So true! I especially admit the fact that this machine mindset is creeping into us (me) silently and often unnoticedly. I have found myself even pondering the "usefulness" of spending time in deep fellowship with my Savior instead of doing something more "productive"—which is as ugly and shameful as it sounds—. But He Himself is beautiful. We were created for nothing less than pure, majestic beauty. All true beauty shines forth from Christ Himself, and it can lead us to Him. Let us behold Him through the arts until we are satisfied by His splendor.
Such a powerful observation, Juan. Many saints and mystics talk about the importance of simply sitting and basking in the beauty and presence of Christ. But this feels so "unproductive" to us. I think art and literature can reawaken our ability to be still and behold.
I agree with you, brother Mark. Machines will never appreciate beauty. They don't behold. They don't feel. They don't love. They can't worship. These are all distinctly human privileges, which is why I liked so much what you mentioned about the arts "teaching us to be human again." May the Lord continue to bless your work. Thanks for putting in the hard work; we are being blessed by it.
Such a great entry here. These lines are incredible: "Great literature does something to us we can barely understand or even imagine. As Lewis says, it sparks an 'enlargement of our being.' It opens up a landscape both within and without." I was drawn to minor in English in college for this very reason—not because it made me more employable or useful to society or even more impressive to those who prize a well-read person, but because it felt like a way to both get outside of myself and have a mirror held up as well. Some of my favorite memories and learning experiences took place in my English classes as we discussed the fictional trials and tumult of characters who only existed on the page. What you share here is why I still feel it is so important to read great literature.
Thanks for the kind words, Grace! I had a very similar experience in college. I basically took as many English classes as I could (without majoring in English). I still think about those classes and some the great works we read!
So good, Mark. I'm sending it to my adult children and I restacked. My youngest son (45) and I are reading The Lord of the Rings together, then discussing it on Sunday afternoons. We're in The Fellowship of the Ring now and I feel zero guilt about the time spent (this coming from one who listened to Tim Ferris and had a white board on my bedroom wall!).
The arts open an otherwise closed window onto ourselves, our fellow brothers and sisters, and the world. How can they ever be perceived as useless? Bravo, Mark, for a wonderful reminder of who we are.
It is no small thing, in a culture that kneels at the altar of optimization, to raise the quiet banner of uselessness—and in so doing, to defend the human soul.
Your invocation of the “secular monk” mirrors what I’ve been tracing in Desert and Fire: this age’s strange counterfeit of the mystical path. The ancient desert fathers fled the cities to battle demons in silence; today’s “monks” flee meaning itself, submerging their ache for transcendence beneath data, cold plunges, and biohacked perfection. The technologies differ, but the torment is the same: an inability to sit still with one’s own soul.
You’ve captured the essence of what I call incarnational mysticism—the way the ineffable finds us not in the thunderclap of achievement, but in the slow drip of grace through art, nature, and presence. A novel, a poem, a tree’s trembling limb—these are not tools, but thresholds. They don’t help us “optimize.” They help us remember. That we are dust and breath. That we are not machines.
There is a phrase I keep coming back to: the mercy of unproductivity. It is mercy to stop. To listen. To be changed by what does not turn a profit.
Lol I felt called out by this piece because I have become so reluctant to read fiction. It feels self-punishing to submit yourself to another person’s interpretation of reality. I read a lot of nonfiction because journalism and literary essays operate with a stronger delineation between the reader and writer—it’s understood that you are in dialogue with a reality that both parties are struggling to understand. Fiction seems to demand suspension of your right to distance yourself from the page. That is really scary, and at the same time, it an exercise in entering communion with others, which, to this author’s point, is probably among the many neglected skills in a culture of self optimization.
I love this article. I am so prone to the “secular monk” mindset, despite walking it back multiple times. I too have indeed been teetering on the brink of burnout for some years. I believe at its core it is indeed a self-will issue, a lack of true reliance on God, and a refusal to acknowledge my own limits. Thank you for the reminder.
"Great literature does something to us we can barely understand or even imagine. As Lewis says, it sparks an “enlargement of our being.” It opens up a landscape both within and without."
Reminds me of "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."
Wow. What a lovely, wholehearted piece. What a beautiful description of the good life through art and literature. This is precisely why I stubbornly hold my eyeballs open, if only for 2 minutes, to read fiction before bed each night. I’m too prone to the “-er” life you describe.
I mostly agree with all of this, my only slight complaint is that it is simply a fact that some adversity in life does make a person happier. I don't hold it against secular folks that they have discovered this, and that they make use of it. If it gives their lives a monk-like vibe, that only illustrates that religious people were onto this stuff a long time ago. I agree about mechanistic language being used to describe natural phenomena; I've noticed it too. Also totally on board about reading fiction.
We need a million small ways to resist the vision of the good life that the optimization bros are selling us, and I love that fiction is an act of resistance.
This is great---the lure of the machine life is so strong in this culture, and yet most of our best moments are the human ones. Thanks for giving it words.
So true! I especially admit the fact that this machine mindset is creeping into us (me) silently and often unnoticedly. I have found myself even pondering the "usefulness" of spending time in deep fellowship with my Savior instead of doing something more "productive"—which is as ugly and shameful as it sounds—. But He Himself is beautiful. We were created for nothing less than pure, majestic beauty. All true beauty shines forth from Christ Himself, and it can lead us to Him. Let us behold Him through the arts until we are satisfied by His splendor.
Such a powerful observation, Juan. Many saints and mystics talk about the importance of simply sitting and basking in the beauty and presence of Christ. But this feels so "unproductive" to us. I think art and literature can reawaken our ability to be still and behold.
I agree with you, brother Mark. Machines will never appreciate beauty. They don't behold. They don't feel. They don't love. They can't worship. These are all distinctly human privileges, which is why I liked so much what you mentioned about the arts "teaching us to be human again." May the Lord continue to bless your work. Thanks for putting in the hard work; we are being blessed by it.
Such a great entry here. These lines are incredible: "Great literature does something to us we can barely understand or even imagine. As Lewis says, it sparks an 'enlargement of our being.' It opens up a landscape both within and without." I was drawn to minor in English in college for this very reason—not because it made me more employable or useful to society or even more impressive to those who prize a well-read person, but because it felt like a way to both get outside of myself and have a mirror held up as well. Some of my favorite memories and learning experiences took place in my English classes as we discussed the fictional trials and tumult of characters who only existed on the page. What you share here is why I still feel it is so important to read great literature.
Thanks for the kind words, Grace! I had a very similar experience in college. I basically took as many English classes as I could (without majoring in English). I still think about those classes and some the great works we read!
Excellent. So, I'm justified in reading Mary Oliver rather than 10 steps to reading poetry -- that's great.
Thank you, Chuck! 100% justified!
So good, Mark. I'm sending it to my adult children and I restacked. My youngest son (45) and I are reading The Lord of the Rings together, then discussing it on Sunday afternoons. We're in The Fellowship of the Ring now and I feel zero guilt about the time spent (this coming from one who listened to Tim Ferris and had a white board on my bedroom wall!).
Thank you, Linda! LOTR is an all-timer for me. Love that you're reading it with your son!
We spent over an hour yesterday on the phone talking about two chapters. LOL
The arts open an otherwise closed window onto ourselves, our fellow brothers and sisters, and the world. How can they ever be perceived as useless? Bravo, Mark, for a wonderful reminder of who we are.
It is no small thing, in a culture that kneels at the altar of optimization, to raise the quiet banner of uselessness—and in so doing, to defend the human soul.
Your invocation of the “secular monk” mirrors what I’ve been tracing in Desert and Fire: this age’s strange counterfeit of the mystical path. The ancient desert fathers fled the cities to battle demons in silence; today’s “monks” flee meaning itself, submerging their ache for transcendence beneath data, cold plunges, and biohacked perfection. The technologies differ, but the torment is the same: an inability to sit still with one’s own soul.
You’ve captured the essence of what I call incarnational mysticism—the way the ineffable finds us not in the thunderclap of achievement, but in the slow drip of grace through art, nature, and presence. A novel, a poem, a tree’s trembling limb—these are not tools, but thresholds. They don’t help us “optimize.” They help us remember. That we are dust and breath. That we are not machines.
There is a phrase I keep coming back to: the mercy of unproductivity. It is mercy to stop. To listen. To be changed by what does not turn a profit.
Lol I felt called out by this piece because I have become so reluctant to read fiction. It feels self-punishing to submit yourself to another person’s interpretation of reality. I read a lot of nonfiction because journalism and literary essays operate with a stronger delineation between the reader and writer—it’s understood that you are in dialogue with a reality that both parties are struggling to understand. Fiction seems to demand suspension of your right to distance yourself from the page. That is really scary, and at the same time, it an exercise in entering communion with others, which, to this author’s point, is probably among the many neglected skills in a culture of self optimization.
This made me think of:
"I can think of no greater waste of time than being efficient at something that is meaningless."
- Peter Drucker (Jon Tyson)
Great article, thanks for sharing!
Great line. Of course, thanks, Samuel!
I love this article. I am so prone to the “secular monk” mindset, despite walking it back multiple times. I too have indeed been teetering on the brink of burnout for some years. I believe at its core it is indeed a self-will issue, a lack of true reliance on God, and a refusal to acknowledge my own limits. Thank you for the reminder.
Thanks, Arielle. I've been there myself many times!
"Great literature does something to us we can barely understand or even imagine. As Lewis says, it sparks an “enlargement of our being.” It opens up a landscape both within and without."
Reminds me of "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for."
One of my favorite movie scenes! I wrote about it in a recent essay.
Wow. What a lovely, wholehearted piece. What a beautiful description of the good life through art and literature. This is precisely why I stubbornly hold my eyeballs open, if only for 2 minutes, to read fiction before bed each night. I’m too prone to the “-er” life you describe.
Thanks for the kind words, Kyle! Same here!
I mostly agree with all of this, my only slight complaint is that it is simply a fact that some adversity in life does make a person happier. I don't hold it against secular folks that they have discovered this, and that they make use of it. If it gives their lives a monk-like vibe, that only illustrates that religious people were onto this stuff a long time ago. I agree about mechanistic language being used to describe natural phenomena; I've noticed it too. Also totally on board about reading fiction.
We need a million small ways to resist the vision of the good life that the optimization bros are selling us, and I love that fiction is an act of resistance.
Wow…I really loved this piece. Everything in it is so true.
Art really does matter.
This is great---the lure of the machine life is so strong in this culture, and yet most of our best moments are the human ones. Thanks for giving it words.
That Makoto Fujimura quote is spot on for our culture. Excellent article!
🔥 Agreed.
Thanks, H.A.! I know, right? Highly recommend his book, Culture Care.
It’s on my TBR list!