This conclusion also renders doubtful the story of Saul trying to have David killed in his sleep. That story depends on Michal’s protection of David from Saul’s men. If David and Michal were not really married, then the entire scenario falls apart. The story is also mostly comic, as it involves a classic teenager’s ruse: Michal puts an idol into the bed, with some goat’s hair on its head, and pulls the covers over it while David escapes out the window.29
All of these episodes are literary constructions, intended to demonstrate Saul’s unreasonable jealousy of David and thereby to mark the king as mentally compromised. (Indeed, if these stories were true, then we would have to judge David as the more unreasonable of the two: who would willingly return again and again to the service of a homicidal maniac?) The authors’ agenda is most clear in the final attempt on David’s life. After escaping from Michal’s bed, David is said to have fled to the prophet Samuel, in Ramah. And there, something very strange happens. Saul sends his men to capture David, but when they arrive, they are seized with the spirit of God and begin to prophesy ecstatically. Saul sends another group, and then a third, but the same thing keeps happening. Finally, Saul goes himself, and he is also seized with the spirit of God: “He too stripped off his clothes and he too spoke in ecstasy before Samuel; and he lay naked all that day and all night” (1 Sam. 19:24). The king of Israel, naked and mumbling nonsense: as Shakespeare knew when he created Lear, there can hardly be a more damning picture of a once powerful man. He is an embarrassment. His dislike of David results in his complete abasement.30
This latter episode is particularly striking, as it is by far the most humiliating depiction of Saul; but it is manifestly a literary construction, not a historical account. It conforms to the standard biblical pattern of “the rule of three”—Saul sends his men to find and kill David three times before he himself goes, just as Noah sends the dove out from the ark three times, three divine beings appear to Abraham, Israel travels three days into the wilderness during the Exodus, Balaam strikes his donkey three times, the spies visit Jericho for three days . . . the list could go on and on. What’s more, the story culminates in an apparent etiology for what must have been a well-known, if now somewhat obscure, saying: “Is Saul too among the prophets?” (1 Sam. 19:24). In the context of this episode, the saying carries a distinctly pejorative tone, mocking the royal figure writhing naked on the ground. But this is in fact the second time this saying has been introduced in the Bible. The first time occurs when Samuel has just privately anointed Saul as king, and the ecstatic prophecy serves as a divine sign acclaiming the anointing. Samuel tells Saul: “The spirit of the Lord will rush upon you . . . you will be changed into another man. And once these signs have happened to you, do as you see fit, for God is with you” (1 Sam. 10:6–7). When indeed Saul is possessed by the spirit and begins prophesying, the people with him marvel at the sight and say, “Is Saul too among the prophets?” (10:11–12). Far from a negative saying, in its first context the remark about Saul’s prophesying is positive, indicating God’s favor. The second occurrence, in the context of the David story, is an intentional reversal of the earlier acclamation of Saul as king. It plays on the popular saying and subverts it. This is a literary device, not a historical record. It tells us only that the Bible wants to go to some lengths to portray Saul’s irrationality as graphically as possible.
The biblical depiction of Saul has been remarkably persuasive, not only for those who take the text at face value, but for critical scholars as well. In the past century scholars tended to try to diagnose Saul’s illness in modern terms, with the most common suggestion being bipolar disorder.31 After all, he seems to vacillate wildly between affection and hatred for David, between periods of docility and of nearly hyperactive pursuit. But this attempt to diagnose Saul is doomed to failure. First, it imposes modern clinical categories on a text and culture to which they are utterly foreign. To say that Saul was bipolar does nothing to explain how his behavior would have been viewed by a culture that knew nothing of modern science. As one commentator correctly observed, “Saul’s suffering is described theologically, not psychopathetically or psychologically.”32 Second, and most important, it assumes that the biblical account is describing Saul accurately. And this is very much in doubt.
From a historical perspective, for Saul to qualify as unfit to rule it is not enough that we are told that he was so; his actions must testify to it. What does Saul do that marks him as unbalanced? As noted above, his irrational behavior is always linked with his attempts to kill David. From the pro-David perspective of the Bible, this is indeed madness. But let us understand events from Saul’s point of view. Saul was the first king of a small and fragile nation. His kingship was maintained by sheer force of will and the promise of continued military success. He had every right to be concerned about the succession of his line—as he was the first king, there was no established dynastic protocol.
Saul could not have known it, but the people over whom he reigned, the northern kingdom of Israel, would prove themselves largely incapable of maintaining a stable dynastic succession. Over the nearly three hundred years of the kingdom’s history, the longest dynasty lasted only five generations (compare this with the southern kingdom, where the royal succession was unbroken for the more than four hundred years of its existence). The principle of dynastic succession, though common throughout the ancient Near East, still would have required an initial example, preferably two, to set it firmly in place. Even the Bible has Saul recognize this, as he says to Jonathan, “Neither you nor your kingship will be secure” (1 Sam. 20:31). Genealogical succession to the throne was not just a matter of genetic loyalty; it was a way of ensuring that one’s name would be properly remembered and praised (as the example of David’s legacy demonstrates). Kings who are succeeded by outsiders are denigrated; those who are succeeded by their offspring have the royal line named after them and gain fame even in the eyes of non-Israelites. Thus we have an Aramean inscription that mentions “the House of David” and an Assyrian obelisk that refers to “the House of Omri,” the founder of one of the northern kingdom’s short-lived dynasties.33 In a largely preliterate world, this sort of fame was the highest honor to which one could aspire—and thus the possibility of a failed dynastic succession would have been of the highest concern to Saul.
Saul had been acclaimed as king largely because of his ability to fight off Israel’s enemies. Someone else arising who seemed to garner popular approval for the very same reason could spell potential trouble. Throughout the ancient world, as indeed is still the case today, usurpers came most commonly from the military, from the ranks of the officers who could command the allegiance of the army even more effectively than could the king himself. We have already seen the example of Hattušili, who was a successful Hittite general before he seized the throne. Later in Israel’s own history, the northern king Elah would be killed and usurped by his commander Zimri (1 Kings 16:9), who would himself then be the victim of a military coup by Omri, the head of the army (1 Kings 16:16). Saul’s fears were more than theoretical.
Being king in the ancient world meant constantly watching one’s back. The royal succession of every ancient Near Eastern nation was riddled with coups and usurpations. David may have been of use to Saul, but he was at the same time a very real threat, if solely because of his position in the military. If the troops really were pleased with having David as their commander, the boost in morale would hardly make up for the increased risk of a coup from Saul’s point of view. If the populace at large really did have affection for David, even if not at Saul’s expense but merely alongside the king, it would be unacceptable. Power was not so secure in the ancient world, especially in the nascent Israelite state, as to allow for any divided affections.
The entire program of depicting Saul as unfit to rule is a literary construction. The denigration of one’s predecessors was a standard feature of ancient royal rhetoric. In the biblical account, it has an obvious literary purpose: to rhetori
cally depose Saul so as to make room for David to ascend the throne. It is noteworthy, perhaps, that Saul’s reign did not come to an end because anyone in ancient Israel realized that he was unbalanced or unfit—he died in battle, just where any good king ought to have been, and indeed a classically glorious way for a military leader to die. There is no evidence even from the Bible’s own account that anyone thought Saul was irrational. Indeed, the most important rationale for judging Saul to be sane—even if he had tried to kill David repeatedly—is that, as it turns out, Saul was absolutely right. David would indeed succeed him as king. Saul’s dynasty would never come to be. Far from being unreasonable, Saul was prescient. His fears were justified. Even as the Bible describes him as mentally unstable, the history it records proves the opposite.
David and Jonathan
ASIDE FROM SAUL, THE other person in Israel who had the most to fear from David’s success and popularity was Saul’s eldest son and heir, Jonathan. As already noted, Jonathan had been a successful and popular military leader before David arrived, thus positioning himself as ready to ascend to the throne after Saul. In fact, Jonathan may have had even more at stake than Saul: Jonathan’s succession would be the most important indication that the newly inaugurated kingship in Israel was a lasting proposition. Any challenge to Saul’s reign was equally a challenge to Jonathan.
And yet the Bible does not present Jonathan as someone who fears or is threatened by David. On the contrary, he is said to have loved David. He defends David to Saul, he protects David from Saul, he even conspires with David against Saul. And throughout it all, in the biblical account, Jonathan effectively abdicates his natural right to the throne in favor of David. In their first scene together, Jonathan and David make a covenant, and, though it is unclear exactly what the contents of the covenant are, the ceremony by which they cement it has great importance: “Jonathan stripped off the robe he was wearing and gave it to David, together with his outer garment, his sword, his bow, and his belt” (1 Sam. 18:4). Though this may seem a rather strange thing to do, remember that Jonathan is not just any youngster—he is the king’s son, the crown prince, the presumptive heir to the throne. His clothing and equipment would not be that of the common man or soldier. He would be wearing royal garb, equipped with royal arms. Giving these to David is highly symbolic. It is simultaneously an act of abdication and of anointment. David, not Jonathan, is dressed as the next in line to be king.34
When Jonathan agrees to find out Saul’s intentions regarding David, he again debases himself before David, though this time verbally. He says that if Saul is in fact trying to kill David, “May the Lord be with you as he used to be with my father. . . . Thus has Jonathan covenanted with the House of David; and may the Lord requite the enemies of David!” (20:13–16). This speech is remarkable not for Jonathan’s unwavering support for David, but for the basic assumptions implicit in it. “May the Lord be with you as he used to be with my father”—in this Jonathan is effectively transferring the kingship from Saul to David, rather than to himself. “Thus has Jonathan covenanted with the House of David”—here Jonathan uses royal terminology, “the House of David,” even before David has become king, much less founded a dynasty that could be described as his “house.” “May the Lord requite the enemies of David”—again Jonathan puts David in the position of king, surrounded by enemies vying to remove him from the throne. Just as he did when he gave David his royal clothes, here too Jonathan rhetorically abandons the throne to his beloved friend. And we, as readers, have little choice but to begin seeing David as the presumptive heir to the throne.
To justify David’s unlikely kingship, the biblical narrative must establish three things. The first is that David is worthy of kingship, a claim substantiated by both the invention of stories (such as the secret anointing of David and the defeat of Goliath) and the exaggeration of David’s actions (as in the description of his military exploits). The second is that Saul is unworthy, as demonstrated by his irrational behavior and the notion that God has abandoned him. The third, and least obvious, is that Jonathan, the presumptive heir to Saul’s throne, approves of being replaced by David in the royal succession. It is not enough simply to make Saul look bad and David look good. All the comparisons in the world between the two would not override the expectation that Saul should be succeeded by his son according to the custom of dynastic kingship. So the biblical narrators need to persuade us that David and not Jonathan is the natural choice to follow Saul as king.
The biblical account portrays Jonathan as symbolically and rhetorically abdicating his royal inheritance in favor of David: first by giving David his royal clothes and arms, and then by speaking in terms that put David in the position of authority, complete with a dynastic house. From the moment he enters the story, Jonathan is subordinated to David. He is gullible, while David perceives the situation keenly. He ferries messages between David and Saul. He has no discernible role other than as David’s defender. As Jonathan continues to praise David in the highest terms and to express his devotion, he is diminished practically to the point of nonexistence when compared with the brave and noble David.
But the historical reality of these elements is very much open to doubt—precisely because they all contribute to the goal of rhetorically removing Jonathan from the line of succession. The bestowal of the royal clothes on David is very similar to other biblical stories in which the gift of clothing symbolizes the passing on of status—such as the moment when Elisha dons the mantle of his predecessor Elijah and thereby acquires his prophetic powers (2 Kings 2:13–15), or when Aaron’s priestly garments are passed on to his son Eleazar (Num. 20:28). The private speeches in which Jonathan defends David’s innocence and treats him as the presumptive king are unverifiable, but they are so fully in keeping with the message that the biblical narrative is trying to convey that we must doubt their historical accuracy.
The Bible replaces Jonathan with David. There is no claim, however, that Jonathan is incompetent, as is the case with Saul. The biblical authors have no need to question his fitness to rule, for Jonathan will never have the chance to ascend the throne—he is killed, by happy coincidence, side by side with his father (a coincidence to which we will return). What is required is the demonstration that Jonathan willingly accepts David’s replacement of him—and this is accomplished by portraying Jonathan as being in love with David.
Many scholars have raised the possibility that David and Jonathan had a homosexual relationship.35 Certainly the Bible comes close to saying so. Over and over we are told that Jonathan loved David. And while frequently the word “love” in the Bible and the rest of the ancient Near East has a nonromantic meaning of “covenant loyalty”—this is probably what it means when it says that Saul loved David, for example—the use of the word in the case of Jonathan seems to go beyond that.36 Jonathan does not just “love” David: “Jonathan’s soul became bound up with the soul of David” (1 Sam. 18:1). Jonathan “delighted greatly in David” (19:1)—the same Hebrew word used in Genesis to describe Shechem’s desire for Jacob’s daughter Dinah (Gen. 34:19). When Jonathan dies, David laments for him in these words: “More wonderful was your love for me than the love of women” (2 Sam. 1:26).37 The comparison to the love of women can hardly have a political connotation; this is as close to an expression of romantic attachment between two men as we find in the Bible.
There is nothing historically objectionable about the idea that David and Jonathan were lovers. We need not suppose that David was gay, in our modern understanding. It is clear enough that were we to apply such contemporary labels, we would be more justified in calling him bisexual, considering his multiple marriages and explicitly sexual attraction to Bathsheba. But any such terms—homosexual, bisexual—are inappropriate when describing people in the ancient world. Sexuality as we understand it today is a social construct, a category imposed on people to define them within a larger cultural system.38 No such categories or constructs existed in the ancient world. There was no notion o
f a person being “gay” or “straight.” People engaged in heterosexual or homosexual acts in various degrees.39 Much of the time these were, by the standards of their contemporary societies, entirely unobjectionable—consider the famous example of Alexander the Great. Even the Hebrew Bible, despite what many people think, has virtually nothing to say on the matter—only two verses in Leviticus, from the hand of a priestly author with a particular agenda who did not speak for the entirety of ancient Israelite culture. If David and Jonathan were lovers, there is no indication that anyone at the time would have batted an eye over it, much less been morally outraged—certainly the Bible seems to be unbothered by its own hints in that direction.
The Historical David: The Real Life of an Invented Hero Page 8