Gadara: The Demons Expelled

Eastward of the Lake of Galilee lies the country which was allotted to Reuben, Gad, and the half-tribe of Manasseh. In the days of our Saviour it was inhabited by people still more degenerate, less religious, and less respectable than the Galileans themselves. From Tiberias, and the other towns on the western margin of the lake, its hills and villages looked very near; but Jesus had never visited them. However, as one region where lost sheep of the house of Israel might be looked for, it was fit that the Good Shepherd should go to this unattractive country. Accordingly, at the close of a day, when He had spoken many parables, He said to His disciples, “Let us pass over unto the other side.” With no further preparation, they loosed from the shore and launched out into the deep. Fatigued with His laborious day, the Lord Jesus fell asleep. Amidst the darkness there came whirling down the opposite ravines a violent gust of wind, and as it swept the white spray before it, it smote the little craft so fiercely as almost to capsize it. But although the vessel plunged so wildly, and although the waves were dashing in, the Divine Passenger slept on. It almost seemed as if “the Prince of the power of the air” was seeking to beat back from his coast a dreaded invader; and in sublime security the Heavenly Voyager disdained to be disturbed. But though the war of elements has no power to disturb the Son of God, the cry of extremity, the wail of anguish instantly arouses Him. “Master, carest thou not that we perish?” And although ignorance and unbelief mingled with that cry, there was generosity sufficient in Jesus to attend on the instant, and before He reproved the disciples He rebuked the wind, “Peace, be still;” and instantly the drenched boatmen were skimming over a glassy sea to a near-jhand landing-place.

Yet, storms in the atmosphere are only material symbols of the wilder tempests in the mind of man. Up among the cliffs that overhancr the lake, and in one of the cave-like tombs into which they are hollowed, two demoniacs had been sleeping. The loud wind awoke them, and hieing forth into the blast, they capered and shouted in chorus with the hurricane; and as the gray morning showed a vessel making for the shore, the impulse of mischief bore them off to meet it. One of them was so much more remarkable than the other, that Mark and Luke notice him only. He was a strong and muscular man, of whom the other was only the shadowy satellite. Though he had been frequently caught and confined with fetters, such a fury would sometimes inspire him, that he would pull the staple from the wall, or snap the chain in sunder, and beating down the door, with wild laughter would he burst through the streets, and bound off to the wilderness again. So notorious were his strength and ferocity, that, to avoid his haunts, passengers were fain to make a long detour, and it was only by banding together that the swineherds felt safe in his neighbourhood. And now, as in the doubtful dayspring, he came careering along, followed by his obscurer companion, huzzahing, and howling, and clanking on the rocks his broken fetters, the sight was very terrible; and from his blood-stained arms and flashing eyes, the disciples would gladly have retreated into the shelter of their ship. But Jesus went forward to meet him; and as soon as He was near enough, the demoniac fell prostrate, and exclaimed, “What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I conjure thee that thou torment me not.” At a distance, the hope of mischief had urged the demons to the shore; but nearer hand they recognised more than a mortal man, and knowing now who the Stranger was, they besought the Son of God to let them alone. Pitying their victim, Jesus asked his name; and the answer was, half maniac, half demoniac, u Legion:

for we are many.” And perceiving the Saviour’s purpose, the demons begged that He would not send them out of that country, or order them hack into their own abyss. “If thou cast us out, send us into these swine.” And instantly the whole herd ran violently over a precipice, and, being drowned in the lake, we may infer that the demons were cast out of that country, and sent back to the dreaded “deep,” whence they came.

But the villagers, whom the tidings soon collected, were filled with a twofold emotion. They were greatly amazed at the change on the hapless demoniac. There he was, full of gratitude, sitting at the feet of his Deliverer, decently attired, and calm reason looking forth from those eyes which so long had glared with frenzy. He whom the brawniest wight among them would not have dared to face in single combat, and so savage that his name was a bugbear to all the district — so mild and gentle now that yonder mother would not fear to place her infant in his arms. How marvellous! how delightful! If they could only persuade this mighty Benefactor to tarry! If He would only take a liking for their country, or divide the betwixt themselves and Galilee, there was no mansion in all Perea which should not be at the disposal of such an illustrious guest, and theirs would I happy land that boasted the powerful Presence which winds and seas obey, and which “devils fear

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and fly.” But the swine! the two thousand swine! half the wealth of Gadara! True, they ought not to have had them. They were renegades in feeding them. They felt that they could not upbraid this prophet for destroying them, and the manner of their destruction was a significant intimation, that the devil at last will claim his own, and that wealth borrowed from below will sooner or later re I urn to the abyss. i Still, property is property, and why should old Mosaic laws obstruct the trade of Gadara? Doubtless, to us it is forbidden food; but why should not Gadarenes feed swine, and accept in exchange silver sesterces from Roman soldiers? ‘And just in the same way as many a one would receive the Lord Jesus as a simple Fardoner, but takes alarm the moment he finds this Pardoner is also a Saviour; as many a one would make the Lord Jesus welcome, if He would only say, “Thy sins be forgiven thee; “but looks blank when he hears it added, u Go, and sin no more, lest a worse thing befall thee;” as many a one at this moment would feel it his impulse to receive Christ under his roof, but would change his mind the instant he found that on the arrival of this guest, all money made by gambling, or betting, or smuggling, took wing, and every article purchased from unpaid creditors walked away; as many a one who would have accepted the gospel alongside of one favourite iniquity, when it comes to the alternative, keeps the

Bin, and sends away the Saviour: so these Gadarenes were so grieved at the loss of the swine, that, even although it should risk the return of the demons, they “besought the Lord Jesus to depart out of their coasts.

It is impossible to read this narrative without deep compassion for the wretched sufferer, and without feeling thankful that Satan is so bound that he and his angels can thus afflict mankind no more. Much has been written on the pathology, or perhaps we should rather say on the psychology, of these demoniacal possessions — to which we have nothing to add, and which it would take too long to expound. We shall, therefore, conclude with the moral lesson deducible from the case of this unhappy man: for we think that such a lesson it was fitted and intended to convey.

Amongst this peculiar people — a people whose education was mainly carried on by types and symbols — among this people there existed a disease so singular that you are apt to fancy it must have been created mainly for the sake of its symbolic instruction. Than leprosy, as it existed among the Jews — and among them it would seem to have been in many respects different from any disease now known — than this dire malady there could be no more expressive !cm of sin in all its loathsomeness and contagiousness and deadlines*, And whether creating it on purpose or finding it already in existence, the Divine

Lawgiver adopted this malady as the basis of a solemn and significant instruction, and in the Law of the Leper Jehovah wrote, most fully and most fearfully, the Natural History of Sin.

And though there is no code or commandment on the subject of demoniacs, is it a fancy altogether gratuitous or groundless to suppose that this remarkable visitation had also its religious lesson — its spiritual significance? Without insinuating that the sufferers were sinners above all that dwelt in the Holy Land, was not the infliction at once and inevitably suggestive of sin? And without saying that other ailments, corporeal and mental, were not often associated with it, could there be any calamity in itself more dismal and appalling? Was it not a solemn warning that the man who by sin makes himself Satan’s vassal may soon be his victim, and that he who plays with the tempter may soon be possessed by the devil? Above all, if the disease already mentioned were an image of sin’s loathsomeness and contagiousness, what could be imagined more striking than the case before us as a picture of sin’s madness and misery?

For what was this man’s case? He had an identity — a personality, quite distinct from the demon who possessed him. He had a will, and the demon had a will; but the stronger will overbore the weaker one, and he was sometimes led along a helpless but not utterly unconscious captive. At other times we may suppose that the fury with which he was hurried along drove him distracted, and left him a mere blind tool in the hand of his demon master.

What an emblem of a sinful passion i A man has learned to gamble. By betting at the races, or by playing games of chance, he won a few pounds like magic; and though he lost them again, he learned to love the excitement and the luck, and ere ever he was aware, he had become an inveterate gamester. But debt and the danger of disgrace sobered him. He saw that he was playing the fool, and he resolved to stop. It was very hard, but still he was so far master of himself that he succeeded. For months he never earned an idle penny, and he never lost one. But on a bright day of May he was enticed away to Epsom, and he was tempted by the enormous odds. Or he wandered into the billiard-room, and they played so badly — he could do it so much better — he took up the stick and he laid down his money, and he was growing rich as a banker, when the caprice of an ivory ball left him a beggar. Or a man has learned to tipple. Drink is his demon. He knows it’ he laments it he condemns it he curses it: but he cannot get rid of it. Like the stag on whose shoulders the lurking leopard has dropped from the tree, he is bestrid by a rider who is lapping his life’s blood, and whose clutch will not relax whether his victim seek the field or the forest. And though, when he adverts to his flagging strength and his faltering hand — though when he looks at his wife and his children, and thinks what he is doing, he execrates his frenzy, yet still he dearly loves his foe: and next pay-night he feels a sudden thirst — the contest of a weaker and a stronger will — the desire to be sober and the determination to drink — the wish to be temperate and the passion to tipple: till yielding to the stronger than he, he loses self-mastery, and comes home a howling demoniac, exceeding fierce, and a terror to all that come in his way.

And do we not see a further emblem of sin in this man’s shocking abode and shameless habits? The clothing that was given him he tore to tatters, and rather than remain in his own comfortable home, he chose to dwell amidst the corruption and putrid effluvia of the sepulchre. And although the cases are not so common where, with Byronic effrontery, men glory in their shame, where they boast how bad they are, and repeat with triumph their exploits of infamy; yet in the case of almost all possessed with the devil there is the same predilection for the charnel-house — the same propensity for corrupt and corrupting society. Why is it that he loves such low company? Why is it that instead of the excellent of the earth he seeks out coarse and sottish acquaintances — men with the very sight of whom you feel disgusted? Why should he prefer that crew of villains to the pure affections and home-stead delights which invite him to his own fireside? For the same reason that to his own cottage the demoniac preferred a tomb. He is not himself. He is the slave of some lust or passion, and is led captive by it at its will. That tyrant lust, that master-passion, cannot live in a holy atmosphere; and therefore it hurries its victim away to the foul scenes and rank atmosphere which constitute its vital air.

We may believe, however, that it was with this man as with many in the like condition. Indeed, some circumstances would indicate as much; namely, that now and then he caught a glimpse of his actual state, and his darkened mind was visited by glimmerings of remorse and regret. As he sat in his cave, beneath the moonlight, and watched the great bats fluttering out and in, or heard a hyaena sniffing and cranching among the bones of the dead; as he viewed the furniture of his strange abode — the torn shrouds and the orbless skulls piled here and there — he marvelled what had brought him to that Golgotha. “I will arise, and go unto mine house;” and for awhile he almost thanked the friendly force which manacled his hands and reft him of the power of mischief. Yet even there he was not at home. The house was swept and garnished, but the demoniac’s mind was empty. No good angel had taken up li ace, rod seven devils entering in hurried him off to his old scenes, and made his latter end worse than the first. And any one who is the victim of a sinful passion, can easily recal visitations of horror and fits of reform. You were disgusted at yourself. You felt more foolish — more brutish than any man; you were a beast — a madman in your own eyes — and you- vowed that at any hazard you would begin a better life; you would have even thanked, as a welcome violence, any one who would have bound you with chains, so as to keep you back from your besetting sin. And you laid bands on yourself. You made promises and resolutions. You told tli3 entire case to some friend and begged that he would help you, that he would watch you and warn you; and yet again you fell. You played the fool as formerly. You were mad at yourself. Like Legion cutting himself with stones, you could almost kill yourself. You punished yourself by all sorts of penances. You would eat no pleasant bread. You almost envied the austerities, the privations, and the prisons of the Papist. But the unclean spirit had regained possession; you were presently as besotted as ever; and the Bacchanalian ditty or the demoniac laugh, startling the peaceful night, announced that Legion was gone back to the tombs.

Yes, hapless man, these sinful passions are exceeding fierce. But though no man can bind them; nay, though ofttimes bound with chains, they will break the fetters; though no man can bind them, Jesus can expel them. Entreat His pity. Cast yourself under His protection. Not only do the storms and winds obey Him, but the very devils are subject to Him. Fling yourself at His feet, and implore His compMtton. Not only will He cast forth the unclean spirit, but He will effectually preclude its return. He will put His Holy Spirit within you, and that Divine Occupant will make you so happy at home, that you will not need to wander through dry places, seeking rest and finding none. The sweetness of new and holy tastes will take the zest from old and evil habits; and, not only clothed and in your right mind, not only reformed and respectable, but renewed and made spiritual, like Legion now passing his forsaken dwelling amidst the tombs, far from being tempted to return, you will only view your former companions with pity, your former haunts with amazement and horror. Like this ragged scholar, at the feet of Jesus, — like this reclaimed demoniac in the society of the Saviour, — you will find that your Divine Teacher is well able to fit you for the fellowship of the saints, and that He is One who will never .suffer you to depart from Him till you are ready to be taken home to His own abode of peace, and love, and purity.