On this Easter afternoon for some reason I recall part of an interview I saw on television some twenty years ago. William Buckley was interviewing Malcolm Muggeridge, the British journalist, writer and convert to Christianity.

At some point in the discussion Malcolm Muggeridge asserted that, before God and within God, the greatest works of man -- the music of Mozart, for example -- are as nothing.

William Buckley just couldn't buy this; to him, the music of Mozart held a part of God; how could this be nothing?

Thinking about this it occurs to me that this is an issue of the "powers" of the soul; and specifically the question, "By which power does one know God?"

Malcolm Muggeridge had known God directly, through what we might call the "contemplative intellect," which is a philosophically accurate name for what is more loosely called "the heart." William Buckley had known God in a different way, through what we might call the sensory powers.

Mr. Muggeridge had know God directly. Mr. Buckley had known God only through created things.

Which -- whilst I've been wandering around my apartment pondering -- raises a critical distinction: what is contemplation?

Classically, and I think in truth, contemplation is that state in which we see -- by our "contemplative intellect" -- God in God's own being, directly, and without the mediation of created things.

This is a critical distinction, because though there are many kinds of prayer that are good, contemplation isn't all kinds of prayer. It's that by which we see God directly, in his own being.

And this isn't something that we can do. Only God can do this. We can't "do" contemplative prayer.

Our task is to prepare our souls as best we can, so that when God decides to enter directly and dwell, we're open to receive the grace.

This is why daily prayer of the psalms, supported by community, is the bedrock of contemplative life. The desert fathers did it, and millenia of tradition have upheld its value. Where there is Christian contemplative life, there is daily psalmody.

The repetitive nature of regular psalmody is quieting in itself, even when one doesn't happen to be paying attention to the words. But psalmody isn't simply quieting. There is also a particular work that the psalms accomplish upon the soul when they are prayed attentively over time. They form the interior soul and prepare it for God. The psalms aren't contemplative prayer in themselves, but they are a preeminent, God-given tool by which the soul is prepared for contemplation.

This is why our work with the technology is so valuable, because we now have a way for people in the world to engage in daily psalmody that is directly supported by community.

The value of this is breathtaking.

For the past 2000 years, the contemplative Christian soul -- prepared for contemplation by a discipline of psalmody in community -- has been a relatively rare breed, confined mostly to monasteries.

But confinement in a monastery is no longer necessary: the contemplative soul, infused directly by God, can now breach the world.

This is no minor assault upon the world. Increasing numbers of people will begin to see God not simply through created things, but directly in Christ; and nothing so effortlessly defeats the world, than this delicate contemplative love.

The contemplative love that marginalizes Mozart deals the same fate to MTV and Madonna and Mercedes Benz and ChiatDay. Against this love the devil has no hope.

The devil should be worried.