See No Evil?

Three questions to ask of the art we receive and create

Last year, some Christian artist friends urged my husband and me to see a production at a local theatre. The play contained some of the most profanity-laden dialogue we had ever heard. And yet, as the story unfolded, we realized we were witnessing a profoundly redemptive story, one that pointed surprisingly and unmistakably to the Gospel of Jesus. We left the theatre both moved and confused. Without the gritty language, would the play have been able to point so powerfully to Grace in the midst of brokenness? Was it OK to expose ourselves to the language for the sake of the story?

Those of us who love stories (told in the all various art forms available to us) face a quandary. What if, to tell a story honestly, unsavoury or downright evil behaviours must be portrayed? The Apostle Paul encouraged us to train our minds on “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, [and] whatever is admirable (Phil 4:8, NIV).” Does that mean we are constrained—either as receivers or creators of art—to keep certain topics or words off limits?

I found myself struggling through this question with a group of college students in a class I was teaching on faith and the arts. We recognized that factors like maturity and personal history are important—some things aren’t appropriate for children, and mature viewers might need to avoid any portrayals that are “stumbling blocks” in their particular context.  And we could all agree upon extreme cases of exploitative and gratuitous sex, violence and abusive language that are clearly outside the bounds of the Philippians 4:8 mandate.

But we were less sure what to do with greyer areas. What if the questionable elements in a story are not there to titillate, but rather because they are an important part of telling the truth about the human condition? The Bible itself contains many frank and unflinching depictions of human depravity; if we were to legalistically and thoughtlessly apply the Philippians 4:8 mandate to Scripture, we’d have to censor a good deal of what is there.

Despite several lively debates, we never did arrive at a clear consensus on this issue. But we did settle on a framework that helped us at least begin to more thoughtfully and prayerfully engage with stories of all kinds. When tasked with evaluating a piece of art in any genre, we asked ourselves three questions, inspired by the Church’s long history of appropriating (quite appropriately, I think) Plato’s three Transcendentals.

Is it good?

Is it true?

Is it beautiful?

The first question – Is it good? – involves ethics and morals. It requires us to consider not only whether a story contains offensive words or scenes, but also whether the worldview it tacitly conveys is an ethical one. It might be possible for a film to be rated “G,” but embody an insidious worldview in which material success is considered the ultimate meaning in life, or people are exploited as nothing more than means to ends. Conversely, it might be possible for a movie to contain violence, sex, or language, but provide a perspective on the human condition that moves the viewer towards a more ethical or moral stance.

The second question – Is it true? – is an even more theological one. Does the story—whether it is fact or fantasy or something in between—say something honest about the world and the people who inhabit it? Does it hint at anything true about God? Even if the worldview in a story is in conflict with the Gospel, can it teach us something true about the perspectives and needs of the people who hold it?

The third question – Is it beautiful? – has to do with aesthetics. It asks whether the art in question is well-crafted and successfully formed. A depraved story may be breathtakingly depicted. (In such instances we should exercise caution.) Or, as is sometimes the case in explicitly “Christian” storytelling, a good and true story may be shabbily crafted. (Caution is required here, too! Please!)

With these three questions, my students and I have been able to begin a process of discernment that each of us will be working through for the rest of our lives. We might decide that a story lacking in one of the Transcendentals can still be worthy of our attention due to its strengths in another. (Conversely, we might discover that even a story that we deem to be good or true or beautiful is out of bounds if it cultivates behaviour in us that is not). Most essentially, we’ll know that our challenge is to support and create work ourselves that is deeply good, unflinchingly true, and as beautiful as we can possibly make it.

May you go and do likewise.