S — Salomon

Could Solomon have been as rich as we are told?

Chronicles assures us that his father, the Melk David, left him about twenty billion in our money at today’s rate, by the most modest calculation. There is not that much ready money in the whole earth, and it is rather difficult to see how David could have amassed this treasure in the little country of Palestine.

According to the third book of Kings, Solomon had forty thousand stables for his chariot horses. Even if each stable held only ten horses, that would have made no more than four hundred thousand, which, added to his twelve thousand saddle horses, would have made four hundred and twelve thousand warhorses. That is a great many for a Jewish Melk who never made war. Such magnificence has few parallels in a country that raises only donkeys, where today there is no other mount. But apparently times have changed. It is true that so wise a prince, who had a thousand women, might well also have had four hundred and twelve thousand horses, if only to go riding with them along the lake of Gennesaret, or toward the lake of Sodom, or along the brook Kidron, one of the most delightful places on earth—although, in truth, this brook is dry nine months of the year, and the ground is a little stony.

But did this wise Solomon write the works attributed to him? Is it plausible, for example, that he is the author of the Jewish eclogue entitled the Song of Songs?

A monarch who had a thousand women may have said to one of them: “Let her kiss me with a kiss of her mouth, for your breasts are better than wine.” A king and a shepherd, when it comes to kissing on the mouth, can express themselves in the same way. It is true that it is rather strange to have claimed that it was the girl speaking in this passage and praising her lover’s breasts.

Nor will I deny that a gallant king may have made his mistress say: “My beloved is like a cluster of myrrh; he will remain between my breasts.” I do not quite understand what a cluster of myrrh is; but when the beloved woman advises her beloved to pass his left hand around her neck and embrace her with his right, I understand that very well.

One might ask the author of the song for a few explanations when he says: “Your navel is like a cup in which there is always something to drink; your belly is like a bushel of wheat; your breasts are like two young roe deer; and your nose is like the tower of Mount Lebanon.”

I admit that Virgil’s eclogues are in another style; but everyone has his own, and a Jew is not obliged to write like Virgil.

Apparently it is another fine turn of Eastern eloquence to say: “Our sister is still little; she has no breasts. What will we do with our sister? If she is a wall, let us build on it; if she is a door, let us close it.”

Very well: let Solomon, the wisest of men, have talked like this in his merry moments. We are told it was his wedding song for his marriage to Pharaoh’s daughter. But is it natural for Pharaoh’s son-in-law to leave his beloved at night to go into his walnut garden; for the queen to run after him all alone and barefoot; for the city guards to beat her and take her dress?

Could a king’s daughter have said: “I am dark, but I am beautiful, like Solomon’s furs”? Such expressions might be forgiven in a shepherd, although, after all, there is not much connection between a girl’s beauty and furs. Still, Solomon’s fur coats may have been admired in their time; and a Jew from the dregs of the people, making verses for his mistress, might very well tell her in his Jewish language that no Jewish king had ever had fur-lined robes as beautiful as she was. But King Solomon would have had to be thoroughly enraptured with his furs to compare them to his mistress. A king today who composed a fine wedding song for his marriage to the daughter of a neighboring king would certainly not be regarded as the best poet in his kingdom.

Several rabbis maintained not only that this little voluptuous eclogue was not by King Solomon, but that it was not authentic. Theodore of Mopsuestia held this opinion, and the celebrated Grotius calls the Song of Songs a licentious work, flagitiosus. Yet it is consecrated, and regarded as a sustained allegory of the marriage of Jesus Christ to his Church. We must admit that the allegory is a little strong, and we cannot see what the Church could understand when the author says that his little sister has no breasts, and that if she is a wall, we must build on it.

The Book of Wisdom is in a more serious vein; but it is no more Solomon’s than the Song of Songs is. It is commonly attributed to Jesus, son of Sirach, by others to Philo of Byblos. But whoever the author was, it seems that people did not yet have the Pentateuch in his time; for he says in chap. 10 that Abraham wished to sacrifice Isaac at the time of the Flood, and elsewhere he speaks of the patriarch Joseph as a king of Egypt.

Proverbs has been attributed to Isaiah, to Elzia, to Shebna, to Eliakim, to Jakeh, and to several others. But whoever compiled this collection of Eastern sayings, there is little likelihood that a king took the trouble. Would he have said that “the terror of the king is like the roaring of the lion”? That is how a subject or a slave speaks, trembling at his master’s anger. Would Solomon have said so much about the immodest woman? Would he have said: “Do not look at wine when it appears clear and its color shines in the glass”?

I very much doubt that there were drinking glasses in Solomon’s time. They are a very recent invention; all antiquity drank from wooden or metal cups. This passage alone indicates that the work was written by a Jew of Alexandria long after Alexander.

There remains Ecclesiastes, which Grotius maintains was written under Zerubbabel. The freedom with which the author of Ecclesiastes expresses himself is well known. We know he says that “human beings have nothing more than beasts; that it is better not to have been born than to exist; that there is no other life; that nothing is good but to rejoice in one’s works with the woman one loves.”

Solomon might have spoken in this way to a few of his women. It is claimed that these are objections he puts to himself; but these maxims, with their somewhat freethinking air, do not look like objections at all. To understand in an author the opposite of what he says is to make fools of the world.

Besides, several Fathers maintained that Solomon had done penance; so he may be forgiven.

But what does it matter to us whether these books were written by a Jew? Our Christian religion is founded on the Jewish religion, but not on all the books the Jews wrote. Why should the Song of Songs be more sacred to us than the fables of the Talmud? Because, we are told, we have included it in the Hebrew canon. And what is this canon? It is a collection of authentic works! Well, is a work divine because it is authentic? Is a history of the kings of Judah and Shechem, for example, anything other than a history? Here is a strange prejudice. We hold the Jews in horror, and we want everything they wrote and we collected to bear the stamp of divinity. There has never been so palpable a contradiction.

Could Solomon really have been as rich as people say?

Chronicles says his father, King David, left him about twenty billion in our currency at today’s rate. That’s the lowest estimate. There isn’t that much cash in the whole world. It would’ve been rather hard for David to pile up that treasure in little Palestine.

The third book of Kings gives Solomon forty thousand stables for his chariot horses. If each stable held just ten horses, he’d only have four hundred thousand. Add twelve thousand riding horses, and you get four hundred and twelve thousand warhorses. That’s a lot for a Jewish king who never went to war. You don’t often see such splendor in a country that only feeds donkeys. Even today, there’s nothing else to ride there. But apparently times have changed. It’s true that a prince so wise, with a thousand wives, might well have four hundred and twelve thousand horses. If only to go riding with his wives along Lake Gennesaret, toward the lake of Sodom, or toward the Kidron stream! That’s one of the loveliest spots on earth. Admittedly, the stream is dry nine months a year and the ground is rather stony.

But did wise Solomon write the books people credit to him? For instance, would he have written that Jewish pastoral poem, the Song of Songs?

A monarch with a thousand wives might have said to one of them, “Let her kiss me with a kiss of her mouth, for your breasts are better than wine.” A king can talk like a shepherd when it comes to kissing on the mouth. Still, it’s rather strange that people claim the girl is speaking here. That would mean she’s praising her lover’s breasts.

I won’t deny either that a king in love might have his mistress say, “My beloved is like a bunch of myrrh. He’ll stay between my breasts.” I’m not quite sure what a bunch of myrrh is. But she tells him to put his left hand around her neck and hold her with his right. That I understand perfectly.

You might ask the Song’s author to explain a few things when he says, “Your navel is like a cup with something to drink always in it. Your belly is like a bushel of wheat. Your breasts are like two young roe deer, and your nose is like Mount Lebanon’s tower.”

I’ll admit Virgil’s pastoral poems have a different style. But everyone’s got his own style. A Jew doesn’t have to write like Virgil.

Apparently this is another fine example of Eastern eloquence: “Our sister’s still little. She has no breasts. What should we do with our sister? If she’s a wall, let’s build on it. If she’s a door, let’s shut it.”

All right, let Solomon, the wisest of men, talk that way when he’s making merry. We’re told this was his wedding song when he married Pharaoh’s daughter. But would Pharaoh’s son-in-law naturally leave his beloved at night for his walnut garden? Would the queen run after him, barefoot and all alone? Would the city guards beat her and take her dress?

Could a king’s daughter have said, “I’m dark, but I’m beautiful, like Solomon’s furs”? You might let a shepherd say that. Even so, a girl’s beauty doesn’t have much in common with furs. Still, Solomon’s fur coats may have been admired in their day. A Jew from the lowest ranks might write verses for his mistress in his Jewish language. He could well tell her no Jewish king ever had fur-lined robes as beautiful as she was. But Solomon must’ve been terribly taken with his furs to compare them to his mistress. Suppose a king today wrote a fine wedding song for his marriage to a neighboring king’s daughter. He certainly wouldn’t count as his kingdom’s best poet.

Several rabbis have said King Solomon didn’t write this little sensual pastoral poem. They’ve also said it isn’t authentic. Theodore of Mopsuestia thought so, and the famous Grotius calls the Song of Songs a lewd, shameful work. Yet it’s accepted as sacred. People treat it as one continuous allegory of Jesus Christ’s marriage to his church. We must admit the allegory goes rather far. What could the church make of the author’s little sister having no breasts? Or of having to build on her if she’s a wall?

The Book of Wisdom is more serious, but Solomon didn’t write it any more than the Song of Songs. People usually credit it to Jesus, son of Sirach; others name Philo of Byblos. Whoever wrote it, people apparently didn’t have the Pentateuch yet in his day. In chap. 10. he says Abraham wanted to sacrifice Isaac at the time of the Flood. Elsewhere he speaks of the patriarch Joseph as an Egyptian king.

Proverbs has been credited to Isaiah, Elzia, Shebna, Eliakim, Jakeh, and several others. Whoever put together that collection of Eastern sayings, a king probably didn’t take the trouble. Would a king have said, “The terror of the king is like a lion’s roar”? That’s how a subject or slave talks when his master’s anger makes him shake. Would Solomon have talked so much about the shameless woman? Would he have said, “Don’t look at wine when it looks clear and its color shines in the glass”?

I very much doubt there were drinking glasses in Solomon’s day. They’re a very recent invention. All ancient peoples drank from wooden or metal cups. That passage alone points to a Jew in Alexandria writing long after Alexander.

That leaves Ecclesiastes, which Grotius says was written under Zerubbabel. We know well enough how freely its author speaks. He says, “People have nothing more than animals. It’s better never to have been born than to exist. There’s no other life. Nothing is good except enjoying your work with the woman you love.”

Solomon might have said those things to some of his wives. We’re told he’s raising objections against himself. But those rather freethinking sayings don’t look like objections at all. You’re making fools of people if you read an author as saying the opposite of what he says.

Besides, several church fathers say Solomon did penance. So we can forgive him.

But what does it matter to us that a Jew wrote those books? Christianity rests on the Jewish religion, not on every book the Jews wrote. Why should the Song of Songs be more sacred to us than the Talmud’s stories? We’re told it’s because we included it in the Hebrew canon. And what’s that canon? A collection of authentic works! Well, does being authentic make a work divine? Take a history of the kings of Judah and Shechem. Is it anything but a history? What a strange prejudice! We hate the Jews, yet want everything they wrote and we collected to carry God’s stamp. There has never been a plainer contradiction.