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The Golden Beasts That Steadied Solomon on the Steps of Justice

Thirty-three steps of gold, lions and eagles that moved, and six steps of justice that tested whether a king deserved to sit and judge at all.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. A Throne That Was Really a Machine
  2. The Animals That Reached for the King
  3. Six Steps, Six Warnings
  4. The Scroll the Dove Laid Open
  5. Why No False Judge Could Sit There

A Throne That Was Really a Machine

Solomon did not have a chair. He had an engine of gold. Thirty-three steps climbed toward a high seat, and on every step stood beasts cast in metal: twelve golden lions to one side, and facing each lion a golden eagle, with bears set among them. Above the seat hung a kind of canopy, and from the canopy fell a golden chain, and at the end of the chain perched a golden dove. In the dove's beak sat a crown, and inside the crown burned a single jewel so bright that, the tellers swore, its light reached the far edge of the world.

No one had built a throne like it before. No king after him could copy it. The wheels at its base did not turn for show. They turned for a reason, and the reason was justice.

The Animals That Reached for the King

When Solomon set his foot on the first step, the throne came alive. On the first step a golden lion stood opposite a golden ox. On the second a bear faced a lamb. On the third a panther stood across from a small child. On the fourth an eagle and a hart. On the fifth a peacock and a cock. On the sixth a hawk faced a dove. As the king climbed, the wheels beneath the structure began to move, and the metal beasts stretched out their paws and wings toward him. The lion lowered its golden shoulder. The eagle spread a wing under his arm. Step by step the animals lifted him and steadied him, passing him upward from beast to beast, so that the wisest man in the world ascended his own seat carried in the grip of lions.

On each lion's outstretched paw a verse stood written. The verses were not decoration. They named the Law, and they pressed it on him as he rose, urging him to judge uprightly, to carry out what was written and not bend it. A man cannot read a command off the paw of a lion that is holding him up and pretend he never saw it.

Six Steps, Six Warnings

The first six steps were the steps of judgment, and a herald stood ready for each one. As Solomon's foot touched the first step, the herald's voice rang out across the hall. "You shall not distort judgment!" The king climbed to the second, and again the voice came. "You shall not show preference!" The third step. "You shall not take a bribe!"

And the warnings kept coming as he climbed: against planting a sacred tree beside the altar, against raising up a standing monument, against offering a blemished animal in sacrifice. Six steps, and on each one a different mouth of the Law shouting at the king before he could reach the place where he was allowed to decide anything at all. By the time Solomon sat, he had been accused of nothing and reminded of everything. The seat was high, but the climb to it was an interrogation.

The Scroll the Dove Laid Open

When the king reached the top, the golden dove left its perch on the chain. It flew down, opened an ark set into the throne, and drew out the scroll of the Law. The dove laid the scroll open before Solomon, on the seat itself, before his hand could rest on the gold. He could not judge a single case in the land until the book was open in front of him. From that seat, with the scroll spread under his eyes and the verses still glinting on the lions' paws behind him, Solomon judged the whole world.

So the structure of justice was not an idea kept somewhere in the king's head. It was bolted into the throne. The man who wanted to rule first had to be carried, warned, accused, and handed the Law, in that order, every time he climbed.

Why No False Judge Could Sit There

A true king could mount the steps because the beasts wanted to lift him. The story drew a hard line under that idea. The throne was built to test the one who climbed it, and it answered only to a judge who came bound to the Law it carried. A man who meant to twist judgment, take a bribe, or favor the powerful would have to climb past a herald screaming the exact words of his crime, past lions holding open the verses that forbade it, to a seat where a dove was already laying the scroll under his hand.

That was the wonder of it. Solomon did not sit because he was strong. He sat because the lions agreed to raise him, the heralds let him pass, and the dove brought him the book. The throne decided whether the king deserved the throne.

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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Exempla of the Rabbis, No. 115Exempla of the Rabbis (Gaster, 1924)

The throne of Solomon was entirely made of gold, having 33 steps upon which were various animals. 12 golden lions, and 2 golden bears stood on each step and over the throne was a kind of canopy. In the midst of this was a golden chain and from the chain hung a golden dove who held in his beak a golden crown in which was a precious stone which illuminated the whole world. When the King ascended the throne the lions lifted up their paws and on each paw a verse out of the Bible was written, suggestive of the carrying out of the Law and urging him to judge uprightly. Facing the lions there were 12 golden eagles. On the first step of the one side there was a golden lion and on the other a golden ox; on the second a golden bear and a golden lamb; on the third a panther and a baby; on the fourfli an eagle and a hart; on the fifth a peacock and a cock; and on the sixth an hawk and a dove. When the king ascended the throne wheels turned and he was assisted by the various animals to the top. Then a golden dove opened an ark and took out the scroll of the Law, and placed it before him. From that seat he used to judge the whole world.

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Devarim Rabbah 5:6Devarim Rabbah

It wasn't just a concept; it was built into the very structure of power.

Take, for instance, the legendary throne of King Solomon. Rav Aḥa, a sage of the Talmudic period, points us to I (Kings 10:19), which describes six steps leading up to the throne. But these weren't just any steps. According to Devarim Rabbah 5, each step corresponded to a specific prohibition against injustice.

As Solomon ascended to his seat of power, a herald would proclaim a different commandment on each step. "You shall not distort judgment!" on the first. "You shall not show preference!" on the second. "You shall not take a bribe!" on the third. And so on, through the prohibitions against planting sacred trees near the altar, erecting monuments, and sacrificing blemished animals. Six steps, six reminders of the awesome responsibility that came with dispensing justice.

The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, also emphasizes the importance of these prohibitions, highlighting how they are intrinsically linked to maintaining cosmic order. This wasn't just about earthly rulings; it was about aligning with the divine.

But what did fair judgment look like in practice? Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba outlines a basic protocol: plaintiff states their claim, defendant responds, judge decides. Seems simple enough. But Rabbi Sima adds another layer: the judge must orally review the claims. He points to the famous story of Solomon and the two mothers (I (Kings 3:23)) as proof. Remember how Solomon meticulously repeated each woman's claim? "This one says, 'This is my living son, and your son is the dead one,' and that one says, 'No, rather, your son is the dead one, and my son is the live one.'" That careful recitation was a crucial part of the process.

Fairness also extended to how the litigants were treated. Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Ilai taught that a judge could seat the litigants, but one could never be seated while the other stood. Rabbi Yishmael took it even further: if one litigant was wealthy and the other poor, the judge should instruct the wealthy one to dress like the poor one, or vice versa, to ensure equality. "You shall not show preference" ((Deuteronomy 1:17)) wasn't just a nice idea; it was a concrete instruction.

The sages even debated how to look at the litigants! Rabbi Elazar argued that if a judge knew justice favored one side, they shouldn't show that litigant a favorable countenance, lest the other side think the judge was biased from the start. Conversely, Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman suggested that if a judge knew justice didn't favor someone, they should offer a kind expression, so the litigant wouldn't feel prejudged.

And what about investigation? Should a judge always dig deep, or take things at face value? Rabbi Ḥanina reconciled two seemingly contradictory verses. (Deuteronomy 1:16) says, "You shall judge fairly," which implies a straightforward process. But (Deuteronomy 13:15) says, "You shall inquire, interrogate, and ask diligently," suggesting a more thorough investigation. The answer? If the case seemed fraudulent, interrogate! But if it seemed truthful, judge fairly, without unnecessary digging.

What emerges from all these teachings is a picture of justice as a delicate balancing act. A constant awareness of power dynamics, appearances, and the potential for bias. It's a reminder that true justice isn't just about following the letter of the law, but about cultivating a mindset of fairness and empathy. It demands we ascend the steps of wisdom, constantly reminded of our obligations, striving to create a more just world, one step at a time.

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