philosophy

Crystal

February 12, 2009 By heather 5 Comments

Let me be clear.

Art, whether low art (meaning more readily accessible to the masses) or high art (meaning it requires more education in artistic form, philosophy, and/or theology to understand), is not another way of stating propositional truth. Art embodies truth in a different way. It is something on which to meditate or contemplate. It invites its audience to experience truth in a different way. It may cause the audience to think about something in a new light, or it may provoke an emotional response. It is reflective, but it does not tell.

Bad art (besides exhibiting poor form and craft) forfeits this role or exchanges this role for that of another: a tract for whatever belief you hold (Christian or otherwise).

This means that we as artists have to trust that some will understand our intention, and we have to let go of expectations that all should understand our intention. It means that some will misunderstand our intention, and others will grasp beyond our intention.

Here’s why it amazes me that Christians cannot grasp this: our belief in the Holy Spirit, and the example of Jesus’ parables.

As Christians, we believe that while we have responsibilities in God’s kingdom work, it is his work. We trust the Holy Spirit to go places where we cannot go and foster understanding that we cannot foster.

Yet, with art, we stop trusting that.

As Christians, we have the example of Jesus telling parables that some understood and some did not. And while Jesus some times explained his stories, not all who heard the parable were present for the explanation. He who has ears, Jesus said, or she who has eyes.

Yet, with art, we feel the need to explain to everyone what we’re saying within the art itself.

Just had to get that off my chest.

Filed Under: aethetics, art, high art, low art, philosophy, theology

Blaise and Christianity

May 21, 2007 By heather Leave a Comment

Regarding Christianity, Pascal said something to the effect (paraphrase ahead) that if you come to the end of your life, and you were wrong, you haven’t lost anything. This may feel lovely when you live in Christendom (and by that, I mean a world in which Christianity is popular and has influence by political or economical means), but it’s not true and it shouldn’t be true. I’m sorry, but Christianity is neither a crutch or a stuffed animal to hold tightly during the thunder and lightening (although I do love thunder and lightening and I do love my stuffed animal, Big Foot, much to the chagrin of my husband, but I’ve had Big Foot since before I was born, so what can I do?).
Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15 that if not for the resurrection, meaning both Christ’s and our future resurrection (without one, the other does not exist), our faith would be one big joke (which some of you out there believe it to be—and some of us live as the straight man for that joke). This same Paul was imprisoned many a time, stoned and left for dead, shipwrecked, beaten, and eventually killed for his belief. Um, if he were wrong in the end, I don’t think he would simply shrug his shoulders and say, “Ah, well.”
Christ told us to expect hatred from the world, and then he was killed. Crucified, to be exact, a painful and humiliating death. Of course, he was resurrected, and those of us who depend on him will be someday, as well, which is my point. A survey of the other apostles: crucified (upside down), exiled, beaten to death, beheaded, other sundry deaths including a combination of the above. Others? Well, Steven was stoned, others were speared. There was Jan Huss and Wycliffe and Joan of Arc and Jim Elliot (and his crew). More people have been killed for the Christian faith in the twentieth century than all other previous centuries combined. Of course, sitting in our recliners flipping through TBN and other such channels, we don’t remember that. We go to church to make business contacts or shelter our children (more on that one later).
Personally, I’m not so okay with the idea. I’m not saying Chris and I are martyrs or persecuted, but we have made choices based on our Christianity. Given up things that we’d rather have. I would love to travel. See the world. But when you work in ministry, the budget doesn’t support those desires. And you know what? I’d rather explore the new earth. But if that new earth doesn’t exist, man, I’m kicking myself for these missed opportunities. Sure, we have Christ’s peace and joy now, but the root of that peace and joy is the hope of a future with him in a harmonious community and perfect nature.
This whole thing shouldn’t be a half-hearted why-not decision. It shouldn’t be some heck-it-feels-good thinking. It’s deciding to serve a kingdom now that is underground and will eventually win. It would be like shuttling slaves through the underground railroad before the Civil War.
Just so you know.

Filed Under: eschatology, philosophy

Huh?

January 24, 2007 By heather Leave a Comment

I’ve been listening to these philosophy of religion lectures. Recently, the professor came to Martin Buber, a Jewish philosopher. I have to admit up front that I’ve never read Buber (that I remember, although, come to think about it, I think I did read one of his essays several years ago, but that hardly counts), so these thoughts come from hearsay.
Buber wrote a book entitled I and Thou (actually, the title is technically in German, so it might be something like Ich und Du). The important thing to notice, according to the professor, is the word “thou,” which, because of its use in Shakespeare and the King James, I have always took to be some high-falutent word. Not so, says the monkey. (I don’t know where the monkey came from, but that’s what he said. And there was no arguing with him.) Anyone who has studied a foreign language knows that our English is one of the few languages that does not have a separate formal and informal “you.” Apparently, many moons ago, we did, and thou was the informal usage. Point being, if I can get out my machete and hack through all this, the Christian life (for Buber, the Jewish life) is about encountering God everyday. Buber argues (again, from what I understand) that God is not this object to be studied with scientific methods and the like, but He is someone to be encountered everyday. Corollary: (and here’s what hit me like a piano falling in a cartoon) our particular experiences with God can be idolatry. Huh? How can an experience be idolatry if it’s with God? When we long for the experiences more than we long for God, then, well, you fit the jigsaw together. And I think this is a lot of our culture. We want these mountain top experiences to get us through the week, whether it’s some big concert or extreme sport or a worship experience. I confess, at times I have thought, oh, remember that time at the Passion conference and how we all felt so close to God and each other? And I want that back. Idolatry.
It makes me wonder if this is the root of some of the worship wars: I want this music. No, I want this, says one toddler to the other.
Don’t get me wrong. Praising God is a good thing, a very good thing. And to feel good while praising Him is a good thing. And praising Him with music or art or whatever we like is a good thing. It’s the longing for the feeling good over the praising God part that catches us. One of those fine line things, methinks.
So the question is thus: how do I encounter God every moment of every day when I clean the toilets or call a friend or write or practice piano or go to church or take cookies to my neighbor or, well, you get the idea.
Immanuel.

Filed Under: philosophy, spirituality, theology

God Is Dead

October 17, 2006 By heather Leave a Comment

Because of those three little words, the church proclaimed Nietzsche her nemesis. Gladys, keep away from that Nietzsche. He’s bad news. Ptooey. Root of everything evil, including that postmodern devil thing.
While I don’t agree with all of Nietzsche’s conclusions, I can certainly understand his claustrophobia. Stuck. Trapped. What a nice, safe, little world you have there, Nietzsche would say. Everything wrapped up in neat boxes. What’s that you have there? The search for the historical Jesus? Huh. Some faith. Just put on a pair of clean clothes, stay out of the mud, and you’ll be happy. Except Nietzsche wasn’t happy. The little minister, as he was nicknamed as a child, went crazy instead.
The institution of the church, the empty virtue of her people, her reasonable faith that explained away all miracles, that did away the need for faith, all this disillusioned Nietzsche. So Nietzsche chunked it all.
Live, Nietzsche commanded. Live with the pain. Through away the medications. But live. Forget those rules and do nots. It doesn’t work. Find the standard in yourself. Just as long as you live.
And as far as all the reason mumbo-jumbo, who sees objectively on this earth, without the filters of their tradition and culture? The whole elephant story with the three blind men. Each described something disparate. Same elephant. So who’s perspective is correct? Maybe we don’t all have the whole perspective. So, Nietzsche said, experience becomes the priority. Your experience.
He’s right, you know. Mostly. The church he saw with her long list of rules and clean clothes and reason that cut the Bible to pieces (i.e. Jefferson) doesn’t work. She forgot how to live, forgot how to love. Kierkegaard saw that, too.
And the different perspectives: I don’t see God fully. In fact, you may see a different aspect of God that I has been in my blind spot. My understanding of the world and of God comes trickled down through filters and blinders. But Nietzsche didn’t account for the Holy Spirit, and he forgot about the universal church, this historical and global body that has the opportunity to learn from one another, to listen to one another. Where Nietzsche gave up, we can hope.
I pity Nietzsche. He struggled with the same frustrations of most Christians and non-Christians. I don’t care if you are modern or postmodern or black or white or Italian or African or North American or Taiwanese. If you have been involved in the Christian life with Christian people, at some point in time, you have encountered some form of Nietzsche’s doubts and hurts.
As far as the whole “God is dead” thing. Maybe it wasn’t this great ontological statement. Maybe he jeered at this empty church. You have killed God.
I can’t argue with him there.

Filed Under: church, philosophy