The Sacred Pedagogy of Art - Part 2

  

By Brother Theophan

 (Part 2; Part 1 can be found here)

The Vanishing Self and the Overview Effect

            Art can also profoundly shape us spiritually by cultivating a sense of the “vanishing self” or the “overview effect.” Let me explain briefly. In my upcoming book, Dreaming Reality, I explore the different ways we experience selfhood and connect with the world and cosmos. One prominent form is what we might call the default self. The brain naturally shifts into this mode, especially when we lack systematic contemplative practice. The default self perceives itself as an independent, separate, “skin-encapsulated” entity that feels in control and seeks to manage people and circumstances to serve its own happiness. The default self serves as a crucial “interface” your brain uses to help you function as a human being. However, it can easily become hyperactive, leading to self-centeredness, which in turn triggers anxiety, rumination, endless worry, depression, and, at the extremes, a pervasive sense of meaninglessness. Contemplative prayer, for example, quiets the default self and reconnects it with other brain networks, the body, and the larger world around you. I explore this in more detail in a recent chapter of Ascetic Practices and the Human Mind, an edited volume soon to be available through Catholic University Press.

            Contemplative prayer shares its power to quiet an overactive default self with activities like spending time in nature, which often evokes a sense of awe. Awe arises when we encounter something vast, placing the default self in proper context. In that moment, self-focus and the magnification of personal problems shrink, replaced by a visceral awareness of grandeur and beauty. Awe can trigger a profound realization of how precious, delicate, and fragile our self truly is as a vessel for life experience. This has been called an experience of the vanishing self. In a research study, participants were taken to an expansive lookout over Yosemite Valley, while a control group visited Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. Afterward, both groups were asked to draw themselves on graph paper to measure their sense of self. The size of the drawn figure serves as a reliable indicator of self-focus. Here’s an example set of drawings from both study groups:

 

             Experiences of the vanishing self lead people to report less concern with their own problems and a greater likelihood of feeling empathy, compassion, reverence, and prosocial tendencies aimed at helping others. Astronauts who have seen Earth from outer space often describe the experience of this vanishing self, also known as the overview effect. In some cases, even a single powerful encounter with this perspective results in a lasting, positive transformation of personality, evoking enduring traits of gratitude and kindness.

            What’s remarkable is that even watching videos of vast natural settings can trigger experiences of awe and the vanishing self. (Goethe and others practiced a specific form of interior visualization, projecting their consciousness to great heights—what could be called psychological mountaineering—to experience the vanishing self. For those interested, I recommend reading Pierre Hadot’s Don’t Forget to Live). I’m confident that engaging deeply with certain works of art can also give us a taste of this vanishing self. The sparse landscapes of Caspar David Friedrich, a 19th-century German painter who influenced the Hudson River School, offer rich opportunities. In pieces like Evening Landscape, A Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, Woman Before the Rising Sun, and A Monk by the Sea, the lone figures, surrounded by vast, majestic panoramas, resonate deeply with the viewer, opening up a felt sense of the transcendent otherness of nature. This can evoke awe, or its close emotional neighbor, the numinous—feelings that have powerful regenerative and healing properties, especially to our modern, digitally addicted, and default self obsessed brains.

A tour of the Hudson River paintings at the Albany Institute of History & Art reveals numerous stunning works where human figures are dwarfed by rugged, awe-inspiring landscapes. Take, for instance, Frederic Edwin Church’s Morning, Looking East Over the Hudson Valley from the Catskill Mountains, which is even more breathtaking in person. By immersing yourself in this painting and others like it, you’ll feel your consciousness begin to shift.

 

 

 Visual Lectio Divina

Some studies suggest that, on average, an American spends only about 27 seconds looking at a piece of artwork in an art gallery. I suggest that part of art’s sacred pedagogy involves initiating us into a slower mode of looking. In fact, Slow Looking is the title of art critic Peter Clothier’s book, where he develops his One Hour/One Painting practice, using art as a portal for contemplative practice. Just as we create silent and sacred spaces for a methodical, meditative engagement with sacred texts in the time-honored Christian practice of lectio divina, we can also use works of art for our personal visual form of lectio divina. I realize that a one-hour session might not work for most people, but the length of time matters less than the sincerity of intention, focus, and quality of attention. Needless to say, Orthodox Christians should find the idea of visual lectio divina familiar, as our places of worship and personal living spaces often feature sacred iconography. Here, I propose using artworks of great beauty—whether or not they carry explicit “religious” connotations—as a medium for lectio divina.

When Brother Christopher and I visited the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., I was particularly struck by Thomas Cole’s The Voyage of Life series of four paintings. For those who are unfamiliar with it, The Voyage of Life is a powerful allegorical series that explores the journey of human existence, capturing the profound existential themes of life, death, and the search for meaning. The series consists of four paintings: Childhood, Youth, Manhood, and Old Age, each representing a distinct stage in life. At that time, I was journaling a detailed life review exercise that involved examining the trajectory of my life in seven-year cycles (a Biblical idea), focusing on the most important themes, symbols, challenges, and lessons. The Voyage of Life resonated with me on a profound level, and I later “read” it as a portal into a visual lectio divina practice—more details to come soon.

First, let me share a few more words about the paintings themselves. This voyage begins with a child embarking on a journey in a small boat, symbolizing innocence and the beginnings of life. The lush landscapes and bright colors evoke a sense of hope and potential, reflecting the beauty and wonder of youth. Gradually, the paintings explore the challenges of life as the growing figure navigates a world filled with both beauty and danger. The vast landscapes and crashing waves in the "second half of life" illustrate the existential quest for purpose and fulfillment. By the time we reach Old Age, the boat, now weathered and worn, drifts toward a tranquil sunset, suggesting acceptance and reflection on a life well-lived. The presence of a guardian angel hints at spiritual guidance and the search for meaning beyond earthly existence.

Throughout The Voyage of Life, Cole masterfully intertwines nature with the human experience, inviting viewers to ponder the existential themes of our journeys. The series encourages us to reflect on our aspirations, the passage of time, and the ultimate quest for a life of deep meaning and value. I wholeheartedly recommend Addison Hodges Hart’s short book of meditations on this particular series of paintings, titled The Voyage of Life: The Sacred Vision of Thomas Cole, which I only later discovered.

Experiencing the paintings alongside my own written life review stirred my depths and called upon powerful, archetypal energies that were beginning to emerge from my own soul and psyche. Here are some brief suggestions on how you might engage in visual lectio divina, either with this series of paintings or any others that resonate with you.

First, clear a space. Find a quiet external environment where you can focus on the artwork with minimal distractions, and also create your “inner space.” Approach this practice with an interior posture of openness and readiness to receive, ideally setting an intention (e.g., seeking insight into a personally significant issue). Connect with your breath in a natural, relaxed, and deep way.

Next, begin to observe the art piece. Bring spacious sensory awareness to the colors and forms, noticing both the details and the overall “mood” or “atmosphere” the painting evokes in you. What draws your attention like a magnet? Identify the dominant themes, symbols, and story motifs that seem to cluster around this artwork. What shifts in your inner emotional landscape emerge? Don’t worry about labeling your feelings right now; instead, immerse yourself in their living, pulsing, and dynamic texture—their “taste,” so to speak. Develop a global sense of what moves you without trying to fit it into a narrative or make sense of it just yet.

You might choose to close your eyes now and see if any evocative memories, insights, or even fantasies arise. Observe these inner phenomena as intimately as you observed the painting itself. After some time, consciously reflect on the spectrum of experiences that emerged. Consider journaling about what this experience felt like for you, noting any shifts in how you relate to your deeper, innermost landscapes, the people around you, and the divine. You may also feel inspired to craft your own creative response, whether by writing a poem, creating a painting, sketching, or exploring whatever else feels right. Express sincere gratitude for whatever has revealed itself through you, even if it seems minor on the surface. Spend a few minutes in silence, allowing these various experiences to settle in your Heart. Over the next few days or weeks, pay attention to how these insights, shifts, and revelations might change, transform, and rearrange themselves deep within you.

This brings me to the end of this series of newsletter installments on art as sacred pedagogy. Beauty has clearly served as the invisible thread connecting all four points I’ve addressed. The scent of Beauty can act as the perfume that intensifies our longing for God, eternal life, and our own heart and soul. Although we can discover “scintilla” or shards of this Beauty in various artworks, entering into these open portals helps us recognize on a deeper level that they represent many reflections of energies drawn from an infinite reservoir—the Source of Life itself. We can recognize and be drawn to Beauty because an inner register in us remains impressionable and responds to its instruction. As we sharpen our receptiveness and cultivate this capacity, we attune ourselves to increasingly subtle dimensions of the Beautiful. Over time, we discover that Beauty is always interconnected with Wisdom, the True, the Good, and other essential attributes or energies of God. We become philokalic (Beauty-loving) beings.

         According to his son’s testimony, George Inness died in Scotland shortly after witnessing a breathtaking sunset. As he watched the blazing ochre sun sink below the horizon, he allegedly turned to his wife and exclaimed, "My God! oh, how beautiful!" before collapsing to the ground. The True, the Beautiful, the Good—all of which find their fulfillment in the Body of Christ—and our relentless pursuit to embody them in space and time: where else could the meaning of our brief life lie? Reflecting on landscape paintings as a way to recollect the inner self has led me to much deeper insights into the contemplative dimension of human existence.