Value for Sunday of Week 07 in the season of Dormancy

Engaging the World

Engaging the world at a basic level represents level-one development in our relations to the physical world. It may involve something as basic as getting out of bed and facing the world.

The distinction of engaging the world marks a beginning, in a sense. If we have been depressed, engaging may be like emerging from a cocoon. For people who have been kept away from the world, engaging may come like a burst of sunshine. For most people, level-one engagement is philosophical: very young children may operate at a higher level of engagement but we know that rudimentary building blocks underlie their enthusiasm. We may see other children, or people of any age, trying to overcome their reluctance to step out. That is the essence of this distinction.

Real

True Narratives

Crafts are ways of calming and refreshing the self and more fundamentally, of engaging the world in some small way. Therapists use crafts to assist people with emotional pathologies.

Scholarly journals:

Bibliographies:

Technical and Analytical Readings

On babies:

Overcoming depression:

Photographs

Documentary and Educational Films

Imaginary

Fictional Narratives

Now, in 1482, Quasimodo had grown up. He had become a few years previously the bellringer of Notre-Dame, thanks to his father by adoption, Claude Frollo,—who had become archdeacon of Josas, thanks to his suzerain, Messire Louis de Beaumont,—who had become Bishop of Paris, at the death of Guillaume Chartier in 1472, thanks to his patron, Olivier Le Daim, barber to Louis XI., king by the grace of God.    So Quasimodo was the ringer of the chimes of Notre-Dame.  In the course of time there had been formed a certain peculiarly intimate bond which united the ringer to the church. Separated forever from the world, by the double fatality of his unknown birth and his natural deformity, imprisoned from his infancy in that impassable double circle, the poor wretch had grown used to seeing nothing in this world beyond the religious walls which had received him under their shadow. Notre-Dame had been to him successively, as he grew up and developed, the egg, the nest, the house, the country, the universe.  There was certainly a sort of mysterious and pre-existing harmony between this creature and this church. When, still a little fellow, he had dragged himself tortuously and by jerks beneath the shadows of its vaults, he seemed, with his human face and his bestial limbs, the natural reptile of that humid and sombre pavement, upon which the shadow of the Romanesque capitals cast so many strange forms. Later on, the first time that he caught hold, mechanically, of the ropes to the towers, and hung suspended from them, and set the bell to clanging, it produced upon his adopted father, Claude, the effect of a child whose tongue is unloosed and who begins to speak. . . . It was the only speech which he understood, the only sound which broke for him the universal silence. He swelled out in it as a bird does in the sun. All of a sudden, the frenzy of the bell seized upon him; his look became extraordinary; he lay in wait for the great bell as it passed, as a spider lies in wait for a fly, and flung himself abruptly upon it, with might and main. Then, suspended above the abyss, borne to and fro by the formidable swinging of the bell, he seized the brazen monster by the ear-laps, pressed it between both knees, spurred it on with his heels, and redoubled the fury of the peal with the whole shock and weight of his body. Meanwhile, the tower trembled; he shrieked and gnashed his teeth, his red hair rose erect, his breast heaving like a bellows, his eye flashed flames, the monstrous bell neighed, panting, beneath him; and then it was no longer the great bell of Notre-Dame nor Quasimodo: it was a dream, a whirlwind, a tempest, dizziness mounted astride of noise; a spirit clinging to a flying crupper, a strange centaur, half man, half bell; a sort of horrible Astolphus, borne away upon a prodigious hippogriff of living bronze.  [Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris, or, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1831), Volume I, Book Fourth, Chapter III, “Immanis Pecoris Custos, Immanior Ipse”.]

From the dark side:

Since he did nothing for himself, he would probably have starved had not his neighbours, in trepidation, saved some food for him. Children brought it to him. They did not fear him, neither did they laugh at him in the innocent cruelty in which children often laugh at unfortunates. They were indifferent to him, and Lazarus showed the same indifference to them. He showed no desire to thank them for their services; he did not try to pat the dark hands and look into the simple shining little eyes. Abandoned to the ravages of time and the desert, his house was falling to ruins, and his hungry, bleating goats had long been scattered among his neighbours. His wedding garments had grown old. He wore them without changing them, as he had donned them on that happy day when the musicians played. He did not see the difference between old and new, between torn and whole. The brilliant colours were burnt and faded; the vicious dogs of the city and the sharp thorns of the desert had rent the fine clothes to shreds. During the day, when the sun beat down mercilessly upon all living things, and even the scorpions hid under the stones, convulsed with a mad desire to sting, he sat motionless in the burning rays, lifting high his blue face and shaggy wild beard. [Leonid Andreyev, “Lazarus” (1906).]

Novels:

Novels, from the dark side:

Poetry

I hear the workman singing and the farmer's wife singing,  

I hear in the distance the sounds of children and of animals early in the day,  

I hear emulous shouts of Australians pursuing the wild horse,  

I hear the Spanish dance with castanets in the chestnut shade, to the rebeck and guitar,  

I hear continual echoes from the Thames,  

I hear fierce French liberty songs,  

I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old poems,  

I hear the locusts in Syria as they strike the grain and grass with the showers of their terrible clouds,  

I hear the Coptic refrain toward sundown, pensively falling on the breast of the black venerable vast mother the Nile,  

I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the mule,  

I hear the Arab muezzin calling from the top of the mosque,  

I hear the Christian priests at the altars of their churches,

I hear the responsive base and soprano,  

I hear the cry of the Cossack, and the sailor's voice putting to sea at Okotsk,  

I hear the wheeze of the slave-coffle as the slaves march on, as the husky gangs pass on by twos and threes, fasten'd together   with wrist-chains and ankle-chains,  

I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms,  

I hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends of the Romans,  

I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful God the Christ,  

I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupil the loves, wars, adages, transmitted safely to this day from poets who wrote three thousand years ago.

[Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (1891), Book VI, “Salut au Monde”, No. 3.]

* * * * * *

You dweller in the dark cabin, / To whom the watermelon is always purple, / Whose garden is wind and moon,

Of the two dreams, night and day, / What lover, what dreamer, would choose / The one obscured by sleep?

Here is the plantain by your door / And the best cock of red feather / That crew before the clocks.

A feme may come, leaf-green, / Whose coming may give revel / Beyond revelries of sleep,

Yes, and the blackbird spread its tail, / So that the sun may speckle, / While it creaks hail.

You dweller in the dark cabin, / Rise, since rising will not waken, / And hail, cry hail, cry hail.

[Wallace Stevens, “Hymn from a Watermelon Pavilion” (1919)]

Other poems:

·      Robert Frost, “Mowing” (analysis)

·       James Joyce, “Lean Out of the Window

Music: Composers, artists, and major works

François Couperin, Leçons de Ténèbres (Lessons of Darkness) (1714) (approx. 65’) (recordings), is “a setting of the Lamentations of Jeremiah . . .” Like much of Couperin’s music, and consistent with the work’s title, it conveys a feeling of beginning to emerge from darkness. That is what we do when we begin to engage the world. This is all the more true for people coming out of depression or other illness. “This is very expressive, exposed music; it takes superb musicians to make it work, for they must make the music sound like simplicity itself.” This is in keeping with the early stage of ethical/personal development the music suggests. “Couperin's three Tenebrae settings are all for Maundy Thursday . . .” Best recorded performances are by Lesne & Dugardin in 1991, Daneman & Petibon, with Christie, in 1996, Concerto Vocale with Jacobs in 2004, and Sampson & Kielland with King in 2013.

Practically all of François Couperin’s chamber music (approx. 370’) is along the same lines:

Ludwig van Beethoven’s first three piano sonatas, Op. 2 (1795) (approx. 68’), offer a taste of what was to follow. Excellent recorded performances are by Gulda in 1968, Kempff, Goode in 1993, Lewis in 2007, Williams in 2018, and Prosseda in 2024.

Creation stories are best seen as metaphors for a child’s emerging awareness of and engagement with the world, and from chaos/nothingness into order. An excellent example is Franz Joseph Haydn’s Die Schöpfung (The Creation) (1798) (approx. 100-110’) (libretto) (recordings). “Originally titled The Creation of the World, the text was primarily compiled from three sources: the Creation story from the book of Genesis in the King James Bible, the book of Psalms, and Milton’s Paradise Lost, which was an interpretation of the same Creation story.” “. . . Haydn intended this to be a work which would speak to people from any religious tradition or none. In blending the ideals of the Enlightenment with those of Romanticism, and in being able to speak to intellectuals and common people, The Creation from the very start was an enormous success and it remains one of the cornerstones of the choral repertoire.” Links are to live performances, with video, by Adam Fischer in 2009, Harnoncourt in 2013, and Bernstein. Top performancrs on disc are by Jochum in 1951, Karajan in 1968, Gardiner in 1995, Spering in 2003, McCreesh in 2008, Christophers in 2015, Antonini in 2020, Rademann in 2023, and Rattle in 2025.

Johann Sebastian Bach, 6 Sonatas for Two Keyboards and Pedal, BWV 525-530 (Trio Sonatas) (1727-32) (approx. 100-120’) (recordings): “Bach’s trio sonatas, BWV 525-530, are believed to have been a training exercise for his favorite son, W.F. Bach, and the pedagogical function is clear, giving three independent lines to the two hands and feet at the organ. “These pieces were perhaps conceived, and are certainly used, to build technique on an instrument that is played with both hands and feet. Written for the organ or pedal clavichord (a practice instrument for organists), these sonatas require the right and left hands to play independently melodic lines on separate keyboards, while the feet play the basso continuo.” Excellent recorded performances on organ are by Marie-Claire Alain in 1959, Ton Koopman in 1982, Christopher Herrick in 1989, Simon Preston in 1993, Benjamin Alard in 2009, Robert Costin in 2014, and Aart Bergwerff in 2025. Excellent recorded ensemble performances (transcribed) are by The Purcell Quartet in 2000, London Baroque in 2002, The Brook Street Band in 2010, and Holliger, Jaccottet & Zimmermann.

A prelude is a predicate piece, as fundamental engagement is a predicate to development.

The following works evoke engagement, in typical baroque fashion:

Other works:

Performances and albums:

Music: songs and other short pieces

  • Matthews Southern Comfort Band, “Woodstock” (lyrics)
  • Blaise Siwula, Nicolas Letman-Burtinovic & Jon Panikkar, “Engagement

Visual Arts

Film and Stage

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