Walk through the tunnel from the outer concourse to your seats at a Major League Baseball stadium. From the narrowing constraints of the darkened passageway, your attention is first beckoned by the blue sky at the other end; walk a few steps farther and the emerald expanse of the field bursts into view. Here in the heart of the metropolis is a field of play; its very centers--home, infield, outfield--a nod to a forgotten, centuries-old, European system of farming. The field itself--its clay and its grass; its circles and its squares--wakens something deep within, well before the players take the field and the game begins.

Baseball. It's not just pretty. It's good design.

Design that is both affective and effective--whether graphic, structural, interior, or fashion design--is more than a random composition of elements. Good design captivates our senses and our reason, our heart and our mind. Consequently, a successful designer doesn't simply, instinctively, make "pretty or clever things"; she rather has studied and understands how people perceive and communicate.

For this reason, professional designers and doctors of psychology have more in common than a pencil and a journal. In fact, the foundation of good design is the five key principles of a German school of psychology known as Gestalt, meaning "shape" or "form." Gestalt fundamentally teaches that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; that the relationships shared by the parts, and not the parts themselves, contribute to how the whole is perceived.

For example, a vintage theater marque may feature hundreds of flashing yellow light bulbs. However, what captures the eye of the passerby is not the individual bulbs, but the perception of the lights marching in step around the perimeter of the marque's sign board.

The five key principles of Gestalt theory of design include the following, and you can see them on the ballfield:

Similarity. Similarity is when parts of the whole look alike. Because of their resemblance, a person often perceives the parts as a group or a pattern. (See, for example, Mitsubishi's "diamonds" logo.) When there is similarity a designer can interject an object that is dissimilar to the others, or an anomaly. The anomaly then becomes the focal point of the design. Similarity is in play on the ballfield in the relationship between the familiar square pillows that are first, second, and third bases; home plate is the anomaly. And, in a very subtle way, similarity shows up in that most major dimensions of the ballfield are divisible by the number three, a key number in the game itself. 

Continuation. Continuation is when the parts of the image are arranged on a line or a curve and naturally prompt a person's eye to move through one object and to continue to another. (See, for example, Amazon's "a through z" logo.) Continuation is in play on the ballfield as the left and right foul lines extend from home plate through the clay and the grass; climb the outfield walls and the foul poles; and theoretically ascend into the endless sky above.

Closure. Closure is when a form is incomplete or a space is not completely enclosed. If enough of the shape is apparent, a person's mind initially, intuitively, perceives the whole and fills in the missing information. (See, for example, NBC's "peacock" logo.) Closure is in play on the ballfield--content with one example--in the precise arc that divides the infield from the outfield, a circle really, the center of which rests on the center of another circle, the pitcher's mound.

Proximity. Proximity is when the parts are sufficiently close together that a person tends to perceive them as one group, united as a whole. (See, for example, Bank of America's "field and flag" logo.) If the parts are placed without proximity they are perceived as separate shapes. Proximity is in play on the ballfield in the infield. How many circles and squares can you count with intention, having never previously noticed them, because they are more familiar as parts of the whole?

Figure and Ground: A person's eye distinguishes a shape from its surrounding area. The shape is naturally perceived as the figure, or focus, and the surrounding area is perceived as the ground, or background. A designer can play with the figure and ground to bring clarity or interest to the whole. (Have you ever seen the arrow within the FedEx logo, or the driver in the VW logo?) Figure and ground is in play on the ballfield in the clay and the grass. Which is the "shape" and which is the "background"? It may depend upon where you are looking.

Baseball. It's not just pretty. It's good design.

No other team sport--football, basketball, hockey, to name a few--rejects the sterile rectangle for the careful composition of circles and squares and lines that define a baseball's field of play. Outside of team sports, only a golf course, I confess begrudgingly, approaches at once the simplicity and complexity of a ballpark. But then golf, like t-ball, was clearly invented for those who can't hit a curveball.

So what's the point? What's the relevance to spiritual formation? Why must you always have a point? But since you insist...

Good design is evident everywhere; so, for that matter, is really bad design. Now that you know a bit of what makes the difference between the two, flex your Gestalt muscles. Become aware of the difference--on a billboard, in a logo, in the trees.

Get curious and appreciative of good design. Behind all good design is a good designer. Become aware of the Divine Designer.

And here's a final, delicious inquiry for Christ followers. Recall the meaning of Gestalt: "Gestalt fundamentally teaches that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; that the relationships shared by the parts, and not the parts themselves, contribute to how the whole is perceived." How does Gestalt show up in the body of Christ, the church?