The last two posts about The War of Art were about Resistance and its cure; they were intelligible and pragmatic. In this post, we will review a metaphysical concept, what Pressfield calls “the higher realm”—the ineffable part of the arts, beyond technique or form. He regards the element of this realm in the form of angels or muses; you may see it as talent or genius. The important thing is to understand the abstractions. Another way to see it is as the popular notion of “Flow.”
What Is the Higher Realm?
The higher realm is a natural force that—just like gravity—cannot be seen but can be felt. It is the contrast to Resistance: it is a place of abundance, freedom, and joy. This is the promised land we arrive at after going through the drudgery. This is heaven after reaching into hell.
Perceiving the higher realm gives us the ability to connect to an indispensable and inexhaustible source of wisdom and creativity. To do that, we must pass individual evolutions that shape our souls accordingly. Sure, we may get glimpses from time to time, but to get there we must be deemed worthy. In the end, we become the servants of god, the communicators of the angels, and the humble agents of heaven.
The Muse
The Ancient Greeks, along with other cultures, comprehended the mystery by personifying it. They attached names and faces to the forces of nature—Aphrodite for Love, Ares for war, Asclepius for medicine—and proclaimed them gods. Those gods are immortal entities living in a sphere exalted from ours. Each of the gods has strengths and weaknesses, and often takes interest in the matters of humans.
The Muses were nine sisters, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne. Their names are Clio, Erato, Thalia, Terpsichore, Calliope, Polyhymnia, Euterpe, Melpomene, and Urania. They are responsible for inspiring artists. Each muse is in charge of a different art form.
According to mythology, one could not manifest beauty in the arts without the help of the muse. A novice touched by the blessing of the muse could create a jewel, while a master without it is useless.
Although those stories should like historical-fictional accounts that have nothing to do with us, they are the metaphor for the workings of creativity and our relationship with it. Art does not come from thinking. Where did Hamlet come from? Where did War and Peace come from?
Invoking the Muse
All creative creations already exist in the higher realm, they exist in potential, without a physical form (see Plato’s forms). The work of art needs a human to bring it into the material sphere. When the artist sits down to work, the muse whispers in his ear the creation.
Artists have evoked the muse since time immemorial. Before working, they would take the time to pay their respects and prayers for the muse. This practice gave them the necessary humility and tranquility, crucial for making great art—the artist is secondary to the muse and is completely at her mercy.
A prominent example of this is in Homer’s Odyssey, which begins by appealing for the blessing of the muse (full prayer is listed at the end of this post). Homer calls upon Poesy, the muse of poetry, to sustain his creation, bestow him with the strength to stay true, not fall to sin, and that his creation will bring happiness and hope to others.
This is a practice Pressfield has adopted: before he sits down to work, he reads the prayer mentioned above—this pulls him into a creative mental state.
Professionalism and the Higher Realm
Maybe you think, “If everything depends on the will of the muse, why not sit around and do nothing while I wait for genius to struck me?”
For providence, we need to fully commit. The angles only help those with pure intentions, who act out of love and are willing to sacrifice for it. When we act half-heartedly, the angles take offense. When we show up consistently, when we go through the drudgery, the angels take notice, and they begin assisting our evolution.
Becoming a professional is paving the way for the muse. The amateur waits until the whole opera appears and materializes infant of him magically. The professional knows that a masterpiece is built brick after brick, the angels will drop gifts and he needs to be prepared; that is why some of our best ideas come when we are hiking, shaving, or showering—an intelligent part of ourselves keeps working even when we are not.
Creativity, or the higher realm, beats at the core of everyone, it is through professionalism that we chip away the much towards it—there is no shortcut to doing the work.
Life and Death
An unusual scenario plays out when a person discovers they have a terminal illness: in a matter of seconds, a radical shift happens: their values change, and meaning radiates. The “big” work project this weekend does not seem that crucial anymore. The fight with the spouse shrinks compares to our love for them. The old music passion rekindles. What causes this profound shift? Why do our unlived lives return with such strength and poignancy?
According to Tom Laughlin, a Jungian-schooled psychologist, the threat of imminent extinction calls all assumptions into question. We reconsider each belief, action, and choice we made, and wonder if we still have time to change.
He draws a diagram of the psyche as follows:
The ego is where most of us dwell, it is the part that contemplates the day-to-day affairs, considers others’ opinions, and is the house of fear—it is what most of us call “I.”
The self is a greater entity, which includes the ego as well as the personal and collective subconscious, this is the realm of the spirit. The self is where dreams come from, where archetypes reside, and creativity blooms. This is the space of possibility and truth.
The instant we learn we might die soon, the seat of attention changes from the ego to the self; the world is entirely new, everything shines and there is no place for lies, thus no place for fear. What is meaningful float, and the rest sink. We receive a deeper, more profound perspective.
Also, according to Tom Laughlin, many heal from their illnesses once they leap towards what is meaningful, almost as if the diseases came as a result of buried dreams.
Experiencing the Self
Being imprisoned in the ego, we experience the world as narrow and intimidating. We know that there is a realm of possibility and freedom out there—the self. We long for the divine horizon of the outside, yet we fear it. We desperately and artificially lock ourselves in the ego. This dichotomy between who we are and who we wish to be, leads us to overflow our systems with substances, shunning the ego indirectly—only we hurt ourselves in the process and are incompetent to stay there, creating the need for repetition, and alas addiction.
Our higher callings originate in the self: painting, writing, singing, developing, etc. when we sit down to do our work, we amble from the ego to the self—which is when we reach the flow state. The ego becomes obsolete when we do the work, in response he summons Resistance.
When we step into fear, we evolve, and we progress toward the self and the higher realm. Fear is the enemy, ego is the enemy.
Fear
Fear is Resistance’s instigator. We experience Resistance as fear. But fear of what exactly?
Fear of the consequences of following our hearts. Fear of bankruptcy, poverty, and insolvency. Fear of falling to make it on our own and crawling back to where we started. Fear of being unable to support our families. Fear of throwing away our education and current prospects. Fear of launching into the void, of suffocating in the unknown. Fear of passing some point of no return, beyond which we cannot retract. Fear of having to spend the rest of our life with the rotten outcome of our choice. Fear of failure. Fear of death.
These are serious fears. But they are not the master fear. The fear that we dismiss when we hear it—the fear that we will succeed.
When we imagine the manifestation of our ideal selves, we proper far out from our tribal inclusion—the safe space for which we evolved. If hone the power we secretly possess, we will pass through the membrane and lose our family and friends—leaving us alone with nothing to hold on to. This is exactly what happens, but we do not end up in a vacuum, rather, we connect to an inline source of wisdom and love, and we meet new people, who are better suited for us—they become our new tribe.
The Fruits of Our Labor
When Krishna instructed Arjuna that we have the right to our labor but not for its fruits, he counseled him to act territorially; in other words, to think about the influence you have on the environment rather than your hierarchal position.
As humans, we are part of a symbiotic relationship with the environment—we influence each other for better or worse. When we act virtuously, we emit health into the environment, which others absorb, and so on. This cycle of good or bad moves humanity closer or farther from heaven.
Doing the work in that manner is a mediation, a spiritual devotion, a way to heal not only our souls, but the cosmos. The artist cannot help but work on his craft, it is part of his soul, and whichever gratuity comes he gratefully welcomes, but does not affect his why.
The Artist’s Life
We sketched the ethos of the artist, which can be compared to that of a warrior. Like the warrior, the artist must transcend himself and serve something bigger. Envy, anger, lust, gluttony, pride, sloth, and greed—those are the devils that dwell in the ego, which the artist needs to shed off. Thus developing the vital humility and modesty for creating beauty and grace. The artist is the antithetical Charon, leading to paradise.
Homer’s Prayer to the Muse
“O Divine Poesy, goddess, daughter of Zeus, sustain for me this song of the various-minded man who, after he had plundered the innermost citadel of hallowed Troy, was made to stray grievously about the coasts of men, the sport of their customs, good and bad, while his heart, through all the sea-faring, ached with an agony to redeem himself and bring his company safe home. Vain hope — for them. The fools! Their own witlessness cast them aside. To destroy for meat the oxen of the most exalted Sun, wherefore the Sun-god blotted out the day of their return. Make this tale live for us in all its many bearings.”