Hans
Rookmaaker, art historian and colleague of Francis Schaeffer published Modern Art and the Death of a Culture in 1970.
It was written, in other words, in the Sixties, a time of cultural ferment and
protest in the West, and increasing defensiveness within the American church. We
live in a world that still bears the marks of that decade, for blessing and for
curse.
At the
beginning of the Sixties Reinhold Niebuhr was arguably the best-known and most
influential public intellectual in American society. “Niebuhr
was the ideal type of a species all but lost to us today,” Ross Douthat notes,
“the public theologian, deeply engaged in a particular Christian tradition—in
his case, a ‘neo-orthodox’ Protestantism—but capable of setting the agenda for
the secular world as well.” I suspect Douthat is understating the case—the idea
that a Christian theologian of whatever stripe could be America’s premier
public intellectual is simply unimaginable today at the beginning of the 21st
century.
It was also
a time when technology and a technological mindset started to assume a larger,
or more obvious and noteworthy role in daily life and society. We are so used
to living in a technological world by now, of course, that this may not sound
like much, but at the time it was significant. Things felt different, looked
different, was different, and people
were thinking differently as a result. There were gadgets, innovations and
conveniences, new weaponry, state power and governmental reach, a flood of
images and news available so quickly after the events occurred—as I say,
commonplace now but novel then.
A lot of
new things appeared and happened. The birth control pill received FDA approval and
scientists invented lasers (1960), the Berlin Wall was constructed and the
Soviets put a man in space (1961), the first Wal-Mart opened (1962), John F.
Kennedy was assassinated (1963), the British band The Beatles hit America and
Nelson Mandela was sentenced to life in prison (1964), American troops were
sent to Vietnam (1965), Star Trek series appeared on T.V., Black Panther Party
and National Association of Women were established (1966), the first heart
transplant, the first Super Bowl, and the first black, Thurgood Marshall, on US
Supreme Court (1967), Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated,
and the horrible My Lai massacre occured (1968), Neil Armstrong became the
first man to land on the moon and the first episode of Sesame Street was shown
(1969), computer floppy disks became available (1970).
The Sixties
were also a decade of unrest, protest and revolution. Four black college
students conducted a sit-in at the Woolworth’s whites-only luncheon counter in Greensboro,
NC (1960), Freedom Riders challenged segregation on interstate buses (1961),
the first person was killed trying to cross the Berlin Wall and at the
University of Mississippi James Meredith became the first black admitted as a
student (1962), the March on Washington and Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech occurred, and
activist Medgar Evers was shot in Jackson, MS and was initially refused care at
the hospital, where he died, because he was black (1963), the Civil Rights Act
became law in the U.S. (1964),
This list
perhaps can serve to provide a feeble hint—admittedly wildly selective and incomplete—of
what seemed at the time to be a brave new world of technological advance and
social protest that was the Sixties. Modern Art
and the Death of a Culture was written into and out of this cultural
moment. The fact that Hans Rookmaaker wrote it more than four decades ago means
it is dated; the fact that his perspective was firmly rooted in the ancient
wisdom of the biblical worldview means what he wrote can serve as a model of
Christian discernment.
In
reviewing the book recently I remembered how great an impact it had on me. The
Sixties were a time of spiritual crisis for me. The Christianity in which I had
been raised did not provide reasonable answers for the questions and challenges
I faced in my classes and in the late night conversations I had with friends.
Rookmaaker’s book arrived like a glimmer of hope. Never before had I known any
serious Christian to take art seriously. Reviewing Modern Art and the Death of the Culture also reminded me that the
perspective on life and faith that Rookmaaker advanced was radical. That is
probably why the bookwas, as far as I could tell, by and large ignored by a
church that was increasingly defensive, withdrawn, and reactionary.
This
excerpt captures a hint of what I mean.
Those who put their faith in a
perfected technology have of course some grounds for their optimism, even if
they also have their problems. We are living in an advanced world, better
equipped than any before to tackle the great problems of mankind: housing,
transport, safety, health, home comforts, efficiency. We have better
communications, safer systems, more convenient utensils, better organization.
Much of our western society is wealthy, affluent. Economics, by applying the
methods of the sciences, has been able to break through old barriers; together
with sociology it has been the means of providing for everyone goods and
services previously undreamt of. No longer is the world one with a happy few, a
small class, at the top, with the masses of the nameless poor at the bottom.
Democracy, leisure and convenience for everyone have been achieved—well,
perhaps not quite, for we are still uncomfortably aware of the areas where they
have not yet arrived.
Certainly the world is a
fast-changing one: air transport is faster, and within the reach of an
ever-increasing number of people. Television, in the course of one or two
decades, has changed the habits, knowledge and whole outlook on the world of a
large majority of the people. Cars are now a commodity instead of a luxury.
More people get better schooling and higher education at university and college
level. Books are cheap and within the reach of all. People live longer as a
result of the rapidly advancing medical care and research.
All this is true, and many of these
things have no doubt led to much greater happiness and satisfaction in life for
many. No-one wants to undo them, or go back to being without them, or deny
their importance. Nor can it be denied that they all have a deep influence on
our lives. Certainly one aspect of the crisis of our age is to be found in the
fact that we have not yet completely adjusted to them; we have not yet found
the right attitude to them, for we are often still like children completely
taken up with a new toy. But the overwhelming ecological problems of today show
that we must stop playing at random: our utensils may destroy us, our machines
cause the decay of the very earth on which they stand. Perhaps we have bought
our affluence at too high a price.
Our world is changing, and we with
it. It has become much larger, as our horizons have widened; but also much
smaller, for we get instant information on problems and events in places far
away. We get involved in things we have never even thought of before. So our
world has become much more complex, and in our answers to the problems of life
we have to cope with far more factors than ever before.
All this means that Christians must
go through a period of study, thought and re-evaluation that will take much of
our energy. Conflicts will arise within Christian circles as older people
especially are not consciously aware of this need for re-orientation, and
therefore think that the old answers are still valid and sufficient. It is not
that the foundation has to change, or that the basic doctrines have lost their
meaning. But the expression and formulation of them sometimes needs rethinking
as we listen afresh to God's Word, and seek to present it to the new world in
which we are living.
The whole cultural situation however
is much more complex than can be dealt with simply by asserting that we have to
adjust and rethink. There are many negative elements in the technocracy of
today. We must find out what they really are, think through the means of
removing them or at least formulating our attitude to them.
We must also learn to react
positively to the positive elements of the revolt and protest around us. For
it, too, is against the evils of technocracy. We must rejoice in the fact that
man is shown to be still human by his protest against the forces that would
dehumanize him. We must be alert to see that the lawless and negative
revolutionary elements do not obscure the real issues, so that they do not
become themselves an obstruction to finding the solution they seek.
Reading this excerpt after so many years also raised
questions in my mind as to how Rookmaaker’s vision of Christian faith could be
applied to the opening decades of the 21st century.
Questions for
reflection and discussion:
1. What is
your first impression of what Dr. Rookmaaker communicates? Why do you think you
responded as you did?
2. Do you
know anyone personally who tends to “put their faith in a perfected
technology”?
3. Writing
in 1970, Rookmaaker says, “All this means that Christians must go through a
period of study, thought and re-evaluation that will take much of our energy.”
Did this occur in the last 40+ years? If so, to what extent was it adequate for
the task?
4. Rookmaaker
goes on to argue there is both a negative and a positive aspect to our task as
Christians. The negative, he says, consists of naming the social and
technological changes that affect us and then assess them in distinctly Christian
categories. In his words: “There are many negative elements in the technocracy
of today. We must find out what they really are, think through the means of
removing them or at least formulating our attitude to them.” Has this been
accomplished adequately over the past four decades? Why or why not?
5. The
positive aspect to the Christians assessment may surprise many Christians. In
most retellings of the story of the Sixties, the numerous protests and
revolutionary movements tended to be viewed with unrelenting disapproval by
conservative Christians—then and now. How do you respond to Rookmaaker’s
perspective, especially as it is expressed in the final paragraph?
6. This is
purely speculative, of course, because Dr. Rookmaaker is dead and cannot speak
for himself. Still, I suspect that he would have a very similar thing to say to
Christians at the beginning of the 21st century. What might that consist
of?
Excerpt: From Modern Art and the Death of a Culture by
H. R. Rookmaaker (Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity Press; 1970) pp. 197-199.
Source: Bad Religion: How We Became a Nation of
Heretics by Ross Douthat (New York, NY: Free Press; 2012) p. 25.
How we see America,
and how the world sees us
I am told
that not too many years ago far less information filtered in each day from the
farther reaches of the globe, and the news that did arrive took longer to get
here. Speed is no longer an issue, waiting is no longer necessary, though now
the sheer volume of news quickly numbs us, especially since so much of reeks of
violence, conflict, suffering and disagreement.
Some of the
news that arrives is unpleasant not because it tells of death or disease or
devastation but because it tells us that people around the world do not see America
in the same benevolent terms with which we see our nation. It’s easy to filter
that part of the news out: there is too much to absorb anyway, and since we
simply want freedom and democracy for everyone much of the problem must be
ingratitude on their part. If we pause for a moment, and we should pause to
reflect on this, most of us will suspect that something is amiss.
In A Free People’s Suicide, Os Guinness
asks Americans to do just that: to pause a moment, to reflect deeply on who we
are as a people and to consider whether the democratic freedom we have
inherited will be sustained. Guinness’ prose is always clear, persuasive, and
accessible, and the danger will be to rush through the book instead of using it
as a chance to think and discuss whether we are now the sort of people that can
maintain the Founder’s grand experiment into the future.
“Can the
United States,” Os asks at one point, “be a superpower that is worthy of a free
people?” This question immediately brings us to our view of ourselves, the
reasons behind US foreign policy initiatives, and how the rest of the world
sees us.
Americans can claim that their
military, economic and cultural power still stands at an unprecedented and
unrivalled level. But only just. Presidential speeches notwithstanding,
America’s relationship to freedom and global diversity has grown far less clear
in the last decade. Attempts to assert America’s sole superpower strength
unilaterally have caused disquiet and anger around the world and called into
question what America means by freedom and more simply, what America means to
the world. To much of the world today, the United States is increasingly
unwanted or irrelevant.
Strikingly, America once spoke for
the world, over against European colonialism; but today Europe often speaks for
the world, over against American imperialism. Or the more modest America was
about her uniqueness, the more appealing America was; whereas the more America
presses her universality, the less universal is her appeal. Once an
extraordinary nation, the United States has behaved like an all too ordinary
empire.
It will not do to equate America and
freedom and then to assume that any and all American policies are automatically
justified in the name of freedom.
It will not do for Americans to
rehearse their good intentions, for in the age of side effects, unintended
consequences and unknown aftermaths, the best intentions may produce the worst
of results and pave the road to another manmade hell.
It will not do for Americans to keep
reciting their traditional anti-imperialism, for empires are the closest
historical parallel to America’s present dominance.
It will not do for Americans to resort
to euphemisms and speak of themselves as a “reluctant empire,” an “undeclared
empire,” a “de facto empire,” an “empire by any other name,” “an empire that
dare not name its name” or “an empire in denial.” An empire by any name at all
is still an empire.
It will not do for Americans to
compare apples with oranges and make false comparisons with other kinds of
empire. Americans often say with pride or in self-justification—most recently
in Afghanistan and Iraq—that they are not conquerors or occupiers, as if all
empires were conquered on the pattern of Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar…
Empires have never been all of one
kind. Their only common element is the spread of their dominance…
In 1916, President Wilson drafted the
speech in which he declared, “It shall not lie with the American people to
dictate to another what their government shall be.” His Secretary of State
Robert Lansing wrote in the margin: “Haiti, S Domingo, Nicaragua, Panama.” That
list could be greatly extended today. The slave’s voice in the victor’s ear and
the truth teller’s note in the president’s margin are more needed than ever to
remind Americans of their imperial reach and its consequences in the eyes of
others. [p. 174-176]
Neither
conservatives (or their libertarian compatriots) nor liberals are eager to
admit to an American empire. Our ideals, we insist, are far more democratic and
beneficent than that. The trouble is that insisting on this fantasy will not
only breed further antagonism around the world, it will, perversely, mean that
America is ceasing to be a superpower worthy of free people helping to undercut
the foundation on which that freedom depends.
We need to
take another look at ourselves. We need to listen more patiently to the angry
voices around the world. And we need to reflect on what it all means.
For further reading:
Why the Rest Hate the West: Understanding
the Roots of Global Rage by Meic Pearse (Downers Grove, IL: Inter Varsity
Press; 2004).
Source: A Free People’s Suicide: Sustainable Freedom
and the American Future by Os Guinness (Downers Grove, IL: Inter Varsity
Press; 2012).
A note in a faculty memo from James Pakala, librarian at Covenant Seminary (St Louis,
MO):
The
Christian Century August 10, 2010 – Four American myths are listed (p.
9) from Claude S. Fischer’s Made in
America
: A Social History of American Culture and Character (U of Chicago
Press, 2010). Despite the myth: a) Americans changed location less in recent decades
than either in the middle of the 20th century or in the early 19th
century; b) Americans have not turned away from religion, as membership has
remained proportionately higher than in eras prior to the mid-20th
century; c) crime rates by 2000 were almost down to 1950 levels; and d)
destitution is lower.
: A Social History of American Culture and Character (U of Chicago
Press, 2010). Despite the myth: a) Americans changed location less in recent decades
than either in the middle of the 20th century or in the early 19th
century; b) Americans have not turned away from religion, as membership has
remained proportionately higher than in eras prior to the mid-20th
century; c) crime rates by 2000 were almost down to 1950 levels; and d)
destitution is lower.
Source: Select Items #277.
There has been an enormous amount of discussion about whether President Obama deserved to win the Nobel Peace Prize, and what his winning implies about the Prize itself. Some of the discussion has been thoughtful, but most, sadly but not surprisingly, has been shrill, cynical, and partisan.
It is always difficult to see with a perspective that is wider than one’s own interests. It’s hard, for example, to try to see myself as my wife, friends, and neighbors see me, since my perspective seems so natural, so obvious that I can’t believe everyone doesn’t share it. The same goes for how we see our nation. We assume everyone should see the U.S. and President Obama as we see them, and are surprised to discover they don’t necessarily share our perspective.
This is part of the issue that has arisen over President Obama’s receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, as historian David Kaiser explains in a superb essay, “Why Obama Won the Prize,” which you can read here.
(I am grateful to my good friend Dr Paul Waibel, professor of history at Belhaven College, Jackson, MS for alerting me to Kaiser’s essay.)