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April 12, 2006
Avoiding Sentimentality by Coming Inside
"No Greater Love," Hahlbohm
"Crucifixion," Rembrandt
Evangelicals at Easter are prime targets for sentimentality. In some ways, it's understandable. After all, how many pastel eggs and impressionist paintings of glorious sunrises can a man really endure without his internal aesthetic decomposing into the stuff of marshmallow Peeps?
In his second talk at the Wheaton Theology Conference on Theology and the Arts, Jeremy Begbie outlined three tenets of sentimentality in art. First, sentimental art misrepresents reality by evading or minimizing evil. Innocence is projected onto reality. Second, such images are emotionally self-indulgent, exercising emotion for the sake of emotion (see Kundera on "kitsch"), cocooning the viewer and making him unable to engage another's pain. Third, sentimental art avoids appropriate costly action. The sentimentalist wants emotion without the cost, but, by dealing only with generalities, he is forced to resort to banalities. An ocean sunset landscape with three translucent crosses hovering above the horizon eviscerates the horror of the crucifxion. It downplays the disfigured to embrace the warm peace of love secured, erasing any need for action. The figure sits, bathed in the golden light.
When it comes to Holy Week, part of our difficulty may lie in the fact that we rarely force ourselves to experience the days leading up to Easter from an "inside" perspective. We need to let Maundy Thursday confuse us. Friday should -- for a time -- be painful and broken, not "good." Saturday should weigh heavily. And, then, Easter morning's shock of joy is just that: an irrational, inconceivable surprise, an excess of grace vanquishing evil.
An "inside" perspective of Easter week guards us against the indulgence of sentimentality. "This is how God's idiocy outstrips man's wisdom," says Begbie. In Rembrandt's "Crucifixion" etching, the light exposes -- not softens or alleviates or romanticizes in a rosy hue -- the painful event. Rembrandt sparks agitated hurt, not serene reflection. He sets the viewer down in the ugliest of moments, refusing to assuage -- yet -- with promises of peace. After such a display of depravity, the resurrection does not erase pain. It confirms pain. Perhaps, Begbie says, by deferring our gratification, by extending the tension, by living inside Easter week, the power of promise will be rediscovered, and easy sentimentality will give way to the active work true redemption demands.
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Click here for a bigger version of Rembrandt's etching.
Art | By elissa | 01:31 PM
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Comments
Interesting thoughts. Given this perspective, what would be your thoughts on a Maundy Thursday/Friday viewing of Mel Gibson's The Passion? I went to a Bible study the other night where the whole discussion was centered around a 12 minute montage of clips from The Passion, with all of the participants urged to "feel" the weight of Christ's suffering. I'm still trying to figure out what I thought about it all.
Your thoughts?
Posted by: Luther at April 14, 2006 10:28 AM
Jason,
Hmm. Some wonderings: When I look at Rembrandt's etching, I do not see the focus as being a depiction (and thus vicarious experience) of Christ's pain. Instead, it seems to me that the picture is far more indicative of what the disciples were feeling at that moment: sin illuminated in sharp relief, a sense of hopelessness and loss. I doubt that anyone that day was attempting to imagine Christ's hurt or to "'feel' the weight of His suffering." Instead, they were horrified and frightened. The Man they thought would be King was now dying in the most public and shameful of ways. The pain is in losing a leader, losing a friend, losing a Son, losing a hope of a future. I wonder if meditating and imagining this is more helpful to our souls and more consistent with the idea of living "inside" Easter weekend.
I've never seen "The Passion" from beginning to end; I've only seen clips and read about it. But, as far as I can gather, it does seem that the point of the movie is to vividly depict Christ's anguish, thus enabling us to vicariously experience the hurt He endured for us and to marvel at the love exemplified in such sacrifice. Now, this probably says more about my character and spiritual state than anything else, but I'm fairly certain that if I were to watch the whole movie (or just those violent clips from Christ's beating and crucifixion), I would feel wracked with empathetic horror. I would feel guilty. And then I probably feel pretty good about myself for sharing such pain and for feeling such guilt. If it comes back around to me like that, then things are edging perilously close to sentimentalism (see point #2, sentimentalism as emotional indulgence). I guess I am also wondering a little at our attempts to "feel Christ's suffering." It seems almost silly to presume that we could imagine or existentially experience the pain of God Incarnate.
Rembrandt's approach seems to make more sense to me right now. The "tension" is prolonged by reimagining the Passion from the point of view of man, not God. What do you think? I hope I didn't commit any heresy in all that.
Posted by: elissa at April 14, 2006 02:51 PM
I think you're pretty right on.
The more I ponder The Passion, the more I think that Gibson must have a very strong grasp of medieval Catholicism, not just modern Catholicism, and to a large degree endorses that perspective. As such, the movie takes a more salvific flavor, for just as the pre-reformation theologians and church believed, intense meditation on the suffering of Christ had an atoning effect. In a modern way, i think Gibson was trying to acheive this. So I get nervous when a PCA church bible study, in the legacy of the reformation, tries to resurrect some heretical view of the passion of Christ, which our protestant forefathers already dealt with and discredited.
Or maybe I'm just a little paranoid. It's a Luther thing.
Posted by: Luther at April 18, 2006 12:30 AM
