The following chapter comes from Charles Spurgeon’s Lectures to My Students. I remember reading this chapter after a season of pastoral burnout and finding it such a tonic to my weary soul. It certainly also speaks to the sensitivity that such great men had for the real struggles of emotional and mental health from a very intimate, first-person perspective!
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As it is recorded that David, in the heat of battle, waxed faint, so may it be written of all the servants of the Lord. Fits of depression come over the most of us. Usually cheerful as we may be, we must at intervals be cast down. The strong are not always vigorous, the wise not always ready, the brave not always courageous, and the joyous not always happy. There maybe here and there men of iron, to whom wear and tear work no perceptible detriment, but surely the rust frets even these; and as for ordinary men, the Lord knows, and makes them to know, that they are but dust. Knowing by most painful experience what deep depression of spirit means, being visited therewith at seasons by no means few or far between, I thought it might be consolatory to some of my brethren if I gave my thoughts thereon, that younger men might not fancy that some strange thing had happened to them when they became for a season possessed by melancholy; and that sadder men might know that one upon whom the sun has shone right joyously did not always walk in the light.
The following is a chapter in Thoughts on Religious Experience (1844) by the first president of Princeton Seminary, Archibald Alexander. One of my all-time favorite books and a high-watermark treatment of the subject from a confessionally Presbyterian perspective. This particular chapter deals with the sensitive and difficult subject of “melancholy” and “insanity,” or what we might call medical health. It is noteworthy how very thoughtful he was on the topic, acknowledging that trouble of the mind is not always or exclusively a purely spiritual disorder; and that physicians of the soul ought to partner as far as possible with physicians of the body in treatment.
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CHAPTER IV.
Causes of diversity in experience continued—Effect of temperament—Melancholy—Advice to the friends of persons thus affected—Illustrative cases—Causes of melancholy and insanity.
We have before shown how the principle of spiritual life is affected in its appearance by two circumstances—the degree of vigor given to it in its commencement, and the degree of knowledge and maturity of judgment which one may possess above another. We now come to another pregnant cause of the great variety which is found in the exercises and comforts of real Christians, and that is the difference of temperament which is so familiar, and which so frequently modifies the characters, as well as the feelings of men in other matters. There can be no doubt, I think, that the susceptibility of lively emotion is exceedingly different in men under the same circumstances. People of strong affections and ardent temperament, upon an unexpected bereavement of a beloved wife or child, are thrown into an agony of grief which is scarcely tolerable; while those of a cold, phlegmatic temperament seem to suffer no exquisite anguish from this or any other cause. Not that they possess more fortitude or resignation, for the contrary may be the fact; but their susceptibilities are less acute. And this disparity appears in nothing more remarkably than in the tendency to entertain different degrees of hope or fear in similar circumstances. For while some will hope whenever there is the smallest ground for a favorable result, others are sure to fear the worst which can possibly happen; and their apprehensions are proportioned to the magnitude of the interest at stake.
Now, is it amazing that men’s religious feelings should be affected by the same causes? When two exercised people speak of their convictions, their sorrows and their hopes, is it not to be expected that with the same truths before their minds, those of a optimistic temperament will experience more sensible emotions, and, upon the same evidence, entertain more confident hopes than those of a contrary disposition? And, of necessity, the joy of the one will be much more lively than that of the other. Thus, two people may be found, whose experience may have been very similar as to their conviction of sin and exercise of faith and repentance; and yet the one will express a strong confidence of having passed from death unto life, while the other is afraid to express a trembling hope. Of these two classes of Christians, the first is the more comfortable; while the latter the safer, as being unwilling to be satisfied with any evidence but the strongest.
The following are extracts of David Dickson’s (1583–1663) Therapeutica Sacra, Book 1, Chapter 4, “The Divine Covenants about the Eternal Salvation of Men; and in Special, Of the Covenant of Redemption,” etc. This chapter is both a high-water mark of Scottish federal theology and at the same time a tremendous glimpse into the high mystery of the psychological ordeal through which our Lord’s sinless soul had to pass. Behold, was there any sorrow like unto his sorrow? And truly, those vexed in their minds and even the psychologically tormented may take solace with the lengths to which God came down to “taste death for every man.”
I have also recorded the chapter here. Read or listen; then prostrate yourself before the “man of sorrows.”
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Objection. But did not this astonishing amazement of Christ’s soul, speak some imperfection of the human nature? Answer. It did no ways argue any imperfection, or lack of sanctity in him; but only a sinless and kindly infirmity, in regard of natural strength, in the days of his flesh. For the mind of a man, by any sudden and vehement commotion arising from a terrible object, may, without sinning, be so taken up, that the swift progress of his mind in discourse may for a while be stopped, and the act of reasoning suspended a while ; all the cogitations of the mind fleeing together to consult, and not being able to extricate themselves in an instant, may stand amazed, and sit down awhile, like Job’s friends astonished. Now our Lord, taking on our nature and our common sinless infirmities, became like unto us in all things except sin. Daniel’s infirmity at the sight of an angel, was not sin, (Dan. x).
Objection. But doth not this astonishing admiration, suddenly lighting upon Christ’s soul, prove that something unforeseen of him did befall him? Not at all; for he knew all things that should befall him, and told his disciples thereof, and \ras at a point, and resolved in every thing which was to come, before it came. But this astonishing amazement did only shew forth the natural difference between things preconceived in the mind, and these same things presented to sense: for there is in the mind a different impression of the preconceived heat of a burning iron, before it do touch the skin, from that powerful impression which a hot iron thrust into the flesh doth put upon the sense. In regard of which natural difference between foresight and feeling, between resolution and experience, this astonishment befell our Lord ; and in this regard, Christ is said to learn experimental obedience by these things which he suffered, (Heb. v. 8). . . .
B. B. Warfield’s “On the Emotional Life of our Lord” is simply a masterpiece of exegesis, theology, and psychology on the high mystery of the God-man’s emotions as the Gospels depict them. Especially profound are his insights on His holy anger and fear, where the “holy, harmless, undefiled” Savior gives full play to this side of His sanctified humanity without the slightest breach of God’s law. “Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow!” And so we may appreciate all the more deeply the sympathy of our High Priest who can be “touched with the feeling of our infirmities, yet without sin.” This is an absolute must-read—I know of nothing else like it on the subject. You can read it below or listen to my recording here. Let me also suggest my recording of Richard Baxter’s “On the Government of the Passions;” and visit full WPE Audio library for more titles.
I just completed reading-recording the most helpful, practical, and thorough treatment on the subject of the Christian and his emotions I have ever read. Baxter’s “On the Government of the Passions” (or emotions) is found in Volume 3 of his Practical Works, a part of his massive Christian Directory. If you’ve never read the Puritans before, this would surely be a good place to start. The English is of course dated, but I’d say its much more accessible than you might think. I would personally encourage anyone who has never read this to do so—and you’ll probably feel like me, that this one should be read maybe once per year. And now I’ve recorded if for you, so now you have no excuse! Begin to heal your disordered feelings and cultivate a godly, stable, and enriching emotional life today as you are stuck in traffic or washing dishes. Your next podcast episode will still be there later. Your venerable fathers await!
And on the subject, let me commend a (more) modern theologian, B. B. Warfield, and his absolutely one-of-a-kind article, “On the Emotional Life of our Lord.” As Baxter is a doctor here treating the illness, Warfield presents the Savior who walked in our footsteps with the full range of our emotions, yet without sin. And the complete WPE Audio library can be accessed by the tab up top.
The following is a sample, where Baxter is treating sinful depression and despair. The PDF is below (print p. 256; pdf p. 281)
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Direction XIV. ‘Abhor all that tendeth to take down the power and government of reason (that is, all feebleness and cowardioe of mind, and a melancholy, a peevish, passionate disposition): and labour to keep up the authority of reason, and to keep all your passions subject to your wills; which must be done by Christian faith and fortitude.’ If you come once to that childish or distracted pass, as to grieve and say, ‘I cannot help it: I know it is sinful and immoderate, but I cannot choose,’ if you say true, you are out of the reach of counsel, advice, or comfort. You are not to be preached to, nor talked to, nor to be written for: we do not write directions to teach men how to touch the stars or explain the asperities or inequalities of the moon, or the opacous [opaque, or hidden] parts of Saturn, or to govern the orbs, or rule the chariot of the sun. If it be become a natural impossibility to you, doctrine can give you no remedy: but if the impossibility be but moral in the weakness of reason, and want of consideration, it may be doctrine, consideration, and resolution be overcome. You can do more if you will than you think you can. How come you to lose the command of your passions? Did not God make you a rational creature that hath an understanding and will to rule all passions? How come you to have lost the ruling power of reason and will? You would take it for a disparagement to be told that you have lost the use of your reason: And is it not a principal use of it to rule the passions, and all other inferior subject powers? You say you cannot choose but grieve! But if one could give you that creature which you want or desire, then you could choose: You could rejoice, if one could restore you that child, that friend, that estate which you have lost. But God, and Christ, and Heaven it seems, are not enough to cure you: if you must have but them you cannot choose but grieve! And what hearts have you then that are thus affected? Should not those hearts be rather grieved for? God will sometime make you see, that you had more power than you used.
So I was reading Cotton Mather’s narrative of troubled Roger Williams, whom the Boston magistrates exiled because he had made such a nuisance of himself up that way. I found the following humorous—and enlightening! I’m sure Mather hardly meant to suggest that all of Roger William’s problems were mental. But it sure seems like he thinks something was amiss and needed treatment.
“I find that principle and reflection afford a feeble support against the visitations of melancholy. It is a physical distemper, and must be counteracted by physical means. It is not the direct application of reason that will school it down, any more that it can cure the discomfort of your physical sensations when placed in an overheated room, for example. But it is our duty to apply whatever experience tells us is a corrective against those unpleasant feelings which agitate, and enfeeble, and render unfit for any useful exertion. It is not my duty to feel cool and comfortable when placed in a confined room; but it is my duty to rise and open the window if this can restore me to my wonted capacity of exertion. It is perhaps not my duty to summon up a cheerfulness of mind in the hour of unaccountable despondency, for perhaps this is an affair as completely beyond the control of reason as any other of our physical sensations; but it is my duty to study, and, if possible, to devise expedients for restoring me from this useless and melancholy state. Now, all experience assures me that regular occupation is that expedient; and it is my duty, if I find myself unequal to the severity of my usual exercises, to devise slighter subjects of employment which can be resorted to in the time of necessity. This I esteem to be an important part of moral discipline. Writing a fair copy of an old production which you wish to preserve, setting your books and papers into a state of greater arrangement, writing letters, looking over your accounts, and making slight but interesting calculations about your future gains and future expenditure,—these, and a number of other subjects of occupation, should occur to be ever ready to offer themselves as correctives to melancholy. Let me cultivate, then, that habit of exertion which will not shrink from a remedy which I find so effectual.”
