Analyzing historical and religious figures with modern psychiatry is a bit like doing therapy via time-travel – fascinating, but fraught with challenges. Before we dive into specific biblical character studies, we need to address how we’re going about this project, and the ethical pitfalls we must navigate. Retrospective diagnosis (identifying an illness or condition in someone long deceased) is controversial in the medical and academic communities . When the person in question is also a sacred figure to millions, the stakes are even higher. Here, we outline the key considerations and guiding principles for our approach:
The Challenge of Retrospective Diagnosis: Simply put, we cannot sit down with King Saul or Mary Magdalene and give them a psychiatric evaluation. We rely on texts – often sparse and translated – to glean information about their mental state. An official diagnosis of mental illness can only be made after a personal evaluation by a licensed professional, and even then misdiagnosis is common. Thus, any “diagnosis” we propose for a biblical figure is inherently tentative. We are, at best, making an educated guess based on limited descriptions. We must hold our conclusions lightly. For example, if we suggest that Jonah’s intense despair and wish for death (Jonah 4:3) might fit a description of depression, that’s not a firm verdict – it’s an exploration. It’s also possible the text leaves out details or uses literary exaggeration. In practicing this kind of historical psychiatry, humility is key. We will frequently use phrases like “might be suggestive of…” or “could be interpreted as…” rather than definitive statements. Think of it as a conversation starter between disciplines, not a final clinical chart.
Anachronism and Cultural Context: As noted in the historical section, applying modern labels to ancient individuals can be anachronistic. The DSM-5 and our contemporary diagnostic criteria have existed for only a few decades
whereas the people we’re studying lived thousands of years ago in radically different cultures. When we say, for instance, that Samson exhibited traits of antisocial personality disorder (as one modern psychiatrist claimed), we have to remember that “antisocial personality disorder” is a construct that did not exist in Samson’s honor-shame tribal society. He would not have seen himself as “having a disorder”; nor would his peers – they might have seen him simply as a sinful or hot-headed man, or even as a divinely empowered avenger with poor impulse control. It’s crucial that we acknowledge the gap between their worldview and ours. To manage this, each chapter will first consider the theological and textual interpretation of the figure’s behavior (i.e. what the scripture and traditional commentaries say it means) before layering on the psychological interpretation. We won’t assume that our modern categories are more “true” than the ancient ones – they are simply different perspectives. In some cases, we might find the ancient explanation and the modern one are both informative. For example, saying “Mary Magdalene had depression” (a modern view) versus “Mary Magdalene was tormented by seven demons” (the Gospel view) – perhaps both convey a reality of profound suffering, one in clinical terms, one in spiritual terms. Our task is to respect the original framing while exploring new meanings.
Respect for Religious Belief and Spiritual Significance: One legitimate concern is that psychological analysis could reduce or explain away spiritual experiences. The fear is that by pathologizing a prophet, we implicitly dismiss the validity of their religious message. This is sometimes called “medical materialism,” a term coined by psychologist-philosopher William James for the tendency to invalidate spiritual states by attributing them solely to physiological causes. For instance, claiming that the Apostle Paul’s vision of Christ on the road to Damascus was merely an epileptic seizure (a theory that has been floated) would, in James’ words, seek to undermine Paul’s spiritual authority
We want to avoid cynical reductionism. Our aim is not to say “These miracles were just madness” or “Prophecy is just a hallucination.” Instead, we operate with a “both/and” openness: perhaps a person did have a mental health condition and had a genuine encounter with the divine. These two perspectives are not mutually exclusive. A modern parallel might be how we understand Saint Teresa of Ávila, who had mystical visions (which psychiatry might label as hallucinations); one can believe Teresa had epilepsy and that she touched the divine, as James argued with a bit of humor – maybe a brain running a high fever can sometimes perceive spiritual truths better than a cool one.
We will highlight places where psychological insight actually adds to the spiritual appreciation rather than subtracting from it. Recognizing that a prophet struggled with panic attacks, for example, can make their faithfulness under pressure even more inspiring, not less. It makes them relatable. As one Divinity School commentator put it, identifying mental health issues in religious exemplars can be a “welcome move toward destigmatizing mental illness, acknowledging that virtue and mental illness are not mutually exclusive.”
In short, we proceed with deep respect: respect for the text, respect for believers, and respect for those who live with mental health challenges today.
Scholarly Responsibility and Accuracy: Another consideration is ensuring that our use of psychiatric concepts is accurate and up-to-date. This project straddles multiple fields – biblical studies, psychology, history – each with its own standards. We will rely on peer-reviewed psychiatric literature (for example, case studies that have attempted diagnoses of biblical figures, or research on how trauma manifests in ancient texts) as well as reputable theology and history scholarship. When we say, “Job’s symptoms resemble clinical depression,” we’ll back it with diagnostic criteria (e.g., persistent low mood, hopeless statements) and perhaps references to any journal articles that have discussed Job’s psychology. We’ll also address counterarguments. Some theologians object to diagnosing biblical figures at all, warning it can be misused or sensationalized. We will acknowledge those critiques (indeed, we take them seriously in forming our careful approach). Moreover, because this is an interdisciplinary endeavor, we have to be mindful of our own biases. A psychologist might be tempted to see pathology everywhere, whereas a theologian might see divine purpose everywhere; our stance will be a middle ground that appreciates both views but remains critically thoughtful.
The “Do No Harm” Principle (Even to the Deceased): While we obviously cannot harm the long-dead figures we study, there is an ethical dimension concerning how our analysis might influence readers’ views. We strive to do no harm in terms of not unfairly characterizing a figure in a way that maligns them without evidence. For example, if we were to suggest King David had a narcissistic streak (as might be implied by some of his actions), we will base it on textual evidence and clarify the limits of that interpretation. We wouldn’t want someone walking away saying, “Oh, David was mentally ill, so his faith is invalid” , that would be a gross misreading of our intent. Instead, we might say, “David exhibits moments of emotional turmoil and grandiosity that, in a modern context, could be seen as symptoms of X, but he also shows remarkable resilience and self-awareness in his psalms.” By presenting a balanced view, we honor these individuals’ legacies. Similarly, we remain sensitive to readers’ faith perspectives: some might find this whole enterprise unsettling if it’s not framed properly. Thus, we reiterate: this is an exploratoryanalysis, not a definitive re-diagnosing of the Bible. It’s meant to complement, not replace, traditional interpretations.
In navigating these ethical and methodological waters, we take inspiration from works that have successfully bridged these domains. One example is the way Dr. Jonathan Shay analyzed Homer’s Iliad to understand PTSD in modern soldiers (in Achilles in Vietnam), drawing parallels between an ancient warrior’s rage and the trauma of combat veterans.
Shay treated the ancient text with respect while using modern psychology to glean insights – and crucially, he did so to help today’s people (veterans) heal. Our hope is that, likewise, examining biblical stories with psychological insight can help modern readers: perhaps a person struggling with bipolar disorder might take heart that a figure like Saul experienced similar mood swings; or someone with anxiety might find comfort that even apostles (“ye of little faith”) were anxious at times. But just as Shay did notdiagnoseAchilles in any clinical finality, we will refrain from overly clinical pronouncements. As the author of the Saul combat trauma study wisely noted, we are not here to issue a medical verdict on King Saul’s mental state, but to interpret his story through a useful lens, understanding that any such analysis has limits given the“scant historical record”and lack of direct evaluation
To sum up, our methodology is one of cautious, respectful interpretation. We will pose hypotheses rather than conclusions, respect ancient and modern viewpoints, and constantly remind ourselves (and you, the reader) of the context. If along the way we find ourselves saying “perhaps” a lot more than “definitely,” that is a feature, not a bug, of this kind of study. The ambiguity leaves room for faith and doubt, for science and mystery, all of which are appropriate when dealing with the human mind and the divine.
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