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Unknown Ethiopian artist

The Judgement of Solomon, Late 19th century, Mural, Church of Dabra Marqos, Goggam, Ethiopia, Photo © Michael Gervers, 2008

Nicolas Poussin

The Judgement of Solomon, 1649, Oil on canvas, 101 x 150 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris; Collection of Louis XIV (acquired in 1685), Inv. 7277, Photo: Stéphane Maréchalle, © RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, NY

Unknown German artist

A Scholar (King Solomon ?), from the Coburg Pentateuch, c.1390–96, Illuminated manuscript, 180/175 x 135 mm, The British Library, London, Add MS 19776, fol. 54v, © The British Library Board (Add MS 19776, fol. 54v)

Solomon in Shared Tradition

Comparative Commentary by

1 Kings 3–4 sings the praises of Solomon’s unsurpassed wisdom: how he acquired it supernaturally in a dream (3:5–14); how it enable him to act judiciously in the rather bizarre case of the two mothers (3:16–27); how it bestowed on him outstanding literary skills (4:3, 32), and equipped him with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the natural world, including animals and fish (4:33).

Commentators have been less fulsome in their praise of the king. Several Jewish exegetes, such as fifteenth-century commentator Isaac Abarbanel, argue that Solomon’s request for a sword to induce the real mother to step forward through compassion shows no extraordinary brilliance or foresight on the part of the king. Equally, some deemed Solomon’s literary achievements (4:32) to be quite modest, given his much-vaunted creative talents. Indeed, the medieval commentator David Kimchi (1160–1235) suggested that we no longer have Solomon’s complete oeuvre because much of it must have been lost during the period of the exile, only the finest of his compositions managing to survive.

Artists, too, were sensitive to some unsettling aspects of the narrative, and this is especially so in representations of Solomon’s judgement in the case of the two women. It is a subject that has become one of the most painted in the entire repertoire of European art. In The Judgement of Solomon, Nicolas Poussin focusses our thoughts on a very precise single moment in the story when Solomon passes his first judgement, that the child be cut in two (1 Kings 3:24–25), the moment of highest tension. For Poussin, Solomon’s harsh judgement may be totally impartial (perhaps conveyed by the painting’s very precise symmetry) but, at the same time, he wants us to reflect on how cruel and inhuman Solomon’s very suggestion is: is it a judgement devoid of any mercy? The range of emotions clearly felt by the bystanders who behold the unfolding scene prompts the viewer to question the king’s first verdict. When the second judgement is uttered—that the child be given to its true mother—it is the quality of the woman’s compassion (an aspect overshadowed in the narrative which is interested only in promoting Solomon’s judicial skills) that clearly wins the day for Poussin.

The representation in the Goggam mural was intended for the worshipping congregation of a small church in Ethiopia. Until the death of Haile Selassie in 1975, it was the belief that all emperors of Ethiopia were direct descendants of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. Not surprising, then, that the young Solomon in the mural is depicted as a compassionate ruler, while the captions and the exchanges between the two women (written in Amharic), together with the familiar attire of the characters, all suggest to the viewer that the first proof of Solomon’s supernatural wisdom actually occurred within their own country and among their own people (represented by the group of bystanders in the mural). The mural, therefore, not only encouraged its intended viewers to look afresh at a well-known biblical story but it also appealed to, and confirmed, their sense of national identity.

The Coberg Pentateuch illumination reflects the importance given to Solomon in Jewish midrashic literature as a prototype of the Talmudic sage—one who is able to analyze and justify the reasons for the commandments of the Torah. But it has wider significance, too, in that it illustrates the shared cultural (and visual) traditions concerning Solomon in Judaism and Islam. A Jewish tradition, recorded by Rashi (Commentary on 1 Kings 3.15), describes how, after Solomon awoke from his dream (1 Kings 3:15) he would hear a bird chirp or a dog bark and he would understand its language, while the Qur’an (Surah An-Naml 27:15–16) claims that after Solomon received supernatural wisdom, he was taught the language of the birds. In Jewish and Islamic art, Solomon is frequently depicted, surrounded by animals, birds, spirits, and demons, illustrating his remarkable wisdom that allowed him to converse with all aspects of the natural world (O’Kane 2017).

The Coberg miniature reflects this shared iconographical tradition in the way it includes different species—mythical and real, flora and fauna (note the detail of the dog bringing along a plant for Solomon’s inspection). While Christian commentators generally interpret the accounts of Solomon’s wisdom simply as prefiguring the wisdom of Christ in the New Testament (summed up in the advice given in Matthew 6:33), Jewish and Islamic perspectives—both textual and visual—can offer us alternative perspectives on the character of Solomon, making him a more personable and engaging figure, as this remarkable illumination demonstrates.

 

References

O’Kane, Martin. 2017. ‘Painting King Solomon in Islamic and Orientalist Tradition’, Bible in the Arts, pp. 1–20 <https://www.bibelwissenschaft.de/fileadmin/user_upload/Bibelkunst/BiKu_2017_06_OKane_Solomom_Islamic_Tradition.pdf> [accessed 1 June 2021]

Next exhibition: 1 Kings 4 Next exhibition: 1 Kings 8:14–61