Lewisian “l’art pour art”

Art: the veiled colossus. Its identity lies in an undefinable, yet familiar quality. It stands unmistakably alone among other human endeavors. Why? It is a question that humanity will never solve because it has a solely experiential foundation among an ever-changing human fabric. Authors, critics, and readers alike have, through the centuries, attempted to derive from literature some nugget of truth from what C.S. Lewis calls “the object itself,” that very object which wonderfully ensnares them. It is no surprise, therefore, that Lewis warns the reader against reading his novels as anything but good fiction. So many are quick to dismiss this notion as a game of literal hard-to-get between Lewis and his readers, yet these very same nay-sayers are astounded (or ecstatic) when they stumble upon what they perceive to be either theological discrepancy or logical fallacy. Lewis, an academic himself, wrote with such genius that analysis, the knee-jerk reaction in most cases, could bring forth a plentiful intellectual harvest, yet Lewis demands more than analysis. In fact, he asks that readers leave any academic bastard-children behind and experience the work for what it is worth. His reasoning is made clear through two elements that reflect the “object itself” among his writings: The function of art in itself and the element of focus in art.

The function of literature has in most cases assumed a persuasive guise. The notion that every author argues for his own respective worldview indicts the author with selfish intent. Rather, any worldview will come forth naturally as the story unfolds. In a preface to Perelandra, Lewis notifies the reader that the characters are “purely fictitious” and that “none of them is allegorical.” This comes as a shock to the Narnia-seasoned Lewisian, as metaphors that were once thought to be obviously allegorical are now rendered innocuous. This does not mean, however, that Lewis is nullifying his worldview (or what we supposed it was); he is simply divorcing literature from any search for the practical, an idea introduced in the early Nineteenth century with the dawn of l’art pour art. Critic Scott Oury maintains the notion that Lewis “teaches” and “instructs,” and that he “calls attention away from the object itself” through this, yet brings forth no proof whatsoever. The sheer fact that Lewis sought to sever any connection with allegory should be enough. Lewis shows through his fiction and critical forays that art is not meant to persuade, teach, or even communicate some underlying message, nor is it meant to be analyzed as a mathematical equation. It is meant to be understood within itself. He is able to achieve this by “mak[ing] metaphors unconscious of their connection with reality, i.e. the truth of the metaphor” as opposed to direct representations of reality with metaphors. This does not mean that Lewis’ work lacks any element of truth, or that he wants us to believe that there is a lack thereof. He wants literature to be appreciated for what it is, not for its underlying meaning, for good literature must “invite attention, interest, and pleasure for itself alone and not for secondary considerations as its truth or philosophy.” Strong emphasis is placed on the sanctity of experience in any given moment in Lewis’ Space Trilogy; In Out of the Silent Planet, Ransom finds that the Hrossa do not understand the need to hear a poem more than once, nor the need to continuously enjoy the same pleasure:

“And indeed,” [Hyoi] continued, “the poem is a good example. For the most splendid line becomes fully splendid only by means of all the lines after it; if you went back to it you would find it less splendid than you thought. You would kill it. I mean in a good poem.” (75)

The beauty of literature (and, in a broader scheme, art) lies in its unfolding. The reader is kept unaware of the ultimate destination purposely; otherwise, there would be no force driving the motivation forward, no process to undergo.

Appreciation of art lies in the same process. Art that exists “inseparably bound to the qualities of things, yet distinctly itself” must possess some lasting element that draws the subject further and further along without reaching a definitive climax (Oury, p. 4). In Perelandra, Ransom observes that each pleasure surpassed the previous one and is reluctant to taste the fruit again (pp. 42-43). It is this longing for the repetition of the incomplete joy that binds humankind to finity, evidenced by Weston’s attempt to bring the green lady to the Fixed Land for an extended stay. Hindsight, while remarkably keen, always leads backwards, and to dwell on it would stall any life dynamic. It is foresight that drives man forward, out of decay and into infinity. Lot’s wife, now a pillar of salt, learned this the hard way during the purging of Sodom and Gomorrah. Human life itself is concerned wholly with a “recurring desire so wonderful that we want it again and again,” that is, the need for something that is accessible as reality in relation to our own thoughts (Beversluis, p. 15). This is how we are convinced to bring objects out of their natural environment, the context in which they were meant to serve.

A melody taken out of context is stripped of its identity, for it must be born and shaped into a musical contour. It is part of the contour, yet exists as its own distinct entity at the same time. The work follows a recognizable shape and moves forward simultaneously, mirroring human life. In The Abolition of Man, Lewis identifies the “way, the road” as the imitation in life of Nature’s shape, explaining the shaping of musical, literal, and visual contours (p.28). In order to recognize this narrative shape, however, one must take into account Lewis’ preference towards myth as an artistic means. He maintains, according to Oury’s article, “The Thing Itself,” that there are four elements of myth that accurately explain its effectiveness:

…that a myth has value in itself apart from any particular account of it, that it introduces us to a permanent object of contemplation which works upon us by its peculiar flavor or quality, that it follows a simple narrative shape similar to our own life, and that it is ‘fantastic,’ ‘grave,’ and ‘awe-inspiring.’ (p.11)

In short, myth is the most accurate literal medium in its portrayal of reality. Lewis, a classicist through and through, combines elements of Greco-Roman and Norse mythology in order to weave one of the most brilliant narrative fabrics the world has ever seen, and it is through this brilliant counterpoint that the reader can come closest to true appreciation and to a better understanding of the “object itself.”

C.S. Lewis’ literature requires the shedding of conventional artist-audience roles and the assumption of a selfless, vulnerable role as readers. Art serves no utilitarian purpose, so the partaker must pursue it for its value within itself. In order for art to be fully appreciated, the subject must focus all attention on the work in its own context, leaving behind all analyses and personal encounters, being reminded that it is the stand alone quality of art and literature which we must experience. It is the act of giving yourself over to the peculiar force and flow of story and art that makes it so unique, and utterly indescribable at the very same time. Nature can only be fully experienced amidst feelings of “remoteness” and “forgottenness,” just as any formative process requires that the subject is completely malleable. Vulnerability is entirely dependent upon a person’s willingness to relinquish a notion of self or the expectation of comfort for the purpose of compromise or, in some cases, submission. The N.I.C.E. is the prime example of a uncompromising subject. The organization thrives on “fear, avoidance, and projection of one’s own feelings and wishes upon others,” the competitive academic environment it is (Oury, p. 15). Wither, an extreme case, operates by projecting his own agenda upon those around him, yet, ironically enough, has no semblence of truth within him. Filostrato zealously promotes the biological imperative, only to be found naked and headless at the feet of a nothing. The head itself, demanding more and more heads, is ultimately eaten by Mr. Bultitude in a charmingly ironic twist of fate. Each of the members of the N.I.C.E. wish to extend the shelf-life of humankind indefinitely for their own reasons. They are regular participants in a philosophical game of “chicken”; Wither, the Head, and Filostrato all perish furiously beating their chests, asserting their humanity. So precious is the transformation of finite into infinite to them, that they widen the disparity in embracing the very thing that makes them finite: humanity. Projecting one’s own experience upon any given narrative interferes with the narrative fabric and, in the end, negates the authenticity of an author’s work. Why prolong the finite, the agent that keeps humankind bound to the shackles of death, when the infinite can be pursued? Leave behind any notion of self when experiencing art.

Beholding any work of art requires the presence of the veil. It is the rag that gags, etherizes, and subtly strikes in an unsuspecting moment. The sanctity of art lies in the very wonder of Benjamin Constant, in his Journal Intime (1804), is the first writer to have mentioned art for art’s sake (l’art pour art). He and his literary antecedents (James Whistler, for one) reacted with disgust to utilitarian art, or art that is used rather than received. Whistler, in The Gentle Art of Making Enemies (1890), complained about the hijacking of art:

Art has been maligned. …People have acquired the habit of looking, as who should say, not at a picture, but through it at some human fact, that shall or shall not…better their moral state. (pp. 136, 13

This sentiment become extremely popular once the Modern era came about, and arrived at an exaggerated apex with Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain (1917), a urinal with the ubiquitous signature “R. Mutt.” Lewis never went this far, obviously, but he introduced some ideas that are much more radical than we think, especially amongst the artistic atmosphere of the early Twentieth century. Lewis is an unashamed modernist. His devotion to absolute literature rivals that of James Joyce, yet goes about it in a much more subtle way; he removes himself from the traditional persuasive authorial role in order to facilitate the magical interaction between story and reader. Instead of assuming a particular state of mind, as in the stream-of-consciousness style of Joyce and Virginia Woolf, he breaks through a plane seldom broken in literature through canning authorial identity. Remarkably enough, art takes an abandonment of self on both the reader and author’s parts. Art should never be used by author or reader to achieve equilibrium, nor should it be the source of a good buck. It is meant to be experienced as the distinct yet unknowable quality, similar to hearing a certain chord or experiencing deja vu. It is the formative experience that Lewis subjects the reader to that renders the reader incapable of assuming the role of self. Thus his literature cannot be understood nor appreciated as allegory, for that would cheapen his works into veritable propaganda; rather, it requires that we lose selfish notions and appreciate it for its own sake.

Format and Small Talk

Hello, fellow fishermen! I have been remiss in updating my blog recently due to the intrusion of several meddling tests and projects. Over the next couple weeks I will be trying to settle into a regular schedule of updating my blog as my schedule normalizes a little. I’ve also been experimenting with several formats recently only to find that the old format works best. So that’s taken care of for the time being.

I’m also adding weekly updates on my forays into the world of music. Since I am pursuing a career in performing, I need to be able to communicate my musical pursuits and to share my experiences with the you all so that you can partake in some of the music I enjoy so much.

Anyway, I hope everyone has a good week. Peace be with you! 

March 16 - March 22

What I’ve been listening to this week:

1. Dracula by Philip Glass, performed by the Kronos Quartet. It is meant to be played while watching the silent film Dracula (starring none other than Bela Lugosi).

2. La Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. Performed in Salzburg, Austria, starring Anna Netrekbo and Rolando Villazon.

3. Der Ring das Nibelung: Das Rheingold by Richard Wagner. Part of the famed Ring cycle. Rich, Quasi-romantic, and as dark a chocolate you can get.

4.  The Game of Life by Arsonists Get All the Girls. What my friends like to call “dance-core.”

5. Sailing the Seas of Cheese by Primus. Atonal, arythmic, and an overall lack of seriousness.

Finite no more!

Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; purify your hearts, you double-minded.

This verse (James 4:8 NKJV) drills straight into the very core of my heart, into the tarry dregs that lie in the deepest, undisturbed corners of my soul. It is completely within human nature to pursue two opposite lives: One of holiness, and one of the flesh. But can I really pursue holiness while looking reluctantly towards those things which God has forbidden? For the temporal cannot be in the presence of the holy, the infinite, the timeless. 

When two lives in opposite dimensions are adopted there is really only one life that prevails: The mindset that has immediacy, that lies within that same dimension. Worldliness is outright rejection of the infinite, because the finite has been chosen over the infinite, thus placing definite parameters around what would be the infinite. Luckily for us, God brought infinity to finite Earth by putting himself into human form, subjecting himself to grim Hades, and defying those very parameters of the finite which brought death to God’s creation.

When we are living in the careful balance (or lack thereof) between the world (the finite) and holiness (the infinite), we make death and God into mutuality, as if they are accomplices in a crime. Why do we subject God to death once again? Why do we make Him to be the very same entity as death itself? Hosea must have experienced something similar when he was to marry Gomer. He felt the aches of unrequited love, the pangs of loneliness while Gomer sold herself to other men, the agony of a torn union. 

All of this is meant to illustrate to you precisely what is so horrible about double-mindedness. We separate ourselves from God by placing Him in direct juxtaposition to the temporal in an act of horrid contempt towards Him. Dr. Jekyll experienced the immediate consequences of finity when he made this observation:

“Hence it came about that I concealed my pleasures; and that when I reached years of reflection, and began to look round me, and take stock of my progress and position in the world, I stood already committed to a profound duplicity of life.”       

Jekyll was so disillusioned with Mr. Hyde that he had become “committed” to his duality, and, in turn, resigning himself to Hyde. Jekyll still exists, but it is Hyde who dominates the duality. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a duality. 

Only infinity can override the finite. Humanity has been given infinity through the death and subsequent resurrection of  Christ; death, that cruel usurper, has abdicated. We are bound by the finite no more! 

 I will plant her for myself in the land; I will show my love to the one I called ‘Not my loved one.’ I will say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people’; and they will say, ‘You are my God.’     

But Who Will Watch the Watchmen?

…Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodies?

-Juvenal, Satire VI

The success or failure of implementing bureaucracy is wholly reliant upon two things: A definitive, just power source, and clear communication amongst divisions. Bureaucracy is, in theory, the most efficient way to divide power only if there is a power regulating the bureaucracy itself; a bureaucracy which stands alone has no source from which to divide power, in turn ensuring its own downfall. The famed Marxist utopian experiments in the Twentieth Century failed when movements to decentralize power became subject to totalitarian dictatorships, ultimately bringing about genocide and war in their desperate attempts to ensure societal and economic uniformity. The USSR, China, and others each were devoted the cause of power divided equally amongst all citizens. Therein lies the problem. Power is not meant to be overspecialized to the point of individual autonomy. Rather, each individual is given rights and protected by the jurisdiction of power. Famed sociologist Max Weber noted that bureaucracy has an “impersonality, concentration of the means of administration, a leveling effect on social and economic differences and implementation of a system of authority that is practically indestructible.” Each of these characteristics makes bureaucracy an ideal candidate for manipulation; it is through this means to an end society would become that much more vulnerable to malevolent forces and hideous strengths.

The lack of clarification within the National Institute for Coordinated Experiments (N.I.C.E.) is addressed by C.S. Lewis in That Hideous Strength through the lens of obsessive insider Mark Studdock. Studdock is able to maneuver himself into good standing with progressively more and more exclusive circles. Amongst inner circles at Belbury he finds that there is a great deal of backstabbing and finger-pointing, and, much to his chagrin, that no one has the faintest idea of their ultimate purpose as exclusive members of the N.I.C.E. When he finally enters into the innermost circle of Belbury—those purported to have been directing the affairs of the organization—he finds that even fewer of the elites know of their true purpose. The air of paranoid oversight ensnares followers and keeps them under the control of the organization, showing the N.I.C.E.’s sly utilization of organizational mayhem and groupthink.

Worse yet, he finds that they are deluded into thinking that their specific function is driving the Institution. Filostrato, for instance, is fueled by the belief that humanity can transcend biological constraints by scientific means: Straik is convinced through his set of heretical religious views that any form of power is an embodiment of God’s will: Even the actual Director of the N.I.C.E., Jules, is, through his scant knowledge of science, completely unknowing of the real purpose of the N.I.C.E. He is merely a figurehead. Only Wither and Frost are informed enough to know the N.I.C.E.’s purpose as direct servants of the Macrobes (fallen eldila). Being informed, however, comes at a rather hefty price: Both Wither and Frost are so sickeningly deluded by the Macrobes that they are absolutely devoid of soul or interior. Wither is oftentimes described as having momentary bouts of a lack of expression, which could be interpreted as an outward sign of his lack of a soul.

Still, there is no central power. Wither answers to the real Head (literally and figuratively), the severed head of Alcasan, which is the host to a fallen eldila. The Macrobes are the very essence of opposition to authority through their rebellion against Maleldil the Young, yet the reader is given no insight as to whether there is a ‘bent’ Oyarsa overseeing the process. Even if it is present, one cannot assume that the fallen eldila are willing to abide by any sort of authority whatsoever, as presumably autonomous Satanic agents. The bent Oyarsa could have presented itself to the innermost circle just as the good Oyarsa’s were able to visit Ransom and Merlin at St. Anne’s. Therefore the reader can deduce that the bent eldila, the embodiment of heavenly rebellion, are autonomous.

In Satire VI, Roman poet Juvenal raises a question which eerily haunts us today:

Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

But who will watch the watchmen?

How could any plot without a concrete leader – in this case, the Watchman of watchmen, Maleldil—succeed? The Macrobes can manipulate the Earth’s laws, its people, and bend it in the wrong direction, but they are utterly powerless in the face of Maleldil the Young. The sheer fact that animals could overcome an organization bent on eliminating humanity shows the readers that there had to have been a serious flaw.

N.I.C.E.’s weakness was its lack of power structure. The purported plot to completely abolish true mankind had to remain completely clandestine in order to appeal to the competing interests of the selfish workers of N.I.C.E. Only through manipulating flaws inherent in organizational power structures and through delusion were the Macrobes able to gain significant enough momentum to put the world under their sway.

Upon arrival in the present time, Merlinus expresses his dismay over the lack of a leader “whose office it is to put down tyrants and give life to dying kingdoms.” Ransom, however, is able to reestablish this role as Director when he, through the careful operations of the Logres, put down the tyrannical N.I.C.E. The power structure of the Logres is rather clear: It is led by the Pendragon, who has been appointed by Maleldil as the successor to previous Pendragons, the first of which was Arthur. Here we have an explicitly clear case for centralized power, in that the rightful leader is approved by Maleldil. As for the division of power, there is an indirect division of power through labor and the inhabitants’ various spiritual gifts; even Ivy Maggs holds a unique role at St. Anne’s as the caretaker of Mr. Bultitude and the animals. This power structure is actually more efficient in practice than that of any bureaucratic regime.

The very same ethical problem seen in the N.I.C.E.’s Macrobial motivations arises in the award-winning graphic novel The Watchmen, an expose on the alleged corruption of famous Superheroes. Adrian Veidt, better known as Ozymandias, who is purported to be the “smartest man in the world” and the most successful of the former superheroes in the aftermath of the Keene Act of 1977, deliberately opens Pandora’s box through an elaborate scheme involving an alien invasion with the intent to unite the entire world against a common, absolute enemy. In doing this, he uses murder to achieve his means to an end, sacrificing half of New York City’s population in the process. His vision of reality and his self absorption with his hierarchical understanding of humanity (under the guise of Eastern Mysticism) has been so distorted that he believes he is doing the world a service; no one deliberately takes the lives of the multitude for more lives to be saved. One should start by saving as many lives as possible in the first place.

The smartest man on the planet became so idealistic that he had to create evil to unite humanity to destroy it. Filostrato believed that the world had to be wiped clean in order to fulfill the biological imperative. Both tried to make the same dream a reality, and both saw their plans infiltrated.

Even so, the N.I.C.E. ended the very way it began: In confusion and chaos. Those who worked at Belbury were following a lie that conformed to their interests and obsessions as the chameleon changes color in his environment, and manipulated situations to their own advantage, only to be caught up in a complicated web of blaming and pointing fingers. Luckily for humanity, there is something so much more powerful than the red tape and naivety of such a power structure: The absolute power of God.

The Church and the Nations: Jews and Gentiles

This is a great article by Rev. Tad deBordenave, who was the former Director at Anglican Frontier Missions (with whom I worked in the summer of 2007). In “Jews and Samaritans,” Tad sets out to elucidate Biblical situations which translate directly into attitudes and dilemmas we face in our efforts to spread the Gospel to every corner of the Earth.

The Church and the Nations
JEWS AND SAMARITANS

JOHN 4:9

The phrase could easily appear to be a throw away line, an insignificant aside, a broadly accepted assumption, but the truth of it cuts very deep. “The Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.”

The woman at the well wanted to know why this Jew was asking of her some water. It just wasn’t done.

The social separation that this represents only scratches the surface of the animosity between these two ethnic groups. At the very least one would not eat or accept any form of hospitality from the other. To the Jew these people were polluted and could not be made clean but by extraordinary cleansing by the priests of the Temple.

Josephus tells of one Passover night when the gates of the Temple were open for all to enter. Some Samaritans entered and spread old bones around the Temple floor, insulting the Jewish faith at its most sacred moment and place. He notes that the story is unlikely but does reflect the deep-seated hostility between them.

Where do we see this today? Too many places and too frequently. I’m not speaking of the rift itself but the offhanded way of mentioning the rift. Parentheses, an aside, an assumption that seems to brook no challenge - Jews have no dealings with Samaritans. Or change the names to fit contemporary situations.

Too many examples come to mind. One time I had heard that Han Chinese have no dealings with a particular people group far in the west of China. I mentioned this to a Chinese friend who had a passion for evangelism. “Is this true?” I asked of this Christian. “Oh yes, we can’t stand them,” was the immediate reply. That is merely an example to show the blind spot we can all have.

The consequences of the rift lead to areas that negate or snuff out any credible outreach. Prejudice has obviously poisoned the feelings of the two groups to each other. Hyperbole, revulsion, and distortions are not far behind and are easily fed.

One frequent missions strategy for an unreached people group is to motivate the nearby Christian group to evangelize them. Sometimes, yes, but it bears checking out. What is the history of the two groups, and is there an assumed distance and hostility between the two? If so, that strategy needs to disappear. Sounds good, but never discount the depths of human sin.

These realities make the missions-minded Christian embarrassed and sad. Of course the next and obvious step is for me - and all of us - to ask what assumptions I personally have about groups - ethnic, local, religious, racial - for whom I would never think of connecting for making Christ known.

THE LEAST EVANGELIZED ….

THROUGH THE EYES OF ST. PAUL, APOSTLE TO THE NATIONS

PAUL’S CALLING

The direction of this column is moving towards Paul and his global vision. The brief studies on the new perspective will help in looking at how he wrote this vision into his letters. More of that will come much later. In the meantime and for the next few weeks this column will explore Paul’s calling. After that I will look at the major events and epochs in his life that shaped and colored that vision.

It is logical that the major themes of his writing would reflect the central calling on his life. Paul, as diligent as he was in his integrity, would never would have deviated far from what his Lord would have called him to do. That would always be the priority for his ministry and for his correspondence.

What was that calling, and where do we find it? We find it when we read what his Lord told him. Three times Paul recounts his Damascus Road encounter with Christ. In each of them he gives the explicit directions from Christ for him, through Ananias to whom Paul was sent.

Acts 13:15, instructions to Ananias from Christ to tell Paul, “He is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the children of Israel.” Acts 22:15: “You will be a witness for him to everyone of what you have seen and heard.” Acts 26:18: “I am sending you to open the eyes of the Gentiles so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.”

To us today that may sound like no more than a calling to a specific place and people. No big deal, just specificity that ends a time of searching and prayer. That was not the case with Paul’s calling to the Gentiles. The first section of this column illustrates that, the relations of Jews with one specific Gentile group, the Samaritans.

Paul was called to a segment of the world whom his people and he considered unclean, polluted, and profane. There was no place for them in the Kingdom. For Jesus to call Paul “to preach to them the unsearchable riches of Christ” takes the mission of God out of bounds, as far as the Jews thought.

This calling was radical. No, more - it was unheard of, blasphemous, and impossible. Paul had to rethink all he had been taught in order to see how the message of the Kingdom was not superseded by this but was extended in a way consistent with all he had in the Scriptures. It took Paul three years in Arabia to work this out.

There was another part of the calling, more an anticipation of what to expect from preaching to the Gentiles. He would face stiff opposition. Jesus added this caution to his call, so he would know what was coming. In Acts 22:17 Christ appeared to him following the encounter, when Paul was in Jerusalem preaching. Jesus said to him, “Make haste and get out of Jerusalem quickly, for they will not accept your testimony about me.” (Acts 22:1 In Acts 13:16 “I will show him how much he will have to suffer for my name.” And in Acts 26:17: “I will appear to you, delivering you from your people and from the Gentiles.”

Next week - the succinct summary of his calling, written in Ephesians 3:5-10, and the implications that continue to this day.

Rev. Tad de Bordenave
Founding Director, Anglican Frontier Missions

Knelt before His Altar

The candles aflame on the altar offer some solace in this dark, cavernous sanctuary. Light dancing amidst shadow breathes lightly trails of smoke, curving, slithering into the darkened arched heavens above. Inhale, exhale, swirl through the incense, make like the flight of a soaring dreamer: steady, calm, lifted by arms Omnipotent. An afterthought assimilating into the dense perfumes and heavy incense of open spaces. Ascend, laden with our earnest prayers, into the deep above us, where Father of Lights will restore us. He is the sculptor of the glittering stars above, the master of jewelers. His hands guide the gray remains of light heavenward: The Potter at the Wheel.

Madison Singers: Mass for Four Voices

Last year, 11 of the 27-strong Madison Singers of James Madison University performed William Byrd’s Mass for Four Voices at Trinity Episcopal Church in Staunton, VA for the Staunton Music Festival. The videos above were recorded at our performance of the Kyrie and Gloria at St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in Richmond, VA during the Madison Singers’ Fall Tour of 2007.

Having the opportunity to perform a full high Renaissance mass is quite rare, actually, due to relative obscurity within the scope of our common practice era and modern era ears. It takes a certain breed of musician, one who has a special ear for the greater whole: A recognition of the beauty of liturgy.

William Byrd rose to fame under the reign of Mary Tudor, known as ‘Bloody Mary’ in the more bitter Protestant circles, who had a special appreciation for the Latin Mass. He had been “bred up to music under Thomas Tallis,” but was often criticized by Tallis himself (in later years) for his tendency towards complexity and for the combination of disparate Biblical texts within his songs. Further separating the two were their religious allegiances; Tallis supported Cranmer and the Anglican Church, while Byrd pledged his loyalties to Papal sentiments.

Byrd, however, did not suffer directly at the hands of the Anglican Church. He was incredibly lucky in that he was allowed to continue his musical penmanship, most likely due to his pre-established reputation as a court musician under Mary. He wrote some Anglican anthems, but wrote secretive Masses and bitter Latin motets outside of his work with the Church. One of these very Masses was his Mass for Four Voices. Meant to be performed in secret by select, learned musicians, this mass echoes the secretive, faithful sentiments of the Catholic community amongst the havoc of the Anglican split. Check it out, and tell me what you think!

Poetry: Going Blind

A few years ago, I bought a small collection of poetry by German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, and I’d have to admit that I really didn’t understand it at the time because, as a high school sophomore, I was directing my efforts towards the likes of Shel Silverstein and Paul Simon. It wasn’t until I had faced the Modern-era brutes (Woolf, Sylvia Plath, suicidal stream of consciousness, and Leopold Bloom’s epic search for lunch in Joyce’s Ulysses) that I really started to look at poetry differently, thus gaining access to a wider array of knowledge. Before, I had viewed poetry as metaphors, metaphors, and then some more metaphors. Unfortunately, my view of metaphorical imagery was largely misguided, as I saw them as some weighty means to an end that sounds good but is not applicable in any extratextual context. As I studied more and more music, and, in turn, libretto and lyrics, however, I came to realize where I had erred: One cannot simply boil poetry down to a collection of metaphors, for poetry is the contextualization of that which cannot be described under natural etymological boundaries, or the connection of perceptions and sensual objects in a way that can more accurately describe each other and even, in some cases, cure certain misconceptions. Essentially the poet is a modern-day pioneer who builds roads with only a quill and ink, or the new astonishing breakthrough, the ballpoint pen. This is precisely what Rainer Maria Rilke does when he writes his poetry. Many a time I have delved into a short, simple poem of his and came out with a nugget of pure gold (intellectual gold, that is; I am no alchemist). Here is a poem (”Going Blind”) that has been particularly resonant with my interest in special needs children.  

She sat just like the others at tea.At first it was as if she held her cupa little differently from the rest.She gave a smile. It was almost painful.And when the time came to rise and talkand slowly, in no special order,pass through many rooms (they talked and laughed),then I saw her. She came behind the others,Seeming subdued, like someone who soonwill have to sing before many people;on her pale eyes full of joy,light played from outside, as on a pond.She followed slowly, taking a long time,as though something hadn’t yet been surmounted;and yet: as if, as soon as she was past it,she would no longer walk, but fly.

What a brilliant representation. To me, this hearkens back to the final line of Amazing Grace: ”Was blind, but now I see.” We don’t really understand what true blindness entails. That carefully balanced interrelation between each of the five senses would certainly be affected (try standing still with your eyes closed). We would be forced to become reliant on others. We would also have to have faith.The final stanza strikes me the most. Something not yet surmounted, but surety in flight beyond. How beautiful, how true. Blindness takes the strength of will that we do not have when we have all senses, but when one cog is removed, the whole system must adapt, becoming vulnerable in the process. And you and I both know that the Lord works through our vulnerability: It allows us to rely on Him completely, and allows Him to work in us, fully ordaining us with the Holy Spirit. 

I don’t normally write about Football

…but I just couldn’t resist.

This weekend, Tom Brady and the New England Patriots will attempt to continue their pursuit of the perfect season (19-0), an honor only the 1972 Miami Dolphins hold, against the resurgent San Diego Chargers, while Brett Favre and the Green Bay Packers take on Eli Manning and the New York Giants at Lambeau Field. I have been paying extra close attention to this post-season not just because my team, the New York Giants, have reached their 3rd NFC championship, but because of the historical identity the season itself has taken.

The New England Patriots added to their already mildly explosive arsenal in the offseason (signing star WR Randy Moss and little-known WR weapon Wes Welker) and, not to anyone’s surprise, turned into the very weapons of mass destruction the world has feared since the Cold War (sorry, Miami, sticks and stones don’t come until World War IV). They have proven time and again their ability to win under such heavy scrutiny from the media as well as fans since Week 1.

The San Diego Chargers went 1-3 at the beginning of the season, quietly winning every single game since, much to the chagrin of newly installed head coach Norv Turner’s critics. They are relying much less on storied RB LaDanian Tomlinson, taking a much more balanced approach to their offense while Shawne Merriman leads one of the peskiest pass rushes in the NFL. Philip Rivers has shown that he can break away from some of his instability and prove that he is who he is: A professional quarterback. Their 2006-7 postseason ended with a heartbreaking loss to (surprise!) the Pats, so look for a heated/emotional game between the two.

The Green Bay Packers have silenced nay-sayers in a simply astounding season. 38 year-old QB Brett Favre has had his best season yet, and is looking to retire with a Super Bowl Ring. After a mediocre finish to the regular season, the Packers redeemed RB Grant’s two fumbles early in the game to shock the Seahawks 42-20. Redemption is clearly on Anthony Grant’s mind, as it should be for all of us.  Packers fans speculate that Favre and the Pack will end the Pats perfect season, which would certainly be a memorable occasion for all of us.

I clearly saved the best for last. The New York Giants have burst into the forefront of the NFL in the past three weeks. After losing a terrible game to the mediocre (at best) Redskins, the G-men nearly upset the perfect Pats, ran over the Buccaneers, and humiliated Tony Romo and the Cowboys, thanks to a great team performance spearheaded by late-bloomer Eli Manning. Expect a heated showdown  that makes Clint Eastwood look like a pansy.