Edward Young: ‘Devotion! daughter of Astronomy!’

From a French edition of Night Thoughts

The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there;
But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays;
Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own;
~ Edward Young, Night Thoughts 9

IT was a nice to discover that the quote, ‘An undevout astronomer is mad,’ credited to an unnamed “poet” by Thomas Dick in the last post, comes from Edward Young. Young’s most famous work is the epic poem, Night Thoughts (The Complaint: or, Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, & Immortality), published in several volumes from 1742 to 1745. Immensely popular for a century after its writing, it then strangely fell into obscurity. Night Thoughts is quite long, but Young’s mastery of iambic pentameter blank verse and talent for turning a memorable phrase make it reading enjoyable. The more intense and inspired sections crescendo into virtual hymns and litanies, where Young finds his Muse.

The quote appears in Night 9 — the final part — of Night Thoughts. Most of Night 9 (over 2000 lines) considers the spectacle of the night sky as a source of religious and moral inspiration. As some may not want to read it entirely, below are assembled the most inspiring lines. (I’ve taken the liberty of rearranging some sections.)

Two people are named here. Lorenzo is a worldly man the narrator addresses throughout Night Thoughts, whom he wishes to convert to religion and philosophy. Philander is a recently deceased, virtuous friend.

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ROUSE, rouse, Lorenzo, then, and follow me,
Where truth, the most momentous man can hear,
Loud calls my soul, and ardour wings her flight.
I find my inspiration in my theme:
The grandeur of my subject is my Muse.
At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace,
And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams;

Night opes the noblest scenes, and sheds an awe,
Which gives those venerable scenes full weight,
And deep reception, in th’ intender’d heart;
While light peeps through the darkness, like a spy;
And darkness shows its grandeur by the light.
Nor is the profit greater than the joy,
If human hearts at glorious objects glow,
And admiration can inspire delight.
What speak I more, than I, this moment, feel?
With pleasing stupor first the soul is struck
(Stupor ordain’d to make her truly wise!):
Then into transport starting from her trance,

Stars teach, as well as shine. At Nature’s birth,
Thus their commission ran — “Be kind to Man.”
Where art thou, poor benighted traveller?
The stars will light thee, though the moon should fail.
Where art thou, more benighted! more astray!
In ways immoral? The stars call thee back;
And, if obey’d their counsel, set thee right.
This prospect vast, what is it? — Weigh’d aright,
’Tis Nature’s system of divinity,
And every student of the Night inspires.
’Tis elder Scripture, writ by God’s own hand:
Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.

The planets of each system represent
Kind neighbours; mutual amity prevails;
Sweet interchange of rays, received, return’d;
Enlightening, and enlighten’d! all, at once,
Attracting, and attracted! Patriot like,
None sins against the welfare of the whole;
But their reciprocal, unselfish aid,
Affords an emblem of millennial love.
Nothing in nature, much less conscious being,
Was e’er created solely for itself:
Thus man his sovereign duty learns in this
Material picture of benevolence.

I see His ministers; I see, diffused
In radiant orders, essences sublime,
Of various offices, of various plume,
In heavenly liveries, distinctly clad,
Azure, green, purple, pearl, or downy gold,
Or all commix’d; they stand, with wings outspread,
Listening to catch the Master’s least command,
And fly through nature, ere the moment ends;
Numbers innumerable! — well conceived
These, as a cloud of witnesses, hang o’er us;
In a throng’d theatre are all our deeds;
Perhaps, a thousand demigods descend
On every beam we see, to walk with men.
Awful reflection! Strong restraint from ill!
Yet, here, our virtue finds still stronger aid
From these ethereal glories sense surveys.
Something, like magic, strikes from this blue vault;
With just attention is it view’d? We feel
A sudden succour, unimplored, unthought;
Nature herself does half the work of Man.

With love, and admiration, how she glows!
This gorgeous apparatus! this display!
This ostentation of creative power!
This theatre! — what eye can take it in?
By what divine enchantment was it raised,
For minds of the first magnitude to launch
In endless speculation, and adore?
One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine;
And light us deep into the Deity;
How boundless in magnificence and might!
O what a confluence of ethereal fires,
Form urns unnumber’d, down the steep of heaven,
Streams to a point, and centres in my sight!
Nor tarries there; I feel it at my heart.
My heart, at once, it humbles, and exalts;
Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies.

Who sees it unexalted? or unawed?
Who sees it, and can stop at what is seen?
Material offspring of Omnipotence!
Inanimate, all-animating birth!
Work worthy Him who made it! worthy praise!
All praise! praise more than human! nor denied
Thy praise divine! — But though man, drown’d in sleep,
Withholds his homage, not alone I wake;
Bright legions swarm unseen, and sing, unheard
By mortal ear, the glorious Architect,
In this His universal temple hung
With lustres, with innumerable lights,
That shed religion on the soul; at once,
The temple, and the preacher! O how loud

It calls devotion! genuine growth of Night!
Devotion! daughter of Astronomy!
An undevout astronomer is mad.
True; all things speak a God; but in the small,
Men trace out Him; in great, He seizes man;
Seizes, and elevates, and wraps, and fills
With new inquiries, ’mid associates new.
Tell me, ye stars! ye planets! tell me, all

Shall God be less miraculous, than what
His hand has form’d? Shall mysteries descend
From unmysterious? things more elevate,
Be more familiar? uncreated lie
More obvious than created, to the grasp
Of human thought? The more of wonderful
Is heard in Him, the more we should assent.

Could we conceive Him, God He could not be;
Or He not God, or we could not be men.
A God alone can comprehend a God;
Man’s distance how immense! On such a theme,
Know this, Lorenzo! (seem it ne’er so strange)
Nothing can satisfy, but what confounds;
Nothing, but what astonishes, is true.

The scene thou seest, attests the truth I sing,
And every star sheds light upon thy creed.
These stars, this furniture, this cost of heaven,
If but reported, thou hadst ne’er believed;
But thine eye tells thee, the romance is true.
The grand of nature is th’ Almighty’s oath,
In Reason’s court, to silence Unbelief.
How my mind, opening at this scene, imbibes
The moral emanations of the skies,
While nought, perhaps, Lorenzo less admires!
Has the Great Sovereign sent ten thousand worlds
To tells us, He resides above them all,
In glory’s unapproachable recess?
And dare earth’s bold inhabitants deny
The sumptuous, the magnific embassy
A moment’s audience? Turn we, nor will hear
From whom they come, or what they would impart
For man’s emolument; sole cause that stoops
Their grandeur to man’s eye? Lorenzo! rouse;
Let thought, awaken’d, take the lightning’s wing,
And glance from east to west, from pole to pole.

Who sees, but is confounded, or convinced?
Renounces reason, or a God adores?
Mankind was sent into the world to see:
Sight gives the science needful to their peace;
That obvious science asks small learning’s aid.
Would’st thou on metaphysic pinions soar?
Or wound thy patience amid logic thorns?
Or travel history’s enormous round?
Nature no such hard task enjoins: she gave
A make to man directive of his thought;
A make set upright, pointing to the stars,
As who shall say, “Read thy chief lesson there.”*

*A reference to Cicero’s notion that, unlike other animals, humans were created erect so they may raise their heads and see the heavens, from whence they learn religion.

The soul of man was made to walk the skies;
Delightful outlet of her prison here!
There, disencumber’d from her chains, the ties
Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large;
There, freely can respire, dilate, extend,
In full proportion let loose all her powers;
And, undeluded, grasp at something great.
Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there;
But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays;
Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own;
Hence greatly pleased, and justly proud, the soul
Grows conscious of her birth celestial; breathes
More life, more vigour, in her native air;
And feels herself at home amongst the stars;
And, feeling, emulates her country’s praise.

Call it, the noble pasture of the mind;
Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exults,
And riots through the luxuries of thought.
Call it, the garden of the Deity,
Blossom’d with stars, redundant in the growth
Of fruit ambrosial; moral fruit to man.
Call it, the breastplate of the true High Priest,
Ardent with gems oracular, that give,
In points of highest moment, right response;

As yet thou know’st not what it is: how great,
How glorious, then, appears the mind of man,
When in it all the stars, and planets, roll!
And what it seems, it is: great objects make
Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge;
Those still more godlike, as these more divine.
And more divine than these, thou canst not see.
Dazzled, o’erpower’d, with the delicious draught
Of miscellaneous splendours, how I reel
From thought to thought, inebriate, without end!
An Eden, this! a Paradise unlost!
I meet the Deity in every view,
And tremble at my nakedness before him!
O that I could but reach the tree of life!
For here it grows, unguarded from our taste;
No flaming sword denies our entrance here;
Would man but gather, he might live for ever.

Aid then, aid, all ye stars! — Much rather, Thou,
Great Artist! Thou, whose finger set aright
This exquisite machine, with all its wheels,
Though intervolved, exact; and pointing out
Life’s rapid, and irrevocable flight,
With such an index fair, as none can miss,
Who lifts an eye, nor sleeps till it is closed.
Open mine eye, dread Deity! to read
The tacit doctrine of thy works; to see
Things as they are, unalter’d through the glass

Stupendous Architect! Thou, Thou art all!
My soul flies up and down in thoughts of Thee,
And finds herself but at the centre still!
I AM, thy name! Existence, all thine own!

What more prepares us for the songs of heaven?
Creation, of archangels is the theme!
What, to be sung, so needful? What so well
Celestial joys prepare us to sustain?
The soul of man, His face design’d to see,
Who gave these wonders to be seen by man,
Has here a previous scene of objects great,
On which to dwell; to stretch to that expanse
Of thought, to rise to that exalted height
Of admiration, to contract that awe,
And give her whole capacities that strength,
Which best may qualify for final joy.
The more our spirits are enlarged on earth,
The deeper draught shall they receive of heaven.

The mind that would be happy, must be great;
Great, in its wishes; great, in its surveys.
Extended views a narrow mind extend;
Push out its corrugate, expansive make,
Which, ere long, more than planets shall embrace.
A man of compass makes a man of worth;
Divine contemplate, and become divine.
As man was made for glory, and for bliss,
All littleness is in approach to woe;
Open thy bosom, set thy wishes wide,

Man’s mind is in a pit, and nothing sees;
Emerge from thy profound; erect thine eye;
See thy distress! how close art thou besieged!
If, then, on the reverse, the mind would mount
In magnitude, what mind can mount too far,
To keep the balance, and creation poise?
Defect alone can err on such a theme;
What is too great, if we the cause survey?
Of matter’s grandeur, know, one end is this,
To tell the rational, who gazes on it —
“Though that immensely great, still greater He,

The triumph of my soul is, — that I am;
And therefore that I may be — what? Lorenzo!
Look inward, and look deep; and deeper still;
Unfathomably deep our treasure runs
In golden veins, through all eternity!
Ages, and ages, and succeeding still
New ages, where the phantom of an hour,
Which courts each night, dull slumber, for repair,
Shall wake, and wonder, and exult, and praise,
And fly through infinite, and all unlock;
And (if deserved) by Heaven’s redundant love,
Made half adorable itself, adore;
And find, in adoration, endless joy!
Where thou, not master of a moment here,
Frail as the flower, and fleeting as the gale,
May’st boast a whole eternity, enrich’d
With all a kind Omnipotence can pour.

Thus, darkness aiding intellectual light,
And sacred silence whispering truths divine,
And truths divine converting pain to peace,
My song the midnight raven has outwing’d,
And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes,
Beyond the flaming limits of the world,
Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight
Of fancy, when our hearts remain below?
Virtue abounds in flatterers, and foes;
’Tis pride, to praise her; penance, to perform.
To more than words, to more than worth of tongue,
Lorenzo! rise, at this auspicious hour;
An hour, when Heaven’s most intimate with man;
When, like a fallen star, the ray divine
Glides swift into the bosom of the just;
And just are all, determined to reclaim;
Which sets that title high within thy reach.
Awake, then; thy Philander calls: awake!

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Bibliography

Young, Edward. Night Thoughts. Ed. George Gilfillan. London, 1853.

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Cicero: Decorum as a Transcendent Virtue

Cicero presenting De officiis to his son (illustration, 1508 edition).

I have said, Ye are gods. (Psalms 82:6)

IN A PREVIOUS post we observed that (1) in several works Cicero presents evidence for the divinity and grandeur of the human being (especially our soul), and (2) while his evidence is basically the same in each work, he uses it for different purposes. In De officiis (On Moral Duties), Book 1, XXVII.93 to XXXIII.133, Cicero’s exhorts us to behave with the dignity that befits our divine nature and station — as participating in both the Eternal and temporal realms, a mediator of  heaven and earth and especially beloved of God. He does this in the context of discussing the virtue of decorum:

93.
We have next to discuss the one remaining division of moral rectitude. That is the one in which we find considerateness and self-control, which give, as it were, a sort of polish to life; it embraces also temperance, complete subjection of all the passions, and moderation in all things. Under this head is further included what, in Latin, may be called decorum (propriety); for in Greek it is called πρέπον. Such is its essential nature, that it is inseparable from moral goodness;

Decorum, Cicero admits, is not easily defined, but is nonetheless familiar from experience, something very fundamental, and no less important than the four cardinal virtues:

94.
for what is proper is morally right, and what is morally right is proper. The nature of the difference between morality and propriety can be more easily felt than expressed. For whatever propriety may be, it is manifested only when there is pre-existing moral rectitude. And so, not only in this division of moral rectitude which we have now to discuss but also in the three preceding divisions, it is clearly brought out what propriety is. For to employ reason and speech rationally, to do with careful consideration whatever one does, and in everything to discern the truth and to uphold it — that is proper. … And all things just are proper; all things unjust, like all things immoral, are improper.

The relation of propriety to fortitude is similar. What is done in a manly and courageous spirit seems becoming to a man and proper; what is done in a contrary fashion is at once immoral and improper.

95.
This propriety, therefore, of which I am speaking belongs to each division of moral rectitude; and its relation to the cardinal virtues is so close, that it is perfectly self-evident and does not require any abstruse process of reasoning to see it. For there is a certain element of propriety perceptible in every act of moral rectitude; and this can be separated from virtue theoretically better than it can be practically. As comeliness and beauty of person are inseparable from the notion of health, so this propriety of which we are speaking, while in fact completely blended with virtue, is mentally and theoretically distinguishable from it.

He distinguishes between a general and what he calls subordinate forms of propriety. The exact meaning of this distinction is somewhat unclear, but his definition of the general form is noteworthy:

96.
The classification of propriety, moreover, is twofold: (1) we assume a general sort of propriety, which is found in moral goodness as a whole; then (2) there is another propriety, subordinate to this, which belongs to the several divisions of moral goodness. The former is usually defined somewhat as follows: “Propriety is that which harmonizes with man’s superiority in those respects in which his nature differs from that of the rest of the animal creation.” And they so define the special type of propriety which is subordinate to the general notion, that they represent it to be that propriety which harmonizes with nature, in the sense that it manifestly embraces temperance and self-control, together with a certain deportment. [italics added]

Decorum, then, is not merely to act and think in harmony with nature.  It is specifically related to our higher abilities — those which no other animal has, and which to relate to our special role in the plan of Creation. As he goes on to explain,

97.
to us Nature herself has assigned a character of surpassing excellence, far superior to that of all other living creatures, and in accordance with that we shall have to decide what propriety requires.

Among these unique higher human abilities are our reason, our religious nature, our refined senses, our power of discovery and invention, and our dominion over the earth and its creatures. Cicero’s most important discussion of the unique excellences of human nature is in De natural deorum 2, LIII.133 – LXVI.167.

Among other things, decorum implies propriety, grace and dignity of our outward actions and appearance:

101.
Again, every action ought to be free from undue haste or carelessness; neither ought we to do anything for which we cannot assign a reasonable motive; for in these words we have practically a definition of duty.

Later, in par. 128 he says, “So, in standing or walking, in sitting or reclining, in our expression, our eyes, or the movements of our hands, let us preserve what we have called ‘propriety.'”  As he explains in De legibus, this also applies to our countenance:

Nature … has so formed [Man’s] features as to portray therein the character that lies hidden deep within him, for not only do the eyes declare with exceeding clearness the innermost feelings of our hearts, but also the countenance [vultus], as we Romans call it, which can be found in no living thing save man, reveals the character.
Source: De legibus 1.IX.27; tr. Keyes.

Cicero doesn’t mean actions that are artificial or stilted, but rather to behave with natural poise, nobility and grace.

Decorum also applies to our inner life:

100.
For it is only when they agree with Nature’s laws that we should give our approval to the movements not only of the body, but still more of the spirit.

Cicero provides two practical tools for developing the habit of decorum in action and thought: to remind ourselves (1) that we have a divine nature, and (2) how much below our dignity it is to behave as animals; we must not dwell at the level of sensual pleasure, but rather seek pleasure in higher things and subordinate our sensual appetites to Reason and virtue:

105.
But it is essential to every inquiry about duty that we keep before our eyes how far superior man is by nature to cattle and other beasts:

106.
From this we see that sensual pleasure is quite unworthy of the dignity of man and that we ought to despise it and cast it from us; but if some one should be found who sets some value upon sensual gratification, he must keep strictly within the limits of moderate indulgence. One’s physical comforts and wants, therefore, should be ordered according to the demands of health and strength, not according to the calls of pleasure. And if we will only bear in mind the superiority and dignity of our nature, we shall realize how wrong it is to abandon ourselves to excess and to live in luxury and voluptuousness, and how right it is to live in thrift, self-denial, simplicity, and sobriety.

Ideally, he argues, we would avoid sensual pleasure altogether.  But, if not, we should always moderate it, measuring it by the criteria of health and strength.

Cicero is doing much more than explaining the social etiquette proper for a Roman statesman.  Decorum relates integrally to the Christian and Platonic notion of assimilation to God. It is an essential, but often neglected feature of the perennial philosophy. We are designed for godliness. Decorum is to behave and think harmonized with God’s will, the High Priest of creation and mediator of heaven and earth.  Through the divine human — the crown of creation — Nature achieves its telos.

Importantly, decorum at the level of behavior is something bodily: when we behave as incarnate gods, God enters material creation in a new and different way.

Decorum in action also inspires others to a life of virtue. As Seneca wrote:

3. 
If ever you have come upon a grove that is full of ancient trees which have grown to an unusual height, shutting out a view of the sky by a veil of pleached and intertwining branches, then the loftiness of the forest, the seclusion of the spot, and your marvel at the thick unbroken shade in the midst of the open spaces, will prove to you the presence of deity. Or if a cave, made by the deep crumbling of the rocks, holds up a mountain on its arch, a place not built with hands but hollowed out into such spaciousness by natural causes, your soul will be deeply moved by a certain intimation of the existence of God. We worship the sources of mighty rivers; we erect altars at places where great streams burst suddenly from hidden sources; we adore springs of hot water as divine, and consecrate certain pools because of their dark waters or their immeasurable depth.

4. 
If you see a man who is unterrified in the midst of dangers, untouched by desires, happy in adversity, peaceful amid the storm, who looks down upon men from a higher plane, and views the gods on a footing of equality, will not a feeling of reverence for him steal over you? Will you not say: “This quality is too great and too lofty to be regarded as resembling this petty body in which it dwells? A divine power has descended upon that man.”

5.
When a soul rises superior to other souls, when it is under control, when it passes through every experience as if it were of small account, when it smiles at our fears and at our prayers, it is stirred by a force from heaven. A thing like this cannot stand upright unless it be propped by the divine. Therefore, a greater part of it abides in that place from whence it came down to earth. Just as the rays of the sun do indeed touch the earth, but still abide at the source from which they are sent; even so the great and hallowed soul, which has come down in order that we may have a nearer knowledge of divinity, does indeed associate with us, but still cleaves to its origin; on that source it depends, thither it turns its gaze and strives to go, and it concerns itself with our doings only as a being superior to ourselves.
Source: Seneca, Letter XLI to Lucilius, On the God within Us (tr. Gummere)

Seneca’s comments highlight an important social dimension of acting with decorum and dignity: not only do we benefit ourselves, but others do as well. Moral virtue is more beautiful than anything earthly. When others see sage-like decorum in another, they admire and delight in it, the transcendent becomes more salient in their mind, and they are encouraged in their own pursuit of virtue.

We do well here also to recall the words of Seneca’s contemporary, St. Paul: whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things (Phil 4:8) and edify one another (1 Thess 5:11). We are to not only to edify ourselves, but others as well. The two duties are interpenetrating: by edifying ourselves we edify others, and by edifying others we edify ourselves.

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Bibliography

Griffin, M. T. (ed.); Atkins, E. M. (tr.). Cicero, On Duties. Cambridge University Press, 1991.

Gummere, Richard Mott. Seneca: Moral letters to Lucilius (Epistulae morales ad Lucilium). 3 vols. Loeb Classical Library. 1917−1925; vol. 1. Letter XLI. On the God within Us.

Keyes, Clinton Walker (tr.). Cicero: De re Publica (On the Republic), De Legibus (On the Laws). Loeb Classical Library 213. New York: Putnam, 1928.

Miller, Walter (tr.). Cicero: De officiis. Loeb Classical Library. Macmillan, 1913.

First draft 27 Oct 2022

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Gionozzo Manetti − On the Dignity and Excellence of the Human Being

Manetti, De dignitate et excellentia, British Library ms Harley 2593, f. 1

AROUND 1194, Pope Innocent III penned a treatise with the rather depressing title, On the Misery of the Human Condition (De miseria condicionis humane). He promised to write a companion work, On the Worth and Excellence of Human Life, but never did so. In the 14th century the great humanist Petrarch decided to supply the missing enomium of Man himself. This is his work, Remedies for Fortunes (De remediis utriusque fortunae), and in particular the section titled, “Of sadness and misery,” a dialogue between Sorrow and Reason.

Several centuries later, an Italian Benedictine monk, Antionio da Barga, not knowing of Petrarch’s piece, also decided a reply to Innocent III was needed. Lacking time to do it himself, he made a detailed outline and asked a friend, Bartolomeo Facio, to write a complete book around it — which Facio did.

Somehow a mutual colleague of theirs — the Florentine statesman and scholar Gionozzo Manetti (1396 – 1459) — received of the outline and decided to write his own version.  This, much longer and more skillfully executed than Facio’s work, is On the Dignity and Excellence of the Human Being (De dignitate et excellentia hominis libri IV; 1452).

While not not a literary masterpiece, it is ably written and comprehensive — drawing primarily on Cicero, Lactantius, Augustine and Aristotle. (Copenhaver: “His originality lay rather in his capacity to make a coherent synthesis of the Christian image of man and the new Renaissance experience and admiration of man as a doer and creator.”) It’s comprised four books:  I. deals with the human body; II with the human soul; III with man’s nature as a union of body and soul; and IV a rebuttal of opposing arguments.

To the traditional Ciceronian themes of human excellence, Manetti adds several important Christian elements, including:

a) That we have guardian angels;

b) Christ’s incarnation — God becoming man — reveals the great dignity of the human body;

c) That God deemed us worthy to sacrifice is Son for our salvation; and

d) The promise of resurrected human life.

The following paragraphs from the end of Book IV — addressed to all future readers — are excellent and well worth reading.

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71.
So now let me finally bring my account to an end and at last give this work of mine a conclusion, having started in the three preceding books with a full and satisfactory explanation of the worth of man’s body and how admirable it is, next how exalted the loftiness of his soul and then besides how splendid the excellence of the human composed of those two parts. Last of all, since I have recorded in this fourth book all the points that resolve and refute the main arguments thought to oppose and contradict my own stated views what remains is briefly to urge those present, and those to come: toward a careful and exact observance of God’s commandments, our only way to rise to that heavenly and eternal home.

72.
Therefore, Fairest Prince, while coming back after so long and returning to you, I humbly and meekly beg Your Majesty, and any others who may come upon these writings of mine, to choose to follow every single one of God’s commandments and fulfill them all. Whoever does his utmost to act on the commandments and put them into practice will certainly get temporal privileges here as well as rewards that last, both for this life and the next, with the undoubted result that all who keep heaven’s rules carefully seem always — right from the moment of birth — to be those who have been fortunate, are happy and will be blessed for eternity.

73.
This is why I beg and beseech all readers of this work, such as it is, to set other things aside and pay close attention to this short and friendly little plea of mine — that they may take action to do as I shall try to persuade them in the few words that follow.

My fellow humans — no, you brave men, rather, you kings, princes and generals — you have been created with such immense value and appointed to a rank so high that no doubt at all remains, given what I have written, about this: all there is in this universe, whether on land or sea or in the waters, whether in the air or the aether or the heavens, has been made subject to your command and put under your control: attend to virtue, then. With vices pressed upon you in abundance, cherish virtue with all your strength of mind and body. Love virtue and preserve it, I beg you, grasp, seize and embrace it so that by putting virtue in action, constantly and ceaselessly, you may not only be seen as fortunate and happy but also become almost like the immortal God.

In fact, your roles of knowing and acting are recognized as shared with Almighty God. Then, if by acquiring and practicing virtue you receive the blessing of serene immortality, your appearance, when you return home, will surely be like that of the eternal Prince. For with constant rejoicing and endless, jubilant song — in bliss perpetual and eternal, with pleasure unique and simple like God’s own — you will always rejoice in understanding, acting and contemplation, which properly are considered God’s roles alone. [cf. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1177a11 et seq.]

Source: Manetti, On the Dignity and Excellence of the Human Being 4.71−73; tr. Copenhaven pp. 251ff.

Manetti exhorts readers to “a careful and exact observance of God’s commandments (divinorum mandatorum).”  We might suppose here he doesn’t mean by this a legalistic forcing of ourselves to adhere to a set of fixed behavioral rules (though neither do we want to violate them), but more to live constantly attentive and responsive to God’s ongoing directions and guidances supplied to the soul,

Bibliography

Copenhaver, Brian (tr.). Giannozzo Manetti: On human worth and excellence. Harvard University Press, 2018. App. I: Antonio da Barga, On Mankind’s Worth and the Excellence of Human Life; App. II: Bartolomeo Facio, On Human Excellence and Distinction.

Trinkaus, Charles. In Our Image and Likeness: Humanity and Divinity in Italian Humanist Thought. London and Chicago, 1970. 2 volumes; vol. 1, pp. 200−270.

Trinkaus, Charles. Renaissance Idea of the Dignity of Man. In: Wiener, Philip P. (ed.), Dictionary of the History of Ideas: Studies of Selected Pivotal Ideas, 4 vols,  New York, Scribner, 1973−74 , vol. 4., 136–147.

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Beyond the Epiphany Experience

LATELY I’ve been thinking about epiphany experiences.  I’ve written many posts about the subject — here and at my other blog, Satyagraha — sometime in connection with the theories of humanistic psychologist Abraham Maslow.  Maslow placed great emphasis on transcendent experiences (or ‘peak experiences’ as he sometimes called them).  His work is important because it brings these experiences into the realm of ‘respectable,’ empirical science.  Maslow makes no metaphysical claims.  He simply observes that (1) most people have these experiences, (2) the experience of transcendence has many positive and productive psychological effects, (3) it enhances a sense of life’s meaning, and (4) it connects the experiencer with core values (including Truth, Beauty and Goodness).

So on the one hand I applaud Maslow’s efforts. Yet my praise is qualified.  In bringing transcendence into the realm of academic psychology, it was necessary for him to ignore the essential religious aspect of these experiences.  Secular transcendence is a half-step to genuine religious mysticism.  The half-step is good as long as one continues to the next; but it’s a problem if one is content to remain at the secular level.

A secular epiphany proceeds as follows:

1. The experience itself (say, feeling of awe at a glorious sunset)

2. A feeling of calmness, completeness

3. A feeling of gratitude (but to whom?)

A complete, religious epiphany builds on these three:

4. Awareness of the greatness of ones soul such that one is capable of experiencing such a thing; the experience, even more than it reveals outer Nature, reveals one’s inner nature.

5. A recognition that God has made not only this experience, but your own capacity to have and appreciate the experience

6. A feeling of religious devotion; giving thanks and praise to God

Last is what I might call ‘an awareness of charitable duty.’  The purpose of the epiphany is not our enjoyment, but to remind us of who we are: an anamnesis.  When one stands in Nature during such an experience, the culmination is that one sees oneself not simply as a spectator, but a participant in the great, glorious TAO of Nature.  Your beholding the Beauty and Mystery of Nature completes Nature’s telos.  Or actually, it’s telos is completed when you, beholding the spectacle, you assume the role of priest, and on behalf of all living things praise God.

Some may object that this last point opposes the essentially passive nature of an epiphany experience.  True, the experience comes not so much by ones own doing, but by not doing.  But this re-emergence as agent of divine charity transcends the traditional distinction between passive and active: one acts in the world by being perfectly aligned with Nature, God’s plan and God’s will.  One does not ‘do’: one enters the dance.

Thus added to the experience of Nature is an ‘inward turn,’ then an ascent, and finally a descent back into the natural world infused with a sense of divine charity.  This is a basically Augustinian perspective on mental ascent, as, for example, most fully developed in St. Bonaventure and Richard of St. Victor.

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Cicero – Divine Grandeur of the Human Soul

PICO della Mirandola’s Oration on the Dignity of Man, an encomium on the greatness of the human being, is well known, and is often taken as a definitive statement of Renaissance humanism.  Less familiar to many are the classical roots of the Oration and Renaissance humanism in general.  One source is Plato, in whose writings several key ideas appear:  (1) the Intellect (Nous) as a higher organ of cognition; (2) the immortality of the human soul; (3) the beauty and exalted nature of virtue; and (4) likeness or assimilation to God (homoiosis theoi) as a prime ethical goal, among others.  But Cicero’s works are a second locus classicus.  Cicero returns several times to the theme of the dignity and greatness of human beings, and especially their souls.  The more important discussions are found in De legibus (Laws), Tusculan Disputations 1, De natural deorum (On the Nature of the Gods), and De officiis (On Moral Duties).

Each time Cicero works from the same basic list of reasons that point to the exalted status of human beings. (His main source may have been a lost work by the Stoic, Posidonius).  The list includes:

a) The human mind is divine, especially Reason, a capacity only gods and human beings have.

b) The unlimited nature of memory.  For Cicero, this means not so much a vast memory for facts, but that (per Plato) it appears as though (1) we have innate knowledge of principles and relations (mathematics, logic, forms), and (2) these seem unlimited in number.

c) Our capacity for extremely subtle judgments, including moral and aesthetic ones.

d) Virtue and moral excellence — again these are concerns we share with gods.

e) A unlimited capacity for invention and discovery.

f) Faculties of divination (prophecy, interpretation of oracles, etc.)

g) Finely attuned senses; for example, capable of subtle distinctions of hues,  musical pitch and tones.

h) Marvelous adaptations of the human body to support our higher nature

i) The capacity for knowledge of God (e.g., from created things and the orderliness of Creation)

j) A bounteous earth, and dominion over animals and plants, which serve man’s needs.

k) Man’s soul is immortal (a topic to which Cicero devotes all of Tusculan Disputations 1)

The religious foundation of Cicero’s arguments here is insufficiently appreciated by modern commentators. He constantly returns to the idea that these exalted attributes are gifts of the gods and also demonstrate our kinship with them.

While his lists and discussions are similar across works, his purposes vary.  His discussions of the topic and the broader context of each are summarized below:

De legibus (1.7.22−9.27)
Our divine attributes relate to the origin and nature of civil laws

Tusculan Disputations 1.24−28
How they derive from or are evidence for the immortality of the human soul

De natura deorum 2.54−66
Evidence that the gods exist and they are concerned with us

De officiis 1. 27, 30, 35−37
Moral excellence

These discussions are not of mere historical interest, but are helpful at a practical level.  First (as the early Renaissance writer Petrarch noted in On Sadness and its Remedies), to remind ourselves of the grandeur of the human soul is an antidote for sadness and negative thinking.  Second, they can form the basis of a contemplative or spiritual exercise — an ascent of the mind from considering natural phenomena, to attaining a religious state of consciousness, such as we see developed later by Richard of St. Victor and St. Bonaventure.

As Emerson said, “We are gods in ruins.”  We are divine beings who continually get caught up in the mundane.  Reminding ourselves of our exalted nature may stimulate an anamnesis, and an actual re-experiencing of ones divinity nature and immeasurable dignity.  Then we will have little patience for letting our minds fall into negative and worldly thinking.  Rather our concern will be to glorify God by having exalted thoughts.

Cicero understands the word dignity in a way somewhat different than the common modern usage.  For us today, ‘human dignity’ connotes certain legal rights and respect before the law to which all human beings are entitled.  Cicero goes beyond this, however, in seeing dignity as something it is our duty to preserve and cultivate.  The great dignity of human beings is, then, both a gift and a responsibility.

Here is Cicero’s discussion on human dignity in his early work, De legibus. This lacks some of the scope, eloquence and polish Cicero devotes to the topic in his later works, Tusculan Disputations 1 and De natural deorum, but it serves as a good starting point.

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Cicero, De legibus 1.7.22−1.9.27

VII. [22]
Marcus. I will not make the argument long. Your admission leads us to this that animal which we call man, endowed with foresight and quick intelligence, complex, keen, possessing memory, full of reason and prudence, has been given a certain distinguished status by the supreme God who created him; for he is the only one among so many different kinds and varieties of living beings who has a share in reason and thought, while all the lest are deprived of it. But what is more divine, I will not say in man only, but in all heaven and earth, than reason? And reason, when it is full grown and perfected, is rightly called wisdom.

[23]
Therefore, since there is nothing better than reason, and since it exists both in man and God, the first common possession of man and God is reason. But those who have reason in common must also have right reason in common. And since right reason is Law, we must believe that men have Law also in common with the gods. Further, those who share Law must also share Justice, and those who share these are to be regarded as members of the same commonwealth. If indeed they obey the same authorities and powers, this is true in a far greater degree, but as a matter of fact they do obey this celestial system, the divine mind, and the God of transcendent power. Hence we must now conceive of this whole universe as one commonwealth of which both gods and men are members.

And just as in States distinctions in legal status are made on account of the blood relationships of families, according to a system which I shall take up in its proper place, so in the universe the same thing holds true, but on a scale much vaster and more splendid, so that men are grouped with Gods on the basis of blood relationship and descent.

VIII. [24]
For when the nature of man is examined, the theory is usually advanced (and in all probability it is correct) that through constant changes and revolutions in the heavens, a time came which was suitable for sowing the seed of the human race. And when this seed was scattered and sown over the earth, it was granted the divine gift of the soul. For while the other elements of which man consists were derived from what is mortal, and are therefore fragile and perishable, the soul was generated in us by God. Hence we are justified in saying that there is a blood relationship between ourselves and the celestial beings; or we may call it a common ancestry or origin. Therefore among all the varieties of living beings, there is no creature except man which has any knowledge of God, and among men themselves there is no race either so highly civilized or so savage as not to know that it must believe in a god, even if it does not know in what sort of god it ought to believe.

[25]
Thus it is clear that man recognizes God because, in a way, he remembers and recognizes the source from which he sprang.

Moreover, virtue exists in man and God alike, but in no other creature besides; virtue, however, is nothing else than Nature perfected and developed to its highest point, therefore there is a likeness between man and God. As this is true, what relationship could be closer or clearer than this one? For this reason, Nature has lavishly yielded such a wealth of things adapted to man’s convenience and use that what she produces seems intended as a gift to us, and not brought forth by chance; and this is true, not only of what the fertile earth bountifully bestows in the form of grain and fruit, but also of the animals; for it is clear that some of them have been created to be man’s slaves, some to supply him with their products, and others to serve as his food.

[26]
Moreover innumerable arts have been discovered through the teachings of Nature; for it is by a skilful imitation of her that reason has acquired the necessities of life.

Nature has likewise not only equipped man himself with nimbleness of thought, but has also given him the senses, to be, as it were, his attendants and messengers; she has laid bare the obscure and none too [obvious] meanings of a great many things, to serve as the foundations of knowledge, as we may call them; and she has granted us a bodily form which is convenient and well suited to the human mind. For while she has bent the other creatures down toward their food, she has made man alone erect, and has challenged him to look up toward heaven, as being, so to speak, akin to him, and his first home.

[27]
In addition, she has so formed his features as to portray therein the character that lies hidden deep within him, for not only do the eyes declare with exceeding clearness the innermost feelings of our hearts, but also the countenance, as we Romans call it, which can be found in no living thing save man, reveals the character. (The Greeks are familiar with the meaning which this word “countenance” conveys, though they have no name for it.)

I will pass over the special faculties and aptitudes of the other parts of the body, such as the varying tones of the voice and the power of speech, which is the most effective promoter of human intercourse, for all these things are not in keeping with our present discussion or the time at our disposal; and besides, this topic has been adequately treated, as it seems to me, by Scipio in the books which you have read. But, whereas God has begotten and equipped man, desiring him to be the chief of all created things, it should now be evident, without going into all the details, that Nature, alone and unaided, goes a step farther; for, with no guide to point the way, she starts with those things whose character she has learned through the rudimentary beginnings of intelligence, and, alone and unaided, strengthens and perfects the faculty of reason.

Source: Keyes, Clinton Walker (tr.). Cicero: De re Publica (On the Republic), De Legibus (On the Laws). Loeb Classical Library 213. New York: Putnam, 1928; pp. 323−329.

As noted, here Cicero is setting the stage for a discussion on the origin of civil laws.  However the topic is so lofty and valuable that his interlocutor, Atticus, is prompted to exclaim:

You discourse so eloquently that I not only have no desire to hasten on to the consideration of the civil law, concerning which I was expecting you to speak, but I should have no objection to your spending even the entire day on your present topic, for the matters which you have taken up, no doubt, merely as preparatory to another subject, are of greater import than the subject itself to which they form an introduction. (Source: ibid.)

A nice way of summing up is to quote the North African Church Father, Lactantius (c. 250 – c. 325), sometimes called the ‘Latin Cicero.’  In a polemic against pagan philosophers titled, On the Wrath of God, he wrote:

Why God Made Man

It follows that I show for what purpose God made man himself. As He contrived the world for the sake of man, so He formed man himself on His own account, as it were a priest of a divine temple, a spectator of His works and of heavenly objects. For he is the only being who, since he is intelligent and capable of reason, is able to understand God, to admire His works, and perceive His energy and power; for on this account he is furnished with judgment, intelligence, and prudence. On this account he alone, beyond the other living creatures, has been made with an upright body and attitude, so that he seems to have been raised up for the contemplation of his Parent. On this account he alone has received language, and a tongue the interpreter of his thought, that he may be able to declare the majesty of his Lord. Lastly, for this cause all things were placed under his control, that he himself might be under the control of God, their Maker and Creator. If God, therefore, designed man to be a worshipper of Himself, and on this account gave him so much honour, that he might rule over all things; it is plainly most just that he should worship Him who bestowed upon him such great gifts, and love man, who is united with us in the participation of the divine justice. For it is not right that a worshipper of God should he injured by a worshipper of God. From which it is understood that man was made for the sake of religion and justice. And of this matter Marcus Tullius is a witness in his books respecting the Laws, since he thus speaks: But of all things concerning which learned men dispute, nothing is of greater consequence than that it should be altogether understood that we are born to justice. And if this is most true, it follows that God will have all men to be just, that is, to have God and man as objects of their affection; to honour God in truth as a Father, and to love man as a brother: for in these two things the whole of justice is comprised. But he who either fails to acknowledge God or acts injuriously to man, lives unjustly and contrary to his nature, and in this manner disturbs the divine institution and law.
Source: Lactantius, On the Wrath of God (De ira Dei) 14

Bibliography

de Plinval, Georges. M. Tullius Cicero: De Legibus. Paris. Belles Lettres, 1959. (Online Latin text).

Fletcher, William (tr.). Lactantius: On the Anger of God. In: Eds. Alexander Roberts, James Donaldson and A. Cleveland Coxe, Ante-Nicene Fathers, Vol. 7, Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1886; online version by Kevin Knight (ed.).

Keyes, Clinton Walker (tr.). Cicero: De re Publica (On the Republic), De Legibus (On the Laws). Loeb Classical Library 213. New York: Putnam, 1928.

Zetzel, James E. G. Cicero: On the Commonwealth and On the Laws. Cambridge University, 1999; translation based on: K. Ziegler (ed.), M. Tullius Cicero: De legibus, (3rd ed, rev. by W. Goerler, Heidelberg, 1979).

First draft: 17 Oct 2022

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Comenius’ Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart

Jan Amos Comenius, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam 

JOHAN AMOS COMENIUS (Jan Amos Komensky; 1592–1670) is a great Czech benefactor of humanity.  Considered one of the founders of modern education, he was also a bishop and devotional writer.  His work The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart is a masterpiece of spiritual writing. It takes the form of an allegory, with the soul as a pilgrim wandering through the world (it is the inspiration for Bunyan’s later work, Pilgrim’s Progress.).  Along the way it witnesses every conceivable kind of human folly, pretension, injustice and misery.  Thoroughly disillusioned with the world and its vanities, the soul everntually looks within, finding the “paradise of the heart” and Christ, the soul’s teacher, guide and companion. Contemplation and prayer leading to holiness, and a complete subordination of ones ego to God’s will, is the only solution to the labyrinth of the world.

Comenius wrote this during the Thirty Years’ War, one of the bloodiest in European history, and after his wife and two children died of plague. The following excerpt comes from Part 2.

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CHAPTER XXXVII. THE PILGRIM FINDS HIS WAY HOME

The First Conversion is the Work of God.

1. Now, when I cease speaking, and am still shaking with fear, I hear above me a mysterious voice that said “Return!” And I lift my head to see who was calling; but I see nothing, not even my guide Searchall; for he, too, had now forsaken me.

2. And lo! now a voice again resounded “Return!” Then knowing not how to turn back, nor whither to go out of this darkness, I began to sorrow, when lo! the voice again called: “Return whence thou camest to the house of the heart, and then close the doors behind thee.”

​The Second Conversion requires our own Endeavours also.

3. This counsel I obeyed as well as I could, and it was well with me that I thus obeyed God, who had counselled me; but this was yet a gift from Him. Then collecting my thoughts as best I could, I closed my eyes, ears, mouth, nostrils, and abandoned all contact with external things. Then I entered into the innermost of my heart, and behold! everything therein was darkness. But when, with blinking eyes, I gaze a little around me, I behold a weak light that penetrated through the crevices; and I see above me, in the vaulting of this my little chamber, what appeared to me a large, round, glassy window; but it had been so much soiled and bedaubed that scarce any light came through it.

Description of Corrupt Nature.

4. Then, looking around me by means of this dim, scant light, I see on the walls certain small pictures of, as it seemed, sometime pretty work; but the colours had faded, and some portions of the pictures had been hewn off, or broken off. Approaching them more closely, I see on them inscriptions such as Prudence, Meekness, Justice, Chastity, Temperance, and so forth. Then in the middle of the chamber I see divers broken and damaged ladders, and pincers and ropes, that had been damaged and scattered about; item, large ​wings with plucked plumes; lastly, clock-works with broken or bent cylinders, dents, and little columns; and all this was scattered about at random, here and there.

Corrupt Nature cannot be mended by Worldly Wisdom.

5. And I wondered what was the purpose of these implements, how and by whom they had been injured, and how they could be repaired. Now thinking of this and considering it, I could devise naught; but hope arose in me that He who by His call had led me to this chamber, whoever He might be, would again address me, and further instruct me. For that of which I had here seen but the beginning pleased me well, both because my little chamber had not the evil smell of the other places, through which I had passed in the world, and also because I found not here rustle and rush, noise and crash, unrest and reeling to and fro, tussling and violence (things of which the world is full). Here everything was quiet.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE PILGRIM RECEIVES CHRIST AS HIS GUEST

Our Illumination cometh from on High.

1. I now devise of this with myself, and wait what will further befall. And behold, a clear light appeared on high, and raising my eyes towards it, I see the window above me full of brightness, and from out of that brightness there appeared One, in aspect, indeed, similar to a man, but in His splendour truly God. His countenance shone exceedingly, yet could human eyes gaze at it, for it caused not terror; rather had it a loveliness such as I had never seen in the world. He then—kindness itself, friendliness itself—addressed me in these most sweet words:

Wherein the Source of all Light and all Joy lieth.

2. “Welcome, welcome, my son and dear brother.” And having said these words, He embraced me, and kissed me kindly. There came forth from Him a most delightful odour, and I was seized by such unspeakable delight that tears flowed from my eyes, and I knew not how to ​respond to so unexpected a greeting. Only sighing deeply, I gazed at Him with meek eyes. Then He, seeing me overwhelmed with joy, spoke thus further to me: “Where, then, has thou been, my son? why hast thou tarried so long? by what path hast thou come? what hast thou sought in the world? Joy! where could thou seek it but in God; and where couldst thou seek God, but in His own temple; and what is the temple of the living God, but the living temple that He Himself has fashioned—thine own heart? I saw, my son, that thou wentest astray, but I would see it no longer. I have brought thee to thy own self. I have led thee into thyself. For here have I chosen my palace and my dwelling. If thou wishest here to dwell with me, thou wilt find here, what thou hast vainly sought on earth, rest, comfort, glory, and abundance of all things. This I promise thee, my son, that thou wilt not be deceived here as thou wert there in the world.”

The Pilgrim gives himself over entirely to Jesus.

3. Hearing such speech, and understanding that He who spake was my Redeemer, Jesus Christ, of whom I had indeed heard somewhat in the world, but superficially only, I folded my hands, and then stretched them out, not, as in the world, with fear and doubt, but with full happiness and complete faith; then I said: “I am here, my Lord Jesus; take me to Thee. Thine I wish to be, and to remain for ever. Speak to Thy servant, and ​permit me to hear Thee; tell me what Thou desirest, and grant that I find pleasure in it; lay on me what burden Thou thinkest fit, and grant that I may bear it; employ me for whatever purpose Thou desirest, and grant me that I may not be found wanting; order me to act according to Thy will, and grant me grace to do so. Let me be nothing, that Thou mayest be everything.”

CHAPTER XXXIX. THEIR BETROTHAL

God’s Wisdom directs even our Errors.

1. “I accept this from thee, my son,” quoth He. “Hold to this, become, call thyself, and remain mine own. Mine, indeed, thou wert and art from all eternity, but thou knewest it not. I have long prepared for thee that happiness to which I will now lead thee; but thou didst not understand this. I have led thee to thyself through strange paths and by roundabout ways; this thou knewest not, nor what I, the ruler of all my chosen ones, intended; neither didst thou perceive by what means I worked on thee. But I was everywhere with thee, and therefore somewhat guided thee through these crooked paths, that I might at last bring thee yet closer to me. Naught could the world, naught thy guides, naught Solomon teach thee. They could by no means enrich thee, content thee, satisfy the desires of thy heart, for they had not that which thou didst seek. But I will teach thee everything, enrich thee, content thee.”

​All Worldly Striving should be transferred to God.

2. “This only I demand of thee, that whatever thou hast seen in the world, and whatever struggles thou hast witnessed among men, thou shouldst transfer it to me, and lay the burden of it on me. This, as long as thou livest, shall be thy work and thy task; of that which men seek there in the world, but find not—to wit, peace and joy—I will give thee abundance.”

The Pilgrim joins Christ only, his Eternal Spouse.

3. “Thou hast seen in the estate of the married people how those who find pleasure in one another leave everything, that they may belong to each other. Do thus thou also, leave everything, even thyself; give thyself up fully to me, and thou wilt be mine, and it will be well. As long as thou dost not this, thou wilt, I assure thee, obtain no solace for thy soul. For in the world everything changeth; everything beside me for which thy mind and thy desire will strive, will, in one way or another, cause thee toil and discontent; at last it will forsake thee, and the joy that thou hadst found in it will turn to woe. Therefore I faithfully counsel thee, my son, forsake everything and cling to me; be mine, and I thine. Let us shut ourselves up together here in this shrine, and thou wilt feel truer joy than can be found in carnal wedlock. Strive, then, to love ​me alone; to have me as thy one counsellor, leader, friend, companion, and comrade in all things. And whenever thou speakest to me, say, ‘I only and thou, oh, my Lord!’ Thou needest not heed any third one. Cling but to me, gaze at me, converse sweetly with me, embrace me, kiss me; expect also all things from me.

Christ should be considered our only Gain.

4. “Thou hast seen in other conditions how the men who seek gain busy themselves with endless labours, what artifices they employ, what perils they risk. Thou must now consider all this striving as vanity, knowing that one thing alone is necessary, the grace of God. Therefore, limiting thyself to the one calling which I have entrusted to thee, conduct thy labours faithfully, conscientiously, quietly, entrusting to me the end and aim of all things. [. . .]

In Christ alone there is Abundance of all.

11. “Thou hast seen also what the men in that castle of feigned fortune seek, and in what they glory: riches, pleasure, fame. Heed thou none of these things. They give not peace but disquietude, and they are but the path that leadeth to sorrow. Wherefore shouldst thou value a multitude of goods; why desire it? Life requires but little, and it is my business to provide for those who serve me. Strive, therefore, to collect inward treasures, illumination and piety, and I will grant thee everything else. Heaven and earth will belong to thee by inheritance; be thou certain of this. Neither will such things vex thee and oppress thee as do the things of the world; rather will they give thee unspeakable joy.

The Pilgrim’s most dear Companions.

12. “The worldly ones gladly seek companionship; but thou must absent thyself from noisy striving, and learn to love solitude. Companionship is but an aid to sin, or to senseless fooling, idleness, or waste of time. Yet wilt thou not be alone; ​fear not, even if thou art alone. I am with thee, and the multitude of my angels; with us wilt thou be able to imparl [confer]. Yet if at times thou desirest visible companionship also, seek out those who are of the same spirit. Thus will your companionship be a joint devotion to God.

True Delights.

13. “These others find their pleasure in plentiful banquets, eating, drinking, laughter. But it shall be thy pleasure, when necessary, to hunger, thirst, cry, suffer blows, and so forth, for my sake and with me. Yet if I grant thee pleasurable things, thou mayest also rejoice (but not because of these things, rather because of me, and for my sake).

True Glory.

14. “Thou hast seen how these others strive for glory and honours; but thou must not heed the reports of men. Whether men speak well or evil of thee, it imports not, if but I am satisfied with thee. If thou but knowest that thou pleasest me, curry not favour with men; their good will is fickle, imperfect, perverse; they often love that which is worthy of hate, and hate that which is worthy of love. Nor is it possible to please all; striving to please one, thou disgusteth others. By not considering all these, and by heeding me only, thou wilt fare best. If we both then agree together, the voice of man can neither take anything from you ​nor from me, nor grant anything. Strive not to know many, my son. Let thy glory be to be humble, that the world may, if possible, know nothing of thee; this is best and safest. My angels, indeed, will know of thee, speak of thee, seek to serve thee; announce, if necessary, thy works to heaven and earth. Be then certain of this. But truly when the time of the amendment of all things comes, all ye who have submitted yourselves to me shalt be led to unspeakable glory before the angels and the whole world. Compared to this glory, all worldly glory is but a shadow.

This is the Summit of all.

15. “Therefore, my son, I will say briefly: If thou hast goods, learning, beauty, wit, favour among the people, and everything that in the world is called prosperity, be not too proud; if thou hast not these things, heed it not; forsaking all these things, whether they be with thee or with others, find thy inward employment with me. And then having freed thyself from all created beings, denied also and renounced thy own self, thou wilt find me, and in me the fulness of peace; this I promise thee.”

To give yourself up wholly to Christ is the most blessed thing.

16. And I said: “Lord, my God, I understand that Thou alone art everything. He who hath Thee can easily lack the whole world, for in Thee ​alone he hath more than he can desire. I erred—I now understand it—when I wandered through the world seeking solace in created things. But from this hour I will delight in naught but in Thee. To thee I now already give myself up wholly. Deign, then, to strengthen me, that I may not abandon Thee in favour of created things, nor again commit the follies of which the world is full. May Thy grace preserve me! I put my full trust in it.”

CHAPTER XL. THE PILGRIM IS AS ONE TRANSFORMED

While I speak thus, it appears to me as if there were a strange light around me. The small pictures that I had previously seen partly effaced and broken, I now beheld intact, clear, and beautiful; for thus did they now appear to move before mine eyes. The scattered and broken wheels also were joined together, and out of them was formed a noble instrument similar to a clock, which showed the course of the world, and God’s wondrous guidance. The ladders also had been repaired and placed against the windows, through which the heavenly light penetrated, so that—as I understood—one could look outward. The wings, also, that I had seen with plucked plumes had received a new large plumage, and He who was speaking to me—our Lord—took them and fastened them on to me, and said: “My son, I dwell in two spots, in heaven in my glory, and on earth in the hearts of the humble. And I desire that henceforth thou also shouldst have two dwelling-places, one here at home, where I have promised to be with thee; the other with me in heaven. That thou mayest raise thyself ​thither, I give thee these wings (which are the desire of eternal happines and prayer). If thou dost will it, thou shalt be able to fly upward unto me, and thou shalt have delight in me, and I in thee.”

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Bibliography

Louthan, Howard; Sterk, Andrea (trs.). Johann Amos Comenius: The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart. Paulist Press, 1998.

Lützow, Franz (tr.). Johann Amos Comenius: The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart. Dutton, 1901.

 

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Jean Gerson’s Mountain of Contemplation

Illumination, Master of Cardinal of Bourbon,  Livre de la contemplation,  MS FR 1847, KBR

THE PURPOSE of this post is to describe and recommend a short devotional work, the Mountain of Contemplation (Montaigne de contemplation; 1400) by the French theologian and contemplative, Jean Gerson (1363–1429).  This work is not well known, but very valuable and well worth consideration as an addition to ones reading list.

Jean Gerson is best known as a theologian, educational reformer (a Chancellor of the University of Paris) and Church reformer (e.g., instrumental in resolving the multiple claims to the papacy during the Great Schism). The last earned him the enmity of powerful French political officials, and for a while he was forced into exile.  Gerson was far from a stuffy Canon Law authority and intellectual. He championed the development of spirituality amongst the laity and denounced the intellectual pretensions of academics.

This authentic pietistic interest is reflected in the Mountain of Contemplation, which he wrote as a guide to contemplative life for two of his sisters. Unlike most of his works, written in Latin, this was composed in vernacular French.  It has a warm unpretentious style, full of common sense advice, and abounds in practical analogies taken from ordinary life.

The work takes the form of 45 short sections, numbered and titled, followed by an appendix with 11 rules of conduct. I will try within my limited ability to supply a short summary below.  However I can’t do justice to this helpful and charming work and would rather encourage people to read the whole thing — which, as I say, is not very long.

The guiding image Gerson uses is that of ascending a mountain. Three stages of the ascent are identified, which he calls (1) humble penitence, (2) silence and solitude, and (3) strong perseverance.  This simple three-fold division is very useful because it allows him considerable flexibility in discussing each stage.

The following is a short paraphrase/summary.

Summary

Contemplative life has both degrees and parts. The parts involve affect, on the one hand, and knowledge on the other.  The way of knowledge seeks rational understanding and explanations of the nature of God and his works. This is useful because (1) it can find new truths, (2) it can make truths explicit and teachable; (3) it permits refutation of false or heretical beliefs.  Nevertheless, the way of affect is higher still, and reaches a wisdom greater than knowledge.  An analogy can be drawn with honey:  it’s one thing to analyze the physical properties of honey, and quite another to taste and savor the goodness of its flavor. Affective contemplation, then, is like tasting God.  It supplies ‘savory wisdom’ by means of direct experience (§§ 1−5).

The contemplative life is open to ordinary people as well as theologians. The main requirements are deep-rooted faith and belief in God and in His power, wisdom, goodness and plan for our redemption. The end of contemplative life is love of God.  In order to attain this, the contemplative will want to give up all unnecessary other pursuits and occupations (§§ 6−10).

Opposing our love of God is our love of the world, and the latter must be removed if we are to make spiritual progress.  The adverse effects of love of the world are illustrated by several analogies, including a bird that is snared, one encaged, mortar that clings to the feet of the soul and prevents ascent, a chain or leash, an evil queen who founds a city of confusion, and the clamorous household of a mad woman (§ 11).

Love of the world is very hard — much more than most people realize — to give up. Therefore God assists us in many ways, both by means of gifts and by adversity. Gifts may include direct inspirations and inner motions of the soul, angelic assistance, and other people who supply good teaching and instruction. Forms of instructive adversity may include illness, poverty and war. Blessings we may provide for ourselves include reading about the lives of saints, consciously dedicating ourselves to good, and meditating on salvation.  Every day it is within our power to provide such an experience (§§ 12−15).

At this point he states the three stages of the journey: humble penitence, secrecy of place and silence, and strong perseverance.  Humble penitence seeks to mortify worldly love.  Gerson does not dwell on this topic, leaving its details more or less implicit, but he does mention such traditional penitential practices for chastising the flesh as fasting, lack of sleep, abstinence, tears, and manual labor.  The last leads to a discussion of the active versus contemplative life.  One should not seek the latter without some experience in the former.  The active life involves difficulties and adversities, the overcoming of which will aid us. Like Jacob, we must first marry Leah (active life) before winning as our bride Rachel (contemplative life). Regardless, we will always need to manifest both the qualities of Martha (active life) and Mary (contemplative life), but in different relative degrees.

Love of God is the aim of contemplative life. Humble penitence helps to produce a healthy contempt for worldly and strong yearning for heavenly things. Consider the example of people obsessed with earthly loves (e.g., for money, fame or carnality). We should love God with this much single-minded devotion, and consider every worldly thing in comparison like a dream, a fable, a nonentity (§§ 16−20).

The second level of contemplative ascent consists of stillness and privacy by which means one returns to oneself.  This retreat into a secret place or silence can be understood both in a physical and mental sense. In the exterior sense, one may seek privacy in a secluded place — woods, forest, desert, fields, hidden parts of churches, or merely a hidden part of ones own domicile.  For this preferences differ, and one cannot give a general rule. Bodily posture, including kneeling, sitting and lying down, may contribute to clarity of thought (§§ 21−25).

Three specious criticisms are commonly raised against lay people who follow a contemplative life.  These are (1) that such a person does good only for herself and not others, (2) she wants to know too much and reaches too high; and (3) in the end it only leads to disappointment, madness and melancholy.  These objections are easily refuted (§§ 26−29).

As he prepares to consider the highest stage, he discusses generally the nature and fruits of contemplation. He reaffirms the necessity of grace for spiritual progress. In contemplation the soul experiences elevation, unity and simplicity. To reach this condition involves a combination of powerful and holy meditation, and burning love.  The soul suspends other operations, wholly concentrated and absorbed, oblivious to all else, like painters, or as in a famous story about Archimedes.

Here follows a short summary of Richard of St. Victor’s multidimensional taxonomy of contemplative experience as given in his work, The Mystical Ark.  There Richard describes six levels, three modes, and three qualities of contemplation.

Of the levels, two are in the imagination, two in the reason (ratio), and two in the intelligence (intellectus). The three modes of experience are enlargement (dilatatio mentis), ascent (sublevatio mentis) and cutting off (alienatio mentis) of conscious awareness.  The three qualities of contemplative experience are a sense of wonder, of deep devotion, and of spiritual enjoyment or comfort. Gerson refers readers to Richard for more details (§§ 30−32).

We now proceed to consider the third level of strong perseverance, the summer to which the preceding levels are like winter and spring, respectively, or the noon to which they are like night and morning. Here the soul is consumed in its quest for union with the divine. Nothing remains for this person but to serve and love God, to think and to speak of Him. The soul has taken root again in the good earth and bears fruit. Chastisements are seen as signs of God’s love, good and necessary (§ 33).

Common obstacles and hindrances that occur at this point are discussed. Several are suggested by the analogy to climbing a physical mountain: some people give up the climb too easily, stopping and descending as soon as they meet with difficulty. Others climb to impatiently, trying to master the summit without beginning at the base and the middle.  The base is the humble consideration of one’s sins and faults. Still others carry too weighty a burden in the form of worldly occupation and the great amount of thought one puts into it. Others believe that they already are at the summit when they are not. Many neglect to always hold their right hand out to the One who must pull them up from above. Our guide is God’s grace.

Other common hindrances include mortifying ones body too much, reading too much (in reading one should seek devotion more than acquisition of knowledge), and frequently jumping from one path to another, instead of staying on a single course (§§ 34−36).

There is diversity in the methods employed and experiences in this phase, as illustrated in the lives of such saints as Saint Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Jerome and St. Bernard (§§ 37−38).

Another example (probably from his own experience) is of a man who, upon experiencing spiritual dryness, resolved to sit at the foot of a tree for several hours each day, praying to and imploring the intercession of angels and many saints, one by one.  While difficult at first, before long the practice became easier, and eventually he could enter a contemplative state with less effort (§ 39).

Continuing with the same theme, he relates an idea of William of Auxerre (c.1145–1231): that we should follow the example of paupers, pilgrims, prisoners or alms seekers — and earnestly and humbly plead for help from God, angels and saints. No books will serve one so well as strong perseverance.  Other helpful methods include remembrance of ones own death, and the great spiritual needs of friends who must likewise face death.  Let us have pity and mercy on ourselves and others (§§ 40−42).

By way of summary, a helpful analogy is proposed.  Imagine a sea filled with all kinds of people sailing hither and thither on various ships, mostly ending in wrecks.  On the shore a person watches, detached, from a very high rock. The rock has three levels, which correspond to faith, hope and charity.  This is the rock of contemplation, and the three theological virtues correspond to the aforementioned levels of penitence, withdrawal, and strong perseverance.  Those who endure may reach no end of beautiful acts of contemplation.  One may know and sense God ineffably, as in grasping a sweetness, a fullness, a taste, a melody (§§ 43−44).

Contemplation is something vast and abundant, with countless forms of experience. In the end we may say that God’s grace can be especially present to the soul in three ways:

1. By justification, which cannot be felt but which makes the soul pleasing to God.

2. By consolations and spiritual joys, such as:

a. A feeling of melting into some sweetness;

b. A wondrous certitude, wherein one is greatly displeased with oneself and takes ones sole pleasure in God;

c. A sense of expansion of the heart or intelligence that finds God to be so excellent and infinitely majestic, all on Earth seems as nothing except as it reveals God’s presence;

d. A spiritual, sober intoxication causing one to praise God and see everything as full of God’s glory and praise (Ps 19:1; Ps 96:11−12; Ps 150:6) .

3. Ecstatic union such as St. Paul experienced (2 Cor 12:2−4), concerning which Gerson considers himself not worthy to discuss (§§ 45).

Discussion

As a practical work I enjoyed Mountain of Contemplation very much.  It whets my appetite to read his more technical On Mystical Theology, as well as another vernacular piece, On Spiritual Begging (Mendicité spirituelle).

I’d also like to learn more about his proposed reforms to theological education.  Gerson maintained that universities’ over-emphasis on rationalism and book-learning contribute to pride and elitism in the academic ranks. Clerical education, he believed, also needs to cultivate piety, humility and personal holiness.  Clearly there are parallels here with modern universities.

I also found the work helpful in supplying perspective on the historical relationship between affective and rational forms of Christian mysticism. In St. Augustine these two strands are inseparable and mutually reinforcing. Augustine was a Platonist, and Platonism is rational mysticism par excellence. For the Platonist, Intellect is no hindrance to affect. Rather, the more we develop our Intellect, the more we can understand God’s works in the world, giving greater cause to love and praise Him.  Moreover, the more we experience the greatness of human Intellect and its seemingly unlimited capacity, the more cause we have for gratitude to, awe of, and love for God.

Then why did affective and rational mysticism become separated?  Did it simply happen when the works of Pseudo-Dionysius — for whom affective and apophatic mysticism dominate — reached the West?  But in that case, why were Richard of St. Victor and St. Bonaventure able to maintain a fully integral mysticism, combining affective and rational components, in the 13th century?  These two influential writers successfully blended the Augustinian and Dionysian traditions.

Gerson may supply us with a clue: that as the universities grew to dominate theology, integral spirituality — one combining affect and intellect — gave way to a dry, radical rationalism.  In seeming to emphasize affect, Gerson is not so much dismissing the intellectual component of mysticism (indeed, he plainly has a high opinion of Richard of St. Victor and St. Bonaventure), as much as countering the radical rationalism of the universities.  At the same time Gerson is trying to democratize contemplation and mystical theology by stressing that it is available to all, not just the educated elite, and even to illiterate people. These considerations may have caused him to overstate the case for affectivity in Mountain of Contemplation.

Regardless, it does appear that about this time the paths of affective and rational mysticism, which had already begun to diverge, now did so more starkly and permanently.  After this we see a flourishing of affective mysticism (the trend continues today in the form of  ‘centering prayer’), yet few good examples of a rational or fully integral approach (possible exceptions might be Cambridge Platonism, Neothomism and American Transcendentalism).

However today the average education is much higher than it was in the Middle Ages.  It therefore makes less sense to argue that a large section of the population cannot understand or profit from the intellectual component of Christian mysticism, and can only operate at the level of  ‘simple faith.’  Therefore an integral mysticism that combines affective and intellectual parts (while still allowing for the ultimate primacy of the former — something on which all Christian mystics agree) is arguably more broadly appropriate.

We might question his comments about using fasts, vigils and other physical ascetical practices to develop humble penitence. These seem not only antiquated, but unnecessary and counterproductive. Is it not enough to look honestly within ones own breast to bring one to abject penitence? To, like Socrates, see a multitudinous beast lurking within (Plato, Republic 8)? Will not any honest person say with St. Paul, O wretched man that I am! (Rom 7: 24a) and arrive at deep humility? A sober appraisal of the world’s pomp and vanity reveals clearly enough the necessity of looking to God alone. Beyond these it’s unclear what physical mortification of the flesh accomplishes, except to tax strength and produce its own kind of pride. Gerson does, however, explicitly warm against excess here.

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Bibliography

Glorieux, Palémon (ed.). Jean Gerson, Oeuvres Complètes. 10 vols. (Paris, 1960–1973); volume 7.

Combes, André. Ioannis Carlerii de Gerson de Mystica Theologia (Lugano, Switzerland: Thesaurus Mundi, 1958).

Combes, André. Théologie Mystique de Gerson: Profil de son évolution. Paris, 1963−1964.

McGuire, Brian Patrick (tr.). Jean Gerson: Early Works. Classics of Western Spirituality. Paulist Press, 1998; Mountain of Contemplation, pp. 75−127.
https://books.google.com/?id=Ed2Mzyn9WtsC&pg=PA75

McGuire, Brian Patrick (ed.). A Companion to Jean Gerson. Brill, 2006.

Severin, Renée M. Teaching Contemplation: The Role of Humility and Dialogue in Jean Gerson’s Mystical Works. Mystics Quarterly 32.1/2 (2006): 1−34.

Zinn, Grover A. (tr.). Richard of St. Victor: The Twelve Patriarchs, The Mystical Ark and Book Three of The Trinity. Classics of Western Spirituality. Paulist Press, 1979.

Art:  Master of the Cardinal de Bourbon.  Illuminations, Le secret parlement de l’homme contemplatif à son âme = Livre de la mendicité spirituelle; Livre de la contemplation; [Ars moriendi]. 1475? Bibliotheque Nationale de Belgique (KBR) MS FR 1847. https://belgica.kbr.be/BELGICA/doc/SYRACUSE/16972996/

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Philo’s Use of the Book of Psalms

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Appendix. Philo’s Quotations From Psalms

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Psalm 45. The Mystical Marriage

Monastery of St. John the Baptist, Megara

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

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

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

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

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

The King

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bride

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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References

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

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

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

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

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On the Psychological and Sapiential Meaning of the Book of Psalms

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

Preface: A Word for the Wise

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

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

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

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

Introduction

Premises

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

The Perennial Philosophy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Philo of Alexandria

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

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

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

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

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

Philonic Interpretation

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

1. Personification

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

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

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

2. Hierarchical organization

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

3. Internal conflict

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

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

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

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

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

4. Ethics

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

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

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

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

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

5. Spirituality

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

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

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

Jungian Psychology

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Related Literature

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

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

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

Themes of Psalms

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

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

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

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

• Thanks. We thank God for deliverance,.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interpretation

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

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

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

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

Psalm 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Psalm 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• his anointed. See below.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Notes

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

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

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References

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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