diary /  by Edward Mullany

Not sought, however, for one to remain in it, but, having encountered it, and having done the work that one’s conscience, inside of it, impels one to do, to return to the world of action and relationship. Which is not more real than the silence, but which contains other manifestations of the real.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

And yet this silence speaks to me, for in it I hear my conscience, which utters no words, and makes no sound, but which I absorb, the way that film absorbs light.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

I see sometimes, when I close my eyes, the waves and the swells of an ocean at night, and I hear the wind, and, behind the wind, silence.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

This is what Jesus meant when he warned us not to become like “whitened sepulchres, fair in outward show, when they are full of dead men’s bones and all manner of corruption within.”

diary /  by Edward Mullany

Which isn’t to say that such a person is necessarily lost, to providence, but only that it doesn’t belong to every individual, or event, or circumstance to operate as an instrument of grace for such a person. But there will be some occasion that can work as that instrument of grace. Until the very last moment of a person’s life, if necessary, God will provide these occasions. The parable of the Prodigal Son is an example of these workings. As is the short story A Good Man is Hard to Find, by Flannery O’Connor, though the main character in that one begins not so much as a hedonist but as a superficial Christian. Which isn’t that much different than being a hedonist, when you look at it closely. In fact, to be a superficial Christian, or a Christian in name only, can sometimes be more insidious, because it is to disguise one’s intentions, rather than make them clear.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

I say of this imperative that it belongs to “us,” and I do mean all of us, though I suppose if you are a certain kind of atheist — a libertine or a hedonist, for example — you might not be able to reconcile such a position to your own. And while I wouldn’t say that such a person is not of my concern (for we are ‘our brother’s keeper’ in every regard, including in what they believe) there is only so much one can do before one’s attempts at reaching someone become alienating, rather than welcoming or inviting.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

But yes, we are in the world, and the world is full of things to which we can attend, and to which we should attend, for the imperative that belongs to us, in a Christian sense as well as in a general humanitarian sense, is to help the needy, to meet injustice where it exists, and to remedy or alleviate it when we can.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

In that passage, Merton is referring to any activity we might undertake, not to art alone, but the principle is the same. We are in the world, but not necessarily of the world.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk, describes this relationship, between activity and effect, in his book No Man Is An Island.

“My soul does not find itself unless it acts,” he writes. “Therefore it must act. Stagnation and inactivity bring spiritual death. But my soul must not project itself entirely into the outward effects of its activity. I do not need to see myself, I merely need to be myself. I must think and act like a living being, but I must not plunge my whole self into what I think and do, or seek always to find myself in the work I have done. The soul that projects itself entirely into activity, and seeks itself outside itself in the work of its own will is like a madman who sleeps on the sidewalk in front of his house instead of living inside where it is quiet and warm.”

diary /  by Edward Mullany

Even so, art is still the result of an activity, and as such should be regarded by the artist who engages in it, at least when the work is complete, as separate from themself, unless that artist would risk confusing the effects or consequences of their work, or the reception of it, for an indication of who they are. The effect, of course, is important, and any artist leaves something of their nature or their character in their work, but to concern one’s self too much with how one’s work is perceived, or what praise or criticism it garners, would be like mistaking one’s reflection in the mirror for one’s being, or one’s reality, in all its fullness.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

The reason I talk so often about art in terms of the soul, or in terms of spirituality, is because art is an activity of humankind, and as such has the same relation to the soul as do any of our actions, although, because it involves a sort of heightened or intensified expression, compared to most other actions, and because its goal is to achieve some kind of lastingness or endurance, relative to most other actions, it makes of itself an exemplar of that relation, between activity and soul, insisting on that relation’s importance, refusing to allow us the lethargy that would describe existence as commonplace.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

And yet, for the artist who does wish to make something ‘new,’ the impulse to do so is deeply felt, and the inability to sometimes know how to begin, let alone finish, can feel like a paralysis of the soul.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

I earlier said that artists must make something “new” in order to justify their pursuit of that occupation, but I do not really believe that. There are many ways to be an artist, and many reasons too, and no one should feel excluded from the arts merely because their approach to them, or understanding of them, differs from that of someone else.

diary /  by Edward Mullany

Of course, Bacon does not shock us gratuitously, which is often the way of bad art, but does so with mystery and sophistication, and a sort of rearrangement of our senses, so that we are compelled to give his work more than a cursory glance if we wish to understand how his figures and interiors and portraits might speak to our moral or emotional lives.