p. 142Ladies and Gentlemen,—
I call your attention to another episode in Israel’s history—painful, tragic, and humiliating—which cannot be accounted for except on the supposition of its truth. I mean that the writing of it, or the telling of it, or the rumouring of it, could not be imagined apart from the fact of its occurrence. And if it occurred, it proves Israel in the land shortly after Joshua’s time, and the activity of the Divine presence in their midst.
A traveller at night passing through a lonely village of the tribe of Benjamites has his wife outraged and murdered by lewd and wanton fellows. The traveller, finding his wife dead on the door-step in the morning, carries her home on the back of his beast, and cuts her up into twelve parts, and sends the pieces round among the tribes with a report of what had happened. A great sensation is caused, and a gathering to the tabernacle at Mizpeh, to consider the matter. About 400,000 men assemble, and the traveller, who was a Levite from Mount Ephraim, rehearses the facts before them. Then the assembly are p. 143 called on to speak their minds. It is agreed that “there was no such deed done nor seen from the day that the children of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt.” The question is, What is to be done? It is agreed to call upon the tribe of Benjamin to disavow the crime that had been committed, and to deliver up to death the men who had been guilty of it. This demand is presented to the Benjamites. “The Benjamites refuse to hearken to the voice of their brethren,” and assemble 26,000 men to resist. Among them are “700 chosen men, left-handed, every one of whom could sling stones at an hair breadth and not miss.”
The other tribes are distressed at the attitude of Benjamin. They “ask counsel of God, Which of us shall go up first to the battle against the children of Benjamin?” And the Lord answers, “Judah first,” and the men of Israel attack Gibeah. But the Benjamites repulse the attack with great slaughter,—about 22,000 men are slain. The Israelites are appalled and pause. They assemble before the tabernacle and weep, and ask, “Shall I go up again to battle against the children of Benjamin, my brother?” The answer is, “Go up against him,” and they renew the attack. Again they are repulsed with a loss of 18,000 men. Again they go up to the house of God and weep, and sit and fast there till the evening, and again with agony of mind enquire, “Shall I yet again go out to battle against the children of Benjamin, my brother, or shall I cease?” The answer, “Go up, for to-morrow I will deliver them up into thy hand.”
On the third day, the renewed attack is successful, but the Benjamites are exterminated with the exception of 600 men. The wives and children of p. 144 the whole tribe are slain, and the cities burnt. When the stress is over, then an excess of grief ensues. The triumph is more painful than their defeat. They assemble broken-hearted at the tabernacle, and “lift up their voices and weep sore till the evening.” They say, “O Lord God of Israel, why is this come to pass in Israel, that there should be to-day one tribe lacking in Israel”? The 600 of the Benjamites that escaped flee to the wilderness and take refuge among the rocks. The other tribes had vowed in the heat of their first feelings that they would not give wives to these survivors. In the course of time their anger subsides, and sentiments of pity begin to stir towards the fugitives. But they had been taught the terrible solemnity of a vow or covenant and dare not go back from their word. So they look round for, and fall upon, other ways of supplying the matrimonial needs of the 600, to whom at last they send peaceable proposals and bring out of their hiding, to re-occupy their desolate towns and villages. Ever afterwards, the tribe, so thoroughly reduced in numbers, is known as “Little Benjamin” (Psa. lxviii. 27).
Ladies and Gentlemen,—This is either a true narrative or an invented one, or the literary embodiment of traditions handed down. You will not hesitate to reject decisively the suggestion of pure invention; for it is not in human nature to place on official record in a nation’s archives, a mythical story reflecting disgrace on the nation. Even a true story of such a character would be suppressed in the usual practice of men: an invented story would have no chance at all. Therefore this is not an invented story. On the face of it, it cannot be, for it serves none of the ordinary purposes of invention. It reflects no honour and gratifies no national vanity, either as p. 145 regards the parties in the transaction or their successors. A brutal outrage is followed by an apparent miscarriage of justice in the defeat of the avenging forces; and the final triumph is a calamity that fills the land with mourning and woe.
The invention of such an episode is contrary to everything we know of either literary or patriotic invention. If not an invention, then you must allow it to be true—in one or two degrees: either it is simply and wholly true, and occurred just as written, or it is a little true with the enlargements and garnishings incidental to oral transmission. I expect, Ladies and Gentlemen, you would incline in harmony with the temper of the age, to adopt the latter view. I hope not: but if you do, I must ask you to think again. On reflection you may perceive that the admission of its being a little true will lead to the conclusion that it must be wholly true, for the narrative is of that simple character that it has no “enlargements”—no “garnishings.” It is all naked structure. It is not like modern stories—a drawn-out affair, admitting of curtailments that do not alter the plan of the narrative. The outrage either happened or not: it could not happen a little. The tribes consulted or they did not: they made war or they did not: they were defeated or they were not: they wept or they did not. The story will dissolve entirely if you leave out any of the elements. If there was no outrage, there was nothing to consult. If there was no consultation, there could have been no collective action resulting in war. If there was no war, there could be no defeat and no weeping, and if no final triumph over Benjamin, “little Benjamin,” no stratagem to find the remnant wives. A little truth will involve the whole truth.
p. 146 Then besides, Ladies and Gentlemen, consider that this national tradition—this disgraceful national tradition—is preserved in the national Scriptures on which Christ set the seal of his approval, and with which are incorporated all the reproving messages of God to Israel by the prophets. This of itself is decisive on the question of its truth. The idea of fable or exaggeration is inconsistent with every sensible consideration of the case, while the idea of its truth is not only buttressed, but walled in by the high fortress of its own character, and its association with writings which even Thomas Carlyle recognizes as earnest and true as no other writings have ever been.
All this being so, you have then to consider all that is involved in this statement, “The ark of the covenant of God was there in those days; and Phineas, the son of Eleazer, the son of Aaron stood before it.” You must demand a rational answer to these questions: How came such a humanly useless thing as the ark to be made? How came a turbulent people like the Jews to be so deferential to it? How came “enquiring of the Lord” to be associated with it in the common recognition? How came Phineas to be in the position of High Priest? How came the land to clear of its military inhabitants, and the peaceful tabernacle to be safely pitched at Mizpeh, and the tribes of Israel at liberty to travel safely thither for consultation? When all these questions are rationally answered, you will find yourselves compelled to recognize Israel’s miraculous deliverance, and their miraculous organization in the wilderness by the hand of Moses; and thus you will have the whole Divinity of the whole case logically springing from the existence of a narrative which apparently tells us nothing but of Israelish anarchy to disgrace.