A Confused Colloquy in the Land of the Mystics

Part One of an Extended Criticism of Credo Magazine’s Edition on Lectio Divina

Credo magazine has released its latest number on the topic of lectio divina, an approach to reading scripture that emphasizes accompanying reading with prayer, meditation, and contemplation. Rightly defined, all of those things are commendable and necessary to a true, healthy walk of faith. But there is reason to think that lectio divina does not always involve a right definition or practice of such things, and that it proceeds upon notions that are grievously mistaken. The following are several areas of concern in this latest edition.

Divergent Definitions

In the first case, there is no agreed definition of lectio divina, either as a whole or as regards some of its elements. Most contributors regard it as having four elements – lectio, oratio, meditatio, contemplatio (reading, prayer, meditation, and contemplation, respectively) – but contributor Greg Peters regards only the first three as certain, saying the fourth “is never promised nor should it necessarily be expected,” because “contemplation only comes about by the grace of God for it cannot be earned.” Southern Baptist spirituality professor Donald Whitney regards contemplation with suspicion, saying “if some of the forms of contemplation suggested by proponents of LD become necessary to experience the highest forms of communion with God, then we have gone beyond that which is specifically mentioned or clearly implied in Scripture,” and he settles instead for a three-part lectio. Thus lectio is either a three-part or four-part approach we take, or a three-part one which is sometimes abetted by a fourth element given by God.

In this matter of contemplation the lack of agreement becomes especially plain. For where Peters considers it an uncertain divine response to our reading, prayer, and meditation,  and Whitney passes it over entirely, contributor Jason Alligood’s entire article purports to defend contemplation as a viable practice for Protestants, and in so doing conceives it as an intentional practice on our part (e.g., “Only after we have read, meditated, and prayed should we then contemplate”).  His article proceeds largely on the thought of a book, Embracing Contemplation, which commends the practice, but which does not have an agreed definition itself, as Alligood admits:

The book’s editors admit that articles found within do not present a “unified view on the topic,” which leads to a question we must consider for the current article, which is: what are the definitive bounds of contemplation?

He admits this two other times (“the definition of contemplation is not entirely agreed upon amongst those who seek to describe it,” “the definition of contemplation can vary”), and in a footnote says “the article will not seek to defend a particular definition of contemplation, but rather explicate the biblical, historical and theological data as such.” Notwithstanding this, he speaks as though his analysis has arrived at a definition, beginning his conclusion with “given the definition and examples we outline above,” after two sections on biblical and historical analysis.

The divergent conceptions are acknowledged elsewhere, Whitney saying “Lectio Divina [LD] turns on the definition of the term and the description of its four elements,” and that “controversy almost inevitably arises over what is meant by the fourth step in LD, ‘contemplation.’” Speaking of the differences between evangelical exercises in piety and the mystical flavor of many notions of lectio he says:

Some advocates describe LD in a way that places very little emphasis on the Bible. Others do so in a way that sounds almost identical to what I have published in Praying the Bible.

Such wide and admitted differences suggest there is an ecumenical aim here: Credo is commending lectio in general but leaving it to readers to determine which conception to follow according to their own consciences or the teachings of their respective communions. But far from being helpful, this leads us to regard the whole edition as being of doubtful usefulness. For there is a great difference between an evangelical conception of lectio’s elements and a quietist/mystical one, as will be seen below; and where the same term is used for contradictory practices, the result is just as likely to be confusion as mutual aid. What scripture says of tongues applies here: “let there be only two or at most three, and each in turn, and let someone interpret” (1 Cor. 14:27), “for God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (v. 33). Giving a variety of sometimes contradictory views and not giving an official interpretation hardly meets this principle of being orderly and authoritative in spiritual exercises.

Contradictory Claims

In his article, Greg Peters says that “historically lectio divina was just the way to read the biblical text” (emphasis original), and that it was “not a unique way of reading but the common way of reading the Word of God.” In Credo’s book awards they went so far as to say that it is “what spiritually serious Christians have always done.” But in an article by Seth Brill we find contradictory dates for its origin: “Eugene Peterson cites that the practice of Lectio Divina originates in the twelfth century with Guigo the Second . . . Evan Howard finds reference to the art of spiritual reading as far back as St. Benedict of the sixth century.” And in an interview with Hans Boersma, whose work is the inspiration for this issue (he is mentioned in half the main articles), we read that “the twelfth century was a period in which lectio divina flourished perhaps like never before.”

The best answer to these contradictions is that somebody is simply wrong, whether by historical inaccuracy or irresponsible hyperbole. Something is not “the way” of reading that has “always” prevailed if a) there is a sufficient dearth of evidence that there is not an agreed start date; b) the earliest one finds it is half a millennium into the church’s history; and c) some people trace it to a single monk in the 1100s, while others think that same period one of lectio perhaps flourishing. Between the 500s and 1100s is an enormous gap, and between either and the founding of the church is similarly wide (of whatever particular width). And ‘the practice dates to the 1100s’ and ‘the 1100s were perhaps the era of florescence’ are similarly disparate. Presumably some of the difficulty arises because of the lack of an agreed definition of lectio mentioned above, but none of this invites confidence as to the claims made, nor does it commend the quality of Credo’s editing.

Mystical Character

Credo is aware that lectio invites suspicion of mysticism. Joel Whitson begins a book review of Jean Danielou’s Platonism and Mystical Theology by saying “if there are two things that can make classically reformed Evangelicals shift in their seats it is Platonism and Mysticism.” Brill takes pains to state that “Lectio Divina may conjure up mystical notions,” but “its mysticism is connected more to misunderstanding,” because, unlike lectio’s emphasis on reading, “the mystics had the propensity to set aside the Holy Writ and elevate experience.” Laying aside the admission of mysticism (“its mysticism”), transferring the point of mystical experience from something else (prayer, meditation, whatever) to the experience of reading hardly reduces its mystical character.

That is not the opinion of this reviewer, but appears in one of the other articles, where Stefan Reynolds says “mystics throughout the ages have found in the Song [of Songs] a perfect expression of their own feeling of fullness and absence – sometimes in quick alternation – that is the experiential side of their relationship with God.” Reynolds, whose article bio states he teaches an online “Roots of Christian Mysticism” course, commends St. Bernard because he “links the stages of mystical union with Christ with levels of the reading of Scripture.” Indeed, he says the Song, “far from being only for the higher stage of mysticism is useful for the beginnings of ascetic practice.” It is reasonable to conclude, therefore, that lectio is valued by many of its practitioners precisely because of its usefulness for promoting mystical experiences.

Elsewhere mysticism appears in statements such as “in spiritual reading we do not take control of the text, we let the text take control of us” (Brill, quoting Eugene Peterson, and using “spiritual reading” as a synonym for lectio). Boersma speaks of “a proper spiritual reading of the biblical text,” which is a part of his notions of scriptural interpretation and, indeed, his view of reality, which emphasizes “participation” and the “sacramental” nature of the world. He says “creation is sacramental in character,” and that:

I see a participatory outlook as the metaphysical scaffolding that supports lectio divina (and spiritual exegesis more broadly). In a participatory ontology, created things are viewed as outward sacraments (sacramenta) that make present the inward reality (res) of divine things.

Elsewhere he says that “lectio divina has no fewer than three spiritual meanings (allegorical, tropological, and anagogical),” and that “in contemplatio we experience something of the divinizing union with God that will be ours forever in the hereafter.” Whitney quotes Boersma saying that God “takes us beyond our words into contemplation of the eternal Word,” and that in this contemplation “some are caught up into Paradise itself (2 Cor. 12:4).” That block quote suggests that Boersma regards his conception of reality as necessary for the right practice of lectio, and of a sound knowledge more generally. Its intellectual pedigree we dare not explore here, but suffice it to say it includes much Platonism (comp. his essay “All One in Christ: Why Christian Platonism Is Key to the Great Tradition” here); and yet it is this view of the world that is being commended by promoting Boersma, and in particular by encouraging his notions of lectio, including both this issue and his Pierced by Love: Divine Reading with the Christian Tradition that is mentioned in several articles and was awarded Credo’s best book in “Theological Retrieval” for 2023.

In the next article we will consider several other concerns with this latest edition of Credo, but for now these call into question the propriety and prudence of lectio divina, which clearly means different things to different people, and which is not simply reading scripture reverently with prayer and meditation, but which entails mystical and Platonistic elements, has a problematic intellectual pedigree, and is commended with a zeal that breaks free of the constraints of strict historical accuracy and good sense.