Music's Blessing: It Can't Be Misunderstood

A week or so ago, I posted a "tweet" to Twitter (gosh, I hate even saying that) suggesting that Music and the Mind by Anthony Storr was interesting, but contained no major revelation for me.

I wish to recant that statement (tweet - ugh). Storr recounted an observation by the author Marcel Proust that in the absence of language, which is inherently problematic due to its ambiguity, vagueness, etc. music might have provided an effective way for mankind to communicate.

I have been thinking about this idea for about a week now, and wishing it were true. Music provides me with such solace. But language always fails me in explaining myself. It is subject to misinterpretation. (That is probably why I have always been so enamored of the "principle of charity" in interpretation. In fact, I wrote about it in my other blog.)

I have often imagined that heaven is a place where musical celebration would take place all the time. Perhaps, if Proust is right, it is the very essence of the afterlife. Works for me.

Is Facebook a Prefigurement of the Afterlife?

Growing up Christian, one becomes familiar with the concept of "prefigurement." The Old Testament, for example, is said to contains signs that "prefigure" the coming of Jesus Christ. After Christ, Thomas Aquinas would argue that the glories of accomplishment in this world are but prefigurements of the extreme glory to be found in the kingdom of heaven.

You get the idea. One thing is the sign of something greater to come.

Implicit in much of this is the Platonic idea of the world as an imperfect reflection of some higher, transcendent super-good.

Any good of the world is subject to this same kind of argument.

I can't help but think about prefigurement, then, when contemplating the good of "ambient awareness" generated by social networking.

For some of us, at least, social media's capability to provide frequent updates on the status of our friends and acquaintances makes us happy. We are the open books who long for a deeper connection with others; to have our inner life heard and validated, and do likewise for others.

Will the afterlife be the ultimate form of ambient awareness?

According to Thomas Aquinas, yes, but only insofar as that is an "overflowing" result or side benefit of knowledge of God. Call Him the Ultimate "Friend." Once God has gratuitously "friended" you, all your other friendships are perfected. (The notion of such an "overflow" is explained in St. Thomas Aquinas's Summa Theologica, First Part of the Second Part, "Treatise on the Last End," Question 3.)

Here's why:

For Christians, no natural longing is ever the same after Plato. "Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee" is the most haunting line of Christianity - written by the neo-Platonist, Doctor of the Church, St. Augustine. Augustine posits that natural goods can never satisfy us. We seek the transcendent God. This is rooted in a long series of arguments from Plato, and finds stirring literary exposition in St. Augustine's "Confessions."

Thomas Aquinas would later explain this argument in great, although more boring, detail, borrowing also from Plato's student, Aristotle.

Following Aristotle, Aquinas argued that we seek knowledge through causes. However, knowledge of secondary causes (all the things of the world) is imperfect. There is always more to know.

Happiness consists primarily of knowledge of the First Cause, Aristotle's Unmoved Mover, a.k.a., Plato and Augustine's ultimate, transcendent good.

When we are granted Knowledge of the First Cause, God, by His sheer gift, it will provide beatific insight into all the other causes. This is sometimes called Thomas Aquinas's "intellectualist" vision of perfect happiness.

The reason it is called "intellectualist" is because it places happiness primarily in the exercise of reason, which is most essential to human beings. But, the overflow comes when all else that we experience as human beings is perfected by this primary form of knowledge.

Social media doesn't prove anything theological. It only underscores a human need, the solution to which is always moving into a better state thanks to science and technology. (Why we must exist in an imperfect state at all is a very unsatisfying mystery of religion.)

But once you read Plato, you are next inclined to ask whether social media and other solutions to the problem of life's imperfections can reach a state of "perfection." And if so, how? Christianity volunteers a compelling answer.

Image used under Creative Commons license courtesy of ewen and donabel.

The Comedian Who Died, Literally

Perhaps because the weather is getting cooler toward the end of summer, I find myself remembering my visit one cool evening to a small Christian coffee house in East Northport, N.Y., where, not long ago, I heard a comedian give witness to life after death.

Samantha's Li'l Bit of Heaven hosted my friend Lenny Horowitz, the only Jewish act on the bill on its regular comedy nights. He was the resident non-believer, and he got lots of mileage out of his outsider status. When he told jokes that challenged the audience's delicate sensibilities, they would shake their bags of pretzels in disapproval.

As I had done a few times before, I visited one evening for Comedy Night, to see Lenny perform, and decide whether or not I could overcome my stage fright and do 5 minutes.

I decided against it. Lenny did well. But he was not the closer that evening. Another comedian, named Mike, whom I also know well from the local circuit, stood up to do his act.

Mike did many of his old bits, sanitized from when he would perform them at Governor's Comedy Club in Levittown.

But the one thing I expected least was when Mike decided to close his act by testifying to this eminently receptive audience about the time he "died" and went to heaven. Mike's heart had stopped beating during a heart attack years before. How long it stopped I don't remember him recounting. But, as he said, he "died on the table" at the hospital.

During this time, he told the rapt audience, he experienced an incredibly friendly and peaceful presence. It showed him that his wife and all of his children would be healthy and happy. And that they would join him someday. Most interestingly to me, he also got a rather immediate explanation for all of the suffering in the world.

But, alas, he was revived. And he told the medical staff saving his life, "Let me go! Let me go!" because he wanted to be in heaven.

And from that day forward, he said, although he did not know why he was still here, he did not fear death, or anything else for that matter. He "knows" that he will be happy after death, and that all is well with the world.

Out of respect for the man's story, I should have simply remained silent. It was a deeply moving moment. But I couldn't resist the urge, once the show was over, to question him more.

I congratulated him on a great performance. And then, I asked, "You don't happen to remember the explanation for all that suffering, do you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

A few days later, the inspiration of his story faded.