The Historical David: The Real Life of an Invented Hero (31 page)

How could Bathsheba, ostensibly just another one of David’s many wives and concubines, garner enough support to put Uriah’s son on the throne? It is crucial to note where the support came from. Solomon gained the kingship because David’s warriors were behind him. And they were behind him because Solomon was almost one of their own. Bathsheba’s father, Eliam, was one of David’s warriors—so, too, her husband and Solomon’s father, Uriah. Solomon did not grow up in David’s court, as Adonijah had. He grew up among David’s army. This was a military coup—David had always ruled on the strength of his private militia, and now that militia was claiming official command of the nation that it had, in effect, controlled for years.

Bathsheba, as one of David’s wives, perhaps had more authority, or access to power, than others who might have wished their military sons to rise to the top. But she also may have had extra motivation. Her grandfather, remember, was Ahitophel, David’s former advisor who turned his allegiance to Absalom. Ahitophel, as may be expected, did not survive the rebellion. The Bible says that when his advice was rejected in favor of Hushai’s, he went home and hanged himself (2 Sam. 17:23). If he did truly commit suicide, it would be more logical for him to have done so only after Absalom had been killed—after all, had Absalom somehow emerged victorious even despite Hushai’s subversive actions, Ahitophel would have remained a high-ranking member of the royal court. But it is equally possible that he did not commit suicide at all but was killed by David as punishment for his defection, just as Amasa was killed for his. It also seems likely that if Ahitophel had defected, his son Eliam had as well; though it is not unheard of for fathers to fight against sons, it need not be the most obvious choice either. And then there is Uriah, Bathsheba’s first husband, whom David had killed—and whom, based on Bathsheba’s naming her son Solomon, she never stopped loving. It is thus possible that Bathsheba had lost three of her male relatives, including her father and husband, to the sword. Solomon’s kingship may have been Bathsheba’s revenge: an opportunity to make right all of the wrongs that had befallen her family because of the king.
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If this reconstruction has any validity, it means that the fallout from Absalom’s revolt was more widespread than may have been imagined. Not only did Absalom permanently scar David’s previously unblemished power, but ironically, in defeating Absalom, David may have laid the groundwork for the ultimate downfall of his kingship and the end of his incipient dynasty. With Solomon’s accession—not succession—to the throne, David’s power was finally and completely gone. He was no longer king. He was merely an old man confined to his bed.

David’s Death

T
HE FINAL CHAPTER OF
the biblical story of David’s life consists almost entirely of David’s deathbed instructions to Solomon. It begins with a short speech that, like the oracle in 2 Samuel 7, is a seventh- or sixth-century
BCE
addition to the narrative based on the book of Deuteronomy. David tells Solomon to be strong—exactly as Moses, in his deathbed speech, tells Joshua to be strong (Deut. 31:6). He tells Solomon to “keep the charge of Yahweh your God” (Deut. 11:1); to walk in God’s ways and observe all of his laws, commandments, rules, and admonitions (Deut. 26:17). These, David says, are recorded “in the Torah of Moses”—that is, Deuteronomy, to which, it should be noted, David has never paid much attention before this. All of this is in order that Solomon should “succeed in whatever you undertake” (Deut. 29:8). Then, David says, God will fulfill the promise he made about David: the promise of 2 Samuel 7. As Deuteronomy was written at least three hundred years after David lived, it is safe to conclude that David never said any of this.

Now David turns to the specific instructions. First, he tells Solomon to kill Joab. This is, to say the least, shocking—no one in all Israel, at least according to the biblical narrative and probably in reality as well, was as loyal to David as Joab. David’s rationale is baldly apologetic: Joab should die because he killed Abner and Amasa. Even in his last words David’s reputation is upheld. Solomon needs no fictional reason to kill Joab, for Joab had taken Adonijah’s side—correctly perceiving that to be the course truest to David’s legacy. The opposing general was never allowed to live—as the cases of Abner and Amasa, mentioned by David himself, prove.

David also tells Solomon to deal with Shimei, the northerner who accused David of killing Saul’s family. David had promised Shimei that he would not die—which at the time was a measure of David’s decreased power after Absalom’s revolt. Solomon can now do what David had been unable to. And it is as much in Solomon’s interests to root out any potential troublemakers as it was in David’s.

In neither of these cases did David need to tell Solomon what to do. Solomon—if he were only half as wise as the Bible makes him out to be—would be sure to do them on his own. And, like the speech lifted from Deuteronomy, it is certain that David did not tell Solomon what to do. Solomon had stolen the crown from David’s head. There is no reason to think that he ever went to David for advice, or for anything else. David was not Solomon’s father—he was nothing to Solomon anymore. These instructions exist to validate Solomon’s actions as reprisals on David’s behalf rather than as the understandable decisions of a new king wanting to consolidate his power.

With the final details out of the way, nothing was left for David but to die. In all likelihood, he died alone—no family was left to be at his bedside; perhaps only a servant or two were assigned by Solomon to keep watch and report the happy news. David had risen from the humblest of beginnings to become the mightiest king Israel had ever known. But he died without glory, his power, both physical and political, having long since slipped away.

Solomon Secures His Power

O
NCE
D
AVID WAS GONE,
Solomon had only to tie up the loose ends. He began, as expected, by dealing with Adonijah and his supporters. In the Bible, Adonijah dies mostly of stupidity. He is said to have gone to Bathsheba with a friendly request: might he perchance take David’s last concubine, Abishag, as his wife? Solomon, when Bathsheba brings Adonijah’s request to him, correctly interprets it: “Why request Abishag the Shunammite for Adonijah? Request the kingship for him!” (1 Kings 2:22). For this gross misconduct, Solomon has Benaiah, his general, kill Adonijah. It is impossible to imagine that Adonijah, who had been forced to seek sanctuary to save himself from Solomon, should now be so foolish as to try such a blatant attempt at a coup. Solomon had Adonijah killed for the obvious reason: he was the rightful heir to the throne that Solomon had stolen. The biblical story, however, absolves Solomon of any vindictiveness. He had given Adonijah a chance to live out his days in peace, the Bible tells us. It was Adonijah who brought about his own death.

From Adonijah, Solomon turned to the priest Abiathar. His life was spared, but he was confined to house arrest. His fellow Adonijah supporter Joab, however, was less fortunate. After seeing what had happened to Adonijah—or, equally likely, even before then—Joab tried to seek sanctuary at the altar, just as Adonijah had. Solomon had been lenient with Adonijah, at least at first. He would not be so with Joab; he sent Benaiah to seize him from the altar and kill him. Though this seems a violation of the principle of sanctuary, it was in fact in line with ancient Israelite custom: the altar provided no safety for those guilty of murder (Exod. 21:14). And, even if disingenuously, Solomon was perfectly capable of laying the deaths of Abner and Amasa at Joab’s feet. Solomon could declare that he had rid Israel of its most dangerous man—without mentioning that Joab was probably most dangerous to Solomon himself.

Finally, Solomon dealt with Shimei. Shimei was confined to a house in Jerusalem—away from his home in Benjamin, where he might continue to stir up trouble—and given instructions that were nearly impossible to follow. He was not to leave his house—ever. Should he leave, he would die. Solomon only had to wait. And sure enough, eventually Shimei left, in pursuit of some runaway slaves. Like Adonijah and Joab, Shimei died by the sword of Benaiah.

One group remains that had supported Adonijah but never appears in the story again: Adonijah’s younger brothers, the princes, the other sons of David who were invited to Adonijah’s feast. The precise makeup of this group is unclear. The Bible mentions two sons born after Adonijah in Hebron, Shephatiah and Ithream, and ten others born in Jerusalem. Because none is ever mentioned by name again, it is hard to judge whether these lists are historically accurate. It seems safe to say, however, that David had other sons after Adonijah—they appear not only here, but also in the story of Absalom’s murder of Amnon, where David is afraid that Absalom has killed not only his elder brother, but all the other princes as well. If David had other sons, what happened to them after Solomon became king? There is probably not an innocent explanation for their disappearance. After Adonijah’s death, the rightful heir to David’s throne would be the eldest of Adonijah’s younger brothers, and so on down the line. David knew enough to eliminate all his predecessor’s descendants to ensure the safety of his stolen crown. It is reasonable to assume that Solomon knew it just as well.

With these deaths, all the remaining ties to David’s story were severed. Solomon could begin to rule without any entanglements inherited from his predecessor. Murder had been David’s main path to power, and with these final murders, that path finally came to an end. With the last words of the chapter, the Bible formally transitions from the story of David to the story of Solomon: “The kingdom was secured in Solomon’s hands” (1 Kings 2:46).

The Bible presents Solomon’s kingship as David’s choice. David declared that Solomon would succeed him; David gave the command for Solomon’s coronation; David gave Solomon instructions for securing the kingdom. But Solomon’s kingship was not David’s choice. It happened without his consent, and even without his knowledge.

Solomon’s kingship is presented as the divinely ordained continuation of David’s dynasty. It had been predicted long before Solomon’s birth; it was reaffirmed in David’s own deathbed words. But Solomon’s kingship was not a continuation of David’s dynasty. Solomon was not David’s son—he was the son of Uriah. Solomon had no right to the throne—he took it by force from Adonijah, the true heir, with the support of the army. Solomon was a usurper.

The biblical authors did all they could to hide this fact, though it must have been recognized by David and Solomon’s contemporaries. But generations later, with king after king in Judah tracing his lineage back to David—the man who had created the kingdom of Judah in the first place—the biblical account won the day. And it has prevailed for the past three thousand years.

The realization that Solomon was not David’s son has an effect beyond mere historical curiosity. The entire myth of the Davidic dynasty, built up over the centuries in ancient Israel, is based on a falsehood. There was no Davidic dynasty—the kingdom of Judah was ruled by a Solomonic dynasty. And the genealogies that trace the descent of Jesus back to David are equally problematic. Jesus’s line may go back to Solomon—but David is out of the picture. And so too are David’s sons, whom Solomon probably had killed as part of his Davidic housecleaning. David’s line died with him.

The irony of Solomon’s coup is that, in the end, David’s legacy is the same as Saul’s. Both were the first kings—Saul over Israel, David over Judah and over the united kingdom. Both must have had high hopes that their sons would succeed them and that a long-lasting dynasty would result. But neither would see his hopes realized. Saul and David were both outmaneuvered by an outsider, someone with no right to be king, who would come to wear the crown.

Solomon’s Reign

T
HE
I
SRAELITES WHO LIVED
through David’s and Solomon’s reigns witnessed a dramatic transformation of their land and culture. David had created two new kingdoms out of nothing: the kingdom of Judah, previously a region of independent communities, and the united kingdom of Judah and Israel. The inhabitants of Judah may not have felt that they needed a king—David imposed the kingship on them against their will—but once they had it, it was there to stay. David gave the Judahites a sense of nationhood and importance that they had never had previously. Long the minor area to the south of Israel’s heartland, Judah could now see itself as equal to its northern cousins, even if it would take many generations for them to achieve that status fully. In the north, on the other hand, the Israelites were never pleased with having been subsumed into a larger polity. They had had their own king once, and with him the hopes for a lasting national identity. David had put that all to a quick end.

In some respects, the notion of the united kingdom, representing Israel’s golden age, is a myth.
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Israel and Judah were separate polities, with separate histories and traditions. In David, they had a common king, but not a common cause. The inhabitants of Israel and Judah did not consider themselves “Israelites” in the larger sense. They were members of their tribes, and clans, and families. The reluctance of the north to see itself as part of David’s kingdom is evident from Shimei’s curses, from Sheba’s rallying cry, and from the renewed separation of Israel and Judah that was yet to come. The combination of the two kingdoms was an accomplishment of David’s force and will—it was really the kingdom of David, not the kingdom of Israel.