Inspiration and Enthusiasm

“I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath moves through. Listen to this music.” -Hafiz

Have you ever watched someone who is truly in love with an art, such as dance, or music, seem completely carried away by what they are doing? For them, in that moment, what they are doing is everything, and the past and future do not matter. I have known such moments, when music moves to dance like a reed in the wind, or the ocarina flute is played in a frenzy.

Arthur Schopenhauer writes of what he calls "genius," and while he thinks some people are born with a predisposition to be geniuses, he also thinks that almost anyone can potentially have a "moment of genius." The Latin word genius can refer to a type of guardian deity or spirit. Schopenhauer thinks a moment of genius is very much like a “rapture,” an old word which means "being seized and carried off." Genius, then, is not merely some kind of person—it is something that takes possession of someone, in a sense akin to the way that Ancient Greeks viewed artistic inspiration as coming from the Muse, which was a divine spirit or goddess that worked through artists. Homer began his epic poems with the phrase: "Sing, oh heavenly Muse...," invoking the divine spirit to speak through him.

The root of the word “enthusiasm” in fact comes from the Ancient Greeks. The word is constructed with the prefix “en-“ attached to “theos.” One is literally “enthused,” or filled with the spirit of the Muse or inspiring god or goddess (theos), which enters their body and acts through them. The relevance of Schopenhauer's opinion is that he characterizes the work of genius as a work done not as a means to some practical end, but as work which is an end in itself. In other words, it is not the kind of work done to fulfill some purpose, but it is work which is itself fulfilling. But then, it would seem the more appropriate word here would not be work in our usual sense, which we tend to correlate with drudgery and tasks, but rather, the work of a genius seems also like some sort of play. 

The word "inspiration"comes from "in-" + "spirit," and "spirit" comes from "spirare," which meant "to breathe." The word "inspiration" is constructed in such a way as to mean not simply breathing in, but rather a being breathed into. If we look at the oldest known root of the word "spirit," we find the Proto-Indo-European word "(s)peis-" which meant "to blow," a term which is similarly derived in the form of "pisto" which would be translated today as "to play a flute." From the idea of blowing into a flute, then, is where we get the sense of "blowing" in "inspiration." To make things even more interesting, another fact is that the oldest instruments archaeologists have discovered are flutes made from rocks, branches, or bones. It would seem that the very word "inspiration" can be traced back to the earliest forms of music.

A prehistoric bone flute. Photo by José-Manuel Benito Álvarez

 So, then, it seems that the inspired creator which we might in a broad sense call "genius" does not do work, but the divine work is done through them. The inspired creator does not so much play, but they are played. It is often said that such creations are immortal.

But how could he or she who writes now know if his or her work will become timeless as the plays of Shakespeare? How can he or she who plays now know if his or her song will be timeless as the symphonies of Mozart? As much as we may treasure and cherish the works of these geniuses and call them “timeless,” these works, too, are ephemeral. Each step in the inspired dance is over as soon as the next one begins, and the notes of a heartfelt solo may be heard by none but the player, and even if that tune is recorded and played for millions, billions to hear, it too will dissipate with the passage of time. But then, what is timeless, immortal, about an immortal work? Perhaps just that it will come again in the passing of infinite time, and every time we hear it, play it, dance it, we are out of time, and in eternity, the eternal moment, which Alan Watts calls "that infinitely small and therefore infinitely great point in time." The eternal moment—what’s that? The moment that has no past or future? But these moments, even the eternal ones, seem like they end so quickly… Ah, sometimes we have such fun we wish the moment could never end. But you see, the catch is—it will never end.