On Art and Violence

by Ben Howard

I don't really like violent movies. To be more specific, I don't really like blood. And when I say “don't really like” I mean it makes me nauseous and like I'm about to pass out. I have fainted one time in my life, it was during a talk about donating blood at school. Fell out of the desk and hit my head on the floor. Lots of pain. That's how much I don't like blood.

Keep that in mind when I tell you that I really enjoyed the movie Lawless that came out this past weekend. If you haven't heard of this movie, well then I think the vast majority of the country is right there with you. The movie is based around a group of brothers who sell moonshine during the Prohibition Era and the main plot of the movie centers of their encounters with a new deputy tasked with shutting down all the moonshine operations in the “Wettest County in the World.”

It's an incredibly beautiful, but also an incredibly violent movie. The Appalachian setting of the movie evokes a pastoral sense of calm and peace and the period setting evokes the same feelings you get when you stair at a yellowed photo of your great grandfather as a young boy. It's real life, or at least it used to be.

The beauty and nostalgia of the film form a stark backdrop for the repeated graphic representations of violence. In one particular scene, Forrest Bondurant, played by Tom Hardy, walks out into a beautiful fresh snow only to be assaulted by two men who restrain him and slit his throat. The viewer is left with a long, drawn out shot of Forrest silently grasping at his bleeding neck while the beautiful white snow slowly covers the ground around him.

I wish I could say that this movie ultimately condemns the violent acts of its characters, but it doesn't. It's a film that ultimately glorifies revenge and ends with a little down-home spinning of the happily ever after narrative.

You can contrast this view of violence with a show like The Wire, where violence is shown to have destructive effects both on the offender and the victim alike. Main characters receive their comeuppance and beloved characters transform into monsters when they begin to wield the gun. All of these acts are performed against the grit and grime of urban decay to make the ultimate statement that while violence is a way of life, it is not a way out.

I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this issue as well. Can violence be portrayed artistically or beautifully? And if it is possible to do this, does that artistic portrayal undermine the brutality of the acts being perpetrated? Which story is right? Violence as revenge to attain peace, or violence as the inescapable destructive force?

Peace,
Ben


When he isn't reflecting on the artistry of violence, Ben is wearing hipster sweaters and staring intently at things. Just like Tom Hardy. You can follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87 or contact him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.
  

There's a Thin Line Between Heaven and Here

by Ben Howard

The title of this post is a taken from a show called The Wire. It's a really great show, and I expect I'll write about it at some point in the future, but today's post isn't about the show. This post won't be about pop culture at all, it's just something I need to write. It's about that line and it's about what that line means.

As a lot of you may know, I live in a not so great neighborhood. It isn't necessarily dangerous, but it does have it's seedier elements. In the time I've lived in my apartment I've been broken into three times. Needless to say, that can be a bit frustrating, but such is life and things are just things. However, the last break-in brought about a new experience. A few weeks after the house was broken into, we received word that the perpetrator had been arrested. We're still awaiting word on the outcome of the case, but the prosecutor is convinced he'll go to prison for at least a few years.

Ever since the arrest, I've felt strangely about the entire situation. Since I had the guy's name, I visited his Facebook page. I found out he has a girlfriend and a young daughter. At first, I thought I might be feeling guilt for my role in his probable incarceration, but that wasn't it. He chose his course of action, I never had any control over the situation. I don't feel guilt, but I do feel sadness.

I'm sad for people who feel like they have to steal in order to survive and I'm sad for children who have to grow up without fathers. I'm sad because of a system that treats people like nuisances and rap sheets and robs them of their humanity while simultaneously saying that it's all being done in the name of justice. I'm sad because of that little twinge I feel when I see a lonely black man walking down my street at night, and I'm sad because, while I know it's wrong, I know plenty of people will tell me it's right. I'm sad because it's so easy to see just how broken things are.

There's been a lot of talk about hell in the evangelical community in the last year. In my mind almost all of it misses the point. Why do we worry so much about where everybody will go after they die, yet we have no problem avoiding the very hell that ensnares so many among us? Yes, hell is real. Hell is addiction and pain. It is violence and abuse and depression and that glazed over look of defeat, the loss of hope. Hell is the place where we throw those we no longer know what to do with. Hell is all of the brokenness that batters us on every side. It is the destruction of our very humanity. Hell is here.

The church's task is not about defining where we go when we die. Our job, our mission, the reason we exist is to join with the work of God and the Spirit to bring heaven to the places where hell has infected our day to day. We are in the business of redemption and salvation, not prognosticating about the afterlife. We are being called to bring about the abolition of war and poverty; to stand with the isolated, the hated, and the miserable. We are called to bring reconciliation between the oppressed and the oppressor, between the victim and the criminal. There's a thin line between heaven and here.

Peace,

Ben

You can contact me on Twitter @BenHoward87, leave a comment or email me. I'd love to hear your thoughts.