Puritan Shrugged
Scrolling through my Facebook feed, I was unsurprised to see that my evangelical friend had posted another holier-than-thou message for her friends. This time, she shared some marital wisdom, writing, "I wouldn't want my husband to go see a movie about female strippers. I am definitely not going to see that Magic Mike movie. No thank you. I would much rather stay true to my vows."
Generally, I shrug off her posts the same way I do my mother's guilt-inducing looks when I don't want to attend Mass. This time, no amount of shrugging would do.
Does fidelity to our spouses or significant others necessarily include a careful monitoring of our art intake? The book of Matthew does instruct that "You shall not commit adultery, but I say to you that whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery in his heart." (Matthew 5:27-28.) And perhaps I use the word "art" loosely in reference to Magic Mike (while the plot was quite flimsy, I believe Channing Tatum's body certainly qualifies as a masterpiece), but where do we draw the line?
Isn't the point of good art to evoke some catharsis, some new or more profound perspective on beauty and the realities of our world? I don't mean to open the pornography can of worms, and admittedly would struggle with where that line might be drawn. To borrow from someone much wiser, I guess I know it when I see it. But surely the human mind, which I'm sure my friend would agree was crafted by God to appreciate works of art created by our fellow man, is strong enough to withstand controversial and shocking pieces of art without being drawn into their prurient suggestions.
Does piety demand that we censor depictions of sin? If my friend had seen the film (I did! Once...or twice...) she would have witnessed a story about Mike, a thirty-something drawn to stripping out of the economic realities of his situation, who struggled between the fast and fun lifestyle of easy money and unlimited access to doting women and his more wholesome passion of designing furniture.
You don't need to show such graphic erotic dancing to tell this story, my friend might argue. Yet, the scenes of his stripping show just what a glamorous lifestyle he was living, how skilled he was at entertaining women, and ultimately how much harder it was to walk away. If the purpose of good art is to create inner-conflict and debate, Magic Mike succeeded in my book. I was at once attracted to and revolted by Magic Mike. I envied his lifestyle, and pitied him at the same time.
This is not a unique debate. When Edouard Manet's Olympia debuted in 1865 at the Paris Salon women literally fainted at the sight. The depicted nude prostitute unabashedly stares directly at the viewer, leading critics to decry the work as an outrage, rife with immorality and vulgarity. Paris abounded with threats to destroy the "shocking" piece.
French writer Emile Zola shrugged off such threats: "When other artists correct nature by painting Venus they lie. Manet asked himself why he should lie. Why not tell the truth?" Today, most tend to agree with Zola.
With or without Magic Mike and Manet, we are still fallen. Sin will always be here. And we live in a country that proudly protects your right to engage in your sin of choice. My friend also enjoys the freedom to evangelize. But would her ministry be improved by a refusal to confront sin? Would we be better off without Olympia?
