Musical absurdities

In the autumn before we were married, I can remember sitting outside of a restaurant with Heather. I had been a little depressed, and at the time that meant that I had been listening to the music of Morton Feldman. Before I continue, I have to explain his music. You don't so much listen to Feldman's music as you enter his space and take it all in. This is contemplative music. It is music that is quiet and repetitive. It is abstract, often judged as the sonic equivalent of a Rothko painting. It is not something you sit back and enjoy. For me, it was as close to a religious experience as I had ever known, which is why I turned to it at these times, as a man may turn to God for guidance.

I was talking with Heather about Feldman's music and what it meant to me at the time.  It was all going to my head.   Feldman, the man, had an extraordinary gift for speech.  I had read two books of his essays and lectures, in which he explores the fabric of music itself.  It is impossible not to feel a little bit of a musical scientist as you read his words, discovering the depths and purity of the musical Art.  I ate this stuff up, because I believed, as I do now, that music could communicate more purely than speech.  Music, in its best, allows the very essence of people to open and transfer, not in a mystical way, but in a very real way.  To explore the fabric of music was, for me, to explore what it is that makes us human.  This is why I had become so enamored with Feldman.  In his music, he provided me with religion, in his words, he was Christ-like.  So I began to talk about music with Heather.  I remember discussing an objective musical reality, that there was something out there by which all music was judged. 

The absurdity of these ideas didn't phase me at the time, but I could begin to tell, in that instant outside the restaurant, that it was bothering Heather.  She understood less about where I was coming from that I did, but she did get a sense that she was losing me.  I had the sense that I was losing myself.  It was then that she declared that didn't like discussing music with me anymore.  This was an incredible blow to me, not only because of the great weight I gave to music, but of its place in our relationship to each other.  We became so close, so fast, because we both loved music.  But now it was becoming a wall between us, and this scared me.  I could have, at that moment, chosen an easy way out and dismissed her.  But, and let me pause for a prayer of thanksgiving, I didn't.  This singular event launched me on a study of what I really believed.  Because its absurdity was finally starting to sink in.

Catholic continuum

The entire world is, without always knowing completely, Catholic. This must be true if the Catholic claim is true, that the great church is the universal church, meant for everyone on earth. As such, there is no reason to see the world as a fight between various sides on the issue of religion. There are only those who are somewhere along the infinite continuum of alignment with the truth, culminating in the infinitely perfect man, Jesus.

Song of science

If I could identify a theme to my life and my story, it is a search for truth. Perhaps the most obvious is the fact that I chose to become an engineer. Science is the search for a particular kind of truth, that which we can feel and touch and manipulate. I probably would have become a scientist if there was more money in it. As an engineer, I get to both satiate my desire to understand the world and be financially comfortable. Both professionally and practically, one could easily describe engineering as the combination of science and money. I came to graduate school because I wanted to be a part of discovering real knowledge.

I came to graduate school on an ideology high. All I understood of the world was through science, and I wanted to weave myself into the fabric of this knowledge. The beauty of the university is that you get to learn from incredibly knowledgeable people, the best of which make you feel like you are just as smart as they are. And if you aren't careful, you might even think you're as smart. In this environment, it is easy to be enchanted with the surety of the basics. Newton's laws are so plainly obvious and simple that, given enough time, the rest of science must undoubtedly be within grasp. The siren's song of science.

But as you do science, you realize that it is dirty. Things are never so obvious. The piece of knowledge you carve out for yourself verges of meaninglessness, and, if you are lucky, one other person might be able to understand your ideas. That is, if you are lucky enough to actually have an idea. This is the work of science. Although I was disillusioned, I have never lost my faith that science accomplishes something. Knowledge progresses on, but I must be satisfied with my infinitesimal contribution.

However, as an undergraduate, I was enamored by the human spirit and its search for knowledge. I read the pop literature: Hawkings, Green, and Kaku. A particularly transformative book was Complexity, recommended by a friend who unwittingly changed my life. These books presented a beautiful world. The universe is simple enough to understand, yet complex enough to instill wonder. The laws of nature were obscure to the untrained eye, but could be made obvious if you read the right books. This is the world we lived in, and I knew the secret handshake: science.

It is within this world that I became an atheist. In such a world, what room is there for God?

Introduction

First, I need to establish my credentials. I am in no way an expert on theology or God, if such a thing exists. I can speak only as a layman, a member of God's Church, who has unexpectedly come to God and barely begun to understand what that means. I have a love for theology, but only as a dilettante. And like all dilettantes, it is too easy for me to mistake facts about God as knowledge of God Himself. Realizing my weaknesses, I am reluctant to talk about these things, because I may betray a level of certainty that is not actually present.

This blog has started in preparation for a talk I will give in the Theology on Tap series for my church. I have debated in my head whether I should actually give this talk, because, again, I know so little about theology. But I was subtly prodded by both my wife and my parish priest to share my story, and I finally convinced myself it would be a good idea after realizing it could be a channel for me, a means to let my thoughts coalesce. Its preparation would also be a Lenten penance and a gift I could give to my parish and my friends, who have been so helpful and patient with me.

What follows will be many unrelated, unorganized posts, only meaningful as the seed of an idea. I apologize if they are completely unreadable.