> Anna Blanch Arts Bible Case #16 - Creativity and Creators Literature Secularism Theology

Echoes & Patterns: Approaching the Arts Theologically

September 01, 2008

Biblical literacy is on the decline. This is true in Australia and many other countries. I am not referring to the biblical literacy of the Christian community. Rather, my focus is the biblical literacy among the general public, including the academic community. However, despite the wane in biblical literacy (and perhaps because of it), the innate desire to know and understand God is being expressed so often in the artistic world that analysis of such expressions arguably forms a natural part of literary scholarship.

The intersections of the arts and theology form an interdisciplinary or multidisciplinary field of study which provides space for scholars who seek to examine how the innate desire to know and understand God is expressed in artistic creation and literary endeavour. However, the rejection of the idea of God and dismissal of the validity of exploring his place in the world, including in art and literature, often pushes research with such a focus to the fringes. In contrast, but similarly partisan, is the, however well- meaning and well intentioned, use of the arts and the ‘Christian imagination’ as cultural weapons.

David Jasper has said that, for the American context, literature (my specific area of interest) and theology is not a natural field of study.² I would argue that this is also largely the case in the Australian context. Australians take it for granted that Australia is a secular country. We pride ourselves on it. In his 1995 overview of ‘the situation of Literature and Theology in Australia’ Michael Giffin summarised how, throughout history, the study of theology, and in some cases even the study of religion, has been strictly separated from the mainstream programme in Australian Universities.³ Very few Australian academics research or publish in the field of literature and theology, and even less have been interested in the theological dimensions of ‘Australian’ literature. This is supported anecdotally and in the relative lack of published scholarship. However, in the past 10 years the study of comparative religions has been reinvigorated. For example, Christian studies courses offered by the Macquarie Christian Studies Institute in Sydney have gone a small way in challenging the almost irrational hesitance of Australian universities to institutionally acknowledge both the organic nature of theology and the intrinsic relationship between the desire to understand God and the arts.

Exploring the intersections

I have a soft spot for ‘triumph of the spirit’ movies. You know the kind—the underdog, brilliant but unfortunate, or oppressed individual or team wins after pulling together through personal and collective adversity. Think Erin Brockovich, Remembering the Titans, We are Marshall and Good Will Hunting. None of these movies offers an explicitly spiritual story or necessarily presents a coherent value system, yet each has sparked something in me. There is something in the overcoming of trial and adversity by the whole being larger than the parts—that is obvious to me, if not to the characters or the screenwriters—that suggests there is something beyond all of this.

Examining and exploring the intersections of the arts and theology as an interdisciplinary or multidisciplinary field of study is about parallels and resonances: we see patterns and we hear echoes. We relate what we see and hear with what we already know. I am not just talking about examining literature and art that affirms Christian theology or is merely a retelling of biblical narrative or, what C.S. Lewis terms, the ‘Christian myth’.⁴ Rather, and more broadly, sometimes the hint of a longing for God or a saviour, and the exploration of fundamental experiences like joy, grief and love, in all its forms, opens the door to these patterns and echoes, and the rich theological insights that are found in them. It is often the glimpse of the sacred in the most secular of works that I find most interesting.

In a scholarly sense the goal should not be to seek to construct theological orthodoxy where it does not exist. By constructing orthodoxy I primarily mean the propensity to attempt to align a certain author’s theology with one’s own notion of the touchstones of orthodoxy. Most often this is a subtle reworking, a softening or strengthening of unsatisfactory or unfortunate opinions or beliefs. Sometimes it is more serious and more pervasive, resulting in the rewriting of an author’s biography. At best, it is misleading; at worst, plain lies.

The potentially problematic assessment of the theological meaning of a work, or of an author’s beliefs, is magnified when a grand unified theory of a book, movie, or an individual author or artist’s beliefs is attempted. Therefore it is important to examine an author’s intent and, as a reader and a scholar, to be clear about what it is we are seeking when we approach literature theologically. Is it about integrating what literature says about theology or about assessing literature in theological terms? Furthermore one must be aware of the mishandling of theological analyses which invariably results from, or in, a misuse of the Bible.

So then, what exactly am I suggesting? It is fruitful to consider two of the myriad of possible approaches to immersing oneself in the arts, including popular literature. When C.S. Lewis was writing the Oxford History of English Literature of the Sixteenth Century he read every book available in English in the 16th century—every book written in English and every book that had been translated into English. This is impressive, though it is most likely not as many books as we might imagine it to be— we are only talking in the hundreds. My point is that Lewis didn’t just read the good books—those now considered canonical—or the biblically or morally sound books, as was more usually the case with such ‘histories’; he read everything. Alternatively, we could focus only on those books that present a Christian worldview—books that correspond with, or at least affirm, the way we see the world. But what happens when those claiming authority to assess whether a book or an artwork represents such a worldview disagree vehemently? For example, J.K Rowling’s Harry Potter series has stirred massive debate on both sides—she has been characterised as both ‘on the side of evangelicals’ and, alternatively, as nothing better than a tool of demonic forces.⁵

What I am suggesting involves a common sense mediating position, which is not patently demonstrated by the bulk of scholarship or commentary. This position is marked, admittedly, by confusion and differing opinions. But it is also where the intersections and real opportunities for dialogue lie. I am not suggesting, unless it is your bent, that you read everything written in the sixteenth (or twenty-first) century like Lewis did. There must, of course, be some selection process, if for no other reason than that we just do not have that kind of time. Nor am I suggesting that surrounding yourself only with literature, art and music that affirms what you think and believe is an innately negative approach.

I am suggesting that Christians should not insulate themselves from the literature and art we think we might find objectionable, or because it is not created by a Christian (in whatever sense we might individually want to define this) artist invoking the name of Jesus Christ, God, or the Church. There are numerous reasons for this and I’ll offer three.

Firstly, secular literature can offer a critique of how the Church is perceived. For Christians and the Church, secular literature can function as an assessment of our efficacy as ambassadors of the gospel, although we know that it is not by secular society that we will be judged (2 Corinthians 2:14-16). Secondly, exploring imaginative texts theologically may help us to better understand Christian Scripture. They may awaken our minds to the beauty of Scripture and, importantly, assist us in learning to ask the right questions of Scripture. By the ‘right questions’ I mean those questions Scripture was written to answer, which are not necessarily those questions we want answered. Finally, as already suggested, engaging with many forms of the arts through theological lens opens the door for dialogue. Some of the best conversations I have had about literature that contains strong biblical or theological themes are the ones where I have asked numerous questions and said very little about my own opinion. Hearing exactly what it was that touched a fellow reader can give you an incredible glimpse of where someone is in their understanding of God, what they long for and their spiritual openness.

Hardy and Mombassa: Searching for a saviour in the secular

As mentioned, I have, on occasion, found that the examination of secular literature and art through a theological lens has yielded interesting results. Two Australian artists who fit this category are Frank Hardy, a writer, and Reg Mombassa, an artist. In the work of both these men the depiction of a Jesus/saviour figure demonstrates the endurance of saviour imagery within Australian secular artistic endeavours.

Frank Hardy’s work has interested me for some time. Hardy (1920-1993) was a left wing, sometime Socialist, trade unionist who is the only person ever to be prosecuted under Australia’s criminal libel laws. He was also the yarn spinning champion of Australia from 1967 to 1990. He is best known for writing the yarns that inspired the Billy Borker television series in 1964-65. Hardy’s work demonstrates the inherent human desire for a way to overcome suffering. He sought a messiah for the Australian worker, the bushman, indigenous Australians and, finally, himself. However, while Hardy clearly seeks a champion, a saviour, he saw too much hypocrisy in the Church to propose the person of Jesus or Christianity as a solution. For example, Hardy wrote:

How do you plead?

[…]

When we reach with outstretched arms

To greet our Asian brother,

We have a bible in one hand

A machine gun in the other.

Oh, yes, a bible in one hand

And a prayer to God above,

And napalm fire and poison gas

To teach them Christian love.⁶

Frank Hardy was arguably a prophet of the gospel of social activism and community loyalty. In doing so, he provided a recognisable ideological vocabulary for those inclined either towards the secular or the sacred. To Alan Marshall, Hardy was ‘a writer with purpose. Writing, to him, was not a means whereby he could project himself and his readers into a world of unreality, but a weapon with which he waged war against injustice and oppression.’⁷Hardy’s political interests are very clear and pervade his work—the reader is left in no doubt about his criticism of the devastating effects of capitalism, his passion for workers’ rights, his derision of racist attitudes and policies towards Aboriginal Australia and his clear characterisations of the rural Australian stereotype.

Hardy’s work emphasises distinctly ‘Australian’ values of mateship, hard yakka (work) and stoicism. Within Hardy’s ideology these ‘values’ are neatly substituted for the biblical trio ‘faith, hope, and love’, with the greatest of these being love. In Hardy’s world, the greatest of these is mateship. It is a convenient substitution and evidences a subtle subversion of biblical ‘values’. Yet there remain echoes, subtle revelations, of the human need for a saviour— Hardy has an evident fascination with the concept of a champion of the downtrodden, a ‘saviour’. Hardy’s saviour is a battler, one of the ‘true blue’ Aussie working class, the stoic stranger and the loyal mate. He was always looking for the flesh and blood man, the hero of his people. This is the same kind of hero as the idealised rebels of the Eureka Stockade and Ned Kelly. Such heroes embody the ideas that the solutions for redemption and reconciliation can only come from within and that one must sacrifice and suffer in order for a life to be well lived.

In the work of artist Reg Mombassa we see a second sighted superhero with working class tastes and a welldeveloped sense of social justice—who still knows that what Australians really want is the quarter-acre block where they can build their house and raise their kids, and enjoy cold beer, footy and meat pies. From the mid-1990s, Mombassa, the Mambo designer, shocked, horrified and delighted with his now iconic series entitled ‘Australian Jesus’. The overwhelming community reactions to Mombassa’s arguably sacrilegious art has given rise to social, political, theological and academic debate about Jesus and the constitution of the ‘sacred’ in literature and art, and what these may reveal about Australian culture.⁸

Mombassa, whose artwork featured prominently in the 2000 Sydney Olympics closing ceremony, claims that he learnt all he knows about the Bible from watching the ‘Jesus’ movies. Yet, his ‘Australian Jesus’, in it various guises, offers some striking contemporary ecclesiastical and social commentary. Jesus is a mate, benevolent but not patriarchal; sacrificing but not made into a celebrity; honoured and worshipped, in the same manner as Australian sport stars, for his skills and abilities rather than his intellect or message; a super-hero who is seemingly ordinary—with the accoutrements of the idealised working class Australian (including the Holden ute and the power tools) and Christ (the wooden cross goes everywhere on the back of the ute), yet with an extra eye. Mombassa’s Australian Jesus is one-eyed, both in the sense of being devoted to one’s own point-of-view to the point of obvious irrationality, and also symbolically expressing extra sight and knowledge over and above the rest of us. While I do not contend that Mombassa had any intention or awareness of his work addressing such deeply theological issues, it is a fascinating depiction of a centuries-old controversy— how we understand Christ as fully human and fully divine.

In briefly exploring the figure of Jesus and the longing for a saviour in the work of Reg Mombassa and Frank Hardy, I have taken the lead from those, including Craig Detweiler, Tom Hibbs and Greg Garrett, who have examined American pop culture and literature and its values. However, seeking to understand the ‘Jesus’ Australians have created is a related but different task to understanding American cultural and religious constructions of ‘Jesus’. For example, you won’t find what Tom Hibbs has termed the ‘intermediate complacent All-American God’ in Australian literature and art⁹. Instead you will find a ‘true-blue’ Australian mate, champion of the underdog, self-sacrificial suffering servant.

From the work of Hardy and Mombassa I would contend that there is such a thing as a distinctly ‘Australian’ Jesus. This is not who Jesus is, objectively, as revealed in God’s word, but rather the cumulative and collective secular responses to the person, worth and work of Jesus Christ. Mombassa has never been openly reflective about the underlying spiritual, political and social themes of his work, though I think you will agree that it is adequate to speak for itself. The ‘Jesus’ that is most obviously seen in Mombassa’s work—Jesus as the saviour, the mate—is also present in Hardy’s work. Although Hardy never made any explicit claim that his ‘saviour’ figures bore any relation to Jesus, I would argue that his work reflects a national consciousness of longing—longing for a particular kind of messiah who reflects the values of mateship, hard work and stoicism that Hardy emphasised.

Conclusion

Exploring the theological resonances in literature can be complex. And the stakes are high. However, regardless of the pitfalls in immersing oneself in the arts—if this article achieves anything—I hope I have encouraged you to read literature, and enjoy movies and art, that nourishes your soul. This nourishment will hopefully occur as you reflect upon how the things of God may be echoed or patterned, or glorified, within the work. It can come from unexpected sources, like the movies I mentioned earlier. Finally, what is my definition of art that nourishes the soul? The kind, which Jerry Root recently posited at this year’s C.S. Lewis and the Inklings Society Conference, that ‘awakens in us a desire for that other world, the only other world in which our hearts’ desires may be satisfied’.¹⁰ ©

Anna Blanch Rabe PhD is a speaker, writer, advocate and social entrepreneur. In 2016, she founded Anna Blanch Rabe & Associates , a boutique communications consulting company which serves Law Firms, socially-responsible businesses, and social enterprises with high quality strategy, content services and products. She is currently working as a diplomat with the US Department of State. At the time she wrote this article, she was pursuing her postgraduate studies in Australia.

E N D N O T E S

1 Anna wrote about her experience of entering academia in Case 12.

2 Jasper, David (1992). The Study of Literature and Theology: Five Years On. In Journal of Literature and Theology, 6.1, pp1-10.

3 Giffin, Michael (1995). Freedom and Necessity in the Culture of Interpretation. In Literature and Theology, 9, 3, pp307-320.

4 Lewis believed that ‘what might be myth in one world might be fact in another’ and that all mythology, religions and pagan ritual have their essence in the one ‘true myth’, which he understood to be a Christian understanding of God and his incarnate son Jesus Christ. See Lewis, Clive Staples (1978). Surprised by Joy. Glasgow: Fount Paperbacks, pp170-75.

5 The work of Richard Abanes and Connie Neal represent the two main factions in the Harry Potter debate. For a summary of the various ‘Christian’ positions, see Emily Griesinger’s overview. i. Abanes, Richard (2002). Fantasy and Your Family: A Closer Look at the Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and Magick in the Modern World. Camp Hill, Pennsylvania: Christian Publications, INC. ii. Neal, Connie (2001). What’s a Christian to Do with Harry Potter? Colorado Springs: Waterbrook Press. iii. Griesinger, Emily (2003). Why Read Harry Potter? J.K. Rowling and the Christian Debate. In Christian Scholar’s Review, 32.3, p297.

6 Hardy, Frank (1968). The Unlucky Australians. Melbourne: Nelson, p268.

7 Hardy, Frank J (1966). The Man from Clinkapella and Other Prize Winning Stories. Sydney: Capricorn Printing.

8 Surprisingly, Reg Mombassa’s (aka Chris O’Doherty) ‘Australian Jesus’ series has not been examined outside Gallery catalogues and graphic design trade periodicals. It is neither taken seriously by art historians nor by those involved in cultural studies.

9 Hibbs, Thomas S. (2000). Shows About Nothing: Nihilism in Popular Culture from ‘The Exorcist’ to ‘Seinfeld’. Dallas: Spence Publishing Company, p166.

10 Keynote address at the C.S. Lewis & Inklings Society. The Inklings: Communion of Saints. Grove City College, Grove City, Pennsylvania, April 4-5, 2008.