It’s About Masculinity, Not Homosexuality

Homosexuality Then and Now

The question of Bible and homosexuality was a hot potato in early 1990’s when I wrote my book on homoeroticism in the biblical world.^[1] After several decades of intensive scholarly and religious involvement in the study of the topic,^[2] the issue is still burning, although its societal and academic contexts have changed dramatically as the Western world has begun to recognize diversity in gender identities, interpretations, and performances. The issue of Bible and homosexuality, hence, has not turned irrelevant, but the preconditions of its analysis have changed profoundly.^[3]

The modern categories of hetero-, homo-, or bisexuality, all derivatives of the likewise modern idea of “sexuality,” are anachronistic.^[4] Relationships and sexual acts between individuals of the same sex appear in ancient sources, but they are described in terms of behaviors, not sexual orientation. Turning the attention from sexual orientation to masculinity, we may understand better the concerns expressed in the ancient texts.^[5]

Ominous Encounters

Omens were an important means of interpreting reality in the ancient Near East, and virtually every event and phenomenon in human environment, including sexual activity, could provide source material for omen interpreters. The compendium Šumma ālu (1^st-millennium B.C.E.), which deals with terrestrial phenomena, includes two tablets that contain over one hundred omens related to human sexual behavior.^[6]

In these omens, the man is always the active subject of the sexual act, and in the vast majority of cases, a woman takes the passive, subordinate role. (The reversal of roles, the woman appearing in the active role, turns the omen inauspicious.) In four cases, however, the passive role is assumed by a non-female partner.^[7] In the first, a man’s penetration of another man of equal status is an auspicious omen:

If a man has anal sex with his social peer, that man will become foremost among his brothers and colleagues.^[8]

The omen thus reflects the cultural association between masculinity and dominance or hegemony;^[9] indeed, it imagines how that masculine hegemony is manifested in the sexual act.

For similar reasons, the next two omens, in which the man penetrates a male person who holds a position in a prestigious social space, are also auspicious:

If a man has sexual relations with an assinnu (a person who belonged to the realm of the worship of Ishtar),^[10] hardships will be unleashed from him. If a man has sexual relations with a geršeqqû (a domestic functionary of a palace or temple) for an entire year the deprivations which beset him will be kept away.

Conversely, sexual intercourse with one’s own male slave is an inauspicious sign, perhaps because it does not add anything to the man’s social position:

If a man has sexual relations with a male houseborn slave, hardship will seize him.

Many of the omens imagine unusual instances, not necessarily conforming to societal norms. Unlike laws, omens do not prescribe acceptable behavior, let alone set moral standards. Indeed, as Ann K. Guinan observes:

When sexuality serves as a proving ground for male power and public stature, the process can encourage behavior that other institutions seek to curtail…. Divination mediates aspects of culture that cannot be openly addressed or incorporated into an institutional ideology. The omens give voice to the subterranean flow of meanings that contradict and are often unacknowledged by standard cultural institutions.^[11]

The Mesopotamian sex omens are not about homosexuality, not even about sex in general. They imagine instances of a male’s sexual behavior reflecting cultural patterns of patriarchal society from the perspective of hegemonic masculinity.

Prohibition of What?

The earlier Middle Assyrian Laws (14^th-century B.C.E.) strictly prohibit anal penetration of a man’s peer. A sequence of three provisions concerned with shaming a social peer begins with a case in which the man is humiliated by false claims about his wife’s sexual behavior, suggesting that the man is unable to control his wife and is thereby failing to conform to the hegemonic male ideal:^[12]

^{MAL A §18} If a man says to his comrade, either in private or in a public quarrel, “Everyone has sex with your wife; I can prove the charges,” but he is unable to prove the charges and does not prove the charges, they shall strike him 40 blows with rods; he shall perform the king’s service one full month; they shall cut off his hair; moreover, he shall pay 3,600 shekels of lead.^[13]

The law then turns to a false accusation that a man is being habitually penetrated by other men. Consistently playing the passive sexual role would turn his masculinity from the ideal hegemonic to the shameful submissive:

^{MAL A §19} If a man furtively spreads rumors about his comrade, saying: “Everyone has sex with him,” or in a quarrel in public says to him: “Everyone has sex with you, I can prove the charges,” but he is unable to prove the charges and does not prove the charges, they shall strike him 50 blows with rods; he shall perform the king’s service one full month; they shall cut off his hair; moreover, he shall pay one talent of lead.^[14]

In the third case, the male person is accused of feminizing another man by way of a physical penetration, which changes the victim’s sexual status in real life:

^{MAL A §20} If a man has sex with his comrade and they prove the charges against him and find him guilty, they shall have sex with him and they shall turn him into a eunuch (ša rēši).^[15]

The harm to the victim’s status is reflected in the harsh penalty of the active partner not only himself being penetrated but even being “turned into a eunuch,” which entails social marginalization and a permanent change of his own sexual status.

The general concern of the Middle Assyrian Laws is the patriarchal social order, culminating in the status, honor, and agency of paterfamilias, the male head of the household, which would be threatened by the sexual offenses listed in the law collection. The laws itemize individual cases imaginable in real life that might constitute such a threat, but the punishment in the law makes clear that it cannot be read as setting general standards concerning same-sex interaction. As Ann K. Guinan and Peter Morris note:

The punishment specified in MAL ¶20 is essentially a governmental mandate that all citizens demonstrate the ability to penetrate another male, under these circumstances—circumstances that sound like an uneasy combination of coercive sodomy and jury duty.^[16]

The Middle Assyrian Laws do not criminalize homosexuality, but offences against a free male citizen’s masculine status and social degrading. A similar context is evident in Leviticus, in which the prohibition of male-to-male intercourse focuses on the sexual rights of the paterfamilias, and is not a general ban of all kinds of same-sex interaction.

Biblical Restrictions on the Male Head of the Household

The laws in Leviticus 18 and 20 are addressed to the paterfamilias, restricting his hegemony by defining exactly with whom he may not have sexual intercourse (Lev 18:6–23 and 20:10–26).^[17] The prohibition of male-to-male intercourse should be understood in this context:^[18]

^{ויקרא יח:כב} וְאֶת זָכָר לֹא תִשְׁכַּב מִשְׁכְּבֵי אִשָּׁה תּוֹעֵבָה הִוא.

^{Lev 18:22} Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abhorrence.^[19]

The law is usually interpreted as a prohibition of male-to-male penetration. The expression מִשְׁכְּבֵי אִשָּׁה, lit. “lyings of a woman,” is understood as mirroring the expression מִשְׁכַּב זָכָר, “lying of a man,” which implies the female loss of virginity through a penetrative act.^[20]

If this is the case,^[21] then the focus is the same as in the Middle Assyrian Laws: Penetrating a male person turns the victim’s masculinity from hegemonic to subordinate, which in the patriarchal view of the lawgivers meant depriving a person of his male honor. In the context of Leviticus, such a change of masculine status is defined as a תּוֹעֵבָה, “an abhorrence,” the severest transgression of sacred borders from which there is no purification.^[22]

The omens and legal sources reflect a concern for same-sex sexual performance in the context masculine norms, but what about narratives that depict strong emotional expressions and physical gestures of love and affection between people of same sex?

The Love of Gilgamesh and Enkidu

The Epic of Gilgamesh, an epic poem best known in its Standard Babylonian version (late 2^nd-millennium B.C.E.),^[23] recounts the exploits of Gilgamesh, the king of Uruk, and his companion, Enkidu. The narrative takes place on a thoroughly mythical scene. The protagonists of the story are mostly non-standard, liminal figures, including divine or semi-divine beings, mythical beasts and an antediluvian ancestor.

The love between the two male protagonists is suggestive even of homoeroticism, which has made the Epic a standard item in the discussion of male homosexuality in the ancient Near East.^[24] The actions of the protagonists are seriously unconventional. The Epic plays constantly on boundaries such as those between men and gods, humans and animals, man and woman, man and man, constructing queer relationships and transgressions of categories.^[25]

Gilgamesh is a giant who is šittinšu ilumma šullultašu amēlūtu, “two thirds god and one third human being” (I 48). He not only builds walls and temples but who also satisfies his sexual desire insatiably. As the semi-divine king of Uruk, he has all the power to behave in a way that would today be called toxic masculinity. He terrorizes the people of Uruk to the point that they plead with the gods to provide a partner for him so that he will leave the young women and men of the city alone.

So the other protagonist, Enkidu, is created by the goddess Aruru to match Gilgamesh’s insatiable sexual energy. He is a gigantic, bestial character who becomes Gilgamesh’s best friend after having been initiated into the civilized world by the woman Shamhat.^[26] In his primitive appearance, Enkidu is described with nearly-feminine terms, having pērētu kīma sinništi, “tresses like a woman” (I 106) but during six days and seven nights of sexual intercourse with Shamhat, his masculinity emerges and his competitive spirit arises.^[27]

The two men meet on the street as Gilgamesh is on his way to act on his right to sleep with a bride on her wedding night before the groom does.^[28] The encounter begins with a violent fight but ends in the embrace of the two men, who from then on are inseparable. Their competitive masculinity turns into a collaborative one, based on mutual trust and partnership without the need of the one to prevail over the other.

Their intensive relationship develops at the cost of their interest in women, which they seem to lose altogether. This becomes evident when the Ishtar, the goddess of love and war, stunned by the beauty of Gilgamesh, proposes to him but is rejected.^[29] Gilgamesh loves Enkidu kīma aššati, “like a wife” (I 271), and when Enkidu dies, he covers his dead body kīma kallati, “like that of a bride” (VIII 59).^[30] He is eventually granted the opportunity to meet Enkidu’s shade, which is brought up to him from the Netherworld, and to have the last occasion to communicate with his beloved.

Though erotic overtones are difficult to miss in the Epic of Gilgamesh, no sexual intercourse takes place between the two. Moreover, having lost Enkidu, Gilgamesh never takes another partner, whether female or male; this stands in stark contrast to his sexual appetite for both sexes in the beginning of the story.

Rather than focusing on sexuality, the Epic of Gilgamesh reflects changes of masculinity. Gilgamesh’s arrogant, hyperhegemonic masculinity is presented as something that needed to be changed to protect people from consequences of his reckless behavior, and indeed, the narrative can be read as a development story towards masculine ascetisism.

Meeting Enkidu challenges Gilgamesh’s hegemony, as he proves himself equal in strength to him. This, however, leads to partnership and love replacing physical sex. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh’s masculinity changes into the solitary effort of actually becoming the one “who saw the Deep” and “was wise in all matters,” as the opening words of the Epic describe him.

The close relationship between Gilgamesh and Enkidu is not unique. A comparable dynamic appears in the love of David and Jonathan in the Bible (1 Samuel 18–20; 2 Samuel 1).^[31]

The Love of David and Jonathan

Jonathan’s admiration for David is declared already in the story of their first meeting, after David is introduced to Saul:

^{שׁמואל א יח:א} וַיְהִי כְּכַלֹּתוֹ לְדַבֵּר אֶל שָׁאוּל וְנֶפֶשׁ יְהוֹנָתָן נִקְשְׁרָה בְּנֶפֶשׁ דָּוִד וַיֶּאֱהָבוֹ [וַיֶּאֱהָבֵהוּ] יְהוֹנָתָן כְּנַפְשׁוֹ.

^{1 Sam 18:1} When [David] finished speaking with Saul, Jonathan’s soul became bound up with the soul of David;^[32] Jonathan loved David as himself.

Their bond of affection leads Jonathan to thwart his father Saul’s attempts to kill David (1 Sam 19:–20), and culminates with the two men exchanging a kiss^[33] as they grieve over the estrangement between David and Saul:

‏^{שׁמואל א כ:מא} הַנַּעַר בָּא וְדָוִד קָם מֵאֵצֶל הַנֶּגֶב וַיִּפֹּל לְאַפָּיו אַרְצָה וַיִּשְׁתַּחוּ שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים וַיִּשְּׁקוּ אִישׁ אֶת רֵעֵהוּ וַיִּבְכּוּ אִישׁ אֶת רֵעֵהוּ עַד דָּוִד הִגְדִּיל.

^{1 Sam 20:41} When the boy got there, David emerged from his concealment at the Negeb. He flung himself face down on the ground and bowed low three times. They kissed each other and wept together; David wept the longer.

So complete is Jonathan’s devotion to David that he even declares that David, not Jonathan himself, will reign after Saul:

^{שׁמואל א כג:יז} וַיֹּאמֶר אֵלָיו אַל תִּירָא כִּי לֹא תִמְצָאֲךָ יַד שָׁאוּל אָבִי וְאַתָּה תִּמְלֹךְ עַל יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָנֹכִי אֶהְיֶה לְּךָ לְמִשְׁנֶה וְגַם שָׁאוּל אָבִי יֹדֵעַ כֵּן.

^{1 Sam 23:17} He said to him, “Do not be afraid: the hand of my father Saul will never touch you. You are going to be king over Israel and I shall be second to you; and even my father Saul knows this is so.”

Like Gilgamesh for Enkidu, David bitterly laments Jonathan’s death. In a dirge, he declares that he valued Jonathan’s love over that of any woman:

^{שׁמואל ב א:כו} צַר לִי עָלֶיךָ אָחִי יְהוֹנָתָן נָעַמְתָּ לִּי מְאֹד נִפְלְאַתָה אַהֲבָתְךָ לִי מֵאַהֲבַת נָשִׁים.

^{2 Sam 1:26} I grieve for you, my brother Jonathan, you were most dear to me.

Also like Gilgamesh and Enkidu, the narrative of the close relationship between David and Jonathan is not about “homosexuality.” It neither presents a sexual relationship of an active and a passive partner, nor even an idealized friendship of two equals, but a strategic relationship involving male bonding that takes place on a different scene than male-female relationships.^[34]

Homosexuality or Masculinity?

Same-sex sexual interaction does not appear as a major problem in the ancient Near East. The infinitesimal portion of pertinent texts within the ancient Near Eastern textual corpus rather indicates that male-to-male intercourse was sometimes acknowledged as a realistic option but seldom presented as a topic requiring special attention.^[35]

It is also evident that the category of “homosexuality” is not very helpful in interpreting the gendered performances described in the sources discussed above. Masculinity may not be the master key either, but paying attention to masculine roles, positions, and desires opens a broader perspective to gendered structures in ancient texts, whether divinatory, legal, narrative, or mythological. The tensions, ambiguities, and conflicts of gendered performance we find narrated or presupposed by the ancient texts may help us to challenge conventional gender categories, even those constructed by modern science.