Wisdom 17:7–10

Wisdom 17:7 — "The mockeries of their magic arts were powerless…" The Greek word behind "mockeries" (παίγνια, paignia) carries the sense of childish games or playthings — a devastatingly dismissive word for the high art of Egyptian magic. Egyptian ḥeryw-ḥebet (lector priests and magicians) were among the most prestigious figures in the ancient world, their craft interwoven with cosmology, medicine, and royal authority. The author of Wisdom strips all of that prestige away in a single word: their arts were play-things, now exposed as impotent. The phrase "shameful rebuke of their boasted understanding" is crucial: the shame is proportional to the boast. Pride in esoteric knowledge is directly inverted into public disgrace. This sets the thematic hinge for the entire chapter — the darkness is not merely physical but epistemic; it attacks the very faculty (reason, phronēsis) in which the Egyptians placed their trust.

Wisdom 17:8 — "Those who promised to drive away terrors…were sick with a ludicrous fearfulness" This verse is among the sharpest pieces of Scriptural irony in the deuterocanonical books. The magicians' social role was explicitly therapeutic and apotropaic: they used ritual, incantation, and amulet to drive away (Greek: ἐξελαύνειν) the very terrors that now overwhelm them. The word "ludicrous" (καταγέλαστος, katagelastos) — laughable, deserving of mockery — underscores the reversal. Those who administered healing to "sick souls" (a phrase with rich philosophical resonance, echoing Plato's Republic and its discussion of the disordered soul) are now themselves the patients. The "sick soul" they cannot heal is their own. There is a deep anthropological claim embedded here: no merely human technique can cure the disorder of a soul alienated from God.

Wisdom 17:9 — "Scared with the creeping of vermin and hissing of serpents" The irony deepens: the magicians are not even terrified by something genuinely catastrophic. The darkness itself, the encompassing night of the ninth plague (Exodus 10:21–23), is their prison — but what undoes them are creeping things and serpents. This is a pointed allusion to the earlier plague narratives. In Exodus 7:10–12, the Egyptian magicians had successfully replicated Aaron's serpent miracle — their rods also became serpents. They had once commanded serpents. Now the mere sound of serpents (hissing) breaks them. Their former power, the very domain in which they boasted competence, has become a source of dread. The "creeping of vermin" may also recall the plagues of frogs and lice (Exodus 8), creatures they had previously mimicked or been subject to. The author constructs a deliberate typological echo: what the magicians could once imitate, they can now only fear.

Wisdom 17:10 — "They perished trembling in fear, refusing even to look at the air" The climax of the irony. They "refused to look at the air" — the air, which is nothing visible, which cannot be escaped, which is universal and omnipresent. Their terror has become so total and so irrational that even the empty air is unbearable. The phrase "which could not be escaped on any side" evokes the inescapability of divine judgment. This is not merely psychological collapse; it is a theological statement about what happens to the human person when reason is severed from its proper object — Truth itself. The magicians, who manipulated appearances, are undone by appearance; they cannot even face the invisible. The parallel to the righteous in darkness (Wis 17:2–6, 18:1) is implicit: the just, though surrounded by the same physical darkness, are guided by an interior light, the assurance of divine Providence.

Catholic tradition reads this passage through the lens of what the Catechism calls the "integrity of creation" and the disorder that sin introduces into the human intellect and will (CCC 400, 1707). The magicians' collapse is not incidental; it is paradigmatic. The Church Fathers saw in Egypt's magicians a figure of diabolical counterfeit wisdom. St. Augustine, in De Trinitate (III.7–9), distinguishes between the wonders of God and the illusions of demons, noting that what demons and their human agents produce are always imitations — paignia, playthings — that can never achieve the depth of genuine divine action. The magicians can replicate signs but cannot command their final causes.

St. Thomas Aquinas (Summa Theologiae I, q. 114, a. 4) affirms that demonic power, though real, operates always within limits set by Providence, and that its ultimate effect, when confronted with grace, is self-exposure and shame. This is precisely what Wisdom 17:7–10 dramatizes.

The passage also illuminates the Church's perennial teaching on divination and magic as condemned not merely because they are ineffective, but because they represent a fundamental disorder of the soul — an attempt to command spiritual powers outside of and against the covenant relationship with God (CCC 2116–2117). The magicians' fearfulness is, in a sense, the logical consequence of their vocation: those who seek power outside God's order are delivered, by that very seeking, into the power of fear.

Pope Benedict XVI, in Verbum Domini (§42), speaks of Scripture's unity in revealing God as the "true light that enlightens every person." Egypt's darkness and the magicians' paralysis before the invisible air are a negative image of this truth: to reject the divine Logos is to be imprisoned by the very shadows one imagined one controlled.

Contemporary Catholic life is saturated with modern equivalents of the Egyptian magicians' boast: therapeutic systems, ideological frameworks, and technological solutions that promise to "drive away terrors and disorders from a sick soul." From reductive neuroscience that explains away the conscience, to wellness industries that market inner peace without reference to God, our culture abounds with paignia — playthings that cannot deliver on their promises. This passage invites the Catholic reader to examine honestly where he or she has placed trust in techniques, practices, or experts as substitutes for genuine encounter with God. The irony of verse 8 is a mirror: are we, like the magicians, promising ourselves mastery over anxieties we secretly cannot face?

Practically, this passage calls Catholics to what the tradition names humility of intellect — acknowledging that the deepest disorders of the soul (anxiety, despair, spiritual darkness) are healed not by technique but by grace, sacrament, and surrender to divine Providence. The Sacrament of Reconciliation, in particular, is the Church's answer to the "sick soul" the magicians could not cure.