When We Love, We Want to Know Names and Faces

What a man who has brain damage has taught me about love; and what it reveals about the 9th-century theology of sacred art.

I have a friend named Mike who knows me and likes me (or at least he regularly tells me that he does) but, and here’s the paradox, he knows virtually nothing about me. Mike used to be a Presbyterian minister, and before that he was a practicing lawyer. However, six years ago he had a heart attack. His brain was deprived of oxygen for several minutes, and suffered serious damage which resulted in severe memory loss. He can remember very little from his past, and his ability to recall the detail of experiences since the heart attack is greatly impaired, so that typically he can’t remember what happened even 10 minutes ago. I met him for the first time two years ago, and each time he sees me he has barely any recollection of our previous conversations. He is so uncertain of what he knows about me that the first thing he says to me each time we meet is, ‘David Clayton, professor? Right?’. ‘That’s right Mike,’ I say. ‘I am David Clayton the professor.’. About 25% of the occasions on which he sees me, he gets the name or my profession wrong and I correct him. 

His memory is so impaired that mid-way through an interaction, perhaps after just five minutes, he will stop mid-sentence and ask me again, ‘David Clayton, professor? Right?’ We can only conduct conversations at all because he can recall some random details from his life, and we can talk, for example, about the Bible, which he knows that he views as authoritative (although he can’t remember much detail) or he might tell me about his father and I will tell him some things about myself and my life. The content of one conversation can sometimes be almost exactly the same one we had the previous day.

Yet, for all that he knows very little about me, he knows me and knows he likes me. Each time we meet, he is obviously pleased to see me (which pleases me too!) and from the perceptibly steady, if incremental, growth in the warmth of the greeting he gives me, he likes me more and more. Even when he can’t remember my name, it seems that he knows me more each time he sees me, and (I feel sure these are connected) he loves me more. He has, it seems, a developing sense of the whole, but little recall of the parts that contributed to his knowledge of the whole. Or, to put it another way, he knows he likes me, but doesn’t know why.

And it is my face that triggers this reaction. This makes me recall the article I wrote about how it is conventional in Christian art to associate facelessness with the devil, here. And another on the detrimental effects of mask-wearing entitled the Facelessness of Tyranny and the Tyranny of Facelessness

The Son of Man by Rene Magritte, 1942. I am hoping, at least, that the title was meant to be ironic.

I described my observations of the pattern of Mike’s interaction with me to his wife, Maria, and asked her if this pattern described his interaction with people generally. She said that she thought this was correct. He always wanted to know the name and one defining characteristic of the person, and even though he might forget these from one conversation to the next, he had nevertheless an accumulating sense of whether or not he liked the person. She told me that the reason he repeated the name and profession during the conversation was that he was afraid that it was slipping from his memory and he wanted to lock it in there before he lost it again.

What does this indicate? The following is highly speculative, given that it is based upon the observation of just one person. It would be interesting to know if my thoughts resonate with readers who have had more contact with mentally handicapped people.

To me, this seems to indicate that the faculty for retaining information about a person, the memory, and the faculty for loving and for the retention of the love of the person, reside in two different places. One explanation might be that each operation takes place in different parts of the brain and only one part, that which relates to the memory of facts, is damaged.

Alternatively, and I would love to think that this is the explanation, there are two different sorts of knowing that occur here, and to know a person for themselves, as distinct from knowing about them, is really to love them. And Mike’s faculty of loving is intact because it does not reside in the brain at all, but rather in the spirit. The spirit is the highest aspect of the soul, which is, by definition, spiritual and not material and therefore unaffected by brain damage.

When we love someone, we see them as they are, and that person is encountered as a unique object of love. The key characteristics that need to be grasped in order to love the person are, in Mike’s case, to judge from his questions, the face, the name, and the main pre-occupation of the person.

Mike is a neighbor of mine whom I see pretty much daily. One time, however, I was away for a month and when I saw him on my return, I wondered if he would recall me at all. To my surprise, he was just as pleased to see me as he had been the last time, a month earlier, and he said, ‘David Clayton, the professor? Right?’, pronouncing my name with perhaps a slightly longer hesitation than normal.

With Mike, it seemed to me by observing this pattern that when he sees a person who is known, simply yet deeply as an object of love, that love is not so much remembered as it is re-lived, fully and truly. It is a temporal participation in a love that is permanent and does not decay with time, for it resides in the spirit.

There is an interesting parallel with the theology of icons here.

The Seventh Ecumenical Council (781) addressed the issue of images, and stated that images of the person of Christ as man, of Our Lady, and of the Saints must be created and be venerated. For as we can love the Father through the love of Christ, who is a man that is the image of the Father, so we can love a saint in heaven through their image in the icon. This tells us that, in the estimation of the Fathers of the Council at least, the human capacity for love is stimulated strongly by seeing the person, whether viewed through an image or directly.

However, it was found out subsequently that the Council had only partly dealt with the problem, for the iconoclast controversy was not fully and immediately resolved, and the destruction of images and rejection of their use continued. The iconoclast controversy was only finally resolved in the 9th century through the theological contribution of St Theodore the Studite, who stated that the necessary conditions for the veneration of a sacred image were, in addition to an image of the person, a clear statement of their name and essential characteristics. By essential characteristics he meant the key attributes that define the person for those who know him; so for example, an icon of St Isaias the Prophet would show a person with a gray beard and long gray hair, his name, and tongs with a lump of hot coal. St Theodore argued that this is the minimum of information that people need to love the person authentically through the image.

The icon of a feast or biblical scene, incidentally, would have a title written on the icon and not necessarily every person present within the scene. The one below is for the Visitation in a Gothic style.

When the practice of including the characteristics and the name of the person, as proposed by St Theodore, was adopted, the iconoclastic controversy was finally resolved. I suggest that the decline of iconoclasm was not so much that Theodore presented a compelling theological sound bite that convinced the masses, but rather that when artists incorporated all of these features into the icons that they painted, those icons now inspired in those who saw them an authentic love for the saint portrayed and the desire to destroy the image diminished. His theology was as much a reflection of insight into human nature as it was the product of great learning.

Similarly, when Mike sees me, he seems to follow the 9th-century ‘Theodoran’ pattern of thinking. He sees me - not as an image, but as a person - then he knows he loves me, but his instincts tell him that for this love to be fully manifested, which is what he desires, he needs the essential truths that define me for him, that is my name and my profession. Then he knows me - David Clayton, professor - in love.

There is a lesson that artists might learn today. If you want people to be attracted to your art, follow Theodore’s advice and write the name on it. Aside from helping to stop those who see your work from smashing it to pieces with a hammer, it might even induce them to pay for it! I have resolved to try to remember to include the name in every piece of work I do in the future - I will admit that occasionally I have neglected to do so in the past.

It is interesting to note, further, that in the more recent periods of iconoclasm, such as those of Protestant reformers in the 16th and 17th centuries, or by Catholic bishops in the mid-20th century, the practice of naming sacred art in the Theodoran manner had fallen by the wayside. So Sir Anthony van Dyke did not tell us that he was painting the Crowning with Thorns on the painting itself.

Also, a common method of destroying the effectiveness of a painting or sculpture was to de-face it, as we see in this 15th century retable in the Jan van Arkel chapel of Utrecht Cathedral (Domkerk), which was found behind a false plaster wall during restoration activities in 1919.

All this suggests to me that if we don’t incorporate the use of names and key characteristics in our sacred art today we will struggle to re-establish a Catholic tradition in sacred art, and therefore, will struggle to establish a wider contemporary culture that is a reflection of it.

Turning a Protest into Pilgrimage, and a March into a Meditation

On the weekend of May 29th, within the Octave of Pentecost, I joined a small group for the 2nd annual 50-mile San Francisco Bay march, which ran from Point Reyes south and finished at the Golden Gate Bridge. In case you are wondering, I didn’t complete all 50 miles, but was with them for a 17-mile section on the first part of the first day, and for a barbecue at Stinson Beach, although several people did complete the 50-miles to mark the 50 days of Pentecost.

The organizer is my friend Charlie Deist, with whom I regularly record podcasts, and his description of why he started it is here at anaturalmethod.com/march. Charlie is interested in promoting health through physical exercise and nutrition, and as a Christian - he is a convert to Catholicism - is interested in finding a way to integrate them with the Christian life.

In our podcasts together, we have discussed how modern nutritional science seems to support a dietary regime that is a harmonized mix of the different approaches which individually might be considered just the latest fad diet. Charlie proposes a combination that is in harmony with the Church’s traditional cycles of fasting and feasting. He is also a qualified instructor in a form of exercise called MoveNat. I became interested in this because at age 58, I wanted some form of exercise that would allow me to stay healthy and flexible, and didn’t come with the distorted spiritual baggage that yoga brings with it.

As I talked to Charlie about this, it dawned on me that his approach to exercise and nurtition could be combined with the pattern of Christian living which I recently described inan article about beauty in the spiritual life. It works so well, I believe, firstly because it doesn’t come with any associated new age spirituality that has to be negated or redirected. Secondly, the emphasis on working with human nature allows, it transpires, for an easy (one hesitates to use the word “natural”) combination with Christian mysticism, which aims at the supernatural elevation of human nature. The regular singing of the psalms to mark the hours, Christian spiritual exercises and forms of mediation such as lectio divina, all work well with in combination with them.

This march began as a statement of freedom a year ago, at a time when society and churches were being fragmented by the lockdown and mask regulations imposed to stop the spread of Covid. We wanted something that we could do together, cheerfully, joyfully (and legally) as a statement of our desire for freedom, and especially religious freedom. The idea of a 50 miles hike came from an American tradition instituted by Theodore Roosevelt and encouraged by JFK to stop the slide of the US into a sedentary nation - you can read about the history of this in Charlie’s write up here. By coincidence, the first one was set for the weekend of Pentecost and so suggested that we make it a pilgrimage – a 50-mile March for Eternal Life. The hope is that we might be more open to the Holy Spirit in our quest for freedom and faith. Charlie offered tuition on a natural walking method to help us along - which he termed the “Golden Gait”!

We repeated it again this year; some joined for sections (like me) and those who are younger and more vigorous completed the whole distance over two days. We introduced the regular singing of the psalms on the walk. I was not sure how the crowd who came would take to it. The common connection was an interest in MoveNat, and certainly not all were Catholics. Some were other denominations and the majority of our group of about 12 were “spiritual but not religious.”

Charlie and I resolved to sing the psalms to “sanctify the day”, as the General Instruction for the Liturgy of the Hours puts it, and give individuals the opportunity to join us or to step away. In fact, all joined in. I led the group in the singing of a single psalm and some traditional hymns in the open air at each point, to mark the Hour, with passers-by listening. Charlie sang the drone and I sang the melody, and we told those who had never done this before to stand close to Charlie and sing the drone with him. This way everybody was able to join in instantly, and they did. It was a group of predominantly masculine voices, and we faced East and sang the psalms in the Gregorian modes out loud, many doing it for the first time in their lives. 

In addition to the psalms, I chose the traditional hymns for the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, which is in the Eastern Calendar. I wanted to connect the Christian message with the idea that the nation is a natural association of man. These are hymns that ask God to protect our country against its enemies but look for a victory whose measure is peace. 

Oh Lord save Your people and bless your inheritance. Grant victory to our country over its enemies, and preserve your community by the power of your cross.

Oh Christ our God who chose by Your free volition to be elevated upon the holy Cross, grant Your mercies to Your new people who are called by Your name; in Your power gladden the hearts of our civil authorities; strengthen them in every good deed so that Your true alliance may be for them a weapon of peace and a standard of victory.

O dread Champion who cannot be put to confusion, despise not our petitions. O Good one, all lauded Theotokos, establish the way of those who hold the orthodox faith; save those you have called to rule over us; bestow upon them victory from heaven; for You gave birth to God, O only blessed one.

Again we sang these with melody and drone, and so all were engaging with the text and not simply listening. Everyone, including a number of lapsed Catholics, commented on how much they enjoyed it and also how strong the sentiments of the psalms were. This had surprised those who had not read them before. The outdoor setting and the timing of pauses in physical activity seemed a natural association in their minds. Interestingly, one person who is a libertarian and who thought of nations and countries as artificial constructs, noticed this and asked me about it. I describe my reasons for choosing these hymns in more detail in a write-up I did prior to the march, posted here.

At the end of the day, I was asked about organizing some more pilgrimages which could be a shorter distance and on which we could do the psalms again, so we have decided to do two more in the year. We have scheduled our next pilgrimage as an 8-mile walk in which we will sing all 8 Offices for the octave of the Holy Cross, then the third will be for Epiphany. I noticed that this communal prayer did bring us together as a group. 

One of the great successes of yoga is that it at least bothers to try to make a practical connection between the physical body and the spiritual aspect of the human person by connecting physical activity and meditation. One wonders if, for all the distortion and error that is embedded into what they do, the reason that so many people are drawn to it is that the yoga studio is the only place that actually makes this connection between the physical and spiritual. Deep down, people know that there is something to it and feel better for practicing. Christians are typically happy to discuss anthropology and the unity of body and soul as an intellectual topic, but in my experience, many will compartmentalize their activity. Physical exercise and nutrition - eating for physical health - are not connected with the spiritual life in any practical way. 

What this event showed me is that all we have to do is try to make the connection as best we can using traditional Christian practices, and people respond.

As Chesterton said, if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing badly. Surely we can do it at least as badly as the yoga studios around the country? This was our attempt at doing something good, even if we did it badly!