Origen – Allegorical Meaning of the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins

John Melhuish Strudwick, The Ten Virgins (c.1884)

AS an earlier post on the allegorical meaning of Moses defending Jethro’s seven daughters at the well is one of the most-often visited here, I though I’d follow up with another on the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, which, as I mentioned before, seems similar.  We’re guided here by several patristic commentaries on the parables, but of course need not restrict ourselves to the meanings they find.

The parable would have a simple and straightforward interpretation if it concerned only one wise and one foolish virgin.  It would then affirm the ethical principle of ‘keeping ones lamp lit’ by remaining constantly vigilant and attentive to God.  The specific reference to five (and not merely several), however, suggests to several commentators a reference to the senses.

We can parse the parable (shown below) into its main structural elements and their general meanings as follows:

Virgins.  The patristic consensus is that these refer collectively a wise or foolish soul.  However, since all are virgins (including the foolish ones), there is a also tendency to see them more specifically as souls of those who are at least make the effort to follow a religious life.

Bridegroom. The obvious Christian meaning here is Jesus Christ.

Marriage. Spiritual marriage with Jesus, also understood (as implied by verse 1) as attainment of the kingdom of heaven.  Some commentators (e.g., Augustine) take the kingdom here in the most literal sense of attaining heaven in the afterlife, but that opposes meaning implied by Luke 17:21, the kingdom of God is within you. More likely then, the marriage symbolizes the soul’s union with God, a state of being constantly attuned and receptive to God’s Word as it directs and guides our minds.

Lamps. Conscious attention; vigilance.

Oil. That which keeps the lamps lit. Oil suggests grace or Spirit received from God.  However the whole point of the parable is to suggest that effort on our part is required to obtain the oil. What distinguishes the wise from the foolish virgins, according to several patristic commentators, is that the former pursue good works (which might be broadly defined to include not only acts of charity, but prayer, reading of Scripture, meditation, etc.).  Origen mentions sound doctrine as another form of oil that keeps the lamps lit.

Origen in his commentary on Matthew 1:1ff. understands the virgins as symbolizing “powers of perception,” which include for him both the physical senses and spiritual senses. (Origen is considered the father of the doctrine of spiritual senses.) Right use of sensation requires it being directed by the WORD of God. As with Augustine (Sermon 43 = Ben. 73), good works are needed to maintain this connection, i.e., to keep the lamps lit.

In the earlier post on Moses and Jethro’s daughters, I suggested that the story could be interpreted as either (1) describing a state of spiritualized physical perception — such that, quickened by grace and spirit, our physical senses may perceive material objects in a unitive, holy, and transfigured way, or (2) referring to purely spiritual senses, i.e., those which perceive immaterial things. Origen’s commentary of the parable of the virgins — which, it must be admitted, raises more questions than it answers — nevertheless does not seem inconsistent with either interpretation.

Hans Urs von Balthasar’s theological aesthetics (von Balthasar, 1982; McInroy, 2014) appears to affirm a link between Origen, spiritual senses, the virgins parable and transfigured physical perception. (McInroy, p. 159: “Balthasar calls for perception of a form that contains both sensory and ‘supersensory’ aspects (i.e. a material component and a ‘spiritual’ dimension).”

We add at the end a passage from Pseudo-Macarius’ Homily 4, which refers to the parable.  He briefly connects the virgins with the physical senses within a more general discussion of how the mind in its entirely must remain fixed on God and spiritual things, and not lapse into worldly concerns.

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MATTHEW 25:1–13 (KJV)

[1] Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
[2] And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
[3] They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them:
[4] But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.
[5] While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.
[6] And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.
[7] Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps.
[8] And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
[9] But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
[10] And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.
[11] Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us.
[12] But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.
[13] Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh.

Origen, Commentary on Matthew 25:1ff. (Latin translation = Klostermann Commentariorum Series 63−64)

“Then the kingdom of heaven shall be compared to ten maidens who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom and the bride. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise” (Mt 25:1−2)….

Not without reason do we say that the powers of perception of all who have come to know divine things, no matter how they have received the WORD of God, “whether by chance or by truth” (cf. Phil 2:18), are “virgins” — made virgins by the WORD of God in which they have believed or wish to believe. For such is the WORD of God that it shares of its purity with all who through its teaching have withdrawn from the service of idols or from the service of the elements of God’s creation (cf. 1 Cor 10:14; Gal 4:3), and have come to the service of God through Jesus Christ even if they have not carried out good works nor prepared themselves for beatitude. But just as, according to the WORD of truth, the individual virtues — which are, in substance, Christ — go together, so that whoever has one has all (for Christ cannot be separated from himself), so too do all the powers of perception go together; and wherever one of these senses has too little of the right teaching of the WORD, there will all the other senses be deceived, as it were, and turned into fools. By powers of perception or senses I mean both those ordinarily understood as such: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, and those which the Book of Proverbs calls divine with the words: “You will find the knowledge of God” (cf. Prov 2:5). But again, the WORD of God is the cause of the right use of the senses, and it is not possible that, . . . someone use certain activities of the senses and neglect others. Thus if the Word has made one of the senses wise, so as to constitute it a virgin, it is necessary for it to pour out its wisdom into the other senses as well. Thus it is not possible that, of the five senses one has, some should be foolish and others prudent; they must rather all be prudent or all wise.

All these senses now take their “lamps” . . . when they accept that the Word of God and the Son of God is the bridegroom of the church; “they go out” from the world and from the errors of many gods and come to meet the Savior who is always ready to come to these virgins so that, with the worthy among them, he might go in to his blessed bride, the church. And after the reception of the WORD, as long as the light of the faithful “shines before men, that they may see their good works and give glory to their Father who is in heaven” (Mt 5:16), they are prudent [maidens], the kind who take along the oil which nourishes the light which is always poured forth in good works, i.e., the WORD of doctrine. They fill the vessels of their souls from this WORD, buying it from the teachers and keepers of the tradition who sell it, as much as is needed, even if their end is late and the WORD coming to their fulfillment is delayed; for they hasten to him to be fulfilled and to be set outside the world. But those who, after becoming Christian, were concerned to receive only enough teaching to last them to the end, … these are “foolish.” They accepted their lamps, which of course were lit at first, but they did not take oil along for such a long journey to go meet the spouse.

“As the bridegroom was delayed, all the maidens slumbered and slept” (Mt 25:5). When the bridegroom delays this way and the WORD does not come quickly to make perfect their life, the senses suffer somewhat while they remain and sleep, so to speak, in the night of the world. For they sleep in that they lose something of their alert vigilance; but those prudent maidens did not lose their lamps nor give up hope of saving their oil. . . .

“But at midnight,” that is, at the high point of that remissness, and at the midpoint between the spent light of evening and the still-awaited light of day, “there was a cry” (Mt 25:6), the cry of angels, I think, wishing to awaken all the slumbering senses and call them to go to meet the bridegroom. Inside the senses of those sleeping they cry out: “Behold the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!” (Mt 25:6). . . . All indeed heard and got up, but not all dressed their lamps in the proper way … and at an inopportune time “the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil’” (Mt 25:8). For although they were foolish, they still understood that they needed to go meet the bridegroom with light, with all the lamps of their senses illuminated. And since this parable was spoken for everyone to hear, Christ added for his disciples the words: “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” (Mt 25:13).
Source: von Balthasar, p. 190f.

Pseudo-Macarius, Homilies 4.6f.

6. Take, for example, the five prudent and vigilant virgins (Mt 25:1 ff.). They enthusiastically had taken in the vessels of their heart the oil of the supernatural grace of the Spirit — a thing not conformable to their nature. For this reason they were able to enter together with the Bridegroom into the heavenly bridal chamber. The other foolish ones, however, content with their own nature, did not watch nor did they betake themselves to receive “the oil of gladness” (Ps 45:7) in their vessels. But still in the flesh, they fell into a deep sleep through negligence, inattentiveness, laziness, and ignorance or even through considering themselves justified. Because of this they were excluded from the bridal chamber of the kingdom because they were unable to please the heavenly Bridegroom. Bound by ties of the world and by earthly love, they did not offer all their love and devotion to the heavenly Spouse nor did they carry with them the oil. But the souls who seek the sanctification of the Spirit, which is a thing that lies beyond natural power, are completely bound with their whole love to the Lord. There they walk; there they pray; there they focus their thoughts, ignoring all other things. For this reason they are considered worthy to receive the oil of divine grace and without any failure they succeed in passing to life for they have been accepted by and found greatly pleasing to the spiritual Bridegroom. But other souls, who remain on the level of their own nature, crawl along the ground with their earthly thoughts. They think only in a human way. Their mind lives only on the earthly level. And still they are convinced in their own thought that they look to the Bridegroom and that they are adorned with the perfections of a carnal justification. But in reality they have not been born of the Spirit from above (Jn 3:3) and have not accepted the oil of gladness.

7. The five rational senses of the soul, if they have received grace from above and the sanctification of the Spirit, truly are the prudent virgins. They have received from above the wisdom of grace. But if they continue depending solely on their own nature, they class themselves with the foolish virgins and show themselves to be children of this world.

Just as the souls who have completely given themselves totally to the Lord have their thoughts there, their prayers directed there, walk there, and are bound there by the desire of the love of God, so, on the contrary, the souls who have given themselves to the love of the world and wish to live completely on this earth walk there, have their thoughts there, and it is there where their minds live (Lk 12:34).

For this reason they are unable to turn themselves over to the kind, prudential guidance of the Spirit. Something that is foreign to our basic nature, I mean, heavenly grace, necessarily demands being joined and drawn into our nature in order that we can enter into the heavenly hridal chamber of the kingdom and obtain eternal salvation.
Source: Maloney, p. 52f.

First draft: 9 Oct 2022

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Bibliography

von Balthasar, Hans Urs. Origen, Spirit and Fire: A Thematic Anthology of His Writings. Tr. Robert J. Daly.  CUA Press, 2001.

von Balthasar, Hans Urs. Glory of the Lord Vol. 1: Seeing The Form. Tr. Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis. T&T Clark, 1982.

Gavrilyuk, Paul L.; Coakley, Sarah. The Spiritual Senses: Perceiving God in Western Christianity. Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Klostermann, Erich. Origenes Werke: Bd. Origenes Matthäuserklärung, II. Die lateinische Übersetzung der Commentariorum series. J. C. Hinrichs, 1933.

MacMullen, R. G. St. Augustine: Sermon 43. In: Ed. Philip Schaff, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 6.,  Buffalo, NY, Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1888. Online (New Advent) version by Kevin Knight.

Maloney, George A. Pseudo-Macarius: The Fifty Spiritual Homilies and the Great Letter. Classics of Western Spirituality. Paulist Press, 1992.

McInroy, Mark. Balthasar on the Spiritual Senses: Perceiving Splendour. OUP, 2014.  [dissertation]

Rahner, Karl. The doctrine of the ‘spiritual senses’ in Origen, Theological Investigations 16.81−103; originally published as Le début d’une doctrine des cinq sens spirituels chez Origene, Revue d’ascétique et de mystique 13, 1932, 113−45.

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Theodore Parker on Immortal Life

AS I’ve said before, I rely on Providence and grace choose my reading, and I’m seldom, if ever, disappointed. The limiting factor is not grace, but my prayer.  I must force myself in dry spells to clear my desk, calm my mind, and pray, “Lord, here I am.  What wouldst thou have me do?”  Yesterday the answer came as the suggestion in a devotional reading that, to keep faith’s fires burning bright, one might to read sermons. As I’ve recently been working on American Transcendentalism, this brought to mind the sermons of Theodore Parker.   Searching the topic quickly brought up a collection at gutenberg.org (providential, since this format is best for my purposes).  A quick look at the Contents revealed his sermon on Immortality, a regular topic here.

The sermon impressed me, and I’d very much encourage anyone with an interest in spirituality to read it.  It’s virtues are several, including: (1) its usefulness at the level of practical personal religion; (2) as an example of a very well-crafted sermon (this must rank among Parker’s best writings); and (3) for what it tells us about American Transcendentalism — its origins, message and relevance today.

Since my goal is to encourage others to read the sermon, I intentionally give only a very short summary such as may help to understand and appreciate its message.

Parker’s main subject concerns evidences of immortality of the human soul, and the possibility of a heavenly existence hereafter. The purpose is not to rationally convince an agnostic of these things.  On the contrary, he argues that logic cannot impart conviction in these matters.

Moreover, he sees a direct connection between an intuitive awareness of the soul’s immortality and of our own nature as spiritual beings.  Eventually he connects the latter with developing a greater sense of social charity.  This last part fits with Parker’s status as a seminal influence on the New England social reform and abolitionist movements.  But he is also a student of William Ellery Channing: social justice is not something apart from, but integrally connected with, our sense as spiritual beings seeking to progress in ‘likeness to God.’

Early on Parker emphasizes that human beings are aware of their immortal souls as a “fact of consciousness.”  We have, he argues, spiritual senses.  Just as we need no rational argument to convince us we possess physical vision — we need merely open our eyes and see — the same is true with spiritual vision.  If we pay sufficient attention, we simply ‘see’ that we already believe in our soul’s immorality.  In fact, we are incapable of doubting it.  Here Parker is showing influences of Kant and Coleridge (both important sources for New England Transcendentalism.)

But then why invoke rational arguments for immortality at all?  If these do not produce our own belief in immortality, they will neither persuade the atheist.  Parker responds that rational arguments here play an indirect, supportive role.  They prepare the mind to receive or recognize its innate knowledge. That is, reasoning (ratiocination, discursive reasoning) activates or improves the faculty of Reason (intuitive noetic apprehension of truths).

This seems very close to what I’ve said elsewhere about the purpose of Plato’s rational arguments for the soul’s immortality.

Parker’s actual arguments for immortality are traditional.  Their precedents can be easily found in Plato and Cicero, but they have been so thoroughly assimilated into Western literature that it would be pointless to try to identify his proximal sources.

He helpfully divides his arguments into three broad categories:  (1) from the general belief of humankind; (2) from the nature of Man; and (3) from the nature of God.

From the General Consensus

Parker notes that the belief in immortality exists in virtually all cultures throughout history.  He also argues that it is innate, and universal amongst individuals.  Moreover, it is most emphasized by our greatest philosophers and religious teachers.  Insofar at these geniuses are also the most ‘representative men’ (a principle Emerson alludes to often, e.g., in his essay ‘The Poet‘), this is added evidence of the universality of the belief.

From the Nature of Man

Here is a constellation of arguments that are again traditional.  Human beings have unlimited intellectual, aesthetic, moral and spiritual potentials.  In biological nature, all things are designed to reach a point of maximum maturity: an acorn becomes a fully grown oak tree.  Nature seems designed to promote the achievement of an organism’s telos.  How, then, could it be that no provision would be made for human beings to achieve their highest potentials?  For this Eternity and immortality are needed.

Again, we have an innate sense of moral justice.  This world is anything but consistently morally just.  How could the wrongs of the present world ever be set right?  What compensation could be made to the unfairly oppressed?  For those cheated out of their moral birthright by being born into perpetual poverty or even slavery?  The human soul objects to this. Our innate moral sense insists that (1) there is a God, (2) God is all Good, Powerful, Wise and Just; but (3)  a Good, Powerful, Wise and Just God would now allow people to unfairly suffer in this world without some compensation in the next.

We must note carefully how Parker invokes this argument.  He is not making demands on God.  Rather, he is appealing to our sense of what we deeply and instinctively believe.

From the Nature of God

The preceding lead to more arguments. Why would an all Good, Powerful and Loving God not make the human soul immortal?  And why would God design human beings with these beliefs (in immortality, perfect Justice, etc.) if they did not correspond to the true nature of the Universe?  God does not lie, nor would he build the human soul on a foundation of false beliefs.

The above suffices to convey a general idea of Parker’s arguments.  There is not much terribly new here, but he does organize the material ably and effectively.

In the process, he introduces certain characteristically Transcendentalist themes. One is his emphasis on the role of “innate facts of consciousness.”  Transcendentalists rejected authority and doctrine as the primary basis for religion, in favor of direct personal experience.

Also, like the Unitarians (Parker’s direct heritage via William Ellery Channing) and Universalists, Parker insists that all human souls will eventually be saved.  Here and elsewhere he flatly and vehemently rejects the Calvinist doctrines of ‘innate depravity,’ predestination, and eternal damnation of the wicked.

This liberating step widens ones perspective on social charity.  We can no longer blame the poor, the oppressed, or even the criminal for their actions, nor stand by as mere passive witnesses of their suffering.  Immortality is their destiny and right as well as ours.  Hence in the end — and to me this is the most original part of the sermon — Parker leverages all this discussion into an exhortation to be actively concerned with helping the oppressed.

But, — and this is vitally important — social charity flows from and must be integrally connected with spirituality.  We must remain conscious that our motivation is to advance others spiritually.  Material progress is mostly a means to that end.  Hence — as is sadly too often the case today — when an over-dominating concern for increasing the material circumstances of the poor reaches the extent that it obscures or even works contrary to our concern for their spiritual welfare, there is a problem.

A growing sense of our sense of immortality is integral to all this. We begin our immortal life in this one as we grown in holiness and virtue; and social virtue is integral to this.

I am struck with how similar this is to the integralism of Augustinian ethics — as, say, reflected so strongly in the writings of the Victorines.  There is a very strong element of anti-Catholicism in Transcendentalist writings.  Doubtless they inherited this prejudice from their English Puritan and Protestant ancestors.  It seems to have never occurred to them to give St. Augustine a charitable re-reading.  Several Transcentalists, in fact, converted to Roman Catholicism (Orestes Brownson and Rose Hawthorne, for example).

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Reference

Parker, Theodore. A Sermon of Immortal Life (1846). In: Theodore Parker, Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional Sermons in Three Volumes, Vol. 2, Boston: 1855 (repr. 1867); pp. 105−138.

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Thomas Browne − Soul Illimitable

 

Frontspiece, Religio Medici (1642)

THIS Neoplatonism-themed passage from the Religio Medici of Sir Thomas Browne (1605–1682) caught my attention unexpectedly while researching another topic.  Especially as it relates to the subject of the greatness of the human soul — a topic of much interest to me — I thought I should share it.

Now for my life, it is a miracle of thirty years, which to relate, were not a history, but a piece of poetry, and would sound to common ears like a fable. For the world, I count it not an inn, but a hospital; and a place not to live, but to die in. The world that I regard is myself; it is the microcosm of my own frame that I cast mine eye on: for the other, I use it but like my globe, and turn it round sometimes for my recreation. Men that look upon my outside, perusing only my condition and fortunes, do err in my altitude; for I am above Atlas’s shoulders. The earth is a point not only in respect of the heavens above us, but of that heavenly and celestial part within us. That mass of flesh that circumscribes me limits not my mind. That surface that tells the heavens it hath an end cannot persuade me I have any. I take my circle to be about three hundred and sixty. Though the number of the ark do measure my body, it comprehendeth not my mind. Whilst I study to find how I am a microcosm, or little world, I find myself something more than the great. There is surely a piece of divinity in us; something that was before the elements, and owes no homage unto the sun. Nature tells me, I am the image of God, as well as Scripture. He that understands not thus much hath not his introduction or first lesson, and is yet to begin the alphabet of man. Let me not injure the felicity of others, if I say I am as happy as any. Ruat cœlum, fiat voluntas tua, salveth all; so that, whatsoever happens, it is but what our daily prayers desire. In brief, I am content; and what should providence add more? Surely this is it we call happiness, and this do I enjoy; with this I am happy in a dream, and as content to enjoy a happiness in a fancy, as others in a more apparent truth and reality. There is surely a nearer apprehension of anything that delights us in our dreams, than in our waked senses. Without this I were unhappy; for my awaked judgment discontents me, ever whispering unto me that I am from my friend, but my friendly dreams in the night requite me, and make me think I am within his arms. I thank God for my happy dreams, as I do for my good rest; for there is a satisfaction in them unto reasonable desires, and such as can be content with a fit of happiness. And surely it is not a melancholy conceit to think we are all asleep in this world, and that the conceits of this life are as mere dreams, to those of the next, as the phantasms of the night, to the conceit of the day. There is an equal delusion in both; and the one doth but seem to be the emblem or picture of the other. We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps; and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps. At my nativity, my ascendant was the earthly sign of Scorpio. I was born in the planetary hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece of that leaden planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor disposed for the mirth and galliardise of company; yet in one dream I can compose a whole comedy, behold the action, apprehend the jests, and laugh myself awake at the conceits thereof. Were my memory as faithful as my reason is then fruitful, I would never study but in my dreams, and this time also would I choose for my devotions: but our grosser memories have then so little hold of our abstracted understandings, that they forget the story, and can only relate to our awaked souls a confused and broken tale of that which hath passed. Aristotle, who hath written a singular tract of sleep, hath not methinks thoroughly defined it; nor yet Galen, though he seems to have corrected it; for those noctambulos and night-walkers, though in their sleep, do yet enjoy the action of their senses. We must therefore say that there is something in us that is not in the jurisdiction of Morpheus; and that those abstracted and ecstatick souls do walk about in their own corpses, as spirits with the bodies they assume, wherein they seem to hear, see, and feel though indeed the organs are destitute of sense, and their natures of those faculties that should inform them. Thus it is observed, that men sometimes, upon the hour of their departure, do speak and reason above themselves. For then the soul begins to be freed from the ligaments of the body, begins to reason like herself, and to discourse in a strain above mortality.

Source: Henry Craik, ed.  English Prose. Vol. II. Sixteenth Century to the Restoration. Sir Thomas Browne: The Soul Illimitable. 1916.

Reference

Browne, Sir Thomas. Religio Medici. London, 1682.

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Timeline of Cambridge Platonists and Metaphysical Poets

Click image to enlarge

SOME time ago I used an online service to make this timeline of Cambridge Platonists and Metaphysical Poets, thinking it might help others.  I naively assumed that by posting it on my Christian Platonist webpage, it would be routinely noticed by Google’s web crawlers, which would index it and cause it to appear in relevant Google image searches.I was wrong.  As sophisticated as the Google search engine is, it somehow couldn’t figure out (1) that this exactly what it claims, and (2) it would be of interest to anyone who searched for a timeline of, say, Cambridge Platonists or Metaphysical Poets.

Rather than pry into this enigma, it seems simpler to simply re-post the chart here, on a different web page and hope for better results!

Beyond Stoicism

THE INTEREST shown in Stoicism in recent years has some definite pluses.  One is that it shows people are finding the Freudian and other reductionist systems of materialist psychology insufficient for finding moral direction, personal satisfaction and happiness.  Another is that it’s helping people to wake up to the beauties of Greek and Roman philosophy.  Consider that before this Stoic revival, the prevailing attitude in university Psychology Departments was that nothing important had been written on human psychology before William James.

Nevertheless, I suspect that once they read and absorb all the excellent things Stoicism has to say about psychology, ethics, and the human condition, many will ultimately find something lacking.  Stoicism excels in technical definitions and minute analysis of cognitive operations.  But, ultimately, it fails to satisfy the deepest yearnings of the heart.

Platonism (which we may here to consider to include Neoplatonism) does more to satisfy these deep yearnings.  Like Stoicism, it emphasizes the acquisition of virtue and the pursuit of dispassion (apatheia and/or ataraxia).  But, unlike Stoicism, Platonism does not see apatheia as an end in itself, but rather as a means to an end: once the passions are quieted, the mind, now calm and still, can gain insight into deeper realms of truth.  From dispassion it proceeds to theoria and noesis — the contemplation of Eternal Verities.  From this contemplation the soul begins to learn important truths of its own nature, such as that (1) it is immortal, and (2) its destiny is to find fulfillment by degrees in ‘becoming godlike insofar as possible.’  The Platonist also seeks to ascend to a direct encounter with the Good, the source of all Truth and Beauty – which it cannot help but love.

But from this it is obvious that a still greater degree of personality development may occur:  to make love of the Good – God – the central purpose of ones life.  This is the realm of religion.  Hence, while we have sketched this only in the broadest of strikes, the idea is that a natural progression would be from Stoicism, to Platonism, to religion.

These three correspond fairly well to the traditional stages of ascetico-mysticism, i.e., those of purgation (Stoicism), illumination (Platonism) and union (religion). In each later stage, the benefits of earlier stages are retained and built upon.  Hence the Platonist may still be a Stoic, and the saint still a Stoic and a Platonist.

If we were to select as most important one thing that distinguishes a Christian from a Stoic, it is that the Christian recognizes a personal, loving God. Both the Christian and the Stoic may take as the ethical summum bonum or rule of life the accommodation of personal will to a higher will — to God’s will, for the former, and to Nature (or the Law of Nature) for the latter.  The Stoic, moreover, may also understand Nature to be God — but not a personal God.  Hence, while it may seem that the goals of the two are similar or the same, the way they seek to accomplish this are extremely different.  The Stoic must rely on his or her own will to accomplish the abrogation of personal will!  It is a matter of individual effort only.  Hence, ironically, the struggle to achieve Stoic virtue, holiness, and resignation, because it is directed by the ego, necessarily contributes to egoism.  For the Christian, however, progress in virtue comes from grace — it is the gift of a generous, loving, personal God. The Stoic seeks humiliation of will through pride, the Christian seeks humiliation of will in humility and gentle, childlike trust in God’s loving-kindness. The Stoic seeks to accomplish great psychological feats of asceticism and self-control, the Christian begins by praying for divine help.

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Philo’s Use of the Book of Psalms

Papyrus Fragment: LXX Psalm 88:4-8 (P.Duk.inv. 740), Duke University

AN EARLIER post suggested that Philo’s psychological method for interpreting the Pentateuch could be applied equally well to the Book of Psalms. Philo’s exegetical writings focus almost exclusively on the Pentateuch, citing each of its five books hundreds of times, and Genesis and Exodus more than the others.  By comparison, he cites Psalms only about 25 times — although this is his next most common Old Testament source outside of the Pentateuch. A list of his references to verses from Psalms is appended to this article.

By examining how Philo himself uses Psalms, we can check our earlier hypothesis: when Philo cites verses from Psalms, does he find in them meanings consistent with his interpretations of Genesis, Exodus, and the other Pentateuch books?  The answer is yes, and three representative examples are shown here.

1. Psalm 23:1. The LORD is my shepherd (Agricultura 50−54, Mutatione 105−120)

In his exegetical works, Philo twice refers to perhaps the most famous verse of Psalms, The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. (Ps 23;1; herein we shall use the King James Version translation and numbering).  These occur in On Agriculture (De Agricultura) 49−54 and On The Change of Names (De Mutatione Nominum) 103−120.

In the former, he begins by explicitly stating that we may interpret the verse psychologically.  God is the good shepherd, and different parts of the soul (psyche) are what need shepherding.  Reliance on God’s guidance puts all parts of the soul under a common leader, so that they may operate harmoniously and effectively.  Otherwise it is compelled to heed many different leaders with conflicting aims.

The Universe itself, Philo tells us, relies on God as its shepherd.  The guiding influence comes not from God directly, but through the agency of his firstborn Son, the Logos, who governs all as though a great King.  If this is true of the entire Universe, then each soul should likewise utter the same cry, “The LORD is my shepherd.” As long as ones soul follows the guidance of the King, it is not only harmonized within itself but aligned with the universal plan of God’s goodness.  By Providence all things will work to good for the soul and all needs are supplied — such that it may then add with confidence, “and nothing shall I want.”

Philo’s second mention of Psalm 23:1 — longer, and more complex psychologically — occurs in On the Change of Names (De mutatione) 103−120. The context — as the title of the book implies — concerns a change of names: Moses’ father-in-law is called in Exodus both Jethro and Raguel or Rauel. We first learn that he is a priest of the Midianites. By Philo’s etymology, ‘Midian’ refers to judgment.  (Philo’s etymologies are often notoriously idiosyncratic, but this association seems reasonable, as “Midian” does suggest an association with the proto-Indo-European roots *medyo– [‘middle’] and *me– [measure].)

Jethro first sends his seven daughters to water his sheep at a communal well.  At the well they are harassed by wicked shepherds. Moses arrives on the scene and opposes these other shepherds.  Jethro’s daughters then water their flock.  Jethro is pleased to see them return sooner than usual and wonders why.  When they explain what happened, he invites Moses into the clan, where he becomes the head shepherd.  At this point, Philo tells us, Jethro’s name becomes Raguel, which means “the shepherding of God,” because now the daughters have “discarded their kinship with vanity” and have “resolved to become a part of the holy herd which is led by God’s Word.” This leads Philo to mention Psalm 23:1.

As for the psychological meaning, the seven daughters, Philo tells us, symbolize seven elemental powers (dunameis) of the soul: the five senses (aisthesis), the “reproductive power” (gyne) and “voice” (phone) (Mutatione 111). As the meanings of the last two powers aren’t fully clear, let’s consider here the five ordinary senses. These are sent by Jethro, the governing or father part of the mind in its worldly orientation (104), to water their sheep. There they fill the “troughs of the soul” — perhaps what we would call the sensorium, or, alternatively, centralized conscious experience (111). However this is opposed by the wicked shepherds, who symbolize disordered passions, “comrades of envy and malice” (112).

Moses, a teacher/leader/prophet mental disposition or sub-ego (see earlier post for discussion of these terms), discerns the nature of these opposing forces and prevails over them. In this way he functions symbolically as did Phineas (108), who, when an Israelite man slept with a Midianite woman, slew them both (Numbers 25:1–9) with a lance or sword that symbolizes discernment (cf. Philo, Allegorical Interpretation 3.242).  The sense/daughters may then water their sheep and return to their mind/father who is now in a reformed condition and guided by God. Similarly, when passions dominate our mind — when we cling to them, as it were — sensation becomes impure and corrupted. The mind is now distracted, consciousness is divided, and sensation partial, fragmentary and unclear. When Moses overcomes the bad shepherds, sensation is restored to purity and the mind to its natural integrity.

We can find a modern parallel in Abraham Maslow’s (1971) distinction between what he called D-mode (Deficiency) and B-mode (Being) cognition. Whereas D-mode sensation regards objects as means to egoistic goals, Being cognition enjoys sensations purely and for their own sake, as ends in themselves. It corresponds to the unitive state described by Christian and other religious mystics. One is in the world but not of it (118).

When the daughters return to their father with alacrity they explain that this is not due to themselves, but through the agency of the Moses, an Egyptian.  Moses is an incredibly important archetypal figure in Philo’s writings.  He is not only a leader/prophet, but a Hebrew raised as a prince of Egypt (that is, both a ‘seer of God,’ yet also with an interest in the world of sense):

For the senses are on the border-line between the intelligible realm and the sensible, and all that we can hope is that they should desire both realms and not be led by the latter only. To suppose that they will ever give their affections to the things of mind only would be the height of folly, and therefore they give both titles. By the word ‘man’ [Ex. 2:20] they point out the world which reason alone discerns, by ‘Egyptian’ they represent the world of sense. (Mutatione 118; tr. Colson & Whitaker)

Perceptual experience in the properly oriented mental condition (Raguel) is more light and subtle, and at the same time more vital, detailed and nuanced.  One may, say, savor a single sip of wine instead of gulping down an entire cup whilst already imagining a second one. This mode of perception does not weigh down consciousness or disrupt or distract higher cognitive powers.  In this more peaceful frame of mind, one may also receive subtle thoughts and impulses that originate from ones higher nature. (120)  One is able to recognize, profit from and enjoy the multitude of providential gifts God supplies (116).

2. Psalm 46:4. There is a river (Somniis 2.246− 2.300)

There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.

Our second example is Philo’s use of Psalms 46:4, There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High (KJV; LXX Ps. 45).  He discuses this verse in On Dreams (De somniis) 2.246−254. The context is his analysis of Pharaoh’s dream of the seven fat and seven gaunt cattle (Gen. 4), which Joseph interpreted.  In the dream, Pharaoh is standing by a river (And it came to pass at the end of two full years, that Pharaoh dreamed: and, behold, he stood by the river. Gen.41:1; KJV). Philo uses the opportunity to discuss the symbolic significance of rivers, contrasting two meanings, both allegorically understood to relate to the human soul and both being connected (though differently) with logos.

The first type of river is the constant flow of words or logoi of God, by which He providentially orders and directs all Creation, including the human soul.  This is a very Stoic notion.  For Philo, this activity is collectively directed by the Logos — understood as the Son or Chief Angel of God. This direction is manifest as discrete units, words or logoi.  As they affect the human soul, Philo likens these to an irrigating river of Wisdom. In this discussion he alludes to the four rivers of Eden, a subject that figured prominently in his earlier work, Allegorical Interpretation 1.19.63−89.  As we are told there, this separates into four rivers, corresponding to the four cardinal virtues, watering the Garden of Eden, which symbolizes the human mind filled with holy, virtuous and divine thoughts.

In contrast, a soul in the fallen condition is subject to a different kind of river: a flow or confused torrent of disruptive, distracting thoughts (logismoi).  Philo sees an allegorical reference to this other river in Exodus 7:15 Behold, he is going forth to the river, and thou shalt stand in the way to meet him, on the bank of the River.  This refers to that more famous Pharaoh with whom Moses contended in Exodus.  There are, then, figuratively speaking, two rivers, and a principal ethical and spiritual task of ours is to orient our soul to the divine one.  This is done by following Moses’ instruction to the Israelites, “Be still and hear” (σιώπα και άκουε; Deut. 27:9).  This Philo understands to mean a state of pious humility and trust, leading to a quietude of mind and an ability to perceive God’s guidance.

Note also Philo’s likening the soul of the righteous person to a city of God. He is certainly aware of Plato’s city-soul analogy in the Republic, and makes frequent use of it in his works.

3. Psalm 31:18. Let lying lips be silenced (Confusione 21−40)

Let the lying lips be put to silence; which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously against the righteous.

Philo mentions this verse in On the Confusion of Tongues (De Confusione).  This work of Philo, which interprets the Tower of Babel story in Genesis, bears an especially strong connection with Psalms.  The tower’s builders were punished by God by having their languages confused, which, understood psychologically, is the same as being scattered.  Punishment of the wicked by scattering is mentioned in at least 10 different psalms.

Philo begins the discussion in On Confusion by noting that, while there are many evils in life capable of producing a painful and harmful upheaval of the psyche (wherein, among other things, it is easy prey to vice) the worst threat comes from evils produced from within the soul itself.  He then reviews the familiar Platonic tripartite model of the psyche, with its appetitive, irascible and rational elements.  Each of these is susceptible to its own mischiefs — both as it relates to itself and as it relates to the other elements.  A breakdown of the rational element is the most dangerous, however, as this inevitably affects the integrity of the others.  Philo likens the situation to a ship, where the steersman (rational nature), passengers (appetitive nature), and crew (irascible nature — the equivalent of Plato’s guardian class in the Republic) all cooperate in folly, leading to certain disaster.  The mutiny may begin with the appetitive and irascible passions, which then seek to corrupt captain and steersman to effect their nefarious aims (cf. Plato’s ship analogy in Rep. 6.487–6.491a).  Similarly, if physicians themselves become sick, it is much harder to control an epidemic.

Philo sees scriptural references to this negative alliance amongst mental powers in the story of the deluge, where the “cataracts” (plural) were opened, corresponding to a flooding torrent of multiple passions simultaneously. He also alludes to the confederation of heathen kings — enemies of Abraham — who met at the salt ravine (Gen. 14:3). And also the mob in Sodom who surrounded Lot’s house and threatened his guests (Gen. 19:4), allegorically understood as disordered passions “conspiring against the divine and holy Thoughts, who are often called angels” (Conf. 27f).

It is against such harmful thoughts that a distinctive leader/prophet mental disposition symbolized by Moses must stand to oppose.  An analogy is drawn to Moses meeting Pharaoh at the edge (which, in Philo’s vernacular, is also called the “lips”) of a river (Ex. 7:15).  Lips is an apt term, because the river is the flow of thoughts — which here are understood as mental speech or inner voices.

Moses stands by the river because he is stable, exemplifying the virtue of faith.  The speech of the passions consists in part of sophistries which seek to justify or rationalize vicious behavior.  These are reduced to silence by Moses, who demolishes them with clear reasoning.  However in this work Moses cannot rely solely on his own power.  Ultimately to defeat the sophistries of vice he needs the assistance of God. Therefore we must beseech God’s help, as in the psalmist’s words in this verse.

This is a particularly good example where Philo musters many verses from the Old Testament to support his argument.  The allegorical meanings he gives these verses are not arbitrary or implausible.  Rather, they rely on a consistent ethical and psychological model that combines Platonic psychology, Stoic ethics and Jewish piety before a personal God.

Conclusion

These examples demonstrate that Philo used the same hermeneutical approach to interpreting Psalms that he used for Genesis, Exodus, and the other books of the Pentateuch.

As noted in the previous article (Uebersax 2021), his model is consistent and representative of the perennial ascetical-mystical philosophy, Platonist/Stoic ethics, and certain modern theories of personality psychology. This is not a conclusion of mere academic interest.  Rather, it has practical value in that it means we may ourselves continue and extend Philo’s exegetical work:  we may apply the principles Philo demonstrates in his masterful interpretations of Genesis and Exodus, with no modification, to understand the Book of Psalms.

We should also note that Philo did not merely see Psalms as a text to be critically interpreted.  As a devout, practicing Jew of Alexandria, he would have prayed and sang psalms regularly.  Therefore his critical analysis would have been supported by an experiential understanding.  We should always bear in mind that Philo was not only a philosopher, but a self-avowed mystic.  He tells us, for example, that he has many times:

suddenly become full, the ideas falling in a shower from above and being sown invisibly, so that under the influence of the Divine possession I have been filled with corybantic frenzy and been unconscious of anything, place, persons present, myself, words spoken, lines written. For I obtained language, ideas, an enjoyment of light, keenest vision, pellucid distinctness of objects, such as might be received through the eyes as the result of clearest shewing. (Migratione 35)

Similarly, in Special Laws 3:1−6 he describes gaining spiritual wings and being “wafted by the breezes of knowledge.”

It must be emphasized that we are not discussing Philo as a sterile exercise in the history of religion.  It is assumed, rather, that the ability to experience transcendent states of consciousness is something real and vitally important for us as human beings.  Scriptures like the Book of Psalms are a repository of the spiritual wisdom of our ancestors from which we may draw.  Philo himself gives us an example of how to make use of this wisdom: by an integrated approach that involves attentive reading, exegesis, intuition, and personal practice.

Update:  Some time after writing this I learned of an article by David Runia, Philo’s Reading of the Psalms. It is difficult to find, but an abstract is here.  Runia agrees that Philo uses the same exegetical method for Psalms as he does for the Pentateuch. He also suggests that Philo does not take advantage of the full spiritual potential of Psalms, perhaps because his thorough exegesis of the Pentateuch makes it unnecessary.

At the same time I found an article by Maren Niehoff, Paul and Philo on the Psalms. Interestingly, Niehoff suggests that “Philo uses the Psalms as a spiritual key to Genesis” (p. 401).

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References

Cohen, Naomi G. Philo’s Scriptures: Citations from the Prophets and Writings. Brill, 2007.

Colson F. H.; Whitaker, G. H.; Marcus Ralph (eds.). The Works of Philo. 12 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Harvard University Press, 1929−1953.

Maslow, Abraham H. The farther reaches of human nature. New York: Arkana, 1993 (first published Viking, 1971).

Niehoff, Maren R. Paul and Philo on the Psalms: Towards a Spiritual Notion of Scripture. Novum Testamentum 62.4, 2020, 392−415.

Runia, David T. Philo’s Reading of the Psalms. Studia Philonica Annual 13, 2001, 102–121.

Uebersax, John. On the psychological and sapiential meaning of the Book of Psalms. Christian Platonism website. 12 Dec 2021.

Uebersax, John. Psychological Allegorical Interpretation of the Bible.  Camino Real, 2012.

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Appendix. Philo’s Quotations From Psalms

Psa 23:1
[1] The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
Agricultura 50−54
Mutatione 115

Psa 27:1
[1] The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
Somniis 1.75

Psa 31:18
[18] Let the lying lips be put to silence; which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously against the righteous.
Confusione 39

Psa 37:4
[4] Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
Plantatione 39
Somniis 2.242

Psa 42:3
[3] My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?
Migratione 157

Psa 46:4
[4] There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.
Somniis 2.246−254

Psa 62:11
[11] God hath spoken once; twice have I heard this; that power belongeth unto God.
Quod Deus 82

Psa 65:9
[9] Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it: thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of water: thou preparest them corn, when thou hast so provided for it.
Somniis 2.245
See Psa 46:4 above.

Psa 69:33
[33] For the LORD heareth the poor, and despiseth not his prisoners.
Questions and Answers on Genesis 4.147

Psa 75:8
[8] For in the hand of the LORD there is a cup, and the wine is red; it is full of mixture; and he poureth out of the same: but the dregs thereof, all the wicked of the earth shall wring them out, and drink them.
Quod Deus 77−82

Psa 78:49
[49] He cast upon them the fierceness of his anger, wrath, and indignation, and trouble, by sending evil angels among them.
Gigantibus 16f

Psa 80:5
[5] Thou feedest them with the bread of tears; and givest them tears to drink in great measure.
Migratione 157
See Psa 42:3 above.

Psa 80:6
[6] Thou makest us a strife unto our neighbours: and our enemies laugh among themselves.
Confusione 52−54

Psa 84:10
[10] For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.
Quis heres 290

Psa 87:3
[3] Glorious things are spoken of thee, O city of God. Selah.
Confusione 108
See Psa 46:4 above.

Psa 91:11−12
[11] For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.
[12] They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
Quod Deus 182

Psa 94:9
[9] He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? he that formed the eye, shall he not see?
Plantatione 29

Psa 101:1
[1] I will sing of mercy and judgment: unto thee, O LORD, will I sing.
Quod Deus 74−76

Psa 115:5−8
[5] They have mouths, but they speak not: eyes have they, but they see not:
[6] They have ears, but they hear not: noses have they, but they smell not:
[7] They have hands, but they handle not: feet have they, but they walk not: neither speak they through their throat.
[8] They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusteth in them.
Decalogo 74

Psa 115:8
[8] They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusteth in them.
Specialibus legibus 2.255

Psa 115:17
[17] The dead praise not the LORD, neither any that go down into silence.
Fuga 59

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Psalm 45. The Mystical Marriage

Monastery of St. John the Baptist, Megara

PSALM 45 (Ps. 44 LXX) is another hidden gem.  The Book of Psalms is a magnificent work — even by itself one of the greatest treatises on spiritual life we possess.  The weakening of spiritual life in the West today is proportional to the loss in fervor with which people study and pray Psalms, which in previous centuries was a mainstay of Christian spiritual life. It’s not enough to read or hear isolated verses of Psalms during masses and liturgies.  A thorough, attentive, and repeated reading of the whole work is needed. Only then may one recognize it as an organic unity with an express aim. That aim is to help effect a transformation of soul.  Psalms not only give us a conceptual framework for understanding that process of transformation, but, insofar as we pray individual psalms (or perhaps sing them) devoutly and meditate on their meanings, it becomes a means of effecting that transformation.

The subject is a marriage involving the soul. The resemblance to the Song of Songs is evident and striking. It would be interesting to know which was written earlier: does the first epitomize the second, or the second expand the first?

To begin there is one verse of introduction, a masterpiece of economy and eloquence, and immediately rivets our attention on what is to follow:

[1] My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.

There is no doubt — on this virtually all commentators agree — but that this psalm does not describe any historical event, but its meaning is found in symbolism and allegorical interpretation. There are two principal figures in the psalm: the King, and the Bride.

The King

[2] Thou art fairer than the children of men: grace is poured into thy lips: therefore God hath blessed thee for ever.
[3] Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty.
[4] And in thy majesty ride prosperously because of truth and meekness and righteousness; and thy right hand shall teach thee terrible things.
[5] Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the king’s enemies; whereby the people fall under thee.
[6] Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre.
[7] Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness: therefore God, thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.
[8] All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad.

The King here is almost universally understood to signify Christ.  However, it’s also possible to understand the figure as symbolic of an Inner Christ within the soul.  These two interpretations are not mutually exclusive, but to supply a satisfactory discussion of the relationship of Christ to the Inner Christ (however valuable that might be) is beyond the present scope. We may observe, though, that such a parallel is implied by the important Christian doctrine of theosis (becoming like God).  Most unfortunate it is that this doctrine receives so little attention today outside the Orthodox Churches. We come to see, know and love God only to the degree that we become like Him. Our spiritual life is one of gradual coming to be like God, as we proceed from glory to glory. (2 Cor.3:18)

Of what, then, does the beauty of the King consist? We are told that He has the qualities of truth, meekness and righteousness. As we read and reflect on the psalm, we rediscover a great truth of our own soul: that we find this figure of supreme righteousness innately and irresistibly attractive. We cannot help but love deeply and intensely these divine virtues, because these also constitute the deepest nature of our own soul. We love in others what we treasure — sometimes without realizing it — in ourselves.  Reading these verses and calling to our imagination a vision of this King, we are confronted with a great truth of our own soul: we love Righteousness and Moral Beauty — and  far more so than anything related to the material world.  This realization jolts us into a proper remembrance of our true nature.

Yet the King is not only great in moral beauty, but also awesome and sublime in a sense that is, we might say, terrifying.  The very perfection of truth and righteousness which we admire in the King makes falsehood and wickedness perfectly unacceptable to Him.  Hence He is also portrayed as taking an aggressive stance against evil. This creates a psychological paradox for us — one that, in a sense, is the same paradox inherent in that potent expression, fear of the LORD. The same pure King of Righteousness, whose beauty we find so irresistibly attractive, is also a source in like degree of great apprehensiveness.  For we do not believe we are pure and holy.  Even the best of us harbors a deep awareness of our carnal nature and selfish tendencies. As we are drawn toward the beautiful King, we recoil, as though feeling as St. Peter did when he said, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord. (Luke 5:8)

Therefore, while Christ, loving and patient, continually beckons us forward, saying, “Fear not!  Come into your Father’s house, to the place that has been prepared for you,” we are divided.  We wish both to proceed and to draw back, lest, coming into the presence of the Father, our sinful side will be seen and incur rejection and wrath.

This is an elemental conflict which must be resolved within the psyche of the devoted reader.  The harder task, perhaps, is not so much the elimination of all sin, but to accept that God loves us completely despite our sins.  This is a matter of great import.  For insofar as guilt and shame dominates our mind, we will seek to by our own efforts to conquer sin — the polar opposite of what we need.  But if we focus our attention on God’s generosity, understanding and love, we will see that it is by grace we are saved. So far from human understanding is this great truth!

The Bride

[9] Kings’ daughters were among thy honourable women: upon thy right hand did stand the queen in gold of Ophir.
[10] Hearken, O daughter, and consider, and incline thine ear; forget also thine own people, and thy father’s house;
[11] So shall the king greatly desire thy beauty: for he is thy Lord; and worship thou him.
[12] And the daughter of Tyre shall be there with a gift; even the rich among the people shall intreat thy favour.
[13] The king’s daughter is all glorious within: her clothing is of wrought gold.
[14] She shall be brought unto the king in raiment of needlework: the virgins her companions that follow her shall be brought unto thee.
[15] With gladness and rejoicing shall they be brought: they shall enter into the king’s palace.
[16] Instead of thy fathers shall be thy children, whom thou mayest make princes in all the earth.
[17] I will make thy name to be remembered in all generations: therefore shall the people praise thee for ever and ever.

The bride here has traditionally been given three alternative meanings:  (1) the Church, (2) the soul, and (3) the Blessed Virgin Mary.  Examples of all three interpretations can be found throughout ancient and medieval commentaries on the Song of Songs. The meanings overlap and are interact, so we need not worry overmuch about making an exact distinction among them. The Church, after all, is a collection of individual souls, and what applies to one, generally applies to the other. Similarly, the Blessed Virgin is frequently taken as a kind of ideal for the individual soul.  This not withstanding, our focus of attention here is on the bride as an individual soul.

Why is the soul symbolized as a female figure, as it would seem to transcend distinctions of gender. Apparently what is symbolized is not the entire soul, but that part of it that is connected with such things as feeling, sensation, emotion and desiring.  This affective soul (anima) would be the counterpart of another part of our soul, the intellective (animus).  In that case, we might possibly interpret the King as a symbol of the animus, to which the anima soul is being united in some new and fundamentally improved way.  Such an inner marriage has many archetypal counterparts in mythology (e.g., Martinus Capella’s Marriage of Philology and Mercury and Apuleius’ Marriage of Eros and Psyche), and some alchemical literature. A Jungian would see this as a representation of a conjiunctio or marriage of the conscious and unconscious psyche.

It is not correct for Christians to summarily and completely dismiss secular psychological or esoteric writers merely because they depart from orthodox Christianity. Even if they are merely half-right, we must pay attention to the half that is right.  Just as St. Augustine in On Christian Doctrine reminds us to read Scripture charitably, so as to not miss important meanings, so the principle of charity applies to reading secular works and writings from other spiritual traditions.

That said, the orthodox Christian (or, for that matter Jewish) and the Jungian view produce two complementary psychological interpretations of the marriage. The former sees the mystical marriage as an ascent of human consciousness to God.  The latter sees it as an integration of psychic functions that produce an intensification and revitalization of waking consciousness in and of this world — that is, attainment of what Abraham Maslow called  Being-experience. Elsewhere I have suggested that Plato’s philosophy, as shown particularly in his myths, can be understood as helping to attain both: mystical ascent and Being-experience. These two meanings are not mutually exclusive, and there is much in the Gospel to suggest it is as much concerned with the latter as the former. The telos of Christian ethics must be complete and integral if it is to be satisfying and compelling.

To return to the psalm, the Queen has female attendants, which may symbolize particular powers or faculties of the soul.  For example, they could mean the senses, or perhaps higher-level creative powers such as are symbolized in Greek myth by the Muses. Her garment of finest gold and its fine embroidery suggest a radiant and beautiful assortment of virtues.

The bride is told to leave her father’s land.  Many commentators plausibly suggest that this refers to the soul leaving its natural homeland of attachment to sensory and worldly goods, and fixing its affection on spiritual things.  (See excerpt from St. Ambrose below.)

In verse 11 we see that it is precisely because the soul rejects the worldly and turns to heavenly things that the King finds her beautiful.  This is a key point, and a magnificent one. It addresses and solves the aforementioned paradox.  Despite our fears and misgivings about being acceptable to God, we here are taught that we already possess, at least in potential, something that God treasures dearly.  Our soul becomes not just good, but supremely beautiful — possessing the very kind of moral beauty that the King prizes — by making the moral choice to turn from flesh to spirit.  We need not recoil from God due to an our awareness of sinfulness, for God has endowed us with a nature He finds supremely beautiful.  We must constantly redirect our attention to that fact.

Attending the wedding as a guest is another female figure, the Queen of Tyre. Tyre is a Philistine (i.e., heathen) city — so this figure may indicate some ruling power or sub-personality (for clarification of these terms see my previous post on Philonic interpretation) concerned with worldly things.  Significantly, this woman bears a gift.  What that gift is we are not told, and it is up to us to learn experientially.  It might involve the ability to enjoy sensory goods and pleasures to a far greater degree than we could before.  That is, if we are attached to the senses, we cannot really enjoy their offerings, because we are divided: we are simultaneous aware of defection, of giving our allegiance to the wrong place, which degrades the integrity of consciousness and diminishes enjoyment.  But if our allegiance remains in heaven, then we my touch the world of sense delicately, savoring it as we would the delicate scent of a rose, rather than dulling our senses with cheap perfume.

Princely offspring of the bride are also promised. Perhaps these would be intellectual activities, projects, and works initiated by the redeemed, reformed and divinized mind.

Conclusion

These are some possible interpretations.  They are only tentative, approximate and suggestive — hints, hopefully to that fuller understanding attainable only by devout reading and meditation.

As said before, there is an important performative dimension to interpreting the psalms.  Understanding comes more from praying than analyzing them.  This is true generally of biblical exegesis, and perhaps especially the Wisdom Books. There is a self-referential or circular quality:  by spiritual mindedness we understand the deeper meanings, and a main purpose of the Bible is to help us gain spiritual mindedness.  Norris puts this well:

“[Gregory of Nyssa] says not only that the Song in some fashion narrates an exemplary soul’s progress in knowledge and love of God but also that readers of the Song may themselves, through their comprehension of it, be brought along as actual participants in the same progress. The text of the Song has a kind of symbolic or sacramental character, then, in that to understand it fully is to be involved with the reality it speaks of.” (p. xlv).

Similarly, Origen, in his Commentary on the Song of Songs, interprets the words behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes (Song 1.15) to mean that the eyes of the exegete are illumined by the Holy Spirit and enabled to see spiritual meanings of Scripture. (Origen Comm. Cant. 3.1)

Thus it is not the purpose here or in other articles to replace the effort of each reader with formulaic interpretations.

Let us, then, simply close with a passage from St. Ambrose’s commentary on the Song (found in his work On Isaac, or the Soul) I encountered in preparing this article which seems very relevant:

(8.78) Let us then take up these wings, since like flames they aim for the higher regions. Let each man divest his soul of her baser coverings and approve her when she is cleansed of the mire just as he would approve gold cleansed by fire. For the soul is cleansed just like the finest gold. Moreover the beauty of the soul, her pure virtue and attractiveness, is her truer knowledge of the things that are above, so that she sees the good on which all things depend, but which itself depends on none. There she lives and receives her understanding. For that supreme good is the fountain of life; love and longing for it are enkindled in us, and it is our desire to approach and be joined to it, for it is desirable to him who does not see it and is present to him who sees it, and therefore he disregards all other things and takes pleasure and delight in this one only. …

Let us flee therefore to our real, true fatherland [cf. Plotinus, Enneads 1.6.5]. There is our fatherland and there is our Father, by whom we have been created, where there is the city of Jerusalem, which is the mother of all men. (8.79) … Let us flee with the spirit and the eyes and feet that are within. Let us accustom our eyes to see what is bright and clear, to look upon the face of continence and of moderation, and upon all the virtues, in which there is nothing scabrous, nothing obscure or involved. And let each one look upon himself and his own conscience; let him cleanse that inner eye, so that it may contain no dirt. For what is seen ought not to be at variance with him who sees, because God has wished that we be conformed to the image of His Son. … This is the eye that looks upon the true and great beauty. Only the strong and healthy eye can see the sun; only the good soul can see the good. Therefore let him become good who wishes to see the Lord and the nature of the good.

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References

Astell, Ann W. The Song of Songs in the Middle Ages. Cornell University Press, 1990.

McHugh, Michael P. (tr.). Saint Ambrose: Isaac, or the Soul (De Isaac vel anima). In: Michael P. McHugh (ed.), Saint Ambrose: Seven Exegetical Works, Fathers of the Church 65, CUA Press, 1972 (repr. 2010); pp. 9−65.

Lawson, R. P. (tr.). Origen: The Song of Songs Commentary and Homilies. Ancient Christian Writers 26. Newman Press, 1957.

Norris Jr., Richard A. (tr.). Gregory of Nyssa: Homilies on the Song of Songs. Society of Biblical Literature, 2012.

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On the Psychological and Sapiential Meaning of the Book of Psalms

Illuminated manuscript, 14th century. King David. Oxford Bodleian Library,

Preface: A Word for the Wise

THE BOOK OF PSALMS is a great treasure, a source of immense consolation and inspiration and one of the greatest religious scriptures humanity possesses.  Few people make a sufficient effort to penetrate the depth of its meanings.  My aim here is not to attempt to explain all the  meanings — psychological and spiritual — of Psalms. Rather I would be content if this short work motivates a few people to read Psalms more attentively and devoutly.  Therefore the more brief the exposition, the better.  Only a word to the wise — those who already hunger and thirst for inner righteousness — is sufficient.  A more elaborate treatment would not benefit such readers, for ultimately they must learn by their own work and engagement with the work.  Neither would it persuade those others not already motivated and ready to commence such study.  A brief treatment, moreover, duly acknowledges the limitations of my own powers.

Those who have read anything I’ve written will probably know that my orientation is in line with Roman Catholicism and Orthodox Christianity.  On the other hand, I also have the perspective of a (1) contemporary psychologist with (2) a strong appreciation of ancient philosophy.  I mention these things only to reassure prospective readers they need not fear being exposed to ‘heretical’, vague esoteric, or merely idiosyncratic notions on the one hand, or dogmatic Christian moralizing, on the other.  Everything presented here is given in the spirit of plausible conjecture — possibilities which readers may experimentally confirm or disconfirm based on their own experience.

The discussion here has three sections.  First, an introduction, including a list of guiding premises, will be presented. Second, the key themes of Psalms will be identified. Third, these themes will be explained in comments on particular psalms and verses.  To try to explain every line in every psalm would be a mistake, I believe.  The point is to equip each reader with sufficient skills to productively make their own interpretations: in learning from Scripture, the seeking and the finding often coincide.

If the writing below seems in places more like an outline than polished prose, that is by design.  Reading a single psalm is more valuable than any commentary, and there is no reason to delay readers from this pursuit by unnecessary prolixity here.  It is not expected that everything said here is correct.  It is only hoped that some parts are.

Introduction

Premises

Our main premises are as follows: (1) the Book of Psalms is a unified work that carries deep meanings of both a spiritual and psychological nature; (2) it can be understood as conveying in a concise and comprehensive form what has been called the perennial philosophy, and (3) as a means to unlock psychological and sapiential meanings of Psalms we may do well to follow the exegetical methods of the Jewish Platonist philosopher, Philo of Alexandria.  Although Philo mentioned Psalms infrequently (Note 1), he produced many commentaries on the Old Testament books of Genesis and Exodus, and there is scarcely any theme in Psalms that is not also found in these earlier books.  As we shall see, the system of Philo is well supported by modern psychology, including Carl Jung’s archetypal psychology, ego/sub-ego theory, and contemporary Stoic cognitive psychology.  However we emphasize that our interest here is not Philo, but the Book of Psalms. In a sense, Philo serves mainly as a particularly clear and eminent example of the tradition of Greek (or Alexandrian) allegorical interpretation of the sapiential meanings of myth and scripture.

The Perennial Philosophy

Psalms is one of the Wisdom Books of the Old Testament.  This designation acknowledges a common purpose with the other Wisdom Books, including Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Wisdom of Solomon, Sirach, Canticle and Job. The subject is a transformation of consciousness, moral renewal, and the attainment of ‘wisdom.’ By wisdom here we mean neither abstract metaphysical truths nor practical wisdom (phronesis), but rather moral truths of the human soul, ones that may be directly experienced.  Wisdom in this sense might be understood as a distinct state (or set of related states) of consciousness.

Psalms expresses in a very complete and useful form what has been termed the perennial philosophy.  The perennial philosophy is a system of principles and practices, at the intersection of religion, philosophy, and moral psychology, that supply a blueprint for self-realization.  As human nature is basically constant throughout history and across cultures, and as the obstacles to self-realization are similarly constant, we should expect that similar means of removing psychological obstacles and for achieving self-realization develop across time and place.

The term perennial philosophy has an long history.  It goes at least as far back as the Renaissance (e.g., Marsilio Ficino and Pico della Mirandola). Later proponents include such figures as Agostino Steuco, Leibniz and, more recently, Aldous Huxley (1947).  As we understand it here, the perennial philosophy is roughly synonymous with ascetico-mysticism.  In the ascetical or negative aspect, this entails a moderation of passions (thus harmonizing them), elimination of moral error (wrong judgment and bad action), and control of thoughts.  This produces a mental condition of undisturbedness (ataraxia) and dispassion (apatheia) — or, more accurately, properly measured or ordered passions (metropatheai).

In the mystical or positive aspect, mental calmness and harmony allow one to be more attentive to subtle, transcendental and spiritual thoughts, judgments and impulses. The fruits of this include correct reasoning, spiritual senses, holiness and divinization (becoming godlike).  At the same time, a purification and moral re-alignment of the psyche allows one to experience material existence with greater vitality, meaning and purpose; one may experience the world as transfigured.

In discussing the perennial philosophy, some mistakenly place undue emphasis on the attainment of a momentous and ultimate mystical experience of Cosmic Consciousness.  However, especially since this is an experience enjoyed only by very few, the more relevant goal is to (1) be divine while (2) living in the world. That is, to experience oneself and the world — however briefly, for it can never be a permanent state in this life — as an incarnate divine being.  In addition, psychological salvation in this life, meanwhile, prepares us for a better afterlife.

A useful framework for understanding the perennial philosophy is the traditional three-fold distinction between stages of (1) purification, (2) illumination and (3) unification (Underhill, 1927).  The last itself has three components: unification within ourselves, with God, and with the world (including other human beings.)  These, it should be added, are not fixed stages that one finishes completely before moving to the next.  Rather one moves between them constantly throughout ones life.

The greatest obstacles to self-realization are (1) our ego, and (2) our immature, selfish emotional and acquisitive tendencies.  Our journey — a natural developmental process, biologically, psychologically, and spiritually — is one from what is traditionally called carnal (or worldly) mindedness (an orientation towards acquisition of material and sensory goods) to spiritual mindedness and transcendence (orientation towards spiritual and eternal goods, and, ultimately to God).  This is not only a traditional religious and philosophical concept, but is also present in modern psychological theories of moral development (e.g., Kohlberg).  It is a natural progression from infantile narcissism to a transcendent personality structure.

Self-realization is incompatible with the myriad forms of psychological dysfunction and disordering of thought we experience on a daily basis.  Therefore the purification or ascetical component of the perennial philosophy should be of interest to secular psychologists as well as those with religious sensibilities.

Part of the telos or desired end state of the perennial philosophy is a life in harmony with Nature (understood in the broadest sense to include both physical and metaphysical realities).  This condition is more or less synonymous as a life in accord with Truth, the Way, the TAO, Torah, etc.

To live in this way, one must remain constantly receptive to higher inspirations and guidances. This, I propose, is the true meaning of what the Bible calls following or heeding God’s guidances, judgments, directions, commands, etc.  By this view, we should seek not so much to be ‘obedient’ to God’s commandments in the sense of following fixed, written dictates; but rather to remain constantly and spontaneously attentive and receptive to subtle higher promptings  The former is, as St. Paul explains in his letter to the Romans, the ‘law which killeth’; the latter is the way of the Spirit which giveth life.

The concept of a core perennial philosophy still allows for variation in its expression as well as its gradual refinement and evolution over time. The Bible is a good complement to Platonism, because it better emphasizes the central importance of ones loving relationship with a personal God, and a God who actively reaches out by grace and Providence to assist with our psychological and spiritual salvation.

Here our main concern is in those parts of the perennial philosophy that may concern both secular psychologists and ‘religionists.’  The perennial philosophy is concerned with the attainment of immortality or a propitious afterlife, as well as with flourishing in this one.  We by no means disregard the former concern, but propose that in order to achieve it, then the former — a good, wise and virtuous present life — is a necessary stepping stone.  Therefore by focusing here on how Psalms relates to the more psychological component of the perennial philosophy, it is hoped to be relevant to the greatest number of readers.

Philo of Alexandria

Philo (c. 25 BC − c. 50 AD) was a prominent member of the Jewish community of Alexandria and a Platonist philosopher.  He wrote numerous books explaining the Old Testament — chiefly the five books of the Pentateuch.  Though he wrote with different purposes for several audiences, his best known works today contain a detailed allegorical interpretation of Genesis and Exodus.  These apply the philosophical principles of Platonic, Stoic and Pythagorean philosophy to the stories in these Old Testament Books.  Philo’s brilliant allegorical interpretations remain unsurpassed. His work was largely ignored by later Jewish exegetes, who gravitated instead towards the style of Midrash.  However Christian Platonists, including Clement of Alexandria and Origen, adopted his method.  Later Christians strongly influenced by Philonic interpretation include Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa and Maximus Confessor (in Eastern Christianity) and Ambrose of Milan, Jerome, and Augustine of Hippo in the Latin tradition. In the Middle Ages, allegorical interpretation based largely on methods pioneered by Philo became a fixture in the Latin and Byzantine traditions of Bible exegesis.  Ironically, then, Philo, a Jewish Platonist, might well be considered the father of Christian allegorical interpretation of the Bible.

Reasons we may expect success by taking Philo as a guide to the psychological and sapiential meaning of Psalms, include the following:

• Philo wrote two millennia ago. While modern society is more advanced technologically, the most valuable religious and philosophical ideas we possess originate from antiquity.  If the ancients were sophisticated enough to write the Iliad, Odyssey and the Old Testament, we should be similarly respectful of the skill and depth of insight of ancient allegorical commentators like Philo.

• Moreover, Philo, writing in the rich, varied, and cosmopolitan milieu of Alexandria, was able to draw from the best of several more ancient traditions, including not only Judaism, but many Greek philosophers, as well as potentially from elements of Egyptian religion.

• Philo was heir to the Stoic method of interpreting Greek myths as philosophical allegories. Heraclitus the Allegorist — whose Homeric Allegories (Russell & Konstan, 2005) is especially noteworthy in this regard — wrote a little after Philo’s time, and applies methods that had been in development for some time.  The Greek-influenced Roman poet, Virgil, writing around the time of Philo’s birth, not only incorporated philosophical themes into his mythic epic, the Aeneid, but quite possibly did this consciously and intentionally.  Philo was, arguably, personally not too far removed from the Jewish Wisdom tradition of the Bible, himself having once been considered the author of the Wisdom of Solomon.  Thus with Philo we arguably have the tradition interpreting itself.

Philonic Interpretation

A brief explanation of Philo’s system of interpretation and its connections with modern personality theory is found in Uebersax (2012).  The main features relevant to our present task may be summarized as follows:

1. Personification

Philo’s main tool for allegorical interpretation is personification: each person in the Old Testament is understood to correspond to some structure or operation of the psyche.  A generic term for these psychological correspondents is mental dispositions, but this word is not very informative. We may understand these psychological correspondents in a more technical sense as what modern writers have called subpersonalities (e.g., Rowan, 1999) or sub- or part-egos (Sorokin, 1956; cf. Uebersax 2014).  According to this view, human personality can be understood as a configuration of interacting, smaller components: in an important sense, our mind operates somewhat not as a single self, but as a community of sub-selves.  At a biological level, each sub-self can be understood as a complex, with both cognitive and emotional aspects.

Subegos or subpersonalities are evidently very numerous (for example, we have, in theory, a separate one associated with every social role, personal interest, ambition, attachment, and biological instinct).  In addition, we tend to create in the psyche internalized versions of other people — actual people we’ve known, and even historical and fictional ones.  So, as unsettling as the notion may seem at first, we have within our minds countless numbers of sub-egos of various levels of complexity.

It is not necessary, however, to reify or take too literally this theory. Our present discussion applies if we merely allow that our minds operate “something like this” — that is, as if we were congeries of competing subpersonalities. [Note 2]

2. Hierarchical organization

These sub-egos or subpersonalities are of different orders of complexity.  For example, we may have individual sub-egos associated with particular foods we like to eat, and also one for the eating and enjoyment of food in general. In Philo’s system, Old Testament references to tribes and rulers correspond to smaller sub-egos and higher-level, ruling ones, respectively.

3. Internal conflict

Having so many components of the psyche, each with its individual interests and aims, naturally sets the stage for inner conflict.  For Philo, of primary concern is the conflict between, on the one hand, our virtuous and holy parts, and, on the other, our vicious and impious ones.  Here Philo reflects not only his Jewish roots, but his grounding in Platonic, Pythagorean and Stoic philosophy, which all have a somewhat dualistic model of human nature.  In keeping with the Platonic and Pythagorean view, our virtuous nature is concerned with eternal things, and our lower nature focused on material and world things.

For Philo, this fundamental conflict in human nature is represented repeatedly by contrasting pairs of figures:  Cain vs. Abel, Jacob vs. Esau, Joseph vs. his brothers, Moses vs. Pharaoh, the Israelites vs. their enemies, etc.

Similarly, in Greek myths this fundamental inner war (psychomachia) is symbolized by, for example, the conflicts of the Olympians vs. the Titans, and, in the Iliad, the Greeks vs. the Trojans. The same symbolic trope is expressed in a very elaborate and psychologically complex form in the great Indian epic, the Mahabharata (see Uebersax, 2021).

We should note that, although in an actual war the goal may be to completely destroy an enemy, that seems less feasible in the case of internal ‘war.’  Even though they may seem to oppose virtuous tendencies, worldly concerns are part of us, and they tend to have some foundation in instinct and biology.  Hence a more productive goal may be to seek harmonization or subordination of our lower nature to the higher.  In effect, rather than raze the heathen cities of our soul, we may wish to make them client states.

A simple way to sum up the preceding is this:  that within each person’s psyche there are inner correspondents to all the main figures of the Old Testament.  We have an inner Adam and Eve, and inner Cain and Abel, an inner Noah, Abraham, Jacob, and Moses, inner Israelites and Egyptians, etc.  But the Bible is doing more than reminding us that these inner characteristics exist.  It uses this figurative language to explain how we can achieve a more happy, harmonious and productive inner organization.

4. Ethics

Philo adheres closely to the virtue ethics that run consistently — whether implicitly as in Hesiod’s myths, or explicitly as in Platonism and Stoicism — throughout Greek philosophy. According to this view, the common or unredeemed condition of the human mind is fallen.  We see this view graphically expressed as Plato’s cave (Republic 7.514a–521d).  The fallen condition affects both the intelligence and the will.  Until we are redeemed, our minds are habitually sunk in folly, delusion and chronic negative thinking, and we are unhappy, unproductive and unfulfilled.

In the three books of his Allegorical Interpretation, Philo uses the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden to supply an insightful and detailed analysis of the cognitive psychology of the fall of the psyche.

While this fallen state is our usual condition, it is not our natural one: we are intended and designed for a better and higher psychological life — to which it is the task of true philosophy and religion to restore us.  For Philo, the process of return and redemption basically follows the already mentioned three stages of ascetico-mysticism: moral purification (ascesis), illumination and union (Underhill, 1928).

The ethical summum bonum for Philo is union with God.  This means becoming like God (being holy, virtuous and wise; cf. Plato, Theateus 176a−b), gaining in some sense a vision or knowledge of God, and, finally, having a personal loving relationship with God.

Again, various events and figures in the Old Testament, for Philo, are associated with each of these stages.  For example, Jacob is a symbol for the practicer of ascesis.

5. Spirituality

Ultimately Philo sees the ideal human life as spiritually oriented. This involves the moderation of appetites and passions, the practice of prayer and contemplation, the development of spiritual senses, and an influx of spiritual inspirations, insights and guidances.

In modern (e.g., Jungian) psychology this has various counterparts, including the integration of conscious and unconscious mental operation, the ‘sacred marriage’ of ego and Self, the harmonious cooperation of the brain hemispheres (McGilchrist, 2009), and Being-cognition (Maslow, 1971).

St. Paul — a contemporary of Philo, and, like him, familiar with the prevailing currents of Stoic ethics, as well as steeped in the psychology of the Old Testament — summed up our condition as a tension between carnal mindedness (concern with worldly things) and spiritual mindedness (a personality organized by spiritual concerns). He also uses the terms ‘old man’ and ‘new man’ to refer to these conflicting dimensions of our personality. This is what St. Paul means when he says the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other (Gal. 5:17).  The redeemed psychological condition then, for both St. Paul and Philo, can be understood as the return to spiritual mindedness.  To jump ahead a little historically, the movements of psychological fall and salvation correspond, in the system of Neoplatonism’s founder, Plotinus, to what he calls the descent and ascent of the soul (Uebersax, 2014).

Jungian Psychology

Besides its connection with subpersonality theory, Philo’s system finds counterparts in the archetypal psychology of Carl Jung (in fact, Jung admits borrowing the term ‘archetype’ from Philo). While they are by no means identical, Philo’s and Jung’s systems agree on these points:

• Scripture and myth serve the purpose of communicating universal psychological truths;

• Their chief aims include the amelioration of mental dysfunction and attaining of self-realization; and

• The characters of myths and scripture are images of archetypes, that is, representations of universal structures and processes of the human psyche. Philo does not, though, as do some neo-Jungians, see archetypes as existing autonomously as somewhat like living metaphysical entities; for example, Abraham in Genesis is an archetypal symbol, but not an ‘Archetype’ with independent existence.

In consequence, both Philo and Jungian writers like Jung himself and Campbell (1949) understand exegesis of myth and scripture as in large part a deciphering of the universal psychological meanings of the figures and stories therein.

The Jungian psychiatrist, Edward Edinger, wrote several books applying archetypal exegesis to the Bible. His works are interesting and worth reading, but must be approached cautiously, as they are often no more than half-true. To his credit Edinger writes well and draws into discussion an interesting array of works from numerous disciplines — for example, Ginzberg’s Legends of the Jews and Milton’s Paradise Lost. On the negative side he bears an undisguised and militant antipathy towards organized religion, especially Christianity.  He implies that traditional Christianity is obsolete and will be replaced by a new system based on Jungian psychology!  As a result, his interpretations frequently miss the mark.  His prejudice filters out any conclusion that might present traditional religion in any but an unflattering light

These cautions notwithstanding, Jungian psychology supplies a vocabulary and conceptual scheme very helpful for understanding Philo’s system — and the psychological meaning of Psalms — in modern terms. It also supplies an alternative perspective — something valuable, if not indispensable in any scientific-minded investigation to help prevent the close-minded dogmatism to which the human ego is always vulnerable.

Related Literature

As noted, Philo does not cite Psalms often, but the handful of examples in his works suffice to show that he did not hesitate to apply the same exegetical methods there that he used for interpreting Genesis and Exodus.  Evagrius of Ponticus — strongly influenced by Origen (who himself used Philo’s exegetical methods) authored Scholia on Psalms (Dysinger, 2005), but these unfortunately has not been fully translated into English.  Pseudo-Procopius of Gaza (an anonymous author, possibly Byzantine) wrote a Commentary on Proverbs (Gohl, 2019) that adheres closely to the Platonic/Philonic psychology.

St. Augustine learned Bible interpretation from St. Ambrose — who himself was well acquainted withe Philo’s works, producing Latin paraphrases of several of them.  Therefore we are not surprised to find in Augustine’s Annotations on Psalms many examples of Philo-like interpretation.  However these are mixed with several other levels of interpretation.

A modern compilation of patristic interpretations of Psalms can be found in Blaising and Hardin (2014) and Wesselschmidt (2007; cf. Neale & Littledale, 1869−1874). Spurgeon’s Treasury of David contains many choice excerpts on the inner meaning of Psalms by writers from 16th through the 19th centuries.

Themes of Psalms

The 150 psalms all express a relatively small set of interacting and interpenetrating psychological themes.  These are expressed in the voice of the psalmist, but as it is we who pray the psalms, they must be understood as applying to ourselves:

• Lamentation. We lament being persecuted, oppressed, threatened or held captive by powerful opponents.

• Penitence. We acknowledge and experience regret for past wrongdoings, and for our own weakness and propensity for sin.

• Trust. We trust, hope, and have confidence in salvation from God.

• Thanks. We thank God for deliverance,.

• Praise. We praise God for His goodness, glory and countless blessings.

• Contemplation and ascent. We express a desire to ascend to a more contemplative and spiritual condition of mind.

• God’s Name. Frequent reference is made to God’s name.  Here God’s name seems to be understood in the sense of reputation.  Confidence is expressed that God will want to redeem us that much more, because in doing so his reputation is enhanced, leading other people to seek salvation.

• Suffering servant. Many verses refer to a suffering servant: a virtuous character who endures hardship and makes sacrifices to aid the process of salvation.  Conventionally this has been taken as a prophecy of the life and death of Jesus.  That interpretation may have had some value as an apologetic device in the early years of Church history.  However that meaning has little practical value today.  As we believe Psalms has enduring relevance, it seems reasonable to prefer a psychological meaning.  Hence the suffering servant would, to put the matter in the broadest of terms, be some aspect of the psyche which willingly undergoes suffering as part of the process of psychological and moral salvation.

These are not independent themes, but interact in a complex way as saga of our salvation.  It seems fairly clear that a kind of cyclicity is involved, such that there is a process of fall into sin and mental disorder, and return.  This cycle repeats itself in ones life — perhaps on a daily basis.  There is something like a holographic quality to Psalms, such that each psalm helps illumine the meaning of the others.

Finally, we may briefly note the range of characters in Psalms.  There is, first, the psalmist.  Sometimes this is explicitly identified as David, and sometimes someone else.  It seems uncertain — if not plainly unlikely — that any of the psalms were written by a historical King David.  Besides speaking to himself, the psalmist addresses several other parties, including God (the LORD) and his persecutors (a term used more or less synonymously with ‘heathen’).  A figure that often appears is the “Son.”  Again, it does us little practical good to equate this reflexively with an allusion to Jesus Christ.  From a psychological standpoint, rather, the Son might be understood as a new component of the psyche which develops to facilitate the inner process of salvation.  In short, we might think of this as an ‘inner Christ,’ or Christ consciousness.  Finally, references are made to a judge who condemns and punishes the wicked.  Once again the most productive course is to try to associate this figure with some inner psychic mechanism.

Let this suffice, then, as an introduction.  Everything said here must be regarded as tentative.  Nothing is stated dogmatically, and everything said here is really just an example of what might be true — an initial approximation.  To arrive at true meanings is something that requires dedicated and repeated reading, prayer and inspiration. In the end, perhaps these things cannot be communicated by words to others.  It is hoped merely that this short introduction will convince readers that there is a valuable psychological message in Psalms, and help motivate people to seek it.

Because so much depends on personal effort, the last thing that would be appropriate, I believe, is an exhaustive line-by-line commentary on Psalms.  It’s much better to illustrate how the reader may apply the interpretive rules implicit in the above to arrive at personally relevant meanings.  Accordingly, I will simply perform a commentary on a few representative psalms — which should be sufficient to demonstrate the ‘Philonic’ method of interpretation.

Interpretation

From here the plan is to apply the principles above to the Book of Psalms.  To begin, we will initially consider Psalms 1 and 2.  More material will then be added over time.

To avoid repetition, symbols and meanings once discussed in an earlier psalm will not be repeated when the appear in later ones.  Therefore it will not be necessary to treat every verse, or every psalm.

Psalm 23 (the Good Shepherd) and Psalm 119 (the Great Psalm) have previously been considered (Psalm 23, Psalm 119).

Text and numbering of the psalms follows the King James Version (KJV).

Psalm 1

The first psalm has traditionally been seen as a preface to the entire book, summarizing and touching on all it’s main themes.  (Fuller discussions of Psalm 1 along the present lines can be found here and here.)

[1] Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

• Blessed.  Makarios.  At the beginning we see that the aim is the condition of blessedness.  This can be understood here as the telos or ethical summum bonum of human life.

• Next follows three principal obstacles to blessedness, which can be interpreted as corresponding to characteristic problems associated with the three Platonic divisions of the psyche.

• Counsel of the ungodly.  The rational part of our mind is subjected to impious counsels — that is, thoughts that originate from purely material and worldly concerns.

• Way of sinners.  Mental temptations associated with aberrations of the desiring/appetitive part of the psyche.

• Seat of the scornful.  The scornful (also translated as scoffers) represent cynical, overly critical and hostile thoughts that originate in the ambitious or spirited part of the mind.

[2] But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.

• Delight.  Hedone: what the will seeks, what is in a broad sense pleasurable.

• Law of the Lord.  Not written commandments, but a more subtle concept: remaining in a state of continuing communion with God, attentive and responding to God’s mental guidances, inspirations, directions, etc.

• Meditate.  Directing ones mind to, making the effort to focus attention on.

• Day and night.  Day may be understood as times of mental clarity.  Nights, as in ‘dark nights of the soul,’ where the clear and tangible signs of God’s activity in ones life are not present; one must then exert effort to persevere in the Way.

[3] And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

• Rivers of water.  Streams of spiritual nutrition, flowing from the unconscious — but ultimately from God.

• Fruit.  Spiritual fruits of insight, wisdom, virtue.  Also acts of charity, including socially relevant creative activity.

• Prosper.  We cannot prosper when we are not focused on God and God’s ways, because in that case (1) we are divided against ourselves, (2) were we to prosper in this condition, it would fuel pride and draw us away from God; and (3) it glorifies God and inspires other people if we prosper through inner righteousness.

[4] The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.

• Ungodly.  Ourselves, when our thoughts and actions are directed by worldly concerns.

• Chaff, wind.  This trope, which includes the notion of scattering, is most interesting, and evidently important as it is found throughout Psalms, as well as elsewhere in the Bible. Here it may mean that when we are in a worldly condition of mind, our thoughts are inevitably scattered.  Scattering of thoughts may be a kind of punishment, as in the confusion of tongues in the Tower of Babel story.

[5] Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.

• Judgment.  Not a historical Last Judgment, but some existential, ultimate inner cognitive judgment.  This may allude to an ultimate arbiter and judge of our thoughts within the psyche.  We will return to this topic in the next psalm.

• Congregation of the righteous.  Following our hermeneutic rules, this would suggest some kind of assembly or congregation of virtuous elements of the psyche. The word suggests a large number, rather than a small band.  This is a lofty topic about which we simply know virtually nothing, nor has it been the subject of much rational speculation.  Compare this, however, with what vast choirs of angels may symbolize at the psychological level (cf. Pseudo-Dionysius).

[6] For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

• Shall perish.  Our ungodly thoughts, the fruits of our worldly dispositions, have no permanence.  They are ultimately unreal (in a Platonic sense); and, as we have said above, conflict with other worldly thoughts.  Only thoughts that originate in or comport with our spiritual nature are harmonious, within and without.  That which is internally inconsistent and incongruous with Nature will be short-lived.

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Psalm 2

The second psalm is, again, sometimes understood as a preface, as it introduces basic themes that are repeatedly addressed later.

Whereas the first psalm excites our hopes, the second presents difficulties now to be faced.

[1] Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?

• Heathen rage.  The heathen are worldly dispositions or subpersonalities, those concerned with achievement of ambitions and satisfaction of appetites.  Rage, rebellion, agitation and disquietude may accompany the frustration of the aims of these elements.

• imagine a vain thing.  This suggests a connection between the activity of our frustrated carnal nature and deluded thinking.  This view is not implausible or without precedent.  In Plato’s cave, prisoners’ thinking is imaginary and deluded, as they consider mere shadows on the wall.  The chains that prevent them from turning away from delusion are their attachments to unmoderated passions. Recall the paradox of Socrates: are we ignorant because we are unvirtuous, or unvirtuous because we are ignorant?

• We should not necessarily assume, however, that passions automatically become unruly when frustrated.  Rather, it would seem we are designed to seek inner harmony, and it is in the interests of all sub-egos to cooperate with this.  It could be, then, that some outside or additional element — a free-floating urge to disharmony — exists.  And, if so, we may find this and its remedy described in Psalms and elsewhere in myth and scripture.

[2] The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD, and against his anointed, saying,
[3] Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.

• kings of the earth. As already mentioned, certain higher-order carnal dispositions exist that somehow control and organize others.  Insight into the psychological meaning of ‘kings of the earth’ can be found in Philo’s writings, as he addresses theme as it occurs throughout Genesis and Exodus.  Pharaoh is the most important example of such a king of the earth.

• take counsel together.  Implying some capacity of these sub-egos to communicate and form confederations.  This confederation potential of sub-egos has been noted by both Rowan (1990) and Lester (2012).

• his anointed. See below.

[4] He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: the Lord shall have them in derision.

• He that sitteth in the heavens.  This could refer either to God, or a Higher Self.  Perhaps one can say that both are meant.  Importantly, from the perspective of the ego, this almost doesn’t matter.  The ego knows only there is something above it — some benevolent, saving power to which it must turn.

• Further, assuming God and a Higher Self are separate entities, it is possible that the latter mediates the relationship of the ego to God.  In humbling itself before a Higher Self, then, the ego is also humbling itself before God.

[5] Then shall he speak unto them in his wrath, and vex them in his sore displeasure.

• Commentators on Psalms have long found a stumbling block in the frequent references to a wrathful God, whom the psalmist asks to bring about the destruction of enemies.  Taken literally this is diametrically opposed to the sound Gospel principle of loving and forgiving ones enemies.  Our strong-psychological reading of Psalms removes this difficulty.  The enemies are inner enemies.  The right use of anger and wrath is to empower the overcoming of ones own vice. Wrath is misused when directed against other human beings.

[6] Yet have I set my king upon my holy hill of Zion.
[7] I will declare the decree: the LORD hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee.

• set my king; my Son. In Psalms we must note the clear distinction between God (the LORD) and the Son.  The latter we propose is a new ruling, kingly and priestly sub-personality that develops, ordained by God with the express purpose of leading a spiritualization and moral reformation of the entire personality.  We might see it as a Christ principle, a keystone of a new edifice of the personality which is being constructed in the process of psychological salvation.

[8] Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession.
[9] Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.

• heathen for thine inheritance. The LORD will assist the new, king/priest sub-ego to gain authority over the personality.

• rod of iron.  This personality element has the power to control heathen subpersonalities.

• dash them in pieces. The Son is also an inner judge and, avenger.  He is able to scatter the thoughts of heathen sub-egos, rendering them ineffectual.

• This presents us with an important question.  If thoughts are (as so often is the case) scattered and confused, is this (1) a sign of oppression by frustrated heathen sub-egos, or (2) the result of punitive actions of a righteous inner judge upon rebellious inner heathens?  Could it even be both are the same thing, viewed from the perspectives of different sub-egos? Perhaps this will become more clear as we continue this exercise of interpretation.  Regardless, scattering and confusion of thoughts is eliminated when the personality is harmonized by holiness; gratitude, humility, trust, hope and the condition of giving God thanks and praise.

[10] Be wise now therefore, O ye kings: be instructed, ye judges of the earth.
[11] Serve the LORD with fear, and rejoice with trembling.
[12] Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him.

• Kiss the Son. The kings of the earth may be reconciled to the overall project of harmonization, integration, holiness and ascension (a topic we have not yet addressed).  Therefore the goal is not to destroy, but convert them.

❧

Notes

1. Philo quotes Psalms about two-dozen times, often supplying a psychological interpretation consistent with his exegesis of Genesis and Exodus.

2. A monitoring of ones thoughts for five minutes suffices to show how many mental characters, roles and orientations we regularly assume and how rapidly these change.

❧

References

Asrani, U. A. The psychology of mysticism. In: John White (ed.), The highest state of consciousness 2nd ed., White Crow, 2012. (Article originally appeared in Main Currents in Modern Thought, 25, 1969, 68–73.)

Blaising, Craig A.;  Hardin, Carmen S. (eds.). Psalms 1−50. Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. InterVarsity Press, 2014.

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Princeton, 1949.

Colson F. H.; Whitaker, G. H.; Marcus Ralph (eds.). The Works of Philo. 12 vols. Loeb Classical Library. Harvard University Press, 1929−1953.

Dysinger, Luke.  Evagrius Ponticus: Scholia on Psalms.  Web article. 2005.

Edinger, Edward F. The Sacred Psyche: A Psychological Approach to the Psalms. Inner City Books, 2004

Gohl, Justin M. Pseudo-Procopius of Gaza, Commentary on Proverbs 1-9 (Ἑρμηνεία εἰς τὰς Παροιμίας). 2019.

Huxley, Aldous. The Perennial Philosophy. London: Chatto & Windus, 1947.

Lamberton, Robert. Homer the Theologian: Neoplatonist Allegorical Reading and the Growth of the Epic Tradition. Berkeley: University of California, 1986.

Lester, David. A multiple self theory of the mind. Comprehensive Psychology, 2012, 1, 5.

Maslow, Abraham H. The farther reaches of human nature. New York: Arkana, 1993 (first published Viking, 1971).

McGilchrist, Iain. The Master and His Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World. New Haven: Yale, 2009.

Neale, John Mason; Littledale, Richard Frederick. A Commentary on the Psalms. 2nd ed. 4 vols. London: Masters, 1869−1874.

Rowan, John. Subpersonalities: The People Inside Us. Routledge, 1990 (repr. 2013).

Russell, Donald Andrew; Konstan, David. Heraclitus: Homeric Problems. Atlanta, 2005.

Spurgeon, Charles Haddon. The Treasury of David. 7 vols. London: 1881−1885.

Uebersax, John. Psychological Allegorical Interpretation of the Bible.  Camino Real, 2012.

Uebersax, John.  The monomyth of fall and salvation. Christian Platonism (website). 2014.

Uebersax, John. The soul’s great battle of Kurukshetra. Satyagraha: Cultural Psychology (website). 2021.

Uebersax, John. Pitirim Sorokin’s personality theory. Satyagraha: Cultural Psychology (website). 2015.

Underhill, Evelyn. Mysticism. 12th ed. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1930.

Wesselschmidt, Quentin F. (ed.). Psalms 51−150. Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. Intervarsity Press, 2007.

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Edward Herbert, Conjectures Concerning Heavenly Life

Edward  Herbert  (1583–1648) 

THE eminent metaphysical poet, George Herbert (1593–1633), had an even more famous brother, Edward (1583–1648).  Whereas George lived the life of a simple country parson, Edward was immersed in military and state affairs, first a friend of King James I (for which he was appointed 1st Baron Herbert of Cherbury) and later an opponent.  But like George, he had great literary ability and was deeply pious.  The following poem, composed originally in Latin, is a meditation on the possibility of infinite felicity in heaven, and what that might mean.  The English translation comes from the well-known American Transcendentalist and literary figure, Margaret Fuller (1810–1850; more on her below).  The Latin version can be found in Edward Herbert’s autobiography (ed. Horace Walpole) and his collected poems; links are supplied in the Sources section.

Conjectures Concerning the Heavenly Life (De Vita Cælesti Conjectura)

Purified in my whole genius, I congratulate myself
Secure of fate, while neither am I downcast by any terrors,
Nor store up secret griefs in my heart,
But pass my days cheerfully in the midst of mishaps,
Despite the evils which engird the earth,
Seeking the way above the stars with ardent virtue.
I have received, beforehand, the first fruits of heavenly life—
I now seek the later, sustained by divine love,
Through which, conquering at once the scoffs of a gloomy destiny,
I leave the barbarous company of a frantic age,
Breathing out for the last time the infernal air—breathing in the supernal,
I enfold myself wholly in these sacred flames,
And, sustained by them, ascend the highest dome,
And far and wide survey the wonders of a new sphere,
And see well-known spirits, now beautiful in their proper light,
And the choirs of the higher powers, and blessed beings
With whom I desire to mingle fires and sacred bonds—
Passing from joy to joy the heaven of all,
What has been given to ourselves, or sanctioned by a common vow.
God, in the meantime, accumulating his rewards,
May at once increase our honour and illustrate his own love.
Nor heavens shall be wanting to heavens, nor numberless ages to life,
Nor new joys to these ages, such as an
Eternity shall not diminish, nor the infinite bring to an end.
Nor, more than all, shall the fair favour of the Divine be wanting—
Constantly increasing these joys, varied in admirable modes,
And making each state yield only to one yet happier,
And what we never even knew how to hope, is given to us—
Nor is aught kept back except what only the One can conceive,
And what in their own nature are by far most perfect
In us, at least, appear embellished,
Since the sleeping minds which heaven prepares from the beginning—
Only our labor and industry can vivify,
Polishing them with learning and with morals,
That they may return all fair, bearing back a dowry to heaven,
When, by use of our free will, we put to rout those ills
Which heaven has neither dispelled, nor will hereafter dispel.
Thus through us is magnified the glory of God,
And our glory, too, shall resound throughout the heavens,
And what are the due rewards of virtue, finally
Must render the Father himself more happy than his wont
Whence still more ample grace shall be showered upon us,
Each and all yielding to our prayer,
For, if liberty be dear, it is permitted
To roam through the loveliest regions obvious to innumerable heavens,
And gather, as we past, the delights of each,
If fixed contemplation be chosen rather in the mind,
All the mysteries of the high regions shall be laid open to us,
And the joy will he to know the methods of God,—
Then it may be permitted to act upon earth, to have a care
Of the weal of men, and to bestow just laws.
If we are more delighted with celestial lave,
We are dissolved into flames which glide about and excite one another
Mutually, embraced in sacred ardours,
Spring upwards, enfolded together in firmest bonds,
In parts and wholes, mingling by turns,
And the ardour of the Divine kindles (in them) still new ardours,
It will make us happy to praise God, while he commands us,
The angelic choir, singing together with sweet modulation,
Sounds through heaven, publishing our joys,
And beauteous spectacles are put forth, hour by hour,
And, as it were, the whole fabric of heaven becomes a theatre,
Till the divine energy pervades the whole sweep of the world,
And chisels out from it new forms,
Adorned with new faculties, of larger powers.
Our forms, too, may then be renewed—
Assume new forms and senses, till our
Joys again rise up consummate.
If trusting thus, I shall have put off this mortal weed,
Why may not then still greater things be disclosed?

The poem appears to have never been translated into English before or since Margaret Fuller.  It appeared in an essay titled The Two Herberts, which was originally published in the short-lived literary journal, The Present (1844), and republished in various editions of her collected essays.  The essay is not very well known, but is one of her best.  In it she portrays an imaginary dialogue between George Herbert and Edward.  The dialogue is very engaging.  Instead of both figures merely serving as artificial mouthpieces for the authors own view, here we see two distinct personalities, with important similarities and divergences of thought.  Further, Fuller displays considerable sensitivity to their religious views.  Edward was one of the founders of English Deism, while George was a devout Anglican.  One main disagreement concerns the personal nature of ones relationship with God. The contrast between Edward, a man of action, and George, a pure contemplative, is also highlighted — biographers have noted the similarity here with this split in Fuller’s own personality (she eventually left New England for Italy, becoming active in the revolution there). But arguably the real significance of her essay is its religious dimension.  I could extol its praises and expand on its subtle points, but ultimately it’s a work of art, appreciated more by reading than analyzing it.

Sources

Fuller, Margaret. The Two Herberts.  In: Margaret Fuller, Art, Literature and the Drama, ed. Arthur B. Fuller, Boston, 1874; pp. 25−44. Orig. publ. in The Present, Vol. 1, March 1844, pp. 301−312.

Grey, Robin. Margaret Fuller’s “The Two Herberts,” Emerson, and the Disavowal of Sequestered Virtue. In: The Complicity of Imagination: The American Renaissance, Contests of Authority, and Seventeenth-Century English Culture, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1997; pp. 87−106.

Herbert, Edward. The Life of Edward Lord Herbert of Cherbury. Horace Walpole (ed.).  London: Cassell, 1887; pp. 33−34. (First ed. Strawberry Hill, 1764).

Higginson, Thomas Wentworth. Margaret Fuller Ossoli. Houghton Mifflin, 1890.  Ch. 18. Literary Traits (pp. 281−298).

Smith, George Charles Moore. The Poems of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1923; pp. 103−106.

1st draft: 17 Jan 2021

John Davies: Adversity Makes Us Look Within

JOHN DAVIES (1569 –1626) was an English poet and government official.  His poem Nosce Teipsum (Know Thyself) — an outstanding example of Elizabethan verse — enjoyed great popularity both during and after his lifetime and deserves more attention today than it receives.  The core of the work consists of a series of arguments for the soul’s immortality largely adapted from those of Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations 1.  Here Davies begins by commenting on how adversity has the compensation of forcing us to direct our attention within. The circumstances surrounding the composition of Nosce Teipsum not without interest. Davies wrote it during a period of seclusion and remorse after being disbarred for cudgeling a former friend in response to a public insult from the latter.

Adversity

And as the man loues least at home to bee,
That hath a sluttish house haunted with sprites;
So she impatient her owne faults to see,
Turnes from her selfe and in strange things delites.

For this few know themselves: for merchants broke
View their estate with discontent and paine;
And seas are troubled, when they doe revoke
Their flowing waves into themselves againe.

And while the face of outward things we find,
Pleasing and faire, agreeable and sweet;
These things transport, and carry out the mind,
That with her selfe her selfe can never meet.

Yet if Affliction once her warres begin,
And threat the feebler Sense with sword and fire;
The Minde contracts her selfe and shrinketh in,
And to her selfe she gladly doth retire:

As Spiders toucht, seek their webs inmost part;
As bees in stormes unto their hives returne;
As bloud in danger gathers to the heart;
As men seek towns, when foes the country burn.

If ought can teach us ought, Affliction’s lookes,
(Making us looke into our selves so neere,)
Teach us to know our selves beyond all bookes,
Or all the learned Schooles that ever were.

This mistresse lately pluckt me by the eare,
And many a golden lesson hath me taught;
Hath made my Senses quicke, and Reason cleare,
Reform’d my Will and rectifide my Thought.

So doe the winds and thunders cleanse the ayre;
So working lees settle and purge the wine;
So lop’t and pruned trees doe flourish faire;
So doth the fire the drossie gold refine.

Neither Minerva nor the learned Muse,
Nor rules of Art, nor precepts of the wise;
Could in my braine those beames of skill infuse,
As but the glance of this Dame’s angry eyes.

She within lists my ranging minde hath brought,
That now beyond my selfe I list not goe;
My selfe am center of my circling thought,
Onely my selfe I studie, learne, and know.

I know my bodie’s of so fraile a kind,
As force without, feavers within can kill;
I know the heavenly nature of my minde,
But ’tis corrupted both in wit and will:

I know my Soule hath power to know all things,
Yet is she blinde and ignorant in all;
I know I am one of Nature’s little kings,
Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

I know my life’s a paine and but a span,
I know my Sense is mockt with every thing:
And to conclude, I know my selfe a MAN,
Which is a proud, and yet a wretched thing.

Bibliography

Davies, John.  Nosce Teipsum (extract). In: Alexander B. Grosart, (ed.), The Complete Poems of Sir John Davies, 2 vols, Vol. 2, Chatto and Windus, 1876; 22−24.
https://archive.org/details/completepoemsofs01daviuoft