"This is really neat!" wrote Michael Wallacavage, as he sent around a link to this fascinating clip of Eric Whitacre's virtual choirs. Watch it, and I think you'll agree.
The singing starts at 6:27 and then again at 12:12 on the timeline. But don't skip what comes before! Whitacre's introduction is very interesting and engaging. He not only talks about the project itself, how it came about and so on, but also explains how he got interested in classical music. As a youth, his dream was to be a pop star. (He wanted to be the fifth member of Depeche Mode. Remember them?). But when he got to college he joined a choir instead. Not for love of music, mind you, but because it included a free trip to Mexico and the soprano section was full of "hot girls."
But then, Boom!, during the very first day of practice, as the choir launched into the Kyrie from Mozart's Requiem, he had a profound and life changing experience:
My entire life I had seen in black and white and suddenly everything was in shocking technicolor. The most transformative experience I've ever had. In that single moment, hearing dissonance and harmony, and people singing, people together, the shared vision, and I felt for the first time in my life that I was part of something bigger than myself.
Wow. I love it. What a powerful testimony to the influence of great music on the human soul.
Whitacre's experience contains, in a concentrated and intensified form, elements that are found in any deep encounter with value and beauty. I'll try to draw out a few of them, and hope you'll add your own reflections in the comment section.
Whitacre's experience opened his eyes to the depth, richness, and significance of reality. It wasn't merely a different perspective, it was a deeper one. What previously seemed humdrum and ordinary is now revealed for what it really is. All of a sudden, everything has color and meaning, including (though Whitacre does not say so explicitly) his own life and what he decides to do with it.
This doesn't mean that everything is honky dory. All of reality is revealed in technicolor. Not just the things that are noble and lovely, but also those that are ugly and painful. And yet, if the experience went deep enough, I suspect it also inspired a certain confidence that light is stronger than darkness, and that it has the final word.
It's worth underlining that the experience of a single thing of beauty, in this case Mozart's Kyrie, does not just affect one's perception of that one thing, but spills over onto everything else as well. In that way the experience of beauty is truly eye and soul opening. It improves our general ability to see and respond to value.
Whitacre's experience is also transformative. It does not just change his perspective, it changes him. That is why he is now a classical composer and conductor instead of a pop star. The change in his career is a reflection of a deep change in his person.
And note the manner in which beauty works these changes: not through force, or by leaving him with no other option, but by affecting his heart, and inclining it in a new direction. Whitacre is not compelled to give up his previous dreams, he wants to do so. The change, though sudden and drastic, is entirely free and organic.
This gentle, natural way in which values exert their influence is one reason they are so important in education. Exposing children to high values is a way of forming and enobling them that goes deeper and is more congenial than other methods of education involving discipline and rules. (Not that the latter can be eliminated altogether!)
Another fact about Whiteacre's experience is that it was totally unplanned and unexpected. Unlikely even. This also is a general feature of experiencing beauty. We can open ourselves to such an experience, and long for it, but we cannot simply decide to have it. If we are going to be swept up into something higher than ourselves, something (or someone) higher will have to do the sweeping.
This powerlessness on our part seems like a bummer. But really it is part of the blessing of beauty. Too much control is stifling and oppressive. Letting go is liberating. Or at least, it can be liberating. Everything depends on whether one is lifted up by something higher or dragged down to something lower than oneself. The former is liberating, the latter enslaving. (As an example of the latter, there's a song I sometimes hear during spinning classes at the YMCA, that challenges the listener to "disconnect from all intellect," "lose this inhibition," "break away from tradition," "get stupid," and so on.)
One last conspicuous feature of Whitacre's experience is that of a deeply felt communion with other people. "People singing," he describes, "people together, the shared vision… I felt for the first time in my life that I was part of something bigger than myself."
This unifying power is something that all genuine goods have in common, and it is related to the soul-opening power I mentioned above. Dietrich von Hildebrand explains this very well:
The human person has an "outer" and an "inner" side. When he is closed off, he touches the other only with his "outer side" and also touches the other from the outside. Something completely new happens as soon as man opens himself, lets his inner side appear and lets it touch the other person. Every experience of being deeply moved by value means such a breakthrough of the inner side, a self-opening of the person towards all others … [T]he crust of indifference, of egoism, and of pride, which forms on the outside of the person and closes him off from the other, melts under the influence of being moved by the world of values, [and] a union with all other persons constitutes itself simultaneously. The breakthrough of the depth of the person who is taken by the embracing rays of the realm of values … is simultaneously a falling away of the separating barriers between persons.
Hi Katie, In John Milbank's "An Essay Against Secular Order" he talks about the reality of forgiveness. He says that without forgiveness being accepted and realized it does not have a true reality. Neither does forgiveness have a true reality if it is merely formal. Receiving forgiveness involves a complete realization of consciousness of egocentricity. This involves a suffering on the receipient of forgiveness. It also involves a suffering on the forgiver through the re-establishing of the bonds of the relationship. -Tim
I have heard Mark-- on the radio-- speak about Uncle Andrew too. Together, Eustace and Uncle Andrew make for some of the most off-putting characters in Narnia, and can annoy readers to the point of wanting to imitate Edmund (of all people).
On the radio, Mark pointed out the unrepentant nature of Uncle Andrew, exhorting listeners to have "child-like faith' instead. It was a good reminder that ingenuity and IQ are not all we're meant for.
I love the reminder that turning away from serious vice is "the beginning of freedom".
The next big liberation, in my experience, is from illusions of rectitude and self-sufficiency. It's the willingness to face and absorb the truth about ourselves—especially our impotence to save ourselves, or even to live well.
I'm not sure, but maybe. Ivan Ilyich had his lists of "thou shalt not's," but they all had to do with what was and wasn't done in his social circle. There's something like that in Anna Karenina, too, about how Vronsky stuck to his principles, which were "Never lie, except to a woman," and "Never fail to pay a debt, unless it's a gambling debt," and so on. Crime and Punishment is pretty fuzzy in my mind, Cathy: is there some part in particular you're thinking of?
One of my favorite scenes in one of my favorite movies, On the Waterfront, is Terry and Edie's first date. Terry tells her his philosophy of life. It's every man for himself. Get the other guy before he gets you.
She lives in a different world—a world where people are part of each other, where they care about each other, help each other, and call out the best in each other. She's asking for his help. He's drawn to her world, but finds her naive. He wants her to drop her pursuit of justice for her brother. Forget it. Move on. Enjoy life. Don't risk trouble.
The conversation ends abruptly when he bursts out in frustration, "What do want from me, Edie?" She replies, passionately: "Much more. Much, much, much more."
Cardinal O'Brien sounds to me a lot like Terry. "I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?" The Vatican sound more like Evie. "Much much more."
Rhett, I'm with you in lamenting that maddening gap between the depth and delicacy of the insight you think you have and the clunky unspecialness of what comes out when you try to put in it words.
That's the negative experience of writing your thoughts. The positive experience is when you've struggled and struggled to say something, realized you're missing something key, and then suddenly seen what it is—something you wouldn't have seen if you hadn't made the effort to put it to paper, or screen.