Here’s a word that might be new to some: quale (plural: qualia). What is a quale? Think about all the feelings you get from experiencing the things of this world – the beauty of a sunset, the uplifting boost from that first cup of coffee in the morning, the cuteness overload when a dog comes up to you for a belly rub, or perhaps the sheer awesomeness of hearing Morgan Freeman’s voice narrating your daily routine. Feels great to be alive, right? In the philosophy of mind, qualia are the sensations of our personal, subjective experience – you could think of a quale as a super specific type of feeling that can’t quite be put into words.
Now, permit me to get very personal and emotional… There’s a reason I prefer to distinguish between feelings and qualia. We all know the taste of chocolate; it’s different from the taste of, say, pizza. We also know that there are many kinds of chocolate, each with its own unique taste – Hershey’s is different from Cadbury, which is different from Lindt, which is different from Ghirardelli, and so on. Likewise, we’re all familiar with a wide range of feelings: joy, sorrow, hope, fear, excitement, disappointment, etc. And anyone who has dealt in romance, unless they’re absurdly lucky, must have experienced the pain of breaking up. Most of us will be able to tell that teenager going through their first heartbreak, “It’s ok. I’ve been there. It’ll get better.” But none of us can ever completely relate to the specific quale of another person’s heartbreak, the quale that emerges from every unique bit of that person’s experience – the way she called him “bunny,” the wetness of his shirt having soaked up her tears, the change in her tone of voice and the cold of the winter air when she spoke the words “we need to breakup…” There are only two entities that know the full spectrum of that quale: the person experiencing the breakup, and… God.
As the well-known Psalm goes, “You have searched me, LORD, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.” (Psalm 139:1-3) Had the Psalmist been a contemporary philosopher of mind, he may have just as easily said, “Lord, you know every quale of my experience!” Take comfort, therefore, in the knowledge that there is one other Entity out there who completely understands.
And although we humans might never fully know another’s quale, one of the most valuable contributions of art is the power to shed just a bit more light on these qualia. For example, we all know the general feeling of assurance when we read a message of inclusivity. But there is a unique quale attached to the image of a mighty woman with a torch, declaring: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” Likewise, we all know the feeling of yearning for our dreams. But there is a unique quale attached to a melody leaping up an octave and turning the other way, supported by a I-iii chord progression, setting the words: “Somewhere over the rainbow…” Art’s power to evoke qualia reminds us of each person’s uniqueness, such that a daughter mourning for her father is not reduced to “just another griever in an ocean of grievers.” For God does not see “just another griever…” In that sense, we can rightly say that art serves as a tiny window to the mind of God, of whom St. Augustine wrote: “O Thou Good Omnipotent, who so carest for every one of us as if You cared for him only, and so for all of us as if they were but one!” (St. Augustine, Confessions, Book III, Ch. 11, Art. 19, emphasis mine).
This is one more reason why we have music in church! As we embark on another year of joyful worship, it is my hope that our music ministry may spark the warmest and brightest qualia in your sacred experience of the Holy Mass.
With my peace,
Carlo Serrano, Music
Director
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