The Incessant Muses

The Sacred Grove, Beloved of the Arts and the Muses, 1884–89
Pierre Cécile Puvis de Chavannes French, 1824-1898

This painting, The Sacred Grove, resides in the Chicago Museum of Art.  I saw it there last year, and spent some time trying to identify the nine Muses.  I didn't have enough information at the time, but here they are before us:

Calliope was the muse of epic poetry.
Clio was the muse of history.
Erato was the muse of love poetry.
Euterpe was the muse of music.
Melpomene was the muse of tragedy.
Polyhymnia was the muse of sacred poetry.
Terpsichore was the muse of dance.
Thalia was the muse of comedy.
Urania was the muse of astronomy.

According to The Free Dictionary, a Muse is "a guiding spirit" or "a source of inspiration". Poets from Shakespeare to Milton have called upon their Muses to inspire them to lofty and meaningful creative action.  The Muses were the personification of knowledge and the arts.

Who would dare to be guided and inspired by the Muses?  Of course, they are not real, these Greek spirits with their white robes and detached and aloof ways. They could not hover about us while we think, or write, or draw, or contemplate, or dance, or hope, or love.  For they do not exist, not in reality, not in this physical world, not in any measurable way.

But the Muses were never said to be physical beings anyway.  If anyone might secretly believe them to exist in his mind, to move and influence him, to inflame his being and excite his passions, what proof could be offered to convince him otherwise?  The collective thoughts and feelings of generations past reside hidden in his mental processes, and if he believes that among them the Muses dance and sing and play -- well, perhaps he should not share this with anyone.

The theory of the Muses does not mesh with the world of cars and cash and widescreen television sets that everyone knows exists in unavoidable reality.  The Muses could never compete or adequately compensate -- even if they did exist. How could poetry or music or dance enrich conversations filled with sardonic humor, or dreams already replete with avarice, or the soul that "knows no release from little things".  Such knowledge and art are too much for daily living.  Who among us could hear this incessant drone of the calling Muses when the real world has us in its hold?

The Soul's Dominion

I was just surfing the web and ran across the Wikipedia post for Victor Frankl's book The Search for Meaning.  Frankl endured the hardships of the concentration camps, and went on to outline the psychotherapeutic method he called logotherapy.  I have both read the book and visited one of the camps he endured.  In the book Frankl said:
  
“Everything can be taken from a man or a woman but one thing: the last of human freedoms to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.”

Dachau Concentration Camp

He was not the first or last to voice this philosophy.  The Stoics wrote that in the face of difficulty we are responsible for our own response to circumstances, rather than the circumstances themselves.  I'm also reminded of the Serenity Prayer and the desire “to accept the things I cannot change”.  The attitude of the soul is the critical thing here.  Amelia Earhart wrote: 

Courage

Courage is the price that
Life exacts for granting peace.
The soul that knows it not knows no release
From little things:
Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,
Nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear
The sound of wings.

Nor can life grant us boon of living, compensate
For dull gray ugliness and pregnant hate
Unless we dare
The soul's dominion. Each time we make a choice, we pay
With courage to behold resistless day,
And count it fair.

There is a natural tendency to shrink in the face of difficulty.  We would rather take the easy path, but in so doing it may be that we lose ourselves in the dull gray ugliness of meaninglessness.  May we look within ourselves and muster the strength to meet each day, and the courage to overcome the lesser inclinations of the soul.

Jacques Brel-Ne me quitte pas (Eng. Subtitles)

I just find this clip incredible. First, he is so unapologetic in his presentation.  He doesn't care what anyone thinks.  He is delivering the song with reckless abandon.  Second, the text of the song he wrote is deeply meaningful, exalting the wonder of the woman he loves.  The imagery is rich and beautiful.  And third, this is pure singing, without the interruption of show-off instrumentals and intrusive band noise.

I can relate to this video in so many ways.  I see singing as storytelling, interpreting text with passion and understanding.  In a way, good singing has similarities to good acting.  The singer is playing the part, and bringing to life the words and ideas of the writer.  In this respect, singers have a quite distinct job in comparison to instrumentalists, who are left to wordless interpretations.  I really like the way Brel reaches out to the audience.

And I also find it amazing to study the personality behind this singing.  I have listened to other Brel songs and some interviews in the past few days.  Here was an outspoken and opinionated philosopher, and his beliefs were evident in his songs.  Here was an authentic man, one who lived without apology and saw things in a clearer light than the rest of the world.  And he shared his sense of meaning with his audience in a wonderful way.  There was something different about this man Brel.