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.
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It grieves me to know that a watching postmodern world, our world, looks at the Christian
community and concludes we have little or nothing to offer. This is not the way
it is supposed to be. Jesus expected us to flourish in such a way as believers
that our community, rooted in relationships of compassion to those inside and
outside the church would stand out in a world were loneliness, alienation, and
isolation are the rule rather than the exception. “By this all men will know
that you are my disciples,” he said, “if you have love for one another” (John
13:35). If we truly believe that according to the Scriptures each person bears
the dignity of being made in the very image of God, our treatment of them
should demonstrate that belief (Genesis 1:27). “As far as living is concerned,
we are on the knife-edge of time,” Francis Schaeffer insisted. “What will
matter is our relationship to the Lord Jesus, individually and then
corporately, at this existential moment. What counts, as [people] look upon
us... is whether we are exhibiting God and his character, now. The Christian
position is not static, but living.”
I have not been called into a position of influence in the
central corridors of power and influence in our postmodern world. So when I
propose a discussion on this blog about the “recovery of orthodox Christianity”
I am under no illusion that we will be exploring a way to change the direction
of history, a path for the church to follow to restore its authority and
authenticity in our times. I don’t even think in those categories. What I am
interested in exploring is more immediate, essential, and personal: What does Christian faithfulness look like
for ordinary Christians—like you and me—in our increasingly pluralistic world?
Here are the first two elements I think should be included
in our answer to this question.
Element #1—Our calling is to be faithful in the ordinary and routine.
It easy to
be distracted by programs promising extraordinary things, but mostly that’s all
they are: distractions. At its most central core, our calling before God is not
to do something spectacular but to be faithful in the ordinary things of daily
life. Since I have written on this before—you can read it here—I won’t bother
to develop the idea here or show its biblical foundation.
It is a
simple idea but profound in its implications. We need not add activities to our
schedule in the hope of achieving something significant, because the work of
our hands and the loving of those God has brought into our life can be done to
his glory. Doing these things well may not result in notoriety but then the
only approval that really counts is the “Well done” of our Lord. We may not see
the results of our faithfulness but then God has not promised to always let us
see them and said we are walk by faith in him.
For some
people this principle will mean taking time in community with trusted, safe,
and godly friends to gain a sense of their giftedness and to determine what priorities
the trajectory of their spiritual pilgrimage seems to suggest. They can be
given opportunities to learn and experiment as a sense of calling slowly takes
shape. For others this principle will require reducing commitments to open room
for what’s important instead of what’s merely urgent. They can restore a better
balance between work and rest, and then build from the knowledge of their
calling to how their gifts and time can be used most creatively. For all of us
we can ask whether we are flourishing as human beings. It will never be
perfect, of course, but truly being faithful to God’s call in the ordinary and
routine of life will be a path of flourishing because it is what we were made
for in the first place.
Element #2—Let’s
start asking an obvious question.
The
question is one I believe we should ask ourselves, and one another, at the end
of each Bible study, Sunday service, church discussion, personal devotions, or
reading of a Christian book. The question is this: How can I talk about this creatively and winsomely to the
non-Christians in my life so that they might be prompted to ask questions or be
interested in talking about it more?
My premise
is simple. We live in an increasingly pluralistic world where more and more of
our neighbors are unchurched. We have a faith that speaks intelligently,
substantially, and creatively to every facet of life and culture because Christ
is Lord of all. And so following Jesus in the world means among other things a
willingness to speak in ways that intrigue unbelievers.
Read Mark
4:1-20 and notice how Jesus talks to people. Here is the Second Person of the
Trinity come in the flesh, and a big crowd gathers to hear him speak. He can
say anything he wants. What does he say? He tells a story about a farmer sowing
seed and how the crop develops in four kinds of soil. And with that he is
finished. Reflect on that fact for a while.
Here is the
point: the story turned out to be so intriguing that “those around him with the
twelve,” in other words, his disciples plus some of the crowd who just heard
the story, stuck around and asked him, “What? We’d like to hear more. What did
you mean?” And Jesus continued the conversation. You are the ones, he told
them, to whom “has been given the secret of the kingdom of God.” Too often
today when we talk about our faith or when someone asks about our Bible study
all we can think to say is something that is factually true, but that also
happens to be a conversation stopper. Whatever we say tends to be in language
non-Christians do not normally use, about topics non-Christians tend not to
discuss, and in terms so banal that they tend to end the conversation not
intrigue the listener to want to hear and discuss more.
How can we talk about this creatively and
winsomely to the non-Christians in our lives so that they might be prompted to
ask questions or be interested in conversing about it more? Don’t be
discouraged if your first attempt to come up with something intelligent and
winsome seems impossibly difficult. Most of us have never thought to pose or
answer this question, so it will prove difficult. That’s why we need one
another, and can profit from an array of gifts in a group. Keep at it, and let
the creativity flow. And pray God’s Holy Spirit be at work in your minds and imaginations.
If our Bible study was on Mark 4:1-20, and someone at work asks what we did
last night, perhaps we could say something like this (choosing what would work
best in our particular work context): Got together with a group of friends and
talked about what it means to be spiritually receptive. Or, was in a discussion
of an ancient text that speaks to some challenging things that can subvert our
spiritual pilgrimage. Or… the possibilities are probably endless.
We live in
a pluralistic world that has become convinced that orthodox Christianity has
nothing of substance to offer a postmodern person. The way we talk about faith
should at least give them pause.
I hope you will leave comments about my first two ideas, pro
and con, and suggest ideas of your own.
In the years since his death in 1984 it’s been interesting
to watch and listen as people have claimed, explicitly or implicitly, to be
carrying on the legacy of Francis Schaeffer.
I am not including here those who continue to serve as
Workers in L’Abri Fellowship, the study communities that grew out of the
conversations and hospitality the Schaeffers offered a growing number of young
adults who trekked to their chalet in Switzerland beginning in the mid-fifties.
The work of L’Abri continues, and though the shape of that work in the various
centers in Europe, America, and Asia has not remained static, it consciously
and intentionally stands on the shoulders of Edith and Francis who walked that
path originally. As someone who honors Francis Schaeffer as a mentor, I happily
remember him as a teacher who invested untold hours in listening to my
questions and discussing the world with its trends and ideas that help shape
lives and cultures. I think—I hope—I learned from him, and want to try to
faithfully put into practice the best that I learned from and saw in him. I
have no illusions, on the other hand, of continuing Schaeffer’s legacy—that
role is best assumed not by me but by those in L’Abri and by Jerram Barrs, Resident
Scholar of the Francis A. Schaeffer Institute at Covenant Theological Seminary
in St Louis.
What I’ve found interesting are people who are outside
L’Abri but who invoke the Schaeffer name as a sort of imprimatur to provide
gravitas for their own ideas and work. The ones I'm referring to here are found
on the conservative or right wing of the American political continuum, and are active
in promoting what’s come to be called the “culture war.”
And I must say that as I have watched and listened as people
active in conservative culture war politics claim Schaeffer’s legacy, I am not
impressed. Here are three reasons.
1. Culture wars and worldviews. When James Davison Hunter
published Culture Wars in 1992 he was
reporting on a sociological reality, not issuing a call to political activism.
Hunter is a careful observer of American society and understood that the divisions
over economic, social, religious, and political issues arise primarily not due
to pragmatic reasons or because people are uninformed, but because the American
people hold widely differing worldviews that inform their views on the issues.
This insight should have helped Christians concerned for truth and culture to
remember what Schaeffer had insisted on all along, namely that everyone holds a
world and life view, that challenging another’s worldview must be approached
with compassion in an intentionally safe community where people love and care
for one another, and that though the history of ideas is crucial for discussing
worldviews, worldviews are far more than simply ideas that can be debated.
Instead, conservative culture warriors claiming Schaeffer’s legacy have done
the opposite: they ratcheted up their rhetoric in the public square, declared
war to take back the culture, and started attacking liberals, secularists,
environmentalists, and anyone else who dared question their conservative
ideology and agenda as the ones against whom the worldview war must be fought.
Just the opposite of what Schaeffer stood for, demonstrated, and taught.
2. Faithful citizenship and politicizing life. Throughout his
life Schaeffer argued that because Christ is Lord of all, Christianity has
something substantial to say into every sphere of life and reality. This
included politics, so that unlike the earlier withdrawal from involvement in
politics led by evangelical leaders after the Second Great awakening,
Christians could and should see the call to politics as a legitimate vocation
and fulfill their duty as citizens being motivated to seek the common good for
all. Instead, conservative culture warriors have (along with more progressive
believers) politicized life, making politics the central animating focus for
seeking to change the world. One symptom of politicization is when people judge
another’s moral integrity on the basis of their voting or party affiliation. As
James Davison Hunter puts it in his latest book, To Change the World (2010), “the public has been conflated with the
political” (p. 168). This in the end not only dismisses the richly nuanced nature
of human existence and human society by reducing all spheres of life to the
political, it is a practical denial of Christ’s Lordship. When Schaeffer called
for Christians to be faithful as citizens he did so while calling them to be
faithful across all of life and culture, and from that perspective only a tiny
slice is in any way even remotely connected to politics. Another symptom of
politicization is when the discussion of every societal or human problem rather
quickly resolves into a discussion of politics. The political sphere of life
has dignity and is significant, but in reality its scope is extremely limited.
3. Conservative ideology and caring for the earth. It is not
surprising that the book by Schaeffer that conservative culture warriors seldom
quote is one of the most significant if someone is to claim his legacy. Because
Schaeffer’s thinking and living was informed by Scripture rather than by political
ideology he wrote Pollution and the Death
of Man (1972). The book is made up of two themes. First, Schaeffer refutes
the charge that the Christian view of creation is to blame for the ecological
degradation found in the modern West by elevating the value of the “spiritual”
over the “physical.” And second, Schaeffer goes on to show how Christians must
care for the earth because the earth is the Lord’s, we are stewards, and the
physical matters because God said it was good. The physical world matters not
just a little, but a great deal. How great? Schaeffer gives a specific. “One
does not deface things simply to deface them. One would not willingly with no
reason deface a rock. After all, the rock has a God-given right to be a rock as
He made it. If you must move the rock in order to build the foundation of a
house, then, by all means, move it. But on a walk in the woods do not strip the
moss from it for no reason and leave it to lie by the side and die. Even the
moss has a right to live. It is equal with man as a creature of God.” Instead,
conservative culture warriors have adopted an ideology that is broadly
understood to be cynical about scientific research, to be insensitive to caring
for the earth, and is unwilling to act on the obvious truth that environmental
degradation is a cost that must be factored into plans for economic
development. Schaeffer was correct to argue in Pollution and the Death of Man against the charge that the biblical
understanding of creation leads to an elevation of the “spiritual” at
the expense of the physical. Unfortunately, the charge can be made today that conservative
culture warriors claiming Schaeffer’s legacy have elevated the political over
the biblical at the expense of caring for the earth as God’s stewards, even at
cost. My goodness, I have spoken with environmentalists less radical than
Schaeffer—notice he compared human beings to moss and a rock, and insisted they
have, as creatures, equal value.
I’ll let Schaeffer have the final word:
“As far as living is concerned,
we are on the knife-edge of time. What will matter is our relationship to the
Lord Jesus, individually and then corporately, at this existential moment. What
counts, as [people] look upon us... is whether we are exhibiting God and his
character, now. The Christian position is not static, but living” [The God
Who is There (p. 155)].
Schaeffer believed passionately that historic biblical
Christianity had something of substance to say into every sphere of life and
culture. Nothing is neutral, in other words, but exists in light of Christ’s Lordship
over all, just as St Paul argued, using terms that are so inclusive that the
claim becomes exclusive:
He is the image of the
invisible God, the first-born of all creation; for in him all things were
created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or
dominions or principalities or authorities—all things were created through him
and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He
is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the first-born from
the dead, that in everything he might be pre-eminent. 19 For in him all the
fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself
all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his
cross (Colossians 1:15-20).
This gave rise naturally to a theme in Schaeffer’s life and
thinking that shaped his interactions with everyone he met. “Honest questions
deserve honest answers.”
It’s a very simple idea, but surprisingly rare in
demonstration. Rarely do people find themselves in places safe enough that
honest questions can be easily voiced. Rarely are questions welcomed that call
into doubt whatever orthodoxy—whether political, religious,
philosophical—happens to be ascendant. Rarely are people given the grace of
unhurried time so that the doubts festering in their souls can take the form of
actual questions. Rarely are conversations open enough to pursue actual answers
to the deeper things that matter most.
Rather than honest answers, most often quick responses are
given to honest questions. Such responses are always tinged with either
sentimentality or cynicism, satisfying for those who give them but insufficient
for life.
Honest questions deserve honest answers. Such a conviction
does not require humorlessness as if everything is equally solemn. Sometimes, hearty
laughter together is the best answer, revealing as it does the folly that
masquerades as wisdom in a broken world.
Honest questions are valuable because each questioner is
made in God’s image. Honest answers are possible because reality is not a
meaningless assortment of synaptic firings set in motion by the random events
of an impersonal cosmos. Instead, life makes sense and reality holds together
because God exists, has spoken in his word, and, in St John’s brilliant
phrasing, “The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood”
(John 1:14).
So, we see as though through a glass darkly, as St Paul
insists (1 Corinthians 13:12), which is certainly true, but that’s not the same
as being in total darkness. A light shines in the darkness, St John reminds us,
and the darkness, even at its most furious cannot put it out (John 1:5, 9). We
ask honest questions, often reply, “I don’t know,” but the conversation can
continue, asking questions of the question and exploring the possibility of
answers.
Honest questions deserve honest answers. I’ve often thought
that if demonstrating this was my only significance in life, it would be
enough.
(to be continued)
Source: "Art Question Mark" online (www.creoflick.net)
On the wall of my office is a picture of Francis and Edith
Schaeffer, his arm affectionately over her shoulder, both smiling as if one of
them had just said something that struck them both as funny. She is looking off
to her right (my left as I look at the picture). He is looking directly into
the lens, and thus it seems, directly into my eyes as I look up from my typing.
When I first stumbled on the Schaeffers I was still part of
the Plymouth Brethren. In fairness I should add that they don’t like that name,
preferring to be called simply, the Brethren or better yet, simply, Christians.
Still, Plymouth Brethren is how they are known, and I use the name with no
intention of being disrespectful. I had come close to losing my faith—or more
accurately, to walking away from my faith—because like all Fundamentalism it
spoke to only a small narrow slice of life. It promised forgiveness and eternal
life in heaven, but for now only spiritual things mattered, things like Bible
reading, prayer, and witnessing, while everything else, things like art,
gardening, good wine and everything else that is physical was deemed of
secondary importance at best, dangerous at worse, and destined to be burned up
in the fire of God’s judgment at the last day. I liked knowing I was going to
heaven, of course, but even that began to seem dubious when my questions about
meaning and culture and philosophy and knowledge were not addressed by the
faith I had been taught and instead were interpreted as indicators of my lack
of spiritual devotion.
My questions would not go away, however, and when I came
across the Schaeffers I came across Christians who insisted that honest
questions deserve honest answers. That might not sound too radical or exciting,
but it was for me. I had not known that Christianity could possibly be like
this, providing the basis for a solid world and life view that had something
substantial, creative, and redemptive to say about every aspect of life and
reality.
When I began reading Francis Schaeffer’s books I had no intention
of leaving the Plymouth Brethren, or of changing my theology. I was trying,
quite desperately, actually, to make sense of and hopefully save my faith. But
slowly my theology shifted as I heard the Bible explained in a way that formed
a solid line of orthodox teaching going back from Schaeffer to Abraham Kuyper
to John Calvin to St Augustine to the apostles. Eventually the gap between the
Brethren belief in a sacred/secular division to life and our growing conviction
in Christ’s Lordship over all of life and culture reached a breaking point and
we left. It was not hard leaving the less than biblically orthodox doctrine,
while the breaks in relationships—with both friends and family—have never fully
healed.
Years later someone who has honestly grieved my movement
away from the Plymouth Brethren forwarded to me an email written by one of his
friends, also in the Brethren. They commented on something I had written,
expressed sadness on its evident “worldliness,” and reflected on how far I had
strayed from the way I had been raised. In his email my friend’s friend
commented on “the poisonous influence of Francis Schaeffer.”
I did not respond.
I have, however, often thought of that remark.
From their perspective, of course, if life is divided
between the spiritual (the good, the best) and the physical (less good or even
bad), Schaeffer’s teaching is to be regretted. If doubts about Christian belief
are illegitimate for true believers, if engaging art and culture is a sign of
nagging worldliness, if asking hard philosophical questions is evidence of a
mind that is less than spiritual, then Schaeffer’s legacy is unfortunate. But
the truth is that their perspective is wrong. I’m not going to defend that
assertion here—if you have questions about it, please read Being Human: the nature of spiritual experience.
(to be continued)
A lovely comment arrived from Sue in response to my post titled, “Deciding who to vote for” which included a thoughtful piece by James Skillen.
Thanks so much for sharing this piece. I found it very helpful and very refreshing in a time when so much political dialogue is embedded in fierce partisan loyalties. I can engage with Skillen's ideas without feeling like I've got to wear armor.
But ... I shared the link with a group of acquaintances, thinking that it was a good model of civil discourse and might inspire some useful dialogue. Well, what it inspired was (in their own words) "a hornet's nest." According to them, the entire article is a pro-Obama, pro-Democrat, pro-second-exodus-narrative (and therefore anti-American) diatribe. One person responded, "I didn't know Francis Schaeffer was a socialist or communist." I was flabbergasted.
So ... I've long admired your patient responses to similar off-the-charts reactions to articles that you believed were well-measured critiques, but I'm wondering, how do you personally decide when to offer clarifications, further discussion, etc., and when to just say, "Hmmmm, there's not much point in continuing this discussion"? How do you graciously end a fruitless disagreement?
That’s a great question, Sue. I can’t tell you how often I’ve faced similar responses to things I’ve shared or said or taught. It can be very discouraging especially when these responses are coming from people who claim to be the people of God. Bertrand Russell used to say, “People would rather die than think; in fact they do.” He was correct, and sadly, it applies even to those who claim that following the Truth is central to their lives.
I think there are several reasons why this occurs. (I don’t know if your friends were Christians or not, but since the Francis Schaeffer comment sounds like it came from a Christian, I’ll assume they were believers here.) First, many Christians have come to believe that conformity is a measure of commitment—in other words, that believers should necessarily share not just identical doctriness and ethics, but opinions and activities. However, having a Christian mind does not mean that there is a “Christian line” on every topic. Life and reality are far richer and more nuanced than that. Second, many evangelicals, having decided that a conservative ideology embraces their political leanings, begin to confuse conservatism with Christianity. It’s a subtle process, but also a deadly one, since no ideology should be infused into the gospel. Third, few understand that political ideologies are not neutral, but are, to use a biblical theological category, idolatries. Each one, conservatism included, takes one aspect of created reality and elevates it to a position where it defines the rest of life—making it into a god, a sovereign. (For a thoughtful and fascinating study of this, see Political Visions & Illusions: A Survey and Christian Critique of Contemporary Ideologies by David Koyzis.) And finally, I am convinced that Russell was correct. Thinking is hard, listening is difficult, sorting through competing claims takes time and energy, while skating through life is far easier. So, people tend to read authors they agree with, hang with people like them, and react defensively (angrily, fearfully) when anyone says anything that doesn’t seem to line up with their own prejudices and opinions.
So, knowing that, I try not to be discouraged when I find Christians shutting down conversations. I try to keep from reacting myself, which is hard. Sometimes, I will say something like, “Why does it feel like you don’t really want to listen or talk about this winsomely?” Or, “Do you think Christians should be able to talk about this without it being a hornet’s nest?” I try to be a good listener, and calmly ask good questions. (The calmly part is the hard part, of course.) Sometimes, I just remain silent, knowing that their minds are closed to truth and that they need the gospel far more than they need help thinking about politics.
The saddest part to me in all this is not that your friends are unable to discuss such topics without defensiveness, nor that they misread Skillen, nor even that they are so closed-minded about seeking after truth with others. What is saddest to me is that they are so unsafe to talk to. Margie and I have long prayed our home would be the safest place in Rochester, where people can explore ideas without fear and where they can be themselves without being treated dismissively.
Anyway, be safe, Sue. Not in the sense of keeping out of danger (though I wish that for you, too), but in the sense of being a person who, like Jesus never compromised but with whom people understood they could be with, without having to wear armor. As you do, remember that some walked away from him angrily after stirring up hornet’s nests, too.
And thanks for your kind words.
Several times over the past year a friend has commented that Christians he knows have asked him why I review “worldly music” in Critique and on Ransom’s web site. I wish they would have asked me directly, but they haven’t. So I thought I’d post an answer here in the hope they find it.
I appreciate your question. It represents a desire to be holy, to be set apart from what is sinful. It means you take seriously Paul’s instruction in 1 Corinthians to stay clear of inappropriate relationships in a fallen world. “‘Therefore go out from their midst, and be separate from them,’ says the Lord, ‘and touch no unclean thing; then I will welcome you.’” (6:17). John issues a similar warning. “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him” (1 John 2:15).
Paul defines being separate for the Corinthians by identifying relationships with non-Christians that involve compromise. He asks how God and idols, light and darkness can possibly be mixed. And in his first letter to them Paul explicitly instructed them not to withdraw from non-Christians—he even insisted that it is wrong for us to judge them (1 Corinthians 5:9-13). And when John warns us to not love the world, he is careful to define what he means. “For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world” (1 John 2:16). Notice he doesn’t list things like art, music and culture, but sinful desires. What is worldly is not that which is produced by non-Christians, but the seductive systems of thought and desire that a fallen world erect in rebellion to God’s proper reign as Sovereign. In other words, building something is not wrong; building the tower of Babel was.
In Creation, human beings were made in God’s image (Genesis 1:27), given a mandate to care for and cultivate God’s world (1:28), and when our first parents exercised their creativity in poetry (2:23) and naming God’s creatures (2:20), God was pleased, including Adam’s poem in his Word and refraining from naming the animals himself (2:19). All of Scripture reveals the creativity of God’s people (see, for example, Exodus 35:30-35 and Psalms), and he has graciously told us that even after the Fall the creativity of unbelievers can be appreciated and celebrated because the image of God remains in them (Genesis 4:20-22).
At the Fall, a violent and fatal break occurred. Death and wickedness poured out of the human heart, perverting every relationship, bringing darkness as the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve preferred idols to the true God. How we understand the Fall and it’s relationship to the world we live in makes a great deal of difference. Misunderstand it, and we begin to believe a false gospel.
Think of it this way. Imagine that this list includes all of God’s creation when he called it into existence and declared it good—very good, in fact:
worship
spirituality
family
work
rest
gardening
art
animals
plants
matter
energy
Now we need to ask how the Fall effected that list. There are, by and large, two possible answers. One answer says that what’s wrong is rooted in the very structure of creation. That there is a break between what is secular or worldly on one side and what is spiritual or heavenly on the other. God is pleased with the first, but not the second. In this view, the list looks like this:
worship
spirituality
family
work
rest
gardening
art
animals
plants
matter
energy
In this view, gardening is on the physical not the spiritual side. It’s not exactly sinful to have a garden, but we can make it more pleasing to God if we share the produce with our non-Christian neighbors and use the chance to let them know how to be saved. The same would be true for all secular pursuits—they may not be sinful, per se, but they aren’t on the spiritual side, either.
Now, what I am going to say may surprise or even offend you, but I hope you will consider it carefully. The view I have just explained is not a biblical perspective, but is instead rooted in a neo-pagan Greek view of reality. It is a popular idea among Christians—and has been popular for 2000 years—but that doesn’t make it correct. In a biblical view of things, there is no division between spiritual and physical, between sacred and secular. The biblical perspective is this:
wors hip
spiri tuality
fam ily
wo rk
re st
garde ning
ar t
ani mals
pla nts
mat ter
ene rgy
The Bible teaches us that at the Fall a moral rupture occurred that runs through all of life. There is no sacred/secular division. What is spiritual is not more pleasing to God than what is physical. Evangelism is not more pleasing to God than farming, and reading my Bible is not more spiritual than reading fiction. In the biblical view, although I may desire to worship God in spirit and truth, my worship is always marred by my sinfulness, even if I can’t identify exactly how. And sometimes I can identify how—whether pride in doing it right, or impatience with those who I think pray poorly. All art is thus affected, both music produced by Christians and that produced by non-Christians. In fact, the music produced by Christians may, sadly, exhibit less truth and beauty that music produced by non-Christians.
So, we need to be discerning—about all of life and culture—which is why I review the music I do in Critique and on Ransom’s web site. Just as all truth is God’s truth, all beauty is God’s beauty. The scientist that discovers a cure for rheumatoid arthritis may not be a Christian, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t discovered real truth. Artists like Sigur Ros and Radiohead may not be Christians but that doesn’t mean that they don’t produce hauntingly beautiful music. And since the work of our hands and minds reveal what we really believe about the things that matter most, listening to the music of our culture can help us understand how to engage our neighbors and co-workers with the gospel in a way they might be able to understand.
I know that if you think I review worldly music, what I’ve written here may come as a shock. I am saying you have adopted a perspective—unsuspectingly and perhaps unconsciously—that causes you to misread the Scriptures you love. It’s a very serious matter. The notion that what’s wrong from the Fall is rooted in the structure of creation (a spiritual/physical, sacred/secular divide in life) is properly referred to as the Gnostic heresy. The biblical gospel, in sharp contrast, says that all of life across all of culture, lived to God’s glory and under Christ’s Lordship, is equally pleasing to God. This is really very important—a Gnostic faith is not the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Much more needs to be said, to make a compelling case for what I am saying, but this is a post on a blog not a book. So let me recommend three books worth reading:
Being Human: The Nature of Spiritual Experience by Jerram Barrs and Ranald Macaulay (IVP). These two former L’Abri workers address the question of a sacred/secular dichotomy in detail, carefully moving through the Scriptures and showing how neo-pagan thought has sadly infiltrated Christian circles.
Unfashionable: Making a Difference in the World by Being Different by Tullian Tchividjian (forthcoming from Multnomah). The grandson of Billy and Ruth Graham explores in careful detail what it means to be separate from the world, and the difference it makes.
Art and the Bible by Francis Schaeffer (IVP). A short booklet that introduces a distinctly biblical understanding of art and culture.
Please read them, and reflect on what I have written. It would be far better if we had a chance to talk, so I can be certain I know what you mean by your question. If I misunderstand what you meant, please let me know. But if behind your notion of “worldly music” is the idea that art is less important than, say, missions, that pursuing spiritual things like evangelism is more pleasing to God that doing something physical, like art, or that the music of non-Christians is intrinsically something of the world we must withdraw from, please hear me. Your entire understanding of Christian spirituality is less than biblical, and the gospel you profess is perverted with Gnostic elements.
It’s not, in the end, an issue of what music we like or happen to listen to. It’s a matter of what gospel we profess.
Not too far outside Rochester, in clear view as we drive past on the highway, is a commercial diary enterprise. It produces a prodigious amount of milk. What is missing is the pastoral scene that usually comes to mind when we think of a dairy farm. There are no dairy cows grazing in a green pasture ranging over slightly rolling hills. The reason is that in this factory the cows never leave their stalls. Day and night, week after week, the cows stand in long lines, each tethered to a stall that they will leave only when they die. Their food is brought to them with an efficiency that could only be developed by engineers that know to fine tune machinery to never miss a beat. The stalls are kept clean by more technology, numerous men in huge tractors and trucks circling the long barns in a steady mechanical ballet. The cows don’t live as long as those that are allowed to live more normally. But the economics of production take that into account—in this sort of dairy factory, the shortened lives of the cows is just part of the cost of doing business. The milk that ends up in grocery stores is saturated with antibiotics, needed to keep the cattle from illness because they are crammed into such close quarters. Similar commercial farm enterprises raise hogs, chickens, sheep, and turkeys in similar conditions.
Huge feedlots fatten beef cattle on corn in crowded pens devoid of plants and thick with excrement. We passed numerous feedlots this autumn as we drove between Minnesota and Colorado this autumn, each time praying the wind would carry the stench away from us. You can’t smell the antibiotics, but it’s easy to understand why more are needed at this stage of production.
I realize there are arguments in favor of this approach to producing food. Cattle fattened on corn yield marbled meat that most people prefer in taste. More important, the systematic application of engineering standards of efficiency allows fewer people to produce much larger quantities of meat and milk. Advances in technology allow new approaches to farming that increase production at lower cost. In a world like ours, still haunted by hunger, such things are not insignificant. And with the recent turmoil in the world of finance, I suspect that arguments involving higher food costs and increased governmental regulation will not be applauded by a lot of good people.
Still, I find these developments in commercial farming to be an occasion for grief. I am not a vegetarian, but as a Christian I am committed to the biblical teaching that cows, chickens, pigs, sheep, and turkeys are my fellow creatures in a world God has made and sustains by his word. The cultural mandate of Genesis 1:28—a mandate we live under as we walk our days before the face of the Creator—is to cultivate God’s good earth. To care for it tenderly as his stewards, for it remains his. To mistreat it is to mistreat him and to be dismissive of our calling to be faithful. To mistreat animals is to demean their Maker.
Deciding to eat locally grown, organically produced meat, egg, and dairy products has increased our food costs a little. I do not regret that decision. I realize that every family may not be able to afford to do the same. So be it. I am not interested in promoting new legalisms. I also realize that trying to change commercial farming will likely involve governmental action, and that is not always a completely happy prospect. Nor do I wish to anthropomorphize the fate of farm animals. As creatures we are fellow creatures; as human beings, unlike them we are made in God’s image. That’s a real difference, and it matters.
I do want to argue, however, that Christians take creation seriously. And that includes treating our fellow creatures with the dignity and care that is intrinsic to their natures as part of the gloriously interconnected world that God called into existence. Though ruined by brokenness it need not include mistreating fellow creatures because of greed.
One place to begin is to read two books, one fairly old, the other new: Pollution and the Death of Man (1970) by Francis Schaeffer, and The Omnivore’s Dilemma (2007) by Michael Pollan. I recommend them both.
