The Lion of Judah

 

The way the Bible is read is usually a matter of habit, either as the result of inculcation when the critical faculties are still in their infancy, or directed to it in a late act of conversion, when, even before turning the first page, it is already a foregone conclusion that this book is supposed to be special, “holy” and “scripture.” I was fortunate. I had the privilege to be left reading the Good Book just like any other book and keep my eyes on what the story is really saying without a priest or “theologian” explaining away the obvious. What is there to explain anyway? The good guys are good and the bad guys are bad.

David, the man "after the heart of God," was a serial philanderer and pathological traitor who made his enemies pass “under saws and harrows of iron, and under axes,” before sending them to “the brick-kilns. Thus did he unto all the cities of the children of Ammon” (II Sam. 12: 31). He also was a king and had a whole staff of court historians to do the whitewash for posterity. I am a child of the cold war; propaganda was the air we were breathing. This here was easy.

My sympathies therefore have always been with King Saul; and here is why:

Over time the judges over Israel had developed a habit of passing on clout and influence only to club members. So “when Samuel was old, he made his sons judges over Israel.” And they “turned aside after lucre, took bribes, and perverted the law. So all the elders of Israel gathered and came to Samuel and said, behold, you are old, and your sons walk not in your ways: now make us a king to judge us like all the nations. The thing displeased Samuel” (I Sam. 8: 1-6). Reluctantly he grabbed from his wife’s larder a vial of olive oil and in 1025 BC he anointed Saul as the people’s prince.

Old Shmul had little choice in this matter. There was still no Hebrew nation, only a loose confederacy of half domesticated tribes, roaming the mountains. They were not even allowed to keep their own blacksmiths “lest they make the Hebrew swords or spears” and had to trade their supply of nails, hoes and plows from the Philistine overlord (I Sam. 13: 19). Inevitably this became the cause for a growing resentment against the Philistines. Resentments are the forge of nation building. All it took was a George Washington and a new nation was born out of the resentment against taxation without representation. Saul was the George Washington of the Hebrews. Chosen by shortsighted and envious politicians because his tribe was the smallest and least likely to dominate the confederacy, the Bible introduces Saul as the nation-builder (I Sam. 11: 7) a charismatic leader, who was a bit of a shaman himself (I Sam. 19: 24).

He was the anointed, the Messiah, the last of the judges and the first of the kings. Not surprising, the old establishment of tribal elders developed a dim view of the man cutting into their privileges: “He will take our sons, and appoint them for his horsemen; and some shall run before his chariots. And he will take our daughters, our fields, and our vineyards, and give them to his servants” (I Sam. 8: 11-18).

The wily Samuel’s idea was of course to use Saul as a puppet with him pulling the strings, but the prince followed his own counsel instead of committing senseless slaughter to no purpose (I Sam. 15: 14).

So, Samuel resorted to scare tactics against the brave but superstitious prince, proclaiming the “will of God” in “oracles” from his shrine at Shiloh (I Sam. 9: 9; 14: 35-46, 15: 11, 23). Still not satisfied, he then approached in secret what seemed an inexperienced but willing young man, carefully chosen for his handsome looks (I Sam. 16: 2-4; 12). Under Samuel’s approving eye the young man was introduced to Saul as a harp player (I Sam. 16: 23) and soon advanced to the office of the king's armor bearer. The king's oldest son, Prince Jonathan, immediately fell under the spell of David's handsome looks and stripped himself bare the very first time he laid eyes on him (I Sam. 18: 4). Thus the infatuated prince became the unwitting accessory to Samuel and David's conspiracy against King Saul. Old Shmul must have been a particularly poor judge of character. As it turned out, this David, too, had ideas of his own.

David was a shrewd propagandist of his own, admittedly courageous, exploits (I Sam. 17, 18: 7) and began to command a following in Saul’s army. Yet the plot was discovered and David had to run for dear life. He became the leader of a band of malcontents and mercenaries (I Sam. 25: 10 27: 5) even appeared on the Philistines' – the archenemy’s – payroll (I Sam. 27: 1-7). Betrayed and without allies, King Saul and his son were left to fight an overwhelming force against hopeless odds.

The priestly narrator alleges that in his heydays King Saul had been prosecuting sorcery and witchcraft – not likely in a period when witchcraft was the common mode of religious operation and the term “prophet” was just another name for a sorcerer casting spells on the enemy (Numbers 22: 21-38). Whatever the case, the prince is now reduced to seeking help from a sorceress. Her vision confirms his impending doom; she has no comfort to offer, only a meal. So King Saul, sore in his soul but unflinching, rises and goes into the long night (I Sam. 28), a true aristocrat all the way. Yet the Good Book doesn’t approve of nobility and tragedy. What seems to annoy the rabbinical editor is the fact that an aristocrat lives by his own honor and chooses his own destiny. Tragedy is neither a sob story, nor the story of a man getting himself inadvertently into deep waters. Tragedy is the story of a choice in the face of unfavorable odds and knowing these odds. In 1011 BC, Saul and Jonathan were slain in the final showdown against the Philistines. The narrator claims that David took no part in it. Not a likely scenario if indeed the Philistines had their suspicions (I Sam. 29: 3-7). With their main forces engaged, they would rather have kept an eye on this treacherous ally (I Sam. 27: 11). That on the other hand David was giving King Saul a decent burial is inevitable, if he wished to maintain an appearance of legitimacy for his own claim to the vacant throne.

David assumed his rule as a puppet of the Philistines, with mercenaries holding the key positions in his army (II Sam. 11: 3 etc.). David consolidated his power with ruthless efficiency, eventually shaking off the yoke of the Philistines. There was rebellion in his own house (II Sam. 13-18) and the omnipresence of Egypt, the biggest power in the region that allowed neither David nor the Philistines even to sneeze without asking permission, is never mentioned (II Sam. 12). When in 969 BC "the days of David drew nigh that he should die,” the prophet Nathan and Solomon, the son of a concubine, plotted against the legitimate contender. In a last minute coup Solomon became the designated successor and received the dying king’s final instructions. By his own life, David had sworn clemency to his defeated adversaries, but now all bets were off: “You know what Joab the son of Zeruiah did to me, show yourself a man and let not his hoar head go to the grave in peace. And, you have with you Shimei the son of Gera, which cursed me with a grievous curse: hold him not guiltless: bring his hoar head down with blood. So David slept with his fathers, and the kingdom was established in the hand of Solomon" (I Kings 2). The scene has inspired Mario Puzo’s Godfather.

© – 3/10/2009 – by michael sympson, 1,400 words, all rights reserved