Foreword to Eyes of the Soul by Philip Rubinov Jacobson The following foreword was written by Ken Wilber for Philip Rubinov-Jacobson's upcoming book, Eyes of the Soul. The culmination of three years of research, this monumental book explores sources of artistic inspiration. Philip Rubinov Jacobson offers an evocative book on an art that expresses multidimensional states of creative experience. He surveys the great constellation of inspiration through varied artistic styles and processes: from the erotic to nature to dreams, from dreams to myth to drugs, from visions to visitations. He introduces us to a spectrum of imagery that includes styles and genres of the Naïve, Abstract, Expressionistic and Fantastic, Sacred Geometry, Collage and Mixed Media, Digital, Outsider, Tantric, Visionary and more. It explores the wilderness of a contemporary art that delves into the mysterious forces of life and the creation of an 'Integral Art', an art of the Spirit that is comprehensible to the soul. Foreword to Philip Rubinov-Jacobson’s Eyes of the Soul by Ken Wilber It is always daunting to make a statement, any statement, about art, especially in today’s world, where a firm statement about anything can always be interpreted as marginalizing its opposite. In such a deconstructive climate, many scholars have despaired of being able to define art, let alone comment on it. How can we even recognize art? Very simply, I believe. As with pornography—and all the other equally important things in life—I know art when I see it. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is a book of art, a book of very extraordinary art. Throughout the ages, and in different cultures, art has served many functions—crafts and skills, representations of value, mimesis, social bonding, sacred invocation, self-expression, deconstruction, reconstruction, revelation. And we, as viewers of art, have always been allowed to muse on what it means—on what art means—to us, to the artist, and to those who also view it. What is art? Why is art? How is art? And why should it even matter? To those unafraid of distinctions, art has always represented something more, better, deeper, truer, finer… perhaps something even more real, more sacred, than other endeavors. Art in the highest or deepest sense has always been here to remind us, in a hundred ways and through as many mediums, that there are realities that are higher, deeper, truer—realities that tell us something incredibly important about ourselves, about nature, about God. When science, business, commerce, technology, morality, and conventional consciousness have finished with their busy, bright and bustling days, art is here to remind us of those clandestine, sacred, sanctified spaces that the mundane world forgot, those radiant spaces where depth and height and glory reside, spaces that sometimes whisper (and sometimes shout) those secrets which the soul has forgotten in all its industriously scrubbed and sanctioned sanity. Eyes of the soul—and ears of the soul, and hands and feet and tongue and voice. Surely that is one of the most precious functions and services of art—to help us see more, feel more, know more, love more, express more, than we thought possible. If the word “soul” represents, among other things, the best part of the personality, then art as the evocative display of the soul is the best part of art. This is a book of such art. In that regard, there are a few items worth mentioning. Although traditionally the “soul” was often taken to mean a mental entity divorced from a material body, more sophisticated notions view the soul as the integrative function of the personality wherever it might appear. That is, “soul” no longer means merely that which transcends, but that which transcends and includes. The highest, deepest, widest art is therefore integrative art, or integral art. Integral art takes as its terrain body, mind, and spirit in self, culture, and nature. It is this comprehensive comprehension that is a hallmark of the integral. Some integral art might focus temporarily on only one of those domains—body or mind or spirit or self or culture or nature—but art to be integral necessarily includes in its potential scope all of those dimensions. Art that is merely fantastic, or merely realistic, or merely abstract, or merely visionary, is not integral art. If an artwork does happen to focus on one of those dimensions—perhaps surrealistic, or fantastical, or natural, or abstract expressionistic, or transpersonal impressionistic, or realistic—how can we tell if that art is actually integral? The primary criterion of integral art is the consciousness of the artist producing it. That is, integral artwork is an artwork produced by integral consciousness. How well the artwork succeeds or not in other categories—technical execution, coherency, clarity, range, style, and so on—are items to be considered in their own right. But whether an artwork is integral is primarily determined by the consciousness that produced it. Not everything that integral consciousness produces is integral art, but all integral art is produced by an integral consciousness. How do we recognize integral consciousness? Well, like we were saying: we know it when we see it, as long as we are integral as well. And this leads to the delicate and difficult issue of the development of integral consciousness itself. Because integral art is the product of integral consciousness, then the nature and development of integral consciousness becomes a crucial component in our understanding (and creation) of integral art. There are two basic ways that higher or deeper dimensions of consciousness are made available to individuals: as states and as stages. States of consciousness represent temporary, brief, but still often profound experiences, including altered states and peak experiences. Common ordinary states of consciousness include waking, dreaming, sleeping, and reverie. Common exogenously induced (“drugged”) states of consciousness include drunken, stoned, and psychedelic. Common endogenously induced (“self-induced”) states include meditative states and states of flow. What they all have in common is that they shift the perceived world profoundly, and they are all temporary. Stages of consciousness, on the other hand, are enduring, permanent acquisitions, which unfold or develop in a generally sequential fashion. Typical examples of stages are: atoms to molecules to cells to organisms; or letters, words, sentences, paragraphs. The reason that true stages are sequential is that each succeeding stage builds upon and includes its predecessor. You can’t have words without letters, nor cells without molecules—hence the directionality or sequential nature of evolution. From acorns to oaks and from embryos to apes, much of nature’s growth and flowering occurs in stages or waves. Psychologists recognize that human beings possess multiple intelligences (including cognitive intelligence, emotional intelligence, kinesthetic intelligence, mathematical, musical, interpersonal, and so on). How many different intelligences are there? Cross-cultural evidence suggests at least a dozen. But guess what? They all break down into variations on the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. (That is, most intelligences or human capacities fall into the basic categories of self and self-expression; interpersonal or moral; and cognitive or objective.) Moreover, these intelligences or capacities all show growth or development. In fact, most of these intelligences, like most processes in nature, unfold through a series of stages or waves of increasing capacity, which is what allows them to be permanent acquisitions. Learning a language, learning to play the piano, learning how to play baseball—these are all slow growth processes, but once the competence is in place, it is essentially permanent. But this is also what makes stages of growth rather slow and laborious, unlike states or peak experiences, which are often available more or less immediately with the right stimulus. You can indeed have a peak experience of being one with nature while you are watching a sunset or making love; you cannot have a peak experience of being a concert pianist without years of practice. As psychologists say, states are free, stages are earned. Important stages of consciousness include cognitive development, affective development, ego development, and moral development. Cross-cultural research shows that moral development, for example, proceeds from preconventional (or egocentric) stages, to conventional (or conformist) stages, to postconventional (or worldcentric) stages, to integrative (or inclusive) stages. Carol Gilligan, for example, calls these stages as they appear in female moral development: selfish, care, universal care, and integrated. (There might be higher stages, but, as is often the case with higher anything, there are fewer examples of them and so relevant research is harder to come by, and is complicated by the fact that researchers themselves have to be at higher stages in order to see and acknowledge adequate data.) Notice that you can be at any stage of development and still have an almost unlimited access to a variety of altered states. You can be at Carol Gilligan’s selfish stage, for example, and still get drunk, or have a shamanic experience, take psychedelics, or get into a flow state. In other words, states of consciousness are available at virtually every stage of consciousness. You can have very high state experiences at even the lowest of stages…. Here is the point. There are higher stages of consciousness, and there are higher states of consciousness—and integral consciousness has access to both. That’s the very definition of integral or inclusive. Integral development—and integral consciousness—means that I have developed to my own highest potentials in terms of stages of development, and that I also have access to a wide variety of higher states. When my stage development is at or around what Gilligan calls integrative, and when I have gained access to a variety of higher states (through meditation, peak experiences, or other means), then the combined result is an integral consciousness that continues to unfold in its ever-expanding embrace. That is, integral consciousness is not a fixed, finished, or definite state or stage, but an ever-ongoing atmosphere of inclusivity. But for just that reason, integral consciousness is touching bases with as many higher states and stages as is reasonably possible at this time in human evolution. On the other hand, for evidence that higher states can be accessed at not-very-high stages, one need only look at the history of art. Many artists who are at rather undeveloped stages in many capacities (such as moral, interpersonal, or psychosexual), nonetheless have access to profound nonordinary states, visionary experiences, psychedelic experiences, or peak experiences. The result is a gifted artist who in most other respects has unbalanced or even dysfunctional development. The art might be great, but the human being is not. This is also why art in itself is not necessarily a means of transformation or integral development. In fact, relying on art by itself for transformation often results in unbalanced development (for example, along the self-expressive lines to the detriment of the interpersonal lines and the objective lines, which is why great artists are sometimes poorly developed in interpersonal capacities, though they need not be). But, by the same token, this is exactly why art in the broadest sense must be a part of any truly integral development and integral transformative practice. (I’ll return to these points in a moment.) Note that art—the subject matter of art—can come from (or be informed by) virtually any state or stage of development. Art can express or depict events in the world and/or events in the consciousness of the artist, but there are levels of consciousness (states and stages of consciousness), and artists can depict, express, or evoke occasions in any of those states or stages. (See, for example, “To See a World,” written for an exhibit of Anselm Kiefer, in Wilber, K., One Taste.) We said that the “soul” is the best part of the personality wherever it appears. In other words, the soul is the personality in the highest states and stages at this time in human evolution. We also said that the soul is the integrative function of the personality—or, at any rate, it should be. Unfortunately, higher development can also have its own dysfunctions and pathologies, and therefore the soul is not necessarily integrated as it develops. Putting those items together, we can say that “soul art” is art that comes from any higher state or stage (whether integrated or not); and “integral art” is any art that comes from a comprehensive, balanced, or integrated consciousness in touch with both the highest states and highest stages of its own being. Put somewhat crudely, soul art is art from a higher realm; integral art is art from a healthy higher realm (which means, integrated with itself and with its lower realms). We said that integral art might focus on merely one dimension of the totality available to it. Integral art, for example, might include the abstract painting of a single bamboo stalk. The defining hallmark of integral art is not the nature of the object depicted but that the consciousness that produced it is integral (or integrally informed). The subject matter of the artwork itself might be very specific, very particular, very “not comprehensive.” An integral artwork might be a single piano concerto, a sprawling 800-page novel, a painting of an apple, a Wagnerian-sized opera, a Zen landscape, a rock-and-roll song, a fantastical painting, a architecture project, a haiku poem. What all of those artworks would have in common—if they were integral artworks—is that the consciousness of the artist that created them was integral. Which means, the artist was in touch with, and had generally integrated, his or her highest states and stages of being-in-world. The subject matter of the artwork itself might merely a particular, single object, or it might be a sprawling, encompassing, totalistic type of artwork. Likewise, the artwork might succeed or fail in various categories—technical finesse, creative novelty, balance and composition, narrative flair, harmonic boldness, visual acuity, and so on. But in all those cases, the artwork qualifies as integral artwork if its creator is operating in the space of an integral awareness at the time of its composition (and, indeed, it can judged specifically on how well it does that). Does that really matter, and by looking at an artwork can you really tell the nature of the consciousness that produced it? Yes and yes, I believe. This is not very different from, say, Zen calligraphy, where a painting consisting of only a single brush stroke can reveal the degree of enlightenment of its creator—if we ourselves are enlightened enough to be able to tell in the first place. Exactly that is a distinguishing hallmark of all soul art and all integral art: its actual subject matter can only be “seen” from the correspondingly high state or stage that produced the artwork. Anybody can see the calligraphy brush stroke on the piece of paper, but only those with some degree of enlightenment can tell whether that brush stroke was produced by an enlightened Hakuin or a run-of-mill calligrapher. It’s the identical subject matter in both artworks, but an entirely different subject of consciousness producing each—and yes, you can definitely tell the difference, if you have the appropriate eyes to see…. What, then, can soul art and integral art—that is, art from any higher realm—do for the typical audience? In my opinion, all great soul art and integral art does at least two incredibly important things. First, it can evoke in virtually anybody a temporary state experience of the higher realm. As we were saying, you can be at Carol Gilligan’s stage 1 in moral development and still have a profound peak experience of a higher realm. Great soul and integral art can do just that, can hit you with such profound presence that it takes your breath away, takes time itself away, takes space and flings it to eternity, opens you to the deepest and highest and most radiantly shimmering spaces of your own soul, all at once and just like that. You come away from such art just a little bit better than you were a moment ago, you see a little bit more, you feel a little bit more, you know yourself a little bit better, you touch others a little more intimately, you awaken a fraction more toward your own infinity…. There is a general rule of thumb that developmental psychologists have slowly learned from their research: the more you experience profound states of consciousness, the more rapidly you develop through the stages of consciousness. You cannot skip stages, but you can accelerate your development through them. And one of the means of doing so is by experiencing some of the higher realms as peak experiences, as nonordinary states— perhaps as meditative states, contemplative states, flow experiences, visionary experiences, “aha” experiences, or experiences evoked and induced by great soul and integral art. For example, research indicates that somebody at Gilligan’s stage 2 (the care stage), by practicing meditation (and meditative states) will move into stage 3 (universal care) more rapidly than somebody who does not (Wilber, K., The Eye of Spirit). Likewise, although the effects are not as pronounced, those exposed to great soul and integral art will more quickly evolve to their own higher potentials. We have always known— known!—that great art can make us better people (and we knew this until the deconstructionists attempted—and almost succeeded—in convincing us otherwise). And this is the likely psychological mechanism (discovered through sophisticated research) by which such betterment occurs, namely: repeated exposure to higher states of consciousness and peak experiences and “aha” experiences (evoked by higher art) accelerates development through the stages of our own growth. And that is the second thing that contemplating great soul and integral art can do. The evocation of a higher state might be temporary, but the cumulative effect is not. We come away from great, great art just a little, little bit better…. So let us say that part with the bluntness it deserves: contemplating a great van Gogh, expanding into a Hakuin landscape, reading a Thomas Mann novel, contemplating a Gehry building, studying an essay by Jurgen Habermas, flowing with a poem of Lady Tsogyal, watching Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird, resonating with a plea from Sojourner Truth, contemplating a Tibetan tankgha of Avalokitesvara, can make you just a little bit better person…. If we ourselves happen to be fortunate enough to already be in touch with the higher and deeper realms evoked by a great artwork, we can always learn some nuance, some new delicate curve, some new glorious notes in the song of our own soul, conveyed now by the inspired artist in whose presence we are honored to be. In this and so many other ways, great art is the servant of the soul in its gentle unfolding. And what of the artist? What does the production of soul or integral art do for the artist? Can such artistic endeavor be a vehicle of growth for its creator? Well, certainly. But as we were saying, even higher development can be fraught with turmoil, dysfunction, pathology, miscarriages. It is often the case that an individual who is extremely gifted in one of the dozen or so intelligences becomes increasingly unbalanced by focusing on his or her gift to the exclusion of other dimensions that, although they will likely never shine as brightly (nor do they need to), nonetheless cannot be merely ignored, denied, or repressed. Such a person may become a great soul artist, but never a great integral artist, by definition. When an artist reaches deeply and highly into herself or himself, and brings forth a soul domain, a domain just a little bit higher or deeper than their own selves are at that moment, then their art is indeed acting to transform them, to move them into those higher and wider spaces. I, as an artist, might glimpse a deeper or higher realm, and every time I do so, I glimpse myself as I might be in my own betterment: I see myself as I might be tomorrow if I live up to my own art. Soul art can have a micro-transformative effect on an audience—and on the artist, the creator of the artwork, as well. But, as we were saying, although this might help the artist to grow in one respect—namely, the getting-in-touch with a higher, deeper, wider realm of consciousness—it might not be integrated into the rest of the personality. This is why the practice of art ought ideally be part of an Integral Transformative Practice, a practice that exercises body, mind, and spirit in self, culture, and nature. (For a further explanation of ITP, which is beyond the scope of this simple introduction, please see K. Wilber, One Taste.) In this way, great soul art can become great integral art, as the artist who is evoking the higher soul realms is also integrating them with the other realms and dimension of his or her own being-in-the-world. And, for the same reason, anybody who is undertaking a truly Integral Transformative Practice ought to exercise the artistic/aesthetic dimension to some degree, lest that dimension become not over- but under-developed. And every time we dip into the greater beauty of our own tomorrow, we are developing more of our own greater potential, brief but glorious glimpses of which speak to us in soul and integral art. I am sitting quietly in front of the computer, typing mundane words into a mundane keyboard on a mundane Monday morning. Slowly I begin to notice something unusual in the air, in the atmosphere around me, a soft, incredibly fine flickering of rain, a gold-dust twinkling, a wistful mist sprinkling and shining everywhere, a quiet riot of psychedelic platinum enlivening every direction I look, the world becomes alive with the articulate beating souls of every single raindrop, each being a small opening, all of them small apertures, into a radiant infinity that slowly invades my mind and soul as well, my heart begins to fill with that radiance, to spill gratefully out of itself and gracefully back into the world, an ecstatic painful radiant bliss that touches each with wonderment, the yearning of love and the dreadful tears of tender embrace, each shimmering raindrop a hidden soul reaching out to me and then, suddenly, a collective cacophony of Gods and Goddesses all singing as loud as they possibly can, looking at me and calling to me and urging me louder and louder, more and more thunderous, and me to them, and then spontaneously, uncontrollably, we all start shouting and crying and singing in unison, lord what a sound, what a thunder there was, as we all sobbed and we all shouted: is not this simple, present moment the very face of spirit itself? And a total revelation that could never be improved in any way at all? And with that, with the utter obviousness of it all, the rain simply stopped. I type the next mundane word into the mundane keyboard on this mundane Monday morning. But then, somehow, just a little, the world will never be the same. Forewords to Drinking Lightning and Promethean Flames by Philip Rubinov Jacobson Foreword to Drinking Lightning by Philip Rubinov Jacobson written by Ken Wilber Art. Its definitions are legion, its meanings multiple, its importance often debated. But amid the many contradictory definitions of art, one has always stood the test of time, from the Upanishads in the East to Michelangelo in the West: art is the perception and depiction of the Sublime, the Transcendent, the Beautiful, the Spiritual. Art is a window to God, an opening to the Goddess, a portal through which you and I, with the help of the artist, may discover depths and heights of our soul undreamt of by the vulgar world. Art is the eye of Spirit, through which the Sublime can reach down to us, and we up to It, and be transfigured and transformed in the process. Art, at its best, is the representation of your very own soul, a reminder of who and what you truly are, and therefore can become. Philip Rubinov-Jacobson is a true artist, one in whom the Sublime is at work. But, as Phil explains in this book, the spiritual impulse—the artistic impulse—is at work in every act of creativity. Art can be a way to awaken that creative and spiritual process, and hone it to a fine degree. That is what Phil has done in his own life, and what he shows the reader how to do in the following pages. This is a wonderful book, ripe with the wisdom of an artist in whom the creative fire is alive, touched by the Gods and Goddesses of a realm that the conventional mind too often fails to see, enraptured by the vision of a beauty too painful to pronounce. Art, as the eye of Spirit, is the royal road to your own soul, and this book is nothing less than a road map for that extraordinary adventure. Foreword to Promethean Flames by Philip Rubinov Jacobson written by Michael Schwartz Promethean Flames, the second in Philip Rubinov Jacobson’s trilogy of books on art and spirituality, is a groundbreaking theoretical and impassioned reflection on the highest calling of the visual arts. Jacobson, a practicing painter and spiritual adept, picks up and develops the best of post-Romantic views on the spiritual in art while laying to the side all the non-sense that circulates today as commonsensical truth about art and artists. This is not only a wise and compassionate book – it is singular. Seen from one angle, the book’s argument turns on a novel account of art’s history. In this presentation there are two levels of being each with distinctive forms of historical time: (1) developments within the everyday gross-realm that, since the time of the Judaic tale of the Golden Calf, have periodically dulled the full glory of visual art (as with repeated iconoclasms); and (2) a stream of art-making drawing upon and expressing more subtle realms of being, this unfolding less unidirectional, more “cyclical,” and involving a trans- generational community of artist-shamans and – sages communicating with each other across the ages. While visual artists necessarily participate explicitly in the first stream of art history, not all do so in the second. And while the latter’s dimensions are deeper and more significant, gross-realm developments are more fundamental and as such condition the possibility and effectiveness of the making and reception of any art aspiring to express the transpersonal. Continuing this account we see that beginning in the Renaissance, taking off with Romanticism, and flowering with Modernism, art has been called upon with a new directness to express and engage our ultimate concern with spirit. This increased call for art to serve developmental and spiritual ends is one of the many dignities of post/modernity -- achieved, in the main, through the unprecedented growth through what Max Weber, Jürgen Habermas, and Ken Wilber have called the “differentiation of value spheres”: the state, religion, the economy, science, and other domains becoming differentiated from one another, each developing distinct practices, methods, theories, languages, institutions, and enhanced capacities. Art, once embedded in non-art contexts such as religion and politics, also became its own socio-cultural domain through the institutions of exhibition art, spectatorial performance music, and literature. Coupled with (1) the rise in the overall stage development of the populous into more rational and post-rational waves, (2) the differentiation and de- centering of religious institutions from state apparatuses, and (3) declining belief in a pre- modern sky God, ultimate concern became refracted and dispersed throughout the various value-spheres: secular politics as the means of creating a more just society; scientific progress as a vehicle of human self-determination; art as a means for healing our souls and pointing us to spirit. In sum, historical developments since the Renaissance have provided the conditions for growing number of artists to explore with depth and directness higher spiritual states. For all its dignity, post/modernity has had its down side, largely due to the non-integration of the newly differentiated values spheres, leading to specific domains – in particular, the economy, administrative apparatuses, and scientific research aimed towards unending technological upgrades – growing disproportionately in relation to the others, acting as if they were the organizing whole, dominating and “colonizing” the other domains, collapsing healthy public spheres of rational-ethical reflection as well as marginalizing advanced art and aesthetic experience, the resultant imbalances and dissociations engendering pathological modes of historically-constituted experience that always already, behind our backs, invest our ways of life. Attuned to these historical pathologies, early modern philosophers and theorists regularly turned to art and aesthetic experience as the means for re-harmonizing the form of experience. Wilber, however, has argued astutely that art as a differentiated domain could no more accomplish this re-integration than any of the respective value spheres, as it too is only a part of the whole. But what advanced art can do – as we learn in this book – is create worlds that show us what more integrated forms of life can look like. Art, as embedded in a specific value domain and institutional matrices (and primarily engendering aesthetic inquiry as opposed to moral reflection or scientific research), cannot itself perform the integration; but art, in its showing us worlds that shine with the True, the Good, and the Beautiful, can model and inspire what more integrated forms of life might look like. Thus, not only is advanced art today called to point us to the direct experience of higher spiritual states and realms, but it can offer models of healthy, integrated ways of being in the world: the twin-challenge of integral art. Jacobson is not only keenly attuned to and brilliantly articulate about the extraordinary possibilities for art today, he also sees clearly how art has by no means simply side-stepped post/modernity’s pathologies. He distinguishes three principle modes of visual art: (1) postmodern exhibition art of the gallery and museum; (2) the spectacular displays of mass culture; and (3) a growing domain, on the margins and dispersed (so perhaps not quite yet a social sub-system), of integral art and artists. (It is instructive in this regard to compare this tri-fold scheme to the three modern spheres of music discussed by Theodor Adorno is his remarkable 1938 essay “On the Fetish-Character of Music and the Regression of Listening.”) Today the two predominant spheres of art – that of the mainstream postmodern museum or gallery (advanced exhibition art) and that of a spectacular mass culture (the entertainment industry) – are both, in the author’s estimation, lacking in consistent expressions of depth, even much of the work in the leading New York galleries downright deadening, distracting, or worse. In this light, the emerging sphere of integral art holds great promise while at the same time being in need of its own institutions – institutions not only for training integral artists but also to sustain forms of community (yet to be invented) that re-embed artists and audience in common world-spaces, overcoming the post/modern isolated-alienated artist making for a random and anonymous public. A resource for such initiatives can be perhaps be found in some of the more fecund projects of early postmodernism, for instance in the art of Joseph Beuys, who richly explored the re-integration of art and life, artist and audience, soul and body, nature and culture, all woven as a complex and deeply compassionate gesture of bringing to light and initiating the healing process of the collective trauma that was the holocaust. To be sure, becoming an integral artist is not easy, requiring sustained practice and commitment: an aesthetic-spiritual path of art-making that would do well, Jacobson persuades, for artists to train in higher states of being. For it is through accessing these deepest states that true creativity more readily flows, empowering great art (as Schelling and Heidegger knew) to point back towards this creativity as the very source of manifestation. Further, such creativity is inseparable from a profound sense of generosity – Jacobson calling integral artists to recollect that they are always already responsibility for All. (We hear little in this book of post/modern declarations such as “self-expression” and “my artistic rights” – themes that, while important in their own way, all too easily decay in our post-Warholian age into the narcissism of celebrity.) Likewise, Jacobson’s vision of integral art avoids the post/modern confounding of means and ends – where the means (tool, instrument, technique) comes to compete with and even displace in significance the ends (purpose, meaning, depth) which it is to serve – the creation of means even becoming its own end: as with the ever increasing obsession with technology. Jacobson never for a moment slips into valorizing art for its own sake, but always keeps in view art’s service to Love. Integral art can be an enormous gift to this waking-world of suffering sentient beings – such is the extraordinary lesson of Promethean Flames.
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