The God of Gods: Interpreting 'Elohim Elohim' through Neville Goddard

In Psalm 136:2 we read, “Give praise to the God of gods: for his mercy endureth for ever.” At first glance, this seems like an expression of supreme reverence—God above all others. But when we pause to consider the original Hebrew, something richer begins to unfold. The phrase is rendered Elohim Elohim—God of gods. And in Neville Goddard’s framework, this repetition carries deep, symbolic resonance.

Neville taught that the word Elohim refers not to a distant deity, but to the creative power of imagination—God as the law operating through human consciousness. “God only acts and is in existing beings or men,” he said. Imagination is not a tool of God. It is God.

So what, then, does it mean to say Elohim Elohim? Why repeat it?

In Hebrew, repetition is never idle. It serves to amplify, to confirm, and often to mirror. This doubling, within Neville’s understanding, suggests that the law of imagination applies identically on multiple levels—within and without, the seed and the harvest, the unseen and the seen. Elohim is the imaginal act. Elohim is also the manifestation. The law is exact. The harvest will always match the seed. The inner movement and the outer result are one Elohim echoing another.

This aligns with Neville’s idea that everything in our world is a reflection of our inner assumptions. The world is not separate from us—it is us, externalised. To say “God of gods” is to affirm that every appearance of power in the outer world traces back to the one true power: imagination. The “gods” of form, status, success, or failure are shadows. The real God—the source—is always within.

Now consider the invitation: “Give praise.” This too is loaded with spiritual physics. Praise, in the language of manifestation, is not flattery or flustered worship. It is recognition. It is faith expressed emotionally. To praise the God of gods is to acknowledge that imagination reigns supreme, that no external condition has power over the imaginal act which birthed it. Praise is acceptance. Praise is fertilisation. Praise is the inner ‘yes’ that allows a new state to take root.

So we give praise—not to curry favour—but because in recognising the law, we align with it. We no longer fight shadows. We return to the root, to Elohim, and from there all things are made new.

This is why the Psalmist repeats it:

Adore,
Elohim, Elohim
Lovingkindness Everlasting

It is not an appeal to an outside power. It is a declaration of the unchanging mercy of the law—its unwavering commitment to reflect the imaginal act. In Neville’s terms, lovingkindness is the certainty that imagination responds to assumption—not with punishment or reward, but with consistency and creative fidelity. What you plant in imagination, you will reap in form. The harvest is guaranteed to be of the same nature as the seed. That is mercy. That is the exactness of Elohim Elohim.

To give thanks, then, is to dwell in the knowing that Elohim Elohim—the God of gods—is always within, and His lovingkindness is the eternal faithfulness of the law, waiting only for us to dare to imagine boldly and believe.