The Madness of King Saul: Mental Illness in Ancient Times

by Timothy S. Wilkinson 

               Hollywood loves stories about demon possession; it has become a mainstay of horror movies. The Exorcist, the Exorcism of Emily Rose, Paranormal Activity, and The Amityville Horror all purport to depict actual cases of demon possession.  Emily Rose is based on the experiences of Anneliese Michel; The Exorcist on a patient with the pseudonym Robbie Manheim; The Amityville Horror on the Lutz family of Amityville, New York.

                Despite Hollywood’s assertions, though, all three of these famous cases are highly controversial—and not just among skeptics. Independent legal and scientific inquiries into all three share a common theme:  in all three cases, doctors and researchers have claimed that mental illness, not possession, was the culprit.

                Of course, some believe this diagnosis is based primarily on a refusal to believe in the supernatural. It should be noted, though, that many of the people who question the validity of these accounts do believe in demonic possession—they just didn’t see clear evidence of it in these cases.

                People have been confusing mental illness and possession for millenniums. It wasn’t until the time of Hippocrates that “doctors” even began to consider “madness” as a disease. The Greeks identified melancholy, hysteria, and phobias in their medical literature, but well into medieval times it was commonly believed that madness was the work of malevolent (or sometimes benevolent) spirits.

                Long before this, though, Bible writers were describing the symptoms of mental illness in amazing detail. Perhaps the most famous example is that of Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar. In the book of Daniel chapter four Nebuchadnezzar, the ruler of the greatest empire in the world, was struck with madness that sent him from his throne into the forests and fields where his hair and nails grew long and “vegetation he began to eat just like bulls” (Daniel 4:33). Modern doctors would call this lycanthropy, defined as the sickness of people who believe themselves to be changed into an animal, and who imitate the voice or cries, the shapes or manners of the animal.

                But an even more fascinating case, in my opinion, is that of King Saul. Saul belonged to a prominent Israelite family. When he was chosen as king he was also shy—he hid among the supply wagons to avoid being brought before all the people and crowned. Initially he was a good king—although his shyness seemed to continue to manifest itself in that he refused to live the life of a king, instead remaining in his family home and plowing his fields himself.

                By the time his successor, David, entered the picture, though, Saul had changed. He began to suffer fits of depression. His advisors recommended music therapy, and a teenaged David was brought in to play the harp for him. Shortly thereafter, David became a national hero when he slew the Philistine giant Goliath, and at that point Saul’s madness became much worse.

                When David returned from another battle against the Philistines, Saul interpreted the people’s celebration of David’s victory as a personal attack. Twice while David was trying to soothe the king with the harp, Saul attempted to kill the young man by throwing a spear at him (1 Samuel 18:11). Saul believed David was after his throne, and hatched elaborate plots to have him killed. When these failed, Saul again attacked David physically, and the young warrior fled from the palace into the wilderness.

                Saul’s son, Jonathan, recognized his father’s madness for what it was and confronted him about it. Saul’s response was to accuse Jonathan of being in league with David—and even to throw a spear at his own son one evening during dinner.

                Saul now began to hunt David through the wilderness, intent on destroying him and anyone who allied themselves with him. This might seem understandable for a king who believed his throne was in jeopardy, but what is telling is the strangeness of Saul’s attitudes during this period. Gathering his followers at his home in Gibeah, Saul begins to whine about his predicament: “You have conspired, all of you, against me; and there is no one disclosing it to my ear when my own son concludes a covenant with [David], and there is no one of you having sympathy for me and disclosing to my ear that my own son has raised up my own servant against me as a lier in ambush the way it is this day” (1 Samuel 22:8).  Next, he has an entire town of priests and their families slaughtered for daring to help David—but then, when David confronts Saul (yelling down at him from a mountaintop in the wilderness), Saul bursts into tears and begs David’s forgiveness.

                Some time later, David has the chance to kill Saul and refrains; in the exchange between the men Saul once again bursts into tears, blesses David, and tells him that, with God’s help, David will be successful in taking over the king’s throne. He follows up this admission by continuing to hunt David through the wilderness.

                In the end, King Saul fell upon his own sword after a battle. But looking over his actions, it is not hard to identify symptoms characteristic of paranoia. The official “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders” of the US mental health industry gives the following as symptoms of paranoia:

• unfounded suspicions; believes others are plotting against him/her
• perceives attacks on his/her reputation that are not clear to others, and is quick to counterattack
• maintains unfounded suspicions regarding the fidelity of a spouse or significant other

Additional symptoms can include dramatic mood swings, melancholy, extreme anger or fear, and the belief that anyone who disagrees with the sufferer is part of a plot or conspiracy against him.

All of these are manifest in King Saul. In recording these details, the Bible writer Samuel may have inadvertently provided us with the first diagnosis of paranoia.

The Sons of Zeruiah: Heroes and Villains

By Timothy S. Wilkinson

www.timothywilkinson.net

                King David of Israel had a sister (apparently considerably older than David) who had three sons: Joab, Abishai, and Asahel. All three of these nephews of the king were famed warriors among David’s men, and their history is integrally linked with that David and his throne.

                They were mighty men, but they were also ruthless and impulsive. The third brother, Asahel, was “one of the thirty” greatest warriors of David’s army. His career was cut short early when he insisted on pursuing Saul’s uncle and military commander, Abner during a battle at (  )_. Abner was considerably older, and Asahel was known for his ‘fleetness of foot.’ Abner kept warning Asahel to stop pursuing him and, when Asahel would not (no doubt eager for the glory of killing the famed warlord), Abner rammed his spear backwards, impaling Asahel with its butt. Joab never forgave Abner for this act.

                The second brother, Abishai was the “chief of the thirty;” in fact, he was their leader and “had a reputation rivaling the three” greatest warriors in the nation. In one battle he struck down 300 enemy soldiers single-handedly. His ruthless, impulsive nature is apparent from two episodes in his life. First, when he accompanied a fugitive David in sneaking into Saul’s camp, David had to restrain him from executing the mad king. Later, during Absalom’s rebellion, a man named Shimei shouted curses at David as the king was driven from Jerusalem; twice David had to stop Abishai from killing the man.

                Abishai took the lead in killing 18,000 Edomites and in routing the Ammonites under his brother’s leadership. When Sheba rebelled against king David in his later years, Abishai loyally led the thirty in battle against him. Perhaps his most noteworthy accomplishment occurred during David’s last recorded battle. A giant Philistine warrior made the King his target and David, in his old age, was no match for him. David would have been killed had not Abishai arrived and killed the Philistine hero.

                But it was Joab, the eldest son, who was the real hero of the story and one of David’s closest allies and counselors throughout the celebrated king’s reign. He fought alongside his brothers against Abner at the time of Asahel’s death. In the ensuing war, Ish-bosheth takes Abner to task over his actions toward the king’s concubines; offended Abner turns traitor and makes a covenant with David, promising to unify the entire kingdom under his rulership. Joab doesn’t trust Saul’s uncle—after all, Abner had hunted David for years while serving as Saul’s military commander. Joab charges Abner with spying. Together with his brother, Joab plots and kills Abner in revenge for Abner’s slaying of Asahel. It seems likely that Joab also realized that he was eliminating a possible rival for the position as head of David’s army.

                In the middle of David’s growing empire is a well fortified city inhabited by a sometimes-friendly Canaanite nation: the Jebusites. That city is Jerusalem. For centuries the Israelites have been unable to conquer the Jebusites because of Jerusalem’s mighty walls. David offers his knights a challenge—whomever conquers the city will become the supreme commander of the royal army. Joab accomplishes the feat by leading a contingent of David’s mightiest soldiers up a well shaft and into the city, fighting their way to the gates and opening them to the surrounding army. David is true to his word: Joab becomes the General of the army and is given ten attendants to bear his weapons for him—including one of the Mighty Men, Naharai the Berothite (perhaps as his personal bodyguard).

                Joab is the kind of commander kings dream about. He helps David conquer Edom, uses a clever strategy to conquer an alliance of Ammonites and Syrians, conquers the Ammonite capital of Rabbah but waits for David to arrive to ceremonially capture the city. Joab not only cooperates in David’s plan to murder Bathsheba’s husband Uriah, but improvises on the plan to better conceal David’s complicity in the affair.

                During Absalom’s rebellion Joab loyally supports David—but then disobeys David’s direct order not to kill Absalom; Joab slaughters him while Absalom is hanging, helplessly entangled, in a tree. For this act of disobedience, David removes Joab from his leadership of the army and appoints Amasa (Joab’s cousin) in his place. Joab continues to play a vital role in military activities, including the defeat of another rebel named Sheba. But during the pursuit of Sheba, Joab calls Amasa close, grabs his beard as if to kiss him, and runs him through.

                Inexplicably, David returns Joab to his command position at the head of the army. Some scholars believe that David was afraid of Joab’s power—and this seems to be borne out by David’s words at the end of the king’s life. While David is lying on his deathbed, Joab joins the conspiracy of David’s son Adonijah who is determined to take the throne from David’s chosen heir, Solomon. Joab must by this time be in his 80’s or 90’s. David makes Solomon promise to execute Joab and, after Adonijah’s rebellion is put down, Solomon sends one of the Might Men, Benaiah, after him. Joab flees to the Tabernacle and clings to the sacrificial altar, hoping to be saved by his presence on “holy ground.” Benaiah isn’t moved—he executes the last of the sons of Zeruiah in the Tabernacle sanctuary.

                The three sons of Zeruiah share a remarkable number of similarities to the three sons of Lot in Arthurian legend: Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth—but that is a subject for another blog.

For more information about life in Bible times, check out my novels Prophet of Israel and Judge of Israel, available from www.timothywilkinson.net.

                

David and Bathsheba: Bible Writing at its Most Brilliant

The Subtext of 2 Samuel Chapter 11

By Timothy S. Wilkinson

www.timothywilkinson.net

                The brilliance of 2 Samuel Chapter 11 may be unparalleled in the extraordinary brilliance of the entire account of David’s life. Robert Alter (1999) comments: “…it seems as though the writer has pulled out all the stops of his remarkable narrative art in order to achieve a brilliant realization of this crucially pivotal episode” (Alter, p. 249). I wanted to share some of the complexities and nuances of this amazing bit of writing.

11 And it came about at the return of the year, at the time that kings sally forth, that David proceeded to send Jo′ab and his servants with him and all Israel, that they might bring the sons of Am′mon to ruin and lay siege to Rab′bah, while David was dwelling in Jerusalem.

                The Hebrew word for “messenger” is malakhim; the word for king is melakhim. The difference is impossible to see in Hebrew, which is written only in consonants. This ambiguity is deliberate—it sets up one of the key contrasts in the upcoming account: the difference between those who do (the will of God) and those who stay at home.  Polzin writes: “The verse clearly doubles back on itself in a marvelous display of narrative virtuosity: at a time when kings go forth, David did not, making it a time, therefore, when messengers must go forth; at a time when messengers go forth, David, remaining in Jerusalem, sent Joab, his servants and all Israel to ravage Ammon.”

                The David and Bathsheba episode is not just a moral parable—it illustrates the dangers of monarchy. David is now a sedentary king who has too much time on his hands (“was dwelling” at the beginning of verse 11 is the Hebrew antonym of “sally forth” at the end of the verse). Throughout the whole account David operates through others—messengers and intermediaries. This creates all kinds of unforeseen complications. Nathan keeps reminding us that when we try to use others for our own ends, things never turn out the way we hope they will.

² And it came about at the time of evening that David proceeded to rise from his bed and walk about on the rooftop of the king’s house; and from the rooftop he caught sight of a woman bathing herself, and the woman was very good in appearance.

The wealthy of Israel took a siesta after lunch. Apparently, David has been lounging in bed all afternoon.

 ³ Then David sent and inquired about the woman and someone said: “Is this not Bath-she′ba the daughter of E·li′am the wife of U·ri′ah the Hit′tite?”

“David sent”—once again using others to do his work.

It is highly unusual for a woman to be identified by both her father and husband. Perhaps this is because both Eliam and Uriah are members of the Gibborim, David’s elite warriors, the equivalent of the Knights of the Round Table. Uriah is a Hittite—a foreigner. The author makes use of a clever irony here: the man who turns out to be the perfect soldier is a foreigner, while the pure Isrealite, David, betrays and murders him.

 ⁴ After that David sent messengers that he might take her. So she came in to him and he lay down with her, while she was sanctifying herself from her uncleanness. Later she returned to her house.

The author, Nathan the Prophet, uses a string of verbs (sent…take…came…lay…sanctifying) to convey rapid, single-minded action. But in the middle of this string, one verb switches its subject from David to Bathsheba. He writes “she came in to him”. When the verb “come into” has a masculine subject and a feminine object, it refers to sexual intercourse.

⁵ And the woman became pregnant. Consequently she sent and told David and said: “I am pregnant.” ⁶ At this David sent to Jo′ab, saying: “Send to me U·ri′ah the Hit′tite.” So Jo′ab sent U·ri′ah to David.

Bathsheba sent, then David sent and asks Uriah to be sent and Joab sends him. The theme of using others for one’s own ends, instead of acting for oneself, is once again repeated.

⁷ When U·ri′ah came to him, David began to ask how Jo′ab was getting along and how the people were getting along and how the war was getting along. ⁸ Finally David said to U·ri′ah: “Go down to your house and bathe your feet.” Accordingly U·ri′ah went out from the king’s house, and the king’s courtesy gift went out following him.

“Feet” can be a euphemism for the male sex organ, but probably that is not what Nathan is doing here. Most likely he is echoing his earlier reference to Bathsheba’s bathing, which led to sex. David is hoping that this bathing of the feet will lead to the same.

 ⁹ However, U·ri′ah lay down at the entrance of the king’s house with all the other servants of his lord, and he did not go down to his own house. ¹⁰ So they told David, saying: “U·ri′ah did not go down to his own house.” Upon that David said to U·ri′ah: “It is from a journey that you have come in, is it not? Why have you not gone down to your own house?”

The read might expect that the phrase “Uriah lay down” would have been followed with “with his wife.” But Uriah abides by the mandates of  the Torah, which require soldiers to practice abstinence during times of military action.

Nathan also reminds us here that people may not do what they are “sent” to do—leading to unforeseen problems.

 ¹¹ At this U·ri′ah said to David: “The Ark and Israel and Judah are dwelling in booths, and my lord Jo′ab and the servants of my lord are camping on the face of the field, and I—shall I go into my own house to eat and drink and to lie down with my wife? As you are living and as your soul is living, I shall not do this thing!”

The verbs “dwelling” and “camping” and “lie down” are all cast in a negative light—they reflect David’s decision to “dwell” in Jerusalem while he sends forth others to do his bidding.

Moshe Garsiel suggests that the latter part of this verse tells us a lot about the subtext of this account. When Uriah first arrives from the front, he does not know what his wife has been up to—and Nathan conveys that by not specifically mentioning sex in Uriah’s conversation with David. But by verse 11, the court rumors have made their way to his ears, and so Uriah specifically brings up sex with his wife—as though to prick the conscience of the king. It may also be noteworthy that he does not add the deferential “my lord the king” to his statement.

¹² Then David said to U·ri′ah: “Dwell here also today, and tomorrow I shall send you away.” Therefore U·ri′ah kept dwelling in Jerusalem on that day and the day following. ¹³ Further, David called him that he might eat before him and drink. So he got him drunk. Nevertheless, he went out in the evening to lie down on his bed with the servants of his lord, and to his own house he did not go down. ¹⁴ And it came about in the morning that David proceeded to write a letter to Jo′ab and send it by the hand of U·ri′ah. ¹⁵ So he wrote in the letter, saying: “PUT U·ri′ah in front of the heaviest battle charges, and YOU men must retreat from behind him, and he must be struck down and die.”

More “sending” by David. It seems likely that Uriah guesses what is in this letter. Courageously, he goes to face his doom.  (There is something strikingly distasteful--and Shakespearean (think Rosencrantz and Guildenstern)--in having Uriah carry his own death warrant to his executioner).

¹⁶ And it came about that while Jo′ab was keeping guard over the city he kept U·ri′ah put in the place where he knew that there were valiant men. ¹⁷ When the men of the city came on out and went fighting against Jo′ab, then some of the people, the servants of David, fell and U·ri′ah the Hit′tite also died.

Joab doesn’t do as he is told. He recognizes that David’s plan (to have the men retreat and leave Uriah to be killed) is so clumsy it will immediately reveal to everyone that it is deliberate. So he decides that accomplishing the king’s will is important enough to sacrifice a few good men. David’s guilt grows.

¹⁸ Jo′ab now sent that he might report to David all the matters of the war. ¹⁹ And he went on to command the messenger, saying: “As soon as you finish speaking to the king about all the matters of the war, ²⁰ then it must occur that if the rage of the king comes up and he does say to you, ‘Why did YOU have to go so near to the city to fight? Did YOU men not know that they would shoot from on top of the wall? ²¹ Who was it that struck down A·bim′e·lech the son of Je·rub′be·sheth? Was it not a woman that pitched an upper millstone upon him from on top of the wall so that he died at The′bez? Why did YOU men have to go so close to the wall?’ you must also say, ‘Your servant U·ri′ah the Hit′tite died too.’”

Joab sends this messenger with very bad news, but provides him with a get-out-of-jail-free card: as long as he mentions Uriah’s death, David can hardly be angry about anyone else’s bad decisions.

The Abimelech that Joab refers to (from Judges Chapter 9) begged his armor bearer to kill him so that it would not be said that a woman killed him. Joab is subtly calling David’s attention to the fact that he knows a woman is the source of this disaster.

²² So the messenger went and came and told David all about which Jo′ab had sent him. ²³ And the messenger went on to say to David: “The men proved superior to us, so that they came out against us into the field; but we kept pressing them right up to the entrance of the gate.

Robert Alter (1999) comments: “The astute messenger offers a circumstantial account that justifies the mistake of approaching too close to the wall: the Ammonites came out after the Israelites in hot pursuit; then the Israelites, turning the tide of battle, were drawn after the fleeing Ammonites and so were tricked into coming right up to the gates of the city” (p. 255).

 ²⁴ And the shooters kept shooting at your servants from on top of the wall, so that some of the servants of the king died; and your servant U·ri′ah the Hit′tite also died.”

The messenger doesn’t bother to use Joab’s historical lesson about Abimelech. He knows what David wants to hear—Uriah is dead. This also shows the apparent public knowledge of David’s sin and plot.

 ²⁵ At that David said to the messenger: “This is what you will say to Jo′ab, ‘Do not let this matter appear bad in your eyes, for the sword eats up one as well as another. Intensify your battle against the city and throw it down.’ And encourage him.”

The king tosses back a sort of soldier’s cliché. He also gives an implicit admission that Joab made the right call in allowing other soldiers to die to accomplish his plan.

²⁶ And the wife of U·ri′ah got to hear that U·ri′ah her husband had died, and she began to wail over her owner. ²⁷ When the mourning period was past, David immediately sent and took her home to his house, and she came to be his wife. In time she bore to him a son, but the thing that David had done appeared bad in the eyes of Jehovah.

Bathsheba’s mourning is shorter than Gertrude’s in Hamlet.

Throughout this entire episode, David has never been seen anywhere but in his house. Robert Alter (1999) comments: “Only now after the adultery, the murder, the remarriage, and the birth of the son, does the narrator make an explicit moral judgment of David’s actions. The invocation of God’s judgment is the introduction to the appearance of Nathan the prophet, delivering first a moral parable “wherein to catch the conscience of the king” and then God’s grim curse on David and his house” (p. 256).

For more information about life in Bible times, check out my novels Prophet of Israel and Judge of Israel, available from www.timothywilkinson.net.

Parallelisms

Parallelisms
By Timothy S. Wilkinson
www.timothywilkinson.net

Hebrew poetry is constructed on an entirely different concept than the English structure we are familiar with. In English we use repeated sounds (alliteration and rhyme) and syllabic rhythms (meter) to capture a meaning deeper than the words alone can convey. In Hebrew, poets relied upon poetic parallelism. This is the repetition of a concept in such a way that each appearance of the concept in the poem adds another layer to its meaning.

In synonymous parallelisms, the second line repeats some part of the previous line in words that elucidate it:
To Jehovah belong the earth and that which fills it,
The productive land and those dwelling in it.


Antithetic parallelism makes use of contrasting thoughts:
For evildoers themselves will be cut off,
But those hoping in Jehovah are the ones that will possess the earth.


Synthetic parallelism uses additional lines to expand on an idea:
The law of Jehovah is perfect,
bringing back the soul
The reminder of Jehovah is trustworthy,
making the inexperienced one wise.


Perhaps in a future article I will write in more detail about these and other (emblematic, stairlike, and introverted) parallelisms. I bring these up here just to illustrate how ancient Hebrew writers might approach a subject in their prose.

The prophet Samuel used this type of parallel structuring in the composition of his books to powerful effect. An example of this can be seen in the introductions of the first two kings of Israel: Saul and David.

In 1 Samuel 9:2, Saul is introduced to us as being 'handsome and tall.' Chapter 16 verses 6,7 show Samuel once again choosing the 'handsome and tall' one as king, but Jehovah tells him instead to [reject the tall, Saul-like king and] choose the small, handsome one (verse 12).

In Chapter 9 verse 21 Saul declares his unworthiness to be king. In Chapter 16 verse 11, David's humble standing is such that even his own father and brothers have not found him worthy of consideration. Nevertheless, Saul is anointed with oil in a very non-public fashion--which leads to problems with his kingship being recognized later on (10:1). David is also anointed with oil (16:13) inside his father's house--and the appointment remains secret for some time.

Immediately after Saul's anointing, he is filled with the spirit of God (10:9-12). When David is anointed, he too is filled with this spirit (vs. 14)--a spirit that leaves Saul (vs. 13).

In Chapter 10 verse 3, following his anointing Saul is sent on a short journey during which he will acquire three items: a kid of the goats, loaves of bread, and wine. Chapter 16 verse 20 shows us David traveling after his anointing, carrying a kid of the goats, loaves of bread, and wine.

Both coronation accounts end with the same triumphant note: in Chapter 11 Saul saves his people from imminent danger by defeating Nahash and the Ammonite army. In Chapter 17, David outdoes his forebear by defeating the Philistine giant, Goliath and driving their army from the field.

Samuel calls attention to these parallels to set up a sort of psychological "echo" in his readers' minds. Though we do not consciously notice the pattern, it nevertheless has a ring of familiarity. We accept David wholeheartedly as the new king--not just because Samuel tells us to, but because he has made use of the subconscious power of a mini-archetype to convince us.

Saul: the Archetypal Searcher

by Timothy S. Wilkinson

www.timothywilkinson.net 

Saul is something of an archetypal character in that his existence can be summed up in a single characteristic: the pursuit of knowledge of the future. “Saul’s entire story, until the night of his death on the battlefield, is a story about the futile quest for knowledge of an inveterately ignorant man,” writes Robert Alter. Samuel may have wanted to illustrate with Saul’s life the importance of having knowledge—especially for one who ruled over others. In any case, Saul’s quest for knowledge and his descent into madness provide a fascinating character study from both a literary and a spiritual perspective.

                Saul’s name in Hebrew is sha’al. Throughout the account, Samuel uses this as a pun by playing with the word for “asked”—sha’ul. The similarity also emphasizes Saul’s constant “asking” for information to figure out what to do.

                Saul is introduced to us in Chapter 9 of the book of 1 Samuel in search (of knowledge) of his father’s lost asses. He and his traveling companion seek their knowledge from a “seer”—Samuel the prophet.  In the verses that follow, almost all of Saul’s words are questions.

                In Chapter 10 and verse 11 the origin of a proverb is given: “Is Saul also among the prophets?” It is noteworthy that this saying (which is apparently a way of expressing incredulity) also links Saul with his inability to get the knowledge he seeks.

                Some time into Saul’s kingship he finds himself at the new capital city of the kingdom—Gibeah, known thereafter as Gibeah of Saul. When his son and crown prince Jonathan leads a surprise attack against a nearby garrison of Philistines, Saul’s reaction is predictable: he seeks knowledge. In Chapter 14 and verses 17 through 20 Saul wants the priest Ahijah to cast the sacred lots to inquire of Jehovah as to what the king should do. (The Masoretic Text says that the “Ark of God” was with them, but the Septuagint says “ephod.” The latter seems the more likely translation since the priest wore the ephod—a sort of jeweled breastplate which (according to Jewish tradition) had a pouch that contained the Urim and Thummim—sacred lots used to make a direct inquiry to God).

                A little later, but during the same conflict, Saul again attempts to inquire of Jehovah. In Chapter 14 verses 36 through 37 the priest encourages Saul to go to God for direction before making any decision.  Saul does so, but (in harmony with the pattern of his life) does not get the knowledge he seeks: “And [Jehovah] did not answer him on that day.”

                After Saul’s successful campaign against Amalek in Chapter 15, Samuel denounces the king for failing to obey Jehovah’s command not to take spoil from the enemy. In his condemnation Samuel speaks in poetry and compares Saul’s offense to divination—a method of seeking knowledge of the future.

                Following David’s valiant conquest of Goliath in Chapter 17, one episode of the tale of Saul comes to an end. In the final verses we find Saul once again in a state of ignorance, repeatedly asking questions about David’s identity.

                The pattern continues. In Chapter 19 verse 22 Saul (sha’ul) has to ask (sha’al) where Samuel and David are; in Chapter 20 verse 27 he asks why David does not show up for a feast; in Chapter 22 verse 8 he complains that knowledge has been denied him by his friends. In that same instance Doeg the Edomite falsely claims that Priest Ahimelech inquired of Jehovah for David. This enrages Saul, whose efforts to ascertain divine guidance have repeatedly met with failure.

                King Saul’s life comes to an end as it began: in a futile attempt to acquire hidden knowledge. In Chapter 28 and verse 6 we find that Jehovah will not speak to Saul “by dreams nor by the Urim nor by prophets.” Desperate, he seeks out a spirit medium, the Witch of Endor. She claims to raise the spirit of the dead prophet Samuel, but once again Saul needs her help to gain access to “Samuel’s” knowledge: in verse 13, he asks “What did you see?”

                Her answer and the words of “Samuel” do not provide Saul with the knowledge he is looking for: some way to attain victory in the upcoming battle against the Philistines. The next day Saul and his sons are killed at the Battle of Mount Gilboah. We cannot help but imagine the hapless king in his last desperate moments looking around and asking the final question: How could this have happened to me?

The Giants of Palestine

The Bible, like many ancient works of literature, speaks of giants. Genesis describes the Nephilim (meaning “those who make others fall down”), and the books of the Pentateuch mention races of giants: the Rephaim and the Anakim. These are not giants of the willowy, slender type—these men were all known as warriors of great strength and skill. Og, the king of Bashan was one of the Rephaim. His height is not recorded, but he was buried in a sarcophagus that measured over 13 feet. Goliath of Gath, whom David slew, was nine and a half feet tall. Ishbi-benob, Saph, and Lahmi were other giants from the time of David’s rule.

                Are such accounts clear evidence of exaggeration or the influence of legends on Bible writers? Not necessarily. Although no conclusive evidence has been found for the existence of a giant race in Palestine, there are reasons not to dismiss the idea out of hand.

                First of all, acromegalic gigantism has produced men of extraordinary size throughout recorded history. In our modern times these have included:

                Robert Wadlow (1918-1940), 8 feet 11 inches

                John Rogan (1865-1905), 8 feet 9 inches

                Edouard Beaupre (1881-1904), 8 feet 3 inches

                Vaino Myllyrinne (1909-1963), 8 feet 2 inches

                Don Koehler (1925-1981), 8 feet 2 inches

                Sultan Kosen (1982-present), 8 feet 1 inch

                Patrick Cotter O’Brien (1750-1806), 8 feet 1 inch

                Gabriel Esevao Monjane (1944-1990), 8 feet ¾ inch

                Julius Koch (1872-1902), 8 feet

                Some of these names may be familiar. I grew up reading about Robert Wadlow in the Guinness Book of World Records. My memory of him was as a fragile-looking giant who required two canes to walk. Others on this list are similar—John Rogan could not walk, and Sultan Kosen also requires the help of two canes.

                But not all giants are weakened by their condition—at least not in their youth. Edouard Beaupre weighed over 400 pounds and worked as a professional strongman and wrestler. He would regularly entertain crowds by lifting a 900 pound horse on his shoulders. Vaino Myllyrinne was a soldier in the Finnish defense forces and later a professional wrestler and boxer. Patrick Cotter O’Brien weighed over 460 pounds. In 1826 he grabbed a heckler by the collar, held him at arm’s length and shook him.

                In the span of a mere 260 years there have been twelve people with a verified height of more than eight feet. From a purely statistical point of view, that suggests around 140 such people have lived in the past 3000 years—even if we do not allow for the possibility of a genetic anomaly that would increase the height of a given race.

                Modern Sudanese may average 6 feet 4 inches; modern Scandinavians are nearly 6 feet 2 inches. Surely it is possible that at some time there existed a race whose average height was close to 7 feet. If so, a case of gigantism in that race could certainly result in an incredibly tall person.

                Of course, there is a wealth of anecdotal evidence of the remains of people of much greater stature being found all over the world. Most of this evidence has been ignored by science or has been destroyed before it could be properly analyzed. It should, though, at least allow us to consider the possibility that a race of giants did at one time live somewhere on the earth.

                It is interesting that the Bible’s most famous giant, Goliath of Gath, is not described as being twenty feet tall (or as living atop a beanstalk). His nine-and-a-half foot height is certainly extraordinary, but not beyond the realm of physical or medical possibility.

                As I said, there is no conclusive archaeological evidence of such a race. But huge stone constructions in Palestine are traditionally attributed to the Rephaim giants. In the Iraqi National Museum in Baghdad before the looting, there was a display of three battleaxes that had been found in southern Palestine. I have included a photograph of them below. The heads of these axes weigh more than thirty pounds each. Most archaeologists believe them to be ceremonial weapons—but they draw this conclusion purely based on their size. The axe heads themselves are entirely functional. (The handles are re-creations for display purposes). Below them are photographs of Andre Roussimoff (7'4" and 500 lbs.) and Eduoard Beaupre.

                The possibility must be entertained that these were once weapons in the hands of one of the most feared races of warriors ever to walk to the earth: the giants of Palestine.