The True, The Beautiful, The Good

 I don't do promotions much at all on this blog, but I felt called to share an organization that is run by a friend's cousin up in Chicago out of St. John Cantius called the Catholic Art Institute. Her name is Kathleen Carr, and she is an amazingly talented realist painter. Her personal artist's website is here if you want to check out her body of work. This is just one example from her website:

Supporting the arts has traditionally been confined to the patronage of the wealthy, but I think our family is going to try to support them as well even with our modest means. As an artist and writer myself, it can be exhausting and grind you down that our society puts little monetary value on the arts, which adds so much to our lives, and that it can be pilfered and chewed up/spit out by a society bent on content consumption. It can also feel "frivolous" in a utilitarian, STEM-oriented culture which has little regard for beauty or nuance and gorges on a diet of pop-culture. I make almost non-existent money from my years of writing, but I don't do it full-time either, and I consider it a kind of vocation that God has charged me with and so I'm okay with that.

Most artists feel called (compelled?) to create (which is a gift from God) but are not compensated in proportion to what they offer the world. But imagine a world in which beautiful Catholic art did not exist. It would be a barren existence. Beauty is food for the soul, and beautiful art also attempts to communicate it's sisters--truth and goodness. The transcendentals of what it means to be human. 

I realize many people are struggling in this economy, but if you are a person of means who wants to see more beauty in the world and support the artists training to bring it into existence, consider supporting Kathleen's organization, the Catholic Art Institute. It would be money well spent.

Made Up

Have you ever noticed that with MtF transitioners, there is much energy and attention put into the external adornments of their new perceived identify? This should be obvious, but even for those who have undergone surgery to snuff out the last vestiges of their maleness, they still make a point of designer lipstick, eyeshadow, jewelry, clothing, color schemes, hairstyles, etc.?

And yet, St. Peter exhorts bonafide women that 

"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight. For this is the way the holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to adorn themselves" (1 Pt 3:3-5)

Why does he say this? Is this a reflection of the culture at the time? Or is there something more here?

Those who claim to be trans, like all men, are children of God and as such have an inherent dignity. But because of their dysphoria and attempt to change their unchanging nature, they compensate their lack of inherent feminity in the same fashion that St. Peter describes above: with external adornment. They do not see their inner self as gentle, quiet, and of unfading beauty; instead, it is inner-turmoil, discord, confusion, unrest. And so the make up becomes the mask.

If you've ever met a holy woman, a good woman, a beautiful woman, you are struck because their inner nature (which is gentle, quiet, and of unfading beauty) is "worn" and accentuated externally without kitchy adornment. A man attempting to adopt this tender poise which is not of his nature will naturally come off as gaudy and counterfeit, no matter the grade of lipstick or shade of the blush he uses to try to mask his inner tortured nature. 

I learned a lot from this (long) podcast with Jason Evert and it is clear he is doing good work with a heart of compassion in this area of speaking the Truth in love to those with gender dysphoria. One of the things that really impresses me is he takes the time to affirm the personhood of to those who claim to be trans and says, "tell me your story," and gives them his full attention. He also asks the right questions to get to the heart of the matter. They often share their hurts, their struggles, and their fears with him in those moments--because let's face it, many of us just don't do this, either because of lack of exposure to this population, or because we don't care to do the hard work it takes to love there. 

The fact that male transitioners adopt this kind of external mimicking of what they think a woman is and how she should look should underscore for women the words of St. Peter to be wary of such overt adornment.

I want to make the point that St. Peter is not speaking to this modern population in his epistle, but to the women of the church, with his admonishment. This is because, like the pearl of great price which is the Gospel (Mt 13:46), and the kingdom of heaven which is within (Lk 17:21) the pearl of a woman comes from the inside out. It is more precious than gold (Ps 19:10; Prov 13:15), and those who see that inner beauty are the ones worthy of it.  

On the contrary, when a woman has not taken into herself the seed of the Gospel, external adornment becomes necessary in most circumstances as a means of masking or compensation. When a woman of God uses a pinch of blush or a bit of lipstick, it is to highlight her inherent femininity, not try to convince you of it--because she doesn't have to. She is confident in her standing as a child of God, a vessel of life, and a pearl of great price. 

This is what women should strive to develop, and to learn from other women of such standing how to do so. For it is a of great worth in God's sight, and also for the man who has the eyes to see such beauty. In contrast to those beauty aids which seek to conceal and mask, any such external adornments a woman employs should be used as a subtle highlight to reflect that beauty within.

Grateful Addicts and the Felix Culpa

 

New Years Day has been a sober affair for me the past few years. Since my wife usually works overnights on New Years Eve, I'm in with the kids--we drink fizzy soda, have a little dance party, and do a YouTube countdown to midnight. Because I'm not drinking or smoking typically, I wake up grateful the whole affair is over and feeling rather good. I was up at 6:30am this morning, did fifteen minutes on the elliptical, took a cold shower, had a protein shake and coffee, and listened to a podcast on the neuroscience of addiction.

The period between Christmas and New Years is a consistently a hard period for me mentally, and I have on more than one occasion been tempted to pause "just saying no" to indulge in my addiction. I have so far resisted, but it keeps knocking on the door daily like a Jehovah's Witness that can't take a hint. 

Recovery is the epitome of the synthesis of grace and work. God saves us, pulls us from the miry pit and places us on a rock--but he expects us to do the work (aided by grace) of enduring suffering, and exercising our free will, in order to not hop off, to stay rooted in sobriety. Sometimes it is minute by minute or hour by hour, just to keep saying "no" to sin and slavery, and "yes" to life and freedom. 

There is an expression sometimes used in twelve steps of being a "grateful addict." It's a curious phrase, isn't it, to attribute gratefulness to something that may have robbed you of everything you have, stolen everything from you that you love.

But think about the Easter proclamation of the Felix Culpa (O Happy Fault), and it may have a theological context:

O love, O charity beyond all telling,

to ransom a slave you gave away your Son!

O truly necessary sin of Adam,

destroyed completely by the Death of Christ!

O happy fault

that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer!

We often pine and lament our lot here on earth, that we had it so good in the garden and that Adam and Even had to go screw it up. God, in His goodness, did not desire us to sin and be subjected to the punishment due to disobedience--but his also omnipotence, He knew we would fall. Christ existed before time, and so, in fact, the Fall was 'factored in' to the divine economy, and Christ's incarnation a necessary part of making the wrong right again (something we could not do on our own). 

St. Ambrose had a series of meditations on this mystery of how even sin can be used and redeemed by God: “My fault has become for me the price of redemption, through which Christ came to me. For me Christ tasted death. Transgression is more profitable than innocence. Innocence had made me arrogant, transgression made me humble” (De Iacob et vita beata, I, 21)

There is also what Dostoevsky wrote in Notes From the Underground that I think is a worthy meditation on this topic,

“Shower upon him every earthly blessing, drown him in bliss so that nothing but bubbles would dance on the surface of his bliss, as on a sea...and even then every man, out of sheer ingratitude, sheer libel, would play you some loathsome trick. He would even risk his cakes and would deliberately desire the most fatal rubbish, the most uneconomical absurdity, simply to introduce into all this positive rationality his fatal fantastic element...simply in order to prove to himself that men still are men and not piano keys.”

We can never go back to the Garden, as much as we may desire to; it simply is not our lot. Daily we toil for our bread, we experience death, and concupiscence is our constant companion. Life is work, struggle, and loss. We think, "if only I would have married this person instead of that person," or "my life would have been perfect if I never would have touched x substance." And yet, there is beauty in the contrast, and meaning in our suffering and trial. Look at what St. Paul writes in his letter to the Romans: 

"The law was brought in so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." (Rom 5:20-21)

Sometimes, God uses our brokenness and falls for His glory and our redemption. Were we left to be eating spiritual cakes all day, shielded like princes from the horror of death and suffering, we would grow plump with spiritual comfort and prideful at our mastery. 

For what does David say? "For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let people ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance" (Ps 66:10-12). 

And Isaias: "Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction" (Is 48:10).

And St. Peter: "And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you" (1 Pt 5:10).

Grateful sinners, like grateful addicts, recognize that our bottoming out in life can be redemptive to the degree that we look up and see the hand of Christ stretching down to take hold of us. A Christ whose supreme beauty we would never have laid eyes on were it not for sin. O happy fault, that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer. 

A Year In Pictures

 I caught myself this morning scrolling through my Rolodex of pictures and images. Because I'm a right-brained person, I see the world through art, poetry, music, etc. The following are a collection of some of the saved images, art, and photographs I've saved over the past two years that I consider to be especially iconic of both faith and life in general. I have included a little synopsis for each image and why I included it here; some are personal, some are collective.

I hope you enjoy browsing them and that will inspire something in you to make 2023 an iconic year for you as well

I honestly do not know where I came across this photograph, but it is one of my absolute favorites. I believe it appeared during the pandemic, when priests who wanted to feed their sheep were getting creative with how they did so. This image speaks to me on a lot of levels--for the penitent, with his motorcycle behind him, as well as the sincerity in his face. The priest as well, listening intently, oblivious to the rain pouring down around them. It speaks to me of the unfathomable depths of God's mercy, the gift of the sacrament of Confession, and the heart of priests who long to serve in persona Christi.

This photograph as well I found very iconic; I believe it is a European teenager who stepped out alone to oppose a Pride parade. It typifies for me the cultural onslaught we face as Christians, and many who go alone armed with nothing but the Cross to oppose the zeitgeist. 

This is a longstanding favorite of mine, older than a few years old, but I believe this is a Chinese cardinal imprisoned by the CCP. Pray for the persecuted (underground) Church in China! 

This is a photograph by one of our local newspapers; it is my friend Moira unabashedly witnessing to the truth outside of the President's parish. 

This is another moving photograph that was making the rounds in 2020 I believe. A young (FSSP) priest in full cassock who witnessed a horrific accident in Pennsylvania during a storm, stepping out of his vehicle to administer last rites, I believe. Young men becoming priests today, I believe, are going in with a heart for God and for his people, not for any kind of status or adulation from the culture.

I don't know the origins of this photograph, but I believe it was when the churches shutdown during COVID. The faithful remnant, pining for the sacraments, doing penance on their knees. It is a striking contrast to see how small they seem in the shadow of the institutional church.

This is not a faith based photograph necessarily, but it always moved me. This man attempted to end his life by stepping off the bridge, while a police officer spoke with him for hours, gently urging him to reconsider his choice. The man was saved. God was working in that police officer, I believe. People are plagued today by hopelessness--a good reminder to exemplify the hope the world needs!

It was an eerie time at St. Peter's, when the Holy Father did benediction to a largely empty square. I believe I took this photograph from the livestream as our family watched it online. Surreal.

This is a bit of a random photograph, but it's a 'day after' shot post-Mardi Gras in New Orleans. To me, it typifies my past life, of what I left behind and was ransomed from--the hangover of sin.

"If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first. If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. That is why the world hates you."(Jn 15:18-20)  

The Son loves the Mother, and honors her as Queen of Heaven and Earth. The Mother loves and honors the Son, the King and Judge. She is the Mediatrix of all grace. 

This is a photograph of Servant of God Francis Houle, the Michigan stigmatist and father/grandfather, from the 1990's. We had Thanksgiving dinner with one of his sons a couple years ago; he told us people with cancer would come to Francis and he would lay his hands on them and they would be healed. Meanwhile at home, Francis' son told us he would hear his father getting sick in the bathroom, having taken on the effects of the person's chemotherapy to himself. He is one of our family's go-to intercessors, and he has already worked what we consider to be two miracles for our family and a friend.

The sorrowful Mother, the miracle of tears. How often has she tried to warn us, and we ignore her plea? 

I painted this self-portrait in my flat when I was living in New Zealand. It was one particular lonely afternoon, marked by deep depression, sin and disorder. The country itself was paradise. But I longed for a well that would never run dry.

This is a photograph of my son and I late one night at the kitchen table discussing theology, philosophy, and film. He was about 10 at the time. I pray my children will always feel comfortable coming to me to talk. I wrote about that evening here.

You may have noticed this image at the top of the blog. I don't know what it is called, but it is Mary and Joseph in Egypt, very striking. Joseph the protector, humble and silent. Pray for us!

My wife took this photograph on a family vacation. It reminds me of playing with my kids, but always the struggle of being a dad who is present to them.

This image hangs in our guest room. It is the child Jesus running to St. Therese the Little Flower. One of my favorites.

This photograph is called "Aid from the Padre", it was taken in Venezuela I believe and captures the true vocation of the priest, I think. I discussed it here.

Beauty Will Not Save The World

Doestoevsky's famous line in The Idiot "Beauty will save the world" has been adopted by traditionalists as a subdued rallying cry to undo the damage of wreckovations, restore the liturgy, and Make Catholicism Great Again. I have been to some beautiful churches and cathedrals (like Sacré-Cœur, for one) and they indeed give testimony to the Psalmist's song, "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows his handiwork." (Ps 91:1)

Unfortunately, many of our modern-day churches do not inspire such majestic awe. From the strictly utilitarian to the downright ugly and architechuraly banal, one finds themselves having to believe not because of their surroundings in these environments, but in spite of it.

I was listening to a convert recount her journey into the Church last night (start at min 35) who began her search for the Truth by way of philosophy as an atheist. She recounted her stumbling blocks to the faith, "I couldn't take my (intellectual) friends into the church and say, 'see how beautiful it is', because it wasn't. I couldn't take them to the Mass and say, 'see, isn't this transcendent?' because it wasn't." She mentioned that she was attracted to the Mass but at the same time repulsed because she could see those present at the Mass seemed not to believe any of it, as reflected in their dress, posture, and lack of reverance. It could be up for debate whether the modernist churches and the liturgy in this context failed to inspire faith in those worshipping there, or if they were built to simply reflect the existing faith (or lack of it) in the modern age.  

Like my own journey, however, it was in reading St. Augustine (Confessions, in this case) that this particular convert was led to pray for the first time and instilled in her the burning desire to be baptized. Perhaps it was because this convert (and I) read ourselves into Augustine's wrestling--that his problems and struggles were our problems and struggles as well--that made Confessions such a formidable part of our conversion.

One of those struggles for Augustine was having been exposed to eloquent rhetoric at an early age, he found the Christian scriptures not eloquent or flowery, but crudely written and uninspiring from a literary point of view. And yet it was not Cicero, but the Lord himself that captured the heart of the rhetorician through the living Word in order that he might rend it in two. Augustine reflects on his first encounter with the Bible, here, 

"I resolved, therefore, to direct my mind to the Holy Scriptures, that I might see what they were. And behold, I perceive something not comprehended by the proud, not disclosed to children, but lowly as you approach, sublime as you advance, and veiled in mysteries; and I was not of the number of those who could enter into it, or bend my neck to follow its steps. For not as when now I speak did I feel when I tuned towards those Scriptures, but they appeared to me to be unworthy to be compared with the dignity of Tully; for my inflated pride shunned their style, nor could the sharpness of my wit pierce their inner meaning. Yet, truly, were they such as would develope in little ones; but I scorned to be a little one, and, swollen with pride, I looked upon myself as a great one." (III, 5)

The "Beauty Argument" is one that makes sense intellectually--build it (beautiful), and they will come, to co-opt a line from Field of Dreams. Once people see the beauty of Catholicism, they will be unable to resist the allure of Truth. It's a wager being made when many other efforts to "revitalize" the Church--reform the liturgy, YouCat and World Youth Day, Bishop Barron's Catholicism--have fallen flat and failed to produce a wave of converts.

So, I'm making another wager in light of the world we live in--beauty will not save the Church. It is a worthy thing, and reflective of God's nature, but it's not enough. I think we are entering a new epoch in which our age is so blinded by delusion, so corrupted by modernism. so obstinate and stiff-necked in our pride and sin, that there is not going to be a raising but a razing; not a renaissance, but a decimation. Not a comfort, but a severe and unrelenting beating.

Our Lady has over and over again been trying to get our attention. Fatima, Akita, Quito, and others. And her message is direct and consistent: repent and do penance. Not eloquent, not flowery. Direct and crude.

Have we, though? Has she really gotten our attention? Have we taken it to heart and changed, amended our sinful lives? The evidence is to the contrary. Those who take the messages seriously may, but the majority of the world is asleep at the wheel. Men became so wicked that God had to do a "great reset" with the flood in Genesis. He promised to never again send a flood (Gen 9:11). 

And yet our Lady's message is consistent with that of her Son's:  “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish" (Lk 13:2-3). 

I think God is getting ready to get a big stick out to bring us home. I sent you saints, stigmatists, miracles.  You did not listen. My Mother tried to warn you, you would not listen. Now you're going to have the ears to hear, but only because everything you have held on to will be taken away from you and you will be unable to do otherwise. "And when he (the Holy Spirit) is come, he will convince the world of sin, and of justice, and of judgment" (Jn 16:8). 

I pray that when the Lord does come, he sears us with fire to burn away the dross of what covers us from seeing ourselves as we truly are--helpless sinners, completely depedent on the mercy of God. I pray that they churches--the ugly ones, the beautiful ones, the humble village churches and the great cathedrals alike--will be so filled not with tourists and admirers, but with sinners crawling there on their knees in tears. I pray that priests have the fortitude to withstand hours upon hours, almost prisoners in the confessionals, because the lines will stretch for miles with no end in sight. I pray that it will not be too late to repent--to see clearly--but that our Lord might give us one last chance to turn away from our sin and turn towards Him. 

In my opinion, beauty is the icing on the cake, the cap of perfection of Creation. But when a world is so blinded by sin and degenirate that they call what is beautiful ugly, and what is ugly beautiful, how can they be converted by beauty? Perhaps it is ugliness-the ugliness of seeing their sin not through a glass darkly, but face to face with eyes that cannot be closed--that will sear their conscience and move them not to admiration and swooning, but tears and rending their hearts before Him. 

What Makes An Artist, An Artist?

 

It's a hard-knocks lesson in juxtaposition being a Catholic artist.

Orthodox Catholicism, by definition and nature, is "conservative" in that it seeks to conserve the depositum fidei in its original form, and preserve it for generations to come. Change is often made slowly, thoughtfully, deliberately; "a U-boat doesn't turn on a dime," as they say. Creative license is somewhat frowned upon, and often for good reason. Order, syntax, tradition--these are the qualities that make for predictability and creating an establishment to last. And the Catholic Church is very much establishment.

But there is also in the life of faith the unpredictable "wild goose" of the Holy Spirit and His work of grace. The Holy Spirit is the mystical, the wind [which] blows wherever it pleases. "You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." (Jn 3:8). There are also the diverse body of the saints, who have perfected the art of being. They are always depicted with a halo, because they know who they are, and from whom they come. They see with eyes that see; that is, they see reality for what it is, where others would rather not go. Their lives are not formulaic quid-pro-quo arrangements with the Divine, but the creative living out of their vocations as they are particularly called to do. They constrain themselves--by mortification, doctrine, and material reductionism, so that they might be truly free. And if "conservatism" has one great core value, it is freedom.

Conservatives, in general, though, tend to be suspicious and reticent about art. When I use the word 'artist' I mean it in the big-bucket sense to encompass all those who seek to create: musicians, writers, visual artists, film makers, poets, etc. The difficult thing about creating anything is that it tends not to want to be constrained. "Life finds a way" as Dr. Ian Malcolm said in Jurassic Park. In the novel, the good doctor elaborates,

"Physics has had great success at describing certain kinds of behavior: planets in orbit, spacecraft going to the moon, pendulums and springs and rolling balls, that sort of thing. The regular movement of objects. These are described by what are called linear equations, and mathematicians can solve those equations easily. We've been doing it for hundreds of years.

But there is another kind of behavior, which physics handles badly. For example, anything to do with turbulence. Water coming out of a spout. Air moving over an airplane wing. Weather. Blood flowing through the heart. Turbulent events are described by nonlinear equations. They're hard to solve-in fact, they're usually impossible to solve. So physics has never understood this whole class of events. Until about ten years ago. The new theory that describes them is called chaos theory.

Chaos theory originally grew out of attempts to make computer models of weather in the 1960s. Weather is a big complicated system, namely the earth's atmosphere as it interacts with the land and the sun. The behavior of this big complicated system always defied understanding. So naturally we couldn't predict weather. But what the early researchers learned from computer models was that, even if you could understand it, you still couldn't predict it. Weather prediction is absolutely impossible. The reason is that the behavior of the system is sensitively dependent on initial conditions.

Use a cannon to fire a shell of a certain weight, at a certain speed, and a certain angle of inclination-and if I then fire a second shell with almost the same weight, speed, and angle-what will happen? The two shells will land at almost the same spot - That's linear dynamics. But if I have a weather system that I start up with a certain temperature and a certain wind speed and a certain humidity-and if I then repeat it with almost the same temperature, wind, and humidity-the second system will not behave almost the same. It'll wander off and rapidly will become very different from the first. Thunderstorms instead of sunshine. That's nonlinear dynamics. They are sensitive to initial conditions: tiny differences become amplified.

The shorthand is the "butterfly effect." A butterfly flaps its wings in Beijing, and weather in New York is different.

Chaos is not just random and unpredictable. We actually find hidden regularities within the complex variety of a system's behavior. That's why chaos has now become a very broad theory that's used to study everything from the stock market, to rioting crowds, to brain waves during epilepsy. Any sort of complex system where there is confusion and unpredictability. We can find an underlying order. An underlying order is essentially characterized by the movement of the system within phase space.

Chaos theory says two things. First, that complex systems like weather have an underlying order. Second, the reverse of that-that simple systems can produce complex behavior. For example, pool balls. You hit a pool ball, and it starts to carom off the sides of the table. In theory, that's a fairly simple system, almost a Newtonian system. Since you can know the force imparted to the ball, and the mass of the ball, and you can calculate the angles at which it will strike the walls, you can predict the future behavior of the ball. In theory, you could predict the behavior of the ball far into the future, as it keeps bouncing from side to side. You could predict where it will end up three hours from now, in theory.

But in fact, it turns out you can't predict more than a few seconds into the future. Because almost immediately very small effects-imperfections in the surface of the ball, tiny indentations in the wood of the table-start to make a difference. And it doesn't take long before they overpower your careful calculations. So it turns out that this simple system of a pool ball on a table has unpredictable behavior."

Is there a place for so-called "conservative" artists? Well, if you're talking about the kitschy paintings of Thomas Kinkade or the juvenile political functionalism of Jon McNaughton's "Liberalism Is A Disease", I'd take a hard pass. 

There are the curious (and somewhat meticulously obsessive) conservative religious artists such as the obscure American James Hampton's religiously themed The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly, which took him 14 laborious years to create. He lived, worked, and died in obscurity as a janitor. His piece was discovered in a D.C. storage unit posthumously and transferred to the Smithsonian. 

But maybe the time is ripe for conservative artists to find their place. After all, decades of modernist chaos, destruction, revolution, and perversion ad nauseum has created a dearth of order, goodness, and beauty in the world. Isn't it perhaps time to re-introduce it in a way that touches the soul and infuses grace and hope? 

I remember when The Passion of the Christ came out in theaters--it was not a film, but a work of art. And yet, it was thoroughly "traditional" through-and-through. Mel Gibson, of course, had taken some creative license, drawing on the visions of Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich. The cinematography was beautiful, the acting impeccable, and the ability to conjure not only the emotions but the spirit of those who watched it was, quite simply, what good art sets out to do.  

I watched an interesting interview with music producer Rick Rubin (founder of Def Jam records) who can't play any instruments and doesn't know how to use a mixing board. Self-admittedly, his "only real talent is listening." His Malibu recording studio Shangi-La is completely minimalist and painted all white, "Generally speaking, the creative process is subtractive. You have to remove as many distractions as possible. There's not a television, there's not a clock...it's like a blank canvas." Rubin notes,

"The goal is to create a setting where an artist can be completely vulnerable and feel completely free to be themselves one hundred percent. No shame or feeling of needing to perform a certain way, and no expectation...really, a safe place...to be naked, basically." 

The "bearded super-producer" Rick Rubin takes the opposite approach of most record producers in that he doesn't try to interject himself into the albums, but take himself out of it. The more invisible, the better. So, really, his only role (and the secret to his creative success) is being a kind of guide to accompany others into themselves. 

"If you really listen to what people say, usually....they tell you everything. I just really pay attention to what people say and through that I can then reflect back thoughts that they've told me about themselves that they don't know about themselves....and allow them to unlock those doors to get to the places they want to go artistically."

It's like fishing. You can go out fishing, but you can't say 'I'm going to catch three fish today.' You have very little control over this process. It's magic, really."

The "lack of control" can be scary for conservative-minded people sometimes. But interjecting such control into art is akin to trying to catch and cage a dove. The creative infusion of the Holy Spirit in the life of grace lends itself to a lack of control, in which you are following the wind where it leads, which is where creativity in art comes from. 

A man must be free to choose sin for his love to be authentic. An artist, likewise, must be free to explore the depths of his soul in order to bring it to the surface. Removing judgement and condemnation (which comes from the Enemy, the Great Accuser) may do wonders for any person of faith seeking to touch the Spirit of God which is within them. We all have that place within us. God sets the fence around the edge of the mountain so the children can play free from fear. The Devil, by contrast, cannot create, and so he resorts to legalism. Legalism is boring, predictable--the opposite of what makes for good art. 

Chesterton said, "The Catholic Church is the only thing which saves a man from the degrading slavery of being a child of his age." An artist is one who has learned to bring to the surface for the world to see and enjoy, free of charge, the beauty of God within. Not only that, but also what it means to be truly human. This is the great mystery of the Christian faith--how the Eternal, Omnipotent, and Omnipresent Eternal God of the Universe also stooped to enter into the fray of time and space, and human existence as a man. There must, also then, be a place for Christians to be great artists in post-modern society. Barbara Nicolosi, a Catholic filmmaker I greatly admirer, said it well,

"People are thirsty for story, because, as Aristotle noted, human nature is driven to it and they are going to the movies to find something to feed them. But most of the time, when we go to the movies hungry, we come away still hungry and also disgusted. So why doesn’t the church step in and fill the vacuum? Why don’t we teach people how to make story? That’s what we should be doing. The Church should serve the culture." 

Amen. 

Reasoned Order and Creative Mess

Attending a large R1 research institution as an undergrad, I was surrounded by engineers. My parents were math teachers. My brothers are engineers. My roommate was an engineer. We hate what we don't understand, and for the life of me I couldn't understand or relate to the left brain and so loathed it on campus.  For a quick general breakdown, those who are predominately left or right brain might be characterized by the following:

Left Brain:

• Logical
• Focused on facts
• Realism predominates
• Planned and orderly
• Math-and-science minded

Right Brain:

• Emotional
• Focused on art and creativity
• Imagination predominates
• Occasionally absentminded
• Enjoys creative storytelling

The thing is, when I became Catholic my freshman year and joined the Newman center, obviously there were a mix of these "logical, fact-focused, math & science planned and orderly realists" among people of faith in the Catholic community. And of course there are degrees of both hemispheres in individual people.

As a predominately right-brained person, I feel a little self-conscious in a more traditional community because of the way I am. But I have grown to appreciate the order and predictability of the Old Mass, and have no tolerance for liturgical "creativity" that I experienced in the Novus Ordo. I find liturgical dance, spoken word, improvisation and such things cringe worthy.  I never felt at home in the Charismatic movement, or Praise & Worship type services. 

 I'm in a strange period now where I am leaning on the order and predictability of the ritual and assent to faith while grinding through a creative and imaginative dry spell--in writing, in my worship and prayer life, and just my life in general. And thank God it's there. I don't get off on it the way left-brain Catholics who geek out on liturgical nuances or theological tit-for-tats might, but I appreciate it. I may be checking the boxes, but I'm ok with that for now. 

Albert Einstein once said, “The intuitive mind is a sacred gift, and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a world that honors the servant, but has forgotten the gift.” I find this to be true in what the world values. 

In the movie "Romero," the Archbishop is invited to the home of a well-to-do couple. Pleasantries are exchanged, and then the businessman husband/father lays into Archbishop Romero in the kitchen:

"You religious people ...You live in your souls. You do not understand what we do ...producing, selling, bringing dollars in...Capital, to develop the country, to create jobs ...to build a prosperous economy. That is what affects people. But for that we must have law and order."

Succeeding in the world is a wholly pragmatic affair, one I never really caught on to, as I'm sometimes reminded. I never did any internships, got a useless degree, for ten years I thought I would be a monk, I never made much money and never really cared, don't have much to show for a career. But I've always prayed, and I know God is faithful. I know it is not a futile endeavor...but that itself takes faith. 

My primary sins, as a right-brained creative/imaginative type, often comes by way of impulse--if I fall, I fall hard but don the sack cloth and ashes in tears as well. I live in my heart, not my head. This is why I love the King Davids over the King Sauls, and the Peters over the Thomas.' Were I to be tempted by apostasy, I think it would be at the hand of hurt, rather than issues of belief or doctrine. 

Although it is only speculation (since I have a hard time understanding them), I wonder if the sins of the left-brained type people differ in nature. What are there primary temptations? Do they struggle with reason? With Pharisaism? With the 'sins of certainty?'--of thinking that "if i just do x, God will do y"? Of the logical progression of right belief+right worship=sanctity? I don't know! I want to ask them!

In the early centuries of the Church, most of there heresies revolved around the nature of Christ. Adoptionism, Docetism, Apollinarianism, Arianism, Monophysitism among others wrestled with how GOD could become MAN and possess two distinct natures, which are united but not combined. 

Christ as perfect man had a distinct sex (male) but embodied the totality of human nature as well: he wept, he longed to gather his people as a hen gathers her chicks, he expressed tenderness and empathy. He sought to short-circuit the law-minded ways of thinking (by his teaching, by parables, by his witness in washing feet and healing on the Sabbath) to raise the disciples' heads to the work of grace. 

St. Paul for his part was a radical zealot of the law who became the Apostle of grace. Grace is messy! Not always neat and orderly! Paul's road to Damascus moment was a blinding subjective encounter with Christ which literally knocked him from his (high?) horse. The law counts for nothing, according to Paul.

And yet for Traditionalists, there is comfort in the spiritual equations: if I say A, I merit B. If I practice X, my children will grow up Y. If I believe and check the right boxes, I can rest assured in certainty that God will not abandon me. Perhaps this is the 'sin of certainty' that leaves no room for the creative action of God to actualize our reality in a way that doesn't make logical sense. You see the antithesis to this line of reasoning in the life of David in 2 Sam 12:21-23:

His attendants asked him, “Why are you acting this way? While the child was alive, you fasted and wept, but now that the child is dead, you get up and eat!”

 He answered, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought, ‘Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.’ But now that he is dead, why should I go on fasting? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.”

But sometimes God does leave us alone, withdrawing from us and leaving us to the mystical 'dark night,' which for the left-brained can (I imagine) be a bit of a disconcerting place to be. In the same way I have no affinity and cannot understand St. Thomas Aquinas as a right-brained creative, a left-brained believer may struggle to relate to the boundary breaking ecstasies of the St. John of the Cross's and St. Teresa of Avilas. 

I think for right-brained, creative types, it is good to learn and establish order and right worship from the beginning to learn how to 'color within the lines.' If you look at Pablo Picasso's early work, he was a realist--it was only later, after learning the rules and form of art, that he began to branch out into more experimental work. 

I think it can be difficult for left-brained people, though, to do the same with their 'weaker arm.' That is, perhaps in the life of faith, practicing more contemplative ways of praying or just "being" with God in adoration rather than always "doing." Or journaling or something, to discover how God is speaking to them. I don't know. I'm not one of these people. But I think it's healthy to work on the things that don't come to us as part of our natural disposition. 

For myself, I struggle with the sin of envy in my self-consciousness--that I invested all my capital in a spiritual economy, rather than a practical one, and so I'm behind the curve in my career. And so I envy those left-brainers who the world values and pays accordingly, who can provide well for their families as lawyers or engineers or scientists or accountants or whatever. And so it comes out in anger and envy, because I feel dumb, broke, emotional, exposed, and impractical (though this is highly exaggerated in my mind). As a result, I hate the way God made me--to be feeling, intuitive, creative, etc. These are "bad" things. I judge others, and I judge myself, and harshly so.  This is my sin (among others).

But this is how God made me. I try hard to rest in that. It can be hard to accept yourself, and just let yourself be loved sometimes, the way you are. God didn't make me with a logical brain. He didn't make me a planner or a reasoner. But I'm not a reject, a 2nd quality fruit; I have to trust that. Although I haven't had a good cry in years, I always welcome it when it comes.  If anything, I may even have a degree of buoyancy and elasticity to take the unexpected things God throws us and not be broken by them. Maybe it is my term insurance against apostasy. Faith and reason, works and grace, the human and divine nature of Christ--there is always this tension in the life of faith, and sometimes one is prioritized and weighted more above the other. But we have two hemispheres of the brain for a reason, even if one tends to dominate. It's what makes us humans, not pre-programmed cyborgs.