To God the Father

Eve After Falling Into Sin, Johann Koler, 1883

Love, again you have found me in the call of birds, the sound of wind thrumming in my ears.

I know that all the world was meant to be green in this way, that lushness was to overwhelm and sedate us into the dreamlike torpor of Adam.

Fill us with a potency. Make us leap from out ourselves towards you, nearer by death-and-life-giving.

Here in the barren land we wait for lushness, for fervent murmur of running waters, for the full welling of slow rivers.

Break us for our yolk.

Keep us till we sleep our fathers' sleep and give out the new full self.

Where is the Horse and the Rider

or 'Why you see few art-related posts on my page'

"Where is the horse and the rider?

Where is the horn that was blowing?

They have passed like rain on the mountains,

Like wind in the meadow

The days have come down in the West

Behind the hills into shadow..."

Where is the love of beauty? Where is breathtaking art and poignant song, and where are those who will seek them, praise them, cherish them, and show us how to see?

Like the brief, ephemeral art of our generation, they have been abruptly hidden from sight. Rinsed as from the slate -- no tablet of wax bearing the imprint of centuries' wisdom. Rather, the clean slate of a frontier school that started clean one day and started clean again the next.

Just as we are minimalists in ownership, we are minimalists in understanding or in seeking, in knowing and in wishing to know. And so we receive what we desire, we reap what we sow, which is so close now to nothingness. Where is the love of beauty, the devout appraisal of art? It is as it is in our hearts. Do we expect the tiny race of the people of culture to shower us with the Gospel while we wonder whether we are Princess Belle in her green dress or blue, or which Buzzfeed quiz will show us our best virtues?

Can you hear the overwhelming silence of the artists? I can hear the sea ceasing to sing, ceasing to whelm us over with the peace that she has given the imagination and the further peace that the imagination has given her. Did we think the artists would not starve? But they have all starved -- starved from a destruction of beauty in the world, a destruction of real living, of the seemingly invincible subject. The world has died, and art imitates life as life imitates art. Have you seen the imitation of death? I know that I have.

"The everlasting violence of that double passion with which God hates and loves the world" has come upon the artists in their silence. And as much as they have loved her, adorned and graced her with their innumerable lavishments, they wish nothing now but for her destruction, her punishment, her fall from pride into desolation and suffering and noisome darkness and fear. Repentance.

The fuel of the artist is life -- life that breeds more life -- life teeming and bursting at the seams -- life burgeoning unstoppably and never ceasing to unfold into new and eternal glories. Is it any wonder that the artists are silent, or that the lesser imitate death until it takes them.

Here is the demand of beauty: life. What prodigies have we killed, or allowed to die? No more.

The death of society is at hand. Were we more bitter towards the slaughter of our friends, we would have burned the fortresses of darkness and salted the earth, leaving the festering fields of evil forever barren.

We wish to intervene against the Islamic State in the Middle East. This is a just impulse. But, in our haste to tender retribution, do we forget the thousands slaughtered daily at home. Are the lives of countless children less worthy than the preservation of political potency in names: in "Yezidi", in "Christian", in "Shi'ite". Do we wish to save lives? Is that our intent? Or do we wish to save particular lives for particular reasons? Are the unborn not our brothers and sisters, and do they not live next door. Do they not die next door.

Can you justify your willingness to stop the IS against your unwillingness to stop the Abortionist State? Is it easier to fight a tyrant thousands of miles away?

The lauds of the poet fall silent. The artist in anger and desperation hurls his brush. Is there beauty in the world.

Can you justify not -- at the very least -- standing in prayer before the clinic, adjuring those who would be murderers to abandon their course? Rationalize, I beg you. Rationalize. Rationalize a way to avoid preventing murder when power is in your hands. I have dispensed with the arguments. I have had them all. I have heard them all. There is not one left with integrity. The truth cries out like a stone. It will not move.

The poet falls silent. The artist's heart roils and burns, and a black anger rises.

If you would have the soldiers stopped who terrorize in the name of Islam, but you will not place yourself in danger for your brother who perishes at the hands of the mercenary next door, the only judgement left to you is that of coward and liar.

Go out into the world. Go out. You have been sent out to bring the good news. The good news begins with the gospel of life. You must protect life, from conception to natural death. If you have not done this basic duty, this basic act for the ongoing creation of society, if you watch society crumble -- you too will fall with it.

Go out into the streets and pray, and beg God for mercy. I too will go with you. Come alive, and reject the systematic destruction of the human person. Overthrow the deathly edifice. This is our duty. It is undeniable. It is irrefutable. It is the supreme test of faith in our time -- the supreme evil, that which requires the most devout action in opposition.

If you wish to have good things, you must give, and you must first give life.

Where is the horse and the rider?

The beauty of the warrior lies in that which he defends.

II. Trois Couleurs: Rouge

Valentine, played by Irene Jacob, is beautiful, vivacious, passionate, assertive. We want to sympathize with her. Her personality is sweetened by a certain scent of innocence that causes us to desire identification with her, to simultaneously fall in love with her.

Indeed, her supreme beauty is central to this part of Kieslowski's trilogy.

A very important moment arrives, however, in the studio where she is photographed as a model. We see her sitting there, artificial wind blowing her wet hair about her face. And at the word from the photographer -- "triste" -- her beauty is transformed by an unutterable sorrow.

Although Valentine has suffered -- her brother a heroin addict, her mother an unforgiven adulteress -- we are given the sense that she has called forth this emotion from outside -- it is borrowed, learned, used for theatrics, but perhaps without completely genuine content.

And in rushes forcefully another theme of the film: external, supernatural movements that intimately interact with the willed movements of the film's characters. An overarching wellspring of meaning and purpose -- a silent smiling whisper in which Valentine, Auguste, and the old judge participate without creating.

We humans can name sorrow, joy, fear, but we cannot know them in their full intensity at any given moment. We can, however, experience little hints of that memory of humanity, what some call the historical memory or collective memory. In my mind, this refers to God, who after all is one of us in a way none of us can be. He is more human than we are, and he is the origin of every sense. Because of this, I think, we have access to feelings that are not our own, access to at least an awareness of the depth of human feeling, desire -- due to our necessary and constant connection with him: complete dependence, our drawing of life from him. We draw everything from him.

Such a beauty illustrated in this film. The old judge reflects upon his life, his decline in sourness and cynicism grown from an experience of betrayal. And who grants him knowledge of this?

As a voyeur, he seeks knowledge to which he has no right. But none of it grants him any insight into his own condition. It is precisely through knowledge gratis that he is able to understand himself, and to love once more.

The beauty and love of the hint. God is a life-hack. I beseech you to give yourself to these films. God love you.

Irene Jacob on Rouge and Kieslowski:

The Savage

I recently shared midday meals and time with strangers during a training course near the Gulf coast in Texas that I attended for work. As the training involved a supposedly "universal" incident management program, there were individuals present from both government agencies and private industry.

On the second day, I shared lunch with one man, a trainer in operations with the army. He was stationed in the area. And soon I realized that neither of us were sitting at that table for any particular reason.

He had been in California, Louisiana, Kansas, New York. I had been in Louisiana, North Carolina -- these for birth and family, education and joy. To Texas came I for sustenance, which in this State (i.e. the U.S.A.), must come from money.

After lunch we sat in my car, waiting through the 2-hour period so irregular for us, perhaps not so for the others, who were public servants. Like me, one of his enjoyments is music in the Irish tradition. We both know of Julie Fowlis.

Yet as we sat and spoke of music -- and listened -- I could not dispel the feeling that neither of us were at all capable of interesting the other. Neither of us were at all capable of engagement, cordiality, connection.

"Yes, I know this artist you speak of. Do you know this one?" And a dry exchange ensues.

He had a humility and honesty about his eyes and speech, but perhaps the iciness of Statism or the gray sky or the cold unshakeable tool of capitalism that makes its will ever known to our fears came like a silent wave and shook our plastic & leather capsule til we were subdued and wanted escape -- not from the truth but from the reminder of the truth in a man's eyes, heart, tongue.

Here in Houston, we are all killers. On the roads, we are seldom hot and angry, just full metal coolness and murder. To every man a compensatory pick-up truck. But the object dissipates as we climb into our vehicles and the desire to inflict upon mad drivers the panic only comprehended as hatred overthrows the possibility of temporal despair. And we are all lost in the welling hell.

Once back to the plastic and leather capsule of our holes, we dive into the filtering shell that seems to be an outlet but really is a thief in saving us from saving harm.

And paradoxically, you should watch The Matrix and try with good will to see how we are hastening the loss of the human. And paradoxically I will write on, aware of the death clinging to my words unless you let them live.

I do not want the grace of doctrine. If my mind is free, but every act refutes its call to free my body, my mind is in chains.

I want not to be a slave. I do not want my fruit taken with assumed justice unless I see it's worth the price. And I cannot see it. And unlike God the United States of America merits no Mystery.

What is to become of us? What is to be done, my dear fellow slaves? Dare we raise our heads and cry to God the shame upon the heads of those who bend our noses to mirrors on the ground? Dare we cry shame upon our own heads as we bend them to the ground?

God save us and have mercy.

If I were not drawn with fear and harsh words saying I neglect responsibility, I would drop this sordid towel that mops the drops gushing from the staunched fountain. Death and love and freedom rather than ongoing.

God did not make these walls.

Will someone shoot you for saying "I am a man, and will forage for food. I am a woman, and will feed my child. I am a man, and will farm this land you leave wanton and fallow. I am a woman, and will tend this house you leave neglected"? Perhaps it is best to be shot.

Shots can not harm us as we walk through the fields, feeding a living act of God's love with grain on the Sabbath.

I would invite any and all to contemplate these shots and those rocks that come in through the window in Trois Couleurs: Rouge. See earlier post for viewing information.

Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked

Caravaggio, "The Conversion of St. Paul"

There is something very hopeful about the life of a man who sins with enthusiasm.  Unlike many people we encounter today, the enthusiastic sinner does not settle for being content.  Rather he is always finding something else to do, seeking another zing to thrill him, until his heart is stuffed with whatever he desires.  

Herein lies the difference between a headstrong, confident sinner and a typical post-modern man suffering from contentedness (we’ll call him Mr. Smith): the said sinner recognizes he needs more, whereas Mr. Smith believes he has found peace and happiness in being content with his mock-paradise he set up in his gated community.  Ask Mr. Smith if he’s happy and at peace, and he will undoubtedly say “yes” without giving it much thought.  Take his earthly paradise away, however, and you won’t get a yes out of Mr. Smith any more.  Unfortunately, there are too many Mr. Smiths in our world.  We would be better off with more headstrong sinners.

Let me explain.

I think the problem with Mr. Smith is his understanding of what it means to be content.  Understandably, people strive for contentedness because they get it confused with happiness and peace.  In reality, contentedness is more akin to lukewarmness, something that Christ adamantly condemns (see Revelations 3:16).  Even the words “peace and happiness” have a connotation today that is very different from the “peace and happiness” that we should be striving towards.  Peace goes beyond the mere absence of wars or other physical evils, and being happy isn’t measured by how much pleasure one can obtain.

The Greeks had a word for this happiness and peace; they called it “eudaimonia.”  While this word is often translated as “happiness,” it is perhaps better understood as fulfillment, specifically in regards to one’s soul.  When man acts according to virtue (that is to say, when his will is under the direction of his intellect), he obtains true happiness, and nothing can disturb him.  Socrates hit the proverbial nail on the head when he said, “no evil can happen to a just man, neither in life nor after death.” 

Seen here: Socrates at peace before his unjust death.

I think the headstrong sinner alluded to earlier understands this concept of eudaimonia better than Mr. Smith, for the consistent seeking and sinning of the sinner stands as a testament to the fact that fulfillment is not obtained through the material world.  His seeking and devouring affirms Augustine’s philosophy of the human person - our hearts are indeed restless.  The irony for the sinner, of course, is that the human heart will never find fulfillment until it rests in God.  Thus in heavy sinning does this man continue to search, yet he will only find disappointment everywhere he turns until he comes to face the disturbing truth - nothing on earth can put to rest his restless heart.  Nothing.  If he’s a reasonable fellow, he will then appeal to the spiritual realm in order to to find the next zing.  Consider it a process of elimination, and consider the hope for the sinner fulfilled.

If you’re still not convinced of the hope that lies within the most headstrong of sinners, consider the war that the sinner declares against God.  If you asked him if he is a wicked person, he would laugh and probably say, “yes, I am wicked and I’m on my way to Hell,” recognizing that his murdering and conniving ways are indeed immoral.  Ask the same question to Mr. Smith and he would most likely take offense and respond, “of course not!” (even though he is a liar in the workplace and lusts after his neighbor’s wife).  While Mr. Smith is indifferent towards God, this isn’t the case for our treacherous sinner.  No.  The great sinner sees the Creator’s presence as an annoying, blinding light that must be eliminated if he wishes to continue down his path of sin.  Of course the sinner’s quest is destined to end in defeat, for God is not known for losing battles.  He reigns as the Eternal Victor.

Perhaps it is necessary that I add a disclaimer: I am not advocating a festival of sin.  What I am advocating is that you get off the fence - the fence that separates you living according to God’s statutes from spitting in His face.  Choose, for goodness sake, something, anything, making a stand one way or another.  I do not believe I need to tell you what the correct choice is, but I feel it appropriate to tell you that not choosing is the surest way to your own destruction.  Moving towards something is better than not moving at all.

Religious Freedom or Toleration: Which one is American?

We talk much about religious freedom both in public debate and in common conversation in America. What does religious freedom mean in the United States? How did our founders understand it? For a Catholic wishing to enter into dialogue on the topic of religious freedom in the United States, these questions become highly important, as the Lockean “doctrine of toleration” written into our law by the founding fathers and others thereafter differs from the idea of religious freedom that grows out of a respect for the inherent dignity of the human person as a child of God. These differences cause much of the frustration that arises when the government – technically acting within the bounds of law in the spirit of toleration – encroaches on true religious freedom.

The idea of toleration is a great political idea, at least for the development of a smooth functioning secular state. The so-called “doctrine of toleration” one finds in Locke’s Second Treatise seems very reasonable: rather than muddy itself in the affairs of religion – as it did for many years before – the state will simply tolerate all forms of religion. I can worship in my way, you can worship in yours, and the state will stay out of it all (sort of). At this point, Locke and the Church seem pretty well aligned, at least until one asks, “Why should men be given religious freedom?”

For Locke, men should be given religious freedom because men are radically free in their natural state. There is no real end to the toleration found in Locke; it is largely determined by political practicality. You will not find objective standards against which to measure the worth of one religion or religious practice to another, because men are simply free to worship and congregate as they sit fit. Not much of an anthropology happening there. Locke offers a kind of religious freedom because it allows him to dismiss the more difficult question of how to incorporate the role of religion into the common welfare. The Church, however, has a different end in mind for human and religious freedom.

After trudging through the pages of Locke’s Treatise, one will find delight in the grand vision of humanity found in Dignitatis Humanae. In this document promulgated by the Second Vatican Council, there is a beautiful declaration on religious freedom beginning with the fundamental proposition that at the core of the human person an irremovable dignity arises from the joint gifts of reason and free will. The primary task of men is to respond in worship to the Creator and Grantor of such gifts, and “immunity from coercion in civil society” (i.e. religious freedom) is required for that response. Religious freedom or human freedom as such, is not an end in itself; rather, freedom from coercion creates the atmosphere necessary for the quest for truth, a quest that freedom, in turn, demands. 

The doctrine of toleration guiding lawmakers yesterday and today falls short of the full vision of man, the freedom given him and the right response to it. So often, the United States is associated with Christianity – for good reason, mind you – but that association does not mean that we are a Christian nation. We look back at our founders with awe and reverence – again, for good reason – but their guide was much more Locke than it was the Catholic Church. Our nation is a great product of Enlightenment thought, not of a rich theological tradition. Understanding these fundamental differences between the philosophical groundwork of our nation and the theology of the Christian tradition will help to limit the frustration often directed toward our government when good law comes in conflict with the interests of Christians. Maybe its not the way you would like, but our government is working just as intended. 

Poetry: "All Souls' Day, A.D. 2013"

The trees shed from lissom limbs
the fruiting season's bloody glory.
Burgeoning berries perk, plump and fall --
a short journey from seed to oblivion.
These on the ground no hand will grace with lips
or fanciful loving the veins of death
unique, unrepeatable.

Oh! beloved by God.

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 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.