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The Visual Choir
Toward A Theology of Making Art for Worshipby Eliza Linley
The making of art has had a rough road in terms of the biblical record. Indeed, the second commandment forbids the making of images. Yet some of the earliest parts of the Torah refer to household gods as images that were foundational to any family's worship. In Genesis, when Jacob flees from his uncle Laban, his wife Rachel (Laban's daughter) steals the household gods. This was tantamount to making off with the family identity and source of strength. You may remember a rather hilarious passage (Gen. 31:22-35) in which Laban comes after Jacob and his family to rescue the gods, which are concealed in Rachel's pack saddle. She manages to keep them hidden by sitting on the saddle and claiming to her father that she has monthly cramps and can't possibly get up!
Although the gods in Rachel's saddle were in fact clay images, the text refers to them as the gods themselves. This is a conflation that has been at the heart of controversy over religious art ever since. It is at the root of the second commandment, where the making of graven images is a subset of idolatry. The idea is that once you have made an image, it is all too likely that you will bow down and worship it (words of wisdom for artists who let admiration for our own work keep us stuck!)
Iconoclasm, or "icon-smashing" was a Byzantine theological debate involving both church and state of the eighth and ninth centuries. In 729 the Greek emperor sent Pope Gregory II a mandate forbidding him to place pictures of martyrs and angels in churches under his jurisdiction. Behind the many technical theological arguments of the iconoclasts lay the lay the old fear - that images were associated with the idolatry that Christianity had come to destroy, that people would mistake the icon for the essence of the one whose picture it bore. The opposite view held that iconoclasm was an attack on aids to devotion which frail mortals needed. After all, Christians had, by this time, become accustomed to the use of art in churches, including stunningly beautiful mosaics in Rome and Ravenna. It is worth noting that the spread of Byzantine iconoclasm occurred at the time that Islam, another iconoclastic religion, had its greatest sphere of influence. It is also true that he iconoclasm of Islam produced an exquisite architecture and decorative tradition.
Nor was the controversy of the eighth century by any means the first instance of Christian iconoclasm. The very early church, which met in secret, had very little art. The Roman catacomb paintings which represent some of the first Christian imagery feature symbols of pagan convention which could be reinterpreted according to Christian belief . These were in the style of traditional funerary decorative motifs: the four seasons, symbolizing resurrection, the dove of the Holy Spirit, the peacock, which symbolized immortality, the anchor, and the fish, the Greek word for which formed an acrostic "Jesus Christ Son of God, Savior". Since these symbols were universally used they posed no risk of discovery.
After Christianity became public at the time of Constantine, Christian art also came above ground. But there were still purists for whom the creation of images was blasphemy. About the year 327 Eusebius of Caesarea, a noted historian, received a request from the Emperor's sister Constantia for a picture of Christ, supposing that an accurate representation might be available in Palestine. He sent her a stern reply, indicating that such pictures were indeed available, but that they were not made by Christians, and that he would not think of buying such a thing. In the same century Epiphanius, Bishop of Salamis, was shocked to find in Palestine a church porch with a mural of Christ or some saint. He tore it down and wrote a strong letter to the bishop of Jerusalem. No matter: by 403, when he died, portrayals of Christ and the saints were widespread. (1)
Long after the iconoclastic controversy died down and stained glass, sculpture, tapestry and painting grew along with the great church architecture of the Romanesque and Gothic eras, the excesses of art became a concern for a reforming strain of monasticism. The Cistercian Order in particular rebelled against art which they felt drew the worshipper away from, not toward, God. Sometime around 1124 Bernard, abbot of Clairvaux, wrote a scathing indictment of the architectural sculpture at Cluny, the jewel in the Benedictine crown. He wrote of "that marvellous and deformed comeliness, that comely deformity, those unclean apes, those fierce lions, those monstrous centaurs, those half-men...those fighting knights, those hunters winding their horns...For God's sake, if men are not ashamed of these follies, why at least do they not shrink from the expense?" (2)
Of course, such an attack can be seen as the aesthetic of morality, a sort of spiritual art criticism, not a criticism of art in general. And the Cistercian Order, in response, developed a very beautiful architecture which is extremely creative in its simplicity. Another blow against artistic excess came with the Reformation, when it was the materialism of art that came under criticism. Again, the repression of decorative art in Northern Europe and the acceptance of Protestantism resulted in a unique style of painting emphasizing Protestant ideals and teaching. At the same time, the Catholic Church answered with the Counterreformation, a movement with a huge impact on the visual arts. Over time, as the balance of power shifted from the church to secular authority, the influence of art in Protestant churches fell away. With the Enlightenment and the rise of scientific inquiry came a decline in the church's patronage of art, and the relationship between the visual arts and the church became strained, a condition that has persisted to this day. The independence of art in the modern era, its reluctance to adhere to any doctrine, has been perceived as a threat to the church. Which is to say, the church has NEVER, even today, underestimated the importance of the artist's voice.
Why is all of this history important to us? It matters to artists simply because it bears witness to the enormous power of the visual image. Art in the church has not exactly become less important in the modern era, it has been seen for the powerful force it can be and tamed into submission. The question we must ask ourselves is: has it been tamed to death? If art is so innocuous as to avoid a true encounter with its viewers, who will remember how glorious it can be?
Submission, in the world of religion, is not necessarily a bad thing. A willingness to submit one's will to a higher authority is intrinsic to any religion. Without it, the transformation that enlivens faith would never happen. So those who make art in the church are subject both to the authority of God, and, necessarily, the church. At the same time, it is incumbent on art makers to create and make visible a unique vision. Art works when it makes us see or feel something with a new and deeper awareness. The "visual choir" is the synthesis of the artist's vision, the worshipping community, and the environment. It is a dialog between creators and viewers. Even when conceived and executed by an artist working alone, it is the product of a common understanding, a manifestation that calls forth a response from the whole.
On what basis, then, does the artist reclaim the right to speak to the church with a powerful voice? The making of art is, in fact, a divine mandate as much as the commandment to "be fruitful and multiply". Creation itself is the first, greatest and ongoing work of art. It is the inspiration for all the work of visual artists through all the ages. If humankind is created in the image and likeness of God, are we not meant to be co-creators? How can we be faithful to that image if we do not respond to the gift of creation with the use of our gifts? Some sing, some write, some sit on councils, some give pastoral care, and some make art. It is the right use of our gifts to speak with as eloquent, and as moving a voice as it is in our power to do. We would be much less likely to make art for the church that is too small, too tame, too timid if we believe that God is asking and empowering us to do it! The reason the church will settle for the simply decorative is not that there isn't time or money, but that sometimes we all clutch up in the face of awesome potential and retreat into safety, the dead zone of creativity.
If we are commanded to be co-creators, then some other truths come to light. The first is that making art is a work of spiritual development, and can't be separated from the rest of our journey to wholeness. We cannot make our work speak unless we have something to say. The ability to create meaningful work comes along with attention to our relationship with God and its connection to the rest of our lives and to the world around us. Paying Attention is an artistic skill!
Next, if God has made creation good, then it follows that no art that is honest is bad. [This statement about creation is a premise of natural theology, developed by Augustine, Aquinas, and others. It doesn't work for Calvinists, and this has been the cause of one of the disputes over art in the church. Revealed theology is basic to the reformed tradition. It holds that in order to be good, creation, including our human nature, had to be redeemed by Christ's saving work. In this case, art for the church must be part of that which is new in Christ, and the same point about honest art holds true.] Having said that, there are a lot of ways to be dishonest, and some of them have a way of sneaking up on us. It is most often fear that causes us to be blind to what is inauthentic. On the other hand, there is a place for all works of art that come from the heart, even if it is only God's refrigerator door! (3)
Art that is potent as symbol functions like a parable. A parable is a pithy story that turns the expected upside down, and therefore makes us think about what is being presented in a new way. When we do, the story explodes into numerous levels of meaning, which may not be the same for everyone. Rather, a parable will be meaningful to each person - will "grab" them - in a slightly different way. Art that works strikes us in its own way. It may not turn the expected upside down, but it will present us with something we didn't expect. Perhaps it is beautiful, and delights the eye. Perhaps it juxtaposes ideas, or images, or designs in a way we have not seen before, and so makes us think. Perhaps it takes a premise of faith and shows it to us in a new context. Art that is "parabolic" in this way does not repeat what has been said elsewhere, in text, in music, in architecture. It takes all of these into consideration and makes our experience richer. It makes the body whole. This is the work of the visual choir.
