'But the Philistines took him, and put out his eyes, and brought him
down to Gaza, and bound him with fetters of brass; and he did grind in
the prison-house. 22, Howbeit the hair of his head began to grow again
after he was shaven. 23. Then the lords of the Philistines gathered
them together for to offer a great sacrifice unto Dagon their god, and
to rejoice: for they said, Our god hath delivered Samson our enemy into
our hand. 24. And when the people saw him, they praised their god: for
they said, Our god hath delivered into our hands our enemy, and the
destroyer of our country, which slew many of us. 25. And it came to
pass, when their hearts were merry, that they said, Call for Samson,
that he may make us sport. And they called for Samson out of the
prison-house; and he made them sport; and they set him between the
pillars. 20. And Samson said unto the lad that held him by the hand.
Suffer me that I may feel the pillars whereupon the house standeth,
that I may lean upon them. 27. Now the house was full of men and women;
and all the lords of the Philistines were there; and there were upon
the roof about three thousand men and women, that beheld while Samson
made sport. 28. And Samson called unto the Lord, and said, O Lord God,
remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this
once, O God, that I may be at once avenged of the Phillistines. And he
bowed himself with all his might; and the house fell upon the lords,
and upon all the people that were therein. So the dead which he slew
at his death were more than they which he slew in his life. 31. Then
his brethren and all the house of his father came down, and took him,
and brought him up, and buried him between Zorah and Ishtaol in the
burying place of Munnah his father. And he judged Israel twenty
years.'--Judges xvi. 21-31.
Nobody could be less like the ordinary idea of an Old Testament 'saint'
than Samson. His gift from 'the spirit of the Lord' was simply physical
strength, and it was associated with the defects of his qualities. His
passions were strong, and apparently uncontrolled. He had no moral
elevation or religious fervour. He led no army against the Philistines,
nor seems to have had any fixed design of resisting them. He seeks a
wife among them, and is ready to feast and play at riddles with them.
When he does attack them, it is because he is stung by personal
injuries; and it is only with his own arm that he strikes. His exploits
have a mixture of grim humour and fierce hatred quite unlike anything
else in Scripture, and more resembling the horse-play of Homeric or
Norse heroes than the stern purpose and righteous wrath of a soldier
who felt that he was God's instrument. We seem to hear his loud
laughter as he ties the firebrands to the struggling jackals, or swings
the jaw-bone. A strange champion for Jehovah! But we must not leave out
of sight, in estimating his character, the Nazarite vow, which his
parents had made before his birth, and he had endorsed all his life.
That supplies the substratum which is lacking, The unshorn hair and the
abstinence from wine were the signs of consecration to God, which might
often fail of reaching the deepest recesses of the will and spirit, but
still was real, and gave the point of contact for the divine gift of
strength. Samson's strength depended on his keeping the vow, of which
the outward sign was the long, matted locks; and therefore, when he let
these be shorn, he voluntarily cast away his dependence on and
consecration to God, and his strength ebbed from him. He had broken the
conditions on which he received it, and it disappeared. So the story
which connects the loss of his long hair with the loss of his
superhuman power has a worthy meaning, and puts in a picturesque form
an eternal truth.
We see here, first, Samson the prisoner. Milton has caught the spirit
of the sad picture in verses 21 and 22, in that wonderful line,
'Eyeless, in Gaza, at the mill, with slaves,'
in which the clauses drop heavily like slow tears, each adding a new
touch of woe. The savage manners of the times used the literal forcing
out of the eyes from their sockets as the easiest way of reducing
dangerous enemies to harmlessness. Pitiable as the loss was, Samson was
better blind than seeing. The lust of the eye had led him astray, and
the loss of his sight showed him his sin. Fetters of brass betrayed his
jailers' dread of his possibly returning strength; and the menial task
to which he was set was meant as a humiliation, in giving him woman's
work to do, as if this were all for which the eclipsed hero was now
fit. Generous enemies are merciful; the baser sort reveal their former
terror by the indignities they offer to their prisoner.
In Samson we see an impersonation of Israel. Like him, the nation was
strong so long as it kept the covenant of its God. Like him, it was
ever prone to follow after strange loves. Its Delilahs were the gods of
the heathen, in whose laps it laid its anointed head, and at whose
hands it suffered the loss of its God-given strength; for, like Samson,
Israel was weak when it forgot its consecration, and its punishment
came from the objects of its infatuated desires. Like him, it was
blinded, bound, and reduced to slavery, for all its power was held, as
was his, on condition of loyalty to God. His life is as a mirror, in
which the nation might see their own history reflected; and the lesson
taught by the story of the captive hero, once so strong, and now so
weak, is the lesson which Moses taught the nation: 'Because thou
servedst not the Lord thy God with joyfulness, and with gladness of
heart, by reason of the abundance of all things: therefore shalt thou
serve thine enemies which the Lord shall send against thee, in hunger,
and in thirst, and in nakedness, and in want of all things, and He
shall put a yoke of iron upon thy neck' (Deut. xxviii. 47, 48). The
blind Samson, chained, at the mill, has a warning for us, too. That is
what God's heroes come to, if once they prostitute the God-given
strength to the base loves of self and the flattering world. We are
strong only as we keep our hearts clear of lower loves, and lean on God
alone. Delilah is most dangerous when honeyed words drop from her lips.
The world's praise is more harmful than its censure. Its favours are
only meant to draw the secret of our strength from us, that we may be
made weak; and nothing gives the Philistines so much pleasure as the
sight of God's warriors caught in their toils and robbed of power.
But Samson's misery was Samson's blessedness. The 'howbeit' of verse 22
is more than a compensation for all the wretchedness. The growth of his
hair is not there mentioned as a mere natural fact, nor with the
superstitious notion that his hair made him strong. God made him strong
on condition of his keeping his vow of consecration. The long matted
locks were the visible sign that he kept it. Their loss was the
consequence of his own voluntary breach of it. So their growth was the
visible token that the fault was being repaired. Chastisement wrought
sorrow; and in the bondage of the prison he found freedom from the
worse chains of sin, and in its darkness felt the dawning of a better
light. As Bishop Hall puts it: 'His hair grew together with his
repentance, and his strength with his hair.' The cruelties of the
Philistines were better for him than their kindness. The world outwits
itself when it presses hard on God's deserters, and thus drives them to
repent. God mercifully takes care that His wandering children shall not
have an easy time of it; and his chastisements, at their sharpest, are
calls to us to come back to Him. Well for those, even if in chains, who
know their meaning, and yield to it.
II. We have here Samson,--the occasion of godless triumph. The worst
consequence of the fall of a servant of God is that it gives occasion
for God's enemies to blaspheme, and reflects discredit on Him, as if He
were vanquished. Samson's capture is Dagon's glory. The strife between
Philistia and Israel was, in the eyes of both combatants, a struggle
between their gods; and so the men of Gaza lit their sacrificial fires
and sent up their hymns to their monstrous deity as victor. What would
Samson's bitter thoughts be, as the sound of the wild rejoicings
reached him in his prison? And is not all this true to-day? If ever
some conspicuous Christian champion falls into sin or inconsistency,
how the sky is rent with shouts of malicious pleasure! What paragons of
virtue worldly men become all at once! How swiftly the conclusion is
drawn that all Christians are alike, and none of them any better than
the non-Christian world! How much more harm the one flaw does than all
the good which a life of service has done! The faults of Christians are
the bulwarks of unbelief. `The name of God is blasphemed among the
Gentiles through you.' The honour of Christ is a sacred trust, and it
is in the keeping of us His followers. Our sins do not only darken our
own reputation, but they cloud His. Dagon's worshippers have a right to
rejoice when they have Samson safe in their prison, with his eyes out.
III. We have Samson made a buffoon for drunkards. The feasts of
heathenism were wild orgies, very unlike the pure joy of the
sacrificial meals in Jehovah's worship. Dagon's temple was filled with
a drunken crowd, whose mirth would be made more boisterous by a spice
of cruelty. So, a roar of many voices calls for Samson, and this
deepest degradation is not spared him. The words employed for 'make
sport' seem to require that we should understand that he was not
brought out to be the passive object of their gibes and drunken
mockery, but was set to play the fool for their delectation. They imply
that he had to dance and laugh, while three thousand gaping
Philistines, any one of whom would have run for his life if he had been
free, fed their hatred by the sight. Perhaps his former reputation for
mirth and riddles suggested this new cruelty. Surely there is no more
pathetic picture than that of the blind hero, with such thoughts as we
know were seething in him, dragged out to make a Philistine holiday,
and set to play the clown, while the bitterness of death was in his
soul. And this is what God's soldiers come down to, when they forget
Him: 'they that wasted us required of us mirth.'
Wearied with his humiliating exertions, the blind captive begs the boy
who guided him to let him lean, till he can breathe again, on the
pillars that held up the light roof. We need not discuss the probable
architecture of Dagon's temple, of which we know nothing. Only we may
notice that it is not said that there were only _two_ pillars, but
rather necessarily implied that there were more than two, for those
against which he leaned were 'the two middle' ones. It is quite easy to
understand how, if there were a row of them, knocking out the two
strongest central ones would bring the whole thing down, especially
when there was such a load on the flat roof. Apparently the principal
people were in the best places on the ground floor, sheltered from the
sun by the roof, on which the commonalty were clustered, all waiting
for what their newly discovered mountebank would do next, after he had
breathed himself. The pause was short, and they little dreamed of what
was to follow.
IV. We have the last cry and heroic death of Samson. It is not to be
supposed that his prayer was audible to the crowd, even if it were
spoken aloud. It is not an elevated prayer, but is, like all the rest
of his actions at their best, deeply marked with purely personal
motives. The loss of his two eyes is uppermost in his mind, and he
wants to be revenged for them. Instead of trying to make a lofty hero
out of him, it is far better to recognise frankly the limitations of
his character and the imperfections of his religion. The distance
between him and the New Testament type of God's soldier measures the
progress which the revelation of God's will has made, and the debt we
owe to the Captain of the host for the perfect example which He has
set. The defects and impurity of Samson's zeal, which yet was accepted
of God, preach the precious lesson that God does not require virtues
beyond the standard of the epoch of revelation at which His servants
stand, and that imperfection does not make service unacceptable. If the
merely human passion of vengeance throbbed fiercely in Samson's prayer,
he had never heard 'Love your enemies'; and, for his epoch, the
destruction of the enemies of God and Israel was duty. He was not the
only soldier of God who has let personal antagonism blend with his zeal
for God; and we have less excuse, if we do it, than he had.
But there is the true core of religion in the prayer. It is penitence
which pleads, 'Remember me, O Lord God!' He knows that his sin has
broken the flow of loving divine thought to him, but he asks that the
broken current may be renewed. Many a silent tear had fallen from
Samson's blind eyes, before that prayer could have come to his lips, as
he leaned on the great pillars. Clear recognition of the Source of his
strength is in the prayer; if ever he had forgotten, in Delilah's lap,
where it came from, he had recovered his conscious dependence amid the
misery of the prison. There is humility in the prayer 'Only this once.'
He feels that, after such a fall, no more of the brilliant exploits of
former days are possible. They who have brought such despite on Jehovah
and such honour to Dagon may be forgiven, and even restored to much of
their old vigour, but they must not be judges in Israel any more. The
best thing left for the penitent Samson is death.
He had been unconscious of the departure of his strength, but he seems
to have felt it rushing back into his muscles; so he grasps the two
pillars with his mighty hands; the crowd sees that the pause for breath
is over, and prepares to watch the new feats. Perhaps we may suppose
that his last words were shouted aloud, 'Let me die with the
Philistines!' and before they have been rightly taken in by the mob, he
sways himself backwards for a moment, and then, with one desperate
forward push, brings down the two supports, and the whole thing rushes
down to hideous ruin amid shrieks and curses and groans. But Samson
lies quiet below the ruins, satisfied to die in such a cause.
He 'counted not his life dear' unto himself, that he might be God's
instrument for God's terrible work. The last of the judges teaches us
that we too, in a nobler cause, and for men's life, not their
destruction, must be ready to hazard and give our lives for the great
Captain, who in His death has slain more of our foes than He did in His
life, and has laid it down as the law for all His army, 'He that loseth
his life for My sake shall find it.'
How beautifully the quiet close of the story follows the stormy scene
of the riotous assembly and the sudden destruction. The Philistines,
crushed by this last blow, let the dead hero's kindred search for his
body amid the chaos, and bear it reverently up from the plain to the
quiet grave among the hills of Dan, where Manoah his father slept.
There they lay that mighty frame to rest. It will be troubled no more
by fierce passions or degrading chains. Nothing in his life became him
like the leaving of it. The penitent heroism of its end makes us
lenient to the flaws in its course; and we leave the last of the judges
to sleep in his grave, recognising in him, with all his faults and
grossness, a true soldier of God, though in strange garb.