People,

I've been debating whether to keep this blog going. It's become fairly publicly read, at times, and I've been baffled as to how much of myself to share. But, I think that if I exert myself with a bit more diligence, I can find a way to still entertain/inform you and enjoy myself in the process.

I've been rereading "Atlas Shrugged" and find myself a bit bored this time around. I was initially hopeful to explore her moral philosophy in detail and look for elements that seem common in today's world. This has occurred, to some degree, and I've a feeling that I only need to press on and not grow weary, but I've just reached the point where I realize that this book is long. My favorite character, Hank Rearden, has just had his golden moment of (this time) moral triumph by naming the moral premise they operate under and confronting his wife, Lillian.

Hank, is an interesting character to me because of his commitment to justice. Everyone he knows--aside from Dagny and Francisco--lives under the most shamefully easy and destructive of patterns. Their morals are a sort of loose dedication to consumption and moral superiority. I suppose it's sadism, actually. Regardless, he has his own beliefs that worship the noble and beautiful in man. To him, this looks like man's ability to construct, produce, create and manifest. His sole lacking attribute, in Rand's opinion, is the capacity to enjoy life.

The drama in his character comes from the decision to live by his own principles, whilst respecting the principles of the world, as well. In this we see the tension; the cold, lonely, day after day disintegration of a man who is a truly a foreigner and alien in his home, his land, his job and his profession. His people live through a different set of values, and here Rand shows just how deeply values underpin our lives.

Our values and premises are our operating systems, to borrow the imagery. They interpret that which we come into contact with. Just as you might imagine the problems an Apple computer would have running a program that was written for Windows, so Rearden finds difficulty with respecting the world's beliefs and maintaining respect for himself.

For the two systems are diametrically opposed. One says that to enjoy sex and the fruit of one's labor is wrong and the other says it is right. One says that we are obligated to sacrifice our happiness for others and the other says that to sacrifice one's happiness is to sacrifice one's self. One says that we sin daily, hourly and against everyone else; the other says that to sin against others is not possible. Rather, the only sins possible are those that can be done against one's self.

Regardless of the content of these two systems, the thing that draws me to Rearden is his immense fortitude in withstanding this tension. He stands, as Atlas did, bearing a weighty burden and refuses to shrug it off. I won't spoil the ending but suffice it to say that he eventually finds some sort of relief from this burden.

My position is not so fortunate, as yet. I live and serve the Lord with my mind but also serve my flesh. As Paul writes in the somewhat confusing seventh chapter of Romans:

"For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members."

I too experience a tension, as Rearden did. While I wish to abstain from what God says is sin, my flesh wishes me to partake in it, and I am torn betwixt the two desires. Indeed, one is clearly a desire and the other is more of a desire to desire, or an obligation. This is one of the better segments that I admire of the novel and, now that it is finished, it is one of the greater reasons I have to not want to go on.

H.R. Rookmaaker is one of the men who awes me. Below is a paper that David Bruce Hegeman wrote on Rookmaaker. I don't know David but the paper looked good so I'm going to repost it here in lieu of a post of my own. The original link is at Yurica Report, linked here.

[Yurica Report Editor's Note: This essay will introduce the reader to the cultural war in art. It brings two clashing concepts face to face: Should art be Christian? Should Picasso be replaced by Georges Rouault? In fact, the issue is one of dominance. Who's art shall reign supreme in our world? The author of this article champions Christian art. He makes H. R. Rookmaaker his hero. But Rookmaaker praises Rouault's work over Picasso's because Rouault painted prostitutes and judges the way he wants prostitutes and judges to be seen. Rookmaaker says Rouault's prostitutes "are symbols for prostitution, for cheap love for sale, for the depravity of his time. His judges are akin to those of Daumier: they stand for the corrupt courts of his time. He prophesies against the times in which he lives." (From Modern Art and the Death of Culture by H. R. Rookmaaker.) Rookmaaker calls Picasso a "true nihilist." He says of Picasso, "He can believe anything, look at things in as many ways as he likes, for everything is possible, even if they are mutually exclusive or contradictory, for there is no one true way." For Rookmaaker, there is only one true way: Christian art. While Rookmaaker hates sentimentality, "Rouault has shown what it means to believe in God and to love man in this age." The question is will the "Christian" view prevail? This essay by David Bruce Hegeman will show the inroads Christian Dominionism has made in art.

To see Katherine Yurica's response click here.]

From Comment Magazine

Clashing Cultures: Christian Art vs. Secular Art

 

The Importance of Hans Rookmaaker

In Art and in the Life of Francis Schaeffer

November 2004 - V. 22 I. 9

by David Bruce Hegeman

 

Theology and the Fine Arts

My first interest in theology and the fine arts (both as individual disciplines and their interaction) first emerged in the late 1970s. It was my freshman year in college. By God's generous provision, I was provided a mentor—an understanding Intervarsity staff worker—who patiently helped me to see that the Christian faith is intellectually sound and that the study of any academic subject (art included) could be glorifying to God because every good thing was created by our heavenly Father and could be used to serve him.

God also brought me into a robust Christian community—a Covenanter church located in Pittsburgh's East Side—who not only reinforced the idea of the Lordship of Christ in all areas of life, but who lived it. I was privileged to see Francis Schaeffer at a screening of his How Should We Then Live? film series and hear him challenge me and the rest of the gathering that our Christian faith must direct what we did in the workplace. I was able to attend some of the first Jubilee conferences (sponsored by Coalition for Christian Outreach) in downtown Pittsburgh and heard for the first time fellow believers talk about a distinctly Christian understanding of the arts and aesthetics. These were exciting times for me. But for the most part, I had no idea how exceptional my circumstances were.

I was first introduced to Christian thinking on the arts by Schaeffer's Escape from Reason. This "little" book chronicled the gradual deterioration of Western culture as it left its biblical foundation and grew more secularized, pagan, and irrational. Schaeffer used the arts, literature, and examples from history to demonstrate this shift in worldview. The idea that culture reveals the beliefs and values of its makers was brand new to me. It was as if a light was suddenly switched on in the room that I had been living in all my life. For the first time I could really see the culture I was living in for what it was: the vast and varied products of materialism, pleasure-seeking, unfounded optimism, and despair.

It became obvious to me (and many of my believing friends) that a Christian alternative to this bankrupt culture had to be established. Many a mealtime and late-night discussion centred on how to bring this about. Exactly what would Christian art look like? We didn't have a clue how to do this. But we ambled ahead anyway, excited by the prospects.

The number of readily available books to help fledgling Christian artists and art historians in this quest could be counted on one hand. Besides the portions of the two or three books by Francis Schaeffer which analyzed art as a barometer of the philosophical climate of the West (and the film series which did the same), my mentor late gave me Schaeffer's booklet Art and the Bible where I saw for the first time that it was possible to apply biblical principles to art making. I also remember thumbing through an intriguing book owned by an artist friend by a Dutchman named Rookmaaker. Modern Art and the Death of a Culture surveyed Western art history from a Christian perspective and even had pictures. Another fellow church member gave me a copy of an obscure slim book by Calvin Seerveld, A Christian Critique of Art and Literature (which sadly was way over my head!).

A turning point in my life came in 1979. A speaker at a meeting suggested I read Rookmaaker's brand new book Art Needs No Justification. I bought it the next day. Though less than 100 pages, this book convinced me that more Christians needed to be involved in the arts and that included me.

Even though the resources were scarce, at least we had something. If I had begun my quest 10 years before, the situation would have been very different. The books by Schaeffer, Rookmaaker, and Seerveld would not yet have been published. Schaeffer's revolutionary The God Who Is There and Escape from Reason first appeared in 1968. Rookmaaker's Modern Art and the Death of a Culture came out in 1970. Before then, there was very little readily available on Christianity and the arts, especially from an evangelical perspective. (The lone exceptions were two slim books by Clyde Kilby and Derek Kidner. Few Christian bookstores stocked them.)

Today, the situation could not be more different for young Christian artists. There are several dozen books on art and aesthetics from a Christian perspective currently in print. Even though Christian (and mainstream) bookstores still don't usually stock them, they can be easily obtained through online sources. Christian art fellowships now meet in several large cities in North America and Europe (and many smaller cities as well). There is a professional association of evangelical artists and art historians (CIVA). And there are a handful of Christian commercial galleries that showcase artworks crafted by Christians and scores of churches and Christian-owned coffee shops that also display Christian art.

None of this existed in the mid-1960s. How things have changed since then! What few people realize is that the seeds of this flourishing arts movement began on an otherwise ordinary August evening in Amsterdam some 56 years ago.

A Flourishing Christian Arts Movement & How It Began

Henderik Roelof "Hans" Rookmaaker was born in The Hague in 1922. His father was a colonial administrator in the Dutch Indies (now Indonesia) rising in the ranks to become Resident (regional governor). Henderik, Sr. was also an amateur naturalist of some renown. For most of his early years, Hans lived with his family abroad, returning to the Netherlands permanently in 1936. He attended a technical high school in Leiden and then enrolled at the Royal Netherlands Naval College putting him on a trajectory to become a career officer, or perhaps an engineer or naval architect.

It was during these years in school and college that Hans developed a keen interest in African-American spirituals and jazz. He used every extra penny he earned to add to what became an impressive collection of recordings. But Rookmaaker's life was to radically change with the Nazi invasion of Holland and the tragic events of the Second World War.

After the German authorities closed the Naval College, Hans returned home and attended Delft Technical University until he was arrested in 1941 by the authorities for possession of "seditious" anti-Nazi literature. He spent nine months in nearby Scheveningen Prison, and only five months after his release, he became a prisoner of war since he was still technically a midshipman in the Dutch navy. It was during his first years as a POW in Nuremburg that he began reading the Bible. As he later wrote,

"[T]here were no other books available and, as a cultured man with cultural interests, I thought it would be good to know something about it. As I was reading, I gradually came to the conviction that the Bible reveals the truth to us. . . . The Bible comes to us, and it came to me, with the demand to accept the gospel as a joyful message, God as Father and hence also his Son as Savior. That is not to say that a person, such as I was at that time, pondering everything the Bible was telling me and trying to understand the biblical world picture . . . did not see any problems. On the contrary, I still find it rather striking that at that time I personally experienced a dogmatic struggle, similar to the struggle of the early church, and finally came to a insight that turned out to be called "orthodox biblical Protestant."

Rookmaaker studied his copy of the Bible intensely, filling the margins with notes. He even wrote a brief treatise on the relation between the Old and New Testaments.

A second key event in Rookmaaker's early life was his transfer to Stanislau prison camp in what is now present-day Ukraine, which turned out to be a virtual university. Besides having access to a wide range of books on philosophy and history, and being tutored in Latin and Greek, Hans was introduced to a unique individual, J. P. A Mekkes. Twenty-five years his senior, Mekkes had deep, life-long Reformed convictions and had worked on a doctorate in philosophical law even though he was a career officer in the Dutch army. Mekkes loaned Rookmaaker his copy of Herman Dooyeweerd's De Wijsbegeerte der Wetsidee ( A New Critique of Theoretical Thought) which Rookmaaker devoured. Mekkes became a mentor to Hans and encouraged him to apply the insights of neo-Calvinism—the thought of Abraham Kuyper and Dooyeweerd—to his interest in culture.

Rookmaaker returned to Holland in 1945. He now wanted to study music history (including African-American music—his great love) but could not pursue this subject because he could not play any musical instruments or even carry a tune (both were required). Instead, he took up studies in art history at the University of Amsterdam. He also was baptized into the Liberated Reformed Church (the same denomination that Mekkes was a member) and started a fellowship of Reformed university students in Amsterdam (the VGSA).

At this time, Hans began a long friendship with Anky Huitker who he had met in The Hague before the war. Like Hans, Anky had grown up in a nominally Reformed home. He patiently shared his belief in Christianity with his friend, who gradually came to faith in Christ. They became engaged in 1947. Anky moved to Amsterdam and found a job as a secretary for the organizing committee of the founding assembly of the International Council of Christian Churches (ICCC, a conservative alternative to the World Council of Churches). It was during a visit to Anky's office one summer early evening that Hans met an American delegate to the Council who he hoped could answer some of the questions he had about jazz music. Reverend Francis Schaeffer looked at his watch and said he could spare a half an hour. They ended up talking until four in the morning!

Francis Schaeffer Meets Hans Rookmaaker

This meeting between Francis Schaeffer and Hans Rookmaaker was to have a profound impact on the history of the modern evangelical church. Schaeffer, 10 years older than Rookmaaker, had grown up in an atheistic home near Philadelphia and had become a Christian as a teenager. He had served as a successful pastor of several Bible Presbyterian Churches and had a particular passion for evangelism. His missionary calling had led him to take his wife Edith and their three young daughters to Lausanne, Switzerland to begin a ministry to children. Schaeffer was also a representative of the Independent Board for Presbyterian Foreign Missions, and it was in that capacity that he was present at the ICCC in Amsterdam.

Hans and Francis never ended up talking about American music. Instead, Schaeffer probed the younger art history student on the meaning of modern art, and the two of them pondered together the impact that post-Christian ideas and values had on European art and culture. Schaeffer already had an interest in culture and had begun visiting art museums after arriving in Europe. Rookmaaker might have been the first Christian Schaeffer had ever met who had seriously studied contemporary art and had the philosophical tools (via Dooyeweerd and his reading of philosophy in prison camp) to analyze and critique the arts from a biblical perspective. It turned out they both had a strong common interest in the relationship between art and Christianity and immediately became close, lifelong friends. Later, after Schaeffer had established L'Abri in the village of Humoz, Switzerland in 1955, Rookmaaker was a frequent visitor and lecturer to the Swiss community. Hans and Anky opened a Dutch branch of L'Abri in 1971.

It would appear that Rookmaaker and Schaeffer each had a profound influence on the subsequent career of the other. Rookmaaker helped Schaeffer to see the impact that the loss of faith had on contemporary European art and music. Dooyeweerd had recently published a series of newspaper articles (later published as The Roots of Western Culture) that demonstrated how philosophy had impacted contemporary culture. Rookmaaker may well have had this in mind (and other similar ideas from the Reformational thinkers at Amsterdam's Free University (VU)) as he discussed art and culture with his American brother. (The VU was founded by Abraham Kuyper in 1880 and was the home of Herman Dooyeweerd.)

Rookmaaker later encouraged Schaeffer to publish his unique ideas and insights, which bore amazing fruit. Beginning in 1968, Schaeffer unleashed a barrage of best-selling books on cultural criticism, applied theology, and biblical exegesis. Schaeffer, for his part, steered Rookmaaker away from the theoretical tendencies then common among neo-Calvinists and encouraged him to adopt a more missional approach. He encouraged the Dutchman to apply his scholarly insights in practical ways to help the church. Schaeffer later encouraged Hans to complete his doctorate, which solidified his career as a professor, first at the University of Leiden and later at the VU.

Together, they were a formidable team who pushed the then insular evangelical church in Europe and North America out of its cocoon and into cultural and missional awareness. For the first time in centuries, Christians on a large scale were encouraged to be involved in the arts, science, and politics. They also taught Christians how to confront the post-Christian society with its philosophical inconsistencies and offer the gospel as an alternative of hope.

Christians Urged to Confront the Post-Christian Society and Offer the Gospel in Art

Hans Rookmaaker enjoyed a solid career as a scholar and a professor. While working on his doctorate degree at the University of Amsterdam, he worked as an assistant for professor Henri van der Waal at the University of Leiden. Van der Waal was in the midst of a large scale project to develop a classification system for the subject matter (iconography) of Netherlandish painting (The Decimal Index of Art of the Low Countries or DIAL). He was also assembling a comprehensive set of images to be published on cards that would be organized by subject. It was one of the first attempts to organize a body of art works in this way.

Besides being acquainted with the daily research habits of a cutting-edge art historian, Hans came in contact with an extensive number of art works. Van der Waal's work also brought him face to face with many of the leading art historians in Europe.

Rookmaaker completed his dissertation "Gauguin and Nineteenth-Century Art Theory" (later published as Synthesist Art Theories) in 1959. His choice of a "modern" subject was unusual for the time. But as Laurel Gasque notes in her brief biography on Rookmaaker, he "was convinced by everything he had experienced so far in his life that the crisis of the modern condition, which had reaped chaos and devastation for most of the twentieth century, could be understood through modern art, which presented a way of disclosing what was at stake in assuming the validity of modernity's presuppositions."

Rookmaaker's thesis grew out of the ideas of another Dutch Reformed thinker, Groen van Prinsterer, who wrote a brilliant analysis of the impact of the French Revolution on subsequent European history and thought. For Rookmaaker, unpacking the art and ideas of Gauguin became an opportunity to show how the artist's philosophical beliefs worked themselves out in his art making. As John Walford, one of his art history students at the VU observed:

"Rookmaaker saw the history of art as a direct reflection of the history of philosophy and religion. This seemed quite novel in a critical context that seemed to view art as sequence of stylistic developments. He used to say "A work of art is obvious." To him, the obviousness was a work's philosophic co-ordinates."

This presuppositional approach to art history was later employed on a broader historical scale in Modern Art and the Death of a Culture. The same basic strategy was utilized by Francis Schaeffer in his cultural critiques.

In 1965, Rookmaaker was invited to join the faculty at the Free University of Amsterdam as its inaugural professor of art history. Working at a Christian university sparked something new in his approach to teaching. Before his tenure at the VU, Rookmaaker gave talks at local churches and lectured occasionally at L'Abri, but his time at his new job made him more focused than ever on the need of Christian students to be encouraged to work through the challenges of understanding art from a Christian perspective.

Besides his students at the VU (many of which he recruited to join him from England and the United States), Rookmaaker began a series of regular trips to England to give talks to students at art schools. He also taught summer courses at Regent College in Vancouver beginning in 1970 and made several tours through the United States speaking at Christian Colleges and Intervarsity college fellowships about art, contemporary music, culture, and the faith.

Rookmaaker was intense and tireless in his teaching of art history to his VU students. Paul Clowney, who studied with Rookmaaker from 1972 to 1976, recalls that the most important session was a weekly trip to the RijksMuseum in the morning before it opened to the public.

"We would spend several hours looking at one picture. I got very restless the first time, but soon came to appreciate the way such a focus enables a "slow release" of value. Rookmaaker was very good at asking difficult questions. It was always a hunt for meanings beneath style, and quite stimulating."

Rookmaaker would usually begin with an obvious question, such as "What are you looking at?" He would then steer his students to observe various aspects of the work. Linette Martin, in her biography of Rookmaaker, recounts about one time that he had his students methodically study a single painting for several days! One of his favourite sayings was, "you see what you know." Only by the patient scrutiny of an art work—getting to know each of its details and qualities and the view of reality that was communicated by the artist—could one accurately see the art work for what it truly was. In addition to the regular museum sessions, traditional lectures, and seminars, Rookmaaker's greatest impact may have come at the regular evening discussions he hosted. Clowney fondly remembers that students interested in Christianity and the arts had fortnightly meetings in Rookmaaker's home. There was quite a lot of homework associated with these sessions. We talked about the place of aesthetics in culture, perceptions of the arts in the church, iconography and more. The modest sitting room was dominated by Rookmaaker's huge jazz and blues record collection—mostly original 78s. After a session he would often play a record (the amplifier was connected to the tiny speaker in his TV—"This sounds scratchy because so many people have danced on it," he would say.)

Mary Leigh Morbey, another VU student, remembers that "Hans emphasized learning together in Christian community, with respect and care of others in one's community(ies). I continue to work and live as a scholar with this Christian philosophical approach to all that I do."

Though he only taught at the VU for 12 years, many of his students went on to have productive careers in academia and the art world. John Walford (quoted above) is professor of art history at Wheaton College and published a major study of the Dutch landscape painter Jacob Ruisdael and the survey Great Themes in Art. Other students who became professors include Graham Birtwistle, who joined Rookmaaker on the faculty of the Free University (an expert in the COBRA art movement); William Dyrness at Fuller Seminary, who has published several books on the interaction of art and theology, including Rouault: A Vision of Suffering and Salvation and Visual Faith: Art, Theology, and Worship in Dialogue; and Mary Leigh Morbey, who has taught at Redeemer University College in Ontario and now is professor of culture and technology at York University in Toronto. Another one of Rookmaaker's art history students, Lee Hendrix, has had a distinguished career as Curator of Drawings at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles.

Rookmaaker's Influence on Artists

Perhaps the most profound impact Rookmaaker had was on the generation of artists he came in contact with during the 1960s and 1970s. Though trained as a scholar, Hans never lost sight of the practical application of his knowledge. Early in his career, he was an art critic for the Christian newspaper Trouw. This experience brought him into regular contact with the latest art trends and challenged him to communicate and analyze contemporary art for a non-scholarly audience. He also wrote newspaper articles on popular music (always an interest of Rookmaaker!) and film, and acutely observed other cultural trends, including avant garde literature. His regular discussions with Francis Schaeffer sharpened his cultural understanding even further. This, combined with his art historical training and Reformational roots, made Rookmaaker uniquely qualified to minister to young Christians who were trying to find their way among the artistic Philistines of the day.

Hans Rookmaaker took his show on the road beginning in mid-1960s, invited by the UCCF to speak at English art schools. His ability to connect with art students was astounding. Paul Clowney recollects the first time he heard him lecture before he transferred to the VU:

He lectured with considerable animation about the Rolling Stones, Jackson Pollock, Paris in May 1968 and how perspective in pictures worked like a "spiritual vacuum sucker." It was a slick presentation and unlike anything I was hearing at art school. He talked about big themes and their philosophic underpinnings.

Dressed in a three-piece suit, Rookmaaker looked more like a banker than an art historian. Laurel Gasque then explained that when the lights went down and he started to show slides of great works of art of the past or startling contemporary art and comment on them, his audience was fascinated, whether they agreed with him or not. His lecturing style was highly unusual for a continental professor, as he spoke not from a written manuscript but extemporaneously and with full attentive engagement with his listeners. It was an art form, a performance. Like a Jazz musician playing inventively with themes, he would improvise within a given structure (the lecture topic) with mastery and control, skill and intensity. He would bait and shock, amuse and bemuse.

After his lectures, Rookmaaker would spend hours talking with small groups of students, patiently listening and answering their questions about art-making, contemporary art, or whatever else they wanted to talk about. His advice to artists was to work hard, to learn to be proficient in their chosen craft, to avoid being too comfortable, and above all, to refrain from being preachy or sentimental in their art. (Rookmaaker hated sentimentality.) "Paint what you love!" was his oft-repeated piece of advice. But he generally avoided commenting on a student's art works, a position that made him feel very uncomfortable.

Today there are many Christian artists who are flourishing in their profession in part because of Rookmaaker's patient encouragement. British artists who he mentored include graphic designer and animator Paul Clowney, painter/teachers Peter Smith of the School of Art, Design and Media at Kingston College, Paul Martin of Leith School of Art in Edinburgh and painters Martin and Kate Rose of Sheffield. Another key person Rookmaaker influenced was actor Nigel Goodwin (a close friend of John Walford) who went on to organize the Art Centre Group in London, the first artists fellowship of its kind in the world and a model for several other artist fellowships. American artists Rookmaaker guided include sculptor Ted Prescott of Messiah College and New York artist Chris Anderson. Rookmaaker also inspired an important group of painters in his native country. Members of what has been called the Noordelijke Figuratieven (Northern Figuratives), these include Pit van Loo, Jan van Loon, Henk Helmantel, Rein Pol, Jan van der Scheer, and Jan Zwaan. A traveling exhibition of their work titled "Reality Revisited" was organized in 1982. These artists were remarkable for the high degree of craftsmanship they brought to their work, the clarity of their vision, and the obvious love they showed for God's creation—all values that Rookmaaker cherished.

Rookmaaker's impact on artists can be summed up in the words of Peter Smith. Remembering the Dutchman's first visit to Birmingham College of Art in 1967, he confided that, "I was considering leaving Fine Art for pietist reasons but a late night discussion with Rookmaaker kept me painting." A single evening of faithfulness extended the Kingdom of God just a little bit further. Smith continues, "I now recognize the wisdom in Rookmaaker's approach. In a situation where he felt Christians had not engaged in the arts it was clear we were some way behind and that it would take time, if not generations, to catch up. Solution: get as many Christians engaged as possible. Out of that, by God's grace, something worth while might emerge."

Rookmaker's Magnum Opus: Modern Art and the Death of Culture

Hans Rookmaaker was able to extend his encouragement and ideas even further through the written word. As early as 1962, he wrote a book for fellow church members titled Kunst en Amusement ( Art and Amusement). The book was an invitation for Christians to begin taking art seriously. Parts of this book were later incorporated into his magnum opus Modern Art and the Death of a Culture, which appeared in 1970. There had been nothing else quite like it: a survey of art history and other cultural trends lucidly discussed for a general audience in terms of their philosophical significance. He did not poke fun at modern art but took it seriously and revealed to the reader the pessimistic message it conveyed. The book was an immediate bestseller and was respected in Christian and non-Christian circles. It received reviews in Art News and Esquire and was named one of the Observer Books of the Year by Malcolm Muggeridge.

Modern Art and the Death of a Culture was nothing less than a wise application of Paul's words found in 2 Corinthians 10:3-5: "For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ."

Modern Art Is an Assault on Our Humanity

Gasque observed that for Rookmaaker this was spiritual combat, not simply a matter of aesthetic niceties or opinions. He was attempting to awaken spiritual sleepers to the idea that modern art was not amoral or neutral but loaded with meaning that conveyed an impact on all of us, whether we ever darkened the door of an art museum or not, because it was an assault on our humanity. The implications were not theoretical but were as practical as how we raise our children, elect our leaders or care for the earth's environment.

Regrettably, I did not take the opportunity to see Rookmaaker give a gallery talk at the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh in the winter of 1977. I can't remember why at the time I didn't go to hear him. (At least one of my artist friends did go to hear him.) A few months later, he died at home in the Netherlands. Christendom had lost one of its great champions. Two books by Rookmaaker were published posthumously: Art Needs No Justification in 1978 and The Creative Gift : Essays on Art and the Christian Life in 1981. Art Needs No Justification changed my life. Its simplicity and clarity still amaze me. And it is full of wise advice. (I still think it is the best book on Christianity and the arts ever written.) God used this book to call me to a life of Christian cultural activism. Following Rookmaaker's advice, I have sought to "weep, pray, think and work." May my artist brothers and sisters and I be given the grace to continue to do so to God's glory.

I predict that all kids who do not believe we can know anything will read this post. Why do you care? You are reading because even though you don't believe truth can be truly known? That should not happen. You should not care about knowing truth once you have already decided it cannot be known.

I would argue that the fact that you care belies your satisfaction with the assertion that truth cannot be known. If you are still looking for a credible theory of knowledge, then do not settle for the "unknowableness" you currently carry. Dump it, and continue to search, continue to read my entry.

I should preface my remarks by saying that what I'm about to say will probably sound contradictory and confused. I will do my best to make sense but the nature of my topic makes this difficult. Nevertheless, onward I go.

A recent conversation has pushed the issue of epistemology to the forefront of my mind once again. I start by noting that I am committed to the notion of antithesis. I owe this beginning to Francis Schaeffer. I'm having trouble writing a precise definition of it though and it's crucial to my foundation. I'll venture this: antithesis is the idea that for every proposition there is a correlative contradictory proposition. It is the idea that a proposition (statement) is either true or false. More precisely, it is the idea that a proposition MUST be either true or false. There is no in between. There is no third option. A statement must be true or false. Antithesis.

Schaeffer pointed out that we cannot even think without using antithesis. Our minds naturally call things true or false. Indeed, one cannot even reject antithesis without using antithesis.

Now that I begin by assuming that things are either true or false, I approach the question: how do you know whether something is true or false?

I don't have an answer. Thus, I need to find it.

As Beck plays "Guess I'm doing fine" I feel sad. I mean really sad. People say "It's only a game" but is it? Is that what you say to people when their dog dies? "It's only a dog"? Our team just lost their season. Do we not mourn for that? I can understand if you don't weep but I don't understand you not caring. I don't see how you could watch that game and not care.

I suppose I'm just lashing out at the closest target. I won't be deterred from my final remark though:

That tie doomed us. Never, ever wear a rainbow tie. It's just a bad idea.

No time to write tonight, right?

Consider instead David Paterson's pathological need to beat the press to unearthing every one of his mortal sins. From the doobies to the floozies, clearly, this man earned his place in the world! Opening up hell's closet is touching and all, but really, is there anything this man won't tell us?

The best advice for any job candidate, nervous friend in blind date country or anyone who is doubting him or her self is reflexive: just be yourself.

The idea is that this person has many wonderful characteristics. They are the thing that make this person unique. To forget them, on purpose or not, is neither right nor safe. Such an action would betray one's self and be false. Plus, it's our quirks that make us lovable, right?

The 1 million rejected applicants to eHarmony might disagree. These people applied from the comfort of their own homes, appealing to an impersonal website for an honest opinion.

Now, I must admit that millions have been paired by dating services. Millions more have landed jobs and I think 12 people had successful blind dates.

What we can induce from this is that people possess bad and good traits. Mix your preparation, deception/honesty and charm with all the tenderness one shows a good martini and hope for the best. Basically, we have to try to figure out how to appeal to the interviewer, website or romantic interest and give us ourselves an adrenaline shot of whatever would please the person. That's the best advice I've ever heard on the subject, at any rate.

My observation is this: all of that is a production. It's smoke and mirrors. Behind all the sashaying and oatmeal cookies is a guy or girl who really doesn't want you to see their bad characteristics. Lustful, self-centered, needy, angry, abusive, fill in your blank.

I am, of course, included in this. What makes me unique though is that I don't like to put on the show. (How lovable is that!) So what am I/we to do?

The short answer is to begin by thanking God for offering union with Jesus Christ. You see, what God did was send Jesus to be a means of both salvation and general living. Jesus takes away my moral guilt (but not responsibility) and, graciously, offers me an example of living.

However, before we jump straight to the "how can we imitate Christ" idea, I would remind you that even Christians are the same people as they were before their conversions. We are still a mix of good and bad. Thus, trying to imitate Christ is like trying to scale Mt. Everest in a pair of old sneakers. (Slippery slope.)

I can try to be a good person, just as a non-Christian can, but we will both err from time to time. The fundamental difference between myself and a non-Christian is that I recognize what God has done to pull me out of my hopeless situation. I can never atone for the sins I've committed. But God sent Jesus to atone for them and atone for them he did.

There are other differences, (a source for morality, personality, love, human value, existence) but this one is the first.

Mull on that.

I've been thinking about what gives life meaning (Lauren Turner brought it up and I can't put it out of my mind). It seems that an average of 32,000 people commit suicide every year in the United States. Every day, approximately 80 Americans take their own lives, and 1,500 more attempt to do so. These stats can be found here.

I wonder under what circumstances would I think it reasonable to commit suicide. At what point would I determine that I might as well not exist as exist? What is it that holds me back?

As a Christian, I know that there more exists than only the body and mind. Man has a soul and this soul will live in an afterlife, either in heaven or in hell. Yet the average non-Christian has no certainty of afterlife. The only assurance they have is this life. America has made the most of this, creating a consumer society dedicated to the construction of individualized heavens on earth. The perfect job, the nice clothes, the ample salary and the perfect mate. All of it culminates in a life where you live in comfort, develop a clique and avoid awkward or uncomfortable relationships.

This system has one flaw: what do you do if your life doesn't turn out as outlined above? What if you are poor and can't get ahead? What if you can't find the clique of friends to fulfill yourself with? What if you never find that special someone?

If this life is all one has and this life sucks then why should one live? Why live?

I don't know what your answer is. As I mentioned above, I believe that I have an answer somewhere in my head, but I haven't articulated it recently so I'm having trouble bringing it to surface. Let me begin with what truths I know.

I find Truth in the Bible. Without this written communication from God, I do not know where I would go for answers. I would have only inductive and deductive skills to find truth. As I understand it, no philosopher has yet used these skills to provide a system of answers that enables man to live a coherent, consistent and purposed life.

"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," (Genesis 1:1). Ah, that helps me greatly. The existence of all that man knows was created by God. God therefore existed before all and is mighty enough to create all.

This yields two conclusions: 1) God is superior to man. 2) If he is indeed superior, than he will know the answers to my/our questions regarding the meaning of life. I believe that he has spoken to Man and that his communication is the Bible.

I freely admit that this reasoning is circular. Yet I would enjoin you to consider what precisely the Bible is. It is a collection of stories that men have written throughout history concerning their encounters with a certain deity. These stories are occurrences of God communicating with Man. He reached out and spoke in ways intelligible to Men. He did not leave us to induce and deduce all there is to be known of him. He spoke in the clearest possible terms.

The logic is less circular when you fill the word "Bible" with this definition. The Bible is communication from God and thus dependable in the fullest sense of the word.

Thus, while the non-Christian has no truth to mull over as he or she considers whether life should be lived or not, I have an entire book to pore over. Thus, while I do not know every answer that Man has regarding the meaning of life, I have apprehended enough truth to realize that meaning does in fact truly exist.

I'll stop here and let you mull over that and the following tidbits, as well.



"Then God said, 'Let us make man in our image, after our likeness,'" (Genesis 1:26) Man is thus a replica, in some sense, of who and what God is. He is higher than an animal, more exalted than a plant or an inanimate object. He is a creation who bears God's image.

"And God blessed them. And God said to them, 'Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth,'" (Genesis 1:28).  Here we see more fully the distinction between man and every other created thing. There is a divide between Man and everything else. They are to be subject to Man, subdued, and in the proper place of subordinate, not equal.

I was thinking of how Willy Wonka is like God. In the 1971 classic, all the lucky golden ticket winners are called to Wonka's wondrous factory. They witness untold of acts of creativity, beauty and art. Yet each of them finds a way to break the rules Mr. Wonka established as their entrance fee. All, that is, but Charlie.

As the second to last child is disqualified, Charlie and his grandpa rejoice, "We two are the last to last! We've won Wonka's competition!"

Yet they are not the last for they too are law-breakers. Charlie stole an ever-lasting gobstopper, thinking he could use it to provide for his family. Grandpa Joe helped himself to fizzy lifting drink and nearly killed himself in the process, not to mention Charlie.

As they approach Wonka to claim their right to the factory, they are astonished to know that Wonka knows all:

"Wrong, sir! Wrong! Under section 37B of the contract signed by him, it states quite clearly that all offers shall become null and void if - and you can read it for yourself in this photostatic copy - "I, the undersigned, shall forfeit all rights, privileges, and licenses herein and herein contained," et cetera, et cetera..."Fax mentis incendium gloria cultum," et cetera, et cetera..."Memo bis punitor delicatum!" It's all there, black and white, clear as crystal! You stole fizzy lifting drinks. You bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized, so you get nothing! You lose! Good day sir!"

Grandpa Joe reacts as many are prone to do, calling Wonka unfair:

"You're a crook. You're a cheat and a swindler! How could you do a thing like this, raise up a little boy's hopes and then dash all his dreams to pieces? You're an inhuman monster!"

Wonka's wrath is furious but well founded. Charlie and Grandpa Joe did break the rules and they had no right to claim a thing.

Somehow though, Charlie, simple, beautiful Charlie sees that even though he has no standing before Wonka, repentance is due.

Charlie is the archetypal good boy. He is sweet, innocent and pure. His heart and mind are not tainted by grief and anger like Grandpa Joe. He has faith in virtue, in morality and he knows that he is bound and required to not harden his heart.

He recognizes, however, his lack of hope, of recourse, of purity itself before the great law-holder Wonka. He is a law-breaker, plain and simple.

And here we see the great turning point of the movie. Charlie bows in acknowledgment of his impure state and returns the gobstopper. He repents.

This glorious moment of repentance is the point of the whole movie. Wonka then utters the phrase that chills my soul and gives me goosebumps to this day:

"So shines a good deed in a weary world."

Before we can process this revelation he is upon Charlie, alive with the zeal of love and acceptance, telling Charlie that he was won the prize and can live in the splendor of Wonka's factory forever and ever. What marks Wonka as God to me is whole-hearted forgiveness and the totality this effects upon him. He is transported from wrath and the unyielding austerity of justice to jubilation, reconciliation and tears of happiness in the span of a movie-second.

May we, like Charlie, bow to God, as well.

I need to write without a point for a moment. I usually have an idea before I write on here. Right now I need to tease out the idea.

And yes, everyone I'd care to talk with is either asleep or busy.

I criticize everything I am aware of ...

I'm not sure which direction to go in. I can't remember my criterion for putting something on here. Last semester, the only rule was that I had to criticize myself without mercy. I think I've beat all the fun out of that horse. So what do I have left? I have to criticize. What else is there to do? Most people have no point. Another portion talk in praise of something. I won't write without a point and my praise doesn't edify anyone. So, I'm back to criticism.

Nothing else is constructive. If an action isn't constructive, of what use is it? What value does it have?

I think that's why I want to criticize. I see people having fun and I note that in their happiness, time is passing. Pleasure is good insofar as it does not become gluttony. I can't let myself enjoy pleasure unless one of two conditions are being fulfilled. First, something constructive must be occurring. Either myself or the other people involved must be somehow being built up, strengthened, healed, edified. Second, I must lack the strength to be constructive. In this case, I just need a break. My mind or body can not labor (construct) any longer. It is only in this case that I can permit myself the luxury of self-centeredness.

This means that in my day, I have to be doing something constructive. Some purpose must be the aim of my energy. I can't enjoy happiness if there is something that I could be doing. Example: if I have to eat, then I will be reading or talking with someone or something. I can't just sit there and eat unless I am dog tired. In which case, I focus on drawing the sustenance out of that food so that I go back to working as soon as I am able. This restlessness demonstrates a type of compulsive lack of security.

Self-improvement is my paramount concern in life because I don't like my flaws. The more time I have to think, the more time I have to realize my problems. There's only response: fix myself.

It's been 20 years now. I wonder if I'll pass another 20 and realize that I've wasted 20 years working when I could have been happy. As grim a possibility as that it is, I can do no other at this present time. I can't make myself relax. I can't accept who I am. I could die tomorrow. Could I go to the kingdom in my present state? Critical, hater of others, selfish?

It's like I'm on the doorstep of heaven and I realize I'm covered in dirt. I'm just trying to get clean, is all. How can people be happy? Don't they notice their flaws? I notice mine. Why pursue my happiness when I have so many weaknesses?

So here I am, critical, on a track to be alone in my 40s. I can't envision anything different.

Because I am so aware of my flaws as a leader, as a man, I can not ask a woman to follow me. I am not yet a leader. I'm a boy. I'm not worthy of asking...

I'm not suicidal though. If I wasn't a Christian, I probably would be. But speculation is foolish; there are too many variables to compute. I can only huddle in my fetal position, naked before God and now you, as well, and admit my horrible condition. I have no shame because hiding accomplishes nothing. I don't think I'm in danger of becoming prideful. Quite the opposite. I walk the earth conscious of my weaknesses, not my strengths. I know that God is great and good so I depend upon him for...everything. The strength to smile. The courage to smile. The strength to last five minutes in a roomful of people. And then five minutes more...

The way I find enjoyment in life is focusing on simple pleasures. Shaving, food, starched shirts. The guys on my hall probably wonder why I spend a half hour shaving with a badger-hair shaving brush, English shaving cream, shaving mug and a German razor from the '60s. It's keeping me sane.

Of course, the danger is that I focus on the pleasures that keep my alive to the exclusion of others. Damn self-centeredness. At once my life support and my biggest threat.

This is going nowhere.

Ah, I remember this idea. It popped into my head yesterday and I've made several mental notes to put it on here. I heard James Taylor's "Fire and Rain" on the radio and the deal was done. I don't really know why the song reminds me of this memory; I can't articulate what it is that ties them in my mind. Something wistful and happy, I think. Maybe it’s because I suffered in a happy way—that is, that I was happy to suffer for what I received.

The white button-down shirt, pretentious manners and desperate uncomfortability remind me of a time when I had few friends. This particular night demonstrated to me the anthem I heard every day for what had seemed decades: that I was a fish out of water. Every time I left the sanctuary of my home, I knew that I was somehow going out to face defeat.

At dinner, my hands worked in a furiously calm Continental dance to impress anyone who would look. If I would be silent, I at least could allude to sophistication by my manners (such a last-ditch attempt at manufacturing dignity was not beneath me). The peculiar masculine truth of concealing insecurity behind gravity was not lost on me.

I never knew how it was that I came to fear anyone I didn’t know. The fear simply rushed upon me as I entered into the middle years between boy and man. The person I had been as a boy—rambunctious, energetic, happy—left a hollow room to a lonely occupant. I suppose that I was shell-shocked, confused and frightened my sudden transformation. I wonder if this is not some emulation of Adam. My feeling of isolation and confusion at the knowledge that I was sinful, the abrupt removal from the sacred temple of Eden/childhood, the sudden perverted separation from the fairer sex; all this spells man’s curse.

My world of safe security dissolved just as Adam’s had: into knowledge. The fact I had to deal with was simple and horrifying. Barriers had sprung where relationship had once stood. Between every person and myself was a wall. It was like walking outside and seeing every familiar house enclosed behind walls of steel.

It was in this state of affairs that my mother sent me to the first annual Valentine’s Day dance for senior ladies.

What I remember about this night is an aberrancy that will probably make your eyes pop out of their sockets. I wanted to ask a girl to dance. What’s more, I actually did. Can you imagine that? She leaned against a wall with her hands behind her back. Her skirt was purple and she had the prepossession of confidence and maturity. She laughed and said yes, she very much would love to!

For some reason, there was no wall for those few moments. Her arms fit around me like only a sister’s can, as I now am blessed to know. I was astonished to find this basic feeling of human contact not strange or exhilarating. God blessed me that night to feel instead something entirely new to my mind. I felt, in her arms, as leader and man, the tender warmth of finally finding myself home. I was almost moved to tears to find myself so defenseless and protected by such a fair creature, unbeknownst to her all the while. She leaned into me, depended on me, looked to me for direction and purpose and in return gave me rest, sanction and strength. This is, I think, one of the most wonderful feelings I have ever felt and I suspect it to be how woman was made to make man feel.

Nevertheless, my glimpse did not linger and the song quickly over. I am not advocating the pursuit or memory of a woman. What I remember is not my desire for her but my hope to one day have my ache assuaged in the completeness of Christ and His heaven. God, but how I ache sometimes.

I wonder sometimes if I will be blessed to find Eve in my life. But I cannot see the merit in hoping. I might die tonight; can I waste my waking hours pining for what God has not placed in my life? Truly, I am as wretched as to make such a hope seem futile. I dare not hope. My purpose is to serve God minute by minute and trust him with the future. That’s all.