God has a mind of his own but only in the same way we understand our unconscious be so. He is the feeling that we must push forward. He is feeling that we must keep striving. He is the notion that the grass is greener just a little further West. God is the imagination which saved us from extinction. We inherently have this imagination for pursuing betterness. And when we experience something that is beyond our imagination, we feel frisson – a biological response! We feel awe. It transcends the mundane – even the extraordinary. God is all elements of goodness. Moral intuition. Artistic talent. The potential for goodness. God is the part of us that controls our actions which we do not understand. Human cultures, take the ancient Greeks for instance, personified the elements of their life that seemed to have a mind of their own. Eros makes us fall in love, despite whether we want to or not. Dionysis pulls out of us our inherent rambunctiousness and frivolity. 

The faculty within our personalities that takes the form of the conscience. The thing in our soul that tells us what is right and wrong. That part of the consciousness which judges. It is an element of ourselves. It is also the spirit, the part of us that comes from the stars. The mystery of God is the mystery of consciousness – literally speaking. We are the mystery of God. To celebrate God is to celebrate the goodness of humanity.

The magnificence of God parallels the divinity of mankind. Faith in God is the recognition that humanity possesses divine potential for goodness. God is the unconscious. God reigns within the mind. 

I have speculated whether Michaelangelo himself considered God to be synonymous with the mind. His iconic “The Creation of Adam” at the Sistine Chapel has placed the likeness of God in a brain-shaped celestial silk. Considering Michaelangelo’s intense study of anatomy, this can hardly be dismissed as coincidence. As I have played with this idea that God ≈ the mind, I observed that many chapels, churches, and cathedrals seem to be theatrical representations of the mind. Here is what I have observed: 

1. The church is the place where thoughts are turned introspective. 
2. We face the judgment of the crucifix which acts as a symbol for our moral conscience. 
3. The painted cherubim carrying small messages and scrolls seem to symbolize little thoughts and ideas taking place. 
4. The ceilings feature cosmic designs and frescos symbolizing the brain’s vastness and infinitude. 
5. Moreover, the church’s construction tends to be a dome. Is it ridiculous to connect this architectural design to our dome-shaped craniums? 

Could these coincidences hold any merit for the assertion that God is the human mind itself? Is it possible that we have unconsciously observed the mysterious nature of the mind and began calling it “God”? Perhaps we already know this to be the case, as Michaelangelo may have, but we do not know that we know it. Whether these are coincidences or not,  it is a fun idea to play with. 

It is not uncommon to hear young people expressing atheist ideas through expressions like, “God was created by men in order to oppress other groups and justify evil behavior.” I think this attitude misses the point. To counter the atheists, God instead is a faculty that was not created by man but rather observed. God, I think, evolved at the same rate as our consciousness. Let’s be clear about one thing: there is no question that mankind has exploited the idea of God in order to take political control and justify cruelty. This is absolutely true. It seems to me that if God were created for this terrible reason I think the idea of God would not have survived. Sigmund Freud is noted to have said, “In the small matters, trust the mind. In the large ones, trust the heart”. He suggests that the heart is a more reliable informant when stakes are high. Allow me to make a distant connection to Freud’s assertion: Bad ideas, while they make an enormous impact, do not last. Good ideas, however, can be expected to last. Why?  –  because they are good! I don’t think it’s naive to maintain that love always wins. If God were created for malevolent purposes, I think the idea of God would not have lasted. I suspect the idea of God developed from a more natural and honest source, making it old enough to have outlasted empires tenfold.

We have within our unconscious potential the capacity for wrongdoings. Objective immoral desires to exist as true as the goodly desires. Mankind has an insatiable appetite for war, conflict, malevolence, vengeance, etc. They are complicated faculties as they can sometimes be justified as good and just. Shakespeare uses Hamlet to share his observation that good and bad are not so obvious and objective. 

“I have of late, (but wherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition; that this goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o’er hanging firmament, this majestical roof, fretted with golden fire: why, it appeareth no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man, How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, In form and moving how express and admirable, In action how like an Angel, In apprehension how like a god, The beauty of the world, The paragon of animals. And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor Woman neither”  – Hamlet, Act II, Scene II

It is sometimes said that wars are not competition between good and evil, they are competition between two goods. The more nasty elements of our nature are true but are not God. I think God is the force of goodness only. The alternatives could be expressed as the symbolic idea of the Devil, but for the sake of this essay, my interest lies only in contemplation of the good. My efforts may be futile, but I use this essay in part to attempt a definition of objective goodness. 

What makes a song “good”?

Picture this: I’m 6 years old. It’s 2005. A Tuesday morning school day. My older brother is blasting a Linkin Park CD in our shared bedroom. He believes it is good music. He goes to take a shower. I climb out of bed to prepare for the day. I turned off his CD and put in my new soundtrack for the new Disney movie Brother Bear and played my all-time favorite “You’ll Be in My Heart” – nothing like a Disney tune to get the day started. Boy, was I soft or what. My brother returns with a towel on, shuts down the music with his adolescent fist, and throws my CD on the floor saying “This music sucks. What are you gay?” So began my confusion over what makes a song “good”. Apparently, the mere fact that I enjoyed the song so much was not enough to merit it being “good”. So how do I know what makes a song good? The question of subjectivity is relevant, but I do think that goodness in art can be observed as objective. The conditions for this, I think, rely on elements of structural and thematic coherence, unity, and integrity of the artist. This is true for visual and performing arts, but for my case, I will only examine the idea through the art of music.

The great art of music is one that symbolically represents the theme of unity. Melodies and harmonies balance and weave among each other At university, my music theory professor was explaining to the class how the Fibonacci sequence, a mathematical formula observed in nature and art, could be observed in Estampes by impressionist composer Claude Debussy. The class was stunned to silence for a few moments until one student broke the silence asking, “Wait, but did he incorporate the Fibonacci sequence in the piece intentionally? Or, was it observed after he completed the piece?” – a compelling question to which the professor replied, “Does it matter?” Another silence followed as we sat in awe of the indisputable genius that produced such music. It seems to me that whether the piece was enjoyable to listen to or not, its structural coherence upheld by the Fibonacci numbers is enough to merit Estampes a “good song”.  

A work of art, likewise a musical composition, becomes objectively good when it goes beyond superficiality, maintains structural coherence, promotes subconscious or conscious Truths, or fulfills its potential for transcendence. We can listen closely to a composition and ask ourselves a question: “Is it pumped with the juice of God through artistic genius or fulfillment of the mind’s full capacity for good?” Ehr, you know, something like that…

 Part II: 

On Bach’s Music

A Substitution for The Nourishment of Religion

In its most base form, the human appeal for church is to satisfy the inherent question of mortality and its meaning. Subscribing to a religion offers a feeling of connection to a greater being; a higher order; being a part of something that is capable of pushing the soul to complete awe. The body craves this feeling. So much so that when the divine stares us in the face, our nervous system reacts in the form of frisson. The hair on our skin spikes up. There is a dramatic chill up the spine. A feeling not completely divorced from an orgasmic sensation. 

Bach’s music is humble. It recognizes God as a force which must be honored yet not necessarily worshiped. Honor is an equally strong respect but without the catastrophic potentials of fanaticism that are associated with worship. Bach’s St. Matthew Passion and St. John Passion are widely introspective when it comes to the expressions of honor for God. Less often does Bach’s music cry-out in fanatical devotion. To experience the vocal works of Bach seems to me more spiritual than religious. As I progress into adulthood, I have noticed that I am not thirsty for spiritual sustenance. My soul does not seem to crave spiritual nutrients as it does for many of my peers. This music has the potential to replace religious nourishment. Especially as a vocalist, I find this to be true. The music is felt within me and is activated through my laryngeal anatomy. It is a part of me more than it can be a part of a violinist. The music is in my breath and is integrated fully into my life experience in such a way that fulfills the spiritual appetite inherent in us all. People go to mass to experience God while artists like me are nourished by transcendence in other ways. It is, in fact, food for the soul. Such sacred music as Bach produced begs us to believe in God. His music is transcendent as it embodies the human mind’s potential for goodness.

“Well obviously when you talk about god, you talk about something that can’t be explained. That can’t be described. You don’t really know what it means, you don’t know if it’s a special energy, you’re thrown into a world of questions that have never been well answered, and will probably never be. Bach knows that the music takes over when the words finish , because you can encompass everything in music, it doesn’t have to be explained further. Nobody asks you to explain what the music of the St. Matthew Passion means, you know. Nobody would dare. For a musician it’s clear.”

 –  Blanche Moyse, Conductor, New England Bach Festival.

I visited the famed Thomaskirche in Leipzig, Germany one October evening before closing. In the dark space, a chorale was being sung by a small choir of voices. As I took my first steps inside, I looked to my right towards the altar where a small chorus of about twelve could be seen. They were facing each other, in a circle, looking downward in musical prayer. My soul felt frozen to be hearing Bach’s pure and clean chorale in his very church. I turned to stone like a rabbit trapped in open grass. Petrified until only moments after my entry when the sacristan pressed me to leave as he was locking the church for the evening. The following morning, I returned to the sacred space for a proper visit. There was no choir that morning. In fact, no music whatsoever. I approached the altar and discovered something chilling. I beheld a large, metal plaque on the floor with three words written upon it: Johann Sebastian Bach. This spot, which a pious choir had surrounded with soft music the evening before, was the burial place of Bach’s remains. An awesome experience worthy of a pilgrimage. I sat in the nave with my headphones listening to the Bach Passions. St. Matthew premiered here in this very space. This was the space where the Mache Dich was first heard, among other masterpieces. I observed the modest crucifix watching over me as a divine presence sipped the tears from my eyes. My spirit acknowledged the red rafters that were webbed high above with music absorbed in their fibers. The sensations were of complete awe; of being in the presence of greatness. Nothing short of transcendent. 

Okay, maybe I am being a little ridiculous. Do I sound like a die-hard fan? It is absolutely the case that many people visit the Thomaskirche without experiencing this feeling of transcendence. Others may feel it, say, in a stadium of 85,000 sold-out seats. The presence of such humanity and spirit is synonymous with God. It’s Bach’s music that begs me to believe in God. Its source seems so beyond human, but reflects humankind so completely and without flaw. 

In my years working as a magician, I spent a lot of time thinking about what a magician is. Is he a trickster? At what point does a magician prove himself to be an artist? How can we distinguish a magician/conjuror from a juggler? My suspicion was that magicians could be useful as artists and not only exist as the shallow showmen who say,  “Look what I can do!”  I discovered that my performances as a magician were most effective upon admitting I was a trickster. If a magician is honest about the fact that he does not possess true magic powers, impressive sleight of hand forces the audience to actually consider the possibility of real magic considering the mind cannot comprehend the puzzle they have just witnessed. Similarly, there are things in the world that force us to believe in God. We recognize the grandeur and majesty of a remarkable sunset, we tear-up as we set eyes on Michealangelo’s David, and we are carried away in our dancing shoes to the power of rock and roll. The transcendent power of life’s experiences show us how impossible it is for the idea of God to be false.

Bach’s Prolific Output

As Divine as God is, humanity matches it tenfold (because they are one and the same). Bach’s music exemplifies the magnitude of human artistic potential. His enormous music output is so prolific that it is almost inhuman. It is beyond what mankind is thought to be capable of, making it so uniquely human. Bach composed at least 1,128 compositions. Considering the tonal richness and contrapuntal complexity of Bach’s work, not to mention the emotional profundity that has kept his work relevant, many consider him the greatest composer in Western music heritage. As far as quantity is concerned, George Philipe Telemann has him beat at over 3,000 compositions. Although, Bach scholars at the University of Leipzig estimate hommie’s output could have reached 11,111 compositions! By what means is a human being capable of such astounding feats? Some would argue that this could not be done by a human alone. Such an accomplishment seems sourced by something super-human. In truth, the capacity for such astonishing potential is completely within the realm of human potential. The fact that Bach’s capabilities seem so inhuman is exactly what makes it so human indeed, and thus, Divine. Humanity and divinity are made of each other.

Accessing Bach

Handel, another baroque legend, lives on through his legacy as a master composer. I think his legacy is marked by accessibility to the listeners. His music is more immediately enjoyable. It is grand and impressive. Its definition can be more closely regarded as superficial than any of Bach’s music which is more sensitive and nuanced. It asks more of the listener.

Let me compare the two master baroque  composers and their effects on me. The first time I listened to Acis and Galatea, Handel’s playful opera, the melodies were immediately stuck in my head. I wanted to listen again and again to satisfy my ear. The “Hallelujah chorus” is bound to lift anyone up to their feet in exaltation! By contrast, the first time I listened to Bach’s Johannes-passion, I found myself bored at first listening. Yes. I was bored at first. In fact, when I listen to a Bach vocal work, my initial impression is that it sounds like every other Bach piece in the canon. I suspect my feelings are shared with many other twenty-somethings of the 21st-century. Upon continued listening, the Johannes-passion arias began to reveal themselves to me. They took on new textures and moods that made each of them stand before the others. The more I listened, the more unique they became. Suddenly I found myself listening again and again to satisfy, not my ear, but rather my soul. Yet even for a great admirer like me, I still find myself stuck in the body of a 21st-century listener. 

The human attention span currently averages around 8.25 seconds – which didn’t seem too outrageous to me until I learned that a goldfish can focus on a task for about nine! Not surprisingly, it has dropped about 4 seconds in the last 15 years. Johannes-passion takes around two hours to be performed. It is a drama, it is not performed in a theatrical setting. No costumes, set pieces, nor staging to keep the eye engaged. Therefore, all the drama is contained within the orchestrations and text. It requires an enormous amount of engagement for a listener who wants to get all he can from the richness of this sacred music. My point is, it is not easy music. There is nothing superficial about it. It is void of extravagance but rich with spiritual substance.

Unity 

The theme of unity is often featured in storytelling, most effectively at the ending. It can be observed at the end of the Hero’s Journey structure. Interesting to note here that several religious stories bear the Hero’s journey archetypal structure – most obviously the Passion of Christ. 

Bach was a master of counterpoint. This ability to weave separate melodies together in harmony was unmatched. His unprecedented talents were proven in his ability to improvise fugues! Counterpoint, and polyphony in general, is symbolic of the most perfect utility of music. Bach is the master of contrapuntal composition. Counterpoint is a beautiful allegory for the potential of humanity. All different paths and melodies weave together in tonal harmony. This is the great capacity of man: to unite and work together. It is exactly what we aim for in our society. When all the chaotic elements of life find a way to weave together properly and support each other, we find ourselves living harmoniously. Music is a metaphor for order in life. Contrapuntal techniques are not unique to Bach’s music alone, but his mastery of this baroque technique acts as his musical autograph. Counterpoint is heard repetitively through these cantatas and oratorios in the form of four-part chorales which act as the glue that binds the greater work together. Chorales such as these provide a harmonious thematic pattern of unity. 

Matthäus-passion: “Komm, süßes Kreuz”

The Sentiments of Sacrifice 

The profundity of human goodness is no better expressed than in the aspect of self sacrifice. The recognition that things can benefit when the soul is traded in, is a profoundly human idea and can scarcely be defined as anything other than objectively good. Considering the context, Jesus is sacrificing his body, taking on all the sins of the world so that all can be forgiven of their wrong-doings. This piece is a depiction of exactly that. The drama of the Matthaus-Passion reaches a very special moment in the aria “Komm süßes Kreuz” where Simon pleads for the opportunity to benefit his own soul by taking on the weight of the cross for Jesus. The sentiments of the poetry are shared between the characters Jesus and Simon. This aria exemplifies the idea of objective goodness by providing a rich, musical illustration of true sacrifice. It does so by addressing the emotional duality associated with sacrifice through theoretical devices and by the philosophical significance of Picander’s poetry.

Emotional Duality as Expressed in Theoretical Construction

There is, as with all music by Bach, absolute integrity and intention in his compositions. Various musical techniques are employed to strengthen the aria’s structural and thematic coherence. The first being text-painting, the next being rhythmic and modal contrast, and the third being his choices in orchestral scoring. The scene is painted in the music. Here the disciple Simon pleads to take the weight of the cross in place of Christ. We can easily visualize the scene by how Bach depicts it.  At the opening of the arias, a broad anacrusis (pick-up beat) reflects the first heavy step towards Calvary.  The woody timbre of the Viola da Gamba elevates the idea of the cross over Jesus’s shoulder. Dotted rhythms communicate a sense of frustration and anxiety which support the emotional impact of the piece. The incessancy of dotted rhythms in the melody suggest the determinism of his painful deed. The opening of the aria depicts a musical text painting of the cross symbol with its criss-crossing pitches about the staff. To follow, there is abundant heaviness expressed by accented beats which provide the essence of marching by Viola da Gamba as well. This heaviness compliments that of the cross, the sacrifice of Christ, and the burden Simon wishes to take on. 

The rich duality associated with sacrifice is characterized by the feeling of the pleasure of doing what is good and the pain of bearing the consequence. The duality of emotions are expressed through modal shifts. 

The frequent modulation between major and minor modes compliments the thematic tone where major mode symbolizes the ease of doing a good deed and minor mode contrasts it symbolizing the bleak pain of torture. Despite such heaviness and abundance of chromaticism, the listener notices the tempo is relaxed. The pace of this movement moves on steadily and without urgency which gives the effect of peace of mind in the character. The sweetness of the vocal lines and its more even rhythms contrasts the angst of the dotted rhythms in the Viola da Gamba. There is weight to the mood but not terror

We would expect that in the face of torture and death, an individual’s emotions would be expressed through chaotic frustration and resistance. Such features are not found here. Instead, there are notions of yearning, mental clarity,  inner peace.  His ascending systematic phrases tell us his focus is aimed upwards – towards God and simultaneously towards the heights of Calvary. Moreover, we are moved to encounter a strong sense of longing for the horror to come. Such longing is expressed in composed cadential suspensions. We commonly hear these suspensions when we listen to Bach’s music. They have become customary in performance but are not actually scored. In the case of “Komm süßes Kreuz”, Bach wrote them in the score, necessitating the feeling of yearning as Simon and Jesus beg the sacrifice toward them. Furthermore, Bach’s choice of instrumentation changes in this movement. We are no longer engaged with a sea of many instruments. In fact, most instruments are omitted in this composition. The lonely Viola da Gamba and basso continuo (and sometimes lute) draw attention to the isolation of Jesus and his inner monologue. Jesus’s introspection promotes the listener’s empathy. By evoking empathy through these deliberate orchestrations, Bach asks us to consider our own sacrifices. What crosses have we to bear which could benefit our own communities?

On Picanders Poetry

There is an enormously popular instagram page called @natureismetal. It features high quality videos of the most grizzly behavior in the animal kingdom. Through this digital portal, I find myself humbled to witness how commonly a zebra can be ripped apart and devoured alive by a pride of hungry hyenas. Each published video reminds me of the remarkable difference between humanity and fauna. We too slaughter animals for our own benefit (and often in ways that are gruesome and malevolent), but what makes humanity remarkable is its willingness to turn the horror into beauty through ritual. Humans can recognize the ugliness of murder. So the early humans found ways to ensure that living souls do not die in vain. Once an animal is killed, people offer prayers for the beast and perform rituals to instill a feeling of meaning. As sparks fly upward from a ritual fire, they tangle themselves in the sparkling light of the stars. Thus, the spirit of the animal is rerouted to the cosmos. Despite what some may assert, I think this is not a petty justification for man’s selfishness and craving for oppression over other species. It is not shallowly performative. It is beautiful as it acknowledges the sacredness of the animal. It is artistic. It is transcendent. Humans have the capacity to transform terrible things into something meaningful. They have the integrity to create beauty out of horror. They can transform the barbaric into the transcendent. The idea of horror, in this context, can thus be filtered through integrity and empathy becoming meaningful and beautiful. That’s the weird way humans can be and it seems to me that that strange spirit within us is the embodiment of what we have evolved to call “God”.

Bach set his St. Matthew Passion to the text of the Gospel of Matthew in the Luther bible. The arias in the oratorio act as emotional reflections on the drama played out. The text of these reflections do not come from the Bible. They are poetic inserts from German poet Christian Friedrich Henrici, otherwise known by his pseudonym Picander. Picander has so beautifully captured the sentiments of sacrifice. 

Komm, süßes Kreuz, so will ich sagen,

Mein Jesu, gib es immer her!

Wird mein Leiden einst zu schwer,

So hilfst du mir es selber tragen

Come, sweet Cross, this I want to say:

My Jesus, give it always to me!

If my suffering becomes too heavy one day,

You yourself will help me bear it.

The opening line, “Komm, süßes Kreuz” holds the essence of the entire composition in its depiction of goodness through sacrifice. The cross signifies absolute pain, terror, and death – three words that we traditionally categorize as the antithesis of good. But humans, through our capacity for transcendence, can make an example of what we are capable of in the form of the pursuit of meaning. Simon, and likewise Jesus, beckons the cross to him. This characterizes Simon as an authority over the cross. Through this characterization, Simon becomes stronger than the thing that is most terrifying. Beyond that, Picander uses the word “süße” (sweet) as he describes the cross in Simon’s perspective. 

“Sweet” – Wow. What a remarkable word to choose! Imagine describing a torture device with the same words you describe a deliciously ripe fruit or a piece of candy. The cross, in this new perception of it, represents something good as it bears the potential to forgive all the sins of the world. How sweet would that be! It becomes something unobjectionable and delicious. Picander’s observation of the emotional duality of sacrifice helps us to understand how Bach set the same sentiments in his musical structure. The cross is a paradox as it can represent both good and evil at the same time. Human beings are capable. They can transcend the problem of tragedy and malevolence. We all benefit from the idea that we can be stronger than the thing that scares us. That idea is profoundly meaningful and may be the catalyst for the advanced evolution of our species. It’s no wonder it appears in the mythologies of our cultures. Acting on this idea can have a positive effect on your community, as it does in the Passion story of Christ. I struggle to see how this idea could be characterized as anything other than objectively good. 

“Don’t cry for me, for I go where music is born.” 

– Johann Sebastian Bach

I have a suspicion that art itself is a force sourced from beyond the human consciousness. It is a substance that is filtered through the artist. When the substance of art is filtered through the artist properly, we observe that it seems honest, true, and objectively good. Some art may appear contrived or propagandistic which gives us the feeling of it being less good. “Bad” art seems to me to be less honest, created without integrity, and spoiled by the ego. Another way of thinking about it could be that good art comes from the heart and soul. Bad art comes from the brain. In Republic, Plato asserts that the highest function of art is its ability to get us to ponder goodness. The glorious music of Mozart and Beethoven asks us to reflect on our emotions, nature, and our actions.

The melodies please our ears. Bach’s music asks us to reflect on our soul. It forces us to meditate on the potential goodness of humanity. Bach’s music is honest and humble in effect. It does not ask for praise. It engages with the soul and invites introspection. It meditates on the human condition and its relationship with the divine. Such an accomplishment can only be defined as indisputably good, and as such, it is proof for the existence of God. Such a connection to divinity and objective goodness cannot be argued for Bach alone. Other composers have matched his greatness in their output of objectively good art. But in my experience no composer has matched his ability to feed the soul through music. I will not be so foolish as to suggest that other composers are incapable of transmitting music so rich with tonal coherence, thematic profundity, and the potential for transcendence. Although, my subjective opinion is that Bach does it the best. I simply make my case to emphasize the absolute magnificence of his music and to grasp what it is about his music that so effectively soothes my soul.