and Abishalom is for Absalom (II Samuel, 319). In my opinion Driver is on rmer ground when he suggests that the in is not an alternative spelling like that encountered in these other names, because they, unlike Amnon, are all compound names. 23. In 13:21 the MT says only that David became very angry over Amnon’s rape of Tamar. The LXX adds LBJ PVL FMVQITFO UP QOFVNB BNOXO UPV VJPV BVUPV PUJ IHBQB BVUPO PUJ QSXUPUPLPK BVUPV IO This plus is original, lost from the MT through haplography. The underlying Hebrew is reected in the partially reconstructed reading of 4QSama [ ] [ ] (Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 149). Of the witnesses to LXXL, MS 19 omits the PVL! 24. The expression may refer to refraining from hostile action (cf. Gen 31:24). I take the that follows this expression in 2 Sam 13:22 as concessive, “although.” 25. Conroy, Absalom! Absalom!, 103. 1


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In v. 23 Absalom is said to have invited all the king’s sons to his sheep-shearing festival at Baal-hazor near Ephraim. When he extended the invitation to the king and all his servants, David politely declined (vv. 24–25a). According to the MT, Absalom burst out (in anger) at the king ( ) over this; but here we should read +*$ 3* (“and he pleaded with him,” v. 25b).26 This comes to no avail, but Absalom does manage to receive the king’s blessing in v. 25b. This is another example of David unwittingly sanctioning the machinations of those within his house. David’s authority was instrumental in creating a context for the rape of Tamar (cf. 13:7) and now it serves the execution of her assailant. In v. 26 David’s refusal to attend the banquet becomes the pretense for Absalom to request the presence of Amnon. (Did Absalom anticipate his father’s refusal?) David responds with a suspicious-sounding question, “Why should he go with you?” Again, the MT has Absalom respond with an angry outburst ( ), but again we should probably read +*$ 3* (v. 27a).27 After this, David nally sends Amnon along with all the king’s sons (v. 27b). Absalom’s efforts to have the king and all his sons attend the festival is probably not intended to suggest that Absalom would have killed the king as well, since the narrative focuses squarely on Absalom’s hatred of Amnon for the rape of Tamar (v. 22; cf. v. 32). It is possible that Absalom’s desire to have the king and all his sons attend what will be the execution of Amnon may reect the notion that one guilty of incestuous rape should be publicly executed before the sons of the clan (cf. Lev 20:17, ). An LXX addition to the text of v. 27 likens Absalom’s banquet to “the feast of a king.”28 It is likely that this reading reects the narrator’s sense of irony and is offered as an indication of Absalom’s sense of authority and his exhibitionist tendencies (14:26) rather than as a hint of his early designs on the kingship. The narrator recounts how Absalom instructed his servants to kill Amnon on his order once Amnon had become drunk (13:28). Absalom clearly takes responsibility for the execution (v. 28b). His employment 26. 4QSama; cf. LXX LBJ FCJBTBUP/LBUFCJB[FUP, Syr wlh, and OL cogerat. For the same metathesis in the MT, cf. v. 27, 1 Sam 28:23 and 2 Kgs 5:23. 27. 4QSama is not extant here, while the LXX again supports . 28. LXX adds LBJ FQPJITFO "CFTTBMXN QPUPO LBUB UPO QPUPO UPV CBTJMFXK (cf. OL; Josephus, Ant. 7.174) = . In 4QSama only the nal [][ ] of this reading is extant, but space considerations are thought to conrm that the scroll shared this reading with LXX (Herbert, Reconstructing Biblical Dead Sea Scrolls, 156). Haplography with the preceding is a good explanation for the loss of this sentence in MT (McCarter, II Samuel, 330). 1


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and commanding of his servants may carry a hint of royal prerogative;29 “proud of his cause, he is after maximum publicity,” says D. Daube.30 However, the actual execution of these orders is not described. The narrator merely goes on to say, “So the servants of Absalom did to Amnon as Absalom had commanded. Then all the sons of the king arose and each mounted his mule and ed” (v. 29). Earlier I suggested that this decision not to recount the death scene could reect the author’s sense of its legitimacy (see Chapter 2). In any case, the account of how the news of Amnon’s death was reported to David also seems designed to diminish the sense of tragedy in Amnon’s death in favor of the notion that it was a legitimate execution planned by Absalom. When a false report claiming that Absalom had killed all the king’s sons causes great anguish to the king and his servants (13:30–31), the callous Jonadab corrects it: (32)

Let not my lord say “They have put to death all the young men, the sons of the king,” because Amnon alone is dead. For it has been determined by Absalom ( ) from the day he raped Tamar his sister. (33)So now, let not my lord the king take the matter to heart saying, “All the sons of the king are dead,” because only Amnon is dead.

In vv. 34–35 the veracity of Jonadab’s claim is demonstrated when the rest of the king’s sons arrive. In vv. 35–36 Jonadab’s “comfort” contrasts with the intense weeping by David, his sons, and his servants. It will be recalled that immediately after David’s “encouragement” to Joab we were informed of Bathsheba’s mourning for her husband (11:25–26). In the nal analysis, the narrative faces us with two ethical questions: Was Amnon’s crime deserving of death? Did Absalom have the right to take the execution into his own hands? Absalom is portrayed in 2 Sam 13 primarily as the just avenger of Tamar’s rape, who took matters into his own hands only after David refused to pursue justice for two years. While it is true that he engaged in deception in order to accomplish this, he is, nevertheless, portrayed as taking full responsibility for his action. There is little in 2 Sam 13 to suggest the full-blown contempt, even hatred, that Absalom will eventually show for his father in chs. 15–18. Though the killing of Amnon was just, to lose his eldest son in this way was a grievous loss for David. Amnon’s punishment was also David’s punishment, as the weeping scene of 13:36 demonstrates.

29. Long, “Wounded Beginnings,” 30. 30. D. Daube, “Absalom and the Ideal King,” VT 48 (1998): 318. 1


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c. A Difcult Narrative Transition (13:37–14:1) The narrative section of 13:37–14:1 serves as a literary bridge between the account of Absalom’s exile over the execution of Amnon and his eventual restoration to Jerusalem through the intervention of Joab and the Tekoite woman. Unfortunately, this brief span of text presents signicant interpretive problems not the least of which are text-critical in nature. At stake is the portrayal of David’s inner life and his feelings toward his sons. For instance, some think that the MT is deliberately ambiguous as to which son David mourns over in v. 37. Is it the exiled one, the dead one, or both?31 In 13:39 text-critical problems combine with problems of lexical semantics to raise questions about whether David’s disposition towards Absalom over the death of Ammon was positive or negative. Discernment of this is presented as a motivating factor in Joab’s clever intervention on behalf of Absalom. (1) Establishing the Text of 13:37–14:1. Our rst task in grappling with these problems is to establish the text of 13:37–14:1. The MT reads: ( ( 37 ( (( ( ( ( 38

( 39 ( 14:1

2 Samuel 13:37–14:1 is part of a larger section of text which appears to have suffered a fair amount of corruption in the MT. Problems were evident already at v. 34, where , coming prior to the reports by the sentinel and Jonadab, seems to be in awkward anticipation of the two uses of in vv. 37–38. But even if we retain at v. 34, the two uses of in vv. 37–38 remain awkward in their own right. A major LXX plus at v. 34b describing the approach of people on the Horonaim road further undermines our condence in the MT. Of course, the MT has its defenders, but the vast majority of commentators since Julius Wellhausen have rightly favored the Greek plus, though there is disagreement among them as to the precise reading to be adopted.32 Nevertheless, the whole problem is enough to raise serious suspicions regarding the integrity of the MT by the time one reaches 13:37–14:1. 31. E.g. R. Polzin, 2 Samuel, 133; Larry L. Lyke, King David with the Wise Woman of Tekoa: The Resonance of Tradition in Parabolic Narrative (JSOTSup 255; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic Press, 1997), 162. 32. See Pisano, Additions or Omissions, 225–32. The plus is included in the reconstructed variants for 4QSama (Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 152). 1

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As S. R. Driver recognized, there is a good possibility that in vv. 37– 38 groups of words have been transposed, perhaps in an effort to correct an instance of haplography reected in the tautology of ( in vv. 37a and 38a. While a structuralist approach might nd literary signicance in the repetition of these words,33 the MT’s lack of an explicit subject for the verb in v. 37b seems to betray its original close connection to v. 36 with as the implied subject.34 4QSama and LXXL also support reading , which was lost from the MT. Text-critical problems continue when the narrative turns to David’s disposition regarding Absalom in 13:39. The feminine subject implied in the MT’s *4*$ does not t with the masculine .35 Less problematic is the variant for the preposition in v. 39. The combined witness of LXXLMN (LBJ FLPQBTFO UP QʑOʑB UPV CBTJMFXK) and the reading of 4QSama ([ ] 5 5 [] ([ ][ 5 ][ ]) makes it most likely that the feminine subject has been lost. The Targum testies similarly with ( (“The soul of David the king desired to go out”). An additional strike against the MT’s is the fact that the word order occurs only here in the Hebrew Bible, being elsewhere.36 As for the variant readings of the preposition, is supported by two MSS, Targ, and FQJ of LXXL. However, is often used with the sense of ,37 particularly with (Deut 27:7; 28:25; Judg 9:33). 33. Fokkelman nds vv. 37–38 to be “meaningfully constructed” but concludes that David mourned for Amnon (King David, 123–24). 34. At least two slightly different views on the mechanism behind this corruption have been expressed (see Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 305; McCarter, II Samuel, 332). In either scenario the corruption would have arisen here early enough to be well established in the Vorlage of LXX, which seems to have made various attempts to resolve the ambiguities created by it. In v. 37 LXXBL (cf. OL Syr) made the subject of explicit with P CBTJMFVK (%BVFJE). As to the question of which son was being mourned, LXXL resolved it diplomatically with the plural UPVK VJPVK BVUPV. 35. Jongeling has advocated the MT as an example where the feminine verb functions indenitely, thus meaning “And it [i.e. the events related in 13:23–28] made David, the king, long to set out” (“Joab and the Tekoite Woman,” JEOL 30 [1990]: 116–22 [121]). However, it would be more natural to look for the referent of the indenite verb in the immediately preceding verse. See the indenite use of the third person feminine plural verb in Isa 7:7 and Jer 10:7 (cf. GKC §122q). In such a view as that of Jongeling it would be more likely that the three-year exile of Absalom mentioned in v. 38 is in view as having motivated David in v. 39. 36. Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 150. 37. McCarter, II Samuel, 338; Eugene C. Ulrich, “4QSamc: A Fragmentary Manuscript of 2 Samuel 14–15 from the Scribe of the Serek Hay-yaÜad (1QS),” BASOR 235 (1979): 1–25 (3). 1


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On the basis of the preceding discussion I reconstruct the primitive text of 13:37–14:1 as follows: (

37 ( (( ( 38 ( ( 39 ( 14:1

(2) Establishing the Meaning of 13:37–14:1. My previous reconstruction of the primitive text suggests that 2 Sam 13:37–38 did not originally intend to be ambiguous or diplomatic with respect to the question of which son David mourned. Rather, the primitive text made it clear that in vv. 36–37 the son over whom he mourned for many days was none other than his dead son Amnon. However, the portrayal of David’s disposition towards Absalom in v. 39 remains difcult to discern. The question is two-fold: What was David’s disposition towards Absalom in 13:39? And what is presented as the basis for that disposition? Ambiguity in the meaning of the key expressions , , and make 13:39 a notorious crux. Three basic translations reect the most viable exegetical options which arise from the interplay of possible meanings for these words: (1) “The spirit of David longed to go out to Absalom, because he was comforted concerning Amnon for he was dead”;38 (2) “The spirit of David was determined to go out against Absalom, because he was grieved over Amnon for he was dead”;39 (3) “The spirit of David was spent with regard to going out against Absalom, because he was comforted over the death of Amnon.”40 R. Polzin offers another option for v. 39b: “because he had changed his mind about Amnon, seeing that he was dead.”41 This may be combined with interpretive options 1 and 3 to create two more overall interpretations of the verse. As reected in options 1 and 3, it is common to interpret in v. 39b to mean that David was in some way comforted over, or had reconciled himself to the fact that Amnon was dead (NEB, NRSV, NIV, RSV, NJPS). Such renderings reect two suppositions. The rst is that the of marks a nominalizing or relative clause expressing either the content of perception or a further clarication. The second is that * ", which here may be taken as Piel or Niphal, means “to be

38. 39. 40. 41. 1

Cf. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 305; Smith, Books of Samuel, 333. Jongeling, “Joab and the Tekoite,” 121; Fokkelman, King David, 126. McCarter, II Samuel, 335; Bietenhard, Des Königs General, 178. Polzin, II Samuel, 140.

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comforted.” However, other uses of the collocation make these suppositions doubtful, in that the is best understood as causal.42 Of particular signicance is Gen 6:7. As far as I am aware, this is the only other example in the Hebrew Bible of the sequence ,43 and it supports the causal use of after . In addition, Gen 6:6 provides evidence relating to the meaning of itself, when it associates Yahweh’s state of with a negative emotional condition, % + "3* . Indeed, the collocation in the Niphal with the positive meaning “to be comforted” is weakly attested in the Hebrew Bible.44 K. Jongeling concluded that all eighteen uses of this collocation support the meaning “to have unpleasant feelings concerning,” with the exception of Jer 31:15, where the translation “to be comforted concerning” seems obligatory; however, this one exception 42. In 1 Sam 15:11 Yahweh’s being in a state of is “because ( ) I have made Saul king.” Similarly, Judg 21:15 says, ( (

( (“Now the people were in a state of regarding Benjamin, because Yahweh had made a breach in the tribes of Israel”; cf. v. 6). Notice here that is used similarly to the preposition in 2 Sam 13:39. In Gen 6:7 Yahweh uses to say, “I will wipe out the humanity which I have created from the surface of the ground…because I am in a state of ( ), because I have made them ( ).” Note that in this passage the second causal clause is imbedded within the rst causal clause which contains (cf. the reading of 4QSama at 2 Sam 13:21). All this follows an expression of Yahweh’s determination or intention. 43. Imbedded causal clauses with are also attested using other particles in collocation. For example, Judg 2:18 uses the construction ' ' in

(6 (“And [Yahweh] saved them from the hand of their enemies all the days of the judge, because Yahweh was in a state of , on account of their groaning [ ] due to those who oppressed them and crushed them [ ]”). Another signicant passage is Gen 6:6 where the narrator describes Yahweh as being in a state of with (“because he had established humanity on the earth; and it was sadness to his heart”). 44. There are at least two instances where the collocation is used in the Piel with the meaning “to comfort” (Isa 22:4; Jer 16:7). Job 42:11 also uses the Piel collocation, but the context of this passage would support either the meanings “comfort” or “feel sorry concerning.” Indeed, the sense of in Job 42:6 is heavily debated (cf. D. Patrick, “The Translation of Job XLII 6,” VT 26 [1971]: 370; N. C. Habel, The Book of Job: A Commentary [OTL; London: SCM, 1985], 576; L. G. Perdue, Wisdom in Revolt: Metaphorical Theology in the Book of Job [BLS 29; JSOTSup 112; Shefeld: Almond, 1991], 237 n. 2; W. Morrow, “Consolation, Rejection, and Repentance in Job 42:6,” JBL 105 [1986]: 211–25). In Deut 32:36 and Ps 135:14 the Hithpael is used in . Translation, however, is difcult: “For Yahweh will vindicate his people and for/upon his servants he will take revenge/pity(?). 1


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may be due to the control of the semantic situation by the verb

(“refuse”).45 In the nal analysis, in 2 Sam 13:39 most likely means “to be grieved over,” because , as the last words in the verse, have a causal force that semantically delimits the entire sentence. This makes it unlikely that means “to be comforted/consoled over” because it is difcult to see how Amnon’s death can be the cause of David’s comfort.46 Therefore, v. 39b is best understood to mean “because he was grieved over Amnon because he was dead.” This leads in turn to translating v. 39a as “And the spirit of the king determined to go out against Absalom.”47 Thus David’s sorrow over the death of Amnon in v. 39b is 45. Jongeling, “Joab and the Tekoite,” 118. As for the use of the collocation in Isa 1:24b, it should not be interpreted as meaning “comfort oneself from.” The text reads . As Jongeling points out, the parallelism of with favors the interpretation, “I have ill feelings originating from my foes, and I will take vengeance on my enemies” (ibid.; cf. NRSV: “I will pour out my wrath on my enemies, and avenge myself on my foes!”). In fact, Jongeling nds only two other passages where the Niphal of might possibly mean “to be comforted.” They are Gen 24:67 and 38:12. However, the meaning of in 24:67 is doubtful in light of textual and exegetical factors, not the least of which are that it is the only instance where is used with and that nowhere in Gen 24, where the death of Sarah is related, is there any indication of grief on the part of Isaac. In 38:12 the words may be connected easily with the preceding words

to mean “In the course of time the wife of Judah, Shua’s daughter, died; and Judah was very sorry about it” (ibid., 119–20). 46. This may lead one to consider the potential of Polzin’s interpretation which not only avoids taking as “to be comforted” but also perceives the causal sense of the second clause: “because he [i.e. David] had changed his mind about Amnon, seeing that he was dead.” The expression “seeing that” is here semantically equivalent to “because.” Polzin bases this interpretation on the Hebrew expression which uses in the Niphal with the phrase / to mean “relent” or “change one’s mind concerning evil/good” (see Exod 32:12, 14; Jer 8:6, 18; 18:10; Ezek 14:22; Joel 2:13; Jonah 3:10; 4:2; 1 Chr 21:15). According to Polzin, the point is that Amnon’s death has changed David’s mind about his guilt (David and the Deuteronomist, 133, 140). However, 13:39 makes no mention of guilt, and 13:21 makes it clear that David was indeed angry over Amnon’s rape of Tamar, thereby suggesting that David attributed at least some guilt to Amnon from the beginning. 47. The meaning of v. 39b delimits the meaning of ( in v. 39a. If we begin with the verb we nd diversity in its range of meanings in the Hebrew Bible with signicant overlap existing between the Qal and the Piel. According to HALOT, the following groups of meanings are attested for the Qal: (1) to stop, come to an end; (2) to be nished, completed; (3) to vanish, fade away; (4) to perish; (5) to be determined; (6) fail; (7) to languish, pine; for the Piel: (1) to complete, bring to an end; (2) to nish, cease to; (3) to use up, consume, to destroy; for the Pual: to be nished. F. J. Helfmeyer offers ve over-all groupings: 1

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the reason for a hostile disposition towards Absalom on the part of the king in v. 39a. Consequently, 2 Sam 13:39 does not represent the winding down of David’s emotions but rather the deepening of them as his prolonged grief over Amnon produces greater feelings of enmity towards his killer, Absalom. Indeed, the prior context of 2 Sam 13 has been preoccupied with David’s feelings for Amnon, rst, with his doting love and, second, with his intense sorrow over his death. No affections of David for Absalom have been expressed, and Absalom’s ight suggested fear of Davidic wrath. Moreover, it does not appear that the narrative which immediately follows on from 13:39 has any paternal affection for Absalom in view. Indeed, if paternal affection for Absalom were in view in 13:39, then one would expect the Tekoite to appeal to it when promoting the return of Absalom in ch. 14. Yet even her ctitious appeal for the life of her own fratricidal son is not based on her maternal affections but rather on her son’s importance for securing her place and her husband’s name in the estate of Yahweh. Not once does she appeal to Absalom’s status as David’s son in her arguments. His name is never even mentioned. In her indictment of 14:13 she refers to Absalom only as the (1) be decided; (2) perish; (3) destroy; (4) nish; (5) languish, pine away, long for, desire (“ + +# klâ,” TDOT 7:157–64). The question that needs to be answered in 2 Sam 13:39a is whether refers to David as having a particular desire/intention or as waning in a particular desire/intention. In v. 39a the MT vocalizes as a Piel. However, some who favor the notion that David here longs for Absalom suggest that the verb should be re-vocalized as a Qal, % )4* (e.g. BDB, s.v. I. + +#, 477; Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 305). The LXX’s FLPQBTFO and Targ’s could be behind this preference for the Qal. This suggestion seems to arise from the fact that the meanings “long for, languish, pine away,” are not attested for the Piel of but are so for the Qal form of the verb (Pss 84:3; 119:81, 82, 123). Preferring this re-vocalization to the Qal, McCarter suggests that here means “be spent” (Ps 84:3[2]), thereby understanding v. 39a to say that “the king’s enthusiasm for marching out against Absalom was spent” (II Samuel, 308). However, it is less clear to me that this notion is exclusive of the Qal of . Of course, we should note that the interpretations of Driver and McCarter are complicated by the fact that each of them take in v. 39b to mean “be comforted.” I would suggest that *4*$ in 2 Sam 13:39 refers to some longing or determination by the spirit of the king to do something with respect to Absalom. The sense of “determine” or “decide” is attested for both in the Piel (Prov 16:30) and in the Qal (1 Sam 20:7, 9, 33; 25:17; Esth 7:7), so there is probably no need to quibble about its vocalization here. Interestingly, when is used elsewhere of a person’s determination to do something, the role of pathos rather than rationality seems to be what is in view (cf. 1 Sam 20:7, 9, 33; 25:17; Esth 7:7). Perhaps this explains the narrator’s use of in v. 39. As for the collocation , it is used of launching military expeditions in Deut 27:7; 28:25; and Judg 9:33. The verb also has this sense with in 1 Sam 8:19. 1


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king’s exiled one. David himself also avoids any reference to a fatherson connection when he refers to Absalom merely as “the young man” in 14:21, although this could be taken as a term of endearment. Nevertheless, David’s barring of Absalom from court for two years (14:23–24, 28), together with the need for the ruse in 14:2–20, seems to conrm that David is not positively disposed towards Absalom at all in 13:39. David’s feelings of concern for Absalom will not arise until it is too late in 18:5. Immediately after the portrayal of David’s disposition in 13:39 the narrator states that Joab knew that the “heart” () of the king was “against” () Absalom.48 The narrator does not explain how Joab discerned this of the king. He simply presents Joab as a perceptive man. However, the ruse with the Tekoite woman will function as a more lengthy presentation of Joab’s wisdom in this matter. d. The Return of Absalom (14:2–22) The narrative of Joab’s ruse with the Tekoite woman portrays the moral reasoning which persuaded David to allow Absalom’s return to Jerusalem from his exile. It is an extremely important section for understanding the portrayal of court ethics during this period of David’s reign. The Tekoite’s moral arguments for Absalom’s return represent the ipsissima vox of Joab, and thus an inuential moral authority in David’s court. (1) Joab Recruits a Wise Tekoite Woman (14:2–3). After discerning David’s general animosity towards Absalom, the narrator presents Joab as having summoned a wise woman from Tekoa, directing her to go to the king pretending to be a woman who has been in mourning for many days over a death. The author hints that Joab has something analogous to the David–Absalom situation in mind when in v. 2 he uses the words

, words which echo David’s mourning in 13:37. Yet the narrator builds anticipation in the reader when Joab’s voice trails off in 14:3, just as he is beginning to tell the Tekoite woman what to say to David. The reader is then left with the voice of the narrator, who makes it clear that “Joab put the words into her mouth.” Therefore, as far as the narrator is concerned, the effectiveness of the Tekoite woman before David is really a manifestation of the wisdom of Joab,49 whose use of a 48. The words / and are used elsewhere synonymously to designate the whole spectrum of the human psyche from the seat of mental acts and the will to raw emotions and even moral character in general (F. Baumgärtel, “QOFVNB, QOFVNBUJLPK,” TDNT 6:332–68 [361, 369]). The nouns and / occur in parallel with the sense of the will to do something in Deut 2:30; Josh 2:11; 5:1. 49. G. G. Nicol, “The Wisdom of Joab and the Wise Woman of Tekoa,” ST 36 (1982): 97–104 (97). 1

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deception suggests he was aware that David would not be led willingly to grant Absalom a return. This further supports my earlier interpretation that David was negatively disposed towards Absalom. (2) The “Widow’s” Case (14:4–11). After a dramatic introduction to the king in v. 4,50 the woman begins to describe her plight to David in v. 5 with “truly I am a widow, my husband is dead.”51 She goes on to tell David how her two sons fought alone in the eld and one killed the other (v. 6).52 Unlike the Amnon–Absalom conict, there is no mention of any extenuating circumstances that might justify this killing. This is because Joab and the woman know that David attributes blood-guilt to Absalom for the killing of Amnon. Therefore, the guilt of the ctitious murderer is also assumed. This indicates that the royal court continues to ignore the moral ramications of Ammon’s incestuous rape of Tamar as the king has focused his energy against Absalom for killing Amnon. Furthermore, it indicates that Joab formulated his own moral reasoning in response the king’s own moral perspective on this matter. The narrator’s own moral perspective is not enmeshed in this emotional matrix. In v. 7 the woman claims that the entire clan rose against her demanding that she hand over ( ) “the one who struck his own brother,” in order that “we might put him to death ( ) on account of the life of his brother whom he murdered.” The clan is not deterred by the fact that the murderous son is also the family’s heir, indeed they admit it ( ). The signicance that the woman attributes to this determination by the clan is given in the last half of the verse: “And they will quench my ember which remains, so that neither name nor remnant will be established ( [Qere]) for my husband on the face of the land.” At this point we see that Joab intends to confront David with a case involving a clash of duties or interests.

50. The cataphoric use of the article in of v. 3 probably helped give rise to the erroneous at the beginning of v. 4 in the MT. I am here reading instead with several MSS, LXX, Syr, Targ, and Vulg. 51. Here the emphatic sense of the adverb (“indeed, truly, alas”) ironically echoes the use of the verb (“pretend to be in mourning”) in v. 2. 52. In v. 6 the MT reads . The LXX, Syr, Targ, Vulg suggest . The MT vocalizes #*3* (“And he struck him [i.e. one struck the other]”). McCarter (II Samuel, 338) thinks the consonants of the MT bespeak an earlier (erroneous) vocalization 7#*3* (“they struck each other”), which carried over the plural subject of the preceding verb, but was corrected to the present vocalization in light of the following context (cf. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 306). 1


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The case pits the interests of the victim’s clan against the interests of the widow whose future is immediately dependent on the life of the murderer. The interests of the clan have to do with their duty to seek blood-vengeance. The interests of the widow have to do with the fact that her own welfare is tied to her remaining son being able to live on, maintaining her dead husband’s name, to which her own place in the estate of Yahweh was tied. If the remaining son is put to death then the woman will be alone and without resources. Her place in the community will be insecure. Hence, the woman will say in v. 16 that the avenger of blood is seeking “to eradicate both me and my son from the estate of God.” The idea of God’s (i.e. Yahweh’s) estate encompassed both land and people.53 In this clash of duties, the interests of the woman and the clan are both theologically valid. In setting up this type of conict Joab ensures that if David sides with the clan he runs the risk of oppressing a widow. If he sides with the widow, he allows a murderer to go unpunished. Both are classic justice motifs which no ancient Near Eastern king could afford to ignore. Consequently, David’s response to the woman in v. 8, though slightly reassuring, is guarded. David shrewdly avoids the horns of this dilemma by focusing only on the welfare of the widow herself: “Go to your house and I will give orders concerning you ( ).” This order guarantees the woman’s welfare and may imply that the woman will maintain ownership of her house by royal decree. In this way David separates the issue of the widow’s welfare from the issue of her murderous son’s life. The widow will be cared for, maintaining her place in Yahweh’s estate, irrespective of the clan’s pursuit of blood-vengeance. This shrewd ruling has the potential to thwart Joab and the woman’s intentions, which, as we shall see, are to get David to subordinate the justice of punishing a fratricide to maintaining the unity of Yahweh’s estate. Therefore, in v. 9 the “widow” attempts to maintain her audience with the king and presses him again to rule against the interests of the clan regarding blood-vengeance. When the widow calls for any liability to be on her and her father’s house, not on the king or his throne, which, she says, will be innocent, she implies that the king may be concerned about his own liability if he denies a clan the justice of blood-vengeance.54 David, however, does not take the bait. Instead, in v. 10 he maintains his original strategy which was to guarantee her welfare: “[As for]

53. Cf. H. O. Forshey, “The Construct Chain naÜalat YHWH/elhîm,” BASOR 220 (1975): 51–54; E. Lipiski, “ * * nhal; +, * naÜalâ,” TDOT 7:331–32. 54. Cf. 2 Sam 21:1–9. 1

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the one who is speaking against you, bring him to me, and he will not touch you () again.” His words appear to refer to the “avenger of blood” ( ) yet to be mentioned explicitly in v. 11.55 However, the important point is that David here makes no mention of protecting the fratricidal son from his approach. He only gives further assurance of protection for the widow, which, again, is simply a clearer articulation of his original ruling in v. 8. In v. 11 the woman responds to David’s second refusal to rule on the fate of her remaining son by simply pressing him harder. This time the woman presses the king to engage in theological reection and rule on the fate of her remaining son. She urges him to “remember56 Yahweh your God, so that the avenger of blood may not cause the ravaging to increase,57 then they [i.e. the clan] will not have my son destroyed.” What the woman is actually doing here is countering the king’s shrewd strategy by linking the issue of her surviving son’s welfare to the king’s responsibility before the deity to prevent the escalation of violence in society.58 After two failed attempts to get the king to rule on the life of her remaining son, the woman implies that the king is neglecting his royal duty.59 This nally touches a nerve in David so that he reacts strongly in v. 11b by swearing an oath which nally rules against the interest of the clan regarding blood-vengeance: “By the life of Yahweh, if any of your son’s hair falls to the ground.”

55. Wellhausen, Text, 191. 56. Some have suggested that verb here means “to make mention of” of “call the name of,” thereby understanding the woman as asking the king to swear a binding oath in the name of Yahweh (e.g. McCarter, II Samuel, 348; P. A. H. de Boer, Gedenken und Gedächtnis in der Welt des Alten Testaments [Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1962], 33; J. Hoftijzer, “David and the Tekoite Woman,” VT 20 [1970]: 419–44 [428 n. 1]). 57. In the second half of v. 11 I read 0$ * ) . The MT’s Kethib is " $ * ) while the Qere is *0$ * ) . My reading follows the suggestion of S. R. Driver that in the Qere the word is being treated as the construct form of the absolute innitive +0$ * and that the Kethib is actually an error for 0$ * ) (Notes on the Hebrew Text, 307). Some support for this is found in 1 Sam 1:12 where the construction is used. As for the use of with the innitive construct, this expresses a negative consequence (cf. BDB, 583). 58. In light of our understanding of vv. 8–10 and of the use of in v. 11, the woman does not appear to be asking David to conrm with an oath his previous ruling (contra Hoftijzer, “David and the Tekoite,” 428). 59. LXXL has the woman imply blame on David with LBJ PVL FDBSFJK UPO VJPV NPV (“then you will not destroy my son”). 1


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(3) The “Widow’s” Indictments of David (14:12–14). With the king’s oath-bound ruling on her surviving son nally in hand, the “widow” moves in vv. 12–14 to use this ruling against David himself with respect to the exile of Absalom. Her carefully worded indictment is on two counts. The rst, for ignoring the legal precedence just set in her own case, is primary and explicitly made in v. 13. The second, for resisting the plans of Yahweh to return an exile, is more implied in v. 14. These charges are made on the basis of the supposed justice of keeping all the people of God together in God’s estate. These charges are not made on the basis of justice for Absalom; and there is certainly no appeal to any over-riding affection that David might still harbor for Absalom as his son.60 (a) For Ignoring Legal Precedence (14:12–13). After receiving permission to speak further with the king, the woman asks in v. 13a, “Why have you reasoned ( ) like this against the people of God?” The verb here refers to David’s judicial reasoning in the woman’s case in v. 11b.61 The question serves as a link between the preceding discussion and the woman’s exposition which follows.62 In v. 13b she begins to explain why the king’s ruling in her case is detrimental to the people of God: (“Namely, because the king has spoken this word, he [has become] like a guilty person”).63 The use of indicates some care by the Tekoite in choosing her words. She does not say that the king is guilty. Rather she says that he is like a guilty person, or is virtually guilty. Thus we see that the Tekoite’s conviction of David is not quite so brutal as Nathan’s “You are the man!” in 2 Sam 12:7. While Nathan represented the voice of Yahweh boldly accusing 60. Cf. Polzin, 2 Samuel, 139. 61. The expression is used elsewhere of a decision taken “in opposition” to someone (Gen 50:20; Jer 18:8, 11, 18; 48:2; 49:20; Nah 1:11; Esth 8:9; 9:24–25; Dan 11:25). 62. There is no need to restrict the function of to either advertising what follows or to recalling that which precedes. André Caquot prefers the latter and unpacks with “de la même manière que les gens de ma famille ont voulu agir envers moi” (“Un point difcile du discours de la Téqoïte (II Sam 14,13–15),” in Storia e tradizioni di Israele: Scritti in onore di J. Alberto Soggin [ed. D. Garrone and F. Israel; Brescia: Paideia Editrice, 1991], 16–17). 63. The initial waw in v. 13b is explicative or epexegetical. The word may be taken either as an innitive with the prexed preposition or as a Hithpael participle with assimilated , which is suggested by the Masoretic vocalization, )08* " . This latter option seems less likely, since the Hithpael does not take an object (cf. Num 7:89; Ezek 2:2; 43:6). I read instead the Piel innitive )0* $ where the prexed preposition has a causal force. 1

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David of outright murder and adultery, crimes which cannot be reversed, the Tekoite represents the voice of a pseudo-wisdom carefully exposes what she (i.e. Joab) thinks is a more subtle sort of hypocrisy which the king still has an opportunity to rectify. In essence, she is saying, in the most careful way possible, that the king is a moral hypocrite but not yet a law-breaker. In the words of v. 13c, the woman states specically how the king has failed to abide by the precedence which he established in her case and thereby become this veritable guilty person: (“in that the king has not had the one whom he exiled returned”).64 We note again that throughout v. 13 the woman carefully avoids mentioning Absalom by name, thus reecting her awareness that he is persona non grata with David. (b) For Resisting the Will of Yahweh (14:14). In v. 14, where the woman expands upon her indictment, interpretation becomes much more difcult. Most scholars have found v. 14 in the MT to be unsatisfactory to varying degrees and have emended it either freely or on the basis of the LXX.65 In the end one must read either according to the MT or according to LXXL.66 Although there is a certain attraction in the reading of LXXL, the present study is based upon a preference for MT’s reading of v. 14 as 64. The antecedent of the third masculine singular sufx in 8$ " could be in keeping with the law of the exile in Deut 30:4 where the sufx refers to the nation. This would create a nice parallel in which the nation is analogous to the widow. However, it seems more natural to understand , which is nearer, as the antecedent. Caquot thinks it problematic to take this sufx as expressing the king as the agent of the passive participle, because David is never said to have banished Absalom (“Un point difcile du discours de la Téqoïte,” 19). This observation strikes right at the heart of the conict between David and Absalom and the reason why Absalom ed. His ight must have been because he had deceived the king (13:24–27) and had taken justice into his own hands by slaying the crown prince (13:28b). If Absalom did not fear the wrath of the king then there would have been no reason for him to ee. The royal family would have kept him safe from any reprisals. But this is the problem: reprisal, or the exaction of vengeance, could, in the case of Amnon’s murder, come only from the clan of the royal family for whom David was the head. 65. Several commentators have supplemented or emended the MT. Some add as the subject of on the basis of LXXL. Ewald emended to ) , thus producing the sense “But God will not take away the life of the one who devises plans not to banish from him one that is banished,” thinking this improved the antithesis between and

. Many have adopted this emendation (Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 308). Wellhausen found

in v. 14d to be suspicious in light of in v. 13 (Text, 192). 66. Cf. McCarter, II Samuel, 340–41. 1


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( ( ( (

( .67

Those who seek to ground their interpretation of v. 14 in the MT have several difculties with which to contend. The rst comes with the interpretation of (v. 14a). Traditionally, this has been taken indenitely as part of a sapiential saying about the fate of human life in general (“for we [humans] all die”). Some, however, have argued that it is the Israelites (i.e. the people of God) who are specically in view. Second, the idea that the spilled-water metaphor of v. 14b is an illustration of the transitory nature and irrevocability of the death mentioned in v. 14a has recently been challenged by A. Caquot, who thinks that the metaphor actually concerns the violent means by which that death comes about, thus supporting the notion that v. 14a refers to premature death. The third problem is the meaning of 9 in v. 14c, upon which hangs the understanding of the entire verse. This obscure sentence has been interpreted in at least eight different ways: 1. God does not take away life.68 2. God does not only take away life.69 3. God does not want to take away life.70 67. LXXL reads PUJ UFROILFO P VJPK TPV LBJ XTQFS UP VEXS UP FLYFPNFOPO FQJ UIO HIO PV TVOBYRITFUBJ LBJ PVL FMQJ[FJ FQ BVUX[-P] ZVYI LBJ FMPHJTBUP P CBTJMFVK [UPO] MPHJTNPO UPV BQXTBTRBJ BQ BVUPV BQXTNFOPO. However, uncertainty about its Vorlage, the use of “sapiential” expressions elsewhere in 2 Samuel (cf. 12:23), and the probability that UFROILFO P VJPK TPVis an attempt to make explicit what may be implied in the MT leads me to favor the MT. As for the witness of LXXL’s LBJ PVL FMQJ[FJ FQ BVUP ZVYIto the Hebrew / , it has been suggested that Jer 44:14 (( ( ( ( ) and its translation in LXX 51:14 (BVUPJ FMQJ[PVTJO UBJK ZVYBJK BVUXO UPV FQJTUSFZBJ FLFJ) reects this Hebrew idiom and its Greek correspondence (Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 259). However, it seems to me that LXXL at 2 Sam 14:14 actually witnesses to a feminine Hebrew verb by way of its use of the nominative feminine ZVYI as the subject (the accusative would be ZVYIO). This suggests that LXXL is reading / . Indeed, there are at least two instances in MT where is the subject of . In Lev 7:18 and Ezek 18:20 is the subject referring to a person or individual and the verb concerns that individual’s liability for sin. Drawing upon this meaning for the idiom, / in the hypothetical Vorlage of LXXL (or according to the exegesis of its translator) could have meant, “Indeed your son is dead; and like water poured out upon the ground he cannot be gathered up. And no one should be punished for it. Nevertheless, the king has devised plans to keep an exile in exile from us.” 68. Driver, Notes on the Hebrew Text, 308; HALOT 2:713. 69. F. S. Stolz, Das erste und zweite Buch Samuel (ZBK 9; Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1981), 284. 70. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 332. 1

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4. 5. 6. 7. 8.


God does not raise up life.71 God does not show favoritism or exempt a person from death.72 God does not spare life.73 Will not God dedicate himself to seeing that…?74 God does not harbor animosity.75

The fourth problem is that 7: %- " in v. 14d may mean either “from him (i.e. God)” or “from us (i.e. the people of God).” An overall solution to these problems in v. 14 is expressed in the traditional interpretation, which understands the woman to say “Indeed we [humans] will certainly die, and [we are] like water poured out on the ground which cannot be gathered up; and God does not take away life, but he devises plans so as to not keep an exile in exile from him.” There is really nothing against taking v. 14a–b as a traditional wisdom statement about death,76 and as such it is quite suited to a “wise woman.” 71. R. de Vaux, Les Livres de Samuel (2d ed.; Paris: Cerf, 1961), 199. 72. Several Jewish exegetes interpret as ; see Dominique Barthélemy, Critique Textuelle de l’Ancien Testament (OBO 50/2; Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 268. 73. This understanding of the MT is offered by McCarter (II Samuel, 341). 74. Hoftijzer, “David and the Tekoite Woman,” 436; Claudia V. Camp, “The Wise Women of 2 Samuel: A Role Model for Women in Early Israel?,” CBQ 43 (1981): 14–29 (16 n. 5). 75. Caquot, “Un point difcile du discours de la Téqoïte,” 23. 76. Hoftijzer doubted this traditional interpretation of v. 14. He denied that v. 14a is a sentimental reference to human mortality, because such would have no relation to the accusation that the king has just violated his own ruling (“David and the Tekoite,” 432). Therefore, Hoftijzer suggested that v. 14a claims that the people of Israel will die an untimely death as punishment for the king’s failure to abide by his own ruling. The metaphor of spilled water in v. 14b is thus thought to stress the irrevocability of that particular punishment. In choosing to interpret v. 14a–b in this way Hoftijzer is, therefore, unable to interpret v. 14c as “God does not take away life” without falling into a contradiction. He thus makes the tentative suggestion that v. 14c–d be phrased as a single question in which and are syndetic paratactic sentences with the nal sentence element,

, belonging to both. He offers a free translation: “Will not God dedicate himself to seeing that a banished one does not remain exiled from him (i.e. he most certainly will dedicate himself) and will he not nd ways to do so?” However, I consider it unlikely that v. 14c–d is presented as a question and that the negative applies to both and . Furthermore, when appealing to the idiom in Prov 19:18; Ps 24:4; and Hos 6:8, Hoftijzer dismisses the fact that in these passages has a pronominal sufx while in 2 Sam 14:14c it does not. Jongeling, revised Hoftijzer’s interpretation of v. 14a–b by specifying that it is the untimely death of the people in an undesirable war that is in view. Jongeling thereby nds that the likening of this fate to water poured out on the earth in v. 14b not only underlines the 1


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Indeed, R. N. Whybray considered it to be SN’s one example of a simile in strict proverbial form which is undoubtedly a genuine proverb.77 Though it is not necessary to follow R. N. Whybray on this point, the fact remains that fatalistic sounding statements about the irreversibility of human mortality have already been expressed in 2 Sam 11:25 and 12:22. A similar wisdom sentiment is also expressed in Eccl 9:2–6. In 2 Sam 14:14a some exegetes hear echoes of Amnon’s death and others the fear that Absalom might die in a foreign land before he is returned. However, I prefer to hear here an allusion to the fundamental reality that God has assigned all people to die (cf. Gen 2:17). The main problem, however, with the traditional interpretation is that the claim “God does not take away life” seems to be so utterly contrary to ancient Israel’s theological traditions that it is difcult to see how this could be presented as an effective part of the argument against David, especially from the mouth of a so-called wise woman. To try to alleviate this by saying that v. 14c actually means that God does not want to take away life78 or that God does not try to take away life,79 is special pleading. Furthermore, as also recognized by Hoftijzer, the meaning “take away life” is untenable for the idiom.80 irrevocability of the death of the people but also evokes the image of dead bodies on the eld after battle (“Joab and the Tekoite Woman,” 122). In a more recent analysis of the verse Caquot also follows Hoftijzer in seeing a reference to the death of the people in v. 14a. Ultimately, however, he explains the spilled water metaphor as referring not to the irrevocability of the people’s death but to the violent means of their death: “we shall all die as if killed by water ooding over the ground” (“Un point difcile du discours de la Téqoïte,” 23–25). In this Caquot sees a reference to what will happen if David’s passions are allowed to overow against Absalom. Caquot interprets v. 14c–d as placing these human passions in contrast to the serenity of God, who does not harbor such animosity but takes measures to ensure that an exile is not banished further from him (ibid., 22–23). However, in following Hoftijzer’s interpretation of v. 14a as the death of the people, Caquot fails to mention that Hoftijzer understood this as punishment for the king’s sin of violating his own ruling. This would contradict Caquot’s suggestion that v. 14c means that God does not harbor animosity. 77. Whybray, The Succession Narrative, 81. 78. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel, 332. 79. R. D. Bergen, 1, 2 Samuel (NAC; Nashville, Tenn.: Broadman & Holman, 1996), 391. 80. There are at least nine instances in the MT other than 2 Sam 14:14 where is the object of . In all of them is joined with a sufx and involves the idea of hoping, desiring or placing one’s condence in someone or something—sometimes in vain (Deut 24:15; Hos 4:8 [the exegesis is difcult]; Pss 24:4; 143:8; 25:1–2a; 86:4; Prov 19:18; Jer 22:27; 44:14). Interestingly, the idea of deluded hope in the 1

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It seems to me that v. 14c can easily be rendered as “God does not lift up life” and this may be understood as tantamount to saying “God does not restore life.” The same notion has already been expressed by David himself in 12:22. This interpretation of 14:14c produces the same sense as that achieved by the emendation of to 81 and approaches the view which interprets v. 14c to mean “God does not show favoritism in regard to exempting people from the fate of death.” Thus v. 14c continues the emphasis placed on the irreversibility of human mortality begun in v. 14a–b and which was the basis for the “widow’s plight” all along. The statement on human mortality is not intended to be indicative of ultimate theological perspectives on resurrection or the after-life, although the LXX seems to have reacted to it in this way. The statement is merely a straightforward wisdom sentiment based on observation of human life and death in general: once a person dies, they are gone and do not return. In v. 14d the woman places Yahweh’s active planning to restore an exile in opposition to David’s passive refusal in v. 13 to have Absalom returned. I take the phrase

in v. 14d to mean “from us” (i.e. the people of God in v. 13), because it explains how David’s non-compliance with his own ruling against the over-zealous in the woman’s case is detrimental to the people: none of the people of Yahweh should be excluded from his estate. This is doubly so if the one exiled is also the surviving heir to the throne. Therefore v. 14 is understood to mean, “Indeed, we humans shall certainly die, even like water poured out upon the ground which cannot be gathered up; and God does not bring back the dead, but he does devise ways to restore an exile who has been exiled from us.” The argument put forth thus far by the woman may be paraphrased as follows: “If you, David, would deny a clan’s right to blood-vengeance in order to protect a widow’s place in Yahweh’s estate by assuring that her remaining (albeit fratricidal) son may live, then you should set aside your own hostility towards Absalom and return him from exile in order to protect the unity of the people of God in God’s land. Indeed, God does not bring back the dead but he does bring back exiles. Don’t oppose the will of Yahweh by refusing to have Absalom returned.” expression (with as object) bears a close relationship to (“to deceive a person”) in Jer 37:9. In fact, and are confused in 1 Kgs 8:31// 2 Chr 6:22. In the nal analysis in 2 Sam 14:14 is an anomaly, because has no pronominal sufx, even though it is the object of the verb. 81. A. B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel (repr., Hildesheim: Olms, 1968 [1910]), 308; P. E. Dhorme, Les Livres de Samuel (Paris: Gabalda, 1910), 375; Bressan, Samuele, 616. 1


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(4) The King’s Popular Reputation (14:15–17). In vv. 15–17 the Tekoite returns to her ctitious case. Although some suggest that these verses have been transposed from their original place between vv. 7 and 8,82 my interpretation accepts the current location of vv. 15–17 and follows the text of the MT with only a few exceptions. It reads as follows: 84 83 15 86 ! 85 16

82. E.g. Budde, Die Bücher Samuel, 267; McCarter, II Samuel, 345–46; Anderson, 2 Samuel, 185. The principal argument for this transposition is that the woman has dropped her mask in vv. 12–14 and, therefore, she cannot resume the widow role again as she clearly does in vv. 15–17. The transposition is also thought to be implicit in the conjunctive element at the beginning of v. 15, which is claimed to have no logical connection with the issues of vv. 13–14. Verses 15–17 are, therefore, thought to be better suited to follow immediately after vv. 5–7 where, after stating her problem, the woman would then go on to explain why she came to the king. Even those who do not support such a displacement of these verses, nevertheless recognize a certain amount of awkwardness for vv. 15–17 in their present location. Most see the verses as depicting the woman’s attempt to deect attention from the real reason for her audience by returning to the subject of her own case. However, R. P. Gordon suggests that the woman’s return to her own case after dropping her mask in vv. 12–14 might contain the implication that it was her own distressing experience which alerted her to the dangers in the situation between Absalom and David (I and II Samuel: A Commentary [Exeter: Paternoster, 1986; repr., Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1988], 268). 83. Haplography may possibly have occurred at the beginning of v. 15, where the MT’s (cf. LXXBMN, LBJ OVO P) is countered by LXXL, LBJ OVO VQFS XO. This suggests the loss of , which may have led the Masoretes to view as somewhat superuous, since it has been deleted from at least one Hebrew MS of the MT tradition. This reading stands to enhance, but does not determine, my exegesis. 84. In v. 15c MT’s (cf. LXXBMN), given the more common (cf. v. 12), could be taken as portraying the Tekoite’s unease with courtly speech. 4QSamc reads only 5 5. LXXL reads only UPO CBTJMFB, but later on in the verse it reads UPO LVSJPO NPV UPO CBTJMFB where the MT has only . McCarter found it hard to explain the MT’s inelegant combination of these words. However, the numerous uses of “the king, my lord” (LUGAL-ru EN-ia) in the Mayarzana correspondence of the Amarna Letters suggest that there is no difculty in the MT’s

(see R. S. Hess, “The Mayarzana Correspondence: Rhetoric and Conquest Accounts,” UF 30 (1999): 335–531; cf. lines 185:9, 66, 67–68). 85. In v. 16 LXXLMN has LBJ FYFMFJUBJ, which suggests the paratactic construction . This is slightly preferable to the hypotactic of the MT (cf. LXXB, SVTBTRX). 86. The MT suffers from haplography at v. 16, where is to be restored after on the basis of LXX’s UPV [IUPVOUPK. Space considerations of 4QSamc 1


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17 (15)

“Now, as to the fact that I have come to speak to the king, my lord, this word, because the people terrorized me,87 your maidservant said [to them], ‘Let me speak to my lord the king. Perhaps he will handle the matter of his handmaid. (16)Indeed, the king will hear and deliver his maidservant from the grasp of the man who is seeking to eradicate me and my only son from the estate of God.’ (17)And your maidservant said [to them], ‘Let the word of my lord the king be nal, because just as the angel of God is so too is my lord the king when it comes to hearing good and evil.’88 May Yahweh your God be with you.”

The Tekoite’s words in vv. 15c–17b make very good sense if they are understood to be recounting what she originally said to the people who were terrorizing her. She begins by recounting to David how she pleaded with the people: “So your maidservant said [to them], ‘Let me speak to my lord the king. Perhaps he will handle the matter of his handmaid.’” She then tells the king in v. 16 that she declared her condence to them in how the king would act: “Indeed, the king will hear and deliver his maidservant from the grasp of the man who is seeking to eradicate me and my only son from the estate of God.” In v. 17 the woman goes on to inform David of how she persuaded the people to let the king’s decision settle the matter: “And your maidservant said [to them], ‘Let the word of my lord the king be nal, because just as the angel of God is so too is my lord the king when it comes to hearing good and evil.” That the woman now stands before the king implies that the people were subdued by these words and accepted her terms. In crafting things this way the favor the LXX’s longer reading (Ulrich, “4QSamc: A Fragmentary Manuscript,” 12). The omission in the MT may be due to parablepsis: ( ( (Cross et al., Qumran Cave 4 XII 1–2 Samuel, 259). 87. Verse 15a, with its … structure, is awkward. Admittedly, it is tempting to ignore and translate “Now I have come to speak to the king my lord this word because…” (cf. NRSV). However, my translation takes the words as a lengthy casus pendens in which is relative or recitative. 88. In vv. 15c–17 it is not entirely clear whether means “So your servant said [to them], ‘Let me speak to the king’” or “So your servant thought [to herself], ‘I will speak to the king.’ ” I opt for the former even though the latter has been the most popular interpretation (cf. RSV, NRSV, JPS, NIV). It is supported by the fact that some uses of the verb elsewhere do seem to refer to thought rather than speech, but these are often difcult to distinguish. However, it must be admitted that there were expressions ready at hand for the Hebrew writer who wanted to express his characters thinking, such as the various expression meaning “to say to, or speak in, one’s heart” (cf. DCH 1:324). 1


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Tekoite suggests that there was popular respect for the king and his sense of justice. There is even the hint that the people have already been confronted with the reality that the king will side with the widow. It is not immediately clear why the woman engages in this sort of attery regarding the king’s popular reputation for rendering justice.89 It may be that she is hinting that he will jeopardize this reputation for justice and ultimately the people’s respect for his ruling in the widow’s case if he shows duplicity in his dealings with Absalom. Perhaps this is why the woman ends her speech in v. 17d with “May Yahweh your God be with you.” It is a wry sort of wish similar in its rhetorical design to that regarding her request for an oath which closed out her argument in v. 11. Both wishes show that the woman believes there is still something left to be done in order to avert an undesirable outcome. In v. 17, what remains to be done is for Absalom to be returned in order to avoid the king’s loss of popular respect. Thus it seems that the Tekoite has attempted to present herself as a widow who brings up the king’s situation with Absalom because she fears that it may undermine respect for the king’s ruling in her own case. The future of the “widow’s” case is dependent on the future of David’s case with Absalom. At the very least, it seems that the woman’s attery in vv. 15–17 is designed to put the king under the pressure of public opinion. It may also show that Joab was very concerned about the king’s popular reputation as a just ruler. (5) Mutual Discernment (14:18–23). It is difcult to say what it was that alerted David to Joab’s involvement in this matter. Perhaps it was the widow’s display of unusual political sagacity. Whatever the case, there is a certain amount of irony, even poetic justice, in David—who has just been extolled for his ability to discern good and evil—turning his critical eye towards the woman and confronting her about Joab’s involvement. When he does, the Tekoite lays all the responsibility at the feet of Joab. However, she defends him when she states his motive as, “in order to turn ( ) the face of the matter, your servant Joab did this thing” (v. 20). This refers to Joab’s intention to put a crucial new “spin” on the Absalom problem, in order to get the king to see it from another 89. M. J. Steussy nds that the comparison of David to an “angel of God” (1 Sam 29:9; 2 Sam 14:17, 20; 19:27) by characters in the books of Samuel is a “troubling comparison” in the light of the fact that the only other angel of God in the book is the plague-angel of 2 Sam 24 (“The Problematic God of Samuel,” in Shall Not the Judge of All the Earth Do What is Right? [ed. D. Penchansky and P. L. Redditt; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2000], 127–61 [156]). 1

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theological and political angle. As we have seen, this primarily consisted of relating Absalom’s exile to a theology of Yahweh’s estate, an ideal which was deemed to have priority over any punishment of fratricide. However, it is also possible that Joab’s purpose, as expressed here, was to change the people’s view of David’s behavior in the Absalom affair. Interestingly, even though the woman’s case is revealed to be a sham, David is still persuaded by this argument and agrees to have Absalom returned. So it seems that Joab has not been trying to trap the king into a binding legal judgment but to change his moral perspective.90 Joab responds to the king’s decision with an uncharacteristically ostentatious display of obeisance (v. 22). In this Joab claims to have discerned for himself that he has gained David’s favor. Does this suggest that Joab has been out of David’s favor? Is this why he decided on a ruse with the Tekoite as a means to put his arguments before David? Or is Joab’s obeisance here merely part of his diplomatic skill and an expression of relief that his desperate measures have paid off without incurring any wrath from the king? While we may concur with I. J. J. Spangenberg that Joab, the woman and David are all presented as wise in their own way,91 the fact remains that they have all failed in their wisdom to address the justice of Absalom’s killing of Amnon for the rape of Tamar. For all the theologizing of the characters, this is the main point of the narrator. Therefore, all of them, but chiey David as the king, bear the blame for the troubles which ensue from Absalom’s return in v. 23. e. The Vindication of Absalom (14:24–33) The failure to entertain the question of Absalom’s justice in the debate over his return was a fateful omission. David’s continued unwillingness to consider it is reected in his refusal to allow Absalom access to his court once he returns to Jerusalem. Joab, for his part, is not at all concerned to see Absalom vindicated or even reconciled to the king. It seems to be enough for him to have Absalom back in Jerusalem, even if under house arrest. Absalom, however, is not satised with this state of affairs. He wants his day in court. In gaining it, Absalom ironically and ruthlessly confronts Joab with the precariousness of his own place in the

90. Cf. E. Bellefontaine, “Customary Law and Chieftainship: Judicial Aspects of 2 Samuel 14:4–21,” JSOT 38 (1987): 47–72 (48, 63). 91. I. J. J. Spangenberg, “Who is the Wise One in 2 Samuel 14:1-24?,” in Studies in the Succession Narrative (ed. W. C. van Wyk; OTWSA 27/28; Pretoria: University of South Africa, 1984–85), 272–78 (276). 1


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estate of Yahweh. 2 Samuel 14:24–33 explains how the delay in acknowledging Absalom’s justice became the ironic basis for the deconstruction of his character which led him to usurp his father’s throne. f. Absalom’s Exclusion from Court (14:24) When a superior refuses to allow an inferior to “see his face,” as David does with Absalom, it is because the inferior person is considered morally unworthy. Examples in the Hebrew Bible which reect this notion come in the traditions which assert that no human can see Yahweh’s face and live (Gen 32:30; Exod 33:20, 23). Other Hebrew Bible instances which highlight the moral corruption of the subordinate are when Yahweh, as suzerain king, turns his face from his rebellious vassal, Israel (Deut 32:20; Jer 18:17). The same notion of unworthiness is in view when David forbids the Saulide defector, Abner, from “seeing his face” unless he proves his good faith by bringing Michal (2 Sam 3:13). To say that these people have simply “fallen out of favor” with their superiors obscures the fact that this is because they have, or are suspected to have, incurred guilt. Indeed, for a just king in the ancient Near East to allow the unrighteous, or guilty, to dwell in his court was unacceptable and a serious liability.92 Thus, for David to reinstate Absalom at court would require the king either to overlook the presence of someone in his court whom he considered a murderer or to accept Absalom as a righteous man, thereby vindicating his killing of Amnon. David is not prepared to do either of these. Therefore, he is determined to maintain an uneasy equilibrium by keeping Absalom in Jerusalem under house arrest. Absalom, for his part, seems convinced that he is blameless and that his actions were just (cf. 14:32). So, after two years of exclusion from court, he is prepared to do whatever it takes to force the debate. Yet, before the narrator recounts how Absalom went about this, he provides an insightful prole of Absalom. g. A Poignant Prole of Absalom (14:25–27) The words of 14:25–27 are a break in the narrative. They tell the reader for the rst time of some things that had long been true of Absalom. They provide a prole which demonstrates that, as far as outward appearances were concerned, there was no man more worthy of a place in the king’s

92. This is implicitly recognized in the admonition of Prov 25:5, “Take away the wicked from the presence of ( ) the king, and his throne shall be established with righteousness.” For a king’s own determination to keep his court free of such persons, cf. Ps 101:7. 1

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court than Absalom. Indeed, he had the look of power and virility that was associated with one who had been blessed by the deity. This was evident to all, and Absalom himself appears to have reveled in it, as his weighing of his own hair seems to suggest. The fact that he fathered three sons served only to support this popular estimation; and, as David Daube signicantly observes, in spite of Absalom’s looks there is not even a hint of any liaisons.93 Yet the reference to Absalom’s one daughter, named Tamar, bespeaks something deeper in Absalom. It suggests that the injustice done to his sister of the same name has never been far from his mind. Such righteous indignation, long-term resentment, and natural vanity are an explosive combination. Each one continually bolsters the other to corrupt the person’s whole character. (1) How Absalom Got His Day in Court (14:28–32). With such being the disposition of Absalom, the primary catalyst in the corruption of his character appears to have been his father’s refusal to acknowledge the justice of his taking up Tamar’s cause against Amnon. David’s refusal is most keenly expressed by the “two years’ worth of days” that Absalom was excluded from court (v. 28). The impact that this had on Absalom’s character is seen in 14:28–33 when the narrator tells how he went about forcing his own re-instatement. Twice Absalom is said to have summoned Joab to come so that he could send him to the king, and twice Joab is said to have refused (v. 29). This is the clearest indicator that Joab’s interest in having Absalom returned from exile had nothing to do with bringing about a reconciliation between the estranged father and son. Furthermore, Joab does not feel the slightest obligation to Absalom. Therefore, in v. 30 Absalom orders his servants to set re to Joab’s eld: “See, the allotment of Joab ( ) is near at hand, and he has barley there. Go and have it kindled with re.” It seems that this eld of Joab’s was not just any eld—it was Joab’s allotted portion of land within the community.94 Absalom’s burning of this eld after Joab’s efforts to restore him to 93. Daube, “Absalom and the Ideal King,” 318. 94. According to M. Tsevat the word % ) refers to arable land in the plain surrounding the settlement, a fundamental necessity of life or a sign of belonging to the clan or people. The same meaning seems to be in view for the feminine equivalent +$ % , used here in v. 30 of Joab’s barley eld. Tsevat observes that it is “striking how rare in the Old Testament are specic expressions for neutral division, [i.e.] words expressing nothing more than the subdivision of a whole without regard for the interest and prot that someone may have in the resulting portions” (“ chlaq II; % ) ch leq; +$ % chelqh; ;+ ., chaluqqh; %

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