The Books of Kings (1 and 2 Kings)

The Sefer Melakhim: originally a single scroll

In the Hebrew Bible, 1 and 2 Kings form only one book, the Sefer Melakhim ("Book of Kings")^[5]. The division into two is artificial: it breaks the narrative in full continuity, in the middle of the reign of King Ahaziah of Israel, without any break in meaning. This original unity explains why the two books share exactly the same language, style, method of dating reigns, and theology: they are one single work.

Why the Septuagint split it in two

The split comes from the Greek translators of the Septuagint, in the 3rd–2nd century BC. Greek, which writes vowels, takes up much more space than Hebrew, which originally noted only consonants: a single Hebrew scroll became, in Greek, too long for one volume^[6]. The translators therefore divided Samuel into two and Kings into two, grouping the four under the same title: Βασιλειῶν (Basileiôn), the "Books of Kingdoms" (or "Books of Reigns"), numbered I to IV. In this system:

• 1-2 Samuel = First and Second Book of the Kingdoms;
• 1-2 Kings = Third and Fourth Book of Kingdoms.

"Third" and "Fourth Book of Kings": the legacy of the Vulgate

Saint Jerome, when translating the Bible into Latin (the Vulgate, around 390–405), kept the division into four books but restored the Hebrew title Samuel for the first two while keeping the Greek numbering. For centuries, Latin Catholic Bibles therefore called our Books of Kings Liber Tertius and Quartus Regum — "Third" and "Fourth Book of Kings"^[7]. This usage remained common in French-language Catholic Bibles until the 20th century; it is still found in the Bible de Crampon or the English Douay-Rheims. Modern editions (Bible de Jérusalem, TOB) have returned to the Hebrew numbering: 1 and 2 Samuel, 1 and 2 Kings. It is important to know this to avoid confusion when reading older commentaries: "IV Kings" there means our 2 Kings.

Among the "Former Prophets"

In the Jewish canon, the Books of Kings are not among the Ketuvim (the historical "Writings" like Chronicles) but among the Nevi'im rishonim, the "Former Prophets", alongside Joshua, Judges, and Samuel^[8]. This classification is significant: for Israel’s tradition, these books are not simple historiography, but a prophetic history — history read in the light of God’s Word, where what matters is not the king’s exploits but his faithfulness to the Covenant. The Christian canon, following the Septuagint, places them among the historical books, between Samuel and Chronicles. Both classifications are true: Kings is both history and prophecy.

From David's death to the schism: the glory and fall of Solomon (1 Kings 1–11)

The narrative opens with the old King David dying, and the struggle for his succession. Against the claims of his eldest son Adonijah, the prophet Nathan and Queen Bathsheba secure the coronation of Solomon^[9]. The young king asks God, at Gibeon, not for wealth or victory, but for the wisdom to govern well:

“Give your servant an understanding heart to govern your people and to discern between good and evil.”
— First Book of Kings 3:9^[10]

God grants him what he asks for, and in addition gives him glory and wealth. His wisdom becomes proverbial (the judgment between two mothers, the visit of the Queen of Sheba).

The pinnacle of his reign is the construction of the Temple of Jerusalem, begun in Solomon’s fourth year, “four hundred and eighty years after the exodus from Egypt” (around 966 BC)^[11]. The dedication of the Temple, with Solomon’s great prayer and the cloud of Glory filling the sanctuary, is one of the theological high points of the Old Testament.

But the portrait takes a turn. For his foreign wives, Solomon builds sanctuaries to idols, “and his heart was not wholly devoted to the Lord his God”^[12]. The narrative presents this unfaithfulness as the root of the coming misfortune: God announces that he will tear the kingdom apart.

The tearing of the kingdom (1 Kings 12)

At Solomon’s death (around 931 BC), his son Rehoboam refuses to lighten the forced labor imposed by his father. The ten northern tribes then secede and make Jeroboam their king^[13]. This is the schism: the united kingdom of David breaks into two.

• In the north, the kingdom of Israel: ten tribes, a capital that will be established at Samaria, and a succession of often violent dynasties (nineteen kings, nine dynasties, several regicides).
• In the south, the kingdom of Judah: Jerusalem, the Temple, and the sole dynasty of David, which will reign without interruption until the Exile.

To prevent his subjects from going up to the Temple in Jerusalem, Jeroboam erects two golden calves at Bethel and Dan. This act becomes, throughout the book, the original sin of the North: “the sin of Jeroboam son of Nebat, who caused Israel to sin” — a phrase that recurs like a refrain of condemnation^[14].

Two kingdoms in parallel: Israel and Judah

From then on, the narrator weaves the two stories together with archival rigor: he presents each king with a synchronism (“In the twenty-seventh year of Jeroboam king of Israel, Azariah became king of Judah…”), gives the length of his reign, judges him according to the religious criterion, then refers the reader to official annals for the rest. The reader thus constantly shifts from one kingdom to the other. The North quickly sinks into idolatry; the South experiences an alternation of faithful and unfaithful kings.

The Elijah cycle (1 Kings 17 – 2 Kings 2)

The narrative suddenly slows and changes tone when, under the reign of Ahab and his Phoenician wife Jezebel, the greatest prophet of the royal era appears: Elijah the Tishbite. Facing the king who introduced the worship of Baal, Elijah embodies burning fidelity to the one true God — his very name means “The Lord is my God”^[15].

The cycle strings together unforgettable scenes: the drought announced as punishment; the miracle of flour and oil with the widow of Zarephath, whose son Elijah raises from the dead; above all, the great challenge on Mount Carmel, where, at Elijah’s prayer, “the fire of the Lord” comes down from heaven and consumes the burnt offering, exposing the impotence of the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal^[16]. Then, fleeing Jezebel’s vengeance, Elijah walks forty days to Horeb, the mountain of Moses, where God reveals himself not in the storm, earthquake, or fire, but in the whisper of a gentle breeze:

“After the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak.”
— First Book of Kings 19:12-13^[17]

There is also the episode of Naboth’s vineyard, where Elijah denounces the judicial murder committed by Ahab and Jezebel to seize a vineyard^[18]. Finally, the cycle ends with the most extraordinary scene: Elijah does not die but is taken up to heaven in a whirlwind, on a chariot of fire, before the eyes of his disciple Elisha^[19].

The Elisha cycle (2 Kings 2–13)

Elisha takes up Elijah’s mantle and asks for “a double portion of your spirit”^[20]. His cycle multiplies miracles of kindness and power: water purified, oil multiplied for a widow, the resurrection of the Shunammite’s son, the multiplication of twenty loaves for a hundred men^[21]. The most famous is the healing of Naaman, the leprous Syrian general, who must humble himself by dipping seven times in the Jordan to be purified^[22]. Elisha also acts in great politics: he anoints kings, intervenes in wars between Israel, Syria, and Judah, and prepares the coup d’état of Jehu who will exterminate Ahab’s dynasty and the cult of Baal.

The fall of Samaria in 722 BC (2 Kings 17)

The northern kingdom, never converted, rushes to its ruin. Under the pressure of the Assyrian empire, its capital Samaria falls after a long siege, around 722-721 BC: the population is deported, and foreign settlers are installed in its place (who will form the mixed people of the Samaritans)^[23]. Chapter 17 of 2 Kings is the great theological commentary of the work: the ruin is not a political accident, but the punishment for two centuries of idolatry. It is the definitive disappearance of the ten northern tribes.

Hezekiah, Sennacherib, and the deliverance of Jerusalem (2 Kings 18–20)

In the south, King Hezekiah undertakes a great religious reform and stands up to Assyria. In 701 BC, Sennacherib invades Judah and besieges Jerusalem. Supported by the prophet Isaiah, Hezekiah prays in the Temple, and the city is miraculously delivered: the Assyrian army lifts the siege^[24]. This episode, recounted almost in the same terms in the book of Isaiah (chapters 36-37), is one of the best corroborated by archaeology (see below).

Josiah and the Discovery of the Book of the Law (2 Kings 22–23)

After the long idolatrous reign of Manasseh—presented as the worst of the kings of Judah—the reformer Josiah comes to power. In 622 BC, during renovations in the Temple, the high priest discovers “the book of the Law” (which most scholars identify with the core of Deuteronomy)^[25]. Deeply moved, Josiah launches the most radical reform: he destroys the high places, centralizes all worship in Jerusalem, and celebrates a Passover like none seen since the time of the Judges^[26]. This is the pinnacle of the religious ideal of the book—but it will be short-lived: Josiah dies prematurely at Megiddo.

The Fall of Jerusalem and the Exile (2 Kings 24–25)

The outcome is tragic. Caught between Egypt and the new Babylonian empire of Nebuchadnezzar, Judah is crushed in two stages. A first deportation takes King Jehoiachin and the kingdom’s elite to Babylon (597 BC)^[27]. Then, after the revolt of the last king Zedekiah, Nebuchadnezzar captures Jerusalem, burns Solomon’s Temple, tears down the walls, and deports the people (587/586 BC)^[28]. The kingdom of David ceases to exist.

Yet, the work does not end with ruin. The very last verses report that in 561 BC, the king of Babylon Evil-Merodach releases Jehoiachin from prison, restores his honors, and lets him eat at his table until his death^[29]. This seemingly minor detail is actually the final word of hope in the books of Kings: the scion of David still lives. The promise is not dead.

The Jewish Tradition: the Prophet Jeremiah

The oldest tradition about the author is Jewish. The Babylonian Talmud, in a famous passage of the tractate Baba Bathra, lists the authors of the biblical books and states: “Jeremiah wrote his book, the book of Kings, and Lamentations”^[30]. The attribution is not arbitrary: the end of Kings (2 Kings 24–25) and the last chapter of Jeremiah (Jer 52) recount almost word for word the same events, and the obsessive concern for fidelity to the Covenant and the threat of punishment corresponds exactly to Jeremiah’s preaching, prophet of Judah’s last years. Tradition thus sees in the great prophet of the catastrophe the natural witness to write its chronicle.

The Hypothesis of the “Deuteronomistic History”

Modern exegesis approaches the question differently. In 1943, the German biblical scholar Martin Noth proposed a hypothesis that still dominates academic research: the books of Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings form a single great “Deuteronomistic history”, composed by a single author during the Exile, to interpret the fall of Jerusalem as God’s judgment on the people’s unfaithfulness^[31]. Other scholars, notably the American Frank Moore Cross, refined the model by proposing a double redaction: a first optimistic edition under Josiah’s reign (circa 620), then a second, reworked during the Exile after the collapse, to account for the disaster^[32].

This hypothesis has real descriptive value: it accounts for the unity of style, vocabulary, and theology running from Joshua to 2 Kings. But it must be read for what it is—a literary reconstruction, elegant but hypothetical, unsupported by any manuscript of a supposed earlier edition. It is by no means incompatible, moreover, with the Jewish tradition: a prophetic core dating back to Jeremiah and his circle, then a final shaping during the Exile, honestly reconciles both approaches.

The Sources Cited by the Text Itself

Remarkably, the author of Kings does not hide that he works from older archives. Several times, he explicitly refers the reader to three now-lost works:

• the Book of the Acts of Solomon (1 Kings 11:41);
• the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Israel (cited about fifteen times);
• the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Judah (cited about fifteen times)^[33].

This documentary transparency is valuable: it shows an author concerned with accuracy, relying on official sources and inviting verification, like the best ancient historians. Far from free legend, the books of Kings present themselves as a sourced history.

What Should a Catholic Believe About the Author?

The Church does not define the name of the author of the books of Kings: this point remains open to research. What Catholic faith affirms is that these books, “written under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, have God as their author”, and that they “teach without error the truth which God, for the sake of our salvation, wished to see recorded” (Second Vatican Council, Dei Verbum § 11)^[34]. In other words: a Catholic may well hold to the tradition of Jeremiah, or accept an exilic editorial work, or combine both—provided he recognizes in this work an inspired and truthful Word of God, not a mere national narrative. The determination of the literary genre (here, a theological historiography with sources) is part, says Dei Verbum § 12, of the correct interpretation of the sacred text^[35].

The Single Criterion: “Doing What Is Right in the Eyes of the Lord”

The key to the entire book lies in one formula. Each king, from north or south, is judged according to whether he “did what was right” or “what was evil in the eyes of the Lord”^[36]. Neither military power, nor prosperity, nor architectural masterpieces weigh on the scale: only faithfulness to the Covenant and the worship of the true God matters. No king of the North escapes condemnation; in the South, only eight kings receive a favorable judgment, of whom two fully (Hezekiah and Josiah).

One Sanctuary Only: Centralization of Worship

The second principle is the uniqueness of the sanctuary. For Kings, legitimate worship can only be offered at the Temple of Jerusalem. The “high places” (the bamot, local altars scattered in the countryside), even if dedicated to the Lord, are judged as a deviation: even good kings are reproached for not having removed them. This principle, which structures the entire narrative, is exactly that of Deuteronomy — hence the name “Deuteronomistic history.” The great reform of Josiah consists precisely in finally realizing this ideal: one God, one Temple, one people.

The “Lamp” of David: The Davidic Covenant Maintained

Despite the severity of the judgment, a faithfulness of God runs throughout the book. Because of the promise made to David (2 Samuel 7), God refuses to annihilate the dynasty of Judah: He maintains for David “a lamp forever before him in Jerusalem”^[37]. That is why, while the North changes dynasty nine times in bloodshed, the South keeps one single lineage, that of David, from beginning to end. This “lamp” that does not go out is the golden thread of hope: it will lead, beyond the Exile, to the “Son of David.”

The Prophetic Word That Is Fulfilled

In Kings, history is governed by the Word of God. A pattern recurs constantly: a prophet announces an event, and the narrative notes, sometimes centuries later, its fulfillment “according to the word of the Lord which he spoke by the mouth of his servant.” The prophetic word of Elijah about the house of Ahab, that of a man of God announcing at Bethel the birth of Josiah three centuries in advance: all is fulfilled. For the author, God holds history by His Word, and the prophet is more powerful than the king.

Reading the Catastrophe as Judgment — and Hope

The great question of the Exile remains: why? The Books of Kings reject two false answers. It is not that God is weak (the gods of Babylon would have defeated Him); nor is it blind chance. It is a just judgment on prolonged unfaithfulness, long warned by the prophets and stubbornly refused. But this judgment is not despair: by placing at the very end the release of Jehoiachin^[38], the author hints that the Davidic promise survives the ruin. The book thus teaches, to a people in exile, both the truth of sin and the faithfulness of God.

For a long time, radical criticism considered the kings of Israel and Judah as semi-legendary figures. Yet, since the 19th century, Near Eastern archaeology has spectacularly confirmed many characters and events of the Books of Kings through sources external to the Bible: steles, royal annals, chronicles. Here are the major pieces.

The Tel Dan Stele and the “House of David”

Discovered in 1993-1994 at the site of Tel Dan in northern Israel, this Aramaic stele — probably erected by Hazael of Damascus in the 9th century BC — celebrates a victory over the king of Israel and the king of the “house of David” (bytdwd)^[39]. It is the first mention of David outside the Bible ever found: it attests that in the 9th century, barely a century after him, the dynasty of Judah already defined itself as the “house of David.” A decisive blow to the thesis of a purely mythical David.

The Mesha Stele (Moabite Stone)

Discovered in 1868 at Dibon (Jordan), this stele of King Mesha of Moab recounts, from his point of view, his revolt against Israel — the very episode reported in 2 Kings 3^[40]. Mesha names Omri, king of Israel, mentions the “house of Omri”, and bears the oldest extra-biblical attestation of the divine name YHWH. The stele confirms both the existence of Omri’s dynasty and the reality of the Israel-Moab conflict of Kings.

The Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III and King Jehu

The Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III, discovered at Nimrud in 1846 and kept at the British Museum, bears a bas-relief scene labeled “tribute of Jehu, son of Omri”^[41]. It shows, around 841 BC, King Jehu of Israel (or his envoy) bowing before the Assyrian sovereign, offering silver and gold. It is the oldest known figurative representation of an Israelite king, and it corresponds exactly to Jehu of 2 Kings 9-10.

The Sennacherib Prism and the Siege of 701

The Sennacherib Prism (Taylor Prism, British Museum), in the annals of the Assyrian king, recounts his campaign of 701 BC against Judah. Sennacherib claims to have taken forty-six fortified cities and trapped King Hezekiah in Jerusalem “like a bird in a cage”^[42]. A decisive detail: he boasts of the tribute received… but nowhere claims to have taken Jerusalem. The Assyrian silence about the conquest of the city indirectly corroborates the biblical account of Jerusalem’s deliverance (2 K 19).

The Babylonian Chronicle and the Capture of Jerusalem

The Babylonian Chronicle (tablet ABC 5, British Museum) notes, with almanac precision, the first capture of Jerusalem: in the seventh year of Nebuchadnezzar, “on the second day of the month Adar, he took the city and captured the king” — that is, March 16, 597 BC^[43]. This date, one of the most precisely fixed in the entire Old Testament, corresponds to the first deportation of 2 Kings 24 and the captivity of the young king Jehoiachin.

The Delicate Question of Chronology (Thiele)

The books of Kings provide, for each reign, durations and synchronisms ("in such-and-such year of the king of Judah, such-and-such king ascends the throne of Israel"). At first glance, these figures sometimes seem contradictory. This apparent disorder long served as an argument for critics. However, in a classic 1951 study, The Mysterious Numbers of the Hebrew Kings, historian Edwin Thiele showed that these numbers become coherent once one takes into account the actual usages of time: coregencies (a son associated with the throne during his father's lifetime), different calendars between Israel and Judah, and two ways of counting the first year of a reign^[44]. Far from being errors, these synchronisms reflect a precise and archaic chronological system — a new indication of the documentary seriousness of the work.

For the Christian tradition, the books of Kings are not merely ancient history: they announce Christ in figures. The typological reading, practiced by the Church Fathers and taken up by the liturgy, discerns prefigurations of the mystery of the Gospel.

Solomon’s Temple, a Figure of Christ and the Church

The Temple built by Solomon is, in Catholic faith, much more than a monument: it is the figure of the “true Temple.” Jesus applies to his own body the word about the Temple destroyed and raised up in three days^[45]. The Catechism recalls that the Jerusalem Temple, the place of God's presence among his people, was “the figure” of Christ, and that the Church is now the living Temple made of living stones^[46]. The destruction of the Temple by Babylon, which closes the books of Kings, thus paradoxically opens the expectation of a sanctuary that nothing can ever destroy.

Elijah, “Father of the Prophets” and Forerunner

No figure from Kings is more present in the New Testament than Elijah. The Catechism makes him the model of all men of prayer:

“Elijah is the father of the prophets, ‘of the race of those who seek God, who seek His Face.’ His very name, ‘The Lord is my God,’ announces the cry of the people in response to his prayer on Mount Carmel.” — Catechism of the Catholic Church, § 2582^[47]

Announced by Malachi as the one who must “return” before the great Day, he is identified by Christ with John the Baptist, the forerunner; and he appears in person, with Moses, on the day of the Transfiguration, flanking the glorified Christ^[48]. Elijah, the man of fire and burning prayer, is thus the great figure of the expectation of the Messiah.

The Whisper of the Gentle Breeze: God Reveals Himself in Gentleness

The theophany at Horeb (1 Kings 19) is one of the most meditated spiritual texts of the Bible. After the hurricane, the earthquake, and the fire — where God is not — comes “the whisper of a gentle breeze,” and it is there that the Lord stands^[49]. Spiritual masters read here a great law of the inner life: God does not impose Himself in noise and fury; He lets Himself be found in the silence and gentleness of the recollected heart. This is the school of contemplative prayer, where one learns to recognize God not in the spectacular, but in the subtlety of His presence.

Elisha and Naaman: Announcements of Baptism and the Eucharist

The miracles of Elisha have been read by the Fathers as sacramental prefigurations. The healing of Naaman, purified of his leprosy by immersing himself seven times in the Jordan^[50], announces baptism: water, by the word of God, cleanses and regenerates. The multiplication of loaves performed by Elisha — twenty loaves for a hundred men, “and there was some left over”^[51] — prefigures the multiplication of loaves by Jesus and, beyond that, the Eucharist, where a little bread nourishes the multitude. Jesus himself refers to these stories: he recalls the widow of Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian as signs that salvation overflows the borders of Israel^[52].

Carmel: A Spiritual Family Born from Elijah

Finally, Mount Carmel, the scene of Elijah’s great struggle for the one true God, gave its name and inspiration to an entire current of Catholic spirituality. The Carmelite Order, born in the 12th–13th centuries near the “spring of Elijah” on this mountain, claims the prophet as its spiritual father and model of zeal for God and life of prayer^[53]. From Saint Teresa of Avila to Saint John of the Cross, up to Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, it is a whole school of contemplative prayer that connects, across the centuries, to the Elijah of the books of Kings.

The Books of Kings are illuminated by their immediate neighbors in the canon. They directly continue the Books of Samuel (the advent of the monarchy, the promise to David) and recount the same events as Chronicles, but from a different perspective (Chronicles, written after the Exile, focus on Judah, the Temple, and liturgy). The broad horizon of judgment and hope is that of the contemporary prophets: Isaiah (in the time of Hezekiah) and Jeremiah (at the fall of Jerusalem).

For the doctrine of inspiration and the truth of these historical narratives, see the general article on the Bible and, regarding the value of the text, the article Deuteronomy, whose "law of centralization" governs all the theology of Kings. On the spiritual figures, the great tradition of the biblical prophets provides the backdrop for the struggle of Elijah and Elisha for the one true God.

Recommended reading: the Jerusalem Bible (Cerf) and its introductions; Roland de Vaux, Les Institutions de l'Ancien Testament; and, for the confrontation with archaeology, the British Museum entries on the Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser, the Prism of Sennacherib, and the Babylonian Chronicle.