The Art of Soul Making

Imagining a psychology based in art, rather than science

Part of my intention with this “school of soul-making” is to introduce the idea of a psychology based entirely in the poetic imagination — one that derives its language and images from art, rather than science.

The language of scientific, “evidence-based” psychology is dry, technical, abstract and soulless. It is utterly starved of images. The images it does offer are emaciated figures, unable to carry any meaning. Diagrams of the ego, sub-conscious, super-conscious, id …. infographics of thought bubbles and brainwaves. None of them carry enough weight to move the soul or stir the imagination.

I imagine a whole new field of psychology with its theory and therapies drawing from art, poetry, music and mythology. Not as specimens for psychological dissection from which we extract ego-stroking analysis, but as inspirational images that act directly on the soul. Art as psychology. Art as therapy.

We are already off to a good start, with John Keats’ suggestion that we “Call the world, if you please, the Vale of Soul Making. Then you will find out the use of the world....”

Suffering is an inevitable consequence of life, and having been afforded more than his fair share, Keats felt that the only use of suffering is to make soul. He made his soul through his writing and poetry.

That we are still talking about (and moved by!) someone who was dead by 25 is evidence of the relationship between suffering, art, soul and eternity. We can point to any number of similar cases where something in the artist must have known they didn’t have long to make a soul, so they subjected themselves (or were subjected) to a short but incredibly intense period of creating art that would ensure their immortality.

Thankfully, most of us have more time. But are we spending that time making soul? I’m reminded of one of my favourite poems by Spanish poet Antonio Machado (1875 - 1939):

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

“In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I’d like all the odor of your roses.”

“I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.”

“Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.”

The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
“What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?”

Echoing Machado, poet Mary Oliver asks, “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

James Hillman wrote, in one of his frequent attempts to describe soul without defining it: “…the significance soul makes possible, whether in love or religious concern, derives from its special relation with death.”

What I think I’m circling around is the question, “Why practice soul-making?”

If Machado’s or Oliver’s poem don’t sound like admonitions to you, it’s possible that you don’t have any need for soul-making. Maybe you’re doing as much as you need to.

But their questions/warnings sometimes bring up a bit of sadness or guilt in me.
“What am I doing with the garden that was entrusted to me?”
“What do I plan to do with my one wild and precious life?”

I’ll leave you with those questions to ask yourself. I’d love to hear your thoughts below, so I’m opening up comments to all free and paid subscribers.

Next week, we’ll begin to explore what elements or practices might be the basis for an Art of Soul Making.