Lucinda Williams and Bob Mesle
Process Theologians (of the Third Ultimate)
Three-time Grammy Winner singer-songwriter Lucinda Williams, Time Magazine's "Greatest American Songwriter,’ is up for two Grammy’s as I write this: Best American Roots Song, "Man Without a Soul" and Best Americana Album, "Good Souls Better Angel.” Ann Powers offers a beautiful tribute to her in her recent “Lucinda Williams: A Guide to her Best Songs." You'll find some excerpts from Powers' guide below, along with a link to the Spotify page where you can hear them.
Is she also a theologian? I think she is. But remember that in process theology there are at least three ultimates, each dependent on the other: (1) the creative abyss from which all things emerge and of which they are expressions, which Whitehead calls Creativity, (2) the cosmic mind of the universe who lures the world into whatever forms of rich experience are possible, sharing in its sufferings and joys, whom Whitehead calls God; and (3) the world itself, with its finitude, pain, and beauty. The world, too, is ultimate, and without it there could be no God or Creativity.
Lucinda Williams is a theologian of the third ultimate: the world itself. In two song titles she captures a central dimension of process theology. “This Sweet Old World” captures the idea that, in fact, this world is very sweet, very precious, filled with value in the uniqueness of each individual and the intensity of felt relations. And in “The Temporary Nature (of any precious thing)” captures the fact that temporariness, in Whitehead’s phrase “perpetual perishing,” is part of the reason the world is so sweet and valuable.
Bob Mesle, who to my mind is also a theologian of the third ultimate, puts it this way in his message at a wedding for two friends, Kate and Max:
"Since I am a philosopher, let me tell you a great secret of life—a soul is not a thing, it is not something which stands untouched by the events of your life. Your soul is the river of your life; it is the cumulative flow of your experience. But what do we experience? The world. Each other. So your soul is the cumulative flow of all of your relationships with everything and everyone around you. In a different image, we weave ourselves out of the threads of our relationships with everyone around us. But clearly, some people, some relationships, are the central threads of that weaving....Kate and Max, as you live together over time, remember that you will be creating your lives, your souls, out of your relationship with each other. Kate told me that Max knows that the path to happiness is paved with tiny pebbles as much as it is by the big stepping stones. And that is true. Whether we think of weaving our souls, or laying a path we will walk, the small things matter so much. So have a care what you give each other for your self-creativity. Each smile or frown, each touch, each kiss, each kind or angry word, becomes the material out of which you both create your own life and life together.”
Bob adds:
I was converted to process thinking in a sudden flash of insight that the future does not exist. More on that another time. But it took a long time for me to fully appreciate the importance of the relational aspect of process-relational thinking. The process is inherently, inescapably, profoundly relational. You and I are made of stardust. We are made of all that has gone before. When our daughter, Sarah, was nursing her 3 month old son, the only food he’d ever had, she said with awe, “He’s made of me.” We are all made of others. We are made of the world.
"We are made of the world." That line, too, captures a dimension of process theology of the third ultimate. Lucinda Williams' songs speak to that fact lyrically and beautifully.
Take note: process theologians of the third type may or may not believe in the cosmic mind who loves each and all, and they may or may not find meaning in the idea of a creativity of which all things, even God, are expressions. Moreover, for some of them, there is no significant difference between this creativity and the world itself. See, for example, Bob Mesle's essay on how his grandson, Elliot, is Brahman: "My grandson is Brahman and You are, Too." If you wish, think of two ultimates, God and the world, not three. But note that, for some process theologians, it is the ultimacy, the fragility, the beauty, and the pain of this world that is the most important of the ultimates, however many there are. Their calling is to set our sights on the world itself. For those who have eyes to see, let us see. And ears to hear, let us, with help from Lucinda Williams, hear.
- Jay McDaniel, 3/24/2021
Is she also a theologian? I think she is. But remember that in process theology there are at least three ultimates, each dependent on the other: (1) the creative abyss from which all things emerge and of which they are expressions, which Whitehead calls Creativity, (2) the cosmic mind of the universe who lures the world into whatever forms of rich experience are possible, sharing in its sufferings and joys, whom Whitehead calls God; and (3) the world itself, with its finitude, pain, and beauty. The world, too, is ultimate, and without it there could be no God or Creativity.
Lucinda Williams is a theologian of the third ultimate: the world itself. In two song titles she captures a central dimension of process theology. “This Sweet Old World” captures the idea that, in fact, this world is very sweet, very precious, filled with value in the uniqueness of each individual and the intensity of felt relations. And in “The Temporary Nature (of any precious thing)” captures the fact that temporariness, in Whitehead’s phrase “perpetual perishing,” is part of the reason the world is so sweet and valuable.
Bob Mesle, who to my mind is also a theologian of the third ultimate, puts it this way in his message at a wedding for two friends, Kate and Max:
"Since I am a philosopher, let me tell you a great secret of life—a soul is not a thing, it is not something which stands untouched by the events of your life. Your soul is the river of your life; it is the cumulative flow of your experience. But what do we experience? The world. Each other. So your soul is the cumulative flow of all of your relationships with everything and everyone around you. In a different image, we weave ourselves out of the threads of our relationships with everyone around us. But clearly, some people, some relationships, are the central threads of that weaving....Kate and Max, as you live together over time, remember that you will be creating your lives, your souls, out of your relationship with each other. Kate told me that Max knows that the path to happiness is paved with tiny pebbles as much as it is by the big stepping stones. And that is true. Whether we think of weaving our souls, or laying a path we will walk, the small things matter so much. So have a care what you give each other for your self-creativity. Each smile or frown, each touch, each kiss, each kind or angry word, becomes the material out of which you both create your own life and life together.”
Bob adds:
I was converted to process thinking in a sudden flash of insight that the future does not exist. More on that another time. But it took a long time for me to fully appreciate the importance of the relational aspect of process-relational thinking. The process is inherently, inescapably, profoundly relational. You and I are made of stardust. We are made of all that has gone before. When our daughter, Sarah, was nursing her 3 month old son, the only food he’d ever had, she said with awe, “He’s made of me.” We are all made of others. We are made of the world.
"We are made of the world." That line, too, captures a dimension of process theology of the third ultimate. Lucinda Williams' songs speak to that fact lyrically and beautifully.
Take note: process theologians of the third type may or may not believe in the cosmic mind who loves each and all, and they may or may not find meaning in the idea of a creativity of which all things, even God, are expressions. Moreover, for some of them, there is no significant difference between this creativity and the world itself. See, for example, Bob Mesle's essay on how his grandson, Elliot, is Brahman: "My grandson is Brahman and You are, Too." If you wish, think of two ultimates, God and the world, not three. But note that, for some process theologians, it is the ultimacy, the fragility, the beauty, and the pain of this world that is the most important of the ultimates, however many there are. Their calling is to set our sights on the world itself. For those who have eyes to see, let us see. And ears to hear, let us, with help from Lucinda Williams, hear.
- Jay McDaniel, 3/24/2021
Ann Powers on Lucinda Williams
"The Temporary Nature of Every Precious Thing" from Down Where Spirit Meets the Bone (2014) "The first two lines of this slow gospel vamp sum up Williams's philosophy and artistic motivation: "The temporary nature of any precious thing, that just makes it more precious."
Williams's testimonies to survival despite hard living and lost opportunities, and her elegies for absent friends and lovers, connect her to the blues, the form for which she first fell. From country music she learned the practice of turning glimpses of the private — a pot of coffee bubbling, the lines at the edges of a beloved's eyes — into metaphors through which life reveals itself. From rock she took freedom, an obsession with self-determination that defined her persona and her career-long practice of doing exactly what she wants, the demands of the marketplace be damned. She stirred up these influence within her own sound, also incorporating New Orleans rhythms and classic rock attitude, working with bands who could move within her greasy grooves. She favors hot guitar players as dialogue partners. Always, she keeps things real: her songs sound like what people wish they could say to each other, and only sometimes do. |
To really understand Williams's catalog, start with Car Wheels and continue both backward and forward. It's crucial to spend time with the peace-seeking laments of 1992's Sweet Old World, the edgy sexiness of 2003's World Without Tears, and the ever-rawer rock mantras that typify the sound she's cultivating now, at 67. With the hindsight that recognizes the limits of musical categories, a dive into the Lucinda Williams catalog reveals that she is as spiritually aligned with defiant originals like Patti Smith, or indie inheritors like Katie Crutchfield and Alynda Lee Segarra, as with her Americana peers. Most of all, Williams is a singular artist with a resolutely personal voice that feels, to many people, like home. |
The Temporary Nature (Of Any Precious Thing)
"Temporary Nature (Of Any Precious Thing)" |
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