The Just Man Justices
By Abram Van Engen
8 Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. 9 Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do: and the God of peace shall be with you. – Philippians 4:8-9 (King James Version)
What does it mean to contemplate whatever is true, honest, just, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy? It means to live and do them from day to day.
This spring, various Carver Project faculty fellows have considered how the calling of Paul in Philippians 4:8 affects our lives as teachers, researchers, doctors, scientists, writers, and workers in this world. But to close the series, I’d like to turn to verse 9, where Paul embeds contemplation in a life of action. The King James Version puts it most powerfully: “Those things, which ye have both learned, and received, and heard, and seen in me, do.”
Paul’s command reminds me of a sonnet I have long loved by Gerard Manley Hopkins, “As Kingfishers Catch Fire.” In this poem (reproduced below), Hopkins equates action with identity. Each thing “speaks and spells” itself in what it does. A hung bell gongs as it swings, and the sound it makes “flings out broad its name.” Its action in the world defines what it is.
In the same way, Hopkins argues, everything “does one thing and the same”: tells us what it is by what it does. To make his point, his own poem performs what it describes. A plucked string can be heard in the words “each tucked string tells.” And we can hear the gong of the bell reverberating through the words “hung,” “swung,” and “tongue” when Hopkins writes: “each hung bell’s / Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name.” The sound of the poetry enacts the point of the poem. The doing is the thing, for as Hopkins puts it, all things cry, “What I do is me: for that I came.”
In the first part of the sonnet, Hopkins limits his attention to animals and objects: kingfishers, dragonflies, stones, strings, and bells. But in the second stanza, he turns to humans. Humans, too, become what they are by what they do. It is not enough to think about “what is just.” Instead, Hopkins writes, “the just man justices.” Justice, he implies, is a verb, not a noun. Justice exists only where justice gets done. It comes into being by being enacted. And thus, to be a just person means precisely to be the kind of person who acts justly—the person who, as Hopkins puts it, “justices” in the world.
Paul would agree. He tells his readers in Philippians 4:8 to think about justice, to consider what is lovely, to dwell on what is noble and true and praiseworthy and excellent. But then, he turns immediately to action. What you think about, he says in verse 9, do. Each of these nouns is also a verb. For when we do them, the thinking comes alive. The just man justices.
This dual necessity of contemplation and action runs, unsurprisingly, all the way through the Christian tradition: Neither thinking nor doing is enough on its own. In the Rule of Benedict, which helped establish the first monastic tradition in Christianity, Benedict called followers to “pray and work”—ora et labore. Such pillars supported a series of traditions in Christianity that have all insisted on the mutual necessity of both thinking and doing. Thinking, after all, not only informs our practices; it is itself an act. And practice, for its part, is not just informed by thought; it also shapes the way we think.
And what shape are we called finally to take? Hopkins and Paul both point to Christ. The doing of justice anywhere reveals the presence of Christ everywhere. When we enact grace in this world, we reveal the actions of Christ. And in this way, we come to be “in God’s eye what in God’s eye” we are: Christ. Miraculously, through our own bodies and eyes and faces, “Christ plays in ten thousand places.”
Paul says the same. He tells us in Philippians to “have the same mindset as Christ Jesus” (2:5), and then he poetically describes a savior who became a servant and laid down his life for others. In Philippians 4:9, a couple chapters later, Paul describes what comes of such a mindset: peace. This incredible promise of peace bookends verses 8 and 9. Insofar as our contemplation and action approach the image of Christ through the grace of Christ, we find in our lives and in our world a peace that passes understanding.
It is an offer and a promise I easily and often forget. My own thoughts are often far lesser than what Philippians 4:8 calls me to. My own deeds fall short of Philippians 4:9. But these verses—moving from peace through thought and action back to peace—still redirect me when I lose my way.
As Kingfishers Catch Fire
Gerard Manley Hopkins
[Note: the accents below are from Hopkins, and they tell the reader what words to emphasize.]
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.
I say móre: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God’s eye he is —
Chríst — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.
Abram Van Engen is Associate Professor of English, a Carver Project Faculty Fellow, and the editor of this Carver Connections series.