Skip to main content

The Soul Matter

Last fall in Metaphysics—the study of what exists—we asked questions. Are we merely material parts? Are we just complicated organisms wired to survive? Or are we more than that? 

 A winding road off the fifteen brought Nathan, Felicity, and I to a small ranch to witness a wedding. Nestled in a valley of sorts, we gathered underneath a large tree. In the distance, the valley wall was lined with a copse of trees glowing in the fading light. The family processed in, the bridesmaids, and then the bride. When she saw her groom, she cried. In a voice that cracked, he told her, “I love you.”

The moment contrasted with a novel I recently read—A Brave New World. In it people live as cogs in a system, where the human race is propagated to survive. People live for work and pleasure and are drugged to give them illusionary happiness. Monogamy is not allowed, because real relationships are dangerous to the continuation of the human race. It reminded me of an entirely different book, Mrs. Dalloway— which follows one day in Mrs. Dalloway’s life as she prepares for a house party. All the inane details add up to her striving to connect with people and failing to do so. The party planning is nothing more than a ritual. These books identify something true. What does it matter if Mrs. Dalloway buys flowers? It’s a pointless action done by a cog.The characters in the books demonstrate lives that lack meaning, because they act like machines with no comprehension of love and happiness. The souls have been stripped from these characters, which is a stark contrast to the wedding.

Huxley used Shakespeare to inspire his book title. “O brave new world that has such people in it.” Only in the original context it wasn’t about a new race of men. Or should I saw machines? In the original, the girl sees the man she’d fall in love with and she wonders at his beauty. Love sees beyond the exterior appearance and is only possible if souls exist.  


Surrounded by people who care about them, the bride and groom said their vows. Something profound happened that was more than the words spoke, the clothes worn, and the trees that glowed. It was intangible to the naked eye, but resonated in the gathered communion. Through the trappings, shone the glory—humans, souled creatures, who love. It isn’t a brave new world; it’s an old world where people are more than machines. The emptiness of Mrs. Dalloway and the hallow horror of The Brave New World are dismissed.

Glory be. We have souls. 


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Two Little Girls and a Bench

  It was one of those moments before dinner in which I could have easily moved into the busy rush of dinner, clean-up, and bed-time, when I was stopped in my tracks. Isabelle, with her round face, and bright eyes, and fifteen month strength, clamored onto a bench and made it apparent to me that she wanted to jump from its one foot height with the help of my hand. I obliged and a game began, a game that was immediately joined by Emmaline, her three-year old sister, who does everything with full abandon. Soon, I found myself holding two little hands as two little girls jumped off a bench in unison. What joy this moment held for them. Again. Repeat. They would have jumped as long as I allowed. Each little face starlit with the joy of leaving the earth for one brief moment in the company of one’s sister and one’s mommy.  Tonight I read in Chesterton’s Orthodoxy that, “Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want t...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Leaf

  A couple of weeks ago, I read “The Leaf by Niggle” aloud to five-year old Felicity. Since I was teaching on the story a few days later, I counted my inspiration to read-aloud as a double win towards homeschooling and teaching prep. Didn’t know that my five-year-old, would once again teach me.     Tolkien’s short story follows the life of a Niggle, a painter, who envisions a glorious tree, but only manages to paint leaves, a paltry homage to his vision. About half-way through the story Niggle is sent on a journey, presumably death. After some time in a dismal hospital and workhouse, a train takes him to a familiar green space. As he wanders, wonderingly, he discovers it. The tree. His tree.   Felicity turned to me as I read and she said with the joy of discovery in her voice,    “Mommy! Did God make his tree real?”   “Yes, Felicity. Yes, that is it. That is exactly it.”    Tolkien and Lewis both thought that fairy-tales and myths, those bear...
Post a Comment
Read more

On Soup, Vices, Babies, and the End of the Day

I’m sitting eating soup and hearing phantom cries. At least, every time I jump up the baby monitor confirms that the crying is only in my head.  Today, with the rapt attention of my four-year old, I wrote a to-do list on our large kitchen chalkboard. I’m not certain if that was a good idea as the last to-do—a very large pile of laundry still looms a pants and onesies mountain or a shirts and socks field, pick your favorite metaphor of choice. But whatever your choice, it’s there.  Strewn along my bedroom floor. Waiting. (Yes, the bed would be a better place, but the baby needed nursing.)  The problem with a to-do list is that my biggest to-do, is to be with my three little ones. And really, that is not even a to-do, that is my life, my calling.  The other problem with a to-do list is that tasks sometimes seem to stand in the way of just being, a woman, a mother, striving by the grace of God to grow in virtue, to model said virtue so that the little soul...
Post a Comment
Read more