The Pagan and Philosopher: Meeting over a Cup of Tea

This evening (4/4) has certainly been a curious one. Unfortunately, I have not been doing as well in my African Art class as I might have hoped, which has seen me recognizing the need to take advantage of extra credit opportunities. According to Dr. Follensbee in my conference with her this past Wednesday, if I can buckle down and get my act together, it is still possible for me to end the semester on an A, as I am currently (and surprisingly) carrying a solid B. The biggest issue I face is that the class requires memorization of a great deal of concrete detail; since I tend to be of a more philosophical mindset (with its generalizations, theories, and concepts), I struggle with so many particulars. Simply put, we have to memorize a lot of information about “things”; I do far better with “ideas,” specific detail coming secondary to overarching framework.

At any rate, part of my extra credit opportunity was to visit the Student Exhibition Center, which, as convenience would have it, happens to be less than a block away from my apartment. (There are some definite advantages to living on the back doorstep of a state university.) Walking down the sidewalk in the chilly evening air, I was soon inside a studio (converted from a large, Southern style house) swarming with warm bodies. I would not have wanted a jacket in that atmosphere—the heat was soon stifling.

The artwork was interesting, to say the least. I have always found such things to be inspiring and evoking of many (often unusual) emotions. But perhaps the thing that interested me the most was the people: all the intellectuals and pseudo-intellectuals gathered together under one roof (and of course the people like me seeking extra credit). Artists of all types have long since interested me—sometimes disgusted me or disturbed my senses like the Old Testament prophets must surely have their contemporaries, but interested me nonetheless.

On the upper story, there were some very unusual exhibits that looked like they might have come out of a futuristic fantasy of some sort or another. These huge, sprawling, half-machine, half-organic constructions were intriguing to contemplate, the room darkened to heighten the mood and to showcase the strange spears of bubbling liquid and other unusual oddities. One particularly interesting piece was of a rather large fish (probably about six feet high), mouth gaping wide open, fearsome teeth sticking out like the tusks of a walrus. Inside the mouth were a number of unusual looking orbs that were a sort of translucent white and seemingly phosphorous or illuminated from the inside by a faint light. The artist, a tall and lanky individual in his mid-twenties with a goatee and large eyes peering out of sockets that looked in need of sleep, was on hand to answer the questions fielded him by one of my classmates, an older, dignified woman working on her Master’s degree. His Mountain Dew presumably was what was propping up his tireless frame and his (presumable) girlfriend lounged at his feet, a pretty girl with long brown hair, obviously proud of her boyfriend’s unique ways of touching his world. I couldn’t help but feel an affinity for him; he reminded me of many friends I have known in the past in my days of doing the band scene, hanging out with artists of a similar sort.

He explained that the structure was put together using welded steel beams covered with a texturized rubber to create the body and jaws of the fish. The foot and a half long teeth were made of Plexiglas, which he cut into sections, and rather than polishing (because it would take too long), he melted and shaped with a blowtorch as he made the ends into their wicked points. The phosphorous spheres inside the mouth were made of fiberglass, which he molded over aluminum; he says many was the night he went home scratching his arms because of working with this “itchy” and dangerous material. Over all of this surface was an acrylic paint (if I am not mistaken) as well as other design features he likely did not elaborate. One left with the impression it had taken him hours of work to complete, though he was, if I may say so, like many artists I have personally known: like a little boy with a quarter in a store that sells candy for a nickle.

I think this factor is what I see in artists that I admire; what I see in myself, as well. There is a certain childlike enthusiasm and a daring to see the world through fresh eyes, regardless of what the public may think. Now I realize there is such a thing as Christian art—some of it admittedly very good—but much of it, in my personal opinion, is like an adjective a contemporary of mine used recently to describe this very thing to the agreement of several others in the room: the word he chose for Christian art was “kitschy.” In fact, it is widely known that if you want to make a quick dollar, all you have to do is take mediocre art, slap a “Christian” label on it, and peddle it off to the pious. Be these things as may be, I am not referring to grade B mediocre Christian artwork when I speak of artists who dare to look at the world through different eyes. I am talking about those whose wiring isn’t quite like that of the general, “run of the mill” individual; I am talking about individuals uniquely gifted by God (whether they know it or not) to enter into the creative process, just as He did when He made all that there is.

Dorothy L. Sayers, friend of C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams and a woman hard to match for her intellectual prowess, wrote extensively on the subject of the artist in her work The Mind of the Maker. If you ever want to read a book that will challenge you on every level (especially intellectually), a book that is not at all mainstream Christian literature, just pick up a copy of this book. I have read nothing like it before or since: agree or disagree, it will probe your brain and make you think. Let’s briefly look at a bit of background so that we can gain some context for her views.

There are many worldviews that try to identify what it is that makes humanity different from the animals. Early anthropologists, when they looked through the lens of evolutionary theory, determined that it was the use of tools. This notion, however, soon gave way to the idea that language was what made man different, especially in light of Jane Goodall’s work with chimpanzees, who also use crude forms of tools. Marxism suggests the ability to work is the thing that separates man from the animals; others say it is the ability to love fully and freely, unlike the animalistic impulses that characterize the sexual union of other species. To this ongoing debate, Sayers steps in with The Mind of the Maker and suggests that the ability to create as God created is largely what it means to be made in the image of God: that by examining the mind of the artist, we can come to understand the mind of God more fully. This gross reductionism on my part of her deep and analytical book, however, does not even begin to do justice to it; one might gain a better general understanding of her brutal methodology by reading the online lecture The Tools of Learning originally presented at Oxford in 1947. In it, she proposes a modified form of medieval scholasticism as the remedy to the loss of learning and literacy so prevalent today. (See also Deep Thinkers Missing in Action from the Christian Science Monitor for more on the present situation of the loss of intellectualism in prestigious United States universities across the country.)

The subject of what it is exactly that makes mankind different from the other animals is a fascinating source of speculation. As Christians, we believe that we have been made in the image of God, and this fact is what makes us distinctively different. Yet what does that mean in terms of its manifestation(s) in reality? My surmise is that it is likely a combination of many of these various ideas people have presented; that to be created in the image of God means to be created with many diverse talents and abilities that other animals do not share. You may wince at the idea of being referred to as an animal—I do too, to some degree—but physiologically speaking, that is really what we are: we are living organisms that happen to be enough different that we don’t like to be thought of as being mere animals. Perhaps this objection on our parts is itself a manifestation of the imago Dei?

In many Christian circles today, there is not enough emphasis placed on recreation (re-creation) and the enjoyment of a well-rounded life. To be sure, there is a time and a place for evangelism, but it is often overemphasized to such a degree that it becomes a mandantory obligation—a joyless duty—and this vehemence can in turn come across as sounding like a big sales ploy to our unsuspecting “victims”: Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Savior? No? You poor devil. Did anyone ever tell you that you were a sinner condemned to roast eternally in hell? (Cha-ching, cha-ching, can you hear the impersonal nature of the cash register?) This sort of mentality is often foisted on us by well-meaning leaders who do not honestly seem to realize that we are not “cookie-cutter” Christians: that freedom in Christ—one body, many parts—allows a diversity of perspectives united under the headship of our Lord and Savior. As Schaeffer has aptly pointed out (if not in so many words): “Christianity is the only system of belief that allows for true unity in diversity.”

Please do not misunderstand what I am saying. We are all sinners, we all need to know Jesus Christ as our personal Savior, salvation is terribly important: a matter of life and that more abundantly. There is even a time and place for this form of evangelism; God can and does use it; some Christians might reject it simply because it is a convenient means of being a “comfortable coward for Christ”—I would recommend you investigate your motives for agreeing with me before you make a common concurrence too hastily. But I don’t think a disdain for this type of evangelism necessarily equates a laziness or a lack of love for “the lost.” I think there are many who recognize how artificial or stilted this approach can often come across as being. I don’t know about you, but I am not in the least flattered when I perceive that I am someone’s “sales project,” another unwitting suspect that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sales ploys pretend to be all about you when in reality they are all about me and what I get out of your signature on my dotted line. In the case of evangelism, I will have done my duty, so I can pat myself on the back and tell myself what a good little Christian I have been.

The higher calling is even harder (and conversely easier) than merely presenting the plan of salvation, yet infinitely more rewarding. We are called to love people into the kingdom, or as I have said elsewhere: “Want to win a soul? You need to steal a heart.” This realization means we are going to have learn how to be authentic and spontaneous, responding to each person individually as a human being; this fact also means that we are going to have to get used to living in the real world and learn to enjoy some of its “secular” offerings that exist beyond Christian radio stations and church activities. There was nothing overtly Christian about the Student Exhibition Center I attended tonight to look at the various works of art, and this factor is precisely why it was “re-creation.” Through this experience, I had a chance to recharge my batteries, relax, and enjoy life. When someone sees the comfortable ease with which I approach life and asks me the reason why, I reply that I am a Christian, speaking for myself and not about what they do or do not need to do with their life. To many people I meet, this statement is kind of like saying, “I am a Buddhist.” Most people are immediately interested and curious to learn more, even if they do not want to become a Buddhist themselves. “Oh. So why Buddhism? What does a Buddhist believe about the world? What sorts of ceremonies do you observe?”

In the same way, many people react well to my statement that I am a Christian, and, if appropriate, I can proceed to explain to them, from my heart, things about my Christian walk that relate to the reality around me: how it transformed my life and continues to help me, how it gives meaning to my existence, why I believe it is true from a rational basis. I almost never go into a spiel about their need for salvation unless they steer the conversation there or I feel an overwhelming conviction that the Holy Spirit is prompting me to do so. Instead, the conversation is casual: I consciously seek to foster an atmosphere of unconditional acceptance. If they started talking about masturbation, for instance, my attitude and demeanor would demonstrate that this subject is just as valid as if they were to talk about the death and resurrection of Christ, especially if they are serious in what they are saying. To cite Schaeffer again, he wrote that he spent about ninety-five percent of the conversation listening to the other person and only the remaining five percent talking about the things of God. In my own life, I have found that most people, when given this kind of permission to take off the mask and to be free to be who they are, will soon expose to me their deepest fears, insecurities, and concerns on their heart, often quite to their own surprise. We yearn to be loved and accepted and we can give no greater gift to another human being than to take that person seriously and to truly listen to what he or she has to say.

Many of you may recall Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs from an introduction to Psychology class. In this schema, Maslow posits that in the course of a person’s growth toward his or her fullest potential, his or her physiological needs (hunger, thirst, sleep, etc.) must be met first, followed closely by the needs for personal safety. From here, he cites love and belongingness, then self-esteem, and then self-actualization, each requiring the layer below to be adequately met before the subsequent layer above can be fully realized. (To learn more about this theory as well as view a diagram of the same, see Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs from Valdosta State University in Georgia.) Regardless if you agree with his precise order or even all of his categories for what must be in place before a person can reach his or her greatest potential, this theory illustrates a valuable principle. As James 2:15-16 bears out: “If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, And one of you say unto them, ‘Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled’; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit?” Yes, James says, what good does it do to merely talk a pious talk when people have real needs around you? A man who is hungry does not care nearly as much about your God as he does his own belly. Feed his belly, give him drink, clothe him, build a fire to keep him warm, and then—and only then—he may listen to your deeper challenge: you will have “earned” the right to speak.

If we are to truly be Jesus to the people around us, we need to show them love: to reach out to those who are hurting and those who are in need. In this way, we will empower our words. Then, if we ask people if they know they are a sinner, if we ask them “do you know Jesus?”—our words will have the ring of authenticity about them. If, however, we merely go around spouting tired evangelical rhetoric, our words will have limited success at best. So many people that have gone on before us have said those very words, and yet when they turned around, their lives reflected none of these qualities. Why would I want to have any stake or claim in a worthless faith that makes people fake and turns them into reprehensible hypocrites? To lift a line from William Wordsworth: “Great God! I’d rather be / A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn.” (He was writing during the so-called Great Enlightenment on the heels of the Industrial Revolution, which had tarnished the countryside with all of its soot and its smokestacks: he was calling for a return to the wonder of nature.) Perhaps that is why a poem such as his moves me far more than many things I see that come out of the Christian community. Have we forgotten how to be real, so programmed are we to go and make cookie cutters of all men?

Now that I have said all these things, I have a terrible confession to make. I am far, far, far away from being all that I could be as a man who claims that the Holy Spirit of God resides within him. I find that I am often selfish—no, worse: snippety, “catty,” immature, so filled with the stench of my own self I could vomit. I know that I have no right to gain access into the heavenly kingdom; I do not deserve to feast at the King’s table. Armed with this knowledge, I must lean heavily upon the good graces of my Savior and Lord to transform my slowly dying flesh into an increasingly beautiful aroma to those who see less and less of me and more and more of Him. At heart, I am a pagan through and through. But I am a redeemed pagan, brought into the reconciliation of my Lord and Savior: let me never forget where I have come from in dealing with others. I have no desire to be a cookie cutter; I have no desire to be a cookie-cutter technician; I simply want to live and be free; I want to be happy; I want to be a good person and I want to make the world a better place; I want to be wanted, to be listened to, to be taken seriously; I want to rid myself of all my inner ugliness: I want to deserve and live up to the title “man of peace, man of God.” In my pursuit of these things, I believe that I have found the truth, and I will share it with you if you will listen. But don’t expect me to call down hellfire and brimstone on your head, don’t expect me to get glassy eyed as I recite long and laborious passages learned by rote and just as filled with life. If I do tell you about hell, it will be because to tell you (and not necessarily everyone) less would not be loving: sometimes love hurts the most because it must be honest and truthful: it has no choice if it really, truly cares.

I really believe that Ravi Zacharias says it right when he speaks of the fact that Christianity is not so much about making bad people good as it is about bringing dead people to life. Life itself is the greatest gift of all; a gift so great that our Lord was willing to lay His down in exchange for our own. He has come that we may have life and more abundantly. The pagan in me is all about leading the good life, the philosopher in me is all about the search for truth. Put the two together (over a cup of tea, perhaps?) and you find that the good life can only truthfully be acquired through a living, breathing love relationship horizontally between onself and one’s fellow man: and vertically between oneself and one’s God. It is not a case that I must tell people or else: it is a case that I cannot say less and still be true to myself. When the time comes, I cannot say less and claim to truly love you, seeing you search for answers as you are, stumbling around in that dark alley, groping about in all the wrong places, so blind, so dead, so hopeless: I must take your hand and lead you closer: as close as you will let me take you— Please?

Archive note: See also the two threads on the discussion forum regarding this newsletter: Evangelism and Evangelism - It’s All About Love

I have sought, I have found, I have tasted for myself, and if you will let me, I will “turn you on” too. I will not, however, try to “foist” my religion on you; I will not attempt to turn you into a cookie-cutter Christian by a paint by number approach that has already given the church a black eye. If my appeal to you does happen to overlap with the paint by number approach, know it is because I attach a much deeper meaning to these words than what you are used to hearing poured into them; know that I tell you this truth in this way because it is authentic and real. In fact, I hate these words for the very reason that their once clear message has become obscure from overuse. I tell you these simple truths, but you don’t hear them: you hear the last “pious” hypocrite whose mouth uttered them and you are deaf to their deeper meaning. Make of what I say as you will; do not listen long to me: the heart of the matter is God, pure and simple; anything less is fluff at best. Now then, I will shut up and desist.

“Nor is He served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward Him and find Him. Yet He is actually not far from each one of us, for ‘In Him we live and move and have our being’^[1] as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we are indeed His offspring.’^[2]”

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