The Art of the City

Ever since Billy Belk's fine post here on this blog comparing and contrasting The Andy Griffith Show with Seinfeld, we have had much interaction on the Urban/Suburban dichotomy. Much of the debate has centered on what we would all readily admit amounts to personal preference, we have also come to an agreement that there are certain theological principles that need to come into play in the discussion.

I noticed an illustration of this as I watched the film I (Heart) Huckabees this weekend. Christianity's cameo appearance in this film is not very attractive. The main character and his "other" are dining with a Christian family when the subject of "Suburban Sprawl" is introduced. The Christian family is represented as being very compassionate, while at the same time being passionately defensive about the suburban way of life. This was an uncomfortable scene for me, for I found myself siding with the non-Christians in their table talk. The saddest part of that dialogue is that it so accurately reflected the mindset of many Christians. Overall, the film was a disappointment on several levels, but this one scene is worth watching if for no other reason than it's illustration of our ignorance or indifference toward the theological ramifications of our indulgent lifestyle choices.

In his excellent book Art in Action (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980; ISBN: 0802818161), Nicholas Wolterstorff introduces some key issues in the study of aesthetics. His title comes from his thesis, which is that "works of art are objects and instruments of action … whereby we carry out our intentions with respect to the world, our fellows, ourselves and our gods" (p3). The book makes several important points for helping Christians to think critically about the arts. Wolterstorff helps us to understand the difference between art in general and the "institution of high art," calling ultimately for a liberation from the latter so that we might employ, experience, and enjoy the former. He asks the question, "But what consequences can such liberation be expected actually to yield in our lives?" (p178). To provoke the reader to think through this, Wolterstorff deals with the question as it relates in particular to the city and to the church.

I want to focus here on his discussion of the aesthetics of the city. In this portion of the book, Wolterstorff wants us to look beyond the museums, libraries and orchestras of the city, to the art of the city itself. Wolterstorff claims that the aesthetic dimension of the city "affects all of us who live in the city, whereas those precious objects of high art installed in the city never affect more than a tiny proportion of the inhabitants" (p179).

The aesthetic dimension of the city, Wolterstorff says, consists of its urban space--the buildings, trees, and other space shaping objects. He suggests that some parts of the city's urban space, particularly the avenues and streets, form "channels" of directionality, movement, and restlessness. Other parts, the plazas and squares, form "open bays" of centrality and restfulness. So as one navigates through the city, there is a constant flux and flow of intensity and relaxation of tension. Moving through the channels, tension increases, but upon arriving at the bays, there is relaxation. This movement is the mark of aesthetic excellence in a city.

This can be experienced plainly on a walk or drive through Manhattan. The crowds, the congestion, and the constant hustle of the channels is constricting. But this fades into a calm relaxation when one approaches Central Park. The same is true of Boston. The Freedom Trail (a red painted line that leads to historical sites) takes the pedestrian tourist through some high traffic areas, across busy streets, and through hustling and bustling markets and business districts. But as one passes the Tremont Temple and Park Street Church, there is a vast expanse that opens above as the trail leads to the Boston Common. The same experience can be found in Baltimore, Toronto, Washington, London, Dakar, Nairobi, Vienna, Kiev, and countless other prominent cities in the world.

Wolterstorff chooses to contrast these cities with the cities of the American Midwest where this unity and variety is absent. He says they are "the epitome of blandness. Moving through them is anti-dramatic. It is as if there were a hatred of the city at work, a deep wish to be done with it as soon as possible" (182). Residents in these areas have no concern for urban space. Instead, these individuals dream of the "wide-open spaces" of the country.

The "closed, windowed container" we call a "car" is, according to Wolterstorff, the culprit for much of the decline and/or lack of interest in the aesthetics of the city. "The city is helpless to provide drama to the sequence of movements of those riding in automobiles," because of the constant "lunging and halting" of the traffic (182-183). In addition, because we have become so utterly dependent on the automobile, we have demanded to have roads and driveways and parking spaces in as many places as possible, virtually destroying any possible artistic beauty that the city could hold. Even for those who prefer to traverse the city by foot, Wolterstorff points out that there is the constant noise and danger of being surrounded by those in the automobiles.

What would the city be like if Christians began to exercise the dominion God gave us over the city? If we took our stewardship of urban spaces seriously, how would things change? How might we envision or engineer our cities if we viewed them as arenas wherein we might carry out the Great Commission and Great Commandments of our Lord? As Billy Belk has pointed out, we long for the day when we shall dwell in the City of God. Unfortunately, we may squander our opportunities to experience a foretaste of it here on earth because, "hatred of the city continues unabated. The ideal is to travel in one's self-contained automobile from the sanctuary of one's home to a large public building, there to park underground and to immerge in an inner sanctuary without ever stepping into the city" (183).

Wolterstorff concludes: "None of us knows … whether the city will once again become a thing of joy aesthetically, making of God's assurance to us that we will one day dwell in a new city a beckoning invitation rather than a repulsive horror" (183). Like Abraham, we are looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. In the meantime, God's people have the opportunity to build microcosmic reflections of that City in our cities, if only we will not retreat the comfortable confines of evangelical suburbia.

Let me close with the words of Chris Rice's song, "Me and Becky."

Becky has a house on Abundant Live Boulevard
A good name, good family, and butterflies in her yard
Becky loves Jesus and really wants to make Him proud
She tears up in church and she sings her harmonies loud
She's got a Bible by the bed, a prayer journal, and a fish on her car
She makes sure to bow her head and give thanks in every restaurant
But is that enough?

C'mon Becky, let's go for a ride
If I'm driving too fast then I apologize
But there's a world out there that we left behind
Full of souls as important as yours and mine
Looks like a reckless road, and a sacrifice
And I'm crazy scared it may cost our lives
But then I remember Jesus died
So c'mon Becky Let's go for a ride

I'm rolling up to Becky's house on my Sunday drive
I have to laugh to myself 'cause it looks exactly like mine
I smile and wave at all the happy people strolling by
We've got the same walk, same talk, and the same sparkle in our eyes
'Cause we're thankful for the blessings, but maybe we could lay 'em aside
I get a feeling we might be missin' the time of our lives
So hop in and hold on tight

C'mon Becky, let's go for a ride
If I'm driving too fast then I apologize
But there's a world out there that we left behind
Full of souls as important as yours and mine
Looks like a reckless road, and a sacrifice
And I'm crazy scared it may cost our lives
But then I remember Jesus died
So c'mon Becky Let's go for a ride