Magic, Good Spells, and Poetry in Service of Praise: Part 2

This is why describing what happens when words come together to communicate truth, goodness, and beauty as magic is not an exaggeration. There is a deep, metaphysical correspondence between language and all of reality, and as I said before, poetry is a way of tapping into that correspondence at an incomprehensibly deep level.

Poetry in Service of Praise

All the foregoing discussions on language and magic were really just my preliminary remarks before I introduce one of my favorite word-wizards, George Herbert, and one of my favorites of his “spells,” a poem called “Ungratefulness.”[5] What kind of a spell does Herbert weave with this poem? It is a spell that simultaneously frees us from the enchantment of a sinful and bored malaise when considering the doctrines of the Trinity and the incarnation, and disabuses us of the curse of hubris regarding these profound mysteries. To know God rightly is to live in the beatific place between God’s mystery and revelation. Click To TweetThis is precisely how we can be sure that his spell is the good kind—the kind that taps into true reality. The Trinity and the Incarnation are mysteries that cannot be explained away, but only rather adored, which means any articulation of these realities that does not simultaneously enlighten us to their grandeur, while also enshrouding God in the glory cloud of inapproachable and incomprehensible light, falls short. To know God rightly is to live in the beatific place between God’s mystery and revelation. Praise springs up right there, in that sweet spot. And Herbert’s poem does this, for me at least, in three stanzas in the middle of the poem.

I would encourage you to look up and read the poem in its entirety at some point, but I’m only going to examine three of its stanzas here. Both activities (i.e., reading the whole thing in one sitting, and reading bits with reflections) are fruitful, and can be understood as the difference between looking at something, and looking along something. Lewis gets at this distinction in his essay, “Meditation in a Toolshed.” In the spirit of looking at this shaft of light, consider how Herbert sets up his subject matter:

Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure,

The Trinity and Incarnation.

Thou hast unlocked them both,

And made them jewels to betroth

The work of thy creation

Unto thyself in everlasting pleasure.

Here, Herbert describes the doctrines of the Trinity and the Incarnation as cabinets full of treasure. Think of a chest, so full of jewels and riches that light seems to emanate off the surface once opened. And Herbert (rightly) praises God for the fact that both these treasure chests have been unlocked and opened by God, for his glory and good pleasure. He then goes on to describe each of these “chests” respectively.

The statelier cabinet is the Trinity,

Whose sparkling light access denies

Therefore thou dost not show

This fully to us, till death blow

The dust into our eyes;
For by that powder thou wilt make us see.

The cabinet labeled “Trinity” is, according to Herbert, the “statelier” of the two. It’s so august and its light so intense that we can’t even look at it. “Access” he says, is “denied.” And yet, the cabinet opened, and we see that light is coming from it. God truly has revealed his Triune nature. But he has not done this “fully.” Will he ever? Yes, Herbert says, but first our eyes need to be adjusted. First, death has to blow its dust into our eyes so that by its powder we can see. This is what we may call “good magic.” It taps into the reality of the cosmos, and is therefore poetry in service of praise. Click To TweetAren’t those paradoxes simply delightful? The language Herbert uses is surprising in exactly the way it should be if we are talking about a doctrine as mysterious and grand as the Trinity! For the Christian, the dust that death blows in our eyes does not obscure our vision, it clears it! No longer will the cataracts of sin obscure the glory of the Trinity, once in death we are given powder for our eyes to see rightly. In the meantime, God has been gracious to give us another cabinet, whose treasures are imminently accessible to us.

But all thy sweets are packed up in the other;

Thy mercies thither flock and flow:

That, as the first affrights,

This may allure us with delights:

Because this box we know;
For we have all of us just such another.

Here, in this cabinet labeled “Incarnation,” all God’s “sweets are packed up.” In Christ, we have all the treasures of heaven, and they are accessible to us precisely because he was made like us. The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us (Jn 1:14). Therefore, where the Trinity “affrights”—where it intimidates us and causes us to shield our eyes in godly fear—the Incarnation “allures us with delights.” I for one, find myself allured by the delights found in Christ, and my desire is often awakened by spells like this one from Herbert. This is what we may call “good magic.” It taps into the reality of the cosmos, and is therefore poetry in service of praise.

Endnotes

[5] George Herbert, The Temple (Canon Press), 89-90.