Rearranging the Deck Chairs on the Titanic

by Devin Weening (singhislove.blogspot.com)

A very quick perusal of the most reliable sources (ie. Google) reveals that the origin of the phrase “rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic” is a hot debate topic, but it seems that it was first used, in a slightly different form, in a New York Times article sometime in 1972. Regardless of its origin, its meaning is clear: the phrase is used to refer to an otherwise helpful exercise rendered futile by the surrounding conditions. On that fateful evening, everyone on board knew what was going on, & it would have seemed to them the ultimate lunacy to spend time worrying about whether the furniture was in order. There were much bigger issues at hand.

I don't think I've ever heard art referred to specifically as an example of “rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic”, but I have heard similar sentiments expressed in various forms. To be honest, there are times when I am tempted to agree with this perspective. Why should we pay attention to art – or, worse still, make art – when there are so many “bigger issues” to deal with? How can we justify painting, or going to the symphony, or reading a novel, when there are people dying, in our cities & around the world, every minute? Why should governments – much less churches – support the arts when they're faced with record deficits & massive budget cuts? What purpose do they actually serve?

This is not an easy question to answer satisfactorily. (For a more eloquent response than I'm capable of giving, read Schaeffer's “Art & the Bible” or Ryken's “Art for God's Sake” – but don't bother reading both; they're basically the same book.) The short answer is that, as humans, we need art. We need the comfort it brings; we need to know, in a way that art alone can teach us, that we're all in the same boat. If you've ever heard a song or read a short story & sworn that it was written about you, you understand how important this function of art is. Why did our ancestors carve the tales of the hunt into the walls of their caves? Because we all have a story to tell, & we all need to share somehow in the stories of those around us. St Paul commands us to “rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn” (Romans 12:15), & art, in all its various forms, allows us to do this in a powerful way.

The long answer – for which most of the credit goes to G K Chesterton – is more a denial of the validity of the question itself than a true answer:

As insane as it would be to run around tidying up a sinking ship in one's final hours, it would be even more insane to run around insisting that, despite all evidence to the contrary, the ship wasn't actually sinking at all. Rearranging the deck chairs, even in such a desperate situation, could be chalked up to some sort of obsessive/compulsive need for cleanliness; but to deny the desperate situation altogether, or even to minimize it in any way, would be inexcusable. But this, even more than assuring us that we're not alone in our struggles – or our triumphs – is art's true purpose: to question the common mode of thinking about the issues we face, & then to offer suggestions about how we can solve the real issues. In his classic book Orthodoxy, Chesterton challenges the accepted definition of “evolution” as an unstoppable force on an unalterable course toward “progress”; he describes

a fourth class of people who take whatever it is they happen to want, and say that that is the ultimate aim of evolution. & these are the only sensible people. This is the only really healthy way with the word evolution, to work for what you want, & to call that evolution. The only intelligible sense that progress or advance can have among men, is that we have a definite vision, & that we wish to make the whole world like that vision.

This is our job as artists, & especially as Christian artists (or, if you prefer, artists who are also Christians). Despite all the overwhelming evidence that points to a rapidly deteriorating world – & not just in the environmental sense – we can, indeed we must, stand up & proclaim that, yes, our ship is sinking, but it doesn't have to be this way. Yes, our situation seems hopeless, but there is hope – first, hope for comfort in the midst of real suffering; second, hope that our suffering will not last; & third, hope that we, as ambassadors for His kingdom here on earth, may have an important role to play in the alleviation of others' suffering. In Romans 8, St Paul tells us that “the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the One who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay & brought into the freedom & glory of the children of God.”

At its best, art can be one of the ways in which creation is “liberated from its bondage to decay.” How can art live up to such a high calling? By acknowledging its two-edged relationship with reality: art has the power, not only to reflect & describe truth, but to challenge it & create it as well. Whether you write or paint or compose or sculpt or act or dance, you have an immeasurable responsibility – & a glorious privilege – to give an accurate representation of both the real & the ideal.

Delight in the privilege & embrace the responsibility. It's no accident that we call art a creative endeavor; your job as an artist is to approach life's problems creatively & offer creative solutions. & always remember that, as Norton Juster wrote in The Phantom Tollbooth, “so many things are possible so long as you don't know they're impossible.”