I first came across Dorothy Sayers' The Mind of the Maker while reading Fred Brooks' classic software engineering book The Mythical Man-Month. Software and theology are odd bedfellows; the common thread is Sayers' and Brooks' fascination with creators or makers, specifically those who create mostly in thought rather than in material. Brooks notes that different rules apply to programmers than say, a carpenter, because the programmer has less contact with matter. While initially a tantalizing concept, this is ultimately a downside; if a carpenter does something foolish, his mistake is made immediately apparent. The programmer, on the other hand, can build towering castles in her mind, only to realize at the very end of her efforts that she has actually tied herself and her program in knots.

Reaching for language to match his ideas, Brooks landed on Sayers' mixture of theology and literary criticism. The novelist and playwright observed the same distinction between creation in matter and creation in thought. She credited artists as humanity's closest approximation to God's creation ex nihilo; where the carpenter must destroy or transform a tree to create a wooden chair, the artist does not require any material at all to create a new work. Brooks groups programmers with artists, not pretentiously, but in an honest attempt to understand the programmer's mind and create rules of thumb for programming well.

Of course, Brooks' brief summary merely hints at the complexity of Sayers' argument, reducing her transcendent, but sometimes baroque, language ("Idea, Energy, and Power") down to the prosaic but accessible "idea, implementation, and interaction". But the concepts remain, even if reduced in power and scope, and I eventually followed the thread back to the Sayers' original work.

Definitions: Idea, Energy, and Power #

Sayers aims to express a fundamental truth about artists; the mind of the maker bears a remarkable resemblance to the Maker described by Christianity's Trinitarian doctrine. Just like the Triune God contains three distinct Persons that are the same substance, the work the artist creates is represented in three distinct but inseparable ways in her mind.

The Energy is everything that involves time, activity, or passion. It includes the physical manifestation of the work, but is not limited to it. (In fact, Sayers argues that a work does not need to have a physical form to exist - a painter deprived of his brush and canvas is a painter nonetheless, because he creates in his mind.) For a story, the plot - characters and actions - is its Energy. A play has not only a plot, but also actors and sets and perhaps music. A sculpture has both its subject and its material.

So far, so good. The Energy is easy to understand, and perhaps the most similar to the common understanding of art. Moving to more complex concepts, Sayers defines the Idea as the timeless and unchanging representation of the work. It's understood best as the yardstick that the work is measured against, or the theme that unifies the entire work. Who says that the poet has chosen the correct turn of phrase or the musician the correct chord (all part of the work's Energy)? These choices are deemed good or bad based on how well they match the Idea, and the Energy's purpose is to reveal the Idea to the reader - and the writer as well. Even if the writer is aware she has an Idea in her head, she cannot express it (to herself or anyone) without the Energy.

It is implied that the writer is also the reader of her work, as she reveals her Idea to herself and others through the Energy. In more common terms, she can only reveal or express the complete theme or idea through writing her book. (Though note that "writing" does not require pen and paper; the writer may write entirely in their own mind.) This revelation or expression is named the Power.

Anyone familiar with Sayers will know that she was a devout Christian, but she takes great pains to disassociate her beliefs from her argument.

This book proves nothing either way about my religious opinions, for the very sufficient reason that they are not so much as mentioned.

This book is not an apology for Christianity, not is it an expression of personal religious belief. It is a commentary, in the light of specialized knowledge, on a particular set of statements made in the Christian creeds and their claim to be statements of fact.

There are two possibilities: Christianity is true and thus it is no surprise that the mind of the human maker mimics the mind of the divine maker. Or early Christians subconsciously borrowed from observed human characteristics when formulating doctrine about the nature of God.¹

Sayers' thesis and vocabulary are initially difficult to grasp, but the rest of the book is much easier to follow, almost fun as it drifts from literary criticism to theology and back again. She has a gift for analogy and, importantly, keeps analogy in its place - using it only to illuminate, never allowing it to take the place of reality.

Implications: Theological Debates #

Having established definitions and an analogy between the human and divine creators, let's not shy away from difficult questions. Many of the same questions apply, though we should be careful not to stretch the analogy too far.

Free Will #

First, how can a creator's omnipotence coexist with their creation's free will? Sayers offers no (or only an indirect) answer to the theological question, but she can offer an explanation of the relationship between an author and his characters. For an author to create a realistic character, they must put something of themselves into the character; Othello is Shakespeare's jealousy extended tragically beyond its rightful limit. If they succeed, they have created something that is wholly from the author's mind, but is embued with their own distinct personality and will. (Othello sprung completely from Shakespeare's mind, but is clearly not Shakespeare.)

The proof that characters have their own will is that the reader can tell if the author has overruled the character's nature for the sake of the plot. Dickens (who is the target of a fair amount of Sayers' criticism) is guilty of setting up a compelling character in the good-natured but hapless Mr. Micawber, but then suddenly turning him into a forensic accountant to resolve the plot of David Copperfield.

Mr. Micawber is a grand character, instinct with the breath of life; but inefficiency is of his very essence, and it is entirely inconceivable that he should ever have become an efficient detective for the investigation of Mr. Heep's financial frauds. Somebody had to detect Heep, and Mr. Micawber was handy - may indeed have been designed from the outset for the activity; but, superb fun though it all is, we cannot for one moment believe it.

However, the opposite approach is no better. Sayers has no time for the author who allows the characters to write the plot themselves. If the characters wander off in all directions, the plot is no longer coherent. Our ideal author has an Idea in their mind, and if the characters do not agree with the Idea, they must be replaced. If the work is constructed correctly (if the Energy is in accordance with the Idea), the characters will act both according to their natures and as the plot requires. (Though Sayers admits this is much easier said than done.)

The Problem of Evil #

Our next thorny question is a classic: how can an omnipotent and good creator coexist with evil? Once again, Sayers aims to provide an answer within the literary realm, but her answer is possibly applicable outside it. Let us translate the question: how can an ideal author cause "bad art"?

Every creative act results in a new negative category, by definition. Shakespeare's creation of Hamlet results in two categories: Hamlet, and not-Hamlet, the second category encompassing the entirety of the universe that is not the play in question. Many of not-Hamlet's members existed prior to Hamlet; but we could not speak of the category prior to the creation of Hamlet. Knowing the existence of not-Hamlet (or not-good) is not concerning; but when not-Hamlet is associated with consciousness or will, it becomes "anti-Hamlet", moving from a passive to an active role. Sayers, borrowing from Thomas Aquinas, divides not- and anti- into "knowing evil by intelligence" and "knowing evil by experience". God knows evil; humans do evil.

But how does this apply to a good author and bad art? When Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, he created a good piece of art. (If you don't like Hamlet, pick your favorite play or book. Or imagine the ideal author.) But the existence of good art creates the category of not-good art, which, once a person puts their will into not-good art, becomes evil (or at least actively bad, since our subject is somewhat more mundane). This is easier to explain by example.

The existence of Hamlet allows for the existence of bad art related to Hamlet. First, someone may misquote Hamlet, creating bad art by mangling Shakespeare's words. This is mere ignorance and therefore easily corrected. Second, you can misinterpret Hamlet. Sayers gives the example of the common misunderstanding of Hamlet's "more honored in the breach than the observance".² When I read this explanation, I thought of the persistent cultures around works like American Psycho and Fight Club, where too many readers fail to realize that the protagonist is the villain of the piece, much to the dismay of the authors. This is a far more difficult error to correct, but is still accident rather than intentional. Third, you can deliberately distort Hamlet. Sayers' example is the 18th century actor and dramatist David Garrick, who attempted to rewrite Shakespeare for his own age; she is unreserved in her scorn for him, as someone willfully distorting good art into bad. Sayers does not leave out redemption. Just as bad art can be created from good, good art can be created from bad, which creates a familiar paradox: there is good art that only exists because of bad art.

Pentecost #

Not satisified with one threefold structure, Sayers multiplies it by three again. Each of the writer, work, and reader have their own trinities. The writer's mind has already been covered in detail. The reader perceives the book as its own trinity; the reader can see the Idea (corresponding to the writer's Idea) only indirectly. Sayers has an amusing aside about "polytheistic" readers, who suggest that a work has been created by multiple authors (or "the folk") - a accusation commonly leveled at ancient works like the The Iliad, The Epic of Gilgamesh, or Beowulf. The Energy of the book is the physical thing itself, along with its plot and characters. The Power is what the reader uses to perceive the book - Sayers compares it to your eye, which is impossible to see directly, because it's the instrument by which we see. And the active reader constructs their own trinity. First, they construct their own Idea, which should correspond to the writer's Idea, more or less as the skill of both the writer and reader allow. Their Energy is the actions they take (if any) that are influenced by the work. And their Power is their own communication to the world.

Heretics #

For my money, the "heresies" section of the book is the most entertaining, though perhaps also the least edifying. (Pointing out flaws in other works is easy, but of limited use - creating your own is hard, but far more valuable.) Sayers dons her critic hat and describes the consequences of authors who do not have their Trinity in balance ("scalene Trinities", as she calls them). Her critiques are all the more fascinating because Sayers retains admiration for most of her targets. After all, it is far more interesting to note where otherwise talented writers have gone astray than to pick over a work that has no redeeming qualities.

Since there is no such thing as a perfect human maker, even great writers tend to focus on one persona, though if they are truly great, they will occasionally achieve balance at the height of their power. William Blake imagines such pristine and complex Ideas that he is occasionally characterized as inhuman. James Joyce favors Energy over the other two legs, putting words and syllables together for their own sake instead of in service to a larger vision. Switching from authors to actors, Sayers recounts an episode where Edwin Booth immersed himself in the Power of his role, expressing his character's essence completely unfiltered; his performance was labeled incoherent since it was not structured enough for the audience to understand it. In each of these cases, these artists still created "good art" despite minor or temporary imbalances; but in pathological cases, a weakness in one side of the triangle will completely ruin the work.

Persistent weakness of the Idea results in half-finished or incoherent works. Sayers does not believe authors who say they write as they go or allow their characters to write the story - either they misrepresent themselves or they falter at the last hurdle. A modern example is George R. R. Martin, who (by his own description) allows his characters to steer the plot, so much so that he has written himself into corner and cannot complete A Song of Ice and Fire. Sayers would disapprove of Martin's Energy attempting to substitute for his Idea. A weakness of the Energy shows itself particularly in technically-demanding fields, especially the stage. Sayers mentions "literary" playwrights who ignore the inconvenient reality that a play must be performed onstage, labeling them "Gnostic dramatists". The most damning criticism is reserved for weakness of the Power; Sayers characterizes it as a unique lack of self-awareness, where the author cannot understand why their work seems so hollow. Certain political speeches are provided as examples of the type, but my modern mind is reminded more of the worst of AI-generated works. The syntax is correct, the prose is polished, the argument is superficially reasonable... but there is no one and no meaning behind the words.

Application: Creativity for the Rest of Us #

In conclusion, says Sayers, the way a human creator's mind works is a reflection of an essential truth of the universe. Her advice to any writer or creative is obvious - your mind works this way naturally, and you need not resist the process. But she attempts to extend her ideas to the artistic laity as well. In general, all people should approach life less in a analytical (or pure problem-solving) mode, and more in a creative one.

Perhaps ahead of her time, Sayers decries the habit of insisting that problems in life have a technical or analytical solution. More likely, the problems we encounter are not completely solvable on their own terms, or maybe should not be approached as a problems at all. Instead,

You must learn to handle practical situations as I handle the material in my book: you must take them and use them to make a new thing. Writing in the midst of the second World War, Sayers partially blames the failure of the inter-war period on this mindset: Because we looked at peace and security as a problem to be solved and not a work to be made.

Her critique of analytical reductionism puts me in mind of E.B. White on humor:

[It] can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the purely scientific mind.

Sayers' postscript takes a slightly different angle, straying into concepts of labor and alienation. Artists spend their free time making more art because they view the work as worthwhile for its own sake. Ideally, the layman should achieved the same state; maybe not to the extent of continuing their labor in their off hours, but having ownership, seeing the end of their work, and knowing that it is worthwhile. She uses the example of unemployment to explain: if we view "unemployment" as a problem which must and can be solved, on its own terms, and without reference to the rest of society, we might hit on the solution of the government paying people to dig holes and fill them up again But that is mentally and spiritually destructive for the workers and the rest of society.