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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Active Imagination and the Mysteries of the Rosary

Artist unkown: The Annunciation

LET’S continue the topic of experimenting with meditation on the Rosary Mysteries as tools for personal growth — spiritual, psychological and philosophical. To repeat in brief what I’ve said before, the guiding premise is that the ‘author’ of the Rosary Mysteries is the collective unconscious. They represent a cumulative attempt, crafted and refined by countless inspired individuals, to express in symbolic form stages or components of ones spiritual self-realization.  They are therefore of universal value.  One need not be a practicing Roman Catholic to benefit from them.  They concern universal and (what a follower of Jungian psychology would call) archetypal principles of the human psyche.

There is a standard formula by which Roman Catholics consider these mysteries while praying the Rosary.  However one is entirely free to experiment and improvise, and there are advantages with this. In particular, one might apply the Jungian technique of active imagination to this task — for example, by looking at artistic portrayals of these Gospel events — and creatively ‘engaging’ with them.  Almost the whole point of active imagination is spontaneity.  Nevertheless, another element of Jungian psychology can be used profitably here, namely his well-known distinction between four kinds of cognitive activity: sensing, thinking, feeling and intuiting.  (These of course are the four personality dimension of the Meyers-Briggs inventory).

Elsewhere I’ve related what was explained to me by a retreat director years ago — how these four cognitive activities can be used in connection with the traditional practice of lectio divina (holy reading) for interpreting Scripture. As understanding the complex messages of art is much like interpreting Scripture, it’s plausible to apply this approach to the former.

Accordingly, this works as follows.  Quiet your mind, and arrange time to devote to studying some work of art that portrays one of the Sorrowful, Joyful, Glorious or Luminous Rosary Mysteries.  In succession, spend some amount of time considering it exclusively by each cognitive function:

Sensing.  Examine the literal details without analyzing them.  Notice every important object and detail.  Scan the entire image so nothing is missed.  Notice shapes, colors, shadings, arrangement of figures, foreground and background, etc.

Thinking.  Now think about the objects in the painting.  Don’t force things or be overly analytical; in fact, more of a playful approach might be most appropriate.  For example, applying this process to interpret Scripture, one technique is to make puns or find alternative, varied meanings — however implausible — in the actual words.  Something similar might be done here.  The idea is not to form any definite conclusions, but rather to activate and exercise the rational faculty.

Feeling.  Here again, one should feel free to experiment. How does the art make you feel? One possibility is to cycle through the characters portrayed, and to imagine what that figure is feeling towards each of the others — or try to have the same feeling yourself.

Intuiting. Pause, take a breath, close your eyes.  Put yourself in the loving ‘shalom’ of God’s presence.  Now open your eyes and let the picture speak to you.  Imagine, if you like, it speaking directly to your heart, without specific words, giving intuitions and insights.

This is enough to say.  Of necessity this should be a completely personal method, and each person will need to discover what works best for them.  I would just encourage you to make the experiment.  Regardless of ones religious affiliation, these Mysteries and their associated art are a great cultural resource available to help your process of self-realization.

As for the picture above, I don’t know it’s source, but it is a rather unusual representation of the Annunciation.  What I like about it is that it –somewhat uniquely — focuses on Mary experiencing an ecstasy.  As such, it can be interpreted as an allegory for deep religious contemplation — as, perhaps, do the other Joyful Mysteries (and Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous Mysteries).

 

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Myths of the Fall

Polyphemus, Babel, Satan, Deluge, Eden, Pharaoh, Tyranny, Phaeton, Icarus  

M

YTHS  of the Fall of Man ought to interest us intensely, because it’s so obvious that human beings, individually and collectively, live mainly in a markedly fallen condition.  Individually this is manifest as the various forms of negative thinking that characterize much or most of our waking consciousness: anxiety, worry, greed, anger, hated, fear, confusion, distraction, delusion, folly, envy, resentment, fantasy, daydreaming, grandiosity, obsession, etc. Examples of collective chronic psychological and social dysfunction are just as many and obvious.

Yet the academic establishment has gotten virtually nowhere trying to understand what myths of the fall are trying to tell us about what the psychological fall is, why it happens and how to prevent it.

Concerning the opposite condition – the blessed or ascended state – there are also many valuable and important myths.  Indeed, we might be easily persuaded that the natural condition of the human mind is happy, blessed, active and extremely capable.

In the Western tradition we have three parallel sources of fall myths:  Greek mythology, Plato’s dialogues and the Old Testament.  Examples:

Greek: Pandora, Ages of Man, Deucalion, Phaeton, Narcissus, Odyssey (Lotus eaters, Cyclops, Circe, Scylla & Charybdis), Icarus; Judgment of Paris; cf. Choice of Hercules.

Plato: Cave allegory, Cronos myth (Statesman), Tyrant’s progress, Atlantis; cf. Chariot myth.

Old Testament: Garden of Eden, Cain & Abel, Deluge, Tower of Babel, Sodom and Gomorrah, Pharaoh’s army

Plato’s ethics and epistemology supply a clear framework for interpreting his myths, and, by extension, related Greek myths.  Philo of Alexandria, in turn effectively applies Platonic formulae to interpret the Old Testament myths of the fall.

The Platonic interpretation of myths of the fall has a long tradition, and is arguably more relevant than modern Jungian interpretations, which downplay the ethical and religious meanings.

To be clear, my conviction is that these myths are not mere historical recollections of ancient deluges or a cultural transition from a happy primitive hunter-gatherer society.  They are humanity’s attempt to understand that most significant fact of human psychology: that we spend the bulk of our lives in a dreadful fallen state, virtually asleep, a ‘life that is not life.’   Until we solve this problem, we won’t be able to see or think clearly enough to solve our social problems.

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References

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

Uebersax, John. Plato’s Myths as Psychology.  2015.
www.john-uebersax.com/plato/myths/myths.htm

 

The Archetypal Meaning of Hercules at the Crossroads

Annibale Carracci, The Choice of Hercules (1596)

THE ATHENIAN philosopher and rhetorician, Prodicus, a contemporary of Socrates, wrote an essay commonly known as Hercules at the Crossroads, which he often delivered orally to appreciative crowds. A moral allegory of deep psychological significance, it describes a young Hercules at a crossroads confronted by two women who personify Vice and Virtue.  Each appeals to him to take a different route: Lady Vice claims the easy path will lead to pleasure and happiness; Lady Virtue reminds him that the road to true and lasting satisfaction is the harder and more toilsome route.

Our best source of the story is Xenophon’s dialogue Memorabilia (2.1.21–34), wherein Socrates is presented as relating Prodicus’ story to a young protege named Aristippus (evidently not the eponymous founder of the Cyrenaic philosophical sect).

Thanks to Xenophon, the story was well known and often alluded to throughout antiquity and beyond. Philo of Alexandria (fl. ca. 20 AD), the Jewish Middle Platonist philosopher (and, as it happens, the virtual father of Christian allegorical interpretation of the Bible), expanded on Prodicus’ theme in a discussion of the ‘two wives of the soul’ (On the Sacrifices of Cain and Abel 1.5.21−34).  Philo’s treatment is quite interesting in its own right, in part because of his remarkable list (section 1.5.31) of over 150 negative adjectives to describe a votary of Pleasure.  Readers of Philo will recognize the connection of the story with his allegorical interpretation of the Garden of Eden myth.

Centuries later, St. Ambrose of Milan (fl. 390 AD), in Cain and Abel 4.13−5.15, paraphrased Philo’s discussion and connected it with the ‘strange woman‘ (Uebersax, 2009) in the Book of Proverbs (Prv 2:16−19; 5:3−8; 5:15−19; 5:20; 6:24−26; 7:5−27; 9:13−18; 20:16; 22:14; 23:27−35; 27:13, 15), a personification of pleasure and/or folly, and opponent of the virtuous ‘wife of thy youth.’ (Prv 5:15−19).

Cicero, in On Moral Duties (1.32.118; 3.5.25), a work addressed to his son, mentions Prodicus’ tale in the context of choosing ones career.  Others, too, have understood the tale as referring choosing one’s long term course in life.  However we have good reason to believe the story has a deeper psychological and more existential meaning. One clue to the deeper meaning is the strong appeal of the story throughout the centuries to the artistic imagination.  As Erwin Panovsky (1930) in a seminal work on art history describes, Prodicus story elicited scores of paintings and drawings beginning in the Renaissance.

Another clue to a deeper meaning is to see how this same theme is expressed in many variations throughout antiquity.  The earliest and best known example in the Greek tradition is Hesiod’s Works and Days 1.287−294.

Wickedness (κακότητα; kakotes) can be had in abundance easily: smooth is the road and very nigh she dwells. But in front of virtue (ἀρετῆς; arete) the gods immortal have put sweat: long and steep is the path to her and rough at first; but when you reach the top, then at length the road is easy, hard though it was.
Source: Hesiod, Works and Days 1.287−294 (tr. Evelyn-White)

This passage serves as a virtual epitome of book 1 of Works and Days, which also contains the Pandora and Ages of Man myths, both allegories of the moral fall.

The Judgment of Paris

Sandro Botticelli, Judgment of Paris (c. 1488)

In Greek mythology, a similar trope is found in the Judgment of Paris, where Paris (prince of Troy and brother of Hector) must choose which goddess is more beautiful: Athena, Hera or Aphrodite — allegorically symbolizing Wisdom, domestic virtue, and sensory pleasure, respectively.  His choice of Aphrodite over Athena and Hera led to the Trojan War.  If we understand the Trojan War as allegorically symbolizing the principle of psychomachia, or conflict between virtuous and unvirtuous elements of the human psyche, then the Judgment of Paris may be understood as symbolizing a depth-psychological dynamic that precipitates a fundamental form of  inner conflict.

Plato cites the above passage of Hesiod in two of his works (Republic 2.364d  and Laws 4.718e−719a). Moreover, in two underworld myths presented in his dialogues (Republic 10.614c−d and Gorgias 524a−527a), he describes a parting of two paths — one associated virtue and leading to the Isles of the Blest, and one associated with vice and leading to punishment in Tartarus. If we understand the underworld as symbolizing depth-psychological processes, it suggests that Plato is saying that orienting our mind wrongly leads to internal self-inflicted punishments, the ultimate aim of which is to educated and reform us (Gorgias 525b−c).

The Pythagorean Y

The same trope of a parting of the ways in an underworld journey is found in Book 6 of Virgil’s Aeneid (Smith, 2000).  Further, an epigram attributed (probably incorrectly, but perhaps written within a century of Virgil’s death) describes what is commonly called the Pythagorean Y (so-named because of the resemblance of ‘Y’ to a forking path):

This letter of Pythagoras, that bears
This fork’d distinction, to conceit prefers
The form man’s life bears. Virtue’s hard way takes
Upon the right hand path, which entry makes
(To sensual eyes) with difficult affair ;
But when ye once have climb’d the highest stair,
The beauty and the sweetness it contains,
Give rest and comfort, far past all your pains.’
The broadway in a bravery paints ye forth,
(In th’ entry) softness, and much shade of worth;
But when ye reach the top, the taken ones
It headlong hurls down, torn at sharpest stones.
He then, whom virtues love, shall victor crown
Of hardest fortunes, praise wins and renown:
But he that sloth and fruitless luxury
Pursues, and doth with foolish wariness fly
Opposed pains (that all best acts befall).
Lives poor and vile, and dies despised of all.
(tr. George Chapman)

Like Hercules at the Crossroads, the Pythagorean Y inspired many Renaissance works of art.

The theme of two paths associated with a choice or judgment concerning virtue vs. wickedness occurs throughout the Old and New Testament.  Perhaps best known is Psalm 1 (traditionally called The Two Paths).

When we find the same theme like this so prominently expressed across many times and traditions, it implies some universal, archetypal psychological dynamic of fundamental significance. That, I believe, is the case here. This is not a simple, prosaic morality tale such that “one must choose good and not evil.” Rather it confronts us with the existential fact — readily verifiable by introspection and close attention to thoughts — that we are always, every moment at our lives, faced with the two paths:  we can direct the immediate energies of our mind towards seeking physical pleasure, or to virtue, spirituality and higher cognitive activity.  When we choose the latter, all is well. Our mind is a harmony.  This is the path of life. But the moment we stop actively choosing virtue, our mind lapses into its immature state dominated by the pleasure principle; we are no longer true to our genuine nature, and a cascading sequence of negative mental events ensues.

This is not unlike the Freudian distinction between the pleasure principle and the reality principle, which, according to him, it is the principal task of the ego to broker.  However in this case, the reality principle is replaced by what we might call the virtue principle:  that our psyche is, in its core, fundamentally aligned with virtue.  In a sense this is still a reality principle — but, here the reality is that our nature seeks virtue.

To choose the path of virtue, wisdom and righteousness on an ongoing basis is not easy. It is, rather, as Plato calls it, the contest of contests (Gorgias 526e) and requires a degree of resolve and effort we may perhaps rightly call Herculean.

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Bibliography

Colson, F. H.; Whitaker, G. H. (trs.). Philo: On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain. In: Philo, Volume 2. Loeb Classical Library L227. Harvard University Press, 1929.

Evelyn-White, Hugh G. (tr.). Hesiod: Works and Days. In: Hesiod, Homeric Hymns and Homerica. Loeb Classical Library L057. Harvard University Press, 1943.

Marchant, E. C. Xenophon: Memorabilia and Oeconomicus. Harvard University Press, 1923. http://data.perseus.org/texts/urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0032.tlg002.perseus-eng1

Miller, Walter (tr.). Cicero: De Officiis. Loeb Classical Library L030. Harvard University Press, 1913. https://archive.org/details/deofficiiswithen00ciceuoft

Panofsky, Erwin. Hercules am Scheidewege und andere antike Bildstoffi in der neueren Kunst, Studien der Bibliothek Warburg 18, Leipzig, 1930.

Rochette, Bruno. Héraclès à la croissé des chemins: un topos dans la literature grécolatine. Études Classiques 66, 1998, 105−113.

Savage, John J. (tr.). Saint Ambrose: Hexameron, Paradise, and Cain And Abel. Fathers of the Church 42. Catholic University of America, 1961.

Smith, Richard Upsher. The Pythagorean letter and Virgil’s golden bough. Dionysius 18, 2000, pp. 7−24. https://dialnet.unirioja.es/revista/10126/A/2000

Uebersax, John S.  The strange woman of Proverbs. 2009. https://catholicgnosis.wordpress.com/2009/05/19/the-strange-woman-of-proverbs/

1st draft, 1 Mar 2020

The Monomyth of Fall and Salvation

(A summary appears following the article.)

We address here what can be termed the monomyth of fall and salvation. By monomyth we mean a core myth that is expressed in different forms by different cultures. By fall and salvation here we do not mean so much the ultimate eternal destiny of a soul, but a cycle which recurs frequently within ones life — perhaps even on a daily basis.

We borrow the term monomyth from the writings of the noted mythographer, Joseph Campbell. Campbell (1949) explored in detail a different, but related and somewhat overlapping monomyth, which we might call the heroic quest. The heroic myth somewhat neglects the question of why the hero needs to go on a quest to begin with; it’s as though the quest is the result of someone else’s difficulties or negligence. The fall and salvation monomyth, on the other hand, pays much more attention to moral failing of the protagonist as causing the need for redemption.

In any case, it is vital to understand that our approach here is psychological more than religious in the traditional sense. That is, the goal here is to examine this myth in a way that would be of interest to religious and nonreligious readers alike. We take it as axiomatic, that is, that if there is such a thing as spiritual salvation in the sense of obtaining a propitious afterlife or immortality of soul, that this is congruent and consistent with the nearer task of obtaining psychological and moral well-being in this life. In short, then, it is the loss and re-attainment of an authentic psychological well-being that is our present concern.

We wish to be exceptionally brief here — and therefore extremely efficient — for the following reasons. First the present is not so much a self-contained work as much as one intended to serve as a reference or appendix for future articles that will discuss moral fall and salvation from a psychological viewpoint. Second, because it is likely this concept has appeared multiple times in the previous literature; unfortunately, partly due to its interdisciplinary nature, it is not immediately evident what the major touchstones of this literature are (besides those which are cited herein.) As new relevant references are encountered, they will be added to the References below.

Our initial premise is that myths express and communicate certain psychological and existential themes. These themes are of vital importance to individual welfare and to the integrity of society, but they either cannot be clearly stated in explicit, rationalistic terms or there is some reason not to, and they are instead expressed in metaphorical or symbolic terms via myth. In some sense, myths constitute a cultural ‘manual of life.’

A corollary is that in the degree to which the existential concerns of all human beings are the same, then the myths of different times and cultures reflect these common concerns and are structurally similar. This is helpful because our situation is then analogous to having multiple roadmaps of some terrain. Just as no single map is fully complete, accurate, and decipherable, neither is any single myth. Additional maps enable us to fill in gaps in some other map. The same principle applies to myths.

Structure of the Monomyth

The basic features of the monomyth of fall and salvation can be characterized as follows:

Figure 1.  The Monomyth of Fall and Salvation

1. In their interior life, human beings characteristically go through a recurring cycle — which we can call an ethical cycle. By ‘ethical’ here we mean in the broad sense of that which pertains to happiness and choices in ones way of life. We do not mean the narrower sense of ethical as pertaining only to proper or normative social actions (e.g., business or professional ethics).
2.  At least initially we can define this cycle by four characteristic parts or landmarks. To begin we can imagine a person in a state of happiness. We will adopt provisionally and without much comment the widely accepted view of Abraham Maslow (1968, 1971) that the most significant moments of happiness correspond to certain peak (relatively short and intense) and plateau (somewhat more sustained, if less intense) experiences. Happiness here is not just emotional, but also implies feelings of fulfilment, satisfaction, and meaning, and enhanced cognitive function (including moral, intellectual, and aesthetic abilities). These states are the basis on which we could even imagine something like a paradise or Garden of Eden. Maslow and others have written extensively on characteristic features of these peak and plateau experiences. Of special interest to us here, however, are two features: (1) a sense of unity, such that one feels an absence of internal conflict, with all elements of oneself at peace, harmonized, and ‘pulling together’; and (2) feelings of reverence, piety, sacredness, humility, gratitude, and dependence on a higher power or something much greater than ones own ego. In the Christian tradition this is called the state of grace.
3. These states, however, are impermanent. If we do attain such a ‘high’, the inevitable result is that we will eventually experience a fall or descent to a less happy and exalted condition. The fall may begin imperceptibly, but it typically progresses to such a point that we are not only aware of, but saddened by our lost paradise. Again, in Christianity this is sometimes called a fall from grace.
4.  When the awareness and sadness over our lost happiness become sufficiently acute, and when the various life problems associated with being in an unhappy and conflicted state accumulate, there comes the turning point. We could call this, following St. Paul, the metanoia, literally, the change of mind. After this point our principle concern is to regain the state of lost happiness. Whereas before we were in the phase of the fall, now we are in the movement of ascent.
5. Within the Platonic and the Christian traditions, three very broad phases or aspects of this ascent are called the (1) purification, (2) illumination, and (3) unitive phases. We can accept these as at least provisionally plausible, provided we don’t insist that these always occur in the same order and without overlapping. It might be more accurate to call these three aspects rather than stages of ethical ascent. Principles of process symmetry suggest a possible corresponding three-fold movement in the descending phase: progressive impurity, darkening or loss of illumination, and disunity and conflict.

That something like does in fact characterize the human condition can be deduced from many modern personality theories, the evidence of traditional religion, literature and art, common language and figurative expressions, and individual experience.

Jungian Personality Theory

The monomyth of fall and salvation is very similar to a model of cyclical personality dynamics advanced the Jungian writer Edward Edinger in a series books (e.g., 1986a, 1992, 1994); many of his works explicitly address this model in the context of myths and religion.

For Edinger (who is basically following Jung here) this cycle involves the relationship of the ego to a much greater entity, the Self. The ego is our empirical self, our conscious identify. The Self in Jungian psychology includes our conscious mind, the unconscious, our body, our social life, our spiritual soul, and all facets of our being. In many respects, the Self in Jungian theory has features which are customarily ascribed to God. It is mysterious, sacred, numinous, and very powerful.

Figure 2. Cycle of ego-Self separation and union (adapted from Edinger, 1992, p. 5)

Edinger describes a characteristic cyclical process of personality dynamics in which the ego alternates between phases of being more united with, and separate from the Self. The process, which recurs throughout life, could better be described as “spiral” rather than circular per se, because it allows for cumulative overall personality development.

Figure 3. Gradual separation of the ego from the Self (adapted from Edinger, 1992, p. 5)

The unitive state (leftmost panel in Figure 3) in the Jung/Edinger framework is one in which the ego subordinates itself to, and maintains an attitude of humility towards the Self. The ego receives direction from the Self by intuitions, inspirations, and perhaps dreams, and is guided by them.

The fall occurs, according to this view, when the ego no longer looks to the Self for guidance and direction. As it relies more and more on itself, the ego may become a virtual tyrant or dictator, seeking its own narrow interests and following a distorted view of reality. (Edinger calls this state ‘ego inflation’. ) Once headed in this direction, the person inevitably experiences progressively more unhappiness, accompanied by more pronounced, ineffective attempts by the ego to salvage things. In the later stages, the personality is marked by symptoms of conflict, neurosis, anxiety and neurosis, etc.   Eventually problems become sufficiently acute that the ego sees further progress along the same trajectory as impossible. A personality crisis ensues, which can be resolved only by the ego’s regaining a sense of proper humility (Edinger, 1986b). Thus chastised it must then begin the upward ascent.

We should, however, note peculiarities and potential biases of the Jungian framework, lest we too naively accept it in its entirety. Jung was much influenced by Nietzsche. To put the matter briefly, Jung (and Edinger) are Nietzschean in their reaction against the Apollonian elements of religious orthodoxy and classical philosophy, and in their overemphasizing the Dionysian elements of self-will and unrestrained personal freedom. As a result, it is hard to find much more than lip service paid by Jung or Edinger to any concept of virtue ethics. Instead they have a kind of neo-Gnostic orientation in which one is saved more by esoteric knowledge than by genuine moral reformation or renewal — or, for that matter, by any form of self-culture that requires work and discipline.

Nevertheless this example suffices to establish that there at least one plausible psychological basis for the fall/salvation monomyth, that it corresponds to something very basic and important in the human condition, and is something universal. We would therefore expect it to find expression in myths and religions across cultures.

Some examples will serve to illustrate the nature of the monomyth. We could look to virtually any culture or religion for suitable examples, but for brevity and convenience we will restrict attention to two here: the Bible, and ancient Greek myth, literature and philosophy.

The Bible

In the Bible the monomyth is presented continually and at many levels: in the lives of individuals, in the history of the Jews, and relative to all humankind. Indeed the Bible as a whole is, as it were, an epic portrayal of the monomyth that extends from the fall of Adam and Eve and their banishment from the Garden of Eden to the restoration of the Tree of Life and a soul’s attainment of the New Jerusalem in the final book, Revelation. The monomyth is the essential message of the Bible: to live in union with God or with God’s will, once in the state not to fall, and if fallen, to regain it.

The clearest portrayal of the descending arc is of course the fall of Adam and Eve. The psychological significance of this story has long been known to religious writers. It was thoroughly explained even before the Christian era by the Jewish Platonist philosopher Philo of Alexandria (Uebersax, 2012), who influenced such major Christian exegetes as St. Ambrose and St. Augustine in the West, and St. Gregory of Nyssa in the West (just to name a few figures).

We find in the story of Adam and Eve not simply a turning away from God, but a complex psychological process which also involves a deliberate turn towards self-will, and a re-ordering of interests which mistakenly places sensual concerns above pursuit of higher, spiritual, moral, and intellectual goods and pleasures. The motif of the fall is recapitulated frequently throughout Genesis — for example in the stories of Cain, the flood, and the tower of Babel.

The exodus and wandering of the Jews as they are liberated from bondage to the Egyptians (symbolizing a mind dominated by passions), their wandering in the desert, and their eventual arrival in the Promised Land represents the upward arc of the monomyth.

As the Old Testament continues, the Jews or individual figures are continually falling (e.g., worship of idols, David’s adultery), and being called back to the upward journey by prophets.

Again, the motif of fall and salvation permeates the New Testament. There the central concept of the kingdom of heaven can, at the psychological level, be understood as basically corresponding to the state of grace. Virtually all of Jesus’ parables address the monomyth and its phases or aspects. A particularly good example of the complete monomyth, including fall and restoration, is the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32).

Greek Mythology, Literature and Philosophy

Similarly, the monomyth is found throughout Greek myth and literature. Its falling arc is symbolized by the ‘Ages of Man’ in Hesiod’s Works and Days (106–201), which describes a progression of historical epochs from a past Golden Age, through increasingly less noble Silver, Bronze, and ‘heroic’ ages, to the present, fallen, Iron Age. Here we see the characteristic Greek motif in which humility, union with God, and direction by God’s will is associated with happiness and harmony, but man’s pride (hubris) leads to a fall, conflict, and suffering. It seems universally agreed that Hesiod borrowed or adapted this myth from earlier Middle Eastern, Indian, or perhaps Egyptian sources (see e.g., Woodard, 2009). Just before this section Hesiod supplies another fall myth — that of Prometheus, Epimetheus, and Pandora (42–105).

The Iliad and the Odyssey taken together comprise a complete monomyth. The events of the Iliad begin with the famous Judgment of Paris, which thematically parallels fall of Adam and Eve. At the instigation of Strife (who assumes the devil’s role), and under circumstances involving a garden and apples, Paris, prince of Troy, is asked to judge who is fairest: the voluptuous Aphrodite, the domestic Hera, or the brave and wise Athena. Being bribed Aphrodite by the promise of a romance with the beautiful Helen, Paris chooses Aphrodite as fairest. He thus wins Helen. But since Helen is already married to Menelaus, king of Sparta, this leads to war between the Greeks and Trojans. In short, the story’s theme is that when Paris (symbolizing us), choose pleasure over virtue, the result is a war — and in fact a long, terrible one.

The upward arc of the Homeric cycle is symbolized by the Odyssey. There the protagonist, Odysseus, after the Trojan War ends, must undergo many difficult trials before finally returning to his homeland, where he is reunited with his wife, father, and countrymen, and lives in peace.

Amongst the tragic poets — Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides — the peril of hubris is, of course, is a staple motif.

Virtually all of Plato’s dialogues might be construed as, in one way or another, concerned with the monomyth — especially the upward movement (anagogy) of the soul brought about through philosophy (love of Wisdom), and moral and mental renewal. This is particularly clear in the many myths Plato employs, especially in the Cave Allegory of the Republic and the Chariot Myth of Phaedrus.

Similarly the hierarchical metaphysical system of the Neoplatonist, Plotinus, with its emphasis on the reciprocal movements of emanation and return, could be understood as a metaphor for the ethical/psychological monomyth (Fleet, 2112; Hadot, 1998, 2002).

Summary and Conclusions

The purpose of this article could be understood as to survey the vast and complex array of data which constitute the great myths of humanity, and to bring into focus one part: the portrayal of a core psychological dynamic which we may at least provisionally call the cyclical process of fall and salvation. We have proposed, based on the frequency with which this monomyth is encountered, that it must logically express some core existential concern of human nature. It is universal in that people in every culture and condition must grapple with it. Because it symbolizes something that is psychologically real, we should be able to understand it by studying it in terms of scientific cognitive and personality psychology.

To accept that the monomyth expresses core psychological concerns does not, per se, commit us to any particular theological or doctrinal position. It is fully compatible with a religious or a non-religious view of man. That is, what a religious person may call “following God’s will” is evidently some experiential and phenomenological reality. An atheist may accept the reality of this subjective experience and simply conclude that the person is ‘merely’ following their higher unconscious, or, say, their right brain hemisphere (McGilchrist, 2009).

But in any case, the cultural evidence of the monomyth suggests that human beings have traditionally associated such a state of pious humility as corresponding to perhaps the greatest happiness and psychic harmony obtainable. It is the height of hubris to disregard our myths and traditions simply because they originate in a religious climate that may no longer be fashionable amongst some segments of the intelligentsia.

Moral philosophers and cognitive scientists alike should scientifically study religious mythos — and in particular that concerning fall and salvation. By this the former will gain deeper understanding of man and the nature of religious salvation. The latter will gain insight into phenomenological realities that cannot be ignored if we are to have any effective science or technology of human happiness.

1st draft

References

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

Edinger, Edward F. The Bible and the Psyche: Individuation Symbolism in the Old Testament. Toronto, 1986a.

Edinger, Edward F. Encounter With the Self: A Jungian Commentary on William Blake’s Illustrations of the Book of Job. Toronto, 1986b.

Edinger, Edward F. Ego and Archetype. Boston, 1992.

Edinger, Edward F. The Eternal Drama: The Inner Meaning of Greek Mythology. Boston, 1994.

Fleet, Barrie. Plotinus: Ennead IV.8: On the Descent of the Soul into Bodies. Las Vegas, 2012.

Hadot, Pierre. Plotinus:The Simplicity of Vision. Trans. Michael Chase. Chicago, 1998.

Hadot, Pierre. What is Ancient Philosophy? Trans. Michael Chase. Cambridge, MA, 2002.

Jaynes, Julian.  The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1990 [1976].

Jung, Carl G. The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. R.C.F. Hull, Trans. Collected Works of C. G. Jung, vol. 9, part 1. Princeton, 1959 (repr. 1969, 1981).

Jung, Carl G. (author); Segal, Robert Alan (editor). Jung on Mythology. London, 1998.

Maslow, Abraham H. Toward a Psychology of Being, 2nd edition. New York: Van Nostrand, 1968.

Maslow, Abraham H. The Farther Reaches of Human Nature. New York: Viking, 1971.

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

Uebersax, John S. Psychological Allegorical Interpretation of the Bible. Paso Robles, CA, 2012.

Woodard, Roger D. Hesiod and Greek Myth. In: Roger D. Woodard (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Greek Mythology, Cambridge, 2009, pp. 83–165.

Jung and Christianity

The relationship of Jungian psychology to Christianity is rather curious.  On the one hand much of Jung’s work could be understood as implying the validity of Christian tradition and practices as singularly helpful means of promoting psychological integration and self-actualization.  Yet, on the other, Jung himself, while remaining to some extent rather ambiguous on the subject, seemed nonetheless to lean in the direction of dismissing Christianity.  (Reading his works, one gets the impression that he considered himself superior to it.)  But in any case, certainly a large number of later writers who identify themselves as ‘Jungians’ denigrate Christianity.  Some (Edward Edinger, for example), make rather plain their belief that Jungianism constitutes a new form of spirituality which is destined to replace Christianity and other ‘antiquated’ traditional religions.

I wish to make clear that I do not have an axe to grind against Jung.  It bothers me when Christian writers take a figure like Jung and, rather than engage with the issues in a fair-minded and intelligent way, engage in character assassination and specious arguments.  That, to my mind, illustrates the very lack of intellectual charity that Christian writers so frequently accuse others of.  So I can say that I have found much of interest in Jung’s work.  Jung himself is also somewhat of an attractive, or at least interesting figure, precisely because he is a free-thinker.  The problem isn’t so much with Jung himself perhaps, but with Jungians who have, as noted, tried to turn his theories into a religion and elevate him to the status of prophet.  (Jung himself once said words to the effect of , “fortunately I am only Jung and not a Jungian.”)

This much said, what I would like to do here is two things:  (1) to point out how Jung’s theories, taken to their logical conclusions, imply the validity of Christian practice; and (2) to show how Jung himself had to take extreme theoretical measures to avoid coming to this conclusion himself.

To keep this post brief, we can make roughly outline first point as follows:

1. Jung believed that there is something called a Christian mythos.  This mythos includes all the traditions and writings of the events of Jesus Christ; all Christian art; all liturgies, prayers, practices; all Christian traditions of any kind.
2. This mythos is an expression of a collective unconscious, which is vitally concerned, among other things, with promoting the psychological health and self-actualization of individuals.
3. This mythos is also a group effort; that is, the collective unconscious manifests itself in the collective, accumulated effort of individual human beings over many centuries or millennia; for that reason it is extremely rich and effective.
4. The result is that, at the level of mythos (as opposed to literal historicity of the biblical narrative and to legalistic doctrines) Christianity is extraordinarily effective as a way of promoting psychological health, individuation, and self-actualization.
5. Thus, just as human culture, broadly, has evolved as a positive force to promote the welfare and development of human beings in various indispensable way, so too does religious culture; and in the West, by ‘religious culture’ we effectively mean (at least judged in a statistically normative sense) Christianity.

It would be logical from all this for Jung to infer that one of the best things a modern person could do to promote psychological well being and self-actualization is to deeply involve oneself in this Christian tradition; in that way one would benefit from all the ways in which collective intuition of the race – something deeper and wiser than personal rational abstraction and modern science – promotes well-being.  He might qualify this by suggesting that this does not mean that all rationalistic doctrines of Christianity should be accepted (as these were developed by different processes and do not necessarily reflect of the collective wisdom of the species); but, rather, that Christianity would be something one accepts at a intuitive, perhaps something like an aesthetic, level.

This would be the logical conclusion based on Jung’s theories.  Indeed, once in a while one finds a Jungian writer who does draw this conclusion.  Nevertheless, Jung did not do so, nor do most Jungians.

This brings us to the second point.  How did Jung avoid reaching this conclusion himself?  The answer is found in one of his major works on religion, Aion (subtitled Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self, Collected Works, Vol. 9, Part 2).  There he raises two extremely dubious arguments to show that, even though the figure of Jesus Christ is an extremely deep and powerful symbol (or, more accurately, a reflection of a Archetype) corresponding to self-actualization, this symbol is no longer appropriate to humanity’s current stage of development.

One of these arguments relates to Jung’s ongoing diatribe against what he takes as the Christian doctrinal belief that evil is not ‘real.’ This issue is too complex to pursue here; perhaps I’ll discuss it another time.  It will suffice at present to say that Jung’s argument is pretty weak when scrutinized carefully; it shows his characteristic lack of disciplined analysis (after all is said and done, Jung is a German Romantic, much influenced by Nietzsche) and his basic unfamiliarity with classical philosophy (despite the fact that he loves to impress readers with a superficial display of classical sources, often presenting extended quotes in Greek – but taken completely out of context and without any genuine grasp of the author’s meaning or purpose).

Jung’s second argument, however, is much stranger.  He attempts to show, based on astrology, that the mythic figure of Jesus Christ is no longer, to paraphrase his words, “a suitable vehicle for representing the Archetype of self-actualization.”

What is the evidence?  It’s that, by the astronomical principle known as precession of the equinoxes, we are, in modern times, moving from the previous 2000-year old Age (Aion) of Pisces, to the new Age of Aquarius.  The Age of Pisces, Jung ‘reasons’ (and expects his readers to believe), obviously corresponded with Christianity, since the early Christians symbolized their religion with a fish, and because fishes swim through the ocean (which is obviously a symbol of consciousness swimming in a sea of unconsciousness).  But now we’re in the Age of Aquarius, so clearly we’ll need some new religion that conforms better to this astrological symbol.

It’s simply hard to take this argument seriously. It certainly cannot be considered a scientific argument (despite the fact that  Jung so often takes pains to present himself as a scientist).

Now I am not personally in a position to say uncategorically that astrology is untrue.  I take the attitude of a pure skeptic on the matter:  I see no evidence either way to prove or disprove its validity.  But in his argument here Jung accepts astrology unquestioningly.  The odd thing is that many modern Jungians – here I mean not only writers, but those psychologists and readers who orient their thinking along Jungian lines – take as a given that Jung somehow demonstrated beyond any doubt that Christianity is obsolete, and that we need a new spirituality based on Jungian theory.  This view is taken as a received opinion only; those who hold it have not actually examined Jung’s argument.  Were they to do so, they might be more circumspect in accepting his conclusions.

 

Noetic, Sapiential, and Spiritual Exegesis

I’ve recently written about an approach to biblical interpretation that is, on the one hand, scientific and psychological, and, on the other, non-reductionistic and faithful to Christian teaching (e.g., here, here, and here). It takes as its basic principles: (1) that a central concern in every Christian life is the injunction of St. Paul, Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind (Rom 12:2); (2) that this transformation must include a psychological metamorphosis that encompasses both the modern meaning of psyche as mind and its classical meaning as soul and, and includes the moral, intellectual, volitional, and desiring aspects of human nature; (3) that the Bible supplies a detailed plan for effecting this psychological transformation; and (4) much of this plan is ‘encoded’ in figurative language and requires careful attention and a contemplative frame of mind to recognize and understand.  The approach I’ve suggested could be described as a more modern version of the allegorical methods used by Philo of Alexandria (Philo Judeaus) and by many Church Fathers, including Origen, St. Augustine, and St. Gregory of Nyssa.  The question considered here is what to call this method.

Below are some alternative terms and various pros and cons of each.  The terms are grouped into three categories.  In the first are several terms that seem basically correct, but perhaps too general.  The second includes those terms which I consider the best of those currently in use.  The third lists several modern terms that are questionable, but which are included for completeness.

I also thought it might be helpful generally to list all the various terms in use today to denote this sort of allegorical exegesis in one place.  The short bibliography at the end contains some references that appear especially pertinent, but is by no means comprehensive.  I hope to add information to this post as I run across new terms or references of interest.  The present, then, could be considered just a down payment or first installment.

General Terms

allegorical exegesis.  This is perhaps the most widely used term today, but it has two drawbacks:  (1) it is nonspecific, as there are a variety of different ways to allegorically interpret Scripture (psychologically, morally, prophetically etc.); and (2) over the centuries, ‘allegory’ has come to mean a figurative story that is not actually true (as in a fable).  Thus, ‘allegorical exegesis’ might imply to some people that what is being interpreted (the Old Testament or the New Testament) is not historically true. This connotation of non-historicity is not implied by the etymology of the word itself, which comes from alla (different) and agora (assembly) – thus allegory literally suggests  ‘that which one would not say in the crowd’ or basically a hidden meaning as opposed to a more obvious one.  Nevertheless, even in ancient times the word allegory tended to imply that something had only figurative meaning.

parabolic interpretation. From the Greek word parabole.  Because of its connection to the word parable, this term may again tend to suggest that the material being interpreted is not literally true.

figurative interpretation.  The principal disadvantage with this term that it is very nonspecific.  It gives no clue at all as to the kind of truths that are being figuratively represented, or the principles by which they are decoded.

nonliteral interpretation.  Even less specific than figurative; too generic to be of much use.

mystical exegesis.  This could, following ancient Greek usage, imply a secret meaning.  That is problematic in itself, because nonliteral meanings, while they may be subtle or hard to see, are not necessarily secret in the sense of being reserved for a few initiates.  Further the term might be understood as denoting a connection with religious mysticism (e.g., withdrawal from the world, pursuit of ‘mystical experiences’ etc.), which is not necessarily or even usually the case with the form of exegesis being considered here.

hyponoia.  Another word used by the ancients, meaning basically ‘knowledge beneath the surface.’  Like the other terms above, this doesn’t indicate the nature of deeper knowledge being sought, or how it is obtained.

Preferred Terms

noetic exegesis.  This term was apparently first used (at least, in connection with Biblical interpretation) by Eric Osborn (1995, 2005), and later by Blossom Stefaniw (2010). ‘Noetic’ here has two relevant aspects.  First it implies a search to uncover meanings in Scripture that help to improve or transform the nous (i.e., the ancient Greek word for what we might call the Intellect or higher Reason, and which in Greek patristic literature is sometimes considered to be the immortal human soul itself).  Second, the method itself can be properly called noetic insofar as it seeks to go beyond literal meanings of words (understood by discursive thought, or dianoia) to the deeper intelligible truths discernible only to the apprehending, nondiscursive part of the mind (nous).

One possible limitation of this term is that the form of exegesis we are considering involves more than just the apprehending, noetic intellect.  Discursive thinking is also involved in relating intuited principles to one another other or to facts and memories, to envision applications in ones life, and so on. For example, reading the story of Cain and Abel, it might strike one as a noetic inspiration that the two figures symbolize competing negative and positive elements of ones mind or psyche.  But then one might go on to compare these two figures with other, similar pairs – Jacob and Esau, Moses and Pharaoh, etc.  To elaborate the noetic insight would involve use of other mental powers.

The term gnostic exegesis, more or less a cognate, has some ancient precedent, but would likely invite unwanted associations to Gnosticism if used today.

sapiential exegesis.  This could serve about equally well as noetic exegesis as a terminological convention.  It implies both that the object of exegesis is to gain wisdom, and that wisdom is needed to apply the method.

anagogical exegesis.  This is a very interesting term, used by some Church Fathers and also in the Middle Ages.  Originally it meant ‘going or being led higher’, which could be understood in this context to mean any or all of the following: seeking a higher meaning in Scripture; using exegesis to attain a higher level of mental/spiritual development; elevating one’s mind by interpreting Scripture; or contributing generally to an uplifting movement or current of thought (Laird, 2007).  In the Middle Ages, “anagogical” exegesis often became focused on finding allusions to the afterlife of the soul in Scripture, a different usage which might conflict with the more sapiential meaning of the term.  Also, even in the older and original sense (i.e., of the Church Fathers), anagogical exegesis spans two somewhat distinct levels of meaning of Scripture:  those corresponding to what Origen called the psychic (soul) versus pneumatic (spiritual) levels. Relative to Origen’s distinction, our principle interest here is psychic level – i.e., the level of psyche: mind, intellect, rationality, will, desire, and emotion.  The other, higher Origenistic sense of anagogy, which suggests a connection to higher mystical states, including an apophatic union with God free from all concepts or thoughts, is not our immediate concern here.

spiritual or pneumatic exegesis.  As suggested above, it could be argued that these terms should be reserved for a level of exegesis that relates to the highest levels of spiritual development and union with God, e.g., apophatic experience.

theoria or theoreia.  This term, often used by St. Gregory of Nyssa in connection with exegesis, has two relevant meanings for us.  First it can mean contemplation in a sense that is basically the same as noesis:  an understanding of the intelligible meaning of Scripture, as opposed to its historical and literal meanings. Second, it can imply what we today might call a theoretical or scientific understanding, i.e., of the rules and principles of our moral purification and spiritual advancement as  figuratively presented in Scripture.

Psychological Terms 

Finally to be considered are four modern psychological terms.

psychological exegesis.  This term is appropriate, provided we understand psyche in the traditional sense that includes both mind and soul.  However, left unqualified or taken out of context, the term might be misunderstood to imply a connection with modern, reductionistic psychological theories. An alternative term, following Origen, might be psychic exegesis.

depth-psychological exegesis.  This term has been used in recent decades mainly  by certain German scholars.  However ‘depth psychology’ can have several different meanings.  Most who have used the term have meant it in a fairly restrictive sense as implying a basis in psychoanalytic or Jungian theory;  Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger/Pope Benedict (2008) made some harsh criticisms of depth psychological exegesis, but he was referring to this more restrictive meaning of the term.

My own view is that the kind of exegesis we are considering here is accurately termed ‘depth psychological’ in the sense that it includes in its scope certain processes in the depths (or heights) of the human psyche, but not in the sense of corresponding to Freudian or Jungian theory.

psychodynamic exegesis.  Most of the problems with the preceding term would apply here as well.

existential exegesis.  A good term in that it implies existential relevance to the individual, but it potentially inherits all the ambiguity associated with the nebulous word ‘existentialism’.

Conclusions

Overall, of all the terms considered here, perhaps the best are sapiential exegesis, noetic exegesis, and anagogic exegesis.

In the end, we might consider that this form of exegesis may be such that it is inherently impossible to define a single term.  Why?  Because perhaps the very mental processes were are investigating here – noesis, intellection, discernment, etc. – are the very ones by which we know intelligible principles and assign or interpret names.  In other words, it may be something of an ‘error of logical typing’  to try to name the very processes by which we name things. I wouldn’t insist on this view, but it does seem like a possibility.  However to the extent it might be true, we may need to content ourselves with a more ‘poetic’ or intuitive approach to naming this style of exegesis:  to have, for example, multiple names, each one highlighting a different aspect, and to use these different names in a fluid and flexible way.

The passage below shows that even as inspired an exegete as  St. Gregory of Nyssa recognized the difficulty of finding a single term for this form of exegesis.  In the passage below, from the Prologue to his Homilies on the Song of Songs, he uses a wide range terms.

In the end, we should not forget that this form of interpretation is not a name or concept, but an experience.

By an appropriate contemplation [θεωρίας] of the text, the philosophy [φιλοσοφίαν] hidden in its words becomes manifest once the literal meaning has been purified by a correct understanding [έννοίαις]. …

I hope that my commentary will be a guide for the more fleshly-minded, since the wisdom hidden (in the Song of Songs) leads to a spiritual condition of the soul [πνευματικήν τε και αϋλον τής ψυχής κατάστασιν]. …

Because some members of the Church always think it right to follow the letter of holy scripture and do not take into account the enigmatic [αινιγμάτων] and deeper meanings [υπονοιών], we must answer those who accuse us of doing so. … If anything in the hidden, deeper [έπικρύψεως έν ύπονοίαις], enigmatic [αινίγμασιν] sense cannot be cannot be understood literally, we will, as the Word [Logos] teaches and as Proverbs says [Pro 1.6], understand [νοήσαι] the passage either as a parable [παραβολην], a ‘dark’ saying [σκοτεινόν λόγον], sage words [ρήσιν σοφων], or as a riddle [αινιγμάτων].

With regards to anagogy [άναγωγής θεωρίαν], it makes no difference what we call it – tropology [τροπολογίαν] or allegory [άλληγορίαν] – as long as we grasp the meaning [νόημα] of (Scripture’s) words. …

They instruct not only through precepts but through the historical narratives: both lead to knowledge of the mysteries [γνωσιν των μυστηρίων] and to a pure way of life [καθαράν πολιτείαν] for those who have diligent minds.

St. Paul also uses exegesis [έξηγήσει] looking to what is most useful, and he is not concerned about what to name the form of his exegesis [έξηγήσεως]. … And there is a passage where he calls the more obscure comprehension and partial knowledge [γνωσιν] a mirror and a riddle [αΐνιγμα ](1 Cor 13, 12).  And again he says the change from literal[σωματικων] meanings to noetic [νοητά] is a turning [έπιστροφην] to the Lord and a removal of the veil (2 Cor 3, 16).  But in all these different figures and names for noetic interpretation [νουν θεωρίας] he is describing one form of teaching to us,  but we must [sometimes] pass over to the immaterial  [αϋλόν] and noetic interpretation [νοητην θεωρίαν] so that more corporeal thoughts are changed into something perceived by the intellect and rational mind [νουν και διάνοιαν], the more fleshly meaning of what is said having been shaken off like dust (Mt 10, 14).

And he says, “The letter kills, but the spirit gives life” (2 Cor 3, 6), because in many passages the historical account does not provide examples of a good life if indeed we stop at the bare facts.

All these and similar examples should serve to remind us of the necessity of searching the divine words, of reading [προσέχειν τη άναγνώσει] them and of tracing in every way possible how something more sublime [ύψηλότερος] might be found which leads us to that which is divine and incorporeal [θειότερά τε και άσώματα] instead of the literal sense [διάνοιαν].

Unless a person contemplates the truth through philosophy [φιλοσοφίας ένθεωρήσειε την άλήθειαν], what the text says here will be either inconsistent or a fable [μυθωδες].

~ St. Gregory of Nyssa, Homilies on the Song of Songs, 5.10-7.5; based on (with a few word changes) McCambley (1987) and Heine (2012), pp.362–363; MPG  44 775ff.; italics mine.

Bibliography

Beier, Matthias.  ‘Embodying Hermeneutics: Eugen Drewermann’s Depth Psychological Interpretation of Religious Symbols‘. Paper presented at the Mid-Atlantic Regional Meeting of the American Academy of Religion, New Brunswick, NJ, March 1998.

Heine, Ronald E. ‘Gregory of Nyssa’s Apology for Allegory.’ Vigiliae Christianae, 38(4), 1984), pp. 360–370.

Laird, Martin. Gregory of Nyssa and the Grasp of Faith. Oxford University Press, 2007.

Lauro, Elizabeth Ann Dively. The Soul and Spirit of Scripture within Origen’s Exegesis. Leiden: Brill, 2005.

Martens, Peter. Origen and Scripture: The Contours of the Exegetical Life. Oxford University Press, 2012.

McCambly, Richard Casimir. ‘Notations on the Commentary on the Song of Songs by Gregory of Nyssa.’  < http://www.lectio-divina.org >  Accessed 23 Nov. 2013.

McCambly, Richard Casimir. Saint Gregory of Nyssa: Commentary on the Song of Songs. Hellenic College Press, 1987.  ISBN 0917653181

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

Osborn, Eric Francis. ‘Philo and Clement: Quiet Conversion and Noetic Exegesis.’ Studia Philonica Annual, 10, 1998, 108–124.

Osborn, Eric Francis. Clement of Alexandria. Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Ratzinger, Joseph Cardinal. ‘Biblical Interpretation in Conflict.’ In: Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (author), José Granados (editor), Carlos Granados (ed.), Luis Sánchez Navarro (ed.), Opening Up the Scriptures: Joseph Ratzinger and the Foundations of Biblical Interpretation, Eerdmans, 2008.

Stefaniw, Blossom. Mind, Text, and Commentary: Noetic Exegesis in Origen of Alexandria, Didymus the Blind, and Evagrius Ponticus. Peter Lang, 2010.

Archetypal or Allegorical Interpretation of the Annunciation

Today is the commemoration of the Annunciation, which celebrates the Angel Gabriel appearing to the Blessed Virgin Mary and announcing that she will bear a son who is to be named Jesus (‘Savior’). How might we interpret this event of the New Testament at an archetypal or allegorical level? Perhaps as follows:

To deliver us from the suffering and bondage of our own errors (selfishness, attachment to pleasure, fear, doubt, envy, etc.), God (or the God of our soul), by grace (unearned gift), communicates to the compassionate, nurturing, pure, and innocent principle of our soul (the Virgin Mary), that she will bring forth a Savior (manifest the Christ principle). Therefore despite our suffering and an awareness of our own tendency to error, and of our inability, because this tendency to error runs so deep that we by ourselves cannot correct it, we have hope in a still higher or deeper principle within, the Self-Realization or Christ principle.

Specifically, she is promised that she will bear a son who is both God and man. When the Christ principle is born within us, we are in correct relation to the universe, namely, that of bringing form, purpose, beauty, harmony, integrity and morality to the material universe, living simultaneously as a material and a spiritual being, connecting or yoking heaven and earth. This yoking is the meaning of the word ‘yoga’ (and of the word ‘religion’, the syllable ‘lig’ meaning connection, as in ‘ligament’).

Since salvation comes as a free gift from God, what is our role in the process?  It is to adopt an attitude of pious humility and trust.  We should most definitely be active in the process, but act in response to the promptings of God and the Holy Spirit, and not rely overmuch on ‘our own wisdom’ or be carried away by our own schemes for reform.  That is, our soul should say with the Virgin Mary, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.”

Important symbols in paintings of the Annunciation are the lily (purity), and a book (Wisdom).

As always, it is to be emphasized that interpretation of Scripture at an allegorical level does not preclude a more literal or historical interpretation. For Christians allegory enhances, not replaces, traditional teachings. For non-Christians, it supplies a way to understand Christian Scripture as personally relevant.

A second point to repeatedly emphasize is that allegorical interpretation does not deliver a fixed doctrine or certain theory.  Rather, by its very nature allegorical interpretation is suited only to produce hypotheses, which one may then test and potentially confirm by personal experience, reading, or other lines of inquiry, or to suggest general principles which might lead to more accurate interpretative insights.

The Theory of Human Collective Memory and the Atonement of Jesus Christ

On this Good Friday, the points below try to tie together in a new way two different concepts:  the theory of the sacrificial atonement of Jesus Christ, and the theory of a human collective mind or collective memory.

1. Many psychologists (Jung and Freud included) have believed in the possibility of a collective mind or memory pool for the entire human race, such that, by some as-yet unspecified non-physical means, a mental experience of one person, once had, may become available for all other human beings to experience.  Some (limited) experimental evidence supports this theory.

2. The principle of a collective memory or collective mind is also found in many esoteric traditions (e.g., the Akashic Records of theosophy, the Adam Kadmon in the Kabbala, etc.)

3. Such a principle of a metaphysical collective mind would supply a possible mechanism for understanding in a new way the meaning of the theological principle of the ‘substitutive atonement of Jesus Christ’.

4. The theological doctrine of Jesus’ substitutive atonement holds that, by his life, passion, and death on the cross, Jesus Christ accomplished the actual or potential reconciliation (at-one-ment) of all human beings to God.

5. The atonement doctrine has several variants.  One especially problematic, but common, version is that Jesus literally, by his death, paid a ‘blood guilt’ or penal debt or which mankind incurred through disobedience to God. The difficulty with this is that it relies heavily on the terrible Calvinist doctrine of the innate depravity of human beings.  It also makes God out to be rather ungenerous, if not outright malicious, in requiring that a ‘blood guilt’ price be paid.

6. The collective mind theory supplies a potentially new perspective on the atonement of Christ:  by willingly accepting death, and completely subordinating his own personal will, Jesus of Nazareth achieved a level of humility, unselfishness, and union with God’s will entirely new for the human race. It set a new precedent of egolessness.

7. Jesus Christ having done this, then the thoughts, judgments, and insights by which he reached this peak of moral attainment, being those of a human being, would be deposited in the collective mind of humanity.  Thenceforth, all other human beings could potentially tap into this new mindset, and imitate it.

8. If so, this would potentially explain *why* God would want to incarnate as a human being, Jesus Christ.  In order to deposit those insights, judgments, etc. of Jesus Christ that enabled him to completely overcome his human ego into the collective mind of humanity, God would need to become a man himself.

9. Further, this model would help explain how individual Christians may follow in Christ’s steps.  Each person, by engaging in some new moral precedent or new sacrifice for the sake of humanity, would deposit new material in the collective mind, and thereby enable other human beings to do likewise.

10.  This mechanism would operate in addition to that of the historical and social example set by Jesus Christ, as transmitted by oral and written tradition, which is also a means by which the life, passion, and death of Jesus may be imitated and contributes to the atonement of humanity with God.