Beautiful Lies: Where We Choose to Draw the Line
What is the purpose of art?
What is the purpose of enjoyment?
What is the purpose of humans?
Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.
While on spring break last week, I faced a dilemma common to those of us interested in filmmaking: I started watching a TV show I didn’t agree with. Normally in those situations, the differences in belief are manageable. Different worldviews. Different personal values. Different lifestyles. But this show, by the nature of its premise, categorically opposes the most basic doctrines I embrace as a Christian.
In the show, hell is good and heaven is bad.
I feel like a heathen even writing that.
My reasons for watching it were simple. The well-written storyline delves into complex and under-discussed issues, demonstrating incredible compassion and hope for groups of people who are usually swept under the rug. It emphasizes the need for kindness, forgiveness, and redemption for even the worst sinners. For a while, that heartfelt centerpiece was enough to shut up the uncertain voices in the back of my mind. But only for a while.
What is the purpose of art? The purpose of enjoyment? The purpose of humans?
As someone studying the arts, I have thought about that first question a lot. Obviously, I want the art I make to mean something. I want it to touch people. I want others to enjoy it, even when they don’t always feel joyful after engaging with it.
During spring break, I watched a show that meant something, touched people at the right moments, and brought me a great deal of enjoyment. It did everything I asked of it. It made me think, empathize, and laugh. It was well made and well meaning. It made me respect the team behind it and understand the fandom surrounding it.
Yet it still left me feeling dirty.
When author and singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson came to Asbury University a few years ago, someone asked him whether it was better for art to ask questions or answer them. He responded that all worthy art should carry both “grace and truth.” Art with grace is beautiful. It is well made, appealing, and layered. Without grace, even the most honest art is merely propaganda. Without truth, the most graceful art is a beautiful lie.
And there’s nothing more dangerous than a beautiful lie.
It is often said in Christian circles that the purpose of man is to glorify God, and I agree. I believe that in everything we do—from creating art to washing the dishes—we are called to glorify God. When I watch a show that states that heaven is more evil than hell, I can’t convince myself that I’m glorifying God. Deep down, I know that I’m elevating my love of art above my love of God. I’m embracing a beautiful lie.
It’s easy to tell ourselves that it’s okay to consume art we would never create. I agree that it’s valuable to understand the way that others view the world. Wrestling with perspectives that oppose our own can grow our faith. But we must be honest about our motives. Are we really strengthening our values and beliefs through the art with which we engage, or are we merely expanding our apathy in the face of the untrue?
That’s one question no one can answer for you.
