The last little while I have been exploring a triad of symbols in the life of Saint David (Dewi) written by Rhygyfarch in the 11th century. The three symbols are a honeycomb, fish, and stag. For Rhygyfarch, the Stag is a symbol of Christ’s victory over sin. He also uses it as a symbol of Dewi, who has internalised the mind of Christ and become a saint. Recently, my good friend Tony was reading Origen’s commentary on the Song of Songs where he found a beautiful symbolic exploration of the stag very much in line with Dewi’s third gift.
For Origen, the Song of Songs is an allegorical gold mine, overflowing with wisdom on the inner life of prayer. Since the stag represents the inner life for Rhygyfarch, it all fits together perfectly. Perhaps Rhygyfarch was reading Origen, I wouldn’t know. Either way, what follows is a further exploration of Dewi’s embodiment of the stag and the hidden spiritual meaning embedded in Rhygyfarch’s literal words.
The Song of Songs is an erotic love poem in which a man and woman seduce one another, pursuing and shying away, dancing in poetic courtship. Filled with romantic praise, sexual innuendos, and proactive imagery, the Song is likely the book of the Bible about which the most mystical commentary has been written. The young woman who longs for her beloved is traditionally understood as a symbol of the soul, the church, or both. The Bridegroom is Christ, with whom we have an intimate and personal relationship, culminating in the union of mystical marriage.
The seductive tone of the poem is symbolic of our eros – the loving desire to be united with another. We only use eros to talk about sexual desire in modern English, but its traditional meaning has a wider scope, including every desire seeking oneness in love. You can have eros for a piece of chocolate cake, a trashy Christmas movie, or the Nothingness of God herself. In the Song of Songs, however, eros is all about sensual love and sexual desire.
One of the images used in the Song is a stag leaping across the mountains and hills. One the stag’s symbolic aspects is its sexual vitality. His wild beauty and generative potency allure his mate to chase after him. This is most obvious during the rut, when deer gather from all around to participate in an annual ritual of animal passion and sexual prowess. In Origen’s interpretation, the eros of human and animal sexuality is symbolic of the ultimate desire – union with love itself.
The passage from scripture and an excerpt from Origen’s commentary are as follows:
Song of Songs 2:8-9 – “The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills. My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look, there he stands behind our wall, gazing in at the windows, looking through the lattice.” (NRSVUE)
Origen’s commentary – “He leaped upon the prophetical mountains and the holy hills, those, namely, who in this world bore His image and His form. And, if you reckon the apostles also as the mountains upon which He leaps, as being higher than them all, and take the hills in the same way as meaning those whom in the second place He chose and sent, it will not be unfitting. For among these He made like unto a roe or a young hart – to a roe, because its sight is keener than that of any other animal, and to a hart, because He comes to destroy the serpent.” (Trans by Lawson)
The mountains and hills the stag leaps across are symbols of the apostles and saints. The highest peaks are those whom Jesus taught personally while he was incarnate as a human being. Surrounding the mountain peaks, the lowland hills represent saints and theologians who have also been raised toward heaven, though to a lesser degree.
The saints are said to reach the heights because they bear both the image and likeness of God. According to Origen, those who internalise the stag, putting on the mind of Christ, receive two gifts: spiritual insight and the ability to overcome vice. In my one of my previous essays (which you can read HERE) I explored the serpent in more detail. Here I will talk about the young deer’s keen sight.
At the beginning of the passage from Song of Songs, the maiden hears the voice of her beloved, beckoning her to search for him. We long to be with our beloved before we have ever seen him with our own eyes. His gentle voice flutters like a bee, echoing through the pages of scripture and mountain peaks. A contemplative soul listens for the whispering wind long before her inner eyes are opened.
After hearing his voice, the bride cries out ‘Look!’ two times in a row. The first time she notices the deer leaping across the hills and mountains. This is the perspective of a passive observer, watching unnoticed from a distance. When the bride invites us to look a second time, her lover hides behind some lattice and makes eye contact with her through the gaps. This is a participatory kind of seeing, where the one who is seen also sees us. Origen explains it like this.
“Christ, to begin with, is recognized by His Church by His voice alone. For he first sent her His voice in advance through the prophets, and so, although He was not seen, He was heard. And heard he was through the things that they proclaimed about Him; and the Bride, that is, the Church which was gathered together from the beginning of time, heard His voice only, until such time as she saw Him with her eyes.” (Trans by Lawson)
Though the bride does indeed catch a glimpse of her wild stag, she sees him only in part, as represented by the lattice. At first our bridegroom is veiled from our eyes, hiding just out of reach. At a safe distance the deer can easily disappear into the forest, eluding all pursuit. Then the hunt will continue, as we grow nearer and nearer to the One we desire with the unceasing longing of our heart.
The world of matter (rocks and stars and railroad tracks) is the lattice through which we see our Lord peering back at us. Through what has been made, we make eye contact with the One who transcends and enfolds both heaven and earth. So go out into the wild hills, dear sisters and brothers. Drink from the flowing streams and watch the rising sun. Sit on a rock under a tree and wait until you hear his voice. He will invite you to follow him as he leaps across the hills, always just beyond your reach, waiting for you to notice him smiling mischievously behind the veil of your outer senses.
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