Contradictions

“When one understands Brorson’s words - “When the heart is most oppressed, then the harp of joy is tuned”, then he has in them a motto for all poetic existence, which necessarily must be unhappy.” For poetry is the smoke of burning passion, and passion is the tension in contradictions - the will that holds together two opposing forces. Take love for example - Here passion is the tension between finite individuality (the fact that the lover will always be a distinct individual self) and infinite devotion (the total surrender to something beyond the self that all love requires). And therein lies the impossible passion, the impossible task of reconciling two forces that shall never meet. Or look to art instead - The artist’s perfect ideal, their ineffable emotion may never be shackled to coarse words, paintings or music, And so the artist’s great passion is a contradiction of unfettered ideals and fettered expressions. Yet despite this impossibility, passion burns on. We struggle as best as possible, to reach some semblance of unity. At first, this futile reconciliation seems utterly nonsensical, and then I am reminded of the highest and holiest passion of all - the imperfect mortal self that struggles for perfect eternal grace. Imperfect, perfect, mortal, eternal, blind, omniscient, irrational, rational, cruel, just, impure, pure - there is no greater contradiction than the intense odds between man and God, and yet salvation is not impossible, devotion is not futile. It is through faith in the all-powerful, through divine grace and mercy, that the contradiction may yet be whole and that finite selves may continue to struggle for divine infinity beyond reach. And so it becomes clear. The tension is no longer a Sisyphean task, it is transformed into Kierkegaardian repetition. For it is through faith alone, that two ends may someday meet, faith that love can exist, faith that art can be meaningful and faith that our souls may yet be saved.

And so I return to Brorson’s words - “When the heart is most oppressed, then the harp of joy is tuned”. Yes, the poetic existence is necessarily an unhappy one, a painful struggle to make impossible ends meet, a great burning passion, that may yet consume us in insanity, But it is also a faithful existence, a hopeful one. For it is only passion mixed with faith, that gives our struggle meaning.