Thumos and Nard
A reverie for St Cecilia's Day
I will keep thy statutes; O forsake me not utterly.
Autumn cold has finally reached my home. The sky is purest azure, radiant with light, the pulsing blood of the cosmos. The flaming sun glides over numberless creatures animated by the spark of life.
I have had as great delight in the way of thy testimonies, as in all manner of riches.
I have been thinking about thumos a lot lately. In the Platonic threefold division of the soul, thumos was situated in the chest. The first great Christian psychologist, Evagrius of Pontus, believed that thumos, often translated “spiritedness” or “irascibility,” was linked to several vices (notably anger), but also played an important role in the health of the soul. The oppositional power of thumos could be harnessed to control desire (epithumia), and the attractive force of desire, conversely, could be used to tame the violence of thumos.
My soul breaketh out for the very fervent desire that it hath alway unto thy judgments.
Today is the feast of Saint Cecilia, the virgin martyr and patroness of music. Evagrius believed that music, and especially psalmody, was a moderating force on thumos. Did not the harping of David, the psalms’ author, soothe Saul in his mad affliction? My own temperament is passive, some of my most obvious vices—acedia and cowardice—suggestive of a weak thumos. According to Evagrius, psalmody can usefully channel the force of this energy of the soul. It converts our resentment against the hapless souls of our neighbors into indignation against the demonic powers that afflict us, giving us courage and perseverance. I suspect this does not exhaust the spiritual uses of music; Renaissance theorists were keen to describe the effects of different modes on humoral balance.
Thy statutes have been my songs, in the house of my pilgrimage.
Last year before Lent, I ordered a devotional armband from a Bulgarian shop; it had been steeped in Greek anointing oil, and the myrrh-infused scent, which persisted for months and remains just detectable today, was perhaps the most heavenly smell I’d ever inhaled. Yesterday I received some Greek anointing oils in the mail. This morning I placed a little nard-scented oil on my forehead, chest, wrists—the sign of the cross. A small blessing to linger with me through the day.
The earth, O Lord, is full of thy mercy: O teach me thy statutes.
Last night a young man—a friend of a friend—killed himself. He was popular, had a promising future, and seemed happy, but his companions watched in horror as he ignored their pleas and jumped to his death from the top of a football stadium. I prayed the litany for the dead this afternoon.
Thy testimonies are wonderful; therefore doth my soul keep them.
When our strength fails against the darkness of the world, we seek escape. We succumb to destructive desires and impulses; we sail for Hades or the land of the lotus-eaters. But truer pleasures call us home. The wholesome delights of music and fragrance anoint and unify our souls. They assure us wordlessly and irrefutably that the world in its spiritual depths is good, despite the oppressive chatter that surrounds us, and worth the suffering. They teach us the courage of living things.
Thy word is true from everlasting; all the judgments of thy righteousness endure for evermore.