Sitting in a dark theater, tears streaming down my face, hoping no one can see. I know it is just a play, yet something at the very core of my being knows that truth is being spoken here, truth about life, about living – and about me.

In the theater, a character or a scene helps me wrestle with something I am trying to understand, trying to resolve within myself. Or brings me face to face with something as yet unknown to my conscious mind, yet urgently needing attention. Possible answers are explored, the consequences of actions made explicit. And sometimes, the character in a play lives through a situation in a way that helps me avoid a ditch in my own life – or inspires me to take a risk, and to live more fully than I would have done before.

Perhaps this is why Joseph Campbell declared: "This surely is the justification of art . . . that beauty apprehended should have the power to illuminate the senses, still the mind, and enchant the heart," which in turn can “reestablish us with our own deep truth, which is at one with that of all being."¹

Much can be learned about the creative process by listening to artists recount their experience of the arising of inspiration, as we did in the last chapter. But there is another side to consider – the taking in – receiving into our inner world the artistic expressions created by another. This is the viewing, the listening, the reading – when you and I internally interact with artists’ creations. This is no small matter. As suggested before, the number of buildings constructed worldwide for this purpose is staggering: performance halls, art galleries, museums, mansions, ceremonial grounds, castles. But this is only the outer shell. The experience of art is often “inner,” whether sitting alone reading a book, standing before a great painting, squeezed into a crowded theater, or listening to a CD – these moments take us deep inside, into an inner world that comes alive from the touch of the artist’s hand. Or sometimes an artistic work can take us out of ourselves, into a communion with others who are moved by the same experience. But whether taking us deeper, connecting us to others, or touching our hearts, minds and souls in various other ways, the amount of time we humans have spent absorbing artistic creations is truly extraordinary.

As I consider this question, the first thought that arises is this: When artists inspirations come from “something greater,” experiencing their art can carry us into the presence of the mystery, providing us with a glimpse for ourselves of Mircea Eliade’s sacred time and space. Many philosophers and poets have believed this to be the case. Plato said, “Beauty is the splendor of the true,” and was echoed 2300 years later by the poet John Keats saying, “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”

Somehow, experiencing a powerful artistic creation touches something in us that brings us closer to the truth of our own lives, closer to a glimpse of our personal meaning and fulfillment, at least in moments when we are open. For this reason, many philosophers have held that beauty is one of the primary attributes of the highest good, and that beauty on Earth is a reflection of True Beauty, bringing us into contact with the greatest good about life that we can know.

Following this thread, the Scottish writer Thomas Carlyle observed, “In all true works of art, wilt thou discern eternity looking through time, the god-like rendered visible.” And the German poet Goethe proclaimed: “Art is the revelation of the concealed laws of nature which, without such revelation, would remain concealed.” These and many other such observations highlight special moments that most of us have had when encountering a great work of art: The feeling we are in contact with something that has the power to change us, and even provide a glimpse of answers to our most important questions.

Perhaps the power we experience in such moments – if we are open and receptive – is a sense of reaching through the artist’s work to touch the very source of their inspiration. Here journalist and writer Christine Cox can be our guide: “True art is inspired by the divine, and the source of that inspiration may be discerned by the attentive reader or viewer.” In this she is following the thought of one of her mentors, Paul Brunton, who observed that, “the secret of art’s highest mission is that . . . it enables those who share in the experience it evokes to be brought into the absolute stillness for a moment, however unconsciously and unintentionally.” He goes on to say, “The inspired artist acts as a conduit for the will of the spiritual energies, transforming matter into spiritualized substance, and manifesting the laws of the spirit here on earth.” Perhaps then, experiencing the work of an inspired artist gives us a chance, for an instant, to touch for ourselves the spiritual energies that are the source of much artistic inspiration.

Another keen observer, mythologist Joseph Campbell, explored this theme saying, “There is another and further range of the revelation of art that is beyond beauty, namely, the sublime, which has been defined as ‘that which arouses sentiments of awe and reverence, and a sense of vastness and power outreaching human comprehension’.” He continues, “The sublime, transcending physical definitions, suggests magnitudes exceeding life; not refuting, but augmenting life. . . . The way of art leads beyond opposites to the mountaintop of transcendental vision, where, as Blake discovered and declared, the doors of perception are cleansed and every thing appears to man as it is, infinite.”

What these folks are telling us is that in some mysterious way, inspired art is a manifestation of the sublime and the infinite, the highest laws of existence, and therefore it can in its magical moments bring us to an experience of the source ourselves. In fully opening to inspired art, we allow ourselves to be carried to the very mountaintop, from which we may glimpse the highest vision of life, and our role in it, and in so doing we will perhaps encounter the sublime, the infinite, the source of spirit itself. What is this “infinite,” this “source”? A supplicant cannot be picky. How to live is a great mystery, and if perchance this is a vehicle to catch a glimpse for our lives, let us not over-analyze or quibble about semantics, but simply learn to use this ancient tool in the best way we can find.

Saying this much more poetically than I, that greatest of English poets, William Shakespeare, “the bard” himself, declares in Midsummer-Night’s Dream:

Beautifully conveyed here is the sense that an inspired artist can glance toward “the mystery” and catch a glimpse of something that most of us are too busy or too self-centered to notice. (It is an “airy nothing” because most times it is hidden from us – hidden because our gaze is turned toward the mundane issues of our everyday lives.) But the inspired artist finds a way to bring what he or she has glimpsed down to “earth,” manifesting it here on this plane in a form that the rest of us can understand and experience, and hopefully claim as our own. The artist gives his or her vision of the mystery a “local habitation and a name,” gives it an expression in a particular place and time on this earth, so that those of us still immersed in the daily grind can catch a glimpse of its existence – and perhaps even its significance for our own lives.

It was a recognition of these currents that led Joseph Campbell to conclude that art is “the justifier of life,” and Nietzsche to declare it “the proper task of life.” These statements constitute high claims indeed for art’s importance, but how else are we to understand the role and importance artistic expression has been given throughout human history?

Two Kinds of Art

In exploring how art might significantly aid our lives, it is necessary to distinguish between two different kinds of art. As mentioned in the last chapter, much artistic expression through history has been entwined with the sacred in one way or another, but this is not true of everything called “art” today. Post-modernism’s attack on the sacred led to an explosion of art focused on selling goods, raw sensationalism, entertainment for entertainment’s sake, and the promotion of political messages and opinions. Some current “art” carries us only into the state T.S. Eliot dismissively called, “distracted from distraction by distraction.”

Both types of art have always been present in human history, but the non-sacred forms are more and more prominent in today’s world. It would therefore be a mistake to assume that everything referred to as “art” has a deeper meaning, connects us to the mystery, or provides useful guidance for our lives. I have certainly seen my share of paintings and movies and plays that did not bring me into contact with the sacred. (This could have been a failing on my part, of course, for the same work might have affected another in a more profound way. Drawing firm and clear lines here is impossible. But however tenuous, there is an important distinction to be made concerning the motive forces giving rise to the creation of a work of art.)

In his book Inner Reaches of Outer Space, Joseph Campbell takes great pains to describe the long history of debate related to this divergence. Using James Joyce’s distinction between “proper art” and “improper art” to get at the issue, Campbell quotes Joyce saying that in proper art, “The mind is . . . raised above desire and loathing.” . . . “One is not moved to physical action of any kind, but held in . . . contemplation and enjoyment.” On the other hand, “improper art” concerns itself with things of this world, and tends to arouse “fear or desire.” It moves us to action, either to escape from something we don’t like, or to get something we think will bring us pleasure (an object, a person, or an experience).

Neither Campbell nor Joyce is arguing that “improper art” should be banned or banished, only that it does not have the same effect on us as “proper art” – especially with regard to connecting us with something greater than ourselves. This is true because “improper art” is primarily concerned with entertainment (often sensationalized), with affecting political ideas, or selling something.

This debate goes back a long way: the greatest of medieval theologians, Thomas Aquinas, wrote about the different kinds of art in the 13th century. He believed the things necessary for true beauty in art were Integritas, Consonantia, and Claritas (usually translated as Wholeness, Harmony, and Clarity). Thus Joyce says, “The instant wherein that supreme quality of beauty . . . is apprehended luminously by the mind, which has been arrested by its wholeness and fascinated by its harmony, is . . . a spiritual state very like Luigi Galvani’s ‘enchantment of the heart.’” Here then is a door opened by art to the sacred, bringing us clarity, letting us feel the underlying harmony of existence, bringing us a sense of wholeness amid the chaos and fragmentation of everyday life.

This view of “proper art” might seem at first to exclude art which depicts pain and suffering. This is probably true for works that depict these things simply for their shock value, or merely to elicit fear or terror in the viewer. But if the depiction is intended to elicit a sense of compassion, of deep sympathy, then it is still “proper art.” Even a depiction that involves terror is “proper art” for Joyce, if it “arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human suffering and unites it with the secret cause.”

What a telling phrase. With it, Joyce brings us forcefully back to the connection between art and the sacred (though separated, as Joyce would, from the trappings of organized religion). The esthetic experience created by “proper art” is always a spiritual state, in which we are brought into the presence of that which is “grave and constant,” and united with the “secret cause” – a perfect way to describe art’s connection to the mystery of the sacred.

All these currents led Campbell to an exalted view of the role of art: “Surely this is the justification of art – that beauty apprehended should have the power to illuminate the senses, still the mind, and enchant the heart.” Art at this level “reestablishes us with our own deep truth, which is at one with that of all being.” Thus “proper art” brings us to a deep recognition of the truth of our lives, and through it we are led to a clear experience of our relationship to all beings, and finally to “the secret cause” – that mysterious “something greater” that so many artists view as the source of their inspiration.

I dwell on the differences in the motive forces between these two types of art because it would be a grave mistake to look toward much of today’s art for guidance in how best to live. We can take it all in, enjoy everything available to us as much as suits our tastes, but it would be wise to keep in mind that only some artistic expressions will have a beneficial effect on our decision-making, life plans, and the fulfillment of our highest dreams. Fire can cook, and fire can burn, and so it is with art. For me, then, a key part of wisdom is discerning what to let in at a deep level, what artistic creations to allow to touch my heart and soul.

At the same time, trying to pin down and define which works of art are profane versus those which serve as a doorway to the sacred will lead only to differences of opinion and fierce argument – a fool’s errand, and a path best left untrod. For my part, each of us can decide for ourselves what to let in, and what is unworthy of our time and attention. With one caveat: always remember that art is a powerful force, and it can serve ill as well as good, so choose as wisely as you can.

Following the Guidance

To follow the guidance that art provides, a necessary step is to recognize that playwrights and poets, and artists of most other breeds, speak in metaphor and analogy. For this, they have been criticized, and even dismissed as proffering knowledge that is too “soft,” or as being too abstract and unworldly. Such criticism is simple-minded and wrong-headed. In dealing with things that cannot be pinned down, like consciousness, feelings, life-dreams, and relationships, too great a specificity leads away from wisdom, not toward it. Besides, every field of knowledge rides on a wave of metaphors and analogies. Take modern physics, for example: from Newton’s clockwork universe to Einstein’s relativity clock, from Schrodinger’s cat to string theory’s garden hose, metaphor and analogy are a central way of speaking about the most advanced theories. How else would we talk about things that cannot be spoken in literal language? Modern physics would not exist without metaphor and analogy. Nor would economics, psychology, sales, nor even language itself. We acquire much of our knowledge through the phrases, “it is like,” and “it is like this.”

Another criticism that has been leveled at art is that there are no hard and fast explanations for what it is doing, for how it affects us. This certainly is true, but is not necessarily a problem. Maybe it is even an advantage. To experience art, what we must do is simply put aside the desire for hard and fast explanations, and ask how we can use the experiences it provides as guidance.² This setting aside of explanations is a process often used in many fields, such as science. Newton, for example, set aside trying to understand how gravity works, and simply focused on measuring its effects, which remains the position that science takes toward gravity to this very day.

Thus when we hear that art can connect us to “our own deep truth,” and that in some mysterious way this truth is “one with that of all being;” when we hear that art can lead to a spiritual state that is an “enchantment of the heart,” let us not quibble about explanations, but dive into the realm of creativity and inspiration and ask: What can I learn from the inspired states many artists have described as the source of their creativity? In what ways can I learn to “drift” as they do, and thereby gain entry into the mysterious region they are describing? (Always remembering it is wise to discern as best as possible what to let in at this deep level.)

If we do choose to explore these states for ourselves, there are two primary ways to begin:

1) Immersion By immersing ourselves in the works of inspired artists through the ages (from the Latin, in-spired – filled with spirit), and opening our hearts and minds to their influence, we may catch a glimpse of the truth and beauty the artist was experiencing at the moment of their creative impulse. Perhaps in special moments of experiencing great art, we will be able to share their glimpse and grasp through our own imagination, stimulated by theirs, an insight into life and living.

Van Gogh can again serve as a valuable example: Why is it that his works have become so enormously popular? One explanation is that in some of his paintings, he is able to make visible the energy and presence of the numinous – the luminous realm of that mysterious “something greater” to which so many artists have referred as the source of their inspiration. As I was standing before “Starry Night,” the sky seemed alive with energy and vitality, yet the earth below seemed cold, dreary, and dead. In the painting, there was no light in the church in the valley (the numinous did not seem to reside there for Van Gogh).

But the sky was filled with light and energy and power. Van Gogh was saying, without words (is still saying today to thousands upon thousands of people) that there is something out there that he senses, something we can experience for ourselves if we but open to its presence. As I stood before the painting in New York many years after Van Gogh’s death, he was waking me to its presence. Without knowing anything about his intention, without knowing anything about him, just standing there with an open heart and mind in front of “Starry Night,” I felt what he was saying, had been continuously saying with a few skilled brushstrokes for more than a hundred years.

Could my experience have been but a private fantasy, created by my own imagination? It is possible. How do we ever know for sure what is in the heart and mind of another? But Van Gogh’s letters, which I read many years after my encounter with the painting, clearly suggest the intent I experienced. And the crowds surrounding this work suggest the commonality of the effect.³ Further, the words many people use to describe their experience of “Starry Night” resonate with mine. And this is the only measure of shared truth we have, in any area of life, including science: one person’s words and symbols resonating as valid with the internal experience of another. Thus to me it seems unmistakable that many people gather in front of his paintings to feel the presence of the numinous energy he captured, the power of the mysterious “something greater” still living there. That is why we come in great numbers to stand before it in wonder.⁴

2) Creation There is another way each one of us can experience directly moments of inspiration: we can enter into the creating process ourselves. Each of us can learn in our own unique way to “drift,” to open into and touch the source of artists’ imagination and inspiration by undertaking a creative venture for ourselves. Being human seems to come with a special gear that has the capacity to experience these moments of “the visitation of the divine.” That gear might be unused in many of us, and it might need a little oil, but if we get the hang of the shift, and apply the right stimulus, it will begin to operate. (Later chapters will explore some of the ways people have gone about encouraging and developing this process.)

To follow this path means making a conscious decision to turn inspirational moments into works of art – to undertake the task of making manifest Shakespeare’s “airy nothing” in the world of form. For some of us, this is a very scary decision to make, and there is much resistance to putting ourselves out there, taking the risk. There is much concern about “I am not good enough,” or “What if others make fun of my work,” or “What if no one cares, or even notices?” Yet there is great value in pushing through these fears and making the effort.

Even for those of us who do not make such a decision, there is nothing to stop us from following the guidance of Thoreau when he declared, “To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.” Each one of us can practice this “highest of arts” by bringing the insights of our moments of inspiration – no matter how transitory and ephemeral they may seem – into the living of our lives. Each one of us can invite our inner inspiration to “affect the quality of the day.” And if we do, the changes this will bring about in us will begin to affect the quality of our days, and perhaps even the quality of the “days” of the people we meet.

In Bali – a culture that many travelers through the centuries have considered a paradise – every person is considered an artist. From an early age, every child is encouraged to take up one of the many artistic forms available in the culture, and to continue its practice throughout life. This is not done to encourage every child to earn a living as an artist. Rather, it seems to spring from a deep cultural understanding that encouraging everyone to find a form of artistic expression opens each and all to the deepest springs of experience that art can offer life. Used in this way, to paraphrase noted religious scholar Huston Smith, art becomes spiritual technology.

A questioner once asked Carl Jung what one should do with creativity if he or she did not happen to be an artist. His reply: “What can a person create if he does not happen to be a poet? If you have nothing at all to create, then perhaps you create yourself.” So perhaps the possibility is that each of us can choose to begin the long process of learning to work with these deep states of creativity and inspiration, learning gradually to bring the full force of their power to bear upon the creation of ourselves and our lives. Perhaps the ultimate role of art – both the creating and the experiencing of it – is to bring us into the “presence” for a moment. Then the value of our deepest inspirations moves beyond the creation of art: it becomes an opening to the fullest possible experience and expression of life.

1 Joseph Campbell, The Inner Reaches of Outer Space, p. 131-132

2 Analysis can come later, and it has its own value and importance.

3 “Starry Night” is one of the most famous and valuable paintings of all time. It brings me a smile to imagine that Van Gogh might know, in some alternate universe, that this one single painting he created is now worth more than perhaps any other painting in the world.

4 This is not to deny that many come simply because it is famous, and move on without the slightest hint of the experience I have described. I have seen many people who seemed to pass by in this way. But as to WHY it became famous in the first place, I will rest my case with the above reasons.