2 Samuel: Wise Guys

He who seeks revenge digs two graves — Confucius 

There are a few figures in Scripture who grow on you with age. Perhaps, as we mature, we understand their circumstances more deeply—or maybe we find we have more in common with them. Our own experiences help explain their behavior. That has been the case for me with Ahithophel.

When I first encountered his story years ago, my reaction was simple: “Oh, the traitor who committed suicide.” Yes, he did—but he was far more than that, and it’s the “far more” that interests me.

When Absalom rebelled, his first call was to Ahithophel—David’s most devoted friend and counselor. Surprisingly, Ahithophel joined the rebellion. As David fled Jerusalem, he heard of Ahithophel’s betrayal and was devastated. For David, this was the worst blow—worse even than his own son’s treason. The man he trusted most had turned against him. But why?

Ahithophel’s advice to Absalom was drastic, fueled by doubts about the young man’s commitment. He counseled, “Sleep with your father’s concubines.” Publicly shaming David would ensure that neither Absalom nor Ahithophel could turn back. They would either succeed together or be ruined together.

It’s reminiscent of the story of Hernándo Cortés burning his ships during the conquest of the Aztecs—eliminating any possibility of retreat. There would be no Plan B.

Next, Ahithophel advised choosing twelve thousand men to strike down a single target: David. Kill him, and the people would come back. Without David, they would have no leader and no will to fight. There would be no collateral damage, no prolonged civil war. Strike swiftly when David was most vulnerable. Ahithophel, who had known David since his youth, understood exactly how to do it. He had seen the shepherd boy who rose to greatness—before the corruption of power and privilege dulled his edge.

Ahithophel knew David, but another counselor, Hushai, understood Absalom. His advice was the opposite: “Don’t settle for the death of one man. Do something grand and flashy to show your power—even if it costs thousands of your own people.” He appealed to Absalom’s vanity and hunger for recognition. “You’ll be at the front, with your chariot and fifty men running before you—just the way you love it.”

Ahithophel knew the better strategy, but Absalom was a fool.

Hushai’s counsel gave David precious time to escape and regroup. It stirred him from the complacency that had come with palace life and reminded him of the warrior he once was. The old David returned—the return of the king! What a dramatic transformation from the passive man who had stayed behind during battle, or the reluctant figure who was once dragged into a victory parade he hadn’t earned.

The end of the story is vivid and ironic. Hatred for one man consumed Ahithophel’s life, and in the end, suicide seemed to him the only option. He set his house in order and hanged himself.

It seems so neat—but the lingering question remains: Why did Ahithophel hate David so much that he not only betrayed him but counseled killing only him?

Ahithophel had no interest in power for himself. He had no ambition for a drawn-out war. His animosity was deeply personal and had festered for years.

Ahithophel’s son was one of David’s mighty men, but more importantly, Ahithophel’s granddaughter—through that son—was Bathsheba. She was the woman David took from her husband, Uriah, after orchestrating Uriah’s death.

Now we understand, don’t we? David dishonored Ahithophel’s family, shamed his granddaughter, and murdered her husband. Beneath the appearance of friendship and loyalty was a man quietly nursing a deadly grudge, waiting for the right moment to strike.

It is a tragedy of betrayal, revenge, dishonor, and rebellion. Yet amid the ruin, there is one redemptive note: the return of the king.

Forced into his worst circumstances, David finally comes back to himself. He regains his strength, his leadership, and his heart for righteousness. But the cost is enormous. The destructive consequences of a single sin prove to be far greater than anyone could have imagined.

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Art by Mehdi Amini

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