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Volume 16 Number 1 March 2005

A PORTRAIT OF A COURSE IN MIRACLES STUDENT AS AN ARTIST

Kenneth Wapnick, Ph.D.

Introduction

In his early autobiographical novel A Portrait of the Artist As a Young Man, James Joyce’s alter ego, Stephen Dedalus, draws on Aristotle in a discussion of aesthetics, where he distinguishes between improper and proper art. The former is kinetic, meaning its purpose is to excite and elicit emotional movement in the observer, listener, or reader, as in pornographic or didactic art. The focus of the creator here is external, for it is on the audience’s response. Proper art, Stephen continues, is static, insofar as it is interested only in the art itself—the internal—not its elicited or desired reaction. We may extend this understanding not only to artists as creators, but as performers. Whereas creators can be faithful to their inspiring Muse and not to the art’s effect on others, performers likewise can be faithful to the inspiration’s source, and not to their special ability to arouse emotion in their audiences. A discerning public can tell the difference between proper and improper artists and performers; those who remain true to the genius of the inspiration as opposed to those who care only for the external gratifications—in Freud’s famous words regarding the artist: the pursuit of honor, power, and love.

Analogously, we may say that Jesus is asking us in his course to be proper students; namely, to focus only on the right mind, the source of true inspiration, without concern for our special interests as means of meeting our special needs from special people, substances, or things, which always focus on the body. In other words, Jesus’ goal for his students is to have them become artists, or, to borrow the term from the manual for teachers, advanced teachers of God. Some of these thoughts were the basis for my recent workshop, “Art and A Course in Miracles: Reflections of Holiness,” and will be expanded upon here.

Form and Content—Symbol and Source

A great artist—creator or performer—is able to take the inspirational content of the Holy Spirit and transmute it into the form of artistic expression. It is this blend of form and content that is also the hallmark of a right-minded teacher of God, described for us in the workbook:

It would indeed be strange if you were asked to go beyond all symbols of the world, forgetting them forever; yet were asked to take a teaching function. You have need to use the symbols of the world a while. But be you not deceived by them as well. They do not stand for anything at all ... [and] become but means by which you can communicate in ways the world can understand, but which you recognize is not the unity where true communication can be found (W-pI.184.9).

The world’s symbols thus become the vehicle in which we express the content of forgiveness, much as creative artists use the specific forms of their particular art—e.g., music, literature, painting—through which flows their non-specific inspiration or content. Thus Jesus asks us to speak the language of our peers, dress in the style of the day, respond appropriately, as do most people—yet to do so

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differently:

There is a way of living in the world that is not here, although it seems to be. You do not change appearance, though you smile more frequently. Your forehead is serene; your eyes are quiet. ... You walk this path as others walk, nor do you seem to be distinct from them, although you are indeed (W-pI.155.1:1-3; 5:3).

We are distinct because while our form may be the same as others, the content of our lives has become much different. This is an important point, for students of A Course in Miracles are often tempted to change the form, magically hoping that would change the content. Thus they might seek to use the language of “Course-speak” with people who do not understand the words, or behave in ways they believe are consistent with a spiritually advanced person: i.e., eat “right-minded” foods, choose “spiritual” professions, or associate with “holy” people. This confusion of form and content is the subject of a discussion early in the text on level confusion, in the context of sickness and healing: the world believes that sickness occurs on the level of the body, when it truly exists only on the level of the mind:

Sickness ... is the result of level confusion, because it always entails the belief that what is amiss on one level can adversely affect another. We have referred to miracles as the means of correcting level confusion, for all mistakes must be corrected at the level on which they occur. Only the mind is capable of error. The body can act wrongly [e.g., become sick] only when it is responding to misthought (T-2.IV.2:2-5).

Sickness, thus, has nothing to do with the form, but only with the mind’s content of guilt.

Regarding form and content, consider this example from the Italian Renaissance. Two of its greatest figures were Fra Filippo Lippi and his pupil Sandro Botticelli. Each painted— among the world’s great works of art—feminine figures of remarkably simple beauty, exemplifying a love that is not of this world; yet their subjects were as different as night from day. Lippi’s painting was of the Blessed Virgin (Madonna with the Child and Two Angels), and Botticelli’s was of Venus, goddess of romantic love (The Birth of Venus). Beyond the differences in form—what the world would term the sacred and the profane— lay the single content of a love devoid of ego. The message for students of A Course in Miracles is clear: do not judge the form in anything, but look immediately to the content—whether examining the outer expressions of one’s life or those of others.

Therefore, the true challenge for Course students is to retain the external form, but shift the internal content from the ego’s separate interests to the Holy Spirit’s forgiving vision of shared interests, from specialness to inspiration. This contrast between mere form and genuine inspiration is seen, for instance, in many Elizabethan authors who wrote in the style of the day, yet Shakespeare’s name, like Abou Ben Adhem’s, leads all the rest; or in the late 18th-century, where dozens and dozens of composers wrote music utilizing the classical forms of the period, but there remains only one Mozart. Without the content’s right- minded inspiration, form becomes sterile and empty. Thus, as students of A Course in Miracles we do not necessarily change our partners, professions, or lifestyles—although such changes in form may sometimes occur—but we do seek to change our attitudes or manner of thinking:

Changes are required in the minds of God’s teachers. This may or may not involve changes in the external situation. ... It is most unlikely that changes in attitudes would not be

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the first step in the newly made teacher of God’s training (M-9.1:1-2,4).

In discussing form and content, we are really treating the all-important theme of cause and effect, which runs through A Course in Miracles like a silken thread uniting the fabric of Jesus’ teaching. Cause is synonymous with mind, as it is with content; while effect means body or form. The relationship between these two distinct categories goes in one direction; in other words, cause precedes effect, mind determines the body, and content inspires form. The implication of this understanding for Course students is that the emphasis need always be placed on the cause, allowing the effect to flow naturally from it, rather than seeking to change the cause by modifying the effect. Thus if the mind chooses the content of guilt, the effect must inevitably be pain and suffering. Change one’s mind to the Holy Spirit’s content of forgiveness, and the effect shifts to peace. It cannot work the other way around: effect does not generate cause; the body cannot affect the mind; form is not independent of content. Therefore, when one focuses only on the external level of the body, ignoring the mind’s thoughts, the effect will always be of the ego, for the decision to exclude the mind is a decision for the ego.

Examples confusing form and content abound in our world—on all levels, including the artistic and spiritual. In the world of art, for instance, we see this practice in what we discussed above as improper art, where the emphasis is placed on the external effect, rather than on creation’s internal and inspirational source—proper art. In spirituality, riveting attention on ritual and behavior to the exclusion of inner conversion—from the ego’s thought system to the Holy Spirit’s—denies the truth, which can only be experienced from within. Indeed, the world of externals was specifically made to conceal the truth of the right mind. Many passages in A Course in Miracles—implicit and explicit—caution us against this practice. In discussing special relationships, for example, Jesus is quite pointed in his remarks about religious practice, and the context of the following passage, as well as many others, makes it clear he is directing his comments toward formal religion’s emphasis on ritual, so often to the exclusion of the love within:

Whenever any form of special relationship tempts you to seek for love in ritual, remember love is content, and not form of any kind. The special relationship is a ritual of form, aimed at raising the form to take the place of God at the expense of content. There is no meaning in the form, and there will never be (T-16.V.12:1-3).

While ritual and symbol can indeed have an important place in religious or spiritual practice, they must be seen only as means to lead beyond themselves to the reality of God’s Love— the path through form to the Formless:

As nothingness cannot be pictured, so there is no symbol for totality. Reality is ultimately known without a form, unpictured and unseen (T-27.III.5:1-2).

We therefore need the symbol to lead us back to the source; the effect to return to its cause. Only then can we remember our identification with the true Source. Once we rejoin the love in our minds, it naturally extends and appears as form, as the external figure of Jesus was the right mind’s manifestation of the Holy Spirit’s Love (C-6.1:1). Thus Jesus exhorts students of his course to be faithful to his message of forgiveness and resurrection, demonstrating it by having their very lives become a work of art that exemplifies his content of love:

Teach not that I died in vain. Teach rather that I did not die by demonstrating that I live in you (T-11.VI.7:3-4).

In other words, we demonstrate Jesus’ loving presence in our minds, not by

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our words or actions, but by joining with him there. That is our function, as it is the function of any true artist—uniting form with content, symbol with source.

The Function of the Artist and Teacher of God

In his notes accompanying the Artur Schnabel recording of Beethoven’s complete piano sonatas, music critic Irving Kolodin wrote: “Every great artist who appeals to the higher tastes and deeper instincts of the public is an educator.” Introducing the manual for teachers, Jesus explains that to teach is to demonstrate (M-in.2). By becoming one with his content of forgiveness and love, we educate the Sonship about making the right choice, reinforcing this lesson in ourselves at the same time. We demonstrate Jesus’ healing message of forgiveness through moving past the outer forms of our lives (the body) to the ego’s hidden content (the wrong mind), and on to the decision for the Holy Spirit’s Atonement (the right mind).

In the workbook lesson “I am among the ministers of God,” Jesus compares his messengers to the world’s: the latter deliver their messages only to others, while the former deliver them first to themselves:

There is one major difference in the role of Heaven’s messengers, which sets them off from those the world appoints. The messages that they deliver are intended first for them. And it is only as they can accept them for themselves that they become able to bring them further, and to give them everywhere that they were meant to be. Like earthly messengers, they did not write the messages they bear, but they become their first receivers in the truest sense, receiving to prepare themselves to give (W-pI.154.6).

Such acceptance ensures that our lives, to return to Joyce’s formulation, are lived properly rather than improperly, thus allowing ourselves to stand before the world of darkness and reflect our decision for light, having come to stand for the Alternative, a reminder to choose again (M-5.III.2). Lesson 154 concludes with these inspiring words that summarize our function as God’s teachers and Jesus’ artists:

The world recedes as we light up our minds, and realize these holy words [“I am among the ministers of God”] are true. They are the message sent to us today from our Creator. Now we demonstrate how they have changed our minds about ourselves, and what our function is. For as we prove that we accept no will we do not share, our many gifts from our Creator will spring to our sight and leap into our hands, and we will recognize what we received (W-pI.154.14).

It is their accepting the message of Atonement that distinguishes true students of the Course from those paying mere lip service to it. As Thomas Merton wrote in his autobiography The Seven Storey Mountain, speaking of his artistic parents: “The integrity of an artist lifts a man above the level of the world without delivering him from it” (p. 1). This wise Trappist monk well understood the importance of the true artist/monk’s integration of form and content, for only through integrating creative inspiration with life’s outer forms can artists or the spiritually advanced proclaim their authentic message of deliverance from the thought system of the world. Though his life was hardly a paragon of spiritual attainment, Beethoven nonetheless had an intuitive sense of the importance of his musical genius for others. He said of himself:

Music is a higher revelation than all wisdom and philosophy. It is the wine of a new procreation, and I am Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for men and makes them

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drunk with the spirit.

In my March 2001 Lighthouse article, “The Light of Heaven to the Eternally Blind,” I quoted from a New York Times interview with Jon Vickers, a great tenor of the last generation. I present his remarks again, in slightly expanded form, to illus-trate the point of the current article. In a more humble fashion it echoes Beethoven’s sentiments, this time from the perspective of the artist rather than creator, as well as reflecting Jesus’ previously quoted comments on Heaven’s messengers:

I am humble before the gift that was given to me. ... And it was a gift. I have a great sense of gratitude toward the giver of that gift. I can’t stand it when people think what they have was given to themselves. Whether you’ re Albert Einstein or Placido Domingo, be grateful, use it, give it to your audience. ... The gift that I gave to an audience—and I was very blessed in that I had the power to do it—[was to] reach my arms through the proscenium arch to pull the audience in, to embrace them, to say to them: “Come up here with me. Know these feelings, and you will have the reward of experiencing the absolute beauty of Fidelio, the greatness of the tragedy of Othello. Come up here. Share it with me” (New York Times, Nov. 19, 2000, Arts & Leisure section).

Vickers was speaking of great artists—including in that category creative geniuses such as Einstein—and we can adapt his thoughts to how Jesus would see his teachers. We accept the gift of love from its Giver, and having done so, the gift can only extend through the mind of God’s one Son. As it does, its nonspecific content takes whatever form is most helpful, as we read in a passage familiar to many Course students:

The value of the Atonement does not lie in the manner in which it is expressed. In fact, if it is used truly, it will inevitably be expressed in whatever way is most helpful to the receiver. This means that a miracle, to attain its full efficacy, must be expressed in a language that the recipient can understand without fear. This does not necessarily mean that this is the highest level of communication of which he is capable. It does mean, however, that it is the highest level of communication of which he is capable now (T-2.IV.5:1-5).

Yet this form has nothing to do with the one through whom the gift flows, as Vickers’ above words make clear. The nonspecific love can only be true to itself if it is non-exclusive in its extension. This means that it embraces all, without exception. Our specific selves would always pick and choose the recipients of our gifts, ensuring that the gift remain not given because it has not been truly received. Thus Jesus tells us at the end of the text:

To your tired eyes I bring a vision of a different world, so new and clean and fresh you will forget the pain and sorrow that you saw before. Yet this a vision is which you must share with everyone you see, for otherwise you will behold it not. To give this gift is how to make it yours. And God ordained, in loving kindness, that it be for you (T-31.VIII.8:4-7).

Teachers of God thus have the function of reminding all their brothers and sisters, without exception, paraphrasing Vickers:

Come up to the mind with me. Know this peace, and you will have the reward of experiencing the absolute beauty of the peace of God and the greatness of His Love. Come up here. Share it with me.

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Conclusion: The Portrait Becomes Reality

We can now paint a portrait of advanced teachers of A Course in Miracles as artists, those who have fully integrated the content of love with their outer lives. Because they are ego free, they have no special needs demanding special satisfaction from special people. Thus they are free of all interferences to the extension of love through them, which happily embraces others still too fearful of accepting it directly. These teachers demand nothing of themselves or anyone else, knowing they have and are everything, along with all members of God’s Sonship. As spiritual artists, along with Jesus, they are infinitely patient with the fearful ones, for advanced teachers know that the darkness shrouding the light of Christ in God’s Son has no power to affect the truth that shines in all—equally and as one. Unfazed by the world’s “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” they have nothing to fear or defend. Above all, they can be kind “to everyone who wanders in the world uncertain, lonely, and in constant fear” (T-31.VIII.7:1), for they hear the pain in every living thing, calling out for hope and succor. No one in this separated world but feels the fatal thrust of fear, believing their sin has condemned them to the eternal hell of a life outside the Kingdom of Love.

In the minds of these spiritual artists is the awareness they need do nothing except love, since there is nothing here to be done—the real problem is the guilt in the mind. This clears the way for love to do through them. Their bodies become empty vessels through which the Atonement’s non-material principle can flow. Thus do they, like Jesus, become manifestations of the voice-less Voice for God (C-5:1-2):

He needs our voice that He may speak through us. He needs our hands to hold His messages, and carry them to those whom He appoints. He needs our feet to bring us where He wills, that those who wait in misery may be at last delivered. And He needs our will united with His Own, that we may be the true receivers of the gifts He gives (W-pI.154.11:2-4).

Exemplifying the perfect integration of content and form that Merton envisioned for the monk he aspired to become, these teachers/artists radiate the love they know to be their Source and their Self. Recognizing there is no distinction between Creator and created, that “nowhere does the Father end, the Son begin as something separate from Him” (W-pI.132.12:4), they say and mean these words, articulating what they know to be the truth:

Holiness created me holy.

Kindness created me kind.

Helpfulness created me helpful.

Perfection created me perfect (W-pI.67.2:3-6; italics omitted).

Thus artists of A Course in Miracles become holy, kind, helpful, and perfect because they know they are children of Holiness, Kindness, Helpfulness, and Perfection. How could they not be, since ideas leave not their source? And so their love extends outward, but never leaving the mind that is itself love. In the presence of this love, others on the journey find their hope that the light does indeed shine in the midst of the ego’s darkness; indeed, it has never ceased to radiate the truth of Heaven. Following their content—not necessarily their form—the world’s weary wanderers open to the journey with love as their guide, seeing in their light-filled teachers what they have longed to remember in themselves—the sacred place where the artist has become the art, the teacher the Teacher, and the love the

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Love. Therefore Jesus reminds us of his ultimate goal for us—to undo all spots of guilt, thus allowing Heaven’s light to be reflected in our healed minds until we become the Light we had been reflecting—the portrait having disappeared into Heaven’s Inspiration:

In this world you can become a spotless mirror, in which the Holiness of your Creator shines forth from you to all around you. You can reflect Heaven here. ... Those who have learned to offer only healing, because of the reflection of holiness in them, are ready at last for Heaven. There, holiness is not a reflection, but rather the actual condition of what was but reflected to them here. God is no image, and His creations, as part of Him, hold Him in them in truth. They do not merely reflect truth, for they are truth (T-14.IX.5:1-2; 8:4-7).