A Humility of Aesthetics

Humility is derived, I am told by reliable sources, from the Latin word humilitas or something classical-sounding of that nature. In this context it is, I presume, fitting to talk of 'persons' because as human beings we are essentially personal beings. So for a person to be humble means not that he or she fashions an expressive cloak of humility about them so that people may exclaim how humble that lad is. Nor does it mean to behave in such wise that people may assert that he is proud. It simply means that they are grounded in the reality - they are what they are before God, which is the only accurate perception of the reality of themselves.

Could be such a thing as a humility of aesthetics, where the aesthetic nature of a text is grounded in reality, and does not aspire to be what it is is not? Imagine a new wave of art that is just what it is, aspiring to describe only the objective realities of the world that really exist, and not subjectively perceived man-made realities. Imagine an art that is infinitely imaginative and is not too less nor too more in relation to the reality it mimics. Imagine an art that artistically and imaginatively and aesthetically portrays true reality in its sheer beauty. Imagine an art, imagine stories, novels, plays, paintings, poems, sculptures that impossibly portray God in all His sheer uncapturable Beauty. Imagine an art that is aesthetically humble and grounded in a reality so beautiful. Imagine true art. Imagine the impossible. And make it come true. Start creating. Start now.

Considerations Pertaining to a Possible Objectivity Bias

     The following are personal musings on the possibilities of an objectivity bias in human behaviour. First of all, in this present body of text - in perhaps the same way as an author of fiction sets out his contextual background and builds up his fictional world before the action of the story commences - I intend to lay out what I define to be objectivity and subjectivity, within my own text. Of course, the real definition may be far from what I define here. But fantasy writers do not bother whether their fictional world corresponds to the physics of the natural world, and by that I affirm that I intend to write this digressive and meandering body of text as a fantasy writer and not an essayist.

    I use objectivity in this text in the sense that a person possessing that attribute would have a more accurate view of reality. That is to say, their person-al view of reality would coincide with the actual reality. For in the perception of a reality by a person's mind, there are two distinct realities: the perceived reality and the actual reality. The perceived reality always attempts to tend towards the actual reality; but for an infinitely objective person, the two realities would be one and the same. Theologically, philosophically, logically, and reasonably, there can only be one such Person, and that is God. Subjectivity, however, entails a mode of perception wherein the two realities contradict, conflict, and conflate with each other - the perceived reality may tend closely to the actual reality, but logically cannot coincide. 

    Human beings, in their interactions with one another, tend to present the self as an objective entity. We tend to say things like: 

    "I've seen it all, both good and bad." Note how we say both good and bad - so as to encompass everything. Thus we self-bestow the grandiose distinction of being able to perceive reality objectively.

    "I know what I'm talking about." Little does the speaker know that knowing itself is in this context the act of a human person, and is thus by definition highly subjective in nature. Only God can know a reality in its integral state, that is, only God can know everything about a given reality. We are human and thus our faculties of knowing are only human.

      "I've seen the world" (and am thus supposedly qualified to speak objectively.)

        But that human person has only a human mind that is merely one subjective mind amond billions, unless the intellect in enlightened by God-given grace to see with more clarity - in the language of Scholastic theologians (this point is from a Catholic priest's sermon that I heard this week). We fail to realize that our minds are subjective, and that we can know only so much. It is wise to accept that we do not know it all nor have the inherent capacity for doing so. It is only here and there that we catch more objective glimpses of reality and of the truth concerning all reality. But this is only when God grants grace and not the result of human effort. But that light, that objective and true view of reality, is obtained only rarely, and perhaps only by a few - and those are but "hints and guesses" of the true reality of God and His creation, which would be too beautiful for man to bear. We simply cannot "bear very much reality" as Eliot puts it. In the following lines Eliot says how rare this light is received, and how the rest of us are too distracted to listen in to the gentle sounds of reality. For in this age of phones and ceaseless notifications, we are "distracted from distraction by distraction". 

"Men's curiosity searches past and future

And clings to that dimension. But to apprehend

The point of intersection of the timeless

With time, is an occupation for the saint—

No occupation either, but something given

And taken, in a lifetime's death in love,

Ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.

For most of us, there is only the unattended

Moment, the moment in and out of time,

The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,

The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning

Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply

That it is not heard at all, but you are the music

While the music lasts. These are only hints and guesses,

Hints followed by guesses; and the rest

Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.

The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.

Here the impossible union

Of spheres of existence is actual,

Here the past and future

Are conquered, and reconciled"

(From the Four Quartets, T. S. Eliot. Emphasis my own.)

    Only God's perspective is infinitely objective. But we sometimes delude ourselves into thinking that we are objective too, with regards to some areas of knowledge. Even the above poem by Eliot, with its beautiful poetry presents itself as objective - but it is only the work of a human mind among billions - unless, of course, God has granted grace to the intellect to see further, in which case, some verse and ideas here and there within the text will appeal to us and move us. So too in human knowledge do we have a bias towards objectivity that is perhaps beautiful as it is pathetic - beautiful because we organize and classify all that is around us, and pathetic because, we are only human and only God knows all. Hence that universal urge to classify and quantify and tidy up disciplines of knowledge. And that too is why we are always, ideally speaking for the most of us, tending towards order. And again, that too is why as human beings we draw upon our personal experience and perceptions to formulate a perspective and philosophy of life that we believe is objective and general to all human lives. As a Catholic, though, I believe that in the midst of these multiple subjective perspectives, the Church has for 2000 years presented an objective philosophy and approach to life that cannot fail. I believe that philosophy of life that the Church upholds in her beautiful teachings with regards to God, Jesus, the Incarnation, the Virgin Mary, and the meaning of life here and in eternity - I believe that is entirely objective as it was revealed by God and not man. The approach to life that the Catholic Church presents is one that upholds human life, and does everything only for the good of the human being , of every human And I trust it happily, like a child trusts his mother who he knows will do only what is good for him.

And so we come to some last considerations to provoke the reader (if any) to ponderous thought: When a writer writes a book, does he or her presents it as objective? When a writer pens a story, can it be assumed that he or she intends it to be aesthetically pleasing or that what happens in the story is desirable on the part of the writer (in the sense that the writer desires that the same happen in his life) ?

Finally, when the human will is enlightened it becomes capable of choosing. and by virtue of the choice becomes capable of action. which is reasonable as love is an act, not liking which is an emotion. The only justification that I can give for these last unrelated thoughts is that I wanted to pen them down somewhere, and where if not here, where I can write whatever on earth I want.

Until it is Dawn Again

O God, have mercy on me, 

Help me for I am weak.

My feet falter every moment,

I stumble, I stagger, I fall

I see passing stars and perceive them as Suns

I exclaim with delight, 

And hold on to it as the absolute,

The certain light that will change all the world.

But I am mistaken again and again. 

The only certain light is Thine, 

Only upon Thee may I rely on and not be deceived

Thou are the sole light, the certain Sun that never sets 

Thou the refuge,

Thou the stronghold,

Thou the fortress

Upon you and you only

May I rely on 

And not be deceived

O Spirit of God,

Draw me home,

For it is dark and I have far to go.

Night approaches,

And I am lost in the forest

I know not whither to turn

I know not the way to walk

O Spirit of God, 

Draw me home

Let me rest in Thy Heart,

Until it is dawn again

I ask Christ Jesus what He sees in me

That makes Him love me thus.

He says, "I see sin,

Shame,

Sadness,

And nothingness."

"And still You love me?" I ask quietly,

With emotion

"And still I love you," He replies quietly too,

And then I feel and touch 

And experience His Love.

In the darkness so oppressive, 

I see Light flooding in,

Rising like a waterfall,

Enveloping me in heavenly joy,

Until I drown in the peace and sheer delight 

Of being entirely in God.

I am lost in the love of God

As a drop of water in the immensity of the mighty oceans.

I have drowned in the love of Christ, 

And I would not want to emerge,

Not for a thousand worlds.

O gentle Lover of my hurting soul,

O Christ who died from love of me,

You pamper me with your Love unending.

O my Precious, Thou hast loved me precariously, dangerously,

To death on the cross,

Though I loved Thee not.

O Spirit of God,

Draw me home,

For it is night,

And I have far to go.

Let me rest awhile in Thy Heart,

Until it is dawn again

I say to Christ Jesus,

"Am I not Thy creature?

Am I not Thy child,

Thy beloved?

Am I not the beating of Thy Heart?"

And with an audacity born of child-like trust,

I continue, with faltering voice

And tearful eyes,

"Is it not Thee who should look after me?

Is it not Thee who must take care of my every need?

Am I not Yours, and You mine?

Take care of me," I ask.

And I no longer know whether this prayer is the humble supplication of the sinner,

Or the audacious command of the helpless child to its Father.

My voice breaks. I can speak no longer. 

His infinite Love is too much for me to bear

And I hear Christ reply,

In a voice like the gentle waters of a flowing river.

I hear Him speak, Him who is the certain Sun that never sets,

The forever-dawn that lasts forever:

"Beloved, hear Me speak:

I loved You first.

The very beating of my Heart is for you,

All the Love in My Heart is for you.

For you I made the worlds and stars,

For you I came to die,

To ransom you from sin,

And shame, and death.

You are Mine and Mine only.

You are in my thoughts every moment,

Do not fear,

I will take care of you.

The Spirit of God

Will draw you home,

So that you may rest in My Heart,

Not until dawn but forever.

I am yours,

And you are Mine,

And will always be,

Forever and ever."

And all I can hear and see and feel now

Is the Love of Christ, 

And all I want now and every moment is to belong totally

To Christ Jesus.

In His embrace shall I remain, 

Until the dawning of the Son,

And then - forever and ever.

For I am His and He is Mine

Musing on AI Phobias

Each individual posseses unique identity-critical features. Individuals of the 21st century generally abhor the collection of information pertaining to their identity for the reason that once extracted, this information becomes electronically available and more susceptible to unlawful sharing, malicious use and potential identity theft. AI thrives on the individual's informational identity, as each individual is being translated into an informational identity in this age of AI so that, apparently, a 'bespoke' AI could be tailored for each individual. This is at the cost of the individual's informational identity. This is the rationale for the underlying AI phobia, which is further complicated by the individual's confused wonderment at this emerging tech.

Only time can tell if this is a boon or bane.