The Pilgrim and His Guide

We are displaced people, always looking for a home yet never quite finding one.  Oh we may very much feel at home when we step into our leather-trimmed cars and are wafted away to our warm brick houses in the middle of autumn, or when we sip pumpkin-flavored-something in front of a crackling fire in the company of those we love.  Yes - it is easy to feel at home.  

Yet how quickly is man reminded of his place in the universe when he gazes upon the sun falling into the sea against a golden sky, or when he hears the serenade of a violin over a solemn piece played on a piano, or of course, when the eyes of the beloved meet his for a split moment in time.  The comforts of the world begin to fade as his focus is moved upward, higher, above and beyond his very self, so that he wants to escape the material fetters that bind him and soar to the caller, to unite himself with the falling sun, the saddened song, and the very body and soul of the beloved.  

In all of this, there exists a painful truth: as long as man is living within his mortal coil, he cannot fully unite himself to the Beautiful.  This is why we are pilgrims.  This is why we cannot call planet Earth as we know it our home.

Do not misunderstand me - there is much delight to be had in the journey, and it is very good indeed to live in the present and enjoy the company of loved ones while sipping pumpkin-flavored-whatever in front of a crackling fire.  The people we love are not a means to an end, nor is food and drink merely sustenance for our journey.  Such a view is utilitarian and saps the joy out of living.  Nevertheless, man exists as homo viator, a pilgrim man, and will always live in angst until he reaches the very heart of Heaven itself.  In fact, unless we realize that we are sojourners, we can never truly live peacefully and joyfully in the present, for the man that denies that he is made for another home painfully grasps at material goods to no avail.  It is only the homo viator that can truly love the created world.

And thus we are on the move.  Yet we move only because we have been disturbed by Beauty.  And as we follow the path that Beauty guides us along, we notice that she serves a threefold purpose: she is the pointer, she is the sustainer, and she is the goal.

As the pointer Beauty makes us aware of our displacement in the world, and thus begins our journey.  As the sustainer she lets us rest in her bosom, giving us motivation upon motivation, manifesting herself among and within the universe (the sunset, the song and the beloved point us beyond themselves, yet are also beautiful in their own right, and can therefore be loved on their own accord).  And lastly, as the goal, we consume Beauty entirely as it consumes us.

Once contained and containing, we will dance with the Beautiful and her two sisters, the Good and the True.  The three who cannot be trichotimized, the three who cannot be described as a single element, are the final resting place for the tired pilgrim.

Good reader, you have seen her, you have heard her song.  Now let Beauty be your guide.

Concerning Music

Part II: Worlds of Music

There exists a wide disparity within musical genres and styles. Many of these differences are centered solely around different cultures, but even within the same culture there are major dissimilarities. I think it can be deduced from this fact that people listen to and enjoy music for a variety of different reasons. While the decision to listen to a certain genre of music is in part determined by the individual's familiarity with it (nostalgic attachment), one also listens to a particular genre for the sake of the feelings and thoughts that it inspires. It is important to observe that these two reasons are very much related.

I will begin by describing two musical styles or genres that appear exceedingly different and nearly present a kind of musical dichotomy. Because of the many sub-genres and various categorizations related to each of them, I will, for the sake of simplicity, refer to them as they are commonly categorized: art music and popular music. There is a third category, folk music, which, also for simplicity, I will group with popular music. Although my definitions of these categories are loosely applied and may be too rudimentary, they will serve well the intent of this essay. Once again, I will analyze music independent of all human vocals, which will be discussed in detail in part three.

Popular music is characterized, among other things, by an easily discernible and often dominant rhythm or beat. This rhythm is usually marked by percussive instruments. One may find it easy to imagine our primeval ancestors discovering that beating on various instruments to accompany dance or song was very satisfying. This rhythmic and percussive music appeals to our very nature as physical beings. The beat of our hearts, the circulation of our blood, our breathing; these natural and physical markers of life are represented in rhythmic music at a fundamental level. This is possibly the most basic explanation as to why human beings are innately attracted to popular music. Observe the response that most people have to a popular song; their body almost naturally begins to move in time with the beat, often culminating in some kind of dance or similar carefree activity. The happiness that can be gained through the enjoyment of popular music is real, but because it is normally just a physical emotion, it is fleeting. This explains why the popular music genre is growing so rapidly; why there is a constant demand for new music, and why there are very few popular songs that are "timeless."

Art music is commonly referred to as classical music, although art music encompasses a much broader spectrum of music than classical, which is actually a sub-genre. It can be very loosely characterized by the absence of a dominant rhythm and by its skill-based artistic origin. Many art music pieces are written to showcase the skill of a particular musician or composer. There is something about the absence of a dominant beat that requires the listener to transcend physical human instincts. The appreciation for art music becomes much more intellectual; we can often find our minds hard at work to match the music with something that is familiar to us. This makes sense when one considers that this kind of music is often associated with intellectuals. Observe someone listening to a piece of beautiful art music; the eyes are closed and a slight smile will sometimes appear. There is a kind of peace and tranquility about raising the mind above visible realities. Although we may not be able to relate physically to what we hear, we somehow know that there is great beauty in it; that it hearkens to something beyond the human condition. Many composers of classical music understand this and they often attribute or dedicate their music to some kind of spiritual reality.

When God created our universe he created order out of chaos. He designed human beings to desire order and beauty. There is something within an ordered rhythm that appeals to our nature as God created it. Music that represents the order within creation is truly beautiful. Keeping this in mind, a perversion of popular music arises in a disordered and chaotic rhythm, as is perhaps exemplified by the dubstep genre, as well as other rising genres. Sounds and tone patterns that would, taken by themselves, be naturally displeasing to the human ear, as in the heavy metal genre, are another example of disorder in music. Art music too is subject to this corruption of rhythm and melody. Experimental and cacophonous melodies or sounds have become more prevalent within the art music world and show a frightful disregard for order and natural beauty. This represents the very "modern" idea that ugliness and disorder can be made into art, and it exemplifies a perversion of the nature of art and beauty itself. It is the "enjoyment" of disordered music that leads to negative thoughts and emotions; indeed, some music is actually formulated for this very purpose, and it is only out of great ignorance or a desire to satisfy human concupiscence that these disordered musical styles can be enjoyed.

An important phenomenon to consider is that people develop nostalgic attachments to certain types of music. These attachments are, to a certain extent, independent from the objective nature of the music. Memories associated with a certain musical piece can, for the individual, completely change the effect that may be commonly perceived or that the artist or composer had originally intended. Children who grow up with certain musical genres have a greater appreciation for them as adults. It is this learned bias towards music that could explain why a person who loves beauty and order can enjoy what may be categorized as disordered music. One must always remember that attachments and biases often cloud clear thinking, and that we must learn to judge art objectively as well as subjectively.

Because of technological advancements, the skill required to produce music has been greatly minimized. This accounts for a sharp increase in mediocrity, especially in popular music, although art music is by no means exempted. The very real fact that almost anyone can compose music which will appeal to many, regardless of skill, and the fact that a general appreciation for genuine quality and skill has all but disappeared, has given rise to the music industry. It is an industry which churns out mediocre art for profit, and one which many sadly uneducated people have been drawn into. This point brings us back to the first part of this essay concerning music as art. Mediocre "art" created simply to make money is not art.

A final note concerning the appeal of art music. I am speaking primarily about most orchestral, film, and incidental compositions. I mentioned that our minds naturally seek to match what we hear to something which is familiar to us. The difficulty with the music I have just mentioned is that they do not easily coincide with life as we normally see it. This is one of the reasons it is often used to accompany a story, a story which may often be so fantastic that, if experienced in our everyday life, would be called miraculous. When I listen to beautiful orchestral music, my mind is drawn into the worlds of Narnia, Middle Earth, or Perelandra, the worlds of mythology and fantasy, worlds that are, in a sense, more real than ours, as G.K. Chesterton has observed. The contemplation of worlds where beauty does not wear a mask, where truth is not locked in churches and where goodness is not a mental construct is where the listener often finds peace. Of course, these worlds would be incomplete and even meaningless without the absolutely true, constant, immediate, and dare I say, fantastic reality of the story of our salvation. No story is more true and real than the story that is true and real for all the universe, unbound by culture or by history, free from the limits of time and space. For me, music has always been there to point the way to this world. To those heights we must all go, and we should not dismiss the guiding power of music.

Concerning Music

Part I: Musical Transcendence

 

I have always had an immense love and respect for music. Its capacity for celestial beauty and ability to inspire has affected billions of people, yet its power is often underestimated. In this series of articles, I will describe a fundamental and basic understanding of the nature (and effects) of music, in the hope that my thoughts are as close to the truth as possible.

While I have had some training in music, I have very little education in regards to music theory and the psychology and philosophy that informs it and flows from it, so I hope the reader will forgive me for any errors arising from my ignorance. Everything I know concerning this subject is rooted in my own observations and my basic psychological and philosophical knowledge (a knowledge founded in simple and universal metaphysical principles).

Let me first vehemently establish that there is an objective good in music. The common perception that good in music is subjective or relative is a fallacy. Music, first and foremost, is art. The final end and purpose of art is to portray truth (which, in this article, is synonymous with reality) and beauty in creation, to portray what is truly real, and its ultimate effect will necessarily be the raising of the mind to the Creator and the First Artist. It is a simple fact of human experience that some art fulfills this task better than others.

All art is subject to an objective judgement in the sense that it is either good art or bad art. This judgment is determined by both an objective and a subjective element. The subject matter of the art itself can be judged objectively according to its beautiful portrayal of what is true or real, and subjectively dependent on the skill of the artist and his ability to model his art after beauty and truth. In short, the objective good of the artifact is directly related to the objective good of its model, and the subjective good is directly related to the likeness between artifact and the model, which is dependent on the skill of the artist.

(A note on my use of the terms "truth" and "reality":  sin in itself is a lie, a turning away from all that is true, from God Himself. God, as Being Itself, contains within himself all that is, therefore all that is real is in God. Thus, in this metaphysical sense, sin, by itself and for itself, is not real and cannot be the subject of art. However, the effects of sin such as mercy, suffering and death, justice, damnation and forgiveness are valid, and indeed highly appropriate subjects for art as they are ultimately about our relationship with God. Furthermore, as the transcendentals {truth, beauty and goodness} all reside in God it follows that these "effects of sin" are objective goods.)

Music as art has the unique capacity to be modeled after a diverse and often exceedingly profound array of subjects. To clarify, I am speaking primarily of music separate from human vocals. The presence of vocals in music adds an entirely new element which I will describe in the final portion of this essay.

At its most basic level, music is written to tell a story, and the artist struggles to illustrate this story with the often ambiguous sounds of musical instruments, knowing that the quality of his art will be judged by how well it tells the story. Observe that such music can illustrate an objectively good story, as well as a story lacking in goodness.

Another model for musical composition is human emotion itself. It is in this arena that music has its real power, for it can represent and inspire nearly every emotion, both good and evil. How often have our moods been quickly changed by an arrangement of musical notes? This power has often been used to influence people for good as well as for evil. Ultimately it is by the emotive power of music that our thoughts and feelings are raised to the divine or lowered to the profane.

One may argue that this is a utilitarian understanding of music; that it should stand on its own apart from human influence and desire. In reply I would ask: in what realm, in what manner, and to what end can any art form be separated from the mind who gives it form and from the souls who will experience it? There will always be a part of us in that which we create.

In summary, music in its most perfect form and separate from vocal elements will represent the good (in light of the use of a transcendental here, one may even substitute the word "transcendent") in humanity and nature. Follow music to the heights (or depths) from which it flows and to which it leads, and it will ultimately inspire the contemplation of the beauty that is in all of creation, thus aiding in the ascent of the mind to the Creator Himself.

I have established the purpose of music as an art form; now one may readily ask how this is applicable to the vast array of musical styles and genres. Are there musical styles that represent beauty and truth more perfectly than others? Do certain genres inspire positive emotion while other genres inspire negative emotions? The answer to both these questions is yes, and I will explain how and why in part two of this article.

Violence and Cinema

Part I: The Death of Boromir

It is an obvious enough cultural fact in America that movies often gain attention for their thrilling action sequences, displays of prowess in war, and, of course, for the streams of blood extracted from a stylized severance of human limbs – Cf. “300.”

Short of displacing all violence from some puritanical desire to save the virgin eyes of children – short of creating the idea of some farcical utopia in which there is no suffering – it is beneficial to discuss the proper place of violence in art. In this post, we will focus specifically on the motion picture.

However, ancillary to this discussion is a clarification that still remains unclear. Many aesthetically educated folks – and here I include myself, if only as an acolyte – detest utterly the idea of an association of art with morality. In the case mentioned above, concerning an irrational fear of violence for the sake of preserving an unreal innocence, we might refer to the early days of the Focus on the Family reviews of newly released films. In these reviews, the question was whether or not the story had a good “moral” at the end or whether it had too much “sex” or “violence,” not whether or not the film was “beautiful.”

Apparently, there is a social separation between “morality” and “beauty.” The separation arises from bad “Christian” – scare quotes – films like “Fireproof.” “Fireproof” is supposed to be a morality tale about a married man addicted to pornography who has a “come to Jesus” moment. But I think it is immoral – both because it lacks beauty and imagination and because it has a design upon the viewer that has little to do with love. The filmmaker seems to have been more concerned with telling everyone that “pornography is bad” whilst wagging his pulpit finger at a bored and tired audience than with producing a beautiful work of art in the Western tradition. Obviously.

It is this understanding of morality that gives pause to the aesthete as he attempts to reconcile the two. But when he realizes that morality is something far other than moralizing, that virtue defies his attempts to contain it, he has no problem with admitting a trinity: goodness, truth, beauty.

And so to violence.

In order not to reduce violence – oh and the excitement! – to mere hacking and thrashing, I would like to proffer an example from Terrence Malick's “To the Wonder.” This latest of the Texas filmmaker's accomplishments portrays the relationship of two lovers, one a young Parisian mother, the other a Kansas environmental analyst. They meet in France, go to Mont Ste.-Michelle, fall in love. She follows him to America. They live in a builder home in the grassy fields under a Kansas sky. The relationship is fraught with cultural tensions, doubtful romance, the utter brokenness of these individuals as they strive for fulfillment and meaning, attempt to find it in each other.

At one point, the woman encounters another American man to whom she is drawn – a tradesman type, a rough. She sleeps with him in a seedy motel. She never smiles. It seems almost a moral experiment.

As an invested viewer, I watched this sequence in a fit of soulful agony. I could not bear the pain of the moment, but my eyes remained open. My heart clung to the asphyxiating beauty of the woman, of that beauty that seemed consummate in the love of the first man, and which was utilized like a well-greased tool by the second.

After the fact, she does not know what to do. She begins to walk confusedly on the side of the highway. The Kansas man finds her, finds out. In Malick's lack of verbal exchange, focus on physical expression, fragmented, frantic cinematography, the psychological struggle is an exquisite strain, as if someone had a grip on your veins.

But in all of this what is expressed? A beauty of wrecked potentiality. A beauty that must be sought and yet which is accessible if one will only choose to see. A beauty that cannot otherwise be portrayed to any believable extent.

We do not know perfection, and thus perfection must be shown by degradation, destruction, desolation. By opposites. Malick implies the possible anthesis. At the end of the movie, though a sort of reconciliation is achieved, the lovers part. We are forced to think of the alternate, but in homage to Malick, I will not state it here. It is the unspeakable, incomprehensible reality whereof this present life is but a shadow and a lie. If there is a lie, there is truth.

So what of violence in cinema? This too:

Boromir's brave breast went forth to meet the serrated point of the Uruk's shaft. Valor can have no expression without violence. And valor is beautiful. Violence is a foil to beauty, and like a foil it falls aside to reveal purpose behind it's veil.

But what if it cannot do this?

Part II: The Death of the Zombie

Violence without meaning, such as in the zombie thriller or the horror film – where guts and limbs and heads are split and crushed and splattered – lacks all imagination whatsoever.

What portends that visceral pleasure we experience when a gaping humanoid drags its festering top half across a field in pursuit of the not-yet-zombified protagonist? What is the significance of our cultural taste for violence of all sorts, especially mutilation of the human form?

→ The idea that all can – and so must – be subjected to our perusal for the selection of what brings most pleasure, excitement, artificial stimulation of the ego. Like masturbation. Violence in every instance is a display of misused power.

When Rick's group in “The Walking Dead” attempts to extract a bloated “swimmer” from a water well, the creature's body simply disintegrates and it's entrails fall one by one and plop into the water. The scene has no overarching significance. The group simply finds another water source. Thus, we must imagine that the design of the director was to draw upon some capacity for sadistic pleasure in his audience. Sadism by its very definition is an expression of a darker form of lust: the desire to have both the physical gratification available from sexual excitement and complete and utter power over the object of that excitement – in this case, a mutilated human form.

And so when scenes of violence – e.g. battle sequences – are placed before our eyes, such as those in Braveheart, where bodies are gratuitously mutilated for the visual feasting of the spectator, we are led to question the effectiveness of that human creation in reaching a manifestation of the beautiful or the sublime.

Sublimity through violence is a sort of intellectual damnation. When we are brought to such a state where our endorphins rush in a whirlwind of ecstasy at the sight of ruptured corpses – especially if we can figure ourselves in the place of the protagonist who ruptures them – then we blunt our ability to experience beauty, to experience the ultimate contrary of violence, which is the dizzying complex of the human person in all of his or her yearnings.

Meaningless violence, then, is ultimately an expression of self-loathing.

Therefore, the filmmaker who employs violence without implying its counterpoint is an enemy to culture, which is, after all, a human enterprise, the pursuit of the best that has been thought and said. In the representation of a violent annihilation of the human or the humanoid, the project of culture is annihilated. Self-loathing takes its place, a mis-anthropology that encourages the collapse of society, and all art with it.