The Christian heuristic for easily predicting unforeseeable harms
The Christian heuristic for easily predicting unforeseeable harms
Why ugly things are likely to be bad things.
We have commented in the past on the connection between beauty, ecclesiastical reformation, and cultural renewal:
Lately, we have been pondering the negative corollary of that thesis—namely, that the following ought to be a basic Christian presupposition:
If we cannot see how to do something in a way that is aesthetically virtuous, then it should not be done.
This is not just because we like beauty, but because we believe that beauty and goodness are intrinsically connected; that although they are distinct concepts, they are theologically unified in the God who is their source.
This means that aesthetic virtue—when something is beautiful, pleasing, compelling, balanced etc—tends not to exist in isolation, but rather reflects, or works out in, holistic virtue—peace, health, prosperity, righteousness, etc.
But the inverse is also true. Because beautiful things are likely to be good things, ugly things are likely to be bad things.
By “bad,” we are speaking in a broader sense than merely ethical. It is bad in terms of shalom more generally (a biblical term we should incorporate into English, as there is no word in our language that sums it up well).
So ugliness should be avoided, not just because it looks bad—this has certainly proved an insufficient reason in our generations—but because it generally is bad.
Here is an example: Right now, alarming facts about the prevalence of microplastics, and their effects on the human body, are having a moment in the news. What a terrible situation. If only we had known how bad plastics would be when we first started using them.
But we could have. We should have.
This kind of harm should have been foreseen. Not the specifics, but that harm would occur. This much should have been obvious to us. When mankind started producing plastics, started using them for everything under the sun, we might not have known enough about their chemical composition and interaction with the environment to predict the long-term effects.
But we certainly knew enough to know that it would be bad.
Plastic has always been ugly. Plastic wrappers are ugly compared to paper ones. Plastic bottles are ugly compared to glass ones. Plastic watches are ugly compared to metal ones. Plastic jackets are ugly compared to leather ones. Plastic toys are ugly compared to wooden ones. Plastic crockery is ugly compared to china. Plastic disposable razors are ugly compared to brass safety razors. Plastic fletchings are ugly compared to feathers. Plastic fabrics feel ugly compared to natural fibres.
We have always known the aesthetics of plastic.
We have just pretended they didn’t mean anything.
We imagined that aesthetic virtue was unconnected to any other virtue.
Except the church has always known the connection between aesthetics and God’s character—and the connection between God’s character and how he orders his creation. We have always known that the form of things has meaning, and points either toward or away from God—and that deliberately choosing to move away from God never ends well.
A watchful church, a church doing its job in discipling its nation, would have had a great deal more involvement in techno-cultural developments like plastic use. Pastors and theologians could have said to industry leaders and government officials, “Yes, producing with plastic will be cheaper and more convenient. But it’s also ugly. So let’s assume it’s bad, and not do it right now. Let’s investigate further."
If we had done this, we wouldn’t be lamenting microplastics right now.
Or a million other effects of industrialization.
Ignoring the unity of virtue is a huge failing of the modern church—and has been for centuries. (Ignoring the virtue of unity has also sapped us of our ability to even have cultural influence, but that’s a topic for another time.) If we would avoid these kinds of devastating mistakes in the future, and probably worse ones at that, we must repent of our gnostic attitude to the physical world, and start developing a holistic doctrine of axiology. We must be thinking about how the values and virtues across every branch of life integrate, and we must be doing so in much broader, wiser, and more thorough ways than have been attempted before.
This is going to be especially difficult because Western Christian culture—especially American culture—has a particular pathology here. Conservative, right-wing Christians have a kneejerk reaction to essentially any kind of aesthetic or axiological concerns, because these are perceived as the exclusive domain of the left. Worse, among Reformed Christians, the desire to integrate beauty into life is treated with considerable suspicion—as if any aesthetic interest is motivated by an idolatrous impulse to start erecting statues in churches. Both of these reactions are absurd. Scripture is sufficient to fully equip us for every good work; and knowing how to integrate apparently competing virtues—how to weigh convenience against beauty, short-term gains against long-term unknowns, individual liberty against environmental impact—these all just are good works. Getting them right is a good work, and getting them wrong is a bad one.
So let’s lay aside the misplaced tribal reactions, and the neo-Puritan instincts, and get to work.