On Poetry (Or, Brief Thoughts Awaiting Expansion)

Poetry is an effect where the cause is an encounter with a "numinous other," i.e., a reality other than what is empirically provable. This encounter may be localized within physical objects and places (nature, buildings, people, etc.) or abstracts and emotions (moments of joy, sorrow, love, hate, beauty, revulsion, hope, despair, etc.) or, as often is the case, a coalition of the two. Regardless, those things serve as mediums for the numinous other. We feel as though there is something greater behind them, that they are something more than themselves, something more to themselves. All humans desire (if they are truly awake and alive at the moment) the words to give utterance to this encounter, but only the poet actually finds the words. Therefore, poetry is the utterance of an encounter with the numinous other.

Mere rhyme and meter are not enough to make poetry. As a child I was often asked to make "poems" on the spot, which meant I was to make a simple yet adorable rhyme scheme based on something like the attribute(s) of a flower or a person. Such creations, though childishly sweet, are not poetry, for they do not venture past the subject/object of its consideration. There is no penetration to the other side of things. Talking about a flower (and rhyming it with "shower") is not poetry; giving expression to the numinous quality suddenly encountered within/behind a flower is.

The mere listing of maxims is not poetry either. I am sick to death of lines and lines of various yet somewhat interconnected commands and interrogatives strung together like stacked sentences. A poem is not a command; it is an expression. It shows rather than preaches. Its instruction is experiential rather than factual. Its only "commands" in the sense of incantation or enchantment, i.e., it has captured within its utterance (like fireflies in a jar) the numinous other of its encounter, and its recitation brings that quality(ies) bubbling up to the surface of reality yet again. In such a sense, its expressions are revelations, and the poet is a prophet of what they have seen and heard. What the poem expresses in these moments of revelation may very well be true (or a truer expression of the truth), but in such cases the hearer is blessed without preaching.

-Jon Vowell (c) 2009

Art (and other things) as the Continuance of the Incarnation

"Surely I will not come into the chamber of my house, nor go up into my bed. I will not give sleep to my eyes, or slumber to my eyelids, until I find out a place for the Lord, a dwelling place for the mighty God of Jacob." Ps. 132:3-5

The desire of David expressed here should be the desire of us all, i.e., to give the Almighty a residence amongst men. Having been indwelt by the living God (II Cor. 6:16-18), it should be our goal (whether in preaching or evangelism, art or service) to manifest in our mortal flesh the God who is there. Our lives (regardless of our personality or talents, occupations or preoccupations) are to be a continuation of the Incarnation. Too often our words and witness, our worship and work, are about the manifestation of maxims and moral lessons, or (perhaps what is worse) ourselves. As good as maxims and morals may be, they are not the best thing, the needful thing. What people need is not platitudes, but rather a holy God and His forgiveness; and if that is not what we are manifesting in whatsoever our hands find to do, then we are merely wasting time.
"Sir, we would see Jesus," said the Greeks to Philip at Passover (John 12:20-21). That is the key: to make Jesus "see-able". As temples of the Holy Ghost (I Cor. 6:19-20), all that God is is ours, and we are being transformed into His holiness (II Cor. 3:12-18; I Pet. 1:13-16), into Christ-likeness, which is God-likeness. Such an internal activity cannot and should not be hid, but we try anyway. What bushel is there that we have not tried to utilize in hiding the light of God within us? Some even have been utilized in the name of making the light brighter! Oh, how we fail! But grace is greater; grace is constant; and grace will not be satisfied until the work is finished (Phil. 1:6). And herein is the work: to build a dwelling place for the mighty God, to make the place where men can see Him face to face. Whatever we say (from the pulpit or the streets), whatever we do (from the feeding of the poor to the writing of the poem), all is to be done for the glorification and manifestation of God to men.

-Jon Vowell

REthink "The Nature of Christian Art" (Or, The Necessity of Beauty; Or, The Perilous Balance)

In a previous post, I asserted that Christian art must not distract the reader with itself (or anything else), but must serve as a signpost pointing to God. Art is necessary for us to conceive of the Truth, and thus if it distracts us with itself (or anything else) then its purpose has been defeated. I still hold to these propositions; however, after reading Lewis' An Experiment in Criticism, I feel that I must add some amendments.
In a chapter titled "On Misreading by the Literary," Lewis makes a distinction between art and knowledge: art is a structured work ordered in a specific way while knowledge is mere facts and information. Both are made "out of the stuff of life," but the former is an "addition to life" while the latter is a "comment on life." Within making this distinction, Lewis chastises those who view "art" as a medium of knowledge, who expect of artists "what was the work of the philosophers and theologians," i.e., to "teach" us "truths about life." In brief, such people want art to mean rather than be. Lewis asserts that if we view an artist's work as a philosophy or moral rather than simply art, then we do a great disservice to the artist; for the artist's skill and spirit is in the beauty of the work and not the truth it can recommend.
Such a distinction, and consequent dichotomy, seems unfair of Lewis. After all, do we not, in addition to enjoying the beauty of the art, "learn" something from it? Is it not true that it is rather impossible to view an artist devoid of and/or separated from their own beliefs and ideas, and thus is it not equally impossible to view their art as equally devoid of and/or separated from those beliefs and ideas? Didn't Lewis' own works (esp. Narnia and the Space Trilogy) reflect his own beliefs and ideas as well as being good literature? Again in brief, must art only be and not mean; can it not be both beautiful and true? The answer that Lewis gives is what has lead me to rethink my previous post on the nature of Christian art.
If we look to a work solely for Truth that it may or may not contain, then we do no wrong. However, if we do that, then we are no longer viewing the work as a work of art; for art is about order and structure, design and plan, "putting the pieces together," and thus is fundamentally about beauty, and not truth. Therefore, the primary question that we should ask is not "Is it true?" but rather "Is it beautiful?"
Do not misunderstand: the question of truth is valuable and necessary, but only as a secondary question. In the world of art, Truth is a corollary to Beauty, not the other way around. If the question of beauty is not answered, then the question of truth is meaningless; and if the question of beauty is answered in the negative, then the question of truth is moot. This is because if a work fails in beauty, then it cannot (as art) serve as a vehicle for truth (or any other message). If the work is no good, then whatever message that it contains dies with it.
It is on that point that contemporary Christianity fails, not only in regards to its own "art" but also the art of others. Take The Golden Compass for example: when this atheistic children's work hit theaters, Christian groups were so radically up in arms about fighting against the movie's message that they failed to address whether or not it was even a good film. Those few who did (or tried to) were either ignored or scorned as traitors to the Faith. Nevertheless, it was the traitors who were right, for the film (as a film) was terrible, and as such its message was lost, its presence forgotten, its impact non-existent.
In regards to its own art, contemporary Christianity fails miserably precisely because of the same problem: a Christian author today is asked to primarily present the gospel rather than primarily write a good novel. This is the point where we all get tripped up. Giving primacy to the presentation of the gospel sounds holy on paper, but no one seems to realize that if a work of art is (at best) average or (at worst) insipid as art, then whatever "message" that it may contain will be (at best) lost or (at worst) marginalized. This is why it seems that Christian art and artists no longer impact or influence the culture and its people: they have been taught to sacrifice Beauty for Truth, only to realize too late that both sail on the same ship, and thus both have gone down in the same wreck. In the realm of art, Beauty is necessary in order for Truth to be realized. If we want our art to carry Truth, then we must strive to make our art beautiful. If your goal is strict evangelism, then you had best write a sermon. If, however, you want to write a novel (or anything else), then you had better set yourself to study what good art is. Once again in brief, the Christian artist is one who has the Bible in one hand (preferably their right) and Shakespeare in the other.
This amendment adds to my previous thoughts, and in doing so makes the whole prospect of being a Christian artist just that much more challenging. As Christians, it is our very purpose to glorify God in word and in deed. Whether in proclamation or reflection, we are to let God (and Christ) be known. On the other hand, as artists, we must strive for beauty in our work; it must not be an afterthought, given second-hand garments to wear. Thus is the perilous balance: to create works of beauty that lead beyond themselves to the living God who is there.

-Jon Vowell

The Nature of Christian Art (so I think)

I have written on worship lately on one of my other blogs (here and here), and those musings have got me thinking on the subject of Christianity and art. I made a point in both of those entries of noting that much modern worship is idolatrous because of its incorrect utilization of and focus on stage performance and its overt focus on individual subjectivity. I counter this mode of worship with the claim that, though our subjectivity is important, it must be bound to (and thus subservient to) the objectivity of God (i.e., who He is and what He has done and will do; His character and His actions). I do not doubt the sincerity of modern worshippers or worship leaders, but much of the stage performances that pass as "worship" serve only to distract us from the God who is to be the center of our worship. We often walk away saying, "That was a great show/performance," or "That made me feel refreshed/revitalized/empowered/etc.," rather than saying "God is so good/great/holy/loving/righteous/etc." (or if we do say that, what we mean is that Him being good/holy/etc. is contingent upon us enjoying the show and/or feeling refreshed/etc.). Older (more medieval) Christianity understood that all things are to point us towards God, and the less distractions, the better.
That has lead me to think about this: Plato (in Republic) trashed on poets and performers because (1) they are liars, or (2) if they speak any truth, they are too many steps removed from the Truth, and thus will distract their listeners from the Truth. It works like this: there is the Truth (the Form of the Good/God/Reality/etc.), then there are imitations/copies of the Truth (books/speeches about the Truth), then there are imitators of the imitations (poets and performers), and then imitators of the imitators of the imitations, etc. The farther along you go, the farther from the Truth you get as each layer of imitations/imitators could serve to distract from the Truth itself. However, that raises an important question: is Plato right that this possibility of distraction necessarily means that all imitations/imitators are bad?
The answer, of course, is no. We cannot conceive of the Truth as we are (viz., fallen and finite), and thus we need "imitations/imitators" that are of the Truth to point us in the right direction. It is true that each imitation can serve as a distraction, but that does not change the fact that the Truth is a part of them in some way, shape, or form. The issue is whether or not it points its audience back to itself (and thus becomes a distraction) or points outside of itself to something else (i.e., the Truth). Therefore, it is not the thing itself that is wrong, but rather the thing that it drives our focus towards. The same can be said of worship, which is supposed to drive our focus away from ourselves and towards God. That much worship today looks like a performances piece does not make it bad per se. That much worship today, in being a performance piece, distracts our focus away from God and to itself (or what it worse, to ourselves), is bad.
The same can be said of art, and my fellow Christian artists must be in constant prayer over this. At all cost, our works must never distract our audience with itself (or ourselves, or themselves). It must be a sign post that points to God. It is His quality and character that must ultimately be felt in the end, not the skill of the artist or the feelings of the audience. This, of course, is a matter of prayer and submission, not nit-pickyness and paranoia (remember how to write). However, we must be reminding ourselves always that our purpose is to make others aware of Truth; to guide them (whether they be believers or not) away from us and themselves to the God who is there.

(Addendum: Note amendment to these thoughts in a later post)

-Jon Vowell

Artistic Musings: Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

That there is a "time" for every "purpose" makes one doubt whether or not anything is truly 'outside' of the pattern, outside the whole. Everything, from that which we desire (birth, healing, laughter, love, etc.) to that which we abhor (death, killing, weeping, hate, etc.), all is a part of the pattern, the music, the tapestry of God.

Perhaps (just perhaps) we err when we say (or when we suppose to say) that God 'controls' everything, the image usually being that He grapples everything to the ground and dominates it with his foot on its neck. Answer me this: does God 'control' all things as victor over loser, or as master over composition? Is the glory of God's sovereignty the immutability of his iron fist or the beauty of His flowing hand? To put it on a (somewhat) more personal level, is God merely the tyrant of the universe, or is he my mother at the piano, whose fingers flow so smoothly and seamlessly over the keys that artist and instrument seem absolutely one in being and purpose?

Perhaps God gave us art so that we could understand Him better, not only in capturing those beatific revelations of Himself, but also in understanding that He deals with the universe of space and time (and consequently its inhabitants) as does an artist with their magnum opus. God is 'in control' in that all the beauties of His work (though some beauties look ugly when focused on solely themselves) spring forth from Himself, for in Him we live and move and have our being.

The Secret to Writing a Story

There is a scene from the movie Desperado that has stuck in my mind for years. Near the beginning of the film, Antonio Banderas character instructs a small boy on how to play a guitar. He tells the boy how (obviously) there are two hands involved in playing a guitar: the hand that strums the strings and makes the sound, and the hand that holds the strings and makes the chord. Antonio motions to the chord hand and tells the boy, "Forget about this hand," and instructs him to concentrate only on strumming. This scene reminded me of how my dad (who plays the guitar) told me to actually do the opposite: forget about the strumming hand and concentrate on the chord hand. In either case, the lesson is the same: there are two parts involved in making this art, and in order to do this art correctly, you must concentrate on one part at a time.

The same is true with the art of writing a story (and even writing in general). There are two parts to writing a story. One part is writing the story, i.e., getting the whole amalgamated menagerie of images, people, places, and events out of your head and onto paper. The other part is shaping the story, i.e., honing what you've written into a fine piece of literature. The first part is to write; the second part is to write well. The problem most people have in trying to write a story is that they try to do both of these parts at the same time. While trying to pour forth their soul through ink and paper, they keep distracting themselves with thoughts of using images, shaping themes, developing characters, and so forth. This can lead to a story being grounded before it ever truly takes off.

I speak from experience here. Many of my latest stories never seemed to go anywhere because the whole time I was writing them I was constantly saying, "What does that mean?" "How is the theme developed?" "What is the purpose of that character(s)? that place(s)? that event(s)? that image(s)?" My story writing was stagnant because of this, until I realized that those questions were to be asked when you are shaping the story, not writing it, and that shaping and writing were two totally different parts of a story's creation. Once I grasped that, I sat down and pounded out a new story, and the results were immediate and amazing. There was a freedom and flow to the whole process that had been absent before, and I found myself actually desiring to write on it more and more as the days went by. Compared to my old story writing style, the difference was like night and day.

The secret to avoiding the unfortunate calamity of grounded (and therefore lost) stories is the secret of guitar playing: forget about this hand, i.e., forget about the "shaping" part and concentrate solely on the "writing" part. However, unlike guitar playing (where you can forget and focus on either hand), in story writing, you write the story first and shape second. Without the written story, then there is nothing to shape. Try and shape while you write, and you will ground out and lose your story. Write it and then shape it, however, and it will come as natural as breathing.

Such concentration is truly a discipline. You may find (as I did) that you are constantly battling your own mind as it furiously tries to analyze and categorize your story in the midst of writing it. Such inclinations must be pushed under if your story is to survive, and that will take some effort. At all cost, while you write, you must put all "shaping" thoughts out of your mind. Just write the stupid thing; get it out of your head and on paper. Do not worry about characters, settings, events, and images while you write; just write. The "analyzing" and "worrying" part will come later; right now, what matters is that the story is merely written. Later on, you will concentrate on writing it well.

Francis Schaeffer on Christian Imagination

From Mr. Schaeffer's book He is There and He is Not Silent:

"I live in a thought world which is filled with creativity; inside my head there is creative imagination. Why? Because God, who is the Creator, has made me in His own image, [and] I can go out in imagination beyond the stars. This is true not only for the Christian, but for every person. Every person is made in the image of God; therefore, no person in his or her imagination is confined to his or her own body. Going out in our imagination, we can change something of the form of the universe as a result of our thought world--in our painting, in our poetry, or as an engineer, or a gardener. Is that not wonderful? I am there, and I am able to impose the results of my imagination on the external world.
"But notice this: Being a Christian and knowing [that] God has made the external world, I know that there is an objective external reality and that there is that which is imaginary. I am not uncertain that there is an external reality which is distinct from my imagination. The Christian is free; free to fly, because he has a base upon which he need not be confused between his fantasy and the reality which God has made. We are free to say, 'This is imagination.' [...] As a Christian I have the epistemology that enables me not to get confused between what I think and what is objectively real. The modern generation does not have this, and this is the reason why some young people are all torn up in these areas. But Christians should not be torn up here.
"Thus the Christian may have fantasy and imagination without being threatened. Modern man cannot have daydreams and fantasy without being threatened. The Christian should be the person who is alive, whose imagination absolutely boils, which moves, which produces something a bit different from God's world because God made us to be creative."

Solzhenitsyn on Art and Literature

The following is the first section of the late Alexander Solzhenitsyn's 1970 Nobel Prize Lecture. After you have whetted your appetite here, I suggest you go and read the whole thing. His thoughts on the role of art and literature are amazing to read and necessary to know:

Just as that puzzled savage who has picked up - a strange cast-up from the ocean? - something unearthed from the sands? - or an obscure object fallen down from the sky? - intricate in curves, it gleams first dully and then with a bright thrust of light. Just as he turns it this way and that, turns it over, trying to discover what to do with it, trying to discover some mundane function within his own grasp, never dreaming of its higher function.
So also we, holding Art in our hands, confidently consider ourselves to be its masters; boldly we direct it, we renew, reform and manifest it; we sell it for money, use it to please those in power; turn to it at one moment for amusement - right down to popular songs and night-clubs, and at another - grabbing the nearest weapon, cork or cudgel - for the passing needs of politics and for narrow-minded social ends. But art is not defiled by our efforts, neither does it thereby depart from its true nature, but on each occasion and in each application it gives to us a part of its secret inner light.
But shall we ever grasp the whole of that light? Who will dare to say that he has DEFINED Art, enumerated all its facets? Perhaps once upon a time someone understood and told us, but we could not remain satisfied with that for long; we listened, and neglected, and threw it out there and then, hurrying as always to exchange even the very best - if only for something new! And when we are told again the old truth, we shall not even remember that we once possessed it.
One artist sees himself as the creator of an independent spiritual world; he hoists onto his shoulders the task of creating this world, of peopling it and of bearing the all-embracing responsibility for it; but he crumples beneath it, for a mortal genius is not capable of bearing such a burden. Just as man in general, having declared himself the centre of existence, has not succeeded in creating a balanced spiritual system. And if misfortune overtakes him, he casts the blame upon the age-long disharmony of the world, upon the complexity of today's ruptured soul, or upon the stupidity of the public.
Another artist, recognizing a higher power above, gladly works as a humble apprentice beneath God's heaven; then, however, his responsibility for everything that is written or drawn, for the souls which perceive his work, is more exacting than ever. But, in return, it is not he who has created this world, not he who directs it, there is no doubt as to its foundations; the artist has merely to be more keenly aware than others of the harmony of the world, of the beauty and ugliness of the human contribution to it, and to communicate this acutely to his fellow-men. And in misfortune, and even at the depths of existence - in destitution, in prison, in sickness - his sense of stable harmony never deserts him.
But all the irrationality of art, its dazzling turns, its unpredictable discoveries, its shattering influence on human beings - they are too full of magic to be exhausted by this artist's vision of the world, by his artistic conception or by the work of his unworthy fingers.
Archaeologists have not discovered stages of human existence so early that they were without art. Right back in the early morning twilights of mankind we received it from Hands which we were too slow to discern. And we were too slow to ask: FOR WHAT PURPOSE have we been given this gift? What are we to do with it?
And they were mistaken, and will always be mistaken, who prophesy that art will disintegrate, that it will outlive its forms and die. It is we who shall die - art will remain. And shall we comprehend, even on the day of our destruction, all its facets and all its possibilities?
Not everything assumes a name. Some things lead beyond words. Art inflames even a frozen, darkened soul to a high spiritual experience. Through art we are sometimes visited - dimly, briefly - by revelations such as cannot be produced by rational thinking.
Like that little looking-glass from the fairy-tales: look into it and you will see - not yourself - but for one second, the Inaccessible, whither no man can ride, no man fly. And only the soul gives a groan.