Volume 2001 Parnassus

Letter from the Editor

J. R. R. Tolkien thought of art as “subcreation,” a work of man that, for better or worse, furthers God’s “primary creation.” This implies a tremendous responsibility for the Christian artist. We are no longer merely reflecting God’s truth; we are refracting it. In Tolkien’s metaphor, truth is a single beam of light and art is a prism. The spectrum, the result of light passing through the prism, represents the difference aspects of God’s truth revealed as the different colors of the rainbow. The artist did not create the colors; they were already present in the single white beam of truth, but he bends the beam in order to show others what the truth is made of.

The artist changes the world; he alters God’s original creation form the inside out. This can be good or bad. I have a better understanding of grace, because I have read The Once and Future King by T. H. White. I have a better understanding of faith, because I have read Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. My understanding of joy is deeper for having listened to Beethoven’s 9th. These artists have refracted God’s truth, and shown me aspects of it, I never would have grasped on my own. They have added their own unique human touches to God’s creation, and, whether they intended to or not, they have glorified Him through their art. Conversely, bad art is not just distasteful; it mars God’s creation with lies and misdirection. Pop music often sends the message that physical beauty is more important than character, that raw emotion supersedes Christ’s example of eternal and unconditional love. Shock rockers question institutions and authority to the point where they are advocating chaos. But even if the artist has a handle on the truth, a poorly made work of art that fails to convey the full weight of its subject will inevitably cheapen it. As Christian artists, we have a responsibility to, not only seek God’s truth, but to refine our craft to the point where we can effectively share that truth with others. Our “subcreations” have a life of their own. People will see them, hear them, read them. If they are well rendered, well played, well written, then those people will be better for the experience. Otherwise, we have failed.

Here at Taylor University, many of us are aspiring artists. We don’t claim a monopoly on the truth, and we don’t claim to be Rembrandts or Hemingways. Many of us (myself included) are beginners and hope that our work will improve in years to come. But we’re young and full of promise, and we have our moments. I hope this year’s issue of Parnassus captures a few of those moments. At the very least, I believe our readers will be better for having read it.

We are a small campus, and this is a small magazine. At 122 pages, this issue of Parnassus is shorter than it has been in years. We have attempted to raise the bar, and many worthwhile pieces were rejected for publication. We did those so you could read this book from cover to cover. While previous issues of Parnassus may have been too long for this to be practical, this year’s magazine was organized with linear reading in mind. There is an index of names in the back for less idealistic readers.

Thank you for your purchase, and no matter how you read Parnassus, we hope you enjoy it.

Sincerely,